diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 01:54:59 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 01:54:59 -0800 |
| commit | 1792e54e9ab9e7009fe3a6820081530cfaa2115e (patch) | |
| tree | 8872cd533bc8a32d6bb9273f7b310aff7b49a868 | |
| parent | d1881446c5e08cf184500ac2daa9b0e538439905 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-8.txt | 20507 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-8.zip | bin | 324610 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h.zip | bin | 820301 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/50440-h.htm | 20682 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/cover-image.jpg | bin | 100876 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/image1.jpg | bin | 19985 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/image2.jpg | bin | 99563 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/image3.jpg | bin | 88509 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/image4.jpg | bin | 96712 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50440-h/images/image5.jpg | bin | 88498 -> 0 bytes |
13 files changed, 17 insertions, 41189 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14452df --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50440 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50440) diff --git a/old/50440-8.txt b/old/50440-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cf86f86..0000000 --- a/old/50440-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20507 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Leslie's Loyalty, by Charles Garvice - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Leslie's Loyalty - -Author: Charles Garvice - -Release Date: November 13, 2015 [EBook #50440] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESLIE'S LOYALTY *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Demian Katz and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images -courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - - - - - No.17 * EAGLE SERIES * NEW EDITION * 10 CENTS - - LESLIE'S LOYALTY - - By CHARLES GARVICE - - [Illustration] - - STREET & SMITH * PUBLISHERS * NEW YORK - - - - -_Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors_ - -NEW EAGLE SERIES - -ISSUED WEEKLY - - -The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted -novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is -spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works -are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle -Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of -undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware -of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because -their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing -manuscripts and making plates. - -ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT - - TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If - your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send - direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to - the price per copy to cover postage. - - =Quo Vadis= (New Illustrated Edition) =By Henryk Sienkiewicz= - 1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 2--Ruby's Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 12--Edrie's Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 88--Virgie's Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 99--Audrey's Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 122--Grazia's Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 144--Dorothy's Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 188--Dorothy Arnold's Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 199--Geoffrey's Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 219--Lost, A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 244--A Hoiden's Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 277--Brownie's Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 288--Sibyl's Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 311--Wedded by Fate By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 339--His Heart's Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 362--Stella Rosevelt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 373--A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to "A Girl in a Thousand" - 382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 391--Marguerite's Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 399--Betsey's Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 419--The Other Woman By Charles Garvice - 433--Winifred's Sacrifice By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 440--Edna's Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice - 451--Helen's Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice - 476--Earle Wayne's Nobility By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 512--A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to "The Golden Key" - 519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 520--The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - Sequel to "The Magic Cameo" - 531--Better Than Life By Charles Garvice - 537--A Life's Mistake By Charles Garvice - 542--Once in a Life By Charles Garvice - 548--'Twas Love's Fault By Charles Garvice - 553--Queen Kate By Charles Garvice - 554--Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 555--Put to the Test By Ida Reade Allen - 556--With Love's Aid By Wenona Gilman - 557--In Cupid's Chains By Charles Garvice - 558--A Plunge Into the Unknown By Richard Marsh - 559--The Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming - 560--The Thorns of Regret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 561--The Outcast of the Family By Charles Garvice - 562--A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen - 563--The Old Homestead By Denman Thompson - 564--Love's First Kiss By Emma Garrison Jones - 565--Just a Girl By Charles Garvice - 566--In Love's Springtime By Laura Jean Libbey - 567--Trixie's Honor By Geraldine Fleming - 568--Hearts and Dollars By Ida Reade Allen - 569--By Devious Ways By Charles Garvice - 570--Her Heart's Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 571--Two Wild Girls By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley - 572--Amid Scarlet Roses By Emma Garrison Jones - 573--Heart for Heart By Charles Garvice - 574--The Fugitive Bride By Mary E. Bryan - 575--A Blue Grass Heroine By Ida Reade Allen - 576--The Yellow Face By Fred M. White - 577--The Story of a Passion By Charles Garvice - 579--The Curse of Beauty By Geraldine Fleming - 580--The Great Awakening By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 581--A Modern Juliet By Charles Garvice - 582--Virgie Talcott's Mission By Lucy M. Russell - 583--His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch By Mary E. Bryan - 584--Mabel's Fate By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 585--The Ape and the Diamond By Richard Marsh - 586--Nell, of Shorne Mills By Charles Garvice - 587--Katherine's Two Suitors By Geraldine Fleming - 588--The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard - 589--His Father's Crime By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 590--What Was She to Him? By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 591--A Heritage of Hate By Charles Garvice - 592--Ida Chaloner's Heart By Lucy Randall Comfort - 593--Love Will Find the Way By Wenona Gilman - 594--A Case of Identity By Richard Marsh - 595--The Shadow of Her Life By Charles Garvice - 596--Slighted Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 597--Her Fatal Gift By Geraldine Fleming - 598--His Wife's Friend By Mary E. Bryan - 599--At Love's Cost By Charles Garvice - 600--St. Elmo By Augusta J. Evans - 601--The Fate of the Plotter By Louis Tracy - 602--Married in Error By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 603--Love and Jealousy By Lucy Randall Comfort - 604--Only a Working Girl By Geraldine Fleming - 605--Love, the Tyrant By Charles Garvice - 606--Mabel's Sacrifice By Charlotte M. Stanley - 608--Love is Love Forevermore By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 609--John Elliott's Flirtation By Lucy May Russell - 610--With All Her Heart By Charles Garvice - 611--Is Love Worth While? By Geraldine Fleming - 612--Her Husband's Other Wife By Emma Garrison Jones - 613--Philip Bennion's Death By Richard Marsh - 614--Little Phillis' Lover By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 615--Maida By Charles Garvice - 617--As a Man Lives By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 618--The Tide of Fate By Wenona Gilman - 619--The Cardinal Moth By Fred M. White - 620--Marcia Drayton By Charles Garvice - 621--Lynette's Wedding By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 622--His Madcap Sweetheart By Emma Garrison Jones - 623--Love at the Loom By Geraldine Fleming - 624--A Bachelor Girl By Lucy May Russell - 625--Kyra's Fate By Charles Garvice - 626--The Joss By Richard Marsh - 627--My Little Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 628--A Daughter of the Marionis By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 629--The Lady of Beaufort Park By Wenona Gilman - 630--The Verdict of the Heart By Charles Garvice - 631--A Love Concealed By Emma Garrison Jones - 633--The Strange Disappearance of Lady Delia By Louis Tracy - 634--Love's Golden Spell By Geraldine Fleming - 635--A Coronet of Shame By Charles Garvice - 636--Sinned Against By Mary E. Bryan - 637--If It Were True! By Wenona Gilman - 638--A Golden Barrier By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 639--A Hateful Bondage By Barbara Howard - 640--A Girl of Spirit By Charles Garvice - 641--Master of Men By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 642--A Fair Enchantress By Ida Reade Allen - 643--The Power of Love By Geraldine Fleming - 644--No Time for Penitence By Wenona Gilman - 645--A Jest of Fate By Charles Garvice - 646--Her Sister's Secret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 647--Bitterly Atoned By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 648--Gertrude Elliott's Crucible By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 649--The Corner House By Fred M. White - 650--Diana's Destiny By Charles Garvice - 651--Love's Clouded Dawn By Wenona Gilman - 652--Little Vixen By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 653--Her Heart's Challenge By Barbara Howard - 654--Vivian's Love Story By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 655--Linked by Fate By Charles Garvice - 656--Hearts of Stone By Geraldine Fleming - 657--In the Service of Love By Richard Marsh - 658--Love's Devious Course By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 659--Told in the Twilight By Ida Reade Allen - 660--The Mills of the Gods By Wenona Gilman - 661--The Man of the Hour By Sir William Magnay - 662--A Little Barbarian By Charlotte Kingsley - 663--Creatures of Destiny By Charles Garvice - 664--A Southern Princess By Emma Garrison Jones - 666--A Fateful Promise By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 667--The Goddess--A Demon By Richard Marsh - 668--From Tears to Smiles By Ida Reade Allen - 670--Better Than Riches By Wenona Gilman - 671--When Love Is Young By Charles Garvice - 672--Craven Fortune By Fred M. White - 673--Her Life's Burden By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 674--The Heart of Hetta By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 675--The Breath of Slander By Ida Reade Allen - 676--My Lady Beth By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 677--The Wooing of Esther Gray By Louis Tracy - 678--The Shadow Between Them By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 679--Gold in the Gutter By Charles Garvice - 680--Master of Her Fate By Geraldine Fleming - 681--In Full Cry By Richard Marsh - 682--My Pretty Maid By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 683--An Unhappy Bargain By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 684--Her Enduring Love By Ida Reade Allen - 685--India's Punishment By Laura Jean Libbey - 686--The Castle of the Shadows By Mrs. C. N. Williamson - 687--My Own Sweetheart By Wenona Gilman - 688--Only a Kiss By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 689--Lola Dunbar's Crime By Barbara Howard - 690--Ruth, the Outcast By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan - 691--Her Dearest Love By Geraldine Fleming - 692--The Man of Millions By Ida Reade Allen - 693--For Another's Fault By Charlotte M. Stanley - 694--The Belle of Saratoga By Lucy Randall Comfort - 695--The Mystery of the Unicorn By Sir William Magnay - 696--The Bride's Opals By Emma Garrison Jones - 697--One of Life's Roses By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 698--The Battle of Hearts By Geraldine Fleming - 700--In Wolf's Clothing By Charles Garvice - 701--A Lost Sweetheart By Ida Reade Allen - 702--The Stronger Passion By Mrs. Lillian R. Drayton - 703--Mr. Marx's Secret By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 704--Had She Loved Him Less! By Laura Jean Libbey - 705--The Adventure of Princess Sylvia By Mrs. C. N. Williamson - 706--In Love's Paradise By Charlotte M. Stanley - 707--At Another's Bidding By Ida Reade Allen - 708--Sold for Gold By Geraldine Fleming - 710--Ridgeway of Montana By William MacLeod Raine - 711--Taken by Storm By Emma Garrison Jones - 712--Love and a Lie By Charles Garvice - 713--Barriers of Stone By Wenona Gilman - 714--Ethel's Secret By Charlotte M. Stanley - 715--Amber, the Adopted By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 716--No Man's Wife By Ida Reade Allen - 717--Wild and Willful By Lucy Randall Comfort - 718--When We Two Parted By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 719--Love's Earnest Prayer By Geraldine Fleming - 720--The Price of a Kiss By Laura Jean Libbey - 721--A Girl from the South By Charles Garvice - 722--A Freak of Fate By Emma Garrison Jones - 723--A Golden Sorrow By Charlotte M. Stanley - 724--Norma's Black Fortune By Ida Reade Allen - 725--The Thoroughbred By Edith MacVane - 726--Diana's Peril By Dorothy Hall - 727--His Willing Slave By Lillian R. Drayton - 728--Her Share of Sorrow By Wenona Gilman - 729--Loved at Last By Geraldine Fleming - 730--John Hungerford's Redemption By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon - 731--His Two Loves By Ida Reade Allen - 732--Eric Braddon's Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 733--Garrison's Finish By W. B. M. Ferguson - 734--Sylvia, the Forsaken By Charlotte M. Stanley - 735--Married for Money By Lucy Randall Comfort - 736--Married in Haste By Wenona Gilman - 737--At Her Father's Bidding By Geraldine Fleming - 738--The Power of Gold By Ida Reade Allen - 739--The Strength of Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 740--A Soul Laid Bare By J. K. Egerton - 741--The Fatal Ruby By Charles Garvice - 742--A Strange Wooing By Richard Marsh - 743--A Lost Love By Wenona Gilman - 744--A Useless Sacrifice By Emma Garrison Jones - 745--A Will of Her Own By Ida Reade Allen - 746--That Girl Named Hazel By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 747--For a Flirt's Love By Geraldine Fleming - 748--The World's Great Snare By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 749--The Heart of a Maid By Charles Garvice - 750--Driven from Home By Wenona Gilman - 751--The Gypsy's Warning By Emma Garrison Jones - 752--Without Name or Wealth By Ida Reade Allen - 753--Loyal Unto Death By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 754--His Lost Heritage By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 755--Her Priceless Love By Geraldine Fleming - 756--Leola's Heart By Charlotte M. Stanley - 757--Dare-devil Betty By Evelyn Malcolm - 758--The Woman in It By Charles Garvice - 759--They Met by Chance By Ida Reade Allen - 760--Love Conquers Pride By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 761--A Reckless Promise By Emma Garrison Jones - 762--The Rose of Yesterday By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 763--The Other Girl's Lover By Lillian R. Drayton - 764--His Unbounded Faith By Charlotte M. Stanley - 765--When Love Speaks By Evelyn Malcolm - 766--The Man She Hated By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 767--No One to Help Her By Ida Reade Allen - 768--Claire's Love-Life By Lucy Randall Comfort - 769--Love's Harvest By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 770--A Queen of Song By Geraldine Fleming - 771--Nan Haggard's Confession By Mary E. Bryan - 772--A Married Flirt By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 773--The Thorns of Love By Evelyn Malcolm - 774--Love in a Snare By Charles Garvice - 775--My Love Kitty By Charles Garvice - 776--That Strange Girl By Charles Garvice - 777--Nellie By Charles Garvice - 778--Miss Estcourt; or, Olive By Charles Garvice - 779--A Virginia Goddess By Ida Reade Allen - 780--The Love He Sought By Lillian R. Drayton - 781--Falsely Accused By Geraldine Fleming - 782--His First Sweetheart By Lucy Randall Comfort - 783--All for Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 784--What Love Can Cost By Evelyn Malcolm - 785--Lady Gay's Martyrdom By Charlotte May Kingsley - 786--His Good Angel By Emma Garrison Jones - 787--A Bartered Soul By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 788--In Love's Shadows By Ida Reade Allen - 789--A Love Worth Winning By Geraldine Fleming - 790--The Fatal Kiss By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 791--A Lover Scorned By Lucy Randall Comfort - 792--After Many Days By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 793--An Innocent Outlaw By William Wallace Cook - 794--The Arm of the Law By Evelyn Malcolm - 795--The Reluctant Queen By J. Kenilworth Egerton - 796--The Cost of Pride By Lillian R. Drayton - 797--What Love Made Her By Geraldine Fleming - 798--Brave Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 799--Between Good and Evil By Charlotte M. Stanley - 800--Caught in Love's Net By Ida Reade Allen - 801--Love is a Mystery By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 802--The Glitter of Jewels By J. Kenilworth Egerton - 803--The Game of Life By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 804--A Dreadful Legacy By Geraldine Fleming - 805--Rogers, of Butte By William Wallace Cook - 806--The Haunting Past By Evelyn Malcolm - 807--The Love That Would Not Die By Ida Reade Allen - 808--The Serpent and the Dove By Charlotte May Kingsley - 809--Through the Shadows By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 810--Her Kingdom By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 811--When Dark Clouds Gather By Geraldine Fleming - 812--Her Fateful Choice By Charlotte M. Stanley - 813--Sorely Tried By Emma Garrison Jones - 814--Far Above Price By Evelyn Malcolm - 815--Bitter Sweet By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 816--A Clouded Life By Ida Reade Allen - 817--When Fate Decrees By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 818--The Girl Who Was True By Charles Garvice - 819--Where Love is Sent By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 820--The Pride of My Heart By Laura Jean Libbey - 821--The Girl in Red By Evelyn Malcolm - 822--Why Did She Shun Him? By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 823--Between Love and Conscience By Charlotte M. Stanley - 824--Spectres of the Past By Ida Reade Allen - 825--The Hearts of the Mighty By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 826--The Irony of Love By Charles Garvice - 827--At Arms With Fate By Charlotte May Kingsley - 828--Love's Young Dream By Laura Jean Libbey - 829--Her Golden Secret By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 830--The Stolen Bride By Evelyn Malcolm - 831--Love's Rugged Pathway By Ida Reade Allen - 832--A Love Rejected--A Love Won By Geraldine Fleming - 833--Her Life's Dark Cloud By Lillian R. Drayton - 834--A Hero for Love's Sake By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 835--When the Heart Hungers By Charlotte M. Stanley - 836--Love Given in Vain By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 837--The Web of Life By Ida Reade Allen - 838--Love Surely Triumphs By Charlotte May Kingsley - 839--The Lovely Constance By Laura Jean Libbey - 840--On a Sea of Sorrow By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 841--Her Hated Husband By Evelyn Malcolm - 842--When Hearts Beat True By Geraldine Fleming - 843--WO2 By Maurice Drake - 844--Too Quickly Judged By Ida Reade Allen - 845--For Her Husband's Love By Charlotte May Stanley - 846--The Fatal Rose By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 847--The Love That Prevailed By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 848--Just an Angel By Lillian R. Drayton - 849--Stronger Than Fate By Emma Garrison Jones - 850--A Life's Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 851--From Dreams to Waking By Charlotte M. Kingsley - 852--A Barrier Between Them By Evelyn Malcolm - 853--His Love for Her By Geraldine Fleming - 854--A Changeling's Love By Ida Reade Allen - 855--Could He Have Known! By Charlotte May Stanley - 856--Loved in Vain By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 857--The Fault of One By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 858--Her Life's Desire By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 859--A Wife Yet no Wife By Lillian R. Drayton - 860--Her Twentieth Guest By Emma Garrison Jones - 861--The Love Knot By Charlotte M. Kingsley - 862--Tricked into Marriage By Evelyn Malcolm - 863--The Spell She Wove By Geraldine Fleming - 864--The Mistress of the Farm By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 865--Chained to a Villain By Ida Reade Allen - 866--No Mother to Guide Her By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - - -To be published during January, 1914. - - 867--His Heritage By W. B. M. Ferguson - 868--All Lost But Love By Emma Garrison Jones - 869--With Heart Bowed Down By Charlotte May Kingsley - 870--Her Slave Forever By Evelyn Malcolm - - -To be published during February, 1914. - - 871--To Love and Not be Loved By Ida Reade Allen - 872--My Pretty Jane By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 873--She Scoffed at Love By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 874--The Woman Without a Heart By Emma Garrison Jones - - -To be published during March, 1914. - - 875--Shall We Forgive Her? By Charlotte May Kingsley - 876--A Sad Coquette By Evelyn Malcolm - 877--The Curse of Wealth By Ida Reade Allen - 878--Long Since Forgiven By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - - -To be published during April, 1914. - - 879--Life's Richest Jewel By Adelaide Fox Robinson - 880--Leila Vane's Burden By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 881--Face to Face With Love By Lillian R. Drayton - 882--Margery, the Pearl By Emma Garrison Jones - 883--Love's Keen Eyes By Charlotte May Kingsley - - -To be published during May, 1914. - - 884--Misjudged By Evelyn Malcolm - 885--What True Love Is By Ida Reade Allen - 886--A Well Kept Secret By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 887--The Survivor By E. Phillips Oppenheim - - -To be published during June, 1914. - - 888--Light of His Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 889--Bound by Gratitude By Lillian R. Drayton - 890--Against Love's Rules By Emma Garrison Jones - 891--Alone With Her Sorrow By Charlotte May Kingsley - - -To be published during July, 1914. - - 892--When the Heart is Bitter By Evelyn Malcolm - 893--Only Love's Fancy By Ida Reade Allen - 894--The Wife He Chose By Mrs. E. Burke Collins - 895--Love and Louisa By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - -In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the -books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New -York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance, -promptly, on account of delays in transportation. - - - - -THE EAGLE SERIES - - Principally Copyrights Elegant Colored Covers - -"THE RIGHT BOOKS AT THE RIGHT PRICE" - - -While the books in the New Eagle Series are undoubtedly better value, -being bigger books, the stories offered to the public in this line -must not be underestimated. There are over four hundred copyrighted -books by famous authors, which cannot be had in any other line. No -other publisher in the world has a line that contains so many different -titles, nor can any publisher ever hope to secure books that will match -those in the Eagle Series in quality. - -This is the pioneer line of copyrighted novels, and that it has struck -popular fancy just right is proven by the fact that for fifteen years -it has been the first choice of American readers. The only reason -that we can afford to give such excellent reading at such a low -price is that our unlimited capital and great organization enable us -to manufacture books more cheaply and to sell more of them without -expensive advertising, than any other publishers. - - -ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT - - TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If - your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send - direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to - the price per copy to cover postage. - - 3--The Love of Violet Lee By Julia Edwards - 4--For a Woman's Honor By Bertha M. Clay - 5--The Senator's Favorite By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 6--The Midnight Marriage By A. M. Douglas - 8--Beautiful But Poor By Julia Edwards - 9--The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming - 10--Little Sunshine By Francis S. Smith - 11--The Gipsy's Daughter By Bertha M. Clay - 13--The Little Widow By Julia Edwards - 14--Violet Lisle By Bertha M. Clay - 15--Dr. Jack By St. George Rathborne - 16--The Fatal Card By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson - 17--Leslie's Loyalty By Charles Garvice - (His Love So True) - 18--Dr. Jack's Wife By St. George Rathborne - 19--Mr. Lake of Chicago By Harry DuBois Milman - 21--A Heart's Idol By Bertha M. Clay - 22--Elaine By Charles Garvice - 23--Miss Pauline of New York By St. George Rathborne - 24--A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice - (On Love's Altar) - 25--Little Southern Beauty By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 26--Captain Tom By St. George Rathborne - 27--Estelle's Millionaire Lover By Julia Edwards - 28--Miss Caprice By St. George Rathborne - 29--Theodora By Victorien Sardou - 30--Baron Sam By St. George Rathborne - 31--A Siren's Love By Robert Lee Tyler - 32--The Blockade Runner By J. Perkins Tracy - 33--Mrs. Bob By St. George Rathborne - 34--Pretty Geraldine By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 35--The Great Mogul By St. George Rathborne - 36--Fedora By Victorien Sardou - 37--The Heart of Virginia By J. Perkins Tracy - 38--The Nabob of Singapore By St. George Rathborne - 39--The Colonel's Wife By Warren Edwards - 40--Monsieur Bob By St. George Rathborne - 41--Her Heart's Desire By Charles Garvice - (An Innocent Girl) - 42--Another Woman's Husband By Bertha M. Clay - 43--Little Coquette Bonnie By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 45--A Yale Man By Robert Lee Tyler - 46--Off with the Old Love By Mrs. M. V. Victor - 47--The Colonel by Brevet By St. George Rathborne - 48--Another Man's Wife By Bertha M. Clay - 49--None But the Brave By Robert Lee Tyler - 50--Her Ransom By Charles Garvice - (Paid For) - 51--The Price He Paid By E. Werner - 52--Woman Against Woman By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 54--Cleopatra By Victorien Sardou - 56--The Dispatch Bearer By Warren Edwards - 58--Major Matterson of Kentucky By St. George Rathborne - 59--Gladys Greye By Bertha M. Clay - 61--La Tosca By Victorien Sardou - 62--Stella Stirling By Julia Edwards - 63--Lawyer Bell from Boston By Robert Lee Tyler - 64--Dora Tenney By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 65--Won by the Sword By J. Perkins Tracy - 67--Gismonda By Victorien Sardou - 68--The Little Cuban Rebel By Edna Winfield - 69--His Perfect Trust By Bertha M. Clay - 70--Sydney By Charles Garvice - (A Wilful Young Woman) - 71--The Spider's Web By St. George Rathborne - 72--Wilful Winnie By Harriet Sherburne - 73--The Marquis By Charles Garvice - 74--The Cotton King By Sutton Vane - 75--Under Fire By T. P. James - 76--Mavourneen From the celebrated play - 78--The Yankee Champion By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. - 79--Out of the Past By Charles Garvice - (Marjorie) - 80--The Fair Maid of Fez By St. George Rathborne - 81--Wedded for an Hour By Emma Garrison Jones - 82--Captain Impudence By Edwin Milton Royle - 83--The Locksmith of Lyons By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck - 84--Imogene By Charles Garvice - (Dumaresq's Temptation) - 85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold By Charles Garvice - 86--A Widowed Bride By Lucy Randall Comfort - 87--Shenandoah By J. Perkins Tracy - 89--A Gentleman from Gascony By Bicknell Dudley - 90--For Fair Virginia By Russ Whytal - 91--Sweet Violet By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 92--Humanity By Sutton Vane - 94--Darkest Russia By H. Grattan Donnelly - 95--A Wilful Maid By Charles Garvice - (Philippa) - 96--The Little Minister By J. M. Barrie - 97--The War Reporter By Warren Edwards - 98--Claire By Charles Garvice - (The Mistress of Court Regna) - 100--Alice Blake By Francis S. Smith - 101--A Goddess of Africa By St. George Rathborne - 102--Sweet Cymbeline By Charles Garvice - (Bellmaire) - 103--The Span of Life By Sutton Vane - 104--A Proud Dishonor By Genie Holzmeyer - 105--When London Sleeps By Chas. Darrell - 106--Lillian, My Lillian By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 107--Carla; or, Married at Sight By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 108--A Son of Mars By St. George Rathborne - 109--Signa's Sweetheart By Charles Garvice - (Lord Delamere's Bride) - 110--Whose Wife is She? By Annie Lisle - 112--The Cattle King By A. D. Hall - 113--A Crushed Lily By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 114--Half a Truth By Dora Delmar - 115--A Fair Revolutionist By St. George Rathborne - 116--The Daughter of the Regiment By Mary A. Denison - 117--She Loved Him By Charles Garvice - 118--Saved from the Sea By Richard Duffy - 119--'Twixt Smile and Tear By Charles Garvice - (Dulcie) - 120--The White Squadron By T. C. Harbaugh - 121--Cecile's Marriage By Lucy Randall Comfort - 123--Northern Lights By A. D. Hall - 124--Prettiest of All By Julia Edwards - 125--Devil's Island By A. D. Hall - 126--The Girl from Hong Kong By St. George Rathborne - 127--Nobody's Daughter By Clara Augusta - 128--The Scent of the Roses By Dora Delmar - 129--In Sight of St. Paul's By Sutton Vane - 130--A Passion Flower By Charles Garvice - (Madge) - 131--Nerine's Second Choice By Adelaide Stirling - 132--Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden - 134--Squire John By St. George Rathborne - 135--Cast Up by the Tide By Dora Delmar - 136--The Unseen Bridegroom By May Agnes Fleming - 138--A Fatal Wooing By Laura Jean Libbey - 139--Little Lady Charles By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 140--That Girl of Johnson's By Jean Kate Ludlum - 141--Lady Evelyn By May Agnes Fleming - 142--Her Rescue from the Turks By St. George Rathborne - 143--A Charity Girl By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 145--Country Lanes and City Pavements By Maurice M. Minton - 146--Magdalen's Vow By May Agnes Fleming - 147--Under Egyptian Skies By St. George Rathborne - 148--Will She Win? By Emma Garrison Jones - 149--The Man She Loved By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 150--Sunset Pass By General Charles King - 151--The Heiress of Glen Gower By May Agnes Fleming - 152--A Mute Confessor By Will M. Harben - 153--Her Son's Wife By Hazel Wood - 154--Husband and Foe By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 156--A Soldier Lover By Edward S. Brooks - 157--Who Wins? By May Agnes Fleming - 158--Stella, the Star By Wenona Gilman - 159--Out of Eden By Dora Russell - 160--His Way and Her Will By Frances Aymar Mathews - 161--Miss Fairfax of Virginia By St. George Rathborne - 162--A Man of the Name of John By Florence King - 163--A Splendid Egotist By Mrs. J. H. Walworth - 164--Couldn't Say No By John Habberton - 165--The Road of the Rough By Maurice M. Minton - 167--The Manhattaners By Edward S. Van Zile - 168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won By May Agnes Fleming - 169--The Trials of an Actress By Wenona Gilman - 170--A Little Radical By Mrs. J. H. Walworth - 171--That Dakota Girl By Stella Gilman - 172--A King and a Coward By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 173--A Bar Sinister By St. George Rathborne - 174--His Guardian Angel By Charles Garvice - 175--For Honor's Sake By Laura C. Ford - 176--Jack Gordon, Knight Errant By Barclay North - 178--A Slave of Circumstances By Ernest De Lancey Pierson - 179--One Man's Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 180--A Lazy Man's Work By Frances Campbell Sparhawk - 181--The Baronet's Bride By May Agnes Fleming - 182--A Legal Wreck By William Gillette - 183--Quo Vadis By Henryk Sienkiewicz - 184--Sunlight and Gloom By Geraldine Fleming - 185--The Adventures of Miss Volney By Ella Wheeler Wilcox - 186--Beneath a Spell By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 187--The Black Ball By Ernest De Lancey Pierson - 189--Berris By Katharine S. MacQuoid - 190--A Captain of the Kaiser By St. George Rathborne - 191--A Harvest of Thorns By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman - 193--A Vagabond's Honor By Ernest De Lancey Pierson - 194--A Sinless Crime By Geraldine Fleming - 195--Her Faithful Knight By Gertrude Warden - 196--A Sailor's Sweetheart By St. George Rathborne - 197--A Woman Scorned By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 200--In God's Country By D. Higbee - 201--Blind Elsie's Crime By Mary Grace Halpine - 202--Marjorie By Katharine S. MacQuoid - 203--Only One Love By Charles Garvice - 204--With Heart So True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 205--If Love Be Love By D. Cecil Gibbs - 206--A Daughter of Maryland By G. Waldo Browne - 208--A Chase for a Bride By St. George Rathborne - 209--She Loved But Left Him By Julia Edwards - 211--As We Forgive By Lurana W. Sheldon - 212--Doubly Wronged By Adah M. Howard - 213--The Heiress of Egremont By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 214--Olga's Crime By Frank Barrett - 215--Only a Girl's Love By Charles Garvice - 216--The Lost Bride By Clara Augusta - 217--His Noble Wife By George Manville Fenn - 218--A Life for a Love By Mrs. L. T. Meade - 220--A Fatal Past By Dora Russell - 221--The Honorable Jane By Annie Thomas - 223--Leola Dale's Fortune By Charles Garvice - 224--A Sister's Sacrifice By Geraldine Fleming - 225--A Miserable Woman By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman - 226--The Roll of Honor By Annie Thomas - 227--The Joy of Loving By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 228--His Brother's Widow By Mary Grace Halpine - 229--For the Sake of the Family By May Crommelin - 230--A Woman's Atonement, and A Mother's Mistake - By Adah M. Howard - 231--The Earl's Heir By Charles Garvice - (Lady Norah) - 232--A Debt of Honor By Mabel Collins - 234--His Mother's Sin By Adeline Sergeant - 235--Love at Saratoga By Lucy Randall Comfort - 236--Her Humble Lover By Charles Garvice - (The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer) - 237--Woman or Witch? By Dora Delmar - 238--That Other Woman By Annie Thomas - 239--Don Cæsar De Bazan By Victor Hugo - 240--Saved by the Sword By St. George Rathborne - 241--Her Love and Trust By Adeline Sergeant - 242--A Wounded Heart By Charles Garvice - (Sweet as a Rose) - 243--His Double Self By Scott Campbell - 245--A Modern Marriage By Clara Lanza - 246--True to Herself By Mrs. J. H. Walworth - 247--Within Love's Portals By Frank Barrett - 248--Jeanne, Countess Du Barry By H. L. Williams - 249--What Love Will Do By Geraldine Fleming - 250--A Woman's Soul By Charles Garvice - (Doris; or, Behind the Footlights) - 251--When Love is True By Mabel Collins - 252--A Handsome Sinner By Dora Delmar - 253--A Fashionable Marriage By Mrs. Alex Frazer - 254--Little Miss Millions By St. George Rathborne - 256--Thy Name is Woman By F. H. Howe - 257--A Martyred Love By Charles Garvice - (Iris; or, Under the Shadow) - 258--An Amazing Marriage By Mrs. Sumner Hayden - 259--By a Golden Cord By Dora Delmar - 260--At a Girl's Mercy By Jean Kate Ludlum - 261--A Siren's Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 262--A Woman's Faith By Henry Wallace - 263--An American Nabob By St. George Rathborne - 264--For Gold or Soul By Lurana W. Sheldon - 265--First Love is Best By S. K. Hocking - 267--Jeanne By Charles Garvice - (Barriers Between) - 268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake By Charles Garvice - 270--Had She Foreseen By Dora Delmar - 271--With Love's Laurel Crowned By W. C. Stiles - 272--So Fair, So False By Charles Garvice - (The Beauty of the Season) - 273--At Swords' Points By St. George Rathborne - 274--A Romantic Girl By Evelyn E. Green - 275--Love's Cruel Whim By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 276--So Nearly Lost By Charles Garvice - (The Springtime of Love) - 278--Laura Brayton By Julia Edwards - 279--Nina's Peril By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 280--Love's Dilemma By Charles Garvice - (For an Earldom) - 281--For Love Alone By Wenona Gilman - 283--My Lady Pride By Charles Garvice - (Floris) - 284--Dr. Jack's Widow By St. George Rathborne - 285--Born to Betray By Mrs. M. V. Victor - 287--The Lady of Darracourt By Charles Garvice - 289--Married in Mask By Mansfield T. Walworth - 290--A Change of Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowland - 292--For Her Only By Charles Garvice - (Diana) - 294--A Warrior Bold By St. George Rathborne - 295--A Terrible Secret and Countess Isabel - By Geraldine Fleming - 296--The Heir of Vering By Charles Garvice - 297--That Girl from Texas By Mrs. J. H. Walworth - 298--Should She Have Left Him? By Barclay North - 300--The Spider and the Fly By Charles Garvice - (Violet) - 301--The False and the True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 302--When Man's Love Fades By Hazel Wood - 303--The Queen of the Isle By May Agnes Fleming - 304--Stanch as a Woman By Charles Garvice - (A Maiden's Sacrifice) - 305--Led by Love By Charles Garvice - Sequel to "Stanch as a Woman" - 306--Love's Golden Rule By Geraldine Fleming - 307--The Winning of Isolde By St. George Rathborne - 308--Lady Ryhope's Lover By Emma Garrison Jones - 309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffe By May Agnes Fleming - 310--A Late Repentance By Mary A. Denison - 312--Woven on Fate's Loom and The Snowdrift - By Charles Garvice - 313--A Kinsman's Sin By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 314--A Maid's Fatal Love By Helen Corwin Pierce - 315--The Dark Secret By May Agnes Fleming - 316--Edith Lyle's Secret By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 317--Ione By Laura Jean Libbey - 318--Stanch of Heart By Charles Garvice - (Adrien Le Roy) - 319--Millbank By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 320--Mynheer Joe By St. George Rathborne - 321--Neva's Three Lovers By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 322--Mildred By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 323--The Little Countess By S. E. Boggs - 324--A Love Match By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. - 325--The Leighton Homestead By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 326--Parted by Fate By Laura Jean Libbey - 327--Was She Wife or Widow? By Malcolm Bell - 328--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not By Charles Garvice - (Valeria) - 329--My Hildegarde By St. George Rathborne - 330--Aikenside By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 331--Christine By Adeline Sergeant - 332--Darkness and Daylight By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 333--Stella's Fortune By Charles Garvice - (The Sculptor's Wooing) - 334--Miss McDonald By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 335--We Parted at the Altar By Laura Jean Libbey - 336--Rose Mather By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 337--Dear Elsie By Mary J. Safford - 338--A Daughter of Russia By St. George Rathborne - 340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 342--Her Little Highness By Nataly Von Eschstruth - 343--Little Sunshine By Adah M. Howard - 344--Leah's Mistake By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman - 345--Tresillian Court By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 346--Guy Tresillian's Fate By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "Tresillian Court" - 347--The Eyes of Love By Charles Garvice - 348--My Florida Sweetheart By St. George Rathborne - 349--Marion Grey By Mary J. Holmes - 350--A Wronged Wife By Mary Grace Halpine - 352--Family Pride. Vol. I. By Mary J. Holmes - 353--Family Pride. Vol. II. By Mary J. Holmes - 354--A Love Comedy By Charles Garvice - 355--Wife and Woman By Mary J. Safford - 356--Little Kit By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 357--Montezuma's Mines By St. George Rathborne - 358--Beryl's Husband By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 359--The Spectre's Secret By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. - 360--An Only Daughter By Hazel Wood - 361--The Ashes of Love By Charles Garvice - 363--The Opposite House By Nataly Von Eschstruth - 364--A Fool's Paradise By Mary Grace Halpine - 365--Under a Cloud By Jean Kate Ludlum - 366--Comrades in Exile By St. George Rathborne - 367--Hearts and Coronets By Jane G. Fuller - 368--The Pride of Her Life By Charles Garvice - 369--At a Great Cost By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 370--Edith Trevor's Secret By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 371--Cecil Rosse By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "Edith Trevor's Secret" - 374--True Daughter of Hartenstein By Mary J. Safford - 375--Transgressing the Law By Capt. Fred'k Whittaker - 376--The Red Slipper By St. George Rathborne - 377--Forever True By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 378--John Winthrop's Defeat By Jean Kate Ludlum - 379--Blinded by Love By Nataly Von Eschstruth - 380--Her Double Life By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 381--The Sunshine of Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "Her Double Life" - 383--A Lover from Across the Sea By Mary J. Safford - 384--Yet She Loved Him By Mrs. Kate Vaughn - 385--A Woman Against Her By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 386--Teddy's Enchantress By St. George Rathborne - 387--A Heroine's Plot By Katherine S. MacQuoid - 388--Two Wives By Hazel Wood - 389--Sundered Hearts By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 390--A Mutual Vow By Harold Payne - 392--A Resurrected Love By Seward W. Hopkins - 393--On the Wings of Fate By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 394--A Drama of a Life By Jean Kate Ludlum - 395--Wooing a Widow By E. A. King - 396--Back to Old Kentucky By St. George Rathborne - 397--A Gilded Promise By Walter Bloomfield - 398--Cupid's Disguise By Fanny Lewald - 400--For Another's Wrong By W. Heimburg - 401--The Woman Who Came Between By Effie Adelaide Rowland - 402--A Silent Heroine By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey - 403--The Rival Suitors By J. H. Connelly - 404--The Captive Bride By Capt. Fred'k Whittaker - 405--The Haunted Husband By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 406--Felipe's Pretty Sister By St. George Rathborne - 408--On a False Charge By Seward W. Hopkins - 409--A Girl's Kingdom By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 410--Miss Mischief By W. Heimburg - 411--Fettered and Freed By Eugene Charvette - 412--The Love that Lives By Capt Frederick Whittaker - 413--Were They Married? By Hazel Wood - 414--A Girl's First Love By Elizabeth C. Winter - 416--Down in Dixie By St. George Rathborne - 417--Brave Barbara By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 418--An Insignificant Woman By W. Heimburg - 420--A Sweet Little Lady By Gertrude Warden - 421--Her Sweet Reward By Barbara Kent - 422--Lady Kildare By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 423--A Woman's Way By Capt. Frederick Whittaker - 424--A Splendid Man By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 425--A College Widow By Frank H. Howe - 427--A Wizard of the Moors By St. George Rathborne - 428--A Tramp's Daughter By Hazel Wood - 429--A Fair Fraud By Emily Lovett Cameron - 430--The Honor of a Heart By Mary J. Safford - 431--Her Husband and Her Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 432--Breta's Double By Helen V. Greyson - 435--Under Oath By Jean Kate Ludlum - 436--The Rival Toreadors By St. George Rathborne - 437--The Breach of Custom By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey - 438--So Like a Man By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 439--Little Nan By Mary A. Denison - 441--A Princess of the Stage By Nataly Von Eschstruth - 442--Love Before Duty By Mrs. L. T. Meade - 443--In Spite of Proof By Gertrude Warden - 444--Love's Trials By Alfred R. Calhoun - 445--An Angel of Evil By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 446--Bound with Love's Fetters By Mary Grace Halpine - 447--A Favorite of Fortune By St. George Rathborne - 448--When Love Dawns By Adelaide Stirling - 449--The Bailiff's Scheme By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 450--Rosamond's Love By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "The Bailiff's Scheme" - 452--The Last of the Van Slacks By Edward S. Van Zile - 453--A Poor Girl's Passion By Gertrude Warden - 454--Love's Probation By Elizabeth Olmis - 455--Love's Greatest Gift By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 456--A Vixen's Treachery By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 457--Adrift in the World By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "A Vixen's Treachery" - 459--A Golden Mask By Charlotte M. Stanley - 460--Dr. Jack's Talisman By St. George Rathborne - 461--Above All Things By Adelaide Stirling - 462--A Stormy Wedding By Mary E. Bryan - 463--A Wife's Triumph By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 464--The Old Life's Shadows By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 465--Outside Her Eden By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "The Old Life's Shadows" - 466--Love, the Victor By a Popular Southern Author - 467--Zina's Awaking By Mrs. J. K. Spender - 468--The Wooing of a Fairy By Gertrude Warden - 469--A Soldier and a Gentleman By J. M. Cobban - 470--A Strange Wedding By Mary Hartwell Catherwood - 471--A Shadowed Happiness By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 472--Dr. Jack and Company By St. George Rathborne - 473--A Sacrifice to Love By Adelaide Stirling - 474--The Belle of the Season By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - 475--Love Before Pride By Mrs. Harriet Lewis - Sequel to "The Belle of the Season" - 477--The Siberian Exiles By Col. Thomas Knox - 478--For Love of Sigrid By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 479--Mysterious Mr. Sabin By E. Phillips Oppenheim - 480--A Perfect Fool By Florence Warden - 481--Wedded, Yet No Wife By May Agnes Fleming - 482--A Little Worldling By L. C. Ellsworth - 483--Miss Marston's Heart By L. H. Bickford - 484--The Whistle of Fate By Richard Marsh - 485--The End Crowns All By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 486--Divided Lives By Edgar Fawcett - 487--A Wonderful Woman By May Agnes Fleming - 488--The French Witch By Gertrude Warden - 489--Lucy Harding By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes - 490--The Price of Jealousy By Maud Howe - 491--My Lady of Dreadwood By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 492--A Speedy Wooing - By the Author of "As Common Mortals" - 493--The Girl He Loved By Adelaide Stirling - 494--Voyagers of Fortune By St. George Rathborne - 495--Norine's Revenge By May Agnes Fleming - 496--The Missing Heiress By C. H. Montague - 497--A Chase for Love By Seward W. Hopkins - 498--Andrew Leicester's Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 499--My Lady Cinderella By Mrs. C. N. Williamson - 500--Love and Spite By Adelaide Stirling - 501--Her Husband's Secret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 502--Fair Maid Marian By Mrs. Emma Garrison Jones - 503--A Lady in Black By Florence Warden - 504--Evelyn, the Actress By Wenona Gilman - 505--Selina's Love-story By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 506--A Secret Foe By Gertrude Warden - 507--A Mad Betrothal By Laura Jean Libbey - 508--Lottie and Victorine By Lucy Randall Comfort - 509--A Penniless Princess By Emma Garrison Jones - 510--Doctor Jack's Paradise Mine By St. George Rathborne - 513--A Sensational Case By Florence Warden - 514--The Temptation of Mary Barr By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 515--Tiny Luttrell By E. W. Hornung - (Author of "Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman") - 516--Florabel's Lover By Laura Jean Libbey - 517--They Looked and Loved By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - 518--The Secret of a Letter By Gertrude Warden - 521--The Witch from India By St. George Rathborne - 522--A Spurned Proposal By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 523--A Banker of Bankersville By Maurice Thompson - 524--A Sacrifice of Pride By Mrs. Louisa Parr - 525--Sweet Kitty Clover By Laura Jean Libbey - 526--Love and Hate By Morley Roberts - 527--For Love and Glory By St. George Rathborne - 528--Adela's Ordeal By Florence Warden - 529--Hearts Aflame By Louise Winter - 530--The Wiles of a Siren By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 532--True to His Bride By Emma Garrison Jones - 533--A Forgotten Love By Adelaide Stirling - 534--Lotta, the Cloak Model By Laura Jean Libbey - 535--The Trifler By Archibald Eyre - 536--Companions in Arms By St. George Rathborne - 538--The Fighting Chance By Gertrude Lynch - 539--A Heart's Triumph By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 540--A Daughter of Darkness By Ida Reade Allen - 541--Her Evil Genius By Adelaide Stirling - 543--The Veiled Bride By Laura Jean Libbey - 544--In Love's Name By Emma Garrison Jones - 545--Well Worth Winning By St. George Rathborne - 546--The Career of Mrs. Osborne By Helen Milecete - 549--Tempted by Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands - 550--Saved from Herself By Adelaide Stirling - 551--Pity--Not Love By Laura Jean Libbey - 552--At the Court of the Maharaja By Louis Tracy - - - - - LESLIE'S LOYALTY - - BY - CHARLES GARVICE - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS - - - - -HAND BOOKS - - -We have a line of the best and cleanest hand books ever published. -They are known as =DIAMOND HAND BOOKS=. Each one was written by a man -or woman thoroughly conversant with the subject he or she treated. The -facts are presented in an especially attractive manner so that every -one who can read, can understand. - - -HERE ARE THE TITLES - - No. 1--Sheldon's Twentieth Century Letter Writer, _By L. W. SHELDON_ - - No. 2--Shirley's Twentieth Century Guide to Love, - Courtship and Marriage, _By GRACE SHIRLEY_ - - No. 3--Women's Secrets; or, How to be Beautiful, _By GRACE SHIRLEY_ - - No. 4--Sheldon's Guide to Etiquette, _By L. W. SHELDON_ - - No. 5--Physical Health Culture, _By PROF. FOURMEN_ - - No. 6--Frank Merriwell's Book of Physical Development, - _By BURT L. STANDISH_ - - No. 7--National Dream Book, _By MME. CLARE ROUGEMONT_ - - No. 8--Zingara Fortune Teller, _By a Gypsy Queen_ - - No. 9--The Art of Boxing and Self-Defense, _By PROF. DONOVAN_ - - No. 10--The Key to Hypnotism, _By ROBERT G. ELLSWORTH, M.D._ - - No. 11--U. S. Army Physical Exercises, _Revised by PROF. DONOVAN_ - - No. 12--Heart Talks With the Lovelorn, _By GRACE SHIRLEY_ - - No. 13--Dancing Without an Instructor, _By PROF. WILKINSON_ - - Price 10 cents per copy. If sent by mail, 3 cents must be added to the - cost of each book to cover postage. - -STREET & SMITH, 79 Seventh Avenue, NEW YORK - - - - -_Twenty Books Every Woman Should Read_ - - - Woman Against Woman. By Effie Adelaide - Rowlands. Eagle No. 52, 10c. - - The Little Minister. By J. M. Barrie. - Eagle No. 96, 10c. - - Nerine's Second Choice. By Adelaide Stirling. - Eagle No. 131, 10c. - - Her Love and Trust. By Adeline Sargeant. - Eagle No. 241, 10c. - - Edith Lyle's Secret. By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes. - Eagle No. 316, 10c. - - Dora Thorne. By Bertha M. Clay. - Bertha Clay No. 2, 10c. - - Ishmael. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - Southworth No. 2, 10c. - - Self-Raised. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - Southworth No. 3, 10c. - - The Hidden Hand. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - Southworth No. 52, 10c. - - Capitola's Peril. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - Southworth No. 53, 10c. - - Quo Vadis. By Henryk Sienkiewicz. - New Illustrated Edition, 15c. - - Queen Bess. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. - New Sheldon No. 1, 15c. - - A Jest of Fate. By Charles Garvice. - New Eagle No. 645, 15c. - - St. Elmo. By Augusta J. Evans. - New Eagle No. 600, 15c. - - Slighted Love. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - New Eagle No. 596, 15c. - - At Another's Bidding. By Ida Reade Allen. - New Eagle No. 707, 15c. - - The Thoroughbred. By Edith MacVane. - New Eagle No. 725, 15c. - - Girls of a Feather. By Mrs. Amelia E. Barr. - New Romance No. 7, 15c. - - My Own Sweetheart. By Wenona Gilman. - New Eagle No. 687, 15c. - - The Price of a Kiss. By Laura Jean Libbey. - New Eagle No. 720, 15c. - -Complete List of S. & S. Novels sent anywhere upon request - -STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK - - - - -LESLIE'S LOYALTY - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -LESLIE LISLE. - - -Nobody ever goes to Portmaris; that is to say, nobody who is anybody. -It lies--but no matter, ours shall not be the hand to ruin its -simplicity by advertising its beauties and advantages, and directing -the madding crowd to its sylvan retreat. At present the golden sands -which line the bay are innocent of the negro troupe, the peripatetic -conjurer, and the monster in human form who pesters you to purchase -hideous objects manufactured from shells and cardboard. - -A time may come when Portmaris will develop into an Eastbourne or a -Brighton, a Scarborough or a Hastings; but, Heaven be praised, that -time is not yet, and Portmaris, like an unconscious village beauty, -goes on its way as yet ignorant of its loveliness. - -At present there are about a dozen houses, most of them fishermen's -cottages; a church, hidden in a hollow a mile away from the restless -sea; and an inn which is satisfied with being an inn, and has not yet -learned to call itself a hotel. - -Two or three of the fisherfolk let lodgings, to which come those -fortunate individuals who have quite by chance stumbled upon this -out-of-the-way spot; and in the sitting-room of the prettiest of these -unpretentious cottages was a young girl. - -Her name was Leslie Lisle. She was nineteen, slim, graceful, and more -than pretty. There is a type of beauty which, with more or less truth, -is generally described as Irish. It has dark hair, blue eyes with long -black lashes, a clear and colorless complexion of creamy ivory, and -a chin that would seem pointed but for the exquisite fullness of the -lips. It is a type which is more fascinating than the severe Greek, -more "holding" than the voluptuous Spanish, more spirituel than the -vivacious French; in short, it is a kind of beauty before which most -men go down completely and forever vanquished, and this because the -wonderful gray-blue eyes are capable of an infinity of expressions, can -be grave one moment and brimming over with fun the next; because there -lurks, even when they are most quiescent, a world of possibilities in -the way of wit in the corners of the red lips; because the face, as you -watch it, can in the course of a few minutes flash with spirit, melt -with tenderness, and all the while remain the face of a pure, innocent, -healthy, light-hearted girl. - -The young men who crossed Leslie Lisle's path underwent a sad -experience. - -At first they were attracted by her beauty; in a few hours or days, as -the case might be, they began to find the attraction lying somewhat -deeper than the face; then they grew restless, unhappy, lost their -appetites, got to lying awake of nights, and lastly went to pieces -completely, and if they possessed sufficient courage, flung themselves -perfectly wretched and overcome at the small feet of the slim, girlish -figure which had become to them even that of the one woman in the -world. And to do Leslie justice, she was not only always surprised, but -distressed. She had said nothing, and what is more, looked nothing, to -encourage them. She had been just herself, a frank yet modest English -girl, with an Irish face, and that indescribable sweetness which draws -men's hearts from their bosoms before they know what has happened to -them. - -She was seated at the piano in the sitting-room of the cottage which -the fisherman who owned it had christened Sea View, and she was amusing -herself and a particularly silent and morose parrot by singing some of -the old songs and ballads which she had found in a rickety music-stand -in the corner; and for all the parrot glanced at her disapprovingly -with his glassy eye, she had a sufficiently sweet voice, and sang with -more than the usual amount of feeling. - -While she was in the middle of that famous but slightly monotonous -composition, "Robin Grey," the door opened, and a tall, thin man -entered. - -This was Francis Lisle, her father. He was a man this side of fifty, -but looked older in consequence, perhaps, of his hair, which was gray -and scanty, a faded face, with a dreamy far away look in the faint blue -eyes, and a somewhat bent form and dragging gait. He carried a portable -easel in one hand, and held a canvas under his arm. - -As he entered he looked round the room as if he had never seen it -before, then set the easel up in a corner, placed the canvas on it -upside down, and crossing his hands behind his back, stood with bent -head gazing at it for some moments in silence. Then he said, in a voice -which matched the dreamy face: - -"Leslie, come here." - -Leslie stopped short in the middle of the most heart-rending line of -the cheerful ballad, and walked--no; glided? scarcely; it is difficult -to describe how the girl got across the small room, so full of grace, -so characteristic was her mode of progression, and putting both hands -on his shoulders, leaned her cheek against his head. - -"Back already, dear?" she said, and the tone fully indicated the -position in which she stood toward her parent. "I thought you were -going to make a long day of it." - -"Yes, yes," he said, without taking his eyes from the sketch. "I did -intend doing so. I started full of my subject and--er--inspired -with hope, and I don't think I have altogether failed. It is -difficult--very. The tone of that sky would fill a careless amateur -with despair, but--but I am not careless. Whatever I may be I am -not that. The secrets of art which she hides from the unthinking -and--er--irreverent she confides to her true worshipers. Now, Leslie, -look at that sky. Look at it carefully, critically, and tell me--do you -not think I have caught that half tone, that delicious mingling of the -chrome and the ultramarine? There is a wealth of form and color in that -right hand corner, and I--yes, I think it is the best, by far the best -and truest thing I have as yet done." - -Leslie leaned forward, and softly, swiftly, placed the picture right -side up. - -It had not very much improved by the transposition. It was--well, to -put it bluntly, a daub of the most awful description. Never since the -world began had there ever, in nature, been anything like it. The -average schoolboy libeling nature with a shilling box of colors could -not have sinned more deeply. The sea was a brilliant washerwoman's -blue, the hills were heaps of muddy ochre, the fishing vessels looked -like blackbeetles struggling on their backs, there was a cow in the -meadow in the foreground which would have wrung tears from any one who -had ever set eyes on that harmless but necessary animal, and the bit of -sky in the corner was utterly and completely indescribable. - -Leslie looked at it with a sad little expression in her eyes, the -pitying look one sees in the face of a woman whose life is spent in -humoring the weakness of a beloved one; then she said, gently: - -"It is very striking, papa." - -"Striking!" repeated Francis Lisle. "Striking! I like that word. You, -too, are an artist, my dear Leslie, though you never touch a brush. How -well you know how to use the exact expression. I flatter myself that -it is striking. I think I may say, without egotism, that no one, no -real critic could look at that sketch--for it is a mere sketch--without -being struck!" - -"Yes, papa," she murmured, soothingly. - -He shaded his eyes with his thin white hands in the orthodox fashion, -and peered at the monstrosity. - -"There is, if I may say so, an--er--originality in the treatment which -would alone make the sketch interesting and valuable. Tell me, now, -Leslie, what it is in it that catches your fancy most." - -Leslie looked at it carefully. - -"I--I think that heap of sea-weed nicely painted, papa," she said, -putting her arm round his neck. - -"Heap of sea-weed?" his brows knitted. "Heap of sea-weed? I don't see -anything of the kind." - -"There, papa," she said, pointing. - -"My dear Leslie, I have always suspected that your sight was not -perfect, that there was some defect in its range power; that is not a -heap of sea-weed, but a fisherwoman mending her nets!" - -"Of course! How stupid of me!" she said, quickly. "I'm afraid I am -near-sighted, dear. But don't you think you have done enough for -to-day? Why not put it away until to-morrow?" - -"There is no to-morrow, Leslie," he said, gravely, as he got out his -palette. "'Art is long and life is fleeting.' Never forget that, my -dear. No, I can stipple on a little. I intend finishing this sketch, -and making a miniature--a cabinet picture. It shall be worthy of a -place among those exquisite studies of Foster's. And yet----," he sighed -and pushed the hair from his forehead, "and yet I'll be bound that if -I tried to sell it, I should not find a dealer to give me a few paltry -pounds for it. So blind and prejudiced! No, they would not buy it, and -possibly the Academy would refuse to exhibit it. Prejudice, prejudice! -But art has its own rewards, thank Heaven! I paint because I must. Fame -has no attraction. I am content to wait. Yes, though the recognition -which is my due may come too late! It is often thus!" - -The girl bent her beautiful head--she stood taller than the drooping -figure of her father--and kissed, ah! how tenderly, pityingly, the gray -hair. - -Francis Lisle, Esquire, the younger son of an old Irish family, had -been a dreamer from his youth up. He had started with a good education -and a handsome little fortune; he had dreamed away the education, -dreamed away the small fortune, dreamed away nearly all his life, and -his great dream was that he was an artist. He couldn't draw a haystack, -and certainly could not have colored it correctly even if by chance he -had drawn it; but he was persuaded that he was a great artist, and he -fancied that his hand transferred to the canvas the scenes which he -attempted to paint. - -And he was not unhappy. His wife had died when Leslie was a mite of a -thing, and how he had managed to get on until Leslie was old enough -to take care of him can never even be surmised; but she began to play -the mother, the guardian, and protector to this visionary father of -hers, at an extremely early age. She managed everything, almost fed and -clothed him, and kept from him all those petty ills and worries which -make life such a burden for most people. - -They had no settled home, but wandered about, sometimes on the -Continent, but mostly in England, and Francis Lisle had hundreds of -sketches which were like nothing under heaven, but were supposed to be -"ideas" for larger pictures, of places they had visited. - -They had been at Portmaris a couple of months when we find them, -and though Francis Lisle was just beginning to get tired of it, and -restlessly anxious to be on the move again, Leslie was loth to leave. -She had grown fond of the golden sands, the strip of pebbly beach, the -narrow street broken by its wind-twisted trees, the green lanes leading -to the country beyond, and still more fond of the simple-hearted fisher -folk, who always welcomed her with a smile, and had already learned to -call her Miss Leslie. - -Indeed, Miss Lisle was a dangerous young woman, and the hearts of young -and old, gentle and simple, went down before a glance of her gray-blue -eyes, a smile from the mobile lips, a word from her voice which -thrilled with a melody few could resist. - -Francis Lisle went on daubing, his head on one side, a rapt, contented -look on his pale, aristocratic face. - -"Yes, this is going to be one of my best efforts," he said, with placid -complacency. "Go and sing something, Leslie. I can always work better -while you are singing. Music and painting are twin sisters. I adore -them both." - -Leslie went back to the piano with that peculiarly graceful motion of -hers, and touched a note or two. - -"Were there no letters this morning, dear?" she asked. - -"Letters?" Lisle put his hand to his forehead as if rudely called back -to earth from the empyrean. "Letters? No. Yes, I forgot. There was one. -It was from Ralph Duncombe." - -Leslie turned her head slightly, and the rather thick brows which -helped the eyes in all their unconscious mischief straightened. - -"From Ralph? What does he say?" - -"I don't know," replied Lisle, placidly. "I can never read his letters; -he writes so terribly plain a hand; its hardness jars upon me. I have -it--somewhere?" - -He searched his pockets reluctantly. - -"No, I must have lost it. Does it matter very much?" - -Leslie laughed softly. - -"I don't know; but one generally likes to know what is in a letter." - -"Well, then, I wish I could find it. I told the postman when he gave -it to me that I should probably lose it, and that he had better bring -it on to the house; but--well, I don't think he understood me. I often -think that we speak an unknown language to these country people." - -"Perhaps he did not hear you," said Leslie. "Sometimes, you know, dear, -you think you have spoken when you have not uttered a word, but only -thought." - -"I dare say," he assented, dreamily. "Now I come to think of it, I -fancy Duncombe said he was coming down here----." - -The slender white hands which had been touching the keys caressingly -stopped. - -"Coming here, papa!" - -"Yes. I think so. I'm not sure. Now, what could I have done with that -letter?" - -He made another search, failed to find it, shook his head as if -dismissing the subject, and resumed his "work." - -Leslie struck a chord, and opened her lips to sing, when the sound of -the wheels belonging to the one fly in the place came down the uneven -street. She paused to listen, then leaned sideways and looked through -the window. - -"The station fly!" she said. "And it has stopped at Marine Villa, papa. -It must be another visitor. Fancy two visitors at the same time in -Portmaris! It will go wild with excitement." - -The cranky vehicle had pulled up at the opposite cottage, and Leslie, -with mild, very mild, curiosity, got up from the piano and went to the -window. - -As she did so a man dressed in soft tweed got down from beside the -driver, opened the fly-door, and gave his arm to a young man whose -appearance filled Leslie's heart with pity; for he was a cripple. His -back was bent, his face pale and gentle as a woman's, marked with lines -which were eloquent of weary days, and still more weary nights; and in -the dark eyes was that peculiar expression of sadness which a life of -pain and suffering patiently borne sets as a seal. - -The young fellow leaned on his stick and the man's arm, and looked -round him, and his eye, dark and full of a soft penetration, fell upon -the lovely face at the opposite window. - -Leslie drew back, when it was too late, and breathed an exclamation of -regret. - -"Oh, papa!" - -"What is the matter?" asked Lisle, vacantly. - -"I am sorry!" she said. "He will think I was staring at him--and so I -was. And that will seem so cruel to him, poor fellow." - -"What is cruel? which poor fellow?" demanded Lisle with feeble -impatience. - -"Some one who has just got out of the fly, dear; a cripple, poor -fellow; and he saw me watching him." And she sighed again. - -"Eh?" said Lisle, as if he were trying to recollect something. "Ah, -yes, I remember. Mrs. Whiting told me that he was expected some time -to-day; they had a telegram saying he was coming." - -"He? Who?" said Leslie, going back to the piano. - -"Who?" repeated Lisle, as if he were heartily sorry he had continued -the subject. "Why, this young man. Dear me, I forget his name and -title----." - -"Title? Poor fellow! Is he a nobleman, papa? That makes it seem so much -worse, doesn't it?" - -Lisle looked round at her helplessly. - -"Upon my word, my dear," he said, "I do not wish to appear dense, but I -haven't the least idea of what you are talking about, and----," he went -on more quietly, as if he feared she were going to explain, "it doesn't -matter. Pray sing something, and--and do not let us worry about things -which do not concern us." - -Leslie began to sing without another word. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -FATE. - - -The crippled young man, with the assistance of his companion, made -his way into the sitting-room of Marine Villa; an invalid's chair was -hauled from the top of the fly and carried in, and the young man sank -into it with a faint sigh. - -"Leave me, Grey," he said. "When Lord Auchester arrives let him come to -me at once; and, Grey, be good enough to remember what I told you----." - -"Yes, your grace," said the man; then, as his master lifted the soft -brown eyes with gentle reproach, he added, correcting himself, "yes, -sir." - -The young man smiled faintly. - -"That is better. Thanks." - -The valet unlocked a morocco traveling case, and took out a vial and -medicine chest. - -"The medicine, your gra----, sir, I mean." - -"Ah, yes, I forgot. Thank you," said the young man, and he took the -draught with a weary patience. "Thanks. Let me know when his lordship -arrives. No, I want nothing more." - -The valet went out, shutting the door softly after him, and his master -leaned his head upon his hand, and closed his eyes. - -Fate had dealt very strangely with this young man. With one hand it -had showered upon him most of the gifts which the sons of men set high -store by; it had made him a duke, had given him palaces, vast lands, -money in such abundance as to be almost a burden; and with the other -hand, as if in scorn and derision of the thing called Man, Fate had -struck him one of those blows under which humanity is crushed and -broken. - -A nurse had let him, when a child, slip from her arms, and the -great Duke of Rothbury was doomed to go through life a stunted and -crooked-back object, with the grim figure of pain always marching by -his side, with the bitter knowledge that not all his wealth could -prevent the people he met in the streets regarding him with curious and -pitying glances, with the bitter sense that the poorest of the laborers -on his estates enjoyed a better lot than his, and was more to be envied -than himself. - -He sat perfectly motionless for some minutes; then he opened his eyes -and started slightly; Leslie had just begun to sing. - -He wheeled his chair to the window, and set it open quietly, and, -keeping behind the curtains, listened with evident pleasure. - -The song was still floating across to him when a young man came -marching up the street. - -Youth is a glorious thing under any circumstances, but when it is -combined with perfect health, good temper, a handsome face, and a -stalwart form it is god-like in its force and influence. - -The little narrow street of Portmaris seemed somehow to grow brighter -and wider as the young man strode up it; his well-knit form swaying a -little to right and left, his well-shaped head perfectly poised, his -bright eyes glancing here and there with intelligent interest, the -pleasure-loving lips whistling softly from sheer light-heartedness. He -stopped as he came opposite Sea View, and listened to Leslie's song, -nodding his head approvingly; then he caught sight of the "Marine -Villa" on the opposite house, and walked straight into the little hall. - -"Hallo, Grey," he said, and his voice rang, not hardly and -unpleasantly, but with that clear golden timbre which only belongs to -the voice of a man in perfect health. "Here you are, then! And how -is----." - -Grey smiled as he bent his head respectfully; everybody was glad to see -the young man. - -"Yes, my lord. Just got down. His gra----. We are pretty well -considering the journey, my lord. He will see your lordship at once." - -"All right," said the young fellow. "I rode as far as Northcliffe, but -left the horse there, as I didn't know what sort of stables they'd have -here." - -"You were right, my lord," said Grey, in the approving tone of a -confidential servant. "This seems a rare out-of-the-way place. And I -should doubt there being a decent stable here." - -"Ah, well, the duke will like it all the better for being quiet," the -young fellow said. - -Grey put his hand to his lips, and coughed apologetically. - -"Beg pardon, my lord, but his gra----, that is--well, you'll excuse me, -my lord, but we're down here quite incog., as you may say." - -As Lord Auchester, staring at the man, was about to laugh, the clear, -rather shrill voice of the invalid was heard from the room. - -"Is that you, Yorke? Why do you not come in?" - -The young fellow entered, and took the long thin hand the duke extended -to him. - -"Hallo, Dolph!" he said, lowering his voice. "How are you? What made -you think of coming to this outlandish spot?" - -The duke, still holding his cousin's hand, smiled up at him with a -mixture of sadness and self raillery. - -"I can't tell you, Yorke; I got tired of town, and told Grey to hunt up -some place in Bradshaw that he had never heard of, some place right out -of the beaten track, and he chose this." - -"Poor unfortunate man!" said Lord Auchester, with a laugh. - -"Yes, Grey suffers a great deal from my moods and humors; and so do -other persons, yourself to wit, Yorke. It was very kind of you to come -to me so soon." - -"Of course I came," said Lord Auchester. "I wasn't very far off, you -see." - -"Fishing?" said the duke, with evident interest. - -"Y-es; oh, yes," replied the other young man, quickly. "I rode over as -far as Northcliffe----." - -The duke sighed as his eyes wandered musingly over the stalwart, -well-proportioned frame. - -"You ought to have been in the army, Yorke," he said. - -Lord Auchester laughed. - -"So I should have been if they hadn't made the possession of brains a -_sine qua non_; it seems you want brains for pretty nearly everything -nowadays; and it's just brains I'm short of, you see, Dolph." - -"You have everything else," said the duke, in a low voice. - -He sighed and turned his head away; not that he envied his cousin his -handsome face and straight limbs. - -"You haven't told me what you wanted me for, Dolph," said Lord -Auchester, after a pause, during which both men had been listening half -unconsciously to the sweet voice in the cottage opposite. - -"I wanted--nothing," said the duke. - -"There is nothing I can do for you?" - -"Nothing; unless," with a sigh and a wistful smile, "unless you can by -the wave of a magician's wand change this crooked body of mine for -something like your own." - -"I would if I could, Dolph," said the other, bending over him, and -laying a pair of strong hands soothingly on the invalid's bent -shoulders. - -"I know that, Yorke. But you cannot, can you? I dare say you think I am -a peevish, discontented wretch, and that I ought, as the poor Emperor -of Germany said, to bear my pain without complaining----." - -"No, Dolph; I think you complain very little, and face the music first -rate," put in the other. - -"Thanks. I try to most times, and I could succeed better than I do if -I were always alone, but sometimes----," he sighed bitterly. "Why is it -that the world is so false, Yorke? Are there no honest men besides you -and Grey, and half a dozen others I could mention? And are there no -honest women at all?" - -Yorke Auchester raised his eyebrows and laughed. - -"What's wrong with the women?" he said. - -The duke leaned his head upon his hand, and partially hid his face, -which had suddenly become red. - -"Everything is wrong with them, Yorke," he said, gravely and in a low -voice. "You know, or perhaps you do not know, how I esteem, reverence, -respect a woman; perhaps because I dare not love them." - -Yorke Auchester nodded. - -"If all the men felt as you do about women there would be no bad ones -in the world, Dolph," he said. - -"To me there is something sacred in the very word. My heart expands, -grows warm in the presence of a good woman. I cannot look at a -beautiful girl without thinking--don't misunderstand me, Yorke." - -"No, no, old chap!" - -"I love, I reverence them; and yet they have made me fly from London, -have caused me almost to vow that I will never go back; that I will -hide my misshapen self for the rest of my weary days----." - -"Why Dolph----." - -"Listen," said the duke. "Look at me, Yorke. Ah, it is unnecessary. -You know what I am. A thing for women to pity, to shudder at--not to -love! And yet"--he hid his face--"some of them have tried to persuade -me that I--_I_--could inspire a young girl with love; that I--_I_--oh, -think of it, Yorke!--that I had only to offer myself as a husband to -the most beautiful, the fairest, straightest, queenliest of them, to be -accepted!" - -Yorke Auchester leaned over him. - -"You take these things too seriously, Dolph," he said, soothingly. -"It's--it's the way of the world, and you can't better it; you must -take it as it comes." - -"The way of the world! That a girl--young, beautiful, graceful--should -be sold by her mother and father, should be willing to sell -herself--ah, Yorke!--to a thing like me. Is that the way of the world? -What a wicked, heartless, vicious world, then; and what an unhappy -wretch am I! What fools they are, too, Yorke! They think it is so -fine a thing to wear a ducal coronet! Ha, ha!" He laughed with sad -bitterness. "So fine, that they would barter their souls to the evil -one to feel the pressure of that same coronet on their brows, to hear -other women call them 'Your Grace.' Oh, Yorke, what fools! How I could -open their eyes if they would let me! Look at me. I am the Duke of -Rothbury, Knight of the Garter--poor garter!" and he looked at his thin -leg--"and what else? I almost forget some of my titles; and I would -swap them all for a straight back and stalwart limbs like yours. But, -Yorke, to share those titles, how many women would let me limp to the -altar on their arms!" - -He laughed again, still more bitterly. - -"Sometimes, when some sweet-faced girl, with the look of an angel in -her eyes, with a voice like a heavenly harmony, is making what they -call 'a dead set' at me, I have hard work to restrain myself from -telling her what I think of her and those who set her at me. Yorke, it -is this part of the business which makes my life almost unendurable, -and it is only by running away from every one who knows, or has heard -of, the 'poor' Duke of Rothbury that I can put up with existence." - -"Poor old chap," murmured Lord Auchester. - -"Just now," continued the duke, "as we drove up to the door, I caught -sight of a beautiful girl at the window opposite. I saw her face grow -soft with pity, with the angelic pity of a woman, which, though it -stings and cuts into one like a cut from a whip, I try to be grateful -for. She pitied me, not knowing who and what I am. Tell her that I am -the Duke of Rothbury, and in five minutes or less that angelic look of -compassion will be exchanged for the one which you see on the face of -the hunter as his prey comes within sight. She will think, 'He is ugly, -crooked, maimed for life; but he is a man, and I can therefore marry -him; he is a duke and I should be a duchess.' And so, like a moral -poison, like some plague, I blight the souls of the best and purest. -Listen to her now; that is the girl singing. What is it? I can hear the -words." - -He held up his hand. Leslie was singing, quite unconscious of the two -listeners. - - "My sweet girl love with frank blue eyes, - Though years have passed I see you still; - There, where you stood beside the mill, - Beneath the bright autumnal skies. - Though years have passed I love you yet; - Do you still remember, or do you forget?" - -"A nice voice," said Yorke Auchester, approvingly. - -"Yes; the voice of a girl-angel. No doubt she is one. She needs only to -be informed that an unmarried duke is within reach, and she'll be in a -hurry to drop to the earth, and in her hurry to reach and secure him -will not mind dragging her white wings in the mud." - -"Women are built that way," said Yorke Auchester, concisely. - -The duke sighed. - -"Oh, yes, they are all alike. Yorke, what a fine duke you would have -made! What a mischievous, spiteful old cat Fate is, to make me a duke -and you only a younger son! How is it you don't hate and envy me, -Yorke?" - -"Because I'm not a cad and a beast, I suppose," replied the young -fellow, pleasantly. "Why, Dolph, you have been the best friend a man -ever had----." - -"Most men hate their best friends," put in the duke, with a sad smile. - -"Where should I have been but for you?" continued Yorke Auchester, -ignoring the parenthesis. "You have lugged me out of Queer Street by -the scruff of my neck half a dozen times. Every penny I ever had came -from you, and I've had a mint, a complete mint--and, by the way, Dolph, -I want some more." - -The duke laughed wearily. - -"Take as much as you want, Yorke," he said. "But for you, the money -would grow and grow till it buried and smothered me. I cannot spend it; -you must help me." - -"I will; I always have," said Yorke Auchester, laughing. "It's a pity -you haven't got some expensive fad, Dolph--pictures, or coins, or first -editions, or racing." - -The duke shrugged his shoulders. - -"I have only one fad," he said; "to be strong and straight, and that -not even the Rothbury money can gratify. But I do get some pleasure out -of your expenditure. I fancy you enjoy yourself." - -"I do." - -"Yes? That is well. Some day you will marry----." - -Yorke Auchester's hand dropped from the duke's shoulder. - -"Marry some young girl who loves you for yourself alone." - -"She's not likely to love me for anything else." - -"All the better. Oh, Heaven! What would I not give for such a love as -that?" broke out the duke. - -As the passionate exclamation left his lips the door opened, and Mrs. -Whiting, the landlady, came in. Her face was flushed; she was in a -state of nervous excitement, caused by a mixture of curiosity and fear. - -"I beg your pardon, your grace," she faltered, puffing timorously; "but -did you ring?" - -The duke looked straight at the woman, and then up at Yorke Auchester. - -"No," said Yorke. - -"I beg your grace's pardon," the curious woman began, stammeringly; but -Grey coming behind her seized her by the arm, and, none too gently, -swung her into the passage and closed the door. - -The duke looked down frowningly. - -"They've found you out, Dolph," said Yorke. - -The duke was silent for a moment, then he sighed. - -"Yes, I suppose so; I do not know how. I am sorry. I had hoped to stay -here in peace for a few weeks, at any rate. But I must go now. Better -to be in London where everybody knows me, and has, to an extent, grown -accustomed to me." - -He stopped short, and his face reddened. - -"Yorke," he said, "do you think she knew which of us was the duke?" - -"I don't know," replied Yorke; "I don't think she did." - -"She would naturally think it was you if she didn't know," said the -duke, thoughtfully, his eyes resting on the tall form of his cousin, -who had gone to the window and was looking at the cottage opposite. -"She would never imagine me, the cripple. Don't some of these simple -folk think that a king is always at least six feet and a half, and that -he lives and sleeps in a crown? Yes, you look more like a duke than I -do, Yorke; and I wish to Heaven you were!" - -"Thanks," said Yorke Auchester, not too attentively. "What a pretty -little scrap of a place this is, Dolph, and--ah----." He stopped short. -"By Jove! Dolph, what a lovely girl! Is that the one of whom you were -speaking just now?" - -The duke put the plain muslin curtain aside and looked. - -Leslie had come to the window, and stood, all unconscious of being -watched, with her arms raised above her head, in the act of putting a -lump of sugar between the bars of the parrot's cage. - -The duke gazed at her, at first with an expression of reverent -admiration. - -"Ah, yes, beautiful!" he murmured; then his face hardened and darkened. -"How good, how sweet, how innocent she looks! And yet I'll wager all -I own that she is no better than the rest. That with all her angelic -eyes and sweet childlike lips, she will be ready to barter her beauty, -her youth, her soul, for rank and wealth." He groaned, and clutched -his chair with his long, thin, and, alas! claw-like hands. "I cannot -bear it. Yorke, I meant to conceal my title, and while I staid down -here pretend to be just a poor man, an ordinary commoner, one who would -not tempt any girl to play fast and loose with her soul. I should have -liked to have made a friend of that girl; to have seen her, talked with -her every day, without the perpetual, ever-present dread that she would -try and make me marry her. But it is too late, it seems. This woman -here knows, everybody in the place knows, or will know. It is too late, -unless----." - -He stopped and looked up. - -"Yorke!" - -"Hallo!" said that young fellow, scarcely turning his head. - -"Will you--do you mind--you say you owe me something?" faltered the -duke, eagerly. - -"Why, of course," assented Yorke Auchester, and he came and bent over -him. "What's the matter, Dolph? What is it you want me to do?" - -"Just this," said the duke, laying his hand--it trembled--on the strong -arm; "be the Duke of Rothbury for a time, and let this miserable -cripple sink into the background. You will not refuse? Say it is a -whim; a mere fad. Sick people," he smiled, bitterly, "are entitled to -these whims and fads, you know, and I've not had many. Humor this one; -be the duke, and save me for once from the humiliation which every -young girl inflicts upon me." - -Yorke Auchester's brow darkened, and he bit his lip. - -"Rather a rum idea, old chap, isn't it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh. - -"Call it so if you like," responded the duke, with, if possible, -increased eagerness. "Are you going to refuse me, Yorke? By -Heaven!"--his thin face flushed--"it is the first, the only thing I -have ever asked of you----." - -"Hold on!" interrupted Yorke Auchester, almost sternly. "I did not -say I would refuse; you know that I cannot. You have been the best -friend----." - -The duke raised his hand. - -"I knew you would not. Ring the bell, will you?" His voice, his hand, -as he pointed to the bell, trembled. - -Yorke Auchester strode across the room and rang the bell. - -Grey entered. - -"Grey," said the duke, in a low voice, "how came this woman to know my -name?" - -"It was a mistake, your grace," said Grey, troubled and remorseful. "I -let it slip when I was wiring, and the idiot at the telegraph station -in London must have wired it down to the people on his own account. -But--but, your grace, she doesn't know much after all, for she didn't -know which is the dook, as she calls it, beggin' your pardon, your -grace." - -The duke nodded, clasping his hands impatiently and eagerly. - -"Ring the bell. Stand aside, and say nothing," he said, in a tone of -stern command which he seldom used. - -The landlady, who, like Hamlet, was fat and scant of breath, was heard -panting up the stairs, knocked timidly, and, in response to the duke's -"Come in," entered, and looked from one to the other, in a fearsome, -curious fashion. - -"Did you ring?" - -She would not venture to say "Your grace" this time. - -The duke smiled at her. - -"Yes," he said, gravely but pleasantly. "His Grace the Duke of -Rothbury will stay with me for a few days if you can give him a room, -Mrs.--Mrs.----." - -"Whiting, sir, if you please. Oh, certainly, sir," and she dropped a -courtesy to Yorke Auchester. "Certainly your grace. It's humble and -homely like, but----." - -Grey edged her gently and persuasively out of the room, and when he -had followed her the duke leaned back his chair, and looking up at the -handsome face of his cousin, laughed. - -"It's like a scene in one of the new farces, isn't it, Yorke--I beg -your pardon, Godolphin, Duke of Rothbury?" - -Farce? Yes. But at that moment began the tragedy of Leslie Lisle's life. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -RALPH DUNCOMBE. - - -The "great artist" went on painting, making the sketch more hideously -and idiotically unnatural every minute, and was so absorbed in it that -Leslie could not persuade him to leave it even for his lunch, and he -maundered from the table to the easel with a slice of bread and butter -in his hand, or held between his teeth as if he were a performing dog. - -Leslie had played and sung to him until she was tired, and she cast a -wistful glance from the window toward the blue sky and sunlit sea. - -"Won't you leave it for a little while and come out on the beach, -dear?" she said, coaxingly. - -But Francis Lisle shook his head. - -"No, no. I am just in the vein, Leslie; nothing would induce me to -lose this light. But I wish you would go. It--it fidgets and unsettles -me to have any one in the room who wants to be elsewhere. Go out for -your walk; when you come back you will see what I have made of it; I -flatter myself you will be surprised." - -If she were not it would only be because she had seen so many similar -pictures of his. - -She put on her hat and dainty little Norfolk jacket of Scotch homespun, -and went out with a handkerchief of his she was hemming in her pocket. - -The narrow street was bathed in sunshine; at the open doors some of -the fisher wives were sitting or standing at their eternal knitting, -children were playing noisily in the road-way. The women, one and all, -looked up and smiled as she appeared in the open doorway, and one or -two little mites ran to her with the fearless joyousness which is the -child's indication of love. - -Leslie lifted one tiny girl with blue eyes and clustering curls and -kissed her, patted the bare heads of the rest, and nodded pleasantly to -the mothers. - -"Mayn't we come with 'oo?" asked the mite; but Leslie shook her head. - -"Not this afternoon, Trotty," she said, and ran away from them down the -street which led sheer on to the beach. - -As a rule she allowed the children to accompany her, and play round her -as she sat at work, but this afternoon she wanted to be alone. - -The arrival of the letter which her father had lost had disturbed and -troubled her. - -The man from whom it had come was a certain Ralph Duncombe, and he was -one of the many unfortunates who had fallen in love with her; but, -unlike the rest, he had not been content to take "No" for an answer, -and gone away and got over it, or drowned himself, but had persisted in -hoping and striving. - -She had met him at a sea-side boarding house two years before this, had -been pleasant and kind to him, as she was to everybody, but had meant -nothing more than kindliness, and was surprised and pained when he had -asked her to be his wife, and declined to take a refusal. - -Since that time he had cropped up at intervals, like a tax collector, -and it seemed as if Leslie would never convince him that there was no -hope for him. His persistence distressed her very much, but she did -not know what she could do. He was the sort of man who, having set his -heart upon a thing, would work with a dogged earnestness until he had -got it; and could not be made to understand that women's hearts are not -to be won, like a town, by a siege, however long and stringent it may -be. - -She went down to the breakwater, and sat down in her favorite spot -and got out her handkerchief; and two minutes afterward there was a -patter-patter on the stones behind her, and a small black-and-tan -terrier leaped on her lap with a joyous yap. - -She laughed and hugged him for a moment, then forced him down beside -her. - -"Oh, Dick, what a wicked Dick you are! You've run the needle into my -finger, sir!" she said. "Look there." And she held out a tapering -forefinger with one little red drop on it. - -Dick smiled in dog fashion, and attempted to bite the finger, but to -his surprise and disgust Leslie refused to play. - -"I'm too busy, Dick," she said, gravely. "I want to finish this -handkerchief; besides, it's too hot. Suppose you coil yourself up like -a good little doggie, and go to sleep----. Well, if you must you must, I -suppose!" And she let him snuggle into her lap, where, seeing that she -really meant it, he immediately went to sleep. - -It was a lovely afternoon. There was no one on the beach excepting -herself, and all was silent save for the drowsy yawing of the gulls and -the heavy boom of the tide as it went out, for the sea was very seldom -calm at Portmaris, and in the least windy of days there was generally a -ground-swell on. - -Leslie sat and worked, and thought, thought mostly of Mr. Ralph -Duncombe, her persistent suitor; but once or twice the remembrance of -the deformed cripple who had come to lodge at Marine Villa crossed her -mind, and she was thinking of him pityingly when the sound of footsteps -crunching firmly and uncompromisingly over the pebbles made her start, -and caused the terrier to leap up with the fury of its kind. - -Leslie's brows came together as she looked up. - -A middle-sized young man, with broad shoulders and a rather clumsy but -steady gait, was coming down the beach. He was not a good-looking man. -He had a big head and red hair, a large mouth and a square jaw; his -feet and hands were also large, and there was in his air and manner -something which indicated aggressiveness and obstinacy. - -Sharp men who had seen him as a boy had said, "That chap will get on," -and, unlike most prophets, they had been correct; Ralph Duncombe had -"got on." He had started as an errand boy in a city office, and had -risen step by step until he had become a partner. Rawlings & Co. had -always been well thought of in the city, but Rawlings and Duncombe had -now become respected and eminent. - -His square, resolute face flushed as he saw her, but the hand with -which he took off his hat was as steady as a rock. - -"Good-morning, Miss Lisle," he said, making his voice heard above the -dull roar of the sea and the shrill barking of the terrier. - -Leslie held out one hand while she held the furiously struggling Dick -with the other. - -He took her hand in his huge fist, and dropped heavily on the shingle -beside her. - -"I didn't know you had a dog," he said, glancing at her and then at the -dog, and then at the sea, as a man does who is so much head-over-heels -in love that he cannot bear the glory of his mistress' face all at once. - -"I haven't," said Leslie, laughing in the slow, soft way which her -adorers found so bewitching--and agonizing. "He doesn't really belong -to me, though he pretends that he does. He is the abandoned little -animal of Mrs. Merrick, our landlady; but he will follow me about and -make a nuisance of himself. Be quiet, Dick, or I shall send you home." - -"I'm not surprised," said Ralph Duncombe, with a slight flush, and -still avoiding her eyes. "I can sympathize with Dick." - -Leslie colored, and took up her work, leaving Dick to wander gingerly -round the visitor and smell him inquisitively. - -"You got my letter, Miss Leslie?" - -"No," she said. "I am very sorry; but papa lost it." - -He smiled as if he were not astonished. - -"It doesn't matter," he said. "It only said that I was coming and--here -I am." - -"I--I will go and tell papa; you will come and have some lunch?" - -"No don't get up," he said, quickly putting out his hand to stay her. -"I've had my lunch, and I can go and see Mr. Lisle presently if----," he -paused. "Miss Leslie, I suppose you know why I have come down here?" - -Leslie bent her head over her work. She could guess. Such a man as Mr. -Ralph Duncombe was not likely to come down to such a place as Portmaris -in obedience to a mere whim. - -"I've come down because I said that I would come about this time," -he went on, slowly and firmly, as if he had well rehearsed his -speech--as, indeed, he had. "I'm a man who, when he has set his heart -upon anything, doesn't change or give it up because he doesn't happen -to get it all at once. I've set my heart upon making you my wife, Miss -Leslie----." - -Leslie's face flushed, and she made a motion as if to get up, but sank -back again with a faint sigh of resignation. - -"That's been my keenest wish and desire since I saw you two years ago; -and it's just as keen, no less and no more, as it was the first half -hour I spent in your society." - -"You--you told me this before, Mr. Duncombe," said Leslie, not angrily -nor impatiently, but very softly. - -"I know," he assented. "And you told me that it couldn't be. And I -suppose most men would have been satisfied--or dissatisfied, and given -it up. But I'm not made like that. I shouldn't be where I am and what -I am if I were. I dare say you think I'm obstinate." - -The faintest shadow of a smile played on Leslie's lips. - -"Yes!" she said. "But--but may I not be obstinate, too?" pleadingly. - -"No," he said, gravely. "You are a woman, a girl, little more than a -child, and I'm a man, a man who has fought his way in the world, and -knows what it is; and that makes it different." - -"But----." - -"Wait a minute," he said. "You said 'no' because--well, because I'm not -good-looking, because I haven't the taking way with me which some men -have; in short, because there's nothing about me that would be likely -to take a romantic girl's fancy----." - -Leslie laughed softly. - -"Who told you that I am romantic, Mr. Duncombe?" she said. - -"All girls--young girls who don't know the world--are romantic," he -said, as if he were remarking that the world is round, and that two and -two make four. "You look at the outside of things, and because I'm not -handsome and a--swell--you think you couldn't bring yourself to love -me, and that I'm not worth loving." - -Leslie shook her head. - -"I respect you very much. I like you, Mr. Duncombe," she said, in a low -voice. - -"Very well. That's all I ask," he retorted, promptly. "Be my wife -and I'll change your respect into liking, your liking into love. I'm -satisfied with that. When a man's starving he is thankful for half a -loaf." - -He didn't plead his cause at all badly, and Leslie's gray eyes melted -and grew moist. - -"Don't shake your head," he said. "Just listen to me first. You know -I love you. You can't doubt that. If you did, and you knew what I've -given up to come down here, you wouldn't doubt any longer. And you -wouldn't if you knew what this love of mine costs me. A business man -wants all his wits about him if he means to succeed; he wants all his -thoughts and energies for his business; and for the last two years my -wits and my thoughts have been wandering after you. It's a wonder that -I have succeeded; but I have. Miss Leslie, though I'm plain to look at, -I believe I've got brains. If I can't offer you a title----." - -Leslie smiled; it was so likely that anyone would offer her a title! - -"I can at least make you a rich woman." - -Her face flushed. - -"Mr. Duncombe----." - -"I know what you are going to say. All girls declare that they don't -care for money, and they mean it. But that's nonsense. A beautiful -woman's beautiful whether she's poor or rich, but she's more likely to -be happy with plenty of money. And you shall have plenty. I am a rich -man now, as times go, and I mean to be richer. I've been working these -two years with one object before me. I've made the money solely that I -might become less unworthy to offer myself. Miss Leslie, my heart is -yours already, such as it is. Be my wife, and share my home and fortune -with me!" - -Leslie's lips trembled. - -"Oh, if I could!" she murmured, almost inaudibly. "I am so sorry, so -sorry!" - -He took up a pebble, looked hard at it, and cast it from him. - -"You mean that you can't love me?" he said, rather hoarsely. - -Her silence gave assent. - -He drew a long breath. - -"I expected you to say that, but I thought I should persuade you -to--try and trust yourself to me, and wait for the love to come." He -paused a moment. "Miss Leslie, do you ever think of the future?" - -"Of the future?" She turned her startled eyes on his face, grave almost -to sternness. - -"Yes. Forgive me if I speak plainly. You and your father are alone in -the world." - -"Yes, ah, yes!" dropped from her parted lips. - -"And he--well, even now it is you who are the protector; some -day--Leslie, it makes my heart ache to think of you alone in the world, -alone and poor. I know that the little he has goes with him. Don't -be angry! I am thinking only of you. I cannot help thinking of you -and your future. If you would say 'yes,' if you would promise to be -my wife, not only would your future be secure, but your present, his -present, would be easier, happier; for your father's sake if not for -your own----." - -He stopped, for Leslie had risen, and stood looking down at him, her -lips quivering, her hands clasped tightly. - -"No, no!" she panted; "not even for--for his sake! Oh, I could not! I -could not!" - -He arose. His face was pale, making his red hair more scarlet by -contrast. - -"I understand," he said. "It isn't that you do not love me, but that -you--well, yes, dislike me!" - -"No!" - -"Yes, that's it," he said, his eyes resting for a moment on the lovely -face with the wistful, hungry, half fierce look of a famishing man -denied the crust which might save his life. Then his eyes sank to the -stones. "I see now that I have been a fool to go on hoping, that my -case is hopeless. Don't"--for she had shrunk from his almost savage -tone--"don't be afraid. I am not going to bother you any more. I wish -I could say that I am going to give up loving you; but I can't do -that. Something tells me," he struck his breast, as if he were glad of -something to strike, "that I shall go on loving you till I die! See -here, Les--Miss Lisle. It's evident that I can't be your husband; but -I can be your friend. No,"--for she turned her head away--"no, I don't -mean that I am going to hang about you and pester you. I couldn't. The -sight of you would be torture to me. I hope--yes, I hope I sha'n't see -you for years. But what I want to say is this; that if ever you need a -friend remember that there is one man in the world who would give his -right hand to serve you. Remember that at any time--any time, in one -year, two, or when you are old and gray--that you have only to say -'Come!' to bring me like a faithful dog to your feet. That time will -never come, you think. Very good. But still you may need me. If you -do send to me. I devote my life to you--oh, there's no merit in it. I -can't help it. I'm romantic in a way, you see." He smiled with bitter -self-scorn for his weakness. "You are the one woman in the world to me. -Your case is mine, your friends shall be mine, your foes mine. If you -need a protector send for me; if one wrongs you, and you want revenge, -send to me, and as there is a heaven above us, I will come at your call -to help to avenge you." - -His face was white, his eyes gleaming under their red brows. So -transformed was he by the master passion that if any one of his city -friends had seen him at that moment they would scarcely have recognized -him. - -Ralph Duncombe talking the "rant" of melodrama! Impossible! - -Leslie drew back, her eyes fixed on him in a fascinated kind of gaze, -her bosom heaving. - -He made an evident effort to regain his self-command, and succeeded. -With a long breath he allowed his face to regain its usual hard, -self-possessed expression. - -"I have frightened you," he said, still rather hoarsely, but calmly. -"Forgive me. I told you how I loved you, and you see a man doesn't tear -from his heart the hope that has grown there for two years without -feeling it. I am going now. You can make any excuse to your father, or -you need not tell him you have seen me. Good-by--Leslie! It's the last -time I shall call you so." - -He held out his hand. It was firm as a rock, and gripped hers so -tightly that she winced. - -"I've hurt you," he said; "I, who would lay down my life to save you -a moment's pain." He looked at his hand. "It was my ring. Ah!" he -exclaimed, as if an idea had occurred to him, and he drew the ring from -his finger. "Take this," he said, and he took her hand, opened it, and -placing the ring on her palm, closed her fingers over it gently and -yet firmly, as if he would accept no refusal. "If ever you need a -friend, either for yourself or another, if ever you need to be avenged -on a foe, send this ring to me--it will not be necessary to send a word -with it--and I will come to you. Good-by!" - -He raised her hand toward his lips, then with a sound that was half -sigh, half groan, he let it fall, and without looking round climbed the -beach and was lost to sight. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE NEW DUKE. - - -The expression on Yorke Auchester's face as his cousin introduced him -as his grace, the Duke of Rothbury beggars description. - -He stared at the duke and colored, with a mixture of amazement and -annoyance, which caused the duke to lean back in his chair and laugh; -he did not often laugh. - -"That was neatly done, Yorke," he said. "It isn't often a man is made a -duke so easily." - -"N-o," said Yorke; "but--but it's rather a large order, Dolph," and he -turned to the window with something like a frown on his handsome face. - -"Not at all," said the duke, cheerfully and airily. "You will find it -easy and natural enough after the first half hour. There is very little -difference between the duke and the dustman nowadays; indeed, if the -dustman can only talk and manage to get into Parliament he is often -a greater man than the duke, and he is quite certain to put on more -'side.' Come, Yorke, you are not angry?" - -"No, no!" responded Yorke Auchester; "rather surprised, that's all. My -elevation is somewhat sudden, you see," and he laughed. "The whim seems -to give you pleasure, and it won't hurt me, and it won't last long. You -only want me to take your place while you are down here?" - -"Just so," said the duke. "I'm afraid you couldn't manage it in -London. 'That poor cripple, Rothbury,' is too well known there. -Seriously, my dear Yorke, I am very much obliged to you. You have made -it possible for me to enjoy a few weeks of quiet and repose. These -simple folk won't take any notice, after the first day or two, of a -hunchback who is only a common Mr.--let me see; what shall I call -myself--Brown, Jones, Robinson? No; there are quite enough of those -honored names in the directory already. I'll call myself Temple; there -is a Temple in the family nomenclature. Yes; Mr. Temple. There is no -fear of our little arrangement becoming known. I'm not one of those men -who delight in seeing their coat of arms emblazoned on everything they -wear and use. I don't think there is a coronet to be found anywhere -about me, and Grey is the pink and pattern of discretion. You can -wear the lion's skin--poor lion!--down here at Portmaris in perfect -security. Be a good duke, Yorke. Keep up the honor of the old title." -He laughed again. "At any rate, you will look every inch of one. And -now about that money--a duke must have the means of keeping up his -state, you know. Will you hand me up that dispatch box, or shall I ring -for Grey?" - -Yorke Auchester placed the writing case on the table, and the duke took -out his check book. - -"How much shall it be, Yorke?" he asked, without looking up, and with -a certain shyness, as if it were he who was about to receive the money -instead of giving it. - -Yorke Auchester looked down at him with an expression on his face which -made it nice to look at. - -"You are very good to me, Dolph," he said. "It is only the other day -you sent me----." - -"Sufficient for the day only is the check thereof," cut in the duke, as -if to stop any thanks. "I dare say that is all spent." - -"It is, indeed," assented the young man, candidly. - -The duke laughed easily. - -"Who cares? Not you, who, I dare say, have had your enjoyment out of -it; not I, who have more money than I know what to do with. How much? -Shall we say a thousand, Yorke?" - -Yorke Auchester's face flushed. - -"I should like to say it is too much," he said. "But you wouldn't -believe me if I did, Dolph." - -The duke smiled. - -"I certainly should not. I can guess how quickly money flies when one -is young and strong, blessed with youth's appetite for pleasure." - -He filled in the check in a sharp, pointed hand and gave it to his -cousin. - -"There you are. You must spend some of it down here for the honor of -the name." - -Yorke laughed. - -"All right," he said, "though I don't quite know what I can buy. -Sixpence in periwinkles would go a long way." - -"Yes," said the duke; "that is what I find. Money is a burden and a -nuisance if you don't know how to get rid of it. Suppose you buy half a -crown's worth of winkles and a lobster or two." - -When Grey came in with the lunch he was surprised to find his master in -so bright a humor. - -"You quite understand the arrangement between Lord Auchester and me, -Grey?" said the duke. - -"Yes, your gra--sir." - -The duke smiled. - -"My name is Temple, Grey," he said; "this gentleman is the Duke of -Rothbury. Don't forget that, and don't, by a slip, let the cat out of -the bag. I want to be quiet, and to avoid the worry of being called -upon and stared at while I am down here. You're sure you understand, -Grey?" - -"Quite, sir; oh, quite," said Grey, who was an admirable servant; -and in addition to being, as the duke had said, the pink and pattern -of discretion, had lived long enough with his grace to know him -thoroughly, and to appreciate a good master, who, with all his whims -and fads, was tenderness and liberality personified. - -"Of course you do," said the duke. "You must be as glad of a -little quiet as I can be, and we shall get it down here under this -arrangement. Now, mind, be careful and keep the secret. Have you -brought up my beef tea? Very well, you need not wait." - -Grey wheeled his master to the table, cast a glance of respectful -astonishment at Lord Auchester, which meant, "You and I must humor him, -of course, my lord," and left the room. - -"A nice lunch, isn't it, Yorke?" said the duke, looking round the -table. "I hope you will enjoy it. You are nearly always hungry, aren't -you?" and he sighed as he smiled. - -"Quite always," assented Yorke Auchester. "Chops, soles, and a custard -pudding. Right. Sure you won't have any, Dolph?" - -The duke shook his head. - -"This is as much as I can digest," he said, tapping the basin before -him indifferently. "Now tell me the news, Yorke--your grace." - -Yorke laughed. - -"News? I don't think there's any you don't know." - -"Not London news, I dare say," said the duke; "though I don't know much -of that. I don't go out more often than I am obliged to. I don't dance, -you see," he smiled, "and if I go to the theater I find that I distract -the attention of the audience from what is going on upon the stage. I -suppose they consider me as interesting, as good, if not better than -any play. And as to plays, there aren't many good ones now. The last -time I went was to that burlesque at the Diadem Theater, and everybody -seemed 'gone,' as you call it, on that dancer. What's her name, eh?" - -Yorke Auchester was in the act of disboning his second sole. He stopped -and looked up, paused for a moment with a rather singular expression on -his frank, handsome face. - -"Finetta, do you mean?" he said, slowly. - -"Yes, that's the name, I think," said the duke, stirring his beef tea -as if he hated it; "so called, I suppose, because she has finished so -many good men and true. They tell me that she has completely ruined -poor Charlie Farquhar. Is that so, Yorke?" - -Yorke seemed very much ingrossed in his sole. - -"Oh, Farquhar!" he said. "Yes, he is stone-broke; but I don't know that -Fin--I mean Finetta--has had so much to do with it. Charlie was under -the delusion that he understood horses, and----." - -"I see," said the duke. "Poor lad! I suppose if I offered to help him -he would be quite offended?" - -"I don't know. You might try," said Yorke, dryly. - -"I'll see. But about this same Finetta. She was pretty----." - -Yorke Auchester looked up with a laugh. It was not a particularly merry -one. - -"Only pretty?" - -"Well, yes, to my eyes; but I'm rather particular and hard to please, -I'll admit. Oh, yes, she was pretty, and she danced," he smiled, -"yes, she danced without doubt. The young men in the stalls seemed -infatuated; but I didn't fall down and worship with the rest. Perhaps -I'm old-fashioned, though I'm not much more than your age. Anyhow, a -very little of Mlle. Finetta goes a long way with me. Do you know her, -Yorke?" - -"Oh, everybody knows Finetta," replied Yorke Auchester, carelessly--a -little too carelessly. - -"And some, it seems, like poor Charlie Farquhar, know her not wisely -but too well. Well, I've not been to the theater since, and that's six -weeks ago. Is that chop tender?" - -"First rate; try it." - -"I dare not; but I enjoy seeing you eat it. I've often had thoughts of -having a man with a good appetite that I might have the pleasure of -seeing him eat a square meal while I sit cursing my beef tea and gruel. -The night I went to the Diadem I took Eleanor----." - -Yorke Auchester suspended his fork half way to his mouth, and looked at -his cousin. - -"Oh," he said, and whatever the "Oh" might have been intended to mean -it was singularly dull and inexpressive. - -"Yes, it was her birthday, and she asked me to take her. That was kind -of her, wasn't it?" - -"Was it?" said Yorke, dryly. - -"Well, I think so. You mean that most young girls would like to go to -the theater with the Duke of Rothbury, or for the matter of that any -other duke--unmarried; but that's because they would go with the hope -of repeating the visit some day as his duchess. But Eleanor knows that -I should not marry her; we have come to a plain understanding on the -subject." - -"I see," said Yorke Auchester. "I suppose this is Dartmoor mutton? It's -very good." - -"I dare say," assented the duke, with a smile. "But to return to _my_ -mutton, which is Eleanor. It was her birthday, and I took her to the -theater and gave her a small present; the Rothbury pearls." - -"Some persons would call an elephant small," remarked Yorke, -laconically. - -"Did--did you give her anything, Yorke?" asked the duke, almost shyly, -ignoring the comments. - -Yorke Auchester took a draught of the admirable claret which Grey had -brought down with him, before replying. - -"I?" he said, carelessly. "No. Why should I? What would be the use. She -doesn't expect anything better than a penwiper or a shilling prayer -book from a pauper like me, and she has tin enough to buy a million of -'em if she wants them," and he attacked the custard. - -The duke leaned back in his chair, and looked at the handsome face -of his cousin, with its frank and free, and happily devil-may-care -expression. - -"I've a notion that Eleanor would value anything in the way of a -penwiper or a prayer book you might give her, Yorke," he said. - -"Not she. It's only your fancy." - -"I think not," said the duke. - -He was silent for a moment, then he said, thoughtfully and gravely: - -"At the risk of repeating myself, I will say once more that it is a -pity you are not the Duke of Rothbury, Yorke." - -"Thanks, but a better man's got the berth, you see." - -"And a still greater pity that you can't be the future one. But you -can't, can you, Yorke?" - -"Not while Uncle Eustace and his two boys come before me, and as they -are all as healthy as plowboys, and likely to live to the eighties, -every one of 'em, there doesn't seem much chance, Dolph!" - -"No," said the duke, in a low voice. "It's rather hard on the British -Peerage that the present Duke of Rothbury should be a hunchback and a -cripple, and that the next should be a miser, while the young man who -would adorn the title----." - -"Should be a penniless young scamp," put in Yorke, lightly. - -The duke colored. - -"Well, barring the scamp, that was in my thoughts. Do you ever think of -the future, Yorke?" - -"Never, if I can help it," responded the young fellow, cutting himself -a piece of stilton. - -The duke smiled, but rather gravely. - -"I do, and when I think of it, I wish that I could secure it for you. -But you know that I can't, Yorke. Every penny, or nearly every penny, -goes to Lord Eustace." - -"Don't let it trouble you, Dolph," said Yorke Auchester. "Of course -the money must go to keep up the title. Every fellow understands that. -Heaven knows I've had enough as it is." - -"And so you didn't give Eleanor a birthday present," said the duke, -slowly. "That was--to put it delicately, Yorke--thoughtless of you. -Will you give me that box, the leather one? Thanks." - -He opened the box and took out a small morocco case, and tossed it -across the table. - -"I had an idea you would forget it, and so----." - -"By Jove, that's pretty!" broke in Yorke. - -He had opened the case and revealed a gold bracelet, not set with -diamonds, but of plain though first-rate workmanship. Just the sort of -gift which a rather poor young man could manage. - -"I'm glad you like it. I am sure Eleanor will, especially as it comes -from you." - -Yorke Auchester colored, and he looked for a moment as if he were about -to decline the piece of jewelry; but, checking the words that rose to -his lips, he put the case in his pocket. - -"It's a shame to let her think it came from me, but I'll give it to -her, because----." He paused. - -"Because you are too good-natured to disoblige me," said the duke. - -"She'll think I've been committing burglary." - -"In that case she will value the thing all the more highly," retorted -the duke. He leaned back and rested his head on his hand. - -"Go out and smoke, Yorke," he said presently. - -Yorke Auchester was accustomed to his cousin's peremptory words. They -were just those of a sick man, and had nothing of discourtesy in them. - -"All right," he said. "I'll stroll down to the parade." - -The duke smiled. - -"I expect you will find nothing but a strip of beach," he said. "There -are some cigars in that traveling case." - -But Yorke said he had some cigars, and tossing on his hat made his way -out into the sunshine. - -For the first few minutes, as he went down the village street and along -the narrow quay which stood for parade, his face was unusually grave -and thoughtful. - -We suppose by this time the intelligent reader will have formed some -opinion respecting Yorke Auchester. At any rate we are not going to try -and persuade the reader that the young fellow was an angel. He was no -worse, perhaps a shade better, than most young men of his class. He was -idle, but then he had never been taught to work, though in the way of -sport he would cheerfully undergo any amount of toil, and endure any -amount of hardship. He was thoughtless because he had nothing to think -about, except the ever recurring problem--how best to kill time; he was -extravagant because, never having earned money, he had no idea of its -value. But he would share his last five-pound note with a friend, would -sit up beside that friend all night and many nights, if he happened to -fall sick, and behind his happy-go-lucky manner hid a heart as tender -as a woman's, more tender than most women's, perhaps; and, like the -antique hero, feared neither man nor beast. Children and dogs loved him -at first sight; but, alas! that was perchance because of his handsome -face, his bright smile, and his short, light-hearted laugh, for dogs -and children have an unfair partiality for cheerful and good-looking -people, and too often unwisely judge by appearances. Anyhow, there he -was with all his faults, and so we have got to take him. - -He created quite a little sensation as he sauntered along with his -hands in his Norfolk jacket, his hat a little on one side, his big -L'Arranaga in his mouth; the simple folk of Portmaris had never before -seen anything so splendid. But Yorke did not notice them. He was -thinking; wondering what his cousin, the duke, would say if he knew -how far too well he, Yorke, knew Finetta; wondering whether he hadn't -better cut town and marry Eleanor Dallas and her fifty thousand pounds; -wondering----. - -"Oh, dash it!" he exclaimed at last, as he felt the crisp check in his -pocket. "What's the use of bothering, on such a morning, too!" and -he threw off the "pale cast of thought," and began to sing under his -breath. - -Then he stopped suddenly, for he saw a young girl sitting on the -shingle with her back to the breakwater. - -It was Leslie, sitting as Ralph Duncombe had left her. She held the -ring in her hand, her bosom still heaving, her heart troubled, her eyes -fixed on vacancy. There was a tear trembling on the long black lashes, -and a faint quiver on the parted lips, and Yorke Auchester, as, unseen -by her, he stood and looked at her, saw this. - -Now, one of this young man's foibles was the desire, when he saw people -in distress or trouble, to help them out of it, or, failing to do -that, to at any rate try and cheer them up and console them. - -"That's the pretty girl from over the way," he mused. "Pretty! It's -a lovely face, perfectly lovely. Now, what's the matter with her, -I wonder? She can't be up to her neck in debt, and--and the rest -of it. Got into a scrape, I expect, and somebody--papa or mamma, I -suppose--has been bullying her. I should think whoever they are they -must find it difficult to worry such an angel as that. She's been -crying, or going to cry. Now what an ass of a world this is! If I were -to go down to her, and ask her what was the matter, and try and cheer -her up, and tell her there wasn't anything in the universe worth crying -for, she'd jump up like a young wild-cat, feel herself insulted, scream -for her brother or her father, and there'd be a row. And yet where -would be the harm? I know this, that if I were sitting there down on my -luck, I should like her to come and console me; but that's different, -I suppose. Well, as the man said when his mother-in-law tumbled out of -the second floor window, it's no business of mine." - -But though he made this philosophical reflection, he still stood and -looked at her wistfully, until, afraid that she might turn her head and -see him, he went down the beach and sat down on the other side of the -breakwater. - -Leslie did not hear him, was quite unconscious of his proximity, -did not even notice the perfume of the choice Havana. What was -troubling her was the memory of Ralph Duncombe's passionate words and -melodramatic promise; and the question, what should she do with the -ring? She would have died rather than have put it on her finger; she -didn't like--though she wanted--to pitch it in the sea. So she still -held it in her soft, hot little palm. Happy ring! - -So these two sat. Presently that peculiar desire which assails -everybody who sits on the beach at the sea-side began to assail Yorke. -Why it should be so difficult to refrain from flinging stones into the -sea it is impossible to say; the clever people have found out most -things, or say they have, but this still beats them. - -Yorke, like everybody else, found the desire irresistible. Half -unconsciously he took up a stone and shied it at the end pile of the -breakwater. He missed it, mechanically took another aim, and hit it, -then he absently found a piece of wood--the fragment of some wreck -which had gone down outside in the bay, perhaps--and threw that as far -as he could into the sullen, angry waves, which rolled and showed their -teeth along the sand. - -A minute, perhaps two, afterward, he heard a cry of distress behind -him, and looking round saw Leslie standing and gazing seaward, with a -troubled, anxious look in her gray eyes. - -Yorke was astounded. What on earth had happened? Had she caught sight -of a vessel going down, a boat upset--what? - -She began to run down the beach, her small feet touching the big -bowlders with the lightness and confidence of familiarity, and once -more she cried out in distress. - -Yorke strode after her, and gained her side. - -"What's the matter?" he shouted above the dull sea roar. - -She turned her face to him with a piteous look of entreaty and alarm. - -"Dick! It's Dick!" she said. - -"Dick! Who--which--where?" he demanded, looking in the direction of her -eyes. - -"It's a little dog--there!" she answered, quickly, and pointing. "A -little black and tan, don't you see him? Ah, he is so small!" - -"I see him!" said Yorke. "What's he doing out there? And can't he swim?" - -"Yes, oh, yes, but the tide is going out, and he has got too far, and -the current is dreadfully strong. Oh, poor, poor Dick! He went out -after a piece of wood or something that some one threw." - -Yorke flushed. He felt as guilty and uncomfortable as if he had been -detected in an act of killing a human being. - -"See, he cannot make any way! Oh, poor little Dick! I am--so--sorry. -I am so fond of him, and he is such a nice----." She stopped and turned -her head away as if she could not go on, and could look no longer. - -"I threw the piece of wood," said Yorke. "I didn't see the dog; he's so -small--oh, for goodness sake, don't cry! It's all right." - -He got out of his coat with the cool quickness of a man who is used to -emergencies in the sporting way, and running across the sand, sprang -into the sea, and struck out. - -Leslie was too astonished for a moment to realize what he had done, -then she raised her voice with a warning cry. - -"The current!" she called to him. "The current. Oh, come back, please -come back!" - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -APPRECIATED GENIUS. - - -Yorke soon found himself out of his depth, and almost as quickly -discovered what the young lady meant by shouting, "The current!" But he -was a good swimmer--there was scarcely anything Yorke Auchester could -not do, except earn his living--and, though he found his boots and -clothes very much in the way, he got through the waves at a fair pace, -and reached the black and tan. - -Saving a fellow creature is hard work enough, but it is almost as bad -to rescue a dog, even so small a one as Dick, from a watery grave. - -When Yorke had succeeded in getting hold of him with one hand Dick -commenced to scratch and claw, no doubt under the impression that the -great big man had come to hasten his death rather than prevent it, -and Yorke was compelled to swim on his back, and hold the clawing, -struggling little terrier pressed hard against his chest. - -It was hard work getting back, but he found himself touching the sand -at last, and scrambling to his feet waded through what remained of the -water, and set Dick upon his four legs at Leslie's feet. - -Of course the little imp, after shaking the water off his diminutive -carcase, barked furiously at his preserver. - -Now the handsomest man--and, for that matter, the prettiest woman -also--is not improved in appearance by a bath; that is, before he has -dried himself and brushed his hair. - -The salt water was running off Yorke's tall figure at all points; -his short hair was stuck to his forehead; his mustache drooped, his -eyes were blinking, and his clothes adhered to him as if they loved -him better than a brother. He didn't look in the least heroic, but -extremely comical, and Leslie's first impulse was to laugh. - -But the laugh did not--indeed, would not--come, and she picked up -the damp Dick and hugged him, and looked over his still snarling -countenance at his preserver with a sudden shyness in her eyes and a -heightened color in her face. - -She looked so supremely lovely as she stood thus that Yorke forgot -his sensation of stickiness, and gazed at her with a sudden thrill -agitating his heart. - -Leslie found her voice at last, but there only came softly, slowly, the -commonplace-- - -"Thank you." - -It sounded so terribly commonplace and insufficient that she made an -effort and added: - -"It was very kind of you to take so much trouble. How wet you must be! -You must not stand about." - -Yorke smiled, and knocked the hair from his forehead and wrung his -shirt sleeves. - -"It's all right," he said. "It was my fault. If I hadn't chucked the -piece of wood he wouldn't have gone in. He hasn't come to any harm -apparently." - -"Oh, no, no. He's all right," said Leslie. "He can swim very well when -the tide is coming in, but when it is going out it is too strong for -him, and--he would have been drowned if you had not gone after him," -and her eyes dropped. - -"Poor little chap," said Yorke, putting on his coat. "That would never -have done, would it, doggie?" - -"It is a very dangerous place for bathing," said Leslie. "The current -is very strong, and that is why I called out." - -"Yes thanks," he said, to spare her the embarrassment of explaining -that sudden frightened cry of hers. "I could feel that. But I have to -thank Dick for an enjoyable bath, all the same. I suppose he will never -forgive me; the person whose life you save never does." - -He sat down on the breakwater and began to empty his pockets. There -were several papers--bills--reduced to semi-pulp; Yorke did not sorrow -over them. His watch had stopped; his cigars and cigar case were -irretrievably ruined. He held them up with a laugh, and laid them on -top of the breakwater in the sun; then suddenly his happy-go-lucky -expression grew rather grave as he took up an envelope and looked at it. - -"By George!" he said. "All the rest doesn't matter, but this doesn't -belong to me." - -Leslie stood and looked down at him anxiously. She was thinking of -colds and rheumatism, while the young fellow sat so perfectly contented -in his wet clothes. - -"Don't you think--had you not better go home and change your things as -quickly as possible?" she said, forgetting her shyness in her anxiety. - -He looked up from the envelope. - -"Why, I shall be dry in ten minutes," he said, carelessly, "and I -sha'n't take any harm if I'm not. I never caught cold in my life; -besides, salt water never hurts." - -Leslie shook her head gravely. - -"I don't believe that; it's a fallacy," she said. "Some of the old -fishermen here suffer terribly from rheumatism." - -"That's because they're old, you see," he said, smiling up at her. "And -if you think it's so dangerous hadn't you better put Master Dick down? -He is making you awfully wet." - -She shook her head, and held Dick all the more tightly. - -"I am so glad to get him back," she said, half to herself, "that I -don't mind his making me a little damp; but I do wish you would go." - -He did not seem to hear her, but after another glance at the letter, -said: - -"I picked this up just over there," and he nodded in the direction of -the cliffs, "and I should like to find its owner; though I expect she -won't thank me much when she sees its condition. Have you been here -long? Do you know the people here pretty well?" - -"We have been here some months," said Leslie, "and--yes, I think I know -them all." - -"Now, who does she mean by 'we?' Her husband?" Yorke asked himself, -and an uncomfortable little pain shot through him. "No!" he assured -himself; "she can't be married; too young and--too happy looking! -Well, then, perhaps you know a young lady by the name of Lisle--Leslie -Lisle," he said. - -Leslie smiled. - -"That is my name; it is I," she replied. - -"By George!" he exclaimed. "Then this is your property!" and he held -out the letter. - -Leslie took it, and as she looked at the address flushed hotly. It was -Ralph Duncombe's missing letter. - -Yorke noticed the flush, and he looked aside. - -"My father dropped it," she said, with an embarrassment which, slight -as it was, did not escape him. "Thank you." - -"I'm sorry that I didn't put it in my coat pocket instead of my -waistcoat," he said. "But I knew if I did that I should forget it -perhaps for weeks. I always forget letters that fellows ask me to post. -So I put it in with my watch, that I might come across it when I looked -at the time, and so it's got wet; but as it was opened you have read -it, so that I hope it doesn't matter so much." - -"No, I haven't read it. Papa always opens my letters--he doesn't notice -the difference. It does not matter in the least; I know what was in -it, thank you," she said, hurriedly. - -"I wish some one would always open and read my letters, and answer -them, too," said Yorke, devoutly, as he thought of the great pile of -bills which awaited him every morning at breakfast. "Are you staying--I -mean lodging, visiting here, Miss Lisle?" he asked, for the sake of -saying something that would keep her by his side for at least a few -minutes longer. - -"Yes," said Leslie. "We are staying in 'The Street,' as it is called at -Sea View." - -Yorke was just about to remark, "I know," but checked himself, and said -instead: - -"It is a very pretty place, isn't it?" - -"Very," assented Leslie; "and quiet. There is no prettier place on the -coast than Portmaris." - -"So I should think," he said, looking round, then returning to the -beautiful face. "I am a stranger, and only arrived an hour or two ago." -He looked down, trying to think of something else to say, anything that -would keep her; but could think of nothing. - -Leslie stood for a moment, silent, too, then she said: - -"Will you not go and change your things now? Dick would be very sorry -if you were to catch cold on his account." - -It was on the tip of Yorke's tongue to ask, "Only Dick?" but once -more he checked himself. The retort would have come naturally enough -if he had been addressing a London belle; but there was something -in the beautiful gray eyes, an indescribable expression of maidenly -dignity and reserve, which, sweet as it was, warned him that such -conversational small change would not be acceptable to Miss Lisle, so -instead he said, with a smile: - -"Oh, Dick won't mind. Besides, he knows I am almost as dry as he is by -this time." - -Leslie shook her head as if in contradiction of his assertion, and with -Dick still pressed to her bosom, said: - -"Good-morning, and--and thank you very much," she added, with a faint -color coming into her face. - -Yorke arose, raised his hat, and watched her graceful figure as it -lightly stepped up the beach to the quay; then he collected his various -soaked articles from the breakwater, and followed at a respectful -distance. - -"Leslie Lisle," he murmured to himself. "The name's music, and she----." - -Apparently he could not hit upon any set of terms which would describe -her even to his own mind, and, pressing the water from his trousers, he -climbed the beach, still looking at her. - -As he did so he saw a tall, thin gentleman coming toward her. He held a -canvas in his hands, gingerly, as if it were wet, and was followed by -a small boy carrying a portable easel and other artistic impedimenta, -and, as Leslie spoke to the artist and took the easel from the boy, -Yorke muttered: - -"Her father! Now, if I go up to them she'll feel it incumbent upon her -to tell him of my 'heroic act,' and he'll be bored to death trying to -find something suitable to say; and she'll be embarrassed and upset, -and hate the sight of me. She looks like a girl who can't endure a -fuss. No, I'll go round the other way--if there is another way, as the -cookery books say." - -He looked round, and was on the point of diving into a narrow street -opposite him when an invalid chair came round the corner, driven by -Grey, and the occupant, whose eyes were as sharp as his body was frail -and crooked, caught sight of the stalwart figure, and held up a hand -beckoningly. - -Yorke looked very much as if he meant making a run for it; then, with a -muttered, "Oh, confound it!" he stuck his hands in his pockets, tried -to look as if nothing had happened, and sauntered with a careless, -leisurely air up the quay. - -By this time Francis Lisle had stuck up his easel right in the center -of the narrow pavement, and arranged his canvas, and Grey was in the -act of dragging the invalid chair round it, when Leslie, bending down, -said, in a whisper: - -"Papa, I must move the easel; they cannot pass." - -"Eh?" said Francis Lisle, looking round nervously. "I beg your pardon, -I will move; yes, I will move." - -"Do not, please," said the duke, his thin voice softening as it always -did in the presence of a lady. "There is plenty of room. You can go -round, Grey?" - -"Yes, your--yes, sir," said Grey. - -His master shot a warning glance at him. - -"There is not room," said Leslie, in a low voice, but the duke held up -his hand. - -"Please do not trouble," he said; "I am not going any further. I -only want to speak to this gentleman coming along. I beg you will -not trouble to move the easel. Artists must not be disturbed, or -the inspiration may desert them," he added to Francis Lisle, with a -pleasant smile. - -"Thank you, thank you," said Lisle, still clutching the easel; but Grey -had turned the chair with its front to the sea, and the duke called to -Yorke, who had come upon them at this juncture. - -"What a pretty place, Yorke!" he said. "Have you had your stroll? Shall -we go back?" - -Yorke had discreetly kept behind the chair, and out of sight of his -cousin's sharp eyes. - -"All right," he assented. - -"Will you give me a cigar?" said the duke. - -Yorke came up to the chair and put his hand in his pocket, and -thoughtlessly extended the cigar case. - -"Thanks. Good gracious! Why, it is soaking wet! Hallo, Yorke," and the -duke screwed his head round. "Why, where have you been? What have you -been doing?" - -Yorke flushed, and cast an appealing glance at Leslie's downcast face. -To be made the center of an astonished and absurdly admiring group, -to be made a cheap twopenny-halfpenny hero of, was more than he could -stand. - -"Oh it's nothing," he growled. "Had an accident--tumbled into the sea." - -"An accident!" exclaimed the duke, staring at him. "Tumbled in the -sea! How did you manage that, in the name of goodness?" - -Yorke got red, and looked very much like an impatient schoolboy caught -playing truant or breaking windows. - -"What's it matter!" he said. "Fell off breakwater. Go and get the -cigars, Grey; I'll look after his----." - -The duke cut in quickly before the word "grace." - -"Nothing of the sort," he said. "You get home and change your things. -Fell off the breakwater!" He stared at him incredulously. - -Mr. Lisle, too, gazed at him with blank astonishment, as if he -were surprised to find that it was a man and not a little boy in -knickerbockers, who might not unnaturally be expected to tumble off the -breakwater. - -Leslie meanwhile stood with downcast eyes, then suddenly she said, -addressing her father and carefully avoiding the other two: - -"This gentleman swam in to save Dick, papa; that is why he is wet." - -The duke scanned her face keenly, and smiled curiously. - -"That sounds more probable than your account, Yorke. It is a strange -thing," he turned his head to Lisle, "that a man is more often ashamed -of committing a good or generous action than a bad one. How do you -account for it?" - -Mr. Lisle looked at him helplessly, as if he had been asked a conundrum -which no one could be expected to answer. - -"Because there is always such a thundering fuss about it," said Yorke, -stalking off. - -The duke looked after him for a minute or two, apparently lost in -thought, then he turned to Lisle again. - -"You are an artist, sir?" he said. - -Mr. Lisle flushed. - -"I am, at least, an humble worshiper at the throne," he replied, in the -low, nervous voice with which he always addressed strangers, and he -resumed his painting. - -The duke signed to Grey to help him to get out of the chair, which was -so placed that he could not see the canvas. - -Grey came round, and in opening the apron let the duke's stick fall. -Leslie hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and picked it up. The -duke took it from her with a faint flush on his pale, hollow cheeks. - -"Thank you," he said. "I am afraid I could not get on without it. At -one time I could not walk even with its aid. Please don't say you -are sorry or pity me," he added, with an air of levity that barely -concealed his sensitive dread of any expression of sympathy. "Everybody -says that, you know." - -"I was not going to say so," said Leslie, looking him full in the face, -and with a sweet, gentle smile. - -He looked at her with his unnaturally keen eyes. - -"No," he said, quietly. "I don't think you were. And this is the -picture----." He stopped as he looked at the awful monstrosity, then -caught Leslie's eyes gazing at him with anxious, pleading deprecation, -and went on, "Singular effect. You have taken great pains with your -subject, Mr. ----." - -"Lisle--my name is Lisle," he said, hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I have not -spared pains! I have put my heart into my work." - -"That is quite evident," said the duke, with perfect gravity, and still -regarding the picture. "And that which a man puts his heart in will -reward him some day; does, indeed, reward him even while he works." - -"True, true!" assented the dreamer, with a gratified glance at the -speaker and at Leslie, who stood with downcast eyes, to which the brows -were dangerously near. "It is with that hope, that heart, that we -artists continue to labor in face of difficulties which to the careless -and irreverent seem insurmountable. You think the picture a--a good -one, sir; that it is promising?" - -The duke was floored for a moment, then he said: - -"I think it evidences the painter's love for his art, and his complete -devotion to it, Mr. Lisle." - -The poor dreamer's face had fallen during the pause, but it brightened -at the diplomatic response when it did come, and Leslie, casting a -grateful glance at the pale face of the cripple, murmured in his ear: - -"Thank you!" - -The duke looked at her with a glow of sympathy in his eyes. - -"This is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Lisle?" he said. - -Lisle nodded. - -"Yes," he said. "My only child. All that is left me in the -world--excepting my art. You are not an artist also, sir? Pardon me, -but your criticism showed such discrimination and appreciation that I -was led to conclude you might be a fellow-student." - -The duke hesitated a moment. - -"No," he said, quietly. "I am not an artist, though I am fond of a good -picture----," poor Lisle gazed at the daub, and nodded with a gratified -smile. "I am what is called--I was going to say a gentleman at ease, -but I am very seldom at ease. My name is Temple, and I am traveling for -the benefit of my health." - -Lisle nodded again. - -"You will find this an extremely salubrious spot," he said. "My -daughter and I are very well here." - -The duke glanced at Leslie's tall, graceful figure, and smiled grimly. - -"But then she is not a cripple," he said. - -"A cripple!" Mr. Lisle looked startled and bewildered. "Oh, no; oh, no." - -The duke smiled, and leaning upon his stick, seemed to be watching -the painter at his work, but his eyes wandered now and again covertly -to the beautiful girl beside him. He noticed that her dress, though -admirably fitting, was by no means new or of costly material, that her -gloves were well worn and carefully mended in places, that her father, -if not shabby, had that peculiar look about his clothes which tells so -plainly of narrow means; and when Leslie, becoming conscious of his -wandering glance, moved away and stood at a little distance on the -edge of the quay, the duke said: - -"Have you disposed of your picture, Mr. Lisle?" - -Francis Lisle started and flushed. - -"N-o," he replied. "That is, not yet." - -"I am glad of that," said the duke. "I should like to become its -purchaser, if you are disposed to sell it." - -Lisle's breath came fast. He had never sold a "picture" in his life, -had long and ardently looked forward to doing so, and--and, oh! had the -time arrived? - -"Certainly, certainly," he said, nervously, and his brush shook. "You -like it so much? But perhaps you would like some others of mine better. -I--I have several at the cottage. Will you come and look at them?" - -"With pleasure," said the duke. "Meanwhile, what shall I give you for -this?" - -Lisle gazed at the picture with pitiable agitation; he was in mortal -terror lest he should scare his customer away by asking too much. - -"Really," he faltered, "I--I don't know its value, I have never----," he -laughed. "What should you think it was worth?" - -The duke ought, if he had answered truthfully, to have replied, "Rather -less than nothing," but he feigned to meditate severely, then said: - -"If fifty pounds----." - -Poor Lisle gasped. - -"You--you think--I was going to say twenty." - -"We will say fifty," said the duke, as if he were making an excellent -bargain. "You have not finished it yet." - -"No, no," assented Lisle, eagerly. "I will do so carefully, most -carefully. It--it shall be the most finished picture I have ever -painted." - -"I am sure you will do your best," said the duke. "I will accept your -kind invitation to see your other pictures, and now I must be getting -back. Good-morning." - -"Yes, yes! Good-morning! What did you say your name was?" - -"Temple," said the duke. - -He glanced at Leslie, raised his hat, was helped into his chair by -Grey, who had stood immovable and impassive just out of hearing, and -was wheeled away. - -Lisle stood all of a quiver for a moment, then beckoned to Leslie. - -"What is it, dear," she said, soothingly, as she saw his agitation. Had -the crippled stranger told him what the sketch was really like? - -"That--that gentleman has bought the picture, Leslie!" he exclaimed, -in a tone of nervous excitement and triumph. "You see! I told you -the day would come, and it has come. At last! Luck has taken a turn, -Leslie! I see a great future before me. I only wanted some one with -an appreciative, artistic eye, and this Mr.--Mr. Temple is evidently -possessed of one. He saw the value of this at once. I noticed his face -change directly he looked at it." - -Leslie's face gradually grew red. - -"What--what has he given you for it, dear?" she asked. - -"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Lisle, exultingly. "Fifty pounds! It may -not be as much as it is worth; but it is a large sum to us, and I am -satisfied, more than satisfied! I wonder what he will do with it? Do -you think he will let me exhibit it? I will ask him--not just now, but -when it is finished. I must finish it at once! Where is my olive green? -I have left it at home. Bring it for me, Leslie; it is on the side -table." - -She went without a word. At the corner of the street she overtook the -invalid chair, hesitated a moment, walked on, and then came back. - -The duke peered up at her from under his brows. - -"I want to speak to you," she said, her breath coming and going quickly. - -He motioned to Grey to withdraw out of hearing, and struggling to keep -her voice steady, Leslie went on: - -"I want to thank you--but, oh, why did you do it? I know--you know that -it--it is not worth it--why?" - -The duke smiled. - -"Do not distress yourself, Miss Lisle," he said, gently. "You refer to -my purchase of your father's picture?" - -"Yes!" she said, in a troubled voice. "It was kind of you, and it has -given him, oh! you cannot tell what pleasure." - -"Yes, I think I can. It is not the money." - -"No." - -"Just so. I understand. And don't you understand that I have bought -something more than the sketch? Miss Lisle, I'm not the richest man in -England,"--he was just within the truth--"but I can afford the luxury -of bestowing pleasure on my fellow creatures now and again. Please -don't begrudge or deny me that! I have not too many pleasures," and he -glanced downward at his stunted figure. "Of the two, I fancy I am more -pleased than your father. Don't say any more, and please don't look so -heartbroken, or you will rob me of more than half my satisfaction. Miss -Lisle, forgive me, but I think you love your father?" - -"Yes; oh, yes!" she breathed. - -"Very well, then," he said. "Be careful you do not let him see that you -think he has got too good a price for his picture. Let him be happy; -happiness comes too seldom for us to turn it aside with a cold welcome." - -Leslie looked down at the worn and lined face with eyes that glowed -with gratitude. - -"I--I can't thank you, Mr. Temple!" she said, in a low voice, that -thrilled like some exquisite music. "You have made me happy, and--ah, I -can't tell you what I feel!" and she trembled and turned up the street. - -The duke looked after her with a wistful expression on his pale face. - -"She is an angel!" he murmured. - -Then his face changed, grew harder and cynical. - -"Yes, an angel at present," he said. "But tell her that I am the Duke -of Rothbury, and she will become transformed into a harpy, and want to -marry me, like the rest. Grey, where are you! Have you gone to sleep? -Are you going to keep me here all day?" - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -TAKING A SAIL. - - -The moon rose early that evening and flooded Portmaris with a light -that transformed it, already picturesque enough, into a fairy village -beside an enchanted ocean. Leslie sat at the open window of her room, -her head resting on her hand, her eyes fixed on the sea, now calmly -rippling as if it were rocking itself to sleep in the moonbeams. - -Her father had gone to bed, early as it was, worn out with his long -day's work and the excitement produced by the sale of his picture, and -Leslie was free to recall the events of the day. - -Her life hitherto had been so gray and sober, so uneventful, that the -incidents which had been crowded into this day had almost bewildered -her. - -She ought, in common fairness to that individual, have thought first -and most of Ralph Duncombe; but it was upon that other young man who -had plunged into the waves to reach Dick that her mind was fixed. - -Beauty, man's beauty, doesn't count much with women; indeed, it has -been remarked by the observant that some of the ugliest men have -married the prettiest girls, and it was not Yorke's handsome face -which had impressed Leslie. It would be hard to say exactly what it -was in him that had done so; perhaps it was the frank smile, the free -and musical laugh, that devil-may-care air of his, or the pleasant -voice which seemed to float in through the window upon the moonbeams, -and find an echo in Leslie's heart. Once or twice she tried to cast -him out of her mind. There seemed to her something almost approaching -unmaidenliness in dwelling so much upon this stranger; the young man -whom she had seen for only a few minutes, and whom she might never -see again. Why, she did not even know his name, or at any rate only -a part of it. "Yorke," Mr. Temple had called him, and she murmured -it absently. "Yorke." It seemed to her to fit him exactly. It had a -brave, alert sound in it. She could fancy him ready for any danger, -any emergency. He had plunged into the waves after Dick, as if it were -quite a matter of course that he should do so, had done it as naturally -as if there were no other course open to him. She could see him now, as -he came out, with Dick in his arms, his hair plastered on his face, his -eyes bright and laughing. - -And how anxious he had been to avoid any thanks or fuss! It was wicked -of him, of course, to tell a story and account for his besoaked -condition by stating that he had fallen off the breakwater--Leslie -smiled as she thought of the thinness of the excuse--but she understood -why he had fibbed, and--forgave him. - -"Don't you like this Mr. Yorke, Dick?" she said to Dick, who lay in a -contented coil on her lap. "You ought to do so, for if it had not been -for him you would be at the bottom of the sea, little doggie, by this -time." - -Probably Dick would have liked to have retorted, "And if it hadn't been -for him I shouldn't have gone in at all." - -Then her thoughts wandered to the crippled hunchback, and her heart -thrilled with gratitude as she thought of his kindness; Mrs. Whiting -had said that he was a nobleman, but there had evidently been a -mistake; very likely the simple-minded landlady had concluded that no -one traveling with a man-servant could be less than a man of title. - -Leslie thought of the two men--but most of "Yorke"--and all they had -said and done for some time before Ralph Duncombe insisted upon his -share in her reflections, and as she thought of him she sighed. She -pitied him, and was sorry for him, but she did not want to see him -again. He had frightened as well as touched her by the passionate -avowal which had accompanied the ring. - -The ring! She had utterly forgotten it! She put her hand to her pocket, -turned it out, but the ring was not there. What had she done with it? -It was fast closed in her hand, she remembered, when she heard Dick's -piteous yap; and then she had sprung up, and run down the beach. She -must have dropped it among the pebbles. - -Her heart smote her reproachfully. The least she could do in return for -the passionate love Ralph Duncombe had lavished so uselessly upon her -was to keep his ring! She rose, troubled and remorseful. The tide had -been going out when she dropped it; it was not likely that it would be -seen by any one, and it was probably lying where it had fallen. She -seemed to see the plain gold circlet lying there in the silent night, -neglected and despised. - -Her hat and jacket lay on the bed; she snatched them up, put them on -hastily, and left the house. - -A light burned behind the windows of Marine Villa opposite, and she -glanced up at it, trying to picture to herself the two men in the -sitting-room; the one so strong and stalwart, the other so weak and -crippled. - -As she went quickly down the street she was conscious of a new and -strange feeling; it was half pleasant, half painful. It seemed to her -as if some spirit of change had entered her quiet, peaceful, uneventful -life, as if she were on the verge of some novel experience. The feeling -disquieted her. She looked up at the stars almost hidden by the haze -of the glorious light thrown broadcast by the moon, and there came -into her mind some verses--they were from the Persian, though she did -not know it--which she had seen under a picture in one of the Academy -exhibitions-- - - "Love is abroad to-night; his wings - Beat softly at Heaven's gate!" - -Murmuring the musical lines, she passed to the quay, and leaping -lightly onto the beach, made her way to the breakwater. - -At nine o'clock Portmaris, as a rule, goes to bed. - -No one was stirring; the street, the quay, were empty. The tide was -far out now, and the sands lay a golden beat between sea and beach, -unbroken save where at the very margin of the lapping wavelets a boat -lay at anchor. - -Not even a greater enthusiast than Francis Lisle could have desired a -more delicious picture than she made flitting slowly yet lightly over -the beach, her graceful figure casting a long shadow behind her. "Night -is youth's season," says the poet, and Leslie's heart was beating -to-night with a strange pulsation. - -She reached the spot where she had sat with Ralph Duncombe's ring in -her hand, and going down on one knee searched carefully. The bright -light revealed every pebble, and, convinced at last that it was not -there, but that she must have held it until she had run some way down -the sands, before she dropped it, she rose from her knees with a sigh, -and was going back when she saw a man's form lying full length on the -top of the breakwater. - -It was a young fisherman apparently, for he was clad in the -tight-fitting blue jersey and long sea boots, and wore the red woolen -cap common to men and boys in Portmaris. He was stretched out full -length with his head resting on his arms, his face upturned, perfectly -still and motionless. - -It occurred to Leslie that he might have picked up the ring, and, well -aware that his class was as honest as the day she went up to him, -saying: - -"Have you found a ring on the beach, just here?" - -The man did not answer nor move, and when she got quite up to him she -saw that he was asleep. - -She saw, too, something else; that it was not a Portmaris fisherman, -but the young man whom Mr. Temple had called "Yorke." - -With a sudden rush of crimson to her face she was about to beat a -retreat when Yorke started slightly, opened his eyes, and stared up at -her. - -The next instant he was off the breakwater and on his feet. - -"By George!" he exclaimed, with a bated breath. "It is you, Miss -Lisle!" - -"Yes, it is I," said Leslie as calmly and composedly as she could, and -from the effort for composure her voice sounded rather cold. - -"I beg your pardon. Of course it is. But----," he hesitated a moment. -"Well, the fact is, I was dreaming about you----." He stopped, as if he -were afraid he had given offense. - -But Leslie smiled. - -"It must have been an uncomfortable dream," she said, glancing at the -breakwater. - -"No," he said. "I was never more comfortable in my life. I'm more used -to roughing it than you'd think. I suppose it was the beauty of the -night that tempted you as it tempted me?" he went on, with his frank -eyes on her face. - -Leslie looked down. She could not ask him the question she had put to -the supposed fisherman--if he had found her ring, of course, he would -give it to her. - -"Yes," she said. - -"I told Dolph it was too good to sit indoors," he went on. "That's my -cousin, the man you saw to-day, you know." - -"Mr. Temple?" said Leslie. - -"Mr.--yes, Mr. Temple," he assented, after a moment's hesitation. "And -I tried to lure him out; but he doesn't care about stirring after -dinner, poor old chap----," he broke off with a laugh. "You are looking -at my get-up?" he said. - -Leslie smiled. - -"I suppose you took me for one of the marine monsters who abound here. -Fact is, I found my things wetter than I supposed----." - -"I knew you would!" said Leslie, with an air of gentle triumph. - -"Yes, and as I hadn't a change with me I borrowed a suit from the -landlady's boy; a 'boy' about six feet high. I fancy I rather upset my -cousin's man sitting down to dinner in 'em; but they're astonishingly -comfortable. I'm half inclined to take to them as a regular thing. -After all, one might be worse than a fisherman, Miss Lisle." - -"Very much," said Leslie, with a smile. - -"Oh, you're surely not going!" he said, as she half turned toward the -quay. "It's far better out here than indoors; and it's early, too. -Won't you walk across the sand to the edge of the sea? It's quite dry." - -He moved in that direction as he spoke, and Leslie, with a twinge of -conscience, moved also. - -"It's a pity all life can't be a moonlight night," he said, after a -pause, and with a faint sigh. "By George, it would be grand on the -water to-night. There's just enough wind to keep a boat going--and -there's a boat!" he exclaimed, pointing to the boat lying at anchor at -the edge of the water as if he had made a discovery which was to render -this weary world happy for evermore. "What do you say to going for a -little sail, Miss Lisle?" - -He put the question very much as one truant from school might put it to -another, only a little more timorously. - -"It would be splendid, a thing to be remembered. Oh, don't say no! I've -set my heart upon it----." - -"Why should you not go?" said Leslie, trying to smile, and to keep from -her eyes the wistful longing which his audacious suggestion had aroused. - -"By myself!" he said, reproachfully, and with a kind of high-minded -wonder. "I wouldn't be so selfish. Come, Miss Lisle--I--I mean we--may -never have another chance like this. You don't get such nights as this -in England often. And you need not be nervous. I can manage a boat in -half a gale. But never mind if you think you wouldn't be safe." - -This may have been a stroke of artfulness or pure ingenuousness; it -settled the matter. - -"I have never been afraid in my life--that I remember," said Leslie, -conscientiously. - -"Then that settles it!" he said, in that tone of free joyousness which -appeals to a woman more than any tone a man can use. "Here we are--and -by Jove, here's a real sea-monster asleep in the boat. Hallo, there!" -he called out to an old man who lay curled up in the bottom of the boat. - -Leslie laughed softly. - -"It is of no use calling to him," she said. "He is stone deaf. It is -old Will, and he is waiting for the turn of the tide." - -"Like a good many more of us," said Yorke, cheerfully, and he was about -to shake the man, but Leslie put her hand on his arm and stayed him. - -"I--I think I had better wake him," she said. "He is old, and not very -good-tempered, and----." - -"I see. All right," said Yorke. "I'll keep here in the background. If -he refuses to go tell him we'll take his boat and do without him." - -Leslie bent over the gunwale, and touched the old man gently. He -stirred after a moment or two, and got up on his elbow, frowning at her. - -Leslie indicated by expressive pantomime that they wanted to go for -a sail, and, after glancing at the sky and at Yorke, the old fellow -nodded surlily, and got out of the boat. - -Yorke helped him to push the boat into the water. - -"And now how are you going to get in?" he said to Leslie, but before -she could answer the question old Will took her in his arms and carried -her bodily into the boat. - -Leslie smiled. - -"He is a very self-willed old man, and no one in Portmaris interferes -with or contradicts him, perhaps because he is deaf." - -"I see," said Yorke. "I never realized until to-night the great -advantages of that affliction." - -He went forward as he spoke to assist with the sail, but the old man -surlily waved him back into the stern. - -"All right, William, I'll steer then," he said; but he had no sooner -got hold of the tiller than Will angrily signed to him to release it, -and pointed to Leslie. - -"I think he wants me to steer," she said, with a faint blush. "I am -often out sailing with him." - -"He evidently regards me as a land lubber, whatever that is," said -Yorke. "But, right! the password for to-night is, 'Don't cross old -William!'" - -He dropped down at her feet and leaned his head upon his hand, and -sighed with supreme, unbounded content, and there was silence for a -few minutes as the boat glided out to sea; then he said: - -"Do you think old William would fly into a paroxysm of rage if I -offered him a pipe of tobacco, Miss Lisle?" - -"You might try," said Leslie, and the tone of her voice was like an -echo of his. The two truants were enjoying themselves, and had no -thought of the schoolmaster--just then. - -Yorke took out his pouch, and flung it with dextrous aim into the old -man's lap. He took it up, glowered at the donor for a moment, then -nodded surlily, and, filling his pipe, pitched the pouch back. - -"We still live!" said Yorke, and he was about to fill his own pipe, but -remembered himself and stopped. - -"Please smoke if you wish to," said Leslie, "I do not mind. We must not -go far," she added. - -"Not farther than Quebec or, say, Boulogne," said Yorke. "All right, -Miss Lisle, we'll turn directly you say so. How delightful this is! I -may have been happier in the course of an ill-spent life, but I don't -remember it. Are you sorry you came? Please answer truthfully, and -don't mind my feelings." - -But Leslie did not answer. The strange feeling which had haunted her -as she left the house was growing more distinct and defiant, stronger -and more aggressive. Was it really she, Leslie Lisle, who was sailing -over the moonlit sea with this careless and light-hearted young man, or -should she wake presently in her tiny room in Sea View and find it all -a dream? - -Happy? Was this novel sensation, as of some vague undefined joy, -happiness or what? - -She was wise to leave the question unanswered! - -Yorke smoked in silence for a minute or two, then he turned on his -elbow so that he could look up at her. - -"Miss Lisle," he said, "were you looking for something when you came -down the beach just now? I ask because I thought you looked rather -troubled----." - -"But you were asleep!" said Leslie. - -He colored, and his eyes dropped. - -"I've given myself away," he said, penitently. "No, Miss Lisle, I -wasn't asleep. But I thought it better to pretend, as the children say, -lest you should take fright and run away." - -Leslie looked away from him. - -"You are angry? Well, it serves me right. But don't think of it. Try -and forgive me if you can, for I was half asleep, and I was dreaming -of you--there, I've offended you again! But don't you know how you can -dream though you are wide awake? I was wondering whether I should see -you again--there was no harm in that, was there?--wondering whether -I should have seen you or spoken to you at all if it hadn't been for -Dick----. By the way, how is Dick?" - -"He is all right," she said, the tension caused by his former words -suddenly relieved, "but I do not think he will ever forgive you for -saving his life." - -"I'm afraid not," he said. "But you have not answered my question yet." - -"Which one?" asked Leslie, with a smile. - -"Whether you had lost anything," he said. - -"Yes, I had," she replied, in a low voice. - -He put his hand in his waistcoat-pocket, and took out the ring and held -it up. - -"Is this it?" he said, and his voice was suddenly grave and serious. - -Leslie took it from his fingers. - -"Thank you. Yes," she said. "Where did you find it?" - -He was silent a moment as if lost in thought, then he said, as if with -an effort: - -"On the beach; just where you had been sitting this afternoon. You -dropped it, I suppose?" - -"Yes," said Leslie. - -There was a pause. - -"You are glad to get it back?" - -"Yes," she said, looking straight in front of her. - -"An old favorite, Miss Lisle?" his eyes fixed on the beautiful face -over which the moonbeams fell lovingly. - -"N-o," she said, the faint color creeping into her cheeks. - -"No! But you were glad to get it back. You didn't seem so very glad, -you know." - -"No, I was not so very glad," she said, almost inaudibly. - -He seemed relieved, and yet rather doubtful still. - -"It's singular," he said. "But this is the second thing of yours I have -found to-day." - -"Yes." - -"And they say that if you find two things in one day you are sure to -lose something yourself," he murmured, a serious, intent look coming -into his dark eyes. - -"But the day has gone, and you have not lost anything!" said Leslie, -with a smile. - -His eyes dropped from his intense regard of her face. - -"I am not so sure!" he said. - -Did she hear him? - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE DUKE'S SNEERS. - - -The boat sails on. Leslie has no mother to watch over her and warn her -of sinning against the great goddess Propriety; and as there is no harm -to him who thinks none, Leslie is not troubled by conscience because -she is out sailing on this Heaven sent evening with a young man and -only deaf William for chaperon. - -Perhaps this is because of the peculiar nature of the young man. -There is no shyness about Yorke, and his manner is just of that kind -to inspire confidence; he treats Leslie with a mixture of frankness -and respect which could not be greater if he had known her for years -instead of a few hours only; and it is but fair to add that his manner -toward a duchess would be just the same. - -He is happy, is enjoying himself to the utmost, and he assuredly does -not trouble his head about the proprieties. But all the same, he is -silent after that last remark of his, which Leslie may or may not have -heard. - -He is lying across the boat, so that without much effort he can see her -face. What a lovely face it is, he thinks, and how thoughtful. Is she -thinking of that letter he gave her, or of the ring? And who gave her -that? It ought not to matter to him, and yet the question worries him -not a little. He dismisses it with a half audible "Heigh-ho!" - -"I suppose these are what are called dancing waves?" he says at last. -"Are you fond of dancing, Miss Leslie? But of course you are." - -Leslie lets her dark gray eyes fall on his handsome upturned face as if -she had been recalled to earth. - -"Oh, yes," she says. "All women are, are they not? But I do not get -much dancing. It is years since I was at a party. My father is not -strong, and dislikes going out, and--well, there is no one else to go -with me; besides, I should not leave him." - -He nods thoughtfully, and some idea of what her life must be dawns upon -him. - -"You must lead a very quiet life," he says. - -Leslie smiles. - -"Yes, very, very quiet," she assents. - -"What do you do to amuse yourself?" he asks. - -Leslie thinks a moment. - -"Oh," she says, cheerfully, and without a shadow of discontent in her -voice or in her face, "I take walks, when my father does not want me, -but he usually likes me to stay with him while he is painting; and -sometimes William takes me for a sail, and there is the piano. My -father likes me to play while he is at work; but when he does not I -read." - -"And is that all?" he says, raising himself on his elbow that he may -better see her face. - -"All?" she repeats. "What else is there? It seems a great deal." - -He does not answer, but he thinks of the women he knows, the idle women -who are always restless and discontented unless they are deep in some -excitement, riding, driving, ball and theater going; and as he thinks -of the difference between their lives and this girl's, there rises in -his breast a longing to brighten her life if only for a few hours a day. - -"Well," he says, "it sounds rather slow. And--and have you led this -kind of life long?" - -"As long as I can remember," replies Leslie. "Papa and I have been -alone together ever since I was a little mite, and--yes, it has always -been the same." - -"And you never go to a theater, a dance, a concert?" - -Leslie laughs softly. - -"Never is a big word," she says. "Oh, yes, when we are in London my -father sometimes but very seldom takes me to a theater, and now and -again there are dances at the boarding houses we stay at." - -Yorke almost groans. How delightful it would be to take this beautiful -young creature for a whole round of theaters, to see her dressed in -full war paint, to watch those dark gray eyes light up with pleasant -and girlish joy. - -"And which are you most fond of?" he asks. "Walking, sailing, playing, -reading?" - -She thinks again. - -"I don't know. I'm very fond of the country, and enjoy my walks, but -then I am also fond of sailing, and music, and reading. Do you know the -country round here?" - -He shakes his head. - -"No, I only came to-day, you know." - -"Ah, yes," she says, and she says it with a faint feeling of surprise; -it seems to her as if he had been here at Portmaris for a week at -least. "There is a very lovely place called St. Martin; it is about -twelve miles out. There is an old castle, or the remains of one, and -from the top of it you can see--well, nearly all the world, it seems." - -"That must be worth going to," he says, and an idea strikes him. "My -cousin--I mean Mr. Temple, you know--would like to see that." - -"Yes," says Leslie. "But he could not walk so far." - -"No. Do you mean to say you can?" - -Leslie laughs softly. - -"Oh, yes; I have walked there and back several times." - -"You must be very strong!" - -"Yes, I think I am. I am always well; yes, I suppose I am strong." - -He still sighs at her; the graceful figure is so slight that he finds -it difficult to realize her doing twenty-four miles. The women he knows -would have a fit at the mere thought of such an undertaking. - -"I think to-morrow is going to be a fine day," he says, looking up at -the cloudless sky with a business-like air. - -"Yes," says Leslie, as if she were first cousin to the clerk of the -weather. "It's going to be fine to-morrow." - -"Well, then," he says, "I'll try and get something and drive my cousin -over to--what's the name of the place with the castle?" - -"St. Martin." - -"Yes. The worst of it is that he--I mean my cousin, and not St. -Martin--so soon gets bored if he hasn't some one more amusing than I am -to keep him company; you see, he's an invalid, and crotchety." - -"Poor fellow!" murmurs Leslie. "And yet he is so kind and generous," -she adds as she thinks of the fifty pounds he has given for the -"picture." - -"Yes, indeed!" he assents. "The best fellow that ever drew breath, for -all his whims and fancies; and he can't help having those, you know. -He would like to go to St. Martin to-morrow, especially if you--do you -think we could persuade you and Mr. Lisle to accompany us?" - -Leslie looks at him almost startled, then the color comes into her -face, and her eyes brighten. - -"It would be awfully good-natured of you if you would," he goes on, -quickly, and as if he knew he was demanding a great sacrifice of her -"awfully good nature." - -"My father----." Leslie shakes her head. "I am afraid he would not go; -he will want to paint if the day is fine." - -"He can paint at St. Martin," he breaks in, eagerly. "There must be -no end of sketches, studies, whatever you call it, there, you know. -I wish you'd ask him! It would do my cousin so much good, and--and," -the arch hypocrite falters as he meets the innocent, eagerly wistful -eyes, "though I dare say you won't care for the dusty drive, and have -seen quite enough of the place, still, you'd be doing a good action, -don't you know, and--all that. It will cheer my cousin up sooner than -anything." - -"Very well," says Leslie. "I will ask my father. But it will not matter -if we do not go. You must persuade Mr. Temple." - -"Mr. ----. Oh, my cousin, yes," he says, with sudden embarrassment. "Yes, -of course. Thank you! It is awfully good of you." - -Leslie looks at him, her color deepening; then she laughs softly. - -"Why, I want to go, too!" she says. "There is no goodness in it." - -Yorke Auchester's glance falls before her guileless eyes. - -"Then that settles it," he says, confidently. "What point is that out -there, Miss Lisle?" - -Leslie starts. - -"That is Ragged Points!" she replies. "I had no idea we had come so -far; please tell him I am going to put the boat round; it must be very -late!" - -"No, it isn't," he says. "I can tell by the moon. Can't we go a little -farther?" - -But she ports the helm, and old William, without a word, swings the -sail over, and the boat's nose is pointing to land. - -Yorke looks at Portmaris, asleep in the moonlight, regretfully. - -"That's the worst of being thoroughly happy and comfortable," he says. -"It always comes to an end and you have to come back. What a pace we -are going, too!" he adds, almost in a tone of complaint. - -"The wind is with us," says Leslie. - -"I should like to stay at Portmaris and buy a boat," he says, after a -moment or two. "It would be very jolly." - -Leslie smiles. - -"It is not always fine even at Portmaris," she says. "Sometimes the -waves are mountain high, and the sea runs up over the quay as if it -meant to wash the village away." - -"Well, I shouldn't mind that," he remarks. "I wonder why one lives in -London? One is always grunting at and slanging it, and yet one hangs on -there." He sighs inaudibly as he thinks of what it must be to-night, -with its feverish crowd, its glaring lights, its yelling cabmen and -struggling horses; thinks of the folly, and, alas! the wickedness, -and glances at the lovely, peaceful face above him with a great -yearning--and regret. - -"I like London," says Leslie. "But then I go there so seldom, that it -is a holiday place to me." - -"I know," he responds. "Yes, I can understand that. And I like -Portmaris because it is a holiday place to me, I suppose." - -Leslie smiles. - -"I hope you will not catch cold and be all the worse for this holiday," -she says. - -He laughs. - -"There is no fear of that. I never felt better in my life." - -"You must sit firm now," she warns him. "I am going to drive the boat -on to the sand." - -"Here already!" he remarks, as the keel of the boat touches bottom, and -the sails run down with a musical thud; and he steps over the side, and -so suddenly that the boat lurches over after him. - -He puts out his strong arm to stay her from falling, while old William -curses the "land lubber" in accents low but deep. - -"I'm about as awkward in a small boat as a hippopotamus," he says, -remorsefully. "Will you let me help you ashore?" - -He means "carry you," and he holds out his arms, but Leslie shrinks -back ever so slightly, and old William comes to the side of the boat -and picks her up as a matter of course. - -Yorke slips a sovereign into the old man's horny palm, and William, who -is not dumb as well as deaf, would probably open his lips now, but for -astonishment and amazed delight. He does, however, grin. - -As the two walk up the beach Yorke looks behind him at the moonlit sea -and the boats, and shakes his head. - -"It was a shame to come in," he says, "but never mind, perhaps----." He -stops, not daring to finish the sentence, but he feels as if he would -cheerfully give half the amount of the check in his pocket for such -another sail in the same company. - -The quay is empty, the street silent, but as they go up it they see the -crippled "Mr. Temple" leaning against the door of Marine Villa. - -His keen eyes rest upon them both good-naturedly. - -"Where have you been?" he asks. - -"Where you ought to have been, Dolph," replies Yorke. "On the water. -You can't imagine what it is like." - -"Oh, yes, I can," says the duke. "But I am--too old for moonlight -sails. I am a day-bird. Have you enjoyed it, Miss Lisle?" - -Leslie smiles for answer. - -"Look here, Dolph," says Yorke, with affected carelessness. "What do -you say to driving out to a place called St. Martin to-morrow? I'm -going to try and persuade Miss Lisle and her father to show us the way." - -The duke looks at her. - -"I shall be very glad," he says. "Will you come, Miss Lisle?" - -"If my father----," begins Leslie, and the duke interrupts her. - -"We ought to send a formal invitation," he says, with a smile. "Will -you give Mr. Lisle our compliments, Miss Lisle, and tell him how much -the Duke of Rothbury and Mr. Temple will be indebted to him if you and -he will accompany them on a drive to-morrow." - -Leslie looks from one to the other for a moment as if she did not -understand. The Duke of Rothbury! Can he be jesting? - -The duke struggles with a smile as he sees her astonishment, then he -says, casually: - -"I hope you found the duke a good sailor, Miss Lisle." - -Leslie glances at Yorke, who stands staring at his fishermen's boots, -with a moody and not well pleased expression on his face. - -"I nearly upset the boat," he says, as if to account for his change of -countenance. - -"It did not matter," she says. "We were on the sands. Yes, I will tell -my father, and--thank you very much." - -If the duke expected her to be overwhelmed by the announcement of the -title he is doomed to disappointment. The first sensation of surprise -over, Leslie is as calm and self-possessed as before. - -"Good-night," she says, in her sweet, low voice, and a moment afterward -the door of Sea View is closed upon her. - -The duke looked at his cousin's downcast face with a whimsical smile. - -"How well she took it!" he said. "A London girl of the most -accomplished type could not have concealed her flutters with greater -ease." - -"She had nothing to conceal," said Yorke, with averted eyes. "It didn't -matter to her that--that you called me a duke. Why should it?" - -"Why should it! My dear Yorke, you have grown simple during your -moonlight sail. Oh, she was confused and flustered, believe me; but all -her sex are actresses from the cradle. Give me your hand, and let us go -in." - -Yorke helped him up the stairs and into his chair, then stood gazing -moodily out of the window. - -"Your outing seems to have made you melancholy, Yorke," said the duke. -"And yet you looked as if you enjoyed it just now." - -"So I did, but----Dolph, I wish to Heaven you hadn't told her that -infer--that nonsense!" - -The duke leaned back, and looked at him with real or simulated surprise. - -"Why not?" he asked. "Have you forgotten our bargain, agreement?" - -"Yes, I had forgotten it," replied Yorke, grimly. - -"So soon! Why are you so put out? What does it matter? You are going -to-morrow----." - -"You forget the drive--the appointment; but the best thing I can do is -to go, as you say," said Yorke. "You can make some excuse----." - -"Nonsense! If you care for this outing, stay and go. It will only -mean one more day, and London will not fall to pieces because of your -absence for twenty-four hours." - -"It is not that----." - -"Well, what is it, then? Are you thinking of this girl?" - -Yorke flushed, and turned to the window again. - -"What does it matter?" went on the duke. "She is a nice girl, but, -my dear Yorke," and his voice grew grave, "even if we had not made -this little arrangement about the title, she would be nothing more to -you than just a pleasant young lady whom you chanced to meet at an -outlandish place on the West Coast." - -Yorke thrust his hands deep into his pockets--or rather young -Whiting's--and the flush on his face grew deeper! - -"I know that!" he said, as grimly as before. - -"Very well, then! I repeat--what does it matter? If you are annoyed -because, in accordance with an arrangement, I introduced you as the -duke, why on earth did you consent? It is too late now! Even if I -hadn't told her, Grey, or the woman of the house here, or some one else -would have done so to-morrow morning----." - -"It is too late, I suppose!" broke in Yorke, moodily. - -"Quite too late," retorts the duke, decisively. "To tell the truth now -would create a sensation and fuss which would be unendurable." He put -his hand to his head as he spoke, and moaned faintly as if in pain. -"Give me that small vial off the table, will you, please?" he said. - -One of his periodical attacks of nervous neuralgia was coming on; and -at such times he was wont to grow irritable. - -Yorke poured out some of the medicine, and gave it to him. - -"Thanks. Yes, it would make a hideous fuss. We should have it in the -papers headed, 'A Ducal Hoax,' or something of that kind. But I don't -want to force you into anything against your will. I can leave here the -first thing to-morrow; I certainly should go if you departed from our -arrangement. I came down here for rest and quiet, and I should get none -if it were known who I am. Yes, we'd better go to-morrow." - -"No, no," said Yorke. "After all, as you say, it does not matter. -Besides--besides, I shouldn't care to deprive her of the little bit of -pleasure I'd planned for her; I fancy she doesn't get too much of it." - -"I dare say not. Very well, then, you'll stay till after to-morrow? For -goodness sake try and look a little less funereal. You had no objection -to assuming the role till you met this girl. What difference does she -make? You think she will make love to you, eh? I should have thought -from what I know of you, Yorke, that you would have no very great -objection to that." - -Yorke swung round almost angrily. - -"Look here, Dolph," he said, grimly. "You are altogether mistaken about -her. I tell you that she does not care, and will not care, whether I or -you are the duke; she is not that sort of girl at all." - -The duke was in a paroxysm of pain, intense enough to turn a saint -cynical; he sneered: - -"I know them all, root and branch," he said, his thin voice rendered -shrill and cutting by his agony. "I tell you that she will make love to -you; that, thinking you are the duke, she will try and marry you as she -would try and marry me if she knew the truth." - -"No!" said Yorke, shortly, almost fiercely. "I say that she would not -care." - -"You seem to have learned her nature very quickly," retorted the duke, -with another sneer. - -Yorke colored and turned away. - -"I tell you that she will turn out like the rest. You deny it, doubt -it; very well. Play the part you have assumed, and if I am wrong I will -admit I have done her an injustice." - -"You do her a cruel injustice!" said Yorke, in a low voice. - -"Very well, then!" shouted the duke. "Try her, try her. And then -own that I was right. Ah, you're afraid. You know, in your heart, -that she would not stand the test! Your innocent, high-minded girl -would prove like the rest! Come, you are beaten! Better spare her the -disappointment of setting her cap at a false duke; better go to-morrow, -my dear Yorke!" - -Yorke swung round, his face pale, an angry light in his eyes. - -"No, I'll stay!" he said. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -YORKE AUCHESTER AS A STRATEGIST. - - -When Leslie wakes next morning she wonders what it is that sends a -thrill of happiness through her; then, as with dazed eyes she looks -through the sunny window, she remembers the proposed expedition to St. -Martin; but she remembers also that the companion of last evening is a -duke, and her spirits droop suddenly. - -It is difficult to persuade her father to join in the mildest of -excursions; it will be very difficult, indeed, to induce him to accept -an invitation to drive with a duke. Some women would have experienced -an added joy at the thought that they had been honored with civility -from a person of such high rank; but the fact rather lessens Leslie's -pleasure. - -Yorke did her justice; she is not elated nor awed by the ducal title. - -When she comes down to breakfast she finds her father posing in front -of his picture, his thin hands clasped behind his back, his head bent; -and as she kisses him he sighs rather querulously. - -"Is anything the matter, dear?" she asks. - -"I've got a headache," he replies. "I--I do not feel up to work, and I -am so anxious to get on. How do you think it looks?" - -Leslie draws him away from the easel to the table, and forces him -gently into his chair. - -"We will not look at it this morning, at any rate until we have had -breakfast, dear," she says. "It is wonderful how much better and -brighter this world and everything in it looks after a cup of coffee. -But, papa, you must not work to-day, you must take a rest----." - -"A rest!" he begins, impatiently. - -"Yes; you know how often you say that working against the grain is time -and energy wasted. And there is another reason, dear," she goes on, -brightly. "We have an invitation for to-day!" - -"A what?" he asks, querulously. - -"An invitation, dear. We have been asked to drive to St. Martin. Last -night," a faint blush rises to her face, "I ran down to the beach -to--to find something I had lost, and I saw Mr. Temple's friend, and -we went for a sail with old William; and afterward I saw Mr. Temple -outside Marine Villa, and they have been kind enough to ask us to go -with them to St. Martin. It was the duke who asked us," she adds, -candidly; "but Mr. Temple was just as kind and pressing. I hope you -will go, dear." - -He puts the thin, straggling hair from his forehead with a nervous -gesture. - -"What are you talking about, Leslie? what duke?" - -Leslie laughs softly. - -"It appears that the young man who went in for Dick yesterday, Mr. -Temple's friend, is a duke, the Duke of Rothbury," she replies. - -Like herself, he is neither elated nor awed, but he lisps a distinct -refusal of the invitation. - -"The Duke of Rothbury?" he says. "I--I think I've heard the title -somewhere. Why do they ask us to go with them? I don't want to go; and -I suppose you don't care for it. They are strangers, perfect strangers -to us." - -"He has already proved himself a very kind friend," says Leslie, gently. - -He flushes. - -"You mean in buying the picture? Yes, yes. But you know how I dislike -strangers, and--and--excursions of this kind. And if you don't want to -go very much I'd rather not. Besides, I don't particularly care about -making the acquaintance of a duke; I am an artist, a professional man, -and I do not believe in associating with persons so far above me in -rank. No, we had better decline. I dare say my head will be all right -presently, and I shall be able to work, and you can come with me and -mix the colors, and so on." - -"Very well, dear," she says, struggling to suppress a sigh. "You shall -do just as you like. I should have liked to have gone, and the drive -would have done you good." - -"I am quite well, and I hate long drives," he responds, emphatically, -"especially in the company of dukes. What is he doing down here?" he -asks, testily. "Did you say you went for a sail with him last evening?" - -"Yes," says Leslie, with a sigh that will not be suppressed as she -thinks of the moonlit sea, and the pleasant companion who unfortunately -has turned out to be a duke. "Yes, and he was very kind and nice, and -not a bit like so grand a personage," she adds, with a smile. "He -looked exactly like a--fisherman last night, and talked like a young -man fresh from school or college. He is not my idea of a duke at all; -I fancy I must have thought that dukes talked in blank verse, and -habitually wore their coronets and robes." - -He waves the subject aside with nervous impatience. - -"I don't know anything about them, and I don't want to," he says, -getting up and fidgeting round the picture. "I've got this sky too -deep, I think, and----." He continues in an inaudible mutter. - -Leslie knows that it is useless to say any more, and is silent, and -when her breakfast things are cleared away she gets out her plain -little desk to write a refusal. - -But at the outset she finds herself in a difficulty. "Mr. and Miss -Lisle regret," etc., sounds too formal after that eminently informal -sail last night, and yet she does not know how to begin her note in the -first person. Should she address him as "Dear duke," or "Your grace," -or "My lord," or how? - -"Did you ever write to a duke, papa?" she asks at last, playing a -tattoo with the pen-holder upon her white, even teeth. - -"Never, thank Heaven," he says, absently. - -"Then you cannot help me?" she says, with a sigh, and ultimately she -puts the note in the formal method. - -"Miss Lisle presents her compliments to the Duke of Rothbury, and -regrets that she and Mr. Lisle are unable to accept his kind invitation -for to-day." - -"It looks dreadfully stilted and ungrateful," she says to herself; "but -it will certainly remove any risk of further acquaintance, and papa -will not be worried into knowing such a great personage." - -She sends the note over by Mrs. Merrick's small servant, and in five -minutes that diminutive maid comes back open-eyed and mouthed with awe -and importance. - -"If you please, miss, I gave the note to the gentleman what wheels the -other gentleman's chair, and he says the duke has gone to Northcliffe, -but he'll give him the note when he comes back." - -Leslie laughs rather ruefully. - -"We need not have worried about the drive to St. Martin, papa," she -says. "The duke has forgotten all about it." - -But the artist is painting away vigorously, and apparently does not -hear her, and with a feeling of disappointment which it is useless to -struggle against, she gets out some work and seats herself at the open -window. - -She has proved more reliable than the usual run of weather prophets, -and the day is all she prognosticated. The street is bathed in -sunlight, the sea is sparkling as if it had been sprinkled with -amethysts; there is a soft breeze laden with the perfume of the early -summer flowers in the cottage gardens; a thrush perched on a tree close -by is singing with all its might and main. It would have been very -pleasant, that proposed drive to St. Martin. - -The morning passes slowly onward; the artist, too absorbed by his work -to notice the sunlight, or the sea, or the birds, is still painting -when, with the striking of the midday hour there mingles the click -clack of horses' hoofs on the stony street, and Leslie looking up -with a start--for she has been thinking of all she has lost--sees a -wagonette and a pair of stylish bays draw up to the door. - -On the box is Yorke, no longer in the fisherman's jersey, but clad in -Harris tweed, his handsome face bright and cheerful, his whole "get up" -and manner suggesting pleasure and a holiday. - -After quieting the spirited horses with words and a touch of the whip, -he looks down from his high perch, and seeing the startled eyes looking -up at him, raises his hat and smiles. - -"Are you ready?" he inquires, just as he inquired last night. - -Leslie shakes her head, and tries to smile, but the effort is a -failure, and putting down her work, she comes to the open door. - -"Oh, I am so sorry," she says. "Did you not get my note?" - -"What note?" he asks. "Stand still, will you! No, I haven't seen any -note. What was it about?" - -"We cannot come," she says, with a look at the horses which is more -wistful even than she knows. - -His face clouds instantly. - -"Not come! Oh, I say! Has anything happened? Why not? It's the -loveliest day----." - -"Yes, isn't it?" she assents, shading her eyes and looking round. "But -my father is not well. He has a headache, and----." - -"Why, that's all the more reason he should go!" he responds, promptly. -"The drive would set him straight!" he urges, remonstratively. "Look -here, I'll go and speak to him." - -"And while you do the horses will run away straight into the sea," she -says, with a smile. - -"No, they won't. If you don't mind just standing by this one, the near -one. If he moves growl at him like this, 'Stand still!' He'll stop -directly." - -"Well, I'll try," she says, laughing in spite of herself; and he goes -straight into the room. - -Lisle looks up at him with impatient surprise and half-dazed; it is as -if the young fellow had brought the brilliant sunlight in with him. - -"Mr. Lisle, you don't mean to say you aren't coming?" says Yorke. - -"Coming? Where?" He has forgotten all about the invitation. - -"Why, to St. somewhere or other," says Yorke. "It never entered my head -that you'd refuse. Why should you? If you don't care about it yourself, -you ought to go for Miss Leslie's sake. She wants a change, an outing; -any one can see that. Perhaps you haven't noticed how pale she looks -this morning." - -Oh, Yorke! - -"Leslie is all right," says Lisle, irritably; "she is always strong and -well. I'm sorry we cannot accompany you, but I beg your pardon, you are -standing in my light. Thank you." - -Yorke looks from the pale, livid face of the dreamer to the impossible -picture on the easel, and bites his lips. He is sorely tempted to catch -up the artist, easel and all, and bundle them into the carriage. Then a -far better and more feasible idea strikes him. - -"I'm sorry you can't go, Mr. Lisle," he says as indifferently as he -can, "because I thought of asking you to make a rough sketch of the -castle for me. Want it for my own room, you know. I'm awfully mad on -water colors." - -Mr. Lisle looks up with awakened interest. - -"There is a good sketch to be got out of the west end, the turret," he -murmurs, absently. - -"That's just what I wanted," Yorke strikes in promptly. "That's the bit -I was going to ask you to paint. Come along, sir; allow me," and he -catches up the portable easel and paint box and carries them out before -Lisle can realize what is being done. - -"All right!" Yorke cries to the astonished Leslie: "he is coming. Run -in and put your things on, and don't give him time to think." - -"But," falters Leslie, a smile beginning to break on the lovely face. - -"But nothing!" he cuts in. "Please be quick, or he'll have time to -change his mind." - -Leslie runs in, laughing, and Yorke, stowing the easel under the seat, -shouts out for Grey. - -"Tell the--Mr. Temple we're ready," he says quickly. "Got that hamper?" - -"Yes, your grace," says Grey. - -"Confound----all right then. Get your master down as soon as possible; -and Grey, bring me out a glass of ale. Heigh-ho, that was a narrow -squeak," and he draws a long breath. "What, let him deprive her of her -outing? Not if I had to take the house as well!" - -Presently the duke and Grey come out, and Grey helps him into his -seat. They have not long to wait for the other two, and Yorke looks -approvingly at the slim, graceful figure, which plainly dressed though -it may be, is unmistakably that of a lady. - -Mr. Lisle, scarcely knowing what they are doing with him, is bundled -in; and Yorke, as a matter of course, stands by to assist Leslie to the -seat on the box beside him. - -"But would not some one else like to sit there?" she says, hesitatingly. - -"I am sure Mr. Lisle would be more comfortable inside," he says. "And -we mustn't keep the horses waiting longer than we can help, please," he -says, and he puts his hand under her elbow and hoists her up carefully. - -Then he springs into his place, touches the horses with the whip, and -away they go. - -Leslie draws a long breath. It is not until they have got to the open -country that she can believe that they have actually started. - -"It was a near thing," he says, as if he were reading her thoughts. - -"Yes," and she smiles; "I don't know how you managed it." - -He laughs light-heartedly. - -"It was done by force of arms. I meant you--I mean Mr. Lisle--to go, -and when I mean a thing I'm hard to obstruct." - -"This is rather a grand turn-out, Yorke," remarks the duke. "May one -ask where and how you got it? It doesn't look like a hired affair." - -"It isn't," he replies. "When I got to Northcliffe I ran against little -Vinson, who appears to be staying there. The wagon was standing outside -and he asked me if I would like to go for a drive. I said I should if -he'd let me have the horses and not ask to go with me. He stared for a -minute, then he took off his gloves, and--here you are, you know." - -"Wasn't that rather cool?" asks the duke. - -Yorke laughs. - -"Oh, he's a good-natured little chap, and didn't seem to mind. Said -he'd go for a sail instead." - -"He must be very good-natured," said Leslie, smiling in spite of -herself. - -"So he ought to be. He's as rich as Croesus, and hasn't a care in the -world. His father, Lord Eastford, you know, bought up a lot of nursery -gardens just outside what was then London, and they've turned out a -gold mine. The part got fashionable, you know." - -The mention of a lord reminds Leslie--she had forgotten it until -now--that the young man beside her is a duke, and she wonders whether -she ought to have addressed him as "your grace." - -"Now, Miss Lisle," he says, "you've got to play the part of guide, you -know. Is it straight on, or how?" - -"Straight on, your grace," she says, thinking she will try how it -sounds. It doesn't sound very well in her own ears, nor, apparently, in -his, for he stops in the act of flicking a fly off the horse's harness -and looks at her; but he does not make any remark. - -The roads are good, the day heavenly, and as they bowl along Leslie -leans back, wrapped in a supreme content. Her father's voice -discoursing of "art" floats now and again toward her, the thud, thud of -the horses' hoofs makes pleasant music; and if she should tire of the -pretty scenery, there is the handsome face of a good-tempered young man -beside her to look at for a change. - -Leslie does not know very much about driving; but she knows that he -is driving well, that the horses, fresh and high-mettled as they are, -are thoroughly under his control; and, half-unconsciously, she finds -herself admiring the way in which he handles the whip and the reins. - -"May one ask what you are thinking of, Miss Leslie?" he says, glancing -at her, after a long silence. - -"I was wondering which I liked best--sailing or driving," she replies. - -"But you haven't driven yet," he says. "Would you like to drive?" - -Leslie shakes her head. - -"I should drive them into a ditch, or they would run away with me," she -says, smiling. - -"Not a bit of it," he retorts; "and I know you are not afraid, because -you said last night that you never were afraid." - -"Did I say that?" she says. "What wonderful things one says in the -moonlight!" - -"See here," he says. "I'll show you how to hold the reins." - -"If I am not afraid, they will be, if they think you are going to -transfer these wild animals to my guidance," and she glances over her -shoulder. - -"Oh, they're all right," he says, carelessly. "Give me your hand. No, -the left one. That's it." - -He takes it and opens the slim fingers, and inserts the reins in their -proper places; and as he does so notices, if he did not notice last -night, how beautifully shaped and refined the small hand is. - -"That's right. Now take the whip in your right hand, and--how do you -feel?" - -"As if I were chained to two romping lions, and they were dragging me -off the box." - -He laughs, the frank, free laugh which Leslie thinks the pleasantest -she ever heard. - -"You'll make a splendid whip!" he says, encouragingly. "Hold 'em tight, -and don't be afraid of them. Directly you begin to think they are -getting too many for you, set your teeth hard, hold 'em like a vise, -and give 'em each a flick. So! See? They know you're master then." - -The ivory white of Leslie's face is delicately tinted with rose, -her eyes are shining brightly, her heart beating to the old tune, -"Happiness." - -"There is a cart coming, and there isn't room. Oh, dear!" and she -begins to get flurried. - -"Plenty of room," he says, coolly. "You should shout to the man! But -I'll do that for you," and he wakes the sleeping wagoner with a shout -that causes the man to spring up and drag his horses aside as if -Juggernaut were coming down upon him. "See? That's the way! Oh, you'll -do splendidly, and I shall be quite proud of you. I'm fond of driving. -Do you know, I've often thought if the worst came to the worst that I'd -take to a hansom cab." - -Leslie stares at him. - -"A duke driving a hansom cab would be rather a novelty, wouldn't it?" -she says, with a smile. - -To her surprise, his face flushes, and he turns his head away. What has -she said? At this moment, fortunately for Yorke's embarrassment, the -duke remarks with intentional distinctness: - -"Are you insured against accidents, Miss Lisle?" - -Leslie holds out the reins. - -"You see," she says, "they are getting frightened; and not without -cause." - -But he will not take the reins from her. - -"I know you are enjoying it," he says, just as a schoolboy would speak. -"You're all right; I'll help you if you come to a fix. Give that off -one a cut, he is letting the other do all the work." - -"Which is the off one?" she asks, innocently. - -He points to it. - -"That's the one. So called because you don't let him off." - -It is a feeble joke, but Leslie rewards it with a laugh far and away -beyond its merits, and he laughs in harmony. - -"You seem to be enjoying yourselves up there," says the duke. "Pray -hand any joke down." - -"It is Miss Leslie making puns," responds Yorke. - -"Now you are getting tired," he says, after a mile or two. - -"How do you know?" she asks, curiously. - -"Because I can see your hands trembling," he replies. "Give me the -reins now, and if you are a good girl you shall drive all the way home." - -It is a little thing that he should have such regard for her comfort, -but it does not pass unnoticed by Leslie, as she resigns the reins with -a "Thank you, your grace." - -His face clouds again, however, and he bestows an altogether -unnecessary cut on the horses, who plunge forward. - -"There is St. Martin, and there is the castle," she says, presently. -"Is it not pretty?" - -"Very," he assents, but he looks round inquiringly. "I'm looking for -some place in which to put the cattle up," he explains. "Horses don't -care much for ruins, unless there are hay and oats." - -"There is a small inn at the foot of the castle," says Leslie. - -"That's all right then," he rejoins, cheerfully. "Hurry up now, my -beauties, and let's show them what Vinson's nags can do." - -They dash up the road to the inn at a clinking pace, and pull up in -masterly style. - -The landlord and a stable boy come running out and Yorke flings them -the reins. Then he helps Leslie down, and goes round to the back to -assist the duke. - -"I suppose we shall be able to get some lunch here Yorke?" he says, as -he leans on his sticks. - -"Lunch indoors on a day like this? Not much!" retorts Yorke, -scornfully. "Out with that hamper, Grey, and get this yokel to help you -carry it to the tower. You can walk as far as that, Dolph? Miss Lisle -will show you the way." - -At the sound of her name Leslie turns from the rustic window into which -she had been mechanically looking. - -"Oh, yes. There has been another party here this morning," she adds. - -"How do you know that?" asks Yorke. - -"Because I can see the remains of their luncheon on the table," she -says, laughing. - -"Yes, sir," says the landlord. "Party of three, sir; two gentlemen and -a lady." - -"Thank goodness they have gone!" says Yorke. "You go on. I'll go and -see that the horses are rubbed down and fed; I owe that to Vinson, -anyhow." - -He is not long in following them, but by the time he has reached the -tower, Grey has unpacked the basket, and laid out a tempting lunch. -There is a fowl, a ham, an eatable-looking fruit tart, cream, some -jelly, the crispiest of loaves, and firmest of butter, and a couple of -bottles with golden tops. - -"Where did you get this gorgeous spread, Yorke?" inquires the duke. - -"Oh, I was out foraging early this morning," he says, carelessly. "Now, -Miss Leslie, you are the presiding genius. Of course the salt has been -forgotten; it always is." - -"No, it has not!" says Leslie, holding it up triumphantly. "Nothing has -been forgotten. You have brought everything." - -"Including an appetite," he says, brightly, and as he opens a bottle of -champagne, he sings: - - "The foaming wine of Southern France." - -"Yes, I wonder how many persons who read that in their Tennyson -realize that it is champagne?" says the duke, brightly. - -They seat themselves--cushions have been brought from the wagon for -Leslie and the duke--and the feast begins. - -"Some chicken, Miss Leslie? This is going to be a failure as a picnic; -it isn't going to rain," says Yorke. - -"And I rather miss the cow which usually appears on the scene and -scampers over the pie," says the duke. "I suppose your grace couldn't -manage a cow on a tower." - -Yorke looks at him, half angrily. - -"Oh, cut that!" he mutters, just loud enough to reach the duke. - -Mr. Lisle looks round with his glass in his hand. - -"I must find a spot for my sketch," he says. - -"All right, presently," says Yorke. "Pleasure first always, as the man -said when he killed the tax collector. Miss Lisle have you sworn never -to drink more than one glass of champagne?" - -But Leslie shakes her head, and declines the offered bottle, and her -appetite is soon appeased. - -"Shall we leave these gourmands, and find a particularly picturesque -study for your father, Miss Lisle?" suggests Yorke; "that is if he is -bent on sketch----." - -He stops suddenly, for a woman's laugh has risen from the green slope -beneath them. It is not an unmusical laugh, but it is unpleasantly loud -and bold, and the others start slightly. - -"That is the other party," says Leslie. - -"It is to be hoped that they are not coming up here. If they should, -you will have an opportunity of seeing how I look when I scowl, Miss -Lisle," he says. - -Leslie gets up and goes to the battlements. - -"No; they are going round the other side," she says. - -"Heaven be thanked!" - -"Too soon!" she rejoins, with a laugh; "they are coming back. What a -handsome girl!" - -Standing talking and laughing beneath her are two men and a girl. The -latter is handsome, as Leslie says, but there is something in the face -which, like the laugh, jars upon one. She is dark, of a complexion -that is almost Spanish, has dark eyes that sparkle and glitter in the -sunlight, and raven hair; and if the face is not perfect in its beauty, -her figure nearly approaches the acme of grace. It is lithe, slim, -mobile; but it is clad too fashionably, and there is a little too much -color about it. - -She stands laughing loudly, unconscious of the silent spectator above -her, for a moment or two; then, perhaps made aware by that mysterious -sense which all of us have experienced, that she is being looked at she -looks up, and the two girls' eyes meet. She turns to say something to -her companions, and at that moment Yorke joins Leslie. - -He looks down at the group below. - -"That's the party, evidently," he begins. Then he stops suddenly; -something like an oath starts from his lips, and he puts his hand none -too gently on Leslie's arm. - -"Come away," he says, sharply, and yet with a touch of hoarseness, or -can it be fear, in his voice. "Come away, Miss Lisle!" - -And Leslie, as she draws back in instant obedience, sees that his face -has become white to the lips. - -At the same moment, a voice--it must be that of the girl beneath, -floats up to them, a lively "rollicking" voice, singing this refined -and charming ditty: - - "Yes, after dark is the time to lark, - Although we sleep all day; - To pass the wine, and don't repine, - For we're up to the time of day, dear boys, - We're up to the time of day!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE PICNIC. - - -As the words of the music-hall song rise on the clear air, Leslie turns -away. No respectable woman could have sung such a song, and she is not -surprised that her companion, and host, has bidden her "come away." - -She steps down from the battlement in silence, and as she does so -glances at him. His face is no longer pale, but there is a cloud -upon it, which he is evidently trying to dispel. She thinks, not -unreasonably, that it is caused by annoyance that she should have heard -the song, and she is grateful to him. - -The cloud vanishes, and his face resumes something of its usual frank -light-heartedness, but not quite all. - -"We'll give those folks time to get clear away before we begin our -exploration, Miss Lisle," he says, casually, but with the faintest tone -of uneasiness in his voice. "That is the worst of these show places, -one is never sure of one's company. 'Arriet and 'Arry are everywhere, -nowadays." - -"Why should they not be?" says Leslie, with a smile. "The world is not -entirely made for nice people." - -"No, I suppose not," he assents; "and I suppose you are going to say -that they had better be here than in some other places, and that it -might do 'em good; that's the sort of thing that's talked now. I'm not -much of a philanthropist, but that's the kind of thing that good people -always say." - -"They seemed very happy," says Leslie. - -"Who?" he asks, almost sharply. "Oh, those people? Yes; Mr. Lisle ought -to get a good sketch somewhere hereabouts," and he leads her back to -the duke and Mr. Lisle. - -The duke looks up. Grey has made a "back" for him with the cushions and -the hampers, and he's smoking in most unwonted contentment. - -"Back already!" he says. "I thought you had gone to prospect?" - -"So we had," responds Yorke, "but we were alarmed by savages from a -neighboring island." He lights a cigar as he speaks. "We are going to -give them time to get away in their canoes, as Robinson Crusoe did, you -know. By the way, Miss Lisle, if you will sit down, I will reconnoiter -and report." - -Leslie sinks down beside her father, and Yorke strolls leisurely to the -steps leading from the tower. - -He pauses there a moment or two, listening, then goes down. At the foot -of the steps on the grassy slope he stops again, and the cloud comes on -his face darker than before. - -"It must be a mistake," he mutters. "It couldn't be she, and yet----." - -He walks on a few paces, and at the foot of the tower comes upon traces -of the "savages"--a champagne bottle, empty, of course, and a newspaper. - -He takes the latter up mechanically, then unfolds it and turns to the -column of theatrical advertisements, and sees the following: - -"Diadem Theater Royal. Notice. In consequence of serious indisposition, -Miss Finetta will not play this evening." - -With an exclamation which is very near an oath, he flings the paper -from him and walks on, and as he goes round the base of the tower he is -almost run into by one of the gentlemen whom Leslie saw with the dark -young lady of the song. - -They both stop short and start, then the new-comer exclaims, with a -laugh: - -"Hello, Auchester! Well, I'm----." - -"Hush! Be quiet!" says Yorke, almost sternly, and with an upward glance. - -"Eh?" says the other, "what's the matter? Who the duse would have -expected to see you here?" - -"I might say the same," retorts Yorke, with about as mirthless a smile -as it is possible to imagine. - -"How did you come here?" - -"Why, by boat," responds the other. "Didn't I tell you so? What have -you done with my nags?" - -"They are all right," says Yorke. "Come this way, will you? Keep close -to the tower, if you don't mind." - -The young fellow follows him, with a half-amused, half-puzzled air. - -"What's it all mean? Why this mystery, my dear boy?" he asks. - -Yorke, having got him out of sight and hearing of the three on the -tower, faces him, and instead of replying to his question, asks another. - -"Was that Finetta with you just now, Vinson?" - -"Yes," says Lord Vinson, at once; "of course it was. Didn't you see -her, know her?" - -Yorke nods curtly. - -"Yes. What is she doing here? How did she come here with you?" - -"The simplest thing in the world," replies Lord Vinson. "After you'd -left me this morning, I was wondering who I should hunt up to come for -a sail, when I saw her coming down the street. You might have knocked -me down with a feather." - -"I dare say. Well?" - -Lord Vinson looks rather aggrieved at being cut so short, but goes on -good-temperedly enough. - -"She spotted me at once, and the first question she asked was, had I -seen you?" - -"Well?" demands Yorke, as curtly as before. - -"Well, I didn't know what to say for the moment, because I thought -perhaps you wouldn't care for her to know." - -A faint expression of relief flits across Yorke's face, but it -disappears at Vinson's next words. - -"She saw me hesitate, and of course knew that I had seen you. 'It's -no use your playing it low down on me, my dear boy,' she said, -laughing--you know her way. 'You couldn't deceive a two-months-old -calf, if you tried. You've seen him, and he's here somewhere.' It was -no use trying to deceive her, as she said, and I had to own up that I -had seen you this morning, and--that you borrowed my rig." - -Yorke bit his lip, and nodded impatiently. - -"She took it very well, she did indeed. She only laughed and said that -she knew you had left town for some fishing; and, being sick of London -herself, she had sent a certificate to say she was down with low or -high, or some kind of fever, I forget which, and had to run down here -for a bit of a holiday with her brother--or her uncle, I don't know -which it is." - -Yorke looks round with ill-concealed anxiety. - -"Oh, it's all right," says Lord Vinson; "they've gone on to the inn. I -came back for my stick. There it is. Well, I thought the best thing I -could do was to ask them to come for a sail, and it took her ladyship's -fancy, and here we are, don't you know." - -Yorke stands with downcast, overclouded face, and the young viscount, -after regarding him attentively, says: - -"Look here, Auchester, I know what it is, you don't want to run against -her just now. Got friends up there, eh?" and he nods his head in the -direction of the tower. - -"No, I do not want to see her, and I certainly don't want her to see -me," assents Yorke. "If you can manage to take her away, Vinson!" - -He lays his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, and Vinson, who -is never so delighted as when doing a service for his friend, nods -intelligently. - -"I see. All right, you leave it to me." He pulls out his watch. "I'll -get her away at once; in fact, it's time we started. Don't you be -uneasy." - -"Thanks," says Yorke, and his brow lifts a little. "When does she go -back?" - -"To-night; she plays to-morrow." - -Yorke's brow clears completely, and he smiles. - -"Off with you, then," he says. "I'm awfully obliged to you, Vinson. You -are right; I don't want the--the people I am with to see her." - -Vinson looks up at the tower curiously, and rather wistfully. - -"No, my dear boy, I'm not going to introduce you," says Yorke, with a -smile. "I'm too anxious to be rid of you--and her. See them safe on -board the train to-night, and if anything occurs to prevent them going, -send me a message to-morrow morning. I'll give you the address----." He -stops. "No, never mind. Make them go to-night. Tell her she'll lose her -engagement, anything, but see that she goes." - -Vinson grins. - -"I'll tell her you've gone back to town," he says. - -Yorke colors. - -"Woodman, spare the lie," he says, with forced levity. "No need to tell -her that." - -"No, it wouldn't do, come to think of it. She'd find out I'd sold her -when she'd got back, and then----." He whistled, significantly. "I like -Finetta with her claws in, don't you know. I think you're the only man -that's not afraid of her." - -Yorke smiles again. - -"Well, do what you like," he says. "But go now, there's a good fellow; -and for Heaven's sake, don't let her come this way again. We heard her -singing!" - -Vinson laughs. - -"Yes, if you were within a mile of her you couldn't help doing that," -he says, dryly. "Well, good-by, old chap. Don't trouble about the nags." - -"They are all right," says Yorke. "I'll bring them back safe and -sound----." - -"When the coast's clear," finishes the young fellow; and with a smile -and a nod, he picks up his stick, and goes off. - -Yorke Auchester stands where his friend has left him, and looks out -to sea, with a troubled countenance; stares so long, and so lost in -thought that it would seem as if he had forgotten his own party. It is -not often that the young man has a moody fit, but he has it now, and -very badly. - -But presently there comes down to him the faint sound of Leslie Lisle's -soft, musical laugh--how striking a contrast to that of the young lady -whom he has just got rid of! and he wakes from his unpleasant reverie -and climbs up to the tower. - -The duke is leaning back with an amused and interested smile on his -face, which is turned towards Leslie, and it is evident that he is -happier and more contented than usual. - -"Miss Lisle has just been giving me a description of the Portmaris -folks. You have missed something, Yorke," he says, with a laugh. "Have -the savages disappeared?" - -"Quite," says Yorke; "and if Miss Lisle and her father would like to -look round, the coast is now clear." - -"You go, papa," says Leslie, with her usual unselfishness; "and I will -stay with Mr. Temple." - -The duke glances at her. - -"You will do nothing of the kind," he says. "I am not going to impose -upon your good nature, Miss Lisle. Besides, I dare say, I shall take -forty winks." - -Leslie hesitates a moment, then she gets up and goes for the easel; but -Yorke is too quick for her. - -"Come along, Mr. Lisle," he says, touching him on the arm, while he -stands looking from the edge of the tower absently, and the three -descend. - -"Now, this strikes me as a good place," says Yorke, setting up the -easel. "Don't know much about it you know, but it seems to me that the -outline and the----." - -"Excellent; yes, very good," assents the artist, eagerly getting out -his drawing paper. "Yes, I can make a picture of this. You need not -wait," he adds. "You will want to talk and----." - -"I see," says Yorke. "Come along, Miss Lisle; we're evidently not -wanted." - -They stroll away side by side, and slowly descend the grassy slope, -which gradually becomes broken by rock, which kindly nature, who has -always an eye to effect, has clothed with ferns and moss and lichen. - -"I suppose I ought to show you the hermit's cell?" says Leslie. -"Everybody sees it." - -"By all means," he assents, but rather absently--the loud laugh of -Finetta, the music-hall song are still echoing hideously in his ears. -"Which hermit?" - -"Didn't you know?" she says, lightly stepping from stone to stone. -"There was a hermit here once ever so long ago. Here is his cell," -and she stops before a cavity in the rocks, a deliciously shady nook, -overhung with honeysuckle and wild clematis which perfume the air. - -Yorke looks in. Somebody since the hermit's time, had been kind enough -to fix a comfortable seat in the little cell, from which a delightful -view of the sea and the cliff can be obtained. - -"Let us sit down while you tell me about him," he says. - -Leslie seats herself, and looks out at the greenery at her feet and -wide-stretching blue of sea and sky beyond; and he takes his place -beside her, but looks at her instead of the view. "The proper study of -mankind is--woman." - -"There really was a hermit here ever so long ago," she says, dreamily. -"They talk of him at Portmaris even now. He was a very great man in his -time, but I am afraid not a very good one. It is said that he killed -his best friend in a duel, and, that smitten with remorse for his crime -and his foolish life, he vowed that he would never set eyes on mortal -man again. So he came and lived in this cell, which he dug out with his -own hands, and spent the rest of his life in prayer and meditation. -Every day the village folks, and sometimes the pilgrims who visited his -shrine, placed food on the ledge of the little window; but though they -could hear his voice in prayer or singing hymns, no one ever saw his -face, nor did he ever look out upon those who came to visit him." - -"He must have been fearfully unhappy," says Yorke, in a low voice, for -the soft, subdued tones seem to cast a spell over him. - -"No, they say not; for he was often heard, especially after he had been -living here for some years, to be singing cheerfully; but that was -after he had received his sign." - -"His sign?" he asks. - -"Yes. He prayed that if Heaven forgave him his sins, and accepted his -penitence, it would render the birds tame enough to come at his call." - -"And did they?" - -"Yes. The pilgrims to the shrine often saw a thin hand thrust through -the window with a hedge sparrow or thrush perched upon it, and the -rabbits, there were numbers of them, here, would come when he called, -and let him feed them with the remains of his frugal fare. One day the -village people received no answer when they called to him, not even -the _Pax Vobiscum_, which amply repaid them for their pious charity. -They waited two days, and then they entered the cell, and found him -lying dead on his stone pallet, and a wild dove was resting on his -breast. It flew away as they entered, but it was seen hovering about -the cell for years afterward, and the Portmaris people say that a dove -is always near here, even now." - -If Yorke had read the story of the Hermit of St. Martin in a book--he -didn't read many books, unfortunately--it would not have affected -him at all, but told by this lovely girl, in a voice hushed with -sympathetic awe and reverence, it moves him strangely. - -"It's a pity there are not more hermits," he says, "a pity a man can't -leave the world in which he has made himself such a nuisance, and have -a little time to be quiet and repent." - -"Yes, your grace," assents Leslie. - -He looks at her quickly, and then away to the sea again. - -"I wonder whether you'd be offended if I asked a favor of you, Miss -Lisle." - -"What is it?" she says, lightly. "In the old times the proper reply -was, 'Yea, unto half my kingdom,' but I haven't any kingdom." - -"Oh, it isn't much," he says. "I was only going to ask you if you would -be kind enough not to address me as 'your grace.'" - -Leslie looks at him with her slow smile, and a faint blush. - -"Is it wrong?" she asks, apologetically. "I didn't know. You see, I -have not met many dukes." - -He strikes at the sandy pebbles which form the floor of the good -hermit's cave, with his stick. - -"Oh--oh, it's right enough to call a duke 'your grace,'" he says, -hurriedly, "but I'd rather you didn't call me so." - -"I'm glad it was right," she rejoins, with an air of relief. "I thought -that perhaps I'd committed some awful blunder." - -"No, no," he says. "But don't, please. I have a decided objection to -it. You see I'm rather a republican than otherwise--everybody is a -republican nowadays, don't you know." Oh, Yorke, Yorke! "There will be -no dukes or any other titles presently." - -"But until that time arrives what should one call you?" asks Leslie, -not unreasonably. "Is 'my lord' right?" - -"It's better," he admits, "but I don't care much about that from -friends, you know. I'm afraid you think it's rather presumptuous of me -to call you a friend." - -"'An enemy' would sound rude and ungrateful after your and Mr. Temple's -kindness," she says, as lightly as before. - -"My name is Yorke--one of 'em, and it's the name I like best. I dare -say that you have noticed that Mr.--Mr. Temple calls me by it?" - -"Yes," says Leslie. - -"So it sounds more familiar to me, and--and nicer. I suppose a man has -a right to be called what he likes." - -"I imagine so," says Leslie. - -"Then that's a bargain," he says, cheerfully, as if the matter were -disposed of. "This place," he goes on, as if anxious to get away from -the subject, "reminds me of Scotland a little bit. You only want a -salmon river. I've spent many a day fishing and shooting in a solitude -as complete as the hermit's. You get scared at last by the stillness -and the silence, and begin to think that all creation has gone to -sleep, and are afraid to move lest you should wake it; and then while -you stand quite still beside the stream, something comes flitting -down the mountain side--something with great antlers and big mournful -eyes, and it steps into the water close beside you, and takes a drink, -looking round watchfully. Then up you jump and give a shout, and away -the stag goes, and all creation's awake again." - -It is Leslie's turn to listen now, and she does so with half-parted -lips. - -"Then at night you go out with a gun, and you lie down flat amongst -the bracken, and keep your eyes open, and after a while when you are -just feeling tired of it, and thinking what an idiot you are not to -be in bed, or at any rate, beside a cozy fire with a pipe, you hear a -flap, flap in the air, and a couple of heron come sailing between you -and the moon, and you raise your gun carefully and quietly--awfully -sharp chap the heron--and down comes one of 'em, and perhaps, if you -have any luck, the other with the second barrel. Then you load up again -and wait, and after a time, if your luck holds good, a flush of wild -duck come flipperty, flopperty, above your head and you bring one or -two of them down. And all the time the stream ripples and babbles on, -and the soft wind plays through the pines, and----." He stops with a -laugh and that peculiar look which expresses shyness in a man. "I beg -your pardon, I forgot; I mean, I must be boring you to death." - -"No, you were not," says Leslie, quietly, and with a little sigh. - -"I forgot that ladies don't care for sport, except hunting, some of -them. They like to hear about London, and all the gossip there." - -Leslie shakes her head. - -"I'm afraid I'm very singular, then," she says. "For I would rather -hear about fishing and shooting, if it is all like that you have been -telling me of." - -"But it isn't," he says, with a laugh. "Sometimes the birds don't come, -and the fish won't rise, and instead of catching any you catch a cold. -And then you go back to London, and swear that's it's the best place -after all; but after a little while you get sick of it again, and think -if you could only get on to a Scotch moor, you'd be happy." - -"Man never is, but always to be blest," says Leslie. - -"Yes, because men are such fools that they spoil their lives before -they know where they are," he says. "I once saw a man try to swim -across the Thames, for a wager, with a ten-pound weight round his -neck. He would have been drowned, if they hadn't picked him up pretty -smartly. It's the same in life----." He stops suddenly and laughs -rather shortly. "We'll get on to a more cheerful topic. There's a hawk, -see?" and he points to a bird circling in the vault of blue. - -"I was wondering what it was," says Leslie. "You must have good eyes. -Do you know all the birds when you see them?" - -"Nearly all, I think," he replies. "Horses, and dogs, and birds, I know -a little about, but I don't know anything else. I think I should have -made a decent gamekeeper or horse breaker; I'm not fit for anything -else. But sometimes I console myself with something I read in the paper -the other day; the fellow said that there were far too many clever -people in the world, and that very soon it would be quite a distinction -not to have painted a picture, or written a book, or done something in -the scientific way. I'm on the safe road to distinction, Miss Lisle. -There isn't a bigger dunce in Portmaris than I am." - -So they talk. It is not much. It is neither witty nor wise; it is -just the pleasant, aimless chatter of two young people who are almost -strangers; and yet so absorbed and interested are they, that they do -not note how time flies, that the sun is sinking in the west, and that -the shadows are stealing over hill and dale. - -Leslie is perfectly at her ease. She has almost forgotten, quite -forgotten for the time, indeed, that the young man sitting beside her -with his arms folded behind his head, and talking of his fishing and -his shooting, and of the strange beasts and birds and fishes he has -seen, killed, or captured, is a duke; and he, Yorke, always ready to be -happy, to meet the sweet goddess Happiness, half-way, is filled with a -strange feeling of peace, that yet is not peace, which at times almost -startles him. - -In all his life he has not met with a girl like this; so simple, yet so -sweetly wise; so good, and yet so bright and winsome. He is beginning -to know some of the multitudinous expressions of the beautiful face, to -lay traps for the slow heart-winning smile, to set snares for drawing -the clear, darkly gray eyes toward his, that he may look into their -depths. Her voice makes sweet melody in his ears, and stirs his heart -with a vague thrill which will trouble him presently, trouble him very -much. It seems to him one moment that he has known her for years, the -next that she has just lighted from the clouds, or risen from the -depths of the blue sea, and that he shall never know her or get any -nearer to her. - -And under the influence of these sensations, which summed up as a -whole, are as a potent spell, he forgets the dark girl whom he has -persuaded Vinson to take away out of sight, forgets the compact that he -has made with the duke, forgets that he is sailing under false colors -and is deceiving the girl beside him--forgets, in short, everything, -save that she is beside him, and that he has the delight of looking at, -and talking to, and, ah, best of all, of listening to her. - -He would be content to sit there--so that she were by his side--till -the end of the world, but a shadow falling across the entrance to the -hut rouses Leslie to a sense of the flight of the common enemy. - -"Why, it must be late," she says, with the air of one making a great -discovery. - -"Is it?" he says. "Must we really go? It is very jolly here--it is as -jolly as it was last night on the water." - -But he gets up and follows her, and they make their way back. As they -emerge on the hill-side, they find that the wind has dropped, and is -sighing across the downs rather plaintively; and Yorke, looking up, -sees a cloud, which, though it is not much bigger than a man's hand, is -full of warning. - -"Did you happen to bring an umbrella with you?" he asks, with affected -carelessness. - -Leslie laughs. - -"Not even a sunshade. Why?" - -"Nothing," he says, inwardly calling himself opprobrious names for not -providing the Englishman's traveling companion. - -"Do you think it is going to rain?" she asks. "Oh, no, it isn't -possible." - -"Everything is possible in this charming climate of ours," he says. -"Well, Mr. Lisle, how are you getting on?" he asks, as they go up to -the artist, still hard at work. - -He looks up with a start. To him they have only been absent, say, a -quarter of an hour. - -"It is difficult," he says. "Very. One needs time--time." - -"We'd better come another day," says Yorke. "Oh, you have got on -famously," and he keeps his countenance capitally as he looks at the -sketch. "I'll carry your easel," and he folds it up, and puts it over -his shoulder. - -They find the duke waiting for them at the bottom of the tower, and -seeing them all together, he does not suspect that the two young people -have been spending the whole afternoon _tete-a-tete_. - -"I was just going off without you," he says, addressing all three, but -looking at Leslie's face, which wears a rapt and dreamy expression. - -"It's well you didn't," retorts Yorke. "You and Grey would never have -reached home alive. Miss Leslie and I are the only persons who can -manage these nags. But come on," and he glances upward--that cloud has -grown considerably since they left the hermit's hut--and leads the way -to the inn. - -"Now, ma'am," he says to the landlady, in his frank, and genial way. -"Got the kettle boiling? Right! Let us have some tea while the horses -are being put to." - -Then he goes round to the stable, inspects the horses, and is back in -time to hand Leslie a cup of the beverage, which be the hour what it -may, is always welcomed by fair women. - -"Now up you get," he says, after surreptitiously tipping -everybody--landlord, hostler, rosy-cheeked maid, all round. "Miss -Leslie, we can't get on without you in front, you know," he remarks, as -Leslie is about to go inside; and he helps her to the box. - -The horses are fresh and eager for work, and for a time he drives, but -presently he puts the reins in her hands. - -"According to promise," he says. "Hold 'em tight while I," and he -bends down and searches for something under the box seat. - -"Oh, how beautifully they go," she says, half to herself. "What is it -you are looking for, your gra--Lord Yorke?" - -"Never you mind," he says. "You look after your horses." - -Leslie laughs, and laughs again as he comes up, red in the face, and -with a Scotch wrap in his hand. - -"Are you so cold?" she asks. - -"Very," he responds. "It's going to snow, I fancy." - -"Why, it is quite close," she says, removing her eyes for a moment from -the horses to glance at him with smiling surprise. "It seems hotter -than it has been all day." - -As she speaks, a low rumbling rolls over their heads and a flash of -light cuts across the sky. - -"That is lightning," she exclaims. - -"It was rather like it," he admits, dryly. - -"Did you bring any gamps?" asks the duke. - -"Nary one," replies Yorke, grimly. "Slang away, I can bear it--and I -deserve it," he mutters, glancing at the girlish figure beside him. - -Mr. Lisle looks round absently. - -"I'm afraid--it--it is going to rain," he says. - -In another minute it is raining. Yorke takes the rug in both hands, and -deftly wraps it round Leslie. - -"Oh, no, please," she says, and she glances behind her. "Give it to -him--Mr. Temple." - -"It would be more than my life is worth," he says. "I dare not offer it -to him. Please let me fasten it. How shall I? Give me a hairpin!" - -"You must hold the horses, then," she says. - -"I can see one sticking out," he says. - -"Well, take it," she responds, innocently and all unconsciously, for -she is thinking of her driving far more than the rain or the rug or -anything else. - -He looks at her intent and absorbed face, and puts up his hand and -draws the hairpin from its soft and silken nest, and she, unheeding, -does not know that his hand trembles, actually trembles, as he fastens -the rug round her. - -"Now give me the reins," he says, "and keep your head down; we are in -for a regular storm." - -As he speaks, the rain comes down with a whiz, as if it meant to wash -them off the box. - -Leslie laughs. - -"After all, it is a proper picnic," she says. - -But the next instant her laugh dies away, for the heavens seem to open -before them, a peal of thunder roars like the discharge of a park -of artillery just above their heads, and the horses, startled and -frightened, stop dead short, then rear up on end. - -The carriage sways, and for a moment it seems as if it were going over, -and Leslie is forced up close against Yorke. - -He holds the terrified horses with one strong hand, against him. - -"All right," he says, in a low voice. "Don't be afraid, Leslie!" His -arm holds her, supports her, presses her to him, perhaps unconsciously. -"You are quite safe, dearest, dearest." - -Low as his voice is, Leslie hears him, or--she asks herself--is it only -fancy? - -For a moment, one brief moment, she cowers, nestling to him, her face -hidden against his shoulder; then with a start, she draws away, and -with her face red and white by turns, looks straight before her. - -And through the roar of thunder, and the hissing of the rain, she hears -those words re-echoing, "Leslie, dearest--dearest!" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -YORKE IN LOVE. - - -The great changes of our lives come suddenly. Swift as the lightning's -flash is the revelation to Yorke that he loves the girl who sits beside -him. - -Half-unconsciously he had uttered the words which are still ringing in -her ears, but he knows that his heart has been saying "dearest" all day -long. - -He knows now what that strange, peaceful happiness meant which made him -feel as if he would be content to pass the rest of his life by her side -in the hermit's cell. - -And he knows that this is no transient passion which will have its day, -and pass, leaving not a wreck behind, as so many passions alas! have -passed with him. To every one of the sons of men, it is said, comes -once in his life, the great all-absorbing love which wipes out all -others, and which shall make of all his days an endless misery or a -surpassing happiness; and this love has come to Yorke. - -In an instant, as it were, it seems to have wrought a change in him. -Gay, reckless, thoughtless, an hour ago, he is serious enough now. - -His heart is beating quickly, furiously; his strong hands tremble as he -holds the terrified horses, and urges them on with whip and voice; and -yet, though apparently engrossed with them, thinking more of the silent -girl beside him. - -She is so silent! She scarcely seems to move, but sits, with the rug -concealing her face, her head bent down. - -"What have I said?" he asks himself; in truth he scarcely knows. It -is as if his heart had suddenly become the master of his voice and -actions, and had made a helpless slave of him. - -If she would only speak! He longs past all description to hear her -voice, even though it should be in anger and indignation; but she does -not speak. He lifts his face to the sweeping rain and almost welcomes -it. The storm is in harmony with the tempest of awakened passion -which rages in his breast. He does not dare to speak to her, scarcely -ventures to look her way, and he sits as silent as herself, while the -horses dash along the streaming road and up the Portmaris street. - -"We might have come by boat, there is water enough," says the duke, -dryly. "Miss Lisle, I am afraid you are wet through. Pray get in at -once, or you will catch cold." - -She stands up on the box, and Yorke goes to unfasten the wrap, but she -is too quick for him, and, taking out the hairpin, lets the rug fall, -and stands before his eyes, her slim, graceful figure swayed a little -away from him as if she did not want him to touch her. - -He gets down, and offers her his hand, but she springs from the box -lightly, stands a moment, then with a low-voiced "Good-night--and thank -you," follows her father into the house. - -The duke looks after her. - -"The poor child is wet through and chilled," he says, sympathetically. -"It's a pity you didn't think of a mackintosh, Yorke. What are you -going to do with the rig and horses?" - -Yorke looks down at him as if he scarcely heard or understood, for a -moment; then he says, absently, like a man only half recovered from a -stunning blow: - -"The horses--oh, I'll find a place for them." - -"You might take them to the station, your grace; they could put them up -there in the good stable," suggests Grey. - -"Yes, yes; and look sharp," says the duke. "We'll have some dinner by -the time you are back. Will you have a glass of whisky and water before -you go?" - -But Yorke shakes his head almost impatiently. - -"I'm all right," he says, curtly, and he drives off. - -He sees the horses made comfortable in the stable at the station, and -helps to rub them down and litter them; then he turns back. - -But at the top of the street he pauses. He cannot face the duke just -yet. There is that in his face, in his voice, he knows, which will -reveal his secret. - -He turns off to the right, and makes his way along a little used road -toward the sea. - -He is wet through, but he does not notice it; he scarcely knows where -he is going until he stands on the edge of the sea. - -"I love her!" he murmurs. "Yes, I love her. There is no woman in all -the world like her! So good, so gentle, so beautiful." - -He thinks of all the girls he has seen, talked with, danced with, and -flirted with; but there is none like Leslie. - -"I am a lost man if I do not get her!" he says to himself. "And how can -I get her?" He groans, and pushes his hat off his brow, that is hot and -burning. "She cares nothing for me; why should she? If I was to ask her -to be my wife--my wife! How can I?" And he shudders as if some black -thought had swept down upon him, and crushed the hope out of him. "How -can I? Oh, what a mad, senseless fool I have been! How we chuck our -lives away to find out, when it is too late, what it is we've lost. If -I had met her a year ago----." He breaks off, and sighs, as he tramps up -and down in the rain. "If I could only wipe out that year! But I can't, -I can't, though I'd give ten years of the life that's left in me to be -able to do it! What would she think--say--if she knew, if I told her? -With all her sweet, childlike ways, and all her innocence and purity, -she is a woman, and the very goodness for which I love her would fight -against me! She looked and spoke like an angel when she was telling me -that story about the hermit. An angel! I'm a nice kind of man to fall -in love with an angel, and want to marry her! I might as well fall in -love with one of those stars." And he looks up despairingly at the -diamond lights that are peering through the rift in the clouds. - -"Besides," he mutters, "even if--if that other woman weren't in the -question," and he sets his teeth, "how could I ask her to marry me? -Even if she'd have me--and why should I dare to think that I could win -her love? I'm a pauper and worse. And she thinks me a duke! That's -another thing! I forgot that idiotic business! Oh, I've tied myself up -in every way, and haven't a chance! And yet I love her--I love her! -Leslie!" he repeats the name, as Romeo might have repeated Juliet's, -finding a torturing joy in its music. "No, there's no hope! Yorke, my -boy, you are badly hit. You've laughed at this kind of thing often -enough, but your turn has come. And as there is no hope for you, you -have got to bear it. The best thing you can do is to clear out in the -morning, and blot Portmaris out of the map of England. I mustn't see -her again--never again!" - -All his nature protests against this resolve, and his heart aches -badly, very badly; but he squares his shoulders and sets his teeth hard. - -"Yes, that's the only thing to do; to cut and run. There's one comfort, -she won't mind. She won't miss me. God knows what I said when I felt -her face against my breast; but whatever it was, I've offended her past -forgiveness. She wouldn't see me again, I dare say, if I stayed, and -so----." He heaves a sigh, which is very much like a groan, and turns -homeward. - -He finds Grey alone in the room when he enters; the dinner things are -still on the table, and Grey looks at him with a rather grave and -startled expression. - -"I've saved some dinner, your grace," he says. - -"'Your grace' be da--hanged!" says Yorke, almost fiercely. - -"Yes, my lord," murmurs Grey. "The duke waited for over an hour, and he -has gone to bed; I was afraid of a chill, my lord. And your lordship is -wet, very wet, still----." - -"All right," says Yorke, as politely as he can. "Never mind. Go and see -after the duke, and dinner--oh, yes. Thanks, you need not wait." - -He tries to eat, but for once his faithful appetite fails him, and he -pushes his plate away and gets his pipe, that great consoler in all -times of trouble; and this is the worst trouble Yorke Auchester has -ever had. - -It is well on into the small hours when weary, but oppressed by a -ghastly wakefulness, he goes to bed, and there he lies, open-eyed and -thoughtful, until the sun floods the room. - -He gets up, and as he looks in the glass after his bath, he smiles -grimly. - -"Only one night of it!" he says. "And a great many similar ones -lie before me before I get over this! I wonder whether she has been -thinking of me? Why should she? And if she should have been they -wouldn't be pleasant thoughts." - -He pulls the blinds aside and looks at the house opposite, wondering -which is her window; and as he does so, the lover's heart-hunger for a -sight of his loved one assails him. - -It has still strong possession of him when he goes down the stairs -and into the street; but he fights against it. The best thing he can -do is not to see Leslie Lisle, but to drive Vinson's horses back to -Northcliffe, and take the train from there to London, and--stop there; -stop there till in a round of the folly which has suddenly grown so -senseless and worthless in his eyes, he has dulled the pain of this, -his first real love. - -It is early, but Portmaris is alive and very much in evidence. The -fishermen are out on the beach, the women are bustling about, the -children are playing in the road-way. Some with a huge slice of bread -and butter or treacle in their fists; breakfast is evidently a very -movable feast with the entire population. - -Yorke stands a moment and looks round with a pang of regret. - -"I shall think of this place," he says. "Think of it too often to be -comfortable. Why couldn't I have come here--and to her--a year ago? -What's that song about 'the might have been'? That's how I feel this -morning. Oh, lord!" - -He strides on with his head drooping, in an attitude very unlike that -of Yorke Auchester's usual one; and without the last night's opera song -on his lips as is ordinarily the case; and he is near the station, when -he hears the laughter of children ahead of him, and looking up, sees a -group that make his heart leap, and the blood rush to his face. - -Under a great oak in the pretty lane stands no other than Leslie -herself, with a child upheld in her arms, and two others clinging to -the skirts of her pretty, simple morning dress. The child borne aloft -has pulled off her hat, and the sunlight as it comes through the -trees, falls in flecks of light and shadow on her hair and upturned -face. She is laughing the soft, sweet laugh, which, though he should -live to be as old as the old man walking along on the other side of the -road, Yorke will never forget, and--she does not see him. - -Shall he turn and go back, go back and leave her forever? Better! But -he cannot, simply cannot. So he goes on slowly, and it is not until he -is close behind her that she hears him. - -She turns, the child still held, crowing and struggling in her arms, -and a startled look comes into her eyes, and the color flies to her -face, and then leaves it pale. - -Yorke lifts his hat. - -"Good-morning," he says. - -Her lips move, and her head bends over the child now lying in her arms, -and staring with blue eyes up at the big man who dares to address "Miss -Lethlie." Leslie's lips move; no doubt she says "good-morning," in -response, though he cannot hear her. - -"You are early this morning," he says, and he knows that his voice -falters and sounds unnatural, as surely as he knows that his heart -is beating like a steam-hammer, and that the longing to cry to her, -"Leslie, I love you!" is almost irresistible. - -"Yes," she says. "It is so beautiful after the rain----." - -She stops, for the word has recalled that homeward drive, the storm, -his words--all that she has been thinking of through the long night. - -"Yes," he says, vaguely, stupidly. Then he says, suddenly, "That child -is too heavy for you----." - -"Oh, no; I often carry it," she falters, bending still lower over the -pretty face enshrined in the yellow curls. - -"But it is," he says. "Let me take it, if it must be carried." - -"She would not let you," she says. - -"We'll see," he rejoins, scarcely knowing what he is saying; and he -holds out his arms. - -The mite stares at him, turns and clutches Leslie for a moment, then, -with the fickleness of its sex, swings round and holds out its arms to -him. - -Yorke laughs, and holds it up above his head. - -"Now what shall I do with you?" he says, hurriedly. "Take you to London -with me. No?" for the child struggles. "For that is where I am going." -He puts the child down, and it toddles off with the other two. "Yes, I -am going to London, Miss Lisle," he goes on, trying to speak lightly, -carelessly. - -"Yes?" she says, with downcast eyes, and she stoops to pick up her hat. -As she does so, he stoops too; they get hold of it together, and their -hands meet. - -But for that sudden meeting, that touch of her hand, he could have -gone, and the history of Leslie Lisle would have been a very different -one; but it is the link which the Fates have been wanting to make their -chain complete. - -"Leslie!" he cries, scarcely above his breath. "Leslie!" And he takes -both her hands and holds them fast, and looks into her eyes, the dark, -gray eyes which she lifts to him with a swift fear--or is it a swift -joy? mirrored in their clear depths. - -"Let--me--go," she falters, with trembling lips. - -"No!" he says, desperately. "Not till I have told you that I love you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -AN IMPETUOUS AVOWAL. - - -"I love you!" - -Leslie draws her hands from his grasp, and stands with averted face, -her bosom heaving, her breath coming with difficulty. - -It is so sudden, so swift, this declaration, that she is overwhelmed. -The heart of a pure-minded, innocent girl is not unlike a fortress. It -withstands many an attack, and is able to repulse the besiegers until -the one comes who cries "Surrender!" and at the sound of his voice, -before some nameless magic in his presence, her strength goes, the -gate is thrown wide open, and the conqueror marches in. - -Leslie had been calm and self-possessed enough when Ralph Duncombe was -pleading his passionate love, and was able to withstand his urgent -prayer, but to Yorke she can find nothing to say; she can only stand -with downcast eyes, her heart beating fast, and the gates beginning to -open! - -He takes her hand, but again she draws it from him, and sinking on to -the trunk of a fallen tree, keeps her face, her eyes, from him. - -"You are angry?" he says, his usually light and careless voice deep -and earnest enough now. "Well, I deserve that. I--I ought not to have -told you so suddenly. But----," he leans against a tree close beside -her, and looks down at her--"but--well, I couldn't help it. I was going -away this morning." His heart gives a little quiver. "I was going away -from Portmaris--and from you. I've been thinking of you all night, and -I'd decided that that was the best thing to do. It's sudden and--and -startling to you, Leslie--Miss Lisle--but it doesn't seem so to me. You -see, I suppose I have been getting to love you ever since I saw you on -the beach; that's not long ago, I dare say you'll say, but it seems a -long time to me--months, ages." - -It is almost as if her own heart were speaking, it is just as she has -felt. She listens in a kind of amazement at the subtle sympathy between -them. - -"I have thought of nothing else but you since I saw you. I know that -I shall be the happiest man in the world if--if you'll let me go -on loving you, and try to love me a little in return, and the most -wretched beggar in existence if--if you can't." - -He waits a moment, for a strange sensation comes in his throat and -stops his speech, usually so fluent and so free. Then, she still -remaining silent, he goes on with the same grave, earnest tone, and -with the same half-eager, half-hesitating tremor in his voice. - -"I've never seen any one like you; I know plenty of women, but none -like you, Leslie--I beg your pardon! You see, I always think of you as -Leslie. If I were to try and tell you how I feel, I should make a mess -of it. I can only say that I love you, I love you!" - -With all his ignorance and lack of eloquence he is wise. "I love you," -sums up all a woman wants or cares to hear. - -"Of course," he goes on in a lower voice, daunted by her silence, her -motionless, downcast face, her hidden eyes. "Of course, I can't expect, -don't expect you to understand or--or to care for me even a little. You -haven't known me long enough or--or--anything about me. All I want is -a little hope. If you don't dislike me, right down dislike me, I'll be -glad enough, and I'll try and get you to love me a little. You can't -love me as I love you; that isn't to be thought of!" - -"Is it not?" she thinks, but she says nothing. - -Up above their heads a thrush is singing melodiously, and the liquid -notes seem to say quite plainly, "I love you." The sun, as it shines -between the leaves of the old oak, and touches Yorke's brave, and -eager face, is surely smiling, "He loves you!" The stream rippling -in a hollow behind them, as it runs laughing down to the sea, is as -certainly murmuring, "Love, love, love!" - -"You are angry and--and offended," he says, after a pause, during which -she has been listening to this harmony of nature's voices. "Well, I -deserve it! I ought to have waited until you knew more of me--but -you see, as I said, I could not keep it. I had been thinking of you, -dreaming of you, all night, and then I saw you suddenly, and I felt -as if I must speak, happen what might. If I hadn't seen you, I dare -say I could have found heart enough to clear out, and--and hold my -tongue; but when I saw you with that little one in your arms, looking -so beautiful and so good, just the Leslie I love so dearly, the words -rushed out almost before I knew it--and--and----," he squares his -broad chest, and tilts his hat back with a gesture which, unlike most -gestures, fits him like a glove, "there it is!" - -She does not lift her face, does not open the lips that are -trembling--if he could only see it; and he waits a moment before he -says, sadly, with the lover's despairing note audible through an -affected cheerfulness: - -"I'm--I'm sorry that I've made a nuisance of myself, and--and worried -you. Don't be upset and think anything of it. I ought not to have -spoken. I couldn't help loving you, but I might have had the sense -to hold my tongue, and taken myself off without distressing you. -Don't--don't think any more of it. I'm not worthy of you, not worth a -thought from such as you, and--well, I'll say good-by, Miss Lisle." - -He puts his hat straight, and braces himself together, so to speak, for -the parting; then he bends down and takes her hand, the hand that lies -in the lap of the pretty morning frock like a white flower. - -She does not draw it away now, and as he holds it, the passion which -raises men to a level with the gods, takes possession of him. - -"Leslie!" he says, almost hoarsely. "I can't let you go! I love you too -much. Look at me, speak to me! Unless you hate me, I must stay and try -and make you love me! I can't lose you! You are the only woman I have -ever seen or known that I wanted badly! And I do want you! I can't live -without you! I can't leave you, knowing that I may never see you again. -I can't. Look up, Leslie--dearest--dearest! Tell me straight, once and -for all--I will never come back to worry you--once and for all, will -you try and love me?" - -He takes her other hand--he has got both now, and lifts her, actually -lifts her from the tree. She does not resist him, but lets her hands, -trembling, remain willing prisoners, and when her face is on a level -with his, she raises her eyes and looks at him. - -There must be something in the dark gray eyes, something under the -shadow of the black lashes, which contains a potent magic; for at sight -of it his heart leaps and the blood rushes to his face, then leaves it -pale with the intensity of a supreme emotion, an incredible joy, an -amazed delight. - -"Leslie!" breaks from him, "Leslie!" - -Her eyes meet his, steadily, yet shyly, o'er-brimming with the secret -which a maiden keeps, hugs closely, while she can. A secret which she -is loth to part with, but which the loved one's eyes read so quickly. - -"Leslie--do you--ah, dearest, dearest, you do love me!" - -She tries to withstand him, to draw away from him, even now; but his -passion is too much for her, and the next instant she is folded in his -arms and her head lies on his breast. - -Sing on happy thrush; but no music even your velvet throat can make -shall compare with the music ringing through these two human hearts. A -music which shall not die though these same hearts may be torn apart -and wrung with anguish; a music which for joy or pain, weal or woe, -shall echo through their lives till Death comes with its great silence. - -But it is of life and love and joy, and not death or parting, that they -are thinking now. - -He draws her arm within his as if she had belonged to him for years, -or rather as if he wanted to assure himself that she belonged to him, -and they pace slowly along the meadow in the shadow of the trees; her -hat swings on her hand, her eyes lift, heavy with love, to his face, as -he bends down to her his own, eloquent with the devotion and adoration -which fill his heart to overflowing. And yet through all the storm of -passion that tosses in his breast, he has sense enough to notice how -beautiful she is, how lightly and gracefully she walks by his side, how -delicious is the pose of the slender neck, the half averted face. This -flower that he has found and plucked to wear in his breast is no common -weed, but a rare blossom of which an emperor might be proud. - -And she--well, she scarcely realizes yet what this is that has happened -to her; she only knows that a supreme happiness, a novel joy, so -intense as to be almost pain, is thrilling through her; that at one -moment she feels inclined to cry and the next to laugh. He is hers! -She is to be his wife!--his wife! Oh, what a singular dream! Shall she -wake soon? Wake to find that he has gone, and that all that is now -happening is but a phantasy, a vision that will fade and leave her -desolate. - -She starts presently and looks up at him. - -"Papa! He--will miss me--wonder where I have gone," she says. "How long -have we been here?" and she looks round as if she expected to see the -shades of night falling. - -He laughs softly, the laugh of a man so completely happy that time has -ceased to be of consequence. - -"I don't know. What does it matter? Your father will know you are all -right. He will think you have gone to the beach, that you are playing -with the children--how fond you are of children, dearest." - -"Yes, yes," she murmurs. - -"I never saw any one go on with them as you do. No wonder they love -you; but I suppose everything and every one does. By the way----." He -stops, and a faint shadow falls on his face. "I suppose there have been -ever so many fellows who've been in love with you?" - -She makes a little gesture of indifference, as if the thought was too -trivial to be entertained or spoken of. What does it matter who loved -her, now? - -"That--that letter and the ring?" he says, inquiringly. - -She raises her clear eyes to his. - -"Do you want me to tell you about them?" she says, in a low voice, as -if he had the right to search her soul, and she were wishing that he -should do so. - -"No, no," he rejoins. - -"But I will. He--he who wrote the letter and gave me the ring----." - -His face grows cloudier. - -"No, no tell me just this. He is nothing to you, you never cared----." - -"Never," she says simply. "He has gone--I will tell you." - -He presses her face to his to silence her, and a wave of remorse, of -self-reproach, sweeps over him. - -"No, no, not a word. That is enough for me. You are mine now and always -and forever." - -"Forever!" she breathes. - -"And--and," he hurries on. "I have no right to ask you about the -past--the past that did not belong to me. Besides, if I did you would -have the right to ask me, and----." He stops suddenly, pale, and -trembled. - -She looks up at him. - -"I ask nothing," she says, in a low voice. "You shall tell me all you -want to tell me; just that, and no more." - -"My darling, my dearest!" he says, but the trouble still rings in his -voice. Shall he tell her? Now is the time. She would forgive him, love -him none the less, if he told her all now. Shall he throw himself upon -her great love and mercy? - -For a moment Yorke's guardian angel hovers near him and whispers, "Tell -her, trust her!" but he thrusts the angel aside and silences her. - -"I am not worthy of you, dearest," he says; "I can tell you that much: -no man is worthy of you! But the best of us couldn't love you better -than I do, Leslie. Leslie! Do you know that when I heard your name it -seemed to me the prettiest I had ever heard, and as if it belonged to -some one I had loved for years? Have you any other name?" - -She shakes her head. - -"Isn't one enough?" she says, laughing, softly. "I am not big enough -for more than one of two syllables. Why, see, yours is only one, or -have you got more names? Tell me them? How strange; oh, how strange! I -do not know rightly what you are called, and yet----." - -"Yet you love me, and promise to be my wife--why don't you say it right -out?" he says. - -She shakes her head. - -"But your names?" - -"Oh," he says, carelessly. "There's a string of 'em. Yorke, Clarence, -Fitzhardinge Auchester--" - -"And Rothbury," she says, with sudden gravity. - -He starts slightly, and colors. This foolish whim of the duke's! What -is to be done about it now? - -"Duke of Rothbury," she goes on, gravely, and with an almost troubled -smile. "I--I had forgotten----." - -"Go on forgetting!" he says, drawing her arm closer. - -"Yes! I--you will not be angry?" - -"At nothing you can say, unless it were, 'I do not love you!'" - -"I was going to say that I wish I could--that I wish you were not a -duke, and had no title of any kind!" - -"So do I if you wish it," he says. "What does it matter?" - -"But will it not matter?" she asks, her brows coming together. "Will -not the people--your people, all those great folks who belong to you, -your relations--be angry with me for--for----." - -"Stooping to love such a worthless, useless creature as I? Why should -they?" - -"I--I don't know. Yes I do. It is not girls like me, girls with no -title or anything, poor girls who know nothing of the fashionable -world, and have no relations above a plain 'Mr.' who ought to marry -noblemen. I know enough for that. They will be right to be angry -and--and disappointed!" - -"Not they!" he says, lightly, but inwardly chafing against the bonds -which his promise to the duke has woven round him. "Let them mind their -own business!" - -"But it is their business!" she says. "What a duke, a well-known -nobleman, does, must be everybody's business, and everybody will be -astonished and--sorry." - -"Wait until they see you!" he says, confidently. - -She looks up at him with eyes dewy with gratitude. - -"Do you think everybody will see me with your eyes?" she says, in a low -voice. - -"I think every man will envy me and wish himself in my place!" he -responds, promptly. - -She shakes her head. - -"No no! They will say when they hear of it that you have done wrong, -and say it still more decidedly when they see me. Why, I shall not know -what to do." She laughs half light-heartedly, half-anxiously. "I shall -not know how to begin, even, to play the great lady; I shall make all -sorts of mistakes, and call persons by their wrong names and titles. -Why, I did not know how to address you, your grace!" And she looks up -at him, with parted lips that smile but tremble a little. - -He kisses them tenderly, reassuringly. - -"You are only chaffing me," he says. "I can see that. You are the last -girl in the world to be frightened by anybody. You'd just take your -place in any set as naturally as if you'd known it and been in it all -your life. Why, do you think I don't know how proud you are?" - -"Am I?" she says, self-questioningly. "Yes; I think I was -yesterday--until--until now. But now my pride seems to have melted into -thin air, and I am only anxious. Do you know what I should do if I were -to see that you were even the least bit ashamed of me?" - -"What would you do? Something terrible?" - -"I should die of shame for your sake!" she says, slowly. - -"If you wait till you die of that complaint you'll live to be as old -as--what's his name, Methuselah!" and he laughs. "Why, I feel so proud -of winning you that I'm trying all I know not to swagger." - -She gives his arm just the faintest pressure. - -"Oh how foolish, how foolish!" she murmurs. "To be proud of me!" - -"I dare say, but I am, you see! I know I've got one of the loveliest -women in the world for a wife, and I shall get beastly conceited, I -expect, and perfectly unendurable. It isn't every man who wins the love -of an angel." - -"Ah, don't," she says. "An angel! They will not think me that, but only -a commonplace girl, who knows nothing, and is not fit to be--a duchess!" - -She utters the word as if he did not like it, and he colors again. - -"Tell me," she says, after a moment. "Tell me whom I shall have to fear -most. You see, I don't know even if you have a mother--a father. I -don't know anything!" - -He is silent a moment, mentally execrating the chain of circumstances -which compel him, force him, to--yes, deceive her! - -"They are both dead," he says, truthfully. "I haven't any near -relations--no brother and sister, I mean. I've an uncle, a Lord Eustace -and his two sons who's the next to the dukedom--he and they." - -"After you?" she says. "I don't understand--how should I?" - -"It does not matter," he says, hurriedly. - -"Tell me about him then--them. Is he nice? Will he be very angry?" - -He laughs. - -"No, he's not very nice. He's the miser of the family--you see, and -you'll have cause to be ashamed of some of us, dearest! And he won't -care the snap of his fingers whom I marry, or what becomes of me." - -This would sound singularly improbable to Leslie if she were worldly -wise; but she is not. As she says, she simply does not understand or -realize. - -"I am sorry," she says. "But I don't think it is true." - -"You think they are all so proud and fond of me?" he laughs, with a -faint tinge of bitterness. "Well, then I've other cousins----." - -"Mr. Temple?" she says. - -"Yes, Mr.--Mr. Temple," he mutters. - -"And what will he say?" she asks, with a smile. - -"He? Oh----." He stops. Yes, what will the duke say when he hears that -Leslie "has made love," as he will put it, to the supposed duke? - -"Look here, dearest," he says, after a pause. - -"Why should you or I care a brass farthing what any one thinks or says! -The only one I care about is your father." - -"Ah, papa!" she murmurs; and she pictures to herself Mr. Lisle's -amazement and distress at what he will regard as a "fuss" and -disturbance of his placid "artistic" life. - -"Are you afraid, Leslie?" Yorke asks. - -"I--I don't know. I am all in all to him; and--I do not know what he -will say. He will not be pleased; I mean he will see more plainly than -I do that I am not fit to be your wife, that I am not suitable for a -duchess. And he will say it is so sudden--and it is, is it not? If he -had had a little time to--to get used to it----." - -"Let us give him time," he says. "I was going to him now straight away -to ask him to give you to me; but if you think it better, if you wish -it, it shall be exactly as you think and wish, dearest. I will wait for -a little while, until he knows me better, and has got used to me. I -suppose it would startle and upset him if I were to go now." - -"Oh, yes, yes!" she says. "You do not know how nervous he is, and how -easily upset." - -"I think I can guess," he responds, thoughtfully. - -As he has said, it was his intention to go straight to Mr. Lisle and -tell him to go to the duke and announce the engagement; but if Leslie -wishes the announcement delayed--well, it will be as well! Will it -not be better that he should clear up sundry matters in London before -the world hears of his betrothal? Besides, how can he go to Mr. -Lisle without confessing that he has been masquerading as a duke and -explaining why? Before he can do that he must get the duke to release -him from this foolish agreement, which, foolish as it is, still binds -him. - -"What shall we do, dearest?" he asks, looking down at her. - -"Let us wait," she murmurs. "Let us wait for a day or two, till my -father knows you better, and--and you have had time to think whether it -is well that you should stoop so low----." Her voice dies away. The mere -thought of losing him is an agony. - -"Yes," he says, almost solemnly, "we will wait, but not for that -reason, Leslie. I don't want to think about anything of that kind. -As to stooping--well, you will learn some day how I love you, and -how infinitely above me you are. God grant you will not repent having -stooped to me, dearest! Yes, we will wait. After all, it may seem -sudden to them, and we will give them a little time to get used to it." - -"And meanwhile," she says, with a smile, which is half a sigh of -regret, "I will try and realize that I am to be a great lady. It will -seem rather hard at first. There ought to be a school at which one -could learn how to behave. They used to teach girls how to enter a -room, and bow, and courtesy, so that they might not disgrace their -belongings." - -He holds her at arm's length, and laughs at her, his eyes alight with -admiration, and love, and worship. - -"I've seen you walk down the street and cross the beach, Leslie," he -says. "You don't want any lessons in deportment. I'm thinking you'll -give some of 'em points, and beat them easily. Don't you ever look in -the glass? Don't you know that you are the loveliest, sweetest woman -man ever went mad over?" - -"Oh, hush, hush!" she says, putting her finger lightly on his lips, -and hiding her crimson face against his breast. "You must be blind! -But--oh, stay so, dearest, and never, never see me as I really am!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MISS FINETTA. - - -Two mornings later there rode into the Row at Hyde Park a young lady -whose appearance always attracted a great deal of attention. In the -first place, she was one of the handsomest, if not the handsomest woman -there; in the next, she rode her horse as perfectly as it is possible -for a girl to ride; and, lastly, wherever she went, on horseback or on -foot, this lady was well known; in fact a celebrity. For she was Miss -Finetta. - -As she rode in at a brisk canter in the superbly-fitting habit, which -seemed an outer skin of the lithe, supple figure, and followed by -her correctly clad groom, mounted on a horse as good as that of his -mistress, the hats of the men flew off, and the eyeglasses of the -women went up, or their owners looked another way. But to smiles or -frowns, pleasant nods, or icy stares, Finetta returned the same cool, -good-humored smile, the flash of her white teeth and black eyes. - -Every now and then London has a fit. Sometimes it takes the shape of -hero worship, and down the mob go on their knees to some celebrity, -male or female; at others it goes black in the face with hooting and -mud-flinging at some object which it has suddenly taken it into its -head to hate. - -At present all London--all fashionable male London--was in fits of -admiration of Finetta; and, strange to say, it had rather more than the -usual excuse for its enthusiasm. For she was a remarkable young woman. - -Not very long ago she had been playing in company with other girls in -the alley in which her father's small coal store was situated; and was -perfectly happy when the organ man came into the alley, and she and her -playmates danced round that popular instrument. - -Her mother wanted her to go to school, or at any rate to help her in -the green grocer shop, which was run in conjunction with the coal -store; but Finetta--her name at that time was Sarah Ann, by the -way--declined to go to school, and confined her ministrations in the -shop to stealing the oranges and apples. - -Her mother alternately scolded and beat her; her father declared with -emphatic and descriptive language, that she would come to no good. And -Sarah Ann, taking the scoldings, and the beatings, and the prophecies -of a bad end, with infinite good-humor, went on playing hop-scotch, and -dancing round the organ, quite happy in her ragged skirts and her black -tousled hair, and almost as black face and hands. - -But the gods, they say, delight in surprises, and one day an individual -happened to come down that alley who was fated to have an immense -influence on Sarah Ann's career. - -He was a well-known dancing-master, a first-rate one, and a respectable -man whose whole life had been devoted to his art and nothing else. - -He saw the group of girls dancing round the organ, stood and watched -them with an absent, reflective smile, and then, suddenly, his face lit -up and his eyes brightened. - -Sarah Ann had run out from the green grocer's shop with an orange she -had stolen, and as she tore off the peel with her white teeth, set to -dancing with the rest. - -The dancing-master drew aside a little, and kept his eyes on the lank, -angular girl whose dark orbs glowed under the excitement of the dance, -which, unlike that of her companions, was in perfect time with the -"music," and full of a grace which was as natural as a young Indian's. - -Monsieur Faber, he was a Frenchman, went up to her. - -"Are you fond of dancing?" he asked. - -"Am I! Ain't I?" she retorted, flashing her teeth upon him. "Why, of -course I am! Who ain't?" - -"So am I," he said. "Would you like to learn to dance properly?" - -"Learn! I can dance already!" she retorted, with a toss of her head. - -"Ah, you think so!" he said, smiling, with a kind of good-natured pity. - -He looked round; the alley was empty, excepting for the children; and -he signed to the organ man to go on playing, and as he played, the -thin, dapper little Frenchman began to dance. We won't try and describe -it. All the world has seen him, and knows what is meant when it is said -that it was Monsieur Faber at his best. - -He seemed to be made of springs, India rubber springs, to be as light -as a thistle down, to tread, float, on air, and to possess the wind and -speed of a dervish. - -The black-eyed slip of a girl watched him in breathless amazement and -delight; and when he finished and came on his toe points as if he had -just floated down from the grimy house-tops, she uttered a long-drawn -sigh of envy and admiration. - -"I couldn't do that," she said, looking at him sullenly but wistfully. - -"No, not yet," he said. "And why, my child? Because you have not been -taught. One does not know how to dance till one learns. Would you like -to learn?" - -"Shouldn't I, just!" she responded. - -"Take me to your mother, and we will see," he said. - -She ran, sprang into the shop. - -"Mother, here's a man as dances like--like--an angel," (she said "a -hangel",) "and he's going to teach me." - -The poor woman "went for her" with a stick that lay handy, but M. Faber -interposed, and entered on an explanation and a proposal. - -He would take Sarah Ann as a pupil, teach her to dance, get her an -engagement at one of the theaters, and in return, she was to be bound -to him as a kind of apprentice, and give him a certain percentage--it -was a fair one--of all she might earn for the next five years. - -Sarah Ann's parents hesitated, but Sarah Ann cut the negotiation short -by coolly announcing her determination, in the event of their refusing, -to accept the offer, to "cut and run," and, knowing that she was quite -capable of carrying out her threat the couple consented. - -M. Faber christened her Finetta, and commenced the lessons at once. -He had two daughters of his own, but though they worked hard, neither -they nor any of the other pupils were half so quick at the enchanting -science as Sarah Ann--pardon! Finetta--the daughter of the small coal -man. - -She worked hard, almost day and night; it might be said that she danced -in her dreams. She had a good ear for music; "if you only had a voice, -my dear child," M. Faber would murmur, throwing up his hands, and when -she danced it was like a human instrument playing, moving, in accord -and harmony with the mechanical one, the violin or the piano. - -She would do nothing at home in the alley; would not serve in the -shop, or keep the small coal accounts, or wash her face or brush her -hair; but she obeyed M. Faber with an eager alacrity which was almost -pathetic. - -"I want to dance better than any one in the world!" she would say, and -her master encouraged her by remarking that it was not unlikely she -would attain her wish. - -The months passed on. The angular girl--all legs and wings, like a -pullet--grew into a graceful young woman, with a face, which, if not -beautiful in the regulation way, was singularly striking, with flashing -eyes, and rather large but mobile lips. - -"There is a great future before that girl," M. Faber would remark to -his wife, a good-natured woman, who treated all the pupils as if they -were her own children. But he did not hurry. "One does not learn to -dance in a day," he would say, when Finetta begged him to get her an -engagement, even if it were ever so small a one. "Patience, my good -child; and when the time comes, _voila_, you shall see!" - -The time came, and Finetta appeared among the ladies of the ballet at a -small provincial theater. He kept her in the ranks for two years, then -gave her a "solo" part, and lastly obtained an engagement for her at -the Diadem. - -To dance at the Diadem was the height of Finetta's ambition. Her heart -beat that night as it had never beat before, not even on her first -appearance at the provincial theater; but it did not deafen the music, -or drive her steps out of her mind, and when she had finished, the roar -of delight that rose in the theater proclaimed the fact that Finetta -had scored a triumph, and that M. Faber had not labored in vain. - -This was three years ago. Her popularity had steadily increased. She -was now the rage. Her salary exceeded that of a cabinet minister; the -percentage alone was a good income for the patient, persevering M. -Faber. - -When she appeared at night the house roared a welcome, and rewarded her -efforts with thunders of applause. - -Her photographs were placed among the other celebrities in the shop -windows, next those of the Royal Family, the great poets, the eminent -statesmen, and sold as well as, if not better than, the rest. Outside -the theater hung a huge transparency, showing Finetta in her Spanish -dancing-dress; the tobacconists sold a cigarette bearing her name. - -All this ought to have turned her head. It did a little, but only a -little. To tell the truth, she was a good-hearted girl, and in her -prosperity did not forget those near to her. She set her father up -in the wholesale coal trade, and put her mother into a nice house in -Islington; sent her brother to school, and had her sister to live with -her in the pretty house in St. John's Wood, and though the world said -hard things of her, she was unjustly accused and calumniated. - -Her manners were not those of Lady Clara Vere de Vere. She gave supper -parties at which only gentlemen and ladies of the ballet were present; -she talked and laughed loudly; she knew nothing, and cared less, for -the proprieties; was fond of champagne, and enjoyed a cigarette; -delighted in riding, and driving tandem, and did both surpassingly -well; but scandal could find no chink in her armor through which to -shoot its poisoned darts, and the worst the world could, with truth, -call her was "Finetta, the dancer!" - -The men who thronged round her called her "a good fellow!" and when a -woman of her class has earned that title, depend upon it, she is not so -black as the virtuous paint her. - -She knew half the peerage--the male side--but she was as friendly and -pleasant to a struggling young journalist as to my Lord Vinson. Men -sent her letters, telling her they adored her; she lit her cigarettes -with them, and told the writers, when next she saw them, not to waste -ink and paper upon her, but to make up a party to take her for a drive -and a dinner at Richmond. - -Sometimes, very often, they sent her presents--diamond rings, -bracelets, pendants, lockets, with their portraits (which she always -took out), and she accepted them with a careless _sang froid_, which -was amusing--to all but the donors. The horses she and her groom rode -were a gift from a well-known turf lord. It was said that the lease of -the house at John's Wood had been given to her; but that was not true. - -"Why shouldn't I take 'em?" she said to her sister. "They'll only -give 'em to some one else who wouldn't look half so well on them, and -wouldn't know how to ride 'em." - -So that she often danced at the Diadem wearing gems which made the -ladies in the stalls envious, and appeared in the row riding a horse -which was a better-looking and going one than even Lady Harkaway's, the -famous sportswoman. - -Sometimes one of the young men who paid her court, fell in love with -her--genuine, honest love--and offered to make her his wife. She might -have been a countess, had she chosen; but she did not choose. - -"No, thank you," she said to one young peer, who implored her, with -something like tears in his eyes to marry him. "What would be the use? -You'd find out that you'd made a mistake before a month was out; and so -should I. Then people would cut me, and I shouldn't like that. Besides, -you'd want me to give up dancing and live what you call respectable, -and I'm certain I shouldn't like that! No, you go and marry one of -your own set, and take a box for my next benefit and bring her, and -you'll be able to say: 'See what you saved me from!' You wouldn't? Oh, -yes, you would! I know your sort of people too well. You won't take an -answer? Well, then the truth is, I've made up my mind not to marry till -I come across a man I can really care for, and I've not tumbled on any -one yet, thank you." - -She knew the world very well, did Finetta. - -She sent them away when they got too "foolish," as she said, and wanted -to marry her; dismissing them good-temperedly enough. In fact she was -not a bad-tempered woman, and it was only at times that her passionate -nature revealed itself. At such times, when she let out, it was a -revelation indeed. It was almost as safe to brave the tigress in her -den at the Zoological Gardens as to affront Finetta; and they who had -done it once were satisfied with the attempt, and did not repeat it. - -Now, one day, or rather one night, there came Yorke Auchester, and with -him a change in the life of Finetta. They were friends at once. She -amused and interested him; he liked to see her dance, liked to hear her -talk in her cynical, good-tempered way; liked to drop in at the little -house in St. John's Wood after the theater, at the little suppers -over which she presided with a light-hearted gayety which made them -extremely pleasant. - -He admired her on horseback, admired her pluck, her coolness, her -readiness to give and take in the game of repartee; and so it came -about that of all the men, none were so often in her company as Yorke. - -We are the slaves of habit. This is by no means a new saying, but it is -a painfully true one. - -Yorke got into the habit of dropping in at the Diadem for Finetta's -great dance; got into the habit of dropping in at St. John's Wood, of -driving her down to Richmond, of riding with her in the park or into -the country. - -And although he seldom gave her presents, never told her that she was -the most beautiful, the cleverest, the best of her sex, as most of the -other men did, Finetta liked him better than all the rest put together. -And so the chain began to be forged. - -When she went on the stage her dark eyes would scan the stalls, and if -she saw his handsome, careless face and long figure there, a little -smile would curve her lips, and she would dance her best. - -At the little supper parties she managed, somehow or other, that he -would sit beside her. If she were dull before he came, she brightened -up when he made his appearance. If she had made an engagement, she -would break it if Yorke asked her to ride and drive with him. - -He didn't see this marked preference for some time, but the others did. -Her quiet little sister who ran the house, once said: - -"Fin, you're going soft on that big Lord Yorke," and the next moment -had sufficient cause for being sorry that she had spoken. - -But it was the truth. Finetta, who had laughed love to scorn, and -broken, or cracked, so many hearts, was in a fair way to discover that -she had a heart of her own. - -Often when he had left her, she would sit perfectly motionless and -silent, thinking hard; then she would start up with a laugh, and burst -into a music-hall song. But it often ended with a sigh. - -She was angry with herself, and she fought hard against the thralldom -that was creeping over her; but she could no more help feeling happy -when he was present, and miserable when he was absent, than she could -help dancing in time, or dropping her 'H's' when she was excited. - -Nothing stands still in this world; love grows or decreases. Finetta's -love for Lord Yorke grew day by day, until it had reached such a pass -that when he went off she needs must throw up her part for the night -and follow him, and failing to find him, come back wretched at heart, -though outwardly as cool and debonair as usual. - -That morning as she was putting on her habit, her sister Polly had -ventured to say a few more words of warning. - -"That Lord Yorke will make your heart ache, Fin," she said, as she -buttoned her sister's boots. - -"Oh, will he?" she retorted, with a dash of color coming into her -cheeks. - -"Yes, he will. And what's the good? He won't ask you to marry him." - -"Oh, won't he? How do you know?" - -"I've heard them talk about him. He's as poor as a rat." - -"But I'm not!" - -"No, I dare say; but that won't help you. Besides, he's a good as -engaged to that Lady Eleanor Dallas." - -Finetta jerked her foot away, and her eyes began to glow dangerously. - -"Her? Why she's like a wax doll." - -"Oh, no, she isn't," said Polly. "She's as good-looking as most of the -swells, and more so; besides, she's rolling in money, and it's money -he wants. Take my advice, Fin, and don't let him hang about you any -longer." - -"And you take my advice, and hold your tongue!" retorted Finetta. "He -shall hang about me as much as he likes. Who said I wanted to marry -him, or--or that I would if he asked me?" - -"I do; if he'd give you the chance," said Polly. - -Finetta drew her foot away. - -"I'll button the other myself," she said, passionately. But when her -sister had gone she sat with the other boot unbuttoned, and kept the -groom and the horses waiting for a good half-hour; and when she did -go down and mount and ride off, her handsome face was clouded and -thoughtful. - -But at the sight of the green park and the people, she chased the -melancholy brooding out of her dark eyes, and touching the magnificent -horse with her golden spur, sent him into the row in her well-known -style. - -"If he were only here," she thought, and a sigh came to her lips. -"Somehow I feel tired and bored without him, and lost if he's away for -a day or two. Going to marry Lady Eleanor, is he?" - -Almost before the muttered words had left her lips her eyes fell upon a -stalwart figure standing against the rails, and the color flew to her -face as she brought the horse up beside him. - -It was Yorke--Yorke leaning against the rail, with his usually careless -face grave and thoughtful, his eyes absent and staring vacantly at the -ground, and yet with a strange look in them, which she, with a woman's -quickness, noticed in an instant. - -"Yorke," she said, bending down. - -He started, and looked up, and her name came to his lips, but without -the friendly smile which usually accompanied it. - -"Why, when did you come back?" she asked, her face, her eyes all alight -with life and happiness. - -"To-day," he said. "Sultan's looking well----." - -"Where have you been?" she demanded, noticing a change in his voice. -"Did you get any fishing? - -"Not much," he said, and his eyes were fixed on the horse. - -"No? Then why didn't you come back? It's been awfully slow without you. -Did you know that I had a day off and run down to the country? I was -near you, I believe. Why didn't you leave word where you were going? -What's the matter with you?" she broke off sharply, her color coming -and going, for there had come into his face, into his eyes, a look -almost of pity--newly born pity. - -He knew now that he himself loved, that this woman loved him, and how -she would suffer presently. - -"I'll come in after the theater to-night," he said. - -"Ride on now, or we shall have a crowd." - -Several men had stopped, but waited, as if recognizing Yorke's right to -monopolize her. - -"Very well," she said, and she turned the horse. "It has come at last!" -she murmured, "at last! He is going to be married. I know it! I know!" -Her breath came painfully, and her hand stole up to her heart. - -At that moment a lady came riding in the opposite direction. She was -fair as a lily, and as beautiful, with soft brown eyes that looked -dreamily about her; but as they met the dark ones of Finetta they -seemed to awake, and the softness instantly vanished and gave place to -an expression that in a man would be called hard and calculating. - -Finetta's face, pale a moment before, grew white. - -"That's her," she muttered. "And he is going to marry her. Polly's -right; she's beautiful. Beautiful, and different to me. He'll marry -and love her." - -Her head drooped and her lips set tightly, and then she rode on. But -suddenly she stopped the horse under some trees and looked back. - -The beautiful girl with the soft brown eyes had stopped beside the -rail, and Yorke and she were shaking hands. - -Finetta could see their faces distinctly, and she watched, scanned his -eagerly. - -A singular expression came into her bold, handsome face. - -"It's not her he's thinking of," she said; "not her. There's the same -look in his eyes as when he looked up at me. What is it? I'll find out -to-night." Her white teeth came together with a click. "I feel like -fighting to-day. Going to marry Lady Eleanor, is he? We'll see! Oh, -Yorke, if--if----." She looked round at the aristocrats riding past. -"There isn't one that could love you as I do." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -"WHAT A MESS I'M IN!" - - -Lady Eleanor pulled her horse up beside the railing, as Finetta had -done, and smiled down upon Yorke. She had a beautiful smile which, -beginning in her brown eyes, spread over her face to her lips, the -well-formed, cleanly cut lips, which more than anything else gave her -countenance the patrician look for which Finetta--and others--hated -her. And she did not smile too often. - -"Well, Yorke," she said, and her voice was low and clear, and sweet, -with just a touch of languid hauteur in it that was also aristocratic. -"What a lovely day. Why aren't you riding?" - -She didn't ask him, as Finetta had done, where he had been. That would -have been a mistake which Lady Eleanor was far too wise to make. - -"Horse is lame," he said. - -"Oh, what a pity!" she exclaimed, nodding to some friends who were -passing. "Just when you want him, too." - -"Yes," he said, "though I am going to sell him." - -She turned her eyes upon him, and raised her brown eyes with a faint -surprise. - -"Going to sell Peter! I thought he suited you so well." - -He nodded, and laughed rather uneasily. The announcement that he -intended to sell his horse had been a slip of the tongue. - -"Oh, he suits me well enough, but I shall sell him all the same. What a -lot of people there are here to-day." - -"Aren't there!" she said, bowing and smiling to one and another of the -men who saluted her. "Nearly everybody one knows. By the way, I haven't -seen the duke this morning." - -"Dolph's down in the country," he said. - -"Oh!" - -She would not have asked where, even had she not known; that would -have been another mistake of which she would not have been guilty -for worlds, but her "oh" gave him a chance to tell her if he chose. -Apparently he did not choose, for he changed the subject. - -"How did the Spelham's dance go off last night?" - -"Very well," she replied. "But it was terribly crowded. The princess -was there. I saved a couple of dances for you as long as I could." - -"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't get back." - -She looked quite satisfied with the explanation, or rather want of one, -quite satisfied and serenely placid. - -"You missed a very pleasant ball," was all she said. "I must go on now. -Will you come in to luncheon? Aunt will be very pleased to see you." - -"And you too?" he said, as a matter of course. - -He always had a good supply of such small change about him. - -She smiled. - -"And I too, certainly," she said, and with a nod rode on. - -Yorke looked after her thoughtfully, and gnawed his mustache. - -The last two days had been the happiest in his life. He had spent -them with Leslie, had walked with her through the lanes and on the -beach, and had driven her to Northcliffe, and every moment of the -delicious time his love had increased; it had seemed to him that he -had not really loved till now, and that his past existence had been a -sheer waste; and he had been happy notwithstanding that he was still -deceiving her, that she still thought him the Duke of Rothbury, and -that he had come to town to break off with two women who loved him. - -It is well to be off with the old love before you are on with the new, -even when there is only one old love; but when there are two! - -It had cost him a great deal to tear himself away from Leslie, even for -a few days, but he had done so. And all the way up to town he had been -hard at work forming most excellent resolutions. - -He would reform, and reform altogether. He would sell his horse, send -in his resignation to two or three of his most expensive clubs, would -give up cards and betting, especially betting. He didn't see why he -shouldn't do without a man-servant. Fleming, his valet, had been a -faithful fellow, and suited him down to the ground; but, yes, Fleming -must go. - -And then--well, then he would go to Mr. Lisle and ask for that pearl of -great price, his daughter,--and marry! - -His heart leaps at the thought. Marry Leslie! He pictured her as a -bride, drew delightful mental sketches of the time they would have. He -would take her to the Continent for their wedding-trip, and then they'd -settle down in a cottage. It would have to be a cottage. - -"Love in a cottage!" Great goodness, how often he had laughed at the -idea, how he had pitied the poor devils who had committed matrimony and -gone out of the world to live in respectable poverty with cold mutton -and cheap sherry for luncheon! - -But cold mutton and cheap sherry didn't seem so bad with Leslie to -share them. - -He would have to give up a great deal of course, and live within the -small income left of his mother's dower. What a fearful lot of money he -had spent! He had never thought of it before, but now he went through a -little mental arithmetic, and was quite startled. Would anybody believe -that gloves, button-holes, stalls at the Diadem, cigars, dinners at -Richmond, could run up to such a sum? - -What would he give for some of the money now? He took out the duke's -check and looked at it. It was a large sum; but he owed all that and a -great deal more. - -Then he put dull care behind him, and gave himself up to thinking of -Leslie, her beautiful face ten times more lovely than when he had first -seen it, how that her love for him was shining in her eyes. What eyes -they were! Eleanor's were nice ones, Finetta's were handsome ones--but -Leslie's! - -And her voice, too! He could hear it now calling him, half-shyly, -"Yorke!" - -He reached town, and went to his rooms in Bury Street, and Fleming had -got his London clothes, the well-fitting frock coat and flawless hat, -all ready as if he had expected him. And Yorke's heart smote him as he -thought that he would have to give that faithful servant notice. - -Then he went out, still thinking of Leslie and the dark gray eyes which -had grown moist and tender as she said "Good-by!" and then had come -Finetta and Lady Eleanor! - -Yes, he had got his work cut out for him! But he would do it! He would -devote his life to the dear, sweet girl down at Portmaris, whose pure, -unstained heart he had won; he would reform, cut London, and go and be -happy in a cottage for the rest of his life. - -Meanwhile he had promised to lunch with Lady Eleanor, the woman whom -the duke and the world at large had decided that he was going to -marry; and he had promised to sup with Finetta, who doubtless thought -that he should marry her. - -He had made love to both these women. It was so easy for him, with -his handsome face and light-hearted smile. He had only been half -in earnest! if so much had meant--well, what had he meant--by soft -speeches just murmured, by tender glances, by eloquent pressures of the -hand? But they? How had they taken this easy love-making of his? He -knew too well. - -"Oh, lord, what a mess I'm in!" he muttered, as he made his way slowly -toward Lady Eleanor's house in Palace Gardens. - -Lady Eleanor rode home rather quickly, and as she entered the -morning-room in which her aunt, Lady Denby, was sitting, there was a -brightness in her soft eyes and a color in her cheeks which caused the -elder lady to regard her curiously. - -"Yorke is coming to luncheon," she said, and Lady Denby at once knew -the cause of her niece's vivacity. "I wonder whether they can send up -some lobster cutlets; he is so fond of them, you know. At any rate, -will you see that they put on the claret he likes, the '73 it is, isn't -it?" - -"Oh, yes, we will serve up the fatted calf," said Lady Denby, with a -smile. "So his gracious majesty has come back?" - -"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, moving about the room restlessly, and -flicking her habit-skirt with her whip. "Yes, and he looks very well, -but----." - -"But what?" - -"Well, I scarcely know how to put it. He seemed grave and more serious -than usual this morning. It isn't often Yorke is serious, you know." - -"He has been up to something more reckless and desperate than usual, -perhaps," suggested Lady Denby. - -"Perhaps," assented Lady Eleanor, coolly. - -"You say that with delicious _sang froid_," remarked Lady Denby. "I -suppose if he had been committing murder or treason it would make no -difference to you." - -"Not one atom," said the girl, her color deepening. - -"The only crime that would ruin him in your eyes would be matrimony -with some one other than yourself." - -Lady Eleanor started, and bit her lip, then she forced a laugh. - -"I don't know whether even that would cure me," she said. "I should -hate his wife, hate her with an active hatred which would embitter all -my days; but I would go on caring for him and hoping that his wife -might die, and that I might marry him after all." - -Lady Denby shrugged her shoulders, and looked at the proud face, with -its tightly drawn lips, and now brooding eyes. - -"Yours is about the worst case I think I have ever met with, Eleanor," -she said. - -"Oh, no, it isn't," responded Lady Eleanor. "Only I'm not ashamed to -admit how it is with me, and other women are. But you needn't be afraid -on my account. I only wear my heart on my sleeve for you to peck at. I -keep my secret from the rest of the world." - -"Or think you do," said Lady Denby. "And how is it going to end?" - -"God knows!" exclaimed Lady Eleanor, with an infinite and pathetic -wistfulness. "Sometimes I wish I were dead, or he were----." - -"What?" - -"Yes! I'd rather see him dead than the husband of another woman!" - -"My dear Nell!" - -"You are shocked. Well, you must be so. It's the truth. Sometimes I -wake in the night from a dream that he has married, and that I am -standing by and see him put the ring on, and I feel----," she stopped, -and laughed with a mixture of bitterness and self-scorn. "What weak, -miserable fools we women are! There is not a man in the whole world -worth one hundredth part of the suffering we undergo." - -"Certainly Yorke Auchester does not!" - -Lady Eleanor swung round on her with a kind of subdued fierceness. - -"What have you to say against him? I thought he was a favorite of -yours!" - -"So he is; but I'm not blind to his faults----." - -"His faults! What are they?" - -"He is selfish, for one thing----." - -"Selfish. He would give away his last penny----." - -"I dare say; he hates coppers----." - -"Would go to the end of the earth to save a friend. Is truth itself. -And where is there a braver man than Yorke Auchester?" - -Her voice softened and faltered as she spoke his name. - -"Or a more foolish and infatuated girl than Eleanor Dallas," said her -aunt. "There!" and she stroked the golden head which Eleanor had let -fall on her hands; "you can't help it, I suppose, and we must make the -best of it. I'll see that he has what he likes for luncheon. Thank -Heaven, if we know nothing more about men, we know the nearest way to -their hearts." - -Lady Eleanor put out her hand to stop her aunt for a moment. - -"I--I saw that woman this morning," she said, in a low voice. - -"You mean Finetta?" - -"Yes, she had come into the park to meet him, I believe, I saw them -talking together. She is a beautiful woman--very." - -"She is that." - -"I don't wonder at his being--fond of her and liking to be with her." - -"I hear they are seldom apart," said Lady Denby, gravely. "That ought -to cure you, if anything would, Eleanor." - -Lady Eleanor shook her head. - -"It only makes it worse," she said, with her face hidden. "Jealousy -doesn't kill love----." - -"But wounded pride should do so!" - -"No, no! It's true I'm proud enough to the rest of the world, but it -all goes, slips away from me when--when I am near him! Oh, dear! Why, -this morning when I saw him my heart----! And he looked up at me as if -he had seen me only an hour or two ago! But there, what is the use of -talking! I hope they will have some of these cutlets!" - -Lady Denby shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head. - -"It's a pity that Yorke does not know what is good for him. He could -have lobster cutlets and '73 claret for the rest of his life, and all -manner of good things, if he would only throw his handkerchief in the -right direction." - -Lady Eleanor smiled up at her almost defiantly. - -"It is of no use your taunting me," she said. "You are right; if he -threw his handkerchief, as you put it, I should be only too glad to go -on my knees to pick it up." - -A servant came to the door, with a card on a salver. - -Lady Denby took it, and glanced at it. - -"It is Mr. Ralph Duncombe," she said. - -"I cannot see him this morning. Say that I am not at home." - -Lady Denby signed to the footman to wait. - -"Ought you not to see him?" she said in a low voice. "It may be -important business." - -"Oh, very well. Show Mr. Duncombe into the library." - -"That's right," said Lady Denby, approvingly, "You can't afford to -offend such a man as this Mr. Duncombe. There are not too many men who -are willing to work for you for nothing. I suppose he has come about -those mines?" - -"I suppose so," assented Lady Eleanor, bitterly. - -"I will go and see." - -Ralph Duncombe had been a friend of Lady Eleanor's father. The late -earl had been fond of dabbling in the city and had met the successful -young merchant there and found him extremely useful. It had been -chiefly owing to Ralph Duncombe's advice and counsel that the late earl -had made the fifty thousand pounds which he had left to Lady Eleanor. -He had done nothing for some years before his death without consulting -the keen man of business, and Lady Eleanor had followed her father's -example. - -She would not have been a particularly rich woman with fifty thousand -at three per cent., but Ralph Duncombe had invested it for her in such -a way that it had brought in sometimes ten and fifteen. He had bought -shares and sold them again at a big profit; had dealt with her money as -if it had been his own, and had been as lucky with it. The greatest and -latest piece of good fortune had only just turned up. He had purchased -some land on the coast, calculating to dispose of it to a building -company, but while negotiating with them discovered traces of copper; -and it was on the cards that he had by one of those flukes which seemed -to come so often to Ralph Duncombe, found a large fortune for her. - -"How do you do, Mr. Duncombe?" she said. "What a shame that you should -have to come all this way from the city." - -"It does not take long by the Underground," he said, in his grave -voice, as he shook hands; "and I have some important news for you." - -"Yes," she said, and she motioned him to a chair. - -As he sat down she noticed that he looked graver than usual, and that -there was a tired and rather sad expression in his eyes. - -"Is it bad news?" she said. - -"Bad?" He looked at her with faint surprise. - -"I thought you looked graver than usual, and rather disappointed," she -explained. - -He flushed slightly and forced a smile. - -"We business men seldom look elated," he said, with something like a -sigh. "Money making is not an exhilarating pursuit, Lady Eleanor." - -"I should have thought otherwise," she said; "but I don't know much -about it. I only know that it is very kind of you to take so much -trouble over my affairs." - -"Not at all. It comes natural to me," he said, with a slight smile. -"I was your father's adviser--if I may put it so--for so long and so -intimately that it seems a matter of course that I should continue to -be his daughter's. But about this copper, Lady Eleanor. We were not -mistaken; the indications are particularly distinct, and there is every -reason to believe that the land contains a vast quantity." - -"Yes," she said; "that is good news. I suppose it will make me very -rich?" - -He nodded. - -"Yes, immensely so. The thing to decide now is how to work it. I have a -plan which I should like you to consider," and he went on to explain it -to her. - -She listened not very attentively. - -"I leave it all to you," she said, when he had finished. "I suppose you -will think that is very cool of me; but I don't know what else I could -do. That is, if you will undertake the business for me." - -He nodded. - -"I will do so, and not altogether disinterestedly, for I shall ask your -permission to take some shares in the company." - -"Why, yes, of course," she said at once. "I consider that it belongs as -much to you as to me; you found it." - -He shook his head, with a smile. - -"Scarcely that," he said; "but I shall have an interest in it. We shall -get to work at once, and I think I may say, positively, that you will -be, as you put it, very rich, before many months are out." - -"Very rich," she murmured; "thank you." - -It was rather a strange way of accepting the information, but she was -thinking of how little use the money would be if a certain person -refused to share it with her. - -Ralph Duncombe glanced at his watch and got up. - -"You will stay to lunch?" she said.... - -"Thank you, Lady Eleanor, not this morning. - -"I have to attend a board meeting, and shall be late as it is." - -"I am sorry." - -She gave him her hand, and as he held it she said, as if at a sudden -thought: - -"Did you--did you get those bills I asked you about?" - -"Lord Auchester's?" he said, and he noticed that her hand quivered. -"Yes, I bought them up." He looked at her gravely. "It cost rather a -larger sum than I expected." - -"You mean that he was very much in debt?" she said, in a low voice, and -with downcast eyes. - -"Yes, very much," he replied, laconically. - -She bit her lip softly, and still evaded his keen gaze. - -"Tell me," she said. "You know I do not understand such matters; -but--but, supposing that you were to compel him to pay these bills, -what would be the result?" - -"You mean try to compel him?" he said, with a smile. "You cannot -get water from a dry well, Lady Eleanor, and from what I hear, Lord -Auchester is a very dry well. If you forced him to take up those bills, -you would ruin him." - -"Ruin him!" - -"Yes. That means that you would make a kind of outcast of him. A man -who cannot meet his engagements is dishonored; he would have to give up -his clubs and leave London. I don't know where such men go now; to some -corner of Spain, I believe. Any way, he would be ruined and thoroughly -finished." - -She drew a long breath. - -"And I--and I could do that?" she said, in a very low voice. - -"You could do that, as I hold the bills for you, certainly," he replied. - -"Thank you," she said, with a laugh that sounded forced and unnatural; -"I only wanted to know. I'm afraid you must think me sublimely -ignorant." - -"Not more so than a lady should be of business matters," he replied, -politely. - -There was a moment's pause. He took up his hat and gloves. Then, -suddenly, Lady Eleanor said: - -"Do you know a place called Portmaris, Mr. Duncombe?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -"NOW, YORKE!" - - -The carefully brushed, exquisitely shining, and glossy hat--the city -man's god, as it has been called--fell from his hands, and he flushed -and then turned pale; but that, perhaps, was at his clumsiness. At any -rate, whatever the cause, he was able to look Lady Eleanor steadily in -the face when he recovered his hat. - -"Portmaris?" he said, smoothing it with his sleeve. "Yes, I know it. It -is a small fishing village on the west coast. Why do you ask?" and his -keen eyes grew to her face. - -"Oh, I only heard of it the other day," she said. - -"A friend of mine, the Duke of Rothbury, has gone down there, and----," -she paused a moment--"and Lord Auchester has been there." - -"Lord Auchester?" he said, and his brows knit thoughtfully. "It is a -strange place for a man about town, like Lord Auchester, to stay at." - -"He has been fishing." - -"There is no fishing there," he remarked, and he put one glove on, and -took it off again, the frown still on his face. - -"He has been to see the duke. You may know that the duke and he are -great friends. They are cousins." - -He shook his head, with an impatience strange and unusual with him--the -cool, self-possessed, city man. - -"I know very little about such persons, Lady Eleanor," he said, -gravely. "Your father, the late earl, was the only nobleman I ever -knew, and--I don't mean to be offensive--I ever wanted to know." - -Lady Eleanor looked at him with faint, well-bred surprise; then she -smiled. - -"If reports speak truly, you are likely to be a nobleman yourself some -day, Mr. Duncombe. You have only to enter Parliament----." - -He shook his head by way of stopping her. - -"I have no ambition in that direction, Lady Eleanor," he said, almost -gloomily. "I am a man of business, and care nothing for titles. I was -going to say and for little else; but I suppose that wouldn't be true. -I do care for money; I've been bred to that. Is there anything else you -would like to say to me?" he broke off abruptly. - -His manner was so singular, so unlike his usual one, that Lady Eleanor -was startled. - -"Thank you, no," she said; "except--except that I should be glad if you -could get any other bills or debts of Lord Auchester's." - -He nodded. - -"Certainly." He brushed his hat slowly, then added, "Excuse me, Lady -Eleanor, but will you allow me to ask why you are purchasing--and at a -heavy price--Lord Auchester's liabilities? I am aware that I have no -right to ask you the question----." - -"Yes, you have," she said, quickly, and struggling with the color that -would mount to her face. "You were my father's friend, and have been -and are mine; and you have every right to ask such questions. But I -find it difficult to answer. Well, Lord Auchester is a friend of mine, -and I would rather that he owed me the money than a lot of Jews and -people of that kind." - -Ralph Duncombe inclined his head with an air of, "You know your own -business better than any one else." - -"Good-morning, Lady Eleanor," he said; "I will do as you wish. And -please, say nothing about this mining scheme of ours." - -He got outside the house, and drew a long breath. - -The mere mention of the word "Portmaris" had stirred his heart to its -depths, and recalled Leslie and his parting scene with her. - -He might aspire to nobility, might he? What would be the good of a -title to him, when the only title he longed for was that of Leslie -Lisle's husband? And so this Lord Auchester had been at Portmaris. Had -he seen Leslie? Had he spoken to her? It was not unlikely! Such men as -this Lord Yorke Auchester would be sure to discover a beautiful girl -like Leslie, and make acquaintance with her. - -Ralph Duncombe spent a very bad half-hour on the Underground on his way -back to the city; very bad! - -Five minutes after the man of business had left Palace Gardens, Yorke, -the man of pleasure, arrived there, and was welcomed as if he were the -great Lama of Thibet. - -"I haven't had time to change my habit, Yorke," said Lady Eleanor. - -"You couldn't put on anything prettier," he said, with that fatal -facility of his, and he looked at her admiringly. - -Lady Eleanor never appeared to greater advantage than in the dark green -habit, upon which Redfern had bestowed his most finished art. - -"Come in to luncheon at once," she said; "it is the only way of -stopping your compliments. Here is Aunt Denby in a complete quandary as -to whether there is anything fit to eat. You know we women don't care -what we get, but it is different with you men." - -But the luncheon was perfect in its way. Clear soup, a fish pie, salmi -of fowl, and--oh, wonderful cook! lobster cutlets; and the famous '73 -claret. - -Yorke did full justice to the good fare, and rattled away for the -amusement of the two women. He talked of the opera, of the next meeting -at Sandown, of anything and everything which would interest two women -moving in the ultra-fashionable circles, and made himself so pleasant -that Lady Denby--who always suspected, while she liked him--relaxed -into a smile, and Lady Eleanor was beaming. - -"Never get cutlets like these anywhere else," he said, helping himself -to a second serve with a contented sigh. - -"Not at Portmaris?" asked Lady Eleanor. - -He held his fork aloft, and looked at her with sudden gravity. - -"Eh! Oh, Portmaris. No. No lobster cutlets down there. I rather think -they eat the lobsters raw." - -"What an outlandish place it must be!" said Lady Eleanor. "I wonder how -you could stay there, you and Dolph." - -"Oh, anything for a change," he said, carelessly, but with his mind -apparently fixed on his plate, at the bottom of which he could see -Leslie's face as plainly as if she were standing before him. - -The lunch was over at last. It had seemed interminable to Lady Eleanor, -and Lady Denby had, with a half-audible murmur of an afternoon drive, -taken herself away and left the coast clear. - -"You want to smoke?" said Lady Eleanor. "Come into the conservatory. -Aunt doesn't mind it there, as it kills the insects." - -He lit a cigar, and lounged against the doorway, and she sank into a -seat and absently picked the blossoms nearest to her. - -"Now is the time," he thought, "to tell her everything," but at the -moment he remembered the bracelet which the duke had given him for her, -and he put his hand in his pocket and drew it out. - -"By the way, Eleanor," he said, carelessly, "you had a birthday the -other day." - -"Yes, I think I had," she said, smiling up at him. "Do you remember it?" - -"Well, I shouldn't, if it hadn't been for Dolph," he said, honestly. -"Dolph always remembers, you know." - -"Yes, I know." - -"And so--so----." He took the morocco case from his pocket and opened -it. "And so--well, I know it isn't worth your acceptance, but if you -care to take it, here's a trifle--Dolph gave me," he added, honestly -and he held out the bracelet. - -She took it, and her face brightened, brightened with a soft glow which -made it look inexpressibly tender and grateful. - -"How good of you! How pretty it is! And it is just the size, see," and -she unbuttoned the habit sleeve and slipped the bracelet on. "How does -it fasten?" - -"Eh?" he said. "Oh, like this, I expect," and he closed the spring and -fastened it over her slender, milk-white wrist, and the touch of his -hand sent a thrill through her, though he performed the operation in a -most business-like way. - -"How very good of you!" - -"Say, rather of Dolph," he said. "It was he who gave it to me for you." - -"But it was you who gave it to me," she said, in a low voice. - -"I told him you wouldn't care for it," he said. "You who have no end of -presents." - -"But none I value more than this," she said, her voice singing, so to -speak. "I will always wear it." - -"Don't," he said. "Better wear the bracelet that goes with your diamond -set. That's more suitable to a rich person than this--though that's -hard on Dolph, who chose it and paid for it, isn't it?" - -She was silent a moment, then she said: - -"That reminds me, Yorke. Do you know that I am likely to be richer even -than you think?" - -"Oh? Well, I'm very glad," he said, with friendly interest and -pleasure. "What will you do with so much coin; roll in it?" - -She sighed softly, and lifted her eyes to his for a moment, with a look -that said, "I would like to give it to you, and you can roll in it, or -fling it in the Thames, or play ducks and drakes with it, or anything." -But he was not looking at her, and did not see the appeal of the soft -brown eyes. - -"There is one thing I can do with it," she said. "I can buy your horse, -if you really mean selling it, Yorke. But you don't?" - -"But I do," he said, quickly, and with a touch of red showing -through his tan. "I'm going to cut down my establishment--big word -'establishment,' isn't it?--as low as it can be cut, and the horse has -got to go." - -"Then I will buy it," she said, her face flushing, and then going pale. - -Why was he selling it? What was he going to do? Surely nothing rash; -he was not going to marry. No! she drew a long breath--that was -impossible. He couldn't marry with those debts hanging round his neck, -and those awful bills which she held, unless he married an heiress, and -in that case he would not want to sell his horse, an old and loving -favorite. - -"You?" he said. "Why should you buy it? You've got enough already. -Besides, he's not altogether safe." - -"Thank you," she said, laughing a little tremulously. "It is the first -time my horsemanship has been called in question. I'm not afraid of -Peter. Besides, I--I should like to have him." - -"To put under a glass case?" - -"Yes, that I might look at him and recall the many jolly rides we have -had together. No, no one shall have Peter but me. You can't prevent my -buying him, you know!" - -"No," he said. "And I'd rather you had him than any one else. I should -see him occasionally, and I think I could make him quiet enough -for you. Perhaps," he laughed, "you might feel good-natured enough -sometimes to lend him to a poor chap who can't afford a nag of his own." - -"Yes," she said. "I could do that. Is there anything I wouldn't lend or -give you, Yorke?" and her voice was almost inaudible. - -He started and looked at his watch. How was he to tell this beautiful -woman, whose eyes were melting with love, whose voice rang with it, -that he had no love to return, that he had indeed given his whole heart -to another woman? And yet, that was what he meant doing this morning! - -"I--I must be off," he said, almost nervously. - -She rose, and as she did so the bracelet, which he must have fastened -insecurely, fell to the ground. He stooped and picked it up, and she -held out her arm. - -"That's a bad omen, isn't it?" she said, with a wistful smile. - -"Oh, no," he replied, as lightly as he could. "That kind of thing only -applies to rings; wedding ones in particular. Let's see, how does this -clasp go, once more?" - -She put her disengaged hand to show him, and their fingers met, touched -and got entangled, and he laughed; but the laugh died away as he saw -her lips quiver as if with pain, and her soft eyes fill with tears. - -He got outside and took off his hat, and drew a long breath. - -"I could as soon have struck her as told her," he muttered. - -And that was how he was 'off with the old love' No. 1. - -He went down to the club, and sauntered from reading-room to -reception-room, and at last consented to play a game at billiards with -a man with whom he had often played, and always at an advantage. - -Yorke was good at most games of strength or skill, and the men, hearing -that he was playing, dropped in and sat round to while away the tedious -hour before dinner. - -But that afternoon Yorke could not play a bit. - -"Completely off color," remarked a young fellow, in tones of almost -personal resentment. "Never saw such a thing, don't-yer-know. There! -That's the second easy hazard he's missed, and bang goes my sovereign." - -"And why on earth does he keep on smoking like that?" inquired another -in an undertone. "Looks as if he were mooning about something. He can't -be--be----." - -The first young fellow shook his head. - -"No, Yorke Auchester doesn't drink, if that's what you mean; it isn't -that, but hang me if I know what it is. Yorke!" he called out, "you -can't play." - -Yorke gave a little start in the middle of one of the reflective smiles. - -"Eh? No. I'm making a fool of myself, I know." - -"You must have been to bed early wherever you've been for the last -week," suggested one of the men, and they were all surprised to see -him flush, "like a great girl, by Jingo!" - -"Yes, I have, and it hasn't agreed with me in a billiard sense," he -said, good temperedly, as he put on his coat and sauntered out. He went -to his chambers and dressed, and the faithful Fleming also noticed the -singular fit of abstraction which had fallen upon his beloved master. - -"Seems to have something on his mind," was his mental reflection. "And -it doesn't look as if it was bills or anything unpleasant of that kind." - -"Shall I wait up to-night, my lord?" he asked, as he put on the -perfectly cut dress overcoat, and handed the speckless, flawless hat. - -He had to put the question twice, and even then Yorke did not seem to -catch the sense of it immediately. - -"Eh? No, don't sit up; I may be late. And, by the way, I may be off to -the country to-morrow morning, so have some things packed." - -"Something up at that outlandish place he's been staying at," was -Fleming's mental comment, and he watched his master go slowly down the -stairs with the faint flicker of a smile on his handsome face. - -Yorke dined at the club and for once seemed quite indifferent as to -what he ate, and when the footman brought the wrong claret, took it -without a word of reproach. Some of his friends watched him from an -adjacent table, and shook their heads. - -"Somebody's gone and died and left him a hatful of coin, or else he's -won a big wager. Never saw Yorke Auchester go dreaming over his dinner -in his life before," was the remark. - -About nine o'clock he lit a cigar, and walked down to the Diadem. - -The attendants, box-keepers, even the men in the orchestra knew him, -and people pointed him out to each other as his stalwart figure made -its way to his stall; and when Finetta sprang onto the stage in her -dainty page's dress of scarlet and black satin, the man who always -"knows everything" about the actors and actresses whispered to a -country cousin, "That's Finetta. Look! You'll see her glance toward him -and perhaps give a little nod. They say he's spent every penny of an -enormous fortune in diamonds for her; got some of 'em on to-night," etc. - -As a matter of fact, Finetta saw him without any direct glance, and saw -nothing else. - -It was said that she danced her best that night, and the house stamped -and cheered with delight. - -But as Yorke looked at her, and clapped, he thought: - -"Poor Fin. It won't be hard to leave her." - -And the remembrance of the laugh he had heard at St. Martin's Tower -rose, and made him shudder. He lit a cigar after the theater, and set -out to walk to St. John's Wood. - -As the page opened the door--Finetta had two men-servants, both as well -appointed and trained as any of Lady Eleanor's--Yorke heard the sound -of laughter and music in the dining-room; and above it all, Finetta's -laugh; it made him shudder once more. - -Supper was nearly over--a dainty supper with ice puddings and the best -brands of champagne and some one at the piano was dashing out with the -true artistic touch, the popular song from the late comic opera, and -some of the guests were singing it. - -There were three or four men--Lord Vinson was among them and--and -as many ladies. At the head of the table sat Finetta. She was -magnificently dressed in a cream silk, soft and undulating. - -A crimson rose was her only ornament, and that worn in the thick, -glossy hair; she knew Yorke's taste too well to smother herself in -diamonds, and she knew also that the soft cream and the rich red rose -showed up her dark, Spanish complexion as no other colors could do. - -Her eyes lit up as he entered, and she signed to him to take a chair -next her. - -"I knew you'd come," she said, in a low voice. "You never break a -promise. Polly, give Lord Auchester some gelatine--or what will you -have?" - -He took a biscuit and a glass of wine, and joined in with the talk. - -It was not very witty, but it was not dull. The men talked of the -theater, the turf, and talked a great deal better and more fluently -than they did at "respectable" dinner parties, and every now and then -one of them was asked to sing, and did so cheerfully and willingly, and -as a rule sang well, and the rest made a chorus if it was needed. - -With the exception that no one looked or was bored, and all tried to -make themselves pleasant and agreeable, it differed very little from -the dinners and suppers which we, the most respectable of readers, so -often yawn over. - -Finetta said but little, sang one song only, and was so silent and -quiet and subdued, that Lord Vinson, as he rose to take his leave, -whispered to Yorke on passing: - -"Look out for squalls, old fellow! She's most dangerous when she's like -this, don't you know." - -When they had all gone but Yorke, and Polly had retired to a corner -of the inner room, and taken out some lace of her sister's to mend, -Finetta lit a cigarette for Yorke, and then, going to the piano, began -to play--she had learned to play a little--the air to which she danced -her great dance. Then she moved way and as if she were thinking of -anything but the silent young man with the far-away look on his face, -and humming the air musically enough, glided into the dance itself. - -Surely since Taglioni there has been no more graceful dancer than -Finetta, and even Yorke, with his heart soaring miles away to the -flower-faced girl who owned it, could not but look and admire. - -"Bravo, Fin," he said, almost involuntarily. "No wonder they encore -that every night! Don't leave off," for she had stopped suddenly right -in front of him, her dark eyes flashing into his, her lips apart. - -"Yes," she said. "I am not going to dance any more to-night. I am going -to sit here and listen while you tell me everything! Now Yorke!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -FINETTA LEARNS THE TRUTH. - - -"Now tell me everything," repeated Finetta, and she drew an amber -satin cushion from the sofa, and seated herself at his feet, her hands -clasped round her knees, her dark eyes turned up to him. - -Now here was the way ready made for him; but what man ever answered -such an appeal at once and fully? Yorke took the cigarette from his -lips and looked down at her with a troubled surprise. - -"What do you mean?" he said. "How do you know there is anything to -tell?" - -She laughed, almost contemptuously. - -"How do you know when it's going to rain? By the clouds, don't you? -Do you think I'm blind, Yorke? I'm not clever like some of your swell -friends, but I'm not a fool. I've got eyes like other women, and -perhaps they're sharper than some, and I can see something is the -matter. I saw it the moment I rode up to you in the park to-day, and -I've been watching you all the evening." - -"You'd make a decent detective, Fin," he said, trying to speak -banteringly. - -"I dare say," she assented. "Most women would, especially if they knew -the man they were after as well as I know you." - -"Yes, we are old friends, Fin," he said. - -"That's it," she said. "And that's why I ask you what's the matter, -what's happened? Some men would push me off or give me the lie, but you -aren't like that sort." - -"Thanks," and he laughed. - -"No, you always go straight, and that's one of the reasons why--I like -you, don't you see?" - -"I see," he said. "And so you thought I looked this morning as if I'd -got something on my mind?" - -She nodded. - -"Yes, when I came up you were leaning against the rail, looking at -nothing, as if you were dreaming; and while you were speaking to Lady -Eleanor----." - -He moved slightly. - -"You don't like me to speak of her?" she said, with a woman's -quickness. "All right, I sha'n't hurt her by mentioning her name." - -"Don't be foolish, Fin," he said, coloring at the truth of her insight; -he did not like to hear her mention Lady Eleanor's name. - -"Oh, I'm not foolish. I was saying that you looked at her ladyship -just as you looked at me, as if you didn't see either of us, as if you -were looking right away beyond us, and it's been the same to-night. -You haven't heard half that was going on, but have just been mooning -and dreaming, and so I ask you what it is? Wait a minute. If you're -going to tell me that it's money matters, you needn't, for I shouldn't -believe you. If the bailiffs were in the house you wouldn't let it -trouble you, you know." - -He laughed. - -"I am afraid I shouldn't," he admitted. - -"Very well," she said, "then it isn't that--though you are hard up, and -pretty deep in debt, eh, Yorke?" - -"Of course," he said. "Always have been, and shall be; everybody knows -that." - -"And so you're used to it, and don't mind it," she went on. "It isn't -that then. What is it?" - -He was silent, struggling hard for courage to tell her. - -"You don't like making a clean breast of it," she said, slowly. "And -you think it's like my cheek to ask you. But I'm an old friend, am I -not? I'm only Finetta, the girl that dances at the Diadem, but I've -got a feeling that I'm a better friend to you than many of your swell -ones. I dare say they think I'm a bad lot, and that I've done you no -end of harm. Perhaps I have. I've let you come here when you liked, -and take me about riding and driving, when you ought to have been with -them; but I don't know, after all, that I've hurt you much. I dare say -I could if I liked. You'd have given me things like Charlie Farquhar, -if I'd let you; but I didn't. I was a fool, perhaps, sometimes I think -I am. But--but, you see, I liked you. I didn't care for the others, -they were nothing to me and it wouldn't have mattered if they'd spent -their last shilling in rings and flowers and things. But with you it -was different. I don't know quite why," and her eyes sank thoughtfully. -"Perhaps it was because you always treated me like a lady, and didn't -bother me to run off with you or--or marry you." - -Her voice softened, and a dash of color came into her olive cheeks. - -"You'd have made a poor bargain if I had and you consented, Fin," he -said, gravely. - -"I dare say," she assented. "Anyhow, you didn't and don't mean to. -Don't deny it. I know how you've always thought of me. I've been just -Finetta, of the Diadem, and it's been pleasant and amusing to take me -about and come and have supper, and--and that's all." - -She raised her eyes to his face with a smile, a brave smile that did -not hide her aching heart from him. - -"And we've been such very good friends," she went on after a pause, -"that I speak out straight and plain when I see that something is the -matter, and I ask you what it is, and if you take my advice, you'll -tell me. Who knows, I might be able to help you, if you want any help. -Don't laugh. What's that story about the lion and the mouse? I'm only a -mouse I know, and you are no end of a lion, but you may find yourself -in a net some day, don't you know." - -Her tone was slangy, but there was an earnestness in it, and in her -dark eyes, which touched Yorke. - -He was silent for a moment or two, then he said in a voice inaudible to -Polly, who stolidly stitched and stitched in the inner room: - -"You are right, Fin. Something has happened----." - -"I knew it," she said, quietly. - -He screwed his courage up. - -"The fact is, Fin, I am--going to be married," he said, almost in a -whisper. - -She did not start, did not move a muscle for a moment, then she got up. - -"Wait a minute, I want a cigarette." - -She crossed the room to an inlaid cabinet, and took out a silver -box--of course a present--and got a cigarette from it, and her hand -shook so that for a moment she could not hold the match straight. - -But when she glided back to her place at his feet her hand was steady, -and seeing that his face was rather pale, she showed no sign of -emotion, either of surprise, or anger, or resentment. - -"Going to be married?" she said, leaning back. "To Lady Eleanor, I -suppose?" - -"No," said Yorke, emphatically. "Why should you think that?" - -He was relieved, greatly relieved by the quiet way in which she had -taken the announcement, and, man like, was completely deceived. - -"Oh, I don't know. Everybody said you were going to marry her. She has -plenty of money and is a swell. So, it's not her?" she said, slowly, -her eyes downcast. - -"No, it is not," he responded. "And there's no reason why people should -say----." He stopped, conscience-smitten. - -"Oh, they say it because you and she are so much together, and you've -made love to her; but that means nothing with you, does it?" she said, -shooting a glance up at him. - -Yorke colored. - -"If a man's to marry every girl he flirts with----," he said, -half-angrily. - -"All right, I don't mind. You've flirted with me and I haven't asked -you to marry me. And so it's not her ladyship." A faint smile curved -her lips, which looked drawn and constrained. "What other swell is it? -I know 'em all--by sight." - -"She is not a 'swell' at all," he said. "And you do not know her. I -only saw her the other day down in the country." - -"Where you have been this last week?" she said, in a low voice, -perfectly steady and under control. - -"Yes, I saw her, met her, by chance, quite by chance." - -"And--and you fell in love with her right off?" she said. - -"Yes," he said, looking straight before him and speaking as if in a -dream. "I loved her at first sight." - -"She must be very good-looking." - -He smiled, absently. "Good-looking" was so poor a phrase by which to -describe his Leslie. - -"Yes, she is good-looking, as you call it, Fin," he said. - -"What is she like? Is she tall and fair--I suppose so, that's the style -that fetches most men." - -"N-o," he said. "She is not fair--not what one would call fair." - -"Dark?" and she flashed her brilliant eyes up at him, and then at a -mirror opposite her. - -"N-o, not dark, I think; I can't tell. Her hair is dark." - -"As mine?" she asked. - -He looked down at her as if he had forgotten the color of her hair, and -she felt the look like a dagger stab. - -"Yes, but she has blue or gray eyes." - -She nodded. - -"I knew," she said, shortly, as if it cost her something to speak. "I -know the sort of girl. I've seen 'em. Dark hair and bluish-gray eyes. -Yes! And you fell in love with her at first sight. And--why don't you -go on? I want to know all about her," and she laughed. - -In his abstraction he did not detect the tone of agony, of jealousy, in -the laugh, and only thought how well Finetta was behaving, and what a -brick she was. - -"There's not much more to tell," he said. "I--I told her that I loved -her, and--and----." He paused, recalling the tender, the precious -confession of his darling. "Well, we're to be married, Fin, as soon as -we can. I'm as poor as a church mouse, and we sha'n't have much to live -upon; but I dare say we shall get on somehow or other. Anyhow, I've -made up my mind, and----." He stopped. - -"No one, not the devil himself, could stop you," she finished, not -passionately, but in a slow, steady voice. "And so you've come to me -and told me like--like a man, Yorke." - -"We are old friends, Fin," he said, "and I felt you ought to know." - -"I see," she said. "It will make a difference to us, won't it? Good-by -to our acquaintance now. No more dinners at Richmond, or suppers at the -little house in St. John's Wood. It wouldn't do for a man who is going -to be married to be friends with Finetta, eh? Oh, I understand, and I'm -much obliged to you----." - -"Fin----." - -"Wait. I'm speaking the truth. I am much obliged to you. Some men would -have kept it to themselves; would have cut me straight away without a -word, and left me to find out the reason by reading the accounts of the -wedding in the newspapers. But you aren't that sort, are you, Yorke--or -I suppose I ought to say Lord Auchester now?" - -He colored and bit his lip. - -"Hit away, Fin," he said. "I deserve it." - -"No," she said. "I won't hit you, though I dare say Lady Eleanor -and the heaps of other ladies you've made love to will, and pretty -hard. But I am not a lady, you see, and that makes a difference. And -this--this young lady? You say she's not a swell?" - -He laughed. - -"Not what you call a swell, Fin," he said. "She is the daughter of an -artist, and not a first-rate one at that." - -"An artist?" The full lips writhed into an expression of amazement and -contempt which he did not see. "An artist, one of those fellows who -paint pictures." - -"And awfully bad ones," said Yorke, with a rueful laugh. - -"And they're poor?" - -"They are certainly not rich," he said. - -"And you'll be poor, too, you and she, when--when you're married?" - -He laughed rather ruefully again. - -"I know the sort of thing," she said, with all the scorn of one who has -passed from squalid poverty to luxury and wealth. "You'll have to live -in a small house with one or two servants, you won't be able to afford -a valet or a horse----." - -"Excepting a clothes-horse." - -"Well, you'll want that, as I dare say she--your wife--will have to do -the washing, and you'll have to dine like a workman, in the middle of -the day, and drink cheap ale, and wear shabby clothes. I should like -to see you in seedy clothes, Yorke; you'd look funny," and she laughed -bitterly. "And she'd wear cheap things, turned dresses, and that sort -of thing, and she'd get dowdy and ill-tempered, and you'd ask yourself -what on earth you ever saw in her that you should go and ruin yourself -by marrying her. Oh, I know!" and she leaned back and puffed at her -cigarette with a contempt that was almost imperial. - -Yorke colored. - -"A good deal of what you say is true, but not all, Fin," he said, -almost gently. It would be base ingratitude to be angry with her after -the admirable way in which she had received the news. "For one thing, -Leslie would never be dowdy. You'd understand that if you knew her, had -seen her. I suppose she wears cheap clothes, now. If so, all I can say -is that she looks as well, as refined and lady-like, as--as anybody I -know." - -"As Lady Eleanor?" she put in, with a flash of her dark eyes. - -"Well, yes," he assented; "and for another thing, she wouldn't get -ill-tempered; it isn't possible." - -"Oh, isn't it?" with another curl of the lip. - -"No," he said, quietly, earnestly; "I'll go bail for that much. And -I'll stake my life I shall never ask myself why I married her! But -you're right about a great deal of it, Fin; and we shall have to put -up with it. After all, you know, you can't have everything you want in -this world. Did you ever notice that the rich people, the people with -hatfuls of money, generally look the most wretched? I have. They want -something they haven't got, you may depend upon it; something they -value ever so much higher than their coin. Well, we shall want money, -but we shall have a good many other things----." - -She laughed, a dry, harsh laugh. - -"Don't mind me," she said; "I can't help smiling. It's as good as a -play to hear you talking like the leading juvenile in a sentimental -piece. Love, love, love! That's what you're thinking of. Well, perhaps -you're right. God knows! I dare say you're right." - -She was silent a moment, then she said: - -"And when's the wedding to be?" - -"Soon," he said, dreamily; "as soon as possible. It's a secret. I mean -our engagement." - -She looked up sharply. - -"Oh, it isn't in the papers or known yet?" - -He shook his head. - -"No, no. We've reasons for keeping it quiet for a little while." - -"But you came and told me," she said, broodingly. "Well, it was -straight and kind of you, as I said, and--and I'm much obliged." - -He put out his hand to her in acknowledgment. She looked at it for a -moment as if she doubted whether she would take it; then she put her -own into it, and hers burned like a red-hot coal. - -She took it away instantly, and rose and walked slowly up to the table, -poured out a couple of glasses of champagne, and brought him one and -raised the other to her lips. - -"Here's luck to you--both!" she said, with a laugh. "May you be happy -ever afterward, as they say in the story books," and she looked over -the rim of the glass at him, with her dark eyes flashing under the -thick brows. - -"Thanks, Fin," he said. "You are a good sort, and----." He rose. - -"But you don't want to know any more of me," she broke in. "I -understand. Oh, don't apologize. I'm cute enough to see why you've told -me, why you've come to me first of all. There's to be an end to our -friendship----." Her voice broke for a moment, then she hurried on with -forced gayety and indifference. "And you're quite right. A man who's -going to settle down, doesn't want such acquaintances as me. Well, -good-by." - -She held out her hand. - -Yorke, feeling as a man must feel under such circumstances, when he -cannot contradict and would like to do so, hung his head for a moment, -then he took her hand, and holding it, said: - -"I'm not much loss, Fin. As I told her, I'm a bad lot, and dear at any -price, and--there, good-by!" - -Then he did a foolish thing. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed -it. - -She quivered, almost as if he had struck her; her eyes closed, and she -leaned heavily against the edge of the table. - -Yorke, feeling unutterably miserable, dropped her hand and left the -room. He gave the page who helped him on with his coat a sovereign, and -got outside. - -"Poor Fin!" he muttered, standing on the pavement and staring about -him. "Poor Fin!" - -And so he got off with the old love number two. - -Finetta stood where he had left her for a second, then sprang forward -with her magnificent arms stretched out. - -"Yorke, Yorke!" broke from her white lips. But the door had closed, and -he did not hear her. - -She stood erect for a moment, then staggered and fell face downward -upon the sofa. - -Polly ran to her--locking the door on her way--and raised her head. She -had fainted. - -Polly poured some wine through the clenched teeth and bathed the set -face, and presently Finetta came to; but it was to pass from a swoon -into an awful torrent of weeping. - -"He's gone! He's gone! Forever!" she moaned. "I shall never see him -again! Why did I let him go like that? Why didn't I ask him on my knees -to let us be friends still? I should have seen him now and again, and -that would have been something; to speak to him, hear him laugh and -talk, and call me 'Fin;' but it's all over now. He'll never come back! -Oh, I wish I were dead, dead, dead!" - -"Hush, hush," implored Polly, trying to soothe her. "He's better gone. -There was no good in his staying." - -"No, no! I know that! He never cared for me. I only amused him, and -directly he left me he forgot me. They're all alike. No, he was -different. Look how he came and told me--like a man! Oh, Yorke, Yorke! -Oh, he little guesses how I----." Her lips shook, and she hid her face -even from her sister. - -"Where's your pride, Fin?" whispered Polly, almost as Lady Denby had -said to Lady Eleanor. - -"My pride!" retorted Finetta. "Ah, you can talk like that, you who -don't know what I feel! I haven't any. I'd have followed him round the -world like a dog, grateful for a kind word--or a blow! I'd have worked -for him like a slave. Poor! He needn't have been poor if he'd married -me. He should have had every penny, and I'd have been content to go in -rags so long as he had the best of everything; and I'd have made him -happy, or die in the trying." - -"You'd most likely have died," remarked Polly, with a woman's insight. - -"I dare say. Well, I could have died. But it's all over." - -She hid her face in her hands and shook like a leaf for a full minute, -then suddenly her mood changed, and she started up--in a fury. - -The tears dried up in her burning eyes, her face became white, her -lips rigid; and as she stood with clenched hands and heaving bosom -she looked like an outraged goddess, a tigress robbed of her cub, a -woman despised and deserted--and that is a more terrible thing than the -outraged goddess or the bereaved tigress, by the way. - -"He's a fool!" she panted. "A fool! To leave me for such as her! Says -she's pretty!" She strode to the glass and stood erect before it. "Is -she better looking than I am? I don't believe it. And what else is she? -Nothing. She's poor--she isn't a swell even. And he's left me and that -other, that Lady Eleanor, for her! Yes; I could have borne it better if -it had been Lady Eleanor; if it had been one of her sort it would be -more natural; but a mere nobody, the daughter of an artist!" - -In her ignorance poor Finetta regarded the painters of pictures and -gate posts as equals. - -"A common painter! Why, he'd better have married me!" and she drew -a long breath. "I'm as good as she is, and she'll be a lady. I'd make as -good a lady as she would." - -"You never saw her," ventured Polly, timidly. - -The tigress swung round upon her, dashing the wine glasses to the -ground in the movement. - -"Saw her! I don't want to see her, to know what she's like! I can -guess. A dowdy, simpering, doll-faced chit of a girl that caught his -fancy! And she'll be his wife, while I----." She raised her clenched -hands above her head, and laughed a wild, discordant laugh. "It makes -me mad!" - -She fell to pacing the room. Her hair had become unfastened, and fell -in a black torrent over the creamy satin. Her lithe figure, erect and -quivering, looked six feet high. A magnificent spectacle for a painter -or sculptor, but not for the man or woman who had offended her. - -"I'm flung aside as not fit for him to know, and she'll be his wife. I -wish she were here now; I'd kill her! Oh, if I could only do something -to separate them! If I could only come between them!" - -She flung herself on the sofa, and hid her face on the cushion. - -Polly went up to her. - -"You're wearing yourself out, Fin," she said. "You'll suffer for this -to-morrow. Better come to bed. Besides, what's the use of it? You -can't bring him back, or stop his marrying the other girl." - -Finetta raised her head, and looked at her as if she did not see her. - -"Can't I?" she muttered between her closed teeth. "Can't I? I don't -know! Such things have been done. Sometimes there's a way." She put her -hand to her brow, and drew a labored sigh. "I can't think; my head's -like lead and on fire, and my heart's aching. When did he say the -wedding was to be?" - -"Soon," said Polly. "What's the use----." - -Finetta held up her hand to silence her. - -"Go to bed," she said, hoarsely. - -"You come too----." - -"Go to bed; get out of my sight. I want to be alone, to think. To -think! There must be some way to stop it, and--and I'll find it out. Go -away----," with a flash of her somber eyes--"Go away and leave me. I'm -best alone." - -Polly, awed and frightened, crept to the door; but as she paused -a moment and looked back she heard the hoarse, broken voice still -muttering: - -"There must be some way!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE FOOLISH NOTE. - - -Yorke walked all the way from St. John's Wood to Bury Street, and it -was not altogether a pleasant walk. - -There is a popular parlor game called "Consequences," and, after a -fashion, he was playing that game as he strode along smoking vigorously. - -It is an easy and pleasant amusement running into debt; but there are -consequences. It is also an easy and pleasant matter to make love to -two women; but the consequences have to be reckoned with, and the -reckoning, whether it come sooner or later, is a serious matter. - -He had never loved Lady Eleanor, but he respected and liked her. He -had certainly never loved Finetta, but he had liked her--liked her very -much; and as he made his way through the silent streets his heart--it -was by no means a hard one--was filled with pity and remorse. - -"It was playing it very rough to go and tell her that I should have -to cut her, that she wasn't fit company for me any longer, but what -else could I do? I couldn't cut her without a word, without saying -'Good-by,'" he mused. "And how well she took it. No scene! no fuss! -no reproaches!" It was well that he was unable to see Finetta at that -moment; or perhaps it would have been better for him if he could. -"She bore it like a brick. She is a brick! Most women of her class -would have raised a duse of a row, and made it hot for me all round. -Yes, Fin's behaved well. What a fool I have been! What fools we men -all are! Why did I want to strike up a friendship with Finetta of the -Diadem? And yet that's scarcely the fair way to look at it, for in a -way she's as good as I am. And she'd have gone a hundred miles to do me -a service; yes, and have shared her last penny with me. I know that! -Poor Fin! Thank Heaven, it's over! I'll begin a new life from to-night, -please God. A life devoted to my darling. My darling! Heaven! It -scarcely seems true that she is mine. I wonder whether she is asleep. -Perhaps she is looking up at these small stars, and----. Yes, I hope -she is thinking of me. Jove! It's like having a guardian angel all to -one's self to be loved by such a woman as Leslie. I wish I were more -worthy of her. I wish I'd met her years ago! What a time I seem to have -wasted!" - -He had forgotten Finetta long before he reached home, and was wrapped -up heart and soul in Leslie, and looking with impatience toward the -hour when he could return to Portmaris. - -He would have gone back the next day, but the duke had asked him to do -one or two things for him; and he, Yorke, was anxious to pay some bills. - -He went out after breakfast, and his first call was at a grimy office -in a dark and dingy court leading out of Lombard Street. This was the -parlor of a certain money-lending spider called Levison, and Lord Yorke -was not the first fly that had found its way into it. - -Mr. Levison was a grimy man with a hooked nose and thick lips, an -unctuous smile, and decidedly Israelite accent. He was dressed in the -height of fashion, wore a scarlet necktie in which shone an enormous -diamond horse-shoe pin, a thick gold cable albert across his waistcoat, -and innumerable rings upon his fingers, which called unkind attention -to the fact that the latter were dirty. - -This young gentleman greeted Lord Yorke with a mixture of respect and -familiarity which made Yorke--and most other persons--feel an almost -irresistible longing to kick him. - -"And 'ow's your lordship?" said Mr. Levison, with a smile that -stretched his flexible lips from ear to ear. "It ain't often we see you -in the city, my lord; more's the pity for the city!" And he laughed -and rubbed his hands. "What can I have the pleasure of doin' for your -lordship? A little accommodation, I s'pose, eh?" - -Yorke shook his head. - -"Thanks, no, Mr. Levison," he said. - -Mr. Levison appeared to be surprised. - -"No? Oh, come now, my lord! Not want a little money? You're joking!" - -"Strange as it may seem, I am serious," said Yorke as pleasantly as he -could. "I don't want any money; in fact, I've come to take up that bill -for two hundred and fifty pounds." - -And he took out his pocket-book, in which were lying snugly the -bank-notes for which he had cashed the duke's check. - -Now, it is generally and not erroneously supposed that a Jew is always -ready and glad to receive money; but Mr. Levison, singular to relate, -looked neither ready nor glad. He stared at Yorke with widely opened -eyes, and his face grew first red and then pale. - -"You don't mean to say that you want to pay off that two hundred and -fifty, my lord?" he said at last and in a tone almost of dismay. - -"Startles you, doesn't it?" said Yorke, with a smile, for the Jew's -consternation amused him. "It is rather an unexpected and extraordinary -proceeding on my part, I'll admit; but----. Get the bill, Levison," and -he began to separate the notes. - -The Jew gazed at them, and then up at the handsome, careless face, and -lastly at the ground. - -"Look here, my lord," he said, thickly. "There really ain't any -neshesity for you to go and inconvenience yourself, there ain't, -indeed! Besides," he had turned to the grimy desk and consulted a grimy -account book, "the bill ain't due! There's no call to pay it for some -time yet." - -"I know, at least I thought so," said Yorke, carelessly; "but I've got -some money, and I thought I'd like to clear off something of what I owe -you. Why!" and he laughed, "you don't seem inclined to take it. What's -the matter? You haven't--" his face grew grave, "you haven't parted -with the bills to any one else, Levison?" - -Mr. Levison's oily face grew almost pale--say yellow. - -"What! Me go and part with the bills of a customer like you! Not me, -my lord! 'Tain't likely! I know better what's due to a swell like your -lordship." - -"Very well, then," said Yorke. "Take my money, and let me have it, -please." - -"Yesh, yesh, certainly. If your lordship insists; but upon my sacred -honor, I'd rather lend you another two-fifty than----. Well, well!" And -he went to a safe and fumbled in his pocket. - -"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed. "Blessed if I haven't left my keys at my -brother's. Excuse me half a minute, will you, my lord? 'Ave a glass of -sherry and a smoke while you're waiting----." - -"No, no, thanks," said Yorke, who had once been prevailed upon to taste -Mr. Levison's sherry, and had smelled the cigars while Mr. Levison had -been smoking them. "Look sharp, my cab is waiting." - -"Not more than 'arf a minute," said Mr. Levison, and he darted out, -down the street, and full pelt into Messrs. Rawlings and Duncombe. - -Ralph Duncombe, cool, grave, collected, a contrast to the flurried -Israelite, looked up from his writing-table. - -"Mishter Dunkombe, sir!" gasped Levison. "Here's Lord Horchester come -to take up that bill of two-fifty. Wonderful, ain't it? Let's have it -sharp. Moses! I wouldn't have him know I'd sold it to you for twice the -money, and he 'arf suspects something a'ready." - -Ralph Duncombe looked down at the letter he was writing; finished it, -as if he had scarcely heard, then drew a book toward him, looked at it, -and said: - -"The bill isn't due. Why should Lord Auchester want to pay money before -it is wanted?" - -"'Ow do I know? Mad, p'raps! Anyhow, he does!" - -Ralph Duncombe thought a moment, then he pushed the book from him, and -looked straight at the anxious face before him. - -"He cannot have the bill," he said. - -Levison gasped. - -"What?" - -"He cannot have it. It suits me to stick by it till it is due." - -"Oh, Mishter Dunkombe, sir! What's the meaning of that? What am I to -say to him?" - -"A mere whim on my part--perhaps," said Ralph Duncombe, coolly, -impassively. "What are you to say? Say anything. Offer to lend him more -money. I will take any bill he gives you. Good-morning." - -He struck the gong standing at his elbow, and Levison, feeling too -bewildered to expostulate or argue, was shown out. - -He went back slowly, wiping the perspiration from his face. If it were -known that he had parted with Lord Auchester's bills he would probably -get a bad name with the other 'swells,' and lose half of them as -customers; his business would be ruined! - -He forced a grin as he entered the office, and threw up his hands with -a beautiful gesture of amazement. - -"Heresh a go, my lord!" he exclaimed. "Brother's gone off to see a -client in the country, and took them confounded keys of mine with him. -But there, it don't matter for a day or two, does it? I'll send the -bill, or call on your lordship----." - -Yorke put his pocket-book back. - -"Very well," he said. "Mind, I want to pay the money--while I've got -it. You see?" - -The Jew grinned. - -"I see; before it melts; eh, my lord? But there, as I said, why pay at -all? Why not let me lend you----." - -Yorke shook his head and laughed. - -"No, thanks, Mr. Levison. I don't mean to trouble you in that way -again, if I can help it. Good-morning." And with a pleasant nod he went -out of the grimy parlor, leaving the spider staring after him with -unfeigned surprise. - -"Don't want to borrow any more money!" he gasped. "Why, what in the -name of Moses has come to him. He--he must be going off his 'ead!" - -Yorke dismissed the little incident from his mind, guessing nothing of -its significance, or the effect it would have on his future, and had -himself driven to Bond Street. - -He had commenced the morning by doing his duty--or trying to do it--and -now he was going to reward himself by buying a present for Leslie. - -He had pondered over what he should get, and had at first, naturally, -thought of a ring; but he had remembered that she could not wear it -without attracting notice and question, and had decided on a locket. - -The man showed him some, and Yorke selected a plain one with the -initial 'Y' prettily worked in bas-relief. - -While he was paying for it, the shopman, who knew him quite well, -brought forward a tray of diamond ornaments. - -"The newest designs, my lord," he said. - -Yorke shook his head, but even as he did so Finetta flashed across his -mind. He looked at the bundle of notes; he had plenty of money; she had -behaved remarkably well; she deserved a present, a parting gift; he -would give her one. - -He knew Finetta's passion for diamonds, and comforted himself with the -reflection--a wrong one, as we know--that they would console her for -the loss of him. - -He was not long in choosing--not half as long as he had been in -selecting Leslie's simple locket--and purchased a pendant. It cost him -a hundred and thirty pounds. - -"Shall I send them, my lord?" asked the man. - -"No," said York. "I'll take 'em. Put them up, singly, in a box. I'm -going to send them through the post." - -The man inclosed them in a couple of wooden boxes, and bowed Lord -Auchester out. - -York went home, and straight to a drawer in which he kept odd things, -and after some amount of rummaging found a _carte de visite_ portrait -of himself. He sat down, lit a cigar, and, as neatly as he could, cut -out the head of the portrait and fitted it in the locket; wrote on a -slip of paper, "From Yorke," and laid them aside. - -Then he took a sheet of paper, and dashed off in the charming scrawl -which boys acquire at Eton--and never lose--the following note: - - "DEAR FIN.--Will you accept the inclosed and wear it for the sender's - sake, and in remembrance of the many delightful times we have spent - together? I thought of you nearly all the way home last night--it was - awfully late!--and shall never forget how good you have always been to - me. Think of me sometimes when you wear this trifle, and don't think - too unkindly!" - - "Yours, - - "YORKE." - -It was a foolish note. But he would be a wise man who could write a -wise one under such circumstances. Of course, a wise one wouldn't have -written at all; but Yorke was not famous for prudence. - -He laid this note beside the beautiful diamond pendant, wrapped, like -the locket, in tissue paper, and was putting them in their respective -boxes when Fleming came in. - -"Lord Vinson, my lord," he said. - -Yorke looked up with a shade of annoyance on his face. - -"Oh----. Ask Lord Vinson to wait a moment," he said, hurriedly. "There's -a midday post for the country, isn't there?" - -"Yes, my lord," said Fleming. "Can I help your lordship?" for Yorke was -hunting about for string and sealing wax. - -"No! Yes. Here, wrap these boxes up in thickish paper, and seal the -string. Mind! This, No. 1, goes in this one, and that, No. 2, in that! -Understand?" - -"Yes, my lord," said Fleming, and no doubt he thought he did. But when -he brought them back from the side table at which he had been packing -them, and Lord Yorke asked him which was No. 1, Fleming, the usually -careful and correct, handed him No. 2! - -And so it happened that when, a few minutes later, Fleming walked off -with them to the post-office, the locket with the portrait, but with -Finetta's letter, was directed to Finetta, and the diamond pendant to -Leslie! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -A WORD OF WARNING. - - -To Leslie the days seemed to go by like a dream during Yorke's absence. -She thought of him every hour, but she had yet scarcely realized all -that had happened to her. - -If Francis Lisle had not been utterly unlike the ordinary run of -parents, he would not have failed to see the change that had come over -her; but he was too absorbed in his painting to notice the difference; -and, indeed, if Leslie had appeared at breakfast in a domino and mask, -or sat during the meal with an umbrella up, he would very likely have -failed to see anything extraordinary in the occurrence; and it rather -suited him than otherwise that Leslie should sit beside him perfectly -silent, with her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on vacancy, with a -dreamy smile on her lips. - -But if Francis Lisle was blind, the duke was not. - -His keen eyes noted the change in the expression of the lovely face, -the soft light of a newly born joy in the gray eyes, and he guessed the -cause. - -"Like the rest!" he thought, with the bitter cynicism produced by his -pain. "Like the rest! Well, it will afford me a little amusement; it -will be a _petite comedie_ played for my special benefit." - -And yet at times, when he was free from pain, and he looked up at -Leslie as she stood beside his chair, he felt doubtful and uncertain as -to the accuracy of his judgment of her. - -"She has the eyes of an angel," he muttered, when they were together -one morning, the second after Yorke's departure for London. "One would -say that they were the clear windows of a soul as pure as a child's." - -His muttering was almost audible, and Leslie, awakened by it from a -dream, bent down to him, and asked: - -"What did you say, Mr. Temple?" - -"I was saying--and thinking--that you are very good-natured to keep a -crusty, irritable invalid company on such a delightful morning." - -"Did you say all that?" she said, with a soft laugh. - -"Well, if I didn't say it, I thought it," he responded. "You must find -it dull work, but you are used to sacrificing yourself for others, are -you not?" and he glanced at the painter who was at work at a little -distance on the beach. - -"It is not much of a sacrifice to stay with those one likes," she said, -half absently. - -The duke looked up at her sharply, and yet with a touch of color on his -face. - -"Thank you. I am to take it that you rather like me than otherwise, -Miss Leslie?" - -She blushed, and eyed him with sweet gravity. - -"I should be very ungrateful if I did not," she said. And mentally she -added, "And how could I help liking you; you are his friend?" - -"I see," he said. "Well, it is very kind of you to keep me company. I -should have missed my cousin--the duke--very much, if you had not been -here. I am afraid mine is dull society after his, and that you miss the -pleasant drives and sails." - -"They were very pleasant, yes," she admitted, a little confusedly. - -How hard it was that she should be obliged to deceive this kind-hearted -friend of Yorke's, and how she longed for the time when he and -her father should know her and Yorke's blissful secrets, when all -concealment should be at an end, and her great happiness proclaimed. -And yet it was sweet, this secret of theirs; it seemed to make their -love more precious and sacred. - -"Yes," said the duke. "Yorke is capital company. He is a great favorite -wherever he goes." - -"Yes," she murmured. - -"He's so light-hearted," went on the duke. "And light-hearted people -are extremely rare nowadays; but after all it isn't very much to his -credit; I mean that it is easy to be joyous when you are young, in -perfect health, and are----," he paused a second, "a duke." - -"Are dukes so much happier than other people?" she said, with a faint -smile. - -He winced. She had unconsciously struck home. - -"No," he said, laconically. "Most of those I know are very much less -happy than the rest of mankind, but it is different with the Duke of -Rothbury. He is, as I say, young and in splendid health----," his lips -moved and he sighed cynically, "but if he weren't he would still be -very popular and always welcome everywhere." - -"Why?" said Leslie, looking at him with her guileless eyes. - -He met their glance for a moment, then lowered his keen, suspicious -ones. - -"Is it acting?" he asked himself, and he gnawed at his lip. - -"Why? Because he is a duke. If he were old and ugly, and--and twisted -as I am, he would still be run after by all sorts and conditions of -men--and women," he added, but in a lower voice, as if he were half -ashamed of his cynicism. - -Leslie understood, and her face flushed for a moment; but it was not -with guilt, but the indignation of a pure-hearted girl. - -"You mean that they--women--would pretend to like him because of his -rank?" she said, quietly, but with gentle gravity. - -"That's what I meant," he assented, eyeing her attentively. "There -isn't a woman in the world whose heart doesn't leap at the thought of -becoming a duchess." - -"It is not true!" she said, her eyes flashing down at him with purest -indignation. "It is--but you are only speaking in jest, Mr. Temple," -and she smiled at the warmth she had been hurried into. - -He looked hard at her. - -"I am not jesting," he said; "but stating the solemn, shameful fact." - -She gazed down at him almost pityingly. - -"Ah, you do not know women at all," she said. "No," with a shake of her -head, as he opened his lips. "You may know a great many, and they may -be very great ladies, and a few of them may be as worldly as you say -they are, but not many. I will not believe that." - -He fingered his chin with restless fingers, and looked from right to -left. - -"If she is not acting then--then she is on the brink of a great -misery," he thought. "If I could only believe her!" - -"You mean that it would make no difference to you whether a man were a -duke or not?" he said. - -Her face went rather pale. - -"Yes, it would make a difference," she said in a low voice. "I would -rather not make the acquaintance of a duke, or any one so far above me -in rank; and there are thousands of women who feel the same." - -"Oh," he says, curtly. "I never was fortunate enough to meet any. -Seeing that that is your feeling, it was very kind of you to honor -me--I mean my cousin," he corrected himself sharply, "with your -friendship, Miss Leslie," and he smiled. - -Leslie's cheek burned, and she turned her face from his keen eyes. - -"An actress," he muttered. "And yet I'll give her a word of warning, -though she doesn't deserve it." - -"Did the duke happen to say when he was coming back, Miss Leslie?" - -"No," she said. "He said that he might be two or three days." - -He laughed. - -"I shouldn't be surprised if Portmaris never saw him again." - -He saw Leslie start slightly, then a faint smile flashed over her face, -a smile of perfect faith. Yorke not come back! She remembered his -last word to her. I shall count every moment while I'm away from you, -dearest, every moment till I am back with you. - -"My cousin is rather erratic," said the duke, casually and -indifferently. "He is a very nice fellow, good-hearted and the rest -of it; but--well, a little fickle; at least, that's the character the -ladies give him." - -"Fickle," she said, smiling still. - -"Y-es," he said, languidly. "What's that song in 'The Grand Duchess,' -'A butterfly flits from flower to flower?' One mustn't blame the -butterfly, you know. 'It's its nature to,' as Dr. Watts says; and, like -the butterfly, Yorke is what is called very susceptible. He is always -falling in love----." - -She moved slightly, and the smile died away from her lips; but the -clear eyes met his steadily, unflinchingly. - -"And, fortunately, falling out of it again. He's like the man in the -play who was in the habit of proposing to some woman every day; and -if she accepted him he rode off, and she saw him no more, and if she -refused him he asked her to be a sister, an aunt, or something of that -kind, and rode off just as easily." - -She opened her lips slowly. - -"I thought you were a friend of the Duke of Rothbury's, Mr. Temple?" -she said, in a very low voice. - -The duke flushed. - -"Eh? Oh, I see. You think it very base of me to speak ill of him behind -his back?" - -"That's what I meant," she assented, gravely. - -"Oh, but the world wouldn't consider that I had spoken at all ill of -him." - -"The world!" she said. "How wicked and heartless it must be, this world -of yours, Mr. Temple!" - -"It is," he said, curtly. "As heartless as a flint." - -"Or as the Duke of Rothbury, if he were what you have painted him," she -said very softly. - -"You don't believe me, then?" he asked, looking up at her from under -his thick brows. - -She shook her head. - -"Not the very least!" she said, actually smiling. - -"You forget that I have known him all his life, and that you have only -known him five minutes!" - -She still smiled. - -"But in five minutes one may know----." She stopped, and her face -flushed, and the tears arose to her eyes. "No, I don't believe it," she -said, her voice tremulous. "There may be some men who are as false and -heartless as you say, but not the Duke of Rothbury." - -He looked at her gravely, almost pityingly. - -"Don't be too sure of that, Miss Leslie!" he said, with a touch of -warning in his tone. "He is a good fellow, a charming companion, -but----." He was stopped by the expression of pain which shone in her -eyes. - -"Oh, please let us talk of something else!" she said, quickly. "See, -here is the postman." - -"I hope he has brought my medicine," said the duke. But the postman, -tugging at his cap, handed a small parcel to Leslie. - -"For me!" she said, with surprise. "Why, what can it be? Are you sure -it is for me and not papa? It is like one of the boxes they send the -colors in." - -"A sample of a new scent or pearl powder," said the duke, leaning back -languidly. - -"Why should they send it to me?" she said, laughingly. - -She tore off the outer paper as she spoke, and with the pleasant -excitement which is always produced by the receipt of a parcel whose -contents are unknown, she opened the little wooden box. - -The duke heard an exclamation, a cry of amazement, of admiration, of -delight, and looked up sharply. - -"Is it scent or pearl powder?" he asked, with an amused smile. - -She looked at him as if she scarcely heard him. Her eyes were shining, -her lips apart. - -"It is neither," she said, and without another word, with the little -box fast clasped in her hand, ran toward the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -STRANGE TALK. - - -She ran up the street and into the house, and up the stairs to her own -room, her heart beating fast. Locking the door first, she opened the -little wooden box, and took out the pendant, a glimpse of which she had -caught as she stood beside the duke. - -But though the glitter of the diamonds pleased her as it will every -woman, the few words in his handwriting were more precious to her than -the costly gems. - -Can any one ever tell what her first love letter means to a young girl -who is in love with the writer? - -Leslie gazed at one line in Yorke's awful scrawl as a Moslem might -regard a verse from the Koran, and not once or twice only did her -sweet lips kiss the scrap of paper. Then she examined the pendant more -minutely, and though her experience of jewelry was of a very limited -character, she knew that the gift was an expensive one. - -"It is too good, too grand for me," she said, and yet with a sensation -of pleasure in its worth. "I should have been as pleased if he had sent -me a bunch of flowers bought in the London streets. But, oh, how good -of him! And, after all, it is not too grand for his wife. He would -think nothing too rare, too costly for her. Oh, my love, my love! If I -were only more worthy of you!" - -She found a piece of ribbon and put the pendant on it, and hung it -around her white throat, and the fire and glitter of the diamonds -almost startled her. - -"It is just as well that I may not wear it openly--yet," she said -to herself with a soft, shy laugh. "I should feel as if every one -was staring at me. I wonder whether I shall ever get used to wearing -beautiful things like this? He would say 'Yes,' but I feel now as if I -never should be able to do so without being conscious of my splendor. -But I must hide you for the present, you beautiful thing," and she -arranged the pendant so that it nestled over her heart, and buttoned -her dress over it, and there it seemed to glow with a soft, consuming -fire, as if it knew that it had come from the hand of the man she loved. - -Several times during the day she stole up to her room and drew the -pendant from its hiding-place, and looked at it with glistening eyes; -and if Francis Lisle had not been blind to everything but his awful -pictures, he could not but have been startled by the expression on her -face after one of these visits. - -But if her father was blind the children were not, and as they -clustered around her they looked up at her, frank wonder in their -wide-open orbs, and one mite lisped: - -"What makth 'oo sthmile so, Mith Lethlie. Have 'oo been a dood girl, -and got a penny diven 'oo?" - -"Yes, I've got a penny given to me, Trottie," said Leslie, taking the -child up in her lap and kissing it. "Such a beautiful shining penny." - -"Thow it me," said the little one. - -But Leslie put her hand on her bosom with a jealous smile. - -"No, no; I can't show it even to you, Trottie," she said; "not to any -one. And I am not going to buy anything with it, but going to keep it -as long as ever I live." - -She did not see Mr. Temple again that day, and did not even think of -him or the hard, unjust things he had said of Yorke; and if she had, -it would only have been to laugh at them. Yorke fickle and false! With -that gift of his rising and falling on her heart, she would not have -believed an angel if he had come to tell her anything against her -beloved. - -The duke missed her all that afternoon, missed her very much. He had -got used to having her standing or sitting by his chair, and her sweet, -low-pitched voice had been as a soothing balm in his moments of pain. -And yet he could not wholly trust her, or believe that she was better -and less mercenary and self-seeking than the rest of her sex. - -His keen eyes had seen the change in her face when he had spoken of -Yorke, and he had told himself that what he had prophesied was coming -true; this artless-looking girl with the clear, guileless eyes was -already aiming at a ducal coronet. It did not occur to him that she -might love Yorke for himself alone; or, if it did, he put the thought -away from him and hugged his old cynical mistrust of her sex. - -The next day passed and no Yorke appeared, but on the morning of -the following one he got into the train at Paddington on his way to -Portmaris. - -As he did so, with a sigh of relief and expectant happiness, he noticed -a tall lady dressed in black with a veil over her face pass his -carriage and enter the next, and he was struck in an absent kind of -way by the grace of her figure; but she disappeared from his mind the -moment she passed the window, and he gave himself up to picturing his -meeting with Leslie. - -A few hours, and then----. He lit a cigar, and stretched his long legs -on to the opposite seat and thought. - -The few days he had been absent from her had taught this young man how -very completely he was in love, and he was actually asking himself why -they should not be married at once! - -"What's the use of waiting?" he mused; "I shall never be better off. -We might just as well be married now----." Then a reflection cut across -his roseate visions, and, as Hamlet says, 'gave him pause;' he was -fearfully in debt, and though Mr. Levison hadn't turned up with the -bill, and seemed more inclined to lend him more money than take any -from him, he, Yorke, knew the reason. The money lenders all depended -upon his marrying an heiress, and he knew--and his face flushed as he -thought of it--that they one and all expected him to marry Lady Eleanor -Dallas, and relied upon it. - -The moment they heard that he had married what they and the rest of the -world, in its language of contempt, would call a pauper, they would -swoop down upon him like a flock of kites, and----. - -He sat up in the railway carriage and rubbed his forehead. - -Couldn't he ask Dolph to lend--give--him the money to pay his debts? -Well, he could ask him, and no doubt the duke would do it--if he -approved of Yorke's marrying Leslie. But would he approve? Somehow -Yorke felt doubtful. - -"I might try him," he thought, and he pondered over it until the train -reached Northcliffe, and then suddenly an alternative course occurred -to him, an idea which flashed upon him suddenly, and sent the blood -rushing to his face. - -Why shouldn't he and Leslie be married secretly? They might go away, -leave England, and settle down in some Continental place quietly until -he had screwed enough money out of his income to pay his debts, and -then they might proclaim their marriage to the whole world. - -His heart beat hopefully, and he was so absorbed in his plans and -schemes that he did not notice that the tall lady in black got out at -Northcliffe; indeed, he could not have seen her unless he had looked -back--which he did not do--for she did not get out until the rest of -the passengers had alighted, and then kept in the background until the -station was clear. - -Yorke got a fly at once and had himself driven to Portmaris, and as -the ancient vehicle rattled down the street he looked eagerly at the -windows of Sea View. But Leslie was out, and with a little pang of -disappointment Yorke ran up the stairs of Marine Villa. - -The duke was sitting in his chair, his head resting on his hands, and -Yorke saw at once that it was a 'bad afternoon' with the invalid. The -duke raised his head, with a transient smile of welcome on his pale -face. - -"Well, Yorke, back again," he said, holding out his hand. "I was just -on the point of telling Grey to pack up." - -Yorke started. - -"What, tired of Portmaris already, Dolph?" he said. - -The duke sighed. - -"About five minutes is long enough for me anywhere. There is only -one place I shall not get weary of--the grave. But this isn't a very -cheerful greeting, Yorke. What's the news?" - -"Oh, nothing! I saw Lang"--this was the duke's agent--"and told him -what you wanted done, and----." - -"Oh, thanks!" said the duke, indifferently; "and you have had a -pleasant time, I hope? Did you see Eleanor?" - -Yorke nodded. - -"Yes, oh, yes; had luncheon there. She's very well. What a lovely -sunset to-night! 'Pon my word, this is a jolly little place." - -"Jolly, is it?" said the duke, eyeing him keenly. - -"Hem! Well, perhaps it's jollier when you are here. It's been dull -enough without you, any way. As I said, we have missed you very much, -young man." - -"'We'? Meaning you and Grey?" said Yorke, standing at the window and -watching the opposite ones anxiously. - -The duke smiled grimly. - -"Well, I dare say Grey has missed you; but I was thinking, when I -spoke, of--Miss Lisle." - -"Oh, Miss Lisle," said Yorke, flushing like a schoolgirl. "I--I hope -she is all right." - -"Yes, I think so. The fact is, I have not seen very much of her since -yesterday morning, when in the course of conversation I ventured to -hint that your grace----." - -Yorke started. - -"Your grace was not quite perfect." - -Yorke laughed uneasily, and kept his back carefully turned to the duke. - -"She seemed to think that you were more divine than human, and put out -her claws in your defense like a woman--and a cat." - -A spasm of pain shot through him and he groaned faintly, and so, though -all Yorke's soul arose in horror at hearing his beloved likened to a -cat, he held his tongue. - -"In short," continued the duke, wearily, "I was quite correct in my -surmise as to what would take place. The girl is dying to marry your -grace and become a duchess." - -Yorke bit his lip. - -"It's time that bit of nonsense came to an end," he said, with angry -impatience. "I didn't like it from the first, Dolph, and I like it now -less than ever." - -The duke waved his hand with tired indifference. - -"It was an idiotic idea," he said; "but it has served my purpose. I -have been left alone here, and the rest and quiet have done me good. -You can tell the Lisles, and whom else you like, at once if you choose. -Stay," he said; "wait till to-morrow evening. I shall have gone by that -time." - -"Gone?" said Yorke. "You mean going?" - -"Yes," said the duke, impatiently; "I am tired of it. I'll go and hide -myself at Rothbury, I think; and I think you had better go, too." - -"Why?" asked Yorke, but his voice faltered slightly. - -"Well," responded the duke, grimly, "I've an idea--don't trouble to -contradict me, it isn't worth while--that Miss Leslie has succeeded in -making an impression on your grace----." - -"And that would be such an awful calamity, wouldn't it?" said Yorke, -feeling his way. - -The duke laughed cynically. - -"No, I suppose not. You would ride away, like the man in the ballad, -and leave her weeping. Not that the youngest and most unsophisticated -girls weep much now, I believe; they dry their tears and look out for -the next man." - -"Dolph, for a man who loves and respects women--and I know you do----." - -"Oh, do you?" snarled the duke, or, rather, the demon of pain that had -got possession of him. - -"Yes," said Yorke. "For one who loves and respects them, you talk -strangely." - -"Well, well. We don't want to squabble about women in general or this -young woman in particular. All I mean to say is that, though usually -I think they are well punished for their mercenary scheming, I've a -sneaking fondness and pity for Leslie Lisle, and I don't want you to -let her think that she has a chance of being a duchess. In short--well, -of course, you have been flirting with her; you always do, you know. -Well, leave her alone, and go back to London." He sighed. "That's good -advice. We'll let her off this time." - -Yorke stood motionless, with stern face. - -"If I were the duke I have been masquerading as," he said, "I could not -find a better woman or one----." - -"More fitted by nature to adorn, etc. I know," interrupted the duke -with peevish irritation. "But, unfortunately, you aren't the duke--I -wish to Heaven you were, or anybody were but I!--and as you are not, -and only Yorke Auchester, with not enough to keep yourself upon, to say -nothing of a wife, you can't afford to do more than flirt with her. -There! The subject is played out. You have got to marry Eleanor Dallas, -my dear fellow. She is made for you, and you will be as happy as a man -ever can be in this beastliest of all beastly worlds." - -"You dispose of me very easily," said Yorke, his throat dry, his eyes -flashing, but his back still turned. - -"Yes, because I care for you, and am anxious for your future and -happiness." - -"Thanks," said Yorke, in a softer voice. "But--well, we are arguing. -Suppose I do not care for Eleanor?" - -The duke laughed quietly. - -"My dear Yorke, no man could be loved by such a beautiful creature as -Eleanor and, marrying her, help falling in love with her within the -first fortnight. Oh, how tired I am! Don't let us spoil the pleasure -I get out of your return by wrangling. Do as I say; leave this little -girl with the gray eyes and dark hair--what eyes they are, by the -way!"--and he sighed--"leave her alone. You can't marry her, and -though you could punish her for wanting to marry you by flirting with -her--well, I don't somehow want to see her punished. Seriously, Yorke, -I ask you to do this as--as a favor." - -Yorke left the window. - -"You release me from my promise, from our arrangement regarding the -title?" he said, quietly, and with a tone of decision in his voice -which the duke would have remarked if he had not been in such intense -pain. - -"To-morrow--not till to-morrow," he said. "I'll tell Grey we are going -to-morrow, and then, just before we go, you can tell the Lisles, -explain the reason--anything. I care nothing. I shall be out of reach -of the fuss the story will make even in this outlandish place." - -"Good," said Yorke, and he drew a long breath. "I'm going out for a -stroll--dinner as usual, I suppose?" And the duke heard him going down -the stairs two steps at a time. - -The duke's few decided, querulous words had fired Yorke. He was to -marry Lady Eleanor, was he? Ha-ha! He laughed almost grimly. There was -only one woman in the world he would marry, and, if she would have him, -he would make her his wife at once. - -He strode down the street, and on to the quay, and at a little -distance on the beach saw Mr. Lisle, painting as usual. - -He looked up impatiently as Yorke came crashing over the stones, and -accosted him. - -"Oh, how do you do--how do you do, your grace?" he said, in his thin -voice, and with a hasty glance at him as if he begrudged every moment -from his picture. - -"Is--is Miss Lisle out with you?" said Yorke, trying to speak with -nothing warmer in his voice than conventional politeness. - -"Leslie?" looking around absently. "Yes, she was here a moment ago; but -she has wandered off somewhere." And his manner and tone plainly added: - -"And I wish to goodness you'd wander off, too." - -"How is the picture getting on?" asked Yorke, looking at the daub which -Lisle had painted over and over again, making it worse at each stroke. - -"Very well--very well, I think," was the reply. "You like it?" and a -faint red came into the pale thin cheeks. Somehow Yorke fancied that -they had grown thinner and paler during the last few days. "I am going -to make a masterpiece of it. I am working hard, very hard. Isn't it -very hot and close this morning? I have a stupid headache----. Yes. -Would you mind standing out of the light? Thank you." - -Yorke left him; he knew it would be of no use to ask the dreamer in -which direction Leslie had gone. - -"Poor old fellow," he thought. "We'll take him with us, and look after -him together. Give him his painting tools, and he'll be happy enough!" - -He walked along the beach and on to the cliffs and suddenly he came -upon Leslie. She was sitting in a cleft of the rocks, a book on her -lap, but it was lying face downward, and she was looking out to sea. He -stole behind her, and bent down and kissed her. She started, but not -violently, and the blood rushed to her face. - -"Yorke!" was all she said, but all her love, her joy on his return -breathed in the single word. - -He took both her hands, and sat down beside her. - -"I startled you, dearest!" he said. - -How lovely she looked! How sweet, and, ah, how pure and good! Not -Eleanor herself could look more refined, more _spirituelle_ than this -love of his--his Leslie. - -"No!" she said, with a faint smile, and a little shyness in her voice -and eyes. "I ought to have been startled, but I was not. Perhaps it was -because I was thinking of you. When did you come back?" - -"A few minutes ago, dearest," he said. "Has it seemed long to you? I -thought, perhaps, that you would have forgotten me." - -She smiled at him. - -"Well, I might have done so," she said, with delicious archness; "but -you provided against that, did you not?" - -He did not understand for a moment, then he laughed. - -"You got it all right?" - -"Ah, yes," she said, with a little sigh of gratitude and content. "I -wish you could have seen me when it came! I was standing beside Mr. -Temple when the postman brought it, and I cried out--well, like a -schoolgirl!" - -He looked at her, wrapt in delight at her delight. - -"It was a happy thought of mine, then?" he said. - -"Yes, but why did you send me so grand a present," she said in a -low voice. "Anything would have done; but that----." She laughed and -colored. "It was too rich, too costly for such a simple person as I am!" - -He laughed. So she thought the plain little locket rich and costly. -What would she have considered the diamond pendant he had sent to -Finetta? "God bless my darling! My modest pearl!" he thought. - -"And you were pleased with it?" he said. "It occurred to me that you -might like it; for a minute or two I feared that you might consider me -conceited in sending it, that a ring----." - -She shook her head. - -"It is beautiful--beautiful!" she said. "Its only fault is that it is -too good, too costly. The merest trifle would have served to tell me -that you had not--forgotten me! And, indeed, I did not need anything." - -"You trusted me so completely, dearest?" he said. - -"Yes," she said simply, with a faint wonder in her voice at the -earnestness in his. - -"You trusted me," he said, as earnestly as before. "And how if I were -to ask you to trust me still, to trust me in a greater degree, Leslie?" - -She looked at him, still smiling. - -"What is it?" she asked; and the question was a good reply to his. - -"It is just this," he said, taking her hand in both his and holding it -tightly. "See, dearest, I hesitate to tell you--it is so much to ask -you! And the worst of it is that I cannot give you the reason----." - -Her face paled, but she looked at him bravely. - -"Are--are you going to leave me again? If you must go----." - -The love in her voice, in her eyes, made his heart actually ache. - -"Leave you?" he said. "Well, yes; but it will be only for a few hours a -day, if--if you consent to do what I am going to ask you?" - -"What is it?" she asked, still calmly. - -"I want you to marry me--at once, Leslie?" he said in a low voice, and -almost solemnly. - -She started, and her hand quivered in his. - -"Marry--you--at once!" she whispered, her bosom heaving, her long dark -lashes trembling. - -"You are frightened, dearest?" he said, drawing her nearer to him. - -She was silent a moment. - -"No," she replied in a whisper, "not frightened, I think, but----." - -"And that isn't all," he said almost desperately. "I want our marriage -to be a secret one." - -She started now, and drew her hand from his, turning her pale face to -him with almost pained surprise. - -"Listen, Leslie," he said, getting her hand back again. "There -are reasons why it is necessary--do you understand, my darling, -necessary--that no one should know of our engagement. The other day, -when--when I told you I loved you, and asked you to be my wife, I did -not think of those reasons; I didn't think of anything but you. But -they came home to me when I was in London. It sounds strange, almost -incredible----." - -"No, not incredible," she murmured. - -"You would believe anything I told you, you mean?" he asked, with bated -breath. - -Her clear eyes met his with her assent in them as plainly as if she had -spoken. - -"My darling! And I cannot tell you----. But, Leslie, in a word, I am not -free--I mean that I am not my own master----." - -A faint smile chased the slightly troubled look from her face. - -"It sounds so strangely," she said. "A duke and not your own master----." - -He reddened, and his eyes dropped before hers. - -"Heaven and earth!" broke from him almost passionately. "Leslie--I beg -of you not to--to call me that again----." - -"Not----." She looked at him questioningly. - -"Yes. Yes--I do beg of you, dearest. Not, we will say, for another day. -After that----," he drew a long breath, and brushed the hair from his -forehead impatiently. "I will explain then why I ask you, dearest. I -will explain everything. Don't--don't--be frightened, dearest! Don't -think there is any real mystery! You will--yes, you will laugh, when -you hear what it is!" - -"Shall I?" she says, trustfully. "I am not frightened, I am not even--I -think--very curious----." - -"Oh, my darling! And you do not even ask me why this secrecy, this -concealment, is necessary?" - -"No," she says, after a pause, and placing her other hand in his. -"If you say so I am content. I suppose----," she averts her face a -little--"I suppose you do not wish your people to know that---that -you are going to marry one so far beneath you, one so unfit to be a -duchess----." - -He stifles a groan. - -"It is not that," he says. But for his promise to the duke he could -tell her all. Tell her that he is not a duke with lands and gold -galore, but a poor man so incumbered and crippled by debt that he dare -not let it be known that he is not going to marry a fortune! "Leslie, I -cannot tell you! I am not free to tell you, till--yes, to-morrow! Will -you not trust me?" - -Her breath comes fast for a moment as she looks out to sea, then she -turns to him. - -"I cannot but trust you," she says almost piteously. "I could not doubt -you if I tried." - -"My angel, my dearest!" he says, fervently, reverently. "You shall -never regret having trusted me, never! Now, listen, Leslie! There is -one person, of all others, who must not know what we are going to -do--Mr. Temple." - -"Mr. Temple?" she says, not suspiciously, not even curiously but with -faint surprise. - -"Yes," he says. "He suspects, or half-suspects, already that I love -you. It must be kept from him. You will understand why when I tell you -all--when I clear up the mystery. Now, see----." He stops and laughs. -His face is flushed with excitement, and his eyes sparkling. "To-night -I will go up to town----." - -"To-night----," she breathes. - -"Yes," he says. "There is no time to be lost--you will see that when -you know all. To-morrow I will get a special license, and that same day -you must come up to London----." - -She trembles. - -"Alone?" she asks in a still voice. - -"No, no," he says. "You must persuade your father----. Stay! I will -manage that! I will get a well-known dealer I know to wire to him; some -question about his pictures, something that will bring him up." - -She trembled still. - -"The moment you arrive you must telegraph your address to me. I will -tell you where to wire----." He takes out an old envelope, and writes: - -"Lord Auchester----." - -Then with an exclamation tears it up, and on another piece of paper, -writes: - - "YORKE, - "Dorchester Club, - "Pall Mall." - -"Mind, dearest! Send the telegram at once, and at once I will come to -you, and--the rest you must leave to me. You will?" - -"I will!" she says, almost inaudibly, and as solemnly as ever marriage -vow was whispered. - -Her great love and trust overwhelm him, and something like tears--yes, -tears--dim his bright eyes. - -"My darling, if I ever forget your love and trust, your goodness to me, -may Heaven forget me!" he says in a voice that makes her thrill. "I -will make you happy, Leslie, happier than any woman ever was before! -Every hour of my life----." His voice breaks. "Oh, my darling, what have -I done that Heaven should send me such an angel!" - -The tears are in her eyes now. - -"I've made you cry!" he says. "Ah, I know! You are thinking of your -father, Leslie!" - -She starts guiltily. For the first time in her life, the life devoted -to him, she has forgotten her father. - -"Do not fret about him. He shall go with us; he shall belong as much to -me as to you. What! do you think I would separate you----." - -They sit hand in hand for--how long? At last he tears himself away. - -"Remember, dearest!" are his last words. "Send to me directly--the -moment--you reach London. And, Leslie, fear nothing! Why, when one -thinks of it," and he laughs, "what is there to fear?" - -He is gone at last. She stands and watches him as he makes his -way--with many a backward glance--along the quay; then she sinks on to -the rock again. - -Her heart is throbbing, a mist is floating before her eyes; she cannot -think, cannot see. So unconscious of everything around her is she that, -when half an hour later the dark, graceful figure of a woman passes -near her nook, she does not heed or notice it. She is in Love's land, -and rapt in Love's dream. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -FINETTA'S WAY. - - -After a time Leslie got up, but she wanted to be alone a little longer; -she felt that she could not talk even to her father just then; she -wanted to be alone to think over all Yorke had told her. She walked a -few yards toward the quay, and saw that Mr. Lisle was still painting; -then she turned, and slowly paced in the direction of Ragged Point, -which stretched out dark and sullen in the sunlight. - -As she had said, not a doubt of Yorke's truth and honor cast a shadow -over her happiness. If he said that it was necessary that they should -be married at once and secretly, it must be so--it should be so! He -was her lover, her master, her king. She had given herself to him -absolutely; she trusted him because she could not help herself. - -She had almost reached the point, and would have gone on, but she -remembered that the tide was coming in, and that there would not be -time to get round before the sea rose above the narrow ledge of rock at -the foot of the cliffs, and she was turning back when she caught sight -of something dark above a rock at the very foot of the point. - -For a moment she thought it was a bird, then she saw that it was a -hat--a woman's hat. Someone was sitting there. In an instant it struck -her that it might be a stranger, unacquainted with the conformation of -the coast line, and that if she sat there for a few minutes longer she -would be unable to get back or to turn the point. - -Leslie looked at the tide, and was startled to find that it had run -up quicker than she had thought. There would be barely time to reach -the woman behind the rock and warn her. She ran forward as quickly as -she could and shouted at the top of her voice, but the voice of the -incoming waves beating against the rocks drowned hers. - -She looked round, hoping to see a boat or a fisherman, but no one was -in sight; and she and the unknown, sitting there in all unconsciousness -of her peril, were alone in the grim place. - -Most women would have paused and thought of her own safety, but Leslie -and selfishness had not yet made acquaintance, and she hurried on, -running where there was a bare bit of sand, and scrambling over the -rocks that lay in her path. At last she reached the one behind which -the woman she had come to warn was sitting, and stood before her -breathlessly. - -"Oh, quick! Quick!" she cried pantingly. Then she stopped, and -recoiled a little. It was a girl, seated in an attitude of weariness -and lassitude, her elbows on her knees, her head bowed. Even in this -first moment Leslie noted the grace and sorrowful abandon of the -figure; but it was the uplifted face that made her recoil, for it was -that of the woman she had seen below St. Martin's Tower--it was the -woman who had sung the disreputable music-hall ditty. - -There was no reckless gaiety in the face now, but a misery and despair -so eloquent that even as she recoiled, Leslie's heart ached with pity -for her. - -The dark eyes looked at Leslie vacantly for a moment, then flashed with -sudden anger. - -"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked, half sullenly, half -defiantly. - -Leslie flushed at the tone in which the greeting was conveyed. - -"I--I saw you sitting here," she said quickly, and a little -tremulously, for the dark face disquieted her, and inspired her with a -vague uneasiness. "I saw you from the beach yonder, and I thought that -perhaps you were a stranger." - -"I am a stranger. Yes, what of it?" said the woman, as sullenly and -suspiciously as before. - -"And you do not know that this is Ragged Point, and that the tide is -coming up fast, very fast," said Leslie quickly. - -"Is it? What does it matter?" was the dull response. - -"Oh, do you not understand?" said Leslie earnestly. "When the tide -comes up here, where you are sitting, you will not be able to go on or -turn back. You see how the point stretches out?" - -The dark eyes looked wearily to right and left. - -"I see," she said. "No, I didn't know it. I don't know how long I've -been sitting here." She looked up at the sky. "The tide comes up here, -does it?" - -"Yes, yes!" said Leslie hurriedly. "Pray come away at once!" for the -girl had made no attempt to get up. "We have only just time to get -round the point, even if we run. Come at once!" and in her eagerness -she held out her hand to help her to rise. - -The girl disregarded the outstretched hand, and rose wearily, sullenly. - -"I suppose I should have been drowned if you had not seen me?" she -remarked listlessly. - -"Oh, I hope not; I hope not!" said Leslie. "But I am very glad I did -see you. I only caught sight of the top of your hat. You had better -take my hand. I am used to getting over the rocks and stones." - -"I can get on all right," said the girl sullenly, refusing the -proffered assistance. "I'm as young as you are, and as strong," she -added, glancing out of the corners of her dark eyes at Leslie. - -"I am glad you are strong," said Leslie gravely, as she looked at the -swiftly, surely incoming sea; "for we shall have to run." - -Her companion stopped and looked seaward too, and with a strange -expression. - -"Oh, why do you wait?" demanded Leslie. "Do you not understand that -there is not a moment to lose?" - -The girl laughed a reckless, miserable laugh, which was a grotesque -reflection of the laugh which Leslie had heard on the tower when she -had last seen her. - -"I was thinking if it was worth while," she said moodily. - -Leslie stared at her. - -"Worth while!" she echoed unconsciously. - -"Yes. I'm not sure it wouldn't be better and easier to stop here and -let the water come up. It would save a lot of trouble." She laughed -again. - -With a faint shudder, Leslie turned away from the dark eyes and seized -the speaker's arm. - -"You must come at once!" she said firmly. - -The woman drew back for a moment; then, as if yielding against her -will, allowed Leslie to draw her forward. - -They hurried over the rocks in silence for a moment or two, the waves -splashing against their feet; then Leslie stopped and uttered an -exclamation, her eyes fixed on the cliff before them, her face suddenly -pale. - -"What is the matter? Are we too late?" asked her companion dully and -indifferently. - -"Yes, we are too late!" replied Leslie in a low voice. Then she caught -her breath and forced a smile. "Do not be frightened. We may get -round the other way; the ledge of rock is wider there, but it is more -difficult to get over. We must go back. Follow me." - -She turned and sprang quickly from rock to rock, and her companion -followed her example. They gained the spot where the girl had been -sitting, but it was now covered by the sea, and they had to wade ankle -deep. - -Leslie caught the girl's hand. - -"Hold fast!" she said in a quick whisper. "If we gain that point there, -where the rock sticks out----." - -Even as she spoke a spurt of foam covered the spot indicated, and the -waves dashed over it. She stopped and looked round her, her face white -and set. - -"We are too late here, too," she said with a smothered sob. "Too late!" -and she covered her face with her hands. - -The other girl leant against the cliff and stared dully at the angry -waves, creeping, creeping like some wild beast towards them. - -"You mean we are going to die," she said in a low, harsh voice. "Going -to die like rats in a hole. Well," and she shrugged her shoulders, "I -don't care much, myself. You see, when you came up just now, I was -wishing I was dead." - -Leslie shuddered, and put up her hand as if to stop her. Death was too -near to be spoken of so lightly. - -"Yes, I was. You're shocked, I dessay. I'm sorry for you. It's a pity -you didn't stop where you were. You're not tired of life, judging by -your face." - -"Tired of life!" panted Leslie; "oh, no, no!" - -"So I should say," said the other sullenly. "So you don't understand -what I mean, and what I feel?" - -"No, I don't understand," said Leslie, scarcely knowing what she was -saying. "But it is dreadful, dreadful to hear you, and at such a -moment. Hah!" She broke off with an exclamation of horror, and drew her -companion back close to the face of the cliff, for a wave had dashed at -their feet and wet them to the waist. - -"It's coming up pretty fast," said the girl. "It won't take long to----. -Isn't there any chance for you? I don't care about myself." - -Leslie screened her eyes with her hand. - -"A boat might be passing," she said faintly. "Oh, to think that they -are so near--that there are people just round that bend, who, if they -knew--only knew!--would risk their lives to save us," and she sank at -the foot of the cliff and hid her face in her hands. - -"I'm sorry," said the other. "It's rough on you to lose your life for -me, a stranger, too." - -Leslie sprang up, her eyes wild with despair. - -"We will not die!" she cried. "We will not! Do you hear? Oh, I cannot -die; I cannot leave him--like this!" and she beat her hands together. - -"You're thinking of your husband--who?" asked the other, eyeing her -half pityingly. "It's always a man. That's where I've got the pull of -you," and she laughed. "My man wouldn't care whether I lived or died. -He's left me already." - -The anguish in her voice, the reckless despair, went to Leslie's heart. -She shuddered as she looked at the dark eyes. - -"Left you!" she breathed. "Oh, now I understand! Ah, yes; I know now -why you want to die." - -"Yes," was the bitter response. "That's where we women are such -fools. We care. Men don't. You think your husband, or sweetheart, or -whoever he is, will break his heart for the loss of you!" she laughed -mockingly. "Not he! They don't break their hearts so easily! He'll get -over it and marry another woman almost before you're--cold in your -grave, I was going to say." - -Leslie shrank back from her as far as she could, and put her hands up -to her ears. - -"Oh, hush, hush!" she panted. "It is not true! It is wicked and -false! I will not listen to you. Oh, forgive me!" she broke off, -her indignation and horror softened by the misery on the white face -and dark eyes staring so hopelessly at the angry sea. "How you must -have suffered, how you must have loved him to be so wretched, so -indifferent." - -"Oh, yes, I loved him. I loved him--well, as much as you loved the man -you're thinking of----." - -"When--when did it happen--when did he leave you? Why? Tell me," said -Leslie. "Let us talk--try and forget that it is coming nearer and -nearer, that we have only a few minutes--" - -"Yes, we haven't long," was the response. "I've been watching that rock -there, almost in a line with us. You could see the top a moment ago; -it's covered now. When did he leave me? Only a few nights ago. Why? The -old story. He got tired of me, I suppose. Anyhow, he met someone else." - -"And--and you were to have been his wife!" breathed Leslie pityingly. -"And you loved him! Oh, how could he be so cruel, so heartless?" - -The other looked down at her, and laughed harshly. - -"Why, men are like that, all of them." - -"No, no! Not all! They are not all so base, so vile." - -"You think so. You wait! Perhaps your turn will come. But I forgot," -she laughed again. "Your man won't have the chance to leave you--there, -I beg your pardon," for Leslie had shrunk away from her. "Don't mind me -or what I say. I'm half out of my mind. I've had no sleep since--since -he left me, and I've come a long journey, and eaten nothing. Yes, I'm -half mad. I was a fool to follow him. I ought to have stayed at home; -but I've got my punishment." - -"You came after him? He is here, then?" asked Leslie in a pitying -whisper, watching the waves as she spoke. - -"Yes," said she; then with a sigh, "Yes, and I've seen him. I meant to -speak to him, to--to--try and get him back; but my heart failed me, and -I crept out here to be alone. It wasn't only to see him that I came. I -wanted to see her." - -"Her?" repeated Leslie, half absently. - -"Yes. The woman that stole him from me. But it doesn't matter now. -Nothing matters to us two, does it? How much longer?" - -The question almost drove Leslie frantic with agony, the anguish of -despair. It was all very well for this poor creature, abandoned, -deserted by the man she loved, to take death so coolly; but she, -Leslie, was not deserted and unhappy. Her lover, her Yorke, was going -to make her his wife; in a few days, a few hours, he would be waiting -for her. Yorke, Yorke! Her heart called to him. And though the name did -not leave her lips, the voice within her seemed to give her courage, to -fill her with a fierce, almost savage, determination to live. - -She looked up at the cliff with straining eyes. It was almost -perpendicular and smooth just above them, but a little further along -there were a few scrubby bushes projecting from the surface. It was -just possible, if they could reach those, that they might at least gain -some few inches of foothold. Just possible, though the mere thought of -the attempt made her tremble. - -"What are you staring up there for?" asked her companion. "You couldn't -climb it, if you tried." - -"No," panted Leslie. "But we will try!" - -The other shook heir head, but Leslie seized her by the hand. - -"Come!" she gasped hoarsely. "Better to try and--and fall, than stand -here to wait for death. I cannot wait! Come, hold my hand tightly. We -will escape or die together." - -As if she had caught something of Leslie's frantic desire of life, the -other girl gripped Leslie's hand. - -"Come on, then," she said. "Though you'd have more chance alone." - -"No, no! Together or not at all," cried Leslie, and she plunged into -the water. - -For a moment or two it seemed as if they would be carried off their -feet, as if they had rushed into the arms of the death from which they -had been shrinking; but they were both young and strong, and they -accomplished together that which would have been impossible if they had -been separate. - -Gasping for breath, half blinded by the spray, deafened by the roar of -the waves, they stood on a narrow ledge of rock, clutching at the bush -above their heads, the water rushing nearly to their knees. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -"I'M GOING TO LIVE, AND SO ARE YOU." - - -"We shall hold on here for about two minutes," said the woman grimly, -"if the bush don't give way before that." - -Leslie turned her face to the wall, and shut her eyes. - -"And he will be waiting for me!" she murmured. "He will not know, will -think I have mistrusted him. I shall never see him again, never hear -his voice! Oh, why did we part to-day; why didn't I ask him, pray him -to take me with him. Never to see him again----." She broke off with a -sob that shook her. "My arm is numbed, I am falling!" she said with a -wail. "Tell him--tell him--oh, God, and I love him so!" - -The agony in her voice seemed to go straight to her companion's heart. -The dark face flushed red, her eyes shone with a kind of pity. - -"Hold on!" she said, almost hissed between her white teeth shut fast. -"You shan't die! You tried to save me, you risked your life for me, and -I'll save you. Put your arm round my neck. Don't be afraid. I'm strong. -I can dance for hours; my ankles are like steel. Cling to me, I say, -with one hand, anyhow." - -Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Leslie released the bush with one -hand, and put her arm round her companion's neck. - -"If I'd only a drop of brandy!" muttered the woman. "How cold your -arm feels; you're not going to faint! For God's sake don't do that, -or we're both lost; for I don't mean to let you go now. Die! Who says -we're going to die? I want to live now! After all, he's not quite -lost--my man, I mean! He may come back. I'll get him back. I'll best -this other woman or know the reason why!" - -Her face was flushed, her voice husky with excitement. - -"No use, no use!" moaned Leslie. - -"No use! What do you mean! Am I ugly, hump-backed? Do you mean she's -better looking than I am! I don't believe it! He's been caught by a new -face. That isn't what you mean? You're going to fall? Not you! Hold -on tight now, for I'm going to have a shy at the bush above. There's -a bit of a path." She laughed fiercely, defiantly. "Old Faber had us -do gymnastics. I used to hate 'em; but I'm much obliged to him now. -Put your foot against the rock and spring--not too hard, mind--when I -do. Once let me get a grip of that bush up there, and I'll hang on or -fight my way till my arms drop off. Die! Why should I? I was a fool! -I'll get him back, you see if I don't! No, we won't die. You shall have -your husband again! Now!" she breathed between her clenched teeth. "If -you've got any pluck in you, if you want to see your husband again, put -your heart into it! Now!" - -She made a spring; they both sprang at the same moment, as if they were -one body inspired by the same will, and the woman got hold of the bush, -and clung with the strength and tenacity of a leopardess. - -"Ah!" she gasped. "We've done it! Cling on to me! We'll wait while I -count twenty, and then we'll go for the path." - -"No--no!" panted Leslie. "I could not, I could not! Let us stay here -till----." - -"Till this bit of ledge crumbles under us with our weight, and lets -us drop like poisoned flies! No, no! I don't feel like that. It isn't -convenient to die now; it was just now! I'm going to live, to live! And -so are you!" - -She counted the twenty, then put her arm around Leslie's waist. - -"Now! Put your hand on my shoulder and cling with the other to the bits -of bush and stump, and don't look down! Mind that, or you'll drop, as -sure as fate." - -Leslie shuddered. Her heart was beating wildly, but a grand hope was -creeping over her. Was it possible that she should live and see Yorke -once more? - -Slowly she felt her way along the surface with her hand, till she got -hold of the dry but firmly rooted scrub, then she drew herself up and -along the narrow ledge, which was a fissure in the rock rather than a -path. No one, in cold blood, could have maintained a footing there for -more than thirty seconds, but these two were fighting for dear life, -and their blood was burning at fever heat, and they managed, almost -miraculously, to creep, crawl, drag themselves upward and still upward. - -Below them roared the angry waves, as if with mocking rage at their -attempts to escape their voracious maw. Above their heads whirled -the gulls, screaming weirdly. Every now and then a stone, displaced -by their feet, rolled and sprang from point to point, and ultimately -bounded into the gulf below them; and each time Leslie felt that in a -moment she would be bounding and falling like the stone, to the hideous -death. - -For some minutes neither spoke. They could hear each other's breath -coming in thick, labored gasps; and Leslie, who was in front, now and -again felt her companion's breath striking, like that of a hot furnace, -on her neck. - -"Keep on! Hold tight!" she heard her say presently. "Keep your eyes up; -the path's broadening. If--if we can hold on another minute or two--or -a year, for that's what it seems like!--we're saved!" - -Leslie could not reply; her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth; -her lips, dry and stiff, would not move. But still as she climbed her -heart's voice murmured "Yorke, Yorke!" and she drew courage from it. It -was worth fighting for, this life of hers, this life which his love had -made so precious, so beauteous. If she lived she would be his wife. His -wife! Yes, she would live, she would fight on while there was breath in -her body, while there was strength in her fingers to clutch an inch of -even the moss on the cliff's surface. - -In such moments Time is not. It is swallowed up in the agony, the -suspense, the mingled hope and despair which rack and wring the heart -and brain. She scarcely knew how long they had been making their awful -journey through the valley of the shadow of death, scarcely realized -that they were saved, when she saw the edge of the cliff just above -her, and with one great effort raised herself above it--above it!--and -threw herself upon the level ground, gripping the short turf with her -hot fingers as if she dreaded that something would drag her back again, -and hurl her into the awful sea whose voice still howled faintly in her -ears. - -She lay thus for a minute or two, her companion lying at her elbow, -panting, beside her; then, with a great sob, Leslie rose to her knees -and poured out her heart in thanksgiving to Him who had restored her to -life--and to Yorke! - -The woman stood and eyed her with a pale face and half lowered lids. - -"Where are we?" she said at last. - -Leslie rose and turned to her with both hands outstretched. - -"Oh, what can I say, how can I thank you?" she exclaimed in great -agitation. "You have saved my life!" - -The woman wiped her lips and forced a smile. - -"That's a rum way of putting it," she said, her voice shaking a little. -"If I did, you saved mine first. It was a narrow squeak for both of us." - -She looked round almost impatiently. - -"Where are we?" she repeated. "I--I want to get back to London as soon -as I can. I----'ve been half out of my mind, I think, and this--this -affair has pulled me round. Don't you take any notice of what I said -about--about him, the man I spoke of. I don't believe I've lost him, -after all. I can get him back." She laughed discordantly, and flushed, -as if half ashamed of the new hope that the escape from death had -seemed to give her. "He's--he's no worse than the rest. They're all -alike, easily taken with a new face. And--and I know he likes me. He -was sorry for going directly after he'd left me, and--yes--" she pushed -the black hair from her face--"yes, I'll bet my life I get him back." - -Leslie looked at her with a smile of sympathy and encouragement. - -"Yes," she said, "I hope so; ah, yes, I hope so! It was dreadful to -see you and hear you when we were--down there!" and she glanced with a -shudder at the edge of the cliff. - -"Yes, I was pretty low then," said the other. "It was a hard fight, -wasn't it? You and I ought to be friends; but--" she paused and looked -hard and almost shyly at Leslie's face--"but perhaps you wouldn't care -for that. You're a lady--a swell, I can see, and I--well, I'm not -fit----." - -Leslie put out her hand to stop her. - -"You must not talk like that now--now, just when we have escaped death -together. And I hope--ah! yes, I hope that you will be happier, that -he--" she blushed, and her voice grew low; love was so sacred a thing -to her--"that he you love will come back to you. If he does you must -forgive him, and take him back----." - -She stopped, for the tall, graceful figure in front of her swayed and -staggered; and the dark eyes grew suddenly heavy and closed. - -Leslie uttered a cry of alarm. - -"Oh, what is it? You are ill, faint----." - -The other opened her lips as if to speak, then fell heavily forward on -Leslie's arm. - -Leslie knelt beside her on the grass, and looked round anxiously. The -solitude was as intense as that which they had just left. They were -still alone together with no help near. - -Leslie remembered that a small spring ran from a cleft on the cliff, -and, though the thought of going near the edge made her heart quake, -she gently set the woman's head down, and, stooping over the cliff, wet -her handkerchief in the rill, and, returning, bathed the white face -with one hand while she unfastened the bosom of the lifeless woman's -dress with the other. - -As she did so her hand came in contact with something hard, though for -a second or two she was too intent upon watching for some signs of -returning consciousness in the face on her knee to look to see what it -was; but presently her eye caught a plain gold locket. - -"Poor girl!" she thought. "It is the gift of the man who has deserted -her. And she wears it near her heart. Poor girl, poor girl!" - -At that moment the white lips parted, and the dark eyes opened. - -"Yorke!" she breathed. "Is it you, Yorke? Have you come back to me?" - -The words struck upon Leslie's ear at first without any significance. -She scarcely heard them or took them in for a space during which one -could have counted fifty. - -Then, gradually it came upon her, gradually, slowly. - -"Yorke! Is it you, Yorke? Have you come back to me?" - -She repeated them mechanically, as one repeats a phrase in a foreign -language, the meaning of which one does not understand. Then she began -to tremble, and a faint, sick dread fell upon her. - -All the time she bathed the white face and lips and brushed the dark -hair from the low, handsome forehead; doing it mechanically, absently. - -Yorke? Had this girl said Yorke, or, was she mistaken? - -She waited, breathless, the sick feeling weighing on her heart; and -presently the full lips opened again, and again the name--the beloved -name--was breathed. There could be no mistake this time. Leslie heard -it plainly. - -It was Yorke. - -Her hand trembled, the beautiful face on her lap grew dim, and seemed -to fade away. Then she made an effort and forced the dread from her -heart, and a smile to her lips. - -What if this girl, the beautiful girl, had called upon Yorke? Surely -there was more than one man of that name in the world, the great -big wide world; and this woman's Yorke was not, could not be, hers, -Leslie's. - -She could have laughed at her wicked, worse than wicked, foolish fears! -Could have laughed if it had not been for the stress of circumstances. - -How could she suspect for a moment that he Yorke--the Duke of Rothbury, -her lover, so good and true and stanch--should be the Yorke whom this -woman loved, and who had, by her own account, deserted her! - -"Oh, I wrong him cruelly, wickedly, even by this momentary doubt!" she -told herself. "He would not have doubted me as I have done him, though -only for a second!" And her face flushed. - -But though she reproached herself, her mind was at work, and, against -her will, she remembered how she had first seen this girl. - -She recalled the scene, the incident, at St. Martin's Tower. Yorke had -stood beside her looking down, and he had started--yes, and turned -pale, white to the lips, as the woman's voice had floated up to them. - -Did he know her? - -All her being rose in revolt at the idea, the suspicion. And yet----. -She remembered his face as it had looked at that moment. She had -thought that he had turned pale with anger that such a song should -have been sung in her presence, and had loved him for his anxiety on -her account. - -She tried to thrust the dawning suspicion from her as if it were some -insidious demon whispering in her ear, but still she could not forget -that this woman had told her that she had come down here to Portmaris, -had followed the man she loved to this place; and Yorke had come down -here, had come down----! - -The rays of the setting sun struck the two figures, the white face -lying on Leslie's lap adding a lustre to the dark hair that swept -across Leslie's dress. - -How beautiful she looked, Leslie thought in a dull, vague way; how -beautiful! Any man might well lose his heart to such a woman, even -though she were not a lady, and capable of singing such a song as she -had heard these lips sing. Any man, even----. No, not Yorke! He would -not, could not have loved her. It was she, Leslie herself, whom he -loved, not this woman! - -Even as she laid the flattering unction to her soul, her eye fell again -upon the locket. - -It was lying open, face downward, upon the woman's snow-white breast. - -A desire, an overwhelming desire to take it up and see what face was -enshrined in it seized upon her. One glance, and this vague, unjust -suspicion of hers would be set at rest for ever. She knew, knew, that -it would not be Yorke's, her Yorke's, face she should see. - -She fought against the desire, the craving. Love was a sacred thing to -her, and it would seem like sacrilege to touch this trinket which this -poor girl wore, doubtless the gift of the man she loved so dearly, the -man whose desertion had caused her to weary of life, to desire death. - -"No, no, I cannot, I will not!" Leslie breathed pantingly, but even as -she spoke the words her hand stole towards the locket upon which the -rich sunlight was falling. Once, twice, her hand approached it and drew -back, but at the third time she took it up, raised it slowly, and then -swiftly turned it upwards. - -Then still holding it, her eyes riveted upon it with a gaze of horror -and agony, she cried-- - -"Yorke! It is Yorke!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -"IT IS FALSE--I WILL NOT BELIEVE IT." - - -It was Yorke! - -Leslie gazed down at the locket lying in the palm of her hand, for the -moment too benumbed by the sudden shock to feel anything. - -Yes, it was his face, the handsome face whose every line, every -expression, were engraved on her heart. For a second or two the -portrait, as it smiled up at her with Yorke's characteristic -devil-may-care look in its eyes, gave her a kind of pleasure; then she -began to realize where she had found it, lying on the bosom of this -woman! - -She dropped the locket as if it had suddenly burnt her, and shrank back -as far as she could without displacing the woman's head from her knee. - -Yorke's portrait in a locket in the possession of another woman! How -could it be! There must be some mistake, some hideous mistake. It could -not be his face, but that of someone, some relation closely resembling -him. - -She took the locket up again, and as she did so remembered that the -woman had murmured Yorke's name. Yes, it was Yorke. She laid the locket -down again--gently this time--and bent over the white face of the woman -with a strange confusing throbbing in her heart, a loud singing in her -ears. The earth seemed to rock beneath her, the sky to be falling. - -She was faint with physical exhaustion, with the terrible struggle for -life, and this discovery coming so closely upon all she had endured -almost crushed her. - -Was she really awake, or asleep and dreaming? Delirious, perhaps? -Yorke, her Yorke's face lying there on this woman's heart! It was -incredible. - -All this had passed through her mind, her heart, in a few seconds; one -can crowd an awful amount of misery, anguish, joy, into a minute; and -by this time the woman had recovered. - -"Where am I?" she breathed, staring up at Leslie. - -Leslie did not answer, but continued to gaze at her with wide open -eyes, in which a horror was growing more intense each moment. - -"Where am I? Have I been ill--ah----." She drew a deep breath. "I -remember. Are we safe? Why don't we go? What are we staying for?" - -She raised herself on her elbow, and half sat up, pushing the black -hair from her face and passing her hand across her eyes. Then she -looked down and saw the locket, and her hand flew to it. - -Leslie's eyes followed the hand. - -"Whose--whose portrait is that?" she asked almost inaudibly. - -The woman looked at her, and a dull red stole into her face. - -"What's that to you?" she retorted, half defiantly. "You've looked at -it, haven't you?" - -Leslie moistened her lips; they were so hot and dry that she could -scarcely speak. - -"Yes, I have looked at it," she said. "I know----." - -"You know who it is?" As she spoke she closed the locket hurriedly, and -buttoned her dress over it. "You know--. Who are you? What is your -name?" And the dark eyes scanned Leslie's pale face with suspicious -scrutiny. - -"My name is Leslie, Leslie Lisle," said Leslie slowly. - -"Leslie--," the woman sprang to her feet. "What! You are the girl he -left me for," she breathed. - -Leslie shuddered and her lips quivered. - -"Oh, there must be some mistake!" she almost wailed. "It cannot be he-- -And yet you spoke his name--Yorke----." - -"Yorke! Yes, that's his name! And this is his portrait," was the sharp -response. "And you are the girl he's fallen in love with! And I never -guessed it! I must have been a fool not to have thought of it, jumped -at it! It's lucky for you that I didn't," she added between her teeth. -"I'd have killed you down there!" - -Leslie shrank back, and instinctively put out her hand as if to ward -off an attack. - -"What--what is your name?" she asked. - -"My name?" The full lips curled with bitter contempt. "You must have -been out of the world not to know it," she said. "My name's Finetta; -I'm Finetta of the Diadem." - -"Finetta--Finetta of the Diadem," Leslie repeated mechanically. - -Was it all a hideous dream? Who was Finetta of the Diadem? And how -could she talk of Yorke as if he belonged to her--how did it happen -that she wore his portrait on her heart? - -"Yes, Finetta of the Diadem," said Finetta defiantly. "I should have -thought everybody knew me. But I suppose he hasn't told you about -me. No, that wasn't likely!" and she laughed hoarsely. "What are you -staring at me like that for, as if I was a--a wild animal?" - -Leslie put her hand to her brow with a piteous little gesture. - -"I--I----. It is all so sudden. Give me time. I do not wish to anger -you. I only want to ask you a--a question--one or two questions. Why do -you wear that portrait in that locket?" - -Finetta looked at her a moment in silence, then with a flash of her -eyes and a discordant laugh she replied-- - -"That's a question to ask me, if you like. What do you think I wear it -for?" The red deepened on her face, then left it pale. "What does a -woman usually wear a man's portrait for? I'll be bound you've got one -of his, too?" - -Leslie's hand went to her bosom, to the sparkling pendant, and she -shook her head with a strange feeling of injury; he had sent her -diamonds, but he had given this woman something far more precious! - -"No!" she breathed almost unconsciously. "Did he give it to you? Oh, -answer me quickly, and--and truthfully! I will tell you why I ask. I -will tell you all. I--I am to be his wife--I was to be his wife----." - -At the change from "Am to be" to "was to be" Finetta's eyes flashed, -and she lowered her lids. - -"Sit down," she said, pointing to a piece of rock. - -Leslie sank down upon it, and waited with averted face; she could not -bear to look upon the dark defiant face, beautiful with the beauty of a -fallen angel at this moment, a face distorted and lined by conflicting -passions. - -"You were to be his wife, were you?" said Finetta slowly, with a breath -between each word. "So was I!" - -"You!" - -The word dropped from Leslie's white lips unconsciously; it seemed to -sting Finetta. - -"Yes, me!" she flamed out. "Why not? You speak and you look at me as -if--as if I was some monster! I'm--I'm as young and as good looking as -you----." - -Leslie put up her hand deprecatingly. - -"Yes, yes," she murmured. "I did not mean to anger you. Go on! Oh, go -on!" - -"Why shouldn't he marry me as much as you!" continued Finetta. "I've -known him longer than you have! I've been more to him than you have----." - -Leslie shuddered. - -"I'm as good as you are. Who are you? You're no more of a swell than -I am! And you're poor, too, ain't you? And I'm not poor. I can earn -thousands a year----." She stopped, panting. - -Leslie glanced at her shrinkingly. - -"And if it comes to caring for him, I reckon I care for him quite as -much as you do! You know that, for you heard me talk down there, when -I thought it was all over with us. And as for him--well, I'd wager -everything I've got that in his heart he likes me as well as he likes -you, or anyone else!" - -She laughed bitterly, and with self scorn and contempt. - -"No, no," broke from Leslie's quivering lips. - -"But I say yes, yes," retorted Finetta. "He's just like the rest. None -of 'em could stick to one of us alone to save his life. You must have -lived with your head buried in the sand not to know that! What! You -think that you're the only one he has made love to; or that I'm the -only other one!" She laughed again. "Ask him whether he knows Lady -Eleanor Dallas! See how he looks when he hears her name, and hear what -he says!" - -Leslie looked at her with half dazed eyes, and listened with ears in -which the wild sea seemed roaring. - -"It is false, false!" she cried hoarsely. "I will not believe----." And -she put up her hands as if to cover her ears. - -Finetta laughed. - -"Well!" she said with a sneer. "He's deceived you easily enough, anyone -could see! And if I wasn't so sorry for myself I could find it in my -heart to be sorry for you!" - -Leslie shuddered. To be pitied by this woman, this terrible woman! - -"Look here," said Finetta after a pause. "Don't mind my hard words; -it's my way, when I'm put out. I can see you don't believe half I say, -and that's only natural; I shouldn't if I were in your place, and -didn't know him so well. If you doubt that we are both talking of the -same man, take this locket and look at it again." And she held it out. - -Leslie turned her head from it. - -"No, you don't want to look at it again. I daresay you knew his face -directly you saw it. Now, do you think he'd have given it to me if he -hadn't cared for me? Answer that!" - -Leslie looked at her, a sudden wild hope springing into her bosom. - -"It--it was a long while ago!" she breathed, "a long while ago----." - -Finetta broke in with a discordant laugh. - -"Not a bit of it! It was three days ago. He sent it after spending an -evening with me, as he's spent many a score----." - -She saw a look of unbelief crossing Leslie's face, and, snatching a -letter from her pocket, thrust it under Leslie's face. - -"Read that, and believe!" she said. - -Leslie took the note and looked at it. The lines swam before her eyes, -but she saw a word here and there, and with a low cry, which broke from -her notwithstanding all the efforts to suppress it, she held out the -note from her. - -Finetta took it and restored it to her pocket, then stood and looked -down at the motionless figure in silence for a moment or two. - -"You believe now," she said in a low, harsh voice. "You see I am -telling you the truth, and not a pack of lies. And now, what are you -going to do? Wait a minute. Let's see how the land lies. Here am I -who've--who've cared for him for years, who would have been his wife -if--if he hadn't happened to have seen you; and, mind, I'm just as fit -to be his wife as you are. Why, come to that, he'll tire of you ever -so much sooner than he would of me, because you haven't any money and -I have, and can go on earning enough to keep him amused. Don't you -see? We've been fond of each other for ever so long. Why, there's been -scarcely a day for months past that we haven't been together! And even -when he's smitten by you he doesn't throw me over, you see. He sends me -his portrait and a sweetheart's note with it; yes, and just after he's -left you, too! Now, that's how I stand; and now, where are you? You've -only known him a few days; you can't care for him half--half? no, not -one-tenth as much as I do! That's only natural. And it's only natural -and right that you should give him up. Think it over. After all, Miss -Lisle," she went on, with a kind of sullen insinuation, "he's behaved -very badly to you; he has indeed. He never meant to throw me quite -over; he'd have come back to me sooner or later." - -Leslie half rose from the rock and put out her hand as if to put the -words, the insinuation, from her, then sank back and covered her face -with her hands. - -"He'd have come back to me, and then you'd have been a good deal worse -off than you are now." - -Leslie did not move, and Finetta, watching her closely, allowed a -minute to pass in silence that her words might sink in. - -"Come, now, Miss Lisle; there's no occasion for you and me to quarrel. -Why, when you think of it, you and me have saved each other's lives, -haven't we? And we ought, we really ought, to act square and straight -by one another. I'm the one that's been badly treated, because he loved -me first, and would have married me but for you. Just think of that! -From what I've seen of you, I should say that you were a kind-hearted -lady and one that wouldn't injure a fellow woman. I should say you were -too proud to rob a poor girl of the man she's loved." - -Leslie sprang up panting, and for a moment breathless. - -The horror, the humiliation, were driving her mad. - -"Oh, be silent, be silent! Let me think!" she breathed. "Every word -you speak stabs me." She put her hand to her bosom with a passionate -gesture that awed Finetta. "It is all so sudden that--that I cannot -realize it; can scarcely believe--oh, do not speak! I believe all you -say. You have shown me the note, the portrait is his, and I cannot but -believe. And I trusted him! Ah, how I trusted him!" Her voice broke for -a moment and her eyes swam with tears; but she dashed them away with -her hand and hurried on, with every now and then a break between the -words. "But what you say is true. He--he belongs to you more than to -me! He has wronged us both; but he has wronged you the more cruelly. -And--" she stopped and put her hand to her throat as if she were -suffocating--"and I--I give him back to you. Yes, I give him back to -you!" - -The blood rushed to Finetta's face, then left it pale to the lips. - -"You--you throw him up?" she said, as if she could scarcely believe her -ears. - -Leslie raised her head and looked at her steadily, with a look that -would have melted the heart of anyone but a rival. - -"He belongs to you, not to me," she said in a low voice, as if every -word cost her a heart pang. "I--I will never see him again if I -can help it. Do not--" she paused, and a sigh broke from her white -lips--"do not let him know; do not tell him that I have seen you. I--I -have loved him, and would spare him the shame----." - -There was silence for a second, Finetta gazing on the ground with set -face and hidden eyes. - -"If--if he should ever know that we met, and that you told me what you -have told me, tell him that I--yes, that I forgive him. That I have -forgiven and forgotten him. That is all." - -Her head sank for a moment, then she raised it again and looked at the -dark face with a shrinking kind of reluctance. - -"You--you say that you care for him?" - -Finetta's lips moved. - -"Yes, and I know that you do. Be good to him. Do not let the thought -that he deceived himself into thinking he cared for me come between -you. He must love you very much to give you his portrait, to write you -that note; try--try and make him happy." - -Her voice broke, and she turned her head away. - -Finetta stood with clenched hands, her teeth gnawing at her under lip; -then she sprang to Leslie's side and took her hand. - -"Miss Lisle----." - -Leslie shook her hand off with a little cry, a shudder. - -"Don't--don't touch me, please." - -Finetta froze instantly. - -"I--I beg your pardon," panted Leslie. "But I cannot bear any more. If -you would go now. That road leads to Portmaris." - -She sank on the stone, and sat with her head erect and face set hard as -the stone itself. - -Finetta drew her jacket round her and fumbled with her gloves. - -"I understand," she said in a low voice. "You've done the right thing, -and you won't be sorry for it." - -"It is nearly two miles to Portmaris," said Leslie in a dry, -expressionless voice. "There is an evening train; you can catch it if -you walk quickly." - -"I'm going," said Finetta, biting her lips. "Good-by, Miss Leslie. I'm -sorry--well, good-by." - -Leslie sat motionless and with averted face until the graceful figure -of the dancing girl of the Diadem had disappeared below the hill; then -with a cry she rose, her arms above her head, and fell full length upon -the turf. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -"FAME HAS COME TO ME AT LAST." - - -Leslie lay unconscious while the sun sank below the horizon, and the -delicious summer gloaming came softly upon the moor; lay like a flower -struck down by some rude hand, and the evening star shone pale in the -sky before she came back to life and her great sorrow. - -For a while it seemed to her that the whole scene through which she had -passed was a hideous dream, and when its reality came crushing down -upon her she uttered a low cry and shivered as if with cold. The sudden -destruction of her joy and happiness left her stunned and bewildered. -A few short hours ago and she and Yorke had been sitting hand in hand, -heart to heart, talking of their marriage, and now----. Now he was hers -no longer. In a sense he had never been hers, but all the time he had -been wooing her, forcing her to love him, he had been in honor bound to -this other woman. - -As she thought of her, this Finetta, this woman with the bold eyes, a -feeling of shame and humiliation was added to the misery of Leslie's -loss. That he, Yorke, her idol, her king, should ever have stooped -to love such a woman seemed to her unspeakably base and terrible. -She had set him on so lofty a pedestal, had regarded him as so noble -and high-minded, that the knowledge of his falseness--to both of -them!--hurt her like a physical blow. - -She sat for some time, waiting for strength to enable her to reach -home; and as she sat and looked round it seemed as if something had -gone out of her life, as if a weight which no power nor time could lift -had fallen upon her heart. - -Before her she saw stretching in a dull grey, hopeless vista, the many -years she would probably have to live; the long life without Yorke, and -haunted by the memory of these few happy days. - -"If I had never seen him! If I had not loved him so dearly!" was the -burden of her heart's wail; "or if I had only died down there before I -saw the locket or heard the woman's story!" - -She had fought Death hard enough a little while ago, now she would have -welcomed him. - -She rose at last, and went slowly and draggingly towards Portmaris. Her -dress was still heavy with the salt water, she was weak with physical -and mental weariness, and the two miles across the moor were surely the -longest that ever woman journeyed. - -When she reached the villa and entered the parlor, she found her father -pacing up and down in the dusk before his easel. - -He looked up, but fortunately for her, did not see her white weary -face, or notice how she held the door as if to support herself. - -"Where have you been, Leslie?" he asked in a kind of irritable -excitement. "I have been wanting you. Mr. Temple has sent the notes for -the picture, the fifty pounds." - -She leant against the door, and drew a long breath as she thought of -this added humiliation. - -"He is going to-morrow, it seems, and wished to--er--pay for the -picture before he left. His departure is rather sudden, I think, but I -fancy he is erratic in his movements. I want you to send him a receipt, -and--er--to ask him to allow the picture to be exhibited." - -"Yes; to-morrow, papa," she said faintly. - -"Why not to-night?" he asked testily. - -"I--I am tired, very tired," she said, going to him and leaning her -head on his shoulder. - -"You've walked too far," he said in a tone of complaint. "You'd better -go to bed at once. The receipt and the letter must wait till to-morrow, -I suppose. Oh, there was something--oh, yes; did you see the duke? He -came up to me on the beach and inquired for you." - -She turned away from him, a lump rising in her throat and threatening -to suffocate her. - -"Yes." - -"Did he say anything about that sketch of St. Martin's?" - -St. Martin's! How the name brought back the memory of that happy, happy -day. - -"I don't quite know about that sketch," he went on with an air -of importance. "I may be too much engaged on important pictures -to--er--spare any time for small sketches. However, that matter can -rest for the present. The duke has gone back to London to-night, they -tell me. By the way, I wish you would prepare a fresh canvas for me." - -"Not to-night, oh, not to-night, dear!" she said in a low voice. "I -will go to bed as you said, for I am very, very tired. To-morrow----." - -She left the sentence unfinished, and crept up to her own room. - -To-morrow! What an awful line of dreary to-morrows stretched before -her, was her thought. As she took off her dress the diamond pendant -flashed in the candlelight, each gem seeming to glitter mockingly in -derision of her love and faith and trust. She covered the sparkling -thing with her hand and bowed her head over it. The very day he had -sent it to her, he had given his portrait--his portrait--to that other -woman! She took the pendant off the ribbon, and wrapped it in a piece -of soft paper and put it away out of sight in a small box, and as she -did so she saw Ralph Duncombe's ring. - -One's own misery recalls to us that of other people, and in this the -hour of her trouble Leslie remembered Ralph Duncombe, and for the first -time she realized something of what he had suffered. With a rush his -passionate avowal came back upon her, and she took the ring in her hand -and looked at it with a double misery. He had sworn to help her if she -ever should be in trouble, had sworn to help her if ever she suffered -wrong. How feeble had been his vow! Neither he nor anyone else could -help her in this strait; and as to vengeance, she wanted none. Alas, -alas! false as he had been, she loved Yorke still. - -She fell asleep at last from sheer exhaustion, and did not awake until -past nine. Then it all came throbbing, crowding back upon her, in that -first awful moment of waking. Surely to the wretched and unhappy, there -is no more awful hour in the twenty-four than that which follows the -morning awakening. Sorrow seems to have had time to sharpen her arrows -during the night, and plunges them with fresh vigor into our aching -hearts. - -While she was dressing, Leslie went over the whole of the incidents -of the previous day, bit by bit, and suddenly, with the sharpness of -a flash of lightning, a gleam of hope shot across the darkness of her -misery. Suppose this woman had lied! Such women as she would find no -difficulty in stooping to untruth and deception. Suppose she had got -possession of Yorke's portrait, had forged the letter, had concocted -the whole story? The supposition seemed far-fetched and improbable, -but it sent a thrill of hope through her, and she finished dressing -with feverish haste, and hurried downstairs. - -All through the breakfast she felt like one in a dream, as if she were -suspended between life and death, and waiting for the verdict. Her -father talked of his picture, of all he meant to do, now that he was on -the high road to Fame, and his voice sounded in her ears like that of -someone speaking afar off. - -Yorke, her Yorke, might prove to be hers still! Oh, blessed hope. How -mad, how wicked, how foolish she had been to put any trust in the woman -who had slandered him! - -The revulsion of feeling was so great that it sent a hectic flush to -her face, and a feverish light to her eyes. - -"That receipt and note, Leslie," said her father. "Tell Mr. Temple that -I would rather not sell the picture, that I would rather return his -money than forego the right of exhibiting the picture." - -"Yes, yes, papa," she said at random. "Yes, it will all come right. It -was wicked, foolish, to doubt him, to believe her." - -He stared at her with irritable impatience. - -"What are you talking of, Leslie?" he said peevishly. "You seem very -strange this morning, and so you were last night." - -"I know, I know, dear!" she broke in with something between a sigh and -a sob. "Don't mind me. I am not very well. You want the receipt?" she -sprang to the writing table. "There it is, and the note. Yes, yes! It -will come right. I know it will; and--and--oh, how hot it is! I must -have air, air!" - -She caught up her hat, and with the receipt and note in her hand, ran -to the door. - -"I shall see Mr. Temple, papa, and I will give him these." - -"And tell him," he called after her, "that I make it a condition that -the picture shall be exhibited; mind that, Leslie!" - -"Yes, yes!" she responded, and ran out. - -She drew her breath hard as she paused for a moment on the doorstep, -then she hurried to the quay. - -A fisherman was drying his net in the sun, but there was no one else -there, and she walked up and down, the note in her hand, repeating to -herself the formula of hope; the woman, Finetta, had lied to her and -deceived her. All would be well. Yorke would be her Yorke still! - -She had not been walking thus very long before the bath chair, wheeled -by Grey, was seen coming on to the quay. - -She hurried toward it, and the duke motioned to Grey to stop. - -"Good morning, Miss Leslie," he said, peering up at her. "It is a fine -morning, isn't it." Then he paused and scanned her face curiously and -earnestly. "Is anything the matter?" - -"The matter?" she repeated with a laugh that sounded in her ears hollow -and unnatural. "What should be the matter? I have brought you my -father's receipt and a note, Mr. Temple." - -He took it and glanced at it. - -"Humph," he said. "Oh, yes, I'll do anything your father wishes. And -there is nothing the matter, Miss Leslie?" and he peered up at her -curiously from under his thick brows. - -"Nothing, nothing," she responded feverishly. "But I wanted to ask -you--the duke, the Duke of Rothbury----." - -His pale face flushed, and he motioned to Grey to withdraw out of -hearing. - -"I thought so!" he said. "Miss Leslie, sick men, like me, acquire a -kind of second sight. Directly I saw you just now, I knew that you had -learnt the truth." - -She looked down at him, and her face, which had been flushed -feverishly, paled. - -"The truth?" she faltered. - -"Yes," he said in a tone that suggested remorse. "You have been cruelly -deceived!" - -"Deceived!" she echoed the word as if its significance were lost upon -her. "Deceived!" - -"Yes. Cruelly. But you must not blame him altogether. - -"Blame him. Whom?" she said slowly. - -"Yorke, Yorke," he said in a low voice. "It was as much my fault as -his. I ought to have told you. We have both deceived you wickedly, -inexcusably." - -Leslie put out her hand and caught the chair, and stood looking down at -him. - -"Blame me more than him," he went on. "Blame us both. We ought to have -told you, at any rate, however we kept other people in the dark. But he -was not free, and I--well, I held my tongue." - -"He was not free?" she murmured mechanically. - -"No! I don't ask you to forgive us; you'd find it too hard. I don't -expect you even to understand the motive." - -She put out her hand to him. - -"Wait--stop! Let me think. He has deceived me, then?" - -"He has, and I have, yes," he said, averting his eyes from the misery -in her face. "Is it so hard and bitter a blow, Leslie?" he said after a -pause. - -"Yes," she responded almost unconsciously. "I hoped that--that----. But -it does not matter. Nothing matters, now." - -He fidgeted in his chair, and peered up at her curiously, strangely. - -"Anyway, you know the truth now." - -"Yes! I know the truth now," she echoed faintly. "Why," hoarsely, "why -did he do it?" - -The duke bit his lip. - -"It was more my fault than his. I ought to have told you. I did not -know--did not know that you would take it so much to heart. For God's -sake don't look so wretched, so heartbroken," he burst forth. "Leslie, -you make me feel like a criminal!" - -She turned her white face to him. - -"You let me--love him, go on loving him, knowing all the while----." - -He hung his head and plucked at the edge of the shawl across his knees. - -"I did!" he said in a low voice. "I tell you so." - -"God forgive you!" she panted. "God forgive you--and him!" - -She stood a moment as if struggling for breath, and turned and walked -swiftly away. - -The duke sat for a full five minutes, staring at the front wheel of his -chair; then he jerked his hand up and called to Grey. - -"Take me home!" he snapped. "What the devil are you waiting for? Take -me home and back to London as soon as possible." - -Leslie sped along the quay, and staggered rather than walked into the -sitting room, and a moment afterward her father hurried in. - -"Leslie, Leslie!" he cried. "Where are you?" - -She lifted her head from the sofa cushion with dull, blinded eyes. - -"Here's a telegram! A telegram from one of the large dealers. He wants -to see me in London at once! At once, do you hear? Why do you stare -at me like that? There is no time to lose. We must go up to London at -once. At once! Run upstairs and pack our things!" - -She rose and staggered to her feet. - -"No, no! It is--it is----," she paused and clutched his arm, laughing -hysterically. "Don't believe it, papa. It is not true. I can explain!" - -"Explain? Not true? What are you talking about, Leslie! I tell you it -is from one of the first dealers in London. Fame, fame, has come to me -at last! Get ready at once! We will go by the first train we can catch!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -GOOD-BY, AND NOT ADIEU. - - -Leslie's heart seemed to stand still as she listened to her father's -excited words. What should she do? she asked herself. Should she tell -him that she had deceived him, that the message from the picture dealer -was a mere subterfuge, a trick to get him and her up to town? - -But she could not tell him this without explaining fully, without -disclosing the whole story of her love for Yorke and the deceit he had -practiced on her, and she shrank from the ordeal as one shrinks from -fire. - -She stood pale and trembling, her hands writhing together, her brain -swimming, watching her father as he hurried to and fro picking up some -article and putting it down again in another place under the impression -that he was packing. - -"Oh, papa," she faltered out at last, "don't go! Do not go. Write -and--and ask. Oh, I implore you not to go!" - -Francis Lisle stopped in his flurried fidgeting about the room, and -stared at her with impatient annoyance. - -"My dear Leslie, have you taken leave of your senses?" he exclaimed. -"You look half distraught." - -"I am, I am! Ah, if you only knew!" she almost sobbed. - -"Knew what?" he demanded irritably. "What is it you are talking about! -Any one would think we were going to--to Australia instead of only to -London! And not go? Good heavens, why should we not go? I tell you this -is one of the first dealers in London, and--and it is the great opening -I have been waiting for, expecting all my life----." - -It was unendurable. She went to him and put her arm round his neck and -let her head fall on his shoulder. - -"Oh, papa, papa! Do not be too confident, too hopeful. You--you may -be disappointed! Life is full of disappointment----." Her voice broke. -"You may be sorry that you have gone up. Write--let me write to this -dealer----." - -He put her from him almost roughly. - -"You are talking nonsense!" he said. "Sheer nonsense. Why should this -dealer write to me and ask me to come up at once--at once, mind--unless -he had some important commission for me?" - -She knew why, but she could not answer. She dared not. She dreaded the -effect of the shock which the disclosure, the disappointment would -cause him. He was trembling with excitement as it was, and the reaction -would be more than he could endure. - -"There," he said with an attempt at soothing her, "I can understand -your being upset and unnerved. It is only natural. I--even I--am a -little--er--flurried. But do collect yourself, and get ready. We shall -go up by the evening train. Take all our clothes, for we may be up some -time. I can't tell what this dealer may want, or--or where he may send -me. There, do collect yourself and get ready. Wait; give me a little -brandy and water. The suddenness of this--this change in our fortunes -has agitated me." - -She got him some weak brandy and water, and she noticed as he drank it -how his hand shook. - -Then she stole up to her own room and began to pack, mechanically, like -one in a dream. - -Gradually she began to realize that after all it was better perhaps -that they should leave Portmaris. Yorke--the mere passing of his name -across her mind caused her a pang--might come down after her when he -found that she had not gone to London and sent him her address, and she -felt that a meeting with him would nearly kill her. At all costs that -must be avoided. In her heart throbbed only one prayer; that, while -life lasted, she might be spared the agony of seeing his face, hearing -his voice again. - -She finished her preparations for herself and her father, and went -downstairs and helped him pack the absurd and worthless canvases; then -she went out to say good-by to the old place. - -Something, a presentment as strong as certainty, told her that she was -indeed saying good-by and not adieu. - -She wandered along the quay and stood looking sadly at the breakwater -against which she had sat when Ralph Duncombe had declared his love and -given her his ring; on which Yorke had been lying the night she and he -had gone for a sail. Was it only a few weeks, or years ago that all -this had happened to her? - -There were some children on the quay, the children who had learned -to love her, and amongst them the mite she had held in her arms the -morning Yorke had asked her to be his wife. They clustered around her -as usual, and she had hard work to keep the tears from her eyes--they -were in her voice--as she kissed them. - -"'Oo coming back soon, Mith Lethlie?" lisped Trottie, her favorite; and -Leslie murmured, Yes, she would come back soon. - -When she got back to Sea View, she found her father ready to start, and -in an impatient anxiety to do so. - -"We are going to London on important business, Mrs. Merrick," -Leslie heard him saying to Mrs. Merrick, "Most important business. -I--er--anticipate a change in our circumstances; a great change. -The world has at last awakened to the fact that my pictures are -not--er--without merit," he laughed with a kind of bombastic modesty. -"Oh, yes, we shall come back to our old friends, Mrs. Merrick. We shall -not forget Sea View, and--er--if I am not mistaken the world of art -will not forget it. Some day, possibly, Sea View will become celebrated -as the temporary residence of one of England's first artists; eh, -Leslie?" and he smiled at her with a childish conceit. - -Mrs. Merrick, not understanding in the least, smiled and curtseyed. - -"I'm sure we're very sorry to lose you, sir, and Miss Leslie -especially. I don't know what Portmaris will do without her, that -I don't. We shall be quite dull now for a bit, for Mr. Temple, the -crippled gentleman, has gone off to-day. You will be sure and send me -your address?" - -"Yes, yes," said Francis Lisle, "and--er--if we hear of anyone wanting -clean and comfortable sea-side lodgings, we shall certainly remember to -recommend you, Mrs. Merrick." - -He went off in the broken down fly like a prince with his canvases -piled round him, and oblivious of everything but them. - -During the journey up to town he spoke very little, but sat in his -corner looking out of the window, a smile of self-satisfaction every -now and then passing over his thin, worn face. - -"I shouldn't be surprised, Leslie," he said once, "if this should prove -to be the last time we travel third class. I shall ask, and no doubt -obtain, a fair price for my pictures, and we shall at last--at last--be -rich enough to afford a little luxury. They say that everything comes -to him who can wait, and I think I have waited long enough, long -enough!" - -Leslie's pale face flushed, and her conscience tortured her, but she -could not summon up courage to tell him the truth. - -They reached town late in the summer evening, and Leslie calling a cab -told the man to drive to a house in Torrington square, at which they -had stayed on previous visits to London. - -Torrington Square is a quiet secluded spot in the great metropolis. It -is central, and yet retired. Nearly every house is let in apartments, -and the square is the favorite residence of the journalists and artists -who pay occasional visits to London. - -The landlady of No. 23 received Leslie and her father as if they were -old friends instead of transient lodgers, and she expressed her concern -at the appearance of Mr. Lisle. - -"He don't look well, Miss Lisle," she said in a stage whisper, as they -went in with their baggage. "Been in the country, too! Ah, I often says -there's no place like London for health. And you, too, begging your -pardon, miss, don't look too rosy. What you want is brightening up, and -there's no place like London for brightening up, that I will say." - -Leslie smiled sadly. She knew that she looked pale and wan, but it hurt -her to hear that her father was not looking well. - -She got him to bed early, but directly after breakfast he was all -anxiety to go down to the picture dealer who had brought him to town. - -"Can I not go alone, dear, while you rest?" she said. But he scouted -the suggestion. - -"No, no, I will go. Women are all very well, but a man is needed for -business of this kind. Get some of the best of my pictures together, -and we will go in a cab." - -Leslie got ready, and all the time she was putting on her outdoor -things she thought of the arrangement with Yorke. She was to have -sent him her address to the Dorchester Club. He was waiting for it -now, expecting it every minute. She could imagine his impatience, -could picture to herself how he would walk up and down fuming for the -telegram. - -With a heavy heart she tied up the least ridiculous of her father's -pictures and sent out for a cab, and told the man to drive to Bond -Street, to the picture dealer's. - -A hectic flush burned in Francis Lisle's thin cheeks, and Leslie saw -his lips move as if he were speaking to himself, telling himself that -Fame and Prosperity were awaiting him. Oh, what a tangled web we weave -when first we practice to deceive! If she had not consented to deceive -her father she would not now be in this awful strait; she was actually -leading him to the bitterest disappointment of his life. - -There are picture dealers and picture dealers. Mr. Arnheim, of Bond -Street, is one of the best known men and the most respected. Many an -artist now famous and wealthy owes his first step up the ladder to Mr. -Arnheim. He will buy anything that shows promise, and for great works -will give as much and more than a private purchaser. His judgment is -almost infallible, and to be spoken well of by Arnheim is to have a -passport to artistic fame. The cab drew up at his house, which was near -the corner in one of the turnings out of Bond Street, and had nothing -about it to indicate the nature of his business save and excepting a -very small brass plate with "H. Arnheim" on it. - -A page boy opened the door in response to Leslie's ring, and, on -learning her name, ushered her and her father upstairs into a room hung -round with pictures, and, giving them chairs, disappeared through a -door in a partition which seemed to screen off a kind of office. - -Leslie's heart beat apprehensively, and her face grew paler, but -Francis Lisle looked round with a kind of suppressed exultation. - -"There are examples of some of our best known artists here, Leslie," -he said in a voice quavering with excitement. "There's one of -so-and-so's," he mentioned the name, "and that is Sir Frederick's. This -Mr. Arnheim is one of the first, the first dealers in the world, and -never makes a mistake. Never! He would not have sent for me unless he -had seen some of my pictures, and meant taking me up, as they call it." - -"Oh, do not be too buoyed up, papa," she murmured in an agony of shame -and remorse. "If it should not be so, if there should be some mistake. -Oh, if you had let me come alone." - -"Mistake? What can you mean, Leslie?" he responded almost angrily. -"There is no mistake, can be none. Anyone would think you doubted -my--my ability, my artistic capacity." - -"Hush, hush!" she whispered, for he had raised his voice unconsciously, -and she heard footsteps approaching. - -The next moment the door in the partition opened, and a short, stout -man with closely cropped hair of silvery white, and small shrewd eyes, -entered the room or gallery. - -He bowed and looked at them keenly, and it seemed to Leslie that his -glance rested longer upon her than on her father. - -"Mr. Lisle?" he said. - -Francis Lisle rose and held out his hand in a stately kind of way, as -if he were Peter Paul Rubens receiving a deputation. - -"That is my name, sir," he said, with a kind of kingly affability, "and -I am here in obedience to your summons." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -"MAD AS A HATTER!" - - -Mr. Arnheim looked rather puzzled for a moment, then he looked as if he -remembered. - -"Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Lisle," he said, with a slightly foreign accent; he -was German. "I remember----." - -"You sent for me, doubtless, to make arrangements for the inclusion of -some of my pictures in your coming exhibition," said Francis Lisle in -a nervously pompous voice, which quivered with suppressed excitement -and importance. - -"Not exact----," began Mr. Arnheim, but he happened to glance at Leslie, -and something in her pale, wan face stopped him. He was a shrewd man, -and the anxiety of the daughter of the half pompous, half frightened -creature before him touched him. - -"Possibly, possibly, Mr.--er--Lisle," he said. "But my reason for -communicating with you was the fact that I had been requested by--" he -was going to say Lord Auchester, but he glanced at Leslie's face again, -and seeing the imploring expression on it, faltered a moment, then went -on suavely--"by a valued client of mine to procure a work by your hand." - -Francis Lisle's face fell for a moment, then it brightened again. - -"A commission?" he said. "Yes, yes. May I ask the name of your client?" - -Mr. Arnheim opened his lips to give the name, but once again met the -imploring gaze of the sweet eyes, and kept the name back. - -"It is not usual to give our clients' names, Mr. Lisle," he said -with an affectation of shrewdness. "We dealers are business men pure -and simple, and are never too ready with information that may injure -us. I hope you will consider it sufficient that a gentleman has made -inquiries after some work of yours, and--er--be prepared to come to -terms with me. Of course, I only act as the agent." - -Francis Lisle flushed and bit his lip, but a gratified smile was -creeping over his thin, wan face. - -"I understand, Mr. Arnheim," he said pompously. "I am very busy just at -present; indeed, I have only just finished a picture for--er--a patron, -for which I have received a fairly large sum, and I have a number of -studies in hand; but--er--I think I may say that I shall be willing to -paint a picture for you--or your unknown client, if you prefer to put -it in that way; but I can only do so on one condition, Mr. Arnheim." - -The dealer bowed. - -"And what is that condition, Mr. Lisle?" he asked gravely. - -"That your client permit any picture he may purchase of me to be -exhibited at the Royal Academy Exhibition." - -"Certainly, certainly. I'll undertake that he shall accord that -permission," said Mr. Arnheim. - -"Very good," said Francis Lisle. "And now I should like to show you -some of my pictures. We have brought a few--the best, in my judgment; -but there are several others, if you would like to see more. Leslie----." - -Leslie rose and took up a couple of the canvases, and as she did she -looked at the keen, shrewd face of the dealer. It was the look with -which she had appealed to Mr. Temple, and it said as plainly as if she -had spoken-- - -"Spare him; oh, spare him!" - -Francis Lisle took one of the pictures from her hand, and nervously, -excitedly, placed it on an empty easel which stood ready for the -purpose. - -"A seascape, Mr. Arnheim," he said, waving his hand. "It would savor of -impertinence to point out its merits to you who are so experienced and -able a critic; but I may venture to hint that there is something in the -treatment of that sky which you will not meet with every day." - -For a moment the eminent dealer's face expressed a wide gaping -astonishment, then it seemed to writhe as if with the effort to -suppress a burst of laughter, but lastly it turned to an impassive -mask, and, carefully avoiding the anguish in Leslie's eyes, he said, -shading the view with his hand: - -"Remarkable, very; very remarkable, Mr. Lisle." - -"I thought you would say so," said Francis Lisle, with a triumphant -glance at Leslie, who had stood with downcast eyes. "But if you think -that worthy of notice, what do you say to this?" and he replaced the -canvas by another. "'View of Cliffs by Moonlight.' Remark the shadows, -the foam on the rocks, the birds, Mr. Arnheim!" - -"Yes, yes, yes," said Mr. Arnheim in a kind of still voice. "Most--most -singular and admirable!" - -He glanced at Leslie, and an expression of pity and sympathy came into -his shrewd face. - -"And here is another," said Francis Lisle, catching up a third picture. -"'The Wreck.' I spent months--months, Mr. Arnheim, over this; and if I -may be permitted to say so I consider it one of my masterpieces," and -he waved his hand to the fearful daub in a kind of ecstasy. - -Mr. Arnheim stood speechless with what the unfortunate painter took to -be admiration; and Leslie, trembling and pale, came forward and took -the canvas from the easel. - -"We--we must not take up any more of Mr. Arnheim's time, papa," she -faltered, with an appealing glance at the dealer. - -"No no, certainly not," responded Lisle. "But it is only right that Mr -Arnheim should have an opportunity of judging of my work. You may be -surprised, sir, that I am still, so to speak, an unknown artist. I may -say that that surprise is shared by myself. But no one can be better -acquainted with the fact that fame and fortune do not always fall to -the deserving. No! Art is a lottery, and the best of us may, and, alas! -too often do, only draw blanks. But I am confident that now you, who -have so many opportunities of directing the attention of the world to -what is most worthy of notice in art, have become acquainted with my -pictures, that--that--in short----." He put his hand to his head and -looked round confusedly. - -"Yes, yes!" said Mr. Arnheim soothingly. "I quite understand. You will -hear from me--I will see my client." - -"Yes, certainly," cut in Francis Lisle. "I--I leave the whole of the -negotiations to you. I have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Arnheim." - -Mr. Arnheim bowed, and assisted Leslie's trembling hands to repack the -pictures, but the artist stopped them by a gesture. - -"Wait, wait, Leslie. I am content to leave these works with Mr. -Arnheim. He will like to place them in this gallery with his other -masterpieces." - -The expression on Mr. Arnheim's face at this proposition beggars -description, but he mastered his emotion, and managed to bow and -mumble out some unintelligible words, which Francis Lisle mistook for -expressions of gratitude. - -"Do not mention it, my dear sir," he said, waving his hand. "I commit -them to your care with every confidence, assured that they will receive -every consideration and appreciation from you. Come, Leslie, as you -said, we must not take up too much of Mr. Arnheim's time. Good morning, -sir. I leave you to conduct all negotiations with your client. I have -every confidence in you. Good morning!" - -He gave his hand to Mr. Arnheim with the air of a painter-prince, and -with a glance round the room as if he already saw his pictures placed -among the other gems, stalked nervously out. - -Leslie hesitated for a moment, then held out her hand. For a moment she -seemed incapable of speech, then her trembling lips parted, and she -faltered: - -"You have been very good, and--and patient, and forbearing, sir, and I -am grateful, very grateful." - -"Don't mention it, Miss Lisle," he said, touched by her loveliness and -sadness. "I quite understand--that is--well, I can't quite understand!" - -Leslie's face burnt like fire. - -"Why his--his grace----," she faltered. - -Mr. Arnheim looked puzzled. - -"His lordship!" he corrected her, but Leslie was too agitated to notice -the correction. - -"I cannot explain," she said in a troubled voice. "But--you will see -him?" - -"Yes, certainly," assented Mr. Arnheim. - -"Will you tell him, please--" her voice broke, and her hands clasped -and unclasped--"will you tell him that I came here against my -will--that I was obliged to come, and that--that I wish him to forget -everything that has passed. That neither my father nor I wish to see -him again. That we wish to pass out of his life as if we had never -seen, never known him. Will you tell him this? You--you think it -strange, unbecoming, that I should give you this message, Mr. Arnheim -but--" her voice broke--"but, perhaps you have a daughter of your own, -and--and thinking of her you will not refuse----." - -She broke down, and covered her face with her hands. - -Mr. Arnheim had a daughter, as it happened, and he did think of her. - -"I don't understand, quite, Miss Lisle," he said, in a low voice; "but -I understand enough to convey your message." - -Leslie gave him her hand without another word, and hurried after her -father. - -She found him descending the stairs slowly, and he stopped as she -reached him, and nodded at her. - -"One moment, Leslie," he said, in nervous accents. "I forgot to ask Mr. -Arnheim if his gallery is insured. Such works as I have left with him -are--are priceless!" - -Before she could stop him, he had turned and reascended the stairs, and -re-entered the gallery. Leslie followed him. The gallery was empty, but -voices were heard behind the partition, and Mr. Arnheim could be heard -exclaiming in mingled indignation, pity, and amusement: - -"The man is as mad as a hatter!" - -Leslie laid her hand upon her father's arm. - -"Come away, dear!" she implored; but he shook her hand off, and put his -finger to his lip warningly. - -"Hush! Be silent! I want to hear what he is saying! These men never -express themselves fully about the pictures in the presence of the -artists. Now, listen, and you will hear what he really thinks. Hush! It -is quite fair, quite!" and he chuckled confidently. - -Leslie, turned to stone with apprehension and dread, stood still and -waited. - -"Mad as a hatter!" continued Mr. Arnheim to some one behind the -partition. "The pictures he raves about are simply daubs! The daubs -of a lunatic who has had access to paint and brushes. Look at this! -He called it a seascape! Look at it! Why, a schoolboy of fourteen -would blush to have painted it! In fact, no human being in possession -of his senses could have produced it! Did you ever see anything like -it? I never did, and I've had some queer experiences in the course of -business. If it hadn't been for that sweet creature, his daughter, -I should have burst out laughing. But something--dash me if I know -what--kept me quiet. Look here, it's a dashed shame, that's what it -is. He told me to write for the man, and I thought it was all on -the square. But it's my opinion he's got some game in hand with the -daughter. I might have guessed that, seeing the sort of man he is. -These swells are all alike. Yes it's a dashed shame! She's too good -to be made a fool of and deceived. But did you ever see such an awful -lunatic daub as this, and this, and this!" the speaker's voice rose in -crescendo as he evidently showed each of Francis Lisle's pictures. -"There was never anything like 'em out of a madhouse!" - -The voice ceased, for lack of breath, and Leslie, horror-stricken, -turned to her father. He was leaning against the wall, his face white, -livid, his jaw dropped, his eyes staring vacantly. - -"Father! father!" she cried in a low voice. - -He did not seem to hear her, but his lips moved and she could hear -a faint, horrible echo of the words that had been spoken behind the -screen. - -"Come away, dear!" she implored him. "Come away!" - -He dropped his eyes to her face and tried to smile; but it was a -hideous grimace. - -"Yes, yes," he said, hoarsely, almost inarticulately, "let us go home. -Let us----." - -She took his hand, drew his arm through hers, and led him down the -stairs. He went with the docility, the helplessness of a child, and -sank into a corner of the cab with his eyes dull and lifeless, but his -lips still moving. - -Presently he beckoned to her. "What--what did he say?" he asked -tremulously, his face working. - -"It--it does not matter what he said, dear," she said soothingly. "Do -not think of it. Try to forget it! Lean against me, dear!" - -But he put her from him, not with his old impatient irritability, but -with a gentleness that was quite new with him; and lying back in the -cab stared at the floor, his lips moving, and Leslie could hear him -still repeating the words they had heard from Mr. Arnheim. - -It seemed an age before the cab reached Torrington Square, and when it -did so the man Leslie helped out was an older man by twenty years than -he who had left it that morning. - -She helped him up to his room and tried to cheer and comfort him; but, -for the first time in her life, her loving flattery proved of no avail. - -He listened with vacant eyes and wan, hopeless face, and at last, he -suddenly flung his hands before his eyes and uttered a low cry of -despair, and awakening. - -"God help me!" he cried. "I am a fraud and a lie! I see it all, now. -A fraud and a lie! The man was right; I cannot paint!" He caught up a -canvas that lay against the wall, and gazed at it. "It is a hideous -daub, as he said. It is the work of a madman. I have been mad. Oh, God, -if I could have remained so." - -"My dear, my dear!" she murmured, kneeling beside him and gently -drawing the picture from his weak, trembling hands. "Don't think of -what--what he said." - -"Not think of it!" he cried, shaking with emotion. "I must think of it, -for he spoke the truth. I have been mad, mad! But my eyes are open now. -Take them away from me," he motioned to the pictures, "take them away. -I cannot bear the sight of them. And--and yet I have been so happy, so -hopeful!" and he hid his face with his hands. - -Leslie watched beside him till he fell into a deep, deathlike sleep; -then she stole downstairs and sent for a doctor. A young man from one -of the neighbouring squares came, and though he was young he was not -foolish. A glance at the sleeping man told him the sad truth. - -"Have you--has your father any relations, any friends who--whom he -would like to see?" he asked gently. - -Leslie, kneeling beside the bed, looked up at him with sharp and sudden -dread in her eyes. - -"Do you--do you mean----? Oh, what is it you mean?" she moaned. - -The doctor laid his hand upon her shoulder. "The truth is always best, -always," he said gently. "Your father has suffered a severe shock; the -heart----." He stopped. "For his sake try and be calm, my dear young -lady." - -Leslie knelt beside him all through the night, and all through the long -hours her conscience whispered accusingly, "It is you--you, who have -done it. But for you he would have gone on dreaming and living; but for -you--and Yorke!" - -Toward dawn Francis Lisle awoke. The doctor was standing beside the -bed, Leslie on her knees. - -He raised his wan, wasted face from the pillow and seemed to be looking -for something; then his eyes rested on her anguished ones, and he knew -her and forced a smile. - -"Is--is that you, Leslie?" he said, in so low a voice that she had -to lay her face against his to hear him. "Is that you? I have had a -singular dream. Most singular!" - -"What--what was it, dear?" she said at last. - -He smiled again. - -"I dreamt that my picture had been refused by the Academy. Absurd, -wasn't it? Fancy them refusing one of my pictures! Mine! Francis -Lisle's! Ridiculous as it is, it--it upset me. I--I must be out of -sorts. There is only one thing for that kind of complaint: Work. -Get--get a fresh canvas stretched for me, Leslie, and I will commence a -new picture. Let me see, what did we get for the last? Three thousand -pounds, wasn't it?" - -"Yes, yes, dear!" she murmured. - -"A large sum, a large sum, but not half what we shall get. Fame, fame -and fortune at last, Leslie! I always told you it would come." - -He put out his wasted hand and smoothed her hair lovingly--and, -alas! patronizingly. "Always knew it would come, Leslie! Art is long -and--and life is brief. I must work hard now fame and success have -brought me the victor's laurels. How dark it is--" the sunlight was -streaming through the window--"how dark! Too dark to commence to-day; -but to-morrow, Leslie dear, to-morrow----." His voice grew fainter and -ceased. The doctor bent over him, then stood upright and laid his hand -upon Leslie's shoulder with a touch that told her all. - -Francis Lisle had gone to the land where to-morrow and to-day are -swallowed up in Eternity. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -"FORGOTTEN ME, HAS HE?" - - -If ever a man was in earnest, Yorke, Viscount Auchester, was. He was -going to marry Leslie! The thought dwelt with him all the way up to -town, hovered about him as he lay awake throughout nearly the whole -night, and came to him in the morning with a joy exceeding description. - -To marry Leslie! - -What had he done to deserve such happiness, such bliss, he asked -himself as he hurried through his tub and dressing? And while he ate -his breakfast in a feverish, restless kind of haste, he pictured and -planned out their future; a future to be spent side by side till Death, -and Death alone, parted them. - -They would leave London immediately, after the marriage, and cross the -Channel. Perhaps they'd stay for a while in Paris; but only for a few -days. It would be too big and noisy for such bliss as theirs. No, he -would take her to some quiet spot in Normandy; perhaps to Rouen, that -delightful old-world town with its magnificent churches and historic -streets. Why, he could see themselves standing arm in arm in the vast -cathedral, listening reverently to the grand service; he could see -Leslie's face with the sweet gravity in her lovely eyes, and the half -pensive and yet happy smile on her pure lips. He fancied her by his -side looking up at the carved gables of the quaint houses; or seated -at one of the little marble tables at the Cafe Blanc, with its shining -copper vessels and glittering glass. Then they could go on into -Germany; up the Rhine. How delightful to have her beside him as the -steamer toiled against the stream and the delicious panorama unfolded -itself mile by mile! Then, if they chose, there were Switzerland and -Italy. There was Lucerne, for instance. How she would delight in -Lucerne, with its marvelous lake, in which old Pilatus shadows himself, -with its famous bridge spanning the emerald Reuss; with its snug -cathedral in which the wonderful organ surges and wails as no other -organ can surge and wail, save that of honored Milan. - -Happy! He would make her happy or know the reason why! He would devote -every hour of his life, every particle of his by no means gigantic -intellect to the effort to prove how dearly he loved her. - -He sat for a little while after breakfast making a mental plan of -his procedure. He would have to act prudently and warily. No hint of -what he was about to do must be allowed to get out. If his numerous -creditors, Jew and Gentile, had the least suspicion that he was about -to marry a penniless angel instead of Lady Eleanor Dallas, the heiress, -they would swoop down upon him. No, he would be very cautious. - -He had gone round to Mr. Arnheim, the dealer, on the evening before, -immediately he had reached London, and was very cautious with him; -giving him to understand that he merely wanted a small picture of Mr. -Lisle's, and asking Mr. Arnheim in quite a casual way to write and ask -Mr. Lisle whether he would accept a commission. - -"Don't mention my name, please," he said; and Mr. Arnheim had smiled -and shaken his head. - -Yorke went away quite confident that the vaguest of letters from the -great dealer would bring Francis Lisle post haste to London; and, as we -know, he was right. - -Then he went down to Doctors' Commons, and inquired about the license. - -He knew no more about the business than the veriest schoolboy; but he -had a vague idea that you could buy a license somewhere in that strange -locality, and that armed with that he could marry Leslie right away at -once. At once! The thought sent the blood rushing to his handsome face, -and made St. Paul's Cathedral, hard by which is Doctors' Commons, waver -before his eyes. - -A seedy-looking gentleman led him to the Faculty office where the -mystic license was to be obtained, and a grave and sedate clerk got off -a high stool at a desk and put several questions to Yorke, who for the -first time in his life--or the second, perhaps, for he was nervous when -he had asked Leslie to be his wife--felt embarrassed and agitated. - -"Is it an ordinary license you require, or a special?" asked the clerk. - -Yorke looked doubtful. - -"What is the difference?" he asked, almost shyly, and struggling with -an actual blush. - -The clerk eyed him with cold superiority. - -"By an ordinary license," he explained, "you can marry in the church -of the parish in which one of the parties resides; and only there. And -he or she must have resided there fifteen days. With a special license -you can marry in a particular church without having resided in the -parish fifteen days; but you would have to give sufficient reasons for -requiring this special license." - -Yorke stared at the dingy floor while he thought the matter out. - -He knew of a quiet little church near Bury Street--a "little church -around the corner," so to speak, to which he and Leslie could go, the -morning after her arrival in London; and with no one but the parson, -the clerk, and pew-opener the wiser. Yes, an ordinary license would do, -he said. - -The clerk inclined his head--just as if he were a shopman selling -gloves!--and went off to another clerk at another desk, and presently -appeared with an affidavit. - -"What's this? the license?" said Yorke. - -"No. You will have to swear this. I shall have to ask you to accompany -me to the next office, to a solicitor. You have to swear that the -parties are of age, and that one of you has resided in the parish -fifteen days. You are prepared to do so, I presume?" - -It is to be feared that Yorke was prepared to do anything to obtain -his Leslie, and he was led off--he felt like a criminal of the deepest -dye--to another dingy office, and there repeated the oath gabbled out -by the solicitor. Then he returned to the proctor's office, and, after -waiting a quarter of an hour, the clerk handed him a document. - -"What have I got to pay?" asked Yorke, prepared for a demand, say, -of fifty pounds. "Only two pounds two and sixpence!" he said, with a -surprise that made even that solemn clerk smile. - -Only two pounds two and sixpence for the privilege of marrying Leslie! -He stood and gazed at the mystic document, and laughed aloud, so that -the seedy man who had conducted him to the office eyed him rather -fearfully, and pocketing the half-sovereign Yorke gave him, scrambled -off, fully convinced that the young man was mad. - -And indeed he could scarcely be considered in full possession of his -senses that day. Nearly every hour he took out that precious license -and read it through or gazed at the imposing coat of arms at the top, -and the Archbishop's signature at the bottom; and every time put it -away again in his breast coat pocket. He patted the coat to feel that -the document was there safe and sound. - -From Doctors' Commons he walked to the Dorchester Club. - -Everybody knows that aristocratic institution. It is not so magnificent -as some of the modern political clubs; some of them are palaces -compared with which those of the Caesars were very small potatoes; -it had no marble entrance hall and oak-paneled dining-room, and -its smoking-room was not as vast as a church; but it was snug and -comfortable, and excellent to a degree. You had to have your name down -on the list of candidates full fifteen or twenty years before you could -hope to be balloted in, and some fathers put their sons down when they -were eighteen months old. - -Yorke was well known at the club, and the hall porter in his glass -box bowed to him with a mixture of respect and recognition which he -accorded to a very few of the members. - -"There are no letters for me, Stephens, I suppose?" said Yorke. - -"No, my lord, none." - -"Ah, well, I expect one or a telegram directly," said Yorke, trying -to speak casually. "If it comes just send into the smoking-room, or -dining-room, or drawing-room, in fact and see if I'm in the club. I -want it directly it comes, you understand." - -"Certainly my lord," was the response. "If your lordship is in the club -when the letter arrives I will see that you have it at once." - -Yorke sauntered into the drawing-room and took up a paper; but he did -not see a word of the page he gazed at. He was calculating how soon -that letter could possibly reach him. - -Then he went out, and making his way to Regent Street examined the shop -windows carefully, and ultimately made several purchases. - -He bought a lady's ulster, a wonderful garment of camel's hair, soft -as lambs' wool and as warm, with cuffs that could be let down over the -hands, and a hood that could be drawn completely over the head. - -No lady with this marvelous ulster on could be cold, even while -crossing the Channel, where, as everybody knows, it is possible to be -frozen even on a summer's night. He also bought a traveling rug of -Scotch tweed. - -Then he sauntered into the park till lunch time, when he went back to -the club. He knew that no letter could be waiting for him, and yet he -could not help glancing inquiringly at the porter, who faintly smiled -and respectively shook his head. - -One or two acquaintances dropped in while he was eating his lunch at -a side table, and they gathered round him and plied him with eager -invitations to join them in a driving trip to Richmond; but he shook -his head. - -"Better come, Auchester," said one young fellow. "Jolly afternoon! -Besides, a friend of yours is of the party." - -"Who is that?" asked Yorke with polite indifference. - -Drive to Richmond when he wanted to be alone to think of Leslie and all -that license in his breast coat pocket meant! Not likely. - -"Why, Finetta," said the young fellow. "She has promised, if we get her -back in time for the theater." - -Yorke shook his head, and while he was doing it Lord Vinson strolled up. - -"What's that about Finetta and Richmond?" he inquired. "Afraid you'll -be disappointed. Just been up there," he drawled. "She's vamoosed the -ranche, sloped off somewhere, and isn't going to dance to-night. Know -where she's gone, Auchester?" - -"No," said Yorke, and he answered very quietly. Poor Fin! was she -taking the breaking off of their friendship to heart after all? - -"Strikes me Mademoiselle Fin is playing it rather low on an indulgent -public!" grumbled the young fellow who had arranged the outing, and as -he sauntered off with the rest he remarked in a low voice, "Shouldn't -be surprised if Auchester had arranged to take her somewhere; they're -awfully thick, you know, and she'd throw over anything for him." - -After lunch Yorke went to Bury Street, and with his own hands packed a -portmanteau or two. - -Then he went back to the club, for though he knew no telegram could -have arrived, he felt constrained to be there in waiting, so to speak, -and dined quietly and in solitude, and afterwards he walked by the park -railings to Notting Hill and round the quiet squares, and was happy -thinking of Leslie and the days that lay before them, the delicious, -glorious days when they two should be one--man and wife. Man and wife! - -He went to bed early that night and slept soundly, so soundly that he -was rather later than he meant to be at breakfast, and he hurried over -that meal and made his way to the Dorchester with a fast-beating heart. - -There might possibly be a telegram for him. But the porter said no, -nothing had come for his lordship, and Yorke, too disappointed to make -a pretense of looking at the papers, went out and stood on the broad -steps and stared up and down Pall Mall. - -Arnheim had promised to wire the night Yorke had seen him; there had -been time for the Lisles to get up to London, time for Leslie to wire. -Well, he would be patient and not worry. But, Heaven and earth, what -should he do with himself while he was waiting for that telegram! He -was so wrapped up in the thought of meeting his darling that he could -not endure the distraction of even exchanging greetings with his -acquaintances. He could not go to Finetta's--never again!--or Lady -Eleanor's. He wanted to be alone, alone with his thoughts. What should -he do? Was there anything else he could buy? As the question crossed -his mind the answer flashed upon him and made him almost start. Why, -there was the ring! He had not bought that yet. What an idiot he was. -Even with a license, you could not be married without a ring. He went -straight off to Bond Street, to the jeweler's of whom he had purchased -the diamond pendant and the plain gold locket, and stood for a minute -or two outside looking at the things in the window. - -He would have a keeper as well as a plain wedding ring. He would get -the prettiest and 'solidest' they'd got. He gazed at the rows of -diamond ornaments, for the first time in his life covetously. Ah, if -he were only the Duke of Rothbury, as she thought him, what things he -would buy for her! Notwithstanding that, if he were the duke he would -have the great Rothbury diamonds, those gems which were supposed to -rank next to the Crown jewels, and they would be hers, his duchess's; -yet, all the same, he would buy her all sorts of pretty things. As the -heathen loves to deck his idol, so he, Yorke, would love to deck his -idol with all that this world counted good and precious. - -Regarding that masquerade of his, that sailing under false colors, he -thought that Leslie would neither be very disappointed nor angry. - -"It is me she loves," he told himself with a proudly swelling heart. -"And it will not matter what I am or am not. But all the same I wish -that idea had not occurred to poor old Dolph." - -All this was passing through his mind as he was standing outside the -well-known shop in Bond Street. Everybody knows it, and everybody knows -that the street is rather narrow just where the shop is situated, -and at that moment it happened that one of the many blocks of the -day occurred, and that a neatly appointed brougham was brought to a -standstill very nearly opposite the jeweler's shop. - -It was a charming little brougham, one of those costly toys which only -very wealthy people can indulge in. The interior was lined with Russian -leather, the cushions of sage plush; there was a clock in ormolu and -turquoise and a delightful little reading lamp, fan and scent case, and -china what-not basket. - -It was the brougham which took the celebrated Finetta to and from the -Diadem; the brougham of which the newspapers have given an elaborate -account, and in it was no less a personage than Finetta herself. She -was leaning back against the eiderdown cushions, her handsome face -pale, with purplish rings round her dark eyes. She looked as if she was -half worn out by excitement and physical fatigue. - -She had been lying with closed eyes till the block and stoppage came, -then she opened her eyes and asked listlessly: - -"What is it?" - -"It's a block," said Polly who sat beside her. "There's a carriage and -a butcher's cart in front, a swell carriage----." - -Finetta leant forward listlessly, then her listlessness changed, fled -rather. - -"It's--it's Lady Eleanor Dallas," she said between her teeth. - -"Oh," said Polly; "is it? Well, I wish they'd get on, and--oh!" The -exclamation escaped her lips unawares, and Finetta, following the -direction of Polly's eyes, saw Yorke standing gazing in at the shop -window. - -She uttered a faint cry and fell back, clutching Polly's arm. - -"It's him!" she breathed. - -"Lord Auchester. I know it is!" said the matter-of-fact Polly. "Well, -you needn't start as if you'd got the jumps." - -"What is he doing there, what is he going to buy?" said Finetta in a -low and agitated voice. - -Polly jerked down the blind. - -"Don't make a perfect fool of yourself, Fin," she ventured to -remonstrate. "What's it matter to you what Lord Yorke is doing or going -to buy? He and you have done with each other----." - -"Have we!" between the set teeth. "Much you know about it!" - -"Well, if you haven't, you ought to have done. Oh, I wasn't deaf the -other night when he was telling you about the girl he had fallen in -love with and was going to marry; I heard enough to put two and two -together. And I tell you what it is, Fin: you are making yourself a -perfect idiot over that young man, and all for no good. Why, you've -been away from the Diadem for two nights, and though I suppose you -think I don't know where you've been, why I can guess. You've been -dogging him down in the country somewhere----." - -"Hold your tongue," said Finetta, her eyes still fixed, through a chink -beside the silk blind, on Yorke. - -"Yes, I can hold my tongue; but I'm talking for your good. Here you've -been away for two days, goodness knows where, though I can guess, as I -say, and you come back looking more dead than alive, and no more fit to -dance to-night than I am." - -"What is it he is buying? Something for her?" said Finetta almost to -herself. - -"What's it matter to you? You and he have done with each other, I tell -you," said sensible Polly. "You let Lord Auchester alone, and forget -him. You bet your life he's forgotten you by this time," and she -ventured on a short laugh. - -Finetta turned on her. - -"Forgotten me, has he? What did he send me his portrait in a locket and -that letter for, then? You hold your tongue! Tell the man to drive to -Piccadilly and then back again!" - -Her face was flushed, her eyes shining with feverish light in their -purple rings. - -"Well, if anyone had told me that you--you, Fin--would make such a fool -of yourself over a man, I'd have given them the lie," remarked Polly -after she had delivered the directions to the coachman. - -Finetta fell back. - -"Sneer on," she said in a low voice. "You don't understand, and, what's -more, you never will. Is there any one in the carriage opposite? Is--is -Lady Eleanor in it?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -A WEDDING RING. - - -Polly peered out. - -"I can't see," she said, "the blinds are down." - -But though she could not see her, Lady Eleanor was in the carriage, and -she was looking, as Finetta was, at the stalwart young man in front -of the jeweler's window. And her face was quite as pale as Finetta's. -Should she open the window and call him? She longed to do so, and yet -something, some vague presentiment, kept her from doing so. She watched -him, her heart beating with love, until the block had melted away and -the carriage had moved on, then she pulled the check string and, when -the footman got down, said: - -"Drive to Oxford Street, and then come back here, please." - -Meanwhile, all unconscious that these two women were watching him, -Yorke went into the shop. - -"I want to look at some rings," he said to the man who bowed to him -with an air of respectful recognition. It happened to be the same man -who had served him the other day. - -"Fancy rings my lord?" - -"No, no," said Yorke, trying to speak in the most ordinary and casual -way, and feeling very much as he had felt while procuring the license. -"Er--wedding and keeper rings." - -"Certainly, my lord," said the man, without the faintest change of -countenance, and he placed a couple of trays on the counter. - -"What size, my lord?" - -Yorke looked up with a start of perplexity. - -"Size?" he repeated, vaguely as he mentally called himself an idiot for -not having measured Leslie's finger. "Oh, a small size. I don't quite -know. Yes quite a small size. Here, I'll take two or three. They're all -alike. I suppose!" - -"Some heavier than the others, my lord." - -"All right; give me the heaviest. And the keeper--isn't that what it's -called?" - -"Yes, my lord; it keeps the wedding ring in its place, you see." - -"I see," said Yorke. "Well, I'll have one or two of these, the smaller -ones; put this one in," and he picked out one set with pearl and -turquoise. "I'll send back those I don't keep." - -He tried to slip them on his little finger, but they would not go -farther than the first point, and he laid them down with a smile. In a -few hours, perhaps, he would be placing them on his darling's finger; -his wife's! - -The shopman put the rings in a box, and Yorke stowed them away -carefully, very carefully, in an inner pocket, and went out, still -dreaming of the hours when he should stand before the altar of the -quiet little church in St. James'. - -Two or three minutes afterward the dainty brougham pulled up to the -shop door, and Finetta entered. - -She was as well known to the jeweler as was Lord Auchester, and, if -possible, he made her a more respectful and elaborate bow; she was a -good customer, and, like most people in her position, she liked a great -show of respect. So he leaned forward and placed a chair for her, and -with another bow asked what he could have the honor of doing for her. -Finetta's large, dark eyes wandered over the counter with a feigned -indifference and listlessness. - -"I only want a small present," she said. - -"Yes, madam. For a gentleman?" and he made for a tray of silver -cigarette cases and similar articles. Finetta looked at them, but kept -the corners of her eyes fixed on the trays which had been on the glass -counter when she entered. - -"What pretty rings!" she said, taking up a jeweled keeper. "They almost -tempt one to get married." - -The man smiled sympathetically. - -"I suppose the bridegroom always chooses the rings," she said, with -seeming carelessness. "Now, I wonder which of these most men would -choose?" - -The man fingered the rings lightly. - -"Some one, some another, madam," he replied. "The gentleman who has -just gone out chose one like this." - -Finetta's face was pale already, but it seemed to blanch, and the ring -rolled along the counter. - -"Lord Auchester was buying a wedding ring and keeper!" she said -involuntarily. - -As the words left her lips, a lady had entered the shop, and she heard -them as plainly as if they had been addressed to her; and they took an -instantaneous and extraordinary effect. She let the door slip, and put -her hand to her heart, and so stood gazing with a strange expression in -her eyes from Finetta to the man. - -It was a dramatic moment. The two women stood silent and motionless, -regarding each other with a world of meaning in their eyes. Finetta, -still eyeing Lady Eleanor, went on: - -"It was Lord Auchester who bought the ring?" - -The jeweler smiled deprecatingly. - -"Well, as you saw him, madam, it is no breach of confidence. It was his -lordship." Then he looked toward Lady Eleanor, and, bowing, placed a -chair for her. - -Finetta rose; her face was still white, her full lips pale and -trembling. - -"I--I will come in again," she said, and moved toward the door; then -she stopped, and swaying forward rather than stepping, leaned toward -Lady Eleanor. - -"I want to speak to you," she said abruptly and hoarsely. - -Lady Eleanor shrank back and eyed her haughtily. - -"I--I--" she began, but her voice seemed to fail her. - -"You'd better not refuse, for--for your own sake!" said Finetta, hissed -it, rather. "You--you know me----." - -Lady Eleanor tried to look a denial, but the effort failed as the -effort to speak had. - -"And I know you," went on Finetta, still in the low, husky, agitated -voice. "What I have to say concerns you. You'd better not refuse!" - -Lady Eleanor looked round as if seeking some means of escape, then -rose, hesitated a moment, her white teeth catching her lip, and -followed Finetta to the end of the long shop, the jeweler discreetly -keeping out of earshot, and respectfully waiting until his customers -had finished their conference. He saw that something was happening; but -his well-trained face was absolutely impassive. - -Lady Eleanor stood turned sideways to Finetta, her haughty lips half -lowered, but her lips trembling. If anyone that morning had told her -that Finetta of the Diadem would dare to address her, and that she -would consent to listen to her for one single moment, she would have -laughed the idea to scorn. And yet here she was actually waiting for -what the woman had to say. - -Finetta's bosom was heaving with the effort at self-control. She could -not help admiring Lady Eleanor's self-possession, while she hated her; -and she tried to imitate her. - -"You heard what the man said," she said at last, in a low, shaken voice. - -Lady Eleanor's haughty lids moved slightly in assent. - -"Well!" said Finetta, with a kind of gasp, "it's true!" - -Lady Eleanor made the faintest movement with her hand. It seemed to say: - -"If it is, what is it to do with me--or you?" and Finetta understood -her. - -A hot flush passed over her handsome face. - -"You mean it's no business of mine. Well--" she drew a long breath, -"perhaps it isn't. But it is of yours, or people make a great mistake -when they say he is going to marry you." - -Lady Eleanor's face crimsoned with humiliation, and she made as if to -leave the place at once; but Finetta put out her hand, and Lady Eleanor -stepped back as if the touch would contaminate her. - -"I--I cannot listen to you--I have nothing to say," she said in a -labored voice. "You have no right to speak to me--I do not know -you--have no wish----." - -Finetta's teeth came together with a click. - -"Very well, go then!" she exclaimed vindictively. "Go! Do you think -it's any pleasure to me to speak to you? Do you think I'd have spoken -to you if it hadn't been for his sake?" - -Lady Eleanor winced. - -"You treat me like the dirt under your feet, you won't stoop to listen -to what I've got to say, though it should save him from ruin. And you -call yourself his friend! A pretty friend! I've heard you swells have -got no heart, and I should think it's true, judging by you!" Her breath -came fiercely. "Go! Why don't you go?" - -Lady Eleanor looked at the door and then at the white, working face and -flashing eyes; and remained. - -She drew her light wrap round her and held it with a clenched hand. - -"Say what you have to say quickly," she said, and her voice was thick -and husky. "You are right; I am a friend of Lord Auchester's, if it is -he whom you mean." - -Finetta eyed her with a touch of scorn in her flashing eyes. - -"You know it is him. Friend! I should think you were! Do you think I -didn't see you start when you came in, and do you think I don't see how -you're trembling and shaking? Bah! with all your acting you wouldn't be -worth much on the stage. I tell you what the man said is true. Yorke -Auchester has bought his wedding ring, and he'll use it unless you can -prevent it!" - -Lady Eleanor's face was like a mask, but her eyelids quivered. - -"I've done my best--or worst," went on Finetta, and she laughed -harshly. "I've seen the girl and tried to put a spoke in her wheel, and -I thought I'd succeeded; but it seems I haven't----." - -"You have seen her?" escaped Lady Eleanor's lips. - -"Yes!" said Finetta. "Did you think it was me he was going to marry?" -Her lips twitched. "It's a young girl down in the country, at a -forsaken place called Portmaris." - -"Portmaris!" Lady Eleanor breathed. - -"Yes. Quite a young girl, a country girl, a mere nobody, and not a -swell like you; though she's what you call a lady," she added. - -Lady Eleanor sank into a chair and sat with tightly clasped hands. The -shock of this sudden news had caused her to forget that the woman who -was speaking to her was Finetta, the dancing girl at the Diadem, the -girl with whom Yorke Auchester had been so intimately friendly. - -Finetta looked down at her with a bitter smile. She had brought this -haughty aristocrat to her knees, at any rate. - -"How she must love him!" she thought. "How we both love him!" and she -ground her teeth. - -Lady Eleanor, with her eyes downcast, asked after a pause: - -"What is her name?" - -"Leslie Lisle," replied Finetta. "She's as pretty and--and fresh as--as -a flower; and when I told her that--that--" - -Lady Eleanor looked up. - -"What did you tell her?" she asked, in a low, husky voice. - -Finetta flushed sullenly. - -"Well, it doesn't matter. I thought that what I'd told her would break -it off between him and her; but it hasn't, or he wouldn't be buying the -wedding ring. They are going to be married secretly, and at once; and -now what are you going to do, my lady?" - -Lady Eleanor looked before her vacantly. Her heart was aching, burning -with jealousy and the terror of despair. She shook her head. - -"I daresay you wonder why I spoke to you, why I tell you this, -seeing--that it can't matter to me who he marries?" said Finetta, with -a flush. - -Lady Eleanor glanced at her. - -"Yes; why did you speak to me?" she said indistinctly. - -Finetta bit her lip. - -"I don't know, and that's the truth," she admitted. "The news knocked -me over, and--and I was flurried. And besides--well, two heads are -better than one, and----." - -Lady Eleanor understood. This dancing girl meant that she was not -afraid of Lord Auchester's marrying her, Lady Eleanor, but that she -was terribly afraid that he would marry this girl in the country, this -Leslie Lisle. - -She rose. - -"I can say nothing. I am not Lord Auchester's keeper. If he chooses to -marry a dairy maid--or worse--it is his business." - -Finetta watched her keenly. - -"But all the same, you'll do all you can to prevent it," she said -sharply, and with an air of conviction. She had caught a significant -gleam in the proud eyes. - -Lady Eleanor turned pale, stood a moment as if waiting to see if -Finetta had anything more to say, then with a slight inclination of her -head passed out of the shop. - -She walked proudly and haughtily enough to her brougham, but when she -got inside her manner changed, and she covered her face with her hands, -and cowered in the corner, trembling and moaning. - -Yorke going to marry! Going to marry and beneath him, too! He had -passed her over for some country wench, some nobody beneath him in -rank, utterly unworthy of him. It tortured her. What should she do? -What could be done? She asked herself this as the carriage rolled on -homeward, and for a time no answer came; then suddenly she started and -pulled the check string. - -"The nearest telegraph office," she said to the footman. - -There was only one person who could help her, even if he would, which -was doubtful. She sent a telegram to Ralph Duncombe. - -"Can you come and see me at once on important business?" - -Meanwhile all unconscious of the strange meeting between his two old -loves, Yorke betook himself to the Army and Navy Stores, and whiled -away the time by buying a lady's portmanteau, one of the latest and -most expensive kind, and ordering the initials "L. A." to be painted on -it. This afforded him a subtle delight. "Leslie Auchester." How well it -sounded, "Leslie, Viscountess Auchester!" Take the peerage all through, -and there wouldn't be a more beautiful, charming woman than this wife -of his! He bought one or two other things--traveling luxuries, which -should add to her comfort on their journey, then went back to the club. - -"Any telegram for me?" he asked, almost confidently. - -"No, my lord," was the reply. - -Yorke's face clouded, then it cleared. - -"Look here," he said, "I forgot to tell you that it would be addressed -to Yorke." - -The porter looked in the 'Y' pigeon-hole and shook his head. - -"Nothing for that name either, my lord." - -Yorke stood at the door of the porter's glass box and stared at the man -as if he could not believe his ears. Then he swung round, and jumping -into a cab, told the man to drive to Arnheim's. - -He met the dealer coming down the stairs. - -"Oh, good morning, my lord," he said. "I have written to you." - -"Yes, yes! Mr. Lisle--has he been here?" - -"Yes, my lord," said Arnheim, looking at the handsome and palpably -agitated face curiously. "He has been here." - -"With----." - -"With his daughter, Miss Lisle. Yes. And he has left some pictures. Of -course, your lordship knows best, but I am bound to tell you, it's only -right, that the pictures are utterly----." - -"I know, I know," Yorke broke in quickly. "That's all right. I mean -it doesn't matter. I'll explain afterward. What I want now is their -address!" - -"Port----." - -"Yes, yes, I know; I mean their London address, where they're staying." - -The dealer thought a moment, while Yorke looked at him as if he could -tear the answer from him. - -"I--well, the fact is, I don't know it. I did not think to ask it!" -said Arnheim. - -Yorke flushed a dark red. - -"Oh, nonsense! They must have given you their address, some place to -write to!" - -"You'd naturally think so, but as it happens they didn't!" said -Arnheim. "I admit I ought to have asked Mr. Lisle, but--well, I didn't! -I suppose I expected him to call again. And," with a faint smile, "of -course he will do so, the man is an enthusiast----." - -"I know all about him, thanks," said Yorke sternly. "What I want -is Lisle's address." He thought a moment, then said slowly and -impressively--"When he calls next--he may do so to-day, any hour--be -sure and get the address. Wire it to me at the Dorchester, and at once." - -"Certainly, my lord," said Arnheim; "and about the pictures?" - -"Buy two or three, give him his own price for them. But, mind, keep my -name out of the business!" and he ran down the stairs and jumped into -the cab again, telling the man to drive back to the club. - -"I'll stick there till Leslie's telegram comes," he said between his -teeth, "if I stay there till doomsday." - -He was consumed by anxiety. Leslie in London, and he did not know -where! Good Heavens, could the telegram have miscarried? Was anything -wrong? He tried to remain cool and confident, but he looked as he got -out of the cab like a man oppressed by a terrible presentiment. - -On the steps of the club stood Grey. - -"Hallo!" said Yorke. "Grey!" - -Grey touched his hat. - -"I've been to Bury Street, my lord, and Fleming sent me here. His grace -is back, and would be glad if you could come and see him." - -Yorke hesitated, and was on the point of sending a message to say that -he would come presently--to-morrow; then it occurred to him that the -duke had come from Portmaris, and that he might have some news of the -Lisles. - -"All right," he said, "I'll come at once. Keep the cab." - -He ran up the steps to the porter. - -"That telegram?" - -"Nothing, my lord, for you as yet." - -With something like a groan Yorke went slowly down the steps again and -into the cab. - -Leslie! Where was she? Why--why had she not wired as she promised? - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -"GONE, AND LEFT NO ADDRESS." - - -The ducal house in Grosvenor Square was not seldom referred to as an -instance of the extreme of luxury which this finish of the century -had attained to. It was an immense place, decorated by one of the -first authorities, with ceilings painted by a famous artist, and walls -draped by hangings for which the Orient had literally been ransacked. -The entrance hall was supposed to be the finest in the kingdom. It -was of marble and mosaic; a fountain plashed in the center, and the -light poured through ruby-tinted glass and warmed with a rose blush -the exquisite carvings and statuary. At the end of the hall rose -broad stairs of pure white marble, in the centre of which was laid a -Persian carpet of such thick pile that footsteps were hushed. Stately -palms stood here and there, relieving the whiteness of the marble and -'breaking the corners.' The staircase led to the first corridor, which -ran round the hall, and upon the walls of this corridor hung pictures -by the great English masters. The family portraits were at Rothbury. -The state rooms were on the ground floor, and were on a par in the way -of luxury and magnificence with the hall. Altogether it was a very -great contrast to Marine Villa, Portmaris. - -Yorke followed Grey to the hall, and was ushered into a room behind the -state apartments. - -It was a small room, and, compared with the rest of the house, plainly -furnished in oak. There were bookshelves and a large writing table, -and one of those invalid couches which are provided with bookrests and -an elaborate machinery which enables one to move the couch by merely -pressing a lever. - -On this couch lay the Duke of Rothbury. Though the day was warm, a fire -burned in the grate, and a superb sable rug was tumbled on the couch as -if the invalid had pulled it off and on restlessly. Three or four books -lay on the floor, but he was not reading, and he looked up sharply as -Yorke entered, and did not speak until Grey had closed the door upon -them. - -Then, as he held out his hand and his keen eyes scanned Yorke's face, -he said: - -"Do you think I have sent for you to crow over you, Yorke?" - -Yorke stood and looked down at him for a moment without replying; then -he said vaguely: - -"Crow over me? What do you mean, Dolph?" - -The duke raised himself on his elbow. - -"Sit down," he said; "you look tired and knocked up. Is anything the -matter?" - -Yorke sank into a chair and avoided the keen eyes. - -"Matter? What should be the matter?" he said evasively. "You don't look -quite the thing; but I suppose the journey took it out of you?" - -"Yes, it was the journey," said the duke dryly. - -"Isn't it rather a pity that you left Portmaris?" said Yorke after a -slight pause. "It was a pretty place, and healthy and all that, and I -thought you rather liked it than otherwise." - -"It's a pity I ever went there," responded the duke grimly. - -Yorke looked up suddenly and caught the eyes fixed on him half -pityingly. - -"Why so?" he asked. "I should say you were the better for the -change----." - -"And I should say I was so much the worse," broke in the duke. "And now -we have fenced with each other and beat about the bush, Yorke, don't -you think we'd better be open and above board?" - -"What do you mean?" - -The duke raised himself a little higher, and worked the lever of the -couch so that he brought himself facing Yorke. - -"Why do you look as if you were waiting for a sentence of life or -death, Yorke?" he said quietly. "You look as anxious and harried and -worn as a man might look who stood on the brink of ruin. Have you heard -from her?" he added quietly but sharply. - -"Heard from whom?" said Yorke with averted eyes. - -"From Miss Lisle--Leslie," said the duke. - -Yorke raised his eyes quickly. - -"You know----?" he said. - -"Yes, I know all," said the duke gravely, almost sympathetically. -"And--yes, I am sorry for you, Yorke! No, I don't mean to crow over -you, though my prophesy has come true, and my estimate of her--and her -sex generally--has proved the correct one. I am not going to indulge -in the delicious luxury of remarking, 'I told you so!' I'll spare you -that. Indeed, I haven't the heart to do it, for to tell you the truth -I had been hoping all along that my prophesy would be falsified, and -that your faith in her would be established. But it wasn't to be. Who -is it says that a woman can be beautiful, lovable, magnanimous, clever, -everything--but true?" - -Yorke looked at him with a harassed and perplexed frown. - -"What the devil are you talking about, Dolph?" he said. - -The duke sat up and scanned the face before him in silence for a moment -or two, then said: - -"Is it possible that you don't know?" - -"Don't know what?" demanded Yorke impatiently. "What are you talking -about? I beg your pardon, Dolph, but--but I'm rather worried and upset -about--something, and I'm short-tempered this morning. I've been -expecting an important telegram for the last two days and it hasn't -turned up, and--there, don't mind me, but go on and explain what you -were saying about Les--Miss Lisle. I can't make head or tail of it!" - -"From whom are you expecting a telegram, Yorke? Shall I make a guess -and say the young lady herself?" - -Yorke thought a moment, the color mounting to his face, then he looked -the duke straight in the eyes. - -"Yes, it was from her, Dolph," he said. "I'd better make a clean breast -of it. You'd get it out of me somehow or other if I didn't own up, for -I'm too worried to keep on guard. It is from Leslie I'm expecting that -telegram, and--and--Well, look here, Dolph, take it quietly. I've asked -her to be my wife, and--and she's consented." - -He waited a moment, expecting to see the duke start up and fly into one -of his paroxysms, but the duke leant upon his elbow and looked at him -with a grave and pitying regard. - -"I know that," he said. - -"You--knew--that--that I had asked her, that she had agreed to come up -to London and marry me on the quiet?" exclaimed Yorke, staring at him. -"She told you?" - -"No, she did not tell me that you had arranged a clandestine marriage," -said the duke quietly, "but she confessed that you had asked her to be -your wife. And so you were going to marry her secretly? Was that--was -that straight of you, Yorke?" - -There was a touch of gentle reproach in the tone that made Yorke wince. - -"Put it that way, it wasn't, Dolph," he said. "But look how I am -placed. I am up to my ears in debt. Yes, I know I ought to be -ashamed of myself, but there it is, you see! And if it got out that -I was marrying without money the blessed Jews would be down on me, -and--and--I knew you wanted me to--to marry someone else, and that I -couldn't count on you; and so--and so I thought Leslie and I would get -spliced quietly and wait till things had blown over, and----." - -The duke dropped back on the couch, but kept his eyes fixed on the -harassed, anxious face. - -"My poor Yorke! You must love her very much." - -Yorke flushed red. - -"Love her--!" he broke out, then he pulled himself up. "Look here, -Dolph, I love her so much that if I knew that by marrying her I should -have to drive a hansom cab or sweep a crossing for the rest of my life, -I'd marry her!" - -He got up and strode to and fro, his eyes flashing. - -"I tell you that life wouldn't be worth living without her. Why, why," -his voice rang low and tremulous, "I cannot get her out of my thoughts -day or night. I see her face before my eyes, hear her voice always. -It's Leslie, Leslie, and nothing else with me! I know now, I can -understand now why a man cuts his throat or pitches himself off the -nearest bridge when he loses the woman he loves. I used to laugh at -the old stories, at the Othello and Romeo and Juliet business, but I -understand now! It's all true, every word of it! I'd rather die any day -and anyhow than lose her. And--and there you are! You see, Dolph," with -a kind of rueful smile, "I'm as far gone as a man can be; just raving -mad. But it's a madness that will last my life." - -"I hope not," said the duke gravely. "Yorke, I am sorry for you. I did -not know that the thing had gone so far. I have bad news for you." - -"Bad news!" echoed Yorke. - -"Yes. As I said, I was right in my estimate of Leslie Lisle, and you -were wrong. She knows all, Yorke, and----." He paused and shrugged his -bent shoulders. - -"She knows all?" said Yorke, almost stupidly. "What do you mean?" - -"She discovered the deceit, the trick, we had played upon her. How, -I do not know. Perhaps she came across a peerage, or a society paper -referring to the 'crippled Duke of Rothbury,' or Grey may have let slip -a word in her hearing which revealed the secret. Who can say? After -all, it was wonderful that we succeeded in keeping up the deceit so -long. She was bound to discover the truth sooner or later." - -Yorke gazed at him with a troubled face. - -"You mean that she discovered that you were the duke and not I?" he -said. - -The duke nodded. - -"Yes. She came to me early in the morning, so pale and changed, so -thoroughly overwhelmed with disappointment----." - -"Hold on," broke in Yorke. "Disappointment? Do you mean that she was -disappointed that I was not the duke, that she was cut up, that she -cared one straw?" - -"My dear Yorke, if you had seen her you would have been as astonished -and as full of remorse as I was--though the trick was not yours, but -mine. I told her so, I took all the blame, but it was of no use to -plead for you. She was broken down with the agony of disappointment. -If, as you say, you had arranged a secret marriage with her, she looked -upon herself as already the Duchess of Rothbury, and to have the cup -dashed from her lips! My dear Yorke, one must make all allowance for -her. Human nature is human nature all the world over, especially -feminine human nature----." - -Yorke's face went from white to red and from red to white again. - -"You are talking rot, utter rot, Dolph!" he said. "Leslie--Leslie -Lisle--cut up and knocked over because she was not going to be a -duchess! Ha, ha!" and he laughed scornfully. "How well you know her! -she wouldn't care a pin; I've told you so half a dozen times! Why, she -was shrinking from the idea of being a duchess; would have refused me -for being what I thought I was, if--if--well, if she hadn't cared for -me as she does, God bless her!" - -He turned his head away and his eyes grew moist. - -The duke watched him gravely. - -"You doubt my word, Yorke?" - -"No, no! But I say you are mistaken. There was something else." - -"What else, what other cause could there be? No, I tell you that it was -the agony of disappointed ambition----." - -Yorke laughed again. - -The duke flushed. - -"Come," he said, "you will not credit my statement, or rely on my -judgment. Perhaps you are right. A man should have faith in the purity -and single-mindedness of the woman he loves. But facts are stubborn -things." - -"Facts?" - -"Yes! She had arranged to come up to London to you--to send to you. I -don't know what plans you made, but I can imagine them. I know how I -should have arranged in your case. Well, she is in London, or has been, -and has she sent to you, has she met you as she promised?" - -Yorke gazed at him with a half doubtful, half scornful expression. - -"No," he said at last. "But--but there has been some mistake, blunder, -on somebody's part. The telegram has miscarried. She may not have been -able to send it. You know how closely she waits upon her father; she -may not have been able to get out----." - -The duke shook his head. - -"My dear Yorke, her last words to me were a distinct farewell to me -and to you. I've not the least doubt in the world that the person who -informed her that you were not the duke had also told her that you were -heavily in debt, and in Queer Street generally, and that she saw how -foolish it would be to throw herself away and ruin her whole life by -making an imprudent marriage." - -Yorke uttered an oath. - -"By heaven, Dolph, if it were anybody else but you who talked of her -like this I'd--I'd make him take his words back!" - -The duke sighed. - -"Even if I were your equal in strength, and we bashed each other, it -wouldn't alter the truth a hair's breadth," he said sadly and wearily. -"And the truth is as I prophesied weeks ago and state now. Leslie, -learning that you were not the Duke of Rothbury, has thrown you over!" - -"The truth! It's a foolish and cruel lie!" exclaimed Yorke, his eyes -blazing, his hands clenched. "You always misjudged her, you were -prejudiced against her, from the first----." - -The duke put his hand as if to stop him, but the passionately indignant -voice rang out: - -"From the first! She is as pure and high-minded as--as an angel, but -you had made up your mind that she was a mercenary schemer, and not -even the being with her, and knowing her, and seeing her every day, -disabused your mind and opened your eyes to the wrong you were doing -her! Yes, you were against her from the first. You'd made your mind up. -That ridiculous idea of yours that all women are greedy and hungry for -wealth and a title has become a monomania with you, and your mind has -got as twisted as your body!" - -He stopped aghast and breathless. The words--the cruel words--had -slipped out on the torrent of his indignation before be scarcely knew -or realized their cruel significance. - -The duke sank back, and put his hand to his eyes, as if Yorke had dealt -him a physical blow. - -Yorke hung his head. - -"Forgive me, Dolph," he said in a low voice. "I--I did not mean----." - -The duke dropped his hands from before his face. - -"Let that pass," he said in a low voice. "You did not mean it. It is -the first unkind word you have ever----. But no matter! You say that I -was prejudiced, that I wronged her. Yorke, you have forced my hand, and -to show you that you have wronged me, I must tell you all. Yorke----," -he paused, and his eyes dropped, then he raised them, and looked -steadily into Yorke's--"I loved her!" - -Yorke started. - -"You!" - -The duke plucked at the sable rug for a moment to silence, then he went -on-- - -"Yes! I should not have told you, should never have confessed it, -even to myself, but for--what you said. It is the truth. I loved her! -What!" and he leant forward, his thin, wasted face flushed, his lips -trembling. "Do you think that it is given to you only to appreciate -such beauty and grace and sweetness as Leslie Lisle's? You remind me -that I am crooked, twisted, deformed----." - -"Dolph!" - -"But do you think, because I am what I am outwardly, that I have no -heart? God, who sees below the surface, knows that there beats in my -bosom a heart as tender, as hungry for love, as quick to love as yours! -Ah, and quicker, hungrier! And I loved her! Loved her with a love as -strong and passionate as yours!" He stopped for want of breath. - -Yorke sank into a chair and turned his face away. - -"And you did not guess it? Well, that is not surprising, for I strove -hard to hide it from even myself. I knew that it was madness to hope -that I might win her love! But I knew that if I had offered myself in -my right colors she would have accepted me, bent, twisted, deformed, -mockery of a man as I am!" - -Yorke groaned. - -"And--and--" he stopped, and seemed to be struggling with -something--"and I was tempted! Yes, I was tempted the morning she came -to me and told me that she knew, was tempted to tell her that she might -still be a duchess, that I loved her and would marry her!" - -Yorke sprang to his feet. - -"Sit--sit down," said the duke hoarsely, and Yorke sank down again. -"But I resisted the temptation. I left her without a word, without a -look or sign by which she could know the truth. I had to bear it. It is -a burden which crushes, which tortures me! Even since I left the cursed -place the temptation has assailed me at intervals, and once or twice I -have almost resolved to write--to go down to her--and offer her that -upon which she has set her woman's heart--the ducal coronet--for which -even a Leslie Lisle will sell herself!" - -Yorke opened his lips, but the duke by a gesture stopped him again. - -"Now you know the whole truth. If you have to suffer, so also have -I. And my lot will be worse than yours. You--" he looked at him, not -enviously, but with a sad admiration--"you will get over this--will -forget her----." - -"No, no!" - -"Yes. There are other women whose love you may win. There is one -already." He paused. "Yes, if one nail drives out another, so one love -may drive out, wipe out all remembrance of another. And so it is with -you. But I!" He dropped back and covered his face with his hands. -"For me there can be no such hope. The door of love, the gates of the -earthly paradise are shut against me, and will remain shut while I -live. To me the Fates say mockingly, 'Rank, wealth, station, we give -you, but the love of woman, that supreme gift of the gods to man, thou -shalt never know it!'" - -There was silence for a moment, then he raised himself on his elbow. - -"Yorke, you must bear your burden. Forget her. It will be hard. Don't -I know how hard? To forget Leslie--those sweet gray eyes, with their -melting tenderness, that low, musical voice! But you must forget her. -As I said, there are others. There is one. Eleanor----." - -Yorke sprang to his feet. - -"Forget her! Forget Leslie! What are you talking about? We must be -mad, both of us; you to talk as you have done, and I to listen! She's -as true as steel! I shall find a telegram waiting for me at the club, -and--and all will turn out right." - -The duke regarded him gravely. - -"Go and see," he said quietly. "If you do not find a message from her, -what will you do?" - -Yorke looked at him. - -"Though my body's twisted, my brain is straighter and more acute than -yours," said the duke with a smile, "and I will tell you what to do. -Wire to the landlady at the house they lived in, Sea View. What was the -woman's name?" - -"Merrick," said Yorke. - -"Yes, Merrick. Ask if the Lisles are there, and if not, for their -address. Pay for the return message and all charges. But I can tell you -the result at once." - -"The result? What?" - -"You will not find her. She does not intend that you should. With all -her beauty and grace and sweetness, she, even she, even Leslie! being -a woman, is too worldly wise to marry Yorke Auchester now that he is a -duke no longer." - -Yorke caught up his hat and laughed hoarsely. - -"I'll soon prove you wrong!" he said. - -"And if you do not? If you prove that I am right?" asked the duke, -looking at him steadily. - -Yorke stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. - -"Then--then--" he stopped and swore--"then you may do what you like -with me; marry me to whom you please, when you please, send me to the -devil----." - -He strode through the marble hall and called a cab. He ran up the steps -of the Dorchester and confronted the patient Stephens. - -"There's a telegram for me now, Stephens. Name of 'Yorke,' you know. - -"No, sir, nothing for you," was the reply. - -He turned at once, and going straight to the telegraph office in Regent -Street, sent the following telegram to Mrs. Merrick: - -"If Miss Lisle is not at Portmaris, send her address to Yorke, Regent -Street Post Office. Reply, paid, at once." - -"I'll wait," he said. - -"It may be an hour, sir," said the young lady clerk. - -"I'll wait if it's ten hours," he said. - -He waited for an hour and a half, and then they handed him this: - -"Mr. and Miss Lisle have gone and left no address." - -He walked from the post office to Grosvenor Square with the telegram -crushed in his hand, and went straight to the duke's room. He was still -lying on the couch, and he did not lift his head as Yorke entered. - -"Well?" he said. "But I need not ask. You are convinced?" - -Yorke flattened out the telegram and dropped it into the duke's hand. - -"No address! Here in London, and I do not know where to look for her!" -he said hoarsely. - -"Convinced! No! No!" - -Then his voice broke, and he sank into the chair by the table and -dropped his head upon his arms. - -The duke sighed. - -"My poor Yorke! Oh, woman, woman! God sent you as a blessing, and you -have proved a curse!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -"I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO SAVE HIM." - - -Lady Eleanor reached Palace Gardens and went straight to her boudoir -and flung herself on a couch. - -To women of her class come very few such adventures as that which -had happened to her this morning. From their cradles, through their -girlhood, and indeed all through their lives, they are so hedged in and -protected from the world outside the refined and exclusive circle in -which they move, that there is little chance of their coming in contact -with other than their own set. - -She had seen Finetta on the stage of the Diadem, had heard of her, read -of her, knew that Yorke Auchester's name was in some way connected with -her, but she had never dreamed that a meeting with her would be even -possible, much less probable. - -And now she had not only met with her, but talked and listened to her. - -The fact that she had done so filled her with shame and confusion. -What would her friends and relatives think if they knew? What would -Godolphin, the duke, say if he were told that she had not only engaged -in conversation with this Finetta, but actually entered into a kind of -compact and conspiracy with her. - -But she soon dismissed this part of the case and allowed herself to -think only of the information Finetta had given her. - -Yorke going to be married! - -She would almost as soon have heard that he was going to die. Indeed, -death would not more completely remove him for her, would not set up a -more surmountable barrier between them than a marriage. For if he were -to die, she could still think and dream of him as hers; whereas, if he -married, he would belong in this world and the next to another woman. - -And such a woman! Finetta had spoken of this Leslie Lisle as if she -were an uncultivated, half-educated country girl. - -Lady Eleanor could imagine what she was like; some simpering, -round-faced girl, just a step above a laborer's daughter. One of these -girls who blushed with timidity and fright when they were spoken to, -who spoke in a strong provincial dialect, who dressed like a dowdy and -looked just respectable; something between a servant and a shop girl. - -She was pretty, no doubt; but to think that Yorke, Yorke the -fastidious, should be caught by a pretty face! Why, she, Lady Eleanor, -was pretty! She looked at her pale, agitated face, and a kind of -indignant rage consumed her for a moment. She was the acknowledged -belle of many a ballroom. She might have been a professional beauty if -she had cared to be one. She was accomplished, was in his own rank and -class, a fitting mate--yes, she told herself with inward conviction, a -fitting mate for him. - -With her by his side, as his wife, he could have filled a conspicuous -place in the world, their world, the upper ten thousand, the rulers and -masters. - -And he had passed her by and was going to marry a half-educated, -uncivilized, uncultivated country girl, with pink cheeks and a -simpering smile. - -The thought drove her half mad. Finetta had said that she had tried to -prevent it, and that it now rested with her, Lady Eleanor, to make an -attempt. - -Lady Eleanor shuddered and reddened with shame at the idea of being a -conspirator with such a one as Finetta of the Diadem. And yet was not -the object to be attained worthy of even such means? - -She would not ask herself why Finetta desired to stop the marriage; she -put that question away from her resolutely, and told herself that it -was of Yorke and Yorke's welfare alone that she was thinking. - -A servant came up to announce visitors, but Lady Eleanor answered -through the locked door that she wasn't at home. - -"I will only see Mr. Ralph Duncombe," she said, and she longed for his -presence with a feverish impatience; though she had no fixed plan in -her mind, nothing but a vague idea that Ralph Duncombe, the cute city -man, might be able to help her. - -About six o'clock the servant announced him, and she had him shown -up to her boudoir. She had had time to collect herself and regain -composure, to change her dress for a tea gown and do her hair; but her -face was pale and still showed traces of the terrible agitation which -she had suffered, and Ralph Duncombe as he took her hand looked at her -inquiringly. - -"I am afraid you have found the heat trying, Lady Eleanor. I hope you -are well," he said, in his grave, sedate voice. - -"Thank you, yes," she said; "I am well, quite well. But I am--what is -the term you city men use when you want to say that you are worried? -Pray sit down," and she pointed to a chair so placed that she could see -his face while hers was against the light. - -"We find 'worried' good enough for us, Lady Eleanor; but we are worried -so often that we think little of it and take things very much as they -come." - -"Ah, then I envy you!" she said with a genuine sigh. "I am afraid you -will think me very inconsiderate in sending for you, you who have so -much to occupy your time and energies." - -"I am always glad to be of some slight service to you," he said with -grave courtesy, "and can always spare time to come to you when you -send for me. Is anything the matter? Are you anxious about the Mining -Company? You have no cause to be, for everything is going on remarkably -well, and succeeding beyond my expectations. Some of the best men in -the city have joined us, and, as I wrote to you, the shares already -stand at a high premium. You have made a very large sum of money, Lady -Eleanor, and are on the way to making a still larger." - -"Money, money!" she exclaimed. "It is always money. You talk as if it -were the one and only thing desirable and worth having! And, after all, -what can it buy? Can it buy the one thing on which one's heart is set? -Have you found it so all-powerful that you set such store by it?" - -His face flushed and a singular look came into his eyes. - -"I--I beg your pardon!" she said hurriedly and almost humbly. "I did -not mean to be impertinent or obtrusive; but just now I am in trouble -in which I think even the all-powerful money will be powerless." - -"Tell me what it is," he said in a low voice, and rather absently, as -if the hasty words she had just spoken were still haunting him. "That -is, I suppose you sent to consult me about it?" - -"Well--yes," said Lady Eleanor more calmly, but with her color coming -and going. "I sent to you because you are the only friend I have whom -I should care to consult about this--this trouble. Because I feel that -you will understand, and, what is more important, not misunderstand me, -or--or my motives." - -"I will do my best to understand and sympathize, Lady Eleanor," he -said, watching her, yet without seeming to do so. - -"You remember," she said after a pause, during which she was seeking -for some way of beginning the subject as if it were not of much -importance after all. "You remember Yorke Auchester, Lord Yorke -Auchester?" - -He inclined his head, suppressing a look of surprise. - -"Certainly," he said. "That is, I remember--I could not fail to do -so--that I have purchased his debts, to a very large sum, on your -behalf." - -"Yes," she said nervously, "and I daresay--I know--that you have -wondered why I have done so." - -He kept silence, but raised his eyebrows slightly. - -"Well," she went on, "it was to save him from trouble. He is a great -friend of mine; his cousin, the duke, and I are great friends. But -you know all this! And now I want to do something more for--for Lord -Auchester." - -He looked up. Her face was red one moment and pale the next, but she -kept her eyes--the half-proud, half-appealing eyes--upon his. - -"He is in great trouble and--and danger. A worse danger than a monetary -one." - -He smiled. - -"Can there be worse?" he said with a city man's incredulity. "We live -in a prosaic age, Lady Eleanor, from which we have dismissed the -midnight assassin and all the other romantic perils which made life -and history so interesting in the middle ages; and the only dangers we -run now are from a railway or steamboat accident----." - -She tried to listen to him patiently. - -"It is not that kind of danger I was thinking," she said. "Is it not -possible for a man to--to ruin and wreck his life in--many ways, Mr. -Duncombe?" - -He looked at her still half smilingly. - -"Oh, yes, a man may enlist as a common soldier, or forge a check, or -marry his cook; but I do not imagine that there is any risk of Lord -Auchester committing any of these--shall we say, follies?" - -"Of all the things you have mentioned, it seems to me that the last is -the worst," said Lady Eleanor bitterly. - -"Yes?" - -He raised his brows again. - -"At any rate it is punished more severely than the others," she said. - -"Yes," he assented thoughtfully. "But," and he smiled, "Lord Auchester -does not contemplate marrying his cook, does he?" - -"His cook? No; but he is in danger of marrying almost as far beneath -him!" The retort flashed from her with hot hauteur. "Mr. Duncombe, when -a man of Lord Auchester's station marries beneath him he is as utterly -ruined, his life is as completely wrecked, as if he had committed -forgery or enlisted as a common soldier." - -He leaned back and listened with sedate politeness, wondering whither -all this was leading, and what it was she would ask him to do. - -"A man of Lord Auchester's rank has only one life--the social one. -He has no business, no profession to fall back upon, to employ his -thoughts, to engross and solace him. He must mix in the world to which -he belongs, and he can only do so as an equal with his fellows. When he -marries he is expected to take for a wife a lady of his own rank, or -at any rate, a lady who is accepted as such in the circle to which he -belongs. She must be one whom his friends can receive and visit, one of -whom neither he nor they will be ashamed. His life may then continue -in its old course; he will still have his friends and relatives round -him, still have his place in the world, his niche, be it a high or a -moderately high one, and all will be well with him." - -She paused for breath, and put her hand to smooth back the delicate -silken hair from her fair forehead. - -"But if he should so far forget himself and all he owes to society as -to marry beneath him--then, as I say he is utterly wrecked and undone. -His friends will not receive his wife, or if they do it is with a -coldness which she and he cannot fail to notice and resent. He sees -them look pityingly, scornfully upon the woman he has made his wife, -and he feels that he cannot take her amongst them. So he drifts from -his own class, and either sinks into the one below it--where he is -wretchedly miserable, or lives like a hermit. In the latter case he has -plenty of time in which to get tired of his life and of the woman who -has, in all innocence, severed him from all his old associates and, -still in all innocence, has degraded him. The result, be it quick or -slow in coming, is invariably the same. He is always thinking of the -sacrifice he has made in marrying her, she is always conscious that he -is so thinking, and sooner or later they grow to weary of and hate each -other. She has ruined him, wrecked his life, and both know it! I am not -speaking by theory; I have seen it, seen it in half a dozen cases, and -I say that a man had better throw himself into the Thames than marry -beneath him." - -She dropped back in her low chair and put her hand to her head. She had -talked swiftly, passionately, and her brow was burning. - -Ralph Duncombe looked up. - -"All you say is very true, no doubt, Lady Eleanor. And Lord -Auchester----." - -"Is thinking of making such a match," she said in a low voice. - -Ralph Duncombe looked at the carpet. - -"It scarcely seems--pardon me--scarcely seems credible. I do not know -Lord Auchester, but from what I have heard of him I should think he -would be the last man to be blind to the consequences of contracting -a marriage with a lady who was considered his inferior in the social -scale." - -"Ah, yes!" she said with a sigh. "So anyone who knew him would have -said; but--but--in this matter even the wisest men are fools." - -He smiled gravely. - -"Yes, fools!" she said bitterly; "they are caught by a pretty face, a -look in the eyes, a curve on the lip, a dimple in the cheek----." She -rose and took one or two paces, as if her impatience would not permit -of her sitting still any longer. "At any rate, Lord Auchester has been -so caught!" she wound up suddenly. - -"And you wish----?" - -"Ah, I scarcely know," she answered, stretching out her hands. "He is -doing this thing secretly. He is keeping it from his friends. From the -duke, from--from me, from all of us." - -"Then he is half ashamed of it?" he suggested. - -"Perhaps so," she said. "Perhaps so. But if he has made up his mind -to do it he will go through with it, in spite of all arguments and -attempts to dissuade him. Yorke--" she used his Christian name -unconsciously--"Yorke is one of the sweetest tempered men--you can -lead him with a silken thread, until he has resolved to do anything; -then----." She had turned to him and looked at him beseechingly. "Can -you help me, us; his friends, I mean, generally? He is so popular, so -much liked. It would be a shame and a sin that such a one should be -wrecked and ruined. In such a case a man should be saved in spite of -himself. Can nothing be done? I sent for you, because you have always -helped me, have always been so kind----." She stopped and turned her -head away. - -Ralph Duncombe regarded her with grave surprise. - -"I am very sorry," he said slowly, as a lawyer speaks to a client to -whom he has been listening patiently. "But I do not see how you can act -in the matter. You might try persuasion----." - -She shook her head. - -"Ah, you do not know Lord Auchester!" she said. - -"I scarcely see what else you can do. He's of age, and his own master, -and the lady is of age, I presume. You could scarce bring any pressure -upon her?" - -Lady Eleanor shook her head scornfully. - -"It is scarcely to be expected that she would be induced to release -him. In these cases the woman is generally a low-bred schemer, or some -simple girl who believes that she and the man she is ruining are in -love. Oh, no; nothing can be done with her! Besides, I know--" she -was going to say, "I know one who has tried and failed," but stopped -suddenly. - -"Well, then," said Ralph Duncombe, "I fear that I can suggest nothing. -After all, if Lord Auchester is resolved upon committing social -suicide----." - -"Oh, it is terrible, terrible!" she exclaimed in a low, agitated voice; -"and I thought you would be able to help me." - -"I am very sorry at being so useless," he put in. - -"I thought that perhaps these bills you hold for me--that they would -give you some power over him," and she colored and cast her eyes down. - -He smiled. - -"There is no longer arrest for debt, Lady Eleanor," he said. "They say -there is no longer imprisonment, but that is not true. They imprison -still, but they call it for contempt of court. Ah, it is a pity we -are not living in the dark ages! We could have set an ambush for Lord -Auchester, seized him bodily, and cast him into a dungeon below the -moat until he had come to his senses; but there is an absurd prejudice -against that kind of thing nowadays." - -She drew a long breath, and, taking her silence as an acceptation of -the fact that he could be of no use to her, he reached for his hat and -prepared to go. - -"I suppose it is the usual thing," he said sympathetically. "Some girl -of the lower middle class has attracted him, and she and her parents -have succeeded in obtaining a promise of marriage from him. It is not -an uncommon case." - -Lady Eleanor had sunk into the chair again, and answered languidly, for -the excitement was beginning to tell upon her. - -"I do not know the details of the affair. It is very probable. The -girl's name is Lisle, Leslie Lisle----." - -"What!" The exclamation broke from him with the suddenness of a gunshot. - -Lady Eleanor looked up, but he had turned and stood at a little -distance with his back to the window; and, though pale as usual, his -face was set and calm. - -"I--beg your pardon, I did not quite catch the name," he said. He spoke -very slowly, enunciating each word distinctly, as if he were uncertain -of his voice. "I did not quite catch the name." - -"Leslie Lisle," said Lady Eleanor. "He met her at a place called -Portmaris. You may remember that I mentioned it to you when you were -here some weeks ago." - -"Yes--I--remember," he said, in just the same slow, mechanical voice. -He put his hat down and sat with tightly set lips and eyes fixed on the -carpet. - -Lady Eleanor looked at his grave, set face, waiting. - -"Have you thought of anything, any plan by which the marriage could be -prevented?" she asked anxiously. - -He was silent for a moment or two, then, without looking up, he said: - -"And they are to be married secretly?" - -"Yes," and her face flushed and paled. - -"And at once?" he asked, and she thought his voice was strangely hoarse. - -"At once, I--I am told." - -"At once," he repeated, as if to himself. "Lady Eleanor, I see a carafe -of water on that side table; will you allow me----." He rose and crossed -the room and drank nearly a glassful of water, while Lady Eleanor -pressed him to allow her to ring for wine. - -"No, no. Water, I prefer water. I am almost a teetotaler. Thanks, -thanks," he waved his hand impatiently, almost imperiously. "And is -that all you know? Do you know the place they are going to be married -at?" - -"No," she said. "Lord Auchester is in London," she added after a -moment; "I saw him this morning." - -He leant his head on his hand so that his face was almost completely -concealed from her. - -"In London. To be married at once," he repeated. He looked up. "I am -thinking, Lady Eleanor----." - -"Oh, yes, yes," she breathed, leaning forward. "I know if you will -only think you will find some way. It is a shame to bother and trouble -you----." - -He smiled grimly. - -"Don't mention it. Let me see." He put his hand to his forehead. "He is -fearfully in debt. Some of those bills are long overdue. Do you think -he means to leave the country?" He asked the question suddenly, with a -flash. - -"I--I don't know. He must, I should think." - -"I see--I see," he said. "Say, don't be too hopeful, too sanguine. -But--well, the law has long claws still, though we have pared them -down pretty considerably. And in the city its claws are longer than -elsewhere. That's an anomaly, but it's true. In a city court of law you -can do strange things. For instance, if a man owes me money and I go -and swear that I have reason to believe that he is intending to leave -the country--to abscond, in short--the court has an almost forgotten -power to stop that man. The machinery is antiquated and rusty, but--but -it may be made to work." He rose. A strange light was burning in his -eyes, a hectic flush on his pale and rather hollow cheeks. "Lady -Eleanor----." - -"What is it?" she asked, almost frightened by the change in his manner, -by the subdued eagerness and earnestness where a few minutes ago was -only polite indifference. - -"Lady Eleanor, if I consent to help you, I can do so on one condition." - -"Yes! What is that?" she asked, trembling a little. - -"That you follow my instructions to the letter. That you leave the -whole matter to me, and offer no opposition to anything I may direct -or do. I see--mark me!--I see a small chance, a slight hope of saving -Lord Auchester from this," he smiled scornfully, "ruinous marriage. It -is but slight, and to do anything with it I must have a free hand. Will -you give it me?" - -"I will," she said. "I would do anything--anything to save him." - -"And so would I!" he muttered, but so low that she did not hear him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -THE NEW LODGER. - - -Some blows which Fate deals us are so severe and crushing that, for a -time, they deprive us of the power of feeling; and of such a nature was -the bereavement which Leslie had suffered. She was simply crushed and -powerless to feel or to act. Fortunately the landlady of the London -lodging-house, and the young doctor, were kind-hearted persons, and -they came to her aid. - -Francis Lisle had quarreled with and separated himself from his people -years ago, and Leslie scarcely knew his relations by name, but she -found the addresses of one or two, and the doctor wrote to them. - -It is a hard world. One can forgive one's relations many sins, but that -of poverty is the unpardonable one; and those of her kin to whom the -doctor wrote doubtless regarded this sudden death of Francis Lisle as -an additional injury dealt to them by that eccentric and unfortunate -man. - -One brother wrote a letter to Leslie expressing the deepest sympathy, -and regretting that a severe attack of the gout would prevent him -attending the funeral, but desiring her to be sure and let him know -if he could do anything for her. A cousin sent his secretary with a -ten-pound note--if it should be needed; and another relative wrote -to say how sorry he was, and that he should, of course, attend the -funeral, and that he hoped and trusted "poor Francis" had left his -daughter well provided for. He added, incidentally, that he himself had -a large family, and had had a great deal of sickness that year; also -that he would have been glad to have taken her into his house if it -had not been so small and already overcrowded. The head of the family -wrote her a short note from a German watering place, saying that he was -in such a wretched state of health that he could not come to England, -excepting at the risk of his life, and that it would probably not be -long before he joined her father in the realms above. - -"Ain't it dreadful, sir?" said the landlady to the doctor. "They don't -seem to have a heart amongst 'em." - -He shook his head. He had seen similar cases. - -"I am afraid Miss Lisle is not very well off," he said. "If she -had been an heiress her relatives would have flocked round her, -overflowing with sympathy and offers of assistance. It is the way of -the world, Mrs. Brown. I fear Miss Leslie will feel this neglect and -cold-heartedness very keenly. We must do all we can for her." - -"Yes, sir, that we will," said the woman, with moist eyes. "As to -feeling it, I don't think dear Miss Lisle feels anything at present. I -could scarcely rouse her to see about her mourning, and it makes one's -heart ache to go into the room and see her sitting there in her plain, -black dress--she would have it so simple and no crape, though I told -her that crape was always worn for a father--sitting there and just -looking before her as if she was too weak and overcome even to think. -It's my opinion, sir, that she scarcely realizes what has happened to -her yet. Since the day he died she hasn't shed a tear. And such a sweet -young soul as she is, and so grateful for the littlest thing one does -for her. But there, she was always the nicest young lady that I ever -took in, always; and if her relations is too proud or too heartless to -look after her, why she shan't want for a friend while Martha Brown has -got a shilling." - -The landlady's graphic description of Leslie's condition was a fairly -truthful one. Day after day Leslie sat with her hands lying listlessly -in the lap of her black dress, her eyes fixed on the trees in the -square, her sorrow too great for thought. - -If she had overheard the landlady and the doctor discussing her future -she would have listened with perfect indifference. What did it matter -what became of her, or whether she lived or went to join the poor, weak -soul whom she had loved and cherished, and yet--ah, what bitterness -was in the thought!--deceived! If she had not listened to Yorke's -proposal, had not consented to his plan of bringing her to London, her -father might be alive now! It was true that the doctor had assured -her that the weakness of the heart which had been the immediate cause -of death had been latent for some time, and that her father had been a -doomed and sentenced man for years past, and that any shock would have -been sufficient to cause his death; but even this assurance scarcely -softened the poignancy of her remorse. - -It was of her father and his loss that she thought entirely during the -days immediately following her bereavement, and it might be almost said -that she had forgotten Yorke and her great love for him. Almost, but -not quite. It was lying in the centre of her heart, buried for a time -under the load of her anguish and sorrow, but it needed only a sight of -him, only the sound of his name, to arise, like a giant, and reassert -all its old influence over her. - -After a while she began to recover sufficiently to be able to think, to -realize her position, and to look vaguely and indifferently towards the -future. - -The doctor, and the secretary of the great man, had gone into Francis -Lisle's affairs, and discovered that a portion of his small income had -died with him, and that what remained amounted to only a few pounds -a year--not enough, by itself, to keep body and soul together. There -was a little money in hand, but the largest part of that sum consisted -of the fifty pounds paid by Mr. Temple for the picture he had bought; -and Leslie, directly she was able to think, resolved that she would -return the money, though it, and it alone, should stand between her and -starvation. - -There was something else also that she must return--the diamond pendant -which Yorke had given her. - -That, too, must go back. She could not summon up sufficient courage to -take it from its hiding-place as yet; and, indeed, she did not know -where to send it, unless she addressed it to the Dorchester Club, and -it seemed to her that it would be wrong to send so valuable an article -to a club; that she ought to send it to the duke's residence. - -A woman of the world would have been aware that the address of so -well-known a personage as the Duke of Rothbury could be found in a -London directory; but Leslie was anything but a woman of the world, and -felt helpless in her ignorance. - -There was another article which lay in her box beside the diamond -pendant; Ralph Duncombe's ring. - -She remembered that, in a weary, listless way. He had said, when he -placed it in her hand, that if ever she needed a friend, a helper, an -avenger, she had but to send that ring to him and he would come to her -side. But, though she were in the sorest strait in which a woman could -be placed, she would not summon Ralph Duncombe to her aid; for to do so -would be tantamount to engaging herself to him. The mere thought made -her wince and shudder; it was an insult to the love that lay dormant in -her bosom--her love for Yorke. - -One day she got out her money, and spread it on the table and counted -it. With the strictest economy it would not go very far, and it was all -that stood between her and the grim wolf, destitution; for she felt -that she would rather die than appeal for assistance to her father's -relatives. - -"In the struggle for life we forget our dead," says the philosopher; -and the problem of what was to become of her gradually drew her away -from the sad brooding over her bereavement. - -What should she do? She could not dig, and to beg she was ashamed. -The question haunted her day and night as she sat by the window or -walked up and down the room, or lay awake at night, listening to the -multitudinous London clocks striking the hours. One afternoon she -summoned up strength enough to go out, and in her plain black clothes, -with her veil closely drawn over her face, she walked through the -squares into Oxford and Regent Streets. She felt weak and giddy at -first, and soon tired. The vast thoroughfares, and their eager, busy -crowds confused and bewildered her. It seemed to her as if every one -was looking at her, as if every individual of the throng knew of -her trouble, her double loss, and was pitying her; and she turned -homewards, faint in body and spirit. - -As she reached No. 23 she saw a cab standing at the door; the cabman -was carrying a modest box into the house, and as she passed into the -narrow hall a young lady, who was talking with the landlady, made room -for her. - -Leslie concluded that it was a new lodger, and went up to her own rooms -to take up the perpetual problem. What should she do? - -She recalled all the novels she had read in which the heroines had been -left alone in the world, and sought some help from their experiences -and course of action. But most, if not all, these heroines had been -singularly gifted beings, who had at once stepped into fame and fortune -as singers, actors, painters, or musicians; and she, Leslie, knew that -she was not gifted in any of these directions. - -"There is nothing I can do!" she told herself that night as she -undressed herself wearily and hopelessly. "Nothing! I am a cumberer of -the ground!" - -She had tired herself by her walk, and slept the whole night, for the -first time since her father's death; but she dreamed that she was -married to Yorke, and that she was surrounded by a crowd--the crowd she -had seen in Regent Street--and that they called her 'Your Grace' and -'Duchess.' And she woke to a sense of the reality with a heart that -ached all the more bitterly for the pleasant dream. - -Was it years ago, that drive to St. Martin's, when he had sat beside -her and shown her how to hold the reins? Or did it never happen, and -was it only a phantasy of her imagination? - -So great a difference was there between then and now, so wide a -gulf, that only the present seemed real, and the past a vision of a -disordered mind! She unlocked the small box, and took out the diamond -pendant and looked at it, and the scrap of paper with the precious -words "From Yorke" written on it, until the tears blotted them from -her sight; but they had recalled all the joy, the delight, the sacred -ecstasy of the past all too distinctly. - -It was true. She, Leslie Lisle, helpless, friendless, with only a few -pounds between her and want, was the Leslie Lisle who had looked on -that short sunlight of happiness. - -She thought she would make another attempt to go out that morning, and -after dressing slowly, and putting off the dreaded moment of leaving -the house and facing the outside world, she went down the stairs. As -she did so the door of one of the rooms on the floor below hers opened, -and the girl she had seen in the hall yesterday came out. - -She stepped back as she saw Leslie, and seemed about to beat a retreat -back into her own room again, then hesitated, and made a slight bow. - -Leslie returned the bow absently and went out; and it was not until she -had got into the crowded streets that she thought of the girl; then -she remembered that she, too, was dressed in black, and that though -not more pretty, she was modest, and looked like a lady, and wore -eyeglasses. She thought no more of her than this, and after a weary -walk returned home, and rang the bell for some tea. - -When the door opened she was surprised to see the girl instead of Mrs. -Brown; and her surprise must have shown itself in her face, for her -visitor colored and stopped at the threshold. - -"I--I beg your pardon," she said. "I hope you will forgive me, but Mrs. -Brown has sprained her wrist, and she asked me--that is, I offered--to -come instead of her----." - -Leslie rose and looked at her with the half startled expression which -indicated her condition of mind. - -"I--I wanted some tea; but it does not matter," she said in a low voice. - -The new-comer colored. - -"Oh, but I will get it for you," she said. "I will get anything for -you; that is, if you don't mind my doing it instead of Mrs. Brown." - -Leslie looked at her more attentively, and saw a pleasant, amiable face -with eyes beaming softly through eyeglasses perched on a tip-tilted -nose. - -"You are very kind," she said in a low, musical voice. "But I do not -think I ought to trouble you." - -"Oh, it is no trouble, Miss Lisle," said the girl, still standing on -the threshold as if she dared not venture further. - -"You know my name?" said Leslie, with a faint smile. - -"Yes," said her visitor, with a nod half-grave, half-smiling, and -wholly friendly and propitiatory. "Mrs. Brown told me, and--and about -your trouble. I am so sorry! But," as Leslie winced, "I won't talk of -that. I'll see that you have some tea." - -"Will you not come in?" said Leslie. - -The girl came into the room timidly, and took the chair which Leslie -drew forward for her. - -"I think I saw you in the hall yesterday," she said. "You are a lodger, -like myself?" - -"Yes. Oh, yes," replied her visitor, nodding. "And I saw you. I asked -Mrs. Brown who you were, and she told me. I hope you don't think me -inquisitive?" and she colored timidly. - -"No. Oh, no. It was a very natural question," said Leslie. "Will you -tell me your name?" - -"Oh, yes. My name is Somes. Lucy Somes." - -"And you are paying a visit to London?" said Leslie, trying to interest -herself in this pleasant looking girl who had from sheer kindness acted -as the landlady's substitute. - -"A visit?" said Lucy Somes, doubtfully. "Well, scarcely that. I'm -here--" she hesitated--"on business. But I must not keep you waiting -for your tea." - -"My tea can wait until Mrs. Brown can get it," said Leslie. - -"Oh, but I am going to get it for you, unless--" she hesitated, but, -encouraged by Leslie's faint smile, she continued--"unless you wouldn't -mind coming down to my room and taking tea with me. I have just got -mine; and I should be so pleased if you would come." - -Leslie did not respond for a moment or two. Trouble makes solitude very -dear to us. But she fought against the desire to decline. - -"Thank you," she said simply; "I shall be very pleased." - -Lucy jumped up. - -"Come along, then," she said with evident pleasure. - -Leslie followed her downstairs, and Lucy Somes ushered her into the -tiny room which served for bedroom and sitting room. - -"I hope you don't mind," said Lucy, with a sudden blush on her pleasant -face. "But you see I am not rich enough to afford two rooms, and so----." - -"Why should I mind?" said Leslie, in her gentle voice. - -"Oh, I can see you have been used to something better than this," said -Lucy, bustling to and fro as she spoke, and adding another cup and -saucer and plate to the tea things on the small table. "I laughed to -myself when Mrs. Brown said you were a real lady--persons like her -make such mistakes--but I see that she was right. But a lady does not -contemn poverty, does she?" and she laughed as she cut some bread and -butter. - -"Especially when she is poor herself," thought Leslie, but she only -smiled. - -"And so I thought I would venture to intrude upon you," continued -Lucy Somes. "I was half afraid, for you looked so--so--I want a word! -it isn't proud; so aristocratic and reserved I'll say--that I quite -trembled; and it was only by saying, 'she is only a girl and no older -than yourself and all alone and in trouble,' that I plucked up courage -to go up to you." - -"Am I so very terrible?" said Leslie, with the smile that all -Portmaris--and Yorke--had found so irresistible. - -"Not now when you look like that," replied Lucy Somes, "but when you -are grave and solemn, as you were when you passed by me yesterday, you -are very--very--stand-offish. Will you have some sugar in your tea? -I've made some toast. Papa--" she stopped suddenly, then went on in a -subdued voice--"papa used to say that I made toast better than any of -the others. He is dead," she added after another pause; and Leslie saw -the eyes grow dim behind the spectacles. - -She put out her hand and laid it on the girl's arm. - -"Did he----?" - -"Three months ago," said Lucy Somes, sadly, yet cheerily. "He was a -country clergyman down in Wealdshire. He caught a fever visiting a -parishioner. There are seven of us--and mother. I'm the second." - -She poured out the tea while she was speaking, and was obviously -fighting with her tears. - -"Seven of us! Just fancy! Poor mother didn't know what to do! So I came -up to London to fight my way in the world. And I mean to fight it, too! -What awful stuff the London butter is, isn't it? I don't believe there -is a particle of cow's milk in it; do you? Seven of us! Three boys and -four girls. And we're as poor as poor can be. Won't you take some milk, -if one can call it milk?" - -"And you are going to fight the world," said Leslie, with tender -sympathy for this young girl who could be so cheerful under such -circumstances. "What are you going to do?" - -Lucy Somes laughed as she put a fresh piece of toast on the rack. - -"I'm going to be a governess." - -"A governess!" said Leslie. "In a gentleman's family?" - -Lucy Somes shook her head emphatically. - -"Oh, no, thank you! I know what that means! Six young children to -teach, all the mending to do, and heaps of other things for twenty -pounds a year; less than they give their cook! No, no! I am going to be -the mistress of one of the country schools." - -"Yes?" said Leslie vaguely. - -"Yes, I am going to try and get the mistressship of a Board or -Voluntary school in some country place; I couldn't live in London. I -don't seem as if I could breathe here. Every morning I wake and fancy -I have been shut up in a coal mine. Did you ever notice how the smuts -come into the room when you open the window? And that's what London -folks breathe all the time." - -"It does not seem to disagree with them," said Leslie, with a faint -smile. - -"It disagrees with me," retorted Lucy, laughing. "Oh, no, no, give me -the country, with plenty of space to move about, and the flowers and -the birds, and butter that isn't manufactured from fat, and milk that -isn't a mixture of chalk and water. Don't you think it will be very -nice to be the mistress of a school in some pretty village? There is -always a nice little house for one to live in, and perhaps I could -afford to keep a young girl for a servant, and--and--be able to save -some money to send to mother to help her with the rest of us." - -Leslie listened, and her conscience smote her. Here was this girl, no -older than herself, alone in London, and so bravely ready to fight the -great battle; thinking little of herself, and so much of those dear -ones she had left behind. - -"Of course I am rather afraid of the exams," went on Lucy, knowing -somehow that the best thing she could do for this sweet, sad-looking -girl was to talk of herself, and so coax Leslie from dwelling on her -own sorrow. "They are rather dreadful, but I have been working hard, -and I think I shall pass. I'll show you some of my books, shall I--may -I? But you must have your tea first, quite comfortably. It was so kind -of you to come down to me! I was feeling so dreadfully lonely and--and -friendless. London is such a big place to be alone in, isn't it?" - -"Ah, yes!" said Leslie. - -"I tried to make friends with the sparrows," said Lucy, laughing. -"I put some crumbs on the window-sill as breakfast, and they come -and eat them. But they are not like the country sparrows; they look, -somehow, so--disreputable. I suppose it's because they sit up late, -like everybody else in London. All the animals are different; the very -horses look knowing and sharp. Now you shall sit in that easy-chair -while I show you my books." And half timidly she put Leslie in the -chair, and arranged a cushion for her as if she were a great invalid. - -Leslie's tender heart melted under all this gentle sunshine, and when -Lucy, kneeling beside her, opened her books, Leslie found, with a vague -kind of surprise, that she was interested. - -"You see? It is a great many subjects to get up, isn't it? But I'm not -afraid. I should get on faster if some of the girls were here to hear -me repeat some of the most difficult passages; and if--papa were here -to explain things I don't quite understand. He was so clever! There was -nothing he did not know," she added with simple, loving pride. - -"Let me see," said Leslie, taking up a book. "Why should I not help -you, Miss Somes?" - -Lucy colored furiously. - -"Oh, indeed, indeed," she said imploringly. "I did not mean that! I -could not think of allowing you. But how kind of you to offer! Oh, no, -no!" - -"But the kindness will be on your part if you will let me try and be of -some help," said Leslie, with gentle insistence. "I, too, am all alone, -and I have nothing to do--" she smothered a sigh--"and the time seems -very long and weary. I could hear you repeat what you have learned as -well as one of your sisters. I could do that, at least. Let me see. I -am very ignorant; you will soon see that. But I remember something of -this book. I had it at school." - -Lucy would not hear of it for some time, but at last Leslie overcame -her scruples, and with a little blush repeated some of the paragraphs -she had got off by heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE ENCOUNTER. - - -Reading for an exam, even a little one, is awful work. If it were only -one or two subjects which one had to master it would not be so bad; but -when there are six or a dozen then the trouble comes in. As fast as one -subject is learned it is driven out of its place in the memory by a -second, and the second by the third, and so on. Then one has to go back -and begin all over again, until they all get mixed up, and one feels it -will be impossible to ever get them properly sorted and arranged. - -The more Leslie saw of this pleasant-faced, kind-hearted girl, the more -she admired and wondered at her patience and courage. - -They lit the lamp and worked through the evening, though Lucy over -and over again protested that it was both wicked and cruel to take -advantage of Leslie's good nature; and at last she swept all the books -together, and declared that Leslie should not touch another. - -"But if you knew what a help it has been to me!" she exclaimed -gratefully. - -"And to me," said Leslie with a smile. "It is I who ought to be -grateful--and, indeed, I am, for I should have been sitting upstairs -alone with nothing to do but think, think!" - -"Ah, that is the worst of it," said Lucy gravely. "That is why I am -so glad I am obliged to work! You see I haven't the time to think; I -keep on and on, like the man who climbed the Alps--what was his name, -Excelsior?" - -The next morning Lucy knocked at the door. She had got her outdoor -clothes on, and had a bunch of flowers in her hand. - -"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, blushing timidly, "but I have been -for a run. I always go into Covent Garden, and--and I brought some -flowers. I thought you would not mind, would not think it intrusive; -but I am so fond of flowers myself----." - -Leslie made her come in and sit down, while she got a glass for the -flowers. Lucy looked round and saw the easel. Leslie had put the -pictures out of sight. - -"Are you an artist, Miss Lisle?" she asked timidly. - -"No, oh no. It was my father----." - -"Yes, yes. I see," said Lucy quickly. "It is so hard to paint or draw, -isn't it? That is where I shall fail, I expect. You see, I have never -been able to get any tuition. I suppose you can draw?" - -"Yes, a little," said Leslie. - -"And play? But of course!" - -"Yes," said Leslie. - -Lucy sighed, not enviously, but admiringly. - -"It is a pity that it is not you who are going up for the exam instead -of me. It would be so easy for you. They think so much of drawing and -playing and accomplishments generally, I'm told." - -Leslie looked at her half-startled. - -"You think I--I could pass, that I could get a place in a school!" she -faltered. - -Lucy laughed confidently. - -"Oh, yes! Why, easily. But you do not want it, fortunately." - -Leslie looked at her in silence for a minute, then she took out her -purse and turned the money out on the table. - -"That is all I have in the world," she said with a quiet smile. - -Lucy crimsoned, and then turned pale. - -"Oh, I--I beg your pardon. Please--please forgive me!" she said. "I did -not know, I thought----." - -"That I was a princess, a millionairess," said Leslie, smiling. "No, as -you see, I am very poor, and quite--quite alone. I would give something -for a mother and six brothers and sisters, Miss Somes." - -"Oh, don't! Call me Lucy!" Lucy implored timidly. "I am--it is very -wicked!--but I am almost glad that you are not well off! It draws us -nearer, and--and you will not mind? But I like you so much! You are not -angry?" - -Leslie bent down and kissed the resolute little forehead. - -"No, I am only grateful, Lucy," she said in her sweet, irresistible -way. "We two, who are alone in this big London, ought to cling -together, ought we not? You must call me Leslie, and try and think that -I am one of your sisters." - -"That won't be hard," responded Lucy, fervently. "But let me think! You -say----." She paused. "Oh, but you would not like it. It--it would not be -good enough----." - -"What would not be good enough, Lucy?" - -"Why, a place like that I am trying for," said Lucy timidly. - -Leslie sighed. - -"It would be too good to hope for," she said gently. - -Lucy sprang up eagerly. - -"Oh, that is nonsense!" she exclaimed in her half-proud, half-impetuous -fashion. "Why, you could pass easily, and----! Yes! I see it as plainly -as possible! You shall go in for the exam. We will work together! No, -don't shake your head! We should both stand a better chance if we tried -together, for there may be things that I could help you in, and I know -that you could help me. There's the drawing, for instance! Oh, I can -see it all beautifully! and only think, Leslie, perhaps we might get -into the same school! It might be managed! Mother has some influence, -for poor papa's people are well known, and can help us once we have -passed. Now, you shan't say anything against it or shake your head. -Wait!" - -She ran out of the room, and before Leslie could recover from the -varied emotions, the hope, the fear, which Lucy's suggestion had -aroused, Lucy was back with her books and papers. - -"Look here, Leslie dear," she exclaimed, panting, "here is the list of -subjects and the books and everything, and we will start at once. Yes, -at once." - -Leslie still hesitated, but Lucy drew her down to a chair beside the -table, and gently forced her to examine the papers. - -Lucy and her scheme came just in the nick of time, and once Leslie had -commenced she worked with a feverish eagerness which Lucy declared -required the brake. - -"I was just like that myself when I started, though I don't think I was -quite as bad as you are, Leslie dear; but you soon find that the pace -is too fast, as my brothers would say. You can't keep it up, and you -have to slow off into regular work, with regular rests. Come, you must -go out now; it is two days since you left the house, and you must come -out with me. You would soon break down if you kept on at this rate." - -Leslie put down the book she was working at reluctantly, and with a -sigh. - -"I am not tired, I do not care to go out," she said. "While one works -one cannot think, and not to think----." - -She broke off and turned her face away. - -"I know," said Lucy; but she didn't, for she thought Leslie was only -trying not to think of her father. "I know. But if you kept on driving -it off by constant working you would find that you would get no sleep, -and lie awake all night and think, and that is worse than thinking in -the daytime. Come, dear, we will go for a nice long walk, and come back -fresh to the tiresome books." - -"Blessed books, say rather!" said Leslie. But she went and put on her -outdoor things submissively. The two girls had by this time entered -into a kind of partnership. Fate had thrown them together in the -whirlpool of life, and they had decided to cling together to this spar; -the chance of a misstressship in a country school, and to sink or float -together. They joined housekeeping and ate their meals together, and -worked with an amity and friendliness which did credit to both their -hearts. Leslie's was the quicker brain, but Lucy had been working for -some months, and could stick to her task with a dogged perseverance -which Leslie envied, whereas Lucy regarded Leslie with an admiration -and affection which almost amounted to worship. To her Leslie seemed -the epitome of all that was beautiful and sweet and graceful, and if -Leslie had permitted it Lucy would have become a kind of Lady's-maid as -well as fellow-student. - -The afternoon was a hot one, but Leslie wore her veil down, walking -along with absent preoccupied eyes, and only half listening to the -bright, cheery chatter of the brave-hearted girl at her side. - -"After all, London is not bad," said Lucy. "One gets fond of it, -stupidly fond of it, without knowing it. It doesn't seem so hard and -cold-hearted after a while, and I--yes, I really think it is more -friendly than the country. The shops are so bright and cheerful that -they seem to smile at you and tell you to cheer up; and then there's -the noise. I didn't like it at first, but I don't mind it so much now. -It seems like company. Do you know what I mean, Leslie?" - -"Yes," said Leslie absently. She was thinking of what Yorke had said -about London, and how good it was to get away from it. Where was he -now? she wondered. - -"Yes, if I were a rich woman I would have a house in London--not for -the season, oh, no! Fancy all rich and fashionable people leaving the -dear delicious country just when it is beginning to look its very best, -and coming up here into the hot streets and stuffy houses! Though the -parks are pretty, I will admit that. No, I would come up when the days -draw in, and the country lanes are muddy, and the roads dark. Then -London is at its best, with the lighted streets and the theaters and -the warm houses. Yes, Leslie, if I were rich----." She laughed. "How -strange it must seem to anyone who becomes suddenly rich! One hears -of girls marrying wealthy men, and stepping from poverty to luxury. -I suppose it must be confusing and bewildering at first; at least, -to most girls. I don't think it would be to you, Leslie," she added, -glancing up at her with a reflective smile. "I think if you were to -marry a duke you would take it quite calmly and as a matter of course. -Somehow when I am looking at you, when you are bending over the books, -or, better still, when you are standing at the window with your arms -folded and that strange far-away look in your eyes, I think what a pity -it is that you are not a great lady. You are so tall, and--and--what is -the word?--distingué, that I fancy you dressed in white satin with a -long train, and hear you being called 'your grace.'" - -Leslie bit her lip. - -"I am not distingué or so foolish as to believe all you say, Lucy," she -said, scarcely knowing what she said, for the aimless chatter had set -her heart aching; not for the loss of the dukedom, but the man. "Where -are we?" - -Lucy laughed with a gentle triumph. - -"If I don't know half so much of other things as you do, I know London -better," she said. "We are coming out into St. James', and we will walk -into the Park and through Pall Mall, and then take a bus, your grace." - -Leslie stopped and laid her hand on Lucy's arm. - -"Don't--don't call me that," she said, so gravely, almost sternly, that -Lucy looked up half frightened. - -"I beg your pardon. I am so sorry, Leslie, if I----." - -"No, no," broke in Leslie, ashamed of the agitation into which Lucy's -idle badinage had thrown her. "Call me what you like, dear." - -Lucy looked up at her timidly and wonderingly, and was silent; and -Leslie had to force herself to talk to restore her companion's peace of -mind. - -They went into the Park, talking of the future and their chances. - -"It will not be long now," said Lucy. "Oh, how I long for the day when -we shall hold those certificates in our hands! I shall be so proud and -glad that I shall scarcely be able to contain myself. I shall have to -telegraph to mother; it will cost eighteenpence, for they are two miles -from the telegraph office; but I don't care. And you'll wire, too, -Leslie----." - -Leslie shook her head. - -"I have no one to tell," she said; "at least I shall save the -eighteenpence," and she smiled gravely. - -"You will have me, at any rate," murmured Lucy gently, and Leslie pressed -her hand gratefully. - -They wandered in the Park--what a host of memories it calls up to him -who knows his history of London, that same Park!--until the twilight -came, and then turned homewards. - -As they passed down Pall Mall they met the broughams and cabs rolling -home to the West, and Lucy, regarding them with a pleasant interest, -remarked-- - -"They are all going home. It is their dinnertime; see, some of the -women are in evening dress. Yes, it must be nice to be rich and great; -but we are happy, we two, are we not, Leslie dear?" - -"Yes," said Leslie, and she tried to speak the word cheerfully. - -"These are the famous clubs, are they not?" said Lucy, looking up at -the stately buildings, through the windows of which the lights were -beginning to glimmer. - -"Yes," said Leslie. - -"How strange it seems that there should be so many people who have -nothing whatever to do, who have never worked, and who have so much -money as to find it a nuisance, while others have to work every day of -their lives, and all their lives, and have never a spare penny. Look, -Leslie, there are some gentlemen going into that club--I suppose it is -a club. How grand and nice they look in their evening dress! It must be -nice to be a rich gentleman instead of----." - -She broke off suddenly, alarmed by a sharp cry that seemed to force -itself through Leslie's lips. - -They had come within a few yards of the club into which the men Lucy -had noticed had disappeared, and Leslie's absent, preoccupied eyes had -fallen upon another man who was coming towards them. - -He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, but he was walking with a -slow, listless gait, and his head was bent as if he neither knew nor -cared where he was going. - -Leslie knew him in a moment. It was Yorke. - -And yet could it be? Could this weary-looking, listless man with his -hands thrust into his light overcoat pocket, with his drooping head, -be Yorke with the straight broad shoulders, the figure upright as -a dart, the well-poised head, the handsome face with its cheerful -devil-may-care look in the bright eyes? Oh, surely not Yorke, not her -Yorke as she remembered him in the street at Portmaris, on the beach, -beside her on the tower at St. Martin's? - -After that one cry she made no sign, but drew back a step so that Lucy -could screen her from him if he chanced to look up. - -He came towards them like a man walking in a dream, and as he reached -their side he raised his head and looked at them. Leslie had hard work -to keep the cry that rose in her heart from escaping her lips. - -It was Yorke's face; but how changed! How weary and sad and -hopeless--and, yes, reckless! There was that in the dark eyes which -she, an innocent girl, did not understand; but instinctively a pang -went through her heart, and she trembled, she knew not why. - -His eyes, with that strange, awful look in them, rested on their faces -for a moment, then dropped again and he passed on. He went up the steps -of the club, but turned and stood just outside the door, and Leslie, -almost sinking with agitation, hurried on. - -"What is the matter? Leslie dear, you frighten me!" said Lucy. "Are you -ill?" - -"No--yes!" said Leslie. - -She walked swiftly and yet tremblingly up a side street, and stood -there, out of the reach of those eyes, shaking like a leaf. - -"You are ill!" said Lucy, catching her arm. "We have walked too -far--you are tired. Oh, what is it, dear?" - -"Yes, I am tired," said Leslie when she could command her voice. "That -is it. We--we must have a cab. Stay! Not here, come farther up the -street----." - -Lucy called a cab, and Leslie sank back, her hands clasped tightly, her -face white as death behind her veil. - -"You frighten me, Leslie!" said Lucy, holding her hand. "And you look -so frightened yourself. What is it, dear? You look as if you had seen a -ghost." - -"Yes," said Leslie, but in so low a voice that Lucy could not hear her. -"Yes, I have seen a ghost." - -Yorke stood on the steps of the club with downcast face and moody eyes -for some half minute, then the eyes lit up with a sombre light, and -going down the steps he crossed the road and laid his hand sharply on -the shoulder of a man who was lounging against a post. The man looked -up, but he did not appear surprised. - -"You're watching me!" said Yorke, and his voice matched his face--it -was hard and stern. "You have been watching me for the last two days. -Don't trouble to deny it!" - -The man, whose appearance was like that of a respectable servant out -of livery, a butler out of place, for instance, touched his hat. - -"Lord Auchester, I think, sir?" he said coolly, yet not disrespectfully. - -"You know my name well enough," said Yorke a little less sternly, as if -he were too weary to be resentful. "Who are you and what do you want? -I have seen you following me for the last two days. Why do you do it? -What is it?" - -The man took a paper from his pocket, and just touched Yorke's arm with -his finger, as if he were going through some form. - -"I am a sheriff's officer, my lord," he said, "and this is my writ." - -Yorke looked at him and at the paper. - -"What writ?" he said, not angrily, but with obvious indifference. - -"A matter of five bills overdue, my lord. Judgment has been signed a -week ago----." - -Yorke shook his head. - -"You might as well talk Arabic, my man," he said listlessly. "I know -nothing about the law----." - -"Certainly not, my lord," said the man, as if he would not insult his -lordship by suggesting such knowledge. "It isn't to be expected. But -your lordship has had the former summonses----." - -Yorke shook his head. - -"Delivered at you rooms at Bury Street, my lord----." - -"I see," said Yorke. He had not opened a letter that looked like a -business one since--since the hour he had learnt that Leslie had -"jilted" him. "I see. What do you want me to do?" - -"Only to go home, my lord, and put in an appearance to-morrow, at the -court, you know." - -"I don't know," said Yorke. "Why have you watched me?" - -"Well, my lord, we had information--in fact, we've sworn it--that you -intended leaving the country----." - -"I did," said Yorke. - -"Just so, my lord, and I was keeping my eye on you. I could have -arrested you--it's a City process--if you'd attempted to leave one of -the English ports." - -Yorke smiled grimly. - -"You must have had some trouble," he said. - -The man smiled and nodded. - -"Indeed I have, my lord. You nearly walked me off my legs. I never -shadowed such a restless gentleman, begging your lordship's pardon. I -must have walked--oh, law knows how many miles, following you, and it's -a wonder to me we ain't both knocked up." - -Yorke gave him a sovereign. - -"Go home," he said. "You need follow me no longer. I will attend the -court, wherever it is. Stop, what is the name of the man who does all -this, the man I owe the money to?" - -"Mr. Ralph Duncombe, my lord." - -Yorke repeated the name vacantly. - -"I don't know him. I never heard of him," he said. "But it does not -matter. I owe a great many persons money, and he may be one of them. -Good-night," and he walked away, his head down again, his hands in his -pockets. - -The man looked after him with a puzzled countenance, and turned over -the sovereign Yorke had given him. - -"One of the right sort he is," he muttered. "But ain't he down on his -luck? I've seen a good many of 'em in Queer Street, but none of 'em -looked half so bad as that. If I was his friends I should take his -razors away!" - -Yorke reached Bury Street, but before he could ring, the door opened, -and Fleming with a scared face stood before him. - -"Oh, my lord!" he began. "Better not come up--go to the club, my lord, -and I'll bring your things----." - -Yorke put him aside gently and went slowly up the stairs. - -A man--own brother in appearance to the man in the street--was sitting -on the sofa. He got up as Yorke entered, and touched his forehead. - -"Well?" said Yorke. - -"I'm the man in possession, my lord," said the man respectfully enough. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -CLEANED OUT. - - -A man in possession! Yorke looked at him half vacantly. - -"Do you mean that you are going to stop here?" he said--"that you have -got to stop here?" - -"Yes, my lord, I'm sorry to say," said the man. "Somebody's got to be -here to see that none of the things is removed." - -Fleming, standing behind his master, groaned. Yorke turned to him quite -coolly. - -"Give the man something to eat and drink and make him comfortable. He -can't help it, poor devil! Bring me some cigars and my letters into the -dressing-room." - -He sat down and lighted a cigar, and opened the letters which had been -lying disregarded for weeks, and as he looked through them he saw that -he was in a worse mess than he had ever before been. All his other -money troubles were trifles and child's play compared with this. - -There was not a worse business man in London than Yorke, and he did not -understand half the legal documents, the summonses, the orders of the -court which he opened and stared at; but the prominence and frequency -of one name in the whole business struck him. - -"Who on earth is Ralph Duncombe?" he asked himself. "Levison I know, -and Moses Arack I know, and this man, and this. I remember having -money from them; but Ralph Duncombe--" No, he could not recall the -man's name. But after all it did not matter. It was evident that his -creditors had all combined to swoop down upon him at once, and the -avalanche would crush him unless he got some help. And where should he -turn? It would be useless to attempt to borrow money through the usual -channels. No doubt the news that he was going to marry a penniless girl -instead of the rich heiress, Lady Eleanor Dallas, had leaked out, and -all the money-lenders, who hung together like bees, would refuse to -lend him a silver sixpence. - -Dolph! He almost started at the thought of him, for two days ago the -duke, who had been seriously ill, had started for the Continent, and -Yorke did not even know in which direction; for, to tell the truth, -Yorke had avoided the duke and every other friend and acquaintance -since the day he had been convinced that Leslie had thrown him over. - -No doubt the duke would lend him the money--would give him twice as -much as was necessary, though the sum-total was a large one--but the -money must be forthcoming at once. The man had said he would have to -appear in the court in the city to-morrow--or was it the next day? Good -heavens! appear as a common defaulter in a public court! - -He smiled grimly. So far as he was concerned, he felt, in the humor he -was then in, that he did not care a button what became of him. When -you have reached the point at which life is a burden and a nuisance it -does not matter whether you are ruined or not. But there were other -people to think of. There was Dolph and Lord Eustace and all his other -relatives. How would they take it when they opened their newspapers and -read of the appearance of Lord Yorke Auchester, "cousin of the Duke -of Rothbury," in a debtors' court in the city? Lord Eustace, who was -always talking of his 'nerves,' would have a fit. - -Now, most men would have gone to a lawyer, but Yorke knew that it would -be of little or no use troubling a lawyer with this business. What was -wanted was money, and no lawyer would lend it to him without security; -and as for security--why, there was already a man in possession of the -few things he owned in this transitory world. - -Fleming knocked at the door, and in answer to a cold "come in," entered. - -"Did you ring, my lord?" he said. - -"You know I didn't," said Yorke. "What is it? You look upset, Fleming," -and he smiled the smile which is not good to see on the lips of any -man, young or old, simple or gentle. - -"Beg pardon, my lord," said Fleming, who was genuinely attached to his -master, and who had watched the change in him with sincere grief and -regret, "but I thought you would want to send me somewhere, perhaps." - -Yorke smiled. - -"The best thing I could do for you would be to send you about your -business!" he said. - -"Oh, don't say that, my lord," remonstrated Fleming. "I'm--I'm afraid -something is wrong, my lord--" - -"Yes," said Yorke, grimly. "Something is very much wrong, Fleming. The -fact is I am up a tree; cleaned out and ruined." - -"Ruined?" - -"That's it," assented Yorke, coolly. "I've been hard up, once or twice -before--you know that, Fleming?" - -"Oh, yes, my lord." - -"But this is the finale, the climax, the wind up. But don't let -me stand in your light. Look here, you have been a deuced good -servant--yes, and a friend to me, and as it won't do you any good to be -mixed up in this beastly mess you had better go at once. Lord Vinson -has often told me that if I wanted to get rid of you he'd be glad to -take you on. So you go to him--I'll give you a letter and--" - -For the first time in his exemplary life Fleming was guilty of vulgar -language. - -"I'm damned if I do!" he said. "I beg your pardon, my lord, I humbly -beg your lordship's pardon, but I'm not that kind of a man--I'm not, -indeed;" and there was something very much like water in the honest -fellow's eyes. "I shouldn't think of leaving your lordship while you -were up a tree, as your lordship puts it. I should never look myself in -the face again. I'm much obliged to Lord Vinson; but no, my lord. I'm -not the man to desert a good and kind master in misfortune. I beg your -lordship's pardon, but I thought--" He hesitated respectfully. - -"Think away," said Yorke, lighting another cigar and tilting his hat -back. "Perhaps your thinking will be more valuable than mine. I've been -thinking, and can see no way out of the mess." - -"The--the duke, my lord," suggested Fleming. "I'm sure he--" - -"So am I, Fleming; but the duke has left for the Continent, and I don't -know where he has gone, and this paper says that I've got to show up at -the court in the city at once." - -"And it will all be in the newspapers!" said Fleming aghast. To be 'in -the newspapers' was the direct disgrace and calamity in the eyes of -that worthy man. - -"Just so," said Yorke, knocking the ashes off his cigar. "You see, -Fleming, I am in a hole out of which it is impossible to pull me. Never -you mind; after all, it doesn't matter." - -"Doesn't it matter, my lord?" echoed Fleming, startled. "You--you who -are so well known to--to appear in court!" - -"And get six months--is it six months or six weeks? I don't know--I -don't know anything; but I suppose I shall, and pretty quickly. Never -mind. Look here; see that man in the next room has all he wants." - -"Oh, yes; all right, my lord," said Fleming, with a touch of -impatience, "All he wants is beer, and I've given him half a dozen -bottles." - -Yorke laughed and leaned back in the chair. - -"All right. Bring any letters that may come; I should like to know the -worst." - -Fleming went out, but appeared again in a few minutes. - -"Will you want me for half an hour or three-quarters, my lord?" he -said, in a thoughtful, troubled kind of way. - -"No. Going after that place, Fleming? Better." - -Fleming colored and opened his lips; but he did not say anything; and -Yorke, left alone again, leaned his head on his hand and gave himself -up to gloomy reverie. - -A man in possession in the next room, a summons to appear in a -debtors' court, his name in the newspapers as a ruined man! It was -all bad enough, but he scarcely felt it. He had endured the maximum -of suffering when he had become convinced that Leslie had jilted -him, and this--well, this was, so to speak, almost a relief and a -diversion. And yet the disgrace! He passed a very bad half hour in -that dressing-room--a half hour in which there rose the specter of an -ill-spent past in which follies marched in ghostly procession before -him, and all, as they promenaded by, whispered hoarsely, "Ruin!" And -yet, through it all he saw more plainly than anything else the sweet -face of Leslie, the only woman he had ever loved--the woman who had -seemed to him an angel of truth and constancy, but who had deserted him -the moment she had heard that he was not a duke. - -Fleming, meanwhile, had put on his hat and sallied into the street. -He had left his beloved master utterly reckless and indifferent, and -therefore it rested with him, the devoted servant, to display all the -more energy. That he should sit still and see Lord Yorke drift into -utter ruin and destruction was simply impossible. - -"Something's got to be done," he said to himself, "and I've got to do -it. He isn't going to appear at any court; not if I know it! What! my -guv'nor, the cousin of a duke, to come up before a beak--some miserable -city alderman?" Fleming's ideas of the city law courts were, like his -master's, hazy. "Certainly not--not if I have to move heaven and earth! -Now, if the duke was at home I could see Mr. Grey, and we could arrange -this little matter between us; but as he isn't, why, the thing to do is -to go to the next person, and that is, naturally, Lady Eleanor Dallas. -It isn't likely that she'd see Lord Yorke in such a hole as this -without helping him out; and she's rich, and richer than ever lately. -I'll try her!" - -He called a hansom and had himself driven to Kensington Palace Gardens. - -"Anyhow, her ladyship can only refuse to see me," he said to himself. -"But I don't think she will;" and "he winked the other eye." - -Oh! my friends, do you think our servants are deaf, and dumb, and -blind? They know all our little secrets and our little difficulties; -all our little entanglements. There is scarcely a letter we receive -that, unless we lock it up securely, they do not read. No friend ever -visits us but they know all about him and his, and whom his daughter is -engaged to, or why the engagement is broken off. - -Therefore let us be grateful to a kind Providence for the servants who -are also devoted and trusty friends, such as was Fleming. - -When Fleming reached Kensington Palace Gardens he was told by one of -the footmen that Lady Eleanor was engaged. - -"You've come with a message from Lord Auchester, Mr. Fleming, I -suppose?" said the footman. - -Fleming was an 'upper servant' and was always addressed by those -beneath him as 'Mr.,' and he was very much respected on his own account -as one who had saved money and was in 'good society.' - -"Well, no, I haven't," said Fleming, gravely, and a little pompously. -"I've come on business of my own." - -The footman took his name into the boudoir where Lady Eleanor was -sitting with no other than Mr. Ralph Duncombe. - -She flushed slightly. - -"It is Lord Auchester's valet," she said. - -Ralph Duncombe looked up with a slight start. - -"I do not wish him to see me, Lady Eleanor," he said. - -"No, no; oh, no! I understand," she said nervously. - -"And yet I should like to know what he has to say." - -Lady Eleanor pointed to a large four-fold Japanese screen which cut off -one of the corners of the room. - -"He will not be here many minutes," she said. - -Ralph Duncombe went behind the screen, and Lady Eleanor rang the bell -and told the footman she would see Fleming. - -He came in, looking rather nervous and embarrassed, for it was a bold -thing he was going to do, and he knew that Lady Eleanor could look and -speak haughtily and sternly when she was displeased. - -"You want to see me, Fleming?" she said, graciously enough. "Is it a -message from Lord Auchester?" - -"No, my lady," he said, and like a man of the world he went straight to -the point. "No, my lady, his lordship does not know that I have come, -and if he had known I was coming I'm sure he would have forbidden me; -but I ventured to intrude on your ladyship, knowing that you and my -master were old friends, if I may say so." - -"Certainly you may say so, Fleming," said Lady Eleanor, pleasantly, and -looking as if she were expecting anything but bad news. - -"Well, my lady, my master is in a terrible trouble," he said, plunging -still further into the business. - -"In terrible trouble?" echoed Lady Eleanor; and her face flushed. "What -do you mean, Fleming?" - -"It's money matters, my lady," said Fleming, gravely, and looking -around as if he feared an eavesdropper. "His lordship--I'm obliged to -speak freely, my lady, or else you won't understand; but it's out of -no disrespect to his lordship, who has been the best of masters to me--" - -"Say what you have to say quite without reserve," said Lady Eleanor, in -a low voice. - -"Well, my lady, I was going to say that his lordship has always been -hard up, as you may say. There's always been a difficulty with the -money. It's usual with high-spirited gentlemen like Lord Yorke," he -said, apologetically. "They don't know, and can't be expected to know, -the value of money like common ordinary folk, and so they--well, they -outrun the constable." - -"Lord Auchester is in debt?" said Lady Eleanor, guardedly. - -"It's worse than that, my lady," said Fleming. "That would be nothing, -for ever since I've been in his service he has been in debt. But now -the people he owes money to want him to pay them." - -He gave the information as though it were the most extraordinary and -unnatural conduct on the part of any creditor of Lord Auchester that he -should want payment. - -"People who owe money must pay it some time, Fleming," suggested Lady -Eleanor. - -"Yes--ah, yes, my lady, some time," admitted Fleming, "but not all -at once. It seems as if the people my lord owes money to had joined -together and resolved to drop upon him in a heap. There's a man in -possession in Bury Street, my lady." - -"A man in possession!" repeated Lady Eleanor, as if she scarcely -understood. - -"Yes, a bailiff, my lady, sitting there in his lordship's sitting-room; -and I daresn't throw him out of the window." - -Lady Eleanor looked down. - -"And--and Lord Yorke, Fleming--I suppose he is in great trouble about -this?" - -Fleming hesitated. - -"Well, my lady, he is in great trouble; but if you mean is he cut up -about this money matter, I can't say that he is. He don't seem to care -one bit about it, and takes it as cool and indifferent as if--well, as -if nothing mattered. But he is in great trouble for all that, and he -has been for weeks past--" - -He hesitated. - -Lady Eleanor looked up. - -"You had better tell me everything, I think, Fleming," she said, in a -low voice. - -"Well, my lady, it's just thus: His lordship had a blow--a -disappointment of some kind. It isn't money, it isn't betting, or -card-playing, or I should have heard of it, for his lordship generally -makes some remarks, such as 'I've had a good day, Fleming,' or, 'I'm -stone broke, Fleming,' so that I know what kind of luck he's had; it -isn't that. It's something worse--if there is anything worse," he put -in philosophically. "A little while ago his lordship was in the very -best of spirits; I never saw him in better, and he's a bright-hearted -gentleman, as you know, my lady. I'm speaking of the time when he came -back from that place in the country where he and his grace the duke -were--Portmaris." - -Lady Eleanor leaned her head on her hand so that her face was hidden -from him. - -"Then all of a sudden a change came, and his lordship got bad, very -bad. It was dreadful to see him, my lady. Eat nothing, cared for -nothing; scarcely even spoke. Nothing but smoke, smoke, all day, and -wander in and out looking like the ghost of himself. And he, who used -to be so bright and cheerful, with the laugh always ready! I'd have -given something to have spoken a word, and asked him what was the -matter; but--well, my lady, with all his pleasantness, my master's the -last gentleman to take a liberty with." - -"You don't know what it was, this terrible disappointment?" said Lady -Eleanor, almost inaudibly. - -Fleming hesitated and glanced at her; then he coughed discreetly behind -his hand. - -It was sufficient answer, and Lady Eleanor's face grew red. - -"Whatever it was that made him so happy and cheerful, it was knocked -on the head and put an end to, my lady," he said. "And so it is that -this regular smash-up of affairs--I mean these summonses and man in -possession--don't seem to affect him. You see, my lady, he was as low -down as he could be already. Sometimes--" He stopped, and looked down -at the carpet very gravely and anxiously. - -"Well?" - -"Well, my lady, it isn't for me to say such a thing, but I've been -almost afraid to let him out of my sight in the morning, and I've been -truly thankful to see him come in at night." - -Lady Eleanor drew a long breath and shuddered. - -"You mean--" - -"Men, when they're down as low as my master, they do rash things -sometimes, my lady," said Fleming, in a solemn whisper. - -Lady Eleanor's face went white, and she put her hand to her delicate -throat as if she were suffocating. - -"You--you should not say--hint--at such terrible things, Fleming," she -panted. - -"I--I beg your ladyship's pardon," he said, humbly, "but it's the truth -and--and I thought I ought to tell you, being his lordship's friend." - -"Yes--yes, I am his friend," she said, as if she scarcely knew what she -was saying. "And I will try to help him." - -Fleming's face brightened. - -"Oh, my lady!" he said, gratefully. - -"Stop!" she said. "Your master, Lord Yorke, must not know;" and her -face grew crimson again. - -"Oh, no, no, my lady! Certainly not! Why, if his lordship ever knew -that I'd come to you--" He stopped and shook his head. - -"I understand," said Lady Eleanor. "No, Lord Yorke must never know--no -one must know--" - -"I should have gone to the duke, my lady, but his grace is abroad, as -no doubt your ladyship knows." - -Lady Eleanor turned her head aside. She and Ralph Duncombe had timed -the attack on Yorke for the moment when the duke should be beyond reach. - -"His grace would have helped my master, I know; and I'd have made bold -to write to him, but there isn't time." - -Lady Eleanor shook her head. - -"No, no," she said. "He must not know--no one must know. You need -not be anxious any longer, Fleming. You were right in coming to me -and--and--" She sunk into the chair. - -Fleming heaved a sigh of relief. - -"Very well, my lady. I don't know much about it, but the person who -seems the principal in this set upon his lordship is a man named -Duncombe--a money-lender, I expect. They take all sorts of names. I -wish I had him to myself for a quarter of an hour. I'd teach him to put -a man in possession--begging your ladyship's pardon," he broke off. - -Lady Eleanor's face reddened, and she glanced toward the screen. - -"You had better go back now, Fleming," she said, "and--and don't leave -Lord Auchester more than you can help. And, remember, not one word that -might lead him to guess that you have been to me." - -"You may be sure I shall be careful for my own sake, my lady," said -Fleming, with quiet emphasis; and, with a bow in which gratitude and -respect were fairly divided, he left the room. - -Ralph Duncombe came from behind the screen and stood looking down at -Lady Eleanor, whose proud head was bowed upon her hands. - -"What are you going to do?" he asked. - -She looked up. "Set him free--at once--at once!" she responded with -feverish impetuosity. "Did you not hear the man? That he actually -feared his master would--" She shuddered. "This must come to an end at -once. It will drive him mad!" - -Ralph Duncombe smiled grimly. - -"I heard the man say that it was not the money trouble that was -affecting Lord Auchester," he said. "It seems to me, Lady Eleanor, that -we have taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. This marriage which -you so much dreaded was broken off before any plans to prevent it were -put in operation. The--the young lady had disappeared--" - -She looked up suddenly as he stopped and bit his lip. - -"Disappeared? How do you know?" she exclaimed breathlessly. - -His face was as pale as hers, but was set and stern. - -"Well, I thought I had better run down to this place, Portmaris, -and see for myself how matters were going," he said, in a kind of -business-like coolness and indifference, "and--and I found that -Miss--what is her name?" he asked, as if he had forgotten. - -"Lisle--Leslie Lisle," said Lady Eleanor. - -"Ah, yes! Miss Lisle had flown." - -"Flown?" - -"Yes, flown and disappeared. Disappeared so completely that all my -efforts to discover her track failed." - -He still spoke calmly and with affected indifference, but if she -herself had not been so agitated she would have noticed the pallor of -his face and the restless movement of his hands. - -"What--what do you think it means?" she asked, in a whisper. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"A lovers' quarrel--but no; it is more shame than that. Yes; I should -say that the engagement was broken off for some reason or other, so -that you have had all this trouble and expense for nothing, Lady -Eleanor." - -"And you can not find her? Disappeared?" - -He took up his hat. - -"Disappeared," he repeated, grimly. - -"And that is why he is wretched and unhappy," she said, with a sigh. -"How--how he must love her after all!" and her head drooped. - -Ralph Duncombe moistened his lips. - -"Yes," he said. "But perhaps she did not care for him. Any way, you see -it is she who has left him, not he who has left her." - -"Yes," she said, and she pushed the hair from her fair forehead with an -impatient gesture. "Oh, I cannot understand it! The engagement broken -off! Disappeared! But there must be an end to these law proceedings -now, Mr. Duncombe." - -"There can be only one way of terminating them," he said. - -"And that?" - -"Is by paying the money into court," he said. "The thing has gone too -far." - -"I see," she said. Then she held out her hand. "I will send or come to -you in the morning. I am too confused and--and upset even to think at -this moment." - -Fleming hastened back to Bury Street and found Yorke sitting as he -had left him, with the formidable-looking letters and papers littered -around him. - -Fleming picked them up and put them away, and got out Yorke's dress -clothes. - -"Don't trouble, Fleming, I shall dine at home," said Yorke; but Fleming -went on with his preparations. - -"Very sorry, my lord, but the kitchen grate is not in order." He didn't -intend that his master should eat his dinner in company with a man in -possession. "Better go and dine at the club, my lord, if I may make so -bold." - -Yorke got up with a grim smile. - -"Perhaps you're right, Fleming," he said, listlessly. "I suppose they -never have anything the matter with the kitchen grate at Holloway, or -whatever other quod it is they send people who can't pay their debts. -And what about these clothes, Fleming? Perhaps our friend in the next -room will object to my walking out in them." - -"I'd punch his head if he was to offer a remark on the subject," said -Fleming, fiercely. "I beg your lordship's pardon--if I might say a -word, my lord, I'd implore your lordship not to take this business too -much to heart; I mean not to worry too much over it. You never can tell -what may turn up." - -Yorke laughed drearily as he allowed Fleming to dress him. - -"I won't," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't feel so cut up as -you'd imagine, or as I ought, Fleming. I feel"--he stopped and looked -round absently--"well, as if I were another fellow altogether, and I -was just looking on, half sorry and half amused." - -"Yes, that's right. Keep feeling like that, my lord," said Fleming, -cheeringly. "Depend upon it, it will come out right." - -Yorke shrugged his shoulders. - -"I dare say," he said, indifferently. "Don't sit up for me. I may be -late." - -He came in a little after two in the morning, and Fleming could have -been almost glad if his beloved master had showed signs of having spent -a 'warm' night; but Yorke was 'more than sober,' and looked only weary -and sick at heart, as he had done for weeks past. - -"Oh, by the way, Fleming," he said, as he took off his coat, and as -if he had suddenly remembered it, "you must call me pretty early -to-morrow. I have to be down in the city, you know." - -That was all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. - - -A city law court is not exactly the place in which to spend a happy -day--unless you happen to be a lawyer engaged in a profitable case -there--and Yorke, as he entered the stuffy, grimy, murky chamber, -looked round with a feeling of surprise and grim interest. - -Upon the bench sat the judge in a much-worn gown and a grubby wig. A -barrister was drowsing away in the 'well' of the court, and his fellows -were sleeping or stretching and yawning round him. - -The public was represented by half a dozen seedy-looking individuals -who all looked as if they had not been to bed for a month and had -forgotten to wash themselves for a like period. There was an usher, who -yawned behind his wand, one or two policemen with wooden countenances, -and two or three wretched-looking individuals, who were, like Yorke, -defendants in various suits. - -The entrance of this stalwart, well-dressed and decidedly -distinguished and aristocratic personage created a slight sensation -for a moment or two; then he seemed to be forgotten, and he stood and -looked on, and wondered how soon his case would be heard, and whether -he would be carried away to jail forthwith. - -He waited for a half hour or so, feeling that he was growing dirty and -grimy like the rest of the people round him, and gradually the sense of -the disgrace and humiliation of his position stole over him. - -Great heavens, to what a pass he had come! He had lost Leslie. He was -now to lose good name and honor--everything! Would it not be better -for himself and everybody connected with him if he went outside and -purchased a dose of prussic acid? - -The suspense, the stuffy court, the droning voice of the counsel began -to drive him mad. - -He went up to the usher. "Can you tell me when my case comes on?" he -said. - -The man looked at him sleepily. - -"Your case--what name?" he asked, without any 'sir,' and with a kind of -drowsy impertinence, which seemed to be in strict harmony with the air -of the place. - -"Auchester!" said Yorke. "I am the--the defendant." - -"Horchester? Don't know. Ask the clerk," said the man. - -With a sick feeling of shame Yorke went up to the man pointed out by -the usher and put the same question to him. - -"Auchester? Duncombe versus Auchester; Levison versus Auchester; Arack -versus Auchester?" said the clerk, in a dry, business-like way. - -"Yes, I dare say that's it," said Yorke, hating the sound of his own -name. - -The clerk looked down a list, then raised his eyes with the faintest of -smiles. - -"Scratched out," he said, curtly. - -"Scratched out?" echoed Yorke, blankly. - -"Yes, sir--my lord," said the clerk, who, while looking at the list, -had come upon Yorke's title. "The cases have been removed from the -list. Settled." - -"Settled? I don't understand," said Yorke, staring at him. "I've only -just come down--I've paid nothing." - -"Some one else has, then, my lord," said the clerk. "Wait a moment till -this case is heard; it will be over directly, and I'll explain." - -Yorke, feeling like a man in a dream, stepped into a corner and waited. -Presently the court adjourned for luncheon, and the clerk came toward -him. - -"This way, my lord." He led Yorke into an office. "Now, my lord. Yes, -all the cases have been discharged from the list--been settled this -morning." - -"This morning?" echoed Yorke, mechanically, still with a vast -amazement. "But--but who--I don't know who could have done this. I have -not, for the best of all reasons. I came down here prepared to go to -prison, or wherever else you sent me." - -The clerk raised his brows and shook his head gravely. - -"Yes, you would have been committed, my lord, for a certainty," he -said. "You see, you let things slide too long. But there is no fear -now. The money, all of it, has been paid. You are quite free, quite. I -congratulate your lordship." - -"But--but"--stammered Yorke, and he put his hand to his brow--"who can -have done it--paid it? Is it the Duke of Rothbury?" - -Could Dolph have heard of it in some extraordinary way and sent the -money? - -The clerk went into the inner office for a few minutes, then he came -back with a slip of paper in his hand. - -"I don't know whether I am doing right, my lord," he said, gravely, and -even cautiously. "Perhaps I ought not to give you this information, but -I trust to your lordship's discretion. You won't get me into a scrape, -my lord?" - -"No, no!" said Yorke, "who is it?" - -The clerk handed him the slip of paper. - -It was a check on Coutts' for a large--a very large--sum, and it was -signed "Eleanor Dallas." - -"Eleanor!" - -The name broke in a kind of sigh from Yorke's lips, and his face -reddened. But it was pale again as he handed the check back to the -clerk. - -"Thank you," he said. - -He stood and looked vacantly before him as if he had forgotten where he -was; then he woke with a start. - -"Then I can go?" he said. - -"Certainly, my lord," said the clerk. "As I said, you are quite free. -There are no actions against you now; everything is squared--paid." - -Yorke thanked him again, wished him good-day, and got outside. - -Everything paid--and by Eleanor! - -He repeated this as he walked from the city to the west; as he tramped -slowly, with downcast head, across Hyde Park. - -He told himself that he ought to be grateful; that he could not feel -too grateful to the woman who had come to his aid and saved him from -ruin and disgrace. - -But he knew why she had done it, and he knew what he ought to do in -return. The least he could do would be to go and kneel at her feet, and -ask her to accept the life which she had snatched from disgrace. And -why shouldn't he? The only woman he had ever loved had proved false, -and mercenary, and base, and there was nothing now to prevent him -asking Lady Eleanor to be his wife; and yet, alas! he could not get -that other face out of his mind or heart. - -He thought of her--she haunted him as he walked along; the clear gray -eyes, so tender one moment, so full of fire and humor the next; the -dark hair, the graceful figure, the sweet voice. "Oh, Leslie, Leslie! -if you had but been true!" was the burden of his heart's wail. - -He looked up and found himself close upon Palace Gardens; unconsciously -his feet had moved in that direction. He rang the bell of Lady -Eleanor's door. - -Yes, her ladyship was at home, the footman said, and said it in that -serene, confident tone which a servant uses when he knows that his -mistress will be glad to see the visitor. - -Yorke followed the man to the small drawing-room. - -Lady Denby was there tying up some library books. - -She started slightly as she saw his altered appearance, but she was too -completely a woman of the world to let him see the start. - -"Why, Yorke!" she said, "what a stranger you are! We were only speaking -of you this morning at breakfast, and wondering where you were. Have -you been away? Sit down--or tie up those tiresome books for me, will -you? They slip and slide about in the most aggravating way. I'll go and -tell Eleanor; I fancy she was going out." - -She met Lady Eleanor in the hall, and drew her aside. - -"Yorke is in there, Eleanor," she said. - -"Yorke!" - -Lady Eleanor repeated the name and started almost guiltily, almost -fearfully. - -"Yes, I came to tell you, and--well, yes--prepare you. I don't want you -to do as I did--jump as if I'd seen a bogey man. He has been ill, or up -to some deviltry or other, and he looks--well, I can't tell you how he -looks. It gave me a shock. I thought I'd prepare you." - -Lady Eleanor touched her hand. - -"Thank you, dear. No, I won't look shocked. He looks very ill?" - -"Very ill, oh! worse than ill. Like a man who has robbed a church and -been found out, or lost everything he held dear." - -Lady Eleanor put her handkerchief to her lips. They were trembling. - -"I don't mind what he has been doing," she said. - -"Oh, my dear Eleanor!" - -"No, I don't. I'll go in now. Don't let any one disturb us. He--he may -have come to see me to talk about something." - -She went into the room, and Yorke turned to meet her. It was well that -she had been forewarned of the change in his appearance. As it was, she -could scarcely suppress the cry that rose to her lips. - -"Well, Yorke," she said, with affected lightness, "tying up aunt's -books? That is so like her. No one can come near her without getting -employed. What a shame to worry you!" - -"It doesn't worry me," he said. - -He leaned against the table and looked down at her. There is a picture -of Millais's--it is called, I think, 'A Hot-house Flower'--which Lady -Eleanor might have sat for that morning, so delicate, so graceful, so -refined and blanche was her beauty. She wore a loose dress of soft -cashmere, cream in color, almost Greek in fashion. Her hair was like -gold, her eyes placid yet tender, with a touch of subdued sadness and -anxiety in them. A charming, an irresistible picture, and one that -appealed to this man with the storm-beaten heart aching in his bosom. - -She glanced up at him, saw the haggard face, the dark rings round -the eyes, that indescribable look which pain and despair and utter -abandonment produce as plainly as the die stamps the hall-mark on the -piece of silver, and her heart yearned for him, for his love--yearned -for the right to comfort and soothe him. Ah! if he would only have it -so--if he would only let her, how happy she would make him! All this, -and much more, she felt; but she looked quite placid and serene--like a -dainty lily unstirred by the wind--and said in her soft voice: - -"We were thinking of advertising for you Yorke. Have you been away?" - -He might have answered: "Yes, I have been in the Valley of Sorrow and -Tribulation, on the Desert of Dead Love and Vain Hope," but instead he -replied: - -"No, just here in London; but I have been busy." - -She looked up and smiled. - -"Busy! That sounds so strange, and so comic, coming from you!" - -"And yet it is true," he said. "I have been busy thinking." If there -was a touch of bitterness in his voice she did not notice it. "And -that's hard work for me--it's so new, you see." - -There was silence for a moment. He held the string with which he had -been tying up the books in his hands, and fidgeted with it restlessly. -Lady Eleanor dropped into small-talk. Had he been to the chrysanthemum -show at the Temple? Had he noticed that the Duchess of Orloffe was not -going to give her autumn ball? Did he-- - -He broke in suddenly as if he had not been listening, his voice hoarse -and thick: - -"Eleanor, why did you do it?" - -"Why did I--do what, Yorke?" she said. - -"Why did you fling so much money away upon a worthless scamp?" His face -went white, then red. - -"Who told you?" she breathed. - -"They told me down at the court where I had gone to be disgraced," he -said, "and you saved me! How can I thank you, Eleanor? How can I? And -you would have done it in secret, would have kept it from me?" - -"Yes, oh, yes," she murmured, her head drooping. "Don't--don't say -anything about it. It was nothing--nothing!" She looked up at him -eagerly, pleadingly. "Yorke, you will not think badly of me because I -did it? Why shouldn't I? I am rich--you don't know how rich--and what -better could I do with the stupid money than give it to a--a friend who -needed it more--ten thousand times more--than I do or ever shall! Don't -be angry with me, Yorke." - -"Angry!" The blood flew to his face and his eyes flashed. He drew -nearer to the chair in which she sat, he knelt on one knee beside her. - -"Eleanor, I am utterly worthless--you know that quite well. I was -not worth the saving, but as you have saved me, will you accept me? -Eleanor, will you be my wife?" - -Her face went white with the ecstasy which shot through her heart. Ah, -for how long had she thirsted, hungered for these words from his lips! -And they had come at last! - -"Will you be my wife, Eleanor? I will try to make you happy. I will do -my best, Heaven helping, to be a good husband to you! Stop, dear! If -you act wisely you will send me about my business! There are fifty--a -hundred better men who love you; you could scarcely have a worse than -I, but if you will say 'yes,' I will try and be less unworthy of you. -All my life I will never forget all that I owe you--never forget that -you saved me from ruin and disgrace. Now, dear, I--" - -She put out her hand to him without a word; then as he took it her -passion burst through the bonds in which she thought to bind it, and -she swayed forward and dropped upon his breast. - -"Yorke, Yorke, you know"--came through her parted lips--"you know I -love you--have always loved you!" - -"My poor Eleanor!" he said, almost indeed, quite pityingly. "Such a -bad, worthless lot as I am!" - -"No, no!" she panted. "No, no; the best, the highest to me! And--and if -you were not, it--it would be all the same. Oh, Yorke, be good, be kind -to me, for you are all the world to me!" - -They sat and talked hand in hand for some time, and once during that -talk he said: - -"By the way, Eleanor, how did you hear I was in such a mess--how did -you come to know?" - -It was a very natural question under the circumstances; but Lady -Eleanor started and turned white, absolutely white with fear. - -"No, no; not one word will I ever say or let you say about this stupid -money business!" she exclaimed. Then she took his hand and pressed it -against her cheek. "Why, sir, what does it matter? It was only--only -lending it to you for a little time, you see. It will all be yours -soon." - -Lady Denby came in after a discreet cough outside; but Lady Eleanor did -not move or take her hand from Yorke's. - -"Oh!" said Lady Denby. - -"Eleanor has made me very happy, Lady Denby," he said, rising, but -still holding Lady Eleanor's hand. - -"Oh!" said Lady Denby again. "What do you want me to say? That you -deserve her? No, thank you, I couldn't tell such an obvious fib. What -I'm going to say in the shape of congratulation is that she is much too -good for you." - -"That is so," he said with a grim smile. - -"You'll stay to dinner?" murmured Lady Eleanor. "You will stay, Yorke?" - -"Yes," he said, bending down and kissing her--"yes, thanks. But I must -go and change my things. I'm awfully dirty and seedy." - -She went with him to the door, as if she begrudged every moment that he -should be out of her sight, and still smiled after he had left her and -had got half-way down the Gardens. Then suddenly he stopped and looked -round him with a ghostly look. - -And yet it was only the face of Leslie that had flashed across his -mental vision. Only the face of the girl who had jilted him! - -"My God! shall I never forget her?" he muttered, hoarsely. "Not even -now!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -A LITTLE SUNSHINE. - - -The announcement of the engagement between Lord Auchester and Lady -Eleanor Dallas had appeared in the society papers a month ago, and the -world of 'the upper ten' had expended its congratulations and began -asking itself when the wedding was to take place, for it was agreed on -all hands that so excellent and altogether desirable a match could not -take place too soon. - -"He has been dreadfully wild, I'm told, my dear," said one gossip -to another, "and is as poor as a church mouse. But there is plenty -of money on her side; indeed, they say that lately she has become -fabulously rich, so that will be all right. Of course she might have -done better; but everybody knows she was ridiculously fond of him--oh! -quite too ridiculously. Gave herself away, in fact; and she goes about -looking so happy and victorious that it is really quite indecent!" - -"That is more than can be said of the bridegroom-elect," remarked -gossip number two, "for he looks as grave as a judge and as glum as an -undertaker. The mere prospect of matrimony seems to have taken all the -spirits out of him. Not like the same man, I assure you, my dear." - -It was autumn now. The greenery of the trees had turned to russet -and gold; a mystic stillness brooded softly over the country lanes; -the yellow corn waved sleepily to the soft breeze; the blackberries -darkened the hedge-rows, and on the roads lay, not thickly as yet, but -in twos and threes, the leaves of the oak and the chestnut. An air of -repose and quietude reigned over the land, as if nature, almost tired -of the sun and heat and the multitudinous noises of summer, were taking -a short nap to prepare itself for the rigor and robust energy of winter. - -In one of the loveliest of our country lanes stood a village school. -It was a picturesque little building of white stone and red tiles. The -tiny school-house adjoining it was so overgrown by ivy as to resemble -a green bower. There was a window at the back, and an orchard in which -the golden and ruddy apples were almost as thick as the blackberries -in the lanes. Everything in and about this school was the picture of -neatness. The curtains of white and pink muslin were exquisitely clean -and artistically draped behind the diamond-paned windows. - -The door-sills were as white as marble; the diminutive knocker on the -school-house door shone like a newly minted sovereign. Not a weed -showed its head in the small garden, which literally glowed with -single and double dahlias, sweet-scented stocks and many-colored -chrysanthemums. There was a little gate in the closely cut hedge, -which was painted a snowy white--in short, the tiny domain made a -picture which Millais or Marcus Stone or Leslie would have delighted to -transfer to canvas. - -From the open door of the school there issued a hum and buzz which -resembled that which proceeds from the door of a bee-hive, for -afternoon school was still on, and the pupils were still at their -lessons. - -The village--it was rather more than half a mile from the school--was -that of Newfold, a quiet, sleepy little place, which not even the -restless tourist seems to have discovered; a small cluster of houses, -with an inn, a church, and a couple of shops lying in the hollow -between the two ranges of Loamshire hills. A Londoner would tell -you that Newfold was at least five hundred years behind the times; -but, if it be so, Newfold does not care. There is enough plowing and -wood-cutting in winter, enough sowing and tilling in spring, enough -harvesting in autumn to keep the kettle boiling, and Newfold is quite -content. Some day one of those individuals who discover such places -will happen on it, write an article about it, attract attention to it, -and so ruin it; but he hasn't chanced to come upon it yet, and oh! let -us pray that he may keep off it for a long while; for Newfolds are -getting scarcer every year, and soon, if we do not take care, England -will become one vast, hideous plain of bricks and mortar, and there -will be no place in which we can take refuge from the fogs and smoke of -the great towns. - -In another quarter of an hour school would 'break up,' and the girls -were standing up singing the evening hymn which brought the day's work -to a close. In the center of the room stood a pleasant, fair-haired -young lady, whose eyes, mild and gentle as they were, seemed to be -looking everywhere. On a small platform stood another young lady with -dark hair and gray eyes. These were the two mistresses of the Newfold -village school, and their names were Leslie Lisle and Lucy Somes. - -Life is not all clouds and rain, thank God; the sun shines sometimes, -and the sun of good luck had shone upon Leslie and Lucy. It was good -luck that they should pass the much-dreaded examination, that ordeal -to which they had looked forward with such fear and trembling; it was -good luck that there should be two appointments vacant; but oh! it was -the superlative of luck that these appointments should be to the same -school, and that the school should be here in peaceful Newfold! - -It seemed to Leslie as if misfortune had grown tired of buffeting her, -and had decided to leave her alone for a time. She could scarcely -believe her eyes when Lucy Somes ran into her room at Torrington Square -with the news that they were to be sent to the same school, and in her -beloved county. Of course influence had been used at headquarters by -Lucy's people, but Lucy persisted that luck had more to do with it than -anything else, and that Leslie had brought the good fortune; and it -did not lessen Lucy's happiness that Leslie, having obtained the most -marks at the exam., was given the post of head-mistress, and that she, -Lucy, was to be her subordinate. "It is quite right, dear," she said, -brightly and cheerfully. "Of course, you ought to be the first; any one -could see that at half a glance. You are ten times quicker and cleverer -than I, and, besides, if we are to be together--and oh! how delightful -it is to think that we are!--I would a thousand times rather you were -the principal!" - -"We will both be head-mistress, Lucy!" Leslie had said, as, with tears -in her eyes, she had put her arms round the good-natured girl, and -kissed her. - -They had only been four days at the school, but short as the time had -been they had grown fond of it--fond of the work and the children, -and who can tell how fond and proud of the little house that nestled -against the school building! - -Lucy was like a child in her unrestrained joy and delight, and if -Leslie took their good fortune more quietly, she was not lacking in -gratitude. In this new life she would not only find peace, please God, -but work--work that in time might bring her forgetfulness of the past. -And the forgetfulness, for which she prayed nightly, was as much of -happiness as she dared hope for. - -The lily that has been beaten down by the storm may live and bloom -still, but the chances are that it will never again rear its stately -head as of old. - -The evening hymn was finished; Leslie struck the bell on the desk -before her, and in her sweet voice said "Good-afternoon, children," and -with an answering "Good-afternoon, teachers," the children trooped out. - -Lucy went and stood beside Leslie, and watched the happy throng as it -ran laughing and shouting to the meadow. - -"How happy they are, Leslie, and how good, too! I am sure they are the -best children in the world! And many of them are so pretty and rosy; -and they are all healthy--all except two or three. I should hate to -have a school full of sickly, undergrown children, all peevish and -weary and discontented; but all ours are cheerful and willing." - -"They would find it hard to be otherwise where you are, Lucy," said -Leslie, looking at the happy face with a loving smile. - -"Oh, I--oh, yes; I'm cheerful enough," said Lucy, laughing and -blushing. "I'm just running over with happiness and contentment; but -I'm afraid that they couldn't get on very fast if I were quite alone -with them. They wouldn't mind me enough. Now you--" - -"Are they afraid of me?" said Leslie, smiling. - -"No, no!" Lucy hastened to respond. "Afraid? no, no! But they look up -to you, and think more of your good opinion already. Oh, I can see -that, short as the time has been. They were quite right up in London in -making you the head-mistress, dear. Are you tired, Leslie? It has been -rather hot for the time of year, and the children, good as they are, -make a noise. Does your head ache? I'm afraid you will find it rather -trying at first." - -"I am not tired, and my head doesn't ache in the least," said Leslie, -"and why should I, more than you, find it trying, Lucy? and, dear, I -want you to let me have the English history class. You have got more -than your fair share. Did you think that I should not notice it? I -believe you would take all the work if I would let you, you greedy -girl." - -Lucy blushed--she blushed on the slightest provocation. - -"I don't want you to work too hard, Leslie," she said. "You are not -strong yet, not nearly so strong as I am, and you felt the awful -grinding for that exam. more than I did because you were not used to -it, and had to do it in a shorter time; and so I am going to take care -of you." - -Leslie laughed. - -"Why, I could lift you up and carry you round the room, little girl!" -she said, in loving banter; "and it is I who have to take care of you. -But we'll take care of each other, Lucy. And now let us go in to tea." - -They went into the little house, and the small maid who was house-maid, -parlor-maid, and cook rolled into one, had set out the tea in the cosy -parlor, fragrant with the musk and mignonette which bloomed in the -window-box. Lucy looked round with a sigh of ineffable content. - -"Isn't it delicious, Leslie?" she exclaimed with bated breath. "I feel -like Robinson Crusoe!" - -"Robinson Crusoe with everything ready made for him and all the -luxuries?" said Leslie, laughingly. - -"Yes, that's what I mean," assented Lucy naively. "All through I looked -forward to something like this, but my dreams never reached anything -half so delightful. For one thing, I never dreamed that I should have -you for a companion and friend. I thought that there would be sure to -be a thorn in my bed of roses, and that that thorn would probably take -the shape of a disagreeable head-mistress--some horrid, middle-aged, -disagreeable person who would be always complaining and scolding. But -you! Mother writes that I must have exaggerated just to please her when -I described the school and told her what you were like; but I didn't -exaggerate a bit. Oh, Leslie"--she stopped with a slice of bread and -butter half-way to her mouth--"do you think we are too happy--that -something will happen to spoil it all?" - -Leslie smiled. - -"I think not," she said. "It is only those who don't deserve to be -happy whose happiness doesn't last. Now you, Lucy--But give me some -more tea, and don't try and croak, because you make the most awful -failure of it." - -Lucy's face wreathed itself in its wonted smile again. - -"I wonder whether there are two happier girls in all the world than -you and I, Leslie?" she said. "What shall we do this evening--go for a -walk? You haven't been into the village yet. Will you come? It is such -a pretty, quaint little place, with the tiniest and most delightful -church you ever saw! Isn't it strange that we should be pitchforked -down here into a place we know nothing about and never heard of? It is -like Robinson Crusoe again. I hope the natives will not be savage!" - -Leslie looked up from the copy-book she was examining. - -"We shall have very little to do with the natives, savage or friendly, -Lucy," she said. - -"Of course not," assented Lucy, cheerfully. "I suppose the clergyman's -wife will call--Oh, I forgot! He said the first morning he came to read -prayers that he wasn't married. But the squire's lady will drive up in -a carriage and pair, and walk through the school with her eyeglass up. -But no one else will come to bother us. You see," she ran on, jumping -up to water the flowers in the window, "school-teachers are supposed to -be neither fish, flesh nor fowl--and not very good red herring. People -don't visit them." - -"That is good news for school-teachers, at any rate," said Leslie, -smiling. - -"Yes; we don't want anybody, do we, dear? You and I together can be -quite happy without the rest of the world. And now about our walk. -Shall we go, Leslie?" - -"I don't think I will this evening, Lucy. I will stay and go over these -books. But you shall go on a voyage of discovery, and bring back a full -and particular account of your adventures." - -"No, no! I'll stay," began Lucy. But Leslie looked up at her with the -expression Lucy had learned to know so well. "Very well, dear," she -said, gently. "I will just run into the village and order some things -we want and come straight back; and mind, you are not to do all those -copy-books, or I shall feel hurt and injured." - -Leslie worked away at her exercise books for some little time; then -she drew a chair up to the window, and, letting her hands lie in her -lap, enjoyed the rest which she had earned by a day's toil, but not -unexpected toil. - -As she sat there, looking out dreamily at the lane, which the setting -sun was filling with a golden haze, she felt very much like the Hermit -of St. Martin. She had refused to go down to the village with Lucy from -choice, and not from any sense of duty toward the exercise books. She -felt that she and the world had, so to speak, done with each other, and -she shrunk from encountering new faces and the necessity of talking -to strangers. If fate would let her live out her life in this modest -cottage she would be contented to confine herself to the little garden -surrounding it, and perhaps the meadows beyond. - -With her children and her flowers she was convinced that she could -be, if not happy, at any rate not discontented. She had lived her -life, young as she was. Fate could give her no joy to equal that which -Yorke's love--or fancied love--had given; nor could it deal out to her -a more bitter sorrow than the loss of Yorke and her father. So let Lucy -act as a go-between between her and the outer world, and she (Leslie) -would work when she could, and when she could not, would live over -again in her mind and memory that happy past which had been summed up -in a few all too brief days. - -Of Yorke she had heard nothing. She had never read a society paper in -her life, and was not likely to have seen one during the last busy -month, so that she knew nothing of the engagement between him and Lady -Eleanor Dallas. And if she had known, if she had chanced to have read -the paragraphs in which the betrothal was announced and commented on, -she would not have identified Lord Auchester with Yorke, "the Duke of -Rothbury," as she thought him. Sometimes, this evening, for instance, -she wondered with a dull, aching pain, which always oppressed her -whenever she thought of him, where he had gone, and whether he still -remembered, whether he regretted the flirtation "he had carried on with -the girl at Portmaris," or, whether he only laughed over it--perhaps -with the dark, handsome woman, the Finetta to whom he had gone back! - -The sun had set behind the hills, and the twilight had crept over the -scene before Lucy came hurrying up the path. - -"Did you think I was lost, Leslie?" she said, with a laugh. - -Leslie looked round, and though it was nearly dark in the room, she saw -that Lucy's eyes were particularly bright, and that there was a flush -on her cheeks which did not appear to have been caused by her haste. - -"It sounds very unkind, but I was not thinking of you, dear," she said. -"It is late, I suppose. Where have you been?" - -Lucy came up to the window, tossing her straw hat and light jacket on -the sofa as she passed. - -"Leslie, you said something about adventures when I was starting--" - -"Did I?" said Leslie. "And have you had any? Let me look at you? You -look flushed and excited. What is it, Lucy?" - -"Yes, I have had an adventure," she said, her soft, guileless eyes -drooping for a moment, then lifting themselves candidly to Leslie's -again. "But let me begin at the beginning, as children say. Leslie, you -must go and see the village. It is the dearest little place in all -the world, and just like one of the pictures one sees at the Academy. -You will want to sketch it the moment you see it, I know. Well, I went -to the shop--oh, the funniest shop you ever saw! You go down two steps -into it, and even then it is only just high enough for you to stand -up in. And they sell everything--tapes, treacle, soap, snuff, laces, -biscuits--everything! And the woman that keeps it is the mother of -one of our girls, and she made ever so much of me, and sent her best -respects to you--'the beautiful teacher,' as she said the girls all -called you!" - -"Is it all fiction, or only the last sentence, Lucy?" said Leslie. - -"My dear Leslie, I have heard them call you so myself!" said Lucy. "I -went to the butcher's--the butcher is one of nature's noblemen, and -took my order for four mutton chops as if I were a princess ordering a -whole sheep--and then I went out into the country beyond, and if I were -to tell you what I think of it you would say I was exaggerating--" - -"Which you never do, of course," put in Leslie, gravely. - -"It is simply heavenly!" continued Lucy, ignoring the insinuation. -"Such lovely meadows and tree-covered hills, and there is a delicious -river full of trout--so a man who was working close by said. Can you -throw a fly, Leslie? I can, and I will teach you. It is the jolliest -fun in the world, fishing. And when I got to the opening out of the -valley, I saw a tremendous house--a great white place on the brow of a -hill. It took me quite by surprise, for I had no idea that there were -any great people living near us--well, not exactly near, for this must -be four or five miles off. I asked a man who lived there and he said -that it belonged to a lady--Lady--there! I have forgotten the name -after all, and I wanted to remember it to tell you." - -"Never mind," said Leslie. - -"She is an awfully great lady, and tremendously rich, my informant -said. I wish I could remember her name! It was rather a pretty one. -Well, then"--she paused a moment, and her color came and went--"I -thought I would rest for a little while, and I sat down on a big stone, -up a little grassy lane, and while I was sitting there quiet as a -mouse, I heard the sound of a horse's hoofs on the short turf and, so -suddenly it made me jump, a huge horse came galloping up. He saw me and -shied--goodness, how he shied! I thought the man on his back must be -thrown, but he sat there like--like a rock! But he swore--I don't think -he saw me at first, Leslie; in fact, I am sure he didn't, for when he -did he raised his hat as if to apologize for the bad words, and then -rode on." - -"Is that all?" said Leslie, with a smile. "I thought you were going to -say, at the very least, that he stooped down and caught you up and you -would have been carried off into captivity but for a gallant young man -who ran up and seized the horse, etc., etc., etc." - -"Leslie!" remonstrated Lucy, laughing and blushing. "He didn't stop a -moment or speak, of course, but rode on straight away. But, Leslie, you -never saw such a handsome man or such a sad-looking one--" - -"The Knight of the Woful Countenance," said Leslie. - -Lucy laughed, but rather gravely. - -"Well, if you had seen him I don't think you would have laughed, -Leslie; he looked so wretched and weary, and--I don't know exactly how -to describe it--so reckless! He seemed as if he didn't care where he -was riding or whether the horse kept straight on or fell." - -"So that he kept straight on and didn't fall on or run over you, it is -all right," said Leslie. "But, Lucy dear, I don't think you must be out -so late and alone again, especially if there are reckless young men -riding about the roads and lanes." - -"Yes," said Lucy; "but I haven't come to the end of my adventures yet, -Leslie." - -"Not yet?" - -"No," said Lucy, almost shyly. "Of course, I was rather startled by -that horse thundering by--it was so very big and it passed so near, -almost on to me, you know--and I suppose I must have called out." She -blushed. "It was very foolish, I know, and I know you wouldn't have -done so." - -"Don't be too sure! Did the knight come back, Lucy?" - -"No, no," and the blush grew more furious, "of course he did not. I -don't suppose he heard me; but some one else did, for there came up the -moment afterward a gentleman--" - -"Not another on horseback, Lucy? Don't be too prodigal of your mounted -heroes." - -Lucy laughed. - -"No, this one was not on horseback; he was walking, and was quite a -different-looking man to the other, though he was nearly, yes, nearly -as good looking." - -"Two handsome young men in one evening; isn't that rather an unfair -allowance?" said Leslie. - -Lucy smiled. - -"I knew you would make fun of it all, Leslie," she said, "and I don't -mind in the least. I like to hear you, and, after all, there was -nothing serious in it." - -"I should hope not, Lucy." - -"Leslie, you really don't deserve that I should tell you any more--you -don't, indeed." - -"Pray, don't punish me so severely," responded Leslie; "my levity only -conceals an overpowering curiosity. What did the second stranger say or -do?" - -"Well, he said--and he couldn't say much less, could he?--'are you -hurt?'" - -"How you must have screamed! I suppose if I had been listening I should -have heard you here." - -"And of course I said no," continued Lucy, severely ignoring this -remark, "and that I had only been a little startled by the horse. He -asked me if I knew who it was, and when I said 'no', he looked as if -he were going to tell me, but instead he asked if I knew the way to the -railway station." - -"Now don't say that you told him and that he raised his hat and went -off," said Leslie, with mock earnestness. - -Lucy laughed, but said, shyly: "Well, I told him, but he didn't -go--just at once. He asked me one or two other questions--which was -the nearest village, and so on--and, of course, I had to answer that I -was a stranger, and then we both laughed, or rather he smiled, for he -seemed very grave and preoccupied. I think he was a lawyer or something -of that sort. He looked like a business man; and presently he said, -as if accounting for his being there, that he had walked from White -Place--that was the house on the hill-side--and that he was going back -to London, and--and--well, that's all!" - -"Are you quite sure that was all?" asked Leslie, with burlesque -severity. - -Lucy's fair face flushed. - -"Y-yes. Oh!--I'd got a fern-root in my hand; I meant to put in the -garden below the window--and he noticed it, and said that he wished -they had them in London, and--well, I offered it to him--" - -"Lucy!" - -Lucy jumped up. - -"Really--really and honestly, Leslie, I did it without thinking! and -he took it at once without any fuss or nonsense. You see, he was a -gentleman," she added, with delicious simplicity. - -Leslie shook her head with a smile. - -"It is all too evident that you are not to be trusted out alone, my -dear," she said. "Why, Lucy!"--for something like tears had began to -glitter in Lucy's gentle eyes--"why, you silly girl, I am only in fun! -Why should you not direct a stranger to the railway station, and why -shouldn't you give him the fern he coveted, poor, smoke-dried Londoner. -There was nothing wrong in it." - -"You are quite sure, Leslie? Afterward--afterward, as I was walking -home, it seemed to me that I had perhaps, been--unladylike." The awful -word left her lips in a horrified whisper. - -"My dear, you couldn't be if you tried," said Leslie, with quiet -decision. "Now run and put your things away and we will talk it all -over again while we are having supper. 'Unladylike!'" She took the -gentle, 'good'-looking face in her hands and kissed it. "You are very -clever, Lucy, but that is the one thing you could never attain to." - -They sat for a long time over their simple meal, talking of their -school, discussing the various capacities of the pupils, arranging -classes, and so on; and once or twice Leslie referred to Lucy's -'adventures,' and declared that she did not believe a word of them, -and that Lucy had invented the whole to amuse her, little suspecting -that the big house Lucy had seen was the famous White Place belonging -to Lady Eleanor Dallas, that the horseman was Lord Yorke Auchester, -and that the stranger who "looked like a lawyer" and who had walked off -with Lucy's fern was Ralph Duncombe. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -WAS YORKE HAPPY? - - -Lady Eleanor was happy, and, unlike a great many persons, was not -ashamed to admit that she was. - -"Why should I be ashamed or try to hide my joy?" she said to Lady -Denby, who remarked her niece's high spirits, and her evident -satisfaction with her own condition and the world in general. "I am -happy! happy! happy! and every one may know it." - -"They do know it, my dear," said Lady Denby, dryly. - -"And they are welcome to!" retorted Lady Eleanor, laughingly. "I count -myself the luckiest girl in the world! I am young, not hideously plain, -rich--very rich, Mr. Duncombe says--by the way, aunt, you will be very -careful not to mention his name in Yorke's hearing--and I am going to -marry the man I have been in love with ever since I was so high. I wake -in the middle of the night--and I am glad to wake--and I tell myself -all this over and over again. It seems too good to be true, sometimes; -but I know it is all true when the morning comes. Oh, yes, I am happy -at last!" - -"And Yorke is very happy, too?" said Lady Denby. And the moment after -the question had left her lips she was sorry she had asked it, and she -hastened to add: "But of course he is. Men generally look poorly when -they are particularly happy, I've noticed, just as they invariably blow -their noses when they want to cry!" - -"Why shouldn't he be happy?" said Lady Eleanor, after a pause; but -her face had grown almost grave and almost troubled. "As you say, men -don't go about as if they were dancing to music, as we women do, and -they don't sing as we do. And--and if Yorke is not boisterous--Why did -you say that?" she demanded, suddenly changing her tone and turning -upon Lady Denby anxiously and nearly angrily. "Do you think he looks -dissatisfied--as if--as if he were sorry?" - -"My dear child, your love for that young fellow is softening your -brain," responded Lady Denby, quietly. "Of course, I have noticed -nothing. He is quiet; but I suppose most men who are on the brink of -matrimony are quiet. They hear the clanking of their chains as they are -being forged, and are thinking of the time when they will be riveted -upon them. No man really likes being married." - -"There shall be no chains for Yorke!" said Lady Eleanor, softly; -"or, if there must be, then I will cover them with velvet. You shall -see--you shall see!" - -Certainly, Yorke did not go about as if to invisible music, or sing as -he went; and he was, as Lady Denby put it, quiet--very quiet. But if -he was not boisterous, he was everything else that a woman could desire -in a betrothed. He spent a portion of each day at Kensington Palace -Gardens. He was always ready to accompany Lady Eleanor to the park, the -theater, concerts, balls, and even shopping. Indeed, the patience with -which he would stroll up and down Bond Street or Oxford Street, smoking -cigarette after cigarette, while Lady Eleanor was shopping, was worthy -of the highest commendation, and immensely calculated to astonish his -wild bachelor friends. What he thought about as he paced slowly up and -down the hot pavements of those fashionable thoroughfares heaven only -knows! At any rate, it is well that Lady Eleanor didn't. - -Every morning he rode with her in the park--there was no need to sell -his horse now or to sack Fleming--and the loungers on the rails as they -raised their hats to his beautiful companion growled enviously: "Lucky -beggar! going to marry the prettiest and richest girl of the season! -Some men get all the plums in this world's pudding!" Altogether he -spent a great deal of his time in the society of his betrothed; but -there were still some hours of the day in which he was free to amuse -himself after his own devices, and he might have passed a very pleasant -time, for there was still a large contingent of his friends in town, -and there were outings at the Riverside Club, drives to Richmond, and -so on. But Yorke was seen in none of the places where the youth of -his sex most do congregate; and he spent the hours of his freedom in -long walks into the country around London, or in the smoking-room of -the quietest of the clubs. And he was always alone--alone, with that -strange, absent look in his eyes--that far-away look which lets out the -secret, and tells all who see it that a man's mind is wandering either -backward or forward; generally backward. - -All the world knew of his engagement, and every man who met him -congratulated him--all the world except the Duke of Rothbury, from whom -no word of congratulation had come. - -"Have you written to Godolphin?" Lady Eleanor had asked, shyly, and -Yorke, with a little start, had said "no;" that there was no occasion. -He would see it in the papers. "But he may not. They only get Galignani -in Switzerland; at least, I never could get anything else," said Lady -Eleanor. But Yorke had put off writing. He would not have admitted it -to himself, but he shrunk from writing to Dolph and telling him that -he, the duke, was right, and that Leslie was forgotten. Forgotten! Of -what was he thinking as he strode through the country lanes, as he -sat in a corner of the smoking-room, silent and moody, but of Leslie? -Always Leslie! - -The time comes when everybody--excepting a few millions--leaves London. - -"Shall you go to Scotland, Yorke?" Lady Eleanor asked. She knew he -had half a dozen invitations this year. He was never without them -any autumn, but this year they were more numerous than usual. Yorke -Auchester running loose and up to his ears in debt, and Yorke Auchester -engaged to Lady Eleanor Dallas were two very different persons and by -a singular coincidence everybody who had a house and a moor in the -Highlands invited him. But he said he would not go to Scotland. - -"I'm tired of it!" he said. "The place is eaten up by tourists at this -time of the year. I'd rather stay in London!" - -"Well, then, I will not go. I was going to the Casaubon's, but I will -send an excuse--" - -"Oh, no, don't do that!" he said, with the most unselfish alacrity. -"Don't you stay up in town for my sake; it's beastly dull now, I know." - -Lady Eleanor thought a moment. - -"I will tell you what I will do," she said. "Aunt and I will go to -White Place. It is just a nice distance from town, and--and if you -should ever think of running down, why--aunt will be glad to see you, -sir." - -The ladies went to White Place, and Yorke stayed in town. But, of -course, he ran down to the big house very frequently, and when he went -he was made much of, as was only right and natural. Would not the place -be his own some day, or at any rate would he not be the lord and master -of the mistress of it? Indeed, the servants received him as if he were -already master, and understood that their quickest and shortest way -of pleasing their mistress was by winning the favor of this handsome -lover of hers. Everything was done that man--ah! and woman; and how -much quicker is woman--could do to amuse and please him. A stud of -horses filled the stables--his own being the most honorably housed--the -keepers received carte blanche as to the game; a suite of rooms in the -best position, and so luxuriously furnished that poor Yorke laughed -grimly when he first entered them--was set apart for him. Lady Eleanor -would have filled the house with guests, but it seemed that Yorke was -not in the humor for company. "Which is so nice and sweet of him!" -murmured Lady Eleanor. His favorite wine had been brought down from -London, and the cook had a list of the dishes to which his lordship was -most partial. Happy! If he was not happy he was the most ungrateful man -among the sons of them. - -"You are spoiling him, my dear," Lady Denby ventured to remonstrate -gently. It was the morning that Lady Eleanor had given orders for -a special wire from the station to the house, so that his highness -might let them know when he was coming. "You are spoiling him all you -know how, and that's always a bad thing for a man, especially before -marriage; because, you see, when he is married he will expect to be -spoiled a great deal more--and you haven't left yourself any room." - -"I dare say," Lady Eleanor retorted. "I don't care. Besides, it isn't -true. You can't spoil Yorke." - -"Do you mean that nature has done it for you already?" said Lady Denby, -sweetly. - -"Nature!" flashed Lady Eleanor, her face flushing proudly; "nature -spoiled him! Oh, where is there a handsomer man, a stronger, a finer -than my Yorke?" - -"My dear, you are a raving lunatic," remarked Lady Denby, in despair. - -Certainly if he were being spoiled Yorke did not grow less careful -in his devoirs. He was as ready, as on the day of his engagement, to -attend his betrothed; and when they walked and drove together he was -always close at her side, and never wanting in those attentions which -the woman finds so precious when they are paid by the man she loves. -And with it all she watched him so closely, was so careful not to bore -him. In the matter of business, for instance, most women having so -much money would have wanted to talk over with her future husband this -investment and the other; but Lady Eleanor knew Yorke better than to -attempt anything of the kind. Ralph Duncombe still remained her guide, -philosopher, and friend in business matters, and it was understood -between Ralph Duncombe and her--without a word having passed--that his -name was never to be mentioned in Lord Auchester's hearing, and that -they were never to meet. - -One day, however--the day Yorke had galloped past Lucy in the lane, -they had very nearly met face to face, for Ralph Duncombe had left -the house only a few moments before Yorke had entered. Yorke had come -down from London for a few hours, and had ridden with Lady Eleanor, -and she had thought that he was going to remain for dinner; but quite -suddenly he had announced that he must get back to town; once or twice -lately he had had similar fits of restlessness, and had come and gone -unexpectedly. Lady Eleanor did not press him to stay; his chains, even -now, should be covered with velvet; and he had ridden off, having -arranged to leave his horse at the station, to be fetched by a groom. - -He trotted down the drive quietly enough, looking back once or twice -to smile and wave his hand at Lady Eleanor, who stood on the steps -watching him; but once out of sight he stuck the spurs into the horse, -and the high-spirited animal bounded off like a shot from a gun. - -And as he tore across the lawns and down the road, the devil that sat -behind Yorke Auchester taunted and upbraided him after the manner of -devils. - -"You ungrateful hound! why can't you be happy? Why can't you rest -and be content? You are going to marry one of the loveliest women -in England; you are going to be rich--rich! you, who hadn't a -penny--haven't a penny of your own; you are envied by every man who -knows you, and thousands who don't, but have only read of you in the -papers! What do you want, man--what do you want?" - -And all Yorke could answer with a groan was, "One more moonlit night at -Portmaris with Leslie by my side. Leslie, Leslie!" - -The horse was in a lather when they reached the station; but his -master was not tired--that was one of his troubles, the difficulty of -getting tired enough to be sleepy--and directly he got to town he set -off walking, and the devil of unrest trudged behind him, as he had sat -behind him on the horse. - -He, Yorke, and the demon with him, turned into the club at last, and -Yorke ordered some dinner. The footman brought him the carte de jour, -but Yorke flicked it from him. - -"Bring me what you like," he said indifferently, and he was eating it -as indifferently when Lord Vinson sauntered up. - -"Halloo, Auchester!" he said. Yorke nodded absently, not to say, -surlily. "All alone? I'll join you." - -He sat down, and after studying the carte with devout attention, -ordered his dinner, and then, having disposed of his soup, wanted to -talk. - -"Just seen Finetta," he said. Yorke looked up swiftly, but said -nothing; and Vinson went on, as he picked the bones from his red -mullet. "'Pon my soul, I think all women are mad--I do, indeed!" - -"Why?" said Yorke. He was bound to say something. - -"Why, take Fin, for instance. There she is at the top of the tree, -earning thousands a year, a regular popular favorite; and, hang me, if -she doesn't shirk her work at the theater three days out of six, and -actually talk about cutting the shop altogether! Seems to have lost her -senses lately. And she used to be so cute at one time, eh?" - -Yorke said nothing, but bowed at his plate. - -"By the way, you and she have had a row, haven't you?" said Vinson, -after a moment or two. - -"A row? No. Why?" - -"Oh, well, I didn't know. But when I mentioned your name the other day, -she just flared up in a way to make a man see stars. Awful! I don't -know what she isn't going to do to you!" - -"She's welcome to do all she likes, when she likes, and how she likes," -said Yorke, fiercely. "For God's sake talk of something else!" - -Now, when a man is told to "talk of something else," he usually obeys -by talking of nothing; and Vinson made haste with his dinner, and left -the table, muttering something about wanting to see the evening papers. - -"Seems to me that Auchester is going out of his mind," he said to a -friend; and he nodded behind the paper toward Yorke. "Snapped me up -just now as if he meant to knock my head off. Too much luck, that's -what's the matter! Who's the favorite for the sweepstakes, eh?" - -He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and glanced down the columns, and as -he did so he uttered an exclamation. - -"What's the matter with you?" demanded his friend. - -"Hush!" whispered Vinson; and he clutched the man's arm and led him to -a part of the room out of reach of Yorke's glowering eyes. "By great -goodness! talk of luck! Look here! Oh, Moses! did you ever?" - -"Let me see!" said his friend impatiently. "You clutch that paper as -if--What is it? Eh? Oh!" - -They both stared at the paragraph to which Vinson pointed in silence -for a moment or two. Then Vinson said in a whisper: - -"Do you think he has seen it?" - -"Not he! Do you think he would sit like that?" retorted the other man. - -"Then--then we ought to break it to him, eh?" said Vinson. "By George! -I don't half like the job. Here, you come with me!" - -They both approached the table, and Yorke nodded to the other man, but -did not extend a warmer greeting. - -"Not in Scotland, old man?" said Vinson, quaking a little. - -"What do you mean?" demanded Yorke, glaring at him. "I'm here, as you -see." - -"Not even yachting? Er--er--when did you see Lord Eustace last--your -uncle, you know?" - -Yorke looked from one to the other as if he thought they had lost their -senses. - -"What?" he said, impatiently. "When did I see--Why do you ask?" - -"Oh, show it to him!" said Vinson, desperately. "I told you I should -mull it!" - -The other man held the paper to Yorke and pointed to a paragraph, and -Yorke taking it--and not too courteously--out of his hand, read this: - -"We regret to announce the death of Lord Eustace Auchester and his two -sons. His lordship was yachting in the Mediterranean, and the vessel, -being overtaken by a sudden squall, capsized. Their lordships and the -crew, four in number, were all lost. Lord Eustace Auchester was the -heir to the Dukedom of Rothbury, which will now descend to his nephew, -Lord Yorke Auchester." - -Yorke gazed at the printed words for a time as if he failed to grasp -their significance. Then his face paled--paled slowly till it was white -as death. - -"Hold up, old man!" said Vinson. "Dash it all, I wish I'd broken it -better! Here, take some wine!" - -But Yorke, pushing the wine from him, rose, the paper still in his -hand, and, as if he had forgotten the presence of the two men, stared -wildly before him. Then, to their horror, he broke into a hoarse laugh. - -"Why, she should have waited!" he exclaimed, bitterly, and as if he -were speaking to himself. "Yes, if she had waited she would have been a -duchess, after all!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE HEIR APPARENT. - - -Yorke walked straight out of the club, leaving the two men staring at -each other in amazement. - -"Good Lord! poor Auchester is clean off his balance. Do you think it is -the shock--that it was because we did not break it gently enough?" - -The other man shook his head. - -"N-o, I don't think so. He's been very queer in his manner lately, -and--But who the devil did he mean when he said, 'She might have been a -duchess?'" - -Yorke strode along Pall Mall bewildered and stunned. At first he was -too confused to feel anything; then regret and grief came uppermost. He -was genuinely sorry. You may dislike your uncle and cousins, and yet be -far from wishing them dead; and Yorke's eyes were moist, and there was -a lump in his throat as he thought of his three kinsmen lying at the -bottom of the Mediterranean. - -Then he began to realize what their unexpected and tragic death meant -to him. There was only Dolph between him and the dukedom, and poor -Dolph could not make old bones, and as it bore down upon him with its -full significance, the terrible bitterness which had overwhelmed him at -the club recurred. The turn of the wheel of fortune had come too late. -If it had happened a month--five weeks earlier, he would not have been -driven into a corner, the only way out of which was by a marriage with -Eleanor Dallas. - -"Too late!" he muttered. "Yes! if it had come sooner I might have kept -Leslie;" but his heart revolted against his thought, and he swore under -his breath, "No, no! It was the title she wanted, not me. It is better -that she has gone!" - -He went home and saw by Fleming's face that he had heard the sad news. -Poor Fleming tried to look cut up, but it was hard work, seeing that he -had been saying to himself since the moment he had read the paragraph, -"My master will be a duke!" - -"Dreadful news, my lord," he said, in the tone proper to the occasion. - -"Yes, yes, Fleming," said Yorke, gravely. - -"Your lordship will go over, I suppose?" - -Yorke started slightly. He had not as yet thought of this, his obvious -duty. - -"Yes," he said. "Get some things ready and look out the time-table." - -"Yes, my lord. Your lordship will go down to White Place first?" -suggested Fleming, respectfully. - -Yorke hesitated, but he assented. - -"I'm to go abroad with you, my lord?" said Fleming tentatively, and -Yorke nodded. - -"You can if you like--just as you like," he said. - -"Thank you, my Lord, I will go," said Fleming. "Your lordship may want -things done, and I may be useful." - -"You are always that," Yorke said; and it was just such simple -expressions of appreciation as this that won the regard and devotion of -Fleming and his kind. - -Yorke went off to White Place that night. He was tired, but he could -not sleep in the train, though he tried. His mind was too overburdened -with thought. Late as it was, the ladies were up, and they had heard -the news from a servant who had brought an evening paper from town. - -Its effect upon Lady Eleanor was strange, and puzzled Lady Denby at -first, for Lady Eleanor let the paper drop from her hand, and stood -staring before her with an expression in her eyes which was rather that -of some vague dread than sorrow. - -Lady Denby went to her and drew her to a couch. - -"It is terribly sudden, and I am not surprised at your being upset, -dear," she said. "But--What is it, Eleanor? You are not going to -faint?" for Lady Eleanor had swayed and fallen back with the look of -dread still in her eyes. - -She recovered after a moment, and the tears came. - -"Oh, poor things, poor things! Oh, it is dreadful; but God forgive me, -it was not of them I was thinking but of--of Yorke and myself!" - -"Of Yorke?" said Lady Denby, puzzled still. - -"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, in a low and half-shamed voice. "Don't you -see the--the wedding must be put off now!" - -Lady Denby stroked her hand soothingly. - -"Yes, of course, dear; but there is nothing in that to frighten you; -for you look frightened, Eleanor." - -"Seems like--like a judgment on me; as if heaven were angry and meant -to throw obstacles in the way----." - -"Oh, my dear Eleanor!" - -"Yes! You don't know--you don't understand what I feel! And I felt so -happy, so safe! and now--How long do you think it will be necessary to -put it off?" - -Lady Denby was very nearly shocked. - -"The suddenness of this terrible news has upset you, Eleanor," she -said, gravely; "but for heaven's sake don't talk so--so callously." - -"You do not know!" repeated Lady Eleanor, with a deep sigh. "It is not -that I do not feel for them. Ah, yes, I do, keenly; as keenly as you -can; but--but it is as if it were fated that something should occur to -prevent our marriage." She was silent for a moment; and then she said, -as if to herself: "He will be the duke. I am sorry." - -"Sorry!" Lady Denby stared at her. - -"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, in the same low, reflective voice. "Yes; I -would rather he was what he is, and--and poor. I would rather that he -owed everything to me. Now--now it will be I who will owe much to him." - -"That is as fine a sample of pride as I have ever met with," said Lady -Denby. - -"Is it?" said Lady Eleanor. "You do not know or understand. Do you -think"--she looked up with a look of pain in her beautiful eyes--"do -you think that if he were free he would wish me now to be his wife?" - -"Eleanor, I have often said, in jest, that your affection for Yorke -was undermining your reason; but in solemn truth I begin to think -that there is some truth in my assertion. Dry your eyes and compose -yourself. He will be here presently; he is sure to come the moment he -hears the news. He will have to go over and see about the funeral." - -"No, no; why should he?" said Lady Eleanor, then she flushed as if with -shame. "Yes, yes, of course! and you think he will come?" - -"There he is!" said Lady Denby, as they heard Yorke's step in the hall. -"For heaven's sake don't breathe to him the charming sentiments you -have favored me with." - -Lady Eleanor shook her head and bit her lips to bring the color into -them. - -"Do not fear," she said. "It is only when I am alone or with you that I -show my doubts and fears." - -Yorke came in and took her in his arms and kissed her. - -"You have heard the news, Eleanor, I see," he said gravely. - -"Yes, it is dreadful, dreadful! To think that all three should be -gone--those two poor boys! You are going over, Yorke?" for he had got -on his traveling ulster. - -"Yes; I am going to meet Fleming at Charing Cross to-morrow morning. I -shall have to go back at once." - -"At once! It was good of you to come so far just to say good-by; -but you are always good to me, Yorke," and she laid her head on his -shoulder. "This--this will make a difference to you, dearest?" - -He did not affect not to understand her. - -"Yes," he said, simply. "Two days ago there seemed little chance of my -being the Duke of Rothbury. Now--but I hope and trust dear old Dolph -will live to be a hundred." - -"And I, and I!" she responded fervently. "I would rather have you as -you are, Yorke; far, far rather." - -"I'm afraid that this sad affair will delay our marriage, Eleanor," he -said, and he said it as regretfully as he could. - -"Yes," she whispered, her face still hidden on his shoulder--"Yes, it -must, I suppose; but"--he could almost feel her blush--"but not for -long?" she asked, nearly inaudibly. - -"I don't know," he stammered. "I--we shall see. I must find Dolph. He -was in Switzerland, but I think it is very likely that he has moved -down south with the cooler weather. He will be cut up. He liked poor -Eustace better than any of us did. I must go now, dear," he said, -presently. - -"So soon?" - -"Yes, I am afraid so. Is there anything you want me to do--anything I -can tell Dolph?" - -She shook her head. - -"There is only one thing I want," she said, in a low voice, "and that -is--you! Come back as soon--the first moment you can, Yorke, and--and -don't forget me!" - -He would have been a far worse man than he was if he had not been -touched by the depth of her love, and he kissed her with greater warmth -than he had ever before shown her. - -When he had gone Lady Eleanor threw herself down on the sofa and hid -her face in her hands, and Lady Denby, when she came in an hour later, -found her thus. - -Do it as luxuriously as you may, the journey from England to the -south of Italy is a tiresome and aggravating one, and Yorke reached -Policastro--the place at which the bodies were lying--worn out -mentally and physically. It was fortunate that the devoted Fleming had -accompanied him, and never did his devotion display itself more plainly -or to better advantage. There were a number of persons, busybodies, -there, who would have surrounded Lord Auchester at once--the whole -coast was in a state of excitement over the catastrophe--but Fleming -kept them at bay, and insisted upon his master taking some rest before -he commenced the painful duties necessitated by the circumstances. - -"His lordship isn't going to see any one to-night," he assured the -landlord of the hotel. "Not if it was the King of Italy himself. If -anybody wants to know anything, let them come to me." - -The landlord only half understood, but he was considerably awed by -Fleming's tone, and departed shrugging his shoulders and spreading out -his hands after the manner of his nation. - -In the morning Yorke went and identified the bodies and arranged for -the funeral, and was returning to the hotel when he met Grey, the -duke's valet. - -"His grace has just arrived, my lord. I came to meet you," he said. "I -hope your lordship is well?" he added, respectfully, and with rather a -serious glance at Yorke's face. - -Yorke nodded. - -"All right, thank you, Grey," he said. "And the duke?" - -Grey hesitated. - -"About as well as usual, I hope, my lord," he said, quietly. "This sad -affair has upset him, of course, and--and he hasn't been very strong -lately--not since we left England, indeed, my lord. Your lordship will -find him looking thinner," he added, as if to warn Yorke. - -Yorke quickened his pace, and Grey led him to the duke's room. - -The room was darkened by the drawn blinds, and Yorke, coming out of -the sunlight saw but indistinctly for a moment; then, as the duke -raised himself on the couch, he started and found speech difficult. The -duke was but a shadow of even his former self, and the hand which he -extended was so thin that Yorke was afraid to press it. - -"Why, Dolph," he said, with forced cheerfulness, "this is a surprise! -How did you come here?" - -"We have been traveling night and day, as you have no doubt," said -the duke, and his voice sounded much thinner and more feeble than when -Yorke had last heard it. "Pull up an inch or two of one of the blinds -and let me look at you." - -Yorke did so, and came back to the couch, and the duke, after scanning -his face, fell back with a faint sigh. - -"And so you are going to be the next duke, after all. How you and I -have fretted--No, I don't know that you ever cared much, but I did--and -it has all come right at last! The Providence that 'shapes our ends, -rough-hew them as we will,' has decreed that poor Eustace and his boys -should go down there in the bay and that you should reign in his place!" - -"I wish they were all alive still," said Yorke, with sincerity. - -"I know you do," responded the duke. "But I can't help thinking, as I -have always thought, that you will make a good duke, Yorke. You have -the presence and the moral strength, and a better temper than poor -Eustace. He was too fond of his money. But of the dead let us speak -nothing but good. And now about yourself. Why did you not write and -tell me of your engagement? Never mind; I understand. And if I did not -write and tell you I was glad, you knew it without any epistolatory -assurance from me. You have done wisely, Yorke, very wisely. Eleanor -has everything that a man wants in a wife--youth, beauty, wealth and -station. She will make a splendid duchess, Yorke." - -"Yes," said Yorke, staring at the carpet moodily. - -"I suppose I must hang on until you are married," said the duke, as -cheerfully and coolly as if he were talking of somebody else. "Once or -twice lately I have been inclined to throw up the sponge, but somehow -I've got a hankering to see you settled; and then I suppose I shall -want to live long enough to take the next heir on my knee. Men are -never satisfied. But I don't suppose I shall be able to hold out till -then." - -"For heaven's sake, don't talk such arrant nonsense!" Yorke said, -emphatically. "You are no worse than you were." - -The duke smiled at him calmly but significantly. - -"My dear fellow, I am hanging on to life by my eyelashes," he said, in -a matter-of-fact tone. - -"You must get back to England as quickly as possible," said Yorke, -trying to speak in an assured and perfectly confident voice. "There -is nothing like England in the winter, after all. Come back and let -Eleanor nurse you." - -"That's an inducement, certainly," said the duke. "Eleanor and I were -always good friends." - -There was silence for a few moments; then the duke, after glancing once -or twice at Yorke's grave face, said, in a low voice that faltered: - -"There--there is no news of--of--" - -He stopped. - -"Of whom?" said Yorke, with a frown, though he knew well enough. - -"Of Leslie," said the duke, and a faint flush passed over his emaciated -face. - -Yorke shook his head. - -"No," he replied, clearing his throat. "No, I have seen nothing and -heard nothing of her since I left Portmaris." - -"She must have gone out of England," said the duke, knitting his brows. -"Her father being an artist--as he thinks himself, poor fellow--would -be ready enough to come abroad here on the Continent. It is strange -that I have not run across them." - -Yorke said nothing, but the frown on his forehead deepened and darkened. - -"When I shuffle off this mortal coil you will find in my will that I -have mentioned--Leslie." He paused before the name. "You won't mind, -Yorke? She wouldn't take any money from me alive, but she may not mind -when I'm gone. After all, it was a cruel trick we--no, I--played her, -Yorke," he said, in a remorseful tone. - -"It was!" said Yorke, curtly. "But it was a test, and she failed in it." - -The duke sighed. Silence again for a moment or two; then, as if he were -giving speech to a thought that had occurred to him before, and often -before, this he said, hesitatingly: - -"Do you think--mind, I only ask you the question for the sake of asking -it; I have no reason for doing so--but do you think that there was the -slightest chance of our having made a mistake?" - -"What do you mean?" demanded Yorke. - -"I mean--well, it is difficult to say exactly what I mean. But you -know--or perhaps you don't know--how sick men brood and brood over a -thing. You see, we have so much time on our hands lying on our backs -and counting the flies on the ceiling, that we think over things a -great deal more closely than men in sound health. And--and at times a -doubt has crossed my mind." He stopped. "There is no ground for it. -I am sure I could not have been mistaken; she spoke only too plainly -the morning we parted. Besides, there is the fact of her breaking her -appointment with you; of leaving you without a word beyond the message -she sent by me." - -"And the message she sent by Arnheim. I met him the other day and he -gave it to me; I went off too quickly on the other occasion for him to -do so. It was like that she sent by you; she wished to see me no more," -said Yorke, grimly. - -"Yes, yes! There could be no mistake, and yet--well, I have lain and -thought of her as she was when we first met her, do you remember?" - -Yorke smiled grimly. Did he remember? - -"So girlish and innocent; so quick to be pleased, and so grateful," he -sighed. - -"Yes; sometimes it has seemed impossible to me that she should have -been so base and mercenary. But there could be no mistake, as you say. -And, mind, I should not have said this if you had still been unsettled -and hankering after her; but now----." - -"Don't say it now, either!" broke out Yorke, springing to his feet and -pacing up and down. "For God's sake, don't talk of--of that time or -of her. I--I can't bear it! I beg your pardon, Dolph; but don't you -see--don't you understand that though a man may cover up his wound -and cease to complain, the heart may sting and ache still? I want to -forget--to forget! and--and if there is any doubt--but there can't -be--I've got to shut my eyes and ears to it--to put it away from me. -If I did not--if I entertained it for a moment--well--" He stopped and -laughed bitterly. "That way madness lies! You and I had better agree to -taboo the subject. The sound of her name--How soon can we leave this -place?" he broke off. - -The duke sighed. - -"You must get back as quickly as possible," he said. "Eleanor will -miss you. The wedding need not be put off very long. You are already -practically the duke. I shall pass over all the business of the estate -to you at once, and it is right and fitting that you should be married. -The world will see that. Three months, too, will be long enough to -wait; the wedding can be a perfectly quiet one." - -"Very well," said Yorke, dully. "Settle it as you like." - -"Yes! it can't be too soon," said the duke, thoughtfully. "You've got -to consider me, you know," and he laughed. "Look here, my lord, you -may as well begin to take the burden on your shoulders. Give me that -dispatch-box; there are some letters Grey has been bothering me about. -It is something about the trees in the Home park at Rothbury. Cut 'em -down or let 'em stand, just as you think proper. They will be yours, -you know, very shortly, thank God!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE NEW LOVE. - - -A fortnight later Lucy was returning from a rather lengthy ramble. She -had a companion, one of the school-girls, this being the universal -holiday, Saturday afternoon, and they both carried a basket full of -roots and leaves; for whenever Lucy went out she managed to bring home -something for planting in the little garden of which she and Leslie -were so fond and proud. - -"I hope you're not getting tired, Jenny," she said to the girl who -tripped on proudly beside her. - -"Oh, no, Miss Lucy." - -"Well, I'm glad you are not," remarked Lucy; "for we are a long way -from home yet." - -"And it is going to rain," added Jenny, with that placid indifference -to the weather which distinguishes country children. - -"What; and I have brought no umbrella, and you have only that thin -cloak, Jenny. But perhaps you are wrong. I always notice that when -people say it is going to rain, it invariably turns out fine, perhaps -for weeks." - -"It's going to rain now, Miss Lucy," repeated Jenny, still more -confidently; and a moment or two afterward she added, "There!" - -Lucy felt a spot on her face and seized the girl's basket. - -"You must let me carry this, Jenny, because we shall have to hurry all -we know. It will never do to go in wet through. What would Miss Leslie -say?" - -This formula, which she found of great service when admonishing the -children, lent speed to Jenny's small feet, and Lucy and she hurried -along the road. But quickly as they went the rain caught them up, and -presently it came down in a torrent. - -Jenny laughed, and Lucy, being rather careful of her clothes, and -inclined to take matters seriously, was constrained to laugh too. - -"We must get under a tree," she said. "There, squeeze up against the -trunk, and I will stand in front of you and shelter you as well as I -can. Oh, what would I give for an umbrella!" - -Jenny leaned against the tree and amused herself by twisting a spray -of brown ivy leaves into a wreath, and looking up at the weather now -and again; and Lucy was rapidly sinking into that semi-indifferent, -semi-despairing condition which such circumstances produce, when she -heard the rattle of a cart coming along the road. - -"Jenny, there is a cart, and I believe it is going to Newfold," she -said, with a sudden hopefulness. "Perhaps it is someone we know--one of -the tradespeople. If so, we will ask them to give us a lift." - -"They won't wait to be asked, Miss Lucy," said Jenny, shrewdly, and -indeed truthfully, for the two school-teachers were already favorites -in Newfold. - -"Here it is now," said Lucy; then she sighed disappointedly. "It is a -dog cart--a gentleman's dog-cart," she said. "Bother!" - -It came abreast of them and was spinning past, when suddenly the -gentleman who was driving seemed to see them, and after a moment's -hesitation he pulled up the horse. - -"You mustn't stand under that tree," he called out. - -Lucy colored and started for two reasons; one, because she had been -brought up in habits of obedience, and generally did what she was told, -no matter who told her, and especially if the order was issued in a -commanding voice, and this was a commanding voice. The other reason was -that she recognized the voice itself. It was the gentleman she had met -in the lane, and to whom she had given the fern root. - -"Come away," he said, gravely; then he appeared to recognise her, for -he jumped down and, still holding the reins, came forward and raised -his hat, Jenny laughing to see the rain pour off the brim. - -"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not see who it was for a moment, -the rain is pelting so. But all the same you really must not stand -there. There is thunder in the air, and it is dangerous standing under -a tree--lightning you know!" - -Lucy uttered a little cry, then laughed and blushed. - -"Of course. How foolish of me not to think of it! But when you called -out I was afraid I was doing some injury to the tree by trespassing." - -He laughed--a grave, short kind of laugh, which, however, seemed to -Lucy to suit him somehow. - -"How wet you are!" he said. "Have you been standing here long?" - -"Ever since it began," replied Lucy with a little shrug of her -shoulders--a trick she had unconsciously caught from Leslie. "And we -are waiting till it stops." - -"I am afraid you will have to wait a long time," he remarked. "It has -set for a wet evening. May I ask where you are going?" - -"To Newfold," said Lucy. - -"Newfold? Ah, yes! Will you let me offer you a lift? I am going there, -or, at any rate, very near there--as far as the London road goes." - -"Oh, no, thank you," said Lucy, flushing. He looked disappointed; then -he glanced at Jenny. - -"The little girl is getting very wet. She will take a chill," he said, -gravely. - -"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Lucy, with instant alarm. "Oh, dear! -And I am afraid she is not very strong. It doesn't in the least matter -so far as I am concerned, for I never take cold. I am used to the -country and rough weather; but Jenny----." - -Jenny grinned at the idea of her being in any danger from an autumn -storm, but she was too wise to make any remark, for she was dying for a -ride in the handsome dog-cart. - -"I think you had better let me take her--and you," he said; and seeing -that she still hesitated, he cut the Gordian knot by lifting Jenny into -the cart and holding out his hand for Lucy. - -Then when she was seated he got out a big carriage umbrella and put it -up for them, and quickly slipping off his waterproof, arranged it on -the seat behind so that it completely covered them. - -"Oh, but you will get wet!" remonstrated Lucy, much distressed; but he -laughed and made light of the business. - -"We Londoners like getting wet sometimes," he said. "It is a change, -you see. In London we take as much care of ourselves as if a spot of -rain would kill us." - -"Oh, I know," said Lucy, with shy pride. "I have lived in London for -some time." - -"I thought you said you were used to the country?" he remarked. - -"So I am--I was born in the country," Lucy explained, in her frank, -simple manner--a manner, by the way, which possesses a greater charm -for some, indeed most, men, than all the cultivated artificialities. - -"I have lived all my life," she said--"all my life"--as if she were at -least ninety--"in the country until I went up to London to cram for my -exam." - -"Your exam.?" he said, invitingly, and yet not obtrusively, and there -was nothing in the interest displayed in his face which indicated -presumptuous or idle curiosity. - -"Yes," said Lucy, blushing faintly; "I am a teacher." - -"A governess?" he said. - -"No, a teacher," corrected Lucy, with fine emphasis. "I am one of the -teachers at the village school. There are only two--I mean teachers. I -am the second." - -"And do you like being a teacher?" he asked. His voice was as grave as -ever, but the expression of interest seemed increasing; the pleasant -face looked so pretty and innocent and girlish under the shadow of the -big umbrella; the clear, low voice rang so true and sweet. It seemed -to the weary city man as if he had stopped to pick up one of the wild -flowers from the hedge-row. - -"Oh, yes," said Lucy, promptly. - -"I thought so by the way you spoke," he said, with a smile; and Lucy -laughed and blushed again. - -"I like it very much," she said. "But, then, ours is such a nice -school, and the girls are all such good girls, aren't they, Jenny?" - -"Yes, Miss Lucy," assented Jenny, from under the wrap into which she -had nestled. - -"Self-praise, eh?" he said. - -"Oh, but she is really a very good girl," said Lucy, in a confidential -whisper, which seemed to make them more intimate. "They are all good, -and so we are both as happy as we can be." - -"We both?" he said. - -"I mean my fellow-teacher; my principal," said Lucy, "Miss--" She was -about to tell him the name, but stopped, remembering that he was a -stranger and that Leslie might not like to be so confidential, about -herself, at any rate. - -"I am very glad you are so happy," he said. "Do you know, I had been on -the point of visiting your school." - -"You?" said Lucy, opening her eyes with surprise; and, as he noticed, -with something else--a faint but unmistakable pleasure. - -"Yes," he said. "It belongs to a lady who is a friend of mine. She is -kind enough to let me see to some of her business matters." - -"The kindness seems to be on the other side," said Lucy, laughing. - -Ralph Duncombe colored and found himself laughing too. - -"Well," he said, "let us say we are both kind. I was going to explain -that she had asked me to do something in connection with the school. I -forget what it was now." - -"Perhaps it was the roof," said Lucy, eagerly. "It is rather bad in one -or two places, and the other morning two or three spots of water came -through. Oh, I hope it was the roof!" - -"It must have been," he said, with due gravity; "and I will see that -it is put right at once. Is there anything else that wants doing, -Miss--Miss Lucy, I think you said your name was?" - -"Yes, Lucy Somes," she said, thinking hard, and trying to remember if -there was anything else wrong at her beloved school. "N-o, I don't -think there is anything else the matter, excepting the roof." - -"Perhaps I had better come and see for myself, he said, in a -matter-of-fact way. - -"Are you--an architect?" Lucy inquired, rather timidly. - -Ralph Duncombe smiled. - -"No; I am nothing nearly so clever. I am only an ordinary business man, -very hard worked and very glad to run away from the city and into the -fresh air." - -"Ah, yes; how you must enjoy it!" said Lucy, with a sympathetic little -sigh, "to get away from the crowd and the heat and the smoke." - -So they talked, and as Ralph Duncombe listened to the sweet young voice -it seemed to him as if there was a power in it to soothe his weary, -restless spirit; and when Lucy suddenly exclaimed, as if she were quite -surprised that they should have reached the spot so soon, "Why, here is -the corner!" he pulled the horse up with evident reluctance. - -"I'll drive you around to the school," he said; but Lucy declined, and -so earnestly that he could not persist. - -He lifted them down, and cut short Lucy's blushing thanks. - -"It is I who ought to be, and am very much, obliged to you, Miss -Somes," he said, "for you have made one part of my lonely drive very -pleasant. I hope you won't be any the worse for your wetting." - -"Oh, but I am as dry as a bone--and so is Jenny," said Lucy, blushing -still more. "Good-by--and you will not forget the roof?" - -"No, no," he said; "but I must come and see it myself." - -He sat bolt upright in the cart, watching them as they ran along the -road shining with the rain, and a strange feeling took possession of -him. How lonely he had been before he saw them! How lonely all his life -was! He was rich, fearfully rich, and yet there was not a streak of -sunshine in his life. His love for Leslie Lisle had clouded it over as -with a pall. Oh! why had the fates dealt with him so unkindly? Why had -he not given his heart to some girl like the one who had just left -him--one who would have returned his love, and borne for him the sweet -name of--wife? - -For the first time in his life Ralph Duncombe found himself thinking -tenderly and wistfully of some other woman than Leslie Lisle. - -He thought of her several times the next day. Her sweet girlish face -came between him and a most important letter he was writing; and once -during the morning his chief clerk came in and found him--the great -city man--sitting with his head leaning on his hands and his eyes fixed -vacantly on the window. - -When Saturday came around again he remembered that he must go round -to White Place to see Lady Eleanor. He had the horse harnessed, and -drove along the road, light now with the autumn sunshine, and every -inch of the way he thought of Lucy. When, in the afternoon, he reached -the corner where he had set her and Jenny down, he pulled up, stared -straight in front of him for a moment, then suddenly turned the corner -and drove to the school, and his heart beat as it had not beaten since -he said good-by to Leslie as he saw Lucy's girlish figure in the -garden. She wore a plain cotton frock; a big sun hat, much battered and -sunburned, was on her head, and the prettiest and most useless of rakes -in her hand. She almost dropped this apology for a tool when she saw -him, and the color ran up her cheeks as she came to the gate. - -"You have come to see the roof!" she said. "That is kind of you." - -"Yes, I have come to see the roof!" he said. - -He had forgotten all about it; but he could scarcely say he had come to -see her. - -"I am so sorry," said Lucy; "but my friend--the principal, you know--is -out. She does not often leave the house and garden, even for an hour, -excepting to go to church; but I persuaded her to go down to the -village this afternoon. I am so very sorry!" - -"So am I," responded Ralph, with mendacious politeness. "May I come in?" - -"Oh, yes, please!" said Lucy. "But the horse?" - -"He will stand till this day week," said Ralph. "But I'll hitch the -reins over the palings all the same." - -"This way," said Lucy, eagerly; and she led him to the school-room. He -stared up at the very small hole in the roof with the deepest gravity -apparently; but in reality he was thinking how sweetly pretty the face -beside him looked as she upturned to gaze aloft. - -"All right," he said, with a laugh. "I'll see that it is put straight. -You are sure there is nothing else?" - -"N-o," said Lucy, "nothing. Oh, yes! the gate to the meadow is so very -old that that the donkey in the next field pushes it open, and--" - -"Let us go in and see it," said Ralph, promptly. "We may as well do -everything that wants doing at once." - -They went to the meadow, and he examined the gate and admired the -view across the fields, and on Lucy telling him it was much better -from the edge of the wood, he wandered off in that direction, and, -somehow or other, they found themselves sitting on the stile that led -into the plantation and talking, as Lucy put it afterward, "like old -friends"--so much so, indeed, that it was with quite a start that Lucy -heard the clock strike five. - -"Oh, I have not offered you any tea!" she exclaimed, remorsefully. -"Please come into the school-house. My friend will be back by this -time, and she will be quite angry at my want of hospitality." - -Ralph, picturing to himself a middle-aged school-mistress as the -'principal,' glanced at his watch hesitatingly; but seeing a look of -disappointment beginning to cloud Lucy's face, rose promptly. - -Why should he not go in to tea with her? It was the last time he -would see her, having an opportunity of listening to the sweet young -voice; and at the thought a sudden pang shot through his heart. He had -spent his life following a will-o'-the-wisp. Leslie Lisle, even if -he found her, could never be his. Why should he not ask this pretty, -innocent-eyed girl-- - -"Lucy," he said, suddenly, and yet gently. - -She started at the sound of the Christian name, and turned her eyes -upon him questioningly. - -"Don't be frightened," he said, still more gently, but with an earnest -gravity that thrilled her. "And yet I am afraid I shall frighten you. -Do you know what it is I am going to ask you? No, you cannot guess. -Lucy, since last Saturday I have been thinking of you every day!" - -"Of me?" The words left her lips in a whisper, and the color deepened -in her cheeks. - -"Of you!" he said, fervently. "I love you, Lucy. Will you be my wife?" - -She stepped back, her eyes opening wide, her parted lips tremulous. But -when he took her hand she did not shrink back further, and she did not -attempt to take the hand away. - - * * * * * - -They wandered hand in hand about the lanes for an hour, while the horse -contentedly nibbled at the grass at the bottom of the garden hedge, -and during that hour Ralph told her who and what he was--told her -everything, indeed, excepting his love for Leslie Lisle--and Lucy was -still in 'love's amaze' as they made their way back to the house. - -"You must come in, if only for a moment," she said as -he was unfastening the reins. "I want to tell her--my -fellow-teacher--to--to--to show you to her." Her eyes sunk and her -voice trembled. "I know she will be so glad! Besides, I--I couldn't -tell her about it all by myself. It is so sudden--so dreadfully -sudden--that I should die of shame!" and her face grew crimson as she -laughed. - -"All right," he said; "I will come in; but it must be only for a -moment, Lucy." - -She opened the gate, and as she did so something glittering on the path -caught her eye. - -She stooped and picked it up. - -"Why, it's a ring!" she exclaimed--"a gentleman's ring! You must have -dropped it as you came in--Ralph." - -"Not I!" he said, shaking his head. - -He had not worn a ring since--since he had given his to Leslie. - -"But you must have done," she said, with charming persistence. "No -gentleman has passed this gate excepting you, sir." - -He laughed. - -"Let me see," he said. - -He took the ring, looked at it, and the smile fled from his face, which -suddenly went pale. It was the ring he had given Leslie! He stood, dumb -with amazement. - -"Well?" she said, linking her arm in his, and so intent on the ring -that she did not notice his pallor and constraint. - -"Yes," he said, and his voice rang out with a strange doubt and -trouble--"yes, it is my ring!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -"POOR GIRL!" - - -Ralph Duncombe stood looking at the ring as a man looks upon some -trinket he has happened on that belonged to some dearly loved friend -long since dead. The ring he had given to Leslie! Back in a flash came -the memory of that morning he had given it to her. The sea, the beach, -the lovely face floated before his eyes and made him giddy. He had just -asked this sweet, innocent girl to be his wife; he had no right, no -wish to think of Leslie as a lover, and yet--ah, well, in the heart, as -in heaven, there are many manoeuvres, and for the moment the old love -filled the biggest place in Ralph Duncombe's heart. - -"What is the matter?" asked Lucy, with faint wonder at his silence and -stillness. "Is it so very precious a ring? Let me look at it. Would you -have been very sorry if you had lost it?" - -"Very," he said, scarcely knowing what he said. - -"How glad I am that I found it! You must have dropped it as you came -in. How careless of you!" - -"No," he said, bravely; he could no more prevaricate before that sweet -innocence than lie outright. "No, Lucy, I did not drop it just now. I -parted with it a long while ago, and I have not seen it since until -now." - -Lucy gazed up at him open-eyed. - -"Then how did it come here?" she asked, in an awestruck whisper. "To -whom did you give it? A gentleman, of course?" - -"No," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "It was to----." - -Before he could add 'a woman,' a voice low and clear, a voice which -thrilled him and awoke the echo--thank God, for Lucy's sake--only the -echo--of his old passion, was heard in the doorway. - -"Lucy, are you there?" - -It was Leslie's voice! Ralph Duncombe started, and in the shock of -surprise seized Lucy's arm. - -"Who is that?" he breathed, in a hushed whisper, his eyes fixed on the -doorway. - -"Why, how nervous you are!" she said, laughing softly, but a little -timidly, for she had seen him start, and felt the pressure of his hand. -"Who should it be but my friend, Miss Lisle?" - -"Miss--Lisle!" he repeated. - -Something in his voice startled Lucy, and she shrank from him the -slightest bit in the world. But he noticed it, and he put his arm round -her. - -"Your--your fellow teacher is called Leslie Lisle?" he said. - -"I didn't say 'Leslie,'" said Lucy, half-frightened; "but it is Leslie." - -As she spoke, a tall, slim figure in a white dress appeared against -the dim background of the open doorway, then came towards them, then -stopped. - -"Is that you, Lucy? You are not alone----." As she stopped her eyes -glanced quickly from one to the other, dilating as she looked; then her -face grew crimson, and she spoke his name: "Ralph!" - -"Leslie!" he answered, and made a movement towards her; then, as if -suddenly remembering the wondering, frightened girl on his arm, stopped. - -"You--you know one another!" said Lucy, at last, in a kind of gasp. -"Oh, what does it mean?" - -Ralph Duncombe, the ever ready, self-possessed city man, the man whose -clerks regarded him as of iron rather than flesh and blood, stood -biting his lip, and staring at the white figure motionless and dumb. - -But the gods made women quick, and that glance from one to the other -had told Leslie all their story. Trembling a little, but outwardly -calm, she glided towards them. - -"Yes," she said, slowly, distinctly, "Mr. Duncombe and I know each -other. We are old, very old friends----." - -"Friends?" fell from Lucy's quivering lips, and spoke doubtfully in her -wide-open eyes. - -"Yes, dear," said Leslie, softly, "great friends--nothing more." The -last two words were breathed rather than spoken, and Lucy's lips opened -with a deep sigh of relief, and the hand that had been gradually -slipping, slipping from Ralph's arm, tightened again. - -"This--this is a surprise, Les--Miss Lisle," he said at last, and his -voice sounded almost harsh from his emotion. "Where have you been? What -has happened?" he glanced at the black scarf, at the black ribbons on -her sleeves, and his voice faltered. - -Leslie's head drooped for a moment, then she raised it bravely. - -"Yes!" she said, answering his unspoken question. "Months ago. I will -tell you about it--presently. Will you both go in? You have something -to tell me, I see," and she smiled. "I will come directly. I have lost -something----." - -Lucy took Ralph's hand and held it up. - -"It is found," she said, and pointed to the ring solemnly. "It was to -you he gave it, was it not, Leslie?" and a dark, a terrible fear, a -pang almost of jealousy shook her heart. - -Leslie motioned to Ralph to be silent, and taking Lucy's hand drew her -towards her. - -"Yes, Lucy," she said, in a low voice, every word thrilling intensely. -"The ring was given to me by Mr. Duncombe. It was given to me as a -pledge of friendship. It was a farewell gift. Given without requital; a -pledge and a token that if ever I needed the donor's help I had but to -send it as a message to find that help. Since the day he gave it to me -I have not seen Mr. Duncombe, but I have not forgotten him nor ceased -to cherish my ring. And yet," a sad little smile curved her lip. "I -have lost it twice----." - -Somehow, these last few words went farther to reassure Lucy than -anything else could go. Lovers do not lose their love tokens! If Leslie -had cared for Ralph, she would have taken better care of her ring. - -"I--I don't understand--ah, yes, I do! I see it all!" she said, with a -little sob, and looking from one to the other. "I understand it all! It -is very natural," her voice choked a little. "Who could see you, know -you, without loving you----." - -"Hush, hush!" whispered Leslie in her ear. "That was so long ago that -he has forgotten it. There is only one woman in the world he loves, and -she is here!" and she drew Lucy's face against her bosom with a loving -pressure. - -Ralph Duncombe stood, as a man in such a situation must stand, silent -and awkward. It seemed as if both had clean forgotten him, but suddenly -Leslie held out her hand to him. - -"We have not shaken hands yet," she said, with a little laugh, "and we -are keeping you outside in the most inhospitable fashion. Pray come -in!" and she went in, still holding Lucy to her. - -"Now let me turn up the lamp; how the evenings draw in, do they not? -Supper is ready, and----." Then she broke down, and sinking into a -chair, leant her head in her hands. - -Lucy knelt beside her and soothed her. - -"It is her father she is thinking of," she whispered to Ralph with -womanly instinct; she knew that Leslie would have died rather than weep -over a lost lover before that lover and the woman who had won him. "It -is of her father; the sight of you has brought it all back to her! Oh, -how wonderful it all is! To think that you----." - -"I'd better go!" said Ralph, with a man's aptitude at doing the wrong -thing. - -"No, no! wait till she has got over it. She will be all right in a -moment; you don't know how brave she is." - -Indeed, almost in a moment Leslie had dried her tears. - -"Forgive me!" she murmured penitently. "How selfish you must think me! -and I am so full of happiness at her happiness too! And it was to this -gentleman--this old friend of mine--you gave the fern root, and it was -he who drove you and Jenny home in the rain!" - -"Yes! isn't it like a fairy story, Leslie? And you are really glad?" -she asked wistfully. - -Leslie took the upturned face in her hand. - -"Gladder than I have ever been in my life--than I have been for, ah! so -long!" she corrected herself. "If I could have chosen your future for -you I would have chosen just this that fate has planned. You will make -each other very, very happy, I know! Now sit down, Mr. Duncombe. I will -promise not to--not to cry again. Lucy, cut some bread. I will be back -in a moment." - -As she left the room, Lucy stole half timidly up to Ralph. - -"Oh, how could you think of me after--after loving her!" she whispered. - -He bent his head and kissed her. - -"Say no more, Lucy," he said gravely. "Let the past bury its dead. Yes -I--I loved her; but she--I was no more to her, never could have been -more to her, than just a friend. I know it now; are you satisfied, -dearest?" - -She looked into his eyes for a moment, a look which seemed to sink -into his soul; then she let her head fall on his breast with a sigh -of peace. When Leslie came down there were no tears in her eyes, and -presently, of her own accord, she spoke of her father's death, and told -Ralph Duncombe how she had met with Lucy, and how they had passed their -exams and obtained the school. But not one word did she say of Yorke. -Ralph noticed this. - -"And why did you not send to me?" he said reproachfully. - -Leslie shook her head. - -"You were too proud!" he said. - -"Yes, that was it," she admitted quietly. "I was too proud." - -"And it would have given me much pleasure to have helped you!" he said. -"Is there nothing I can do now? Can you think of nothing?" - -Leslie shook her head with a faint smile. - -"We have everything we want, have we not, Lucy?" she said. - -Lucy blushed. She certainly had. - -"No, there is nothing," continued Leslie, then she stopped and he -looked up quickly. - -"There is something you have thought of?" he said. - -Leslie's head drooped thoughtfully. - -"Yes, there is something," she said. Lucy got up as if to leave the -room; but Leslie put out a hand and stayed her. "No, dear, it is no -secret; besides, if it were, you must not keep secrets from each other. -Wait a moment." - -Lucy and Ralph exchanged glances. - -"Do you know anything?" he asked. - -Lucy shook her head. - -"No," she replied in an awed whisper, "she has told me nothing of her -past--nothing. We love each other like sisters, and I think there is -no one in the world half so good or sweet as Leslie, but I should not -dare--yes, that is the word--to ask for her confidence." - -Leslie came back into the room. She had a small packet in her hand, and -she laid it on the table before Ralph Duncombe. - -"I am going to ask you to do something for me," she said with a smile -that flickered sadly, as if it were very near tears. "I wish you to -give this to the person to whom it is addressed." - -Ralph Duncombe took up the packet. - -"The Duke of Rothbury!" he said aloud. - -Lucy opened her eyes. - -"You may open it," said Leslie in a low voice. "It is of value--great -value, I believe. If it had not been I would have sent it by post. Yes, -open it." - -Ralph Duncombe opened the packet and stared amazed. - -"It is of great value," he said gravely; "and--and I am to give it to -the Duke of Rothbury?" - -"Yes," said Leslie, her lips quivering. The sight of the sorrow which -she was trying to hide stirred him past repression. - -"He gave you this?" he said. - -"Yes, but--but do not ask me any questions, please," she faltered. - -Her color came and went. - -"It is not necessary," he said. "You have suffered, and at his -hands----." - -"No--no----." - -"But it is yes, yes!" he said, with restrained passion, and with a -strange perplexity. Great heaven, what a mistake Lady Eleanor had made! -It was not Lord Auchester then, but the Duke of Rothbury Leslie had -been going to marry. - -"I will give it him," he said sternly. - -Leslie looked up with a sudden glance of apprehension. - -"Give it to him; but that is all!" she said meaningly. "There is -nothing to be said--or done." - -"You mean that if--if he has injured you, you have forgiven him?" he -said. - -"Long, long ago!" she breathed. "You may say that, if--if there should -be occasion, but no more." - -He bowed his head. - -"It shall be as you wish," he said; "your word is a law to me." - -"I knew you would do it for me," she said in a low voice; "would -understand." - -Then, as if she wished the subject to be closed, she began to talk of -his and Lucy's strange meeting, and their future. - -"It is the greatest pity in the world that you should have happened to -be passing the day Lucy was frightened by the wild horseman, for the -Government will lose one of its best teachers." - -"And I shall gain one of the best of wives!" he murmured. They talked -for half an hour, and Leslie seemed as light-hearted as they, but -presently she stole out of the room, looking over her shoulder in the -doorway with a "good-night." - -"Do you understand it?" whispered Lucy, as he took her in his arms to -say farewell. "Does it mean that Leslie might have been a duchess?" - -"Yes, I think so," he said. "I don't quite understand it; I feel as if -I were groping in the dark with just a glimmer of light. But, anyhow, I -know, I am sure that the fault, if there was any, was his, and I wish -that she had left me free to tell him so and exact reparation." - -"Ah, but that is just what you must not do!" said Lucy sternly. "It is -just what Leslie does not want. You are to give him back the diamonds -and say nothing excepting that she forgives him!" - -He nodded with a sigh. - -"Poor Leslie! How she must have suffered!" - -"Yes, you can see that by her face, even now; and it is ever so much -happier and brighter than when I saw it first. Ah, Ralph, I wish she -were as happy as we are!" - -Ralph Duncombe, as he drove along the road to White Place with the -diamond pendant in his pocket, felt like a man struggling with a -tremendous enigma. Lady Eleanor had evidently made a terrible and -unaccountable blunder in stating and believing that it was Yorke -Auchester whom Leslie was going to marry. How could she have made such -a mistake? And what had happened to break off the marriage? Had the -duke jilted Leslie? At the thought--though he was in love with Lucy -now--his face grew red with anger and he felt that, duke or no duke, he -would have called him to account but for Leslie's injunction. - -When he reached White Place he found Lady Eleanor pacing up and down -the room with an open letter in her hand, and she turned to greet him -with a smile on her flushed face. - -"You have good news?" he said. - -"Yes." She nodded twice with a joyous light in her eyes. "I have heard -from Lord Auchester. He is coming back the day after to-morrow. He and -the Duke of Rothbury----." - -Ralph started, and his face darkened. - -"The Duke of Rothbury?" he said. "I am glad of that, Lady Eleanor, -for I wish to see him. And, Lady Eleanor, I have something to tell -you--something you will be glad to hear. There has been a strange and -awkward mistake. It was not Lord Auchester who was going to marry -Miss--Miss Lisle, but the Duke of Rothbury." - -Lady Eleanor's face paled, and she caught her breath. - -"Not--Yorke! The duke! Ah, no, no! That cannot be!" - -"Pardon me, but I am right," he said, rather sternly. - -She shook her head. - -"No, no; I saw--" She stopped, and the color flew to her face. "I saw -him buying the--the wedding ring." - -Ralph stared at her, then he smiled grimly. - -"He may have bought a ring, but not for himself," he said. "It may have -been for the duke, for it was the duke she was going to marry, Lady -Eleanor." - -"How--how do you know?" - -"Miss Lisle herself told me." - -She started. - -"She! Where--where is she?" - -"She is the teacher at the school at Newfold." - -Lady Eleanor sank into a chair, and looked up at him with frightened -eyes. - -"Here--so near? Oh, let me think!" and she clasped her hands over her -eyes. - -"That is what I have been doing; thinking," he said grimly. "It has -been a terrible blunder. I do not know all the circumstances--scarcely -any, indeed--of the case; I only know that it was the duke to whom she -was engaged." - -"Was? Then it is broken off?" - -"Yes," he said gravely. "By Miss Lisle--for good and sufficient -reasons, I am certain." - -She looked at him keenly. - -"You know her--you have known her all along." She saw him color, and -added in a breath--"Ah, I understand!" - -"Yes," he said, "I have known Miss Lisle a long time. I had hoped once -to induce her to become my wife, but----." - -"And now?" - -"I am engaged to another lady," he said, rather stiffly. "Miss Lisle -refused me. That is all that need be said on that point, Lady Eleanor." - -She inclined her head. - -"It has been a terrible blunder," she said thoughtfully. "But--ah, what -a load your news has removed from my heart! Not Lord Auchester, but the -duke!" - -She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Yorke was all her own now! - -"Can you tell me the duke's address. Lady Eleanor?" he asked after a -pause. - -"His London house is in Grosvenor Square. He will go there, and not to -Rothbury, on his return to England. Do you want to see him?" she added. -"Why?" - -"I have a small matter of business with his grace," he replied. - -Lady Eleanor looked at his grave face apprehensively. - -"You will not----." - -"Tell him anything that has occurred? Scarcely, Lady Eleanor," he said. -"That which you and I did in regard to these bills and Lord Auchester's -money affairs must forever remain secret. Erase it from your memory." - -"Ah, if I could!" she murmured. "When I think of the possibility of his -knowing----." - -"It is not likely that he will ever know," he said. "The secret is -yours and mine alone. You say that Lord Auchester is returning the day -after to-morrow?" - -"Yes." - -"In that case, Lady Eleanor, my visits to White Place must cease. You -will not need any help of mine in the future--I need not say that I -should be as ready and willing to be of assistance to you as I have -ever been--but it will be better that all communication between us -should cease. You will not misunderstand me?" - -"No, no! I understand," she said. "I am very grateful for all you have -done. But for you I should not be as happy as I am." - -"I am glad to have helped you to that happiness, however slightly," -he said. "And I trust that you may be happier still in the future. -Good-by, Lady Eleanor." - -He held her hand for a moment or two, then left her. He had no desire -to see her again. If he could have done so, he would have wiped from -his memory the plot in which he had been concerned with her to drive -Lord Auchester into her arms; indeed, as he drove through the silent -night he felt heartily ashamed of it. He thought of Leslie and Lucy -throughout the journey with a strange sense of confusion. He loved the -gentle girl who had given him her heart, but he would remain Leslie's -friend and champion. That the Duke of Rothbury had in some way behaved -badly to her he felt assured, and but for his promise to Leslie he -would have called him to account. As it was, he had bound himself to -the simple return of the diamond pendant. - -He carried it in his breast pocket for the two following days, and on -the third went to Grosvenor Square. - -"Yes, sir; his grace is at home, but I do not know whether he can see -you. I will ask his gentleman." - -Grey came into the hall, and shook his head as Ralph Duncombe preferred -a request for an interview. - -"His grace only returned yesterday, and is very tired, sir," he said. -"I am afraid he cannot see you." - -Ralph Duncombe wrote on the back of his card, "From Miss Lisle," and -enclosed it in an envelope. - -"Give that to his grace," he said. - -Grey came back after a few minutes. - -"His grace will see you, sir. Follow me, if you please," and he led the -way to the study at the back of the hall. - -The duke was lying on the adjustable couch, and the sight of his wasted -form and deathlike face startled Ralph Duncombe and drove all the anger -from his heart. - -The duke signed to Grey to withdraw, then raised himself on his elbow -and looked at Ralph Duncombe keenly. - -"You wish to see me?" he said. - -"Yes," said Ralph, and unconsciously he lowered his voice. - -"And you come from--Miss Lisle?" A faint, very faint color tinged the -transparent face. - -"I do, your grace. I am charged with a simple mission. Miss Lisle bids -me return this to your grace," and he held out the packet. - -The duke took it and opened it, and gazed at the pendant as it flashed -in the palm of his hand. - -"She told you to return it to me? I did not give----." He stopped. - -"I was to return it to the Duke of Rothbury," said Ralph, rather -sternly. - -"To--the--Duke of Rothbury; yes, yes," said the duke in a low voice, -and the color deepened in his face. "You have come from Miss Lisle? You -know where she is; may I ask her address?" - -"I cannot give it to your grace," said Ralph. - -The duke flashed his eyes--they glittered in their dark rings--then he -let them fall, and sighed. - -"I understand. At least you will tell me whether she is well and--and -happy?" - -Ralph Duncombe's wrath smouldered. - -"She is well now, and I trust happy," he said. - -"Now? Has she been ill?" - -"Ill and in great trouble. Her father is dead----." - -The duke raised himself to an upright position, then sank back. - -"Poor girl, poor girl!" he murmured. - -Ralph Duncombe flushed. - -"Miss Lisle neither asks nor would accept your pity, your grace," he -said, sternly. "I am ignorant of the events connected with that gift or -its return. I do not wish to know anything about it, but of this I am -assured--that Miss Lisle desires to hold no further communication with -you." - -The duke was silent for a moment. - -"Very good," he said at last. "I understand. But I think if she knew -how much I desire her forgiveness for the deceit I practised upon her, -and how near I am to that land which forgiveness cannot reach, she -would not refuse to forgive me." - -"I have discharged my mission," said Ralph coldly. He could not bring -himself to convey Leslie's forgiveness. - -The duke touched an electric bell. - -"I wish you good day, sir," he said, and sank back with a sigh. But, -after Ralph Duncombe had gone, he opened his hand and looked at the -diamond pendant, which still lay in his palm. - -"Yorke had given her this," he said musingly. "But why did she send it -to me? Why? What shall I do with it? Give it to him? Dare I do so just -now? Will it be safe to call up sleeping memories? Had I not better -wait until--until after the wedding?" - -He decided that he would do so, and carefully placing the pendant in -the drawer of a cabinet that stood near his elbow, he sank back again -and closed his eyes. But his lips moved long afterwards, and "Poor -girl, poor girl!" came from them, as if he were still thinking of her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -"VENGEANCE IS MINE." - - -The weeks rolled on, and the wedding morn of Yorke and Eleanor Dallas -stood but three days off. It was to be a quiet wedding, in consequence -of the death of Lord Eustace and his two sons; but the heir to the -great dukedom of Rothbury could not be married without some slight -fuss, and the society papers contained interesting little paragraphs -concerning the event. The happy young people were to be married at -a little church in Newfold, a picturesque village near Lady Eleanor -Dallas's seat, White Place. There were to be only two bridesmaids, -cousins of the bride, and the great Duke of Rothbury himself was to -be the bridegroom's best man, provided that the duke should be well -enough, the paragraphist went on to say, adding that, as was well -known, the duke had been in bad health of late. After the ceremony -the young couple were to start for the South of France, and on their -return it had been arranged that they should go to Rothbury Castle, the -seat of the duke, who intended handing over the management of the vast -estate to his heir. - -Lady Eleanor read these and similar paragraphs until she had got them -by heart. To her the days seemed to drag along with forty-eight hours -to each, and they had appeared all the longer in consequence of Yorke's -absence, for on the plea of having to make his preparations, and -business for the duke, he had not paid many visits to White Place since -his return from Italy. But though Eleanor felt his absence acutely she -was too wise to complain. - -"I shall have him altogether presently," was the thought that consoled -her. "All my own, my own with no fear of anything or anybody coming -between us." - -But she was terribly restless, and wandered about the grounds, and from -room to room, 'where bridal array was littered all around,' as if she -were possessed of some uneasy spirit. - -"If one could only send you into a mesmeric sleep and wake you just -before the ceremony, my dear Nell, it would be a delightful arrangement -for all concerned," said Lady Denby. "It is the man who is generally -supposed to be the nervous party in the business, but I'll be bound -Yorke is as cool as a cucumber." - -If not exactly as cool as that much abused vegetable, Yorke certainly -showed very little excitement, and as he walked into the duke's study -on the evening of the third day before that appointed for the wedding, -the duke, glancing at him keenly, remarked on his placidity. - -"You take things easily, Yorke," he said. - -"As how?" said Yorke, dropping into a chair, and poking the fire. - -"Well, you don't look as flurried as a nearly married man is supposed -to look." - -"I am not flurried," he said. "Why should I be?" and he looked round -with the poker in his hand. "Fleming has seen about the clothes, the -banns have been put up, and the tickets taken. There is nothing more to -be done on my side, I imagine. No, I am not at all flurried." - -"But you look tired," said the duke. "Is everything all right at -Rothbury?" Yorke had just come from there. - -"Yes," he replied listlessly. "I saw Lang about those leases and -arranged about the timber, and I told them to have everything ready -for you. I am glad you are going to winter there, Dolph. You will be -as comfortable, now that the whole place is warmed by that hot water -arrangement, as if you were at Nice, and will have the satisfaction, in -addition, of knowing that you are benefitting the people around. They -complained sadly of the place being shut up so much." - -"Well, you can alter that," said the duke. "You like the place and can -live there five or six months out of the year. I believe it is supposed -to be one of the nicest places in the kingdom." - -Yorke nodded and leant back, his eyes fixed on the fire. - -"You dine here to-night?" asked the duke after a pause. - -Yorke nodded again. - -"Thanks, yes. I'll take my dinner in here with you, if you don't mind." - -"No, I don't mind," said the duke with a smile of gratitude and -affection lighting up his wan face. "I wish you were going to dine in -here with me for the rest of my life; but that's rather selfish, isn't -it? Don't be longer away than you can help, Yorke. It may happen that -Eleanor will get tired of the Continent; if she should, come home at -once." - -"Very well," said Yorke. "I am in her hands, of course." - -"Of course, and you couldn't be in better or sweeter." - -"No," assented Yorke absently. "Did you send back that draft of the -leases I posted to you?" - -"Eh?" The duke thought a moment. "No, I didn't. I forgot all about -them." - -Yorke smiled. - -"You see that it is time I handed in my checks and allowed a better -man to take the berth," said the duke cheerfully. "I'm very sorry, -especially as you have taken so much trouble about the business. Let me -see, where did I put them? I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten. Look in -that bureau drawer, will you?" - -Yorke got up and sauntered across the room. He looked very tall and -thin in his dark mourning suit of black serge, and the duke noticed -that he was paler than when he had seen him last, paler and more tired -looking. - -"Never mind," he said. "Let the lawyers make out fresh ones." - -"Oh, I'll find 'em," said Yorke. "You have stuffed them in somewhere," -and he opened drawer after drawer, in the free and easy manner in which -a favorite son opens the drawers and cupboards of a father. "I'll back -you for carefully mislaying things, especially papers, against any man -in England--excepting myself." - -"Grey always sees to them. He has spoilt me," remarked the duke -apologetically. - -"That's what I tell my man Fleming," said Yorke. "I should mislay my -head if he didn't put it on straight every morning when he brushed my -hair." - -The duke laughed. - -"They are a pattern pair," he said. "Don't trouble. Ring for Grey." - -But Yorke in an absent mechanical fashion still sauntered round the -room searching for the missing drafts, and presently he opened the -drawer of the small cabinet which generally stood beside the duke's -couch, but which this evening was immediately behind him. - -Yorke opened the drawer and turned over the things, and was closing it -again when his eyes caught the glitter of diamonds. - -"You keep a choice collection of things in these drawers of yours, -Dolph," he said. - -"What is it?" asked the duke. - -Yorke pulled out the pendant. - -"Only diamonds," he said, "and very handsome ones, too. Where on -earth did you get them, and who are they for? Perhaps I'd better not -go poking about any longer, or I shall come upon some secret----." He -stopped suddenly. He had been speaking in a tone of lazy badinage, -scarcely heeding what he was saying, until suddenly he recognized the -pendant. - -"Oh, I've no secrets," said the duke. "What is it you have found! Ah!" -He had swung himself round by the lever and saw Yorke gazing at the -pendant lying in his hand. - -"Where did you get this?" demanded Yorke. The duke looked at his face -as he asked the question. It was grave, with curiosity and surprise; -but the duke was glad to see that it showed no keener emotion, and told -himself that Yorke was forgetting Leslie. - -"Do you recognize it?" he asked. - -"Yes," said Yorke slowly. "It is a thing I gave----." He stopped. "How -did it come here? Where did you get it?" - -"It was brought to me," said the duke in a low voice. - -"Brought to you? Why to you?" Yorke demanded, looking up from the -pendant. What memories it awakened! - -"I cannot tell you." - -"Who brought it?" - -"A man by the name of--I forget. His card is in the drawer." - -Yorke looked. - -"No, it is not here." - -"Then it is lost. His name--his name--yes, I remember. It was Duncombe. -Ralph Duncombe." - -"Ralph Duncombe?" Yorke spoke the name two or three times. He seemed to -think that he had heard it before, but he could not recall it. He put -the pendant in his pocket, and went and stood before the fire with his -back to the duke. - -"Did he give no message--no explanation?" he asked. - -"No," said the duke. "He acted as if he thought I had sent the thing to -her." - -Yorke did not look round. Why had Finetta sent back the pendant, and -why had she sent it to the duke instead of to him, Yorke? - -"You don't want to talk about it?" said the duke after a pause. - -"No, I don't," assented Yorke grimly. "There are some things one would -prefer to forget." - -"Ah, if one could, if one could!" muttered the duke. - -The dinner came in soon afterwards; and the two men talked of the -approaching marriage, of the plans for the winter, of the game at -Rothbury, of everything but the diamond pendant. Then suddenly Yorke, -who had been answering in an absent-minded kind of way, uttered an -exclamation. - -"What is the matter?" demanded the duke. - -"Nothing," said Yorke sharply. Then he looked at his watch. "Do you -mind my leaving you before the coffee?" - -"Not a bit. Where are you going?" - -Yorke made no reply, perhaps he did not hear. He got up, and rang for -Grey to bring his hat. - -"I shall not be back till late, Dolph," he said. "Don't sit up." - -He had remembered suddenly where he had seen this Ralph Duncombe's -name. It was the man who had hunted him down to the ruin from which -Eleanor had saved him; and it was by this man Finetta had sent back the -diamond pendant. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from the -coincidence; it was Finetta, then, who had sought to revenge herself -for his desertion of her, by planning his ruin and disgrace. It was she -who had brought about this marriage of his, this marriage which would -enslave him for life. - -Yorke was not a bad-tempered man, nor a malignant, but at that moment -he was possessed of a burning desire to confront Finetta, and charge -her with her perfidy. - -He went down the Strand and entered the Diadem. The stall-keeper looked -at him with lively surprise and interest. - -"Glad to see you back, my lord," he said, with profound respect. - -Yorke took the programme and glanced at it. - -"Miss Finetta appears to-night?" he asked. - -"Oh, yes, my lord! She will be on in a few minutes." - -Yorke sat bolt upright in his stall, glaring at the stage. There -were several persons in the front of the house who knew him, but he -looked neither to the left nor the right. His heart was on fire. The -false-hearted woman! She had pretended to bid him farewell in peace -and friendship, and had betrayed him! Yes, he would wait until the -performance was over, and would go round and confront her. There should -be no scene, but he would tell her that her baseness was known, and, if -possible, shame her. - -It was a foolish resolve, but, alas! Yorke was never celebrated for -wisdom. - -The orchestra played the opening to the second act, the usual chorus -sang, and the usual comic man cracked the time-honored wheezes, and -then the band played a few bars of an evidently well known melody, for -the gallery greeted the music with an anticipatory cheer, and a moment -afterwards Finetta bounded on the stage. There was a roar of delighted -welcome, and amidst it she came sailing and smiling gracefully down to -the footlights, her dark eyes flashing round with a half-languorous, -half-defiant gleam in them of which the public was so fond. - -Then suddenly she saw the well known face there in the stalls. For a -second she paused in her slow, waltzing step, and looked at him with -a look that he might well take for fear. The conductor of the band -glanced up, surprised; it was the first time Finetta had ever missed a -step. But before he could pull the band together and catch up the lost -bar she had gone on dancing, and danced with her accustomed grace and -precision. - -Yorke watched her with a grim fury. This smiling, dancing jade -had plotted to ruin him, had tried to drive him into a debtors' -court--worse, had forced him to marry Eleanor Dallas! He could have -sprung up there and then and accused her of her vileness; and the -desire to do so was so great that he was on the point of rising to -leave the theater and await her at the stage door, when suddenly he saw -her falter and stumble, and the next instant--the same instant--she had -disappeared, and in the spot where she had just stood was a gaping hole. - -The house rose with a gasp, a sigh of horror that rose to a yell of -indignation and accusation. - -It was the old story: 'Someone had blundered' and left the trap door -unbolted, and London's favorite dancer had danced upon it and gone down -to the depths beneath. - -The audience rose, yelling, shouting, pushing this way and that; the -curtain was lowered, the lights turned up, and the manager, in the -inevitable evening dress, appeared, with his hand upon his heart. He -assured the audience that Miss Finetta was not hurt--not seriously -hurt--and that though it would not be wise for her to dance again that -evening, he trusted that she would appear again to-morrow night, etc., -etc. - -Yorke waited till the plausible excuse was concluded, then he -quietly--in a dream, as it were--went out and round to the stage door. - -And one line of the Book he had, alas! read too seldom, rang in his -ears as he went: "Vengeance is Mine!" - -The stage door keeper knew him in a moment, but in answer to Yorke's -inquiry if he could see Miss Finetta, shook his head. - -"I don't know, sir! There's a rumor that she's kil----." - -Yorke pushed by him and made his way to the dressing rooms. There was a -crowd of chorus girls and supers surging to and fro in the corridor and -clustered together in little knots; all talking in hurried whispers. - -They made way for Yorke and he knocked at the door of Finetta's -dressing room. The manager opened it. - -"Is it the doctor--oh, it's you, my lord!" he said in a whisper. "It's -an awful thing! In the middle of the season, too!" - -"Is she----," began Yorke in a low voice, hoarse with agitation. But low -as it was it was heard by someone within the room, for Finetta's voice, -weak and hollow with pain, said: - -"Is that you, Yorke? Let him come in!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -FINETTA'S CONFESSION. - - -Yorke went in. Finetta was lying on the sofa, lying with that awful -inert look which tells its own story. Her shapely arm hung down limply, -helplessly; across her face, white as death, a thin line of blood -trickled, coming again as fast as the trembling dresser wiped it away. -One or two women stood near her, silent and apprehensive. - -She lifted her eyes heavily and tried to smile. - -"I--I thought you would come," she said painfully. "I saw you in the -stalls." - -Yorke bent over her, all the anger sped from his heart. - -"Are you hurt, Fin?" he said in a low voice. - -"Yes," she said. "Badly, I think. Some--some fool left the trap -unbolted; or--" a gleam of fire shot into her eyes for a moment--"or -was it done on purpose, eh? There's one or two here who wouldn't be -sorry to have me out of the bills. Well, they'll have their wish for a -short time." - -"Have you sent for a doctor?" Yorke asked the manager. - -He nodded. - -"Doctor! I don't want any doctor here," said Finetta sharply. "I want -to go home. Take me home, Yorke. Never mind what they say. Take me -home, if you have to do it on a stretcher." - -"Very well," he said. - -The manager drew him outside. - -"You can't do it, I'm afraid, my lord. She's too hurt to be moved." - -"Don't listen to him, Yorke!" Finetta's voice came to them. "Take me -home." - -A long slight table stood in the passage. Yorke wrenched the legs -off and called to a couple of carpenters. Then, with the help of the -manager and dresser, he laid Finetta on this impromptu stretcher and -carried her to the brougham which was waiting outside. - -"Drive slowly," he said to the man. - -"No, let him go fast," panted Finetta. "I can bear it," and she -clenched her teeth. Yorke sat beside her and supported her, and she lay -with her head on his shoulder, her teeth set hard, her hands grasping -each other, and no cry or groan passed her lips. - -At the sound of the brougham wheels Polly came to the door, and uttered -a cry of alarm at the sight of her sister lying limp and helpless in -Yorke's arms. - -"Oh, Lord Yorke!" she gasped. - -"Don't be frightened, Polly," he said. "Finetta has met with an -accident." - -They carried her upstairs. - -"Get her undressed and into bed," he said. "I'm going for a doctor." - -"You--you will come back, Yorke?" Finetta managed to say. - -"Of course," he said. "Keep up your heart, Fin. You'll be all right." - -He got the doctor, and while he was upstairs making his examination -Yorke paced up and down the sumptuous dining-room in which he had spent -so many pleasant, merry hours. - -It seemed an age before the doctor came down. - -"Well?" asked Yorke anxiously. - -The doctor looked down with the professional gravity. - -"She is very badly hurt," he said. "Oh, no," he added, seeing Yorke -start and wince. "I don't say that it will kill her, but--you see she -struck the edge of the trap with her back. I think I should like to -have Sir Andrew." - -"Yes, yes!" said Yorke. "I will send for him at once----." - -"Oh, to-morrow will do, my lord," said the doctor. "He could do no -more for her than I can accomplish, and she is--unfortunately--in very -little pain. But there seems to be something on her mind, something in -which your lordship is concerned, and she is very anxious to see you." - -"I will go to her," said Yorke at once. - -They went upstairs, and Finetta turned her great eyes upon them. - -"What has he been telling you, Yorke?" she asked feebly. "Am I going to -die? Don't be afraid, I'm not a milksop, and I shan't go into hysterics -and make a scene. I suppose I've got to die, as well as other people." - -"No, no, there is no talk of dying, Fin," he said. - -"Then what is it? Why do you both look so glum?" she said, impatiently. -"There's nothing much in falling down a trap: I've seen heaps of people -do it. What is it? Am I going to be laid up long? Ask him how soon I -shall be able to dance again?" - -"Better be quiet," said the doctor, with his hand on her pulse. - -"You answer my question," she retorted as furiously as her weakness -would allow. - -"I'll answer any questions you like to-morrow," he said soothingly. "I -want you to rest now." - -"They're all like that--a pack of old women," she said, "and they think -we're all old women too! Rest! ah, if he could give me something that -would make me rest----. Don't go, Yorke; not yet. I--I want to say -something to you. It's a long time since you were here, Yorke," and she -sighed. - -He sat down beside the bed and held her hand, and she turned her eyes -upon him gratefully, then averted them and groaned faintly. - -"Did I hurt you, Fin?" he asked. - -"No, no!" she replied. "It wasn't that. It--it was something I was -thinking of." - -"You mustn't talk," said the doctor. - -She opened her lips and grinned at him contemptuously. - -"Why mustn't I? Do you think I am going off my head? Well, there--but -don't leave me, or if you do, come again to-morrow, Yorke," and she -turned her head away and closed her eyes. - -Yorke sat beside her through the night, holding her hand. At times she -seemed to fall into an uneasy slumber, from which she would wake and -look from him to Polly with a vacant gaze which grew troubled when it -rested on his face, and then she would sigh and close her eyes again. -Toward morning she fell into a deep sleep, and Yorke went home, but -only remained long enough to change his clothes, and returned to St. -John's Wood. He found Sir Andrew there, and the great man greeted him -with a significant gravity; but before he could speak Finetta turned -her eyes to Yorke. - -"Ask him to tell me the truth of the case, Yorke!" she said, in a voice -much weaker than that of last night. "I'm not afraid. He says I'm not -going to die; but ask him how soon I shall get back to the Diadem!" - -Sir Andrew smiled, but it was the smile which masks the face of the -physician while he pronounces sentence. - -"Not yet awhile, my dear young lady," he said. - -"Not yet--ah!" She tried to sit up, but sank back and fixed her dark -bold eyes on him. "You mean! What is it you mean? Not--not----," her -voice quivered and broke. "Oh, God, you mean that I shall never dance -again!" - -The doctor looked down. She read his answer in his face, and silenced -Sir Andrew's conventional protest. - -"You--you needn't lie. I--I can see it in your faces. Oh!" and a low -but heart-breaking cry rose from her white lips. "Oh, never, never -again! Never to dance again! Oh, Yorke, Yorke, tell them to kill me! -I'd rather die--rather, ten thousand times rather! Never to dance -again. It isn't true," she burst out, her tone changed to weak fury and -resentment. "You don't know. You can't tell. Doctors are fools, all of -'em. Send them away, Yorke. I hate the sight of them standing there -like a couple of undertakers. What, not to dance again! It's a lie! -It's a----." Then she covered her face with her hands, and her whole -body shook and trembled. - -The paroxysms passed, and she drew a long breath and put out her hand -to Yorke. - -"It's true," she said, in a faint voice, "I feel it. Don't--don't mind -what I said, gentlemen. It--it's knocked me rather hard. You see, I've -got nothing to--to live for but my dancing. I'm--I'm nothing without -that. Oh, God, what an end! To lie here----," she turned her head away -and groaned. - -Yorke held her hand in silence. - -What could he say? The doctors went; the morning passed; he sat and -held Finetta's hand as she dozed heavily. - -Every now and then she stirred and opened her eyes, saw and recognized -him, and with a sigh closed them again, as if his presence soothed and -comforted her. - -He left her in the middle of the day, promising to return in a few -hours. He was to be married in two days time, and there were things -to be done and settled. He found a letter from Lady Eleanor awaiting -him--a loving, passionate letter, reminding him of some trifle in -connection with their wedding trip. He put it in his pocket, scarcely -read, and in the afternoon returned to Finetta. Her eyes turned to the -door with painful, feverish eagerness as he entered, and she smiled -gratefully and yet, as it seemed to him, with a curious mixture of fear -and sadness. - -"You--you are very good to me, Yorke," she said. "Better--better than I -deserve." - -"All right, Fin," he said, pressing her hand. "You'd do the same for -me; old friends, you know." - -"Yes," she said, "old friends." She was silent a moment or two, then -with an effort she said, "Yorke, I've got something to tell you. -And--and I think I'd rather die than say it." - -"Don't say it then," he said promptly. "What's it matter? You've got to -keep quiet, the doctor said----." - -"But I've got to say it," she broke in with a moan. "I can't sleep or -rest while it's on my mind. You can't guess what it is, Yorke?" - -"No. Never mind. Let it slide till you get better, Fin." - -She shook her head as well as she could. - -"That would be a long time to keep it," she said. "Yorke, what brought -you to the theater last night?" - -He started slightly. It might almost be said that he had forgotten the -diamond pendant, which was still in his waistcoat pocket. - -"Why, I came to see you, of course," he replied. - -"Yes," she said, her large eyes fixed on his. "Yes, but why? I saw your -face, Yorke, and there was mischief in it. I saw that you had found out -something, if not all." - -"Found out what?" he asked carelessly. "Oh, you mean about the pendant? -What made you send it back, Fin?" - -She looked at him with a puzzled frown. - -"What pendant? What are you talking about?" - -"The diamond ornament you sent back," he said. "But there, don't -worry----." - -"Diamonds I sent back? Is that likely? But what diamonds? You never -gave me any." - -He tried to smile banteringly; he thought her mind was wandering. - -"Never mind. There!" He took the pendant from his pocket and laid it in -her hand. "Take it back again, and keep it this time." - -She looked at it, and from it to him. - -"I never sent this to you--I never saw it before," she said. - -"All right, it doesn't matter----." - -"Never! You say you gave it to me. When? When?" - -"I sent it to you the night--the day after we parted," he said. - -Her eyes dilated, and she put her hand to her head. - -"You--sent this--this to me? You must be out of your mind, or I am. And -you say I sent it back!" - -"Look here, Fin," he said soothingly, "I know what it is you want to -say to me, and I want to save you the trouble and worry of saying it, -so I will tell you that I know all, and that I forgive you, if that's -what you want." - -Her face twitched, and her eyes fell from his. - -"You know all!" she faltered. - -He nodded gravely. - -"Yes. And I'll own up that I was mad. I came to the theater last night -to have a row with you. But that's all past, clean past. And after all -you didn't do me any damage, Fin--not the damage you meant to," he -corrected himself as the thought of his coming marriage flashed across -him. "It would have been all up a tree with me if a--a friend hadn't -found the money at the last moment; but as it turned out we got the -best of you and your friend, Mr. Ralph Duncombe." - -She gazed at him with knitted brows. - -"Mr. Ralph who? I never heard the name before. What are you talking -about?" she demanded. - -"Never mind." - -"Answer! Tell me!" she broke out. "Explain what you are driving at, or -I shall go clean mad." - -He bit his lip. - -"Why don't you let it rest?" he said wearily. "I tell you I'm ready -to forget it, that I've forgiven you. After all it was tit for tat, -and only natural. And it was clever, too, in a way. Did you think of -it yourself, Fin, or did this strange gentleman, this new friend of -yours, hit upon the idea of buying up my debts and hunting me into a -corner----." - -He stopped, for with a tremendous effort she had raised herself. - -"Stop!" she panted. "This--this is all new to me. I know nothing of it. -It's not that I wanted to tell you about. Not that. I never bought your -debts. I never heard this man's name before in my life. Ah"--for his -face had gone white--"you believe me! It wasn't me who planned that." - -"Not you? Then who?" - -She fell back. - -"Ah," she breathed, "I--I can guess. Oh, Yorke, this you have told me -makes it all the harder for me. But I must tell you. It weighs on my -heart like--like lead. Ever since I fell, all the while I've been lying -here her face has haunted me. I see it waking and sleeping, all white -and drawn, with the tears running down it as it was when I told her." - -"Whose--whose face? Whose?" he said, a vague presentiment mingling with -his amazement and confusion. - -"The young lady's--Leslie Lisle's," she gasped. - -He sprang to his feet, then sank into the chair again, and sat -breathing hard for a moment. - -She waited till she had regained strength, then hurried on. - -"It was me who--who separated you. Yorke, wait, don't--don't speak. -It--it was a chance that helped me. I'd followed you to that place, -Portmaris, and I was caught by the tide, and she tried to save me, and -we climbed the cliff, and when I fainted she found the locket with your -portrait in my bosom. See," and she drew the locket out and held it to -him. - -He took it mechanically and uttered a cry--a terrible cry. - -"I gave you this! It's false! You stole it! Oh, Fin, forgive -me--forgive me, but I feel as if I were going mad!" and he covered his -face with his hands. - -She let her hand rest on his arm timidly. - -"Hold on!" she panted. "Let me tell you all as it happened. The -tangle's coming straight. There's--there's been some devil's work -besides mine! She saw the portrait and--and recognized it. I told her -that you'd given it to me--as you had----." - -"No, no! I sent it to her the same day as I sent this thing to you." - -She gazed at him perplexedly for a moment; then she laughed a mirthless -laugh. - -"My God!" she said, "I see! You put them in the wrong papers! and I -thought you--you cared for me still; and--and I told her so. And she -believed it!" - -"You told her--she believed it!" - -"Yes," she panted hoarsely. "She believed it, and gave you up! She -couldn't do otherwise after finding that locket and--and the lies I -told her. I said you were going to marry me----." - -She stopped and looked at his face, white and set. - -"You--you could kill me even as I lie here, Yorke," she said, in a -dull, despairing voice. "I can see it in your eyes." - -He turned his eyes away. - -"Go--go on!" he said, almost inarticulately. - -She put her hand to her brow. - -"I left her there, looking more dead than alive, and came back to town, -and I thought you'd come back to me. I--I waited, and one day I saw you -in Hancock's buying the--the ring; and I knew she'd taken you back, and -all in the moment I--I told her, and then I got frightened at what I'd -done. And when I saw that she had managed to do what I had failed over, -and had separated you from Leslie Lisle and got you for herself----." - -He rose and stretched out his hands to her as if he would stop her. - -"Her? Who?" - -"Who?" she opened her eyes upon him. "Why, Lady Eleanor Dallas! It's -she you are going to marry, isn't it?" - -He went to the mantel shelf and dropped his head upon his arms; then he -came back and sank into the chair again with his hands thrust into his -pockets, his head upon his breast. - -"It's--it's a bad business, Yorke," she panted wearily. "But--but don't -be too hard on me, or on her. For she loves you, Yorke! Ah! that's been -the trouble all round; we've all loved you too well!" and she turned -her face away and closed her eyes. - -He sat and stared before him like a man dazed. For one moment he had -felt convinced that Finetta's disclosure was the outcome of delirium; -but as she had gone on with her confession, he knew that she was -speaking of realities. - -They had misjudged Leslie after all; she had not left him because she -had discovered that he was not a duke! The reflection was the only one -relieving streak of light in the gloom. What should he do? What could -he do? Where was Leslie? And even if he found her, how could he desert -Lady Eleanor? How could he throw her over on the very eve of their -wedding day? She had not sinned against him, as Finetta had done; her -only sin, as Finetta had so truly said, consisted in loving him too -well. No, even if he knew where Leslie Lisle was, he could not desert -Eleanor. He must marry her and try--as he had been trying all this -time--to tear Leslie's image from his heart. But, ah, how much harder -this feat had become since Finetta's disclosure. - -She looked round at last. - -"You are still here, Yorke," she said. "You haven't gone? I thought--I -thought you'd have left me directly, and that I shouldn't have seen you -again." - -He laughed, scarcely knowing what he did. - -"Not much use in that, Fin," he said drearily, hopelessly. "You acted -like--well, like a woman, I suppose----." - -"Oh!" she moaned. "I acted like a demon. I hadn't any pity, any mercy! -I watched her getting whiter and whiter--I heard her cry out as if I'd -stabbed her----." - -He put up his hand to silence her. - -"That--that will do, Fin!" he said hoarsely. - -"But I should have given in to her and kept back the lies if you hadn't -sent me this." - -She put her hand to her bosom and drew out the locket. "That gave me -the pluck and the obstinacy. I thought after all you cared for me----." -She stopped. "It was a mistake all round, and--and--so I don't care to -keep it any longer. Take it, Yorke." - -He shook his head; but she put the locket in his hand. - -"Do you think I'd keep it now I know you didn't mean it for me, but for -her? Not me! Take it and--well, give me the other." - -He suffered her to close his hand over the locket; and she took the -pendant and laid it on the pillow. - -"I know now why she put her hand to her bosom once or twice; this was -lying there. Poor girl! Yes, I can be sorry for her, for I knew what -she felt. But it's too late now, Yorke, I suppose. You've got to marry -Lady Eleanor, eh? Well," as he remained silent, "let's hope that poor -young thing has forgotten you!" - -Yorke got up and strode up and down, biting his lip and shutting and -opening his hands. - -"Better go now, Yorke," she said with a sigh. "I know you hate the -sight of me; that's only natural----." - -"No, no, Fin!" he said with a frown. "I'm not so bad as that; but I -feel confused and half mad. God forgive us all, we all seem to have -conspired to work her harm! Even Dolph--and I who loved her! Yes, I'd -better go, Fin; but I will come back----." - -"No, you won't," she said quietly, "at least, not till after your -marriage. But, Yorke----." - -"Well?" he asked. - -"If--if you should ever find her--Miss Lisle," she said, in a low, -hesitating voice, "I wish--I wish you'd tell her I'd made a clean -breast of it; and--and ask her to come and see me. She'd come; she's -one of that sort of women that are always ready to forgive; and she'll -forgive me right enough when she sees me lying here helpless as a log, -and remembers how hard I fought beside her up that beastly cliff that -day! Go now, Yorke, and--well, I don't know that God would bless you -any the sooner for my asking Him. But you have been very easy with me, -Yorke, after all I've done to make you wretched." - -Her voice died away inaudibly at the last words, and she took the hand -he gave her and laid it on her lips. - -Yorke went out with the locket in his hand, and a burning fire in his -heart and brain. - -This butterfly o' the wind, this dancing girl, had wrecked Leslie's and -his lives! Wrecked and ruined them irreparably. She had spoken of his -finding Leslie; but where could he look for her, and, indeed, would it -not be better that they should never meet again? He had got to marry -Eleanor--and the day after to-morrow; Finetta's confession--like most -confessions by the way--had come too late! - -In a frame of mind which beggars description he went to Bury Street and -resumed his packing; then, in the midst of it, he remembered that he -had promised to go to White Place that evening. - -This butterfly o' the wind, this dancing girl, had wrecked his life! As -he thought of this, he found the locket in his pocket, and transferred -it to that of the waistcoat he was putting on. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - -"MY SWEET GIRL LOVE." - - -When he got down to White Place--he had walked from the station--he -found Lady Denby alone. - -"Eleanor has gone out," she said, "but only for a stroll. As you did -not come by the usual train she gave you up. Why didn't you wire?" - -"I forgot it," he replied absently. - -Lady Denby laughed ironically. - -"What is the use of having a special wire if you don't use it?" she -said. "Have you had your dinner?" - -"Oh, yes," he replied, though he had eaten nothing since the morning. - -Lady Denby looked at him curiously. - -"You are not looking very well, Yorke," she said. "You seem tired and -fagged, and a change is what you want." - -"Well, I shall get it directly," he said, with unconscious grimness. -"Which way has Eleanor gone? I'll see if I can find her." - -"She said something about going to the village," Lady Denby replied; -"but I don't expect she will get beyond the grounds. Have some coffee -or something." - -He mixed a brandy and soda, more to please her than himself, and then -went out. - -Remembering what Lady Denby had said, he should have kept to the park, -but he was not thinking of Lady Eleanor or the way she had taken, and -he went straight out of the gate and along the road to the village. - -He was thinking, alas! not of the woman he was going to marry in two -days' time, but of Leslie Lisle; thinking that, perhaps, some day he -should meet her. What would he say to her then? Would it be just simply -"How do you do, Miss Lisle?" and go on his way again? Ah, no! Let him -meet her when he might, sooner or later he would have to tell her how -they had been separated, and why, when the knowledge of Finetta's -perfidy had come to him, it was too late to go back to her! He would -have to tell her that, would have to clear himself in her eyes! - -He walked on, wrapt in bitter thoughts, haunted by the spectre which -takes the shape of 'It might have been,' and found himself far on the -London Road. He had, all unconsciously, passed the village, and he -would have still kept striding along, but that a heavy shower, which -had been threatening for some time, came pelting down. So he turned -back at a slower pace, and, as most men do when they are getting wet, -thought of a pipe. - -He found his pipe and a tobacco pouch, but his match box was absent. -He hunted in the corners and crevices of his pockets for a match, but -unsuccessfully, and he was about to give up the idea of a smoke, when -he came upon the school and school-house. He stopped and looked at it -absently; he had been so absorbed in gloomy reverie as he passed it on -his way from White Place that he had not noticed it. - -He stood by the little white gate in the close-cut hedge for a moment -or two to see if any one was about of whom he could ask a light; then, -as no one appeared, he pushed open the gate, walked up the narrow, -weedless path, and knocked at the door. - -A neat, a remarkably neat, little handmaid answered the knock, and in -severe accents said: - -"Round to the back-door, my man." - -Yorke had his coat collar turned up, and his short pipe in his mouth, -and the little maid had taken him for a tramp or a pedlar. - -He smiled, and entering into the humor of the thing, obediently, not to -say humbly, went round the house and presented himself at the back-door. - -"Well, what is it?" asked the girl. - -"Oh, I only want a light for my pipe," said Yorke. "Will you be good -enough to give me one?" - -She saw her mistake in a moment, and grew crimson. - -"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, but we have so many tra--er--so many -strange kind of people come knocking." - -"Then you do well to be careful," he said. - -She ran and brought him a box of matches, and he lit his pipe and -thanked her, raising his hat, and was turning to go out of the garden, -when she said: - -"Wouldn't you like to wait till the heaviest of the rain is over, sir?" - -Yorke would have declined, but that he was afraid she might think he -was wounded by her mistaking him for a tramp, so he said: - -"Thank you, I'll stand up under the hedge for a minute or two," and -he stood under a couple of the limes that bordered the side of the -garden, and puffed at his pipe. It did occur to him to wonder whether -Lady Eleanor had got back to White Place before the storm broke, and -whether she, in her turn, would wonder where he was; but he was just in -that frame of mind in which a man is glad to stand still and smoke and -think, and keep as far away as possible from friends and acquaintances. -Besides, after the next two days he might find it difficult, if not -impossible, to smoke a pipe in solitude. So he leant against the trunk -of the lime and went over in his mind all the details of Finetta's -confession. He saw it all as plainly as if he had been present at the -scene between her and Leslie. He understood how quick Leslie would be -to surrender him to the woman who had, as she thought, a prior right; -how greatly Leslie's maiden pride and jealousy would aid Finetta in her -task. And as he thought, his soul rose in bitter protest against the -fate which had wrecked both their lives. - -He finished his pipe, and was refilling it, and had his hand upon the -tobacco pouch, when suddenly he heard a voice singing. - -He paid no attention for a moment, then his hands grew motionless, and -he clutched the pouch tightly, and he looked up with a sudden flush, a -sudden light flashing in his eyes. For the voice was singing this song: - - My sweet girl love, with frank blue eyes, - Though years have passed, I see you still, - There where you stand beside the mill, - Beneath the bright autumnal skies. - -Then he laughed, laughed with a bitter, self-mockery. - -"I'm going out of my mind," he said, with intense self-scorn. "Here's -some girl singing a silly ballad, which no doubt sells by the thousand, -and I'm actually trying to persuade myself that the voice is like -Leslie's, just because I once heard her singing it! Yes, I'm going mad, -there's no doubt of that," and half-angrily he pressed his cap on his -forehead, savagely struck a light and lit his pipe, and prepared to -march out, though it was still raining in torrents. But as he passed -the front window, framed in the red autumnal leaves of the Virginian -creeper, he heard the voice more distinctly, and he stopped and began -to tremble, looking hard toward the window. - -"I am a fool!" he told himself. "I have been thinking of her so -constantly. I am so much upset that I should think any young girl I -happened to meet like her, any voice I heard like hers. This one, for -instance, is--is----." - -The perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and the hand that held -the pipe shook, for at that moment the last words of the song died away -with a peculiar little trill, a soft little sigh, which he remembered -in Leslie's voice, and hers alone, most distinctly. - -"It is easily proved," he muttered, and he stole across the small -square of grass up to the window, and looked in. - -For a moment or two the room seemed dark, the objects within it -indistinct; then he saw a girl seated at the piano, a slim, graceful -figure in some black, softly draping stuff, that of itself seemed to -speak of Leslie. She was seated with her back toward the window, but -as he leant on the window-sill she moved her head, and a cry burst from -him. It was Leslie! - -He drew back from the window-sill and leant against the wall, under the -dripping Virginian creeper, his heart knocking against his ribs, his -lips parched and dry. - -What should he do? Go into the house and speak to her? Ah, not now! -Not now, just before his marriage! And yet--oh, God!--how hard it was! -Leslie in there--Leslie in there, still deeming him false, and a few -words would undeceive her. He took a couple of steps to the door, then -pulled up, and in another moment or two he would have rushed down the -path and out of the gate, but there rose, even as he turned, the sweet, -sad voice again, and his resolution melted like wax in a furnace. He -opened the door, went along the passage, paused a moment to collect -some fragment of self-possession and self-restraint, then entered the -parlor. - -He stood gazing at her with hungry, longing eyes, and an ache in his -heart, which grew almost unendurable, then he said as softly as he -could: - -"Leslie!" - -She stopped singing, but did not turn her head. She had, in fancy, -heard him breathe her name so often. - -"Leslie!" he repeated, drawing nearer. - -Her hands grew motionless on the keys, and she looked round. Then she -rose slowly, like a ghost, her face growing whiter and whiter, her eyes -dilating, and "Yorke" breathed from her parted lips. - -"Leslie!" he said again. "Oh, Leslie!" and he held out his arms to her. - -She seemed to struggle against the potent influence he exerted, then -she came nearer, swaying a little, like one walking in her sleep. - -"Oh, my darling, my darling, is it you? Really you?" he said in a -subdued voice, as if he feared to startle, frighten her. - -She was almost in his arms, her bosom heaving, her lips quivering, when -she seemed to remember; and with a cry, the saddest he had ever heard, -she swayed away from him, extending one hand as if to keep him off. - -He caught the hand, and held it in a grasp like that of a vice. - -"You shrink from me, Leslie? Oh, my dearest--to shrink from me!" - -She seemed to struggle for voice, and found it at last. - -"Why--why have you come?" she breathed. - -"Why have you hidden from me?" he responded, and there was almost a -touch of indignation in the earnest, pleading voice. "Why did you do -it, Leslie? Oh, God, if you knew what I have suffered----." - -"You--have--suffered?" she repeated. "Ah, no, not you! It is I----." She -stopped and sighed deeply. - -He almost forced her, by her hand, into a chair and knelt beside her. - -"Leslie, Leslie!" he cried, striving hard to speak calmly and coolly. -"Listen to me. I'll try and explain. I'll try and tell you how this -cruel thing has been brought about. It will be hard work, for the words -sound like a jumble in my ears, and it is all I can do to keep myself -from taking you in my arms--ah, don't shrink, don't be frightened! I -will leave you to be the judge when--when you have heard all. Leslie, -that woman Finetta----." - -She started and turned her face from him. - -"Leslie! Leslie! She lied. She told you she was to be my wife. It was -not true, then or ever! As Heaven is my witness, there was not even -love between us, on my side. I had parted from her two days before----." - -"Oh, hush!" she broke out with a kind of jerk. "I remember every -word--every word. It is burnt into my heart." - -"It was false!" he said vehemently. "I can understand, imagine, all she -would say! She is an actress--would have deceived a woman of the world, -much more easily one all innocence and purity like yourself, dearest." - -She looked at him as if a glimmer of hope was dawning, then her -face clouded again, and she tried to take her hand from his, but -unsuccessfully. - -"You--you forget," she murmured. "The portrait. You sent it to her the -day you sent my gift to me! Your portrait!" - -He could have groaned. - -"No," he thundered, gripping her hand. "I sent that to you!" - -"To--me?" fell from her lips. - -"Yes, to you! The diamond thing I sent to her--listen and believe me, -Leslie. Look in my eyes! Ah, dearest, do you think--how could you ever -have thought--that I would be false to you? Why, I should never have -believed you false to me, though an angel had whispered it. I sent the -pendant to her because we had been good friends, and--and--ah, I must -speak openly--because I knew that she wished we might be something -more. It was a parting gift--a parting gift--from friend to friend, -that was all! But fate chose that I, like a fool, should misdirect the -packages! Leslie, the portrait was for you, the diamonds for her! Ah, -think, consider, dearest! Should I send such a thing to you? To you, -whose taste is so pure and refined!" - -She began to tremble, and he drew still nearer to her. - -"Why--why--did you not come--and--tell me this sooner?" she almost -wailed. - -He hung his head for a moment, then he looked up and met her eyes -steadily. - -"Leslie, I will tell you all. I--I have wronged you cruelly. I -have been a fool. Yes, so great, so insensate a fool as to believe -that, having learned the imposition we had practised on you, having -discovered that I was not the Duke of Rothbury, you repented of our -engagement----." - -"You were not the Duke of Rothbury," she said, her brows knit; "are you -not?" - -"Oh, if Dolph were only here!" he groaned. "No, dearest, I am not; and -at that time there was little chance of my ever being the duke. It is -Dolph--Mr. Temple--as we called him, who is the duke. It was a whim--a -freak of his. Oh, you see!" - -Yes, she saw, and the color came to her face, and a proud, wounded look -into her lovely eyes. - -"And--and you thought that it was because I believed you to be a -duke--and only because of that--that I----." - -"Leslie, here on my knees I plead guilty. You cannot despise me more -than I despise myself! But, dearest, think! The last words you spoke to -Dolph the morning you parted with him! Think, was there not some slight -excuse?" - -She hung her head. - -"It--it is all past now," she said at last with a deep sigh. "We cannot -re-live it all! Ah, no!" - -And she turned her face away as a tear rolled down her cheek. Before -that tear he lost his self-command. He forgot Lady Eleanor, forgot that -his wedding-day, as fixed, was within a few hours, and he caught her -in his arms. She uttered a low cry, and bent away from him, her hands -against his breast; but before the fire, the anguish of appeal, in his -eyes her own fell; she trembled and quivered like an imprisoned bird, -then felt herself crushed against his breast. - -"Oh, my darling, my darling!" he murmured brokenly. "As if you and I -could part again! No, no, never again while life lasts! Never again, -dearest. Oh, don't cry!" He kissed the tears away, and laid her face -against his lovingly, protectingly. "Don't cry, Leslie, or I shall -think you can never forgive me! And----." He looked at the black dress. -"Where is your father?" - -"Oh, Yorke, Yorke!" she sobbed. - -"Hush, hush! dearest! And you bore it all alone!" he groaned. "And I -should have been by your side to help and comfort you! What shall I -say, what shall I do, to prove my remorse? It was all my fault!" - -"No, no," she responded, woman-like. "Not all, Yorke! I--I ought not -to have believed that--that woman. I felt that she was not--not a good -woman, and I ought not to have trusted her. But the portrait, Yorke! It -all seemed so clear, so conclusive." - -"I know," he said gravely; "I have heard it from her own lips." - -"From her own lips?" - -"Yes," he said gently. "She has confessed it all. If she sinned, she -has been punished. Finetta, the dancing girl, will never dance again; -she is helpless and crippled for life." - -Leslie uttered a low cry of horror and shuddered. - -"Oh, God forgive me! and I was just wishing she might be punished. Oh, -Yorke, where is she? I--I cannot forget her temptation, and I--I will -try and forgive her!" - -"She wants to see you, dearest!" he said; "I left her this morning -with a prayer for your forgiveness on her lips. I will take you to see -her, and she will explain all that may be still dark. See, she sent you -this," and he put the locket in her hand. "But, dearest, I want to hear -all about yourself. Why are you here--and are you here alone?" - -"I am the teacher here," she said. "Let me go now, Yorke, dear!" - -"No, no!" he said, "I cannot!" and he held her still closer. "Tell it -to me with your head lying on my shoulder, your heart to mine----." He -stopped suddenly, and Leslie following his eyes, would have broken from -him, for two persons had entered, Lucy and Ralph Duncombe, but Yorke -still held her. - -Lucy uttered a low cry of amazement, and the color flew to her face. - -"Oh, come away," she whispered to Ralph. - -But he strode in and confronted Yorke with indignant menace. - -"No!" he said, sternly; "I am Miss Lisle's friend, and it is my duty to -protect her!" - -"To protect her!" repeated Yorke mechanically, and staring at him. - -"Yes!" said Ralph. "Leslie--Miss Lisle--do you know who this gentleman -is?" - -Leslie, white and red by turns, raised her eyes. - -"Yes!" she said, almost inaudibly. - -Ralph Duncombe started. - -"You know who he is? And--and that he is engaged--to be married to Lady -Eleanor Dallas the day after to-morrow!" - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -"IT IS THE TRUTH." - - -Leslie looked at Ralph Duncombe vacantly for a moment, as if she had -failed to understand him; then the color began to ebb from her face and -left it white, and she strove feebly to release herself from Yorke's -enfolding arms. - -He did not speak, but he glared at Ralph Duncombe in a kind of -half-dazed fury. - -Lucy was the first to break the awful silence which followed Ralph's -announcement. - -"Oh, no, no, it is not--it cannot be true! There must be some mistake, -Ralph," she exclaimed, almost inaudibly. - -Ralph Duncombe bit his lip. He had spoken in the first heat of his -amazement and indignation, and was, perhaps, sorry that he had done so, -or, at any rate, that he had spoken so precipitately. - -"It is true," he said doggedly. "Ask him! It is for him to explain." - -All eyes were fixed on Yorke. The two women's with an anxious, -expectant look in them, as if they were only waiting for his -contradiction and denial. - -But his face grew as white as Leslie's, and after looking round wildly -he hung his head and groaned. - -Leslie drew herself away from him slowly, her gaze still fixed on him, -her bosom heaving, and dropped the locket from her hand. It went with a -dull thud to the floor. She had been in Paradise a moment or two ago, -had been filled with a joy which in its intensity almost atoned for the -past months of sorrow and anguish; and now she was plunged back into -the depths again. - -It was Lucy who spoke again. Losing her timidity in her anxiety for the -friend she loved so dearly; she glided to Yorke, and put her hand on -his arm. - -"Oh, speak, sir!" she implored him. "Say that it is not true! Don't you -see that she is waiting?" And she looked over her shoulder at Leslie. - -Yorke followed her eyes, then looked down at her pretty, anxious face -despairingly. - -"I cannot!" fell from his lips. - -Lucy shrank back from him, and stole her arm round Leslie to support -her. - -"You cannot! Oh!" - -Ralph Duncombe came further into the room. - -"He cannot deny it," he said. "I know--am a friend of Lady Eleanor -Dallas. I know this gentleman, though he does not know me. He is Lord -Auchester, the heir, now, to the Duke of Rothbury, and he is engaged -to marry Lady Eleanor. The wedding is to take place the day after -to-morrow. I am sorry--yes, I am sorry--that I blurted out the truth! -but the sight of him--well, I am an old friend of Miss Lisle's, and -I claim the right to protect her. If his lordship considers that I -have exceeded a friend's privilege he is at liberty to demand any -satisfaction I can give him." - -Yorke raised his head. His face was set and white, his eyes heavy -with despair. He felt as the ancient gladiator felt at the moment the -fatal net caught him in its meshes, and the dagger was descending to -strike him to the heart; as the miserable wretch in the dock feels -when the sentence of death is being pronounced. For a moment it seemed -as if he could not speak, and he wiped the cold sweat from his face -mechanically; then he said in a low, broken voice: - -"It is the truth!" He looked at Leslie, scarcely imploringly so much as -hopelessly, despairingly. "I had forgotten it! Yes," he went on almost -fiercely, "I had forgotten it! I was so happy that I lost all memory of -it! You, sir, who came as an accuser, who no doubt, think me an utter -blackguard and lost to all sense of honour, shall be my judge as well -as my accuser." - -Ralph Duncombe shook his head. - -"I do not wish----," he began; but Yorke silenced him with a gesture -that was full of the dignity of despair. - -"Hear me, please! Miss Lisle and I were engaged to be married--that -is, months ago. We met at a place called Portmaris, and--" he glanced -at Lucy--"sir, I loved her as truly and devotedly as you can love this -young lady. We were to have been married----." - -"You!" exclaimed Ralph Duncombe. "No, it was the Duke of Rothbury to -whom she was engaged." - -Yorke sighed. - -"No, it was to me," he said. "I exchanged titles with my cousin, the -duke; why, need not be explained. Leslie--Miss Lisle understands. It -was a foolish trick, and, like most follies, has brought trouble and -sorrow in its wake. But for that stupid freak--. We were to have been -married, but on the eve of our marriage we were separated, torn apart -by a wicked lie, which, aided by a wrongly addressed envelope, served -to ruin our happiness. Miss Lisle thought I had deceived her, and, -acting on the promptings of a heart that is all truth and purity, she -cast me off. I lost her in all senses of the word, and I felt that I -deserved to lose her. Now, sir, call your imagination to your aid. Look -on this young lady whom you love, and try and put yourself in my place. -Picture to yourself my state and condition, having lost all that made -life worth living! Ah, you can!" for Ralph Duncombe looked down and bit -his lip. - -Yorke passed his hand across his brow and sighed heavily, and for a -moment seemed as if he had finished his explanation; then he looked up, -as if awaking suddenly. - -"I was in that state in which a man might win pity from his worst -enemy; but I had an enemy--of whose existence I was and am still -ignorant--and he chose that moment to hunt me into still greater -straits. I have been a fool in more senses of the word than one. I was -heavily in debt. It was because of that millstone of debt that I had -induced Miss Lisle to consent to a secret marriage. My enemy, whoever -he was, discovered this; he bought up all my debts and liabilities, -and constituting himself my sole creditor, he came down upon me with -all the weight of those debts, meaning to crush me. I should have gone -under, never to rise again. I should have been ruined and disgraced, -should have brought disgrace upon the name I bear and all connected -with me. But----." He paused, and his face worked. "There was one -who--who had some little regard for me, and--and she stepped in and -saved me; lifted me out of the mire and set me on my feet again; saved -me from the consequences of my folly, and saved the old name from -shame. Gratitude is a poor word to describe what I felt toward her! -I--I made the debt I owed her still heavier by asking her to take -that which she had saved. And--and in the goodness of her heart she -consented! From that time until now--until now!--I have been true to -her in deed and intent. I have striven to forget the woman to whom I -had given my heart, there at Portmaris, the woman who was all the world -to me"--his voice broke--"the woman whom I lost on our wedding eve! -To-day, to-day only, have I heard from the woman who separated us a -full confession of the deception by which she effected her purpose. But -I knew it was too late to regain my lost happiness. Too late! I never -expected to see Miss Lisle again, scarcely hoped to do so, excepting -that it might be once before I died, that I might say to her, 'With all -my faults and follies, I was true to you, Leslie!'" - -Leslie, standing rigid and motionless, moaned faintly. - -He cast an agonized look at her. - -"Then--then I came by the merest chance to this cottage. I heard her -voice. I stole in, and in the joy of meeting her, and reconciliation -with her, in that great joy the past was blotted out from my mind, and -I forgot--I say I forgot that I was betrothed to another, that I was -within a few hours of being wedded to another." - -His voice died away, and he stood with downcast head and vacant eyes. -Then he looked up. - -"There is my story, sir! You say that you are a friend of--of Miss -Lisle's. It is for you to demand--exact satisfaction for the wrong that -I have done her. But, mind, that wrong dates only from to-day! I have -loved her----." He broke down for a moment; then went on almost sternly, -"What I have to do, what I can do to atone, I will do! I--I can never -hope for Miss Lisle's forgiveness----." - -Leslie's hands writhed together, and Lucy's arm held her still more -firmly. - -"I can never hope to see her again. But I will say this in her hearing, -that I would lay down my life to wipe out the past, to render her happy -in the future." - -Leslie's hands stole up to her face. - -"For the rest," he went on, "I will tell Lady Eleanor all that I have -told you. It is her due. She shall be the judge; she shall dispose of -my future. I owe her much more than can be told." - -He stopped, then looked up, and there was a light in his eyes which -made Lucy shrink. - -"One thing more. I have spoken of the way in which I was hunted down. -That part of the business is a mystery still. But I am going to solve -it! I am going to find Mr. Ralph Duncombe." - -Lucy broke from Leslie, and with a cry of terror flung herself on -Ralph's arm, and looked over her shoulder at Yorke's stern face. - -Yorke stopped and started, his face grew red and then white, and he -strode forward. - -"What!" he cried, under his breath. "Are you----." - -Ralph Duncombe put Lucy from him gently, and came a step forward to -meet him. - -"Yes," he said gravely, "my name is Ralph Duncombe." - -"You!" said Yorke, as if his amazement over-mastered his anger. "Do you -mean that it is you who bought up my debts and hunted me down?" - -"It was I!" said Ralph stolidly. - -"But--but----." Yorke groaned. "Why? Why, what harm did I ever do you? -Why, man, I never saw you before to-day. I never saw your name until I -read it in the writs! Why? Why?" and he stood with clenched hands, the -veins standing out on his forehead. - -Ralph bit his lip, but he looked full into Yorke's blazing eyes. - -"Why did you do it?" demanded Yorke in a low voice, which was all the -more ominous for its quietude. "What was I to you that you should -concern yourself in my affairs? That you should try and ruin me? It was -you who drove me----," he was going to say "into a marriage with Lady -Eleanor," but he stopped himself in time. "Why did you do it?" - -Ralph Duncombe remained silent for a moment, then he said: - -"My lord, I desired to break off the engagement between you and Miss -Lisle." - -"You? Why? Ah----." - -The light flashed upon him; then he glanced at Lucy, who stood, -trembling, with one hand upon Ralph's arm. - -"Yes," said Ralph. "But Miss Lisle had rejected me, she would never -have been my wife, and, in saying this, I will say no more! I have -another reason." - -"That reason?" demanded Yorke, with barely restrained fury. - -"I decline to answer," said Ralph. - -Yorke made a movement as if to seize him or strike him. Lucy screamed, -Leslie seemed as if to spring between them, then flung herself on her -knees beside a chair, and this recalled Yorke to himself. - -"Forgive me," he murmured, casting a glance at her; then in a loud tone -he said to Ralph significantly: - -"This is not the place for a scene, Mr. Duncombe. I shall demand an -explanation from you elsewhere. I--I will go now." He put his hand -to his brow, and his face lost its fury as he turned it to Leslie, -kneeling, with her face in her hands. "Yes, I will go now. Good-by, -Les--Miss Lisle. Forgive me all the trouble and sorrow I have caused -you! God knows, as I said, I would lay down my life to win a day's -happiness for you! I--I think in your heart of hearts you know that. -I--I have been a wretchedly unfortunate man! It is all my own fault, I -dare say, and yet----. Well! All the talking in the world will not talk -out the past, will not help me through the future! Good-by! God bless -you, Leslie." - -His voice broke into a kind of sob, and he strode toward the door. - -As he did so, as, half-blind with misery, he fumbled at the handle, the -door opened from the outside, and a tall figure stood on the threshold. - -It was Lady Eleanor Dallas! She was wrapped in a very dark cloak, -dripping wet, above which her beautiful face gleamed white as that of a -Grecian statue. - -She held the door, and leaned against it to support herself, and the -hand she raised, as if to stop him, shook and quivered as if with ague. - -"Stop, Yorke!" she moaned, rather than said. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -LOVE AND PRIDE. - - -"Eleanor!" he said hoarsely. - -She looked at him as if she found it impossible to speak for a moment; -then she drew herself upright, and pushed the wet hair from her -forehead. - -"Yes, it is I," she said, in a low voice, in which agony and pride -struggled for the mastery. - -"Where--where did you come from? How long----." - -"Yes," she said, answering his unfinished question, "I have been -listening. They told me at home that you had gone out to look for me, -and I followed you. I heard your voice as I was passing, and I came -into the garden. I have been standing by the window and----. Every -word!" fell from her white lips. - -"You--you should not have listened," he said "Come away," and he put -out his hand as if to draw her outside; but she did not move. - -"I am going presently," she said, speaking as if with an effort. "I--I -want to say something. Yorke----." She seemed as if she were about to -break down, but mastered her emotion and came a step or two farther -into the room. "Yorke, you have not heard all yet, not the whole truth. -He," she glanced at Ralph Duncombe, "could not tell you, but I will." - -A presentiment of what was coming fell on Yorke and he tried to stop -her. - -"No!" he said. "Say no more, Eleanor, but come home with me." - -"I cannot," she said. "I must speak. Miss Lisle----." She drew nearer to -Leslie, who had risen and stood against the window, her hands clasped, -her head turned away. "Miss Lisle, you have been cruelly wronged. And -by me!" - -Leslie started and looked up quickly. Lady Eleanor gazed at her, seeing -her face distinctly for the first time, and so the two stood and looked -at each other--these two beautiful women who were fated to love the -same man! - -"It was I who--who separated you from Lord Auchester." - -Yorke held up his hand to stop her. - -"Eleanor!" - -But she did not remove her eyes from Leslie's face. - -"Yes, I. It was I who employed Mr. Duncombe to buy the debts and summon -Lord Auchester." - -Ralph Duncombe looked up. - -"Is--is this necessary, Lady Eleanor?" he said gravely. "I am ready to -take all the responsibility." - -"No," she said. "It was I! The woman Finetta told me that the marriage -was to take place, and I did all I could to prevent it. You wonder -that I should admit it?" she smiled, with a mixture of pride and -despair. "I have told you that I have been standing by the window -there, and have heard all. Do you think that I would hold Lord -Auchester to his promise, that I would consent to his marrying me now -that I know he is in love with another woman?" - -Her eyes flashed and her lips curved haughtily, though her voice was as -low as before. - -"I tell you this now," she went on, "that Lord Auchester may not hold -Mr. Duncombe to blame. The sin, if sin there was, was mine, and I atone -for it!" As she spoke the last words she glided across the room and -stood in front of Leslie. - -"Miss Lisle, if I were to say that I am sorry, you would not believe -me. You are a woman like myself, and--you will understand! I knew Lord -Auchester before you did, and"--she looked round haughtily--"I loved -him. If there is any shame in that, I accept it. He knew that I loved -him." - -"For God's sake, be silent--come away!" exclaimed Yorke almost -inaudibly. - -She glanced at him as if she scarcely saw him. - -"It was the happiest, proudest day of my life when he asked me to be -his wife, and--and in the conviction that I could, and should, make him -happy, I did not regret the means by which I had won him. I forgot, you -see," she smiled bitterly, "that the day of reckoning might come. It -has come and I face it! All the world may know the story----." - -"No, no! Oh, no!" panted Lucy, whose gentle heart was melted by the -agony which she knew this proud woman was suffering. - -Lady Eleanor did not even look at her. - -"I do not care who knows!" she said. "I have made my confession, and I -have done with it." She made an eloquent gesture with her hands. - -There was silence for a moment; then she said, addressing Leslie, in a -low, distinct voice: - -"I do not ask for your forgiveness, Miss Lisle. If I stood in your -place I should find it as impossible to forgive as you do. I will not -even utter the conventional wish that you may be happy. I tried to ruin -your happiness in securing my own, and I have failed. Let that console -you, as it will torture me! If you need further consolation, take it in -the assurance that he has loved you all the time he has been promised -to me. Yes!" she said with a deep sigh, "I have felt that all through. -His heart was always yours, never mine. If this evening's work had -never been, if we had married, he would have gone on loving you, and my -punishment would have been greater than it is." - -She was silent a moment; then, still looking at Leslie, she said, -inaudibly to the rest: - -"That woman, Finetta, lied when she spoke of you. Yes! I can understand -how he came to choose you before me!" - -She turned and drew her cloak round her and moved to the door. Yorke -started as if roused from a kind of stupor, and went forward as if to -accompany her, but she drew away from him. - -"Your place is here," she said icily, "not with me!" - -He stopped, irresolute, half dazed by conflicting emotions, and she -looked over her shoulder at Ralph Duncombe. - -"I ordered my carriage to follow me," she said in a dull, mechanical -voice. "Will you see if it is on the road, Mr. Duncombe?" - -He started forward and offered his arm; but Yorke motioned him aside -and took her hand. - -"No!" he said hoarsely. "My place is by your side. You are my promised -wife, Eleanor!" - -He spoke the words in the tone a man might use who is about to lead a -forlorn hope which must end in death, as a man who is resigning all -chance of happiness. She understood and smiled bitterly as she drew her -hand from his. - -"Pardon me, Lord Auchester," she said pointing bitterly to Leslie, -"there stands your promised wife," and with one long look into his face -she turned and left them. - -Yorke was a gentleman. He could not let the woman whom he was pledged -to marry in a few hours go out into the night like an outcast. He -followed her and Ralph Duncombe. - -"Eleanor," he said in deep agitation, "you will let me come with you?" - -The sound of wheels was heard on the muddy road, and she stood and -listened to them rather than to him. - -"Eleanor, think what you do!" he said. "I stand by my promise, my -engagement, notwithstanding----." - -"Notwithstanding that I obtained it by a fraud!" she said, turning her -eyes upon him. "Yes, I knew you would say that; and I am grateful. -But you forget, Yorke, I heard every word you said. You would give -me--what? not yourself, not your heart? You cannot, it belongs to her. -Go to her! Forget me!" Then her voice broke, her pride melted, and she -held out her arms to him, her white face drawn and haggard. "Oh, Yorke, -I loved you so! No, do not come near me! I am not so degraded as to -accept such a sacrifice! You love her, and I do not wonder! No, I do -not wonder! She is more beautiful than I am, and better, a thousand -times better! You will make her happy, and--oh, how much more is this! -she will make you happy. Good-by! Go back to her! Plead to her, kneel -to her, to forgive you. You will find it hard, these good women are -always harder than we are! She would not have done as much to win you -as I have, and will therefore, be all the slower to forgive! But go! -And--and----." The carriage was drawing near. She threw back the hood of -the cloak and flashed all her proud white loveliness upon him. "When -you think of me, think of me as I am at this moment, at the moment I -relinquished you!" - -He stood motionless, and she drew near and laid a white hand upon each -of his shoulders, looked into his eyes, a lingering farewell look; -then as Ralph Duncombe opened the carriage door, she let her hands drop -slowly and got into the carriage. Ralph was following her, but she -stayed him with a gesture. - -"No, no! Alone! Alone!" came from her parted lips. - -The word "Alone! Alone!" fell like a funeral knell upon Yorke's ear; it -was the last word he was to hear from Lady Eleanor's lips for many a -year. - -The two men stood and gazed after the carriage; then Yorke turned upon -Ralph Duncombe. - -"At any rate, I have a man to deal with now!" he said savagely. - -"And one who will not shrink from the encounter, my lord," responded -Ralph promptly. - -"You have to account to me for your conduct Mr Duncombe," said Yorke. -"You have interfered in my affairs most unwarrantably. What have you to -say?" - -Ralph Duncombe flushed angrily and a passionate retort rose to his -lips, but he crushed it down. - -"You have every right to demand an explanation, Lord Auchester," he -said with an unnatural calmness, "and I give it you. I interfered -because I once loved Miss Lisle, and because I did not consider you -a fit husband for her. I judged you by the estimate I had formed on -hearsay. I thought that I was doing Miss Lisle a service in helping to -prevent the marriage." - -Yorke swore. - -"Even your anger shall not stop me in confessing that I erred," Ralph -went on. "I was wrong, I admit it. But I did what I did for the best." - -"The best!" groaned Yorke. - -"Yes! You cannot but know the character the world gives you. A -spendthrift--one who carried on an intrigue with a dancing woman----." - -Yorke held up his hand. - -"No more, sir!" he said sternly. - -But Ralph went on doggedly: - -"I thought I was acting wisely and righteously in preventing your -marriage to such a woman as Leslie Lisle. I admit I was wrong; and I am -ready to yield you any satisfaction you may desire." - -Yorke looked into the honest face, into the steadfast eyes, for a -moment; then he sighed. - -"You are right. I was never worthy of her! What man of us all is?" - -"None!" said Ralph. "But, notwithstanding, I say, go and ask her to be -your wife, Lord Auchester." - -Yorke seemed staggered by this knockdown advice, and hung his head. -Then he looked up, breathing hard. - -"I will," he said, and he strode into the house, Ralph Duncombe -remaining outside. - -Leslie had sunk into a chair, and Lucy was kneeling beside her, holding -her hands and murmuring those inarticulate words of sympathy and -consolation which only women can utter--for at such times a man is -always an imbecile and a fool. - -Yorke strode in and bent over the chair. - -"Leslie," he said, in a hoarse, broken voice. "Leslie, I have come back -to you. I don't know what to say to you, except that I love you, that -I have never ceased to love you since the first day we met there at -Portmaris. Will you forgive me? Will you be my wife, Leslie?" - -A profound silence followed his impassioned words. Lucy, kneeling, held -Leslie's hands. - -"Speak to him, dear," she whispered, the tears rolling down her face. -"Speak to him, Leslie." - -But Leslie could not speak. She was a woman, just a woman, and she -found it hard to forgive his betrothal to Lady Eleanor. All else -counted for nothing. But that----! She sat motionless and dumb. - -"I understand," he said, almost inaudibly. "You are right. -Well--good-by, Leslie, good-by!" - -"Leslie!" whispered Lucy in an agony. - -But still Leslie did not move, but sat, her face hidden, her hands -tightly clasped. - -"It's no use," said Yorke. "It is more than I could hope for! Good-by, -Leslie!" - -"Leslie, dear, dear Leslie, he is going!" whispered Lucy. But Leslie -remained motionless and silent, and Yorke, with a groan, left them. - -"Well?" said Ralph, as Yorke came out into the darkness and the rain. - -Yorke shook his head. - -"I have failed," he said grimly. - -"What? Stop!" exclaimed Ralph moved to pity by the despair and -hopelessness of the voice. "Why, man, she loves you!" - -Yorke shook his head again. - -"Not now," he said, in a dull, heavy way. "She did, but now I have lost -her. The best, the sweetest----." His voice broke. - -Ralph Duncombe seized his arm. - -"Wait!" he said. "You are wrong! If ever a woman loved a man, Leslie -Lisle loves you!" - -Yorke disengaged his arm from Ralph's grasp. - -"There is no hope for me," he said, despairingly. "I have lost her," -and he passed through the gate, and was swallowed up by the darkness. - -Lady Eleanor reached White Place, and went straight to her own room, -and presently Lady Denby came to her. - -"Good heavens, Eleanor, what have you been doing to yourself?" she -exclaimed, as she stared at the dripping cloak. "Why, you are wet to -the skin! You will catch your death of cold. Where is Yorke?" - -"Yorke?" said Lady Eleanor, with a spasmodic laugh. "Yorke will not -trouble you again, aunt. He has gone!" - -"Gone!" - -"Yes, for good! There will be no wedding the day after to-morrow." - -"My dear Eleanor, are you mad?" - -"No, I am sane at last," said Lady Eleanor. "The engagement is broken -off. Do you remember my telling you, when I heard of Eustace's death, -and his boys', that I was afraid things would go wrong? Well, they have -gone wrong. For Heaven's sake, don't stare at me like that! Tell my -maid to pack my clothes; I shall leave here to-morrow." - -"But--but, what has happened?" demanded Lady Denby. - -Lady Eleanor laughed harshly. - -"He has found the girl he has been in love with all this time. It is -not me he wanted to marry, but her. That's all! Tell them to pack up!" - -"But--but, my dear Eleanor!" - -Lady Eleanor flung her wet hair from her face. - -"There is no 'but,'" she said wearily. "He has gone. Let us go away out -of England, no matter where. And--and the day after to-morrow was to be -my wedding day! No wedding day will ever dawn for me!" - -She sank upon a sofa and hid her face and lay motionless for an hour, -Lady Denby standing near. Then suddenly Lady Eleanor started and raised -her head. - -"What was that?" - -"I heard nothing," said Lady Denby. - -"I heard a horse; some one has ridden out of the courtyard. It is -Yorke. That is the last of him!" - -It was Yorke. He had walked swiftly through the lane to White Place, -and going straight to the stable had saddled his horse. - -"It's a dark night, my lord," said the groom, who held the lantern, -and he looked curiously and apprehensively at the stern face. "An' the -ground's soft and slippery, my lord," he added. - -Yorke did not, however, seem to hear him, but tossing him a sovereign -leapt into the saddle and went out of the courtyard at a canter. The -horse was fresh and somewhat startled at being taken out so late and -into the darkness, and under ordinary circumstances Yorke would have -let him go easy until he quieted down, but to-night he had no thought -for the horse or himself, or anything else; and when they had got -outside the park and on the London road he let the animal have its -head, and even touched it with his heel. This was quite enough, and -they went spinning along the slippery road at a breakneck pace. It was -very dark, the rain was still coming down in good old English fashion, -and the horse was getting more and more nervous as he felt, by some -instinct, that his master was riding carelessly and recklessly. Yorke -scarcely knew whether he was riding or walking until suddenly he saw -something white flash along the ground in front. It was only a white -cat, but if it had been a ghost the horse could not have been more -frightened. He stopped almost instantly and shied, and, on Yorke's -striking him, reared. Yorke was a good rider and kept his seat, but -when he struck the horse again and tried to force him over, the animal, -half mad with fright, reared still higher, until he stood as upright as -a circus horse; then, losing his balance, slipped on the greasy road -and came down backward on the top of Yorke. - -It was done in a moment, with scarcely any sound save the clatter and -splash of the horse's hoofs as he rose and shook himself, trembling -and panting, and in the silence of the night Yorke lay motionless, his -whole length stretched out upon the ground, the rain beating down upon -his upturned face. - - * * * * * - -Ralph Duncombe had gone to the inn and the two girls, left alone, were -still in the parlor. Leslie had scarcely changed her attitude, and -seemed sunk in lethargic indifference, which was really the result of -exhaustion, and though she listened to Lucy's arguments and prayers, -made no response to them. - -Lucy pleaded hard for Yorke. With a woman's quick insight she had -pierced the haze by which his actions and motives seemed obscured, and -had jumped at, rather than worked out, the whole truth. - -"Are you going to let him go, Leslie," she asked for the twentieth -time, "after all he has suffered?" - -"I have suffered also," said Leslie at last. - -"But through no fault of his! Or, at any rate, not entirely through his -fault. Is it because he changed titles with the duke that you are so -angry, and will not forgive him?" - -Leslie shook her head. - -"I do not care about that," she said simply. - -"Is it because he was so great a friend with that dancing woman?" - -Leslie's face flushed, but she shook her head. - -"No," said Lucy quickly. "He had not seen you then, remember. He said -good-by to her after he had met you. You needn't want any more than -that. What is it then? Ah, it is because of his engagement to Lady -Eleanor!" - -Leslie turned her face away her brows drawn together. - -"But think, dear!" pleaded Lucy. "What could he do? Lady Eleanor had -saved him from ruin--he did not know that it was she and Ralph who had -driven him into a corner; remember, she had saved him, and he knew that -she loved him, and he thought that you had thrown him over. Oh, Leslie, -he only did what any man would have done. Forgive him, dear! He loves -you with all his heart and soul, any one--a woman especially--can see -that. There, you are trembling! Leslie, let your heart speak for you. -Let me send for him!" and she rose, as if she meant to sally out that -moment and bring Yorke back, but Leslie caught her arm. - -"No," she said with a set face. "I must think. I cannot forget that he -was going to be married to--to Lady Eleanor the day after to-morrow. It -is better that he should keep to his engagement to that lady." - -She could forgive him everything but his betrothal to Lady Eleanor. - -As she spoke she kissed Lucy and went to her own room. In crossing the -parlor she saw the locket with Yorke's portrait lying on the floor. She -paused a moment, a moment only, then went on, and left it lying there. - -But half an hour afterward, when all was still, the door opened, and -she entered the room and picked up the locket, gazed at the portrait, -and was about to press it to her lips, when she stopped and shuddered, -remembering in whose keeping the locket had been. Indeed, she was -about to drop it on the floor again, when a singular sound broke the -stillness. It was as if some one were moving in the garden. She thrust -the locket into the bosom of her dress and went to the window. The rain -had ceased, and there was a glimmer of moonlight between the clouds. -By this uncertain light she saw something standing on the small lawn. -She was rather frightened for a moment, till she saw it was a horse. -She was not in a condition of mind to care very much about the garden, -but she thought of Lucy's pride in it, and fondness for it, and she -opened the door and stole out, intending to drive the horse, which she -suspected had strayed from one of the adjoining meadows, through the -gate. - -But when she got near it she saw that it was saddled. She did not -immediately realize the significance of this fact. Then it flashed upon -her, and she ran into the house and into Lucy's room. Lucy was still -dressed, and seemed to expect her. - -"I heard you moving about, dear," she said lovingly, "and I knew you -would come to tell me that you had forgiven him and taken him back." - -"No, no!" exclaimed Leslie. "Come--come at once!" - -They ran down hand in hand, and Lucy uttered a cry of alarm as she saw -the horse. - -"Oh, my dahlias, Leslie! Oh, oh!" - -"Hush!" said Leslie in a whisper. "Don't you see? It is saddled! There -has been an accident. Get the lantern, Lucy! Quick! I will catch the -horse!" - -"No, no, you cannot!" - -But Leslie went up to the great creature guardedly, and after a -moment's fidgeting he allowed her to get hold of the bridle. - -Lucy was back with the lantern in a moment or two, and stood trembling; -it was Leslie who was calm and cool now. - -"Look, Lucy, there is blood on his shoulder and back! He has fallen, -and--and I am afraid for his rider. Wait!" - -She snatched the lantern from Lucy's hand, and running to the road, -examined it. - -"Thank God for the rain!" she said fervently. "See, every hoof mark!" - -She slung the bridle over the gate, and holding the lantern close -to the ground, followed the tracks. It was Lucy who first saw the -motionless figure lying in the road, and she uttered a faint scream. - -In another moment she was kneeling beside it, and then she stretched -out her arm as if to hide the white, blood-stained face from Leslie. - -"Keep back! Don't come near!" she gasped in a paroxysm of terror. "Oh, -Leslie, Leslie, it is he!" - -Leslie sank on to her knees, and put Lucy's arm aside, and looked at -the face. - -"He is dead!" she screamed. "Dead! I have killed him!" And uttering -heartbroken wails like some wild, distraught creature, she took his -head upon her bosom and held it there, calling upon his name in an -agony of despair and remorse. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -"LESLIE, YOUR WIFE!" - - -Lucy stood and wrung her hands, looking round helplessly, almost -terrified out of her senses by Leslie's terrible outburst of passionate -grief. But her helplessness lasted only for a moment or two. She bent -down and shook, literally shook, Leslie's shoulder. - -"He is not dead!" she said, "but he will be if we let him lie here!" - -She had hit upon the surest way of rousing Leslie. She stopped the -awful wailing, held Yorke's face from her and looked at it--oh, with -what a scrutiny!--then sprang to her feet. - -"Help me!" she said through her clenched teeth, and she put her arms -around Yorke's broad shoulders, and raised him from the ground. She -felt strong enough to carry him by herself! Between them they carried -him into the house and into Lucy's room. - -"Now I will go for the doctor," said Leslie, with a calmness which -terrified Lucy almost as much as her grief had done, but Lucy snatched -up her shawl. - -"No, I will go! You must stay with him! You--you will not break down, -Leslie?" - -A smile crossed Leslie's white face; and, sufficiently answered, Lucy -sped away. - -When she came back with the doctor they found that Leslie had--heaven -only knows how--got off Yorke's saturated coat and waistcoat, and -washed the blood from his face; and she stood outside the door holding -Lucy's hand, calm and composed, while the doctor made his examination. -Then he called them in. - -"No bones broken, thank God!" he said; "the horse must have fallen on -him, and I was afraid----. But he has struck his head, and there is -mischief in a blow like this. He will want careful nursing." He looked -from one to the other, and Leslie moved forward a little. The doctor -nodded. "Very good," he said, as if accepting her; and he began at once -to give her the necessary instructions. "When he comes to he must be -kept quiet." - -Ralph, who had been fetched by the doctor's man, entered the room, and -the doctor sent him into the village for some things he required; on -the way Ralph roused the postmaster and sent a telegram to the Duke of -Rothbury. - -The two girls and the doctor watched beside Yorke throughout the -morning, but he still lay motionless and apparently lifeless. - -The doctor's face grew graver as the hours passed, and he drew Ralph -aside. - -"Better send for his friends," he said; "I had hoped to bring him round -before this; there is Lady Eleanor Dallas----." - -Ralph started. He and the rest of them had forgotten her. - -He got on Yorke's horse, and rode full pelt for White Place. - -"Their ladyships left by the first train this morning for the -Continent, sir," said the butler; "Paris, I think, but I'm not sure; I -was to wait till they sent their address." - -Ralph rode back and whispered the result of his message to Lucy; she -looked relieved. - -"I--I am not sorry!" she said. "If she had come Leslie would have gone, -perhaps! No, I am not sorry! Oh, Ralph, if he should die!" - -In the afternoon a fly drove up to the door and Grey helped the duke -out. He was as white as the face that lay on the pillow upstairs, and -for a moment or two he could not speak, but sat with lightly folded -hands listening as Ralph told the whole strange story. - -"Take me to him," he said at last. - -They took him upstairs, and he started at sight of Leslie beside the -bed; then he held out his hand, and Leslie put hers into it without a -word; indeed, almost indifferently and without removing her eyes from -Yorke's face. For her all the world lay there, hovering between life -and death! - -He stood watching Yorke for some time, then he went downstairs again. - -"Will he live?" he asked the doctor. - -The doctor gave the usual shake of the head and shrug. - -"It is a difficult case, your grace," he said vaguely. - -The duke put his hand before his eyes for a moment or two. "If he -should die it will kill her!" He had been watching Leslie's face as -well as Yorke's. - -Two days passed. A stillness like that of death itself reigned over the -little house. Toward evening Lucy implored Leslie to go to her room and -take some rest. - -"And leave him?" was the only response, and she held the limp hand -still more tightly. The night fell and Leslie had sunk on her knees -with her face on the dear hand, praying silently, when she felt the -hand against her cheek move. She raised her head and motioned to Lucy -and the doctor and they drew back. - -The hand moved again, and presently the thrill that was almost an agony -in its intensity, ran warm through Leslie's heart, for she saw the eyes -she had watched hour by hour open slowly. - -There was no life or intelligence in them for a minute or so, but -Leslie bent over him and whispered his name. They lighted up, and a -smile flickered on his face and his lips moved. - -She bent still lower and heard him--surely no other could have caught -those faint accents!--whisper her name. - -"Yes, it is--Leslie!" she said. - -He smiled again, and his fingers closed over hers weakly and yet -clingingly. - -"That's--that's right, my darling!" he said. "I knew you'd come! -I've driven Stevens at the club half wild about that telegram; but -I'll--I'll give him a five-pound note. Leslie----." - -"Yes," she murmured. - -"I've got the certificate, license, whatever you call it, and we'll be -married to-day----." - -Her face flushed and the tears blinded her. - -"I'm too busy now to tell you how I love you for trusting me, dearest, -but I'll tell you after its all over. The snuggest little church! I've -got everything read--Where's a cab--Where----." - -He stopped and a shudder ran through him, and the expression of his -face changed swiftly. - -"Leslie!" he cried, in a voice of grief and dread. "Where are you? I -have lost you! Lost you; Leslie, come back to me! Oh, God, she has -gone, gone forever! Come back to me, dearest, dearest!" - -The doctor stepped forward hurriedly with a grave anxiety in his -manner; but Leslie motioned him back. - -She put her arm round Yorke and laid her face against his--her own -scarlet and white by turns--and in a voice inaudible to the rest, -whispered: - -"I am here, dear Yorke! Don't you know--have you forgotten? It is I, -Leslie--your wife!" - -He looked puzzled for a moment, then a smile broke over his face and he -laughed as he turned his face to her. - -"I--I must have been dreaming, Leslie!" he said joyfully. "Yes, that's -it! What an idiot I am! I forgot we were married yesterday! Think of -it! Where are we? On the steamer--in Italy--where? My--my head feels -queer, and the things work about me. Just--just tell me again, dearest." - -"It is Leslie--your wife," she murmured, her love telling her what he -wanted. - -"Yes, yes!" he murmured, with a laugh of infinite content. "Married -yesterday, of course; stupid things, dreams. Leslie! My wife! Married -yesterday!" - -Then with a sigh of blissful assurance and perfect peace he closed his -eyes and fell asleep on her bosom. - -Lucy stood crying, the tears were rolling down the duke's wan cheeks, -and even the doctor found it necessary to turn his head away. - -Then Lucy found herself outside the room sobbing on Ralph Duncombe's -shoulder. - -"Oh, I am so happy, so happy!" she sobbed. "It is all right now!" - -"All right?" he said with masculine density. - -"Yes, don't you see? Didn't you hear!" opening her eyes. "She is bound -to marry him now! Why, it's almost as if they were married already." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -HUSBAND AND--BROTHER. - - -The great duke who built Rothbury Castle was no fool. - -He chose the best of the hills, placed his house on the brow amidst a -belt of oaks and elms and surrounded by park-like lawns. He made the -body and the two wings in a long facade facing due south, and all along -the front he ran a terrace of white stone with flights of broad steps -leading down to the lawns and Italian gardens, which were then in vogue. - -From this terrace a view was obtained which was almost, if not quite, -as grand as that which enraptures the gaze from Richmond Hill; while -looked at from below, the castle presented an appearance which might -well be described as magnificent. Each succeeding duke had done what he -could to improve, or at any rate maintain, the ancestral home, and all -England was proud of Rothbury Castle. - -On an evening in June the duke was seated in his bath-chair in a corner -of the terrace looking wistfully and expectantly towards the most -distant part of the drive, which wound round and about the tall elms -like a yellow snake. Beside him stood Grey, also looking expectant, and -every now and then covertly glancing at his watch behind his master's -back. - -Just below the terrace was an arch composed of laurels, studded with -roses; the great flag and the Rothbury arms floated from one of the -towers and other flags flapped in the soft breeze from Venetian masts, -and lines stretched from point to point of the castle and grounds. -Servants in their dark claret livery hurried to and fro or stood in -groups looking toward the same spot on which the duke's eye was fixed. -The hall door was open wide, and at the foot of the stairs stood the -general servants of the household--all of them, from the stately -housekeeper in satin to the scullery-maid in her black stuff dress -and white apron. In fact, the whole place was in a state of pleasant -excitement, and no one excepting the duke in his chair seemed able to -keep still in one place for more than a minute at a time. - -"That train's late, Grey," said the duke with a painfully poor attempt -at indifference. "It always is late. See that I write to the Traffic -Director about it, will you? It is something shameful the way this line -is mismanaged. It must be twenty minutes late, I know!" - -"Not quite, your grace; about a quarter, I should say," said Grey, -pulling out his watch. - -"Oh, put that watch away!" said the duke. "You have lugged it out -twenty times during the last half hour. Do you think I haven't seen -you? I wish to heaven you'd go away if you must fidget." - -"Beg pardon, your grace," said Grey from behind, and hiding a smile. -"Shall I wheel your grace in, the air is rather----." - -"Nonsense! It's as hot as--as a furnace. Are they coming yet? They seem -to forget that I'm a director of this beastly line! By George, I'll -go down to their next board meeting and make it hot for them! More -accidents occur from the unpunctuality of trains than anything else. -Ah, what's that?" - -"They're coming, your grace!" exclaimed Grey. - -The duke made a movement as if he were about to rise, then he sank back -with a sigh. - -"Go and tell them; they can't see as well as we can. See that -everything is ready." - -"Yes, your grace; but there's no need, they've seen the carriage," he -added, as the servants began to move about like a hive of bees, and -then, as if by mutual consent, swarmed upon the principal flight of -steps from the terrace. - -The carriage, with its four white horses, swept along the avenue, the -postilions cracking their whips and keeping their steeds at a smart -gallop; and presently Yorke, who had been leaning forward, said: - -"The first view of the castle, Leslie!" - -Leslie bent forward eagerly and a faint cry of amazement and delight -escaped her. - -"Oh, Yorke, how lovely, how lovely!" she murmured. "I had no idea it -was so large or so beautiful. It is an Aladdin's palace! And look, -Yorke, there is an arch of flowers! How kind of them! Oh----," she drew -a long breath and sank back. "I think I am a little frightened by it -all!" - -He leant his arm on the side of the carriage and looked at her with a -smile on his lips, and the light of a passionate love in his eyes. - -The view before them was beautiful enough in all conscience, but the -loveliness beside him transcended it! Six months of such happiness as -falls to few mortals had done wonders for Leslie. It had brought back -the color to her face, the light to her eyes, the music of youth's joy -and love's ecstasy to her voice. It was the Leslie of Portmaris with -something added, a something too delicately intangible for words, but -the charm of which all felt who met and talked with her. - -If it was possible Yorke had grown to love her with a deeper and more -passionate love since their marriage, and his pride in her beauty had -verged on the ridiculous; and sometimes Leslie, made to blush under -his gaze, would put her hands over her eyes. The intensity of his love -almost frightened her; and she was as one who fears for the safety of a -precious vase which fate may overturn or some malignant wand cast from -its pedestal and shatter. - -The six months of happiness had wrought wonders for Yorke also. The wan -and haggard, the hopeless, listless expression had vanished from his -face, and in its place was a look of contentment and youthful energy -which gave him back all the brightness that had helped to win Leslie's -heart. - -It was, indeed, the old Yorke with his ready laugh and jest who sat -beside his sweetheart-wife, as they bowled toward their future home. - -"There you are!" he said presently. "You can see the terrace now. By -George, what a mob! It's a regular reception! There'll be a speech -for certain! Do you think you are equal to returning thanks, my lady? -Just think over a few 'graceful phrases,' as the newspapers put -it--something neat and short." - -"Oh, don't Yorke!" she pleaded. "If you knew how my heart was -beating----." - -"Let me feel it," he said promptly, seizing upon the excuse. - -"No, no, sir! You mustn't! Fleming may look round any moment," and she -cast a glance of mock warning at that important individual seated on -the box. "But you may hold my hand, if you like. Isn't it trembling?" -and she turned her eyes upon him piteously, though a soft smile played -upon her parted lips. "Oh, Yorke, I feel so--so small before all this. -I ought to have been six feet high, and very, very stately! And instead -I feel so tiny and insignificant! There is one good thing. I shall be -able to get behind you and hide myself. Do you know that you have grown -dreadfully big, Yorke?" - -He laughed. - -"Have I? I dare say. Happiness, like laughter, makes one grow fat. I -shouldn't be surprised if I developed into a kind of Daniel Lambert. -There was one fat Rothbury. I'll show you his portrait, and if you like -it I'll try and live up to it. Oh, what lots I have to show you! But, -I forgot, I must leave that to Dolph! The dear old chap will love to -trot you around the place, for he's proud of it, though he is always -growling and calling it a barracks, and an overgrown show. Dear old -Dolph! Now--oh, you are not going to cry!" - -"No, no!" Leslie responded, wiping her eyes stealthily. "It--it was -only the sun in my eyes. Oh, Yorke, how good Heaven has been to us in -every way! Think how sad it would have been to have come home and found -him gone from us!" - -Yorke nodded with momentary gravity. - -"Yes, Heaven has been very good to us, dearest," he said in a low, -fervent voice. "In that as in all things." - -The horses tore along as if they knew they were being eagerly waited -for, and presently the sound of cheering rose and swelled into a volume -as the carriage passed under the arch. As it passed Leslie looked up -and uttered an exclamation of delight. - -"Oh, look, Yorke!" she cried. "Yorke, look!" - -Half a dozen of the prettiest of the village school-girls stood on a -bower on top of the arch, and the moment the carriage was underneath -they began to sing and throw roses into it. - -"Stop, stop for one moment!" pleaded Leslie. "I--I want to speak to -them. Oh, I can't, I can't!" she cried. "You speak, Yorke! Thank them, -oh, thank them!" - -They could not stop, and in despair Leslie snatched up one of the roses -and kissed it at the children, and waved her hand. - -"That's better than a speech," said Yorke delightedly. "Look at them -clapping their hands, and hear them shouting. Commend me to Lady -Auchester for doing the right thing in an emergency. Here we are!" he -exclaimed, as the carriage drew up at the steps, and four grooms ran -forward to the horses' heads, and he got out and held his hand to her. - -As they passed up the steps, lined on either side by the servants, the -cheers were redoubled, mingled with shouts: - -"Welcome home, my lord! Welcome home, my lady!" - -At the top of the steps stood the gray-haired butler. Yorke nearly -spoiled his short speech by shaking hands with him, but the old fellow -stammered it out, and Yorke, with his wife on his arm, looked round -with his bright smile, and opened his lips. - -But, as he said afterward, a lump came into his throat, and for a -moment or two he could not utter a word, and even then he found himself -stammering as the butler had done, as he said: - -"Thank you, thank you! I should like to tell you how deeply I feel your -kindness, but I can't, somehow! But I do feel it very much, and so does -my wife, my dear wife----," he stopped suddenly, and in the unexpected -silence, a voice--it was that of the little scullery-maid, who had -edged forward--was heard distinctly--"Oh, isn't she lovely!" - -A proud light flashed into Yorke's eyes, and he held his head high. - -"Yes," he said, "she is lovely! But she is something better than that; -she is good--good!" - -One touch of nature like this makes the whole world kin, and a shout -went up which echoed and re-echoed round the old walls. - -Leslie stood 'covered with blushes,' but her hand closed on her -husband's, and with a loving, grateful pressure, as she looked up at -him with a pride which equaled his own. - -Then Yorke went quickly across the terrace--the servants drawing back -with true delicacy--to where the bath-chair stood, and in another -instant the duke's hand was grasped in his. But after an affectionate -glance at his happy face the duke motioned him aside, and held out -both hands towards Leslie. - -"My welcome comes last, but it's not the least, my dear," he said. - -Leslie stood for a second hesitating, her color coming and going, then -she bent down and kissed him on the forehead. - -His thin face flushed, and he held her a moment, patting her arm in the -way a man does when he is having a hard fight with his emotion. - -"You're both looking very well, young people," he said, but without -removing his eyes from Leslie's face. "Very well--and absurdly happy." - -Leslie laughed, and her eyes dwelt on him with an expression of -satisfaction and rejoicing, which he did not understand until she said: - -"And you--oh, how well you look, how different." - -He shook his head with one of his quaintly grim smiles. - -"Yes. I'm very sorry, and I hope you'll both forgive me for being so -inconsiderate, but I was never half so well in my life. I'm afraid I'm -going to be a nuisance, and keep poor Yorke waiting for the title for a -year or two." - -"All right, Dolph," said Yorke in his old breezy voice. "We'll tell you -when we're tired of waiting." - -"Do, do!" he said. "Mind, that's a promise! Now you are tired, and you -want to rest before dinner. Yorke, you'll have to do the honors of the -house; Leslie won't care to wait while I limp along." - -Leslie drew his arm through hers and looked down at him with the smile -which a sister bestows upon a beloved and afflicted brother, and with -an added tenderness too subtle for analysis. - -"I will not go without you," she said. "Lean upon me, or rather I will -lean upon you, for I am a little tired, and you are quite strong." - -The duke's face flushed with pleasure and satisfaction as he got up. - -"Very well," he said. - -They entered the vast hall, and he pointed out the great staircase -upon which Royalist and Roundhead had fought till the stairs ran with -blood--the stains were there still, under the carpet; the old oak -carving; the tattered banners which the Rothburys of old had borne in -many a fight for king and country; the tapestry hangings, which not -even Windsor could match; the oriel window of stained glass, brought -piece by piece from Flanders; the long line of family portraits. Then -he took her through the state apartments, with their gilded carvings -and priceless furniture, grand lofty rooms, as splendid as anything she -had seen, even in palatial Venice; to the library, which a studious, -book-loving duke had constructed with infinite care and pains, and -filled with rare and choice editions; to the smaller rooms in which he -and she and Yorke would live, and which with their modern decorations -and furniture were the epitome of elegance and comfort. Then they -went up the great staircase and along the broad corridors, lined with -pictures and statuary. - -"These are your rooms," he said, opening a door, and smiling as Leslie -uttered a cry of amazement and delight. "You like them?" he said -quietly, but evidently delighted at her delight. "I'm glad of that. -It has been an amusement for me while you have been away getting them -ready. I hope you'll find all you want, but you must remember that I'm -only a miserable bachelor, and make allowances if you miss anything." - -"What shall I say to him, Yorke?" she said, appealing to Yorke -helplessly. - -The duke drew her on as if to escape her thanks. - -"You shan't be bothered with more rooms now," he said. "To-morrow you -shall see it all. You must get acquainted with your own house, you -know, as soon as possible." - -As he spoke Yorke, who had walked beside them too moved for speech, -stopped before the half opened door and pushed it open. - -It was a plainly furnished room--very plainly, no silks or satins or -inlaid furniture here, but an ordinary iron bedstead, and dressing -table and washstand of plain deal. - -"My room," said the duke simply. - -Leslie stopped and peeped in, then she stood still, surprised and -touched at its simplicity. - -"Why have you given us all the beautiful things, and left none for -yourself, duke?" she said reproachfully. - -He laughed. - -"Oh, I'm simple in my tastes," he said. "But I half thought of -furnishing this room as a boudoir for you, there is such a pretty view. -Come in!" - -She went in and to the window, but she did not look at the view, for -her eye was caught by a picture hanging on the wall at the foot of the -bed. - -It was the picture her father had painted, and "Mr. Temple" had bought. - -She looked at it in silence and the tears filled her eyes; then she -turned her lovely face to the duke and tried to speak. - -"All right, my dear," he said in a low voice. "I like to have it -there. It reminds me of old times. Reminds me of the Portmaris days, -when, blinded by my own conceit, I thought all women were false and -worthless. You have opened my eyes, my dear, and I see more clearly -now! There! There!" for her tears fell fast. "That is all past now." - -He paused for a moment, then lifted his eyes to her face with a tender -regard, and murmured: - - Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all its chords with might, - Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight-- - -"I suppose he has told you how it was with me, my dear?" - -Leslie's eyes dropped for an instant, then she raised them and looked -into his, and her hand closed tightly on his thin one. - -"Well," he said with a smile, "you must cut your heart in two, and give -one-half to your husband, and the other to--your brother!" - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. - - -Six weeks later, when the world of fashion was ringing with the praises -of Lady Auchester's beauty and amiability, and the society papers were -prophesying that the future Duchess of Rothbury would become the most -popular of the leaders of ton, Leslie and Yorke drove in a hansom to -St. John's Wood. - -They were very silent during the journey, and when they stopped at the -house in which the famous Finetta of the Diadem had held so many merry -parties, Leslie got out of the cab alone. - -She was inside the house nearly an hour, and when she came out with her -veil down and re-entered the cab she did not speak for some time, but -held her husband's hand in eloquent silence. - -"Well, dearest?" he said at last. - -"Yes, I am glad I came," she said, in a low voice. "Very glad. Oh, -Yorke, how changed she is! I scarcely knew her. You remember how strong -and self-reliant she was? Now----," she stopped with a little sob. "And -yet she is so happy and cheerful. She spends all her time thinking and -working for others; the poor girls at the theater where she was, come -and see her, and she helps them in all sorts of ways. While I was there -the clergyman came in, and he spoke a few words to me outside her room. -He said that if there ever was a really good woman she was one." - -"Poor Fin!" said Yorke, under his breath. - -"No, no," said Leslie; "not pity, Yorke. She does not need that, for -she is happier now lying there, than ever she was in the old days of -her strength and triumph. I told her all about you, and Lucy and Ralph, -and she wants me to take Lucy to see her. She and Lucy will just suit -each other. And Yorke----," she paused and held out her tiny fist to -him. "She has given me something; for a wedding present, she said. -Guess what it is." - -"I give it up," he said quietly. - -She opened her hand and showed him the diamond pendant. - -"'I thought you would come some day,' she said, Yorke, and if you could -have seen her face when she said it! 'And so I kept it for you.'" - - * * * * * - -One day Lord Auchester and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Duncombe -were staying at a country house in the North. It was an extremely -pleasant party, of which those two ladies were, by general consent, -admitted to be the belles, and the hostess, not unnaturally proud of -having the famous Lady Auchester under her roof, decided to give a big -dance which should include all the neighboring county families and -their guests. - -Half an hour before the opening of the ball, while Leslie was dressing, -the hostess, Lady Springmore, came in to her in a great flush of -excitement and distress. - -"Oh, my dear Lady Auchester, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, when Leslie -had sent her maid away. "I am heartbroken about it, and I don't know -what to do." - -"What is it, Lady Springmore?" asked Leslie, more amused than -frightened at her hostess' fluster. "Has the floor fallen in, or the -ices gone wrong?" - -"No, no, my dear! It's--it's something concerning you and Lord -Auchester," and she clasped her hands and sank into a chair. - -"Then I'd better call my husband," said Leslie, looking toward the next -dressing-room, where Yorke was brushing his hair and whistling "like a -ploughboy," as Leslie often declared. - -"No, no. And yet--oh, I'd better tell you at once. My dear Lady -Auchester, the Marlows have got Lady Eleanor Dallas staying with -them--and she's coming here to-night!" - -Leslie blushed, but she said quietly, "Well?" - -"Well!" echoed the hostess in a kind of despair. "Don't you see, dear? -She doesn't know you are here, and--and--oh, what shall I do?" - -"Do nothing," replied Leslie, as quietly as before. - -"But--but will it not be awkward and unpleasant for you, dear Lady -Auchester?" - -"Yes," said Leslie, in her old, downright way. "Yes; it will be both -awkward and unpleasant, but if we ran away from all the awkwardness and -unpleasantness in life we should spend our time in perpetual flight. I -see you know our story, Lady Springmore." - -"Oh, every one does, my dear," murmured that lady apologetically. - -"Just so," said Leslie calmly. "Well, if you are kind enough to ask my -advice, it is: Do nothing. The world is so small that Lady Dallas and -we are sure to meet sometimes, and--well," she smiled, "do you think -that we shall make a scene in your pretty ballroom? Wait!" - -She opened the door of the dressing-room an inch or two and called to -Yorke. - -"Hallo!" he called back. "What is it? Want me to come and admire you in -your warpaint, I suppose? Shan't! Tired of admiring you!" - -"Oh, hush, hush!" said Leslie, blushing like a rose. "Lady Springmore -is here, Yorke. She has come to tell us that--that Lady Eleanor Dallas -is coming to-night." - -"The devil!" - -"No, dear, Lady Eleanor," said Leslie, sweetly and naively. - -He came to the door and poked his head round; then he saw by her face -what he was expected to say, and said it like a good and docile husband. - -"Delighted to see any guest of yours, Lady Springmore!" he said, -bobbing his head at her, and promptly disappeared. - -An hour or two later, when the ball was in full swing, Leslie heard the -footman announce Lady Eleanor Dallas. - -She had been waiting for it, and was prepared. Lady Eleanor entered. -She was thinner, and looked pale, and rather listless, and the air of -pride and hauteur were more pronounced than of old. - -Superbly dressed, she moved through the crowd with a faint smile of -greeting for her acquaintances; then suddenly she saw Leslie. She -stopped for just one instant, and the blood rushed to her face; then -she came toward her, and, Leslie coming forward too, they met each -other half way, so to speak. - -The few conventional words were spoken, and by that time Lady Eleanor -had recovered her presence of mind, and was once more the stately, -haughty patrician who suffers and is silent. - -"Your husband is here, Lady Auchester?" she said, quite calmly. - -"I will bring him to you," said Leslie, promptly. - -She found Yorke, and put her arm through his, pressing it to give him -courage, for in all cases like this the bravest man is as like as not -to prove an arrant coward. - -"She is here, Yorke! Now, mind!" - -"Oh, Lord!" he groaned. Then he pulled himself together quite suddenly. -"If she can go through it, I can!" he said, grimly. - -In another moment they were facing each other--Yorke with an -unconsciously stern face, Lady Eleanor with a faint smile which masked -more than pen can tell. - -"How do you do, Lord Auchester?" she said, giving him her hand. - -Yorke took it, and for a moment he found that it trembled; but he said -afterwards that he thought it was only fancy. - -Then, without another word, she turned and moved away. - -They met--they were bound to meet--often in the after years, but it was -never more than "How do you do, Lord Auchester?" "I hope you are well, -Lady Eleanor?" until Leslie's first girl was born. - -There had been a good deal of fuss--as the duke said, who made more -fuss than any one else--over the birth of the son and heir; but this -child, the first girl, was hailed as if she were the most wonderful -production the world had ever seen, and Lucy was regarded with -boundless envy because she was chosen as godmother. - -But the day before the christening Leslie received a magnificent set of -pearls, inclosed in a box of white ivory, inside which was a slip of -paper, bearing, in Lady Eleanor's handwriting, this inscription: - -"To my godchild, Leslie Eleanor Auchester." - -Yorke was amazed and bewildered, but Leslie understood in an instant. - -"What does it mean?" he demanded, staring at her, and almost letting -the casket drop. - -"It means that she is going to transfer her love to our--no, -your--little one, Yorke," she said. "Oh, don't you see? And we thought -she hated us!" - -She caught up her baby and kissed it, and laughed and cried over it, in -her joy and thankfulness, for every time she had met Lady Eleanor her -tender heart had ached. But now this little mite had removed the only -thorn in Leslie's bed of roses. - -"Yes, she shall have her," she said. - -"Eh?" exclaimed Yorke, staring. "What! Altogether? I say!" - -"Oh, not altogether!" said Leslie, with a little gasp, and clutching -her baby tighter. "No, not altogether, but--but nearly! Oh, Yorke, -Yorke, my cup of happiness is full now. Quite, quite full!" - - -[THE END.] - - - - -Twenty Masterpieces in Paper Covers - - - East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood. - Select No. 14, 10c. - - The Picture of Dorian Gray. By Oscar Wilde. - Select No. 95, 10c. - - The King's Stratagem. By Stanley J. Weyman. - Select No. 164, 10c. - - Kidnapped. By Robert Louis Stevenson. - Select No. 83, 10c. - - Foul Play. By Charles Reade. - Select No. 135, 10c. - - The Iron Pirate. By Max Pemberton. - Select No. 61, 10c. - - Under Two Flags. By "Ouida." - Select No. 27, 10c. - - Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling. - Select No. 72, 10c. - - A Man of Mark. By Anthony Hope. - Select No. 156, 10c. - - The First Violin. By Jessie Fothergill. - Select No. 64, 10c. - - The Duchess. By The Duchess. - Select No. 71, 10c. - - The Cruise of the "Cachalot." By Frank T. Bullen. - Select No. 67, 10c. - - Around the World in Eighty Days. By Jules Verne. - Medal No. 110, 10c. - - The Wreck of the "Grosvenor." By W. Clark Russell. - New Medal No. 487, 15c. - - The Splendid Spur. By A. T. Quiller-Couch. - New Romance No. 13, 15c. - - Young Mistley. By Henry Seton Merriman. - New Romance No. 15, 15c. - - Captain Fracasse. By Theophile Gautier. - New Romance No. 14, 15c. - - The Detective Tales of Edgar Allan Poe. - Magnet No. 115, 10c. - - Tiny Luttrell. By E. W. Hornung. - Eagle No. 515, 10c. - - A Soul Laid Bare. By J. K. Egerton. - New Eagle No. 740, 15c. - - -Complete List of S. & S. Novels sent anywhere upon request - -STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK - - - - -[Illustration: Drink - -Coca-Cola - - -The satisfying beverage. - -Pure and wholesome as it is tempting. - - -Delicious--Refreshing - -Thirst--Quenching - - -Ask for it by its full name then you will get the genuine] - -Send for our free booklet - - THE COCA-COLA CO. - Atlanta, Ga. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: - -Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Leslie's Loyalty, by Charles Garvice - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESLIE'S LOYALTY *** - -***** This file should be named 50440-8.txt or 50440-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/4/4/50440/ - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Demian Katz and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images -courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/50440-8.zip b/old/50440-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2849996..0000000 --- a/old/50440-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h.zip b/old/50440-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2de4cbd..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/50440-h.htm b/old/50440-h/50440-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 82e7be6..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/50440-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20682 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Leslie's Loyalty, by Charles Garvice. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover-image.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1, h2, h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -h1 -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - font-weight: normal; - line-height: 1.6; -} - -.center -{ - text-align: center; -} - -.spaced -{ - line-height: 1.5; -} - -.space-above - -{ - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.small -{ - font-size: small; -} - -.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } - -.border -{ - border: 1px solid; -} - -table.centered { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - -td.title { text-align: left; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} -td.author { text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.covernote { - visibility: visible; - display: block; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poem { - margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; - text-align: left; -} - -.poem br {display: none;} - -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Leslie's Loyalty, by Charles Garvice - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Leslie's Loyalty - -Author: Charles Garvice - -Release Date: November 13, 2015 [EBook #50440] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESLIE'S LOYALTY *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Demian Katz and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images -courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img class="border" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" src="images/cover-image.jpg" id="coverpage" width="500" height="712" alt="Cover for Leslie's Loyalty" /> -<div class="transnote covernote"> -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">The cover image was restored by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors</i></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="ph2">NEW EAGLE SERIES</p> - -<h3>ISSUED WEEKLY</h3> - - -<p>The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted -novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is -spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works -are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle -Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of -undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware -of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because -their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing -manuscripts and making plates.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT</p> - - -<p>TO THE PUBLIC:—These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If -your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send -direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to -the price per copy to cover postage.</p> - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="3" style="max-width: 100%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" summary="LIST"> - -<tr><td class="title"><b>Quo Vadis</b> (New Illustrated Edition)</td> <td class="author"><b>By Henryk Sienkiewicz</b></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 1—Queen Bess</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 2—Ruby's Reward</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 7—Two Keys</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 12—Edrie's Legacy</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 44—That Dowdy</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 55—Thrice Wedded</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 66—Witch Hazel</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 77—Tina</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 88—Virgie's Inheritance</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 99—Audrey's Recompense</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">111—Faithful Shirley</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">122—Grazia's Mistake</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">133—Max</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">144—Dorothy's Jewels</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">155—Nameless Dell</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">166—The Masked Bridal</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">177—A True Aristocrat</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">188—Dorothy Arnold's Escape</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">199—Geoffrey's Victory</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">210—Wild Oats</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">219—Lost, A Pearle</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">222—The Lily of Mordaunt</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">233—Nora</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">244—A Hoiden's Conquest</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">255—The Little Marplot</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">266—The Welfleet Mystery</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">277—Brownie's Triumph</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">282—The Forsaken Bride</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">288—Sibyl's Influence</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">291—A Mysterious Wedding Ring</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">299—Little Miss Whirlwind</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">311—Wedded by Fate</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">339—His Heart's Queen</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">351—The Churchyard Betrothal</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">362—Stella Rosevelt</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">372—A Girl in a Thousand</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">373—A Thorn Among Roses (Sequel to "A Girl in a Thousand")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">382—Mona</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">391—Marguerite's Heritage</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">399—Betsey's Transformation</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">407—Esther, the Fright</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">415—Trixy</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">419—The Other Woman</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">433—Winifred's Sacrifice</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">440—Edna's Secret Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">451—Helen's Victory</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">458—When Love Meets Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">476—Earle Wayne's Nobility</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">511—The Golden Key</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">512—A Heritage of Love (Sequel to "The Golden Key")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">519—The Magic Cameo</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">520—The Heatherford Fortune (Sequel to "The Magic Cameo") </td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">531—Better Than Life</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">537—A Life's Mistake</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">542—Once in a Life</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">548—'Twas Love's Fault</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">553—Queen Kate</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">554—Step by Step</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">555—Put to the Test</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">556—With Love's Aid</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">557—In Cupid's Chains</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">558—A Plunge Into the Unknown</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">559—The Love That Was Cursed</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">560—The Thorns of Regret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">561—The Outcast of the Family</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">562—A Forced Promise</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">563—The Old Homestead</td> <td class="author">By Denman Thompson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">564—Love's First Kiss</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">565—Just a Girl</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">566—In Love's Springtime</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">567—Trixie's Honor</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">568—Hearts and Dollars</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">569—By Devious Ways</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">570—Her Heart's Unbidden Guest</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">571—Two Wild Girls</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">572—Amid Scarlet Roses</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">573—Heart for Heart</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">574—The Fugitive Bride</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">575—A Blue Grass Heroine</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">576—The Yellow Face</td> <td class="author">By Fred M. White</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">577—The Story of a Passion</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">579—The Curse of Beauty</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">580—The Great Awakening</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">581—A Modern Juliet</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">582—Virgie Talcott's Mission</td> <td class="author">By Lucy M. Russell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">583—His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">584—Mabel's Fate</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">585—The Ape and the Diamond</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">586—Nell, of Shorne Mills</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">587—Katherine's Two Suitors</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">588—The Crime of Love</td> <td class="author">By Barbara Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">589—His Father's Crime</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">590—What Was She to Him?</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">591—A Heritage of Hate</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">592—Ida Chaloner's Heart</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">593—Love Will Find the Way</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">594—A Case of Identity</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">595—The Shadow of Her Life</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">596—Slighted Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">597—Her Fatal Gift</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">598—His Wife's Friend</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">599—At Love's Cost</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">600—St. Elmo</td> <td class="author">By Augusta J. Evans</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">601—The Fate of the Plotter</td> <td class="author">By Louis Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">602—Married in Error</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">603—Love and Jealousy</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">604—Only a Working Girl</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">605—Love, the Tyrant</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">606—Mabel's Sacrifice</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">608—Love is Love Forevermore</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">609—John Elliott's Flirtation</td> <td class="author">By Lucy May Russell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">610—With All Her Heart</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">611—Is Love Worth While?</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">612—Her Husband's Other Wife</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">613—Philip Bennion's Death</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">614—Little Phillis' Lover</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">615—Maida</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">617—As a Man Lives</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">618—The Tide of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">619—The Cardinal Moth</td> <td class="author">By Fred M. White</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">620—Marcia Drayton</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">621—Lynette's Wedding</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">622—His Madcap Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">623—Love at the Loom</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">624—A Bachelor Girl</td> <td class="author">By Lucy May Russell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">625—Kyra's Fate</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">626—The Joss</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">627—My Little Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">628—A Daughter of the Marionis</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">629—The Lady of Beaufort Park</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">630—The Verdict of the Heart</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">631—A Love Concealed</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">633—The Strange Disappearance of Lady Delia</td> <td class="author">By Louis Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">634—Love's Golden Spell</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">635—A Coronet of Shame</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">636—Sinned Against</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">637—If It Were True!</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">638—A Golden Barrier</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">639—A Hateful Bondage</td> <td class="author">By Barbara Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">640—A Girl of Spirit</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">641—Master of Men</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">642—A Fair Enchantress</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">643—The Power of Love</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">644—No Time for Penitence</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">645—A Jest of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">646—Her Sister's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">647—Bitterly Atoned</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">648—Gertrude Elliott's Crucible</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">649—The Corner House</td> <td class="author">By Fred M. White</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">650—Diana's Destiny</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">651—Love's Clouded Dawn</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">652—Little Vixen</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">653—Her Heart's Challenge</td> <td class="author">By Barbara Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">654—Vivian's Love Story</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">655—Linked by Fate</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">656—Hearts of Stone</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">657—In the Service of Love</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">658—Love's Devious Course</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">659—Told in the Twilight</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">660—The Mills of the Gods</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">661—The Man of the Hour</td> <td class="author">By Sir William Magnay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">662—A Little Barbarian</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">663—Creatures of Destiny</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">664—A Southern Princess</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">666—A Fateful Promise</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">667—The Goddess—A Demon</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">668—From Tears to Smiles</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">670—Better Than Riches</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">671—When Love Is Young</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">672—Craven Fortune</td> <td class="author">By Fred M. White</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">673—Her Life's Burden</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">674—The Heart of Hetta</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">675—The Breath of Slander</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">676—My Lady Beth</td> <td class="author"> By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">677—The Wooing of Esther Gray</td> <td class="author">By Louis Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">678—The Shadow Between Them</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">679—Gold in the Gutter</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">680—Master of Her Fate</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">681—In Full Cry</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">682—My Pretty Maid</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">683—An Unhappy Bargain</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">684—Her Enduring Love</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">685—India's Punishment</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">686—The Castle of the Shadows</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. C. N. Williamson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">687—My Own Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">688—Only a Kiss</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">689—Lola Dunbar's Crime</td> <td class="author">By Barbara Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">690—Ruth, the Outcast</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">691—Her Dearest Love</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">692—The Man of Millions</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">693—For Another's Fault</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">694—The Belle of Saratoga</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">695—The Mystery of the Unicorn</td> <td class="author">By Sir William Magnay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">696—The Bride's Opals</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">697—One of Life's Roses</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">698—The Battle of Hearts</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">700—In Wolf's Clothing</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">701—A Lost Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">702—The Stronger Passion</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">703—Mr. Marx's Secret</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">704—Had She Loved Him Less!</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">705—The Adventure of Princess Sylvia</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. C. N. Williamson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">706—In Love's Paradise</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">707—At Another's Bidding</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">708—Sold for Gold</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">710—Ridgeway of Montana</td> <td class="author">By William MacLeod Raine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">711—Taken by Storm</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">712—Love and a Lie</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">713—Barriers of Stone</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">714—Ethel's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">715—Amber, the Adopted</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">716—No Man's Wife</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">717—Wild and Willful</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">718—When We Two Parted</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">719—Love's Earnest Prayer</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">720—The Price of a Kiss</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">721—A Girl from the South</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">722—A Freak of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">723—A Golden Sorrow</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">724—Norma's Black Fortune</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">725—The Thoroughbred</td> <td class="author">By Edith MacVane</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">726—Diana's Peril</td> <td class="author">By Dorothy Hall</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">727—His Willing Slave</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">728—Her Share of Sorrow</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">729—Loved at Last</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">730—John Hungerford's Redemption</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">731—His Two Loves</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">732—Eric Braddon's Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">733—Garrison's Finish</td> <td class="author">By W. B. M. Ferguson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">734—Sylvia, the Forsaken</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">735—Married for Money</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">736—Married in Haste</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">737—At Her Father's Bidding</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">738—The Power of Gold</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">739—The Strength of Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">740—A Soul Laid Bare</td> <td class="author">By J. K. Egerton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">741—The Fatal Ruby</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">742—A Strange Wooing </td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">743—A Lost Love</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">744—A Useless Sacrifice</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">745—A Will of Her Own</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">746—That Girl Named Hazel</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">747—For a Flirt's Love</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">748—The World's Great Snare</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">749—The Heart of a Maid</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">750—Driven from Home</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">751—The Gypsy's Warning</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">752—Without Name or Wealth</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">753—Loyal Unto Death</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">754—His Lost Heritage</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">755—Her Priceless Love</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">756—Leola's Heart</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">757—Dare-devil Betty</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">758—The Woman in It</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">759—They Met by Chance</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">760—Love Conquers Pride</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">761—A Reckless Promise</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">762—The Rose of Yesterday</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">763—The Other Girl's Lover</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">764—His Unbounded Faith</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">765—When Love Speaks</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">766—The Man She Hated</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">767—No One to Help Her</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">768—Claire's Love-Life</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">769—Love's Harvest</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">770—A Queen of Song</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">771—Nan Haggard's Confession</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">772—A Married Flirt</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">773—The Thorns of Love</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">774—Love in a Snare</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">775—My Love Kitty</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">776—That Strange Girl</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">777—Nellie</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">778—Miss Estcourt; or, Olive</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">779—A Virginia Goddess</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">780—The Love He Sought</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">781—Falsely Accused</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">782—His First Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">783—All for Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">784—What Love Can Cost</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">785—Lady Gay's Martyrdom</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">786—His Good Angel</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">787—A Bartered Soul</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">788—In Love's Shadows</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">789—A Love Worth Winning</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">790—The Fatal Kiss</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">791—A Lover Scorned</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">792—After Many Days</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">793—An Innocent Outlaw</td> <td class="author">By William Wallace Cook</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">794—The Arm of the Law</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">795—The Reluctant Queen</td> <td class="author">By J. Kenilworth Egerton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">796—The Cost of Pride</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">797—What Love Made Her</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">798—Brave Heart</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">799—Between Good and Evil</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">800—Caught in Love's Net</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">801—Love is a Mystery</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">802—The Glitter of Jewels</td> <td class="author">By J. Kenilworth Egerton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">803—The Game of Life</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">804—A Dreadful Legacy</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">805—Rogers, of Butte</td> <td class="author">By William Wallace Cook</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">806—The Haunting Past</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">807—The Love That Would Not Die</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">808—The Serpent and the Dove</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">809—Through the Shadows</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">810—Her Kingdom</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">811—When Dark Clouds Gather</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">812—Her Fateful Choice</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">813—Sorely Tried</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">814—Far Above Price</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">815—Bitter Sweet</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">816—A Clouded Life</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">817—When Fate Decrees</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">818—The Girl Who Was True</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">819—Where Love is Sent</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">820—The Pride of My Heart</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">821—The Girl in Red</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">822—Why Did She Shun Him?</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">823—Between Love and Conscience </td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">824—Spectres of the Past</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">825—The Hearts of the Mighty</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">826—The Irony of Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">827—At Arms With Fate</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">828—Love's Young Dream</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">829—Her Golden Secret</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">830—The Stolen Bride</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">831—Love's Rugged Pathway</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">832—A Love Rejected—A Love Won</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">833—Her Life's Dark Cloud</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">834—A Hero for Love's Sake</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">835—When the Heart Hungers</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">836—Love Given in Vain</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">837—The Web of Life</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">838—Love Surely Triumphs</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">839—The Lovely Constance</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">840—On a Sea of Sorrow</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">841—Her Hated Husband</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">842—When Hearts Beat True</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">843—WO2</td> <td class="author">By Maurice Drake</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">844—Too Quickly Judged</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">845—For Her Husband's Love</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">846—The Fatal Rose</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">847—The Love That Prevailed</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">848—Just an Angel</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">849—Stronger Than Fate</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">850—A Life's Love</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">851—From Dreams to Waking</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">852—A Barrier Between Them</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">853—His Love for Her</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">854—A Changeling's Love</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">855—Could He Have Known!</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">856—Loved in Vain</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">857—The Fault of One</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">858—Her Life's Desire</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">859—A Wife Yet no Wife</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">860—Her Twentieth Guest</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">861—The Love Knot</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">862—Tricked into Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">863—The Spell She Wove</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">864—The Mistress of the Farm</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">865—Chained to a Villain</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">866—No Mother to Guide Her</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during January, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">867—His Heritage</td> <td class="author">By W. B. M. Ferguson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">868—All Lost But Love</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">869—With Heart Bowed Down</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">870—Her Slave Forever</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during February, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">871—To Love and Not be Loved</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">872—My Pretty Jane</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">873—She Scoffed at Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">874—The Woman Without a Heart</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during March, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">875—Shall We Forgive Her?</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">876—A Sad Coquette</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">877—The Curse of Wealth</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">878—Long Since Forgiven</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during April, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">879—Life's Richest Jewel</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Fox Robinson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">880—Leila Vane's Burden</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">881—Face to Face With Love</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">882—Margery, the Pearl</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">883—Love's Keen Eyes</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during May, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">884—Misjudged</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">885—What True Love Is</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">886—A Well Kept Secret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">887—The Survivor</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during June, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">888—Light of His Heart</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">889—Bound by Gratitude</td> <td class="author">By Lillian R. Drayton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">890—Against Love's Rules</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">891—Alone With Her Sorrow</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte May Kingsley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">To be published during July, 1914.</td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">892—When the Heart is Bitter</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn Malcolm</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">893—Only Love's Fancy</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">894—The Wife He Chose</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. E. Burke Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">895—Love and Louisa</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the -books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New -York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance, -promptly, on account of delays in transportation.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1em;">THE EAGLE SERIES</h2> - -<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: 1em;">Principally Copyrights Elegant Colored Covers</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h3 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">"THE RIGHT BOOKS AT THE RIGHT PRICE"</h3> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>While the books in the New Eagle Series are undoubtedly better -value, being bigger books, the stories offered to the public in this -line must not be underestimated. There are over four hundred -copyrighted books by famous authors, which cannot be had in -any other line. No other publisher in the world has a line that -contains so many different titles, nor can any publisher ever hope -to secure books that will match those in the Eagle Series in quality.</p> - -<p>This is the pioneer line of copyrighted novels, and that it has struck -popular fancy just right is proven by the fact that for fifteen years -it has been the first choice of American readers. The only reason -that we can afford to give such excellent reading at such a low -price is that our unlimited capital and great organization enable us -to manufacture books more cheaply and to sell more of them without -expensive advertising, than any other publishers.</p> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT</p> - -<p>TO THE PUBLIC:—These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If -your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send -direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to -the price per copy to cover postage.</p> - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="3" style="max-width: 100%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" summary="LIST"> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 3—The Love of Violet Lee</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 4—For a Woman's Honor</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 5—The Senator's Favorite</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 6—The Midnight Marriage</td> <td class="author">By A. M. Douglas</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 8—Beautiful But Poor</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 9—The Virginia Heiress</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 10—Little Sunshine</td> <td class="author">By Francis S. Smith</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 11—The Gipsy's Daughter</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 13—The Little Widow</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 14—Violet Lisle</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 15—Dr. Jack</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 16—The Fatal Card</td> <td class="author">By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 17—Leslie's Loyalty (His Love So True)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 18—Dr. Jack's Wife</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 19—Mr. Lake of Chicago</td> <td class="author">By Harry DuBois Milman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 21—A Heart's Idol</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 22—Elaine</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 23—Miss Pauline of New York</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 24—A Wasted Love (On Love's Altar)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 25—Little Southern Beauty</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 26—Captain Tom</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 27—Estelle's Millionaire Lover</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 28—Miss Caprice</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 29—Theodora</td> <td class="author">By Victorien Sardou</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 30—Baron Sam</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 31—A Siren's Love</td> <td class="author">By Robert Lee Tyler</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 32—The Blockade Runner</td> <td class="author">By J. Perkins Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 33—Mrs. Bob</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 34—Pretty Geraldine</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 35—The Great Mogul</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 36—Fedora</td> <td class="author">By Victorien Sardou</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 37—The Heart of Virginia</td> <td class="author">By J. Perkins Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 38—The Nabob of Singapore</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 39—The Colonel's Wife</td> <td class="author">By Warren Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 40—Monsieur Bob</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 41—Her Heart's Desire (An Innocent Girl)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 42—Another Woman's Husband</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 43—Little Coquette Bonnie</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 45—A Yale Man</td> <td class="author">By Robert Lee Tyler</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 46—Off with the Old Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. M. V. Victor</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 47—The Colonel by Brevet</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 48—Another Man's Wife</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 49—None But the Brave</td> <td class="author">By Robert Lee Tyler</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 50—Her Ransom (Paid For)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 51—The Price He Paid</td> <td class="author">By E. Werner</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 52—Woman Against Woman</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 54—Cleopatra</td> <td class="author">By Victorien Sardou</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 56—The Dispatch Bearer</td> <td class="author">By Warren Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 58—Major Matterson of Kentucky</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 59—Gladys Greye</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 61—La Tosca</td> <td class="author">By Victorien Sardou</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 62—Stella Stirling</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 63—Lawyer Bell from Boston</td> <td class="author">By Robert Lee Tyler</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 64—Dora Tenney</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 65—Won by the Sword</td> <td class="author">By J. Perkins Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 67—Gismonda</td> <td class="author">By Victorien Sardou</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 68—The Little Cuban Rebel</td> <td class="author">By Edna Winfield</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 69—His Perfect Trust</td> <td class="author">By Bertha M. Clay</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 70—Sydney (A Wilful Young Woman)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 71—The Spider's Web</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 72—Wilful Winnie</td> <td class="author">By Harriet Sherburne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 73—The Marquis</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 74—The Cotton King</td> <td class="author">By Sutton Vane</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 75—Under Fire</td> <td class="author">By T. P. James</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 76—Mavourneen</td> <td class="author">From the celebrated play</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 78—The Yankee Champion</td> <td class="author">By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 79—Out of the Past (Marjorie)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 80—The Fair Maid of Fez</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 81—Wedded for an Hour</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 82—Captain Impudence</td> <td class="author">By Edwin Milton Royle</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 83—The Locksmith of Lyons</td> <td class="author">By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 84—Imogene (Dumaresq's Temptation)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 85—Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 86—A Widowed Bride</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 87—Shenandoah</td> <td class="author">By J. Perkins Tracy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 89—A Gentleman from Gascony</td> <td class="author">By Bicknell Dudley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 90—For Fair Virginia</td> <td class="author">By Russ Whytal</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 91—Sweet Violet</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 92—Humanity</td> <td class="author">By Sutton Vane</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 94—Darkest Russia</td> <td class="author">By H. Grattan Donnelly</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 95—A Wilful Maid (Philippa)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 96—The Little Minister</td> <td class="author">By J. M. Barrie</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 97—The War Reporter</td> <td class="author">By Warren Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"> 98—Claire (The Mistress of Court Regna)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">100—Alice Blake</td> <td class="author">By Francis S. Smith</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">101—A Goddess of Africa</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">102—Sweet Cymbeline (Bellmaire)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">103—The Span of Life</td> <td class="author">By Sutton Vane</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">104—A Proud Dishonor</td> <td class="author">By Genie Holzmeyer</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">105—When London Sleeps</td> <td class="author">By Chas. Darrell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">106—Lillian, My Lillian</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">107—Carla; or, Married at Sight</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">108—A Son of Mars</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">109—Signa's Sweetheart (Lord Delamere's Bride)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">110—Whose Wife is She?</td> <td class="author">By Annie Lisle</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">112—The Cattle King</td> <td class="author">By A. D. Hall</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">113—A Crushed Lily</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">114—Half a Truth</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">115—A Fair Revolutionist</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">116—The Daughter of the Regiment</td> <td class="author">By Mary A. Denison</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">117—She Loved Him</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">118—Saved from the Sea</td> <td class="author">By Richard Duffy</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">119—'Twixt Smile and Tear (Dulcie)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">120—The White Squadron</td> <td class="author">By T. C. Harbaugh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">121—Cecile's Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">123—Northern Lights</td> <td class="author">By A. D. Hall</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">124—Prettiest of All</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">125—Devil's Island</td> <td class="author">By A. D. Hall</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">126—The Girl from Hong Kong</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">127—Nobody's Daughter</td> <td class="author">By Clara Augusta</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">128—The Scent of the Roses</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">129—In Sight of St. Paul's</td> <td class="author">By Sutton Vane</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">130—A Passion Flower (Madge)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">131—Nerine's Second Choice</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">132—Whose Was the Crime?</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">134—Squire John</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">135—Cast Up by the Tide</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">136—The Unseen Bridegroom</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">138—A Fatal Wooing</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">139—Little Lady Charles</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">140—That Girl of Johnson's</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">141—Lady Evelyn</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">142—Her Rescue from the Turks</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">143—A Charity Girl</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">145—Country Lanes and City Pavements</td> <td class="author">By Maurice M. Minton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">146—Magdalen's Vow</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">147—Under Egyptian Skies</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">148—Will She Win?</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">149—The Man She Loved</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">150—Sunset Pass</td> <td class="author">By General Charles King</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">151—The Heiress of Glen Gower</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">152—A Mute Confessor</td> <td class="author">By Will M. Harben</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">153—Her Son's Wife</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">154—Husband and Foe</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">156—A Soldier Lover</td> <td class="author">By Edward S. Brooks</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">157—Who Wins?</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">158—Stella, the Star</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">159—Out of Eden</td> <td class="author">By Dora Russell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">160—His Way and Her Will</td> <td class="author">By Frances Aymar Mathews</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">161—Miss Fairfax of Virginia</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">162—A Man of the Name of John</td> <td class="author">By Florence King</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">163—A Splendid Egotist</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. J. H. Walworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">164—Couldn't Say No</td> <td class="author">By John Habberton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">165—The Road of the Rough</td> <td class="author">By Maurice M. Minton</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">167—The Manhattaners</td> <td class="author">By Edward S. Van Zile</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">168—Thrice Lost, Thrice Won</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">169—The Trials of an Actress</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">170—A Little Radical</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. J. H. Walworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">171—That Dakota Girl</td> <td class="author">By Stella Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">172—A King and a Coward</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">173—A Bar Sinister</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">174—His Guardian Angel</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">175—For Honor's Sake</td> <td class="author">By Laura C. Ford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">176—Jack Gordon, Knight Errant</td> <td class="author">By Barclay North</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">178—A Slave of Circumstances</td> <td class="author">By Ernest De Lancey Pierson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">179—One Man's Evil</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">180—A Lazy Man's Work</td> <td class="author">By Frances Campbell Sparhawk</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">181—The Baronet's Bride</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">182—A Legal Wreck</td> <td class="author">By William Gillette</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">183—Quo Vadis</td> <td class="author">By Henryk Sienkiewicz</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">184—Sunlight and Gloom</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">185—The Adventures of Miss Volney</td> <td class="author">By Ella Wheeler Wilcox</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">186—Beneath a Spell</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">187—The Black Ball</td> <td class="author">By Ernest De Lancey Pierson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">189—Berris</td> <td class="author">By Katharine S. MacQuoid</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">190—A Captain of the Kaiser</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">191—A Harvest of Thorns</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">193—A Vagabond's Honor</td> <td class="author">By Ernest De Lancey Pierson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">194—A Sinless Crime</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">195—Her Faithful Knight</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">196—A Sailor's Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">197—A Woman Scorned</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">200—In God's Country</td> <td class="author">By D. Higbee</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">201—Blind Elsie's Crime</td> <td class="author">By Mary Grace Halpine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">202—Marjorie</td> <td class="author">By Katharine S. MacQuoid</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">203—Only One Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">204—With Heart So True</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">205—If Love Be Love</td> <td class="author">By D. Cecil Gibbs</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">206—A Daughter of Maryland</td> <td class="author">By G. Waldo Browne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">208—A Chase for a Bride</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">209—She Loved But Left Him</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">211—As We Forgive</td> <td class="author">By Lurana W. Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">212—Doubly Wronged</td> <td class="author">By Adah M. Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">213—The Heiress of Egremont</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">214—Olga's Crime</td> <td class="author">By Frank Barrett</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">215—Only a Girl's Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">216—The Lost Bride</td> <td class="author">By Clara Augusta</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">217—His Noble Wife</td> <td class="author">By George Manville Fenn</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">218—A Life for a Love</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. L. T. Meade</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">220—A Fatal Past</td> <td class="author">By Dora Russell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">221—The Honorable Jane</td> <td class="author">By Annie Thomas</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">223—Leola Dale's Fortune</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">224—A Sister's Sacrifice</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">225—A Miserable Woman</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">226—The Roll of Honor</td> <td class="author">By Annie Thomas</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">227—The Joy of Loving</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">228—His Brother's Widow</td> <td class="author">By Mary Grace Halpine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">229—For the Sake of the Family</td> <td class="author">By May Crommelin</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">230—A Woman's Atonement, and A Mother's Mistake</td> <td class="author">By Adah M. Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">231—The Earl's Heir (Lady Norah)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">232—A Debt of Honor</td> <td class="author">By Mabel Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">234—His Mother's Sin</td> <td class="author">By Adeline Sergeant</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">235—Love at Saratoga</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">236—Her Humble Lover (The Usurper; or, The Gipsy Peer)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">237—Woman or Witch?</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">238—That Other Woman</td> <td class="author">By Annie Thomas</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">239—Don Cæsar De Bazan</td> <td class="author">By Victor Hugo</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">240—Saved by the Sword</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">241—Her Love and Trust</td> <td class="author">By Adeline Sergeant</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">242—A Wounded Heart (Sweet as a Rose)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">243—His Double Self</td> <td class="author">By Scott Campbell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">245—A Modern Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Clara Lanza</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">246—True to Herself</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. J. H. Walworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">247—Within Love's Portals</td> <td class="author">By Frank Barrett</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">248—Jeanne, Countess Du Barry</td> <td class="author">By H. L. Williams</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">249—What Love Will Do</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">250—A Woman's Soul (Doris; or, Behind the Footlights)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">251—When Love is True</td> <td class="author">By Mabel Collins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">252—A Handsome Sinner</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">253—A Fashionable Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex Frazer</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">254—Little Miss Millions</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">256—Thy Name is Woman</td> <td class="author">By F. H. Howe</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">257—A Martyred Love (Iris; or, Under the Shadow)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">258—An Amazing Marriage</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Sumner Hayden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">259—By a Golden Cord</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">260—At a Girl's Mercy</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">261—A Siren's Heart</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">262—A Woman's Faith</td> <td class="author">By Henry Wallace</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">263—An American Nabob</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">264—For Gold or Soul</td> <td class="author">By Lurana W. Sheldon</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">265—First Love is Best</td> <td class="author">By S. K. Hocking</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">267—Jeanne (Barriers Between)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">268—Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">270—Had She Foreseen</td> <td class="author">By Dora Delmar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">271—With Love's Laurel Crowned</td> <td class="author">By W. C. Stiles</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">272—So Fair, So False (The Beauty of the Season)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">273—At Swords' Points</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">274—A Romantic Girl</td> <td class="author">By Evelyn E. Green</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">275—Love's Cruel Whim</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">276—So Nearly Lost (The Springtime of Love)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">278—Laura Brayton</td> <td class="author">By Julia Edwards</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">279—Nina's Peril</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">280—Love's Dilemma (For an Earldom)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">281—For Love Alone</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">283—My Lady Pride (Floris)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">284—Dr. Jack's Widow</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">285—Born to Betray</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. M. V. Victor</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">287—The Lady of Darracourt</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">289—Married in Mask</td> <td class="author">By Mansfield T. Walworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">290—A Change of Heart</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowland</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">292—For Her Only (Diana)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">294—A Warrior Bold</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">295—A Terrible Secret and Countess Isabel</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">296—The Heir of Vering</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">297—That Girl from Texas</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. J. H. Walworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">298—Should She Have Left Him?</td> <td class="author">By Barclay North</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">300—The Spider and the Fly (Violet)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">301—The False and the True</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">302—When Man's Love Fades</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">303—The Queen of the Isle</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">304—Stanch as a Woman (A Maiden's Sacrifice)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">305—Led by Love (Sequel to "Stanch as a Woman")</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">306—Love's Golden Rule</td> <td class="author">By Geraldine Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">307—The Winning of Isolde</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">308—Lady Ryhope's Lover</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">309—The Heiress of Castle Cliffe</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">310—A Late Repentance</td> <td class="author">By Mary A. Denison</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">312—Woven on Fate's Loom and The Snowdrift</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">313—A Kinsman's Sin</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">314—A Maid's Fatal Love</td> <td class="author">By Helen Corwin Pierce</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">315—The Dark Secret</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">316—Edith Lyle's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">317—Ione</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">318—Stanch of Heart (Adrien Le Roy)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">319—Millbank</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">320—Mynheer Joe</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">321—Neva's Three Lovers</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">322—Mildred</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">323—The Little Countess</td> <td class="author">By S. E. Boggs</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">324—A Love Match</td> <td class="author">By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">325—The Leighton Homestead</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">326—Parted by Fate</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">327—Was She Wife or Widow?</td> <td class="author">By Malcolm Bell</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">328—He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not (Valeria)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">329—My Hildegarde</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">330—Aikenside</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">331—Christine</td> <td class="author">By Adeline Sergeant</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">332—Darkness and Daylight</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">333—Stella's Fortune (The Sculptor's Wooing)</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">334—Miss McDonald</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">335—We Parted at the Altar</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">336—Rose Mather</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">337—Dear Elsie</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Safford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">338—A Daughter of Russia</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">340—Bad Hugh. Vol. I.</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">341—Bad Hugh. Vol. II.</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">342—Her Little Highness</td> <td class="author">By Nataly Von Eschstruth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">343—Little Sunshine</td> <td class="author">By Adah M. Howard</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">344—Leah's Mistake</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">345—Tresillian Court</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">346—Guy Tresillian's Fate (Sequel to "Tresillian Court") </td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">347—The Eyes of Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">348—My Florida Sweetheart</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">349—Marion Grey</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">350—A Wronged Wife</td> <td class="author">By Mary Grace Halpine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">352—Family Pride. Vol. I.</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">353—Family Pride. Vol. II.</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">354—A Love Comedy</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">355—Wife and Woman</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Safford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">356—Little Kit</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">357—Montezuma's Mines</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">358—Beryl's Husband</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">359—The Spectre's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">360—An Only Daughter</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">361—The Ashes of Love</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">363—The Opposite House</td> <td class="author">By Nataly Von Eschstruth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">364—A Fool's Paradise</td> <td class="author">By Mary Grace Halpine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">365—Under a Cloud</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">366—Comrades in Exile</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">367—Hearts and Coronets</td> <td class="author">By Jane G. Fuller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">368—The Pride of Her Life</td> <td class="author">By Charles Garvice</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">369—At a Great Cost</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">370—Edith Trevor's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">371—Cecil Rosse (Sequel to "Edith Trevor's Secret")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">374—True Daughter of Hartenstein</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Safford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">375—Transgressing the Law</td> <td class="author">By Capt. Fred'k Whittaker</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">376—The Red Slipper</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">377—Forever True</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">378—John Winthrop's Defeat</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">379—Blinded by Love</td> <td class="author">By Nataly Von Eschstruth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">380—Her Double Life</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">381—The Sunshine of Love (Sequel to "Her Double Life")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">383—A Lover from Across the Sea</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Safford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">384—Yet She Loved Him</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Kate Vaughn</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">385—A Woman Against Her</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">386—Teddy's Enchantress</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">387—A Heroine's Plot</td> <td class="author">By Katherine S. MacQuoid</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">388—Two Wives</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">389—Sundered Hearts</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">390—A Mutual Vow</td> <td class="author">By Harold Payne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">392—A Resurrected Love</td> <td class="author">By Seward W. Hopkins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">393—On the Wings of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">394—A Drama of a Life</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">395—Wooing a Widow</td> <td class="author">By E. A. King</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">396—Back to Old Kentucky</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">397—A Gilded Promise</td> <td class="author">By Walter Bloomfield</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">398—Cupid's Disguise</td> <td class="author">By Fanny Lewald</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">400—For Another's Wrong</td> <td class="author">By W. Heimburg</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">401—The Woman Who Came Between</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">402—A Silent Heroine</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">403—The Rival Suitors</td> <td class="author">By J. H. Connelly</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">404—On the Wings of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Capt. Fred'k Whittaker</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">405—The Haunted Husband</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">406—Felipe's Pretty Sister</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">408—On a False Charge</td> <td class="author">By Seward W. Hopkins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">409—A Girl's Kingdom</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">410—Miss Mischief</td> <td class="author">By W. Heimburg</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">411—Fettered and Freed</td> <td class="author">By Eugene Charvette</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">412—The Love that Lives</td> <td class="author">By Capt Frederick Whittaker</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">413—Were They Married?</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">414—A Girl's First Love</td> <td class="author">By Elizabeth C. Winter</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">416—Down in Dixie</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">417—Brave Barbara</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">418—An Insignificant Woman</td> <td class="author">By W. Heimburg</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">420—A Sweet Little Lady</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">421—Her Sweet Reward</td> <td class="author">By Barbara Kent</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">422—Lady Kildare</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">423—A Woman's Way</td> <td class="author">By Capt. Frederick Whittaker</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">424—A Splendid Man</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">425—A College Widow</td> <td class="author">By Frank H. Howe</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">427—A Wizard of the Moors</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">428—A Tramp's Daughter</td> <td class="author">By Hazel Wood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">429—A Fair Fraud</td> <td class="author">By Emily Lovett Cameron</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">430—The Honor of a Heart</td> <td class="author">By Mary J. Safford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">431—Her Husband and Her Love</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">432—Breta's Double</td> <td class="author">By Helen V. Greyson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">435—Under Oath</td> <td class="author">By Jean Kate Ludlum</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">436—The Rival Toreadors</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">437—The Breach of Custom</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">438—So Like a Man</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">439—Little Nan</td> <td class="author">By Mary A. Denison</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">441—A Princess of the Stage</td> <td class="author">By Nataly Von Eschstruth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">442—Love Before Duty</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. L. T. Meade</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">443—In Spite of Proof</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">444—Love's Trials</td> <td class="author">By Alfred R. Calhoun</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">445—An Angel of Evil</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">446—Bound with Love's Fetters</td> <td class="author">By Mary Grace Halpine</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">447—A Favorite of Fortune</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">448—When Love Dawns</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">449—The Bailiff's Scheme</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">450—Rosamond's Love (Sequel to "The Bailiff's Scheme")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">452—The Last of the Van Slacks</td> <td class="author">By Edward S. Van Zile</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">453—A Poor Girl's Passion</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">454—Love's Probation</td> <td class="author">By Elizabeth Olmis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">455—Love's Greatest Gift</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">456—A Vixen's Treachery</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">457—Adrift in the World (Sequel to "A Vixen's Treachery")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">459—A Golden Mask</td> <td class="author">By Charlotte M. Stanley</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">460—Dr. Jack's Talisman</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">461—Above All Things</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">462—A Stormy Wedding</td> <td class="author">By Mary E. Bryan</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">463—A Wife's Triumph</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">464—The Old Life's Shadows</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">465—Outside Her Eden (Sequel to "The Old Life's Shadows")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">466—Love, the Victor</td> <td class="author">By a Popular Southern Author</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">467—Zina's Awaking</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. J. K. Spender</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">468—The Wooing of a Fairy</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">469—A Soldier and a Gentleman</td> <td class="author">By J. M. Cobban</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">470—A Strange Wedding</td> <td class="author">By Mary Hartwell Catherwood</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">471—A Shadowed Happiness</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">472—Dr. Jack and Company</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">473—A Sacrifice to Love</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">474—The Belle of the Season</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">475—Love Before Pride (Sequel to "The Belle of the Season")</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Harriet Lewis</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">477—The Siberian Exiles</td> <td class="author">By Col. Thomas Knox</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">478—For Love of Sigrid</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">479—Mysterious Mr. Sabin</td> <td class="author">By E. Phillips Oppenheim</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">480—A Perfect Fool</td> <td class="author">By Florence Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">481—Wedded, Yet No Wife</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">482—A Little Worldling</td> <td class="author">By L. C. Ellsworth</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">483—Miss Marston's Heart</td> <td class="author">By L. H. Bickford</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">484—The Whistle of Fate</td> <td class="author">By Richard Marsh</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">485—The End Crowns All</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">486—Divided Lives</td> <td class="author">By Edgar Fawcett</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">487—A Wonderful Woman</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">488—The French Witch</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">489—Lucy Harding</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">490—The Price of Jealousy</td> <td class="author">By Maud Howe</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">491—My Lady of Dreadwood</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">492—A Speedy Wooing</td> <td class="author">By the Author of "As Common Mortals"</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">493—The Girl He Loved</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">494—Voyagers of Fortune</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">495—Norine's Revenge</td> <td class="author">By May Agnes Fleming</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">496—The Missing Heiress</td> <td class="author">By C. H. Montague</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">497—A Chase for Love</td> <td class="author">By Seward W. Hopkins</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">498—Andrew Leicester's Love</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">499—My Lady Cinderella</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. C. N. Williamson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">500—Love and Spite</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">501—Her Husband's Secret</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">502—Fair Maid Marian</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">503—A Lady in Black</td> <td class="author">By Florence Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">504—Evelyn, the Actress</td> <td class="author">By Wenona Gilman</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">505—Selina's Love-story</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">506—A Secret Foe</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">507—A Mad Betrothal</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">508—Lottie and Victorine</td> <td class="author">By Lucy Randall Comfort</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">509—A Penniless Princess</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">510—Doctor Jack's Paradise Mine</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">513—A Sensational Case</td> <td class="author">By Florence Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">514—The Temptation of Mary Barr</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">515—Tiny Luttrell (Author of "Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman") </td> <td class="author">By E. W. Hornung</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">516—Florabel's Lover</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">517—They Looked and Loved</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">518—The Secret of a Letter</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">521—The Witch from India</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">522—A Spurned Proposal</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">523—A Banker of Bankersville</td> <td class="author">By Maurice Thompson</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">524—A Sacrifice of Pride</td> <td class="author">By Mrs. Louisa Parr</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">525—Sweet Kitty Clover</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">526—Love and Hate</td> <td class="author">By Morley Roberts</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">527—For Love and Glory</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">528—Adela's Ordeal</td> <td class="author">By Florence Warden</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">529—Hearts Aflame</td> <td class="author">By Louise Winter</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">530—The Wiles of a Siren</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">532—True to His Bride</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">533—A Forgotten Love</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">534—Lotta, the Cloak Model</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">535—The Trifler</td> <td class="author">By Archibald Eyre</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">536—Companions in Arms</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">538—The Fighting Chance</td> <td class="author">By Gertrude Lynch</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">539—A Heart's Triumph</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">540—A Daughter of Darkness</td> <td class="author">By Ida Reade Allen</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">541—Her Evil Genius</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">543—The Veiled Bride</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">544—In Love's Name</td> <td class="author">By Emma Garrison Jones</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">545—Well Worth Winning</td> <td class="author">By St. George Rathborne</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">546—The Career of Mrs. Osborne</td> <td class="author">By Helen Milecete</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">549—Tempted by Love</td> <td class="author">By Effie Adelaide Rowlands</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">550—Saved from Herself</td> <td class="author">By Adelaide Stirling</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">551—Pity—Not Love</td> <td class="author">By Laura Jean Libbey</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title">552—At the Court of the Maharaja</td> <td class="author">By Louis Tracy</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/image1.jpg" width="400" height="587" alt="Leslie's Loyalty Title Page" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/image2.jpg" width="400" height="683" alt="HAND BOOKS" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;"> -<img src="images/image3.jpg" width="375" height="629" alt="Twenty Books Every Woman Should Read" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 2em;">LESLIE'S LOYALTY</h1> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="ph2" style="margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER I.</p> - -<h3>LESLIE LISLE.</h3> - - -<p>Nobody ever goes to Portmaris; that is to say, nobody who is anybody. -It lies—but no matter, ours shall not be the hand to ruin its -simplicity by advertising its beauties and advantages, and directing -the madding crowd to its sylvan retreat. At present the golden sands -which line the bay are innocent of the negro troupe, the peripatetic -conjurer, and the monster in human form who pesters you to purchase -hideous objects manufactured from shells and cardboard.</p> - -<p>A time may come when Portmaris will develop into an Eastbourne or a -Brighton, a Scarborough or a Hastings; but, Heaven be praised, that -time is not yet, and Portmaris, like an unconscious village beauty, -goes on its way as yet ignorant of its loveliness.</p> - -<p>At present there are about a dozen houses, most of them fishermen's -cottages; a church, hidden in a hollow a mile away from the restless -sea; and an inn which is satisfied with being an inn, and has not yet -learned to call itself a hotel.</p> - -<p>Two or three of the fisherfolk let lodgings, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> which come those -fortunate individuals who have quite by chance stumbled upon this -out-of-the-way spot; and in the sitting-room of the prettiest of these -unpretentious cottages was a young girl.</p> - -<p>Her name was Leslie Lisle. She was nineteen, slim, graceful, and more -than pretty. There is a type of beauty which, with more or less truth, -is generally described as Irish. It has dark hair, blue eyes with long -black lashes, a clear and colorless complexion of creamy ivory, and -a chin that would seem pointed but for the exquisite fullness of the -lips. It is a type which is more fascinating than the severe Greek, -more "holding" than the voluptuous Spanish, more spirituel than the -vivacious French; in short, it is a kind of beauty before which most -men go down completely and forever vanquished, and this because the -wonderful gray-blue eyes are capable of an infinity of expressions, can -be grave one moment and brimming over with fun the next; because there -lurks, even when they are most quiescent, a world of possibilities in -the way of wit in the corners of the red lips; because the face, as you -watch it, can in the course of a few minutes flash with spirit, melt -with tenderness, and all the while remain the face of a pure, innocent, -healthy, light-hearted girl.</p> - -<p>The young men who crossed Leslie Lisle's path underwent a sad -experience.</p> - -<p>At first they were attracted by her beauty; in a few hours or days, as -the case might be, they began to find the attraction lying somewhat -deeper than the face; then they grew restless, unhappy, lost their -appetites, got to lying awake of nights, and lastly went to pieces -completely, and if they possessed sufficient courage, flung themselves -perfectly wretched and overcome at the small feet of the slim, girlish -figure which had become to them even that of the one woman in the -world. And to do Leslie justice, she was not only always surprised, but -distressed. She had said nothing, and what is more, looked nothing, to -encourage them. She had been just herself, a frank yet modest English -girl, with an Irish face, and that indescribable sweetness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> which draws -men's hearts from their bosoms before they know what has happened to -them.</p> - -<p>She was seated at the piano in the sitting-room of the cottage which -the fisherman who owned it had christened Sea View, and she was amusing -herself and a particularly silent and morose parrot by singing some of -the old songs and ballads which she had found in a rickety music-stand -in the corner; and for all the parrot glanced at her disapprovingly -with his glassy eye, she had a sufficiently sweet voice, and sang with -more than the usual amount of feeling.</p> - -<p>While she was in the middle of that famous but slightly monotonous -composition, "Robin Grey," the door opened, and a tall, thin man -entered.</p> - -<p>This was Francis Lisle, her father. He was a man this side of fifty, -but looked older in consequence, perhaps, of his hair, which was gray -and scanty, a faded face, with a dreamy far away look in the faint blue -eyes, and a somewhat bent form and dragging gait. He carried a portable -easel in one hand, and held a canvas under his arm.</p> - -<p>As he entered he looked round the room as if he had never seen it -before, then set the easel up in a corner, placed the canvas on it -upside down, and crossing his hands behind his back, stood with bent -head gazing at it for some moments in silence. Then he said, in a voice -which matched the dreamy face:</p> - -<p>"Leslie, come here."</p> - -<p>Leslie stopped short in the middle of the most heart-rending line of -the cheerful ballad, and walked—no; glided? scarcely; it is difficult -to describe how the girl got across the small room, so full of grace, -so characteristic was her mode of progression, and putting both hands -on his shoulders, leaned her cheek against his head.</p> - -<p>"Back already, dear?" she said, and the tone fully indicated the -position in which she stood toward her parent. "I thought you were -going to make a long day of it."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," he said, without taking his eyes from the sketch. "I did -intend doing so. I started full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> of my subject and—er—inspired -with hope, and I don't think I have altogether failed. It is -difficult—very. The tone of that sky would fill a careless amateur -with despair, but—but I am not careless. Whatever I may be I am -not that. The secrets of art which she hides from the unthinking -and—er—irreverent she confides to her true worshipers. Now, Leslie, -look at that sky. Look at it carefully, critically, and tell me—do you -not think I have caught that half tone, that delicious mingling of the -chrome and the ultramarine? There is a wealth of form and color in that -right hand corner, and I—yes, I think it is the best, by far the best -and truest thing I have as yet done."</p> - -<p>Leslie leaned forward, and softly, swiftly, placed the picture right -side up.</p> - -<p>It had not very much improved by the transposition. It was—well, to -put it bluntly, a daub of the most awful description. Never since the -world began had there ever, in nature, been anything like it. The -average schoolboy libeling nature with a shilling box of colors could -not have sinned more deeply. The sea was a brilliant washerwoman's -blue, the hills were heaps of muddy ochre, the fishing vessels looked -like blackbeetles struggling on their backs, there was a cow in the -meadow in the foreground which would have wrung tears from any one who -had ever set eyes on that harmless but necessary animal, and the bit of -sky in the corner was utterly and completely indescribable.</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at it with a sad little expression in her eyes, the -pitying look one sees in the face of a woman whose life is spent in -humoring the weakness of a beloved one; then she said, gently:</p> - -<p>"It is very striking, papa."</p> - -<p>"Striking!" repeated Francis Lisle. "Striking! I like that word. You, -too, are an artist, my dear Leslie, though you never touch a brush. How -well you know how to use the exact expression. I flatter myself that -it is striking. I think I may say, without egotism, that no one, no -real critic could look at that sketch—for it is a mere sketch—without -being struck!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, papa," she murmured, soothingly.</p> - -<p>He shaded his eyes with his thin white hands in the orthodox fashion, -and peered at the monstrosity.</p> - -<p>"There is, if I may say so, an—er—originality in the treatment which -would alone make the sketch interesting and valuable. Tell me, now, -Leslie, what it is in it that catches your fancy most."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at it carefully.</p> - -<p>"I—I think that heap of sea-weed nicely painted, papa," she said, -putting her arm round his neck.</p> - -<p>"Heap of sea-weed?" his brows knitted. "Heap of sea-weed? I don't see -anything of the kind."</p> - -<p>"There, papa," she said, pointing.</p> - -<p>"My dear Leslie, I have always suspected that your sight was not -perfect, that there was some defect in its range power; that is not a -heap of sea-weed, but a fisherwoman mending her nets!"</p> - -<p>"Of course! How stupid of me!" she said, quickly. "I'm afraid I am -near-sighted, dear. But don't you think you have done enough for -to-day? Why not put it away until to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"There is no to-morrow, Leslie," he said, gravely, as he got out his -palette. "'Art is long and life is fleeting.' Never forget that, my -dear. No, I can stipple on a little. I intend finishing this sketch, -and making a miniature—a cabinet picture. It shall be worthy of a -place among those exquisite studies of Foster's. And yet——," he sighed -and pushed the hair from his forehead, "and yet I'll be bound that if -I tried to sell it, I should not find a dealer to give me a few paltry -pounds for it. So blind and prejudiced! No, they would not buy it, and -possibly the Academy would refuse to exhibit it. Prejudice, prejudice! -But art has its own rewards, thank Heaven! I paint because I must. Fame -has no attraction. I am content to wait. Yes, though the recognition -which is my due may come too late! It is often thus!"</p> - -<p>The girl bent her beautiful head—she stood taller than the drooping -figure of her father—and kissed, ah! how tenderly, pityingly, the gray -hair.</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle, Esquire, the younger son of an old Irish family, had -been a dreamer from his youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> up. He had started with a good education -and a handsome little fortune; he had dreamed away the education, -dreamed away the small fortune, dreamed away nearly all his life, and -his great dream was that he was an artist. He couldn't draw a haystack, -and certainly could not have colored it correctly even if by chance he -had drawn it; but he was persuaded that he was a great artist, and he -fancied that his hand transferred to the canvas the scenes which he -attempted to paint.</p> - -<p>And he was not unhappy. His wife had died when Leslie was a mite of a -thing, and how he had managed to get on until Leslie was old enough -to take care of him can never even be surmised; but she began to play -the mother, the guardian, and protector to this visionary father of -hers, at an extremely early age. She managed everything, almost fed and -clothed him, and kept from him all those petty ills and worries which -make life such a burden for most people.</p> - -<p>They had no settled home, but wandered about, sometimes on the -Continent, but mostly in England, and Francis Lisle had hundreds of -sketches which were like nothing under heaven, but were supposed to be -"ideas" for larger pictures, of places they had visited.</p> - -<p>They had been at Portmaris a couple of months when we find them, -and though Francis Lisle was just beginning to get tired of it, and -restlessly anxious to be on the move again, Leslie was loth to leave. -She had grown fond of the golden sands, the strip of pebbly beach, the -narrow street broken by its wind-twisted trees, the green lanes leading -to the country beyond, and still more fond of the simple-hearted fisher -folk, who always welcomed her with a smile, and had already learned to -call her Miss Leslie.</p> - -<p>Indeed, Miss Lisle was a dangerous young woman, and the hearts of young -and old, gentle and simple, went down before a glance of her gray-blue -eyes, a smile from the mobile lips, a word from her voice which -thrilled with a melody few could resist.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>Francis Lisle went on daubing, his head on one side, a rapt, contented -look on his pale, aristocratic face.</p> - -<p>"Yes, this is going to be one of my best efforts," he said, with placid -complacency. "Go and sing something, Leslie. I can always work better -while you are singing. Music and painting are twin sisters. I adore -them both."</p> - -<p>Leslie went back to the piano with that peculiarly graceful motion of -hers, and touched a note or two.</p> - -<p>"Were there no letters this morning, dear?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Letters?" Lisle put his hand to his forehead as if rudely called back -to earth from the empyrean. "Letters? No. Yes, I forgot. There was one. -It was from Ralph Duncombe."</p> - -<p>Leslie turned her head slightly, and the rather thick brows which -helped the eyes in all their unconscious mischief straightened.</p> - -<p>"From Ralph? What does he say?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied Lisle, placidly. "I can never read his letters; -he writes so terribly plain a hand; its hardness jars upon me. I have -it—somewhere?"</p> - -<p>He searched his pockets reluctantly.</p> - -<p>"No, I must have lost it. Does it matter very much?"</p> - -<p>Leslie laughed softly.</p> - -<p>"I don't know; but one generally likes to know what is in a letter."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I wish I could find it. I told the postman when he gave -it to me that I should probably lose it, and that he had better bring -it on to the house; but—well, I don't think he understood me. I often -think that we speak an unknown language to these country people."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he did not hear you," said Leslie. "Sometimes, you know, dear, -you think you have spoken when you have not uttered a word, but only -thought."</p> - -<p>"I dare say," he assented, dreamily. "Now I come to think of it, I -fancy Duncombe said he was coming down here——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> - -<p>The slender white hands which had been touching the keys caressingly -stopped.</p> - -<p>"Coming here, papa!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. I think so. I'm not sure. Now, what could I have done with that -letter?"</p> - -<p>He made another search, failed to find it, shook his head as if -dismissing the subject, and resumed his "work."</p> - -<p>Leslie struck a chord, and opened her lips to sing, when the sound of -the wheels belonging to the one fly in the place came down the uneven -street. She paused to listen, then leaned sideways and looked through -the window.</p> - -<p>"The station fly!" she said. "And it has stopped at Marine Villa, papa. -It must be another visitor. Fancy two visitors at the same time in -Portmaris! It will go wild with excitement."</p> - -<p>The cranky vehicle had pulled up at the opposite cottage, and Leslie, -with mild, very mild, curiosity, got up from the piano and went to the -window.</p> - -<p>As she did so a man dressed in soft tweed got down from beside the -driver, opened the fly-door, and gave his arm to a young man whose -appearance filled Leslie's heart with pity; for he was a cripple. His -back was bent, his face pale and gentle as a woman's, marked with lines -which were eloquent of weary days, and still more weary nights; and in -the dark eyes was that peculiar expression of sadness which a life of -pain and suffering patiently borne sets as a seal.</p> - -<p>The young fellow leaned on his stick and the man's arm, and looked -round him, and his eye, dark and full of a soft penetration, fell upon -the lovely face at the opposite window.</p> - -<p>Leslie drew back, when it was too late, and breathed an exclamation of -regret.</p> - -<p>"Oh, papa!"</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" asked Lisle, vacantly.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry!" she said. "He will think I was staring at him—and so I -was. And that will seem so cruel to him, poor fellow."</p> - -<p>"What is cruel? which poor fellow?" demanded Lisle with feeble -impatience.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Some one who has just got out of the fly, dear; a cripple, poor -fellow; and he saw me watching him." And she sighed again.</p> - -<p>"Eh?" said Lisle, as if he were trying to recollect something. "Ah, -yes, I remember. Mrs. Whiting told me that he was expected some time -to-day; they had a telegram saying he was coming."</p> - -<p>"He? Who?" said Leslie, going back to the piano.</p> - -<p>"Who?" repeated Lisle, as if he were heartily sorry he had continued -the subject. "Why, this young man. Dear me, I forget his name and -title——."</p> - -<p>"Title? Poor fellow! Is he a nobleman, papa? That makes it seem so much -worse, doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>Lisle looked round at her helplessly.</p> - -<p>"Upon my word, my dear," he said, "I do not wish to appear dense, but I -haven't the least idea of what you are talking about, and——," he went -on more quietly, as if he feared she were going to explain, "it doesn't -matter. Pray sing something, and—and do not let us worry about things -which do not concern us."</p> - -<p>Leslie began to sing without another word.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<h3>FATE.</h3> - - -<p>The crippled young man, with the assistance of his companion, made -his way into the sitting-room of Marine Villa; an invalid's chair was -hauled from the top of the fly and carried in, and the young man sank -into it with a faint sigh.</p> - -<p>"Leave me, Grey," he said. "When Lord Auchester arrives let him come to -me at once; and, Grey, be good enough to remember what I told you——."</p> - -<p>"Yes, your grace," said the man; then, as his master lifted the soft -brown eyes with gentle reproach, he added, correcting himself, "yes, -sir."</p> - -<p>The young man smiled faintly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That is better. Thanks."</p> - -<p>The valet unlocked a morocco traveling case, and took out a vial and -medicine chest.</p> - -<p>"The medicine, your gra——, sir, I mean."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, I forgot. Thank you," said the young man, and he took the -draught with a weary patience. "Thanks. Let me know when his lordship -arrives. No, I want nothing more."</p> - -<p>The valet went out, shutting the door softly after him, and his master -leaned his head upon his hand, and closed his eyes.</p> - -<p>Fate had dealt very strangely with this young man. With one hand it -had showered upon him most of the gifts which the sons of men set high -store by; it had made him a duke, had given him palaces, vast lands, -money in such abundance as to be almost a burden; and with the other -hand, as if in scorn and derision of the thing called Man, Fate had -struck him one of those blows under which humanity is crushed and -broken.</p> - -<p>A nurse had let him, when a child, slip from her arms, and the -great Duke of Rothbury was doomed to go through life a stunted and -crooked-back object, with the grim figure of pain always marching by -his side, with the bitter knowledge that not all his wealth could -prevent the people he met in the streets regarding him with curious and -pitying glances, with the bitter sense that the poorest of the laborers -on his estates enjoyed a better lot than his, and was more to be envied -than himself.</p> - -<p>He sat perfectly motionless for some minutes; then he opened his eyes -and started slightly; Leslie had just begun to sing.</p> - -<p>He wheeled his chair to the window, and set it open quietly, and, -keeping behind the curtains, listened with evident pleasure.</p> - -<p>The song was still floating across to him when a young man came -marching up the street.</p> - -<p>Youth is a glorious thing under any circumstances, but when it is -combined with perfect health, good temper, a handsome face, and a -stalwart form it is god-like in its force and influence.</p> - -<p>The little narrow street of Portmaris seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> somehow to grow brighter -and wider as the young man strode up it; his well-knit form swaying a -little to right and left, his well-shaped head perfectly poised, his -bright eyes glancing here and there with intelligent interest, the -pleasure-loving lips whistling softly from sheer light-heartedness. He -stopped as he came opposite Sea View, and listened to Leslie's song, -nodding his head approvingly; then he caught sight of the "Marine -Villa" on the opposite house, and walked straight into the little hall.</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Grey," he said, and his voice rang, not hardly and -unpleasantly, but with that clear golden timbre which only belongs to -the voice of a man in perfect health. "Here you are, then! And how -is——."</p> - -<p>Grey smiled as he bent his head respectfully; everybody was glad to see -the young man.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord. Just got down. His gra——. We are pretty well -considering the journey, my lord. He will see your lordship at once."</p> - -<p>"All right," said the young fellow. "I rode as far as Northcliffe, but -left the horse there, as I didn't know what sort of stables they'd have -here."</p> - -<p>"You were right, my lord," said Grey, in the approving tone of a -confidential servant. "This seems a rare out-of-the-way place. And I -should doubt there being a decent stable here."</p> - -<p>"Ah, well, the duke will like it all the better for being quiet," the -young fellow said.</p> - -<p>Grey put his hand to his lips, and coughed apologetically.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, my lord, but his gra——, that is—well, you'll excuse me, -my lord, but we're down here quite incog., as you may say."</p> - -<p>As Lord Auchester, staring at the man, was about to laugh, the clear, -rather shrill voice of the invalid was heard from the room.</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Yorke? Why do you not come in?"</p> - -<p>The young fellow entered, and took the long thin hand the duke extended -to him.</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Dolph!" he said, lowering his voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> "How are you? What made -you think of coming to this outlandish spot?"</p> - -<p>The duke, still holding his cousin's hand, smiled up at him with a -mixture of sadness and self raillery.</p> - -<p>"I can't tell you, Yorke; I got tired of town, and told Grey to hunt up -some place in Bradshaw that he had never heard of, some place right out -of the beaten track, and he chose this."</p> - -<p>"Poor unfortunate man!" said Lord Auchester, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Grey suffers a great deal from my moods and humors; and so do -other persons, yourself to wit, Yorke. It was very kind of you to come -to me so soon."</p> - -<p>"Of course I came," said Lord Auchester. "I wasn't very far off, you -see."</p> - -<p>"Fishing?" said the duke, with evident interest.</p> - -<p>"Y-es; oh, yes," replied the other young man, quickly. "I rode over as -far as Northcliffe——."</p> - -<p>The duke sighed as his eyes wandered musingly over the stalwart, -well-proportioned frame.</p> - -<p>"You ought to have been in the army, Yorke," he said.</p> - -<p>Lord Auchester laughed.</p> - -<p>"So I should have been if they hadn't made the possession of brains a -<i>sine qua non</i>; it seems you want brains for pretty nearly everything -nowadays; and it's just brains I'm short of, you see, Dolph."</p> - -<p>"You have everything else," said the duke, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>He sighed and turned his head away; not that he envied his cousin his -handsome face and straight limbs.</p> - -<p>"You haven't told me what you wanted me for, Dolph," said Lord -Auchester, after a pause, during which both men had been listening half -unconsciously to the sweet voice in the cottage opposite.</p> - -<p>"I wanted—nothing," said the duke.</p> - -<p>"There is nothing I can do for you?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing; unless," with a sigh and a wistful smile, "unless you can by -the wave of a magician's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> wand change this crooked body of mine for -something like your own."</p> - -<p>"I would if I could, Dolph," said the other, bending over him, and -laying a pair of strong hands soothingly on the invalid's bent -shoulders.</p> - -<p>"I know that, Yorke. But you cannot, can you? I dare say you think I am -a peevish, discontented wretch, and that I ought, as the poor Emperor -of Germany said, to bear my pain without complaining——."</p> - -<p>"No, Dolph; I think you complain very little, and face the music first -rate," put in the other.</p> - -<p>"Thanks. I try to most times, and I could succeed better than I do if -I were always alone, but sometimes——," he sighed bitterly. "Why is it -that the world is so false, Yorke? Are there no honest men besides you -and Grey, and half a dozen others I could mention? And are there no -honest women at all?"</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester raised his eyebrows and laughed.</p> - -<p>"What's wrong with the women?" he said.</p> - -<p>The duke leaned his head upon his hand, and partially hid his face, -which had suddenly become red.</p> - -<p>"Everything is wrong with them, Yorke," he said, gravely and in a low -voice. "You know, or perhaps you do not know, how I esteem, reverence, -respect a woman; perhaps because I dare not love them."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester nodded.</p> - -<p>"If all the men felt as you do about women there would be no bad ones -in the world, Dolph," he said.</p> - -<p>"To me there is something sacred in the very word. My heart expands, -grows warm in the presence of a good woman. I cannot look at a -beautiful girl without thinking—don't misunderstand me, Yorke."</p> - -<p>"No, no, old chap!"</p> - -<p>"I love, I reverence them; and yet they have made me fly from London, -have caused me almost to vow that I will never go back; that I will -hide my misshapen self for the rest of my weary days——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why Dolph——."</p> - -<p>"Listen," said the duke. "Look at me, Yorke. Ah, it is unnecessary. -You know what I am. A thing for women to pity, to shudder at—not to -love! And yet"—he hid his face—"some of them have tried to persuade -me that I—<i>I</i>—could inspire a young girl with love; that I—<i>I</i>—oh, -think of it, Yorke!—that I had only to offer myself as a husband to -the most beautiful, the fairest, straightest, queenliest of them, to be -accepted!"</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester leaned over him.</p> - -<p>"You take these things too seriously, Dolph," he said, soothingly. -"It's—it's the way of the world, and you can't better it; you must -take it as it comes."</p> - -<p>"The way of the world! That a girl—young, beautiful, graceful—should -be sold by her mother and father, should be willing to sell -herself—ah, Yorke!—to a thing like me. Is that the way of the world? -What a wicked, heartless, vicious world, then; and what an unhappy -wretch am I! What fools they are, too, Yorke! They think it is so -fine a thing to wear a ducal coronet! Ha, ha!" He laughed with sad -bitterness. "So fine, that they would barter their souls to the evil -one to feel the pressure of that same coronet on their brows, to hear -other women call them 'Your Grace.' Oh, Yorke, what fools! How I could -open their eyes if they would let me! Look at me. I am the Duke of -Rothbury, Knight of the Garter—poor garter!" and he looked at his thin -leg—"and what else? I almost forget some of my titles; and I would -swap them all for a straight back and stalwart limbs like yours. But, -Yorke, to share those titles, how many women would let me limp to the -altar on their arms!"</p> - -<p>He laughed again, still more bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Sometimes, when some sweet-faced girl, with the look of an angel in -her eyes, with a voice like a heavenly harmony, is making what they -call 'a dead set' at me, I have hard work to restrain myself from -telling her what I think of her and those who set her at me. Yorke, it -is this part of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> business which makes my life almost unendurable, -and it is only by running away from every one who knows, or has heard -of, the 'poor' Duke of Rothbury that I can put up with existence."</p> - -<p>"Poor old chap," murmured Lord Auchester.</p> - -<p>"Just now," continued the duke, "as we drove up to the door, I caught -sight of a beautiful girl at the window opposite. I saw her face grow -soft with pity, with the angelic pity of a woman, which, though it -stings and cuts into one like a cut from a whip, I try to be grateful -for. She pitied me, not knowing who and what I am. Tell her that I am -the Duke of Rothbury, and in five minutes or less that angelic look of -compassion will be exchanged for the one which you see on the face of -the hunter as his prey comes within sight. She will think, 'He is ugly, -crooked, maimed for life; but he is a man, and I can therefore marry -him; he is a duke and I should be a duchess.' And so, like a moral -poison, like some plague, I blight the souls of the best and purest. -Listen to her now; that is the girl singing. What is it? I can hear the -words."</p> - -<p>He held up his hand. Leslie was singing, quite unconscious of the two -listeners.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"My sweet girl love with frank blue eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though years have passed I see you still;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, where you stood beside the mill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the bright autumnal skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though years have passed I love you yet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you still remember, or do you forget?"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>"A nice voice," said Yorke Auchester, approvingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes; the voice of a girl-angel. No doubt she is one. She needs only to -be informed that an unmarried duke is within reach, and she'll be in a -hurry to drop to the earth, and in her hurry to reach and secure him -will not mind dragging her white wings in the mud."</p> - -<p>"Women are built that way," said Yorke Auchester, concisely.</p> - -<p>The duke sighed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, they are all alike. Yorke, what a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> duke you would have -made! What a mischievous, spiteful old cat Fate is, to make me a duke -and you only a younger son! How is it you don't hate and envy me, -Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Because I'm not a cad and a beast, I suppose," replied the young -fellow, pleasantly. "Why, Dolph, you have been the best friend a man -ever had——."</p> - -<p>"Most men hate their best friends," put in the duke, with a sad smile.</p> - -<p>"Where should I have been but for you?" continued Yorke Auchester, -ignoring the parenthesis. "You have lugged me out of Queer Street by -the scruff of my neck half a dozen times. Every penny I ever had came -from you, and I've had a mint, a complete mint—and, by the way, Dolph, -I want some more."</p> - -<p>The duke laughed wearily.</p> - -<p>"Take as much as you want, Yorke," he said. "But for you, the money -would grow and grow till it buried and smothered me. I cannot spend it; -you must help me."</p> - -<p>"I will; I always have," said Yorke Auchester, laughing. "It's a pity -you haven't got some expensive fad, Dolph—pictures, or coins, or first -editions, or racing."</p> - -<p>The duke shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"I have only one fad," he said; "to be strong and straight, and that -not even the Rothbury money can gratify. But I do get some pleasure out -of your expenditure. I fancy you enjoy yourself."</p> - -<p>"I do."</p> - -<p>"Yes? That is well. Some day you will marry——."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester's hand dropped from the duke's shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Marry some young girl who loves you for yourself alone."</p> - -<p>"She's not likely to love me for anything else."</p> - -<p>"All the better. Oh, Heaven! What would I not give for such a love as -that?" broke out the duke.</p> - -<p>As the passionate exclamation left his lips the door opened, and Mrs. -Whiting, the landlady, came in. Her face was flushed; she was in a -state of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> nervous excitement, caused by a mixture of curiosity and fear.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, your grace," she faltered, puffing timorously; "but -did you ring?"</p> - -<p>The duke looked straight at the woman, and then up at Yorke Auchester.</p> - -<p>"No," said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"I beg your grace's pardon," the curious woman began, stammeringly; but -Grey coming behind her seized her by the arm, and, none too gently, -swung her into the passage and closed the door.</p> - -<p>The duke looked down frowningly.</p> - -<p>"They've found you out, Dolph," said Yorke.</p> - -<p>The duke was silent for a moment, then he sighed.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose so; I do not know how. I am sorry. I had hoped to stay -here in peace for a few weeks, at any rate. But I must go now. Better -to be in London where everybody knows me, and has, to an extent, grown -accustomed to me."</p> - -<p>He stopped short, and his face reddened.</p> - -<p>"Yorke," he said, "do you think she knew which of us was the duke?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied Yorke; "I don't think she did."</p> - -<p>"She would naturally think it was you if she didn't know," said the -duke, thoughtfully, his eyes resting on the tall form of his cousin, -who had gone to the window and was looking at the cottage opposite. -"She would never imagine me, the cripple. Don't some of these simple -folk think that a king is always at least six feet and a half, and that -he lives and sleeps in a crown? Yes, you look more like a duke than I -do, Yorke; and I wish to Heaven you were!"</p> - -<p>"Thanks," said Yorke Auchester, not too attentively. "What a pretty -little scrap of a place this is, Dolph, and—ah——." He stopped short. -"By Jove! Dolph, what a lovely girl! Is that the one of whom you were -speaking just now?"</p> - -<p>The duke put the plain muslin curtain aside and looked.</p> - -<p>Leslie had come to the window, and stood, all unconscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> of being -watched, with her arms raised above her head, in the act of putting a -lump of sugar between the bars of the parrot's cage.</p> - -<p>The duke gazed at her, at first with an expression of reverent -admiration.</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, beautiful!" he murmured; then his face hardened and darkened. -"How good, how sweet, how innocent she looks! And yet I'll wager all -I own that she is no better than the rest. That with all her angelic -eyes and sweet childlike lips, she will be ready to barter her beauty, -her youth, her soul, for rank and wealth." He groaned, and clutched -his chair with his long, thin, and, alas! claw-like hands. "I cannot -bear it. Yorke, I meant to conceal my title, and while I staid down -here pretend to be just a poor man, an ordinary commoner, one who would -not tempt any girl to play fast and loose with her soul. I should have -liked to have made a friend of that girl; to have seen her, talked with -her every day, without the perpetual, ever-present dread that she would -try and make me marry her. But it is too late, it seems. This woman -here knows, everybody in the place knows, or will know. It is too late, -unless——."</p> - -<p>He stopped and looked up.</p> - -<p>"Yorke!"</p> - -<p>"Hallo!" said that young fellow, scarcely turning his head.</p> - -<p>"Will you—do you mind—you say you owe me something?" faltered the -duke, eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Why, of course," assented Yorke Auchester, and he came and bent over -him. "What's the matter, Dolph? What is it you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>"Just this," said the duke, laying his hand—it trembled—on the strong -arm; "be the Duke of Rothbury for a time, and let this miserable -cripple sink into the background. You will not refuse? Say it is a -whim; a mere fad. Sick people," he smiled, bitterly, "are entitled to -these whims and fads, you know, and I've not had many. Humor this one; -be the duke, and save me for once from the humiliation which every -young girl inflicts upon me."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester's brow darkened, and he bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"Rather a rum idea, old chap, isn't it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh.</p> - -<p>"Call it so if you like," responded the duke, with, if possible, -increased eagerness. "Are you going to refuse me, Yorke? By -Heaven!"—his thin face flushed—"it is the first, the only thing I -have ever asked of you——."</p> - -<p>"Hold on!" interrupted Yorke Auchester, almost sternly. "I did not -say I would refuse; you know that I cannot. You have been the best -friend——."</p> - -<p>The duke raised his hand.</p> - -<p>"I knew you would not. Ring the bell, will you?" His voice, his hand, -as he pointed to the bell, trembled.</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester strode across the room and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>Grey entered.</p> - -<p>"Grey," said the duke, in a low voice, "how came this woman to know my -name?"</p> - -<p>"It was a mistake, your grace," said Grey, troubled and remorseful. "I -let it slip when I was wiring, and the idiot at the telegraph station -in London must have wired it down to the people on his own account. -But—but, your grace, she doesn't know much after all, for she didn't -know which is the dook, as she calls it, beggin' your pardon, your -grace."</p> - -<p>The duke nodded, clasping his hands impatiently and eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Ring the bell. Stand aside, and say nothing," he said, in a tone of -stern command which he seldom used.</p> - -<p>The landlady, who, like Hamlet, was fat and scant of breath, was heard -panting up the stairs, knocked timidly, and, in response to the duke's -"Come in," entered, and looked from one to the other, in a fearsome, -curious fashion.</p> - -<p>"Did you ring?"</p> - -<p>She would not venture to say "Your grace" this time.</p> - -<p>The duke smiled at her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, gravely but pleasantly. "His Grace the Duke of -Rothbury will stay with me for a few days if you can give him a room, -Mrs.—Mrs.——."</p> - -<p>"Whiting, sir, if you please. Oh, certainly, sir," and she dropped a -courtesy to Yorke Auchester. "Certainly your grace. It's humble and -homely like, but——."</p> - -<p>Grey edged her gently and persuasively out of the room, and when he -had followed her the duke leaned back his chair, and looking up at the -handsome face of his cousin, laughed.</p> - -<p>"It's like a scene in one of the new farces, isn't it, Yorke—I beg -your pardon, Godolphin, Duke of Rothbury?"</p> - -<p>Farce? Yes. But at that moment began the tragedy of Leslie Lisle's life.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<h3>RALPH DUNCOMBE.</h3> - - -<p>The "great artist" went on painting, making the sketch more hideously -and idiotically unnatural every minute, and was so absorbed in it that -Leslie could not persuade him to leave it even for his lunch, and he -maundered from the table to the easel with a slice of bread and butter -in his hand, or held between his teeth as if he were a performing dog.</p> - -<p>Leslie had played and sung to him until she was tired, and she cast a -wistful glance from the window toward the blue sky and sunlit sea.</p> - -<p>"Won't you leave it for a little while and come out on the beach, -dear?" she said, coaxingly.</p> - -<p>But Francis Lisle shook his head.</p> - -<p>"No, no. I am just in the vein, Leslie; nothing would induce me to -lose this light. But I wish you would go. It—it fidgets and unsettles -me to have any one in the room who wants to be elsewhere. Go out for -your walk; when you come back you will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> see what I have made of it; I -flatter myself you will be surprised."</p> - -<p>If she were not it would only be because she had seen so many similar -pictures of his.</p> - -<p>She put on her hat and dainty little Norfolk jacket of Scotch homespun, -and went out with a handkerchief of his she was hemming in her pocket.</p> - -<p>The narrow street was bathed in sunshine; at the open doors some of -the fisher wives were sitting or standing at their eternal knitting, -children were playing noisily in the road-way. The women, one and all, -looked up and smiled as she appeared in the open doorway, and one or -two little mites ran to her with the fearless joyousness which is the -child's indication of love.</p> - -<p>Leslie lifted one tiny girl with blue eyes and clustering curls and -kissed her, patted the bare heads of the rest, and nodded pleasantly to -the mothers.</p> - -<p>"Mayn't we come with 'oo?" asked the mite; but Leslie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"Not this afternoon, Trotty," she said, and ran away from them down the -street which led sheer on to the beach.</p> - -<p>As a rule she allowed the children to accompany her, and play round her -as she sat at work, but this afternoon she wanted to be alone.</p> - -<p>The arrival of the letter which her father had lost had disturbed and -troubled her.</p> - -<p>The man from whom it had come was a certain Ralph Duncombe, and he was -one of the many unfortunates who had fallen in love with her; but, -unlike the rest, he had not been content to take "No" for an answer, -and gone away and got over it, or drowned himself, but had persisted in -hoping and striving.</p> - -<p>She had met him at a sea-side boarding house two years before this, had -been pleasant and kind to him, as she was to everybody, but had meant -nothing more than kindliness, and was surprised and pained when he had -asked her to be his wife, and declined to take a refusal.</p> - -<p>Since that time he had cropped up at intervals,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> like a tax collector, -and it seemed as if Leslie would never convince him that there was no -hope for him. His persistence distressed her very much, but she did -not know what she could do. He was the sort of man who, having set his -heart upon a thing, would work with a dogged earnestness until he had -got it; and could not be made to understand that women's hearts are not -to be won, like a town, by a siege, however long and stringent it may -be.</p> - -<p>She went down to the breakwater, and sat down in her favorite spot -and got out her handkerchief; and two minutes afterward there was a -patter-patter on the stones behind her, and a small black-and-tan -terrier leaped on her lap with a joyous yap.</p> - -<p>She laughed and hugged him for a moment, then forced him down beside -her.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Dick, what a wicked Dick you are! You've run the needle into my -finger, sir!" she said. "Look there." And she held out a tapering -forefinger with one little red drop on it.</p> - -<p>Dick smiled in dog fashion, and attempted to bite the finger, but to -his surprise and disgust Leslie refused to play.</p> - -<p>"I'm too busy, Dick," she said, gravely. "I want to finish this -handkerchief; besides, it's too hot. Suppose you coil yourself up like -a good little doggie, and go to sleep——. Well, if you must you must, I -suppose!" And she let him snuggle into her lap, where, seeing that she -really meant it, he immediately went to sleep.</p> - -<p>It was a lovely afternoon. There was no one on the beach excepting -herself, and all was silent save for the drowsy yawing of the gulls and -the heavy boom of the tide as it went out, for the sea was very seldom -calm at Portmaris, and in the least windy of days there was generally a -ground-swell on.</p> - -<p>Leslie sat and worked, and thought, thought mostly of Mr. Ralph -Duncombe, her persistent suitor; but once or twice the remembrance of -the deformed cripple who had come to lodge at Marine Villa crossed her -mind, and she was thinking of him pityingly when the sound of footsteps -crunching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> firmly and uncompromisingly over the pebbles made her start, -and caused the terrier to leap up with the fury of its kind.</p> - -<p>Leslie's brows came together as she looked up.</p> - -<p>A middle-sized young man, with broad shoulders and a rather clumsy but -steady gait, was coming down the beach. He was not a good-looking man. -He had a big head and red hair, a large mouth and a square jaw; his -feet and hands were also large, and there was in his air and manner -something which indicated aggressiveness and obstinacy.</p> - -<p>Sharp men who had seen him as a boy had said, "That chap will get on," -and, unlike most prophets, they had been correct; Ralph Duncombe had -"got on." He had started as an errand boy in a city office, and had -risen step by step until he had become a partner. Rawlings & Co. had -always been well thought of in the city, but Rawlings and Duncombe had -now become respected and eminent.</p> - -<p>His square, resolute face flushed as he saw her, but the hand with -which he took off his hat was as steady as a rock.</p> - -<p>"Good-morning, Miss Lisle," he said, making his voice heard above the -dull roar of the sea and the shrill barking of the terrier.</p> - -<p>Leslie held out one hand while she held the furiously struggling Dick -with the other.</p> - -<p>He took her hand in his huge fist, and dropped heavily on the shingle -beside her.</p> - -<p>"I didn't know you had a dog," he said, glancing at her and then at the -dog, and then at the sea, as a man does who is so much head-over-heels -in love that he cannot bear the glory of his mistress' face all at once.</p> - -<p>"I haven't," said Leslie, laughing in the slow, soft way which her -adorers found so bewitching—and agonizing. "He doesn't really belong -to me, though he pretends that he does. He is the abandoned little -animal of Mrs. Merrick, our landlady; but he will follow me about and -make a nuisance of himself. Be quiet, Dick, or I shall send you home."</p> - -<p>"I'm not surprised," said Ralph Duncombe, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> a slight flush, and -still avoiding her eyes. "I can sympathize with Dick."</p> - -<p>Leslie colored, and took up her work, leaving Dick to wander gingerly -round the visitor and smell him inquisitively.</p> - -<p>"You got my letter, Miss Leslie?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "I am very sorry; but papa lost it."</p> - -<p>He smiled as if he were not astonished.</p> - -<p>"It doesn't matter," he said. "It only said that I was coming and—here -I am."</p> - -<p>"I—I will go and tell papa; you will come and have some lunch?"</p> - -<p>"No don't get up," he said, quickly putting out his hand to stay her. -"I've had my lunch, and I can go and see Mr. Lisle presently if——," he -paused. "Miss Leslie, I suppose you know why I have come down here?"</p> - -<p>Leslie bent her head over her work. She could guess. Such a man as Mr. -Ralph Duncombe was not likely to come down to such a place as Portmaris -in obedience to a mere whim.</p> - -<p>"I've come down because I said that I would come about this time," -he went on, slowly and firmly, as if he had well rehearsed his -speech—as, indeed, he had. "I'm a man who, when he has set his heart -upon anything, doesn't change or give it up because he doesn't happen -to get it all at once. I've set my heart upon making you my wife, Miss -Leslie——."</p> - -<p>Leslie's face flushed, and she made a motion as if to get up, but sank -back again with a faint sigh of resignation.</p> - -<p>"That's been my keenest wish and desire since I saw you two years ago; -and it's just as keen, no less and no more, as it was the first half -hour I spent in your society."</p> - -<p>"You—you told me this before, Mr. Duncombe," said Leslie, not angrily -nor impatiently, but very softly.</p> - -<p>"I know," he assented. "And you told me that it couldn't be. And I -suppose most men would have been satisfied—or dissatisfied, and given -it up. But I'm not made like that. I shouldn't be where I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> and what -I am if I were. I dare say you think I'm obstinate."</p> - -<p>The faintest shadow of a smile played on Leslie's lips.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" she said. "But—but may I not be obstinate, too?" pleadingly.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, gravely. "You are a woman, a girl, little more than a -child, and I'm a man, a man who has fought his way in the world, and -knows what it is; and that makes it different."</p> - -<p>"But——."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute," he said. "You said 'no' because—well, because I'm not -good-looking, because I haven't the taking way with me which some men -have; in short, because there's nothing about me that would be likely -to take a romantic girl's fancy——."</p> - -<p>Leslie laughed softly.</p> - -<p>"Who told you that I am romantic, Mr. Duncombe?" she said.</p> - -<p>"All girls—young girls who don't know the world—are romantic," he -said, as if he were remarking that the world is round, and that two and -two make four. "You look at the outside of things, and because I'm not -handsome and a—swell—you think you couldn't bring yourself to love -me, and that I'm not worth loving."</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"I respect you very much. I like you, Mr. Duncombe," she said, in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>"Very well. That's all I ask," he retorted, promptly. "Be my wife -and I'll change your respect into liking, your liking into love. I'm -satisfied with that. When a man's starving he is thankful for half a -loaf."</p> - -<p>He didn't plead his cause at all badly, and Leslie's gray eyes melted -and grew moist.</p> - -<p>"Don't shake your head," he said. "Just listen to me first. You know -I love you. You can't doubt that. If you did, and you knew what I've -given up to come down here, you wouldn't doubt any longer. And you -wouldn't if you knew what this love of mine costs me. A business man -wants all his wits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> about him if he means to succeed; he wants all his -thoughts and energies for his business; and for the last two years my -wits and my thoughts have been wandering after you. It's a wonder that -I have succeeded; but I have. Miss Leslie, though I'm plain to look at, -I believe I've got brains. If I can't offer you a title——."</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled; it was so likely that anyone would offer her a title!</p> - -<p>"I can at least make you a rich woman."</p> - -<p>Her face flushed.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Duncombe——."</p> - -<p>"I know what you are going to say. All girls declare that they don't -care for money, and they mean it. But that's nonsense. A beautiful -woman's beautiful whether she's poor or rich, but she's more likely to -be happy with plenty of money. And you shall have plenty. I am a rich -man now, as times go, and I mean to be richer. I've been working these -two years with one object before me. I've made the money solely that I -might become less unworthy to offer myself. Miss Leslie, my heart is -yours already, such as it is. Be my wife, and share my home and fortune -with me!"</p> - -<p>Leslie's lips trembled.</p> - -<p>"Oh, if I could!" she murmured, almost inaudibly. "I am so sorry, so -sorry!"</p> - -<p>He took up a pebble, looked hard at it, and cast it from him.</p> - -<p>"You mean that you can't love me?" he said, rather hoarsely.</p> - -<p>Her silence gave assent.</p> - -<p>He drew a long breath.</p> - -<p>"I expected you to say that, but I thought I should persuade you -to—try and trust yourself to me, and wait for the love to come." He -paused a moment. "Miss Leslie, do you ever think of the future?"</p> - -<p>"Of the future?" She turned her startled eyes on his face, grave almost -to sternness.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Forgive me if I speak plainly. You and your father are alone in -the world."</p> - -<p>"Yes, ah, yes!" dropped from her parted lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And he—well, even now it is you who are the protector; some -day—Leslie, it makes my heart ache to think of you alone in the world, -alone and poor. I know that the little he has goes with him. Don't -be angry! I am thinking only of you. I cannot help thinking of you -and your future. If you would say 'yes,' if you would promise to be -my wife, not only would your future be secure, but your present, his -present, would be easier, happier; for your father's sake if not for -your own——."</p> - -<p>He stopped, for Leslie had risen, and stood looking down at him, her -lips quivering, her hands clasped tightly.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" she panted; "not even for—for his sake! Oh, I could not! I -could not!"</p> - -<p>He arose. His face was pale, making his red hair more scarlet by -contrast.</p> - -<p>"I understand," he said. "It isn't that you do not love me, but that -you—well, yes, dislike me!"</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's it," he said, his eyes resting for a moment on the lovely -face with the wistful, hungry, half fierce look of a famishing man -denied the crust which might save his life. Then his eyes sank to the -stones. "I see now that I have been a fool to go on hoping, that my -case is hopeless. Don't"—for she had shrunk from his almost savage -tone—"don't be afraid. I am not going to bother you any more. I wish -I could say that I am going to give up loving you; but I can't do -that. Something tells me," he struck his breast, as if he were glad of -something to strike, "that I shall go on loving you till I die! See -here, Les—Miss Lisle. It's evident that I can't be your husband; but -I can be your friend. No,"—for she turned her head away—"no, I don't -mean that I am going to hang about you and pester you. I couldn't. The -sight of you would be torture to me. I hope—yes, I hope I sha'n't see -you for years. But what I want to say is this; that if ever you need a -friend remember that there is one man in the world who would give his -right hand to serve you. Remember that at any time—any time, in one -year, two, or when you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> are old and gray—that you have only to say -'Come!' to bring me like a faithful dog to your feet. That time will -never come, you think. Very good. But still you may need me. If you -do send to me. I devote my life to you—oh, there's no merit in it. I -can't help it. I'm romantic in a way, you see." He smiled with bitter -self-scorn for his weakness. "You are the one woman in the world to me. -Your case is mine, your friends shall be mine, your foes mine. If you -need a protector send for me; if one wrongs you, and you want revenge, -send to me, and as there is a heaven above us, I will come at your call -to help to avenge you."</p> - -<p>His face was white, his eyes gleaming under their red brows. So -transformed was he by the master passion that if any one of his city -friends had seen him at that moment they would scarcely have recognized -him.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe talking the "rant" of melodrama! Impossible!</p> - -<p>Leslie drew back, her eyes fixed on him in a fascinated kind of gaze, -her bosom heaving.</p> - -<p>He made an evident effort to regain his self-command, and succeeded. -With a long breath he allowed his face to regain its usual hard, -self-possessed expression.</p> - -<p>"I have frightened you," he said, still rather hoarsely, but calmly. -"Forgive me. I told you how I loved you, and you see a man doesn't tear -from his heart the hope that has grown there for two years without -feeling it. I am going now. You can make any excuse to your father, or -you need not tell him you have seen me. Good-by—Leslie! It's the last -time I shall call you so."</p> - -<p>He held out his hand. It was firm as a rock, and gripped hers so -tightly that she winced.</p> - -<p>"I've hurt you," he said; "I, who would lay down my life to save you -a moment's pain." He looked at his hand. "It was my ring. Ah!" he -exclaimed, as if an idea had occurred to him, and he drew the ring from -his finger. "Take this," he said, and he took her hand, opened it, and -placing the ring on her palm, closed her fingers over it gently and -yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> firmly, as if he would accept no refusal. "If ever you need a -friend, either for yourself or another, if ever you need to be avenged -on a foe, send this ring to me—it will not be necessary to send a word -with it—and I will come to you. Good-by!"</p> - -<p>He raised her hand toward his lips, then with a sound that was half -sigh, half groan, he let it fall, and without looking round climbed the -beach and was lost to sight.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<h3>THE NEW DUKE.</h3> - - -<p>The expression on Yorke Auchester's face as his cousin introduced him -as his grace, the Duke of Rothbury beggars description.</p> - -<p>He stared at the duke and colored, with a mixture of amazement and -annoyance, which caused the duke to lean back in his chair and laugh; -he did not often laugh.</p> - -<p>"That was neatly done, Yorke," he said. "It isn't often a man is made a -duke so easily."</p> - -<p>"N-o," said Yorke; "but—but it's rather a large order, Dolph," and he -turned to the window with something like a frown on his handsome face.</p> - -<p>"Not at all," said the duke, cheerfully and airily. "You will find it -easy and natural enough after the first half hour. There is very little -difference between the duke and the dustman nowadays; indeed, if the -dustman can only talk and manage to get into Parliament he is often -a greater man than the duke, and he is quite certain to put on more -'side.' Come, Yorke, you are not angry?"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" responded Yorke Auchester; "rather surprised, that's all. My -elevation is somewhat sudden, you see," and he laughed. "The whim seems -to give you pleasure, and it won't hurt me, and it won't last long. You -only want me to take your place while you are down here?"</p> - -<p>"Just so," said the duke. "I'm afraid you couldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> manage it in -London. 'That poor cripple, Rothbury,' is too well known there. -Seriously, my dear Yorke, I am very much obliged to you. You have made -it possible for me to enjoy a few weeks of quiet and repose. These -simple folk won't take any notice, after the first day or two, of a -hunchback who is only a common Mr.—let me see; what shall I call -myself—Brown, Jones, Robinson? No; there are quite enough of those -honored names in the directory already. I'll call myself Temple; there -is a Temple in the family nomenclature. Yes; Mr. Temple. There is no -fear of our little arrangement becoming known. I'm not one of those men -who delight in seeing their coat of arms emblazoned on everything they -wear and use. I don't think there is a coronet to be found anywhere -about me, and Grey is the pink and pattern of discretion. You can -wear the lion's skin—poor lion!—down here at Portmaris in perfect -security. Be a good duke, Yorke. Keep up the honor of the old title." -He laughed again. "At any rate, you will look every inch of one. And -now about that money—a duke must have the means of keeping up his -state, you know. Will you hand me up that dispatch box, or shall I ring -for Grey?"</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester placed the writing case on the table, and the duke took -out his check book.</p> - -<p>"How much shall it be, Yorke?" he asked, without looking up, and with -a certain shyness, as if it were he who was about to receive the money -instead of giving it.</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester looked down at him with an expression on his face which -made it nice to look at.</p> - -<p>"You are very good to me, Dolph," he said. "It is only the other day -you sent me——."</p> - -<p>"Sufficient for the day only is the check thereof," cut in the duke, as -if to stop any thanks. "I dare say that is all spent."</p> - -<p>"It is, indeed," assented the young man, candidly.</p> - -<p>The duke laughed easily.</p> - -<p>"Who cares? Not you, who, I dare say, have had your enjoyment out of -it; not I, who have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> more money than I know what to do with. How much? -Shall we say a thousand, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester's face flushed.</p> - -<p>"I should like to say it is too much," he said. "But you wouldn't -believe me if I did, Dolph."</p> - -<p>The duke smiled.</p> - -<p>"I certainly should not. I can guess how quickly money flies when one -is young and strong, blessed with youth's appetite for pleasure."</p> - -<p>He filled in the check in a sharp, pointed hand and gave it to his -cousin.</p> - -<p>"There you are. You must spend some of it down here for the honor of -the name."</p> - -<p>Yorke laughed.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said, "though I don't quite know what I can buy. -Sixpence in periwinkles would go a long way."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the duke; "that is what I find. Money is a burden and a -nuisance if you don't know how to get rid of it. Suppose you buy half a -crown's worth of winkles and a lobster or two."</p> - -<p>When Grey came in with the lunch he was surprised to find his master in -so bright a humor.</p> - -<p>"You quite understand the arrangement between Lord Auchester and me, -Grey?" said the duke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, your gra—sir."</p> - -<p>The duke smiled.</p> - -<p>"My name is Temple, Grey," he said; "this gentleman is the Duke of -Rothbury. Don't forget that, and don't, by a slip, let the cat out of -the bag. I want to be quiet, and to avoid the worry of being called -upon and stared at while I am down here. You're sure you understand, -Grey?"</p> - -<p>"Quite, sir; oh, quite," said Grey, who was an admirable servant; -and in addition to being, as the duke had said, the pink and pattern -of discretion, had lived long enough with his grace to know him -thoroughly, and to appreciate a good master, who, with all his whims -and fads, was tenderness and liberality personified.</p> - -<p>"Of course you do," said the duke. "You must be as glad of a -little quiet as I can be, and we shall get it down here under this -arrangement. Now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> mind, be careful and keep the secret. Have you -brought up my beef tea? Very well, you need not wait."</p> - -<p>Grey wheeled his master to the table, cast a glance of respectful -astonishment at Lord Auchester, which meant, "You and I must humor him, -of course, my lord," and left the room.</p> - -<p>"A nice lunch, isn't it, Yorke?" said the duke, looking round the -table. "I hope you will enjoy it. You are nearly always hungry, aren't -you?" and he sighed as he smiled.</p> - -<p>"Quite always," assented Yorke Auchester. "Chops, soles, and a custard -pudding. Right. Sure you won't have any, Dolph?"</p> - -<p>The duke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"This is as much as I can digest," he said, tapping the basin before -him indifferently. "Now tell me the news, Yorke—your grace."</p> - -<p>Yorke laughed.</p> - -<p>"News? I don't think there's any you don't know."</p> - -<p>"Not London news, I dare say," said the duke; "though I don't know much -of that. I don't go out more often than I am obliged to. I don't dance, -you see," he smiled, "and if I go to the theater I find that I distract -the attention of the audience from what is going on upon the stage. I -suppose they consider me as interesting, as good, if not better than -any play. And as to plays, there aren't many good ones now. The last -time I went was to that burlesque at the Diadem Theater, and everybody -seemed 'gone,' as you call it, on that dancer. What's her name, eh?"</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester was in the act of disboning his second sole. He stopped -and looked up, paused for a moment with a rather singular expression on -his frank, handsome face.</p> - -<p>"Finetta, do you mean?" he said, slowly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's the name, I think," said the duke, stirring his beef tea -as if he hated it; "so called, I suppose, because she has finished so -many good men and true. They tell me that she has completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> ruined -poor Charlie Farquhar. Is that so, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>Yorke seemed very much ingrossed in his sole.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Farquhar!" he said. "Yes, he is stone-broke; but I don't know that -Fin—I mean Finetta—has had so much to do with it. Charlie was under -the delusion that he understood horses, and——."</p> - -<p>"I see," said the duke. "Poor lad! I suppose if I offered to help him -he would be quite offended?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. You might try," said Yorke, dryly.</p> - -<p>"I'll see. But about this same Finetta. She was pretty——."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester looked up with a laugh. It was not a particularly merry -one.</p> - -<p>"Only pretty?"</p> - -<p>"Well, yes, to my eyes; but I'm rather particular and hard to please, -I'll admit. Oh, yes, she was pretty, and she danced," he smiled, -"yes, she danced without doubt. The young men in the stalls seemed -infatuated; but I didn't fall down and worship with the rest. Perhaps -I'm old-fashioned, though I'm not much more than your age. Anyhow, a -very little of Mlle. Finetta goes a long way with me. Do you know her, -Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, everybody knows Finetta," replied Yorke Auchester, carelessly—a -little too carelessly.</p> - -<p>"And some, it seems, like poor Charlie Farquhar, know her not wisely -but too well. Well, I've not been to the theater since, and that's six -weeks ago. Is that chop tender?"</p> - -<p>"First rate; try it."</p> - -<p>"I dare not; but I enjoy seeing you eat it. I've often had thoughts of -having a man with a good appetite that I might have the pleasure of -seeing him eat a square meal while I sit cursing my beef tea and gruel. -The night I went to the Diadem I took Eleanor——."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester suspended his fork half way to his mouth, and looked at -his cousin.</p> - -<p>"Oh," he said, and whatever the "Oh" might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> have been intended to mean -it was singularly dull and inexpressive.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it was her birthday, and she asked me to take her. That was kind -of her, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Was it?" said Yorke, dryly.</p> - -<p>"Well, I think so. You mean that most young girls would like to go to -the theater with the Duke of Rothbury, or for the matter of that any -other duke—unmarried; but that's because they would go with the hope -of repeating the visit some day as his duchess. But Eleanor knows that -I should not marry her; we have come to a plain understanding on the -subject."</p> - -<p>"I see," said Yorke Auchester. "I suppose this is Dartmoor mutton? It's -very good."</p> - -<p>"I dare say," assented the duke, with a smile. "But to return to <i>my</i> -mutton, which is Eleanor. It was her birthday, and I took her to the -theater and gave her a small present; the Rothbury pearls."</p> - -<p>"Some persons would call an elephant small," remarked Yorke, -laconically.</p> - -<p>"Did—did you give her anything, Yorke?" asked the duke, almost shyly, -ignoring the comments.</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester took a draught of the admirable claret which Grey had -brought down with him, before replying.</p> - -<p>"I?" he said, carelessly. "No. Why should I? What would be the use. She -doesn't expect anything better than a penwiper or a shilling prayer -book from a pauper like me, and she has tin enough to buy a million of -'em if she wants them," and he attacked the custard.</p> - -<p>The duke leaned back in his chair, and looked at the handsome face -of his cousin, with its frank and free, and happily devil-may-care -expression.</p> - -<p>"I've a notion that Eleanor would value anything in the way of a -penwiper or a prayer book you might give her, Yorke," he said.</p> - -<p>"Not she. It's only your fancy."</p> - -<p>"I think not," said the duke.</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment, then he said, thoughtfully and gravely:</p> - -<p>"At the risk of repeating myself, I will say once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> more that it is a -pity you are not the Duke of Rothbury, Yorke."</p> - -<p>"Thanks, but a better man's got the berth, you see."</p> - -<p>"And a still greater pity that you can't be the future one. But you -can't, can you, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Not while Uncle Eustace and his two boys come before me, and as they -are all as healthy as plowboys, and likely to live to the eighties, -every one of 'em, there doesn't seem much chance, Dolph!"</p> - -<p>"No," said the duke, in a low voice. "It's rather hard on the British -Peerage that the present Duke of Rothbury should be a hunchback and a -cripple, and that the next should be a miser, while the young man who -would adorn the title——."</p> - -<p>"Should be a penniless young scamp," put in Yorke, lightly.</p> - -<p>The duke colored.</p> - -<p>"Well, barring the scamp, that was in my thoughts. Do you ever think of -the future, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Never, if I can help it," responded the young fellow, cutting himself -a piece of stilton.</p> - -<p>The duke smiled, but rather gravely.</p> - -<p>"I do, and when I think of it, I wish that I could secure it for you. -But you know that I can't, Yorke. Every penny, or nearly every penny, -goes to Lord Eustace."</p> - -<p>"Don't let it trouble you, Dolph," said Yorke Auchester. "Of course -the money must go to keep up the title. Every fellow understands that. -Heaven knows I've had enough as it is."</p> - -<p>"And so you didn't give Eleanor a birthday present," said the duke, -slowly. "That was—to put it delicately, Yorke—thoughtless of you. -Will you give me that box, the leather one? Thanks."</p> - -<p>He opened the box and took out a small morocco case, and tossed it -across the table.</p> - -<p>"I had an idea you would forget it, and so——."</p> - -<p>"By Jove, that's pretty!" broke in Yorke.</p> - -<p>He had opened the case and revealed a gold bracelet, not set with -diamonds, but of plain though first-rate workmanship. Just the sort of -gift which a rather poor young man could manage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I'm glad you like it. I am sure Eleanor will, especially as it comes -from you."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester colored, and he looked for a moment as if he were about -to decline the piece of jewelry; but, checking the words that rose to -his lips, he put the case in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"It's a shame to let her think it came from me, but I'll give it to -her, because——." He paused.</p> - -<p>"Because you are too good-natured to disoblige me," said the duke.</p> - -<p>"She'll think I've been committing burglary."</p> - -<p>"In that case she will value the thing all the more highly," retorted -the duke. He leaned back and rested his head on his hand.</p> - -<p>"Go out and smoke, Yorke," he said presently.</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester was accustomed to his cousin's peremptory words. They -were just those of a sick man, and had nothing of discourtesy in them.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said. "I'll stroll down to the parade."</p> - -<p>The duke smiled.</p> - -<p>"I expect you will find nothing but a strip of beach," he said. "There -are some cigars in that traveling case."</p> - -<p>But Yorke said he had some cigars, and tossing on his hat made his way -out into the sunshine.</p> - -<p>For the first few minutes, as he went down the village street and along -the narrow quay which stood for parade, his face was unusually grave -and thoughtful.</p> - -<p>We suppose by this time the intelligent reader will have formed some -opinion respecting Yorke Auchester. At any rate we are not going to try -and persuade the reader that the young fellow was an angel. He was no -worse, perhaps a shade better, than most young men of his class. He was -idle, but then he had never been taught to work, though in the way of -sport he would cheerfully undergo any amount of toil, and endure any -amount of hardship. He was thoughtless because he had nothing to think -about, except the ever recurring problem—how best to kill time; he was -extravagant because, never having earned money, he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> no idea of its -value. But he would share his last five-pound note with a friend, would -sit up beside that friend all night and many nights, if he happened to -fall sick, and behind his happy-go-lucky manner hid a heart as tender -as a woman's, more tender than most women's, perhaps; and, like the -antique hero, feared neither man nor beast. Children and dogs loved him -at first sight; but, alas! that was perchance because of his handsome -face, his bright smile, and his short, light-hearted laugh, for dogs -and children have an unfair partiality for cheerful and good-looking -people, and too often unwisely judge by appearances. Anyhow, there he -was with all his faults, and so we have got to take him.</p> - -<p>He created quite a little sensation as he sauntered along with his -hands in his Norfolk jacket, his hat a little on one side, his big -L'Arranaga in his mouth; the simple folk of Portmaris had never before -seen anything so splendid. But Yorke did not notice them. He was -thinking; wondering what his cousin, the duke, would say if he knew -how far too well he, Yorke, knew Finetta; wondering whether he hadn't -better cut town and marry Eleanor Dallas and her fifty thousand pounds; -wondering——.</p> - -<p>"Oh, dash it!" he exclaimed at last, as he felt the crisp check in his -pocket. "What's the use of bothering, on such a morning, too!" and -he threw off the "pale cast of thought," and began to sing under his -breath.</p> - -<p>Then he stopped suddenly, for he saw a young girl sitting on the -shingle with her back to the breakwater.</p> - -<p>It was Leslie, sitting as Ralph Duncombe had left her. She held the -ring in her hand, her bosom still heaving, her heart troubled, her eyes -fixed on vacancy. There was a tear trembling on the long black lashes, -and a faint quiver on the parted lips, and Yorke Auchester, as, unseen -by her, he stood and looked at her, saw this.</p> - -<p>Now, one of this young man's foibles was the desire, when he saw people -in distress or trouble, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> help them out of it, or, failing to do -that, to at any rate try and cheer them up and console them.</p> - -<p>"That's the pretty girl from over the way," he mused. "Pretty! It's -a lovely face, perfectly lovely. Now, what's the matter with her, -I wonder? She can't be up to her neck in debt, and—and the rest -of it. Got into a scrape, I expect, and somebody—papa or mamma, I -suppose—has been bullying her. I should think whoever they are they -must find it difficult to worry such an angel as that. She's been -crying, or going to cry. Now what an ass of a world this is! If I were -to go down to her, and ask her what was the matter, and try and cheer -her up, and tell her there wasn't anything in the universe worth crying -for, she'd jump up like a young wild-cat, feel herself insulted, scream -for her brother or her father, and there'd be a row. And yet where -would be the harm? I know this, that if I were sitting there down on my -luck, I should like her to come and console me; but that's different, -I suppose. Well, as the man said when his mother-in-law tumbled out of -the second floor window, it's no business of mine."</p> - -<p>But though he made this philosophical reflection, he still stood and -looked at her wistfully, until, afraid that she might turn her head and -see him, he went down the beach and sat down on the other side of the -breakwater.</p> - -<p>Leslie did not hear him, was quite unconscious of his proximity, -did not even notice the perfume of the choice Havana. What was -troubling her was the memory of Ralph Duncombe's passionate words and -melodramatic promise; and the question, what should she do with the -ring? She would have died rather than have put it on her finger; she -didn't like—though she wanted—to pitch it in the sea. So she still -held it in her soft, hot little palm. Happy ring!</p> - -<p>So these two sat. Presently that peculiar desire which assails -everybody who sits on the beach at the sea-side began to assail Yorke. -Why it should be so difficult to refrain from flinging stones into the -sea it is impossible to say; the clever people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> have found out most -things, or say they have, but this still beats them.</p> - -<p>Yorke, like everybody else, found the desire irresistible. Half -unconsciously he took up a stone and shied it at the end pile of the -breakwater. He missed it, mechanically took another aim, and hit it, -then he absently found a piece of wood—the fragment of some wreck -which had gone down outside in the bay, perhaps—and threw that as far -as he could into the sullen, angry waves, which rolled and showed their -teeth along the sand.</p> - -<p>A minute, perhaps two, afterward, he heard a cry of distress behind -him, and looking round saw Leslie standing and gazing seaward, with a -troubled, anxious look in her gray eyes.</p> - -<p>Yorke was astounded. What on earth had happened? Had she caught sight -of a vessel going down, a boat upset—what?</p> - -<p>She began to run down the beach, her small feet touching the big -bowlders with the lightness and confidence of familiarity, and once -more she cried out in distress.</p> - -<p>Yorke strode after her, and gained her side.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" he shouted above the dull sea roar.</p> - -<p>She turned her face to him with a piteous look of entreaty and alarm.</p> - -<p>"Dick! It's Dick!" she said.</p> - -<p>"Dick! Who—which—where?" he demanded, looking in the direction of her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"It's a little dog—there!" she answered, quickly, and pointing. "A -little black and tan, don't you see him? Ah, he is so small!"</p> - -<p>"I see him!" said Yorke. "What's he doing out there? And can't he swim?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, oh, yes, but the tide is going out, and he has got too far, and -the current is dreadfully strong. Oh, poor, poor Dick! He went out -after a piece of wood or something that some one threw."</p> - -<p>Yorke flushed. He felt as guilty and uncomfortable as if he had been -detected in an act of killing a human being.</p> - -<p>"See, he cannot make any way! Oh, poor little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> Dick! I am—so—sorry. -I am so fond of him, and he is such a nice——." She stopped and turned -her head away as if she could not go on, and could look no longer.</p> - -<p>"I threw the piece of wood," said Yorke. "I didn't see the dog; he's so -small—oh, for goodness sake, don't cry! It's all right."</p> - -<p>He got out of his coat with the cool quickness of a man who is used to -emergencies in the sporting way, and running across the sand, sprang -into the sea, and struck out.</p> - -<p>Leslie was too astonished for a moment to realize what he had done, -then she raised her voice with a warning cry.</p> - -<p>"The current!" she called to him. "The current. Oh, come back, please -come back!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<h3>APPRECIATED GENIUS.</h3> - - -<p>Yorke soon found himself out of his depth, and almost as quickly -discovered what the young lady meant by shouting, "The current!" But he -was a good swimmer—there was scarcely anything Yorke Auchester could -not do, except earn his living—and, though he found his boots and -clothes very much in the way, he got through the waves at a fair pace, -and reached the black and tan.</p> - -<p>Saving a fellow creature is hard work enough, but it is almost as bad -to rescue a dog, even so small a one as Dick, from a watery grave.</p> - -<p>When Yorke had succeeded in getting hold of him with one hand Dick -commenced to scratch and claw, no doubt under the impression that the -great big man had come to hasten his death rather than prevent it, -and Yorke was compelled to swim on his back, and hold the clawing, -struggling little terrier pressed hard against his chest.</p> - -<p>It was hard work getting back, but he found himself touching the sand -at last, and scrambling to his feet waded through what remained of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -water, and set Dick upon his four legs at Leslie's feet.</p> - -<p>Of course the little imp, after shaking the water off his diminutive -carcase, barked furiously at his preserver.</p> - -<p>Now the handsomest man—and, for that matter, the prettiest woman -also—is not improved in appearance by a bath; that is, before he has -dried himself and brushed his hair.</p> - -<p>The salt water was running off Yorke's tall figure at all points; -his short hair was stuck to his forehead; his mustache drooped, his -eyes were blinking, and his clothes adhered to him as if they loved -him better than a brother. He didn't look in the least heroic, but -extremely comical, and Leslie's first impulse was to laugh.</p> - -<p>But the laugh did not—indeed, would not—come, and she picked up -the damp Dick and hugged him, and looked over his still snarling -countenance at his preserver with a sudden shyness in her eyes and a -heightened color in her face.</p> - -<p>She looked so supremely lovely as she stood thus that Yorke forgot -his sensation of stickiness, and gazed at her with a sudden thrill -agitating his heart.</p> - -<p>Leslie found her voice at last, but there only came softly, slowly, the -commonplace—</p> - -<p>"Thank you."</p> - -<p>It sounded so terribly commonplace and insufficient that she made an -effort and added:</p> - -<p>"It was very kind of you to take so much trouble. How wet you must be! -You must not stand about."</p> - -<p>Yorke smiled, and knocked the hair from his forehead and wrung his -shirt sleeves.</p> - -<p>"It's all right," he said. "It was my fault. If I hadn't chucked the -piece of wood he wouldn't have gone in. He hasn't come to any harm -apparently."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, no. He's all right," said Leslie. "He can swim very well when -the tide is coming in, but when it is going out it is too strong for -him, and—he would have been drowned if you had not gone after him," -and her eyes dropped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Poor little chap," said Yorke, putting on his coat. "That would never -have done, would it, doggie?"</p> - -<p>"It is a very dangerous place for bathing," said Leslie. "The current -is very strong, and that is why I called out."</p> - -<p>"Yes thanks," he said, to spare her the embarrassment of explaining -that sudden frightened cry of hers. "I could feel that. But I have to -thank Dick for an enjoyable bath, all the same. I suppose he will never -forgive me; the person whose life you save never does."</p> - -<p>He sat down on the breakwater and began to empty his pockets. There -were several papers—bills—reduced to semi-pulp; Yorke did not sorrow -over them. His watch had stopped; his cigars and cigar case were -irretrievably ruined. He held them up with a laugh, and laid them on -top of the breakwater in the sun; then suddenly his happy-go-lucky -expression grew rather grave as he took up an envelope and looked at it.</p> - -<p>"By George!" he said. "All the rest doesn't matter, but this doesn't -belong to me."</p> - -<p>Leslie stood and looked down at him anxiously. She was thinking of -colds and rheumatism, while the young fellow sat so perfectly contented -in his wet clothes.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think—had you not better go home and change your things as -quickly as possible?" she said, forgetting her shyness in her anxiety.</p> - -<p>He looked up from the envelope.</p> - -<p>"Why, I shall be dry in ten minutes," he said, carelessly, "and I -sha'n't take any harm if I'm not. I never caught cold in my life; -besides, salt water never hurts."</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head gravely.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe that; it's a fallacy," she said. "Some of the old -fishermen here suffer terribly from rheumatism."</p> - -<p>"That's because they're old, you see," he said, smiling up at her. "And -if you think it's so dangerous hadn't you better put Master Dick down? -He is making you awfully wet."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<p>She shook her head, and held Dick all the more tightly.</p> - -<p>"I am so glad to get him back," she said, half to herself, "that I -don't mind his making me a little damp; but I do wish you would go."</p> - -<p>He did not seem to hear her, but after another glance at the letter, -said:</p> - -<p>"I picked this up just over there," and he nodded in the direction of -the cliffs, "and I should like to find its owner; though I expect she -won't thank me much when she sees its condition. Have you been here -long? Do you know the people here pretty well?"</p> - -<p>"We have been here some months," said Leslie, "and—yes, I think I know -them all."</p> - -<p>"Now, who does she mean by 'we?' Her husband?" Yorke asked himself, -and an uncomfortable little pain shot through him. "No!" he assured -himself; "she can't be married; too young and—too happy looking! -Well, then, perhaps you know a young lady by the name of Lisle—Leslie -Lisle," he said.</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled.</p> - -<p>"That is my name; it is I," she replied.</p> - -<p>"By George!" he exclaimed. "Then this is your property!" and he held -out the letter.</p> - -<p>Leslie took it, and as she looked at the address flushed hotly. It was -Ralph Duncombe's missing letter.</p> - -<p>Yorke noticed the flush, and he looked aside.</p> - -<p>"My father dropped it," she said, with an embarrassment which, slight -as it was, did not escape him. "Thank you."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry that I didn't put it in my coat pocket instead of my -waistcoat," he said. "But I knew if I did that I should forget it -perhaps for weeks. I always forget letters that fellows ask me to post. -So I put it in with my watch, that I might come across it when I looked -at the time, and so it's got wet; but as it was opened you have read -it, so that I hope it doesn't matter so much."</p> - -<p>"No, I haven't read it. Papa always opens my letters—he doesn't notice -the difference. It does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> not matter in the least; I know what was in -it, thank you," she said, hurriedly.</p> - -<p>"I wish some one would always open and read my letters, and answer -them, too," said Yorke, devoutly, as he thought of the great pile of -bills which awaited him every morning at breakfast. "Are you staying—I -mean lodging, visiting here, Miss Lisle?" he asked, for the sake of -saying something that would keep her by his side for at least a few -minutes longer.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie. "We are staying in 'The Street,' as it is called at -Sea View."</p> - -<p>Yorke was just about to remark, "I know," but checked himself, and said -instead:</p> - -<p>"It is a very pretty place, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Very," assented Leslie; "and quiet. There is no prettier place on the -coast than Portmaris."</p> - -<p>"So I should think," he said, looking round, then returning to the -beautiful face. "I am a stranger, and only arrived an hour or two ago." -He looked down, trying to think of something else to say, anything that -would keep her; but could think of nothing.</p> - -<p>Leslie stood for a moment, silent, too, then she said:</p> - -<p>"Will you not go and change your things now? Dick would be very sorry -if you were to catch cold on his account."</p> - -<p>It was on the tip of Yorke's tongue to ask, "Only Dick?" but once -more he checked himself. The retort would have come naturally enough -if he had been addressing a London belle; but there was something -in the beautiful gray eyes, an indescribable expression of maidenly -dignity and reserve, which, sweet as it was, warned him that such -conversational small change would not be acceptable to Miss Lisle, so -instead he said, with a smile:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Dick won't mind. Besides, he knows I am almost as dry as he is by -this time."</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head as if in contradiction of his assertion, and with -Dick still pressed to her bosom, said:</p> - -<p>"Good-morning, and—and thank you very much,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> she added, with a faint -color coming into her face.</p> - -<p>Yorke arose, raised his hat, and watched her graceful figure as it -lightly stepped up the beach to the quay; then he collected his various -soaked articles from the breakwater, and followed at a respectful -distance.</p> - -<p>"Leslie Lisle," he murmured to himself. "The name's music, and she——."</p> - -<p>Apparently he could not hit upon any set of terms which would describe -her even to his own mind, and, pressing the water from his trousers, he -climbed the beach, still looking at her.</p> - -<p>As he did so he saw a tall, thin gentleman coming toward her. He held a -canvas in his hands, gingerly, as if it were wet, and was followed by -a small boy carrying a portable easel and other artistic impedimenta, -and, as Leslie spoke to the artist and took the easel from the boy, -Yorke muttered:</p> - -<p>"Her father! Now, if I go up to them she'll feel it incumbent upon her -to tell him of my 'heroic act,' and he'll be bored to death trying to -find something suitable to say; and she'll be embarrassed and upset, -and hate the sight of me. She looks like a girl who can't endure a -fuss. No, I'll go round the other way—if there is another way, as the -cookery books say."</p> - -<p>He looked round, and was on the point of diving into a narrow street -opposite him when an invalid chair came round the corner, driven by -Grey, and the occupant, whose eyes were as sharp as his body was frail -and crooked, caught sight of the stalwart figure, and held up a hand -beckoningly.</p> - -<p>Yorke looked very much as if he meant making a run for it; then, with a -muttered, "Oh, confound it!" he stuck his hands in his pockets, tried -to look as if nothing had happened, and sauntered with a careless, -leisurely air up the quay.</p> - -<p>By this time Francis Lisle had stuck up his easel right in the center -of the narrow pavement, and arranged his canvas, and Grey was in the -act of dragging the invalid chair round it, when Leslie, bending down, -said, in a whisper:</p> - -<p>"Papa, I must move the easel; they cannot pass."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Eh?" said Francis Lisle, looking round nervously. "I beg your pardon, -I will move; yes, I will move."</p> - -<p>"Do not, please," said the duke, his thin voice softening as it always -did in the presence of a lady. "There is plenty of room. You can go -round, Grey?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, your—yes, sir," said Grey.</p> - -<p>His master shot a warning glance at him.</p> - -<p>"There is not room," said Leslie, in a low voice, but the duke held up -his hand.</p> - -<p>"Please do not trouble," he said; "I am not going any further. I -only want to speak to this gentleman coming along. I beg you will -not trouble to move the easel. Artists must not be disturbed, or -the inspiration may desert them," he added to Francis Lisle, with a -pleasant smile.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Lisle, still clutching the easel; but Grey -had turned the chair with its front to the sea, and the duke called to -Yorke, who had come upon them at this juncture.</p> - -<p>"What a pretty place, Yorke!" he said. "Have you had your stroll? Shall -we go back?"</p> - -<p>Yorke had discreetly kept behind the chair, and out of sight of his -cousin's sharp eyes.</p> - -<p>"All right," he assented.</p> - -<p>"Will you give me a cigar?" said the duke.</p> - -<p>Yorke came up to the chair and put his hand in his pocket, and -thoughtlessly extended the cigar case.</p> - -<p>"Thanks. Good gracious! Why, it is soaking wet! Hallo, Yorke," and the -duke screwed his head round. "Why, where have you been? What have you -been doing?"</p> - -<p>Yorke flushed, and cast an appealing glance at Leslie's downcast face. -To be made the center of an astonished and absurdly admiring group, -to be made a cheap twopenny-halfpenny hero of, was more than he could -stand.</p> - -<p>"Oh it's nothing," he growled. "Had an accident—tumbled into the sea."</p> - -<p>"An accident!" exclaimed the duke, staring at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> him. "Tumbled in the -sea! How did you manage that, in the name of goodness?"</p> - -<p>Yorke got red, and looked very much like an impatient schoolboy caught -playing truant or breaking windows.</p> - -<p>"What's it matter!" he said. "Fell off breakwater. Go and get the -cigars, Grey; I'll look after his——."</p> - -<p>The duke cut in quickly before the word "grace."</p> - -<p>"Nothing of the sort," he said. "You get home and change your things. -Fell off the breakwater!" He stared at him incredulously.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle, too, gazed at him with blank astonishment, as if he -were surprised to find that it was a man and not a little boy in -knickerbockers, who might not unnaturally be expected to tumble off the -breakwater.</p> - -<p>Leslie meanwhile stood with downcast eyes, then suddenly she said, -addressing her father and carefully avoiding the other two:</p> - -<p>"This gentleman swam in to save Dick, papa; that is why he is wet."</p> - -<p>The duke scanned her face keenly, and smiled curiously.</p> - -<p>"That sounds more probable than your account, Yorke. It is a strange -thing," he turned his head to Lisle, "that a man is more often ashamed -of committing a good or generous action than a bad one. How do you -account for it?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle looked at him helplessly, as if he had been asked a conundrum -which no one could be expected to answer.</p> - -<p>"Because there is always such a thundering fuss about it," said Yorke, -stalking off.</p> - -<p>The duke looked after him for a minute or two, apparently lost in -thought, then he turned to Lisle again.</p> - -<p>"You are an artist, sir?" he said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle flushed.</p> - -<p>"I am, at least, an humble worshiper at the throne," he replied, in the -low, nervous voice with which he always addressed strangers, and he -resumed his painting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>The duke signed to Grey to help him to get out of the chair, which was -so placed that he could not see the canvas.</p> - -<p>Grey came round, and in opening the apron let the duke's stick fall. -Leslie hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and picked it up. The -duke took it from her with a faint flush on his pale, hollow cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," he said. "I am afraid I could not get on without it. At -one time I could not walk even with its aid. Please don't say you -are sorry or pity me," he added, with an air of levity that barely -concealed his sensitive dread of any expression of sympathy. "Everybody -says that, you know."</p> - -<p>"I was not going to say so," said Leslie, looking him full in the face, -and with a sweet, gentle smile.</p> - -<p>He looked at her with his unnaturally keen eyes.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, quietly. "I don't think you were. And this is the -picture——." He stopped as he looked at the awful monstrosity, then -caught Leslie's eyes gazing at him with anxious, pleading deprecation, -and went on, "Singular effect. You have taken great pains with your -subject, Mr. ——."</p> - -<p>"Lisle—my name is Lisle," he said, hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I have not -spared pains! I have put my heart into my work."</p> - -<p>"That is quite evident," said the duke, with perfect gravity, and still -regarding the picture. "And that which a man puts his heart in will -reward him some day; does, indeed, reward him even while he works."</p> - -<p>"True, true!" assented the dreamer, with a gratified glance at the -speaker and at Leslie, who stood with downcast eyes, to which the brows -were dangerously near. "It is with that hope, that heart, that we -artists continue to labor in face of difficulties which to the careless -and irreverent seem insurmountable. You think the picture a—a good -one, sir; that it is promising?"</p> - -<p>The duke was floored for a moment, then he said:</p> - -<p>"I think it evidences the painter's love for his art, and his complete -devotion to it, Mr. Lisle."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>The poor dreamer's face had fallen during the pause, but it brightened -at the diplomatic response when it did come, and Leslie, casting a -grateful glance at the pale face of the cripple, murmured in his ear:</p> - -<p>"Thank you!"</p> - -<p>The duke looked at her with a glow of sympathy in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"This is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Lisle?" he said.</p> - -<p>Lisle nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "My only child. All that is left me in the -world—excepting my art. You are not an artist also, sir? Pardon me, -but your criticism showed such discrimination and appreciation that I -was led to conclude you might be a fellow-student."</p> - -<p>The duke hesitated a moment.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, quietly. "I am not an artist, though I am fond of a good -picture——," poor Lisle gazed at the daub, and nodded with a gratified -smile. "I am what is called—I was going to say a gentleman at ease, -but I am very seldom at ease. My name is Temple, and I am traveling for -the benefit of my health."</p> - -<p>Lisle nodded again.</p> - -<p>"You will find this an extremely salubrious spot," he said. "My -daughter and I are very well here."</p> - -<p>The duke glanced at Leslie's tall, graceful figure, and smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>"But then she is not a cripple," he said.</p> - -<p>"A cripple!" Mr. Lisle looked startled and bewildered. "Oh, no; oh, no."</p> - -<p>The duke smiled, and leaning upon his stick, seemed to be watching -the painter at his work, but his eyes wandered now and again covertly -to the beautiful girl beside him. He noticed that her dress, though -admirably fitting, was by no means new or of costly material, that her -gloves were well worn and carefully mended in places, that her father, -if not shabby, had that peculiar look about his clothes which tells so -plainly of narrow means; and when Leslie, becoming conscious of his -wandering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> glance, moved away and stood at a little distance on the -edge of the quay, the duke said:</p> - -<p>"Have you disposed of your picture, Mr. Lisle?"</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle started and flushed.</p> - -<p>"N-o," he replied. "That is, not yet."</p> - -<p>"I am glad of that," said the duke. "I should like to become its -purchaser, if you are disposed to sell it."</p> - -<p>Lisle's breath came fast. He had never sold a "picture" in his life, -had long and ardently looked forward to doing so, and—and, oh! had the -time arrived?</p> - -<p>"Certainly, certainly," he said, nervously, and his brush shook. "You -like it so much? But perhaps you would like some others of mine better. -I—I have several at the cottage. Will you come and look at them?"</p> - -<p>"With pleasure," said the duke. "Meanwhile, what shall I give you for -this?"</p> - -<p>Lisle gazed at the picture with pitiable agitation; he was in mortal -terror lest he should scare his customer away by asking too much.</p> - -<p>"Really," he faltered, "I—I don't know its value, I have never——," he -laughed. "What should you think it was worth?"</p> - -<p>The duke ought, if he had answered truthfully, to have replied, "Rather -less than nothing," but he feigned to meditate severely, then said:</p> - -<p>"If fifty pounds——."</p> - -<p>Poor Lisle gasped.</p> - -<p>"You—you think—I was going to say twenty."</p> - -<p>"We will say fifty," said the duke, as if he were making an excellent -bargain. "You have not finished it yet."</p> - -<p>"No, no," assented Lisle, eagerly. "I will do so carefully, most -carefully. It—it shall be the most finished picture I have ever -painted."</p> - -<p>"I am sure you will do your best," said the duke. "I will accept your -kind invitation to see your other pictures, and now I must be getting -back. Good-morning."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes! Good-morning! What did you say your name was?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Temple," said the duke.</p> - -<p>He glanced at Leslie, raised his hat, was helped into his chair by -Grey, who had stood immovable and impassive just out of hearing, and -was wheeled away.</p> - -<p>Lisle stood all of a quiver for a moment, then beckoned to Leslie.</p> - -<p>"What is it, dear," she said, soothingly, as she saw his agitation. Had -the crippled stranger told him what the sketch was really like?</p> - -<p>"That—that gentleman has bought the picture, Leslie!" he exclaimed, -in a tone of nervous excitement and triumph. "You see! I told you -the day would come, and it has come. At last! Luck has taken a turn, -Leslie! I see a great future before me. I only wanted some one with -an appreciative, artistic eye, and this Mr.—Mr. Temple is evidently -possessed of one. He saw the value of this at once. I noticed his face -change directly he looked at it."</p> - -<p>Leslie's face gradually grew red.</p> - -<p>"What—what has he given you for it, dear?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Lisle, exultingly. "Fifty pounds! It may -not be as much as it is worth; but it is a large sum to us, and I am -satisfied, more than satisfied! I wonder what he will do with it? Do -you think he will let me exhibit it? I will ask him—not just now, but -when it is finished. I must finish it at once! Where is my olive green? -I have left it at home. Bring it for me, Leslie; it is on the side -table."</p> - -<p>She went without a word. At the corner of the street she overtook the -invalid chair, hesitated a moment, walked on, and then came back.</p> - -<p>The duke peered up at her from under his brows.</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you," she said, her breath coming and going quickly.</p> - -<p>He motioned to Grey to withdraw out of hearing, and struggling to keep -her voice steady, Leslie went on:</p> - -<p>"I want to thank you—but, oh, why did you do it? I know—you know that -it—it is not worth it—why?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<p>The duke smiled.</p> - -<p>"Do not distress yourself, Miss Lisle," he said, gently. "You refer to -my purchase of your father's picture?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!" she said, in a troubled voice. "It was kind of you, and it has -given him, oh! you cannot tell what pleasure."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think I can. It is not the money."</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Just so. I understand. And don't you understand that I have bought -something more than the sketch? Miss Lisle, I'm not the richest man in -England,"—he was just within the truth—"but I can afford the luxury -of bestowing pleasure on my fellow creatures now and again. Please -don't begrudge or deny me that! I have not too many pleasures," and he -glanced downward at his stunted figure. "Of the two, I fancy I am more -pleased than your father. Don't say any more, and please don't look so -heartbroken, or you will rob me of more than half my satisfaction. Miss -Lisle, forgive me, but I think you love your father?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; oh, yes!" she breathed.</p> - -<p>"Very well, then," he said. "Be careful you do not let him see that you -think he has got too good a price for his picture. Let him be happy; -happiness comes too seldom for us to turn it aside with a cold welcome."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked down at the worn and lined face with eyes that glowed -with gratitude.</p> - -<p>"I—I can't thank you, Mr. Temple!" she said, in a low voice, that -thrilled like some exquisite music. "You have made me happy, and—ah, I -can't tell you what I feel!" and she trembled and turned up the street.</p> - -<p>The duke looked after her with a wistful expression on his pale face.</p> - -<p>"She is an angel!" he murmured.</p> - -<p>Then his face changed, grew harder and cynical.</p> - -<p>"Yes, an angel at present," he said. "But tell her that I am the Duke -of Rothbury, and she will become transformed into a harpy, and want to -marry me, like the rest. Grey, where are you!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> Have you gone to sleep? -Are you going to keep me here all day?"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<h3>TAKING A SAIL.</h3> - - -<p>The moon rose early that evening and flooded Portmaris with a light -that transformed it, already picturesque enough, into a fairy village -beside an enchanted ocean. Leslie sat at the open window of her room, -her head resting on her hand, her eyes fixed on the sea, now calmly -rippling as if it were rocking itself to sleep in the moonbeams.</p> - -<p>Her father had gone to bed, early as it was, worn out with his long -day's work and the excitement produced by the sale of his picture, and -Leslie was free to recall the events of the day.</p> - -<p>Her life hitherto had been so gray and sober, so uneventful, that the -incidents which had been crowded into this day had almost bewildered -her.</p> - -<p>She ought, in common fairness to that individual, have thought first -and most of Ralph Duncombe; but it was upon that other young man who -had plunged into the waves to reach Dick that her mind was fixed.</p> - -<p>Beauty, man's beauty, doesn't count much with women; indeed, it has -been remarked by the observant that some of the ugliest men have -married the prettiest girls, and it was not Yorke's handsome face -which had impressed Leslie. It would be hard to say exactly what it -was in him that had done so; perhaps it was the frank smile, the free -and musical laugh, that devil-may-care air of his, or the pleasant -voice which seemed to float in through the window upon the moonbeams, -and find an echo in Leslie's heart. Once or twice she tried to cast -him out of her mind. There seemed to her something almost approaching -unmaidenliness in dwelling so much upon this stranger; the young man -whom she had seen for only a few minutes, and whom she might never -see again. Why, she did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> not even know his name, or at any rate only -a part of it. "Yorke," Mr. Temple had called him, and she murmured -it absently. "Yorke." It seemed to her to fit him exactly. It had a -brave, alert sound in it. She could fancy him ready for any danger, -any emergency. He had plunged into the waves after Dick, as if it were -quite a matter of course that he should do so, had done it as naturally -as if there were no other course open to him. She could see him now, as -he came out, with Dick in his arms, his hair plastered on his face, his -eyes bright and laughing.</p> - -<p>And how anxious he had been to avoid any thanks or fuss! It was wicked -of him, of course, to tell a story and account for his besoaked -condition by stating that he had fallen off the breakwater—Leslie -smiled as she thought of the thinness of the excuse—but she understood -why he had fibbed, and—forgave him.</p> - -<p>"Don't you like this Mr. Yorke, Dick?" she said to Dick, who lay in a -contented coil on her lap. "You ought to do so, for if it had not been -for him you would be at the bottom of the sea, little doggie, by this -time."</p> - -<p>Probably Dick would have liked to have retorted, "And if it hadn't been -for him I shouldn't have gone in at all."</p> - -<p>Then her thoughts wandered to the crippled hunchback, and her heart -thrilled with gratitude as she thought of his kindness; Mrs. Whiting -had said that he was a nobleman, but there had evidently been a -mistake; very likely the simple-minded landlady had concluded that no -one traveling with a man-servant could be less than a man of title.</p> - -<p>Leslie thought of the two men—but most of "Yorke"—and all they had -said and done for some time before Ralph Duncombe insisted upon his -share in her reflections, and as she thought of him she sighed. She -pitied him, and was sorry for him, but she did not want to see him -again. He had frightened as well as touched her by the passionate -avowal which had accompanied the ring.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<p>The ring! She had utterly forgotten it! She put her hand to her pocket, -turned it out, but the ring was not there. What had she done with it? -It was fast closed in her hand, she remembered, when she heard Dick's -piteous yap; and then she had sprung up, and run down the beach. She -must have dropped it among the pebbles.</p> - -<p>Her heart smote her reproachfully. The least she could do in return for -the passionate love Ralph Duncombe had lavished so uselessly upon her -was to keep his ring! She rose, troubled and remorseful. The tide had -been going out when she dropped it; it was not likely that it would be -seen by any one, and it was probably lying where it had fallen. She -seemed to see the plain gold circlet lying there in the silent night, -neglected and despised.</p> - -<p>Her hat and jacket lay on the bed; she snatched them up, put them on -hastily, and left the house.</p> - -<p>A light burned behind the windows of Marine Villa opposite, and she -glanced up at it, trying to picture to herself the two men in the -sitting-room; the one so strong and stalwart, the other so weak and -crippled.</p> - -<p>As she went quickly down the street she was conscious of a new and -strange feeling; it was half pleasant, half painful. It seemed to her -as if some spirit of change had entered her quiet, peaceful, uneventful -life, as if she were on the verge of some novel experience. The feeling -disquieted her. She looked up at the stars almost hidden by the haze -of the glorious light thrown broadcast by the moon, and there came -into her mind some verses—they were from the Persian, though she did -not know it—which she had seen under a picture in one of the Academy -exhibitions—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Love is abroad to-night; his wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beat softly at Heaven's gate!"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Murmuring the musical lines, she passed to the quay, and leaping -lightly onto the beach, made her way to the breakwater.</p> - -<p>At nine o'clock Portmaris, as a rule, goes to bed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> - -<p>No one was stirring; the street, the quay, were empty. The tide was -far out now, and the sands lay a golden beat between sea and beach, -unbroken save where at the very margin of the lapping wavelets a boat -lay at anchor.</p> - -<p>Not even a greater enthusiast than Francis Lisle could have desired a -more delicious picture than she made flitting slowly yet lightly over -the beach, her graceful figure casting a long shadow behind her. "Night -is youth's season," says the poet, and Leslie's heart was beating -to-night with a strange pulsation.</p> - -<p>She reached the spot where she had sat with Ralph Duncombe's ring in -her hand, and going down on one knee searched carefully. The bright -light revealed every pebble, and, convinced at last that it was not -there, but that she must have held it until she had run some way down -the sands, before she dropped it, she rose from her knees with a sigh, -and was going back when she saw a man's form lying full length on the -top of the breakwater.</p> - -<p>It was a young fisherman apparently, for he was clad in the -tight-fitting blue jersey and long sea boots, and wore the red woolen -cap common to men and boys in Portmaris. He was stretched out full -length with his head resting on his arms, his face upturned, perfectly -still and motionless.</p> - -<p>It occurred to Leslie that he might have picked up the ring, and, well -aware that his class was as honest as the day she went up to him, -saying:</p> - -<p>"Have you found a ring on the beach, just here?"</p> - -<p>The man did not answer nor move, and when she got quite up to him she -saw that he was asleep.</p> - -<p>She saw, too, something else; that it was not a Portmaris fisherman, -but the young man whom Mr. Temple had called "Yorke."</p> - -<p>With a sudden rush of crimson to her face she was about to beat a -retreat when Yorke started slightly, opened his eyes, and stared up at -her.</p> - -<p>The next instant he was off the breakwater and on his feet.</p> - -<p>"By George!" he exclaimed, with a bated breath. "It is you, Miss -Lisle!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, it is I," said Leslie as calmly and composedly as she could, and -from the effort for composure her voice sounded rather cold.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon. Of course it is. But——," he hesitated a moment. -"Well, the fact is, I was dreaming about you——." He stopped, as if he -were afraid he had given offense.</p> - -<p>But Leslie smiled.</p> - -<p>"It must have been an uncomfortable dream," she said, glancing at the -breakwater.</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "I was never more comfortable in my life. I'm more used -to roughing it than you'd think. I suppose it was the beauty of the -night that tempted you as it tempted me?" he went on, with his frank -eyes on her face.</p> - -<p>Leslie looked down. She could not ask him the question she had put to -the supposed fisherman—if he had found her ring, of course, he would -give it to her.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said.</p> - -<p>"I told Dolph it was too good to sit indoors," he went on. "That's my -cousin, the man you saw to-day, you know."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Temple?" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Mr.—yes, Mr. Temple," he assented, after a moment's hesitation. "And -I tried to lure him out; but he doesn't care about stirring after -dinner, poor old chap——," he broke off with a laugh. "You are looking -at my get-up?" he said.</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you took me for one of the marine monsters who abound here. -Fact is, I found my things wetter than I supposed——."</p> - -<p>"I knew you would!" said Leslie, with an air of gentle triumph.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and as I hadn't a change with me I borrowed a suit from the -landlady's boy; a 'boy' about six feet high. I fancy I rather upset my -cousin's man sitting down to dinner in 'em; but they're astonishingly -comfortable. I'm half inclined to take to them as a regular thing. -After all, one might be worse than a fisherman, Miss Lisle."</p> - -<p>"Very much," said Leslie, with a smile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, you're surely not going!" he said, as she half turned toward the -quay. "It's far better out here than indoors; and it's early, too. -Won't you walk across the sand to the edge of the sea? It's quite dry."</p> - -<p>He moved in that direction as he spoke, and Leslie, with a twinge of -conscience, moved also.</p> - -<p>"It's a pity all life can't be a moonlight night," he said, after a -pause, and with a faint sigh. "By George, it would be grand on the -water to-night. There's just enough wind to keep a boat going—and -there's a boat!" he exclaimed, pointing to the boat lying at anchor at -the edge of the water as if he had made a discovery which was to render -this weary world happy for evermore. "What do you say to going for a -little sail, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>He put the question very much as one truant from school might put it to -another, only a little more timorously.</p> - -<p>"It would be splendid, a thing to be remembered. Oh, don't say no! I've -set my heart upon it——."</p> - -<p>"Why should you not go?" said Leslie, trying to smile, and to keep from -her eyes the wistful longing which his audacious suggestion had aroused.</p> - -<p>"By myself!" he said, reproachfully, and with a kind of high-minded -wonder. "I wouldn't be so selfish. Come, Miss Lisle—I—I mean we—may -never have another chance like this. You don't get such nights as this -in England often. And you need not be nervous. I can manage a boat in -half a gale. But never mind if you think you wouldn't be safe."</p> - -<p>This may have been a stroke of artfulness or pure ingenuousness; it -settled the matter.</p> - -<p>"I have never been afraid in my life—that I remember," said Leslie, -conscientiously.</p> - -<p>"Then that settles it!" he said, in that tone of free joyousness which -appeals to a woman more than any tone a man can use. "Here we are—and -by Jove, here's a real sea-monster asleep in the boat. Hallo, there!" -he called out to an old man who lay curled up in the bottom of the boat.</p> - -<p>Leslie laughed softly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is of no use calling to him," she said. "He is stone deaf. It is -old Will, and he is waiting for the turn of the tide."</p> - -<p>"Like a good many more of us," said Yorke, cheerfully, and he was about -to shake the man, but Leslie put her hand on his arm and stayed him.</p> - -<p>"I—I think I had better wake him," she said. "He is old, and not very -good-tempered, and——."</p> - -<p>"I see. All right," said Yorke. "I'll keep here in the background. If -he refuses to go tell him we'll take his boat and do without him."</p> - -<p>Leslie bent over the gunwale, and touched the old man gently. He -stirred after a moment or two, and got up on his elbow, frowning at her.</p> - -<p>Leslie indicated by expressive pantomime that they wanted to go for -a sail, and, after glancing at the sky and at Yorke, the old fellow -nodded surlily, and got out of the boat.</p> - -<p>Yorke helped him to push the boat into the water.</p> - -<p>"And now how are you going to get in?" he said to Leslie, but before -she could answer the question old Will took her in his arms and carried -her bodily into the boat.</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled.</p> - -<p>"He is a very self-willed old man, and no one in Portmaris interferes -with or contradicts him, perhaps because he is deaf."</p> - -<p>"I see," said Yorke. "I never realized until to-night the great -advantages of that affliction."</p> - -<p>He went forward as he spoke to assist with the sail, but the old man -surlily waved him back into the stern.</p> - -<p>"All right, William, I'll steer then," he said; but he had no sooner -got hold of the tiller than Will angrily signed to him to release it, -and pointed to Leslie.</p> - -<p>"I think he wants me to steer," she said, with a faint blush. "I am -often out sailing with him."</p> - -<p>"He evidently regards me as a land lubber, whatever that is," said -Yorke. "But, right! the password for to-night is, 'Don't cross old -William!'"</p> - -<p>He dropped down at her feet and leaned his head upon his hand, and -sighed with supreme, unbounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> content, and there was silence for a -few minutes as the boat glided out to sea; then he said:</p> - -<p>"Do you think old William would fly into a paroxysm of rage if I -offered him a pipe of tobacco, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>"You might try," said Leslie, and the tone of her voice was like an -echo of his. The two truants were enjoying themselves, and had no -thought of the schoolmaster—just then.</p> - -<p>Yorke took out his pouch, and flung it with dextrous aim into the old -man's lap. He took it up, glowered at the donor for a moment, then -nodded surlily, and, filling his pipe, pitched the pouch back.</p> - -<p>"We still live!" said Yorke, and he was about to fill his own pipe, but -remembered himself and stopped.</p> - -<p>"Please smoke if you wish to," said Leslie, "I do not mind. We must not -go far," she added.</p> - -<p>"Not farther than Quebec or, say, Boulogne," said Yorke. "All right, -Miss Lisle, we'll turn directly you say so. How delightful this is! I -may have been happier in the course of an ill-spent life, but I don't -remember it. Are you sorry you came? Please answer truthfully, and -don't mind my feelings."</p> - -<p>But Leslie did not answer. The strange feeling which had haunted her -as she left the house was growing more distinct and defiant, stronger -and more aggressive. Was it really she, Leslie Lisle, who was sailing -over the moonlit sea with this careless and light-hearted young man, or -should she wake presently in her tiny room in Sea View and find it all -a dream?</p> - -<p>Happy? Was this novel sensation, as of some vague undefined joy, -happiness or what?</p> - -<p>She was wise to leave the question unanswered!</p> - -<p>Yorke smoked in silence for a minute or two, then he turned on his -elbow so that he could look up at her.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle," he said, "were you looking for something when you came -down the beach just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> now? I ask because I thought you looked rather -troubled——."</p> - -<p>"But you were asleep!" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>He colored, and his eyes dropped.</p> - -<p>"I've given myself away," he said, penitently. "No, Miss Lisle, I -wasn't asleep. But I thought it better to pretend, as the children say, -lest you should take fright and run away."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked away from him.</p> - -<p>"You are angry? Well, it serves me right. But don't think of it. Try -and forgive me if you can, for I was half asleep, and I was dreaming -of you—there, I've offended you again! But don't you know how you can -dream though you are wide awake? I was wondering whether I should see -you again—there was no harm in that, was there?—wondering whether -I should have seen you or spoken to you at all if it hadn't been for -Dick——. By the way, how is Dick?"</p> - -<p>"He is all right," she said, the tension caused by his former words -suddenly relieved, "but I do not think he will ever forgive you for -saving his life."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid not," he said. "But you have not answered my question yet."</p> - -<p>"Which one?" asked Leslie, with a smile.</p> - -<p>"Whether you had lost anything," he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I had," she replied, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>He put his hand in his waistcoat-pocket, and took out the ring and held -it up.</p> - -<p>"Is this it?" he said, and his voice was suddenly grave and serious.</p> - -<p>Leslie took it from his fingers.</p> - -<p>"Thank you. Yes," she said. "Where did you find it?"</p> - -<p>He was silent a moment as if lost in thought, then he said, as if with -an effort:</p> - -<p>"On the beach; just where you had been sitting this afternoon. You -dropped it, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>There was a pause.</p> - -<p>"You are glad to get it back?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, looking straight in front of her.</p> - -<p>"An old favorite, Miss Lisle?" his eyes fixed on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> the beautiful face -over which the moonbeams fell lovingly.</p> - -<p>"N-o," she said, the faint color creeping into her cheeks.</p> - -<p>"No! But you were glad to get it back. You didn't seem so very glad, -you know."</p> - -<p>"No, I was not so very glad," she said, almost inaudibly.</p> - -<p>He seemed relieved, and yet rather doubtful still.</p> - -<p>"It's singular," he said. "But this is the second thing of yours I have -found to-day."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"And they say that if you find two things in one day you are sure to -lose something yourself," he murmured, a serious, intent look coming -into his dark eyes.</p> - -<p>"But the day has gone, and you have not lost anything!" said Leslie, -with a smile.</p> - -<p>His eyes dropped from his intense regard of her face.</p> - -<p>"I am not so sure!" he said.</p> - -<p>Did she hear him?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<h3>THE DUKE'S SNEERS.</h3> - - -<p>The boat sails on. Leslie has no mother to watch over her and warn her -of sinning against the great goddess Propriety; and as there is no harm -to him who thinks none, Leslie is not troubled by conscience because -she is out sailing on this Heaven sent evening with a young man and -only deaf William for chaperon.</p> - -<p>Perhaps this is because of the peculiar nature of the young man. -There is no shyness about Yorke, and his manner is just of that kind -to inspire confidence; he treats Leslie with a mixture of frankness -and respect which could not be greater if he had known her for years -instead of a few hours only; and it is but fair to add that his manner -toward a duchess would be just the same.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>He is happy, is enjoying himself to the utmost, and he assuredly does -not trouble his head about the proprieties. But all the same, he is -silent after that last remark of his, which Leslie may or may not have -heard.</p> - -<p>He is lying across the boat, so that without much effort he can see her -face. What a lovely face it is, he thinks, and how thoughtful. Is she -thinking of that letter he gave her, or of the ring? And who gave her -that? It ought not to matter to him, and yet the question worries him -not a little. He dismisses it with a half audible "Heigh-ho!"</p> - -<p>"I suppose these are what are called dancing waves?" he says at last. -"Are you fond of dancing, Miss Leslie? But of course you are."</p> - -<p>Leslie lets her dark gray eyes fall on his handsome upturned face as if -she had been recalled to earth.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," she says. "All women are, are they not? But I do not get -much dancing. It is years since I was at a party. My father is not -strong, and dislikes going out, and—well, there is no one else to go -with me; besides, I should not leave him."</p> - -<p>He nods thoughtfully, and some idea of what her life must be dawns upon -him.</p> - -<p>"You must lead a very quiet life," he says.</p> - -<p>Leslie smiles.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very, very quiet," she assents.</p> - -<p>"What do you do to amuse yourself?" he asks.</p> - -<p>Leslie thinks a moment.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she says, cheerfully, and without a shadow of discontent in her -voice or in her face, "I take walks, when my father does not want me, -but he usually likes me to stay with him while he is painting; and -sometimes William takes me for a sail, and there is the piano. My -father likes me to play while he is at work; but when he does not I -read."</p> - -<p>"And is that all?" he says, raising himself on his elbow that he may -better see her face.</p> - -<p>"All?" she repeats. "What else is there? It seems a great deal."</p> - -<p>He does not answer, but he thinks of the women he knows, the idle women -who are always restless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> and discontented unless they are deep in some -excitement, riding, driving, ball and theater going; and as he thinks -of the difference between their lives and this girl's, there rises in -his breast a longing to brighten her life if only for a few hours a day.</p> - -<p>"Well," he says, "it sounds rather slow. And—and have you led this -kind of life long?"</p> - -<p>"As long as I can remember," replies Leslie. "Papa and I have been -alone together ever since I was a little mite, and—yes, it has always -been the same."</p> - -<p>"And you never go to a theater, a dance, a concert?"</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs softly.</p> - -<p>"Never is a big word," she says. "Oh, yes, when we are in London my -father sometimes but very seldom takes me to a theater, and now and -again there are dances at the boarding houses we stay at."</p> - -<p>Yorke almost groans. How delightful it would be to take this beautiful -young creature for a whole round of theaters, to see her dressed in -full war paint, to watch those dark gray eyes light up with pleasant -and girlish joy.</p> - -<p>"And which are you most fond of?" he asks. "Walking, sailing, playing, -reading?"</p> - -<p>She thinks again.</p> - -<p>"I don't know. I'm very fond of the country, and enjoy my walks, but -then I am also fond of sailing, and music, and reading. Do you know the -country round here?"</p> - -<p>He shakes his head.</p> - -<p>"No, I only came to-day, you know."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes," she says, and she says it with a faint feeling of surprise; -it seems to her as if he had been here at Portmaris for a week at -least. "There is a very lovely place called St. Martin; it is about -twelve miles out. There is an old castle, or the remains of one, and -from the top of it you can see—well, nearly all the world, it seems."</p> - -<p>"That must be worth going to," he says, and an idea strikes him. "My -cousin—I mean Mr. Temple, you know—would like to see that."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes," says Leslie. "But he could not walk so far."</p> - -<p>"No. Do you mean to say you can?"</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs softly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes; I have walked there and back several times."</p> - -<p>"You must be very strong!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think I am. I am always well; yes, I suppose I am strong."</p> - -<p>He still sighs at her; the graceful figure is so slight that he finds -it difficult to realize her doing twenty-four miles. The women he knows -would have a fit at the mere thought of such an undertaking.</p> - -<p>"I think to-morrow is going to be a fine day," he says, looking up at -the cloudless sky with a business-like air.</p> - -<p>"Yes," says Leslie, as if she were first cousin to the clerk of the -weather. "It's going to be fine to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Well, then," he says, "I'll try and get something and drive my cousin -over to—what's the name of the place with the castle?"</p> - -<p>"St. Martin."</p> - -<p>"Yes. The worst of it is that he—I mean my cousin, and not St. -Martin—so soon gets bored if he hasn't some one more amusing than I am -to keep him company; you see, he's an invalid, and crotchety."</p> - -<p>"Poor fellow!" murmurs Leslie. "And yet he is so kind and generous," -she adds as she thinks of the fifty pounds he has given for the -"picture."</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed!" he assents. "The best fellow that ever drew breath, for -all his whims and fancies; and he can't help having those, you know. -He would like to go to St. Martin to-morrow, especially if you—do you -think we could persuade you and Mr. Lisle to accompany us?"</p> - -<p>Leslie looks at him almost startled, then the color comes into her -face, and her eyes brighten.</p> - -<p>"It would be awfully good-natured of you if you would," he goes on, -quickly, and as if he knew he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> was demanding a great sacrifice of her -"awfully good nature."</p> - -<p>"My father——." Leslie shakes her head. "I am afraid he would not go; -he will want to paint if the day is fine."</p> - -<p>"He can paint at St. Martin," he breaks in, eagerly. "There must be -no end of sketches, studies, whatever you call it, there, you know. -I wish you'd ask him! It would do my cousin so much good, and—and," -the arch hypocrite falters as he meets the innocent, eagerly wistful -eyes, "though I dare say you won't care for the dusty drive, and have -seen quite enough of the place, still, you'd be doing a good action, -don't you know, and—all that. It will cheer my cousin up sooner than -anything."</p> - -<p>"Very well," says Leslie. "I will ask my father. But it will not matter -if we do not go. You must persuade Mr. Temple."</p> - -<p>"Mr. ——. Oh, my cousin, yes," he says, with sudden embarrassment. "Yes, -of course. Thank you! It is awfully good of you."</p> - -<p>Leslie looks at him, her color deepening; then she laughs softly.</p> - -<p>"Why, I want to go, too!" she says. "There is no goodness in it."</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester's glance falls before her guileless eyes.</p> - -<p>"Then that settles it," he says, confidently. "What point is that out -there, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>Leslie starts.</p> - -<p>"That is Ragged Points!" she replies. "I had no idea we had come so -far; please tell him I am going to put the boat round; it must be very -late!"</p> - -<p>"No, it isn't," he says. "I can tell by the moon. Can't we go a little -farther?"</p> - -<p>But she ports the helm, and old William, without a word, swings the -sail over, and the boat's nose is pointing to land.</p> - -<p>Yorke looks at Portmaris, asleep in the moonlight, regretfully.</p> - -<p>"That's the worst of being thoroughly happy and comfortable," he says. -"It always comes to an end and you have to come back. What a pace we -are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> going, too!" he adds, almost in a tone of complaint.</p> - -<p>"The wind is with us," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"I should like to stay at Portmaris and buy a boat," he says, after a -moment or two. "It would be very jolly."</p> - -<p>Leslie smiles.</p> - -<p>"It is not always fine even at Portmaris," she says. "Sometimes the -waves are mountain high, and the sea runs up over the quay as if it -meant to wash the village away."</p> - -<p>"Well, I shouldn't mind that," he remarks. "I wonder why one lives in -London? One is always grunting at and slanging it, and yet one hangs on -there." He sighs inaudibly as he thinks of what it must be to-night, -with its feverish crowd, its glaring lights, its yelling cabmen and -struggling horses; thinks of the folly, and, alas! the wickedness, -and glances at the lovely, peaceful face above him with a great -yearning—and regret.</p> - -<p>"I like London," says Leslie. "But then I go there so seldom, that it -is a holiday place to me."</p> - -<p>"I know," he responds. "Yes, I can understand that. And I like -Portmaris because it is a holiday place to me, I suppose."</p> - -<p>Leslie smiles.</p> - -<p>"I hope you will not catch cold and be all the worse for this holiday," -she says.</p> - -<p>He laughs.</p> - -<p>"There is no fear of that. I never felt better in my life."</p> - -<p>"You must sit firm now," she warns him. "I am going to drive the boat -on to the sand."</p> - -<p>"Here already!" he remarks, as the keel of the boat touches bottom, and -the sails run down with a musical thud; and he steps over the side, and -so suddenly that the boat lurches over after him.</p> - -<p>He puts out his strong arm to stay her from falling, while old William -curses the "land lubber" in accents low but deep.</p> - -<p>"I'm about as awkward in a small boat as a hippopotamus," he says, -remorsefully. "Will you let me help you ashore?"</p> - -<p>He means "carry you," and he holds out his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> arms, but Leslie shrinks -back ever so slightly, and old William comes to the side of the boat -and picks her up as a matter of course.</p> - -<p>Yorke slips a sovereign into the old man's horny palm, and William, who -is not dumb as well as deaf, would probably open his lips now, but for -astonishment and amazed delight. He does, however, grin.</p> - -<p>As the two walk up the beach Yorke looks behind him at the moonlit sea -and the boats, and shakes his head.</p> - -<p>"It was a shame to come in," he says, "but never mind, perhaps——." He -stops, not daring to finish the sentence, but he feels as if he would -cheerfully give half the amount of the check in his pocket for such -another sail in the same company.</p> - -<p>The quay is empty, the street silent, but as they go up it they see the -crippled "Mr. Temple" leaning against the door of Marine Villa.</p> - -<p>His keen eyes rest upon them both good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>"Where have you been?" he asks.</p> - -<p>"Where you ought to have been, Dolph," replies Yorke. "On the water. -You can't imagine what it is like."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, I can," says the duke. "But I am—too old for moonlight -sails. I am a day-bird. Have you enjoyed it, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>Leslie smiles for answer.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Dolph," says Yorke, with affected carelessness. "What do -you say to driving out to a place called St. Martin to-morrow? I'm -going to try and persuade Miss Lisle and her father to show us the way."</p> - -<p>The duke looks at her.</p> - -<p>"I shall be very glad," he says. "Will you come, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>"If my father——," begins Leslie, and the duke interrupts her.</p> - -<p>"We ought to send a formal invitation," he says, with a smile. "Will -you give Mr. Lisle our compliments, Miss Lisle, and tell him how much -the Duke of Rothbury and Mr. Temple will be indebted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> to him if you and -he will accompany them on a drive to-morrow."</p> - -<p>Leslie looks from one to the other for a moment as if she did not -understand. The Duke of Rothbury! Can he be jesting?</p> - -<p>The duke struggles with a smile as he sees her astonishment, then he -says, casually:</p> - -<p>"I hope you found the duke a good sailor, Miss Lisle."</p> - -<p>Leslie glances at Yorke, who stands staring at his fishermen's boots, -with a moody and not well pleased expression on his face.</p> - -<p>"I nearly upset the boat," he says, as if to account for his change of -countenance.</p> - -<p>"It did not matter," she says. "We were on the sands. Yes, I will tell -my father, and—thank you very much."</p> - -<p>If the duke expected her to be overwhelmed by the announcement of the -title he is doomed to disappointment. The first sensation of surprise -over, Leslie is as calm and self-possessed as before.</p> - -<p>"Good-night," she says, in her sweet, low voice, and a moment afterward -the door of Sea View is closed upon her.</p> - -<p>The duke looked at his cousin's downcast face with a whimsical smile.</p> - -<p>"How well she took it!" he said. "A London girl of the most -accomplished type could not have concealed her flutters with greater -ease."</p> - -<p>"She had nothing to conceal," said Yorke, with averted eyes. "It didn't -matter to her that—that you called me a duke. Why should it?"</p> - -<p>"Why should it! My dear Yorke, you have grown simple during your -moonlight sail. Oh, she was confused and flustered, believe me; but all -her sex are actresses from the cradle. Give me your hand, and let us go -in."</p> - -<p>Yorke helped him up the stairs and into his chair, then stood gazing -moodily out of the window.</p> - -<p>"Your outing seems to have made you melancholy, Yorke," said the duke. -"And yet you looked as if you enjoyed it just now."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> - -<p>"So I did, but——Dolph, I wish to Heaven you hadn't told her that -infer—that nonsense!"</p> - -<p>The duke leaned back, and looked at him with real or simulated surprise.</p> - -<p>"Why not?" he asked. "Have you forgotten our bargain, agreement?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I had forgotten it," replied Yorke, grimly.</p> - -<p>"So soon! Why are you so put out? What does it matter? You are going -to-morrow——."</p> - -<p>"You forget the drive—the appointment; but the best thing I can do is -to go, as you say," said Yorke. "You can make some excuse——."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! If you care for this outing, stay and go. It will only -mean one more day, and London will not fall to pieces because of your -absence for twenty-four hours."</p> - -<p>"It is not that——."</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it, then? Are you thinking of this girl?"</p> - -<p>Yorke flushed, and turned to the window again.</p> - -<p>"What does it matter?" went on the duke. "She is a nice girl, but, -my dear Yorke," and his voice grew grave, "even if we had not made -this little arrangement about the title, she would be nothing more to -you than just a pleasant young lady whom you chanced to meet at an -outlandish place on the West Coast."</p> - -<p>Yorke thrust his hands deep into his pockets—or rather young -Whiting's—and the flush on his face grew deeper!</p> - -<p>"I know that!" he said, as grimly as before.</p> - -<p>"Very well, then! I repeat—what does it matter? If you are annoyed -because, in accordance with an arrangement, I introduced you as the -duke, why on earth did you consent? It is too late now! Even if I -hadn't told her, Grey, or the woman of the house here, or some one else -would have done so to-morrow morning——."</p> - -<p>"It is too late, I suppose!" broke in Yorke, moodily.</p> - -<p>"Quite too late," retorts the duke, decisively. "To tell the truth now -would create a sensation and fuss which would be unendurable." He put -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> hand to his head as he spoke, and moaned faintly as if in pain. -"Give me that small vial off the table, will you, please?" he said.</p> - -<p>One of his periodical attacks of nervous neuralgia was coming on; and -at such times he was wont to grow irritable.</p> - -<p>Yorke poured out some of the medicine, and gave it to him.</p> - -<p>"Thanks. Yes, it would make a hideous fuss. We should have it in the -papers headed, 'A Ducal Hoax,' or something of that kind. But I don't -want to force you into anything against your will. I can leave here the -first thing to-morrow; I certainly should go if you departed from our -arrangement. I came down here for rest and quiet, and I should get none -if it were known who I am. Yes, we'd better go to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"No, no," said Yorke. "After all, as you say, it does not matter. -Besides—besides, I shouldn't care to deprive her of the little bit of -pleasure I'd planned for her; I fancy she doesn't get too much of it."</p> - -<p>"I dare say not. Very well, then, you'll stay till after to-morrow? For -goodness sake try and look a little less funereal. You had no objection -to assuming the role till you met this girl. What difference does she -make? You think she will make love to you, eh? I should have thought -from what I know of you, Yorke, that you would have no very great -objection to that."</p> - -<p>Yorke swung round almost angrily.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Dolph," he said, grimly. "You are altogether mistaken about -her. I tell you that she does not care, and will not care, whether I or -you are the duke; she is not that sort of girl at all."</p> - -<p>The duke was in a paroxysm of pain, intense enough to turn a saint -cynical; he sneered:</p> - -<p>"I know them all, root and branch," he said, his thin voice rendered -shrill and cutting by his agony. "I tell you that she will make love to -you; that, thinking you are the duke, she will try and marry you as she -would try and marry me if she knew the truth."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No!" said Yorke, shortly, almost fiercely. "I say that she would not -care."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have learned her nature very quickly," retorted the duke, -with another sneer.</p> - -<p>Yorke colored and turned away.</p> - -<p>"I tell you that she will turn out like the rest. You deny it, doubt -it; very well. Play the part you have assumed, and if I am wrong I will -admit I have done her an injustice."</p> - -<p>"You do her a cruel injustice!" said Yorke, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Very well, then!" shouted the duke. "Try her, try her. And then -own that I was right. Ah, you're afraid. You know, in your heart, -that she would not stand the test! Your innocent, high-minded girl -would prove like the rest! Come, you are beaten! Better spare her the -disappointment of setting her cap at a false duke; better go to-morrow, -my dear Yorke!"</p> - -<p>Yorke swung round, his face pale, an angry light in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"No, I'll stay!" he said.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<h3>YORKE AUCHESTER AS A STRATEGIST.</h3> - - -<p>When Leslie wakes next morning she wonders what it is that sends a -thrill of happiness through her; then, as with dazed eyes she looks -through the sunny window, she remembers the proposed expedition to St. -Martin; but she remembers also that the companion of last evening is a -duke, and her spirits droop suddenly.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to persuade her father to join in the mildest of -excursions; it will be very difficult, indeed, to induce him to accept -an invitation to drive with a duke. Some women would have experienced -an added joy at the thought that they had been honored with civility -from a person of such high rank; but the fact rather lessens Leslie's -pleasure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke did her justice; she is not elated nor awed by the ducal title.</p> - -<p>When she comes down to breakfast she finds her father posing in front -of his picture, his thin hands clasped behind his back, his head bent; -and as she kisses him he sighs rather querulously.</p> - -<p>"Is anything the matter, dear?" she asks.</p> - -<p>"I've got a headache," he replies. "I—I do not feel up to work, and I -am so anxious to get on. How do you think it looks?"</p> - -<p>Leslie draws him away from the easel to the table, and forces him -gently into his chair.</p> - -<p>"We will not look at it this morning, at any rate until we have had -breakfast, dear," she says. "It is wonderful how much better and -brighter this world and everything in it looks after a cup of coffee. -But, papa, you must not work to-day, you must take a rest——."</p> - -<p>"A rest!" he begins, impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Yes; you know how often you say that working against the grain is time -and energy wasted. And there is another reason, dear," she goes on, -brightly. "We have an invitation for to-day!"</p> - -<p>"A what?" he asks, querulously.</p> - -<p>"An invitation, dear. We have been asked to drive to St. Martin. Last -night," a faint blush rises to her face, "I ran down to the beach -to—to find something I had lost, and I saw Mr. Temple's friend, and -we went for a sail with old William; and afterward I saw Mr. Temple -outside Marine Villa, and they have been kind enough to ask us to go -with them to St. Martin. It was the duke who asked us," she adds, -candidly; "but Mr. Temple was just as kind and pressing. I hope you -will go, dear."</p> - -<p>He puts the thin, straggling hair from his forehead with a nervous -gesture.</p> - -<p>"What are you talking about, Leslie? what duke?"</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs softly.</p> - -<p>"It appears that the young man who went in for Dick yesterday, Mr. -Temple's friend, is a duke, the Duke of Rothbury," she replies.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>Like herself, he is neither elated nor awed, but he lisps a distinct -refusal of the invitation.</p> - -<p>"The Duke of Rothbury?" he says. "I—I think I've heard the title -somewhere. Why do they ask us to go with them? I don't want to go; and -I suppose you don't care for it. They are strangers, perfect strangers -to us."</p> - -<p>"He has already proved himself a very kind friend," says Leslie, gently.</p> - -<p>He flushes.</p> - -<p>"You mean in buying the picture? Yes, yes. But you know how I dislike -strangers, and—and—excursions of this kind. And if you don't want to -go very much I'd rather not. Besides, I don't particularly care about -making the acquaintance of a duke; I am an artist, a professional man, -and I do not believe in associating with persons so far above me in -rank. No, we had better decline. I dare say my head will be all right -presently, and I shall be able to work, and you can come with me and -mix the colors, and so on."</p> - -<p>"Very well, dear," she says, struggling to suppress a sigh. "You shall -do just as you like. I should have liked to have gone, and the drive -would have done you good."</p> - -<p>"I am quite well, and I hate long drives," he responds, emphatically, -"especially in the company of dukes. What is he doing down here?" he -asks, testily. "Did you say you went for a sail with him last evening?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," says Leslie, with a sigh that will not be suppressed as she -thinks of the moonlit sea, and the pleasant companion who unfortunately -has turned out to be a duke. "Yes, and he was very kind and nice, and -not a bit like so grand a personage," she adds, with a smile. "He -looked exactly like a—fisherman last night, and talked like a young -man fresh from school or college. He is not my idea of a duke at all; -I fancy I must have thought that dukes talked in blank verse, and -habitually wore their coronets and robes."</p> - -<p>He waves the subject aside with nervous impatience.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't know anything about them, and I don't want to," he says, -getting up and fidgeting round the picture. "I've got this sky too -deep, I think, and——." He continues in an inaudible mutter.</p> - -<p>Leslie knows that it is useless to say any more, and is silent, and -when her breakfast things are cleared away she gets out her plain -little desk to write a refusal.</p> - -<p>But at the outset she finds herself in a difficulty. "Mr. and Miss -Lisle regret," etc., sounds too formal after that eminently informal -sail last night, and yet she does not know how to begin her note in the -first person. Should she address him as "Dear duke," or "Your grace," -or "My lord," or how?</p> - -<p>"Did you ever write to a duke, papa?" she asks at last, playing a -tattoo with the pen-holder upon her white, even teeth.</p> - -<p>"Never, thank Heaven," he says, absently.</p> - -<p>"Then you cannot help me?" she says, with a sigh, and ultimately she -puts the note in the formal method.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle presents her compliments to the Duke of Rothbury, and -regrets that she and Mr. Lisle are unable to accept his kind invitation -for to-day."</p> - -<p>"It looks dreadfully stilted and ungrateful," she says to herself; "but -it will certainly remove any risk of further acquaintance, and papa -will not be worried into knowing such a great personage."</p> - -<p>She sends the note over by Mrs. Merrick's small servant, and in five -minutes that diminutive maid comes back open-eyed and mouthed with awe -and importance.</p> - -<p>"If you please, miss, I gave the note to the gentleman what wheels the -other gentleman's chair, and he says the duke has gone to Northcliffe, -but he'll give him the note when he comes back."</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs rather ruefully.</p> - -<p>"We need not have worried about the drive to St. Martin, papa," she -says. "The duke has forgotten all about it."</p> - -<p>But the artist is painting away vigorously, and apparently does not -hear her, and with a feeling of disappointment which it is useless to -struggle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> against, she gets out some work and seats herself at the open -window.</p> - -<p>She has proved more reliable than the usual run of weather prophets, -and the day is all she prognosticated. The street is bathed in -sunlight, the sea is sparkling as if it had been sprinkled with -amethysts; there is a soft breeze laden with the perfume of the early -summer flowers in the cottage gardens; a thrush perched on a tree close -by is singing with all its might and main. It would have been very -pleasant, that proposed drive to St. Martin.</p> - -<p>The morning passes slowly onward; the artist, too absorbed by his work -to notice the sunlight, or the sea, or the birds, is still painting -when, with the striking of the midday hour there mingles the click -clack of horses' hoofs on the stony street, and Leslie looking up -with a start—for she has been thinking of all she has lost—sees a -wagonette and a pair of stylish bays draw up to the door.</p> - -<p>On the box is Yorke, no longer in the fisherman's jersey, but clad in -Harris tweed, his handsome face bright and cheerful, his whole "get up" -and manner suggesting pleasure and a holiday.</p> - -<p>After quieting the spirited horses with words and a touch of the whip, -he looks down from his high perch, and seeing the startled eyes looking -up at him, raises his hat and smiles.</p> - -<p>"Are you ready?" he inquires, just as he inquired last night.</p> - -<p>Leslie shakes her head, and tries to smile, but the effort is a -failure, and putting down her work, she comes to the open door.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am so sorry," she says. "Did you not get my note?"</p> - -<p>"What note?" he asks. "Stand still, will you! No, I haven't seen any -note. What was it about?"</p> - -<p>"We cannot come," she says, with a look at the horses which is more -wistful even than she knows.</p> - -<p>His face clouds instantly.</p> - -<p>"Not come! Oh, I say! Has anything happened? Why not? It's the -loveliest day——."</p> - -<p>"Yes, isn't it?" she assents, shading her eyes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> looking round. "But -my father is not well. He has a headache, and——."</p> - -<p>"Why, that's all the more reason he should go!" he responds, promptly. -"The drive would set him straight!" he urges, remonstratively. "Look -here, I'll go and speak to him."</p> - -<p>"And while you do the horses will run away straight into the sea," she -says, with a smile.</p> - -<p>"No, they won't. If you don't mind just standing by this one, the near -one. If he moves growl at him like this, 'Stand still!' He'll stop -directly."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll try," she says, laughing in spite of herself; and he goes -straight into the room.</p> - -<p>Lisle looks up at him with impatient surprise and half-dazed; it is as -if the young fellow had brought the brilliant sunlight in with him.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Lisle, you don't mean to say you aren't coming?" says Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Coming? Where?" He has forgotten all about the invitation.</p> - -<p>"Why, to St. somewhere or other," says Yorke. "It never entered my head -that you'd refuse. Why should you? If you don't care about it yourself, -you ought to go for Miss Leslie's sake. She wants a change, an outing; -any one can see that. Perhaps you haven't noticed how pale she looks -this morning."</p> - -<p>Oh, Yorke!</p> - -<p>"Leslie is all right," says Lisle, irritably; "she is always strong and -well. I'm sorry we cannot accompany you, but I beg your pardon, you are -standing in my light. Thank you."</p> - -<p>Yorke looks from the pale, livid face of the dreamer to the impossible -picture on the easel, and bites his lips. He is sorely tempted to catch -up the artist, easel and all, and bundle them into the carriage. Then a -far better and more feasible idea strikes him.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry you can't go, Mr. Lisle," he says as indifferently as he -can, "because I thought of asking you to make a rough sketch of the -castle for me. Want it for my own room, you know. I'm awfully mad on -water colors."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle looks up with awakened interest.</p> - -<p>"There is a good sketch to be got out of the west end, the turret," he -murmurs, absently.</p> - -<p>"That's just what I wanted," Yorke strikes in promptly. "That's the bit -I was going to ask you to paint. Come along, sir; allow me," and he -catches up the portable easel and paint box and carries them out before -Lisle can realize what is being done.</p> - -<p>"All right!" Yorke cries to the astonished Leslie: "he is coming. Run -in and put your things on, and don't give him time to think."</p> - -<p>"But," falters Leslie, a smile beginning to break on the lovely face.</p> - -<p>"But nothing!" he cuts in. "Please be quick, or he'll have time to -change his mind."</p> - -<p>Leslie runs in, laughing, and Yorke, stowing the easel under the seat, -shouts out for Grey.</p> - -<p>"Tell the—Mr. Temple we're ready," he says quickly. "Got that hamper?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, your grace," says Grey.</p> - -<p>"Confound——all right then. Get your master down as soon as possible; -and Grey, bring me out a glass of ale. Heigh-ho, that was a narrow -squeak," and he draws a long breath. "What, let him deprive her of her -outing? Not if I had to take the house as well!"</p> - -<p>Presently the duke and Grey come out, and Grey helps him into his -seat. They have not long to wait for the other two, and Yorke looks -approvingly at the slim, graceful figure, which plainly dressed though -it may be, is unmistakably that of a lady.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle, scarcely knowing what they are doing with him, is bundled -in; and Yorke, as a matter of course, stands by to assist Leslie to the -seat on the box beside him.</p> - -<p>"But would not some one else like to sit there?" she says, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>"I am sure Mr. Lisle would be more comfortable inside," he says. "And -we mustn't keep the horses waiting longer than we can help, please," he -says,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> and he puts his hand under her elbow and hoists her up carefully.</p> - -<p>Then he springs into his place, touches the horses with the whip, and -away they go.</p> - -<p>Leslie draws a long breath. It is not until they have got to the open -country that she can believe that they have actually started.</p> - -<p>"It was a near thing," he says, as if he were reading her thoughts.</p> - -<p>"Yes," and she smiles; "I don't know how you managed it."</p> - -<p>He laughs light-heartedly.</p> - -<p>"It was done by force of arms. I meant you—I mean Mr. Lisle—to go, -and when I mean a thing I'm hard to obstruct."</p> - -<p>"This is rather a grand turn-out, Yorke," remarks the duke. "May one -ask where and how you got it? It doesn't look like a hired affair."</p> - -<p>"It isn't," he replies. "When I got to Northcliffe I ran against little -Vinson, who appears to be staying there. The wagon was standing outside -and he asked me if I would like to go for a drive. I said I should if -he'd let me have the horses and not ask to go with me. He stared for a -minute, then he took off his gloves, and—here you are, you know."</p> - -<p>"Wasn't that rather cool?" asks the duke.</p> - -<p>Yorke laughs.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's a good-natured little chap, and didn't seem to mind. Said -he'd go for a sail instead."</p> - -<p>"He must be very good-natured," said Leslie, smiling in spite of -herself.</p> - -<p>"So he ought to be. He's as rich as Crœsus, and hasn't a care in the -world. His father, Lord Eastford, you know, bought up a lot of nursery -gardens just outside what was then London, and they've turned out a -gold mine. The part got fashionable, you know."</p> - -<p>The mention of a lord reminds Leslie—she had forgotten it until -now—that the young man beside her is a duke, and she wonders whether -she ought to have addressed him as "your grace."</p> - -<p>"Now, Miss Lisle," he says, "you've got to play<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> the part of guide, you -know. Is it straight on, or how?"</p> - -<p>"Straight on, your grace," she says, thinking she will try how it -sounds. It doesn't sound very well in her own ears, nor, apparently, in -his, for he stops in the act of flicking a fly off the horse's harness -and looks at her; but he does not make any remark.</p> - -<p>The roads are good, the day heavenly, and as they bowl along Leslie -leans back, wrapped in a supreme content. Her father's voice -discoursing of "art" floats now and again toward her, the thud, thud of -the horses' hoofs makes pleasant music; and if she should tire of the -pretty scenery, there is the handsome face of a good-tempered young man -beside her to look at for a change.</p> - -<p>Leslie does not know very much about driving; but she knows that he -is driving well, that the horses, fresh and high-mettled as they are, -are thoroughly under his control; and, half-unconsciously, she finds -herself admiring the way in which he handles the whip and the reins.</p> - -<p>"May one ask what you are thinking of, Miss Leslie?" he says, glancing -at her, after a long silence.</p> - -<p>"I was wondering which I liked best—sailing or driving," she replies.</p> - -<p>"But you haven't driven yet," he says. "Would you like to drive?"</p> - -<p>Leslie shakes her head.</p> - -<p>"I should drive them into a ditch, or they would run away with me," she -says, smiling.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it," he retorts; "and I know you are not afraid, because -you said last night that you never were afraid."</p> - -<p>"Did I say that?" she says. "What wonderful things one says in the -moonlight!"</p> - -<p>"See here," he says. "I'll show you how to hold the reins."</p> - -<p>"If I am not afraid, they will be, if they think you are going to -transfer these wild animals to my guidance," and she glances over her -shoulder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, they're all right," he says, carelessly. "Give me your hand. No, -the left one. That's it."</p> - -<p>He takes it and opens the slim fingers, and inserts the reins in their -proper places; and as he does so notices, if he did not notice last -night, how beautifully shaped and refined the small hand is.</p> - -<p>"That's right. Now take the whip in your right hand, and—how do you -feel?"</p> - -<p>"As if I were chained to two romping lions, and they were dragging me -off the box."</p> - -<p>He laughs, the frank, free laugh which Leslie thinks the pleasantest -she ever heard.</p> - -<p>"You'll make a splendid whip!" he says, encouragingly. "Hold 'em tight, -and don't be afraid of them. Directly you begin to think they are -getting too many for you, set your teeth hard, hold 'em like a vise, -and give 'em each a flick. So! See? They know you're master then."</p> - -<p>The ivory white of Leslie's face is delicately tinted with rose, -her eyes are shining brightly, her heart beating to the old tune, -"Happiness."</p> - -<p>"There is a cart coming, and there isn't room. Oh, dear!" and she -begins to get flurried.</p> - -<p>"Plenty of room," he says, coolly. "You should shout to the man! But -I'll do that for you," and he wakes the sleeping wagoner with a shout -that causes the man to spring up and drag his horses aside as if -Juggernaut were coming down upon him. "See? That's the way! Oh, you'll -do splendidly, and I shall be quite proud of you. I'm fond of driving. -Do you know, I've often thought if the worst came to the worst that I'd -take to a hansom cab."</p> - -<p>Leslie stares at him.</p> - -<p>"A duke driving a hansom cab would be rather a novelty, wouldn't it?" -she says, with a smile.</p> - -<p>To her surprise, his face flushes, and he turns his head away. What has -she said? At this moment, fortunately for Yorke's embarrassment, the -duke remarks with intentional distinctness:</p> - -<p>"Are you insured against accidents, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>Leslie holds out the reins.</p> - -<p>"You see," she says, "they are getting frightened; and not without -cause."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<p>But he will not take the reins from her.</p> - -<p>"I know you are enjoying it," he says, just as a schoolboy would speak. -"You're all right; I'll help you if you come to a fix. Give that off -one a cut, he is letting the other do all the work."</p> - -<p>"Which is the off one?" she asks, innocently.</p> - -<p>He points to it.</p> - -<p>"That's the one. So called because you don't let him off."</p> - -<p>It is a feeble joke, but Leslie rewards it with a laugh far and away -beyond its merits, and he laughs in harmony.</p> - -<p>"You seem to be enjoying yourselves up there," says the duke. "Pray -hand any joke down."</p> - -<p>"It is Miss Leslie making puns," responds Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Now you are getting tired," he says, after a mile or two.</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" she asks, curiously.</p> - -<p>"Because I can see your hands trembling," he replies. "Give me the -reins now, and if you are a good girl you shall drive all the way home."</p> - -<p>It is a little thing that he should have such regard for her comfort, -but it does not pass unnoticed by Leslie, as she resigns the reins with -a "Thank you, your grace."</p> - -<p>His face clouds again, however, and he bestows an altogether -unnecessary cut on the horses, who plunge forward.</p> - -<p>"There is St. Martin, and there is the castle," she says, presently. -"Is it not pretty?"</p> - -<p>"Very," he assents, but he looks round inquiringly. "I'm looking for -some place in which to put the cattle up," he explains. "Horses don't -care much for ruins, unless there are hay and oats."</p> - -<p>"There is a small inn at the foot of the castle," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"That's all right then," he rejoins, cheerfully. "Hurry up now, my -beauties, and let's show them what Vinson's nags can do."</p> - -<p>They dash up the road to the inn at a clinking pace, and pull up in -masterly style.</p> - -<p>The landlord and a stable boy come running out and Yorke flings them -the reins. Then he helps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> Leslie down, and goes round to the back to -assist the duke.</p> - -<p>"I suppose we shall be able to get some lunch here Yorke?" he says, as -he leans on his sticks.</p> - -<p>"Lunch indoors on a day like this? Not much!" retorts Yorke, -scornfully. "Out with that hamper, Grey, and get this yokel to help you -carry it to the tower. You can walk as far as that, Dolph? Miss Lisle -will show you the way."</p> - -<p>At the sound of her name Leslie turns from the rustic window into which -she had been mechanically looking.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. There has been another party here this morning," she adds.</p> - -<p>"How do you know that?" asks Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Because I can see the remains of their luncheon on the table," she -says, laughing.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," says the landlord. "Party of three, sir; two gentlemen and -a lady."</p> - -<p>"Thank goodness they have gone!" says Yorke. "You go on. I'll go and -see that the horses are rubbed down and fed; I owe that to Vinson, -anyhow."</p> - -<p>He is not long in following them, but by the time he has reached the -tower, Grey has unpacked the basket, and laid out a tempting lunch. -There is a fowl, a ham, an eatable-looking fruit tart, cream, some -jelly, the crispiest of loaves, and firmest of butter, and a couple of -bottles with golden tops.</p> - -<p>"Where did you get this gorgeous spread, Yorke?" inquires the duke.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I was out foraging early this morning," he says, carelessly. "Now, -Miss Leslie, you are the presiding genius. Of course the salt has been -forgotten; it always is."</p> - -<p>"No, it has not!" says Leslie, holding it up triumphantly. "Nothing has -been forgotten. You have brought everything."</p> - -<p>"Including an appetite," he says, brightly, and as he opens a bottle of -champagne, he sings:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"The foaming wine of Southern France."<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>"Yes, I wonder how many persons who read that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> in their Tennyson -realize that it is champagne?" says the duke, brightly.</p> - -<p>They seat themselves—cushions have been brought from the wagon for -Leslie and the duke—and the feast begins.</p> - -<p>"Some chicken, Miss Leslie? This is going to be a failure as a picnic; -it isn't going to rain," says Yorke.</p> - -<p>"And I rather miss the cow which usually appears on the scene and -scampers over the pie," says the duke. "I suppose your grace couldn't -manage a cow on a tower."</p> - -<p>Yorke looks at him, half angrily.</p> - -<p>"Oh, cut that!" he mutters, just loud enough to reach the duke.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle looks round with his glass in his hand.</p> - -<p>"I must find a spot for my sketch," he says.</p> - -<p>"All right, presently," says Yorke. "Pleasure first always, as the man -said when he killed the tax collector. Miss Lisle have you sworn never -to drink more than one glass of champagne?"</p> - -<p>But Leslie shakes her head, and declines the offered bottle, and her -appetite is soon appeased.</p> - -<p>"Shall we leave these gourmands, and find a particularly picturesque -study for your father, Miss Lisle?" suggests Yorke; "that is if he is -bent on sketch——."</p> - -<p>He stops suddenly, for a woman's laugh has risen from the green slope -beneath them. It is not an unmusical laugh, but it is unpleasantly loud -and bold, and the others start slightly.</p> - -<p>"That is the other party," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"It is to be hoped that they are not coming up here. If they should, -you will have an opportunity of seeing how I look when I scowl, Miss -Lisle," he says.</p> - -<p>Leslie gets up and goes to the battlements.</p> - -<p>"No; they are going round the other side," she says.</p> - -<p>"Heaven be thanked!"</p> - -<p>"Too soon!" she rejoins, with a laugh; "they are coming back. What a -handsome girl!"</p> - -<p>Standing talking and laughing beneath her are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> two men and a girl. The -latter is handsome, as Leslie says, but there is something in the face -which, like the laugh, jars upon one. She is dark, of a complexion -that is almost Spanish, has dark eyes that sparkle and glitter in the -sunlight, and raven hair; and if the face is not perfect in its beauty, -her figure nearly approaches the acme of grace. It is lithe, slim, -mobile; but it is clad too fashionably, and there is a little too much -color about it.</p> - -<p>She stands laughing loudly, unconscious of the silent spectator above -her, for a moment or two; then, perhaps made aware by that mysterious -sense which all of us have experienced, that she is being looked at she -looks up, and the two girls' eyes meet. She turns to say something to -her companions, and at that moment Yorke joins Leslie.</p> - -<p>He looks down at the group below.</p> - -<p>"That's the party, evidently," he begins. Then he stops suddenly; -something like an oath starts from his lips, and he puts his hand none -too gently on Leslie's arm.</p> - -<p>"Come away," he says, sharply, and yet with a touch of hoarseness, or -can it be fear, in his voice. "Come away, Miss Lisle!"</p> - -<p>And Leslie, as she draws back in instant obedience, sees that his face -has become white to the lips.</p> - -<p>At the same moment, a voice—it must be that of the girl beneath, -floats up to them, a lively "rollicking" voice, singing this refined -and charming ditty:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Yes, after dark is the time to lark,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Although we sleep all day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To pass the wine, and don't repine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For we're up to the time of day, dear boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">We're up to the time of day!"<br /></span> -</div></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<h3>THE PICNIC.</h3> - - -<p>As the words of the music-hall song rise on the clear air, Leslie turns -away. No respectable woman could have sung such a song, and she is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -surprised that her companion, and host, has bidden her "come away."</p> - -<p>She steps down from the battlement in silence, and as she does so -glances at him. His face is no longer pale, but there is a cloud -upon it, which he is evidently trying to dispel. She thinks, not -unreasonably, that it is caused by annoyance that she should have heard -the song, and she is grateful to him.</p> - -<p>The cloud vanishes, and his face resumes something of its usual frank -light-heartedness, but not quite all.</p> - -<p>"We'll give those folks time to get clear away before we begin our -exploration, Miss Lisle," he says, casually, but with the faintest tone -of uneasiness in his voice. "That is the worst of these show places, -one is never sure of one's company. 'Arriet and 'Arry are everywhere, -nowadays."</p> - -<p>"Why should they not be?" says Leslie, with a smile. "The world is not -entirely made for nice people."</p> - -<p>"No, I suppose not," he assents; "and I suppose you are going to say -that they had better be here than in some other places, and that it -might do 'em good; that's the sort of thing that's talked now. I'm not -much of a philanthropist, but that's the kind of thing that good people -always say."</p> - -<p>"They seemed very happy," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Who?" he asks, almost sharply. "Oh, those people? Yes; Mr. Lisle ought -to get a good sketch somewhere hereabouts," and he leads her back to -the duke and Mr. Lisle.</p> - -<p>The duke looks up. Grey has made a "back" for him with the cushions and -the hampers, and he's smoking in most unwonted contentment.</p> - -<p>"Back already!" he says. "I thought you had gone to prospect?"</p> - -<p>"So we had," responds Yorke, "but we were alarmed by savages from a -neighboring island." He lights a cigar as he speaks. "We are going to -give them time to get away in their canoes, as Robinson Crusoe did, you -know. By the way, Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> Lisle, if you will sit down, I will reconnoiter -and report."</p> - -<p>Leslie sinks down beside her father, and Yorke strolls leisurely to the -steps leading from the tower.</p> - -<p>He pauses there a moment or two, listening, then goes down. At the foot -of the steps on the grassy slope he stops again, and the cloud comes on -his face darker than before.</p> - -<p>"It must be a mistake," he mutters. "It couldn't be she, and yet——."</p> - -<p>He walks on a few paces, and at the foot of the tower comes upon traces -of the "savages"—a champagne bottle, empty, of course, and a newspaper.</p> - -<p>He takes the latter up mechanically, then unfolds it and turns to the -column of theatrical advertisements, and sees the following:</p> - -<p>"Diadem Theater Royal. Notice. In consequence of serious indisposition, -Miss Finetta will not play this evening."</p> - -<p>With an exclamation which is very near an oath, he flings the paper -from him and walks on, and as he goes round the base of the tower he is -almost run into by one of the gentlemen whom Leslie saw with the dark -young lady of the song.</p> - -<p>They both stop short and start, then the new-comer exclaims, with a -laugh:</p> - -<p>"Hello, Auchester! Well, I'm——."</p> - -<p>"Hush! Be quiet!" says Yorke, almost sternly, and with an upward glance.</p> - -<p>"Eh?" says the other, "what's the matter? Who the duse would have -expected to see you here?"</p> - -<p>"I might say the same," retorts Yorke, with about as mirthless a smile -as it is possible to imagine.</p> - -<p>"How did you come here?"</p> - -<p>"Why, by boat," responds the other. "Didn't I tell you so? What have -you done with my nags?"</p> - -<p>"They are all right," says Yorke. "Come this way, will you? Keep close -to the tower, if you don't mind."</p> - -<p>The young fellow follows him, with a half-amused, half-puzzled air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What's it all mean? Why this mystery, my dear boy?" he asks.</p> - -<p>Yorke, having got him out of sight and hearing of the three on the -tower, faces him, and instead of replying to his question, asks another.</p> - -<p>"Was that Finetta with you just now, Vinson?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," says Lord Vinson, at once; "of course it was. Didn't you see -her, know her?"</p> - -<p>Yorke nods curtly.</p> - -<p>"Yes. What is she doing here? How did she come here with you?"</p> - -<p>"The simplest thing in the world," replies Lord Vinson. "After you'd -left me this morning, I was wondering who I should hunt up to come for -a sail, when I saw her coming down the street. You might have knocked -me down with a feather."</p> - -<p>"I dare say. Well?"</p> - -<p>Lord Vinson looks rather aggrieved at being cut so short, but goes on -good-temperedly enough.</p> - -<p>"She spotted me at once, and the first question she asked was, had I -seen you?"</p> - -<p>"Well?" demands Yorke, as curtly as before.</p> - -<p>"Well, I didn't know what to say for the moment, because I thought -perhaps you wouldn't care for her to know."</p> - -<p>A faint expression of relief flits across Yorke's face, but it -disappears at Vinson's next words.</p> - -<p>"She saw me hesitate, and of course knew that I had seen you. 'It's -no use your playing it low down on me, my dear boy,' she said, -laughing—you know her way. 'You couldn't deceive a two-months-old -calf, if you tried. You've seen him, and he's here somewhere.' It was -no use trying to deceive her, as she said, and I had to own up that I -had seen you this morning, and—that you borrowed my rig."</p> - -<p>Yorke bit his lip, and nodded impatiently.</p> - -<p>"She took it very well, she did indeed. She only laughed and said that -she knew you had left town for some fishing; and, being sick of London -herself, she had sent a certificate to say she was down with low or -high, or some kind of fever, I forget which, and had to run down here -for a bit of a holiday<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> with her brother—or her uncle, I don't know -which it is."</p> - -<p>Yorke looks round with ill-concealed anxiety.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's all right," says Lord Vinson; "they've gone on to the inn. I -came back for my stick. There it is. Well, I thought the best thing I -could do was to ask them to come for a sail, and it took her ladyship's -fancy, and here we are, don't you know."</p> - -<p>Yorke stands with downcast, overclouded face, and the young viscount, -after regarding him attentively, says:</p> - -<p>"Look here, Auchester, I know what it is, you don't want to run against -her just now. Got friends up there, eh?" and he nods his head in the -direction of the tower.</p> - -<p>"No, I do not want to see her, and I certainly don't want her to see -me," assents Yorke. "If you can manage to take her away, Vinson!"</p> - -<p>He lays his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, and Vinson, who -is never so delighted as when doing a service for his friend, nods -intelligently.</p> - -<p>"I see. All right, you leave it to me." He pulls out his watch. "I'll -get her away at once; in fact, it's time we started. Don't you be -uneasy."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," says Yorke, and his brow lifts a little. "When does she go -back?"</p> - -<p>"To-night; she plays to-morrow."</p> - -<p>Yorke's brow clears completely, and he smiles.</p> - -<p>"Off with you, then," he says. "I'm awfully obliged to you, Vinson. You -are right; I don't want the—the people I am with to see her."</p> - -<p>Vinson looks up at the tower curiously, and rather wistfully.</p> - -<p>"No, my dear boy, I'm not going to introduce you," says Yorke, with a -smile. "I'm too anxious to be rid of you—and her. See them safe on -board the train to-night, and if anything occurs to prevent them going, -send me a message to-morrow morning. I'll give you the address——." He -stops. "No, never mind. Make them go to-night. Tell her she'll lose her -engagement, anything, but see that she goes."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>Vinson grins.</p> - -<p>"I'll tell her you've gone back to town," he says.</p> - -<p>Yorke colors.</p> - -<p>"Woodman, spare the lie," he says, with forced levity. "No need to tell -her that."</p> - -<p>"No, it wouldn't do, come to think of it. She'd find out I'd sold her -when she'd got back, and then——." He whistled, significantly. "I like -Finetta with her claws in, don't you know. I think you're the only man -that's not afraid of her."</p> - -<p>Yorke smiles again.</p> - -<p>"Well, do what you like," he says. "But go now, there's a good fellow; -and for Heaven's sake, don't let her come this way again. We heard her -singing!"</p> - -<p>Vinson laughs.</p> - -<p>"Yes, if you were within a mile of her you couldn't help doing that," -he says, dryly. "Well, good-by, old chap. Don't trouble about the nags."</p> - -<p>"They are all right," says Yorke. "I'll bring them back safe and -sound——."</p> - -<p>"When the coast's clear," finishes the young fellow; and with a smile -and a nod, he picks up his stick, and goes off.</p> - -<p>Yorke Auchester stands where his friend has left him, and looks out -to sea, with a troubled countenance; stares so long, and so lost in -thought that it would seem as if he had forgotten his own party. It is -not often that the young man has a moody fit, but he has it now, and -very badly.</p> - -<p>But presently there comes down to him the faint sound of Leslie Lisle's -soft, musical laugh—how striking a contrast to that of the young lady -whom he has just got rid of! and he wakes from his unpleasant reverie -and climbs up to the tower.</p> - -<p>The duke is leaning back with an amused and interested smile on his -face, which is turned towards Leslie, and it is evident that he is -happier and more contented than usual.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle has just been giving me a description of the Portmaris -folks. You have missed something, Yorke," he says, with a laugh. "Have -the savages disappeared?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Quite," says Yorke; "and if Miss Lisle and her father would like to -look round, the coast is now clear."</p> - -<p>"You go, papa," says Leslie, with her usual unselfishness; "and I will -stay with Mr. Temple."</p> - -<p>The duke glances at her.</p> - -<p>"You will do nothing of the kind," he says. "I am not going to impose -upon your good nature, Miss Lisle. Besides, I dare say, I shall take -forty winks."</p> - -<p>Leslie hesitates a moment, then she gets up and goes for the easel; but -Yorke is too quick for her.</p> - -<p>"Come along, Mr. Lisle," he says, touching him on the arm, while he -stands looking from the edge of the tower absently, and the three -descend.</p> - -<p>"Now, this strikes me as a good place," says Yorke, setting up the -easel. "Don't know much about it you know, but it seems to me that the -outline and the——."</p> - -<p>"Excellent; yes, very good," assents the artist, eagerly getting out -his drawing paper. "Yes, I can make a picture of this. You need not -wait," he adds. "You will want to talk and——."</p> - -<p>"I see," says Yorke. "Come along, Miss Lisle; we're evidently not -wanted."</p> - -<p>They stroll away side by side, and slowly descend the grassy slope, -which gradually becomes broken by rock, which kindly nature, who has -always an eye to effect, has clothed with ferns and moss and lichen.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I ought to show you the hermit's cell?" says Leslie. -"Everybody sees it."</p> - -<p>"By all means," he assents, but rather absently—the loud laugh of -Finetta, the music-hall song are still echoing hideously in his ears. -"Which hermit?"</p> - -<p>"Didn't you know?" she says, lightly stepping from stone to stone. -"There was a hermit here once ever so long ago. Here is his cell," -and she stops before a cavity in the rocks, a deliciously shady nook, -overhung with honeysuckle and wild clematis which perfume the air.</p> - -<p>Yorke looks in. Somebody since the hermit's time, had been kind enough -to fix a comfortable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> seat in the little cell, from which a delightful -view of the sea and the cliff can be obtained.</p> - -<p>"Let us sit down while you tell me about him," he says.</p> - -<p>Leslie seats herself, and looks out at the greenery at her feet and -wide-stretching blue of sea and sky beyond; and he takes his place -beside her, but looks at her instead of the view. "The proper study of -mankind is—woman."</p> - -<p>"There really was a hermit here ever so long ago," she says, dreamily. -"They talk of him at Portmaris even now. He was a very great man in his -time, but I am afraid not a very good one. It is said that he killed -his best friend in a duel, and, that smitten with remorse for his crime -and his foolish life, he vowed that he would never set eyes on mortal -man again. So he came and lived in this cell, which he dug out with his -own hands, and spent the rest of his life in prayer and meditation. -Every day the village folks, and sometimes the pilgrims who visited his -shrine, placed food on the ledge of the little window; but though they -could hear his voice in prayer or singing hymns, no one ever saw his -face, nor did he ever look out upon those who came to visit him."</p> - -<p>"He must have been fearfully unhappy," says Yorke, in a low voice, for -the soft, subdued tones seem to cast a spell over him.</p> - -<p>"No, they say not; for he was often heard, especially after he had been -living here for some years, to be singing cheerfully; but that was -after he had received his sign."</p> - -<p>"His sign?" he asks.</p> - -<p>"Yes. He prayed that if Heaven forgave him his sins, and accepted his -penitence, it would render the birds tame enough to come at his call."</p> - -<p>"And did they?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. The pilgrims to the shrine often saw a thin hand thrust through -the window with a hedge sparrow or thrush perched upon it, and the -rabbits, there were numbers of them, here, would come when he called, -and let him feed them with the remains of his frugal fare. One day the -village people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> received no answer when they called to him, not even -the <i>Pax Vobiscum</i>, which amply repaid them for their pious charity. -They waited two days, and then they entered the cell, and found him -lying dead on his stone pallet, and a wild dove was resting on his -breast. It flew away as they entered, but it was seen hovering about -the cell for years afterward, and the Portmaris people say that a dove -is always near here, even now."</p> - -<p>If Yorke had read the story of the Hermit of St. Martin in a book—he -didn't read many books, unfortunately—it would not have affected -him at all, but told by this lovely girl, in a voice hushed with -sympathetic awe and reverence, it moves him strangely.</p> - -<p>"It's a pity there are not more hermits," he says, "a pity a man can't -leave the world in which he has made himself such a nuisance, and have -a little time to be quiet and repent."</p> - -<p>"Yes, your grace," assents Leslie.</p> - -<p>He looks at her quickly, and then away to the sea again.</p> - -<p>"I wonder whether you'd be offended if I asked a favor of you, Miss -Lisle."</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she says, lightly. "In the old times the proper reply -was, 'Yea, unto half my kingdom,' but I haven't any kingdom."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it isn't much," he says. "I was only going to ask you if you would -be kind enough not to address me as 'your grace.'"</p> - -<p>Leslie looks at him with her slow smile, and a faint blush.</p> - -<p>"Is it wrong?" she asks, apologetically. "I didn't know. You see, I -have not met many dukes."</p> - -<p>He strikes at the sandy pebbles which form the floor of the good -hermit's cave, with his stick.</p> - -<p>"Oh—oh, it's right enough to call a duke 'your grace,'" he says, -hurriedly, "but I'd rather you didn't call me so."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad it was right," she rejoins, with an air of relief. "I thought -that perhaps I'd committed some awful blunder."</p> - -<p>"No, no," he says. "But don't, please. I have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> decided objection to -it. You see I'm rather a republican than otherwise—everybody is a -republican nowadays, don't you know." Oh, Yorke, Yorke! "There will be -no dukes or any other titles presently."</p> - -<p>"But until that time arrives what should one call you?" asks Leslie, -not unreasonably. "Is 'my lord' right?"</p> - -<p>"It's better," he admits, "but I don't care much about that from -friends, you know. I'm afraid you think it's rather presumptuous of me -to call you a friend."</p> - -<p>"'An enemy' would sound rude and ungrateful after your and Mr. Temple's -kindness," she says, as lightly as before.</p> - -<p>"My name is Yorke—one of 'em, and it's the name I like best. I dare -say that you have noticed that Mr.—Mr. Temple calls me by it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"So it sounds more familiar to me, and—and nicer. I suppose a man has -a right to be called what he likes."</p> - -<p>"I imagine so," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Then that's a bargain," he says, cheerfully, as if the matter were -disposed of. "This place," he goes on, as if anxious to get away from -the subject, "reminds me of Scotland a little bit. You only want a -salmon river. I've spent many a day fishing and shooting in a solitude -as complete as the hermit's. You get scared at last by the stillness -and the silence, and begin to think that all creation has gone to -sleep, and are afraid to move lest you should wake it; and then while -you stand quite still beside the stream, something comes flitting -down the mountain side—something with great antlers and big mournful -eyes, and it steps into the water close beside you, and takes a drink, -looking round watchfully. Then up you jump and give a shout, and away -the stag goes, and all creation's awake again."</p> - -<p>It is Leslie's turn to listen now, and she does so with half-parted -lips.</p> - -<p>"Then at night you go out with a gun, and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> lie down flat amongst -the bracken, and keep your eyes open, and after a while when you are -just feeling tired of it, and thinking what an idiot you are not to -be in bed, or at any rate, beside a cozy fire with a pipe, you hear a -flap, flap in the air, and a couple of heron come sailing between you -and the moon, and you raise your gun carefully and quietly—awfully -sharp chap the heron—and down comes one of 'em, and perhaps, if you -have any luck, the other with the second barrel. Then you load up again -and wait, and after a time, if your luck holds good, a flush of wild -duck come flipperty, flopperty, above your head and you bring one or -two of them down. And all the time the stream ripples and babbles on, -and the soft wind plays through the pines, and——." He stops with a -laugh and that peculiar look which expresses shyness in a man. "I beg -your pardon, I forgot; I mean, I must be boring you to death."</p> - -<p>"No, you were not," says Leslie, quietly, and with a little sigh.</p> - -<p>"I forgot that ladies don't care for sport, except hunting, some of -them. They like to hear about London, and all the gossip there."</p> - -<p>Leslie shakes her head.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I'm very singular, then," she says. "For I would rather -hear about fishing and shooting, if it is all like that you have been -telling me of."</p> - -<p>"But it isn't," he says, with a laugh. "Sometimes the birds don't come, -and the fish won't rise, and instead of catching any you catch a cold. -And then you go back to London, and swear that's it's the best place -after all; but after a little while you get sick of it again, and think -if you could only get on to a Scotch moor, you'd be happy."</p> - -<p>"Man never is, but always to be blest," says Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Yes, because men are such fools that they spoil their lives before -they know where they are," he says. "I once saw a man try to swim -across the Thames, for a wager, with a ten-pound weight round his -neck. He would have been drowned, if they hadn't picked him up pretty -smartly. It's the same in life——." He stops suddenly and laughs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -rather shortly. "We'll get on to a more cheerful topic. There's a hawk, -see?" and he points to a bird circling in the vault of blue.</p> - -<p>"I was wondering what it was," says Leslie. "You must have good eyes. -Do you know all the birds when you see them?"</p> - -<p>"Nearly all, I think," he replies. "Horses, and dogs, and birds, I know -a little about, but I don't know anything else. I think I should have -made a decent gamekeeper or horse breaker; I'm not fit for anything -else. But sometimes I console myself with something I read in the paper -the other day; the fellow said that there were far too many clever -people in the world, and that very soon it would be quite a distinction -not to have painted a picture, or written a book, or done something in -the scientific way. I'm on the safe road to distinction, Miss Lisle. -There isn't a bigger dunce in Portmaris than I am."</p> - -<p>So they talk. It is not much. It is neither witty nor wise; it is -just the pleasant, aimless chatter of two young people who are almost -strangers; and yet so absorbed and interested are they, that they do -not note how time flies, that the sun is sinking in the west, and that -the shadows are stealing over hill and dale.</p> - -<p>Leslie is perfectly at her ease. She has almost forgotten, quite -forgotten for the time, indeed, that the young man sitting beside her -with his arms folded behind his head, and talking of his fishing and -his shooting, and of the strange beasts and birds and fishes he has -seen, killed, or captured, is a duke; and he, Yorke, always ready to be -happy, to meet the sweet goddess Happiness, half-way, is filled with a -strange feeling of peace, that yet is not peace, which at times almost -startles him.</p> - -<p>In all his life he has not met with a girl like this; so simple, yet so -sweetly wise; so good, and yet so bright and winsome. He is beginning -to know some of the multitudinous expressions of the beautiful face, to -lay traps for the slow heart-winning smile, to set snares for drawing -the clear, darkly gray eyes toward his, that he may look into their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -depths. Her voice makes sweet melody in his ears, and stirs his heart -with a vague thrill which will trouble him presently, trouble him very -much. It seems to him one moment that he has known her for years, the -next that she has just lighted from the clouds, or risen from the -depths of the blue sea, and that he shall never know her or get any -nearer to her.</p> - -<p>And under the influence of these sensations, which summed up as a -whole, are as a potent spell, he forgets the dark girl whom he has -persuaded Vinson to take away out of sight, forgets the compact that he -has made with the duke, forgets that he is sailing under false colors -and is deceiving the girl beside him—forgets, in short, everything, -save that she is beside him, and that he has the delight of looking at, -and talking to, and, ah, best of all, of listening to her.</p> - -<p>He would be content to sit there—so that she were by his side—till -the end of the world, but a shadow falling across the entrance to the -hut rouses Leslie to a sense of the flight of the common enemy.</p> - -<p>"Why, it must be late," she says, with the air of one making a great -discovery.</p> - -<p>"Is it?" he says. "Must we really go? It is very jolly here—it is as -jolly as it was last night on the water."</p> - -<p>But he gets up and follows her, and they make their way back. As they -emerge on the hill-side, they find that the wind has dropped, and is -sighing across the downs rather plaintively; and Yorke, looking up, -sees a cloud, which, though it is not much bigger than a man's hand, is -full of warning.</p> - -<p>"Did you happen to bring an umbrella with you?" he asks, with affected -carelessness.</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs.</p> - -<p>"Not even a sunshade. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," he says, inwardly calling himself opprobrious names for not -providing the Englishman's traveling companion.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it is going to rain?" she asks. "Oh, no, it isn't -possible."</p> - -<p>"Everything is possible in this charming climate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> of ours," he says. -"Well, Mr. Lisle, how are you getting on?" he asks, as they go up to -the artist, still hard at work.</p> - -<p>He looks up with a start. To him they have only been absent, say, a -quarter of an hour.</p> - -<p>"It is difficult," he says. "Very. One needs time—time."</p> - -<p>"We'd better come another day," says Yorke. "Oh, you have got on -famously," and he keeps his countenance capitally as he looks at the -sketch. "I'll carry your easel," and he folds it up, and puts it over -his shoulder.</p> - -<p>They find the duke waiting for them at the bottom of the tower, and -seeing them all together, he does not suspect that the two young people -have been spending the whole afternoon <i>tete-a-tete</i>.</p> - -<p>"I was just going off without you," he says, addressing all three, but -looking at Leslie's face, which wears a rapt and dreamy expression.</p> - -<p>"It's well you didn't," retorts Yorke. "You and Grey would never have -reached home alive. Miss Leslie and I are the only persons who can -manage these nags. But come on," and he glances upward—that cloud has -grown considerably since they left the hermit's hut—and leads the way -to the inn.</p> - -<p>"Now, ma'am," he says to the landlady, in his frank, and genial way. -"Got the kettle boiling? Right! Let us have some tea while the horses -are being put to."</p> - -<p>Then he goes round to the stable, inspects the horses, and is back in -time to hand Leslie a cup of the beverage, which be the hour what it -may, is always welcomed by fair women.</p> - -<p>"Now up you get," he says, after surreptitiously tipping -everybody—landlord, hostler, rosy-cheeked maid, all round. "Miss -Leslie, we can't get on without you in front, you know," he remarks, as -Leslie is about to go inside; and he helps her to the box.</p> - -<p>The horses are fresh and eager for work, and for a time he drives, but -presently he puts the reins in her hands.</p> - -<p>"According to promise," he says. "Hold 'em<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> tight while I," and he -bends down and searches for something under the box seat.</p> - -<p>"Oh, how beautifully they go," she says, half to herself. "What is it -you are looking for, your gra—Lord Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Never you mind," he says. "You look after your horses."</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs, and laughs again as he comes up, red in the face, and -with a Scotch wrap in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Are you so cold?" she asks.</p> - -<p>"Very," he responds. "It's going to snow, I fancy."</p> - -<p>"Why, it is quite close," she says, removing her eyes for a moment from -the horses to glance at him with smiling surprise. "It seems hotter -than it has been all day."</p> - -<p>As she speaks, a low rumbling rolls over their heads and a flash of -light cuts across the sky.</p> - -<p>"That is lightning," she exclaims.</p> - -<p>"It was rather like it," he admits, dryly.</p> - -<p>"Did you bring any gamps?" asks the duke.</p> - -<p>"Nary one," replies Yorke, grimly. "Slang away, I can bear it—and I -deserve it," he mutters, glancing at the girlish figure beside him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lisle looks round absently.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid—it—it is going to rain," he says.</p> - -<p>In another minute it is raining. Yorke takes the rug in both hands, and -deftly wraps it round Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, please," she says, and she glances behind her. "Give it to -him—Mr. Temple."</p> - -<p>"It would be more than my life is worth," he says. "I dare not offer it -to him. Please let me fasten it. How shall I? Give me a hairpin!"</p> - -<p>"You must hold the horses, then," she says.</p> - -<p>"I can see one sticking out," he says.</p> - -<p>"Well, take it," she responds, innocently and all unconsciously, for -she is thinking of her driving far more than the rain or the rug or -anything else.</p> - -<p>He looks at her intent and absorbed face, and puts up his hand and -draws the hairpin from its soft and silken nest, and she, unheeding, -does not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> know that his hand trembles, actually trembles, as he fastens -the rug round her.</p> - -<p>"Now give me the reins," he says, "and keep your head down; we are in -for a regular storm."</p> - -<p>As he speaks, the rain comes down with a whiz, as if it meant to wash -them off the box.</p> - -<p>Leslie laughs.</p> - -<p>"After all, it is a proper picnic," she says.</p> - -<p>But the next instant her laugh dies away, for the heavens seem to open -before them, a peal of thunder roars like the discharge of a park -of artillery just above their heads, and the horses, startled and -frightened, stop dead short, then rear up on end.</p> - -<p>The carriage sways, and for a moment it seems as if it were going over, -and Leslie is forced up close against Yorke.</p> - -<p>He holds the terrified horses with one strong hand, against him.</p> - -<p>"All right," he says, in a low voice. "Don't be afraid, Leslie!" His -arm holds her, supports her, presses her to him, perhaps unconsciously. -"You are quite safe, dearest, dearest."</p> - -<p>Low as his voice is, Leslie hears him, or—she asks herself—is it only -fancy?</p> - -<p>For a moment, one brief moment, she cowers, nestling to him, her face -hidden against his shoulder; then with a start, she draws away, and -with her face red and white by turns, looks straight before her.</p> - -<p>And through the roar of thunder, and the hissing of the rain, she hears -those words re-echoing, "Leslie, dearest—dearest!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<h3>YORKE IN LOVE.</h3> - - -<p>The great changes of our lives come suddenly. Swift as the lightning's -flash is the revelation to Yorke that he loves the girl who sits beside -him.</p> - -<p>Half-unconsciously he had uttered the words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> which are still ringing in -her ears, but he knows that his heart has been saying "dearest" all day -long.</p> - -<p>He knows now what that strange, peaceful happiness meant which made him -feel as if he would be content to pass the rest of his life by her side -in the hermit's cell.</p> - -<p>And he knows that this is no transient passion which will have its day, -and pass, leaving not a wreck behind, as so many passions alas! have -passed with him. To every one of the sons of men, it is said, comes -once in his life, the great all-absorbing love which wipes out all -others, and which shall make of all his days an endless misery or a -surpassing happiness; and this love has come to Yorke.</p> - -<p>In an instant, as it were, it seems to have wrought a change in him. -Gay, reckless, thoughtless, an hour ago, he is serious enough now.</p> - -<p>His heart is beating quickly, furiously; his strong hands tremble as he -holds the terrified horses, and urges them on with whip and voice; and -yet, though apparently engrossed with them, thinking more of the silent -girl beside him.</p> - -<p>She is so silent! She scarcely seems to move, but sits, with the rug -concealing her face, her head bent down.</p> - -<p>"What have I said?" he asks himself; in truth he scarcely knows. It -is as if his heart had suddenly become the master of his voice and -actions, and had made a helpless slave of him.</p> - -<p>If she would only speak! He longs past all description to hear her -voice, even though it should be in anger and indignation; but she does -not speak. He lifts his face to the sweeping rain and almost welcomes -it. The storm is in harmony with the tempest of awakened passion -which rages in his breast. He does not dare to speak to her, scarcely -ventures to look her way, and he sits as silent as herself, while the -horses dash along the streaming road and up the Portmaris street.</p> - -<p>"We might have come by boat, there is water enough," says the duke, -dryly. "Miss Lisle, I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> afraid you are wet through. Pray get in at -once, or you will catch cold."</p> - -<p>She stands up on the box, and Yorke goes to unfasten the wrap, but she -is too quick for him, and, taking out the hairpin, lets the rug fall, -and stands before his eyes, her slim, graceful figure swayed a little -away from him as if she did not want him to touch her.</p> - -<p>He gets down, and offers her his hand, but she springs from the box -lightly, stands a moment, then with a low-voiced "Good-night—and thank -you," follows her father into the house.</p> - -<p>The duke looks after her.</p> - -<p>"The poor child is wet through and chilled," he says, sympathetically. -"It's a pity you didn't think of a mackintosh, Yorke. What are you -going to do with the rig and horses?"</p> - -<p>Yorke looks down at him as if he scarcely heard or understood, for a -moment; then he says, absently, like a man only half recovered from a -stunning blow:</p> - -<p>"The horses—oh, I'll find a place for them."</p> - -<p>"You might take them to the station, your grace; they could put them up -there in the good stable," suggests Grey.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes; and look sharp," says the duke. "We'll have some dinner by -the time you are back. Will you have a glass of whisky and water before -you go?"</p> - -<p>But Yorke shakes his head almost impatiently.</p> - -<p>"I'm all right," he says, curtly, and he drives off.</p> - -<p>He sees the horses made comfortable in the stable at the station, and -helps to rub them down and litter them; then he turns back.</p> - -<p>But at the top of the street he pauses. He cannot face the duke just -yet. There is that in his face, in his voice, he knows, which will -reveal his secret.</p> - -<p>He turns off to the right, and makes his way along a little used road -toward the sea.</p> - -<p>He is wet through, but he does not notice it; he scarcely knows where -he is going until he stands on the edge of the sea.</p> - -<p>"I love her!" he murmurs. "Yes, I love her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> There is no woman in all -the world like her! So good, so gentle, so beautiful."</p> - -<p>He thinks of all the girls he has seen, talked with, danced with, and -flirted with; but there is none like Leslie.</p> - -<p>"I am a lost man if I do not get her!" he says to himself. "And how can -I get her?" He groans, and pushes his hat off his brow, that is hot and -burning. "She cares nothing for me; why should she? If I was to ask her -to be my wife—my wife! How can I?" And he shudders as if some black -thought had swept down upon him, and crushed the hope out of him. "How -can I? Oh, what a mad, senseless fool I have been! How we chuck our -lives away to find out, when it is too late, what it is we've lost. If -I had met her a year ago——." He breaks off, and sighs, as he tramps up -and down in the rain. "If I could only wipe out that year! But I can't, -I can't, though I'd give ten years of the life that's left in me to be -able to do it! What would she think—say—if she knew, if I told her? -With all her sweet, childlike ways, and all her innocence and purity, -she is a woman, and the very goodness for which I love her would fight -against me! She looked and spoke like an angel when she was telling me -that story about the hermit. An angel! I'm a nice kind of man to fall -in love with an angel, and want to marry her! I might as well fall in -love with one of those stars." And he looks up despairingly at the -diamond lights that are peering through the rift in the clouds.</p> - -<p>"Besides," he mutters, "even if—if that other woman weren't in the -question," and he sets his teeth, "how could I ask her to marry me? -Even if she'd have me—and why should I dare to think that I could win -her love? I'm a pauper and worse. And she thinks me a duke! That's -another thing! I forgot that idiotic business! Oh, I've tied myself up -in every way, and haven't a chance! And yet I love her—I love her! -Leslie!" he repeats the name, as Romeo might have repeated Juliet's, -finding a torturing joy in its music. "No, there's no hope! Yorke, my -boy, you are badly hit. You've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> laughed at this kind of thing often -enough, but your turn has come. And as there is no hope for you, you -have got to bear it. The best thing you can do is to clear out in the -morning, and blot Portmaris out of the map of England. I mustn't see -her again—never again!"</p> - -<p>All his nature protests against this resolve, and his heart aches -badly, very badly; but he squares his shoulders and sets his teeth hard.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's the only thing to do; to cut and run. There's one comfort, -she won't mind. She won't miss me. God knows what I said when I felt -her face against my breast; but whatever it was, I've offended her past -forgiveness. She wouldn't see me again, I dare say, if I stayed, and -so——." He heaves a sigh, which is very much like a groan, and turns -homeward.</p> - -<p>He finds Grey alone in the room when he enters; the dinner things are -still on the table, and Grey looks at him with a rather grave and -startled expression.</p> - -<p>"I've saved some dinner, your grace," he says.</p> - -<p>"'Your grace' be da—hanged!" says Yorke, almost fiercely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord," murmurs Grey. "The duke waited for over an hour, and he -has gone to bed; I was afraid of a chill, my lord. And your lordship is -wet, very wet, still——."</p> - -<p>"All right," says Yorke, as politely as he can. "Never mind. Go and see -after the duke, and dinner—oh, yes. Thanks, you need not wait."</p> - -<p>He tries to eat, but for once his faithful appetite fails him, and he -pushes his plate away and gets his pipe, that great consoler in all -times of trouble; and this is the worst trouble Yorke Auchester has -ever had.</p> - -<p>It is well on into the small hours when weary, but oppressed by a -ghastly wakefulness, he goes to bed, and there he lies, open-eyed and -thoughtful, until the sun floods the room.</p> - -<p>He gets up, and as he looks in the glass after his bath, he smiles -grimly.</p> - -<p>"Only one night of it!" he says. "And a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> many similar ones -lie before me before I get over this! I wonder whether she has been -thinking of me? Why should she? And if she should have been they -wouldn't be pleasant thoughts."</p> - -<p>He pulls the blinds aside and looks at the house opposite, wondering -which is her window; and as he does so, the lover's heart-hunger for a -sight of his loved one assails him.</p> - -<p>It has still strong possession of him when he goes down the stairs -and into the street; but he fights against it. The best thing he can -do is not to see Leslie Lisle, but to drive Vinson's horses back to -Northcliffe, and take the train from there to London, and—stop there; -stop there till in a round of the folly which has suddenly grown so -senseless and worthless in his eyes, he has dulled the pain of this, -his first real love.</p> - -<p>It is early, but Portmaris is alive and very much in evidence. The -fishermen are out on the beach, the women are bustling about, the -children are playing in the road-way. Some with a huge slice of bread -and butter or treacle in their fists; breakfast is evidently a very -movable feast with the entire population.</p> - -<p>Yorke stands a moment and looks round with a pang of regret.</p> - -<p>"I shall think of this place," he says. "Think of it too often to be -comfortable. Why couldn't I have come here—and to her—a year ago? -What's that song about 'the might have been'? That's how I feel this -morning. Oh, lord!"</p> - -<p>He strides on with his head drooping, in an attitude very unlike that -of Yorke Auchester's usual one; and without the last night's opera song -on his lips as is ordinarily the case; and he is near the station, when -he hears the laughter of children ahead of him, and looking up, sees a -group that make his heart leap, and the blood rush to his face.</p> - -<p>Under a great oak in the pretty lane stands no other than Leslie -herself, with a child upheld in her arms, and two others clinging to -the skirts of her pretty, simple morning dress. The child borne aloft -has pulled off her hat, and the sunlight as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> comes through the -trees, falls in flecks of light and shadow on her hair and upturned -face. She is laughing the soft, sweet laugh, which, though he should -live to be as old as the old man walking along on the other side of the -road, Yorke will never forget, and—she does not see him.</p> - -<p>Shall he turn and go back, go back and leave her forever? Better! But -he cannot, simply cannot. So he goes on slowly, and it is not until he -is close behind her that she hears him.</p> - -<p>She turns, the child still held, crowing and struggling in her arms, -and a startled look comes into her eyes, and the color flies to her -face, and then leaves it pale.</p> - -<p>Yorke lifts his hat.</p> - -<p>"Good-morning," he says.</p> - -<p>Her lips move, and her head bends over the child now lying in her arms, -and staring with blue eyes up at the big man who dares to address "Miss -Lethlie." Leslie's lips move; no doubt she says "good-morning," in -response, though he cannot hear her.</p> - -<p>"You are early this morning," he says, and he knows that his voice -falters and sounds unnatural, as surely as he knows that his heart -is beating like a steam-hammer, and that the longing to cry to her, -"Leslie, I love you!" is almost irresistible.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she says. "It is so beautiful after the rain——."</p> - -<p>She stops, for the word has recalled that homeward drive, the storm, -his words—all that she has been thinking of through the long night.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he says, vaguely, stupidly. Then he says, suddenly, "That child -is too heavy for you——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no; I often carry it," she falters, bending still lower over the -pretty face enshrined in the yellow curls.</p> - -<p>"But it is," he says. "Let me take it, if it must be carried."</p> - -<p>"She would not let you," she says.</p> - -<p>"We'll see," he rejoins, scarcely knowing what he is saying; and he -holds out his arms.</p> - -<p>The mite stares at him, turns and clutches Leslie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> for a moment, then, -with the fickleness of its sex, swings round and holds out its arms to -him.</p> - -<p>Yorke laughs, and holds it up above his head.</p> - -<p>"Now what shall I do with you?" he says, hurriedly. "Take you to London -with me. No?" for the child struggles. "For that is where I am going." -He puts the child down, and it toddles off with the other two. "Yes, I -am going to London, Miss Lisle," he goes on, trying to speak lightly, -carelessly.</p> - -<p>"Yes?" she says, with downcast eyes, and she stoops to pick up her hat. -As she does so, he stoops too; they get hold of it together, and their -hands meet.</p> - -<p>But for that sudden meeting, that touch of her hand, he could have -gone, and the history of Leslie Lisle would have been a very different -one; but it is the link which the Fates have been wanting to make their -chain complete.</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he cries, scarcely above his breath. "Leslie!" And he takes -both her hands and holds them fast, and looks into her eyes, the dark, -gray eyes which she lifts to him with a swift fear—or is it a swift -joy? mirrored in their clear depths.</p> - -<p>"Let—me—go," she falters, with trembling lips.</p> - -<p>"No!" he says, desperately. "Not till I have told you that I love you!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<h3>AN IMPETUOUS AVOWAL.</h3> - - -<p>"I love you!"</p> - -<p>Leslie draws her hands from his grasp, and stands with averted face, -her bosom heaving, her breath coming with difficulty.</p> - -<p>It is so sudden, so swift, this declaration, that she is overwhelmed. -The heart of a pure-minded, innocent girl is not unlike a fortress. It -withstands many an attack, and is able to repulse the besiegers until -the one comes who cries "Surrender!" and at the sound of his voice, -before some nameless magic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> in his presence, her strength goes, the -gate is thrown wide open, and the conqueror marches in.</p> - -<p>Leslie had been calm and self-possessed enough when Ralph Duncombe was -pleading his passionate love, and was able to withstand his urgent -prayer, but to Yorke she can find nothing to say; she can only stand -with downcast eyes, her heart beating fast, and the gates beginning to -open!</p> - -<p>He takes her hand, but again she draws it from him, and sinking on to -the trunk of a fallen tree, keeps her face, her eyes, from him.</p> - -<p>"You are angry?" he says, his usually light and careless voice deep -and earnest enough now. "Well, I deserve that. I—I ought not to have -told you so suddenly. But——," he leans against a tree close beside -her, and looks down at her—"but—well, I couldn't help it. I was going -away this morning." His heart gives a little quiver. "I was going away -from Portmaris—and from you. I've been thinking of you all night, and -I'd decided that that was the best thing to do. It's sudden and—and -startling to you, Leslie—Miss Lisle—but it doesn't seem so to me. You -see, I suppose I have been getting to love you ever since I saw you on -the beach; that's not long ago, I dare say you'll say, but it seems a -long time to me—months, ages."</p> - -<p>It is almost as if her own heart were speaking, it is just as she has -felt. She listens in a kind of amazement at the subtle sympathy between -them.</p> - -<p>"I have thought of nothing else but you since I saw you. I know that -I shall be the happiest man in the world if—if you'll let me go -on loving you, and try to love me a little in return, and the most -wretched beggar in existence if—if you can't."</p> - -<p>He waits a moment, for a strange sensation comes in his throat and -stops his speech, usually so fluent and so free. Then, she still -remaining silent, he goes on with the same grave, earnest tone, and -with the same half-eager, half-hesitating tremor in his voice.</p> - -<p>"I've never seen any one like you; I know plenty of women, but none -like you, Leslie—I beg your pardon! You see, I always think of you as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -Leslie. If I were to try and tell you how I feel, I should make a mess -of it. I can only say that I love you, I love you!"</p> - -<p>With all his ignorance and lack of eloquence he is wise. "I love you," -sums up all a woman wants or cares to hear.</p> - -<p>"Of course," he goes on in a lower voice, daunted by her silence, her -motionless, downcast face, her hidden eyes. "Of course, I can't expect, -don't expect you to understand or—or to care for me even a little. You -haven't known me long enough or—or—anything about me. All I want is -a little hope. If you don't dislike me, right down dislike me, I'll be -glad enough, and I'll try and get you to love me a little. You can't -love me as I love you; that isn't to be thought of!"</p> - -<p>"Is it not?" she thinks, but she says nothing.</p> - -<p>Up above their heads a thrush is singing melodiously, and the liquid -notes seem to say quite plainly, "I love you." The sun, as it shines -between the leaves of the old oak, and touches Yorke's brave, and -eager face, is surely smiling, "He loves you!" The stream rippling -in a hollow behind them, as it runs laughing down to the sea, is as -certainly murmuring, "Love, love, love!"</p> - -<p>"You are angry and—and offended," he says, after a pause, during which -she has been listening to this harmony of nature's voices. "Well, I -deserve it! I ought to have waited until you knew more of me—but -you see, as I said, I could not keep it. I had been thinking of you, -dreaming of you, all night, and then I saw you suddenly, and I felt -as if I must speak, happen what might. If I hadn't seen you, I dare -say I could have found heart enough to clear out, and—and hold my -tongue; but when I saw you with that little one in your arms, looking -so beautiful and so good, just the Leslie I love so dearly, the words -rushed out almost before I knew it—and—and——," he squares his -broad chest, and tilts his hat back with a gesture which, unlike most -gestures, fits him like a glove, "there it is!"</p> - -<p>She does not lift her face, does not open the lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> that are -trembling—if he could only see it; and he waits a moment before he -says, sadly, with the lover's despairing note audible through an -affected cheerfulness:</p> - -<p>"I'm—I'm sorry that I've made a nuisance of myself, and—and worried -you. Don't be upset and think anything of it. I ought not to have -spoken. I couldn't help loving you, but I might have had the sense -to hold my tongue, and taken myself off without distressing you. -Don't—don't think any more of it. I'm not worthy of you, not worth a -thought from such as you, and—well, I'll say good-by, Miss Lisle."</p> - -<p>He puts his hat straight, and braces himself together, so to speak, for -the parting; then he bends down and takes her hand, the hand that lies -in the lap of the pretty morning frock like a white flower.</p> - -<p>She does not draw it away now, and as he holds it, the passion which -raises men to a level with the gods, takes possession of him.</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he says, almost hoarsely. "I can't let you go! I love you too -much. Look at me, speak to me! Unless you hate me, I must stay and try -and make you love me! I can't lose you! You are the only woman I have -ever seen or known that I wanted badly! And I do want you! I can't live -without you! I can't leave you, knowing that I may never see you again. -I can't. Look up, Leslie—dearest—dearest! Tell me straight, once and -for all—I will never come back to worry you—once and for all, will -you try and love me?"</p> - -<p>He takes her other hand—he has got both now, and lifts her, actually -lifts her from the tree. She does not resist him, but lets her hands, -trembling, remain willing prisoners, and when her face is on a level -with his, she raises her eyes and looks at him.</p> - -<p>There must be something in the dark gray eyes, something under the -shadow of the black lashes, which contains a potent magic; for at sight -of it his heart leaps and the blood rushes to his face, then leaves it -pale with the intensity of a supreme emotion, an incredible joy, an -amazed delight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Leslie!" breaks from him, "Leslie!"</p> - -<p>Her eyes meet his, steadily, yet shyly, o'er-brimming with the secret -which a maiden keeps, hugs closely, while she can. A secret which she -is loth to part with, but which the loved one's eyes read so quickly.</p> - -<p>"Leslie—do you—ah, dearest, dearest, you do love me!"</p> - -<p>She tries to withstand him, to draw away from him, even now; but his -passion is too much for her, and the next instant she is folded in his -arms and her head lies on his breast.</p> - -<p>Sing on happy thrush; but no music even your velvet throat can make -shall compare with the music ringing through these two human hearts. A -music which shall not die though these same hearts may be torn apart -and wrung with anguish; a music which for joy or pain, weal or woe, -shall echo through their lives till Death comes with its great silence.</p> - -<p>But it is of life and love and joy, and not death or parting, that they -are thinking now.</p> - -<p>He draws her arm within his as if she had belonged to him for years, -or rather as if he wanted to assure himself that she belonged to him, -and they pace slowly along the meadow in the shadow of the trees; her -hat swings on her hand, her eyes lift, heavy with love, to his face, as -he bends down to her his own, eloquent with the devotion and adoration -which fill his heart to overflowing. And yet through all the storm of -passion that tosses in his breast, he has sense enough to notice how -beautiful she is, how lightly and gracefully she walks by his side, how -delicious is the pose of the slender neck, the half averted face. This -flower that he has found and plucked to wear in his breast is no common -weed, but a rare blossom of which an emperor might be proud.</p> - -<p>And she—well, she scarcely realizes yet what this is that has happened -to her; she only knows that a supreme happiness, a novel joy, so -intense as to be almost pain, is thrilling through her; that at one -moment she feels inclined to cry and the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> to laugh. He is hers! -She is to be his wife!—his wife! Oh, what a singular dream! Shall she -wake soon? Wake to find that he has gone, and that all that is now -happening is but a phantasy, a vision that will fade and leave her -desolate.</p> - -<p>She starts presently and looks up at him.</p> - -<p>"Papa! He—will miss me—wonder where I have gone," she says. "How long -have we been here?" and she looks round as if she expected to see the -shades of night falling.</p> - -<p>He laughs softly, the laugh of a man so completely happy that time has -ceased to be of consequence.</p> - -<p>"I don't know. What does it matter? Your father will know you are all -right. He will think you have gone to the beach, that you are playing -with the children—how fond you are of children, dearest."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," she murmurs.</p> - -<p>"I never saw any one go on with them as you do. No wonder they love -you; but I suppose everything and every one does. By the way——." He -stops, and a faint shadow falls on his face. "I suppose there have been -ever so many fellows who've been in love with you?"</p> - -<p>She makes a little gesture of indifference, as if the thought was too -trivial to be entertained or spoken of. What does it matter who loved -her, now?</p> - -<p>"That—that letter and the ring?" he says, inquiringly.</p> - -<p>She raises her clear eyes to his.</p> - -<p>"Do you want me to tell you about them?" she says, in a low voice, as -if he had the right to search her soul, and she were wishing that he -should do so.</p> - -<p>"No, no," he rejoins.</p> - -<p>"But I will. He—he who wrote the letter and gave me the ring——."</p> - -<p>His face grows cloudier.</p> - -<p>"No, no tell me just this. He is nothing to you, you never cared——."</p> - -<p>"Never," she says simply. "He has gone—I will tell you."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>He presses her face to his to silence her, and a wave of remorse, of -self-reproach, sweeps over him.</p> - -<p>"No, no, not a word. That is enough for me. You are mine now and always -and forever."</p> - -<p>"Forever!" she breathes.</p> - -<p>"And—and," he hurries on. "I have no right to ask you about the -past—the past that did not belong to me. Besides, if I did you would -have the right to ask me, and——." He stops suddenly, pale, and -trembled.</p> - -<p>She looks up at him.</p> - -<p>"I ask nothing," she says, in a low voice. "You shall tell me all you -want to tell me; just that, and no more."</p> - -<p>"My darling, my dearest!" he says, but the trouble still rings in his -voice. Shall he tell her? Now is the time. She would forgive him, love -him none the less, if he told her all now. Shall he throw himself upon -her great love and mercy?</p> - -<p>For a moment Yorke's guardian angel hovers near him and whispers, "Tell -her, trust her!" but he thrusts the angel aside and silences her.</p> - -<p>"I am not worthy of you, dearest," he says; "I can tell you that much: -no man is worthy of you! But the best of us couldn't love you better -than I do, Leslie. Leslie! Do you know that when I heard your name it -seemed to me the prettiest I had ever heard, and as if it belonged to -some one I had loved for years? Have you any other name?"</p> - -<p>She shakes her head.</p> - -<p>"Isn't one enough?" she says, laughing, softly. "I am not big enough -for more than one of two syllables. Why, see, yours is only one, or -have you got more names? Tell me them? How strange; oh, how strange! I -do not know rightly what you are called, and yet——."</p> - -<p>"Yet you love me, and promise to be my wife—why don't you say it right -out?" he says.</p> - -<p>She shakes her head.</p> - -<p>"But your names?"</p> - -<p>"Oh," he says, carelessly. "There's a string of 'em. Yorke, Clarence, -Fitzhardinge Auchester—"</p> - -<p>"And Rothbury," she says, with sudden gravity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> - -<p>He starts slightly, and colors. This foolish whim of the duke's! What -is to be done about it now?</p> - -<p>"Duke of Rothbury," she goes on, gravely, and with an almost troubled -smile. "I—I had forgotten——."</p> - -<p>"Go on forgetting!" he says, drawing her arm closer.</p> - -<p>"Yes! I—you will not be angry?"</p> - -<p>"At nothing you can say, unless it were, 'I do not love you!'"</p> - -<p>"I was going to say that I wish I could—that I wish you were not a -duke, and had no title of any kind!"</p> - -<p>"So do I if you wish it," he says. "What does it matter?"</p> - -<p>"But will it not matter?" she asks, her brows coming together. "Will -not the people—your people, all those great folks who belong to you, -your relations—be angry with me for—for——."</p> - -<p>"Stooping to love such a worthless, useless creature as I? Why should -they?"</p> - -<p>"I—I don't know. Yes I do. It is not girls like me, girls with no -title or anything, poor girls who know nothing of the fashionable -world, and have no relations above a plain 'Mr.' who ought to marry -noblemen. I know enough for that. They will be right to be angry -and—and disappointed!"</p> - -<p>"Not they!" he says, lightly, but inwardly chafing against the bonds -which his promise to the duke has woven round him. "Let them mind their -own business!"</p> - -<p>"But it is their business!" she says. "What a duke, a well-known -nobleman, does, must be everybody's business, and everybody will be -astonished and—sorry."</p> - -<p>"Wait until they see you!" he says, confidently.</p> - -<p>She looks up at him with eyes dewy with gratitude.</p> - -<p>"Do you think everybody will see me with your eyes?" she says, in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>"I think every man will envy me and wish himself in my place!" he -responds, promptly.</p> - -<p>She shakes her head.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No no! They will say when they hear of it that you have done wrong, -and say it still more decidedly when they see me. Why, I shall not know -what to do." She laughs half light-heartedly, half-anxiously. "I shall -not know how to begin, even, to play the great lady; I shall make all -sorts of mistakes, and call persons by their wrong names and titles. -Why, I did not know how to address you, your grace!" And she looks up -at him, with parted lips that smile but tremble a little.</p> - -<p>He kisses them tenderly, reassuringly.</p> - -<p>"You are only chaffing me," he says. "I can see that. You are the last -girl in the world to be frightened by anybody. You'd just take your -place in any set as naturally as if you'd known it and been in it all -your life. Why, do you think I don't know how proud you are?"</p> - -<p>"Am I?" she says, self-questioningly. "Yes; I think I was -yesterday—until—until now. But now my pride seems to have melted into -thin air, and I am only anxious. Do you know what I should do if I were -to see that you were even the least bit ashamed of me?"</p> - -<p>"What would you do? Something terrible?"</p> - -<p>"I should die of shame for your sake!" she says, slowly.</p> - -<p>"If you wait till you die of that complaint you'll live to be as old -as—what's his name, Methuselah!" and he laughs. "Why, I feel so proud -of winning you that I'm trying all I know not to swagger."</p> - -<p>She gives his arm just the faintest pressure.</p> - -<p>"Oh how foolish, how foolish!" she murmurs. "To be proud of me!"</p> - -<p>"I dare say, but I am, you see! I know I've got one of the loveliest -women in the world for a wife, and I shall get beastly conceited, I -expect, and perfectly unendurable. It isn't every man who wins the love -of an angel."</p> - -<p>"Ah, don't," she says. "An angel! They will not think me that, but only -a commonplace girl, who knows nothing, and is not fit to be—a duchess!"</p> - -<p>She utters the word as if he did not like it, and he colors again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Tell me," she says, after a moment. "Tell me whom I shall have to fear -most. You see, I don't know even if you have a mother—a father. I -don't know anything!"</p> - -<p>He is silent a moment, mentally execrating the chain of circumstances -which compel him, force him, to—yes, deceive her!</p> - -<p>"They are both dead," he says, truthfully. "I haven't any near -relations—no brother and sister, I mean. I've an uncle, a Lord Eustace -and his two sons who's the next to the dukedom—he and they."</p> - -<p>"After you?" she says. "I don't understand—how should I?"</p> - -<p>"It does not matter," he says, hurriedly.</p> - -<p>"Tell me about him then—them. Is he nice? Will he be very angry?"</p> - -<p>He laughs.</p> - -<p>"No, he's not very nice. He's the miser of the family—you see, and -you'll have cause to be ashamed of some of us, dearest! And he won't -care the snap of his fingers whom I marry, or what becomes of me."</p> - -<p>This would sound singularly improbable to Leslie if she were worldly -wise; but she is not. As she says, she simply does not understand or -realize.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry," she says. "But I don't think it is true."</p> - -<p>"You think they are all so proud and fond of me?" he laughs, with a -faint tinge of bitterness. "Well, then I've other cousins——."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Temple?" she says.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr.—Mr. Temple," he mutters.</p> - -<p>"And what will he say?" she asks, with a smile.</p> - -<p>"He? Oh——." He stops. Yes, what will the duke say when he hears that -Leslie "has made love," as he will put it, to the supposed duke?</p> - -<p>"Look here, dearest," he says, after a pause.</p> - -<p>"Why should you or I care a brass farthing what any one thinks or says! -The only one I care about is your father."</p> - -<p>"Ah, papa!" she murmurs; and she pictures to herself Mr. Lisle's -amazement and distress at what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> he will regard as a "fuss" and -disturbance of his placid "artistic" life.</p> - -<p>"Are you afraid, Leslie?" Yorke asks.</p> - -<p>"I—I don't know. I am all in all to him; and—I do not know what he -will say. He will not be pleased; I mean he will see more plainly than -I do that I am not fit to be your wife, that I am not suitable for a -duchess. And he will say it is so sudden—and it is, is it not? If he -had had a little time to—to get used to it——."</p> - -<p>"Let us give him time," he says. "I was going to him now straight away -to ask him to give you to me; but if you think it better, if you wish -it, it shall be exactly as you think and wish, dearest. I will wait for -a little while, until he knows me better, and has got used to me. I -suppose it would startle and upset him if I were to go now."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, yes!" she says. "You do not know how nervous he is, and how -easily upset."</p> - -<p>"I think I can guess," he responds, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>As he has said, it was his intention to go straight to Mr. Lisle and -tell him to go to the duke and announce the engagement; but if Leslie -wishes the announcement delayed—well, it will be as well! Will it -not be better that he should clear up sundry matters in London before -the world hears of his betrothal? Besides, how can he go to Mr. -Lisle without confessing that he has been masquerading as a duke and -explaining why? Before he can do that he must get the duke to release -him from this foolish agreement, which, foolish as it is, still binds -him.</p> - -<p>"What shall we do, dearest?" he asks, looking down at her.</p> - -<p>"Let us wait," she murmurs. "Let us wait for a day or two, till my -father knows you better, and—and you have had time to think whether it -is well that you should stoop so low——." Her voice dies away. The mere -thought of losing him is an agony.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he says, almost solemnly, "we will wait, but not for that -reason, Leslie. I don't want to think about anything of that kind. -As to stooping—well, you will learn some day how I love you, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -how infinitely above me you are. God grant you will not repent having -stooped to me, dearest! Yes, we will wait. After all, it may seem -sudden to them, and we will give them a little time to get used to it."</p> - -<p>"And meanwhile," she says, with a smile, which is half a sigh of -regret, "I will try and realize that I am to be a great lady. It will -seem rather hard at first. There ought to be a school at which one -could learn how to behave. They used to teach girls how to enter a -room, and bow, and courtesy, so that they might not disgrace their -belongings."</p> - -<p>He holds her at arm's length, and laughs at her, his eyes alight with -admiration, and love, and worship.</p> - -<p>"I've seen you walk down the street and cross the beach, Leslie," he -says. "You don't want any lessons in deportment. I'm thinking you'll -give some of 'em points, and beat them easily. Don't you ever look in -the glass? Don't you know that you are the loveliest, sweetest woman -man ever went mad over?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, hush, hush!" she says, putting her finger lightly on his lips, -and hiding her crimson face against his breast. "You must be blind! -But—oh, stay so, dearest, and never, never see me as I really am!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<h3>MISS FINETTA.</h3> - - -<p>Two mornings later there rode into the Row at Hyde Park a young lady -whose appearance always attracted a great deal of attention. In the -first place, she was one of the handsomest, if not the handsomest woman -there; in the next, she rode her horse as perfectly as it is possible -for a girl to ride; and, lastly, wherever she went, on horseback or on -foot, this lady was well known; in fact a celebrity. For she was Miss -Finetta.</p> - -<p>As she rode in at a brisk canter in the superbly-fitting habit, which -seemed an outer skin of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> lithe, supple figure, and followed by -her correctly clad groom, mounted on a horse as good as that of his -mistress, the hats of the men flew off, and the eyeglasses of the -women went up, or their owners looked another way. But to smiles or -frowns, pleasant nods, or icy stares, Finetta returned the same cool, -good-humored smile, the flash of her white teeth and black eyes.</p> - -<p>Every now and then London has a fit. Sometimes it takes the shape of -hero worship, and down the mob go on their knees to some celebrity, -male or female; at others it goes black in the face with hooting and -mud-flinging at some object which it has suddenly taken it into its -head to hate.</p> - -<p>At present all London—all fashionable male London—was in fits of -admiration of Finetta; and, strange to say, it had rather more than the -usual excuse for its enthusiasm. For she was a remarkable young woman.</p> - -<p>Not very long ago she had been playing in company with other girls in -the alley in which her father's small coal store was situated; and was -perfectly happy when the organ man came into the alley, and she and her -playmates danced round that popular instrument.</p> - -<p>Her mother wanted her to go to school, or at any rate to help her in -the green grocer shop, which was run in conjunction with the coal -store; but Finetta—her name at that time was Sarah Ann, by the -way—declined to go to school, and confined her ministrations in the -shop to stealing the oranges and apples.</p> - -<p>Her mother alternately scolded and beat her; her father declared with -emphatic and descriptive language, that she would come to no good. And -Sarah Ann, taking the scoldings, and the beatings, and the prophecies -of a bad end, with infinite good-humor, went on playing hop-scotch, and -dancing round the organ, quite happy in her ragged skirts and her black -tousled hair, and almost as black face and hands.</p> - -<p>But the gods, they say, delight in surprises, and one day an individual -happened to come down that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> alley who was fated to have an immense -influence on Sarah Ann's career.</p> - -<p>He was a well-known dancing-master, a first-rate one, and a respectable -man whose whole life had been devoted to his art and nothing else.</p> - -<p>He saw the group of girls dancing round the organ, stood and watched -them with an absent, reflective smile, and then, suddenly, his face lit -up and his eyes brightened.</p> - -<p>Sarah Ann had run out from the green grocer's shop with an orange she -had stolen, and as she tore off the peel with her white teeth, set to -dancing with the rest.</p> - -<p>The dancing-master drew aside a little, and kept his eyes on the lank, -angular girl whose dark orbs glowed under the excitement of the dance, -which, unlike that of her companions, was in perfect time with the -"music," and full of a grace which was as natural as a young Indian's.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Faber, he was a Frenchman, went up to her.</p> - -<p>"Are you fond of dancing?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Am I! Ain't I?" she retorted, flashing her teeth upon him. "Why, of -course I am! Who ain't?"</p> - -<p>"So am I," he said. "Would you like to learn to dance properly?"</p> - -<p>"Learn! I can dance already!" she retorted, with a toss of her head.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you think so!" he said, smiling, with a kind of good-natured pity.</p> - -<p>He looked round; the alley was empty, excepting for the children; and -he signed to the organ man to go on playing, and as he played, the -thin, dapper little Frenchman began to dance. We won't try and describe -it. All the world has seen him, and knows what is meant when it is said -that it was Monsieur Faber at his best.</p> - -<p>He seemed to be made of springs, India rubber springs, to be as light -as a thistle down, to tread, float, on air, and to possess the wind and -speed of a dervish.</p> - -<p>The black-eyed slip of a girl watched him in breathless amazement and -delight; and when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> finished and came on his toe points as if he had -just floated down from the grimy house-tops, she uttered a long-drawn -sigh of envy and admiration.</p> - -<p>"I couldn't do that," she said, looking at him sullenly but wistfully.</p> - -<p>"No, not yet," he said. "And why, my child? Because you have not been -taught. One does not know how to dance till one learns. Would you like -to learn?"</p> - -<p>"Shouldn't I, just!" she responded.</p> - -<p>"Take me to your mother, and we will see," he said.</p> - -<p>She ran, sprang into the shop.</p> - -<p>"Mother, here's a man as dances like—like—an angel," (she said "a -hangel",) "and he's going to teach me."</p> - -<p>The poor woman "went for her" with a stick that lay handy, but M. Faber -interposed, and entered on an explanation and a proposal.</p> - -<p>He would take Sarah Ann as a pupil, teach her to dance, get her an -engagement at one of the theaters, and in return, she was to be bound -to him as a kind of apprentice, and give him a certain percentage—it -was a fair one—of all she might earn for the next five years.</p> - -<p>Sarah Ann's parents hesitated, but Sarah Ann cut the negotiation short -by coolly announcing her determination, in the event of their refusing, -to accept the offer, to "cut and run," and, knowing that she was quite -capable of carrying out her threat the couple consented.</p> - -<p>M. Faber christened her Finetta, and commenced the lessons at once. -He had two daughters of his own, but though they worked hard, neither -they nor any of the other pupils were half so quick at the enchanting -science as Sarah Ann—pardon! Finetta—the daughter of the small coal -man.</p> - -<p>She worked hard, almost day and night; it might be said that she danced -in her dreams. She had a good ear for music; "if you only had a voice, -my dear child," M. Faber would murmur, throwing up his hands, and when -she danced it was like a human instrument playing, moving, in accord -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> harmony with the mechanical one, the violin or the piano.</p> - -<p>She would do nothing at home in the alley; would not serve in the -shop, or keep the small coal accounts, or wash her face or brush her -hair; but she obeyed M. Faber with an eager alacrity which was almost -pathetic.</p> - -<p>"I want to dance better than any one in the world!" she would say, and -her master encouraged her by remarking that it was not unlikely she -would attain her wish.</p> - -<p>The months passed on. The angular girl—all legs and wings, like a -pullet—grew into a graceful young woman, with a face, which, if not -beautiful in the regulation way, was singularly striking, with flashing -eyes, and rather large but mobile lips.</p> - -<p>"There is a great future before that girl," M. Faber would remark to -his wife, a good-natured woman, who treated all the pupils as if they -were her own children. But he did not hurry. "One does not learn to -dance in a day," he would say, when Finetta begged him to get her an -engagement, even if it were ever so small a one. "Patience, my good -child; and when the time comes, <i>voila</i>, you shall see!"</p> - -<p>The time came, and Finetta appeared among the ladies of the ballet at a -small provincial theater. He kept her in the ranks for two years, then -gave her a "solo" part, and lastly obtained an engagement for her at -the Diadem.</p> - -<p>To dance at the Diadem was the height of Finetta's ambition. Her heart -beat that night as it had never beat before, not even on her first -appearance at the provincial theater; but it did not deafen the music, -or drive her steps out of her mind, and when she had finished, the roar -of delight that rose in the theater proclaimed the fact that Finetta -had scored a triumph, and that M. Faber had not labored in vain.</p> - -<p>This was three years ago. Her popularity had steadily increased. She -was now the rage. Her salary exceeded that of a cabinet minister; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -percentage alone was a good income for the patient, persevering M. -Faber.</p> - -<p>When she appeared at night the house roared a welcome, and rewarded her -efforts with thunders of applause.</p> - -<p>Her photographs were placed among the other celebrities in the shop -windows, next those of the Royal Family, the great poets, the eminent -statesmen, and sold as well as, if not better than, the rest. Outside -the theater hung a huge transparency, showing Finetta in her Spanish -dancing-dress; the tobacconists sold a cigarette bearing her name.</p> - -<p>All this ought to have turned her head. It did a little, but only a -little. To tell the truth, she was a good-hearted girl, and in her -prosperity did not forget those near to her. She set her father up -in the wholesale coal trade, and put her mother into a nice house in -Islington; sent her brother to school, and had her sister to live with -her in the pretty house in St. John's Wood, and though the world said -hard things of her, she was unjustly accused and calumniated.</p> - -<p>Her manners were not those of Lady Clara Vere de Vere. She gave supper -parties at which only gentlemen and ladies of the ballet were present; -she talked and laughed loudly; she knew nothing, and cared less, for -the proprieties; was fond of champagne, and enjoyed a cigarette; -delighted in riding, and driving tandem, and did both surpassingly -well; but scandal could find no chink in her armor through which to -shoot its poisoned darts, and the worst the world could, with truth, -call her was "Finetta, the dancer!"</p> - -<p>The men who thronged round her called her "a good fellow!" and when a -woman of her class has earned that title, depend upon it, she is not so -black as the virtuous paint her.</p> - -<p>She knew half the peerage—the male side—but she was as friendly and -pleasant to a struggling young journalist as to my Lord Vinson. Men -sent her letters, telling her they adored her; she lit her cigarettes -with them, and told the writers, when next she saw them, not to waste -ink and paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> upon her, but to make up a party to take her for a drive -and a dinner at Richmond.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, very often, they sent her presents—diamond rings, -bracelets, pendants, lockets, with their portraits (which she always -took out), and she accepted them with a careless <i>sang froid</i>, which -was amusing—to all but the donors. The horses she and her groom rode -were a gift from a well-known turf lord. It was said that the lease of -the house at John's Wood had been given to her; but that was not true.</p> - -<p>"Why shouldn't I take 'em?" she said to her sister. "They'll only -give 'em to some one else who wouldn't look half so well on them, and -wouldn't know how to ride 'em."</p> - -<p>So that she often danced at the Diadem wearing gems which made the -ladies in the stalls envious, and appeared in the row riding a horse -which was a better-looking and going one than even Lady Harkaway's, the -famous sportswoman.</p> - -<p>Sometimes one of the young men who paid her court, fell in love with -her—genuine, honest love—and offered to make her his wife. She might -have been a countess, had she chosen; but she did not choose.</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," she said to one young peer, who implored her, with -something like tears in his eyes to marry him. "What would be the use? -You'd find out that you'd made a mistake before a month was out; and so -should I. Then people would cut me, and I shouldn't like that. Besides, -you'd want me to give up dancing and live what you call respectable, -and I'm certain I shouldn't like that! No, you go and marry one of -your own set, and take a box for my next benefit and bring her, and -you'll be able to say: 'See what you saved me from!' You wouldn't? Oh, -yes, you would! I know your sort of people too well. You won't take an -answer? Well, then the truth is, I've made up my mind not to marry till -I come across a man I can really care for, and I've not tumbled on any -one yet, thank you."</p> - -<p>She knew the world very well, did Finetta.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>She sent them away when they got too "foolish," as she said, and wanted -to marry her; dismissing them good-temperedly enough. In fact she was -not a bad-tempered woman, and it was only at times that her passionate -nature revealed itself. At such times, when she let out, it was a -revelation indeed. It was almost as safe to brave the tigress in her -den at the Zoological Gardens as to affront Finetta; and they who had -done it once were satisfied with the attempt, and did not repeat it.</p> - -<p>Now, one day, or rather one night, there came Yorke Auchester, and with -him a change in the life of Finetta. They were friends at once. She -amused and interested him; he liked to see her dance, liked to hear her -talk in her cynical, good-tempered way; liked to drop in at the little -house in St. John's Wood after the theater, at the little suppers -over which she presided with a light-hearted gayety which made them -extremely pleasant.</p> - -<p>He admired her on horseback, admired her pluck, her coolness, her -readiness to give and take in the game of repartee; and so it came -about that of all the men, none were so often in her company as Yorke.</p> - -<p>We are the slaves of habit. This is by no means a new saying, but it is -a painfully true one.</p> - -<p>Yorke got into the habit of dropping in at the Diadem for Finetta's -great dance; got into the habit of dropping in at St. John's Wood, of -driving her down to Richmond, of riding with her in the park or into -the country.</p> - -<p>And although he seldom gave her presents, never told her that she was -the most beautiful, the cleverest, the best of her sex, as most of the -other men did, Finetta liked him better than all the rest put together. -And so the chain began to be forged.</p> - -<p>When she went on the stage her dark eyes would scan the stalls, and if -she saw his handsome, careless face and long figure there, a little -smile would curve her lips, and she would dance her best.</p> - -<p>At the little supper parties she managed, somehow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> or other, that he -would sit beside her. If she were dull before he came, she brightened -up when he made his appearance. If she had made an engagement, she -would break it if Yorke asked her to ride and drive with him.</p> - -<p>He didn't see this marked preference for some time, but the others did. -Her quiet little sister who ran the house, once said:</p> - -<p>"Fin, you're going soft on that big Lord Yorke," and the next moment -had sufficient cause for being sorry that she had spoken.</p> - -<p>But it was the truth. Finetta, who had laughed love to scorn, and -broken, or cracked, so many hearts, was in a fair way to discover that -she had a heart of her own.</p> - -<p>Often when he had left her, she would sit perfectly motionless and -silent, thinking hard; then she would start up with a laugh, and burst -into a music-hall song. But it often ended with a sigh.</p> - -<p>She was angry with herself, and she fought hard against the thralldom -that was creeping over her; but she could no more help feeling happy -when he was present, and miserable when he was absent, than she could -help dancing in time, or dropping her 'H's' when she was excited.</p> - -<p>Nothing stands still in this world; love grows or decreases. Finetta's -love for Lord Yorke grew day by day, until it had reached such a pass -that when he went off she needs must throw up her part for the night -and follow him, and failing to find him, come back wretched at heart, -though outwardly as cool and debonair as usual.</p> - -<p>That morning as she was putting on her habit, her sister Polly had -ventured to say a few more words of warning.</p> - -<p>"That Lord Yorke will make your heart ache, Fin," she said, as she -buttoned her sister's boots.</p> - -<p>"Oh, will he?" she retorted, with a dash of color coming into her -cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he will. And what's the good? He won't ask you to marry him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, won't he? How do you know?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I've heard them talk about him. He's as poor as a rat."</p> - -<p>"But I'm not!"</p> - -<p>"No, I dare say; but that won't help you. Besides, he's a good as -engaged to that Lady Eleanor Dallas."</p> - -<p>Finetta jerked her foot away, and her eyes began to glow dangerously.</p> - -<p>"Her? Why she's like a wax doll."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, she isn't," said Polly. "She's as good-looking as most of the -swells, and more so; besides, she's rolling in money, and it's money -he wants. Take my advice, Fin, and don't let him hang about you any -longer."</p> - -<p>"And you take my advice, and hold your tongue!" retorted Finetta. "He -shall hang about me as much as he likes. Who said I wanted to marry -him, or—or that I would if he asked me?"</p> - -<p>"I do; if he'd give you the chance," said Polly.</p> - -<p>Finetta drew her foot away.</p> - -<p>"I'll button the other myself," she said, passionately. But when her -sister had gone she sat with the other boot unbuttoned, and kept the -groom and the horses waiting for a good half-hour; and when she did -go down and mount and ride off, her handsome face was clouded and -thoughtful.</p> - -<p>But at the sight of the green park and the people, she chased the -melancholy brooding out of her dark eyes, and touching the magnificent -horse with her golden spur, sent him into the row in her well-known -style.</p> - -<p>"If he were only here," she thought, and a sigh came to her lips. -"Somehow I feel tired and bored without him, and lost if he's away for -a day or two. Going to marry Lady Eleanor, is he?"</p> - -<p>Almost before the muttered words had left her lips her eyes fell upon a -stalwart figure standing against the rails, and the color flew to her -face as she brought the horse up beside him.</p> - -<p>It was Yorke—Yorke leaning against the rail, with his usually careless -face grave and thoughtful, his eyes absent and staring vacantly at the -ground, and yet with a strange look in them, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> she, with a woman's -quickness, noticed in an instant.</p> - -<p>"Yorke," she said, bending down.</p> - -<p>He started, and looked up, and her name came to his lips, but without -the friendly smile which usually accompanied it.</p> - -<p>"Why, when did you come back?" she asked, her face, her eyes all alight -with life and happiness.</p> - -<p>"To-day," he said. "Sultan's looking well——."</p> - -<p>"Where have you been?" she demanded, noticing a change in his voice. -"Did you get any fishing?</p> - -<p>"Not much," he said, and his eyes were fixed on the horse.</p> - -<p>"No? Then why didn't you come back? It's been awfully slow without you. -Did you know that I had a day off and run down to the country? I was -near you, I believe. Why didn't you leave word where you were going? -What's the matter with you?" she broke off sharply, her color coming -and going, for there had come into his face, into his eyes, a look -almost of pity—newly born pity.</p> - -<p>He knew now that he himself loved, that this woman loved him, and how -she would suffer presently.</p> - -<p>"I'll come in after the theater to-night," he said.</p> - -<p>"Ride on now, or we shall have a crowd."</p> - -<p>Several men had stopped, but waited, as if recognizing Yorke's right to -monopolize her.</p> - -<p>"Very well," she said, and she turned the horse. "It has come at last!" -she murmured, "at last! He is going to be married. I know it! I know!" -Her breath came painfully, and her hand stole up to her heart.</p> - -<p>At that moment a lady came riding in the opposite direction. She was -fair as a lily, and as beautiful, with soft brown eyes that looked -dreamily about her; but as they met the dark ones of Finetta they -seemed to awake, and the softness instantly vanished and gave place to -an expression that in a man would be called hard and calculating.</p> - -<p>Finetta's face, pale a moment before, grew white.</p> - -<p>"That's her," she muttered. "And he is going to marry her. Polly's -right; she's beautiful. Beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> and different to me. He'll marry -and love her."</p> - -<p>Her head drooped and her lips set tightly, and then she rode on. But -suddenly she stopped the horse under some trees and looked back.</p> - -<p>The beautiful girl with the soft brown eyes had stopped beside the -rail, and Yorke and she were shaking hands.</p> - -<p>Finetta could see their faces distinctly, and she watched, scanned his -eagerly.</p> - -<p>A singular expression came into her bold, handsome face.</p> - -<p>"It's not her he's thinking of," she said; "not her. There's the same -look in his eyes as when he looked up at me. What is it? I'll find out -to-night." Her white teeth came together with a click. "I feel like -fighting to-day. Going to marry Lady Eleanor, is he? We'll see! Oh, -Yorke, if—if——." She looked round at the aristocrats riding past. -"There isn't one that could love you as I do."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<h3>"WHAT A MESS I'M IN!"</h3> - - -<p>Lady Eleanor pulled her horse up beside the railing, as Finetta had -done, and smiled down upon Yorke. She had a beautiful smile which, -beginning in her brown eyes, spread over her face to her lips, the -well-formed, cleanly cut lips, which more than anything else gave her -countenance the patrician look for which Finetta—and others—hated -her. And she did not smile too often.</p> - -<p>"Well, Yorke," she said, and her voice was low and clear, and sweet, -with just a touch of languid hauteur in it that was also aristocratic. -"What a lovely day. Why aren't you riding?"</p> - -<p>She didn't ask him, as Finetta had done, where he had been. That would -have been a mistake which Lady Eleanor was far too wise to make.</p> - -<p>"Horse is lame," he said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, what a pity!" she exclaimed, nodding to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> some friends who were -passing. "Just when you want him, too."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "though I am going to sell him."</p> - -<p>She turned her eyes upon him, and raised her brown eyes with a faint -surprise.</p> - -<p>"Going to sell Peter! I thought he suited you so well."</p> - -<p>He nodded, and laughed rather uneasily. The announcement that he -intended to sell his horse had been a slip of the tongue.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he suits me well enough, but I shall sell him all the same. What a -lot of people there are here to-day."</p> - -<p>"Aren't there!" she said, bowing and smiling to one and another of the -men who saluted her. "Nearly everybody one knows. By the way, I haven't -seen the duke this morning."</p> - -<p>"Dolph's down in the country," he said.</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>She would not have asked where, even had she not known; that would -have been another mistake of which she would not have been guilty -for worlds, but her "oh" gave him a chance to tell her if he chose. -Apparently he did not choose, for he changed the subject.</p> - -<p>"How did the Spelham's dance go off last night?"</p> - -<p>"Very well," she replied. "But it was terribly crowded. The princess -was there. I saved a couple of dances for you as long as I could."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't get back."</p> - -<p>She looked quite satisfied with the explanation, or rather want of one, -quite satisfied and serenely placid.</p> - -<p>"You missed a very pleasant ball," was all she said. "I must go on now. -Will you come in to luncheon? Aunt will be very pleased to see you."</p> - -<p>"And you too?" he said, as a matter of course.</p> - -<p>He always had a good supply of such small change about him.</p> - -<p>She smiled.</p> - -<p>"And I too, certainly," she said, and with a nod rode on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke looked after her thoughtfully, and gnawed his mustache.</p> - -<p>The last two days had been the happiest in his life. He had spent -them with Leslie, had walked with her through the lanes and on the -beach, and had driven her to Northcliffe, and every moment of the -delicious time his love had increased; it had seemed to him that he -had not really loved till now, and that his past existence had been a -sheer waste; and he had been happy notwithstanding that he was still -deceiving her, that she still thought him the Duke of Rothbury, and -that he had come to town to break off with two women who loved him.</p> - -<p>It is well to be off with the old love before you are on with the new, -even when there is only one old love; but when there are two!</p> - -<p>It had cost him a great deal to tear himself away from Leslie, even for -a few days, but he had done so. And all the way up to town he had been -hard at work forming most excellent resolutions.</p> - -<p>He would reform, and reform altogether. He would sell his horse, send -in his resignation to two or three of his most expensive clubs, would -give up cards and betting, especially betting. He didn't see why he -shouldn't do without a man-servant. Fleming, his valet, had been a -faithful fellow, and suited him down to the ground; but, yes, Fleming -must go.</p> - -<p>And then—well, then he would go to Mr. Lisle and ask for that pearl of -great price, his daughter,—and marry!</p> - -<p>His heart leaps at the thought. Marry Leslie! He pictured her as a -bride, drew delightful mental sketches of the time they would have. He -would take her to the Continent for their wedding-trip, and then they'd -settle down in a cottage. It would have to be a cottage.</p> - -<p>"Love in a cottage!" Great goodness, how often he had laughed at the -idea, how he had pitied the poor devils who had committed matrimony and -gone out of the world to live in respectable poverty with cold mutton -and cheap sherry for luncheon!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - -<p>But cold mutton and cheap sherry didn't seem so bad with Leslie to -share them.</p> - -<p>He would have to give up a great deal of course, and live within the -small income left of his mother's dower. What a fearful lot of money he -had spent! He had never thought of it before, but now he went through a -little mental arithmetic, and was quite startled. Would anybody believe -that gloves, button-holes, stalls at the Diadem, cigars, dinners at -Richmond, could run up to such a sum?</p> - -<p>What would he give for some of the money now? He took out the duke's -check and looked at it. It was a large sum; but he owed all that and a -great deal more.</p> - -<p>Then he put dull care behind him, and gave himself up to thinking of -Leslie, her beautiful face ten times more lovely than when he had first -seen it, how that her love for him was shining in her eyes. What eyes -they were! Eleanor's were nice ones, Finetta's were handsome ones—but -Leslie's!</p> - -<p>And her voice, too! He could hear it now calling him, half-shyly, -"Yorke!"</p> - -<p>He reached town, and went to his rooms in Bury Street, and Fleming had -got his London clothes, the well-fitting frock coat and flawless hat, -all ready as if he had expected him. And Yorke's heart smote him as he -thought that he would have to give that faithful servant notice.</p> - -<p>Then he went out, still thinking of Leslie and the dark gray eyes which -had grown moist and tender as she said "Good-by!" and then had come -Finetta and Lady Eleanor!</p> - -<p>Yes, he had got his work cut out for him! But he would do it! He would -devote his life to the dear, sweet girl down at Portmaris, whose pure, -unstained heart he had won; he would reform, cut London, and go and be -happy in a cottage for the rest of his life.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he had promised to lunch with Lady Eleanor, the woman whom -the duke and the world at large had decided that he was going to -marry;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> and he had promised to sup with Finetta, who doubtless thought -that he should marry her.</p> - -<p>He had made love to both these women. It was so easy for him, with -his handsome face and light-hearted smile. He had only been half -in earnest! if so much had meant—well, what had he meant—by soft -speeches just murmured, by tender glances, by eloquent pressures of the -hand? But they? How had they taken this easy love-making of his? He -knew too well.</p> - -<p>"Oh, lord, what a mess I'm in!" he muttered, as he made his way slowly -toward Lady Eleanor's house in Palace Gardens.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor rode home rather quickly, and as she entered the -morning-room in which her aunt, Lady Denby, was sitting, there was a -brightness in her soft eyes and a color in her cheeks which caused the -elder lady to regard her curiously.</p> - -<p>"Yorke is coming to luncheon," she said, and Lady Denby at once knew -the cause of her niece's vivacity. "I wonder whether they can send up -some lobster cutlets; he is so fond of them, you know. At any rate, -will you see that they put on the claret he likes, the '73 it is, isn't -it?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, we will serve up the fatted calf," said Lady Denby, with a -smile. "So his gracious majesty has come back?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, moving about the room restlessly, and -flicking her habit-skirt with her whip. "Yes, and he looks very well, -but——."</p> - -<p>"But what?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I scarcely know how to put it. He seemed grave and more serious -than usual this morning. It isn't often Yorke is serious, you know."</p> - -<p>"He has been up to something more reckless and desperate than usual, -perhaps," suggested Lady Denby.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," assented Lady Eleanor, coolly.</p> - -<p>"You say that with delicious <i>sang froid</i>," remarked Lady Denby. "I -suppose if he had been committing murder or treason it would make no -difference to you."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Not one atom," said the girl, her color deepening.</p> - -<p>"The only crime that would ruin him in your eyes would be matrimony -with some one other than yourself."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor started, and bit her lip, then she forced a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I don't know whether even that would cure me," she said. "I should -hate his wife, hate her with an active hatred which would embitter all -my days; but I would go on caring for him and hoping that his wife -might die, and that I might marry him after all."</p> - -<p>Lady Denby shrugged her shoulders, and looked at the proud face, with -its tightly drawn lips, and now brooding eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yours is about the worst case I think I have ever met with, Eleanor," -she said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, it isn't," responded Lady Eleanor. "Only I'm not ashamed to -admit how it is with me, and other women are. But you needn't be afraid -on my account. I only wear my heart on my sleeve for you to peck at. I -keep my secret from the rest of the world."</p> - -<p>"Or think you do," said Lady Denby. "And how is it going to end?"</p> - -<p>"God knows!" exclaimed Lady Eleanor, with an infinite and pathetic -wistfulness. "Sometimes I wish I were dead, or he were——."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! I'd rather see him dead than the husband of another woman!"</p> - -<p>"My dear Nell!"</p> - -<p>"You are shocked. Well, you must be so. It's the truth. Sometimes I -wake in the night from a dream that he has married, and that I am -standing by and see him put the ring on, and I feel——," she stopped, -and laughed with a mixture of bitterness and self-scorn. "What weak, -miserable fools we women are! There is not a man in the whole world -worth one hundredth part of the suffering we undergo."</p> - -<p>"Certainly Yorke Auchester does not!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor swung round on her with a kind of subdued fierceness.</p> - -<p>"What have you to say against him? I thought he was a favorite of -yours!"</p> - -<p>"So he is; but I'm not blind to his faults——."</p> - -<p>"His faults! What are they?"</p> - -<p>"He is selfish, for one thing——."</p> - -<p>"Selfish. He would give away his last penny——."</p> - -<p>"I dare say; he hates coppers——."</p> - -<p>"Would go to the end of the earth to save a friend. Is truth itself. -And where is there a braver man than Yorke Auchester?"</p> - -<p>Her voice softened and faltered as she spoke his name.</p> - -<p>"Or a more foolish and infatuated girl than Eleanor Dallas," said her -aunt. "There!" and she stroked the golden head which Eleanor had let -fall on her hands; "you can't help it, I suppose, and we must make the -best of it. I'll see that he has what he likes for luncheon. Thank -Heaven, if we know nothing more about men, we know the nearest way to -their hearts."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor put out her hand to stop her aunt for a moment.</p> - -<p>"I—I saw that woman this morning," she said, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"You mean Finetta?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, she had come into the park to meet him, I believe, I saw them -talking together. She is a beautiful woman—very."</p> - -<p>"She is that."</p> - -<p>"I don't wonder at his being—fond of her and liking to be with her."</p> - -<p>"I hear they are seldom apart," said Lady Denby, gravely. "That ought -to cure you, if anything would, Eleanor."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shook her head.</p> - -<p>"It only makes it worse," she said, with her face hidden. "Jealousy -doesn't kill love——."</p> - -<p>"But wounded pride should do so!"</p> - -<p>"No, no! It's true I'm proud enough to the rest of the world, but it -all goes, slips away from me when—when I am near him! Oh, dear! Why,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -this morning when I saw him my heart——! And he looked up at me as if -he had seen me only an hour or two ago! But there, what is the use of -talking! I hope they will have some of these cutlets!"</p> - -<p>Lady Denby shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head.</p> - -<p>"It's a pity that Yorke does not know what is good for him. He could -have lobster cutlets and '73 claret for the rest of his life, and all -manner of good things, if he would only throw his handkerchief in the -right direction."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor smiled up at her almost defiantly.</p> - -<p>"It is of no use your taunting me," she said. "You are right; if he -threw his handkerchief, as you put it, I should be only too glad to go -on my knees to pick it up."</p> - -<p>A servant came to the door, with a card on a salver.</p> - -<p>Lady Denby took it, and glanced at it.</p> - -<p>"It is Mr. Ralph Duncombe," she said.</p> - -<p>"I cannot see him this morning. Say that I am not at home."</p> - -<p>Lady Denby signed to the footman to wait.</p> - -<p>"Ought you not to see him?" she said in a low voice. "It may be -important business."</p> - -<p>"Oh, very well. Show Mr. Duncombe into the library."</p> - -<p>"That's right," said Lady Denby, approvingly, "You can't afford to -offend such a man as this Mr. Duncombe. There are not too many men who -are willing to work for you for nothing. I suppose he has come about -those mines?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," assented Lady Eleanor, bitterly.</p> - -<p>"I will go and see."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe had been a friend of Lady Eleanor's father. The late -earl had been fond of dabbling in the city and had met the successful -young merchant there and found him extremely useful. It had been -chiefly owing to Ralph Duncombe's advice and counsel that the late earl -had made the fifty thousand pounds which he had left to Lady Eleanor. -He had done nothing for some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> years before his death without consulting -the keen man of business, and Lady Eleanor had followed her father's -example.</p> - -<p>She would not have been a particularly rich woman with fifty thousand -at three per cent., but Ralph Duncombe had invested it for her in such -a way that it had brought in sometimes ten and fifteen. He had bought -shares and sold them again at a big profit; had dealt with her money as -if it had been his own, and had been as lucky with it. The greatest and -latest piece of good fortune had only just turned up. He had purchased -some land on the coast, calculating to dispose of it to a building -company, but while negotiating with them discovered traces of copper; -and it was on the cards that he had by one of those flukes which seemed -to come so often to Ralph Duncombe, found a large fortune for her.</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Mr. Duncombe?" she said. "What a shame that you should -have to come all this way from the city."</p> - -<p>"It does not take long by the Underground," he said, in his grave -voice, as he shook hands; "and I have some important news for you."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, and she motioned him to a chair.</p> - -<p>As he sat down she noticed that he looked graver than usual, and that -there was a tired and rather sad expression in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Is it bad news?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Bad?" He looked at her with faint surprise.</p> - -<p>"I thought you looked graver than usual, and rather disappointed," she -explained.</p> - -<p>He flushed slightly and forced a smile.</p> - -<p>"We business men seldom look elated," he said, with something like a -sigh. "Money making is not an exhilarating pursuit, Lady Eleanor."</p> - -<p>"I should have thought otherwise," she said; "but I don't know much -about it. I only know that it is very kind of you to take so much -trouble over my affairs."</p> - -<p>"Not at all. It comes natural to me," he said, with a slight smile. -"I was your father's adviser—if I may put it so—for so long and so -intimately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> that it seems a matter of course that I should continue to -be his daughter's. But about this copper, Lady Eleanor. We were not -mistaken; the indications are particularly distinct, and there is every -reason to believe that the land contains a vast quantity."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said; "that is good news. I suppose it will make me very -rich?"</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes, immensely so. The thing to decide now is how to work it. I have a -plan which I should like you to consider," and he went on to explain it -to her.</p> - -<p>She listened not very attentively.</p> - -<p>"I leave it all to you," she said, when he had finished. "I suppose you -will think that is very cool of me; but I don't know what else I could -do. That is, if you will undertake the business for me."</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"I will do so, and not altogether disinterestedly, for I shall ask your -permission to take some shares in the company."</p> - -<p>"Why, yes, of course," she said at once. "I consider that it belongs as -much to you as to me; you found it."</p> - -<p>He shook his head, with a smile.</p> - -<p>"Scarcely that," he said; "but I shall have an interest in it. We shall -get to work at once, and I think I may say, positively, that you will -be, as you put it, very rich, before many months are out."</p> - -<p>"Very rich," she murmured; "thank you."</p> - -<p>It was rather a strange way of accepting the information, but she was -thinking of how little use the money would be if a certain person -refused to share it with her.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe glanced at his watch and got up.</p> - -<p>"You will stay to lunch?" she said....</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Lady Eleanor, not this morning.</p> - -<p>"I have to attend a board meeting, and shall be late as it is."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry."</p> - -<p>She gave him her hand, and as he held it she said, as if at a sudden -thought:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Did you—did you get those bills I asked you about?"</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester's?" he said, and he noticed that her hand quivered. -"Yes, I bought them up." He looked at her gravely. "It cost rather a -larger sum than I expected."</p> - -<p>"You mean that he was very much in debt?" she said, in a low voice, and -with downcast eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very much," he replied, laconically.</p> - -<p>She bit her lip softly, and still evaded his keen gaze.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," she said. "You know I do not understand such matters; -but—but, supposing that you were to compel him to pay these bills, -what would be the result?"</p> - -<p>"You mean try to compel him?" he said, with a smile. "You cannot -get water from a dry well, Lady Eleanor, and from what I hear, Lord -Auchester is a very dry well. If you forced him to take up those bills, -you would ruin him."</p> - -<p>"Ruin him!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. That means that you would make a kind of outcast of him. A man -who cannot meet his engagements is dishonored; he would have to give up -his clubs and leave London. I don't know where such men go now; to some -corner of Spain, I believe. Any way, he would be ruined and thoroughly -finished."</p> - -<p>She drew a long breath.</p> - -<p>"And I—and I could do that?" she said, in a very low voice.</p> - -<p>"You could do that, as I hold the bills for you, certainly," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said, with a laugh that sounded forced and unnatural; -"I only wanted to know. I'm afraid you must think me sublimely -ignorant."</p> - -<p>"Not more so than a lady should be of business matters," he replied, -politely.</p> - -<p>There was a moment's pause. He took up his hat and gloves. Then, -suddenly, Lady Eleanor said:</p> - -<p>"Do you know a place called Portmaris, Mr. Duncombe?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<h3>"NOW, YORKE!"</h3> - - -<p>The carefully brushed, exquisitely shining, and glossy hat—the city -man's god, as it has been called—fell from his hands, and he flushed -and then turned pale; but that, perhaps, was at his clumsiness. At any -rate, whatever the cause, he was able to look Lady Eleanor steadily in -the face when he recovered his hat.</p> - -<p>"Portmaris?" he said, smoothing it with his sleeve. "Yes, I know it. It -is a small fishing village on the west coast. Why do you ask?" and his -keen eyes grew to her face.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I only heard of it the other day," she said.</p> - -<p>"A friend of mine, the Duke of Rothbury, has gone down there, and——," -she paused a moment—"and Lord Auchester has been there."</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester?" he said, and his brows knit thoughtfully. "It is a -strange place for a man about town, like Lord Auchester, to stay at."</p> - -<p>"He has been fishing."</p> - -<p>"There is no fishing there," he remarked, and he put one glove on, and -took it off again, the frown still on his face.</p> - -<p>"He has been to see the duke. You may know that the duke and he are -great friends. They are cousins."</p> - -<p>He shook his head, with an impatience strange and unusual with him—the -cool, self-possessed, city man.</p> - -<p>"I know very little about such persons, Lady Eleanor," he said, -gravely. "Your father, the late earl, was the only nobleman I ever -knew, and—I don't mean to be offensive—I ever wanted to know."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked at him with faint, well-bred surprise; then she -smiled.</p> - -<p>"If reports speak truly, you are likely to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> nobleman yourself some -day, Mr. Duncombe. You have only to enter Parliament——."</p> - -<p>He shook his head by way of stopping her.</p> - -<p>"I have no ambition in that direction, Lady Eleanor," he said, almost -gloomily. "I am a man of business, and care nothing for titles. I was -going to say and for little else; but I suppose that wouldn't be true. -I do care for money; I've been bred to that. Is there anything else you -would like to say to me?" he broke off abruptly.</p> - -<p>His manner was so singular, so unlike his usual one, that Lady Eleanor -was startled.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, no," she said; "except—except that I should be glad if you -could get any other bills or debts of Lord Auchester's."</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"Certainly." He brushed his hat slowly, then added, "Excuse me, Lady -Eleanor, but will you allow me to ask why you are purchasing—and at a -heavy price—Lord Auchester's liabilities? I am aware that I have no -right to ask you the question——."</p> - -<p>"Yes, you have," she said, quickly, and struggling with the color that -would mount to her face. "You were my father's friend, and have been -and are mine; and you have every right to ask such questions. But I -find it difficult to answer. Well, Lord Auchester is a friend of mine, -and I would rather that he owed me the money than a lot of Jews and -people of that kind."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe inclined his head with an air of, "You know your own -business better than any one else."</p> - -<p>"Good-morning, Lady Eleanor," he said; "I will do as you wish. And -please, say nothing about this mining scheme of ours."</p> - -<p>He got outside the house, and drew a long breath.</p> - -<p>The mere mention of the word "Portmaris" had stirred his heart to its -depths, and recalled Leslie and his parting scene with her.</p> - -<p>He might aspire to nobility, might he? What would be the good of a -title to him, when the only title he longed for was that of Leslie -Lisle's husband?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> And so this Lord Auchester had been at Portmaris. Had -he seen Leslie? Had he spoken to her? It was not unlikely! Such men as -this Lord Yorke Auchester would be sure to discover a beautiful girl -like Leslie, and make acquaintance with her.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe spent a very bad half-hour on the Underground on his way -back to the city; very bad!</p> - -<p>Five minutes after the man of business had left Palace Gardens, Yorke, -the man of pleasure, arrived there, and was welcomed as if he were the -great Lama of Thibet.</p> - -<p>"I haven't had time to change my habit, Yorke," said Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"You couldn't put on anything prettier," he said, with that fatal -facility of his, and he looked at her admiringly.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor never appeared to greater advantage than in the dark green -habit, upon which Redfern had bestowed his most finished art.</p> - -<p>"Come in to luncheon at once," she said; "it is the only way of -stopping your compliments. Here is Aunt Denby in a complete quandary as -to whether there is anything fit to eat. You know we women don't care -what we get, but it is different with you men."</p> - -<p>But the luncheon was perfect in its way. Clear soup, a fish pie, salmi -of fowl, and—oh, wonderful cook! lobster cutlets; and the famous '73 -claret.</p> - -<p>Yorke did full justice to the good fare, and rattled away for the -amusement of the two women. He talked of the opera, of the next meeting -at Sandown, of anything and everything which would interest two women -moving in the ultra-fashionable circles, and made himself so pleasant -that Lady Denby—who always suspected, while she liked him—relaxed -into a smile, and Lady Eleanor was beaming.</p> - -<p>"Never get cutlets like these anywhere else," he said, helping himself -to a second serve with a contented sigh.</p> - -<p>"Not at Portmaris?" asked Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<p>He held his fork aloft, and looked at her with sudden gravity.</p> - -<p>"Eh! Oh, Portmaris. No. No lobster cutlets down there. I rather think -they eat the lobsters raw."</p> - -<p>"What an outlandish place it must be!" said Lady Eleanor. "I wonder how -you could stay there, you and Dolph."</p> - -<p>"Oh, anything for a change," he said, carelessly, but with his mind -apparently fixed on his plate, at the bottom of which he could see -Leslie's face as plainly as if she were standing before him.</p> - -<p>The lunch was over at last. It had seemed interminable to Lady Eleanor, -and Lady Denby had, with a half-audible murmur of an afternoon drive, -taken herself away and left the coast clear.</p> - -<p>"You want to smoke?" said Lady Eleanor. "Come into the conservatory. -Aunt doesn't mind it there, as it kills the insects."</p> - -<p>He lit a cigar, and lounged against the doorway, and she sank into a -seat and absently picked the blossoms nearest to her.</p> - -<p>"Now is the time," he thought, "to tell her everything," but at the -moment he remembered the bracelet which the duke had given him for her, -and he put his hand in his pocket and drew it out.</p> - -<p>"By the way, Eleanor," he said, carelessly, "you had a birthday the -other day."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think I had," she said, smiling up at him. "Do you remember it?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I shouldn't, if it hadn't been for Dolph," he said, honestly. -"Dolph always remembers, you know."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know."</p> - -<p>"And so—so——." He took the morocco case from his pocket and opened -it. "And so—well, I know it isn't worth your acceptance, but if you -care to take it, here's a trifle—Dolph gave me," he added, honestly -and he held out the bracelet.</p> - -<p>She took it, and her face brightened, brightened with a soft glow which -made it look inexpressibly tender and grateful.</p> - -<p>"How good of you! How pretty it is! And it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> just the size, see," and -she unbuttoned the habit sleeve and slipped the bracelet on. "How does -it fasten?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?" he said. "Oh, like this, I expect," and he closed the spring and -fastened it over her slender, milk-white wrist, and the touch of his -hand sent a thrill through her, though he performed the operation in a -most business-like way.</p> - -<p>"How very good of you!"</p> - -<p>"Say, rather of Dolph," he said. "It was he who gave it to me for you."</p> - -<p>"But it was you who gave it to me," she said, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"I told him you wouldn't care for it," he said. "You who have no end of -presents."</p> - -<p>"But none I value more than this," she said, her voice singing, so to -speak. "I will always wear it."</p> - -<p>"Don't," he said. "Better wear the bracelet that goes with your diamond -set. That's more suitable to a rich person than this—though that's -hard on Dolph, who chose it and paid for it, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>She was silent a moment, then she said:</p> - -<p>"That reminds me, Yorke. Do you know that I am likely to be richer even -than you think?"</p> - -<p>"Oh? Well, I'm very glad," he said, with friendly interest and -pleasure. "What will you do with so much coin; roll in it?"</p> - -<p>She sighed softly, and lifted her eyes to his for a moment, with a look -that said, "I would like to give it to you, and you can roll in it, or -fling it in the Thames, or play ducks and drakes with it, or anything." -But he was not looking at her, and did not see the appeal of the soft -brown eyes.</p> - -<p>"There is one thing I can do with it," she said. "I can buy your horse, -if you really mean selling it, Yorke. But you don't?"</p> - -<p>"But I do," he said, quickly, and with a touch of red showing -through his tan. "I'm going to cut down my establishment—big word -'establishment,' isn't it?—as low as it can be cut, and the horse has -got to go."</p> - -<p>"Then I will buy it," she said, her face flushing, and then going pale.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>Why was he selling it? What was he going to do? Surely nothing rash; -he was not going to marry. No! she drew a long breath—that was -impossible. He couldn't marry with those debts hanging round his neck, -and those awful bills which she held, unless he married an heiress, and -in that case he would not want to sell his horse, an old and loving -favorite.</p> - -<p>"You?" he said. "Why should you buy it? You've got enough already. -Besides, he's not altogether safe."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said, laughing a little tremulously. "It is the first -time my horsemanship has been called in question. I'm not afraid of -Peter. Besides, I—I should like to have him."</p> - -<p>"To put under a glass case?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, that I might look at him and recall the many jolly rides we have -had together. No, no one shall have Peter but me. You can't prevent my -buying him, you know!"</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "And I'd rather you had him than any one else. I should -see him occasionally, and I think I could make him quiet enough -for you. Perhaps," he laughed, "you might feel good-natured enough -sometimes to lend him to a poor chap who can't afford a nag of his own."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said. "I could do that. Is there anything I wouldn't lend or -give you, Yorke?" and her voice was almost inaudible.</p> - -<p>He started and looked at his watch. How was he to tell this beautiful -woman, whose eyes were melting with love, whose voice rang with it, -that he had no love to return, that he had indeed given his whole heart -to another woman? And yet, that was what he meant doing this morning!</p> - -<p>"I—I must be off," he said, almost nervously.</p> - -<p>She rose, and as she did so the bracelet, which he must have fastened -insecurely, fell to the ground. He stooped and picked it up, and she -held out her arm.</p> - -<p>"That's a bad omen, isn't it?" she said, with a wistful smile.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," he replied, as lightly as he could.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> "That kind of thing only -applies to rings; wedding ones in particular. Let's see, how does this -clasp go, once more?"</p> - -<p>She put her disengaged hand to show him, and their fingers met, touched -and got entangled, and he laughed; but the laugh died away as he saw -her lips quiver as if with pain, and her soft eyes fill with tears.</p> - -<p>He got outside and took off his hat, and drew a long breath.</p> - -<p>"I could as soon have struck her as told her," he muttered.</p> - -<p>And that was how he was 'off with the old love' No. 1.</p> - -<p>He went down to the club, and sauntered from reading-room to -reception-room, and at last consented to play a game at billiards with -a man with whom he had often played, and always at an advantage.</p> - -<p>Yorke was good at most games of strength or skill, and the men, hearing -that he was playing, dropped in and sat round to while away the tedious -hour before dinner.</p> - -<p>But that afternoon Yorke could not play a bit.</p> - -<p>"Completely off color," remarked a young fellow, in tones of almost -personal resentment. "Never saw such a thing, don't-yer-know. There! -That's the second easy hazard he's missed, and bang goes my sovereign."</p> - -<p>"And why on earth does he keep on smoking like that?" inquired another -in an undertone. "Looks as if he were mooning about something. He can't -be—be——."</p> - -<p>The first young fellow shook his head.</p> - -<p>"No, Yorke Auchester doesn't drink, if that's what you mean; it isn't -that, but hang me if I know what it is. Yorke!" he called out, "you -can't play."</p> - -<p>Yorke gave a little start in the middle of one of the reflective smiles.</p> - -<p>"Eh? No. I'm making a fool of myself, I know."</p> - -<p>"You must have been to bed early wherever you've been for the last -week," suggested one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> the men, and they were all surprised to see -him flush, "like a great girl, by Jingo!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have, and it hasn't agreed with me in a billiard sense," he -said, good temperedly, as he put on his coat and sauntered out. He went -to his chambers and dressed, and the faithful Fleming also noticed the -singular fit of abstraction which had fallen upon his beloved master.</p> - -<p>"Seems to have something on his mind," was his mental reflection. "And -it doesn't look as if it was bills or anything unpleasant of that kind."</p> - -<p>"Shall I wait up to-night, my lord?" he asked, as he put on the -perfectly cut dress overcoat, and handed the speckless, flawless hat.</p> - -<p>He had to put the question twice, and even then Yorke did not seem to -catch the sense of it immediately.</p> - -<p>"Eh? No, don't sit up; I may be late. And, by the way, I may be off to -the country to-morrow morning, so have some things packed."</p> - -<p>"Something up at that outlandish place he's been staying at," was -Fleming's mental comment, and he watched his master go slowly down the -stairs with the faint flicker of a smile on his handsome face.</p> - -<p>Yorke dined at the club and for once seemed quite indifferent as to -what he ate, and when the footman brought the wrong claret, took it -without a word of reproach. Some of his friends watched him from an -adjacent table, and shook their heads.</p> - -<p>"Somebody's gone and died and left him a hatful of coin, or else he's -won a big wager. Never saw Yorke Auchester go dreaming over his dinner -in his life before," was the remark.</p> - -<p>About nine o'clock he lit a cigar, and walked down to the Diadem.</p> - -<p>The attendants, box-keepers, even the men in the orchestra knew him, -and people pointed him out to each other as his stalwart figure made -its way to his stall; and when Finetta sprang onto the stage in her -dainty page's dress of scarlet and black satin, the man who always -"knows everything" about the actors and actresses whispered to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -country cousin, "That's Finetta. Look! You'll see her glance toward him -and perhaps give a little nod. They say he's spent every penny of an -enormous fortune in diamonds for her; got some of 'em on to-night," etc.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, Finetta saw him without any direct glance, and saw -nothing else.</p> - -<p>It was said that she danced her best that night, and the house stamped -and cheered with delight.</p> - -<p>But as Yorke looked at her, and clapped, he thought:</p> - -<p>"Poor Fin. It won't be hard to leave her."</p> - -<p>And the remembrance of the laugh he had heard at St. Martin's Tower -rose, and made him shudder. He lit a cigar after the theater, and set -out to walk to St. John's Wood.</p> - -<p>As the page opened the door—Finetta had two men-servants, both as well -appointed and trained as any of Lady Eleanor's—Yorke heard the sound -of laughter and music in the dining-room; and above it all, Finetta's -laugh; it made him shudder once more.</p> - -<p>Supper was nearly over—a dainty supper with ice puddings and the best -brands of champagne and some one at the piano was dashing out with the -true artistic touch, the popular song from the late comic opera, and -some of the guests were singing it.</p> - -<p>There were three or four men—Lord Vinson was among them and—and -as many ladies. At the head of the table sat Finetta. She was -magnificently dressed in a cream silk, soft and undulating.</p> - -<p>A crimson rose was her only ornament, and that worn in the thick, -glossy hair; she knew Yorke's taste too well to smother herself in -diamonds, and she knew also that the soft cream and the rich red rose -showed up her dark, Spanish complexion as no other colors could do.</p> - -<p>Her eyes lit up as he entered, and she signed to him to take a chair -next her.</p> - -<p>"I knew you'd come," she said, in a low voice. "You never break a -promise. Polly, give Lord Auchester some gelatine—or what will you -have?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<p>He took a biscuit and a glass of wine, and joined in with the talk.</p> - -<p>It was not very witty, but it was not dull. The men talked of the -theater, the turf, and talked a great deal better and more fluently -than they did at "respectable" dinner parties, and every now and then -one of them was asked to sing, and did so cheerfully and willingly, and -as a rule sang well, and the rest made a chorus if it was needed.</p> - -<p>With the exception that no one looked or was bored, and all tried to -make themselves pleasant and agreeable, it differed very little from -the dinners and suppers which we, the most respectable of readers, so -often yawn over.</p> - -<p>Finetta said but little, sang one song only, and was so silent and -quiet and subdued, that Lord Vinson, as he rose to take his leave, -whispered to Yorke on passing:</p> - -<p>"Look out for squalls, old fellow! She's most dangerous when she's like -this, don't you know."</p> - -<p>When they had all gone but Yorke, and Polly had retired to a corner -of the inner room, and taken out some lace of her sister's to mend, -Finetta lit a cigarette for Yorke, and then, going to the piano, began -to play—she had learned to play a little—the air to which she danced -her great dance. Then she moved way and as if she were thinking of -anything but the silent young man with the far-away look on his face, -and humming the air musically enough, glided into the dance itself.</p> - -<p>Surely since Taglioni there has been no more graceful dancer than -Finetta, and even Yorke, with his heart soaring miles away to the -flower-faced girl who owned it, could not but look and admire.</p> - -<p>"Bravo, Fin," he said, almost involuntarily. "No wonder they encore -that every night! Don't leave off," for she had stopped suddenly right -in front of him, her dark eyes flashing into his, her lips apart.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said. "I am not going to dance any more to-night. I am going -to sit here and listen while you tell me everything! Now Yorke!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XV.</h2> - -<h3>FINETTA LEARNS THE TRUTH.</h3> - - -<p>"Now tell me everything," repeated Finetta, and she drew an amber -satin cushion from the sofa, and seated herself at his feet, her hands -clasped round her knees, her dark eyes turned up to him.</p> - -<p>Now here was the way ready made for him; but what man ever answered -such an appeal at once and fully? Yorke took the cigarette from his -lips and looked down at her with a troubled surprise.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" he said. "How do you know there is anything to -tell?"</p> - -<p>She laughed, almost contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"How do you know when it's going to rain? By the clouds, don't you? -Do you think I'm blind, Yorke? I'm not clever like some of your swell -friends, but I'm not a fool. I've got eyes like other women, and -perhaps they're sharper than some, and I can see something is the -matter. I saw it the moment I rode up to you in the park to-day, and -I've been watching you all the evening."</p> - -<p>"You'd make a decent detective, Fin," he said, trying to speak -banteringly.</p> - -<p>"I dare say," she assented. "Most women would, especially if they knew -the man they were after as well as I know you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, we are old friends, Fin," he said.</p> - -<p>"That's it," she said. "And that's why I ask you what's the matter, -what's happened? Some men would push me off or give me the lie, but you -aren't like that sort."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," and he laughed.</p> - -<p>"No, you always go straight, and that's one of the reasons why—I like -you, don't you see?"</p> - -<p>"I see," he said. "And so you thought I looked this morning as if I'd -got something on my mind?"</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, when I came up you were leaning against the rail, looking at -nothing, as if you were dreaming; and while you were speaking to Lady -Eleanor——."</p> - -<p>He moved slightly.</p> - -<p>"You don't like me to speak of her?" she said, with a woman's -quickness. "All right, I sha'n't hurt her by mentioning her name."</p> - -<p>"Don't be foolish, Fin," he said, coloring at the truth of her insight; -he did not like to hear her mention Lady Eleanor's name.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm not foolish. I was saying that you looked at her ladyship -just as you looked at me, as if you didn't see either of us, as if you -were looking right away beyond us, and it's been the same to-night. -You haven't heard half that was going on, but have just been mooning -and dreaming, and so I ask you what it is? Wait a minute. If you're -going to tell me that it's money matters, you needn't, for I shouldn't -believe you. If the bailiffs were in the house you wouldn't let it -trouble you, you know."</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid I shouldn't," he admitted.</p> - -<p>"Very well," she said, "then it isn't that—though you are hard up, and -pretty deep in debt, eh, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," he said. "Always have been, and shall be; everybody knows -that."</p> - -<p>"And so you're used to it, and don't mind it," she went on. "It isn't -that then. What is it?"</p> - -<p>He was silent, struggling hard for courage to tell her.</p> - -<p>"You don't like making a clean breast of it," she said, slowly. "And -you think it's like my cheek to ask you. But I'm an old friend, am I -not? I'm only Finetta, the girl that dances at the Diadem, but I've -got a feeling that I'm a better friend to you than many of your swell -ones. I dare say they think I'm a bad lot, and that I've done you no -end of harm. Perhaps I have. I've let you come here when you liked, -and take me about riding and driving, when you ought to have been with -them; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> I don't know, after all, that I've hurt you much. I dare say -I could if I liked. You'd have given me things like Charlie Farquhar, -if I'd let you; but I didn't. I was a fool, perhaps, sometimes I think -I am. But—but, you see, I liked you. I didn't care for the others, -they were nothing to me and it wouldn't have mattered if they'd spent -their last shilling in rings and flowers and things. But with you it -was different. I don't know quite why," and her eyes sank thoughtfully. -"Perhaps it was because you always treated me like a lady, and didn't -bother me to run off with you or—or marry you."</p> - -<p>Her voice softened, and a dash of color came into her olive cheeks.</p> - -<p>"You'd have made a poor bargain if I had and you consented, Fin," he -said, gravely.</p> - -<p>"I dare say," she assented. "Anyhow, you didn't and don't mean to. -Don't deny it. I know how you've always thought of me. I've been just -Finetta, of the Diadem, and it's been pleasant and amusing to take me -about and come and have supper, and—and that's all."</p> - -<p>She raised her eyes to his face with a smile, a brave smile that did -not hide her aching heart from him.</p> - -<p>"And we've been such very good friends," she went on after a pause, -"that I speak out straight and plain when I see that something is the -matter, and I ask you what it is, and if you take my advice, you'll -tell me. Who knows, I might be able to help you, if you want any help. -Don't laugh. What's that story about the lion and the mouse? I'm only a -mouse I know, and you are no end of a lion, but you may find yourself -in a net some day, don't you know."</p> - -<p>Her tone was slangy, but there was an earnestness in it, and in her -dark eyes, which touched Yorke.</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment or two, then he said in a voice inaudible to -Polly, who stolidly stitched and stitched in the inner room:</p> - -<p>"You are right, Fin. Something has happened——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I knew it," she said, quietly.</p> - -<p>He screwed his courage up.</p> - -<p>"The fact is, Fin, I am—going to be married," he said, almost in a -whisper.</p> - -<p>She did not start, did not move a muscle for a moment, then she got up.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, I want a cigarette."</p> - -<p>She crossed the room to an inlaid cabinet, and took out a silver -box—of course a present—and got a cigarette from it, and her hand -shook so that for a moment she could not hold the match straight.</p> - -<p>But when she glided back to her place at his feet her hand was steady, -and seeing that his face was rather pale, she showed no sign of -emotion, either of surprise, or anger, or resentment.</p> - -<p>"Going to be married?" she said, leaning back. "To Lady Eleanor, I -suppose?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Yorke, emphatically. "Why should you think that?"</p> - -<p>He was relieved, greatly relieved by the quiet way in which she had -taken the announcement, and, man like, was completely deceived.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know. Everybody said you were going to marry her. She has -plenty of money and is a swell. So, it's not her?" she said, slowly, -her eyes downcast.</p> - -<p>"No, it is not," he responded. "And there's no reason why people should -say——." He stopped, conscience-smitten.</p> - -<p>"Oh, they say it because you and she are so much together, and you've -made love to her; but that means nothing with you, does it?" she said, -shooting a glance up at him.</p> - -<p>Yorke colored.</p> - -<p>"If a man's to marry every girl he flirts with——," he said, -half-angrily.</p> - -<p>"All right, I don't mind. You've flirted with me and I haven't asked -you to marry me. And so it's not her ladyship." A faint smile curved -her lips, which looked drawn and constrained. "What other swell is it? -I know 'em all—by sight."</p> - -<p>"She is not a 'swell' at all," he said. "And you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> do not know her. I -only saw her the other day down in the country."</p> - -<p>"Where you have been this last week?" she said, in a low voice, -perfectly steady and under control.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I saw her, met her, by chance, quite by chance."</p> - -<p>"And—and you fell in love with her right off?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, looking straight before him and speaking as if in a -dream. "I loved her at first sight."</p> - -<p>"She must be very good-looking."</p> - -<p>He smiled, absently. "Good-looking" was so poor a phrase by which to -describe his Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she is good-looking, as you call it, Fin," he said.</p> - -<p>"What is she like? Is she tall and fair—I suppose so, that's the style -that fetches most men."</p> - -<p>"N-o," he said. "She is not fair—not what one would call fair."</p> - -<p>"Dark?" and she flashed her brilliant eyes up at him, and then at a -mirror opposite her.</p> - -<p>"N-o, not dark, I think; I can't tell. Her hair is dark."</p> - -<p>"As mine?" she asked.</p> - -<p>He looked down at her as if he had forgotten the color of her hair, and -she felt the look like a dagger stab.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but she has blue or gray eyes."</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>"I knew," she said, shortly, as if it cost her something to speak. "I -know the sort of girl. I've seen 'em. Dark hair and bluish-gray eyes. -Yes! And you fell in love with her at first sight. And—why don't you -go on? I want to know all about her," and she laughed.</p> - -<p>In his abstraction he did not detect the tone of agony, of jealousy, in -the laugh, and only thought how well Finetta was behaving, and what a -brick she was.</p> - -<p>"There's not much more to tell," he said. "I—I told her that I loved -her, and—and——." He paused, recalling the tender, the precious -confession of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> darling. "Well, we're to be married, Fin, as soon as -we can. I'm as poor as a church mouse, and we sha'n't have much to live -upon; but I dare say we shall get on somehow or other. Anyhow, I've -made up my mind, and——." He stopped.</p> - -<p>"No one, not the devil himself, could stop you," she finished, not -passionately, but in a slow, steady voice. "And so you've come to me -and told me like—like a man, Yorke."</p> - -<p>"We are old friends, Fin," he said, "and I felt you ought to know."</p> - -<p>"I see," she said. "It will make a difference to us, won't it? Good-by -to our acquaintance now. No more dinners at Richmond, or suppers at the -little house in St. John's Wood. It wouldn't do for a man who is going -to be married to be friends with Finetta, eh? Oh, I understand, and I'm -much obliged to you——."</p> - -<p>"Fin——."</p> - -<p>"Wait. I'm speaking the truth. I am much obliged to you. Some men would -have kept it to themselves; would have cut me straight away without a -word, and left me to find out the reason by reading the accounts of the -wedding in the newspapers. But you aren't that sort, are you, Yorke—or -I suppose I ought to say Lord Auchester now?"</p> - -<p>He colored and bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"Hit away, Fin," he said. "I deserve it."</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "I won't hit you, though I dare say Lady Eleanor -and the heaps of other ladies you've made love to will, and pretty -hard. But I am not a lady, you see, and that makes a difference. And -this—this young lady? You say she's not a swell?"</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"Not what you call a swell, Fin," he said. "She is the daughter of an -artist, and not a first-rate one at that."</p> - -<p>"An artist?" The full lips writhed into an expression of amazement and -contempt which he did not see. "An artist, one of those fellows who -paint pictures."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And awfully bad ones," said Yorke, with a rueful laugh.</p> - -<p>"And they're poor?"</p> - -<p>"They are certainly not rich," he said.</p> - -<p>"And you'll be poor, too, you and she, when—when you're married?"</p> - -<p>He laughed rather ruefully again.</p> - -<p>"I know the sort of thing," she said, with all the scorn of one who has -passed from squalid poverty to luxury and wealth. "You'll have to live -in a small house with one or two servants, you won't be able to afford -a valet or a horse——."</p> - -<p>"Excepting a clothes-horse."</p> - -<p>"Well, you'll want that, as I dare say she—your wife—will have to do -the washing, and you'll have to dine like a workman, in the middle of -the day, and drink cheap ale, and wear shabby clothes. I should like -to see you in seedy clothes, Yorke; you'd look funny," and she laughed -bitterly. "And she'd wear cheap things, turned dresses, and that sort -of thing, and she'd get dowdy and ill-tempered, and you'd ask yourself -what on earth you ever saw in her that you should go and ruin yourself -by marrying her. Oh, I know!" and she leaned back and puffed at her -cigarette with a contempt that was almost imperial.</p> - -<p>Yorke colored.</p> - -<p>"A good deal of what you say is true, but not all, Fin," he said, -almost gently. It would be base ingratitude to be angry with her after -the admirable way in which she had received the news. "For one thing, -Leslie would never be dowdy. You'd understand that if you knew her, had -seen her. I suppose she wears cheap clothes, now. If so, all I can say -is that she looks as well, as refined and lady-like, as—as anybody I -know."</p> - -<p>"As Lady Eleanor?" she put in, with a flash of her dark eyes.</p> - -<p>"Well, yes," he assented; "and for another thing, she wouldn't get -ill-tempered; it isn't possible."</p> - -<p>"Oh, isn't it?" with another curl of the lip.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, quietly, earnestly; "I'll go bail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> for that much. And -I'll stake my life I shall never ask myself why I married her! But -you're right about a great deal of it, Fin; and we shall have to put -up with it. After all, you know, you can't have everything you want in -this world. Did you ever notice that the rich people, the people with -hatfuls of money, generally look the most wretched? I have. They want -something they haven't got, you may depend upon it; something they -value ever so much higher than their coin. Well, we shall want money, -but we shall have a good many other things——."</p> - -<p>She laughed, a dry, harsh laugh.</p> - -<p>"Don't mind me," she said; "I can't help smiling. It's as good as a -play to hear you talking like the leading juvenile in a sentimental -piece. Love, love, love! That's what you're thinking of. Well, perhaps -you're right. God knows! I dare say you're right."</p> - -<p>She was silent a moment, then she said:</p> - -<p>"And when's the wedding to be?"</p> - -<p>"Soon," he said, dreamily; "as soon as possible. It's a secret. I mean -our engagement."</p> - -<p>She looked up sharply.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it isn't in the papers or known yet?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>"No, no. We've reasons for keeping it quiet for a little while."</p> - -<p>"But you came and told me," she said, broodingly. "Well, it was -straight and kind of you, as I said, and—and I'm much obliged."</p> - -<p>He put out his hand to her in acknowledgment. She looked at it for a -moment as if she doubted whether she would take it; then she put her -own into it, and hers burned like a red-hot coal.</p> - -<p>She took it away instantly, and rose and walked slowly up to the table, -poured out a couple of glasses of champagne, and brought him one and -raised the other to her lips.</p> - -<p>"Here's luck to you—both!" she said, with a laugh. "May you be happy -ever afterward, as they say in the story books," and she looked over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -the rim of the glass at him, with her dark eyes flashing under the -thick brows.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Fin," he said. "You are a good sort, and——." He rose.</p> - -<p>"But you don't want to know any more of me," she broke in. "I -understand. Oh, don't apologize. I'm cute enough to see why you've told -me, why you've come to me first of all. There's to be an end to our -friendship——." Her voice broke for a moment, then she hurried on with -forced gayety and indifference. "And you're quite right. A man who's -going to settle down, doesn't want such acquaintances as me. Well, -good-by."</p> - -<p>She held out her hand.</p> - -<p>Yorke, feeling as a man must feel under such circumstances, when he -cannot contradict and would like to do so, hung his head for a moment, -then he took her hand, and holding it, said:</p> - -<p>"I'm not much loss, Fin. As I told her, I'm a bad lot, and dear at any -price, and—there, good-by!"</p> - -<p>Then he did a foolish thing. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed -it.</p> - -<p>She quivered, almost as if he had struck her; her eyes closed, and she -leaned heavily against the edge of the table.</p> - -<p>Yorke, feeling unutterably miserable, dropped her hand and left the -room. He gave the page who helped him on with his coat a sovereign, and -got outside.</p> - -<p>"Poor Fin!" he muttered, standing on the pavement and staring about -him. "Poor Fin!"</p> - -<p>And so he got off with the old love number two.</p> - -<p>Finetta stood where he had left her for a second, then sprang forward -with her magnificent arms stretched out.</p> - -<p>"Yorke, Yorke!" broke from her white lips. But the door had closed, and -he did not hear her.</p> - -<p>She stood erect for a moment, then staggered and fell face downward -upon the sofa.</p> - -<p>Polly ran to her—locking the door on her way—and raised her head. She -had fainted.</p> - -<p>Polly poured some wine through the clenched teeth and bathed the set -face, and presently Finetta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> came to; but it was to pass from a swoon -into an awful torrent of weeping.</p> - -<p>"He's gone! He's gone! Forever!" she moaned. "I shall never see him -again! Why did I let him go like that? Why didn't I ask him on my knees -to let us be friends still? I should have seen him now and again, and -that would have been something; to speak to him, hear him laugh and -talk, and call me 'Fin;' but it's all over now. He'll never come back! -Oh, I wish I were dead, dead, dead!"</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush," implored Polly, trying to soothe her. "He's better gone. -There was no good in his staying."</p> - -<p>"No, no! I know that! He never cared for me. I only amused him, and -directly he left me he forgot me. They're all alike. No, he was -different. Look how he came and told me—like a man! Oh, Yorke, Yorke! -Oh, he little guesses how I——." Her lips shook, and she hid her face -even from her sister.</p> - -<p>"Where's your pride, Fin?" whispered Polly, almost as Lady Denby had -said to Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"My pride!" retorted Finetta. "Ah, you can talk like that, you who -don't know what I feel! I haven't any. I'd have followed him round the -world like a dog, grateful for a kind word—or a blow! I'd have worked -for him like a slave. Poor! He needn't have been poor if he'd married -me. He should have had every penny, and I'd have been content to go in -rags so long as he had the best of everything; and I'd have made him -happy, or die in the trying."</p> - -<p>"You'd most likely have died," remarked Polly, with a woman's insight.</p> - -<p>"I dare say. Well, I could have died. But it's all over."</p> - -<p>She hid her face in her hands and shook like a leaf for a full minute, -then suddenly her mood changed, and she started up—in a fury.</p> - -<p>The tears dried up in her burning eyes, her face became white, her -lips rigid; and as she stood with clenched hands and heaving bosom -she looked like an outraged goddess, a tigress robbed of her cub, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -woman despised and deserted—and that is a more terrible thing than the -outraged goddess or the bereaved tigress, by the way.</p> - -<p>"He's a fool!" she panted. "A fool! To leave me for such as her! Says -she's pretty!" She strode to the glass and stood erect before it. "Is -she better looking than I am? I don't believe it. And what else is she? -Nothing. She's poor—she isn't a swell even. And he's left me and that -other, that Lady Eleanor, for her! Yes; I could have borne it better if -it had been Lady Eleanor; if it had been one of her sort it would be -more natural; but a mere nobody, the daughter of an artist!"</p> - -<p>In her ignorance poor Finetta regarded the painters of pictures and -gate posts as equals.</p> - -<p>"A common painter! Why, he'd better have married me!" and she drew -a long breath. "I'm as good as she is, and she'll be a lady. I'd make as -good a lady as she would."</p> - -<p>"You never saw her," ventured Polly, timidly.</p> - -<p>The tigress swung round upon her, dashing the wine glasses to the -ground in the movement.</p> - -<p>"Saw her! I don't want to see her, to know what she's like! I can -guess. A dowdy, simpering, doll-faced chit of a girl that caught his -fancy! And she'll be his wife, while I——." She raised her clenched -hands above her head, and laughed a wild, discordant laugh. "It makes -me mad!"</p> - -<p>She fell to pacing the room. Her hair had become unfastened, and fell -in a black torrent over the creamy satin. Her lithe figure, erect and -quivering, looked six feet high. A magnificent spectacle for a painter -or sculptor, but not for the man or woman who had offended her.</p> - -<p>"I'm flung aside as not fit for him to know, and she'll be his wife. I -wish she were here now; I'd kill her! Oh, if I could only do something -to separate them! If I could only come between them!"</p> - -<p>She flung herself on the sofa, and hid her face on the cushion.</p> - -<p>Polly went up to her.</p> - -<p>"You're wearing yourself out, Fin," she said. "You'll suffer for this -to-morrow. Better come to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> bed. Besides, what's the use of it? You -can't bring him back, or stop his marrying the other girl."</p> - -<p>Finetta raised her head, and looked at her as if she did not see her.</p> - -<p>"Can't I?" she muttered between her closed teeth. "Can't I? I don't -know! Such things have been done. Sometimes there's a way." She put her -hand to her brow, and drew a labored sigh. "I can't think; my head's -like lead and on fire, and my heart's aching. When did he say the -wedding was to be?"</p> - -<p>"Soon," said Polly. "What's the use——."</p> - -<p>Finetta held up her hand to silence her.</p> - -<p>"Go to bed," she said, hoarsely.</p> - -<p>"You come too——."</p> - -<p>"Go to bed; get out of my sight. I want to be alone, to think. To -think! There must be some way to stop it, and—and I'll find it out. Go -away——," with a flash of her somber eyes—"Go away and leave me. I'm -best alone."</p> - -<p>Polly, awed and frightened, crept to the door; but as she paused -a moment and looked back she heard the hoarse, broken voice still -muttering:</p> - -<p>"There must be some way!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> - -<h3>THE FOOLISH NOTE.</h3> - - -<p>Yorke walked all the way from St. John's Wood to Bury Street, and it -was not altogether a pleasant walk.</p> - -<p>There is a popular parlor game called "Consequences," and, after a -fashion, he was playing that game as he strode along smoking vigorously.</p> - -<p>It is an easy and pleasant amusement running into debt; but there are -consequences. It is also an easy and pleasant matter to make love to -two women; but the consequences have to be reckoned with, and the -reckoning, whether it come sooner or later, is a serious matter.</p> - -<p>He had never loved Lady Eleanor, but he respected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> and liked her. He -had certainly never loved Finetta, but he had liked her—liked her very -much; and as he made his way through the silent streets his heart—it -was by no means a hard one—was filled with pity and remorse.</p> - -<p>"It was playing it very rough to go and tell her that I should have -to cut her, that she wasn't fit company for me any longer, but what -else could I do? I couldn't cut her without a word, without saying -'Good-by,'" he mused. "And how well she took it. No scene! no fuss! -no reproaches!" It was well that he was unable to see Finetta at that -moment; or perhaps it would have been better for him if he could. -"She bore it like a brick. She is a brick! Most women of her class -would have raised a duse of a row, and made it hot for me all round. -Yes, Fin's behaved well. What a fool I have been! What fools we men -all are! Why did I want to strike up a friendship with Finetta of the -Diadem? And yet that's scarcely the fair way to look at it, for in a -way she's as good as I am. And she'd have gone a hundred miles to do me -a service; yes, and have shared her last penny with me. I know that! -Poor Fin! Thank Heaven, it's over! I'll begin a new life from to-night, -please God. A life devoted to my darling. My darling! Heaven! It -scarcely seems true that she is mine. I wonder whether she is asleep. -Perhaps she is looking up at these small stars, and——. Yes, I hope -she is thinking of me. Jove! It's like having a guardian angel all to -one's self to be loved by such a woman as Leslie. I wish I were more -worthy of her. I wish I'd met her years ago! What a time I seem to have -wasted!"</p> - -<p>He had forgotten Finetta long before he reached home, and was wrapped -up heart and soul in Leslie, and looking with impatience toward the -hour when he could return to Portmaris.</p> - -<p>He would have gone back the next day, but the duke had asked him to do -one or two things for him; and he, Yorke, was anxious to pay some bills.</p> - -<p>He went out after breakfast, and his first call was at a grimy office -in a dark and dingy court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> leading out of Lombard Street. This was the -parlor of a certain money-lending spider called Levison, and Lord Yorke -was not the first fly that had found its way into it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Levison was a grimy man with a hooked nose and thick lips, an -unctuous smile, and decidedly Israelite accent. He was dressed in the -height of fashion, wore a scarlet necktie in which shone an enormous -diamond horse-shoe pin, a thick gold cable albert across his waistcoat, -and innumerable rings upon his fingers, which called unkind attention -to the fact that the latter were dirty.</p> - -<p>This young gentleman greeted Lord Yorke with a mixture of respect and -familiarity which made Yorke—and most other persons—feel an almost -irresistible longing to kick him.</p> - -<p>"And 'ow's your lordship?" said Mr. Levison, with a smile that -stretched his flexible lips from ear to ear. "It ain't often we see you -in the city, my lord; more's the pity for the city!" And he laughed -and rubbed his hands. "What can I have the pleasure of doin' for your -lordship? A little accommodation, I s'pose, eh?"</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, no, Mr. Levison," he said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Levison appeared to be surprised.</p> - -<p>"No? Oh, come now, my lord! Not want a little money? You're joking!"</p> - -<p>"Strange as it may seem, I am serious," said Yorke as pleasantly as he -could. "I don't want any money; in fact, I've come to take up that bill -for two hundred and fifty pounds."</p> - -<p>And he took out his pocket-book, in which were lying snugly the -bank-notes for which he had cashed the duke's check.</p> - -<p>Now, it is generally and not erroneously supposed that a Jew is always -ready and glad to receive money; but Mr. Levison, singular to relate, -looked neither ready nor glad. He stared at Yorke with widely opened -eyes, and his face grew first red and then pale.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say that you want to pay off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> that two hundred and -fifty, my lord?" he said at last and in a tone almost of dismay.</p> - -<p>"Startles you, doesn't it?" said Yorke, with a smile, for the Jew's -consternation amused him. "It is rather an unexpected and extraordinary -proceeding on my part, I'll admit; but——. Get the bill, Levison," and -he began to separate the notes.</p> - -<p>The Jew gazed at them, and then up at the handsome, careless face, and -lastly at the ground.</p> - -<p>"Look here, my lord," he said, thickly. "There really ain't any -neshesity for you to go and inconvenience yourself, there ain't, -indeed! Besides," he had turned to the grimy desk and consulted a grimy -account book, "the bill ain't due! There's no call to pay it for some -time yet."</p> - -<p>"I know, at least I thought so," said Yorke, carelessly; "but I've got -some money, and I thought I'd like to clear off something of what I owe -you. Why!" and he laughed, "you don't seem inclined to take it. What's -the matter? You haven't—" his face grew grave, "you haven't parted -with the bills to any one else, Levison?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Levison's oily face grew almost pale—say yellow.</p> - -<p>"What! Me go and part with the bills of a customer like you! Not me, -my lord! 'Tain't likely! I know better what's due to a swell like your -lordship."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then," said Yorke. "Take my money, and let me have it, -please."</p> - -<p>"Yesh, yesh, certainly. If your lordship insists; but upon my sacred -honor, I'd rather lend you another two-fifty than——. Well, well!" And -he went to a safe and fumbled in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed. "Blessed if I haven't left my keys at my -brother's. Excuse me half a minute, will you, my lord? 'Ave a glass of -sherry and a smoke while you're waiting——."</p> - -<p>"No, no, thanks," said Yorke, who had once been prevailed upon to taste -Mr. Levison's sherry, and had smelled the cigars while Mr. Levison had -been smoking them. "Look sharp, my cab is waiting."</p> - -<p>"Not more than 'arf a minute," said Mr. Levison,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> and he darted out, -down the street, and full pelt into Messrs. Rawlings and Duncombe.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe, cool, grave, collected, a contrast to the flurried -Israelite, looked up from his writing-table.</p> - -<p>"Mishter Dunkombe, sir!" gasped Levison. "Here's Lord Horchester come -to take up that bill of two-fifty. Wonderful, ain't it? Let's have it -sharp. Moses! I wouldn't have him know I'd sold it to you for twice the -money, and he 'arf suspects something a'ready."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe looked down at the letter he was writing; finished it, -as if he had scarcely heard, then drew a book toward him, looked at it, -and said:</p> - -<p>"The bill isn't due. Why should Lord Auchester want to pay money before -it is wanted?"</p> - -<p>"'Ow do I know? Mad, p'raps! Anyhow, he does!"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe thought a moment, then he pushed the book from him, and -looked straight at the anxious face before him.</p> - -<p>"He cannot have the bill," he said.</p> - -<p>Levison gasped.</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"He cannot have it. It suits me to stick by it till it is due."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mishter Dunkombe, sir! What's the meaning of that? What am I to -say to him?"</p> - -<p>"A mere whim on my part—perhaps," said Ralph Duncombe, coolly, -impassively. "What are you to say? Say anything. Offer to lend him more -money. I will take any bill he gives you. Good-morning."</p> - -<p>He struck the gong standing at his elbow, and Levison, feeling too -bewildered to expostulate or argue, was shown out.</p> - -<p>He went back slowly, wiping the perspiration from his face. If it were -known that he had parted with Lord Auchester's bills he would probably -get a bad name with the other 'swells,' and lose half of them as -customers; his business would be ruined!</p> - -<p>He forced a grin as he entered the office, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> threw up his hands with -a beautiful gesture of amazement.</p> - -<p>"Heresh a go, my lord!" he exclaimed. "Brother's gone off to see a -client in the country, and took them confounded keys of mine with him. -But there, it don't matter for a day or two, does it? I'll send the -bill, or call on your lordship——."</p> - -<p>Yorke put his pocket-book back.</p> - -<p>"Very well," he said. "Mind, I want to pay the money—while I've got -it. You see?"</p> - -<p>The Jew grinned.</p> - -<p>"I see; before it melts; eh, my lord? But there, as I said, why pay at -all? Why not let me lend you——."</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head and laughed.</p> - -<p>"No, thanks, Mr. Levison. I don't mean to trouble you in that way -again, if I can help it. Good-morning." And with a pleasant nod he went -out of the grimy parlor, leaving the spider staring after him with -unfeigned surprise.</p> - -<p>"Don't want to borrow any more money!" he gasped. "Why, what in the -name of Moses has come to him. He—he must be going off his 'ead!"</p> - -<p>Yorke dismissed the little incident from his mind, guessing nothing of -its significance, or the effect it would have on his future, and had -himself driven to Bond Street.</p> - -<p>He had commenced the morning by doing his duty—or trying to do it—and -now he was going to reward himself by buying a present for Leslie.</p> - -<p>He had pondered over what he should get, and had at first, naturally, -thought of a ring; but he had remembered that she could not wear it -without attracting notice and question, and had decided on a locket.</p> - -<p>The man showed him some, and Yorke selected a plain one with the -initial 'Y' prettily worked in bas-relief.</p> - -<p>While he was paying for it, the shopman, who knew him quite well, -brought forward a tray of diamond ornaments.</p> - -<p>"The newest designs, my lord," he said.</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head, but even as he did so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> Finetta flashed across his -mind. He looked at the bundle of notes; he had plenty of money; she had -behaved remarkably well; she deserved a present, a parting gift; he -would give her one.</p> - -<p>He knew Finetta's passion for diamonds, and comforted himself with the -reflection—a wrong one, as we know—that they would console her for -the loss of him.</p> - -<p>He was not long in choosing—not half as long as he had been in -selecting Leslie's simple locket—and purchased a pendant. It cost him -a hundred and thirty pounds.</p> - -<p>"Shall I send them, my lord?" asked the man.</p> - -<p>"No," said York. "I'll take 'em. Put them up, singly, in a box. I'm -going to send them through the post."</p> - -<p>The man inclosed them in a couple of wooden boxes, and bowed Lord -Auchester out.</p> - -<p>York went home, and straight to a drawer in which he kept odd things, -and after some amount of rummaging found a <i>carte de visite</i> portrait -of himself. He sat down, lit a cigar, and, as neatly as he could, cut -out the head of the portrait and fitted it in the locket; wrote on a -slip of paper, "From Yorke," and laid them aside.</p> - -<p>Then he took a sheet of paper, and dashed off in the charming scrawl -which boys acquire at Eton—and never lose—the following note:</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2em; margin-left: 2em;">"<span class="smcap">Dear Fin.</span>—Will you accept the inclosed and wear it for the sender's -sake, and in remembrance of the many delightful times we have spent -together? I thought of you nearly all the way home last night—it was -awfully late!—and shall never forget how good you have always been to -me. Think of me sometimes when you wear this trifle, and don't think -too unkindly!"</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1em; margin-left: 2em;">"Yours,</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: 4em;">"<span class="smcap">Yorke</span>."</p> - -<p>It was a foolish note. But he would be a wise man who could write a -wise one under such circumstances. Of course, a wise one wouldn't have -written at all; but Yorke was not famous for prudence.</p> - -<p>He laid this note beside the beautiful diamond pendant, wrapped, like -the locket, in tissue paper, and was putting them in their respective -boxes when Fleming came in.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Lord Vinson, my lord," he said.</p> - -<p>Yorke looked up with a shade of annoyance on his face.</p> - -<p>"Oh——. Ask Lord Vinson to wait a moment," he said, hurriedly. "There's -a midday post for the country, isn't there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord," said Fleming. "Can I help your lordship?" for Yorke was -hunting about for string and sealing wax.</p> - -<p>"No! Yes. Here, wrap these boxes up in thickish paper, and seal the -string. Mind! This, No. 1, goes in this one, and that, No. 2, in that! -Understand?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord," said Fleming, and no doubt he thought he did. But when -he brought them back from the side table at which he had been packing -them, and Lord Yorke asked him which was No. 1, Fleming, the usually -careful and correct, handed him No. 2!</p> - -<p>And so it happened that when, a few minutes later, Fleming walked off -with them to the post-office, the locket with the portrait, but with -Finetta's letter, was directed to Finetta, and the diamond pendant to -Leslie!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> - -<h3>A WORD OF WARNING.</h3> - - -<p>To Leslie the days seemed to go by like a dream during Yorke's absence. -She thought of him every hour, but she had yet scarcely realized all -that had happened to her.</p> - -<p>If Francis Lisle had not been utterly unlike the ordinary run of -parents, he would not have failed to see the change that had come over -her; but he was too absorbed in his painting to notice the difference; -and, indeed, if Leslie had appeared at breakfast in a domino and mask, -or sat during the meal with an umbrella up, he would very likely have -failed to see anything extraordinary in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> occurrence; and it rather -suited him than otherwise that Leslie should sit beside him perfectly -silent, with her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on vacancy, with a -dreamy smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>But if Francis Lisle was blind, the duke was not.</p> - -<p>His keen eyes noted the change in the expression of the lovely face, -the soft light of a newly born joy in the gray eyes, and he guessed the -cause.</p> - -<p>"Like the rest!" he thought, with the bitter cynicism produced by his -pain. "Like the rest! Well, it will afford me a little amusement; it -will be a <i>petite comedie</i> played for my special benefit."</p> - -<p>And yet at times, when he was free from pain, and he looked up at -Leslie as she stood beside his chair, he felt doubtful and uncertain as -to the accuracy of his judgment of her.</p> - -<p>"She has the eyes of an angel," he muttered, when they were together -one morning, the second after Yorke's departure for London. "One would -say that they were the clear windows of a soul as pure as a child's."</p> - -<p>His muttering was almost audible, and Leslie, awakened by it from a -dream, bent down to him, and asked:</p> - -<p>"What did you say, Mr. Temple?"</p> - -<p>"I was saying—and thinking—that you are very good-natured to keep a -crusty, irritable invalid company on such a delightful morning."</p> - -<p>"Did you say all that?" she said, with a soft laugh.</p> - -<p>"Well, if I didn't say it, I thought it," he responded. "You must find -it dull work, but you are used to sacrificing yourself for others, are -you not?" and he glanced at the painter who was at work at a little -distance on the beach.</p> - -<p>"It is not much of a sacrifice to stay with those one likes," she said, -half absently.</p> - -<p>The duke looked up at her sharply, and yet with a touch of color on his -face.</p> - -<p>"Thank you. I am to take it that you rather like me than otherwise, -Miss Leslie?"</p> - -<p>She blushed, and eyed him with sweet gravity.</p> - -<p>"I should be very ungrateful if I did not," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> said. And mentally she -added, "And how could I help liking you; you are his friend?"</p> - -<p>"I see," he said. "Well, it is very kind of you to keep me company. I -should have missed my cousin—the duke—very much, if you had not been -here. I am afraid mine is dull society after his, and that you miss the -pleasant drives and sails."</p> - -<p>"They were very pleasant, yes," she admitted, a little confusedly.</p> - -<p>How hard it was that she should be obliged to deceive this kind-hearted -friend of Yorke's, and how she longed for the time when he and -her father should know her and Yorke's blissful secrets, when all -concealment should be at an end, and her great happiness proclaimed. -And yet it was sweet, this secret of theirs; it seemed to make their -love more precious and sacred.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the duke. "Yorke is capital company. He is a great favorite -wherever he goes."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she murmured.</p> - -<p>"He's so light-hearted," went on the duke. "And light-hearted people -are extremely rare nowadays; but after all it isn't very much to his -credit; I mean that it is easy to be joyous when you are young, in -perfect health, and are——," he paused a second, "a duke."</p> - -<p>"Are dukes so much happier than other people?" she said, with a faint -smile.</p> - -<p>He winced. She had unconsciously struck home.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, laconically. "Most of those I know are very much less -happy than the rest of mankind, but it is different with the Duke of -Rothbury. He is, as I say, young and in splendid health——," his lips -moved and he sighed cynically, "but if he weren't he would still be -very popular and always welcome everywhere."</p> - -<p>"Why?" said Leslie, looking at him with her guileless eyes.</p> - -<p>He met their glance for a moment, then lowered his keen, suspicious -ones.</p> - -<p>"Is it acting?" he asked himself, and he gnawed at his lip.</p> - -<p>"Why? Because he is a duke. If he were old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> and ugly, and—and twisted -as I am, he would still be run after by all sorts and conditions of -men—and women," he added, but in a lower voice, as if he were half -ashamed of his cynicism.</p> - -<p>Leslie understood, and her face flushed for a moment; but it was not -with guilt, but the indignation of a pure-hearted girl.</p> - -<p>"You mean that they—women—would pretend to like him because of his -rank?" she said, quietly, but with gentle gravity.</p> - -<p>"That's what I meant," he assented, eyeing her attentively. "There -isn't a woman in the world whose heart doesn't leap at the thought of -becoming a duchess."</p> - -<p>"It is not true!" she said, her eyes flashing down at him with purest -indignation. "It is—but you are only speaking in jest, Mr. Temple," -and she smiled at the warmth she had been hurried into.</p> - -<p>He looked hard at her.</p> - -<p>"I am not jesting," he said; "but stating the solemn, shameful fact."</p> - -<p>She gazed down at him almost pityingly.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you do not know women at all," she said. "No," with a shake of her -head, as he opened his lips. "You may know a great many, and they may -be very great ladies, and a few of them may be as worldly as you say -they are, but not many. I will not believe that."</p> - -<p>He fingered his chin with restless fingers, and looked from right to -left.</p> - -<p>"If she is not acting then—then she is on the brink of a great -misery," he thought. "If I could only believe her!"</p> - -<p>"You mean that it would make no difference to you whether a man were a -duke or not?" he said.</p> - -<p>Her face went rather pale.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it would make a difference," she said in a low voice. "I would -rather not make the acquaintance of a duke, or any one so far above me -in rank; and there are thousands of women who feel the same."</p> - -<p>"Oh," he says, curtly. "I never was fortunate enough to meet any. -Seeing that that is your feeling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> it was very kind of you to honor -me—I mean my cousin," he corrected himself sharply, "with your -friendship, Miss Leslie," and he smiled.</p> - -<p>Leslie's cheek burned, and she turned her face from his keen eyes.</p> - -<p>"An actress," he muttered. "And yet I'll give her a word of warning, -though she doesn't deserve it."</p> - -<p>"Did the duke happen to say when he was coming back, Miss Leslie?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "He said that he might be two or three days."</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't be surprised if Portmaris never saw him again."</p> - -<p>He saw Leslie start slightly, then a faint smile flashed over her face, -a smile of perfect faith. Yorke not come back! She remembered his -last word to her. I shall count every moment while I'm away from you, -dearest, every moment till I am back with you.</p> - -<p>"My cousin is rather erratic," said the duke, casually and -indifferently. "He is a very nice fellow, good-hearted and the rest -of it; but—well, a little fickle; at least, that's the character the -ladies give him."</p> - -<p>"Fickle," she said, smiling still.</p> - -<p>"Y-es," he said, languidly. "What's that song in 'The Grand Duchess,' -'A butterfly flits from flower to flower?' One mustn't blame the -butterfly, you know. 'It's its nature to,' as Dr. Watts says; and, like -the butterfly, Yorke is what is called very susceptible. He is always -falling in love——."</p> - -<p>She moved slightly, and the smile died away from her lips; but the -clear eyes met his steadily, unflinchingly.</p> - -<p>"And, fortunately, falling out of it again. He's like the man in the -play who was in the habit of proposing to some woman every day; and -if she accepted him he rode off, and she saw him no more, and if she -refused him he asked her to be a sister, an aunt, or something of that -kind, and rode off just as easily."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>She opened her lips slowly.</p> - -<p>"I thought you were a friend of the Duke of Rothbury's, Mr. Temple?" -she said, in a very low voice.</p> - -<p>The duke flushed.</p> - -<p>"Eh? Oh, I see. You think it very base of me to speak ill of him behind -his back?"</p> - -<p>"That's what I meant," she assented, gravely.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but the world wouldn't consider that I had spoken at all ill of -him."</p> - -<p>"The world!" she said. "How wicked and heartless it must be, this world -of yours, Mr. Temple!"</p> - -<p>"It is," he said, curtly. "As heartless as a flint."</p> - -<p>"Or as the Duke of Rothbury, if he were what you have painted him," she -said very softly.</p> - -<p>"You don't believe me, then?" he asked, looking up at her from under -his thick brows.</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"Not the very least!" she said, actually smiling.</p> - -<p>"You forget that I have known him all his life, and that you have only -known him five minutes!"</p> - -<p>She still smiled.</p> - -<p>"But in five minutes one may know——." She stopped, and her face -flushed, and the tears arose to her eyes. "No, I don't believe it," she -said, her voice tremulous. "There may be some men who are as false and -heartless as you say, but not the Duke of Rothbury."</p> - -<p>He looked at her gravely, almost pityingly.</p> - -<p>"Don't be too sure of that, Miss Leslie!" he said, with a touch of -warning in his tone. "He is a good fellow, a charming companion, -but——." He was stopped by the expression of pain which shone in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"Oh, please let us talk of something else!" she said, quickly. "See, -here is the postman."</p> - -<p>"I hope he has brought my medicine," said the duke. But the postman, -tugging at his cap, handed a small parcel to Leslie.</p> - -<p>"For me!" she said, with surprise. "Why, what can it be? Are you sure -it is for me and not papa? It is like one of the boxes they send the -colors in."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - -<p>"A sample of a new scent or pearl powder," said the duke, leaning back -languidly.</p> - -<p>"Why should they send it to me?" she said, laughingly.</p> - -<p>She tore off the outer paper as she spoke, and with the pleasant -excitement which is always produced by the receipt of a parcel whose -contents are unknown, she opened the little wooden box.</p> - -<p>The duke heard an exclamation, a cry of amazement, of admiration, of -delight, and looked up sharply.</p> - -<p>"Is it scent or pearl powder?" he asked, with an amused smile.</p> - -<p>She looked at him as if she scarcely heard him. Her eyes were shining, -her lips apart.</p> - -<p>"It is neither," she said, and without another word, with the little -box fast clasped in her hand, ran toward the house.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> - -<h3>STRANGE TALK.</h3> - - -<p>She ran up the street and into the house, and up the stairs to her own -room, her heart beating fast. Locking the door first, she opened the -little wooden box, and took out the pendant, a glimpse of which she had -caught as she stood beside the duke.</p> - -<p>But though the glitter of the diamonds pleased her as it will every -woman, the few words in his handwriting were more precious to her than -the costly gems.</p> - -<p>Can any one ever tell what her first love letter means to a young girl -who is in love with the writer?</p> - -<p>Leslie gazed at one line in Yorke's awful scrawl as a Moslem might -regard a verse from the Koran, and not once or twice only did her -sweet lips kiss the scrap of paper. Then she examined the pendant more -minutely, and though her experience of jewelry was of a very limited -character, she knew that the gift was an expensive one.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is too good, too grand for me," she said, and yet with a sensation -of pleasure in its worth. "I should have been as pleased if he had sent -me a bunch of flowers bought in the London streets. But, oh, how good -of him! And, after all, it is not too grand for his wife. He would -think nothing too rare, too costly for her. Oh, my love, my love! If I -were only more worthy of you!"</p> - -<p>She found a piece of ribbon and put the pendant on it, and hung it -around her white throat, and the fire and glitter of the diamonds -almost startled her.</p> - -<p>"It is just as well that I may not wear it openly—yet," she said -to herself with a soft, shy laugh. "I should feel as if every one -was staring at me. I wonder whether I shall ever get used to wearing -beautiful things like this? He would say 'Yes,' but I feel now as if I -never should be able to do so without being conscious of my splendor. -But I must hide you for the present, you beautiful thing," and she -arranged the pendant so that it nestled over her heart, and buttoned -her dress over it, and there it seemed to glow with a soft, consuming -fire, as if it knew that it had come from the hand of the man she loved.</p> - -<p>Several times during the day she stole up to her room and drew the -pendant from its hiding-place, and looked at it with glistening eyes; -and if Francis Lisle had not been blind to everything but his awful -pictures, he could not but have been startled by the expression on her -face after one of these visits.</p> - -<p>But if her father was blind the children were not, and as they -clustered around her they looked up at her, frank wonder in their -wide-open orbs, and one mite lisped:</p> - -<p>"What makth 'oo sthmile so, Mith Lethlie. Have 'oo been a dood girl, -and got a penny diven 'oo?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I've got a penny given to me, Trottie," said Leslie, taking the -child up in her lap and kissing it. "Such a beautiful shining penny."</p> - -<p>"Thow it me," said the little one.</p> - -<p>But Leslie put her hand on her bosom with a jealous smile.</p> - -<p>"No, no; I can't show it even to you, Trottie,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> she said; "not to any -one. And I am not going to buy anything with it, but going to keep it -as long as ever I live."</p> - -<p>She did not see Mr. Temple again that day, and did not even think of -him or the hard, unjust things he had said of Yorke; and if she had, -it would only have been to laugh at them. Yorke fickle and false! With -that gift of his rising and falling on her heart, she would not have -believed an angel if he had come to tell her anything against her -beloved.</p> - -<p>The duke missed her all that afternoon, missed her very much. He had -got used to having her standing or sitting by his chair, and her sweet, -low-pitched voice had been as a soothing balm in his moments of pain. -And yet he could not wholly trust her, or believe that she was better -and less mercenary and self-seeking than the rest of her sex.</p> - -<p>His keen eyes had seen the change in her face when he had spoken of -Yorke, and he had told himself that what he had prophesied was coming -true; this artless-looking girl with the clear, guileless eyes was -already aiming at a ducal coronet. It did not occur to him that she -might love Yorke for himself alone; or, if it did, he put the thought -away from him and hugged his old cynical mistrust of her sex.</p> - -<p>The next day passed and no Yorke appeared, but on the morning of -the following one he got into the train at Paddington on his way to -Portmaris.</p> - -<p>As he did so, with a sigh of relief and expectant happiness, he noticed -a tall lady dressed in black with a veil over her face pass his -carriage and enter the next, and he was struck in an absent kind of -way by the grace of her figure; but she disappeared from his mind the -moment she passed the window, and he gave himself up to picturing his -meeting with Leslie.</p> - -<p>A few hours, and then——. He lit a cigar, and stretched his long legs -on to the opposite seat and thought.</p> - -<p>The few days he had been absent from her had taught this young man how -very completely he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> was in love, and he was actually asking himself why -they should not be married at once!</p> - -<p>"What's the use of waiting?" he mused; "I shall never be better off. -We might just as well be married now——." Then a reflection cut across -his roseate visions, and, as Hamlet says, 'gave him pause;' he was -fearfully in debt, and though Mr. Levison hadn't turned up with the -bill, and seemed more inclined to lend him more money than take any -from him, he, Yorke, knew the reason. The money lenders all depended -upon his marrying an heiress, and he knew—and his face flushed as he -thought of it—that they one and all expected him to marry Lady Eleanor -Dallas, and relied upon it.</p> - -<p>The moment they heard that he had married what they and the rest of the -world, in its language of contempt, would call a pauper, they would -swoop down upon him like a flock of kites, and——.</p> - -<p>He sat up in the railway carriage and rubbed his forehead.</p> - -<p>Couldn't he ask Dolph to lend—give—him the money to pay his debts? -Well, he could ask him, and no doubt the duke would do it—if he -approved of Yorke's marrying Leslie. But would he approve? Somehow -Yorke felt doubtful.</p> - -<p>"I might try him," he thought, and he pondered over it until the train -reached Northcliffe, and then suddenly an alternative course occurred -to him, an idea which flashed upon him suddenly, and sent the blood -rushing to his face.</p> - -<p>Why shouldn't he and Leslie be married secretly? They might go away, -leave England, and settle down in some Continental place quietly until -he had screwed enough money out of his income to pay his debts, and -then they might proclaim their marriage to the whole world.</p> - -<p>His heart beat hopefully, and he was so absorbed in his plans and -schemes that he did not notice that the tall lady in black got out at -Northcliffe; indeed, he could not have seen her unless he had looked -back—which he did not do—for she did not get out until the rest of -the passengers had alighted, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> then kept in the background until the -station was clear.</p> - -<p>Yorke got a fly at once and had himself driven to Portmaris, and as -the ancient vehicle rattled down the street he looked eagerly at the -windows of Sea View. But Leslie was out, and with a little pang of -disappointment Yorke ran up the stairs of Marine Villa.</p> - -<p>The duke was sitting in his chair, his head resting on his hands, and -Yorke saw at once that it was a 'bad afternoon' with the invalid. The -duke raised his head, with a transient smile of welcome on his pale -face.</p> - -<p>"Well, Yorke, back again," he said, holding out his hand. "I was just -on the point of telling Grey to pack up."</p> - -<p>Yorke started.</p> - -<p>"What, tired of Portmaris already, Dolph?" he said.</p> - -<p>The duke sighed.</p> - -<p>"About five minutes is long enough for me anywhere. There is only -one place I shall not get weary of—the grave. But this isn't a very -cheerful greeting, Yorke. What's the news?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, nothing! I saw Lang"—this was the duke's agent—"and told him -what you wanted done, and——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, thanks!" said the duke, indifferently; "and you have had a -pleasant time, I hope? Did you see Eleanor?"</p> - -<p>Yorke nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes, oh, yes; had luncheon there. She's very well. What a lovely -sunset to-night! 'Pon my word, this is a jolly little place."</p> - -<p>"Jolly, is it?" said the duke, eyeing him keenly.</p> - -<p>"Hem! Well, perhaps it's jollier when you are here. It's been dull -enough without you, any way. As I said, we have missed you very much, -young man."</p> - -<p>"'We'? Meaning you and Grey?" said Yorke, standing at the window and -watching the opposite ones anxiously.</p> - -<p>The duke smiled grimly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well, I dare say Grey has missed you; but I was thinking, when I -spoke, of—Miss Lisle."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Miss Lisle," said Yorke, flushing like a schoolgirl. "I—I hope -she is all right."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think so. The fact is, I have not seen very much of her since -yesterday morning, when in the course of conversation I ventured to -hint that your grace——."</p> - -<p>Yorke started.</p> - -<p>"Your grace was not quite perfect."</p> - -<p>Yorke laughed uneasily, and kept his back carefully turned to the duke.</p> - -<p>"She seemed to think that you were more divine than human, and put out -her claws in your defense like a woman—and a cat."</p> - -<p>A spasm of pain shot through him and he groaned faintly, and so, though -all Yorke's soul arose in horror at hearing his beloved likened to a -cat, he held his tongue.</p> - -<p>"In short," continued the duke, wearily, "I was quite correct in my -surmise as to what would take place. The girl is dying to marry your -grace and become a duchess."</p> - -<p>Yorke bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"It's time that bit of nonsense came to an end," he said, with angry -impatience. "I didn't like it from the first, Dolph, and I like it now -less than ever."</p> - -<p>The duke waved his hand with tired indifference.</p> - -<p>"It was an idiotic idea," he said; "but it has served my purpose. I -have been left alone here, and the rest and quiet have done me good. -You can tell the Lisles, and whom else you like, at once if you choose. -Stay," he said; "wait till to-morrow evening. I shall have gone by that -time."</p> - -<p>"Gone?" said Yorke. "You mean going?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the duke, impatiently; "I am tired of it. I'll go and hide -myself at Rothbury, I think; and I think you had better go, too."</p> - -<p>"Why?" asked Yorke, but his voice faltered slightly.</p> - -<p>"Well," responded the duke, grimly, "I've an idea—don't trouble to -contradict me, it isn't worth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> while—that Miss Leslie has succeeded in -making an impression on your grace——."</p> - -<p>"And that would be such an awful calamity, wouldn't it?" said Yorke, -feeling his way.</p> - -<p>The duke laughed cynically.</p> - -<p>"No, I suppose not. You would ride away, like the man in the ballad, -and leave her weeping. Not that the youngest and most unsophisticated -girls weep much now, I believe; they dry their tears and look out for -the next man."</p> - -<p>"Dolph, for a man who loves and respects women—and I know you do——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, do you?" snarled the duke, or, rather, the demon of pain that had -got possession of him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Yorke. "For one who loves and respects them, you talk -strangely."</p> - -<p>"Well, well. We don't want to squabble about women in general or this -young woman in particular. All I mean to say is that, though usually -I think they are well punished for their mercenary scheming, I've a -sneaking fondness and pity for Leslie Lisle, and I don't want you to -let her think that she has a chance of being a duchess. In short—well, -of course, you have been flirting with her; you always do, you know. -Well, leave her alone, and go back to London." He sighed. "That's good -advice. We'll let her off this time."</p> - -<p>Yorke stood motionless, with stern face.</p> - -<p>"If I were the duke I have been masquerading as," he said, "I could not -find a better woman or one——."</p> - -<p>"More fitted by nature to adorn, etc. I know," interrupted the duke -with peevish irritation. "But, unfortunately, you aren't the duke—I -wish to Heaven you were, or anybody were but I!—and as you are not, -and only Yorke Auchester, with not enough to keep yourself upon, to say -nothing of a wife, you can't afford to do more than flirt with her. -There! The subject is played out. You have got to marry Eleanor Dallas, -my dear fellow. She is made for you, and you will be as happy as a man -ever can be in this beastliest of all beastly worlds."</p> - -<p>"You dispose of me very easily," said Yorke, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> throat dry, his eyes -flashing, but his back still turned.</p> - -<p>"Yes, because I care for you, and am anxious for your future and -happiness."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," said Yorke, in a softer voice. "But—well, we are arguing. -Suppose I do not care for Eleanor?"</p> - -<p>The duke laughed quietly.</p> - -<p>"My dear Yorke, no man could be loved by such a beautiful creature as -Eleanor and, marrying her, help falling in love with her within the -first fortnight. Oh, how tired I am! Don't let us spoil the pleasure -I get out of your return by wrangling. Do as I say; leave this little -girl with the gray eyes and dark hair—what eyes they are, by the -way!"—and he sighed—"leave her alone. You can't marry her, and -though you could punish her for wanting to marry you by flirting with -her—well, I don't somehow want to see her punished. Seriously, Yorke, -I ask you to do this as—as a favor."</p> - -<p>Yorke left the window.</p> - -<p>"You release me from my promise, from our arrangement regarding the -title?" he said, quietly, and with a tone of decision in his voice -which the duke would have remarked if he had not been in such intense -pain.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow—not till to-morrow," he said. "I'll tell Grey we are going -to-morrow, and then, just before we go, you can tell the Lisles, -explain the reason—anything. I care nothing. I shall be out of reach -of the fuss the story will make even in this outlandish place."</p> - -<p>"Good," said Yorke, and he drew a long breath. "I'm going out for a -stroll—dinner as usual, I suppose?" And the duke heard him going down -the stairs two steps at a time.</p> - -<p>The duke's few decided, querulous words had fired Yorke. He was to -marry Lady Eleanor, was he? Ha-ha! He laughed almost grimly. There was -only one woman in the world he would marry, and, if she would have him, -he would make her his wife at once.</p> - -<p>He strode down the street, and on to the quay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> and at a little -distance on the beach saw Mr. Lisle, painting as usual.</p> - -<p>He looked up impatiently as Yorke came crashing over the stones, and -accosted him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, how do you do—how do you do, your grace?" he said, in his thin -voice, and with a hasty glance at him as if he begrudged every moment -from his picture.</p> - -<p>"Is—is Miss Lisle out with you?" said Yorke, trying to speak with -nothing warmer in his voice than conventional politeness.</p> - -<p>"Leslie?" looking around absently. "Yes, she was here a moment ago; but -she has wandered off somewhere." And his manner and tone plainly added:</p> - -<p>"And I wish to goodness you'd wander off, too."</p> - -<p>"How is the picture getting on?" asked Yorke, looking at the daub which -Lisle had painted over and over again, making it worse at each stroke.</p> - -<p>"Very well—very well, I think," was the reply. "You like it?" and a -faint red came into the pale thin cheeks. Somehow Yorke fancied that -they had grown thinner and paler during the last few days. "I am going -to make a masterpiece of it. I am working hard, very hard. Isn't it -very hot and close this morning? I have a stupid headache——. Yes. -Would you mind standing out of the light? Thank you."</p> - -<p>Yorke left him; he knew it would be of no use to ask the dreamer in -which direction Leslie had gone.</p> - -<p>"Poor old fellow," he thought. "We'll take him with us, and look after -him together. Give him his painting tools, and he'll be happy enough!"</p> - -<p>He walked along the beach and on to the cliffs and suddenly he came -upon Leslie. She was sitting in a cleft of the rocks, a book on her -lap, but it was lying face downward, and she was looking out to sea. He -stole behind her, and bent down and kissed her. She started, but not -violently, and the blood rushed to her face.</p> - -<p>"Yorke!" was all she said, but all her love, her joy on his return -breathed in the single word.</p> - -<p>He took both her hands, and sat down beside her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I startled you, dearest!" he said.</p> - -<p>How lovely she looked! How sweet, and, ah, how pure and good! Not -Eleanor herself could look more refined, more <i>spirituelle</i> than this -love of his—his Leslie.</p> - -<p>"No!" she said, with a faint smile, and a little shyness in her voice -and eyes. "I ought to have been startled, but I was not. Perhaps it was -because I was thinking of you. When did you come back?"</p> - -<p>"A few minutes ago, dearest," he said. "Has it seemed long to you? I -thought, perhaps, that you would have forgotten me."</p> - -<p>She smiled at him.</p> - -<p>"Well, I might have done so," she said, with delicious archness; "but -you provided against that, did you not?"</p> - -<p>He did not understand for a moment, then he laughed.</p> - -<p>"You got it all right?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes," she said, with a little sigh of gratitude and content. "I -wish you could have seen me when it came! I was standing beside Mr. -Temple when the postman brought it, and I cried out—well, like a -schoolgirl!"</p> - -<p>He looked at her, wrapt in delight at her delight.</p> - -<p>"It was a happy thought of mine, then?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but why did you send me so grand a present," she said in a -low voice. "Anything would have done; but that——." She laughed and -colored. "It was too rich, too costly for such a simple person as I am!"</p> - -<p>He laughed. So she thought the plain little locket rich and costly. -What would she have considered the diamond pendant he had sent to -Finetta? "God bless my darling! My modest pearl!" he thought.</p> - -<p>"And you were pleased with it?" he said. "It occurred to me that you -might like it; for a minute or two I feared that you might consider me -conceited in sending it, that a ring——."</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"It is beautiful—beautiful!" she said. "Its only fault is that it is -too good, too costly. The merest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> trifle would have served to tell me -that you had not—forgotten me! And, indeed, I did not need anything."</p> - -<p>"You trusted me so completely, dearest?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said simply, with a faint wonder in her voice at the -earnestness in his.</p> - -<p>"You trusted me," he said, as earnestly as before. "And how if I were -to ask you to trust me still, to trust me in a greater degree, Leslie?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him, still smiling.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked; and the question was a good reply to his.</p> - -<p>"It is just this," he said, taking her hand in both his and holding it -tightly. "See, dearest, I hesitate to tell you—it is so much to ask -you! And the worst of it is that I cannot give you the reason——."</p> - -<p>Her face paled, but she looked at him bravely.</p> - -<p>"Are—are you going to leave me again? If you must go——."</p> - -<p>The love in her voice, in her eyes, made his heart actually ache.</p> - -<p>"Leave you?" he said. "Well, yes; but it will be only for a few hours a -day, if—if you consent to do what I am going to ask you?"</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked, still calmly.</p> - -<p>"I want you to marry me—at once, Leslie?" he said in a low voice, and -almost solemnly.</p> - -<p>She started, and her hand quivered in his.</p> - -<p>"Marry—you—at once!" she whispered, her bosom heaving, her long dark -lashes trembling.</p> - -<p>"You are frightened, dearest?" he said, drawing her nearer to him.</p> - -<p>She was silent a moment.</p> - -<p>"No," she replied in a whisper, "not frightened, I think, but——."</p> - -<p>"And that isn't all," he said almost desperately. "I want our marriage -to be a secret one."</p> - -<p>She started now, and drew her hand from his, turning her pale face to -him with almost pained surprise.</p> - -<p>"Listen, Leslie," he said, getting her hand back again. "There -are reasons why it is necessary—do you understand, my darling, -necessary—that no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> one should know of our engagement. The other day, -when—when I told you I loved you, and asked you to be my wife, I did -not think of those reasons; I didn't think of anything but you. But -they came home to me when I was in London. It sounds strange, almost -incredible——."</p> - -<p>"No, not incredible," she murmured.</p> - -<p>"You would believe anything I told you, you mean?" he asked, with bated -breath.</p> - -<p>Her clear eyes met his with her assent in them as plainly as if she had -spoken.</p> - -<p>"My darling! And I cannot tell you——. But, Leslie, in a word, I am not -free—I mean that I am not my own master——."</p> - -<p>A faint smile chased the slightly troubled look from her face.</p> - -<p>"It sounds so strangely," she said. "A duke and not your own master——."</p> - -<p>He reddened, and his eyes dropped before hers.</p> - -<p>"Heaven and earth!" broke from him almost passionately. "Leslie—I beg -of you not to—to call me that again——."</p> - -<p>"Not——." She looked at him questioningly.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Yes—I do beg of you, dearest. Not, we will say, for another day. -After that——," he drew a long breath, and brushed the hair from his -forehead impatiently. "I will explain then why I ask you, dearest. I -will explain everything. Don't—don't—be frightened, dearest! Don't -think there is any real mystery! You will—yes, you will laugh, when -you hear what it is!"</p> - -<p>"Shall I?" she says, trustfully. "I am not frightened, I am not even—I -think—very curious——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my darling! And you do not even ask me why this secrecy, this -concealment, is necessary?"</p> - -<p>"No," she says, after a pause, and placing her other hand in his. -"If you say so I am content. I suppose——," she averts her face a -little—"I suppose you do not wish your people to know that—-that -you are going to marry one so far beneath you, one so unfit to be a -duchess——."</p> - -<p>He stifles a groan.</p> - -<p>"It is not that," he says. But for his promise to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> the duke he could -tell her all. Tell her that he is not a duke with lands and gold -galore, but a poor man so incumbered and crippled by debt that he dare -not let it be known that he is not going to marry a fortune! "Leslie, I -cannot tell you! I am not free to tell you, till—yes, to-morrow! Will -you not trust me?"</p> - -<p>Her breath comes fast for a moment as she looks out to sea, then she -turns to him.</p> - -<p>"I cannot but trust you," she says almost piteously. "I could not doubt -you if I tried."</p> - -<p>"My angel, my dearest!" he says, fervently, reverently. "You shall -never regret having trusted me, never! Now, listen, Leslie! There is -one person, of all others, who must not know what we are going to -do—Mr. Temple."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Temple?" she says, not suspiciously, not even curiously but with -faint surprise.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he says. "He suspects, or half-suspects, already that I love -you. It must be kept from him. You will understand why when I tell you -all—when I clear up the mystery. Now, see——." He stops and laughs. -His face is flushed with excitement, and his eyes sparkling. "To-night -I will go up to town——."</p> - -<p>"To-night——," she breathes.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he says. "There is no time to be lost—you will see that when -you know all. To-morrow I will get a special license, and that same day -you must come up to London——."</p> - -<p>She trembles.</p> - -<p>"Alone?" she asks in a still voice.</p> - -<p>"No, no," he says. "You must persuade your father——. Stay! I will -manage that! I will get a well-known dealer I know to wire to him; some -question about his pictures, something that will bring him up."</p> - -<p>She trembled still.</p> - -<p>"The moment you arrive you must telegraph your address to me. I will -tell you where to wire——." He takes out an old envelope, and writes:</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then with an exclamation tears it up, and on another piece of paper, -writes:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10em;">"<span class="smcap">Yorke</span>,</p> -<p style="margin-left: 12em;">"Dorchester Club,</p> -<p style="margin-left: 17em;">"Pall Mall."</p> - -<p>"Mind, dearest! Send the telegram at once, and at once I will come to -you, and—the rest you must leave to me. You will?"</p> - -<p>"I will!" she says, almost inaudibly, and as solemnly as ever marriage -vow was whispered.</p> - -<p>Her great love and trust overwhelm him, and something like tears—yes, -tears—dim his bright eyes.</p> - -<p>"My darling, if I ever forget your love and trust, your goodness to me, -may Heaven forget me!" he says in a voice that makes her thrill. "I -will make you happy, Leslie, happier than any woman ever was before! -Every hour of my life——." His voice breaks. "Oh, my darling, what have -I done that Heaven should send me such an angel!"</p> - -<p>The tears are in her eyes now.</p> - -<p>"I've made you cry!" he says. "Ah, I know! You are thinking of your -father, Leslie!"</p> - -<p>She starts guiltily. For the first time in her life, the life devoted -to him, she has forgotten her father.</p> - -<p>"Do not fret about him. He shall go with us; he shall belong as much to -me as to you. What! do you think I would separate you——."</p> - -<p>They sit hand in hand for—how long? At last he tears himself away.</p> - -<p>"Remember, dearest!" are his last words. "Send to me directly—the -moment—you reach London. And, Leslie, fear nothing! Why, when one -thinks of it," and he laughs, "what is there to fear?"</p> - -<p>He is gone at last. She stands and watches him as he makes his -way—with many a backward glance—along the quay; then she sinks on to -the rock again.</p> - -<p>Her heart is throbbing, a mist is floating before her eyes; she cannot -think, cannot see. So unconscious of everything around her is she that, -when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> half an hour later the dark, graceful figure of a woman passes -near her nook, she does not heed or notice it. She is in Love's land, -and rapt in Love's dream.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> - -<h3>FINETTA'S WAY.</h3> - - -<p>After a time Leslie got up, but she wanted to be alone a little longer; -she felt that she could not talk even to her father just then; she -wanted to be alone to think over all Yorke had told her. She walked a -few yards toward the quay, and saw that Mr. Lisle was still painting; -then she turned, and slowly paced in the direction of Ragged Point, -which stretched out dark and sullen in the sunlight.</p> - -<p>As she had said, not a doubt of Yorke's truth and honor cast a shadow -over her happiness. If he said that it was necessary that they should -be married at once and secretly, it must be so—it should be so! He -was her lover, her master, her king. She had given herself to him -absolutely; she trusted him because she could not help herself.</p> - -<p>She had almost reached the point, and would have gone on, but she -remembered that the tide was coming in, and that there would not be -time to get round before the sea rose above the narrow ledge of rock at -the foot of the cliffs, and she was turning back when she caught sight -of something dark above a rock at the very foot of the point.</p> - -<p>For a moment she thought it was a bird, then she saw that it was a -hat—a woman's hat. Someone was sitting there. In an instant it struck -her that it might be a stranger, unacquainted with the conformation of -the coast line, and that if she sat there for a few minutes longer she -would be unable to get back or to turn the point.</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at the tide, and was startled to find that it had run -up quicker than she had thought. There would be barely time to reach -the woman behind the rock and warn her. She ran forward as quickly as -she could and shouted at the top of her voice, but the voice of the -incoming waves beating against the rocks drowned hers.</p> - -<p>She looked round, hoping to see a boat or a fisherman, but no one was -in sight; and she and the unknown, sitting there in all unconsciousness -of her peril, were alone in the grim place.</p> - -<p>Most women would have paused and thought of her own safety, but Leslie -and selfishness had not yet made acquaintance, and she hurried on, -running where there was a bare bit of sand, and scrambling over the -rocks that lay in her path. At last she reached the one behind which -the woman she had come to warn was sitting, and stood before her -breathlessly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, quick! Quick!" she cried pantingly. Then she stopped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> and -recoiled a little. It was a girl, seated in an attitude of weariness -and lassitude, her elbows on her knees, her head bowed. Even in this -first moment Leslie noted the grace and sorrowful abandon of the -figure; but it was the uplifted face that made her recoil, for it was -that of the woman she had seen below St. Martin's Tower—it was the -woman who had sung the disreputable music-hall ditty.</p> - -<p>There was no reckless gaiety in the face now, but a misery and despair -so eloquent that even as she recoiled, Leslie's heart ached with pity -for her.</p> - -<p>The dark eyes looked at Leslie vacantly for a moment, then flashed with -sudden anger.</p> - -<p>"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked, half sullenly, half -defiantly.</p> - -<p>Leslie flushed at the tone in which the greeting was conveyed.</p> - -<p>"I—I saw you sitting here," she said quickly, and a little -tremulously, for the dark face disquieted her, and inspired her with a -vague uneasiness. "I saw you from the beach yonder, and I thought that -perhaps you were a stranger."</p> - -<p>"I am a stranger. Yes, what of it?" said the woman, as sullenly and -suspiciously as before.</p> - -<p>"And you do not know that this is Ragged Point, and that the tide is -coming up fast, very fast," said Leslie quickly.</p> - -<p>"Is it? What does it matter?" was the dull response.</p> - -<p>"Oh, do you not understand?" said Leslie earnestly. "When the tide -comes up here, where you are sitting, you will not be able to go on or -turn back. You see how the point stretches out?"</p> - -<p>The dark eyes looked wearily to right and left.</p> - -<p>"I see," she said. "No, I didn't know it. I don't know how long I've -been sitting here." She looked up at the sky. "The tide comes up here, -does it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" said Leslie hurriedly. "Pray come away at once!" for the -girl had made no attempt to get up. "We have only just time to get -round the point, even if we run. Come at once!" and in her eagerness -she held out her hand to help her to rise.</p> - -<p>The girl disregarded the outstretched hand, and rose wearily, sullenly.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I should have been drowned if you had not seen me?" she -remarked listlessly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I hope not; I hope not!" said Leslie. "But I am very glad I did -see you. I only caught sight of the top of your hat. You had better -take my hand. I am used to getting over the rocks and stones."</p> - -<p>"I can get on all right," said the girl sullenly, refusing the -proffered assistance. "I'm as young as you are, and as strong," she -added, glancing out of the corners of her dark eyes at Leslie.</p> - -<p>"I am glad you are strong," said Leslie gravely, as she looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> at the -swiftly, surely incoming sea; "for we shall have to run."</p> - -<p>Her companion stopped and looked seaward too, and with a strange -expression.</p> - -<p>"Oh, why do you wait?" demanded Leslie. "Do you not understand that -there is not a moment to lose?"</p> - -<p>The girl laughed a reckless, miserable laugh, which was a grotesque -reflection of the laugh which Leslie had heard on the tower when she -had last seen her.</p> - -<p>"I was thinking if it was worth while," she said moodily.</p> - -<p>Leslie stared at her.</p> - -<p>"Worth while!" she echoed unconsciously.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I'm not sure it wouldn't be better and easier to stop here and -let the water come up. It would save a lot of trouble." She laughed -again.</p> - -<p>With a faint shudder, Leslie turned away from the dark eyes and seized -the speaker's arm.</p> - -<p>"You must come at once!" she said firmly.</p> - -<p>The woman drew back for a moment; then, as if yielding against her -will, allowed Leslie to draw her forward.</p> - -<p>They hurried over the rocks in silence for a moment or two, the waves -splashing against their feet; then Leslie stopped and uttered an -exclamation, her eyes fixed on the cliff before them, her face suddenly -pale.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter? Are we too late?" asked her companion dully and -indifferently.</p> - -<p>"Yes, we are too late!" replied Leslie in a low voice. Then she caught -her breath and forced a smile. "Do not be frightened. We may get -round the other way; the ledge of rock is wider there, but it is more -difficult to get over. We must go back. Follow me."</p> - -<p>She turned and sprang quickly from rock to rock, and her companion -followed her example. They gained the spot where the girl had been -sitting, but it was now covered by the sea, and they had to wade ankle -deep.</p> - -<p>Leslie caught the girl's hand.</p> - -<p>"Hold fast!" she said in a quick whisper. "If we gain that point there, -where the rock sticks out——."</p> - -<p>Even as she spoke a spurt of foam covered the spot indicated, and the -waves dashed over it. She stopped and looked round her, her face white -and set.</p> - -<p>"We are too late here, too," she said with a smothered sob. "Too late!" -and she covered her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>The other girl leant against the cliff and stared dully at the angry -waves, creeping, creeping like some wild beast towards them.</p> - -<p>"You mean we are going to die," she said in a low, harsh voice. "Going -to die like rats in a hole. Well," and she shrugged her shoulders, "I -don't care much, myself. You see, when you came up just now, I was -wishing I was dead."</p> - -<p>Leslie shuddered, and put up her hand as if to stop her. Death was too -near to be spoken of so lightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, I was. You're shocked, I dessay. I'm sorry for you. It's a pity -you didn't stop where you were. You're not tired of life, judging by -your face."</p> - -<p>"Tired of life!" panted Leslie; "oh, no, no!"</p> - -<p>"So I should say," said the other sullenly. "So you don't understand -what I mean, and what I feel?"</p> - -<p>"No, I don't understand," said Leslie, scarcely knowing what she was -saying. "But it is dreadful, dreadful to hear you, and at such a -moment. Hah!" She broke off with an exclamation of horror, and drew her -companion back close to the face of the cliff, for a wave had dashed at -their feet and wet them to the waist.</p> - -<p>"It's coming up pretty fast," said the girl. "It won't take long to——. -Isn't there any chance for you? I don't care about myself."</p> - -<p>Leslie screened her eyes with her hand.</p> - -<p>"A boat might be passing," she said faintly. "Oh, to think that they -are so near—that there are people just round that bend, who, if they -knew—only knew!—would risk their lives to save us," and she sank at -the foot of the cliff and hid her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," said the other. "It's rough on you to lose your life for -me, a stranger, too."</p> - -<p>Leslie sprang up, her eyes wild with despair.</p> - -<p>"We will not die!" she cried. "We will not! Do you hear? Oh, I cannot -die; I cannot leave him—like this!" and she beat her hands together.</p> - -<p>"You're thinking of your husband—who?" asked the other, eyeing her -half pityingly. "It's always a man. That's where I've got the pull of -you," and she laughed. "My man wouldn't care whether I lived or died. -He's left me already."</p> - -<p>The anguish in her voice, the reckless despair, went to Leslie's heart. -She shuddered as she looked at the dark eyes.</p> - -<p>"Left you!" she breathed. "Oh, now I understand! Ah, yes; I know now -why you want to die."</p> - -<p>"Yes," was the bitter response. "That's where we women are such -fools. We care. Men don't. You think your husband, or sweetheart, or -whoever he is, will break his heart for the loss of you!" she laughed -mockingly. "Not he! They don't break their hearts so easily! He'll get -over it and marry another woman almost before you're—cold in your -grave, I was going to say."</p> - -<p>Leslie shrank back from her as far as she could, and put her hands up -to her ears.</p> - -<p>"Oh, hush, hush!" she panted. "It is not true! It is wicked and -false! I will not listen to you. Oh, forgive me!" she broke off, -her indignation and horror softened by the misery on the white face -and dark eyes staring so hopelessly at the angry sea. "How you must -have suffered, how you must have loved him to be so wretched, so -indifferent."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, I loved him. I loved him—well, as much as you loved the man -you're thinking of——."</p> - -<p>"When—when did it happen—when did he leave you? Why? Tell me," said -Leslie. "Let us talk—try and forget that it is coming nearer and -nearer, that we have only a few minutes—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, we haven't long," was the response. "I've been watching that rock -there, almost in a line with us. You could see the top a moment ago; -it's covered now. When did he leave me? Only a few nights ago. Why? The -old story. He got tired of me, I suppose. Anyhow, he met someone else."</p> - -<p>"And—and you were to have been his wife!" breathed Leslie pityingly. -"And you loved him! Oh, how could he be so cruel, so heartless?"</p> - -<p>The other looked down at her, and laughed harshly.</p> - -<p>"Why, men are like that, all of them."</p> - -<p>"No, no! Not all! They are not all so base, so vile."</p> - -<p>"You think so. You wait! Perhaps your turn will come. But I forgot," -she laughed again. "Your man won't have the chance to leave you—there, -I beg your pardon," for Leslie had shrunk away from her. "Don't mind me -or what I say. I'm half out of my mind. I've had no sleep since—since -he left me, and I've come a long journey, and eaten nothing. Yes, I'm -half mad. I was a fool to follow him. I ought to have stayed at home; -but I've got my punishment."</p> - -<p>"You came after him? He is here, then?" asked Leslie in a pitying -whisper, watching the waves as she spoke.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said she; then with a sigh, "Yes, and I've seen him. I meant to -speak to him, to—to—try and get him back; but my heart failed me, and -I crept out here to be alone. It wasn't only to see him that I came. I -wanted to see her."</p> - -<p>"Her?" repeated Leslie, half absently.</p> - -<p>"Yes. The woman that stole him from me. But it doesn't matter now. -Nothing matters to us two, does it? How much longer?"</p> - -<p>The question almost drove Leslie frantic with agony, the anguish of -despair. It was all very well for this poor creature, abandoned, -deserted by the man she loved, to take death so coolly; but she, -Leslie, was not deserted and unhappy. Her lover, her Yorke, was going -to make her his wife; in a few days, a few hours, he would be waiting -for her. Yorke, Yorke! Her heart called to him. And though the name did -not leave her lips, the voice within her seemed to give her courage, to -fill her with a fierce, almost savage, determination to live.</p> - -<p>She looked up at the cliff with straining eyes. It was almost -perpendicular and smooth just above them, but a little further along -there were a few scrubby bushes projecting from the surface. It was -just possible, if they could reach those, that they might at least gain -some few inches of foothold. Just possible, though the mere thought of -the attempt made her tremble.</p> - -<p>"What are you staring up there for?" asked her companion. "You couldn't -climb it, if you tried."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No," panted Leslie. "But we will try!"</p> - -<p>The other shook heir head, but Leslie seized her by the hand.</p> - -<p>"Come!" she gasped hoarsely. "Better to try and—and fall, than stand -here to wait for death. I cannot wait! Come, hold my hand tightly. We -will escape or die together."</p> - -<p>As if she had caught something of Leslie's frantic desire of life, the -other girl gripped Leslie's hand.</p> - -<p>"Come on, then," she said. "Though you'd have more chance alone."</p> - -<p>"No, no! Together or not at all," cried Leslie, and she plunged into -the water.</p> - -<p>For a moment or two it seemed as if they would be carried off their -feet, as if they had rushed into the arms of the death from which they -had been shrinking; but they were both young and strong, and they -accomplished together that which would have been impossible if they had -been separate.</p> - -<p>Gasping for breath, half blinded by the spray, deafened by the roar of -the waves, they stood on a narrow ledge of rock, clutching at the bush -above their heads, the water rushing nearly to their knees.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XX.</h2> - -<h3>"I'M GOING TO LIVE, AND SO ARE YOU."</h3> - -<p>"We shall hold on here for about two minutes," said the woman grimly, -"if the bush don't give way before that."</p> - -<p>Leslie turned her face to the wall, and shut her eyes.</p> - -<p>"And he will be waiting for me!" she murmured. "He will not know, will -think I have mistrusted him. I shall never see him again, never hear -his voice! Oh, why did we part to-day; why didn't I ask him, pray him -to take me with him. Never to see him again——." She broke off with a -sob that shook her. "My arm is numbed, I am falling!" she said with a -wail. "Tell him—tell him—oh, God, and I love him so!"</p> - -<p>The agony in her voice seemed to go straight to her companion's heart. -The dark face flushed red, her eyes shone with a kind of pity.</p> - -<p>"Hold on!" she said, almost hissed between her white teeth shut fast. -"You shan't die! You tried to save me, you risked your life for me, and -I'll save you. Put your arm round my neck. Don't be afraid. I'm strong. -I can dance for hours; my ankles are like steel. Cling to me, I say, -with one hand, anyhow."</p> - -<p>Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Leslie released the bush with one -hand, and put her arm round her companion's neck.</p> - -<p>"If I'd only a drop of brandy!" muttered the woman. "How cold your -arm feels; you're not going to faint! For God's sake don't do that, -or we're both lost; for I don't mean to let you go now. Die! Who says -we're going to die? I want to live<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> now! After all, he's not quite -lost—my man, I mean! He may come back. I'll get him back. I'll best -this other woman or know the reason why!"</p> - -<p>Her face was flushed, her voice husky with excitement.</p> - -<p>"No use, no use!" moaned Leslie.</p> - -<p>"No use! What do you mean! Am I ugly, hump-backed? Do you mean she's -better looking than I am! I don't believe it! He's been caught by a new -face. That isn't what you mean? You're going to fall? Not you! Hold -on tight now, for I'm going to have a shy at the bush above. There's -a bit of a path." She laughed fiercely, defiantly. "Old Faber had us -do gymnastics. I used to hate 'em; but I'm much obliged to him now. -Put your foot against the rock and spring—not too hard, mind—when I -do. Once let me get a grip of that bush up there, and I'll hang on or -fight my way till my arms drop off. Die! Why should I? I was a fool! -I'll get him back, you see if I don't! No, we won't die. You shall have -your husband again! Now!" she breathed between her clenched teeth. "If -you've got any pluck in you, if you want to see your husband again, put -your heart into it! Now!"</p> - -<p>She made a spring; they both sprang at the same moment, as if they were -one body inspired by the same will, and the woman got hold of the bush, -and clung with the strength and tenacity of a leopardess.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" she gasped. "We've done it! Cling on to me! We'll wait while I -count twenty, and then we'll go for the path."</p> - -<p>"No—no!" panted Leslie. "I could not, I could not! Let us stay here -till——."</p> - -<p>"Till this bit of ledge crumbles under us with our weight, and lets -us drop like poisoned flies! No, no! I don't feel like that. It isn't -convenient to die now; it was just now! I'm going to live, to live! And -so are you!"</p> - -<p>She counted the twenty, then put her arm around Leslie's waist.</p> - -<p>"Now! Put your hand on my shoulder and cling with the other to the bits -of bush and stump, and don't look down! Mind that, or you'll drop, as -sure as fate."</p> - -<p>Leslie shuddered. Her heart was beating wildly, but a grand hope was -creeping over her. Was it possible that she should live and see Yorke -once more?</p> - -<p>Slowly she felt her way along the surface with her hand, till she got -hold of the dry but firmly rooted scrub, then she drew herself up and -along the narrow ledge, which was a fissure in the rock rather than a -path. No one, in cold blood, could have maintained a footing there for -more than thirty seconds, but these two were fighting for dear life, -and their blood was burning at fever heat, and they managed, almost -miraculously, to creep, crawl, drag themselves upward and still upward.</p> - -<p>Below them roared the angry waves, as if with mocking rage at their -attempts to escape their voracious maw. Above their heads whirled -the gulls, screaming weirdly. Every now and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> then a stone, displaced -by their feet, rolled and sprang from point to point, and ultimately -bounded into the gulf below them; and each time Leslie felt that in a -moment she would be bounding and falling like the stone, to the hideous -death.</p> - -<p>For some minutes neither spoke. They could hear each other's breath -coming in thick, labored gasps; and Leslie, who was in front, now and -again felt her companion's breath striking, like that of a hot furnace, -on her neck.</p> - -<p>"Keep on! Hold tight!" she heard her say presently. "Keep your eyes up; -the path's broadening. If—if we can hold on another minute or two—or -a year, for that's what it seems like!—we're saved!"</p> - -<p>Leslie could not reply; her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth; -her lips, dry and stiff, would not move. But still as she climbed her -heart's voice murmured "Yorke, Yorke!" and she drew courage from it. It -was worth fighting for, this life of hers, this life which his love had -made so precious, so beauteous. If she lived she would be his wife. His -wife! Yes, she would live, she would fight on while there was breath in -her body, while there was strength in her fingers to clutch an inch of -even the moss on the cliff's surface.</p> - -<p>In such moments Time is not. It is swallowed up in the agony, the -suspense, the mingled hope and despair which rack and wring the heart -and brain. She scarcely knew how long they had been making their awful -journey through the valley of the shadow of death, scarcely realized -that they were saved, when she saw the edge of the cliff just above -her, and with one great effort raised herself above it—above it!—and -threw herself upon the level ground, gripping the short turf with her -hot fingers as if she dreaded that something would drag her back again, -and hurl her into the awful sea whose voice still howled faintly in her -ears.</p> - -<p>She lay thus for a minute or two, her companion lying at her elbow, -panting, beside her; then, with a great sob, Leslie rose to her knees -and poured out her heart in thanksgiving to Him who had restored her to -life—and to Yorke!</p> - -<p>The woman stood and eyed her with a pale face and half lowered lids.</p> - -<p>"Where are we?" she said at last.</p> - -<p>Leslie rose and turned to her with both hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>"Oh, what can I say, how can I thank you?" she exclaimed in great -agitation. "You have saved my life!"</p> - -<p>The woman wiped her lips and forced a smile.</p> - -<p>"That's a rum way of putting it," she said, her voice shaking a little. -"If I did, you saved mine first. It was a narrow squeak for both of us."</p> - -<p>She looked round almost impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Where are we?" she repeated. "I—I want to get back to London as soon -as I can. I——'ve been half out of my mind, I think, and this—this -affair has pulled me round. Don't you take any notice of what I said -about—about him, the man I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> spoke of. I don't believe I've lost him, -after all. I can get him back." She laughed discordantly, and flushed, -as if half ashamed of the new hope that the escape from death had -seemed to give her. "He's—he's no worse than the rest. They're all -alike, easily taken with a new face. And—and I know he likes me. He -was sorry for going directly after he'd left me, and—yes—" she pushed -the black hair from her face—"yes, I'll bet my life I get him back."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her with a smile of sympathy and encouragement.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "I hope so; ah, yes, I hope so! It was dreadful to -see you and hear you when we were—down there!" and she glanced with a -shudder at the edge of the cliff.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I was pretty low then," said the other. "It was a hard fight, -wasn't it? You and I ought to be friends; but—" she paused and looked -hard and almost shyly at Leslie's face—"but perhaps you wouldn't care -for that. You're a lady—a swell, I can see, and I—well, I'm not -fit——."</p> - -<p>Leslie put out her hand to stop her.</p> - -<p>"You must not talk like that now—now, just when we have escaped death -together. And I hope—ah! yes, I hope that you will be happier, that -he—" she blushed, and her voice grew low; love was so sacred a thing -to her—"that he you love will come back to you. If he does you must -forgive him, and take him back——."</p> - -<p>She stopped, for the tall, graceful figure in front of her swayed and -staggered; and the dark eyes grew suddenly heavy and closed.</p> - -<p>Leslie uttered a cry of alarm.</p> - -<p>"Oh, what is it? You are ill, faint——."</p> - -<p>The other opened her lips as if to speak, then fell heavily forward on -Leslie's arm.</p> - -<p>Leslie knelt beside her on the grass, and looked round anxiously. The -solitude was as intense as that which they had just left. They were -still alone together with no help near.</p> - -<p>Leslie remembered that a small spring ran from a cleft on the cliff, -and, though the thought of going near the edge made her heart quake, -she gently set the woman's head down, and, stooping over the cliff, wet -her handkerchief in the rill, and, returning, bathed the white face -with one hand while she unfastened the bosom of the lifeless woman's -dress with the other.</p> - -<p>As she did so her hand came in contact with something hard, though for -a second or two she was too intent upon watching for some signs of -returning consciousness in the face on her knee to look to see what it -was; but presently her eye caught a plain gold locket.</p> - -<p>"Poor girl!" she thought. "It is the gift of the man who has deserted -her. And she wears it near her heart. Poor girl, poor girl!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>At that moment the white lips parted, and the dark eyes opened.</p> - -<p>"Yorke!" she breathed. "Is it you, Yorke? Have you come back to me?"</p> - -<p>The words struck upon Leslie's ear at first without any significance. -She scarcely heard them or took them in for a space during which one -could have counted fifty.</p> - -<p>Then, gradually it came upon her, gradually, slowly.</p> - -<p>"Yorke! Is it you, Yorke? Have you come back to me?"</p> - -<p>She repeated them mechanically, as one repeats a phrase in a foreign -language, the meaning of which one does not understand. Then she began -to tremble, and a faint, sick dread fell upon her.</p> - -<p>All the time she bathed the white face and lips and brushed the dark -hair from the low, handsome forehead; doing it mechanically, absently.</p> - -<p>Yorke? Had this girl said Yorke, or, was she mistaken?</p> - -<p>She waited, breathless, the sick feeling weighing on her heart; and -presently the full lips opened again, and again the name—the beloved -name—was breathed. There could be no mistake this time. Leslie heard -it plainly.</p> - -<p>It was Yorke.</p> - -<p>Her hand trembled, the beautiful face on her lap grew dim, and seemed -to fade away. Then she made an effort and forced the dread from her -heart, and a smile to her lips.</p> - -<p>What if this girl, the beautiful girl, had called upon Yorke? Surely -there was more than one man of that name in the world, the great -big wide world; and this woman's Yorke was not, could not be, hers, -Leslie's.</p> - -<p>She could have laughed at her wicked, worse than wicked, foolish fears! -Could have laughed if it had not been for the stress of circumstances.</p> - -<p>How could she suspect for a moment that he Yorke—the Duke of Rothbury, -her lover, so good and true and stanch—should be the Yorke whom this -woman loved, and who had, by her own account, deserted her!</p> - -<p>"Oh, I wrong him cruelly, wickedly, even by this momentary doubt!" she -told herself. "He would not have doubted me as I have done him, though -only for a second!" And her face flushed.</p> - -<p>But though she reproached herself, her mind was at work, and, against -her will, she remembered how she had first seen this girl.</p> - -<p>She recalled the scene, the incident, at St. Martin's Tower. Yorke had -stood beside her looking down, and he had started—yes, and turned -pale, white to the lips, as the woman's voice had floated up to them.</p> - -<p>Did he know her?</p> - -<p>All her being rose in revolt at the idea, the suspicion. And yet——. -She remembered his face as it had looked at that moment. She had -thought that he had turned pale with anger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> that such a song should -have been sung in her presence, and had loved him for his anxiety on -her account.</p> - -<p>She tried to thrust the dawning suspicion from her as if it were some -insidious demon whispering in her ear, but still she could not forget -that this woman had told her that she had come down here to Portmaris, -had followed the man she loved to this place; and Yorke had come down -here, had come down——!</p> - -<p>The rays of the setting sun struck the two figures, the white face -lying on Leslie's lap adding a lustre to the dark hair that swept -across Leslie's dress.</p> - -<p>How beautiful she looked, Leslie thought in a dull, vague way; how -beautiful! Any man might well lose his heart to such a woman, even -though she were not a lady, and capable of singing such a song as she -had heard these lips sing. Any man, even——. No, not Yorke! He would -not, could not have loved her. It was she, Leslie herself, whom he -loved, not this woman!</p> - -<p>Even as she laid the flattering unction to her soul, her eye fell again -upon the locket.</p> - -<p>It was lying open, face downward, upon the woman's snow-white breast.</p> - -<p>A desire, an overwhelming desire to take it up and see what face was -enshrined in it seized upon her. One glance, and this vague, unjust -suspicion of hers would be set at rest for ever. She knew, knew, that -it would not be Yorke's, her Yorke's, face she should see.</p> - -<p>She fought against the desire, the craving. Love was a sacred thing to -her, and it would seem like sacrilege to touch this trinket which this -poor girl wore, doubtless the gift of the man she loved so dearly, the -man whose desertion had caused her to weary of life, to desire death.</p> - -<p>"No, no, I cannot, I will not!" Leslie breathed pantingly, but even as -she spoke the words her hand stole towards the locket upon which the -rich sunlight was falling. Once, twice, her hand approached it and drew -back, but at the third time she took it up, raised it slowly, and then -swiftly turned it upwards.</p> - -<p>Then still holding it, her eyes riveted upon it with a gaze of horror -and agony, she cried—</p> - -<p>"Yorke! It is Yorke!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXI.</h2> - -<h3>"IT IS FALSE—I WILL NOT BELIEVE IT."</h3> - - -<p>It was Yorke!</p> - -<p>Leslie gazed down at the locket lying in the palm of her hand, for the -moment too benumbed by the sudden shock to feel anything.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yes, it was his face, the handsome face whose every line, every -expression, were engraved on her heart. For a second or two the -portrait, as it smiled up at her with Yorke's characteristic -devil-may-care look in its eyes, gave her a kind of pleasure; then she -began to realize where she had found it, lying on the bosom of this -woman!</p> - -<p>She dropped the locket as if it had suddenly burnt her, and shrank back -as far as she could without displacing the woman's head from her knee.</p> - -<p>Yorke's portrait in a locket in the possession of another woman! How -could it be! There must be some mistake, some hideous mistake. It could -not be his face, but that of someone, some relation closely resembling -him.</p> - -<p>She took the locket up again, and as she did so remembered that the -woman had murmured Yorke's name. Yes, it was Yorke. She laid the locket -down again—gently this time—and bent over the white face of the woman -with a strange confusing throbbing in her heart, a loud singing in her -ears. The earth seemed to rock beneath her, the sky to be falling.</p> - -<p>She was faint with physical exhaustion, with the terrible struggle for -life, and this discovery coming so closely upon all she had endured -almost crushed her.</p> - -<p>Was she really awake, or asleep and dreaming? Delirious, perhaps? -Yorke, her Yorke's face lying there on this woman's heart! It was -incredible.</p> - -<p>All this had passed through her mind, her heart, in a few seconds; one -can crowd an awful amount of misery, anguish, joy, into a minute; and -by this time the woman had recovered.</p> - -<p>"Where am I?" she breathed, staring up at Leslie.</p> - -<p>Leslie did not answer, but continued to gaze at her with wide open -eyes, in which a horror was growing more intense each moment.</p> - -<p>"Where am I? Have I been ill—ah——." She drew a deep breath. "I -remember. Are we safe? Why don't we go? What are we staying for?"</p> - -<p>She raised herself on her elbow, and half sat up, pushing the black -hair from her face and passing her hand across her eyes. Then she -looked down and saw the locket, and her hand flew to it.</p> - -<p>Leslie's eyes followed the hand.</p> - -<p>"Whose—whose portrait is that?" she asked almost inaudibly.</p> - -<p>The woman looked at her, and a dull red stole into her face.</p> - -<p>"What's that to you?" she retorted, half defiantly. "You've looked at -it, haven't you?"</p> - -<p>Leslie moistened her lips; they were so hot and dry that she could -scarcely speak.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have looked at it," she said. "I know——."</p> - -<p>"You know who it is?" As she spoke she closed the locket hurriedly, and -buttoned her dress over it. "You know—. Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> are you? What is your -name?" And the dark eyes scanned Leslie's pale face with suspicious -scrutiny.</p> - -<p>"My name is Leslie, Leslie Lisle," said Leslie slowly.</p> - -<p>"Leslie—," the woman sprang to her feet. "What! You are the girl he -left me for," she breathed.</p> - -<p>Leslie shuddered and her lips quivered.</p> - -<p>"Oh, there must be some mistake!" she almost wailed. "It cannot be he— -And yet you spoke his name—Yorke——."</p> - -<p>"Yorke! Yes, that's his name! And this is his portrait," was the sharp -response. "And you are the girl he's fallen in love with! And I never -guessed it! I must have been a fool not to have thought of it, jumped -at it! It's lucky for you that I didn't," she added between her teeth. -"I'd have killed you down there!"</p> - -<p>Leslie shrank back, and instinctively put out her hand as if to ward -off an attack.</p> - -<p>"What—what is your name?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"My name?" The full lips curled with bitter contempt. "You must have -been out of the world not to know it," she said. "My name's Finetta; -I'm Finetta of the Diadem."</p> - -<p>"Finetta—Finetta of the Diadem," Leslie repeated mechanically.</p> - -<p>Was it all a hideous dream? Who was Finetta of the Diadem? And how -could she talk of Yorke as if he belonged to her—how did it happen -that she wore his portrait on her heart?</p> - -<p>"Yes, Finetta of the Diadem," said Finetta defiantly. "I should have -thought everybody knew me. But I suppose he hasn't told you about -me. No, that wasn't likely!" and she laughed hoarsely. "What are you -staring at me like that for, as if I was a—a wild animal?"</p> - -<p>Leslie put her hand to her brow with a piteous little gesture.</p> - -<p>"I—I——. It is all so sudden. Give me time. I do not wish to anger -you. I only want to ask you a—a question—one or two questions. Why do -you wear that portrait in that locket?"</p> - -<p>Finetta looked at her a moment in silence, then with a flash of her -eyes and a discordant laugh she replied—</p> - -<p>"That's a question to ask me, if you like. What do you think I wear it -for?" The red deepened on her face, then left it pale. "What does a -woman usually wear a man's portrait for? I'll be bound you've got one -of his, too?"</p> - -<p>Leslie's hand went to her bosom, to the sparkling pendant, and she -shook her head with a strange feeling of injury; he had sent her -diamonds, but he had given this woman something far more precious!</p> - -<p>"No!" she breathed almost unconsciously. "Did he give it to you? Oh, -answer me quickly, and—and truthfully! I will tell you why I ask. I -will tell you all. I—I am to be his wife—I was to be his wife——."</p> - -<p>At the change from "Am to be" to "was to be" Finetta's eyes flashed, -and she lowered her lids.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Sit down," she said, pointing to a piece of rock.</p> - -<p>Leslie sank down upon it, and waited with averted face; she could not -bear to look upon the dark defiant face, beautiful with the beauty of a -fallen angel at this moment, a face distorted and lined by conflicting -passions.</p> - -<p>"You were to be his wife, were you?" said Finetta slowly, with a breath -between each word. "So was I!"</p> - -<p>"You!"</p> - -<p>The word dropped from Leslie's white lips unconsciously; it seemed to -sting Finetta.</p> - -<p>"Yes, me!" she flamed out. "Why not? You speak and you look at me as -if—as if I was some monster! I'm—I'm as young and as good looking as -you——."</p> - -<p>Leslie put up her hand deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," she murmured. "I did not mean to anger you. Go on! Oh, go -on!"</p> - -<p>"Why shouldn't he marry me as much as you!" continued Finetta. "I've -known him longer than you have! I've been more to him than you have——."</p> - -<p>Leslie shuddered.</p> - -<p>"I'm as good as you are. Who are you? You're no more of a swell than -I am! And you're poor, too, ain't you? And I'm not poor. I can earn -thousands a year——." She stopped, panting.</p> - -<p>Leslie glanced at her shrinkingly.</p> - -<p>"And if it comes to caring for him, I reckon I care for him quite as -much as you do! You know that, for you heard me talk down there, when -I thought it was all over with us. And as for him—well, I'd wager -everything I've got that in his heart he likes me as well as he likes -you, or anyone else!"</p> - -<p>She laughed bitterly, and with self scorn and contempt.</p> - -<p>"No, no," broke from Leslie's quivering lips.</p> - -<p>"But I say yes, yes," retorted Finetta. "He's just like the rest. None -of 'em could stick to one of us alone to save his life. You must have -lived with your head buried in the sand not to know that! What! You -think that you're the only one he has made love to; or that I'm the -only other one!" She laughed again. "Ask him whether he knows Lady -Eleanor Dallas! See how he looks when he hears her name, and hear what -he says!"</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her with half dazed eyes, and listened with ears in -which the wild sea seemed roaring.</p> - -<p>"It is false, false!" she cried hoarsely. "I will not believe——." And -she put up her hands as if to cover her ears.</p> - -<p>Finetta laughed.</p> - -<p>"Well!" she said with a sneer. "He's deceived you easily enough, anyone -could see! And if I wasn't so sorry for myself I could find it in my -heart to be sorry for you!"</p> - -<p>Leslie shuddered. To be pitied by this woman, this terrible woman!</p> - -<p>"Look here," said Finetta after a pause. "Don't mind my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> hard words; -it's my way, when I'm put out. I can see you don't believe half I say, -and that's only natural; I shouldn't if I were in your place, and -didn't know him so well. If you doubt that we are both talking of the -same man, take this locket and look at it again." And she held it out.</p> - -<p>Leslie turned her head from it.</p> - -<p>"No, you don't want to look at it again. I daresay you knew his face -directly you saw it. Now, do you think he'd have given it to me if he -hadn't cared for me? Answer that!"</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her, a sudden wild hope springing into her bosom.</p> - -<p>"It—it was a long while ago!" she breathed, "a long while ago——."</p> - -<p>Finetta broke in with a discordant laugh.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it! It was three days ago. He sent it after spending an -evening with me, as he's spent many a score——."</p> - -<p>She saw a look of unbelief crossing Leslie's face, and, snatching a -letter from her pocket, thrust it under Leslie's face.</p> - -<p>"Read that, and believe!" she said.</p> - -<p>Leslie took the note and looked at it. The lines swam before her eyes, -but she saw a word here and there, and with a low cry, which broke from -her notwithstanding all the efforts to suppress it, she held out the -note from her.</p> - -<p>Finetta took it and restored it to her pocket, then stood and looked -down at the motionless figure in silence for a moment or two.</p> - -<p>"You believe now," she said in a low, harsh voice. "You see I am -telling you the truth, and not a pack of lies. And now, what are you -going to do? Wait a minute. Let's see how the land lies. Here am I -who've—who've cared for him for years, who would have been his wife -if—if he hadn't happened to have seen you; and, mind, I'm just as fit -to be his wife as you are. Why, come to that, he'll tire of you ever -so much sooner than he would of me, because you haven't any money and -I have, and can go on earning enough to keep him amused. Don't you -see? We've been fond of each other for ever so long. Why, there's been -scarcely a day for months past that we haven't been together! And even -when he's smitten by you he doesn't throw me over, you see. He sends me -his portrait and a sweetheart's note with it; yes, and just after he's -left you, too! Now, that's how I stand; and now, where are you? You've -only known him a few days; you can't care for him half—half? no, not -one-tenth as much as I do! That's only natural. And it's only natural -and right that you should give him up. Think it over. After all, Miss -Lisle," she went on, with a kind of sullen insinuation, "he's behaved -very badly to you; he has indeed. He never meant to throw me quite -over; he'd have come back to me sooner or later."</p> - -<p>Leslie half rose from the rock and put out her hand as if to put the -words, the insinuation, from her, then sank back and covered her face -with her hands.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>"He'd have come back to me, and then you'd have been a good deal worse -off than you are now."</p> - -<p>Leslie did not move, and Finetta, watching her closely, allowed a -minute to pass in silence that her words might sink in.</p> - -<p>"Come, now, Miss Lisle; there's no occasion for you and me to quarrel. -Why, when you think of it, you and me have saved each other's lives, -haven't we? And we ought, we really ought, to act square and straight -by one another. I'm the one that's been badly treated, because he loved -me first, and would have married me but for you. Just think of that! -From what I've seen of you, I should say that you were a kind-hearted -lady and one that wouldn't injure a fellow woman. I should say you were -too proud to rob a poor girl of the man she's loved."</p> - -<p>Leslie sprang up panting, and for a moment breathless.</p> - -<p>The horror, the humiliation, were driving her mad.</p> - -<p>"Oh, be silent, be silent! Let me think!" she breathed. "Every word -you speak stabs me." She put her hand to her bosom with a passionate -gesture that awed Finetta. "It is all so sudden that—that I cannot -realize it; can scarcely believe—oh, do not speak! I believe all you -say. You have shown me the note, the portrait is his, and I cannot but -believe. And I trusted him! Ah, how I trusted him!" Her voice broke for -a moment and her eyes swam with tears; but she dashed them away with -her hand and hurried on, with every now and then a break between the -words. "But what you say is true. He—he belongs to you more than to -me! He has wronged us both; but he has wronged you the more cruelly. -And—" she stopped and put her hand to her throat as if she were -suffocating—"and I—I give him back to you. Yes, I give him back to -you!"</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to Finetta's face, then left it pale to the lips.</p> - -<p>"You—you throw him up?" she said, as if she could scarcely believe her -ears.</p> - -<p>Leslie raised her head and looked at her steadily, with a look that -would have melted the heart of anyone but a rival.</p> - -<p>"He belongs to you, not to me," she said in a low voice, as if every -word cost her a heart pang. "I—I will never see him again if I -can help it. Do not—" she paused, and a sigh broke from her white -lips—"do not let him know; do not tell him that I have seen you. I—I -have loved him, and would spare him the shame——."</p> - -<p>There was silence for a second, Finetta gazing on the ground with set -face and hidden eyes.</p> - -<p>"If—if he should ever know that we met, and that you told me what you -have told me, tell him that I—yes, that I forgive him. That I have -forgiven and forgotten him. That is all."</p> - -<p>Her head sank for a moment, then she raised it again and looked at the -dark face with a shrinking kind of reluctance.</p> - -<p>"You—you say that you care for him?"</p> - -<p>Finetta's lips moved.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and I know that you do. Be good to him. Do not let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> the thought -that he deceived himself into thinking he cared for me come between -you. He must love you very much to give you his portrait, to write you -that note; try—try and make him happy."</p> - -<p>Her voice broke, and she turned her head away.</p> - -<p>Finetta stood with clenched hands, her teeth gnawing at her under lip; -then she sprang to Leslie's side and took her hand.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle——."</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her hand off with a little cry, a shudder.</p> - -<p>"Don't—don't touch me, please."</p> - -<p>Finetta froze instantly.</p> - -<p>"I—I beg your pardon," panted Leslie. "But I cannot bear any more. If -you would go now. That road leads to Portmaris."</p> - -<p>She sank on the stone, and sat with her head erect and face set hard as -the stone itself.</p> - -<p>Finetta drew her jacket round her and fumbled with her gloves.</p> - -<p>"I understand," she said in a low voice. "You've done the right thing, -and you won't be sorry for it."</p> - -<p>"It is nearly two miles to Portmaris," said Leslie in a dry, -expressionless voice. "There is an evening train; you can catch it if -you walk quickly."</p> - -<p>"I'm going," said Finetta, biting her lips. "Good-by, Miss Leslie. I'm -sorry—well, good-by."</p> - -<p>Leslie sat motionless and with averted face until the graceful figure -of the dancing girl of the Diadem had disappeared below the hill; then -with a cry she rose, her arms above her head, and fell full length upon -the turf.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXII.</h2> - -<h3>"FAME HAS COME TO ME AT LAST."</h3> - - -<p>Leslie lay unconscious while the sun sank below the horizon, and the -delicious summer gloaming came softly upon the moor; lay like a flower -struck down by some rude hand, and the evening star shone pale in the -sky before she came back to life and her great sorrow.</p> - -<p>For a while it seemed to her that the whole scene through which she had -passed was a hideous dream, and when its reality came crushing down -upon her she uttered a low cry and shivered as if with cold. The sudden -destruction of her joy and happiness left her stunned and bewildered. -A few short hours ago and she and Yorke had been sitting hand in hand, -heart to heart, talking of their marriage, and now——. Now he was hers -no longer. In a sense he had never been hers, but all the time he had -been wooing her, forcing her to love him, he had been in honor bound to -this other woman.</p> - -<p>As she thought of her, this Finetta, this woman with the bold eyes, a -feeling of shame and humiliation was added to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> misery of Leslie's -loss. That he, Yorke, her idol, her king, should ever have stooped -to love such a woman seemed to her unspeakably base and terrible. -She had set him on so lofty a pedestal, had regarded him as so noble -and high-minded, that the knowledge of his falseness—to both of -them!—hurt her like a physical blow.</p> - -<p>She sat for some time, waiting for strength to enable her to reach -home; and as she sat and looked round it seemed as if something had -gone out of her life, as if a weight which no power nor time could lift -had fallen upon her heart.</p> - -<p>Before her she saw stretching in a dull grey, hopeless vista, the many -years she would probably have to live; the long life without Yorke, and -haunted by the memory of these few happy days.</p> - -<p>"If I had never seen him! If I had not loved him so dearly!" was the -burden of her heart's wail; "or if I had only died down there before I -saw the locket or heard the woman's story!"</p> - -<p>She had fought Death hard enough a little while ago, now she would have -welcomed him.</p> - -<p>She rose at last, and went slowly and draggingly towards Portmaris. Her -dress was still heavy with the salt water, she was weak with physical -and mental weariness, and the two miles across the moor were surely the -longest that ever woman journeyed.</p> - -<p>When she reached the villa and entered the parlor, she found her father -pacing up and down in the dusk before his easel.</p> - -<p>He looked up, but fortunately for her, did not see her white weary -face, or notice how she held the door as if to support herself.</p> - -<p>"Where have you been, Leslie?" he asked in a kind of irritable -excitement. "I have been wanting you. Mr. Temple has sent the notes for -the picture, the fifty pounds."</p> - -<p>She leant against the door, and drew a long breath as she thought of -this added humiliation.</p> - -<p>"He is going to-morrow, it seems, and wished to—er—pay for the -picture before he left. His departure is rather sudden, I think, but I -fancy he is erratic in his movements. I want you to send him a receipt, -and—er—to ask him to allow the picture to be exhibited."</p> - -<p>"Yes; to-morrow, papa," she said faintly.</p> - -<p>"Why not to-night?" he asked testily.</p> - -<p>"I—I am tired, very tired," she said, going to him and leaning her -head on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"You've walked too far," he said in a tone of complaint. "You'd better -go to bed at once. The receipt and the letter must wait till to-morrow, -I suppose. Oh, there was something—oh, yes; did you see the duke? He -came up to me on the beach and inquired for you."</p> - -<p>She turned away from him, a lump rising in her throat and threatening -to suffocate her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Did he say anything about that sketch of St. Martin's?"</p> - -<p>St. Martin's! How the name brought back the memory of that happy, happy -day.</p> - -<p>"I don't quite know about that sketch," he went on with an air -of importance. "I may be too much engaged on important pictures -to—er—spare any time for small sketches. However, that matter can -rest for the present. The duke has gone back to London to-night, they -tell me. By the way, I wish you would prepare a fresh canvas for me."</p> - -<p>"Not to-night, oh, not to-night, dear!" she said in a low voice. "I -will go to bed as you said, for I am very, very tired. To-morrow——."</p> - -<p>She left the sentence unfinished, and crept up to her own room.</p> - -<p>To-morrow! What an awful line of dreary to-morrows stretched before -her, was her thought. As she took off her dress the diamond pendant -flashed in the candlelight, each gem seeming to glitter mockingly in -derision of her love and faith and trust. She covered the sparkling -thing with her hand and bowed her head over it. The very day he had -sent it to her, he had given his portrait—his portrait—to that other -woman! She took the pendant off the ribbon, and wrapped it in a piece -of soft paper and put it away out of sight in a small box, and as she -did so she saw Ralph Duncombe's ring.</p> - -<p>One's own misery recalls to us that of other people, and in this the -hour of her trouble Leslie remembered Ralph Duncombe, and for the first -time she realized something of what he had suffered. With a rush his -passionate avowal came back upon her, and she took the ring in her hand -and looked at it with a double misery. He had sworn to help her if she -ever should be in trouble, had sworn to help her if ever she suffered -wrong. How feeble had been his vow! Neither he nor anyone else could -help her in this strait; and as to vengeance, she wanted none. Alas, -alas! false as he had been, she loved Yorke still.</p> - -<p>She fell asleep at last from sheer exhaustion, and did not awake until -past nine. Then it all came throbbing, crowding back upon her, in that -first awful moment of waking. Surely to the wretched and unhappy, there -is no more awful hour in the twenty-four than that which follows the -morning awakening. Sorrow seems to have had time to sharpen her arrows -during the night, and plunges them with fresh vigor into our aching -hearts.</p> - -<p>While she was dressing, Leslie went over the whole of the incidents -of the previous day, bit by bit, and suddenly, with the sharpness of -a flash of lightning, a gleam of hope shot across the darkness of her -misery. Suppose this woman had lied! Such women as she would find no -difficulty in stooping to untruth and deception. Suppose she had got -possession of Yorke's portrait, had forged the letter, had concocted -the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> story? The supposition seemed far-fetched and improbable, -but it sent a thrill of hope through her, and she finished dressing -with feverish haste, and hurried downstairs.</p> - -<p>All through the breakfast she felt like one in a dream, as if she were -suspended between life and death, and waiting for the verdict. Her -father talked of his picture, of all he meant to do, now that he was on -the high road to Fame, and his voice sounded in her ears like that of -someone speaking afar off.</p> - -<p>Yorke, her Yorke, might prove to be hers still! Oh, blessed hope. How -mad, how wicked, how foolish she had been to put any trust in the woman -who had slandered him!</p> - -<p>The revulsion of feeling was so great that it sent a hectic flush to -her face, and a feverish light to her eyes.</p> - -<p>"That receipt and note, Leslie," said her father. "Tell Mr. Temple that -I would rather not sell the picture, that I would rather return his -money than forego the right of exhibiting the picture."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, papa," she said at random. "Yes, it will all come right. It -was wicked, foolish, to doubt him, to believe her."</p> - -<p>He stared at her with irritable impatience.</p> - -<p>"What are you talking of, Leslie?" he said peevishly. "You seem very -strange this morning, and so you were last night."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know, dear!" she broke in with something between a sigh and -a sob. "Don't mind me. I am not very well. You want the receipt?" she -sprang to the writing table. "There it is, and the note. Yes, yes! It -will come right. I know it will; and—and—oh, how hot it is! I must -have air, air!"</p> - -<p>She caught up her hat, and with the receipt and note in her hand, ran -to the door.</p> - -<p>"I shall see Mr. Temple, papa, and I will give him these."</p> - -<p>"And tell him," he called after her, "that I make it a condition that -the picture shall be exhibited; mind that, Leslie!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" she responded, and ran out.</p> - -<p>She drew her breath hard as she paused for a moment on the doorstep, -then she hurried to the quay.</p> - -<p>A fisherman was drying his net in the sun, but there was no one else -there, and she walked up and down, the note in her hand, repeating to -herself the formula of hope; the woman, Finetta, had lied to her and -deceived her. All would be well. Yorke would be her Yorke still!</p> - -<p>She had not been walking thus very long before the bath chair, wheeled -by Grey, was seen coming on to the quay.</p> - -<p>She hurried toward it, and the duke motioned to Grey to stop.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Miss Leslie," he said, peering up at her. "It is a fine -morning, isn't it." Then he paused and scanned her face curiously and -earnestly. "Is anything the matter?"</p> - -<p>"The matter?" she repeated with a laugh that sounded in her ears hollow -and unnatural. "What should be the matter?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> I have brought you my -father's receipt and a note, Mr. Temple."</p> - -<p>He took it and glanced at it.</p> - -<p>"Humph," he said. "Oh, yes, I'll do anything your father wishes. And -there is nothing the matter, Miss Leslie?" and he peered up at her -curiously from under his thick brows.</p> - -<p>"Nothing, nothing," she responded feverishly. "But I wanted to ask -you—the duke, the Duke of Rothbury——."</p> - -<p>His pale face flushed, and he motioned to Grey to withdraw out of -hearing.</p> - -<p>"I thought so!" he said. "Miss Leslie, sick men, like me, acquire a -kind of second sight. Directly I saw you just now, I knew that you had -learnt the truth."</p> - -<p>She looked down at him, and her face, which had been flushed -feverishly, paled.</p> - -<p>"The truth?" she faltered.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said in a tone that suggested remorse. "You have been cruelly -deceived!"</p> - -<p>"Deceived!" she echoed the word as if its significance were lost upon -her. "Deceived!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Cruelly. But you must not blame him altogether.</p> - -<p>"Blame him. Whom?" she said slowly.</p> - -<p>"Yorke, Yorke," he said in a low voice. "It was as much my fault as -his. I ought to have told you. We have both deceived you wickedly, -inexcusably."</p> - -<p>Leslie put out her hand and caught the chair, and stood looking down at -him.</p> - -<p>"Blame me more than him," he went on. "Blame us both. We ought to have -told you, at any rate, however we kept other people in the dark. But he -was not free, and I—well, I held my tongue."</p> - -<p>"He was not free?" she murmured mechanically.</p> - -<p>"No! I don't ask you to forgive us; you'd find it too hard. I don't -expect you even to understand the motive."</p> - -<p>She put out her hand to him.</p> - -<p>"Wait—stop! Let me think. He has deceived me, then?"</p> - -<p>"He has, and I have, yes," he said, averting his eyes from the misery -in her face. "Is it so hard and bitter a blow, Leslie?" he said after a -pause.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she responded almost unconsciously. "I hoped that—that——. But -it does not matter. Nothing matters, now."</p> - -<p>He fidgeted in his chair, and peered up at her curiously, strangely.</p> - -<p>"Anyway, you know the truth now."</p> - -<p>"Yes! I know the truth now," she echoed faintly. "Why," hoarsely, "why -did he do it?"</p> - -<p>The duke bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"It was more my fault than his. I ought to have told you. I did not -know—did not know that you would take it so much to heart. For God's -sake don't look so wretched, so heartbroken,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> he burst forth. "Leslie, -you make me feel like a criminal!"</p> - -<p>She turned her white face to him.</p> - -<p>"You let me—love him, go on loving him, knowing all the while——."</p> - -<p>He hung his head and plucked at the edge of the shawl across his knees.</p> - -<p>"I did!" he said in a low voice. "I tell you so."</p> - -<p>"God forgive you!" she panted. "God forgive you—and him!"</p> - -<p>She stood a moment as if struggling for breath, and turned and walked -swiftly away.</p> - -<p>The duke sat for a full five minutes, staring at the front wheel of his -chair; then he jerked his hand up and called to Grey.</p> - -<p>"Take me home!" he snapped. "What the devil are you waiting for? Take -me home and back to London as soon as possible."</p> - -<p>Leslie sped along the quay, and staggered rather than walked into the -sitting room, and a moment afterward her father hurried in.</p> - -<p>"Leslie, Leslie!" he cried. "Where are you?"</p> - -<p>She lifted her head from the sofa cushion with dull, blinded eyes.</p> - -<p>"Here's a telegram! A telegram from one of the large dealers. He wants -to see me in London at once! At once, do you hear? Why do you stare -at me like that? There is no time to lose. We must go up to London at -once. At once! Run upstairs and pack our things!"</p> - -<p>She rose and staggered to her feet.</p> - -<p>"No, no! It is—it is——," she paused and clutched his arm, laughing -hysterically. "Don't believe it, papa. It is not true. I can explain!"</p> - -<p>"Explain? Not true? What are you talking about, Leslie! I tell you it -is from one of the first dealers in London. Fame, fame, has come to me -at last! Get ready at once! We will go by the first train we can catch!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> - -<h3>GOOD-BY, AND NOT ADIEU.</h3> - - -<p>Leslie's heart seemed to stand still as she listened to her father's -excited words. What should she do? she asked herself. Should she tell -him that she had deceived him, that the message from the picture dealer -was a mere subterfuge, a trick to get him and her up to town?</p> - -<p>But she could not tell him this without explaining fully, without -disclosing the whole story of her love for Yorke and the deceit he had -practiced on her, and she shrank from the ordeal as one shrinks from -fire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<p>She stood pale and trembling, her hands writhing together, her brain -swimming, watching her father as he hurried to and fro picking up some -article and putting it down again in another place under the impression -that he was packing.</p> - -<p>"Oh, papa," she faltered out at last, "don't go! Do not go. Write -and—and ask. Oh, I implore you not to go!"</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle stopped in his flurried fidgeting about the room, and -stared at her with impatient annoyance.</p> - -<p>"My dear Leslie, have you taken leave of your senses?" he exclaimed. -"You look half distraught."</p> - -<p>"I am, I am! Ah, if you only knew!" she almost sobbed.</p> - -<p>"Knew what?" he demanded irritably. "What is it you are talking about! -Any one would think we were going to—to Australia instead of only to -London! And not go? Good heavens, why should we not go? I tell you this -is one of the first dealers in London, and—and it is the great opening -I have been waiting for, expecting all my life——."</p> - -<p>It was unendurable. She went to him and put her arm round his neck and -let her head fall on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Oh, papa, papa! Do not be too confident, too hopeful. You—you may -be disappointed! Life is full of disappointment——." Her voice broke. -"You may be sorry that you have gone up. Write—let me write to this -dealer——."</p> - -<p>He put her from him almost roughly.</p> - -<p>"You are talking nonsense!" he said. "Sheer nonsense. Why should this -dealer write to me and ask me to come up at once—at once, mind—unless -he had some important commission for me?"</p> - -<p>She knew why, but she could not answer. She dared not. She dreaded the -effect of the shock which the disclosure, the disappointment would -cause him. He was trembling with excitement as it was, and the reaction -would be more than he could endure.</p> - -<p>"There," he said with an attempt at soothing her, "I can understand -your being upset and unnerved. It is only natural. I—even I—am a -little—er—flurried. But do collect yourself, and get ready. We shall -go up by the evening train. Take all our clothes, for we may be up some -time. I can't tell what this dealer may want, or—or where he may send -me. There, do collect yourself and get ready. Wait; give me a little -brandy and water. The suddenness of this—this change in our fortunes -has agitated me."</p> - -<p>She got him some weak brandy and water, and she noticed as he drank it -how his hand shook.</p> - -<p>Then she stole up to her own room and began to pack, mechanically, like -one in a dream.</p> - -<p>Gradually she began to realize that after all it was better perhaps -that they should leave Portmaris. Yorke—the mere passing of his name -across her mind caused her a pang—might come down after her when he -found that she had not gone to London and sent him her address, and she -felt that a meeting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> with him would nearly kill her. At all costs that -must be avoided. In her heart throbbed only one prayer; that, while -life lasted, she might be spared the agony of seeing his face, hearing -his voice again.</p> - -<p>She finished her preparations for herself and her father, and went -downstairs and helped him pack the absurd and worthless canvases; then -she went out to say good-by to the old place.</p> - -<p>Something, a presentment as strong as certainty, told her that she was -indeed saying good-by and not adieu.</p> - -<p>She wandered along the quay and stood looking sadly at the breakwater -against which she had sat when Ralph Duncombe had declared his love and -given her his ring; on which Yorke had been lying the night she and he -had gone for a sail. Was it only a few weeks, or years ago that all -this had happened to her?</p> - -<p>There were some children on the quay, the children who had learned -to love her, and amongst them the mite she had held in her arms the -morning Yorke had asked her to be his wife. They clustered around her -as usual, and she had hard work to keep the tears from her eyes—they -were in her voice—as she kissed them.</p> - -<p>"'Oo coming back soon, Mith Lethlie?" lisped Trottie, her favorite; and -Leslie murmured, Yes, she would come back soon.</p> - -<p>When she got back to Sea View, she found her father ready to start, and -in an impatient anxiety to do so.</p> - -<p>"We are going to London on important business, Mrs. Merrick," -Leslie heard him saying to Mrs. Merrick, "Most important business. -I—er—anticipate a change in our circumstances; a great change. -The world has at last awakened to the fact that my pictures are -not—er—without merit," he laughed with a kind of bombastic modesty. -"Oh, yes, we shall come back to our old friends, Mrs. Merrick. We shall -not forget Sea View, and—er—if I am not mistaken the world of art -will not forget it. Some day, possibly, Sea View will become celebrated -as the temporary residence of one of England's first artists; eh, -Leslie?" and he smiled at her with a childish conceit.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Merrick, not understanding in the least, smiled and curtseyed.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure we're very sorry to lose you, sir, and Miss Leslie -especially. I don't know what Portmaris will do without her, that -I don't. We shall be quite dull now for a bit, for Mr. Temple, the -crippled gentleman, has gone off to-day. You will be sure and send me -your address?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," said Francis Lisle, "and—er—if we hear of anyone wanting -clean and comfortable sea-side lodgings, we shall certainly remember to -recommend you, Mrs. Merrick."</p> - -<p>He went off in the broken down fly like a prince with his canvases -piled round him, and oblivious of everything but them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - -<p>During the journey up to town he spoke very little, but sat in his -corner looking out of the window, a smile of self-satisfaction every -now and then passing over his thin, worn face.</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't be surprised, Leslie," he said once, "if this should prove -to be the last time we travel third class. I shall ask, and no doubt -obtain, a fair price for my pictures, and we shall at last—at last—be -rich enough to afford a little luxury. They say that everything comes -to him who can wait, and I think I have waited long enough, long -enough!"</p> - -<p>Leslie's pale face flushed, and her conscience tortured her, but she -could not summon up courage to tell him the truth.</p> - -<p>They reached town late in the summer evening, and Leslie calling a cab -told the man to drive to a house in Torrington square, at which they -had stayed on previous visits to London.</p> - -<p>Torrington Square is a quiet secluded spot in the great metropolis. It -is central, and yet retired. Nearly every house is let in apartments, -and the square is the favorite residence of the journalists and artists -who pay occasional visits to London.</p> - -<p>The landlady of No. 23 received Leslie and her father as if they were -old friends instead of transient lodgers, and she expressed her concern -at the appearance of Mr. Lisle.</p> - -<p>"He don't look well, Miss Lisle," she said in a stage whisper, as they -went in with their baggage. "Been in the country, too! Ah, I often says -there's no place like London for health. And you, too, begging your -pardon, miss, don't look too rosy. What you want is brightening up, and -there's no place like London for brightening up, that I will say."</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled sadly. She knew that she looked pale and wan, but it hurt -her to hear that her father was not looking well.</p> - -<p>She got him to bed early, but directly after breakfast he was all -anxiety to go down to the picture dealer who had brought him to town.</p> - -<p>"Can I not go alone, dear, while you rest?" she said. But he scouted -the suggestion.</p> - -<p>"No, no, I will go. Women are all very well, but a man is needed for -business of this kind. Get some of the best of my pictures together, -and we will go in a cab."</p> - -<p>Leslie got ready, and all the time she was putting on her outdoor -things she thought of the arrangement with Yorke. She was to have -sent him her address to the Dorchester Club. He was waiting for it -now, expecting it every minute. She could imagine his impatience, -could picture to herself how he would walk up and down fuming for the -telegram.</p> - -<p>With a heavy heart she tied up the least ridiculous of her father's -pictures and sent out for a cab, and told the man to drive to Bond -Street, to the picture dealer's.</p> - -<p>A hectic flush burned in Francis Lisle's thin cheeks, and Leslie saw -his lips move as if he were speaking to himself, telling himself that -Fame and Prosperity were awaiting him. Oh, what a tangled web we weave -when first we practice to deceive! If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> she had not consented to deceive -her father she would not now be in this awful strait; she was actually -leading him to the bitterest disappointment of his life.</p> - -<p>There are picture dealers and picture dealers. Mr. Arnheim, of Bond -Street, is one of the best known men and the most respected. Many an -artist now famous and wealthy owes his first step up the ladder to Mr. -Arnheim. He will buy anything that shows promise, and for great works -will give as much and more than a private purchaser. His judgment is -almost infallible, and to be spoken well of by Arnheim is to have a -passport to artistic fame. The cab drew up at his house, which was near -the corner in one of the turnings out of Bond Street, and had nothing -about it to indicate the nature of his business save and excepting a -very small brass plate with "H. Arnheim" on it.</p> - -<p>A page boy opened the door in response to Leslie's ring, and, on -learning her name, ushered her and her father upstairs into a room hung -round with pictures, and, giving them chairs, disappeared through a -door in a partition which seemed to screen off a kind of office.</p> - -<p>Leslie's heart beat apprehensively, and her face grew paler, but -Francis Lisle looked round with a kind of suppressed exultation.</p> - -<p>"There are examples of some of our best known artists here, Leslie," -he said in a voice quavering with excitement. "There's one of -so-and-so's," he mentioned the name, "and that is Sir Frederick's. This -Mr. Arnheim is one of the first, the first dealers in the world, and -never makes a mistake. Never! He would not have sent for me unless he -had seen some of my pictures, and meant taking me up, as they call it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, do not be too buoyed up, papa," she murmured in an agony of shame -and remorse. "If it should not be so, if there should be some mistake. -Oh, if you had let me come alone."</p> - -<p>"Mistake? What can you mean, Leslie?" he responded almost angrily. -"There is no mistake, can be none. Anyone would think you doubted -my—my ability, my artistic capacity."</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush!" she whispered, for he had raised his voice unconsciously, -and she heard footsteps approaching.</p> - -<p>The next moment the door in the partition opened, and a short, stout -man with closely cropped hair of silvery white, and small shrewd eyes, -entered the room or gallery.</p> - -<p>He bowed and looked at them keenly, and it seemed to Leslie that his -glance rested longer upon her than on her father.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Lisle?" he said.</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle rose and held out his hand in a stately kind of way, as -if he were Peter Paul Rubens receiving a deputation.</p> - -<p>"That is my name, sir," he said, with a kind of kingly affability, "and -I am here in obedience to your summons."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> - -<h3>"MAD AS A HATTER!"</h3> - - -<p>Mr. Arnheim looked rather puzzled for a moment, then he looked as if he -remembered.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Lisle," he said, with a slightly foreign accent; he -was German. "I remember——."</p> - -<p>"You sent for me, doubtless, to make arrangements for the inclusion of -some of my pictures in your coming exhibition," said Francis Lisle in -a nervously pompous voice, which quivered with suppressed excitement -and importance.</p> - -<p>"Not exact——," began Mr. Arnheim, but he happened to glance at Leslie, -and something in her pale, wan face stopped him. He was a shrewd man, -and the anxiety of the daughter of the half pompous, half frightened -creature before him touched him.</p> - -<p>"Possibly, possibly, Mr.—er—Lisle," he said. "But my reason for -communicating with you was the fact that I had been requested by—" he -was going to say Lord Auchester, but he glanced at Leslie's face again, -and seeing the imploring expression on it, faltered a moment, then went -on suavely—"by a valued client of mine to procure a work by your hand."</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle's face fell for a moment, then it brightened again.</p> - -<p>"A commission?" he said. "Yes, yes. May I ask the name of your client?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Arnheim opened his lips to give the name, but once again met the -imploring gaze of the sweet eyes, and kept the name back.</p> - -<p>"It is not usual to give our clients' names, Mr. Lisle," he said -with an affectation of shrewdness. "We dealers are business men pure -and simple, and are never too ready with information that may injure -us. I hope you will consider it sufficient that a gentleman has made -inquiries after some work of yours, and—er—be prepared to come to -terms with me. Of course, I only act as the agent."</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle flushed and bit his lip, but a gratified smile was -creeping over his thin, wan face.</p> - -<p>"I understand, Mr. Arnheim," he said pompously. "I am very busy just at -present; indeed, I have only just finished a picture for—er—a patron, -for which I have received a fairly large sum, and I have a number of -studies in hand; but—er—I think I may say that I shall be willing to -paint a picture for you—or your unknown client, if you prefer to put -it in that way; but I can only do so on one condition, Mr. Arnheim."</p> - -<p>The dealer bowed.</p> - -<p>"And what is that condition, Mr. Lisle?" he asked gravely.</p> - -<p>"That your client permit any picture he may purchase of me to be -exhibited at the Royal Academy Exhibition."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, certainly. I'll undertake that he shall accord that -permission," said Mr. Arnheim.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Very good," said Francis Lisle. "And now I should like to show you -some of my pictures. We have brought a few—the best, in my judgment; -but there are several others, if you would like to see more. Leslie——."</p> - -<p>Leslie rose and took up a couple of the canvases, and as she did she -looked at the keen, shrewd face of the dealer. It was the look with -which she had appealed to Mr. Temple, and it said as plainly as if she -had spoken—</p> - -<p>"Spare him; oh, spare him!"</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle took one of the pictures from her hand, and nervously, -excitedly, placed it on an empty easel which stood ready for the -purpose.</p> - -<p>"A seascape, Mr. Arnheim," he said, waving his hand. "It would savor of -impertinence to point out its merits to you who are so experienced and -able a critic; but I may venture to hint that there is something in the -treatment of that sky which you will not meet with every day."</p> - -<p>For a moment the eminent dealer's face expressed a wide gaping -astonishment, then it seemed to writhe as if with the effort to -suppress a burst of laughter, but lastly it turned to an impassive -mask, and, carefully avoiding the anguish in Leslie's eyes, he said, -shading the view with his hand:</p> - -<p>"Remarkable, very; very remarkable, Mr. Lisle."</p> - -<p>"I thought you would say so," said Francis Lisle, with a triumphant -glance at Leslie, who had stood with downcast eyes. "But if you think -that worthy of notice, what do you say to this?" and he replaced the -canvas by another. "'View of Cliffs by Moonlight.' Remark the shadows, -the foam on the rocks, the birds, Mr. Arnheim!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, yes," said Mr. Arnheim in a kind of still voice. "Most—most -singular and admirable!"</p> - -<p>He glanced at Leslie, and an expression of pity and sympathy came into -his shrewd face.</p> - -<p>"And here is another," said Francis Lisle, catching up a third picture. -"'The Wreck.' I spent months—months, Mr. Arnheim, over this; and if I -may be permitted to say so I consider it one of my masterpieces," and -he waved his hand to the fearful daub in a kind of ecstasy.</p> - -<p>Mr. Arnheim stood speechless with what the unfortunate painter took to -be admiration; and Leslie, trembling and pale, came forward and took -the canvas from the easel.</p> - -<p>"We—we must not take up any more of Mr. Arnheim's time, papa," she -faltered, with an appealing glance at the dealer.</p> - -<p>"No no, certainly not," responded Lisle. "But it is only right that Mr -Arnheim should have an opportunity of judging of my work. You may be -surprised, sir, that I am still, so to speak, an unknown artist. I may -say that that surprise is shared by myself. But no one can be better -acquainted with the fact that fame and fortune do not always fall to -the deserving. No! Art is a lottery, and the best of us may, and, alas! -too often do, only draw blanks. But I am confident that now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> you, who -have so many opportunities of directing the attention of the world to -what is most worthy of notice in art, have become acquainted with my -pictures, that—that—in short——." He put his hand to his head and -looked round confusedly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" said Mr. Arnheim soothingly. "I quite understand. You will -hear from me—I will see my client."</p> - -<p>"Yes, certainly," cut in Francis Lisle. "I—I leave the whole of the -negotiations to you. I have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Arnheim."</p> - -<p>Mr. Arnheim bowed, and assisted Leslie's trembling hands to repack the -pictures, but the artist stopped them by a gesture.</p> - -<p>"Wait, wait, Leslie. I am content to leave these works with Mr. -Arnheim. He will like to place them in this gallery with his other -masterpieces."</p> - -<p>The expression on Mr. Arnheim's face at this proposition beggars -description, but he mastered his emotion, and managed to bow and -mumble out some unintelligible words, which Francis Lisle mistook for -expressions of gratitude.</p> - -<p>"Do not mention it, my dear sir," he said, waving his hand. "I commit -them to your care with every confidence, assured that they will receive -every consideration and appreciation from you. Come, Leslie, as you -said, we must not take up too much of Mr. Arnheim's time. Good morning, -sir. I leave you to conduct all negotiations with your client. I have -every confidence in you. Good morning!"</p> - -<p>He gave his hand to Mr. Arnheim with the air of a painter-prince, and -with a glance round the room as if he already saw his pictures placed -among the other gems, stalked nervously out.</p> - -<p>Leslie hesitated for a moment, then held out her hand. For a moment she -seemed incapable of speech, then her trembling lips parted, and she -faltered:</p> - -<p>"You have been very good, and—and patient, and forbearing, sir, and I -am grateful, very grateful."</p> - -<p>"Don't mention it, Miss Lisle," he said, touched by her loveliness and -sadness. "I quite understand—that is—well, I can't quite understand!"</p> - -<p>Leslie's face burnt like fire.</p> - -<p>"Why his—his grace——," she faltered.</p> - -<p>Mr. Arnheim looked puzzled.</p> - -<p>"His lordship!" he corrected her, but Leslie was too agitated to notice -the correction.</p> - -<p>"I cannot explain," she said in a troubled voice. "But—you will see -him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, certainly," assented Mr. Arnheim.</p> - -<p>"Will you tell him, please—" her voice broke, and her hands clasped -and unclasped—"will you tell him that I came here against my -will—that I was obliged to come, and that—that I wish him to forget -everything that has passed. That neither my father nor I wish to see -him again. That we wish to pass out of his life as if we had never -seen, never known him. Will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> you tell him this? You—you think it -strange, unbecoming, that I should give you this message, Mr. Arnheim -but—" her voice broke—"but, perhaps you have a daughter of your own, -and—and thinking of her you will not refuse——."</p> - -<p>She broke down, and covered her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>Mr. Arnheim had a daughter, as it happened, and he did think of her.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand, quite, Miss Lisle," he said, in a low voice; "but -I understand enough to convey your message."</p> - -<p>Leslie gave him her hand without another word, and hurried after her -father.</p> - -<p>She found him descending the stairs slowly, and he stopped as she -reached him, and nodded at her.</p> - -<p>"One moment, Leslie," he said, in nervous accents. "I forgot to ask Mr. -Arnheim if his gallery is insured. Such works as I have left with him -are—are priceless!"</p> - -<p>Before she could stop him, he had turned and reascended the stairs, and -re-entered the gallery. Leslie followed him. The gallery was empty, but -voices were heard behind the partition, and Mr. Arnheim could be heard -exclaiming in mingled indignation, pity, and amusement:</p> - -<p>"The man is as mad as a hatter!"</p> - -<p>Leslie laid her hand upon her father's arm.</p> - -<p>"Come away, dear!" she implored; but he shook her hand off, and put his -finger to his lip warningly.</p> - -<p>"Hush! Be silent! I want to hear what he is saying! These men never -express themselves fully about the pictures in the presence of the -artists. Now, listen, and you will hear what he really thinks. Hush! It -is quite fair, quite!" and he chuckled confidently.</p> - -<p>Leslie, turned to stone with apprehension and dread, stood still and -waited.</p> - -<p>"Mad as a hatter!" continued Mr. Arnheim to some one behind the -partition. "The pictures he raves about are simply daubs! The daubs -of a lunatic who has had access to paint and brushes. Look at this! -He called it a seascape! Look at it! Why, a schoolboy of fourteen -would blush to have painted it! In fact, no human being in possession -of his senses could have produced it! Did you ever see anything like -it? I never did, and I've had some queer experiences in the course of -business. If it hadn't been for that sweet creature, his daughter, -I should have burst out laughing. But something—dash me if I know -what—kept me quiet. Look here, it's a dashed shame, that's what it -is. He told me to write for the man, and I thought it was all on -the square. But it's my opinion he's got some game in hand with the -daughter. I might have guessed that, seeing the sort of man he is. -These swells are all alike. Yes it's a dashed shame! She's too good -to be made a fool of and deceived. But did you ever see such an awful -lunatic daub as this, and this, and this!" the speaker's voice rose in -crescendo as he evidently showed each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> of Francis Lisle's pictures. -"There was never anything like 'em out of a madhouse!"</p> - -<p>The voice ceased, for lack of breath, and Leslie, horror-stricken, -turned to her father. He was leaning against the wall, his face white, -livid, his jaw dropped, his eyes staring vacantly.</p> - -<p>"Father! father!" she cried in a low voice.</p> - -<p>He did not seem to hear her, but his lips moved and she could hear -a faint, horrible echo of the words that had been spoken behind the -screen.</p> - -<p>"Come away, dear!" she implored him. "Come away!"</p> - -<p>He dropped his eyes to her face and tried to smile; but it was a -hideous grimace.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," he said, hoarsely, almost inarticulately, "let us go home. -Let us——."</p> - -<p>She took his hand, drew his arm through hers, and led him down the -stairs. He went with the docility, the helplessness of a child, and -sank into a corner of the cab with his eyes dull and lifeless, but his -lips still moving.</p> - -<p>Presently he beckoned to her. "What—what did he say?" he asked -tremulously, his face working.</p> - -<p>"It—it does not matter what he said, dear," she said soothingly. "Do -not think of it. Try to forget it! Lean against me, dear!"</p> - -<p>But he put her from him, not with his old impatient irritability, but -with a gentleness that was quite new with him; and lying back in the -cab stared at the floor, his lips moving, and Leslie could hear him -still repeating the words they had heard from Mr. Arnheim.</p> - -<p>It seemed an age before the cab reached Torrington Square, and when it -did so the man Leslie helped out was an older man by twenty years than -he who had left it that morning.</p> - -<p>She helped him up to his room and tried to cheer and comfort him; but, -for the first time in her life, her loving flattery proved of no avail.</p> - -<p>He listened with vacant eyes and wan, hopeless face, and at last, he -suddenly flung his hands before his eyes and uttered a low cry of -despair, and awakening.</p> - -<p>"God help me!" he cried. "I am a fraud and a lie! I see it all, now. -A fraud and a lie! The man was right; I cannot paint!" He caught up a -canvas that lay against the wall, and gazed at it. "It is a hideous -daub, as he said. It is the work of a madman. I have been mad. Oh, God, -if I could have remained so."</p> - -<p>"My dear, my dear!" she murmured, kneeling beside him and gently -drawing the picture from his weak, trembling hands. "Don't think of -what—what he said."</p> - -<p>"Not think of it!" he cried, shaking with emotion. "I must think of it, -for he spoke the truth. I have been mad, mad! But my eyes are open now. -Take them away from me," he motioned to the pictures, "take them away. -I cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> bear the sight of them. And—and yet I have been so happy, so -hopeful!" and he hid his face with his hands.</p> - -<p>Leslie watched beside him till he fell into a deep, deathlike sleep; -then she stole downstairs and sent for a doctor. A young man from one -of the neighbouring squares came, and though he was young he was not -foolish. A glance at the sleeping man told him the sad truth.</p> - -<p>"Have you—has your father any relations, any friends who—whom he -would like to see?" he asked gently.</p> - -<p>Leslie, kneeling beside the bed, looked up at him with sharp and sudden -dread in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Do you—do you mean——? Oh, what is it you mean?" she moaned.</p> - -<p>The doctor laid his hand upon her shoulder. "The truth is always best, -always," he said gently. "Your father has suffered a severe shock; the -heart——." He stopped. "For his sake try and be calm, my dear young -lady."</p> - -<p>Leslie knelt beside him all through the night, and all through the long -hours her conscience whispered accusingly, "It is you—you, who have -done it. But for you he would have gone on dreaming and living; but for -you—and Yorke!"</p> - -<p>Toward dawn Francis Lisle awoke. The doctor was standing beside the -bed, Leslie on her knees.</p> - -<p>He raised his wan, wasted face from the pillow and seemed to be looking -for something; then his eyes rested on her anguished ones, and he knew -her and forced a smile.</p> - -<p>"Is—is that you, Leslie?" he said, in so low a voice that she had -to lay her face against his to hear him. "Is that you? I have had a -singular dream. Most singular!"</p> - -<p>"What—what was it, dear?" she said at last.</p> - -<p>He smiled again.</p> - -<p>"I dreamt that my picture had been refused by the Academy. Absurd, -wasn't it? Fancy them refusing one of my pictures! Mine! Francis -Lisle's! Ridiculous as it is, it—it upset me. I—I must be out of -sorts. There is only one thing for that kind of complaint: Work. -Get—get a fresh canvas stretched for me, Leslie, and I will commence a -new picture. Let me see, what did we get for the last? Three thousand -pounds, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, dear!" she murmured.</p> - -<p>"A large sum, a large sum, but not half what we shall get. Fame, fame -and fortune at last, Leslie! I always told you it would come."</p> - -<p>He put out his wasted hand and smoothed her hair lovingly—and, -alas! patronizingly. "Always knew it would come, Leslie! Art is long -and—and life is brief. I must work hard now fame and success have -brought me the victor's laurels. How dark it is—" the sunlight was -streaming through the window—"how dark! Too dark to commence to-day; -but to-morrow, Leslie dear, to-morrow——." His voice grew fainter and -ceased. The doctor bent over him, then stood upright<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> and laid his hand -upon Leslie's shoulder with a touch that told her all.</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle had gone to the land where to-morrow and to-day are -swallowed up in Eternity.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXV.</h2> - -<h3>"FORGOTTEN ME, HAS HE?"</h3> - - -<p>If ever a man was in earnest, Yorke, Viscount Auchester, was. He was -going to marry Leslie! The thought dwelt with him all the way up to -town, hovered about him as he lay awake throughout nearly the whole -night, and came to him in the morning with a joy exceeding description.</p> - -<p>To marry Leslie!</p> - -<p>What had he done to deserve such happiness, such bliss, he asked -himself as he hurried through his tub and dressing? And while he ate -his breakfast in a feverish, restless kind of haste, he pictured and -planned out their future; a future to be spent side by side till Death, -and Death alone, parted them.</p> - -<p>They would leave London immediately, after the marriage, and cross the -Channel. Perhaps they'd stay for a while in Paris; but only for a few -days. It would be too big and noisy for such bliss as theirs. No, he -would take her to some quiet spot in Normandy; perhaps to Rouen, that -delightful old-world town with its magnificent churches and historic -streets. Why, he could see themselves standing arm in arm in the vast -cathedral, listening reverently to the grand service; he could see -Leslie's face with the sweet gravity in her lovely eyes, and the half -pensive and yet happy smile on her pure lips. He fancied her by his -side looking up at the carved gables of the quaint houses; or seated -at one of the little marble tables at the Cafe Blanc, with its shining -copper vessels and glittering glass. Then they could go on into -Germany; up the Rhine. How delightful to have her beside him as the -steamer toiled against the stream and the delicious panorama unfolded -itself mile by mile! Then, if they chose, there were Switzerland and -Italy. There was Lucerne, for instance. How she would delight in -Lucerne, with its marvelous lake, in which old Pilatus shadows himself, -with its famous bridge spanning the emerald Reuss; with its snug -cathedral in which the wonderful organ surges and wails as no other -organ can surge and wail, save that of honored Milan.</p> - -<p>Happy! He would make her happy or know the reason why! He would devote -every hour of his life, every particle of his by no means gigantic -intellect to the effort to prove how dearly he loved her.</p> - -<p>He sat for a little while after breakfast making a mental plan of -his procedure. He would have to act prudently and warily. No hint of -what he was about to do must be allowed to get out. If his numerous -creditors, Jew and Gentile, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> the least suspicion that he was about -to marry a penniless angel instead of Lady Eleanor Dallas, the heiress, -they would swoop down upon him. No, he would be very cautious.</p> - -<p>He had gone round to Mr. Arnheim, the dealer, on the evening before, -immediately he had reached London, and was very cautious with him; -giving him to understand that he merely wanted a small picture of Mr. -Lisle's, and asking Mr. Arnheim in quite a casual way to write and ask -Mr. Lisle whether he would accept a commission.</p> - -<p>"Don't mention my name, please," he said; and Mr. Arnheim had smiled -and shaken his head.</p> - -<p>Yorke went away quite confident that the vaguest of letters from the -great dealer would bring Francis Lisle post haste to London; and, as we -know, he was right.</p> - -<p>Then he went down to Doctors' Commons, and inquired about the license.</p> - -<p>He knew no more about the business than the veriest schoolboy; but he -had a vague idea that you could buy a license somewhere in that strange -locality, and that armed with that he could marry Leslie right away at -once. At once! The thought sent the blood rushing to his handsome face, -and made St. Paul's Cathedral, hard by which is Doctors' Commons, waver -before his eyes.</p> - -<p>A seedy-looking gentleman led him to the Faculty office where the -mystic license was to be obtained, and a grave and sedate clerk got off -a high stool at a desk and put several questions to Yorke, who for the -first time in his life—or the second, perhaps, for he was nervous when -he had asked Leslie to be his wife—felt embarrassed and agitated.</p> - -<p>"Is it an ordinary license you require, or a special?" asked the clerk.</p> - -<p>Yorke looked doubtful.</p> - -<p>"What is the difference?" he asked, almost shyly, and struggling with -an actual blush.</p> - -<p>The clerk eyed him with cold superiority.</p> - -<p>"By an ordinary license," he explained, "you can marry in the church -of the parish in which one of the parties resides; and only there. And -he or she must have resided there fifteen days. With a special license -you can marry in a particular church without having resided in the -parish fifteen days; but you would have to give sufficient reasons for -requiring this special license."</p> - -<p>Yorke stared at the dingy floor while he thought the matter out.</p> - -<p>He knew of a quiet little church near Bury Street—a "little church -around the corner," so to speak, to which he and Leslie could go, the -morning after her arrival in London; and with no one but the parson, -the clerk, and pew-opener the wiser. Yes, an ordinary license would do, -he said.</p> - -<p>The clerk inclined his head—just as if he were a shopman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> selling -gloves!—and went off to another clerk at another desk, and presently -appeared with an affidavit.</p> - -<p>"What's this? the license?" said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"No. You will have to swear this. I shall have to ask you to accompany -me to the next office, to a solicitor. You have to swear that the -parties are of age, and that one of you has resided in the parish -fifteen days. You are prepared to do so, I presume?"</p> - -<p>It is to be feared that Yorke was prepared to do anything to obtain -his Leslie, and he was led off—he felt like a criminal of the deepest -dye—to another dingy office, and there repeated the oath gabbled out -by the solicitor. Then he returned to the proctor's office, and, after -waiting a quarter of an hour, the clerk handed him a document.</p> - -<p>"What have I got to pay?" asked Yorke, prepared for a demand, say, -of fifty pounds. "Only two pounds two and sixpence!" he said, with a -surprise that made even that solemn clerk smile.</p> - -<p>Only two pounds two and sixpence for the privilege of marrying Leslie! -He stood and gazed at the mystic document, and laughed aloud, so that -the seedy man who had conducted him to the office eyed him rather -fearfully, and pocketing the half-sovereign Yorke gave him, scrambled -off, fully convinced that the young man was mad.</p> - -<p>And indeed he could scarcely be considered in full possession of his -senses that day. Nearly every hour he took out that precious license -and read it through or gazed at the imposing coat of arms at the top, -and the Archbishop's signature at the bottom; and every time put it -away again in his breast coat pocket. He patted the coat to feel that -the document was there safe and sound.</p> - -<p>From Doctors' Commons he walked to the Dorchester Club.</p> - -<p>Everybody knows that aristocratic institution. It is not so magnificent -as some of the modern political clubs; some of them are palaces -compared with which those of the Caesars were very small potatoes; -it had no marble entrance hall and oak-paneled dining-room, and -its smoking-room was not as vast as a church; but it was snug and -comfortable, and excellent to a degree. You had to have your name down -on the list of candidates full fifteen or twenty years before you could -hope to be balloted in, and some fathers put their sons down when they -were eighteen months old.</p> - -<p>Yorke was well known at the club, and the hall porter in his glass -box bowed to him with a mixture of respect and recognition which he -accorded to a very few of the members.</p> - -<p>"There are no letters for me, Stephens, I suppose?" said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"No, my lord, none."</p> - -<p>"Ah, well, I expect one or a telegram directly," said Yorke, trying -to speak casually. "If it comes just send into the smoking-room, or -dining-room, or drawing-room, in fact and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> see if I'm in the club. I -want it directly it comes, you understand."</p> - -<p>"Certainly my lord," was the response. "If your lordship is in the club -when the letter arrives I will see that you have it at once."</p> - -<p>Yorke sauntered into the drawing-room and took up a paper; but he did -not see a word of the page he gazed at. He was calculating how soon -that letter could possibly reach him.</p> - -<p>Then he went out, and making his way to Regent Street examined the shop -windows carefully, and ultimately made several purchases.</p> - -<p>He bought a lady's ulster, a wonderful garment of camel's hair, soft -as lambs' wool and as warm, with cuffs that could be let down over the -hands, and a hood that could be drawn completely over the head.</p> - -<p>No lady with this marvelous ulster on could be cold, even while -crossing the Channel, where, as everybody knows, it is possible to be -frozen even on a summer's night. He also bought a traveling rug of -Scotch tweed.</p> - -<p>Then he sauntered into the park till lunch time, when he went back to -the club. He knew that no letter could be waiting for him, and yet he -could not help glancing inquiringly at the porter, who faintly smiled -and respectively shook his head.</p> - -<p>One or two acquaintances dropped in while he was eating his lunch at -a side table, and they gathered round him and plied him with eager -invitations to join them in a driving trip to Richmond; but he shook -his head.</p> - -<p>"Better come, Auchester," said one young fellow. "Jolly afternoon! -Besides, a friend of yours is of the party."</p> - -<p>"Who is that?" asked Yorke with polite indifference.</p> - -<p>Drive to Richmond when he wanted to be alone to think of Leslie and all -that license in his breast coat pocket meant! Not likely.</p> - -<p>"Why, Finetta," said the young fellow. "She has promised, if we get her -back in time for the theater."</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head, and while he was doing it Lord Vinson strolled up.</p> - -<p>"What's that about Finetta and Richmond?" he inquired. "Afraid you'll -be disappointed. Just been up there," he drawled. "She's vamoosed the -ranche, sloped off somewhere, and isn't going to dance to-night. Know -where she's gone, Auchester?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Yorke, and he answered very quietly. Poor Fin! was she -taking the breaking off of their friendship to heart after all?</p> - -<p>"Strikes me Mademoiselle Fin is playing it rather low on an indulgent -public!" grumbled the young fellow who had arranged the outing, and as -he sauntered off with the rest he remarked in a low voice, "Shouldn't -be surprised if Auchester had arranged to take her somewhere; they're -awfully thick, you know, and she'd throw over anything for him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> - -<p>After lunch Yorke went to Bury Street, and with his own hands packed a -portmanteau or two.</p> - -<p>Then he went back to the club, for though he knew no telegram could -have arrived, he felt constrained to be there in waiting, so to speak, -and dined quietly and in solitude, and afterwards he walked by the park -railings to Notting Hill and round the quiet squares, and was happy -thinking of Leslie and the days that lay before them, the delicious, -glorious days when they two should be one—man and wife. Man and wife!</p> - -<p>He went to bed early that night and slept soundly, so soundly that he -was rather later than he meant to be at breakfast, and he hurried over -that meal and made his way to the Dorchester with a fast-beating heart.</p> - -<p>There might possibly be a telegram for him. But the porter said no, -nothing had come for his lordship, and Yorke, too disappointed to make -a pretense of looking at the papers, went out and stood on the broad -steps and stared up and down Pall Mall.</p> - -<p>Arnheim had promised to wire the night Yorke had seen him; there had -been time for the Lisles to get up to London, time for Leslie to wire. -Well, he would be patient and not worry. But, Heaven and earth, what -should he do with himself while he was waiting for that telegram! He -was so wrapped up in the thought of meeting his darling that he could -not endure the distraction of even exchanging greetings with his -acquaintances. He could not go to Finetta's—never again!—or Lady -Eleanor's. He wanted to be alone, alone with his thoughts. What should -he do? Was there anything else he could buy? As the question crossed -his mind the answer flashed upon him and made him almost start. Why, -there was the ring! He had not bought that yet. What an idiot he was. -Even with a license, you could not be married without a ring. He went -straight off to Bond Street, to the jeweler's of whom he had purchased -the diamond pendant and the plain gold locket, and stood for a minute -or two outside looking at the things in the window.</p> - -<p>He would have a keeper as well as a plain wedding ring. He would get -the prettiest and 'solidest' they'd got. He gazed at the rows of -diamond ornaments, for the first time in his life covetously. Ah, if -he were only the Duke of Rothbury, as she thought him, what things he -would buy for her! Notwithstanding that, if he were the duke he would -have the great Rothbury diamonds, those gems which were supposed to -rank next to the Crown jewels, and they would be hers, his duchess's; -yet, all the same, he would buy her all sorts of pretty things. As the -heathen loves to deck his idol, so he, Yorke, would love to deck his -idol with all that this world counted good and precious.</p> - -<p>Regarding that masquerade of his, that sailing under false colors, he -thought that Leslie would neither be very disappointed nor angry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is me she loves," he told himself with a proudly swelling heart. -"And it will not matter what I am or am not. But all the same I wish -that idea had not occurred to poor old Dolph."</p> - -<p>All this was passing through his mind as he was standing outside the -well-known shop in Bond Street. Everybody knows it, and everybody knows -that the street is rather narrow just where the shop is situated, -and at that moment it happened that one of the many blocks of the -day occurred, and that a neatly appointed brougham was brought to a -standstill very nearly opposite the jeweler's shop.</p> - -<p>It was a charming little brougham, one of those costly toys which only -very wealthy people can indulge in. The interior was lined with Russian -leather, the cushions of sage plush; there was a clock in ormolu and -turquoise and a delightful little reading lamp, fan and scent case, and -china what-not basket.</p> - -<p>It was the brougham which took the celebrated Finetta to and from the -Diadem; the brougham of which the newspapers have given an elaborate -account, and in it was no less a personage than Finetta herself. She -was leaning back against the eiderdown cushions, her handsome face -pale, with purplish rings round her dark eyes. She looked as if she was -half worn out by excitement and physical fatigue.</p> - -<p>She had been lying with closed eyes till the block and stoppage came, -then she opened her eyes and asked listlessly:</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"It's a block," said Polly who sat beside her. "There's a carriage and -a butcher's cart in front, a swell carriage——."</p> - -<p>Finetta leant forward listlessly, then her listlessness changed, fled -rather.</p> - -<p>"It's—it's Lady Eleanor Dallas," she said between her teeth.</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Polly; "is it? Well, I wish they'd get on, and—oh!" The -exclamation escaped her lips unawares, and Finetta, following the -direction of Polly's eyes, saw Yorke standing gazing in at the shop -window.</p> - -<p>She uttered a faint cry and fell back, clutching Polly's arm.</p> - -<p>"It's him!" she breathed.</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester. I know it is!" said the matter-of-fact Polly. "Well, -you needn't start as if you'd got the jumps."</p> - -<p>"What is he doing there, what is he going to buy?" said Finetta in a -low and agitated voice.</p> - -<p>Polly jerked down the blind.</p> - -<p>"Don't make a perfect fool of yourself, Fin," she ventured to -remonstrate. "What's it matter to you what Lord Yorke is doing or going -to buy? He and you have done with each other——."</p> - -<p>"Have we!" between the set teeth. "Much you know about it!"</p> - -<p>"Well, if you haven't, you ought to have done. Oh, I wasn't deaf the -other night when he was telling you about the girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> he had fallen in -love with and was going to marry; I heard enough to put two and two -together. And I tell you what it is, Fin: you are making yourself a -perfect idiot over that young man, and all for no good. Why, you've -been away from the Diadem for two nights, and though I suppose you -think I don't know where you've been, why I can guess. You've been -dogging him down in the country somewhere——."</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue," said Finetta, her eyes still fixed, through a chink -beside the silk blind, on Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I can hold my tongue; but I'm talking for your good. Here you've -been away for two days, goodness knows where, though I can guess, as I -say, and you come back looking more dead than alive, and no more fit to -dance to-night than I am."</p> - -<p>"What is it he is buying? Something for her?" said Finetta almost to -herself.</p> - -<p>"What's it matter to you? You and he have done with each other, I tell -you," said sensible Polly. "You let Lord Auchester alone, and forget -him. You bet your life he's forgotten you by this time," and she -ventured on a short laugh.</p> - -<p>Finetta turned on her.</p> - -<p>"Forgotten me, has he? What did he send me his portrait in a locket and -that letter for, then? You hold your tongue! Tell the man to drive to -Piccadilly and then back again!"</p> - -<p>Her face was flushed, her eyes shining with feverish light in their -purple rings.</p> - -<p>"Well, if anyone had told me that you—you, Fin—would make such a fool -of yourself over a man, I'd have given them the lie," remarked Polly -after she had delivered the directions to the coachman.</p> - -<p>Finetta fell back.</p> - -<p>"Sneer on," she said in a low voice. "You don't understand, and, what's -more, you never will. Is there any one in the carriage opposite? Is—is -Lady Eleanor in it?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> - -<h3>A WEDDING RING.</h3> - - -<p>Polly peered out.</p> - -<p>"I can't see," she said, "the blinds are down."</p> - -<p>But though she could not see her, Lady Eleanor was in the carriage, and -she was looking, as Finetta was, at the stalwart young man in front -of the jeweler's window. And her face was quite as pale as Finetta's. -Should she open the window and call him? She longed to do so, and yet -something, some vague presentiment, kept her from doing so. She watched -him, her heart beating with love, until the block had melted away and -the carriage had moved on, then she pulled the check string and, when -the footman got down, said:</p> - -<p>"Drive to Oxford Street, and then come back here, please."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> - -<p>Meanwhile, all unconscious that these two women were watching him, -Yorke went into the shop.</p> - -<p>"I want to look at some rings," he said to the man who bowed to him -with an air of respectful recognition. It happened to be the same man -who had served him the other day.</p> - -<p>"Fancy rings my lord?"</p> - -<p>"No, no," said Yorke, trying to speak in the most ordinary and casual -way, and feeling very much as he had felt while procuring the license. -"Er—wedding and keeper rings."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, my lord," said the man, without the faintest change of -countenance, and he placed a couple of trays on the counter.</p> - -<p>"What size, my lord?"</p> - -<p>Yorke looked up with a start of perplexity.</p> - -<p>"Size?" he repeated, vaguely as he mentally called himself an idiot for -not having measured Leslie's finger. "Oh, a small size. I don't quite -know. Yes quite a small size. Here, I'll take two or three. They're all -alike. I suppose!"</p> - -<p>"Some heavier than the others, my lord."</p> - -<p>"All right; give me the heaviest. And the keeper—isn't that what it's -called?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord; it keeps the wedding ring in its place, you see."</p> - -<p>"I see," said Yorke. "Well, I'll have one or two of these, the smaller -ones; put this one in," and he picked out one set with pearl and -turquoise. "I'll send back those I don't keep."</p> - -<p>He tried to slip them on his little finger, but they would not go -farther than the first point, and he laid them down with a smile. In a -few hours, perhaps, he would be placing them on his darling's finger; -his wife's!</p> - -<p>The shopman put the rings in a box, and Yorke stowed them away -carefully, very carefully, in an inner pocket, and went out, still -dreaming of the hours when he should stand before the altar of the -quiet little church in St. James'.</p> - -<p>Two or three minutes afterward the dainty brougham pulled up to the -shop door, and Finetta entered.</p> - -<p>She was as well known to the jeweler as was Lord Auchester, and, if -possible, he made her a more respectful and elaborate bow; she was a -good customer, and, like most people in her position, she liked a great -show of respect. So he leaned forward and placed a chair for her, and -with another bow asked what he could have the honor of doing for her. -Finetta's large, dark eyes wandered over the counter with a feigned -indifference and listlessness.</p> - -<p>"I only want a small present," she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, madam. For a gentleman?" and he made for a tray of silver -cigarette cases and similar articles. Finetta looked at them, but kept -the corners of her eyes fixed on the trays which had been on the glass -counter when she entered.</p> - -<p>"What pretty rings!" she said, taking up a jeweled keeper. "They almost -tempt one to get married."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - -<p>The man smiled sympathetically.</p> - -<p>"I suppose the bridegroom always chooses the rings," she said, with -seeming carelessness. "Now, I wonder which of these most men would -choose?"</p> - -<p>The man fingered the rings lightly.</p> - -<p>"Some one, some another, madam," he replied. "The gentleman who has -just gone out chose one like this."</p> - -<p>Finetta's face was pale already, but it seemed to blanch, and the ring -rolled along the counter.</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester was buying a wedding ring and keeper!" she said -involuntarily.</p> - -<p>As the words left her lips, a lady had entered the shop, and she heard -them as plainly as if they had been addressed to her; and they took an -instantaneous and extraordinary effect. She let the door slip, and put -her hand to her heart, and so stood gazing with a strange expression in -her eyes from Finetta to the man.</p> - -<p>It was a dramatic moment. The two women stood silent and motionless, -regarding each other with a world of meaning in their eyes. Finetta, -still eyeing Lady Eleanor, went on:</p> - -<p>"It was Lord Auchester who bought the ring?"</p> - -<p>The jeweler smiled deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>"Well, as you saw him, madam, it is no breach of confidence. It was his -lordship." Then he looked toward Lady Eleanor, and, bowing, placed a -chair for her.</p> - -<p>Finetta rose; her face was still white, her full lips pale and -trembling.</p> - -<p>"I—I will come in again," she said, and moved toward the door; then -she stopped, and swaying forward rather than stepping, leaned toward -Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you," she said abruptly and hoarsely.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shrank back and eyed her haughtily.</p> - -<p>"I—I—" she began, but her voice seemed to fail her.</p> - -<p>"You'd better not refuse, for—for your own sake!" said Finetta, hissed -it, rather. "You—you know me——."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor tried to look a denial, but the effort failed as the -effort to speak had.</p> - -<p>"And I know you," went on Finetta, still in the low, husky, agitated -voice. "What I have to say concerns you. You'd better not refuse!"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked round as if seeking some means of escape, then -rose, hesitated a moment, her white teeth catching her lip, and -followed Finetta to the end of the long shop, the jeweler discreetly -keeping out of earshot, and respectfully waiting until his customers -had finished their conference. He saw that something was happening; but -his well-trained face was absolutely impassive.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor stood turned sideways to Finetta, her haughty lips half -lowered, but her lips trembling. If anyone that morning had told her -that Finetta of the Diadem would dare to address her, and that she -would consent to listen to her for one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> single moment, she would have -laughed the idea to scorn. And yet here she was actually waiting for -what the woman had to say.</p> - -<p>Finetta's bosom was heaving with the effort at self-control. She could -not help admiring Lady Eleanor's self-possession, while she hated her; -and she tried to imitate her.</p> - -<p>"You heard what the man said," she said at last, in a low, shaken voice.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's haughty lids moved slightly in assent.</p> - -<p>"Well!" said Finetta, with a kind of gasp, "it's true!"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor made the faintest movement with her hand. It seemed to say:</p> - -<p>"If it is, what is it to do with me—or you?" and Finetta understood -her.</p> - -<p>A hot flush passed over her handsome face.</p> - -<p>"You mean it's no business of mine. Well—" she drew a long breath, -"perhaps it isn't. But it is of yours, or people make a great mistake -when they say he is going to marry you."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's face crimsoned with humiliation, and she made as if to -leave the place at once; but Finetta put out her hand, and Lady Eleanor -stepped back as if the touch would contaminate her.</p> - -<p>"I—I cannot listen to you—I have nothing to say," she said in a -labored voice. "You have no right to speak to me—I do not know -you—have no wish——."</p> - -<p>Finetta's teeth came together with a click.</p> - -<p>"Very well, go then!" she exclaimed vindictively. "Go! Do you think -it's any pleasure to me to speak to you? Do you think I'd have spoken -to you if it hadn't been for his sake?"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor winced.</p> - -<p>"You treat me like the dirt under your feet, you won't stoop to listen -to what I've got to say, though it should save him from ruin. And you -call yourself his friend! A pretty friend! I've heard you swells have -got no heart, and I should think it's true, judging by you!" Her breath -came fiercely. "Go! Why don't you go?"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked at the door and then at the white, working face and -flashing eyes; and remained.</p> - -<p>She drew her light wrap round her and held it with a clenched hand.</p> - -<p>"Say what you have to say quickly," she said, and her voice was thick -and husky. "You are right; I am a friend of Lord Auchester's, if it is -he whom you mean."</p> - -<p>Finetta eyed her with a touch of scorn in her flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>"You know it is him. Friend! I should think you were! Do you think I -didn't see you start when you came in, and do you think I don't see how -you're trembling and shaking? Bah! with all your acting you wouldn't be -worth much on the stage. I tell you what the man said is true. Yorke -Auchester has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> bought his wedding ring, and he'll use it unless you can -prevent it!"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's face was like a mask, but her eyelids quivered.</p> - -<p>"I've done my best—or worst," went on Finetta, and she laughed -harshly. "I've seen the girl and tried to put a spoke in her wheel, and -I thought I'd succeeded; but it seems I haven't——."</p> - -<p>"You have seen her?" escaped Lady Eleanor's lips.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" said Finetta. "Did you think it was me he was going to marry?" -Her lips twitched. "It's a young girl down in the country, at a -forsaken place called Portmaris."</p> - -<p>"Portmaris!" Lady Eleanor breathed.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Quite a young girl, a country girl, a mere nobody, and not a -swell like you; though she's what you call a lady," she added.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor sank into a chair and sat with tightly clasped hands. The -shock of this sudden news had caused her to forget that the woman who -was speaking to her was Finetta, the dancing girl at the Diadem, the -girl with whom Yorke Auchester had been so intimately friendly.</p> - -<p>Finetta looked down at her with a bitter smile. She had brought this -haughty aristocrat to her knees, at any rate.</p> - -<p>"How she must love him!" she thought. "How we both love him!" and she -ground her teeth.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor, with her eyes downcast, asked after a pause:</p> - -<p>"What is her name?"</p> - -<p>"Leslie Lisle," replied Finetta. "She's as pretty and—and fresh as—as -a flower; and when I told her that—that—"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked up.</p> - -<p>"What did you tell her?" she asked, in a low, husky voice.</p> - -<p>Finetta flushed sullenly.</p> - -<p>"Well, it doesn't matter. I thought that what I'd told her would break -it off between him and her; but it hasn't, or he wouldn't be buying the -wedding ring. They are going to be married secretly, and at once; and -now what are you going to do, my lady?"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked before her vacantly. Her heart was aching, burning -with jealousy and the terror of despair. She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"I daresay you wonder why I spoke to you, why I tell you this, -seeing—that it can't matter to me who he marries?" said Finetta, with -a flush.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor glanced at her.</p> - -<p>"Yes; why did you speak to me?" she said indistinctly.</p> - -<p>Finetta bit her lip.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, and that's the truth," she admitted. "The news knocked -me over, and—and I was flurried. And besides—well, two heads are -better than one, and——."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor understood. This dancing girl meant that she was not -afraid of Lord Auchester's marrying her, Lady Eleanor, but that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -was terribly afraid that he would marry this girl in the country, this -Leslie Lisle.</p> - -<p>She rose.</p> - -<p>"I can say nothing. I am not Lord Auchester's keeper. If he chooses to -marry a dairy maid—or worse—it is his business."</p> - -<p>Finetta watched her keenly.</p> - -<p>"But all the same, you'll do all you can to prevent it," she said -sharply, and with an air of conviction. She had caught a significant -gleam in the proud eyes.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor turned pale, stood a moment as if waiting to see if -Finetta had anything more to say, then with a slight inclination of her -head passed out of the shop.</p> - -<p>She walked proudly and haughtily enough to her brougham, but when she -got inside her manner changed, and she covered her face with her hands, -and cowered in the corner, trembling and moaning.</p> - -<p>Yorke going to marry! Going to marry and beneath him, too! He had -passed her over for some country wench, some nobody beneath him in -rank, utterly unworthy of him. It tortured her. What should she do? -What could be done? She asked herself this as the carriage rolled on -homeward, and for a time no answer came; then suddenly she started and -pulled the check string.</p> - -<p>"The nearest telegraph office," she said to the footman.</p> - -<p>There was only one person who could help her, even if he would, which -was doubtful. She sent a telegram to Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>"Can you come and see me at once on important business?"</p> - -<p>Meanwhile all unconscious of the strange meeting between his two old -loves, Yorke betook himself to the Army and Navy Stores, and whiled -away the time by buying a lady's portmanteau, one of the latest and -most expensive kind, and ordering the initials "L. A." to be painted on -it. This afforded him a subtle delight. "Leslie Auchester." How well it -sounded, "Leslie, Viscountess Auchester!" Take the peerage all through, -and there wouldn't be a more beautiful, charming woman than this wife -of his! He bought one or two other things—traveling luxuries, which -should add to her comfort on their journey, then went back to the club.</p> - -<p>"Any telegram for me?" he asked, almost confidently.</p> - -<p>"No, my lord," was the reply.</p> - -<p>Yorke's face clouded, then it cleared.</p> - -<p>"Look here," he said, "I forgot to tell you that it would be addressed -to Yorke."</p> - -<p>The porter looked in the 'Y' pigeon-hole and shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Nothing for that name either, my lord."</p> - -<p>Yorke stood at the door of the porter's glass box and stared at the man -as if he could not believe his ears. Then he swung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> round, and jumping -into a cab, told the man to drive to Arnheim's.</p> - -<p>He met the dealer coming down the stairs.</p> - -<p>"Oh, good morning, my lord," he said. "I have written to you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes! Mr. Lisle—has he been here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord," said Arnheim, looking at the handsome and palpably -agitated face curiously. "He has been here."</p> - -<p>"With——."</p> - -<p>"With his daughter, Miss Lisle. Yes. And he has left some pictures. Of -course, your lordship knows best, but I am bound to tell you, it's only -right, that the pictures are utterly——."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know," Yorke broke in quickly. "That's all right. I mean -it doesn't matter. I'll explain afterward. What I want now is their -address!"</p> - -<p>"Port——."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, I know; I mean their London address, where they're staying."</p> - -<p>The dealer thought a moment, while Yorke looked at him as if he could -tear the answer from him.</p> - -<p>"I—well, the fact is, I don't know it. I did not think to ask it!" -said Arnheim.</p> - -<p>Yorke flushed a dark red.</p> - -<p>"Oh, nonsense! They must have given you their address, some place to -write to!"</p> - -<p>"You'd naturally think so, but as it happens they didn't!" said -Arnheim. "I admit I ought to have asked Mr. Lisle, but—well, I didn't! -I suppose I expected him to call again. And," with a faint smile, "of -course he will do so, the man is an enthusiast——."</p> - -<p>"I know all about him, thanks," said Yorke sternly. "What I want -is Lisle's address." He thought a moment, then said slowly and -impressively—"When he calls next—he may do so to-day, any hour—be -sure and get the address. Wire it to me at the Dorchester, and at once."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, my lord," said Arnheim; "and about the pictures?"</p> - -<p>"Buy two or three, give him his own price for them. But, mind, keep my -name out of the business!" and he ran down the stairs and jumped into -the cab again, telling the man to drive back to the club.</p> - -<p>"I'll stick there till Leslie's telegram comes," he said between his -teeth, "if I stay there till doomsday."</p> - -<p>He was consumed by anxiety. Leslie in London, and he did not know -where! Good Heavens, could the telegram have miscarried? Was anything -wrong? He tried to remain cool and confident, but he looked as he got -out of the cab like a man oppressed by a terrible presentiment.</p> - -<p>On the steps of the club stood Grey.</p> - -<p>"Hallo!" said Yorke. "Grey!"</p> - -<p>Grey touched his hat.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I've been to Bury Street, my lord, and Fleming sent me here. His grace -is back, and would be glad if you could come and see him."</p> - -<p>Yorke hesitated, and was on the point of sending a message to say that -he would come presently—to-morrow; then it occurred to him that the -duke had come from Portmaris, and that he might have some news of the -Lisles.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said, "I'll come at once. Keep the cab."</p> - -<p>He ran up the steps to the porter.</p> - -<p>"That telegram?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, my lord, for you as yet."</p> - -<p>With something like a groan Yorke went slowly down the steps again and -into the cab.</p> - -<p>Leslie! Where was she? Why—why had she not wired as she promised?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> - -<h3>"GONE, AND LEFT NO ADDRESS."</h3> - - -<p>The ducal house in Grosvenor Square was not seldom referred to as an -instance of the extreme of luxury which this finish of the century -had attained to. It was an immense place, decorated by one of the -first authorities, with ceilings painted by a famous artist, and walls -draped by hangings for which the Orient had literally been ransacked. -The entrance hall was supposed to be the finest in the kingdom. It -was of marble and mosaic; a fountain plashed in the center, and the -light poured through ruby-tinted glass and warmed with a rose blush -the exquisite carvings and statuary. At the end of the hall rose -broad stairs of pure white marble, in the centre of which was laid a -Persian carpet of such thick pile that footsteps were hushed. Stately -palms stood here and there, relieving the whiteness of the marble and -'breaking the corners.' The staircase led to the first corridor, which -ran round the hall, and upon the walls of this corridor hung pictures -by the great English masters. The family portraits were at Rothbury. -The state rooms were on the ground floor, and were on a par in the way -of luxury and magnificence with the hall. Altogether it was a very -great contrast to Marine Villa, Portmaris.</p> - -<p>Yorke followed Grey to the hall, and was ushered into a room behind the -state apartments.</p> - -<p>It was a small room, and, compared with the rest of the house, plainly -furnished in oak. There were bookshelves and a large writing table, -and one of those invalid couches which are provided with bookrests and -an elaborate machinery which enables one to move the couch by merely -pressing a lever.</p> - -<p>On this couch lay the Duke of Rothbury. Though the day was warm, a fire -burned in the grate, and a superb sable rug was tumbled on the couch as -if the invalid had pulled it off and on restlessly. Three or four books -lay on the floor, but he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> not reading, and he looked up sharply as -Yorke entered, and did not speak until Grey had closed the door upon -them.</p> - -<p>Then, as he held out his hand and his keen eyes scanned Yorke's face, -he said:</p> - -<p>"Do you think I have sent for you to crow over you, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>Yorke stood and looked down at him for a moment without replying; then -he said vaguely:</p> - -<p>"Crow over me? What do you mean, Dolph?"</p> - -<p>The duke raised himself on his elbow.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," he said; "you look tired and knocked up. Is anything the -matter?"</p> - -<p>Yorke sank into a chair and avoided the keen eyes.</p> - -<p>"Matter? What should be the matter?" he said evasively. "You don't look -quite the thing; but I suppose the journey took it out of you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, it was the journey," said the duke dryly.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it rather a pity that you left Portmaris?" said Yorke after a -slight pause. "It was a pretty place, and healthy and all that, and I -thought you rather liked it than otherwise."</p> - -<p>"It's a pity I ever went there," responded the duke grimly.</p> - -<p>Yorke looked up suddenly and caught the eyes fixed on him half -pityingly.</p> - -<p>"Why so?" he asked. "I should say you were the better for the -change——."</p> - -<p>"And I should say I was so much the worse," broke in the duke. "And now -we have fenced with each other and beat about the bush, Yorke, don't -you think we'd better be open and above board?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>The duke raised himself a little higher, and worked the lever of the -couch so that he brought himself facing Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Why do you look as if you were waiting for a sentence of life or -death, Yorke?" he said quietly. "You look as anxious and harried and -worn as a man might look who stood on the brink of ruin. Have you heard -from her?" he added quietly but sharply.</p> - -<p>"Heard from whom?" said Yorke with averted eyes.</p> - -<p>"From Miss Lisle—Leslie," said the duke.</p> - -<p>Yorke raised his eyes quickly.</p> - -<p>"You know——?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know all," said the duke gravely, almost sympathetically. -"And—yes, I am sorry for you, Yorke! No, I don't mean to crow over -you, though my prophesy has come true, and my estimate of her—and her -sex generally—has proved the correct one. I am not going to indulge -in the delicious luxury of remarking, 'I told you so!' I'll spare you -that. Indeed, I haven't the heart to do it, for to tell you the truth -I had been hoping all along that my prophesy would be falsified, and -that your faith in her would be established. But it wasn't to be. Who -is it says that a woman can be beautiful, lovable, magnanimous, clever, -everything—but true?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke looked at him with a harassed and perplexed frown.</p> - -<p>"What the devil are you talking about, Dolph?" he said.</p> - -<p>The duke sat up and scanned the face before him in silence for a moment -or two, then said:</p> - -<p>"Is it possible that you don't know?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know what?" demanded Yorke impatiently. "What are you talking -about? I beg your pardon, Dolph, but—but I'm rather worried and upset -about—something, and I'm short-tempered this morning. I've been -expecting an important telegram for the last two days and it hasn't -turned up, and—there, don't mind me, but go on and explain what you -were saying about Les—Miss Lisle. I can't make head or tail of it!"</p> - -<p>"From whom are you expecting a telegram, Yorke? Shall I make a guess -and say the young lady herself?"</p> - -<p>Yorke thought a moment, the color mounting to his face, then he looked -the duke straight in the eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it was from her, Dolph," he said. "I'd better make a clean breast -of it. You'd get it out of me somehow or other if I didn't own up, for -I'm too worried to keep on guard. It is from Leslie I'm expecting that -telegram, and—and—Well, look here, Dolph, take it quietly. I've asked -her to be my wife, and—and she's consented."</p> - -<p>He waited a moment, expecting to see the duke start up and fly into one -of his paroxysms, but the duke leant upon his elbow and looked at him -with a grave and pitying regard.</p> - -<p>"I know that," he said.</p> - -<p>"You—knew—that—that I had asked her, that she had agreed to come up -to London and marry me on the quiet?" exclaimed Yorke, staring at him. -"She told you?"</p> - -<p>"No, she did not tell me that you had arranged a clandestine marriage," -said the duke quietly, "but she confessed that you had asked her to be -your wife. And so you were going to marry her secretly? Was that—was -that straight of you, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>There was a touch of gentle reproach in the tone that made Yorke wince.</p> - -<p>"Put it that way, it wasn't, Dolph," he said. "But look how I am -placed. I am up to my ears in debt. Yes, I know I ought to be -ashamed of myself, but there it is, you see! And if it got out that -I was marrying without money the blessed Jews would be down on me, -and—and—I knew you wanted me to—to marry someone else, and that I -couldn't count on you; and so—and so I thought Leslie and I would get -spliced quietly and wait till things had blown over, and——."</p> - -<p>The duke dropped back on the couch, but kept his eyes fixed on the -harassed, anxious face.</p> - -<p>"My poor Yorke! You must love her very much."</p> - -<p>Yorke flushed red.</p> - -<p>"Love her—!" he broke out, then he pulled himself up. "Look here, -Dolph, I love her so much that if I knew that by marrying her I should -have to drive a hansom cab or sweep a crossing for the rest of my life, -I'd marry her!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<p>He got up and strode to and fro, his eyes flashing.</p> - -<p>"I tell you that life wouldn't be worth living without her. Why, why," -his voice rang low and tremulous, "I cannot get her out of my thoughts -day or night. I see her face before my eyes, hear her voice always. -It's Leslie, Leslie, and nothing else with me! I know now, I can -understand now why a man cuts his throat or pitches himself off the -nearest bridge when he loses the woman he loves. I used to laugh at -the old stories, at the Othello and Romeo and Juliet business, but I -understand now! It's all true, every word of it! I'd rather die any day -and anyhow than lose her. And—and there you are! You see, Dolph," with -a kind of rueful smile, "I'm as far gone as a man can be; just raving -mad. But it's a madness that will last my life."</p> - -<p>"I hope not," said the duke gravely. "Yorke, I am sorry for you. I did -not know that the thing had gone so far. I have bad news for you."</p> - -<p>"Bad news!" echoed Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Yes. As I said, I was right in my estimate of Leslie Lisle, and you -were wrong. She knows all, Yorke, and——." He paused and shrugged his -bent shoulders.</p> - -<p>"She knows all?" said Yorke, almost stupidly. "What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"She discovered the deceit, the trick, we had played upon her. How, -I do not know. Perhaps she came across a peerage, or a society paper -referring to the 'crippled Duke of Rothbury,' or Grey may have let slip -a word in her hearing which revealed the secret. Who can say? After -all, it was wonderful that we succeeded in keeping up the deceit so -long. She was bound to discover the truth sooner or later."</p> - -<p>Yorke gazed at him with a troubled face.</p> - -<p>"You mean that she discovered that you were the duke and not I?" he -said.</p> - -<p>The duke nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes. She came to me early in the morning, so pale and changed, so -thoroughly overwhelmed with disappointment——."</p> - -<p>"Hold on," broke in Yorke. "Disappointment? Do you mean that she was -disappointed that I was not the duke, that she was cut up, that she -cared one straw?"</p> - -<p>"My dear Yorke, if you had seen her you would have been as astonished -and as full of remorse as I was—though the trick was not yours, but -mine. I told her so, I took all the blame, but it was of no use to -plead for you. She was broken down with the agony of disappointment. -If, as you say, you had arranged a secret marriage with her, she looked -upon herself as already the Duchess of Rothbury, and to have the cup -dashed from her lips! My dear Yorke, one must make all allowance for -her. Human nature is human nature all the world over, especially -feminine human nature——."</p> - -<p>Yorke's face went from white to red and from red to white again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You are talking rot, utter rot, Dolph!" he said. "Leslie—Leslie -Lisle—cut up and knocked over because she was not going to be a -duchess! Ha, ha!" and he laughed scornfully. "How well you know her! -she wouldn't care a pin; I've told you so half a dozen times! Why, she -was shrinking from the idea of being a duchess; would have refused me -for being what I thought I was, if—if—well, if she hadn't cared for -me as she does, God bless her!"</p> - -<p>He turned his head away and his eyes grew moist.</p> - -<p>The duke watched him gravely.</p> - -<p>"You doubt my word, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"No, no! But I say you are mistaken. There was something else."</p> - -<p>"What else, what other cause could there be? No, I tell you that it was -the agony of disappointed ambition——."</p> - -<p>Yorke laughed again.</p> - -<p>The duke flushed.</p> - -<p>"Come," he said, "you will not credit my statement, or rely on my -judgment. Perhaps you are right. A man should have faith in the purity -and single-mindedness of the woman he loves. But facts are stubborn -things."</p> - -<p>"Facts?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! She had arranged to come up to London to you—to send to you. I -don't know what plans you made, but I can imagine them. I know how I -should have arranged in your case. Well, she is in London, or has been, -and has she sent to you, has she met you as she promised?"</p> - -<p>Yorke gazed at him with a half doubtful, half scornful expression.</p> - -<p>"No," he said at last. "But—but there has been some mistake, blunder, -on somebody's part. The telegram has miscarried. She may not have been -able to send it. You know how closely she waits upon her father; she -may not have been able to get out——."</p> - -<p>The duke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"My dear Yorke, her last words to me were a distinct farewell to me -and to you. I've not the least doubt in the world that the person who -informed her that you were not the duke had also told her that you were -heavily in debt, and in Queer Street generally, and that she saw how -foolish it would be to throw herself away and ruin her whole life by -making an imprudent marriage."</p> - -<p>Yorke uttered an oath.</p> - -<p>"By heaven, Dolph, if it were anybody else but you who talked of her -like this I'd—I'd make him take his words back!"</p> - -<p>The duke sighed.</p> - -<p>"Even if I were your equal in strength, and we bashed each other, it -wouldn't alter the truth a hair's breadth," he said sadly and wearily. -"And the truth is as I prophesied weeks ago and state now. Leslie, -learning that you were not the Duke of Rothbury, has thrown you over!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The truth! It's a foolish and cruel lie!" exclaimed Yorke, his eyes -blazing, his hands clenched. "You always misjudged her, you were -prejudiced against her, from the first——."</p> - -<p>The duke put his hand as if to stop him, but the passionately indignant -voice rang out:</p> - -<p>"From the first! She is as pure and high-minded as—as an angel, but -you had made up your mind that she was a mercenary schemer, and not -even the being with her, and knowing her, and seeing her every day, -disabused your mind and opened your eyes to the wrong you were doing -her! Yes, you were against her from the first. You'd made your mind up. -That ridiculous idea of yours that all women are greedy and hungry for -wealth and a title has become a monomania with you, and your mind has -got as twisted as your body!"</p> - -<p>He stopped aghast and breathless. The words—the cruel words—had -slipped out on the torrent of his indignation before be scarcely knew -or realized their cruel significance.</p> - -<p>The duke sank back, and put his hand to his eyes, as if Yorke had dealt -him a physical blow.</p> - -<p>Yorke hung his head.</p> - -<p>"Forgive me, Dolph," he said in a low voice. "I—I did not mean——."</p> - -<p>The duke dropped his hands from before his face.</p> - -<p>"Let that pass," he said in a low voice. "You did not mean it. It is -the first unkind word you have ever——. But no matter! You say that I -was prejudiced, that I wronged her. Yorke, you have forced my hand, and -to show you that you have wronged me, I must tell you all. Yorke——," -he paused, and his eyes dropped, then he raised them, and looked -steadily into Yorke's—"I loved her!"</p> - -<p>Yorke started.</p> - -<p>"You!"</p> - -<p>The duke plucked at the sable rug for a moment to silence, then he went -on—</p> - -<p>"Yes! I should not have told you, should never have confessed it, -even to myself, but for—what you said. It is the truth. I loved her! -What!" and he leant forward, his thin, wasted face flushed, his lips -trembling. "Do you think that it is given to you only to appreciate -such beauty and grace and sweetness as Leslie Lisle's? You remind me -that I am crooked, twisted, deformed——."</p> - -<p>"Dolph!"</p> - -<p>"But do you think, because I am what I am outwardly, that I have no -heart? God, who sees below the surface, knows that there beats in my -bosom a heart as tender, as hungry for love, as quick to love as yours! -Ah, and quicker, hungrier! And I loved her! Loved her with a love as -strong and passionate as yours!" He stopped for want of breath.</p> - -<p>Yorke sank into a chair and turned his face away.</p> - -<p>"And you did not guess it? Well, that is not surprising, for I strove -hard to hide it from even myself. I knew that it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> madness to hope -that I might win her love! But I knew that if I had offered myself in -my right colors she would have accepted me, bent, twisted, deformed, -mockery of a man as I am!"</p> - -<p>Yorke groaned.</p> - -<p>"And—and—" he stopped, and seemed to be struggling with -something—"and I was tempted! Yes, I was tempted the morning she came -to me and told me that she knew, was tempted to tell her that she might -still be a duchess, that I loved her and would marry her!"</p> - -<p>Yorke sprang to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Sit—sit down," said the duke hoarsely, and Yorke sank down again. -"But I resisted the temptation. I left her without a word, without a -look or sign by which she could know the truth. I had to bear it. It is -a burden which crushes, which tortures me! Even since I left the cursed -place the temptation has assailed me at intervals, and once or twice I -have almost resolved to write—to go down to her—and offer her that -upon which she has set her woman's heart—the ducal coronet—for which -even a Leslie Lisle will sell herself!"</p> - -<p>Yorke opened his lips, but the duke by a gesture stopped him again.</p> - -<p>"Now you know the whole truth. If you have to suffer, so also have -I. And my lot will be worse than yours. You—" he looked at him, not -enviously, but with a sad admiration—"you will get over this—will -forget her——."</p> - -<p>"No, no!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. There are other women whose love you may win. There is one -already." He paused. "Yes, if one nail drives out another, so one love -may drive out, wipe out all remembrance of another. And so it is with -you. But I!" He dropped back and covered his face with his hands. -"For me there can be no such hope. The door of love, the gates of the -earthly paradise are shut against me, and will remain shut while I -live. To me the Fates say mockingly, 'Rank, wealth, station, we give -you, but the love of woman, that supreme gift of the gods to man, thou -shalt never know it!'"</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment, then he raised himself on his elbow.</p> - -<p>"Yorke, you must bear your burden. Forget her. It will be hard. Don't -I know how hard? To forget Leslie—those sweet gray eyes, with their -melting tenderness, that low, musical voice! But you must forget her. -As I said, there are others. There is one. Eleanor——."</p> - -<p>Yorke sprang to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Forget her! Forget Leslie! What are you talking about? We must be -mad, both of us; you to talk as you have done, and I to listen! She's -as true as steel! I shall find a telegram waiting for me at the club, -and—and all will turn out right."</p> - -<p>The duke regarded him gravely.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Go and see," he said quietly. "If you do not find a message from her, -what will you do?"</p> - -<p>Yorke looked at him.</p> - -<p>"Though my body's twisted, my brain is straighter and more acute than -yours," said the duke with a smile, "and I will tell you what to do. -Wire to the landlady at the house they lived in, Sea View. What was the -woman's name?"</p> - -<p>"Merrick," said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Merrick. Ask if the Lisles are there, and if not, for their -address. Pay for the return message and all charges. But I can tell you -the result at once."</p> - -<p>"The result? What?"</p> - -<p>"You will not find her. She does not intend that you should. With all -her beauty and grace and sweetness, she, even she, even Leslie! being -a woman, is too worldly wise to marry Yorke Auchester now that he is a -duke no longer."</p> - -<p>Yorke caught up his hat and laughed hoarsely.</p> - -<p>"I'll soon prove you wrong!" he said.</p> - -<p>"And if you do not? If you prove that I am right?" asked the duke, -looking at him steadily.</p> - -<p>Yorke stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Then—then—" he stopped and swore—"then you may do what you like -with me; marry me to whom you please, when you please, send me to the -devil——."</p> - -<p>He strode through the marble hall and called a cab. He ran up the steps -of the Dorchester and confronted the patient Stephens.</p> - -<p>"There's a telegram for me now, Stephens. Name of 'Yorke,' you know.</p> - -<p>"No, sir, nothing for you," was the reply.</p> - -<p>He turned at once, and going straight to the telegraph office in Regent -Street, sent the following telegram to Mrs. Merrick:</p> - -<p>"If Miss Lisle is not at Portmaris, send her address to Yorke, Regent -Street Post Office. Reply, paid, at once."</p> - -<p>"I'll wait," he said.</p> - -<p>"It may be an hour, sir," said the young lady clerk.</p> - -<p>"I'll wait if it's ten hours," he said.</p> - -<p>He waited for an hour and a half, and then they handed him this:</p> - -<p>"Mr. and Miss Lisle have gone and left no address."</p> - -<p>He walked from the post office to Grosvenor Square with the telegram -crushed in his hand, and went straight to the duke's room. He was still -lying on the couch, and he did not lift his head as Yorke entered.</p> - -<p>"Well?" he said. "But I need not ask. You are convinced?"</p> - -<p>Yorke flattened out the telegram and dropped it into the duke's hand.</p> - -<p>"No address! Here in London, and I do not know where to look for her!" -he said hoarsely.</p> - -<p>"Convinced! No! No!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then his voice broke, and he sank into the chair by the table and -dropped his head upon his arms.</p> - -<p>The duke sighed.</p> - -<p>"My poor Yorke! Oh, woman, woman! God sent you as a blessing, and you -have proved a curse!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> - -<h3>"I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO SAVE HIM."</h3> - - -<p>Lady Eleanor reached Palace Gardens and went straight to her boudoir -and flung herself on a couch.</p> - -<p>To women of her class come very few such adventures as that which -had happened to her this morning. From their cradles, through their -girlhood, and indeed all through their lives, they are so hedged in and -protected from the world outside the refined and exclusive circle in -which they move, that there is little chance of their coming in contact -with other than their own set.</p> - -<p>She had seen Finetta on the stage of the Diadem, had heard of her, read -of her, knew that Yorke Auchester's name was in some way connected with -her, but she had never dreamed that a meeting with her would be even -possible, much less probable.</p> - -<p>And now she had not only met with her, but talked and listened to her.</p> - -<p>The fact that she had done so filled her with shame and confusion. -What would her friends and relatives think if they knew? What would -Godolphin, the duke, say if he were told that she had not only engaged -in conversation with this Finetta, but actually entered into a kind of -compact and conspiracy with her.</p> - -<p>But she soon dismissed this part of the case and allowed herself to -think only of the information Finetta had given her.</p> - -<p>Yorke going to be married!</p> - -<p>She would almost as soon have heard that he was going to die. Indeed, -death would not more completely remove him for her, would not set up a -more surmountable barrier between them than a marriage. For if he were -to die, she could still think and dream of him as hers; whereas, if he -married, he would belong in this world and the next to another woman.</p> - -<p>And such a woman! Finetta had spoken of this Leslie Lisle as if she -were an uncultivated, half-educated country girl.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor could imagine what she was like; some simpering, -round-faced girl, just a step above a laborer's daughter. One of these -girls who blushed with timidity and fright when they were spoken to, -who spoke in a strong provincial dialect, who dressed like a dowdy and -looked just respectable; something between a servant and a shop girl.</p> - -<p>She was pretty, no doubt; but to think that Yorke, Yorke the -fastidious, should be caught by a pretty face! Why, she, Lady Eleanor, -was pretty! She looked at her pale, agitated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> face, and a kind of -indignant rage consumed her for a moment. She was the acknowledged -belle of many a ballroom. She might have been a professional beauty if -she had cared to be one. She was accomplished, was in his own rank and -class, a fitting mate—yes, she told herself with inward conviction, a -fitting mate for him.</p> - -<p>With her by his side, as his wife, he could have filled a conspicuous -place in the world, their world, the upper ten thousand, the rulers and -masters.</p> - -<p>And he had passed her by and was going to marry a half-educated, -uncivilized, uncultivated country girl, with pink cheeks and a -simpering smile.</p> - -<p>The thought drove her half mad. Finetta had said that she had tried to -prevent it, and that it now rested with her, Lady Eleanor, to make an -attempt.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shuddered and reddened with shame at the idea of being a -conspirator with such a one as Finetta of the Diadem. And yet was not -the object to be attained worthy of even such means?</p> - -<p>She would not ask herself why Finetta desired to stop the marriage; she -put that question away from her resolutely, and told herself that it -was of Yorke and Yorke's welfare alone that she was thinking.</p> - -<p>A servant came up to announce visitors, but Lady Eleanor answered -through the locked door that she wasn't at home.</p> - -<p>"I will only see Mr. Ralph Duncombe," she said, and she longed for his -presence with a feverish impatience; though she had no fixed plan in -her mind, nothing but a vague idea that Ralph Duncombe, the cute city -man, might be able to help her.</p> - -<p>About six o'clock the servant announced him, and she had him shown -up to her boudoir. She had had time to collect herself and regain -composure, to change her dress for a tea gown and do her hair; but her -face was pale and still showed traces of the terrible agitation which -she had suffered, and Ralph Duncombe as he took her hand looked at her -inquiringly.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid you have found the heat trying, Lady Eleanor. I hope you -are well," he said, in his grave, sedate voice.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, yes," she said; "I am well, quite well. But I am—what is -the term you city men use when you want to say that you are worried? -Pray sit down," and she pointed to a chair so placed that she could see -his face while hers was against the light.</p> - -<p>"We find 'worried' good enough for us, Lady Eleanor; but we are worried -so often that we think little of it and take things very much as they -come."</p> - -<p>"Ah, then I envy you!" she said with a genuine sigh. "I am afraid you -will think me very inconsiderate in sending for you, you who have so -much to occupy your time and energies."</p> - -<p>"I am always glad to be of some slight service to you," he said with -grave courtesy, "and can always spare time to come to you when you -send for me. Is anything the matter? Are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> you anxious about the Mining -Company? You have no cause to be, for everything is going on remarkably -well, and succeeding beyond my expectations. Some of the best men in -the city have joined us, and, as I wrote to you, the shares already -stand at a high premium. You have made a very large sum of money, Lady -Eleanor, and are on the way to making a still larger."</p> - -<p>"Money, money!" she exclaimed. "It is always money. You talk as if it -were the one and only thing desirable and worth having! And, after all, -what can it buy? Can it buy the one thing on which one's heart is set? -Have you found it so all-powerful that you set such store by it?"</p> - -<p>His face flushed and a singular look came into his eyes.</p> - -<p>"I—I beg your pardon!" she said hurriedly and almost humbly. "I did -not mean to be impertinent or obtrusive; but just now I am in trouble -in which I think even the all-powerful money will be powerless."</p> - -<p>"Tell me what it is," he said in a low voice, and rather absently, as -if the hasty words she had just spoken were still haunting him. "That -is, I suppose you sent to consult me about it?"</p> - -<p>"Well—yes," said Lady Eleanor more calmly, but with her color coming -and going. "I sent to you because you are the only friend I have whom -I should care to consult about this—this trouble. Because I feel that -you will understand, and, what is more important, not misunderstand me, -or—or my motives."</p> - -<p>"I will do my best to understand and sympathize, Lady Eleanor," he -said, watching her, yet without seeming to do so.</p> - -<p>"You remember," she said after a pause, during which she was seeking -for some way of beginning the subject as if it were not of much -importance after all. "You remember Yorke Auchester, Lord Yorke -Auchester?"</p> - -<p>He inclined his head, suppressing a look of surprise.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," he said. "That is, I remember—I could not fail to do -so—that I have purchased his debts, to a very large sum, on your -behalf."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said nervously, "and I daresay—I know—that you have -wondered why I have done so."</p> - -<p>He kept silence, but raised his eyebrows slightly.</p> - -<p>"Well," she went on, "it was to save him from trouble. He is a great -friend of mine; his cousin, the duke, and I are great friends. But -you know all this! And now I want to do something more for—for Lord -Auchester."</p> - -<p>He looked up. Her face was red one moment and pale the next, but she -kept her eyes—the half-proud, half-appealing eyes—upon his.</p> - -<p>"He is in great trouble and—and danger. A worse danger than a monetary -one."</p> - -<p>He smiled.</p> - -<p>"Can there be worse?" he said with a city man's incredulity. "We live -in a prosaic age, Lady Eleanor, from which we have dismissed the -midnight assassin and all the other romantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> perils which made life -and history so interesting in the middle ages; and the only dangers we -run now are from a railway or steamboat accident——."</p> - -<p>She tried to listen to him patiently.</p> - -<p>"It is not that kind of danger I was thinking," she said. "Is it not -possible for a man to—to ruin and wreck his life in—many ways, Mr. -Duncombe?"</p> - -<p>He looked at her still half smilingly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, a man may enlist as a common soldier, or forge a check, or -marry his cook; but I do not imagine that there is any risk of Lord -Auchester committing any of these—shall we say, follies?"</p> - -<p>"Of all the things you have mentioned, it seems to me that the last is -the worst," said Lady Eleanor bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>He raised his brows again.</p> - -<p>"At any rate it is punished more severely than the others," she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he assented thoughtfully. "But," and he smiled, "Lord Auchester -does not contemplate marrying his cook, does he?"</p> - -<p>"His cook? No; but he is in danger of marrying almost as far beneath -him!" The retort flashed from her with hot hauteur. "Mr. Duncombe, when -a man of Lord Auchester's station marries beneath him he is as utterly -ruined, his life is as completely wrecked, as if he had committed -forgery or enlisted as a common soldier."</p> - -<p>He leaned back and listened with sedate politeness, wondering whither -all this was leading, and what it was she would ask him to do.</p> - -<p>"A man of Lord Auchester's rank has only one life—the social one. -He has no business, no profession to fall back upon, to employ his -thoughts, to engross and solace him. He must mix in the world to which -he belongs, and he can only do so as an equal with his fellows. When he -marries he is expected to take for a wife a lady of his own rank, or -at any rate, a lady who is accepted as such in the circle to which he -belongs. She must be one whom his friends can receive and visit, one of -whom neither he nor they will be ashamed. His life may then continue -in its old course; he will still have his friends and relatives round -him, still have his place in the world, his niche, be it a high or a -moderately high one, and all will be well with him."</p> - -<p>She paused for breath, and put her hand to smooth back the delicate -silken hair from her fair forehead.</p> - -<p>"But if he should so far forget himself and all he owes to society as -to marry beneath him—then, as I say he is utterly wrecked and undone. -His friends will not receive his wife, or if they do it is with a -coldness which she and he cannot fail to notice and resent. He sees -them look pityingly, scornfully upon the woman he has made his wife, -and he feels that he cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> take her amongst them. So he drifts from -his own class, and either sinks into the one below it—where he is -wretchedly miserable, or lives like a hermit. In the latter case he has -plenty of time in which to get tired of his life and of the woman who -has, in all innocence, severed him from all his old associates and, -still in all innocence, has degraded him. The result, be it quick or -slow in coming, is invariably the same. He is always thinking of the -sacrifice he has made in marrying her, she is always conscious that he -is so thinking, and sooner or later they grow to weary of and hate each -other. She has ruined him, wrecked his life, and both know it! I am not -speaking by theory; I have seen it, seen it in half a dozen cases, and -I say that a man had better throw himself into the Thames than marry -beneath him."</p> - -<p>She dropped back in her low chair and put her hand to her head. She had -talked swiftly, passionately, and her brow was burning.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe looked up.</p> - -<p>"All you say is very true, no doubt, Lady Eleanor. And Lord -Auchester——."</p> - -<p>"Is thinking of making such a match," she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe looked at the carpet.</p> - -<p>"It scarcely seems—pardon me—scarcely seems credible. I do not know -Lord Auchester, but from what I have heard of him I should think he -would be the last man to be blind to the consequences of contracting -a marriage with a lady who was considered his inferior in the social -scale."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes!" she said with a sigh. "So anyone who knew him would have -said; but—but—in this matter even the wisest men are fools."</p> - -<p>He smiled gravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, fools!" she said bitterly; "they are caught by a pretty face, a -look in the eyes, a curve on the lip, a dimple in the cheek——." She -rose and took one or two paces, as if her impatience would not permit -of her sitting still any longer. "At any rate, Lord Auchester has been -so caught!" she wound up suddenly.</p> - -<p>"And you wish——?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, I scarcely know," she answered, stretching out her hands. "He is -doing this thing secretly. He is keeping it from his friends. From the -duke, from—from me, from all of us."</p> - -<p>"Then he is half ashamed of it?" he suggested.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps so," she said. "Perhaps so. But if he has made up his mind -to do it he will go through with it, in spite of all arguments and -attempts to dissuade him. Yorke—" she used his Christian name -unconsciously—"Yorke is one of the sweetest tempered men—you can -lead him with a silken thread, until he has resolved to do anything; -then——." She had turned to him and looked at him beseechingly. "Can -you help me, us; his friends, I mean, generally? He is so popular, so -much liked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> It would be a shame and a sin that such a one should be -wrecked and ruined. In such a case a man should be saved in spite of -himself. Can nothing be done? I sent for you, because you have always -helped me, have always been so kind——." She stopped and turned her -head away.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe regarded her with grave surprise.</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry," he said slowly, as a lawyer speaks to a client to -whom he has been listening patiently. "But I do not see how you can act -in the matter. You might try persuasion——."</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you do not know Lord Auchester!" she said.</p> - -<p>"I scarcely see what else you can do. He's of age, and his own master, -and the lady is of age, I presume. You could scarce bring any pressure -upon her?"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shook her head scornfully.</p> - -<p>"It is scarcely to be expected that she would be induced to release -him. In these cases the woman is generally a low-bred schemer, or some -simple girl who believes that she and the man she is ruining are in -love. Oh, no; nothing can be done with her! Besides, I know—" she -was going to say, "I know one who has tried and failed," but stopped -suddenly.</p> - -<p>"Well, then," said Ralph Duncombe, "I fear that I can suggest nothing. -After all, if Lord Auchester is resolved upon committing social -suicide——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it is terrible, terrible!" she exclaimed in a low, agitated voice; -"and I thought you would be able to help me."</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry at being so useless," he put in.</p> - -<p>"I thought that perhaps these bills you hold for me—that they would -give you some power over him," and she colored and cast her eyes down.</p> - -<p>He smiled.</p> - -<p>"There is no longer arrest for debt, Lady Eleanor," he said. "They say -there is no longer imprisonment, but that is not true. They imprison -still, but they call it for contempt of court. Ah, it is a pity we -are not living in the dark ages! We could have set an ambush for Lord -Auchester, seized him bodily, and cast him into a dungeon below the -moat until he had come to his senses; but there is an absurd prejudice -against that kind of thing nowadays."</p> - -<p>She drew a long breath, and, taking her silence as an acceptation of -the fact that he could be of no use to her, he reached for his hat and -prepared to go.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is the usual thing," he said sympathetically. "Some girl -of the lower middle class has attracted him, and she and her parents -have succeeded in obtaining a promise of marriage from him. It is not -an uncommon case."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor had sunk into the chair again, and answered languidly, for -the excitement was beginning to tell upon her.</p> - -<p>"I do not know the details of the affair. It is very probable. The -girl's name is Lisle, Leslie Lisle——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What!" The exclamation broke from him with the suddenness of a gunshot.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked up, but he had turned and stood at a little -distance with his back to the window; and, though pale as usual, his -face was set and calm.</p> - -<p>"I—beg your pardon, I did not quite catch the name," he said. He spoke -very slowly, enunciating each word distinctly, as if he were uncertain -of his voice. "I did not quite catch the name."</p> - -<p>"Leslie Lisle," said Lady Eleanor. "He met her at a place called -Portmaris. You may remember that I mentioned it to you when you were -here some weeks ago."</p> - -<p>"Yes—I—remember," he said, in just the same slow, mechanical voice. -He put his hat down and sat with tightly set lips and eyes fixed on the -carpet.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked at his grave, set face, waiting.</p> - -<p>"Have you thought of anything, any plan by which the marriage could be -prevented?" she asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment or two, then, without looking up, he said:</p> - -<p>"And they are to be married secretly?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," and her face flushed and paled.</p> - -<p>"And at once?" he asked, and she thought his voice was strangely hoarse.</p> - -<p>"At once, I—I am told."</p> - -<p>"At once," he repeated, as if to himself. "Lady Eleanor, I see a carafe -of water on that side table; will you allow me——." He rose and crossed -the room and drank nearly a glassful of water, while Lady Eleanor -pressed him to allow her to ring for wine.</p> - -<p>"No, no. Water, I prefer water. I am almost a teetotaler. Thanks, -thanks," he waved his hand impatiently, almost imperiously. "And is -that all you know? Do you know the place they are going to be married -at?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "Lord Auchester is in London," she added after a -moment; "I saw him this morning."</p> - -<p>He leant his head on his hand so that his face was almost completely -concealed from her.</p> - -<p>"In London. To be married at once," he repeated. He looked up. "I am -thinking, Lady Eleanor——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, yes," she breathed, leaning forward. "I know if you will -only think you will find some way. It is a shame to bother and trouble -you——."</p> - -<p>He smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>"Don't mention it. Let me see." He put his hand to his forehead. "He is -fearfully in debt. Some of those bills are long overdue. Do you think -he means to leave the country?" He asked the question suddenly, with a -flash.</p> - -<p>"I—I don't know. He must, I should think."</p> - -<p>"I see—I see," he said. "Say, don't be too hopeful, too sanguine. -But—well, the law has long claws still, though we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> pared them -down pretty considerably. And in the city its claws are longer than -elsewhere. That's an anomaly, but it's true. In a city court of law you -can do strange things. For instance, if a man owes me money and I go -and swear that I have reason to believe that he is intending to leave -the country—to abscond, in short—the court has an almost forgotten -power to stop that man. The machinery is antiquated and rusty, but—but -it may be made to work." He rose. A strange light was burning in his -eyes, a hectic flush on his pale and rather hollow cheeks. "Lady -Eleanor——."</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked, almost frightened by the change in his manner, -by the subdued eagerness and earnestness where a few minutes ago was -only polite indifference.</p> - -<p>"Lady Eleanor, if I consent to help you, I can do so on one condition."</p> - -<p>"Yes! What is that?" she asked, trembling a little.</p> - -<p>"That you follow my instructions to the letter. That you leave the -whole matter to me, and offer no opposition to anything I may direct -or do. I see—mark me!—I see a small chance, a slight hope of saving -Lord Auchester from this," he smiled scornfully, "ruinous marriage. It -is but slight, and to do anything with it I must have a free hand. Will -you give it me?"</p> - -<p>"I will," she said. "I would do anything—anything to save him."</p> - -<p>"And so would I!" he muttered, but so low that she did not hear him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> - -<h3>THE NEW LODGER.</h3> - - -<p>Some blows which Fate deals us are so severe and crushing that, for a -time, they deprive us of the power of feeling; and of such a nature was -the bereavement which Leslie had suffered. She was simply crushed and -powerless to feel or to act. Fortunately the landlady of the London -lodging-house, and the young doctor, were kind-hearted persons, and -they came to her aid.</p> - -<p>Francis Lisle had quarreled with and separated himself from his people -years ago, and Leslie scarcely knew his relations by name, but she -found the addresses of one or two, and the doctor wrote to them.</p> - -<p>It is a hard world. One can forgive one's relations many sins, but that -of poverty is the unpardonable one; and those of her kin to whom the -doctor wrote doubtless regarded this sudden death of Francis Lisle as -an additional injury dealt to them by that eccentric and unfortunate -man.</p> - -<p>One brother wrote a letter to Leslie expressing the deepest sympathy, -and regretting that a severe attack of the gout would prevent him -attending the funeral, but desiring her to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> be sure and let him know -if he could do anything for her. A cousin sent his secretary with a -ten-pound note—if it should be needed; and another relative wrote -to say how sorry he was, and that he should, of course, attend the -funeral, and that he hoped and trusted "poor Francis" had left his -daughter well provided for. He added, incidentally, that he himself had -a large family, and had had a great deal of sickness that year; also -that he would have been glad to have taken her into his house if it -had not been so small and already overcrowded. The head of the family -wrote her a short note from a German watering place, saying that he was -in such a wretched state of health that he could not come to England, -excepting at the risk of his life, and that it would probably not be -long before he joined her father in the realms above.</p> - -<p>"Ain't it dreadful, sir?" said the landlady to the doctor. "They don't -seem to have a heart amongst 'em."</p> - -<p>He shook his head. He had seen similar cases.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid Miss Lisle is not very well off," he said. "If she -had been an heiress her relatives would have flocked round her, -overflowing with sympathy and offers of assistance. It is the way of -the world, Mrs. Brown. I fear Miss Leslie will feel this neglect and -cold-heartedness very keenly. We must do all we can for her."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, that we will," said the woman, with moist eyes. "As to -feeling it, I don't think dear Miss Lisle feels anything at present. I -could scarcely rouse her to see about her mourning, and it makes one's -heart ache to go into the room and see her sitting there in her plain, -black dress—she would have it so simple and no crape, though I told -her that crape was always worn for a father—sitting there and just -looking before her as if she was too weak and overcome even to think. -It's my opinion, sir, that she scarcely realizes what has happened to -her yet. Since the day he died she hasn't shed a tear. And such a sweet -young soul as she is, and so grateful for the littlest thing one does -for her. But there, she was always the nicest young lady that I ever -took in, always; and if her relations is too proud or too heartless to -look after her, why she shan't want for a friend while Martha Brown has -got a shilling."</p> - -<p>The landlady's graphic description of Leslie's condition was a fairly -truthful one. Day after day Leslie sat with her hands lying listlessly -in the lap of her black dress, her eyes fixed on the trees in the -square, her sorrow too great for thought.</p> - -<p>If she had overheard the landlady and the doctor discussing her future -she would have listened with perfect indifference. What did it matter -what became of her, or whether she lived or went to join the poor, weak -soul whom she had loved and cherished, and yet—ah, what bitterness -was in the thought!—deceived! If she had not listened to Yorke's -proposal, had not consented to his plan of bringing her to London, her -father might be alive now! It was true that the doctor had assured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -her that the weakness of the heart which had been the immediate cause -of death had been latent for some time, and that her father had been a -doomed and sentenced man for years past, and that any shock would have -been sufficient to cause his death; but even this assurance scarcely -softened the poignancy of her remorse.</p> - -<p>It was of her father and his loss that she thought entirely during the -days immediately following her bereavement, and it might be almost said -that she had forgotten Yorke and her great love for him. Almost, but -not quite. It was lying in the centre of her heart, buried for a time -under the load of her anguish and sorrow, but it needed only a sight of -him, only the sound of his name, to arise, like a giant, and reassert -all its old influence over her.</p> - -<p>After a while she began to recover sufficiently to be able to think, to -realize her position, and to look vaguely and indifferently towards the -future.</p> - -<p>The doctor, and the secretary of the great man, had gone into Francis -Lisle's affairs, and discovered that a portion of his small income had -died with him, and that what remained amounted to only a few pounds -a year—not enough, by itself, to keep body and soul together. There -was a little money in hand, but the largest part of that sum consisted -of the fifty pounds paid by Mr. Temple for the picture he had bought; -and Leslie, directly she was able to think, resolved that she would -return the money, though it, and it alone, should stand between her and -starvation.</p> - -<p>There was something else also that she must return—the diamond pendant -which Yorke had given her.</p> - -<p>That, too, must go back. She could not summon up sufficient courage to -take it from its hiding-place as yet; and, indeed, she did not know -where to send it, unless she addressed it to the Dorchester Club, and -it seemed to her that it would be wrong to send so valuable an article -to a club; that she ought to send it to the duke's residence.</p> - -<p>A woman of the world would have been aware that the address of so -well-known a personage as the Duke of Rothbury could be found in a -London directory; but Leslie was anything but a woman of the world, and -felt helpless in her ignorance.</p> - -<p>There was another article which lay in her box beside the diamond -pendant; Ralph Duncombe's ring.</p> - -<p>She remembered that, in a weary, listless way. He had said, when he -placed it in her hand, that if ever she needed a friend, a helper, an -avenger, she had but to send that ring to him and he would come to her -side. But, though she were in the sorest strait in which a woman could -be placed, she would not summon Ralph Duncombe to her aid; for to do so -would be tantamount to engaging herself to him. The mere thought made -her wince and shudder; it was an insult to the love that lay dormant in -her bosom—her love for Yorke.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> - -<p>One day she got out her money, and spread it on the table and counted -it. With the strictest economy it would not go very far, and it was all -that stood between her and the grim wolf, destitution; for she felt -that she would rather die than appeal for assistance to her father's -relatives.</p> - -<p>"In the struggle for life we forget our dead," says the philosopher; -and the problem of what was to become of her gradually drew her away -from the sad brooding over her bereavement.</p> - -<p>What should she do? She could not dig, and to beg she was ashamed. -The question haunted her day and night as she sat by the window or -walked up and down the room, or lay awake at night, listening to the -multitudinous London clocks striking the hours. One afternoon she -summoned up strength enough to go out, and in her plain black clothes, -with her veil closely drawn over her face, she walked through the -squares into Oxford and Regent Streets. She felt weak and giddy at -first, and soon tired. The vast thoroughfares, and their eager, busy -crowds confused and bewildered her. It seemed to her as if every one -was looking at her, as if every individual of the throng knew of -her trouble, her double loss, and was pitying her; and she turned -homewards, faint in body and spirit.</p> - -<p>As she reached No. 23 she saw a cab standing at the door; the cabman -was carrying a modest box into the house, and as she passed into the -narrow hall a young lady, who was talking with the landlady, made room -for her.</p> - -<p>Leslie concluded that it was a new lodger, and went up to her own rooms -to take up the perpetual problem. What should she do?</p> - -<p>She recalled all the novels she had read in which the heroines had been -left alone in the world, and sought some help from their experiences -and course of action. But most, if not all, these heroines had been -singularly gifted beings, who had at once stepped into fame and fortune -as singers, actors, painters, or musicians; and she, Leslie, knew that -she was not gifted in any of these directions.</p> - -<p>"There is nothing I can do!" she told herself that night as she -undressed herself wearily and hopelessly. "Nothing! I am a cumberer of -the ground!"</p> - -<p>She had tired herself by her walk, and slept the whole night, for the -first time since her father's death; but she dreamed that she was -married to Yorke, and that she was surrounded by a crowd—the crowd she -had seen in Regent Street—and that they called her 'Your Grace' and -'Duchess.' And she woke to a sense of the reality with a heart that -ached all the more bitterly for the pleasant dream.</p> - -<p>Was it years ago, that drive to St. Martin's, when he had sat beside -her and shown her how to hold the reins? Or did it never happen, and -was it only a phantasy of her imagination?</p> - -<p>So great a difference was there between then and now, so wide a -gulf, that only the present seemed real, and the past a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> vision of a -disordered mind! She unlocked the small box, and took out the diamond -pendant and looked at it, and the scrap of paper with the precious -words "From Yorke" written on it, until the tears blotted them from -her sight; but they had recalled all the joy, the delight, the sacred -ecstasy of the past all too distinctly.</p> - -<p>It was true. She, Leslie Lisle, helpless, friendless, with only a few -pounds between her and want, was the Leslie Lisle who had looked on -that short sunlight of happiness.</p> - -<p>She thought she would make another attempt to go out that morning, and -after dressing slowly, and putting off the dreaded moment of leaving -the house and facing the outside world, she went down the stairs. As -she did so the door of one of the rooms on the floor below hers opened, -and the girl she had seen in the hall yesterday came out.</p> - -<p>She stepped back as she saw Leslie, and seemed about to beat a retreat -back into her own room again, then hesitated, and made a slight bow.</p> - -<p>Leslie returned the bow absently and went out; and it was not until she -had got into the crowded streets that she thought of the girl; then -she remembered that she, too, was dressed in black, and that though -not more pretty, she was modest, and looked like a lady, and wore -eyeglasses. She thought no more of her than this, and after a weary -walk returned home, and rang the bell for some tea.</p> - -<p>When the door opened she was surprised to see the girl instead of Mrs. -Brown; and her surprise must have shown itself in her face, for her -visitor colored and stopped at the threshold.</p> - -<p>"I—I beg your pardon," she said. "I hope you will forgive me, but Mrs. -Brown has sprained her wrist, and she asked me—that is, I offered—to -come instead of her——."</p> - -<p>Leslie rose and looked at her with the half startled expression which -indicated her condition of mind.</p> - -<p>"I—I wanted some tea; but it does not matter," she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>The new-comer colored.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but I will get it for you," she said. "I will get anything for -you; that is, if you don't mind my doing it instead of Mrs. Brown."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her more attentively, and saw a pleasant, amiable face -with eyes beaming softly through eyeglasses perched on a tip-tilted -nose.</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," she said in a low, musical voice. "But I do not -think I ought to trouble you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it is no trouble, Miss Lisle," said the girl, still standing on -the threshold as if she dared not venture further.</p> - -<p>"You know my name?" said Leslie, with a faint smile.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said her visitor, with a nod half-grave, half-smiling, and -wholly friendly and propitiatory. "Mrs. Brown told me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> and—and about -your trouble. I am so sorry! But," as Leslie winced, "I won't talk of -that. I'll see that you have some tea."</p> - -<p>"Will you not come in?" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>The girl came into the room timidly, and took the chair which Leslie -drew forward for her.</p> - -<p>"I think I saw you in the hall yesterday," she said. "You are a lodger, -like myself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Oh, yes," replied her visitor, nodding. "And I saw you. I asked -Mrs. Brown who you were, and she told me. I hope you don't think me -inquisitive?" and she colored timidly.</p> - -<p>"No. Oh, no. It was a very natural question," said Leslie. "Will you -tell me your name?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. My name is Somes. Lucy Somes."</p> - -<p>"And you are paying a visit to London?" said Leslie, trying to interest -herself in this pleasant looking girl who had from sheer kindness acted -as the landlady's substitute.</p> - -<p>"A visit?" said Lucy Somes, doubtfully. "Well, scarcely that. I'm -here—" she hesitated—"on business. But I must not keep you waiting -for your tea."</p> - -<p>"My tea can wait until Mrs. Brown can get it," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but I am going to get it for you, unless—" she hesitated, but, -encouraged by Leslie's faint smile, she continued—"unless you wouldn't -mind coming down to my room and taking tea with me. I have just got -mine; and I should be so pleased if you would come."</p> - -<p>Leslie did not respond for a moment or two. Trouble makes solitude very -dear to us. But she fought against the desire to decline.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said simply; "I shall be very pleased."</p> - -<p>Lucy jumped up.</p> - -<p>"Come along, then," she said with evident pleasure.</p> - -<p>Leslie followed her downstairs, and Lucy Somes ushered her into the -tiny room which served for bedroom and sitting room.</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't mind," said Lucy, with a sudden blush on her pleasant -face. "But you see I am not rich enough to afford two rooms, and so——."</p> - -<p>"Why should I mind?" said Leslie, in her gentle voice.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I can see you have been used to something better than this," said -Lucy, bustling to and fro as she spoke, and adding another cup and -saucer and plate to the tea things on the small table. "I laughed to -myself when Mrs. Brown said you were a real lady—persons like her -make such mistakes—but I see that she was right. But a lady does not -contemn poverty, does she?" and she laughed as she cut some bread and -butter.</p> - -<p>"Especially when she is poor herself," thought Leslie, but she only -smiled.</p> - -<p>"And so I thought I would venture to intrude upon you," continued -Lucy Somes. "I was half afraid, for you looked so—so—I want a word! -it isn't proud; so aristocratic and reserved I'll say—that I quite -trembled; and it was only by saying,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> 'she is only a girl and no older -than yourself and all alone and in trouble,' that I plucked up courage -to go up to you."</p> - -<p>"Am I so very terrible?" said Leslie, with the smile that all -Portmaris—and Yorke—had found so irresistible.</p> - -<p>"Not now when you look like that," replied Lucy Somes, "but when you -are grave and solemn, as you were when you passed by me yesterday, you -are very—very—stand-offish. Will you have some sugar in your tea? -I've made some toast. Papa—" she stopped suddenly, then went on in a -subdued voice—"papa used to say that I made toast better than any of -the others. He is dead," she added after another pause; and Leslie saw -the eyes grow dim behind the spectacles.</p> - -<p>She put out her hand and laid it on the girl's arm.</p> - -<p>"Did he——?"</p> - -<p>"Three months ago," said Lucy Somes, sadly, yet cheerily. "He was a -country clergyman down in Wealdshire. He caught a fever visiting a -parishioner. There are seven of us—and mother. I'm the second."</p> - -<p>She poured out the tea while she was speaking, and was obviously -fighting with her tears.</p> - -<p>"Seven of us! Just fancy! Poor mother didn't know what to do! So I came -up to London to fight my way in the world. And I mean to fight it, too! -What awful stuff the London butter is, isn't it? I don't believe there -is a particle of cow's milk in it; do you? Seven of us! Three boys and -four girls. And we're as poor as poor can be. Won't you take some milk, -if one can call it milk?"</p> - -<p>"And you are going to fight the world," said Leslie, with tender -sympathy for this young girl who could be so cheerful under such -circumstances. "What are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>Lucy Somes laughed as she put a fresh piece of toast on the rack.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to be a governess."</p> - -<p>"A governess!" said Leslie. "In a gentleman's family?"</p> - -<p>Lucy Somes shook her head emphatically.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, thank you! I know what that means! Six young children to -teach, all the mending to do, and heaps of other things for twenty -pounds a year; less than they give their cook! No, no! I am going to be -the mistress of one of the country schools."</p> - -<p>"Yes?" said Leslie vaguely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am going to try and get the mistressship of a Board or -Voluntary school in some country place; I couldn't live in London. I -don't seem as if I could breathe here. Every morning I wake and fancy -I have been shut up in a coal mine. Did you ever notice how the smuts -come into the room when you open the window? And that's what London -folks breathe all the time."</p> - -<p>"It does not seem to disagree with them," said Leslie, with a faint -smile.</p> - -<p>"It disagrees with me," retorted Lucy, laughing. "Oh, no, no, give me -the country, with plenty of space to move about,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> and the flowers and -the birds, and butter that isn't manufactured from fat, and milk that -isn't a mixture of chalk and water. Don't you think it will be very -nice to be the mistress of a school in some pretty village? There is -always a nice little house for one to live in, and perhaps I could -afford to keep a young girl for a servant, and—and—be able to save -some money to send to mother to help her with the rest of us."</p> - -<p>Leslie listened, and her conscience smote her. Here was this girl, no -older than herself, alone in London, and so bravely ready to fight the -great battle; thinking little of herself, and so much of those dear -ones she had left behind.</p> - -<p>"Of course I am rather afraid of the exams," went on Lucy, knowing -somehow that the best thing she could do for this sweet, sad-looking -girl was to talk of herself, and so coax Leslie from dwelling on her -own sorrow. "They are rather dreadful, but I have been working hard, -and I think I shall pass. I'll show you some of my books, shall I—may -I? But you must have your tea first, quite comfortably. It was so kind -of you to come down to me! I was feeling so dreadfully lonely and—and -friendless. London is such a big place to be alone in, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes!" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"I tried to make friends with the sparrows," said Lucy, laughing. -"I put some crumbs on the window-sill as breakfast, and they come -and eat them. But they are not like the country sparrows; they look, -somehow, so—disreputable. I suppose it's because they sit up late, -like everybody else in London. All the animals are different; the very -horses look knowing and sharp. Now you shall sit in that easy-chair -while I show you my books." And half timidly she put Leslie in the -chair, and arranged a cushion for her as if she were a great invalid.</p> - -<p>Leslie's tender heart melted under all this gentle sunshine, and when -Lucy, kneeling beside her, opened her books, Leslie found, with a vague -kind of surprise, that she was interested.</p> - -<p>"You see? It is a great many subjects to get up, isn't it? But I'm not -afraid. I should get on faster if some of the girls were here to hear -me repeat some of the most difficult passages; and if—papa were here -to explain things I don't quite understand. He was so clever! There was -nothing he did not know," she added with simple, loving pride.</p> - -<p>"Let me see," said Leslie, taking up a book. "Why should I not help -you, Miss Somes?"</p> - -<p>Lucy colored furiously.</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, indeed," she said imploringly. "I did not mean that! I -could not think of allowing you. But how kind of you to offer! Oh, no, -no!"</p> - -<p>"But the kindness will be on your part if you will let me try and be of -some help," said Leslie, with gentle insistence. "I, too, am all alone, -and I have nothing to do—" she smothered a sigh—"and the time seems -very long and weary. I could hear you repeat what you have learned as -well as one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> your sisters. I could do that, at least. Let me see. I -am very ignorant; you will soon see that. But I remember something of -this book. I had it at school."</p> - -<p>Lucy would not hear of it for some time, but at last Leslie overcame -her scruples, and with a little blush repeated some of the paragraphs -she had got off by heart.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXX.</h2> - -<h3>THE ENCOUNTER.</h3> - - -<p>Reading for an exam, even a little one, is awful work. If it were only -one or two subjects which one had to master it would not be so bad; but -when there are six or a dozen then the trouble comes in. As fast as one -subject is learned it is driven out of its place in the memory by a -second, and the second by the third, and so on. Then one has to go back -and begin all over again, until they all get mixed up, and one feels it -will be impossible to ever get them properly sorted and arranged.</p> - -<p>The more Leslie saw of this pleasant-faced, kind-hearted girl, the more -she admired and wondered at her patience and courage.</p> - -<p>They lit the lamp and worked through the evening, though Lucy over -and over again protested that it was both wicked and cruel to take -advantage of Leslie's good nature; and at last she swept all the books -together, and declared that Leslie should not touch another.</p> - -<p>"But if you knew what a help it has been to me!" she exclaimed -gratefully.</p> - -<p>"And to me," said Leslie with a smile. "It is I who ought to be -grateful—and, indeed, I am, for I should have been sitting upstairs -alone with nothing to do but think, think!"</p> - -<p>"Ah, that is the worst of it," said Lucy gravely. "That is why I am -so glad I am obliged to work! You see I haven't the time to think; I -keep on and on, like the man who climbed the Alps—what was his name, -Excelsior?"</p> - -<p>The next morning Lucy knocked at the door. She had got her outdoor -clothes on, and had a bunch of flowers in her hand.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, blushing timidly, "but I have been -for a run. I always go into Covent Garden, and—and I brought some -flowers. I thought you would not mind, would not think it intrusive; -but I am so fond of flowers myself——."</p> - -<p>Leslie made her come in and sit down, while she got a glass for the -flowers. Lucy looked round and saw the easel. Leslie had put the -pictures out of sight.</p> - -<p>"Are you an artist, Miss Lisle?" she asked timidly.</p> - -<p>"No, oh no. It was my father——."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes. I see," said Lucy quickly. "It is so hard to paint or draw, -isn't it? That is where I shall fail, I expect. You see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> I have never -been able to get any tuition. I suppose you can draw?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a little," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"And play? But of course!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>Lucy sighed, not enviously, but admiringly.</p> - -<p>"It is a pity that it is not you who are going up for the exam instead -of me. It would be so easy for you. They think so much of drawing and -playing and accomplishments generally, I'm told."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her half-startled.</p> - -<p>"You think I—I could pass, that I could get a place in a school!" she -faltered.</p> - -<p>Lucy laughed confidently.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes! Why, easily. But you do not want it, fortunately."</p> - -<p>Leslie looked at her in silence for a minute, then she took out her -purse and turned the money out on the table.</p> - -<p>"That is all I have in the world," she said with a quiet smile.</p> - -<p>Lucy crimsoned, and then turned pale.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I—I beg your pardon. Please—please forgive me!" she said. "I did -not know, I thought——."</p> - -<p>"That I was a princess, a millionairess," said Leslie, smiling. "No, as -you see, I am very poor, and quite—quite alone. I would give something -for a mother and six brothers and sisters, Miss Somes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't! Call me Lucy!" Lucy implored timidly. "I am—it is very -wicked!—but I am almost glad that you are not well off! It draws us -nearer, and—and you will not mind? But I like you so much! You are not -angry?"</p> - -<p>Leslie bent down and kissed the resolute little forehead.</p> - -<p>"No, I am only grateful, Lucy," she said in her sweet, irresistible -way. "We two, who are alone in this big London, ought to cling -together, ought we not? You must call me Leslie, and try and think that -I am one of your sisters."</p> - -<p>"That won't be hard," responded Lucy, fervently. "But let me think! You -say——." She paused. "Oh, but you would not like it. It—it would not be -good enough——."</p> - -<p>"What would not be good enough, Lucy?"</p> - -<p>"Why, a place like that I am trying for," said Lucy timidly.</p> - -<p>Leslie sighed.</p> - -<p>"It would be too good to hope for," she said gently.</p> - -<p>Lucy sprang up eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that is nonsense!" she exclaimed in her half-proud, half-impetuous -fashion. "Why, you could pass easily, and——! Yes! I see it as plainly -as possible! You shall go in for the exam. We will work together! No, -don't shake your head! We should both stand a better chance if we tried -together, for there may be things that I could help you in, and I know -that you could help me. There's the drawing, for instance! Oh, I can -see it all beautifully! and only think, Leslie, perhaps we might get -into the same school! It might be managed! Mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> has some influence, -for poor papa's people are well known, and can help us once we have -passed. Now, you shan't say anything against it or shake your head. -Wait!"</p> - -<p>She ran out of the room, and before Leslie could recover from the -varied emotions, the hope, the fear, which Lucy's suggestion had -aroused, Lucy was back with her books and papers.</p> - -<p>"Look here, Leslie dear," she exclaimed, panting, "here is the list of -subjects and the books and everything, and we will start at once. Yes, -at once."</p> - -<p>Leslie still hesitated, but Lucy drew her down to a chair beside the -table, and gently forced her to examine the papers.</p> - -<p>Lucy and her scheme came just in the nick of time, and once Leslie had -commenced she worked with a feverish eagerness which Lucy declared -required the brake.</p> - -<p>"I was just like that myself when I started, though I don't think I was -quite as bad as you are, Leslie dear; but you soon find that the pace -is too fast, as my brothers would say. You can't keep it up, and you -have to slow off into regular work, with regular rests. Come, you must -go out now; it is two days since you left the house, and you must come -out with me. You would soon break down if you kept on at this rate."</p> - -<p>Leslie put down the book she was working at reluctantly, and with a -sigh.</p> - -<p>"I am not tired, I do not care to go out," she said. "While one works -one cannot think, and not to think——."</p> - -<p>She broke off and turned her face away.</p> - -<p>"I know," said Lucy; but she didn't, for she thought Leslie was only -trying not to think of her father. "I know. But if you kept on driving -it off by constant working you would find that you would get no sleep, -and lie awake all night and think, and that is worse than thinking in -the daytime. Come, dear, we will go for a nice long walk, and come back -fresh to the tiresome books."</p> - -<p>"Blessed books, say rather!" said Leslie. But she went and put on her -outdoor things submissively. The two girls had by this time entered -into a kind of partnership. Fate had thrown them together in the -whirlpool of life, and they had decided to cling together to this spar; -the chance of a misstressship in a country school, and to sink or float -together. They joined housekeeping and ate their meals together, and -worked with an amity and friendliness which did credit to both their -hearts. Leslie's was the quicker brain, but Lucy had been working for -some months, and could stick to her task with a dogged perseverance -which Leslie envied, whereas Lucy regarded Leslie with an admiration -and affection which almost amounted to worship. To her Leslie seemed -the epitome of all that was beautiful and sweet and graceful, and if -Leslie had permitted it Lucy would have become a kind of Lady's-maid as -well as fellow-student.</p> - -<p>The afternoon was a hot one, but Leslie wore her veil down, walking -along with absent preoccupied eyes, and only half<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> listening to the -bright, cheery chatter of the brave-hearted girl at her side.</p> - -<p>"After all, London is not bad," said Lucy. "One gets fond of it, -stupidly fond of it, without knowing it. It doesn't seem so hard and -cold-hearted after a while, and I—yes, I really think it is more -friendly than the country. The shops are so bright and cheerful that -they seem to smile at you and tell you to cheer up; and then there's -the noise. I didn't like it at first, but I don't mind it so much now. -It seems like company. Do you know what I mean, Leslie?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie absently. She was thinking of what Yorke had said -about London, and how good it was to get away from it. Where was he -now? she wondered.</p> - -<p>"Yes, if I were a rich woman I would have a house in London—not for -the season, oh, no! Fancy all rich and fashionable people leaving the -dear delicious country just when it is beginning to look its very best, -and coming up here into the hot streets and stuffy houses! Though the -parks are pretty, I will admit that. No, I would come up when the days -draw in, and the country lanes are muddy, and the roads dark. Then -London is at its best, with the lighted streets and the theaters and -the warm houses. Yes, Leslie, if I were rich——." She laughed. "How -strange it must seem to anyone who becomes suddenly rich! One hears -of girls marrying wealthy men, and stepping from poverty to luxury. -I suppose it must be confusing and bewildering at first; at least, -to most girls. I don't think it would be to you, Leslie," she added, -glancing up at her with a reflective smile. "I think if you were to -marry a duke you would take it quite calmly and as a matter of course. -Somehow when I am looking at you, when you are bending over the books, -or, better still, when you are standing at the window with your arms -folded and that strange far-away look in your eyes, I think what a pity -it is that you are not a great lady. You are so tall, and—and—what is -the word?—distingué, that I fancy you dressed in white satin with a -long train, and hear you being called 'your grace.'"</p> - -<p>Leslie bit her lip.</p> - -<p>"I am not distingué or so foolish as to believe all you say, Lucy," she -said, scarcely knowing what she said, for the aimless chatter had set -her heart aching; not for the loss of the dukedom, but the man. "Where -are we?"</p> - -<p>Lucy laughed with a gentle triumph.</p> - -<p>"If I don't know half so much of other things as you do, I know London -better," she said. "We are coming out into St. James', and we will walk -into the Park and through Pall Mall, and then take a bus, your grace."</p> - -<p>Leslie stopped and laid her hand on Lucy's arm.</p> - -<p>"Don't—don't call me that," she said, so gravely, almost sternly, that -Lucy looked up half frightened.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon. I am so sorry, Leslie, if I——."</p> - -<p>"No, no," broke in Leslie, ashamed of the agitation into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> which Lucy's -idle badinage had thrown her. "Call me what you like, dear."</p> - -<p>Lucy looked up at her timidly and wonderingly, and was silent; and -Leslie had to force herself to talk to restore her companion's peace of -mind.</p> - -<p>They went into the Park, talking of the future and their chances.</p> - -<p>"It will not be long now," said Lucy. "Oh, how I long for the day when -we shall hold those certificates in our hands! I shall be so proud and -glad that I shall scarcely be able to contain myself. I shall have to -telegraph to mother; it will cost eighteenpence, for they are two miles -from the telegraph office; but I don't care. And you'll wire, too, -Leslie——."</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"I have no one to tell," she said; "at least I shall save the -eighteenpence," and she smiled gravely.</p> - -<p>"You will have me, at any rate," murmured Lucy gently, and Leslie pressed -her hand gratefully.</p> - -<p>They wandered in the Park—what a host of memories it calls up to him -who knows his history of London, that same Park!—until the twilight -came, and then turned homewards.</p> - -<p>As they passed down Pall Mall they met the broughams and cabs rolling -home to the West, and Lucy, regarding them with a pleasant interest, -remarked—</p> - -<p>"They are all going home. It is their dinnertime; see, some of the -women are in evening dress. Yes, it must be nice to be rich and great; -but we are happy, we two, are we not, Leslie dear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie, and she tried to speak the word cheerfully.</p> - -<p>"These are the famous clubs, are they not?" said Lucy, looking up at -the stately buildings, through the windows of which the lights were -beginning to glimmer.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"How strange it seems that there should be so many people who have -nothing whatever to do, who have never worked, and who have so much -money as to find it a nuisance, while others have to work every day of -their lives, and all their lives, and have never a spare penny. Look, -Leslie, there are some gentlemen going into that club—I suppose it is -a club. How grand and nice they look in their evening dress! It must be -nice to be a rich gentleman instead of——."</p> - -<p>She broke off suddenly, alarmed by a sharp cry that seemed to force -itself through Leslie's lips.</p> - -<p>They had come within a few yards of the club into which the men Lucy -had noticed had disappeared, and Leslie's absent, preoccupied eyes had -fallen upon another man who was coming towards them.</p> - -<p>He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, but he was walking with a -slow, listless gait, and his head was bent as if he neither knew nor -cared where he was going.</p> - -<p>Leslie knew him in a moment. It was Yorke.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> - -<p>And yet could it be? Could this weary-looking, listless man with his -hands thrust into his light overcoat pocket, with his drooping head, -be Yorke with the straight broad shoulders, the figure upright as -a dart, the well-poised head, the handsome face with its cheerful -devil-may-care look in the bright eyes? Oh, surely not Yorke, not her -Yorke as she remembered him in the street at Portmaris, on the beach, -beside her on the tower at St. Martin's?</p> - -<p>After that one cry she made no sign, but drew back a step so that Lucy -could screen her from him if he chanced to look up.</p> - -<p>He came towards them like a man walking in a dream, and as he reached -their side he raised his head and looked at them. Leslie had hard work -to keep the cry that rose in her heart from escaping her lips.</p> - -<p>It was Yorke's face; but how changed! How weary and sad and -hopeless—and, yes, reckless! There was that in the dark eyes which -she, an innocent girl, did not understand; but instinctively a pang -went through her heart, and she trembled, she knew not why.</p> - -<p>His eyes, with that strange, awful look in them, rested on their faces -for a moment, then dropped again and he passed on. He went up the steps -of the club, but turned and stood just outside the door, and Leslie, -almost sinking with agitation, hurried on.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter? Leslie dear, you frighten me!" said Lucy. "Are you -ill?"</p> - -<p>"No—yes!" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>She walked swiftly and yet tremblingly up a side street, and stood -there, out of the reach of those eyes, shaking like a leaf.</p> - -<p>"You are ill!" said Lucy, catching her arm. "We have walked too -far—you are tired. Oh, what is it, dear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am tired," said Leslie when she could command her voice. "That -is it. We—we must have a cab. Stay! Not here, come farther up the -street——."</p> - -<p>Lucy called a cab, and Leslie sank back, her hands clasped tightly, her -face white as death behind her veil.</p> - -<p>"You frighten me, Leslie!" said Lucy, holding her hand. "And you look -so frightened yourself. What is it, dear? You look as if you had seen a -ghost."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie, but in so low a voice that Lucy could not hear her. -"Yes, I have seen a ghost."</p> - -<p>Yorke stood on the steps of the club with downcast face and moody eyes -for some half minute, then the eyes lit up with a sombre light, and -going down the steps he crossed the road and laid his hand sharply on -the shoulder of a man who was lounging against a post. The man looked -up, but he did not appear surprised.</p> - -<p>"You're watching me!" said Yorke, and his voice matched his face—it -was hard and stern. "You have been watching me for the last two days. -Don't trouble to deny it!"</p> - -<p>The man, whose appearance was like that of a respectable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> servant out -of livery, a butler out of place, for instance, touched his hat.</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester, I think, sir?" he said coolly, yet not disrespectfully.</p> - -<p>"You know my name well enough," said Yorke a little less sternly, as if -he were too weary to be resentful. "Who are you and what do you want? -I have seen you following me for the last two days. Why do you do it? -What is it?"</p> - -<p>The man took a paper from his pocket, and just touched Yorke's arm with -his finger, as if he were going through some form.</p> - -<p>"I am a sheriff's officer, my lord," he said, "and this is my writ."</p> - -<p>Yorke looked at him and at the paper.</p> - -<p>"What writ?" he said, not angrily, but with obvious indifference.</p> - -<p>"A matter of five bills overdue, my lord. Judgment has been signed a -week ago——."</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"You might as well talk Arabic, my man," he said listlessly. "I know -nothing about the law——."</p> - -<p>"Certainly not, my lord," said the man, as if he would not insult his -lordship by suggesting such knowledge. "It isn't to be expected. But -your lordship has had the former summonses——."</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Delivered at you rooms at Bury Street, my lord——."</p> - -<p>"I see," said Yorke. He had not opened a letter that looked like a -business one since—since the hour he had learnt that Leslie had -"jilted" him. "I see. What do you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>"Only to go home, my lord, and put in an appearance to-morrow, at the -court, you know."</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Yorke. "Why have you watched me?"</p> - -<p>"Well, my lord, we had information—in fact, we've sworn it—that you -intended leaving the country——."</p> - -<p>"I did," said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Just so, my lord, and I was keeping my eye on you. I could have -arrested you—it's a City process—if you'd attempted to leave one of -the English ports."</p> - -<p>Yorke smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>"You must have had some trouble," he said.</p> - -<p>The man smiled and nodded.</p> - -<p>"Indeed I have, my lord. You nearly walked me off my legs. I never -shadowed such a restless gentleman, begging your lordship's pardon. I -must have walked—oh, law knows how many miles, following you, and it's -a wonder to me we ain't both knocked up."</p> - -<p>Yorke gave him a sovereign.</p> - -<p>"Go home," he said. "You need follow me no longer. I will attend the -court, wherever it is. Stop, what is the name of the man who does all -this, the man I owe the money to?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Ralph Duncombe, my lord."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke repeated the name vacantly.</p> - -<p>"I don't know him. I never heard of him," he said. "But it does not -matter. I owe a great many persons money, and he may be one of them. -Good-night," and he walked away, his head down again, his hands in his -pockets.</p> - -<p>The man looked after him with a puzzled countenance, and turned over -the sovereign Yorke had given him.</p> - -<p>"One of the right sort he is," he muttered. "But ain't he down on his -luck? I've seen a good many of 'em in Queer Street, but none of 'em -looked half so bad as that. If I was his friends I should take his -razors away!"</p> - -<p>Yorke reached Bury Street, but before he could ring, the door opened, -and Fleming with a scared face stood before him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my lord!" he began. "Better not come up—go to the club, my lord, -and I'll bring your things——."</p> - -<p>Yorke put him aside gently and went slowly up the stairs.</p> - -<p>A man—own brother in appearance to the man in the street—was sitting -on the sofa. He got up as Yorke entered, and touched his forehead.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Yorke.</p> - -<p>"I'm the man in possession, my lord," said the man respectfully enough.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> - -<h3>CLEANED OUT.</h3> - - -<p>A man in possession! Yorke looked at him half vacantly.</p> - -<p>"Do you mean that you are going to stop here?" he said—"that you have -got to stop here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord, I'm sorry to say," said the man. "Somebody's got to be -here to see that none of the things is removed."</p> - -<p>Fleming, standing behind his master, groaned. Yorke turned to him quite -coolly.</p> - -<p>"Give the man something to eat and drink and make him comfortable. He -can't help it, poor devil! Bring me some cigars and my letters into the -dressing-room."</p> - -<p>He sat down and lighted a cigar, and opened the letters which had been -lying disregarded for weeks, and as he looked through them he saw that -he was in a worse mess than he had ever before been. All his other -money troubles were trifles and child's play compared with this.</p> - -<p>There was not a worse business man in London than Yorke, and he did not -understand half the legal documents, the summonses, the orders of the -court which he opened and stared at; but the prominence and frequency -of one name in the whole business struck him.</p> - -<p>"Who on earth is Ralph Duncombe?" he asked himself. "Levison I know, -and Moses Arack I know, and this man, and this. I remember having -money from them; but Ralph Duncombe—" No, he could not recall the -man's name. But after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> all it did not matter. It was evident that his -creditors had all combined to swoop down upon him at once, and the -avalanche would crush him unless he got some help. And where should he -turn? It would be useless to attempt to borrow money through the usual -channels. No doubt the news that he was going to marry a penniless girl -instead of the rich heiress, Lady Eleanor Dallas, had leaked out, and -all the money-lenders, who hung together like bees, would refuse to -lend him a silver sixpence.</p> - -<p>Dolph! He almost started at the thought of him, for two days ago the -duke, who had been seriously ill, had started for the Continent, and -Yorke did not even know in which direction; for, to tell the truth, -Yorke had avoided the duke and every other friend and acquaintance -since the day he had been convinced that Leslie had thrown him over.</p> - -<p>No doubt the duke would lend him the money—would give him twice as -much as was necessary, though the sum-total was a large one—but the -money must be forthcoming at once. The man had said he would have to -appear in the court in the city to-morrow—or was it the next day? Good -heavens! appear as a common defaulter in a public court!</p> - -<p>He smiled grimly. So far as he was concerned, he felt, in the humor he -was then in, that he did not care a button what became of him. When -you have reached the point at which life is a burden and a nuisance it -does not matter whether you are ruined or not. But there were other -people to think of. There was Dolph and Lord Eustace and all his other -relatives. How would they take it when they opened their newspapers and -read of the appearance of Lord Yorke Auchester, "cousin of the Duke -of Rothbury," in a debtors' court in the city? Lord Eustace, who was -always talking of his 'nerves,' would have a fit.</p> - -<p>Now, most men would have gone to a lawyer, but Yorke knew that it would -be of little or no use troubling a lawyer with this business. What was -wanted was money, and no lawyer would lend it to him without security; -and as for security—why, there was already a man in possession of the -few things he owned in this transitory world.</p> - -<p>Fleming knocked at the door, and in answer to a cold "come in," entered.</p> - -<p>"Did you ring, my lord?" he said.</p> - -<p>"You know I didn't," said Yorke. "What is it? You look upset, Fleming," -and he smiled the smile which is not good to see on the lips of any -man, young or old, simple or gentle.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, my lord," said Fleming, who was genuinely attached to his -master, and who had watched the change in him with sincere grief and -regret, "but I thought you would want to send me somewhere, perhaps."</p> - -<p>Yorke smiled.</p> - -<p>"The best thing I could do for you would be to send you about your -business!" he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, don't say that, my lord," remonstrated Fleming. "I'm—I'm afraid -something is wrong, my lord—"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Yorke, grimly. "Something is very much wrong, Fleming. The -fact is I am up a tree; cleaned out and ruined."</p> - -<p>"Ruined?"</p> - -<p>"That's it," assented Yorke, coolly. "I've been hard up, once or twice -before—you know that, Fleming?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, my lord."</p> - -<p>"But this is the finale, the climax, the wind up. But don't let -me stand in your light. Look here, you have been a deuced good -servant—yes, and a friend to me, and as it won't do you any good to be -mixed up in this beastly mess you had better go at once. Lord Vinson -has often told me that if I wanted to get rid of you he'd be glad to -take you on. So you go to him—I'll give you a letter and—"</p> - -<p>For the first time in his exemplary life Fleming was guilty of vulgar -language.</p> - -<p>"I'm damned if I do!" he said. "I beg your pardon, my lord, I humbly -beg your lordship's pardon, but I'm not that kind of a man—I'm not, -indeed;" and there was something very much like water in the honest -fellow's eyes. "I shouldn't think of leaving your lordship while you -were up a tree, as your lordship puts it. I should never look myself in -the face again. I'm much obliged to Lord Vinson; but no, my lord. I'm -not the man to desert a good and kind master in misfortune. I beg your -lordship's pardon, but I thought—" He hesitated respectfully.</p> - -<p>"Think away," said Yorke, lighting another cigar and tilting his hat -back. "Perhaps your thinking will be more valuable than mine. I've been -thinking, and can see no way out of the mess."</p> - -<p>"The—the duke, my lord," suggested Fleming. "I'm sure he—"</p> - -<p>"So am I, Fleming; but the duke has left for the Continent, and I don't -know where he has gone, and this paper says that I've got to show up at -the court in the city at once."</p> - -<p>"And it will all be in the newspapers!" said Fleming aghast. To be 'in -the newspapers' was the direct disgrace and calamity in the eyes of -that worthy man.</p> - -<p>"Just so," said Yorke, knocking the ashes off his cigar. "You see, -Fleming, I am in a hole out of which it is impossible to pull me. Never -you mind; after all, it doesn't matter."</p> - -<p>"Doesn't it matter, my lord?" echoed Fleming, startled. "You—you who -are so well known to—to appear in court!"</p> - -<p>"And get six months—is it six months or six weeks? I don't know—I -don't know anything; but I suppose I shall, and pretty quickly. Never -mind. Look here; see that man in the next room has all he wants."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes; all right, my lord," said Fleming, with a touch of -impatience, "All he wants is beer, and I've given him half a dozen -bottles."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke laughed and leaned back in the chair.</p> - -<p>"All right. Bring any letters that may come; I should like to know the -worst."</p> - -<p>Fleming went out, but appeared again in a few minutes.</p> - -<p>"Will you want me for half an hour or three-quarters, my lord?" he -said, in a thoughtful, troubled kind of way.</p> - -<p>"No. Going after that place, Fleming? Better."</p> - -<p>Fleming colored and opened his lips; but he did not say anything; and -Yorke, left alone again, leaned his head on his hand and gave himself -up to gloomy reverie.</p> - -<p>A man in possession in the next room, a summons to appear in a -debtors' court, his name in the newspapers as a ruined man! It was -all bad enough, but he scarcely felt it. He had endured the maximum -of suffering when he had become convinced that Leslie had jilted -him, and this—well, this was, so to speak, almost a relief and a -diversion. And yet the disgrace! He passed a very bad half hour in -that dressing-room—a half hour in which there rose the specter of an -ill-spent past in which follies marched in ghostly procession before -him, and all, as they promenaded by, whispered hoarsely, "Ruin!" And -yet, through it all he saw more plainly than anything else the sweet -face of Leslie, the only woman he had ever loved—the woman who had -seemed to him an angel of truth and constancy, but who had deserted him -the moment she had heard that he was not a duke.</p> - -<p>Fleming, meanwhile, had put on his hat and sallied into the street. -He had left his beloved master utterly reckless and indifferent, and -therefore it rested with him, the devoted servant, to display all the -more energy. That he should sit still and see Lord Yorke drift into -utter ruin and destruction was simply impossible.</p> - -<p>"Something's got to be done," he said to himself, "and I've got to do -it. He isn't going to appear at any court; not if I know it! What! my -guv'nor, the cousin of a duke, to come up before a beak—some miserable -city alderman?" Fleming's ideas of the city law courts were, like his -master's, hazy. "Certainly not—not if I have to move heaven and earth! -Now, if the duke was at home I could see Mr. Grey, and we could arrange -this little matter between us; but as he isn't, why, the thing to do is -to go to the next person, and that is, naturally, Lady Eleanor Dallas. -It isn't likely that she'd see Lord Yorke in such a hole as this -without helping him out; and she's rich, and richer than ever lately. -I'll try her!"</p> - -<p>He called a hansom and had himself driven to Kensington Palace Gardens.</p> - -<p>"Anyhow, her ladyship can only refuse to see me," he said to himself. -"But I don't think she will;" and "he winked the other eye."</p> - -<p>Oh! my friends, do you think our servants are deaf, and dumb, and -blind? They know all our little secrets and our little difficulties; -all our little entanglements. There is scarcely a letter we receive -that, unless we lock it up securely, they do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> not read. No friend ever -visits us but they know all about him and his, and whom his daughter is -engaged to, or why the engagement is broken off.</p> - -<p>Therefore let us be grateful to a kind Providence for the servants who -are also devoted and trusty friends, such as was Fleming.</p> - -<p>When Fleming reached Kensington Palace Gardens he was told by one of -the footmen that Lady Eleanor was engaged.</p> - -<p>"You've come with a message from Lord Auchester, Mr. Fleming, I -suppose?" said the footman.</p> - -<p>Fleming was an 'upper servant' and was always addressed by those -beneath him as 'Mr.,' and he was very much respected on his own account -as one who had saved money and was in 'good society.'</p> - -<p>"Well, no, I haven't," said Fleming, gravely, and a little pompously. -"I've come on business of my own."</p> - -<p>The footman took his name into the boudoir where Lady Eleanor was -sitting with no other than Mr. Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>She flushed slightly.</p> - -<p>"It is Lord Auchester's valet," she said.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe looked up with a slight start.</p> - -<p>"I do not wish him to see me, Lady Eleanor," he said.</p> - -<p>"No, no; oh, no! I understand," she said nervously.</p> - -<p>"And yet I should like to know what he has to say."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor pointed to a large four-fold Japanese screen which cut off -one of the corners of the room.</p> - -<p>"He will not be here many minutes," she said.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe went behind the screen, and Lady Eleanor rang the bell -and told the footman she would see Fleming.</p> - -<p>He came in, looking rather nervous and embarrassed, for it was a bold -thing he was going to do, and he knew that Lady Eleanor could look and -speak haughtily and sternly when she was displeased.</p> - -<p>"You want to see me, Fleming?" she said, graciously enough. "Is it a -message from Lord Auchester?"</p> - -<p>"No, my lady," he said, and like a man of the world he went straight to -the point. "No, my lady, his lordship does not know that I have come, -and if he had known I was coming I'm sure he would have forbidden me; -but I ventured to intrude on your ladyship, knowing that you and my -master were old friends, if I may say so."</p> - -<p>"Certainly you may say so, Fleming," said Lady Eleanor, pleasantly, and -looking as if she were expecting anything but bad news.</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady, my master is in a terrible trouble," he said, plunging -still further into the business.</p> - -<p>"In terrible trouble?" echoed Lady Eleanor; and her face flushed. "What -do you mean, Fleming?"</p> - -<p>"It's money matters, my lady," said Fleming, gravely, and looking -around as if he feared an eavesdropper. "His lordship—I'm obliged to -speak freely, my lady, or else you won't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> understand; but it's out of -no disrespect to his lordship, who has been the best of masters to me—"</p> - -<p>"Say what you have to say quite without reserve," said Lady Eleanor, in -a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady, I was going to say that his lordship has always been -hard up, as you may say. There's always been a difficulty with the -money. It's usual with high-spirited gentlemen like Lord Yorke," he -said, apologetically. "They don't know, and can't be expected to know, -the value of money like common ordinary folk, and so they—well, they -outrun the constable."</p> - -<p>"Lord Auchester is in debt?" said Lady Eleanor, guardedly.</p> - -<p>"It's worse than that, my lady," said Fleming. "That would be nothing, -for ever since I've been in his service he has been in debt. But now -the people he owes money to want him to pay them."</p> - -<p>He gave the information as though it were the most extraordinary and -unnatural conduct on the part of any creditor of Lord Auchester that he -should want payment.</p> - -<p>"People who owe money must pay it some time, Fleming," suggested Lady -Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"Yes—ah, yes, my lady, some time," admitted Fleming, "but not all -at once. It seems as if the people my lord owes money to had joined -together and resolved to drop upon him in a heap. There's a man in -possession in Bury Street, my lady."</p> - -<p>"A man in possession!" repeated Lady Eleanor, as if she scarcely -understood.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a bailiff, my lady, sitting there in his lordship's sitting-room; -and I daresn't throw him out of the window."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked down.</p> - -<p>"And—and Lord Yorke, Fleming—I suppose he is in great trouble about -this?"</p> - -<p>Fleming hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady, he is in great trouble; but if you mean is he cut up -about this money matter, I can't say that he is. He don't seem to care -one bit about it, and takes it as cool and indifferent as if—well, as -if nothing mattered. But he is in great trouble for all that, and he -has been for weeks past—"</p> - -<p>He hesitated.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked up.</p> - -<p>"You had better tell me everything, I think, Fleming," she said, in a -low voice.</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady, it's just thus: His lordship had a blow—a -disappointment of some kind. It isn't money, it isn't betting, or -card-playing, or I should have heard of it, for his lordship generally -makes some remarks, such as 'I've had a good day, Fleming,' or, 'I'm -stone broke, Fleming,' so that I know what kind of luck he's had; it -isn't that. It's something worse—if there is anything worse," he put -in philosophically. "A little while ago his lordship was in the very -best of spirits; I never saw him in better, and he's a bright-hearted -gentleman, as you know, my lady. I'm speaking of the time when he came -back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> from that place in the country where he and his grace the duke -were—Portmaris."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor leaned her head on her hand so that her face was hidden -from him.</p> - -<p>"Then all of a sudden a change came, and his lordship got bad, very -bad. It was dreadful to see him, my lady. Eat nothing, cared for -nothing; scarcely even spoke. Nothing but smoke, smoke, all day, and -wander in and out looking like the ghost of himself. And he, who used -to be so bright and cheerful, with the laugh always ready! I'd have -given something to have spoken a word, and asked him what was the -matter; but—well, my lady, with all his pleasantness, my master's the -last gentleman to take a liberty with."</p> - -<p>"You don't know what it was, this terrible disappointment?" said Lady -Eleanor, almost inaudibly.</p> - -<p>Fleming hesitated and glanced at her; then he coughed discreetly behind -his hand.</p> - -<p>It was sufficient answer, and Lady Eleanor's face grew red.</p> - -<p>"Whatever it was that made him so happy and cheerful, it was knocked -on the head and put an end to, my lady," he said. "And so it is that -this regular smash-up of affairs—I mean these summonses and man in -possession—don't seem to affect him. You see, my lady, he was as low -down as he could be already. Sometimes—" He stopped, and looked down -at the carpet very gravely and anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady, it isn't for me to say such a thing, but I've been -almost afraid to let him out of my sight in the morning, and I've been -truly thankful to see him come in at night."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor drew a long breath and shuddered.</p> - -<p>"You mean—"</p> - -<p>"Men, when they're down as low as my master, they do rash things -sometimes, my lady," said Fleming, in a solemn whisper.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's face went white, and she put her hand to her delicate -throat as if she were suffocating.</p> - -<p>"You—you should not say—hint—at such terrible things, Fleming," she -panted.</p> - -<p>"I—I beg your ladyship's pardon," he said, humbly, "but it's the truth -and—and I thought I ought to tell you, being his lordship's friend."</p> - -<p>"Yes—yes, I am his friend," she said, as if she scarcely knew what she -was saying. "And I will try to help him."</p> - -<p>Fleming's face brightened.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my lady!" he said, gratefully.</p> - -<p>"Stop!" she said. "Your master, Lord Yorke, must not know;" and her -face grew crimson again.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, no, my lady! Certainly not! Why, if his lordship ever knew -that I'd come to you—" He stopped and shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I understand," said Lady Eleanor. "No, Lord Yorke must never know—no -one must know—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I should have gone to the duke, my lady, but his grace is abroad, as -no doubt your ladyship knows."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor turned her head aside. She and Ralph Duncombe had timed -the attack on Yorke for the moment when the duke should be beyond reach.</p> - -<p>"His grace would have helped my master, I know; and I'd have made bold -to write to him, but there isn't time."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No, no," she said. "He must not know—no one must know. You need -not be anxious any longer, Fleming. You were right in coming to me -and—and—" She sunk into the chair.</p> - -<p>Fleming heaved a sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>"Very well, my lady. I don't know much about it, but the person who -seems the principal in this set upon his lordship is a man named -Duncombe—a money-lender, I expect. They take all sorts of names. I -wish I had him to myself for a quarter of an hour. I'd teach him to put -a man in possession—begging your ladyship's pardon," he broke off.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's face reddened, and she glanced toward the screen.</p> - -<p>"You had better go back now, Fleming," she said, "and—and don't leave -Lord Auchester more than you can help. And, remember, not one word that -might lead him to guess that you have been to me."</p> - -<p>"You may be sure I shall be careful for my own sake, my lady," said -Fleming, with quiet emphasis; and, with a bow in which gratitude and -respect were fairly divided, he left the room.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe came from behind the screen and stood looking down at -Lady Eleanor, whose proud head was bowed upon her hands.</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She looked up. "Set him free—at once—at once!" she responded with -feverish impetuosity. "Did you not hear the man? That he actually -feared his master would—" She shuddered. "This must come to an end at -once. It will drive him mad!"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>"I heard the man say that it was not the money trouble that was -affecting Lord Auchester," he said. "It seems to me, Lady Eleanor, that -we have taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. This marriage which -you so much dreaded was broken off before any plans to prevent it were -put in operation. The—the young lady had disappeared—"</p> - -<p>She looked up suddenly as he stopped and bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"Disappeared? How do you know?" she exclaimed breathlessly.</p> - -<p>His face was as pale as hers, but was set and stern.</p> - -<p>"Well, I thought I had better run down to this place, Portmaris, -and see for myself how matters were going," he said, in a kind of -business-like coolness and indifference, "and—and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> found that -Miss—what is her name?" he asked, as if he had forgotten.</p> - -<p>"Lisle—Leslie Lisle," said Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes! Miss Lisle had flown."</p> - -<p>"Flown?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, flown and disappeared. Disappeared so completely that all my -efforts to discover her track failed."</p> - -<p>He still spoke calmly and with affected indifference, but if she -herself had not been so agitated she would have noticed the pallor of -his face and the restless movement of his hands.</p> - -<p>"What—what do you think it means?" she asked, in a whisper.</p> - -<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"A lovers' quarrel—but no; it is more shame than that. Yes; I should -say that the engagement was broken off for some reason or other, so -that you have had all this trouble and expense for nothing, Lady -Eleanor."</p> - -<p>"And you can not find her? Disappeared?"</p> - -<p>He took up his hat.</p> - -<p>"Disappeared," he repeated, grimly.</p> - -<p>"And that is why he is wretched and unhappy," she said, with a sigh. -"How—how he must love her after all!" and her head drooped.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe moistened his lips.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "But perhaps she did not care for him. Any way, you see -it is she who has left him, not he who has left her."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, and she pushed the hair from her fair forehead with an -impatient gesture. "Oh, I cannot understand it! The engagement broken -off! Disappeared! But there must be an end to these law proceedings -now, Mr. Duncombe."</p> - -<p>"There can be only one way of terminating them," he said.</p> - -<p>"And that?"</p> - -<p>"Is by paying the money into court," he said. "The thing has gone too -far."</p> - -<p>"I see," she said. Then she held out her hand. "I will send or come to -you in the morning. I am too confused and—and upset even to think at -this moment."</p> - -<p>Fleming hastened back to Bury Street and found Yorke sitting as he -had left him, with the formidable-looking letters and papers littered -around him.</p> - -<p>Fleming picked them up and put them away, and got out Yorke's dress -clothes.</p> - -<p>"Don't trouble, Fleming, I shall dine at home," said Yorke; but Fleming -went on with his preparations.</p> - -<p>"Very sorry, my lord, but the kitchen grate is not in order." He didn't -intend that his master should eat his dinner in company with a man in -possession. "Better go and dine at the club, my lord, if I may make so -bold."</p> - -<p>Yorke got up with a grim smile.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you're right, Fleming," he said, listlessly. "I suppose they -never have anything the matter with the kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> grate at Holloway, or -whatever other quod it is they send people who can't pay their debts. -And what about these clothes, Fleming? Perhaps our friend in the next -room will object to my walking out in them."</p> - -<p>"I'd punch his head if he was to offer a remark on the subject," said -Fleming, fiercely. "I beg your lordship's pardon—if I might say a -word, my lord, I'd implore your lordship not to take this business too -much to heart; I mean not to worry too much over it. You never can tell -what may turn up."</p> - -<p>Yorke laughed drearily as he allowed Fleming to dress him.</p> - -<p>"I won't," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't feel so cut up as -you'd imagine, or as I ought, Fleming. I feel"—he stopped and looked -round absently—"well, as if I were another fellow altogether, and I -was just looking on, half sorry and half amused."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's right. Keep feeling like that, my lord," said Fleming, -cheeringly. "Depend upon it, it will come out right."</p> - -<p>Yorke shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"I dare say," he said, indifferently. "Don't sit up for me. I may be -late."</p> - -<p>He came in a little after two in the morning, and Fleming could have -been almost glad if his beloved master had showed signs of having spent -a 'warm' night; but Yorke was 'more than sober,' and looked only weary -and sick at heart, as he had done for weeks past.</p> - -<p>"Oh, by the way, Fleming," he said, as he took off his coat, and as -if he had suddenly remembered it, "you must call me pretty early -to-morrow. I have to be down in the city, you know."</p> - -<p>That was all.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> - -<h3>BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.</h3> - - -<p>A city law court is not exactly the place in which to spend a happy -day—unless you happen to be a lawyer engaged in a profitable case -there—and Yorke, as he entered the stuffy, grimy, murky chamber, -looked round with a feeling of surprise and grim interest.</p> - -<p>Upon the bench sat the judge in a much-worn gown and a grubby wig. A -barrister was drowsing away in the 'well' of the court, and his fellows -were sleeping or stretching and yawning round him.</p> - -<p>The public was represented by half a dozen seedy-looking individuals -who all looked as if they had not been to bed for a month and had -forgotten to wash themselves for a like period. There was an usher, who -yawned behind his wand, one or two policemen with wooden countenances, -and two or three wretched-looking individuals, who were, like Yorke, -defendants in various suits.</p> - -<p>The entrance of this stalwart, well-dressed and decidedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -distinguished and aristocratic personage created a slight sensation -for a moment or two; then he seemed to be forgotten, and he stood and -looked on, and wondered how soon his case would be heard, and whether -he would be carried away to jail forthwith.</p> - -<p>He waited for a half hour or so, feeling that he was growing dirty and -grimy like the rest of the people round him, and gradually the sense of -the disgrace and humiliation of his position stole over him.</p> - -<p>Great heavens, to what a pass he had come! He had lost Leslie. He was -now to lose good name and honor—everything! Would it not be better -for himself and everybody connected with him if he went outside and -purchased a dose of prussic acid?</p> - -<p>The suspense, the stuffy court, the droning voice of the counsel began -to drive him mad.</p> - -<p>He went up to the usher. "Can you tell me when my case comes on?" he -said.</p> - -<p>The man looked at him sleepily.</p> - -<p>"Your case—what name?" he asked, without any 'sir,' and with a kind of -drowsy impertinence, which seemed to be in strict harmony with the air -of the place.</p> - -<p>"Auchester!" said Yorke. "I am the—the defendant."</p> - -<p>"Horchester? Don't know. Ask the clerk," said the man.</p> - -<p>With a sick feeling of shame Yorke went up to the man pointed out by -the usher and put the same question to him.</p> - -<p>"Auchester? Duncombe versus Auchester; Levison versus Auchester; Arack -versus Auchester?" said the clerk, in a dry, business-like way.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I dare say that's it," said Yorke, hating the sound of his own -name.</p> - -<p>The clerk looked down a list, then raised his eyes with the faintest of -smiles.</p> - -<p>"Scratched out," he said, curtly.</p> - -<p>"Scratched out?" echoed Yorke, blankly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir—my lord," said the clerk, who, while looking at the list, -had come upon Yorke's title. "The cases have been removed from the -list. Settled."</p> - -<p>"Settled? I don't understand," said Yorke, staring at him. "I've only -just come down—I've paid nothing."</p> - -<p>"Some one else has, then, my lord," said the clerk. "Wait a moment till -this case is heard; it will be over directly, and I'll explain."</p> - -<p>Yorke, feeling like a man in a dream, stepped into a corner and waited. -Presently the court adjourned for luncheon, and the clerk came toward -him.</p> - -<p>"This way, my lord." He led Yorke into an office. "Now, my lord. Yes, -all the cases have been discharged from the list—been settled this -morning."</p> - -<p>"This morning?" echoed Yorke, mechanically, still with a vast -amazement. "But—but who—I don't know who could have done this. I have -not, for the best of all reasons. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> came down here prepared to go to -prison, or wherever else you sent me."</p> - -<p>The clerk raised his brows and shook his head gravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, you would have been committed, my lord, for a certainty," he -said. "You see, you let things slide too long. But there is no fear -now. The money, all of it, has been paid. You are quite free, quite. I -congratulate your lordship."</p> - -<p>"But—but"—stammered Yorke, and he put his hand to his brow—"who can -have done it—paid it? Is it the Duke of Rothbury?"</p> - -<p>Could Dolph have heard of it in some extraordinary way and sent the -money?</p> - -<p>The clerk went into the inner office for a few minutes, then he came -back with a slip of paper in his hand.</p> - -<p>"I don't know whether I am doing right, my lord," he said, gravely, and -even cautiously. "Perhaps I ought not to give you this information, but -I trust to your lordship's discretion. You won't get me into a scrape, -my lord?"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" said Yorke, "who is it?"</p> - -<p>The clerk handed him the slip of paper.</p> - -<p>It was a check on Coutts' for a large—a very large—sum, and it was -signed "Eleanor Dallas."</p> - -<p>"Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>The name broke in a kind of sigh from Yorke's lips, and his face -reddened. But it was pale again as he handed the check back to the -clerk.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," he said.</p> - -<p>He stood and looked vacantly before him as if he had forgotten where he -was; then he woke with a start.</p> - -<p>"Then I can go?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Certainly, my lord," said the clerk. "As I said, you are quite free. -There are no actions against you now; everything is squared—paid."</p> - -<p>Yorke thanked him again, wished him good-day, and got outside.</p> - -<p>Everything paid—and by Eleanor!</p> - -<p>He repeated this as he walked from the city to the west; as he tramped -slowly, with downcast head, across Hyde Park.</p> - -<p>He told himself that he ought to be grateful; that he could not feel -too grateful to the woman who had come to his aid and saved him from -ruin and disgrace.</p> - -<p>But he knew why she had done it, and he knew what he ought to do in -return. The least he could do would be to go and kneel at her feet, and -ask her to accept the life which she had snatched from disgrace. And -why shouldn't he? The only woman he had ever loved had proved false, -and mercenary, and base, and there was nothing now to prevent him -asking Lady Eleanor to be his wife; and yet, alas! he could not get -that other face out of his mind or heart.</p> - -<p>He thought of her—she haunted him as he walked along; the clear gray -eyes, so tender one moment, so full of fire and humor the next; the -dark hair, the graceful figure, the sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> voice. "Oh, Leslie, Leslie! -if you had but been true!" was the burden of his heart's wail.</p> - -<p>He looked up and found himself close upon Palace Gardens; unconsciously -his feet had moved in that direction. He rang the bell of Lady -Eleanor's door.</p> - -<p>Yes, her ladyship was at home, the footman said, and said it in that -serene, confident tone which a servant uses when he knows that his -mistress will be glad to see the visitor.</p> - -<p>Yorke followed the man to the small drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Lady Denby was there tying up some library books.</p> - -<p>She started slightly as she saw his altered appearance, but she was too -completely a woman of the world to let him see the start.</p> - -<p>"Why, Yorke!" she said, "what a stranger you are! We were only speaking -of you this morning at breakfast, and wondering where you were. Have -you been away? Sit down—or tie up those tiresome books for me, will -you? They slip and slide about in the most aggravating way. I'll go and -tell Eleanor; I fancy she was going out."</p> - -<p>She met Lady Eleanor in the hall, and drew her aside.</p> - -<p>"Yorke is in there, Eleanor," she said.</p> - -<p>"Yorke!"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor repeated the name and started almost guiltily, almost -fearfully.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I came to tell you, and—well, yes—prepare you. I don't want you -to do as I did—jump as if I'd seen a bogey man. He has been ill, or up -to some deviltry or other, and he looks—well, I can't tell you how he -looks. It gave me a shock. I thought I'd prepare you."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor touched her hand.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, dear. No, I won't look shocked. He looks very ill?"</p> - -<p>"Very ill, oh! worse than ill. Like a man who has robbed a church and -been found out, or lost everything he held dear."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor put her handkerchief to her lips. They were trembling.</p> - -<p>"I don't mind what he has been doing," she said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dear Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>"No, I don't. I'll go in now. Don't let any one disturb us. He—he may -have come to see me to talk about something."</p> - -<p>She went into the room, and Yorke turned to meet her. It was well that -she had been forewarned of the change in his appearance. As it was, she -could scarcely suppress the cry that rose to her lips.</p> - -<p>"Well, Yorke," she said, with affected lightness, "tying up aunt's -books? That is so like her. No one can come near her without getting -employed. What a shame to worry you!"</p> - -<p>"It doesn't worry me," he said.</p> - -<p>He leaned against the table and looked down at her. There is a picture -of Millais's—it is called, I think, 'A Hot-house Flower'—which Lady -Eleanor might have sat for that morning, so delicate, so graceful, so -refined and blanche was her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> beauty. She wore a loose dress of soft -cashmere, cream in color, almost Greek in fashion. Her hair was like -gold, her eyes placid yet tender, with a touch of subdued sadness and -anxiety in them. A charming, an irresistible picture, and one that -appealed to this man with the storm-beaten heart aching in his bosom.</p> - -<p>She glanced up at him, saw the haggard face, the dark rings round -the eyes, that indescribable look which pain and despair and utter -abandonment produce as plainly as the die stamps the hall-mark on the -piece of silver, and her heart yearned for him, for his love—yearned -for the right to comfort and soothe him. Ah! if he would only have it -so—if he would only let her, how happy she would make him! All this, -and much more, she felt; but she looked quite placid and serene—like a -dainty lily unstirred by the wind—and said in her soft voice:</p> - -<p>"We were thinking of advertising for you Yorke. Have you been away?"</p> - -<p>He might have answered: "Yes, I have been in the Valley of Sorrow and -Tribulation, on the Desert of Dead Love and Vain Hope," but instead he -replied:</p> - -<p>"No, just here in London; but I have been busy."</p> - -<p>She looked up and smiled.</p> - -<p>"Busy! That sounds so strange, and so comic, coming from you!"</p> - -<p>"And yet it is true," he said. "I have been busy thinking." If there -was a touch of bitterness in his voice she did not notice it. "And -that's hard work for me—it's so new, you see."</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment. He held the string with which he had -been tying up the books in his hands, and fidgeted with it restlessly. -Lady Eleanor dropped into small-talk. Had he been to the chrysanthemum -show at the Temple? Had he noticed that the Duchess of Orloffe was not -going to give her autumn ball? Did he—</p> - -<p>He broke in suddenly as if he had not been listening, his voice hoarse -and thick:</p> - -<p>"Eleanor, why did you do it?"</p> - -<p>"Why did I—do what, Yorke?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Why did you fling so much money away upon a worthless scamp?" His face -went white, then red.</p> - -<p>"Who told you?" she breathed.</p> - -<p>"They told me down at the court where I had gone to be disgraced," he -said, "and you saved me! How can I thank you, Eleanor? How can I? And -you would have done it in secret, would have kept it from me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, oh, yes," she murmured, her head drooping. "Don't—don't say -anything about it. It was nothing—nothing!" She looked up at him -eagerly, pleadingly. "Yorke, you will not think badly of me because I -did it? Why shouldn't I? I am rich—you don't know how rich—and what -better could I do with the stupid money than give it to a—a friend who -needed it more—ten thousand times more—than I do or ever shall! Don't -be angry with me, Yorke."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Angry!" The blood flew to his face and his eyes flashed. He drew -nearer to the chair in which she sat, he knelt on one knee beside her.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor, I am utterly worthless—you know that quite well. I was -not worth the saving, but as you have saved me, will you accept me? -Eleanor, will you be my wife?"</p> - -<p>Her face went white with the ecstasy which shot through her heart. Ah, -for how long had she thirsted, hungered for these words from his lips! -And they had come at last!</p> - -<p>"Will you be my wife, Eleanor? I will try to make you happy. I will do -my best, Heaven helping, to be a good husband to you! Stop, dear! If -you act wisely you will send me about my business! There are fifty—a -hundred better men who love you; you could scarcely have a worse than -I, but if you will say 'yes,' I will try and be less unworthy of you. -All my life I will never forget all that I owe you—never forget that -you saved me from ruin and disgrace. Now, dear, I—"</p> - -<p>She put out her hand to him without a word; then as he took it her -passion burst through the bonds in which she thought to bind it, and -she swayed forward and dropped upon his breast.</p> - -<p>"Yorke, Yorke, you know"—came through her parted lips—"you know I -love you—have always loved you!"</p> - -<p>"My poor Eleanor!" he said, almost indeed, quite pityingly. "Such a -bad, worthless lot as I am!"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" she panted. "No, no; the best, the highest to me! And—and if -you were not, it—it would be all the same. Oh, Yorke, be good, be kind -to me, for you are all the world to me!"</p> - -<p>They sat and talked hand in hand for some time, and once during that -talk he said:</p> - -<p>"By the way, Eleanor, how did you hear I was in such a mess—how did -you come to know?"</p> - -<p>It was a very natural question under the circumstances; but Lady -Eleanor started and turned white, absolutely white with fear.</p> - -<p>"No, no; not one word will I ever say or let you say about this stupid -money business!" she exclaimed. Then she took his hand and pressed it -against her cheek. "Why, sir, what does it matter? It was only—only -lending it to you for a little time, you see. It will all be yours -soon."</p> - -<p>Lady Denby came in after a discreet cough outside; but Lady Eleanor did -not move or take her hand from Yorke's.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Lady Denby.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor has made me very happy, Lady Denby," he said, rising, but -still holding Lady Eleanor's hand.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Lady Denby again. "What do you want me to say? That you -deserve her? No, thank you, I couldn't tell such an obvious fib. What -I'm going to say in the shape of congratulation is that she is much too -good for you."</p> - -<p>"That is so," he said with a grim smile.</p> - -<p>"You'll stay to dinner?" murmured Lady Eleanor. "You will stay, Yorke?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, bending down and kissing her—"yes, thanks. But I must -go and change my things. I'm awfully dirty and seedy."</p> - -<p>She went with him to the door, as if she begrudged every moment that he -should be out of her sight, and still smiled after he had left her and -had got half-way down the Gardens. Then suddenly he stopped and looked -round him with a ghostly look.</p> - -<p>And yet it was only the face of Leslie that had flashed across his -mental vision. Only the face of the girl who had jilted him!</p> - -<p>"My God! shall I never forget her?" he muttered, hoarsely. "Not even -now!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> - -<h3>A LITTLE SUNSHINE.</h3> - - -<p>The announcement of the engagement between Lord Auchester and Lady -Eleanor Dallas had appeared in the society papers a month ago, and the -world of 'the upper ten' had expended its congratulations and began -asking itself when the wedding was to take place, for it was agreed on -all hands that so excellent and altogether desirable a match could not -take place too soon.</p> - -<p>"He has been dreadfully wild, I'm told, my dear," said one gossip -to another, "and is as poor as a church mouse. But there is plenty -of money on her side; indeed, they say that lately she has become -fabulously rich, so that will be all right. Of course she might have -done better; but everybody knows she was ridiculously fond of him—oh! -quite too ridiculously. Gave herself away, in fact; and she goes about -looking so happy and victorious that it is really quite indecent!"</p> - -<p>"That is more than can be said of the bridegroom-elect," remarked -gossip number two, "for he looks as grave as a judge and as glum as an -undertaker. The mere prospect of matrimony seems to have taken all the -spirits out of him. Not like the same man, I assure you, my dear."</p> - -<p>It was autumn now. The greenery of the trees had turned to russet -and gold; a mystic stillness brooded softly over the country lanes; -the yellow corn waved sleepily to the soft breeze; the blackberries -darkened the hedge-rows, and on the roads lay, not thickly as yet, but -in twos and threes, the leaves of the oak and the chestnut. An air of -repose and quietude reigned over the land, as if nature, almost tired -of the sun and heat and the multitudinous noises of summer, were taking -a short nap to prepare itself for the rigor and robust energy of winter.</p> - -<p>In one of the loveliest of our country lanes stood a village school. -It was a picturesque little building of white stone and red tiles. The -tiny school-house adjoining it was so overgrown by ivy as to resemble -a green bower. There was a window at the back, and an orchard in which -the golden and ruddy apples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> were almost as thick as the blackberries -in the lanes. Everything in and about this school was the picture of -neatness. The curtains of white and pink muslin were exquisitely clean -and artistically draped behind the diamond-paned windows.</p> - -<p>The door-sills were as white as marble; the diminutive knocker on the -school-house door shone like a newly minted sovereign. Not a weed -showed its head in the small garden, which literally glowed with -single and double dahlias, sweet-scented stocks and many-colored -chrysanthemums. There was a little gate in the closely cut hedge, -which was painted a snowy white—in short, the tiny domain made a -picture which Millais or Marcus Stone or Leslie would have delighted to -transfer to canvas.</p> - -<p>From the open door of the school there issued a hum and buzz which -resembled that which proceeds from the door of a bee-hive, for -afternoon school was still on, and the pupils were still at their -lessons.</p> - -<p>The village—it was rather more than half a mile from the school—was -that of Newfold, a quiet, sleepy little place, which not even the -restless tourist seems to have discovered; a small cluster of houses, -with an inn, a church, and a couple of shops lying in the hollow -between the two ranges of Loamshire hills. A Londoner would tell -you that Newfold was at least five hundred years behind the times; -but, if it be so, Newfold does not care. There is enough plowing and -wood-cutting in winter, enough sowing and tilling in spring, enough -harvesting in autumn to keep the kettle boiling, and Newfold is quite -content. Some day one of those individuals who discover such places -will happen on it, write an article about it, attract attention to it, -and so ruin it; but he hasn't chanced to come upon it yet, and oh! let -us pray that he may keep off it for a long while; for Newfolds are -getting scarcer every year, and soon, if we do not take care, England -will become one vast, hideous plain of bricks and mortar, and there -will be no place in which we can take refuge from the fogs and smoke of -the great towns.</p> - -<p>In another quarter of an hour school would 'break up,' and the girls -were standing up singing the evening hymn which brought the day's work -to a close. In the center of the room stood a pleasant, fair-haired -young lady, whose eyes, mild and gentle as they were, seemed to be -looking everywhere. On a small platform stood another young lady with -dark hair and gray eyes. These were the two mistresses of the Newfold -village school, and their names were Leslie Lisle and Lucy Somes.</p> - -<p>Life is not all clouds and rain, thank God; the sun shines sometimes, -and the sun of good luck had shone upon Leslie and Lucy. It was good -luck that they should pass the much-dreaded examination, that ordeal -to which they had looked forward with such fear and trembling; it was -good luck that there should be two appointments vacant; but oh! it was -the superlative of luck that these appointments should be to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> same -school, and that the school should be here in peaceful Newfold!</p> - -<p>It seemed to Leslie as if misfortune had grown tired of buffeting her, -and had decided to leave her alone for a time. She could scarcely -believe her eyes when Lucy Somes ran into her room at Torrington Square -with the news that they were to be sent to the same school, and in her -beloved county. Of course influence had been used at headquarters by -Lucy's people, but Lucy persisted that luck had more to do with it than -anything else, and that Leslie had brought the good fortune; and it -did not lessen Lucy's happiness that Leslie, having obtained the most -marks at the exam., was given the post of head-mistress, and that she, -Lucy, was to be her subordinate. "It is quite right, dear," she said, -brightly and cheerfully. "Of course, you ought to be the first; any one -could see that at half a glance. You are ten times quicker and cleverer -than I, and, besides, if we are to be together—and oh! how delightful -it is to think that we are!—I would a thousand times rather you were -the principal!"</p> - -<p>"We will both be head-mistress, Lucy!" Leslie had said, as, with tears -in her eyes, she had put her arms round the good-natured girl, and -kissed her.</p> - -<p>They had only been four days at the school, but short as the time had -been they had grown fond of it—fond of the work and the children, -and who can tell how fond and proud of the little house that nestled -against the school building!</p> - -<p>Lucy was like a child in her unrestrained joy and delight, and if -Leslie took their good fortune more quietly, she was not lacking in -gratitude. In this new life she would not only find peace, please God, -but work—work that in time might bring her forgetfulness of the past. -And the forgetfulness, for which she prayed nightly, was as much of -happiness as she dared hope for.</p> - -<p>The lily that has been beaten down by the storm may live and bloom -still, but the chances are that it will never again rear its stately -head as of old.</p> - -<p>The evening hymn was finished; Leslie struck the bell on the desk -before her, and in her sweet voice said "Good-afternoon, children," and -with an answering "Good-afternoon, teachers," the children trooped out.</p> - -<p>Lucy went and stood beside Leslie, and watched the happy throng as it -ran laughing and shouting to the meadow.</p> - -<p>"How happy they are, Leslie, and how good, too! I am sure they are the -best children in the world! And many of them are so pretty and rosy; -and they are all healthy—all except two or three. I should hate to -have a school full of sickly, undergrown children, all peevish and -weary and discontented; but all ours are cheerful and willing."</p> - -<p>"They would find it hard to be otherwise where you are, Lucy," said -Leslie, looking at the happy face with a loving smile.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I—oh, yes; I'm cheerful enough," said Lucy, laughing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> and -blushing. "I'm just running over with happiness and contentment; but -I'm afraid that they couldn't get on very fast if I were quite alone -with them. They wouldn't mind me enough. Now you—"</p> - -<p>"Are they afraid of me?" said Leslie, smiling.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" Lucy hastened to respond. "Afraid? no, no! But they look up -to you, and think more of your good opinion already. Oh, I can see -that, short as the time has been. They were quite right up in London in -making you the head-mistress, dear. Are you tired, Leslie? It has been -rather hot for the time of year, and the children, good as they are, -make a noise. Does your head ache? I'm afraid you will find it rather -trying at first."</p> - -<p>"I am not tired, and my head doesn't ache in the least," said Leslie, -"and why should I, more than you, find it trying, Lucy? and, dear, I -want you to let me have the English history class. You have got more -than your fair share. Did you think that I should not notice it? I -believe you would take all the work if I would let you, you greedy -girl."</p> - -<p>Lucy blushed—she blushed on the slightest provocation.</p> - -<p>"I don't want you to work too hard, Leslie," she said. "You are not -strong yet, not nearly so strong as I am, and you felt the awful -grinding for that exam. more than I did because you were not used to -it, and had to do it in a shorter time; and so I am going to take care -of you."</p> - -<p>Leslie laughed.</p> - -<p>"Why, I could lift you up and carry you round the room, little girl!" -she said, in loving banter; "and it is I who have to take care of you. -But we'll take care of each other, Lucy. And now let us go in to tea."</p> - -<p>They went into the little house, and the small maid who was house-maid, -parlor-maid, and cook rolled into one, had set out the tea in the cosy -parlor, fragrant with the musk and mignonette which bloomed in the -window-box. Lucy looked round with a sigh of ineffable content.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it delicious, Leslie?" she exclaimed with bated breath. "I feel -like Robinson Crusoe!"</p> - -<p>"Robinson Crusoe with everything ready made for him and all the -luxuries?" said Leslie, laughingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's what I mean," assented Lucy naively. "All through I looked -forward to something like this, but my dreams never reached anything -half so delightful. For one thing, I never dreamed that I should have -you for a companion and friend. I thought that there would be sure to -be a thorn in my bed of roses, and that that thorn would probably take -the shape of a disagreeable head-mistress—some horrid, middle-aged, -disagreeable person who would be always complaining and scolding. But -you! Mother writes that I must have exaggerated just to please her when -I described the school and told her what you were like; but I didn't -exaggerate a bit. Oh, Leslie"—she stopped with a slice of bread and -butter half-way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> to her mouth—"do you think we are too happy—that -something will happen to spoil it all?"</p> - -<p>Leslie smiled.</p> - -<p>"I think not," she said. "It is only those who don't deserve to be -happy whose happiness doesn't last. Now you, Lucy—But give me some -more tea, and don't try and croak, because you make the most awful -failure of it."</p> - -<p>Lucy's face wreathed itself in its wonted smile again.</p> - -<p>"I wonder whether there are two happier girls in all the world than -you and I, Leslie?" she said. "What shall we do this evening—go for a -walk? You haven't been into the village yet. Will you come? It is such -a pretty, quaint little place, with the tiniest and most delightful -church you ever saw! Isn't it strange that we should be pitchforked -down here into a place we know nothing about and never heard of? It is -like Robinson Crusoe again. I hope the natives will not be savage!"</p> - -<p>Leslie looked up from the copy-book she was examining.</p> - -<p>"We shall have very little to do with the natives, savage or friendly, -Lucy," she said.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," assented Lucy, cheerfully. "I suppose the clergyman's -wife will call—Oh, I forgot! He said the first morning he came to read -prayers that he wasn't married. But the squire's lady will drive up in -a carriage and pair, and walk through the school with her eyeglass up. -But no one else will come to bother us. You see," she ran on, jumping -up to water the flowers in the window, "school-teachers are supposed to -be neither fish, flesh nor fowl—and not very good red herring. People -don't visit them."</p> - -<p>"That is good news for school-teachers, at any rate," said Leslie, -smiling.</p> - -<p>"Yes; we don't want anybody, do we, dear? You and I together can be -quite happy without the rest of the world. And now about our walk. -Shall we go, Leslie?"</p> - -<p>"I don't think I will this evening, Lucy. I will stay and go over these -books. But you shall go on a voyage of discovery, and bring back a full -and particular account of your adventures."</p> - -<p>"No, no! I'll stay," began Lucy. But Leslie looked up at her with the -expression Lucy had learned to know so well. "Very well, dear," she -said, gently. "I will just run into the village and order some things -we want and come straight back; and mind, you are not to do all those -copy-books, or I shall feel hurt and injured."</p> - -<p>Leslie worked away at her exercise books for some little time; then -she drew a chair up to the window, and, letting her hands lie in her -lap, enjoyed the rest which she had earned by a day's toil, but not -unexpected toil.</p> - -<p>As she sat there, looking out dreamily at the lane, which the setting -sun was filling with a golden haze, she felt very much like the Hermit -of St. Martin. She had refused to go down to the village with Lucy from -choice, and not from any sense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> duty toward the exercise books. She -felt that she and the world had, so to speak, done with each other, and -she shrunk from encountering new faces and the necessity of talking -to strangers. If fate would let her live out her life in this modest -cottage she would be contented to confine herself to the little garden -surrounding it, and perhaps the meadows beyond.</p> - -<p>With her children and her flowers she was convinced that she could -be, if not happy, at any rate not discontented. She had lived her -life, young as she was. Fate could give her no joy to equal that which -Yorke's love—or fancied love—had given; nor could it deal out to her -a more bitter sorrow than the loss of Yorke and her father. So let Lucy -act as a go-between between her and the outer world, and she (Leslie) -would work when she could, and when she could not, would live over -again in her mind and memory that happy past which had been summed up -in a few all too brief days.</p> - -<p>Of Yorke she had heard nothing. She had never read a society paper in -her life, and was not likely to have seen one during the last busy -month, so that she knew nothing of the engagement between him and Lady -Eleanor Dallas. And if she had known, if she had chanced to have read -the paragraphs in which the betrothal was announced and commented on, -she would not have identified Lord Auchester with Yorke, "the Duke of -Rothbury," as she thought him. Sometimes, this evening, for instance, -she wondered with a dull, aching pain, which always oppressed her -whenever she thought of him, where he had gone, and whether he still -remembered, whether he regretted the flirtation "he had carried on with -the girl at Portmaris," or, whether he only laughed over it—perhaps -with the dark, handsome woman, the Finetta to whom he had gone back!</p> - -<p>The sun had set behind the hills, and the twilight had crept over the -scene before Lucy came hurrying up the path.</p> - -<p>"Did you think I was lost, Leslie?" she said, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>Leslie looked round, and though it was nearly dark in the room, she saw -that Lucy's eyes were particularly bright, and that there was a flush -on her cheeks which did not appear to have been caused by her haste.</p> - -<p>"It sounds very unkind, but I was not thinking of you, dear," she said. -"It is late, I suppose. Where have you been?"</p> - -<p>Lucy came up to the window, tossing her straw hat and light jacket on -the sofa as she passed.</p> - -<p>"Leslie, you said something about adventures when I was starting—"</p> - -<p>"Did I?" said Leslie. "And have you had any? Let me look at you? You -look flushed and excited. What is it, Lucy?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have had an adventure," she said, her soft, guileless eyes -drooping for a moment, then lifting themselves candidly to Leslie's -again. "But let me begin at the beginning, as children say. Leslie, you -must go and see the village. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> the dearest little place in all -the world, and just like one of the pictures one sees at the Academy. -You will want to sketch it the moment you see it, I know. Well, I went -to the shop—oh, the funniest shop you ever saw! You go down two steps -into it, and even then it is only just high enough for you to stand -up in. And they sell everything—tapes, treacle, soap, snuff, laces, -biscuits—everything! And the woman that keeps it is the mother of -one of our girls, and she made ever so much of me, and sent her best -respects to you—'the beautiful teacher,' as she said the girls all -called you!"</p> - -<p>"Is it all fiction, or only the last sentence, Lucy?" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"My dear Leslie, I have heard them call you so myself!" said Lucy. "I -went to the butcher's—the butcher is one of nature's noblemen, and -took my order for four mutton chops as if I were a princess ordering a -whole sheep—and then I went out into the country beyond, and if I were -to tell you what I think of it you would say I was exaggerating—"</p> - -<p>"Which you never do, of course," put in Leslie, gravely.</p> - -<p>"It is simply heavenly!" continued Lucy, ignoring the insinuation. -"Such lovely meadows and tree-covered hills, and there is a delicious -river full of trout—so a man who was working close by said. Can you -throw a fly, Leslie? I can, and I will teach you. It is the jolliest -fun in the world, fishing. And when I got to the opening out of the -valley, I saw a tremendous house—a great white place on the brow of a -hill. It took me quite by surprise, for I had no idea that there were -any great people living near us—well, not exactly near, for this must -be four or five miles off. I asked a man who lived there and he said -that it belonged to a lady—Lady—there! I have forgotten the name -after all, and I wanted to remember it to tell you."</p> - -<p>"Never mind," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>"She is an awfully great lady, and tremendously rich, my informant -said. I wish I could remember her name! It was rather a pretty one. -Well, then"—she paused a moment, and her color came and went—"I -thought I would rest for a little while, and I sat down on a big stone, -up a little grassy lane, and while I was sitting there quiet as a -mouse, I heard the sound of a horse's hoofs on the short turf and, so -suddenly it made me jump, a huge horse came galloping up. He saw me and -shied—goodness, how he shied! I thought the man on his back must be -thrown, but he sat there like—like a rock! But he swore—I don't think -he saw me at first, Leslie; in fact, I am sure he didn't, for when he -did he raised his hat as if to apologize for the bad words, and then -rode on."</p> - -<p>"Is that all?" said Leslie, with a smile. "I thought you were going to -say, at the very least, that he stooped down and caught you up and you -would have been carried off into captivity but for a gallant young man -who ran up and seized the horse, etc., etc., etc."</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" remonstrated Lucy, laughing and blushing. "He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> didn't stop a -moment or speak, of course, but rode on straight away. But, Leslie, you -never saw such a handsome man or such a sad-looking one—"</p> - -<p>"The Knight of the Woful Countenance," said Leslie.</p> - -<p>Lucy laughed, but rather gravely.</p> - -<p>"Well, if you had seen him I don't think you would have laughed, -Leslie; he looked so wretched and weary, and—I don't know exactly how -to describe it—so reckless! He seemed as if he didn't care where he -was riding or whether the horse kept straight on or fell."</p> - -<p>"So that he kept straight on and didn't fall on or run over you, it is -all right," said Leslie. "But, Lucy dear, I don't think you must be out -so late and alone again, especially if there are reckless young men -riding about the roads and lanes."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lucy; "but I haven't come to the end of my adventures yet, -Leslie."</p> - -<p>"Not yet?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Lucy, almost shyly. "Of course, I was rather startled by -that horse thundering by—it was so very big and it passed so near, -almost on to me, you know—and I suppose I must have called out." She -blushed. "It was very foolish, I know, and I know you wouldn't have -done so."</p> - -<p>"Don't be too sure! Did the knight come back, Lucy?"</p> - -<p>"No, no," and the blush grew more furious, "of course he did not. I -don't suppose he heard me; but some one else did, for there came up the -moment afterward a gentleman—"</p> - -<p>"Not another on horseback, Lucy? Don't be too prodigal of your mounted -heroes."</p> - -<p>Lucy laughed.</p> - -<p>"No, this one was not on horseback; he was walking, and was quite a -different-looking man to the other, though he was nearly, yes, nearly -as good looking."</p> - -<p>"Two handsome young men in one evening; isn't that rather an unfair -allowance?" said Leslie.</p> - -<p>Lucy smiled.</p> - -<p>"I knew you would make fun of it all, Leslie," she said, "and I don't -mind in the least. I like to hear you, and, after all, there was -nothing serious in it."</p> - -<p>"I should hope not, Lucy."</p> - -<p>"Leslie, you really don't deserve that I should tell you any more—you -don't, indeed."</p> - -<p>"Pray, don't punish me so severely," responded Leslie; "my levity only -conceals an overpowering curiosity. What did the second stranger say or -do?"</p> - -<p>"Well, he said—and he couldn't say much less, could he?—'are you -hurt?'"</p> - -<p>"How you must have screamed! I suppose if I had been listening I should -have heard you here."</p> - -<p>"And of course I said no," continued Lucy, severely ignoring this -remark, "and that I had only been a little startled by the horse. He -asked me if I knew who it was, and when I said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> 'no', he looked as if -he were going to tell me, but instead he asked if I knew the way to the -railway station."</p> - -<p>"Now don't say that you told him and that he raised his hat and went -off," said Leslie, with mock earnestness.</p> - -<p>Lucy laughed, but said, shyly: "Well, I told him, but he didn't -go—just at once. He asked me one or two other questions—which was -the nearest village, and so on—and, of course, I had to answer that I -was a stranger, and then we both laughed, or rather he smiled, for he -seemed very grave and preoccupied. I think he was a lawyer or something -of that sort. He looked like a business man; and presently he said, -as if accounting for his being there, that he had walked from White -Place—that was the house on the hill-side—and that he was going back -to London, and—and—well, that's all!"</p> - -<p>"Are you quite sure that was all?" asked Leslie, with burlesque -severity.</p> - -<p>Lucy's fair face flushed.</p> - -<p>"Y-yes. Oh!—I'd got a fern-root in my hand; I meant to put in the -garden below the window—and he noticed it, and said that he wished -they had them in London, and—well, I offered it to him—"</p> - -<p>"Lucy!"</p> - -<p>Lucy jumped up.</p> - -<p>"Really—really and honestly, Leslie, I did it without thinking! and -he took it at once without any fuss or nonsense. You see, he was a -gentleman," she added, with delicious simplicity.</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head with a smile.</p> - -<p>"It is all too evident that you are not to be trusted out alone, my -dear," she said. "Why, Lucy!"—for something like tears had began to -glitter in Lucy's gentle eyes—"why, you silly girl, I am only in fun! -Why should you not direct a stranger to the railway station, and why -shouldn't you give him the fern he coveted, poor, smoke-dried Londoner. -There was nothing wrong in it."</p> - -<p>"You are quite sure, Leslie? Afterward—afterward, as I was walking -home, it seemed to me that I had perhaps, been—unladylike." The awful -word left her lips in a horrified whisper.</p> - -<p>"My dear, you couldn't be if you tried," said Leslie, with quiet -decision. "Now run and put your things away and we will talk it all -over again while we are having supper. 'Unladylike!'" She took the -gentle, 'good'-looking face in her hands and kissed it. "You are very -clever, Lucy, but that is the one thing you could never attain to."</p> - -<p>They sat for a long time over their simple meal, talking of their -school, discussing the various capacities of the pupils, arranging -classes, and so on; and once or twice Leslie referred to Lucy's -'adventures,' and declared that she did not believe a word of them, -and that Lucy had invented the whole to amuse her, little suspecting -that the big house Lucy had seen was the famous White Place belonging -to Lady Eleanor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> Dallas, that the horseman was Lord Yorke Auchester, -and that the stranger who "looked like a lawyer" and who had walked off -with Lucy's fern was Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> - -<h3>WAS YORKE HAPPY?</h3> - - -<p>Lady Eleanor was happy, and, unlike a great many persons, was not -ashamed to admit that she was.</p> - -<p>"Why should I be ashamed or try to hide my joy?" she said to Lady -Denby, who remarked her niece's high spirits, and her evident -satisfaction with her own condition and the world in general. "I am -happy! happy! happy! and every one may know it."</p> - -<p>"They do know it, my dear," said Lady Denby, dryly.</p> - -<p>"And they are welcome to!" retorted Lady Eleanor, laughingly. "I count -myself the luckiest girl in the world! I am young, not hideously plain, -rich—very rich, Mr. Duncombe says—by the way, aunt, you will be very -careful not to mention his name in Yorke's hearing—and I am going to -marry the man I have been in love with ever since I was so high. I wake -in the middle of the night—and I am glad to wake—and I tell myself -all this over and over again. It seems too good to be true, sometimes; -but I know it is all true when the morning comes. Oh, yes, I am happy -at last!"</p> - -<p>"And Yorke is very happy, too?" said Lady Denby. And the moment after -the question had left her lips she was sorry she had asked it, and she -hastened to add: "But of course he is. Men generally look poorly when -they are particularly happy, I've noticed, just as they invariably blow -their noses when they want to cry!"</p> - -<p>"Why shouldn't he be happy?" said Lady Eleanor, after a pause; but -her face had grown almost grave and almost troubled. "As you say, men -don't go about as if they were dancing to music, as we women do, and -they don't sing as we do. And—and if Yorke is not boisterous—Why did -you say that?" she demanded, suddenly changing her tone and turning -upon Lady Denby anxiously and nearly angrily. "Do you think he looks -dissatisfied—as if—as if he were sorry?"</p> - -<p>"My dear child, your love for that young fellow is softening your -brain," responded Lady Denby, quietly. "Of course, I have noticed -nothing. He is quiet; but I suppose most men who are on the brink of -matrimony are quiet. They hear the clanking of their chains as they are -being forged, and are thinking of the time when they will be riveted -upon them. No man really likes being married."</p> - -<p>"There shall be no chains for Yorke!" said Lady Eleanor, softly; -"or, if there must be, then I will cover them with velvet. You shall -see—you shall see!"</p> - -<p>Certainly, Yorke did not go about as if to invisible music, or sing as -he went; and he was, as Lady Denby put it, quiet—very quiet. But if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -he was not boisterous, he was everything else that a woman could desire -in a betrothed. He spent a portion of each day at Kensington Palace -Gardens. He was always ready to accompany Lady Eleanor to the park, the -theater, concerts, balls, and even shopping. Indeed, the patience with -which he would stroll up and down Bond Street or Oxford Street, smoking -cigarette after cigarette, while Lady Eleanor was shopping, was worthy -of the highest commendation, and immensely calculated to astonish his -wild bachelor friends. What he thought about as he paced slowly up and -down the hot pavements of those fashionable thoroughfares heaven only -knows! At any rate, it is well that Lady Eleanor didn't.</p> - -<p>Every morning he rode with her in the park—there was no need to sell -his horse now or to sack Fleming—and the loungers on the rails as they -raised their hats to his beautiful companion growled enviously: "Lucky -beggar! going to marry the prettiest and richest girl of the season! -Some men get all the plums in this world's pudding!" Altogether he -spent a great deal of his time in the society of his betrothed; but -there were still some hours of the day in which he was free to amuse -himself after his own devices, and he might have passed a very pleasant -time, for there was still a large contingent of his friends in town, -and there were outings at the Riverside Club, drives to Richmond, and -so on. But Yorke was seen in none of the places where the youth of -his sex most do congregate; and he spent the hours of his freedom in -long walks into the country around London, or in the smoking-room of -the quietest of the clubs. And he was always alone—alone, with that -strange, absent look in his eyes—that far-away look which lets out the -secret, and tells all who see it that a man's mind is wandering either -backward or forward; generally backward.</p> - -<p>All the world knew of his engagement, and every man who met him -congratulated him—all the world except the Duke of Rothbury, from whom -no word of congratulation had come.</p> - -<p>"Have you written to Godolphin?" Lady Eleanor had asked, shyly, and -Yorke, with a little start, had said "no;" that there was no occasion. -He would see it in the papers. "But he may not. They only get Galignani -in Switzerland; at least, I never could get anything else," said Lady -Eleanor. But Yorke had put off writing. He would not have admitted it -to himself, but he shrunk from writing to Dolph and telling him that -he, the duke, was right, and that Leslie was forgotten. Forgotten! Of -what was he thinking as he strode through the country lanes, as he -sat in a corner of the smoking-room, silent and moody, but of Leslie? -Always Leslie!</p> - -<p>The time comes when everybody—excepting a few millions—leaves London.</p> - -<p>"Shall you go to Scotland, Yorke?" Lady Eleanor asked. She knew he -had half a dozen invitations this year. He was never without them -any autumn, but this year they were more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> numerous than usual. Yorke -Auchester running loose and up to his ears in debt, and Yorke Auchester -engaged to Lady Eleanor Dallas were two very different persons and by -a singular coincidence everybody who had a house and a moor in the -Highlands invited him. But he said he would not go to Scotland.</p> - -<p>"I'm tired of it!" he said. "The place is eaten up by tourists at this -time of the year. I'd rather stay in London!"</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I will not go. I was going to the Casaubon's, but I will -send an excuse—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, don't do that!" he said, with the most unselfish alacrity. -"Don't you stay up in town for my sake; it's beastly dull now, I know."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor thought a moment.</p> - -<p>"I will tell you what I will do," she said. "Aunt and I will go to -White Place. It is just a nice distance from town, and—and if you -should ever think of running down, why—aunt will be glad to see you, -sir."</p> - -<p>The ladies went to White Place, and Yorke stayed in town. But, of -course, he ran down to the big house very frequently, and when he went -he was made much of, as was only right and natural. Would not the place -be his own some day, or at any rate would he not be the lord and master -of the mistress of it? Indeed, the servants received him as if he were -already master, and understood that their quickest and shortest way -of pleasing their mistress was by winning the favor of this handsome -lover of hers. Everything was done that man—ah! and woman; and how -much quicker is woman—could do to amuse and please him. A stud of -horses filled the stables—his own being the most honorably housed—the -keepers received carte blanche as to the game; a suite of rooms in the -best position, and so luxuriously furnished that poor Yorke laughed -grimly when he first entered them—was set apart for him. Lady Eleanor -would have filled the house with guests, but it seemed that Yorke was -not in the humor for company. "Which is so nice and sweet of him!" -murmured Lady Eleanor. His favorite wine had been brought down from -London, and the cook had a list of the dishes to which his lordship was -most partial. Happy! If he was not happy he was the most ungrateful man -among the sons of them.</p> - -<p>"You are spoiling him, my dear," Lady Denby ventured to remonstrate -gently. It was the morning that Lady Eleanor had given orders for -a special wire from the station to the house, so that his highness -might let them know when he was coming. "You are spoiling him all you -know how, and that's always a bad thing for a man, especially before -marriage; because, you see, when he is married he will expect to be -spoiled a great deal more—and you haven't left yourself any room."</p> - -<p>"I dare say," Lady Eleanor retorted. "I don't care. Besides, it isn't -true. You can't spoil Yorke."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean that nature has done it for you already?" said Lady Denby, -sweetly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Nature!" flashed Lady Eleanor, her face flushing proudly; "nature -spoiled him! Oh, where is there a handsomer man, a stronger, a finer -than my Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"My dear, you are a raving lunatic," remarked Lady Denby, in despair.</p> - -<p>Certainly if he were being spoiled Yorke did not grow less careful -in his devoirs. He was as ready, as on the day of his engagement, to -attend his betrothed; and when they walked and drove together he was -always close at her side, and never wanting in those attentions which -the woman finds so precious when they are paid by the man she loves. -And with it all she watched him so closely, was so careful not to bore -him. In the matter of business, for instance, most women having so -much money would have wanted to talk over with her future husband this -investment and the other; but Lady Eleanor knew Yorke better than to -attempt anything of the kind. Ralph Duncombe still remained her guide, -philosopher, and friend in business matters, and it was understood -between Ralph Duncombe and her—without a word having passed—that his -name was never to be mentioned in Lord Auchester's hearing, and that -they were never to meet.</p> - -<p>One day, however—the day Yorke had galloped past Lucy in the lane, -they had very nearly met face to face, for Ralph Duncombe had left -the house only a few moments before Yorke had entered. Yorke had come -down from London for a few hours, and had ridden with Lady Eleanor, -and she had thought that he was going to remain for dinner; but quite -suddenly he had announced that he must get back to town; once or twice -lately he had had similar fits of restlessness, and had come and gone -unexpectedly. Lady Eleanor did not press him to stay; his chains, even -now, should be covered with velvet; and he had ridden off, having -arranged to leave his horse at the station, to be fetched by a groom.</p> - -<p>He trotted down the drive quietly enough, looking back once or twice -to smile and wave his hand at Lady Eleanor, who stood on the steps -watching him; but once out of sight he stuck the spurs into the horse, -and the high-spirited animal bounded off like a shot from a gun.</p> - -<p>And as he tore across the lawns and down the road, the devil that sat -behind Yorke Auchester taunted and upbraided him after the manner of -devils.</p> - -<p>"You ungrateful hound! why can't you be happy? Why can't you rest -and be content? You are going to marry one of the loveliest women -in England; you are going to be rich—rich! you, who hadn't a -penny—haven't a penny of your own; you are envied by every man who -knows you, and thousands who don't, but have only read of you in the -papers! What do you want, man—what do you want?"</p> - -<p>And all Yorke could answer with a groan was, "One more moonlit night at -Portmaris with Leslie by my side. Leslie, Leslie!"</p> - -<p>The horse was in a lather when they reached the station;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> but his -master was not tired—that was one of his troubles, the difficulty of -getting tired enough to be sleepy—and directly he got to town he set -off walking, and the devil of unrest trudged behind him, as he had sat -behind him on the horse.</p> - -<p>He, Yorke, and the demon with him, turned into the club at last, and -Yorke ordered some dinner. The footman brought him the carte de jour, -but Yorke flicked it from him.</p> - -<p>"Bring me what you like," he said indifferently, and he was eating it -as indifferently when Lord Vinson sauntered up.</p> - -<p>"Halloo, Auchester!" he said. Yorke nodded absently, not to say, -surlily. "All alone? I'll join you."</p> - -<p>He sat down, and after studying the carte with devout attention, -ordered his dinner, and then, having disposed of his soup, wanted to -talk.</p> - -<p>"Just seen Finetta," he said. Yorke looked up swiftly, but said -nothing; and Vinson went on, as he picked the bones from his red -mullet. "'Pon my soul, I think all women are mad—I do, indeed!"</p> - -<p>"Why?" said Yorke. He was bound to say something.</p> - -<p>"Why, take Fin, for instance. There she is at the top of the tree, -earning thousands a year, a regular popular favorite; and, hang me, if -she doesn't shirk her work at the theater three days out of six, and -actually talk about cutting the shop altogether! Seems to have lost her -senses lately. And she used to be so cute at one time, eh?"</p> - -<p>Yorke said nothing, but bowed at his plate.</p> - -<p>"By the way, you and she have had a row, haven't you?" said Vinson, -after a moment or two.</p> - -<p>"A row? No. Why?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, I didn't know. But when I mentioned your name the other day, -she just flared up in a way to make a man see stars. Awful! I don't -know what she isn't going to do to you!"</p> - -<p>"She's welcome to do all she likes, when she likes, and how she likes," -said Yorke, fiercely. "For God's sake talk of something else!"</p> - -<p>Now, when a man is told to "talk of something else," he usually obeys -by talking of nothing; and Vinson made haste with his dinner, and left -the table, muttering something about wanting to see the evening papers.</p> - -<p>"Seems to me that Auchester is going out of his mind," he said to a -friend; and he nodded behind the paper toward Yorke. "Snapped me up -just now as if he meant to knock my head off. Too much luck, that's -what's the matter! Who's the favorite for the sweepstakes, eh?"</p> - -<p>He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and glanced down the columns, and as -he did so he uttered an exclamation.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with you?" demanded his friend.</p> - -<p>"Hush!" whispered Vinson; and he clutched the man's arm and led him to -a part of the room out of reach of Yorke's glowering eyes. "By great -goodness! talk of luck! Look here! Oh, Moses! did you ever?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Let me see!" said his friend impatiently. "You clutch that paper as -if—What is it? Eh? Oh!"</p> - -<p>They both stared at the paragraph to which Vinson pointed in silence -for a moment or two. Then Vinson said in a whisper:</p> - -<p>"Do you think he has seen it?"</p> - -<p>"Not he! Do you think he would sit like that?" retorted the other man.</p> - -<p>"Then—then we ought to break it to him, eh?" said Vinson. "By George! -I don't half like the job. Here, you come with me!"</p> - -<p>They both approached the table, and Yorke nodded to the other man, but -did not extend a warmer greeting.</p> - -<p>"Not in Scotland, old man?" said Vinson, quaking a little.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" demanded Yorke, glaring at him. "I'm here, as you -see."</p> - -<p>"Not even yachting? Er—er—when did you see Lord Eustace last—your -uncle, you know?"</p> - -<p>Yorke looked from one to the other as if he thought they had lost their -senses.</p> - -<p>"What?" he said, impatiently. "When did I see—Why do you ask?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, show it to him!" said Vinson, desperately. "I told you I should -mull it!"</p> - -<p>The other man held the paper to Yorke and pointed to a paragraph, and -Yorke taking it—and not too courteously—out of his hand, read this:</p> - -<p>"We regret to announce the death of Lord Eustace Auchester and his two -sons. His lordship was yachting in the Mediterranean, and the vessel, -being overtaken by a sudden squall, capsized. Their lordships and the -crew, four in number, were all lost. Lord Eustace Auchester was the -heir to the Dukedom of Rothbury, which will now descend to his nephew, -Lord Yorke Auchester."</p> - -<p>Yorke gazed at the printed words for a time as if he failed to grasp -their significance. Then his face paled—paled slowly till it was white -as death.</p> - -<p>"Hold up, old man!" said Vinson. "Dash it all, I wish I'd broken it -better! Here, take some wine!"</p> - -<p>But Yorke, pushing the wine from him, rose, the paper still in his -hand, and, as if he had forgotten the presence of the two men, stared -wildly before him. Then, to their horror, he broke into a hoarse laugh.</p> - -<p>"Why, she should have waited!" he exclaimed, bitterly, and as if he -were speaking to himself. "Yes, if she had waited she would have been a -duchess, after all!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> - -<h3>THE HEIR APPARENT.</h3> - - -<p>Yorke walked straight out of the club, leaving the two men staring at -each other in amazement.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord! poor Auchester is clean off his balance. Do you think it is -the shock—that it was because we did not break it gently enough?"</p> - -<p>The other man shook his head.</p> - -<p>"N-o, I don't think so. He's been very queer in his manner lately, -and—But who the devil did he mean when he said, 'She might have been a -duchess?'"</p> - -<p>Yorke strode along Pall Mall bewildered and stunned. At first he was -too confused to feel anything; then regret and grief came uppermost. He -was genuinely sorry. You may dislike your uncle and cousins, and yet be -far from wishing them dead; and Yorke's eyes were moist, and there was -a lump in his throat as he thought of his three kinsmen lying at the -bottom of the Mediterranean.</p> - -<p>Then he began to realize what their unexpected and tragic death meant -to him. There was only Dolph between him and the dukedom, and poor -Dolph could not make old bones, and as it bore down upon him with its -full significance, the terrible bitterness which had overwhelmed him at -the club recurred. The turn of the wheel of fortune had come too late. -If it had happened a month—five weeks earlier, he would not have been -driven into a corner, the only way out of which was by a marriage with -Eleanor Dallas.</p> - -<p>"Too late!" he muttered. "Yes! if it had come sooner I might have kept -Leslie;" but his heart revolted against his thought, and he swore under -his breath, "No, no! It was the title she wanted, not me. It is better -that she has gone!"</p> - -<p>He went home and saw by Fleming's face that he had heard the sad news. -Poor Fleming tried to look cut up, but it was hard work, seeing that he -had been saying to himself since the moment he had read the paragraph, -"My master will be a duke!"</p> - -<p>"Dreadful news, my lord," he said, in the tone proper to the occasion.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, Fleming," said Yorke, gravely.</p> - -<p>"Your lordship will go over, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>Yorke started slightly. He had not as yet thought of this, his obvious -duty.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "Get some things ready and look out the time-table."</p> - -<p>"Yes, my lord. Your lordship will go down to White Place first?" -suggested Fleming, respectfully.</p> - -<p>Yorke hesitated, but he assented.</p> - -<p>"I'm to go abroad with you, my lord?" said Fleming tentatively, and -Yorke nodded.</p> - -<p>"You can if you like—just as you like," he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Thank you, my Lord, I will go," said Fleming. "Your lordship may want -things done, and I may be useful."</p> - -<p>"You are always that," Yorke said; and it was just such simple -expressions of appreciation as this that won the regard and devotion of -Fleming and his kind.</p> - -<p>Yorke went off to White Place that night. He was tired, but he could -not sleep in the train, though he tried. His mind was too overburdened -with thought. Late as it was, the ladies were up, and they had heard -the news from a servant who had brought an evening paper from town.</p> - -<p>Its effect upon Lady Eleanor was strange, and puzzled Lady Denby at -first, for Lady Eleanor let the paper drop from her hand, and stood -staring before her with an expression in her eyes which was rather that -of some vague dread than sorrow.</p> - -<p>Lady Denby went to her and drew her to a couch.</p> - -<p>"It is terribly sudden, and I am not surprised at your being upset, -dear," she said. "But—What is it, Eleanor? You are not going to -faint?" for Lady Eleanor had swayed and fallen back with the look of -dread still in her eyes.</p> - -<p>She recovered after a moment, and the tears came.</p> - -<p>"Oh, poor things, poor things! Oh, it is dreadful; but God forgive me, -it was not of them I was thinking but of—of Yorke and myself!"</p> - -<p>"Of Yorke?" said Lady Denby, puzzled still.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, in a low and half-shamed voice. "Don't you -see the—the wedding must be put off now!"</p> - -<p>Lady Denby stroked her hand soothingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course, dear; but there is nothing in that to frighten you; -for you look frightened, Eleanor."</p> - -<p>"Seems like—like a judgment on me; as if heaven were angry and meant -to throw obstacles in the way——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dear Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>"Yes! You don't know—you don't understand what I feel! And I felt so -happy, so safe! and now—How long do you think it will be necessary to -put it off?"</p> - -<p>Lady Denby was very nearly shocked.</p> - -<p>"The suddenness of this terrible news has upset you, Eleanor," she -said, gravely; "but for heaven's sake don't talk so—so callously."</p> - -<p>"You do not know!" repeated Lady Eleanor, with a deep sigh. "It is not -that I do not feel for them. Ah, yes, I do, keenly; as keenly as you -can; but—but it is as if it were fated that something should occur to -prevent our marriage." She was silent for a moment; and then she said, -as if to herself: "He will be the duke. I am sorry."</p> - -<p>"Sorry!" Lady Denby stared at her.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, in the same low, reflective voice. "Yes; I -would rather he was what he is, and—and poor. I would rather that he -owed everything to me. Now—now it will be I who will owe much to him."</p> - -<p>"That is as fine a sample of pride as I have ever met with," said Lady -Denby.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Is it?" said Lady Eleanor. "You do not know or understand. Do you -think"—she looked up with a look of pain in her beautiful eyes—"do -you think that if he were free he would wish me now to be his wife?"</p> - -<p>"Eleanor, I have often said, in jest, that your affection for Yorke -was undermining your reason; but in solemn truth I begin to think -that there is some truth in my assertion. Dry your eyes and compose -yourself. He will be here presently; he is sure to come the moment he -hears the news. He will have to go over and see about the funeral."</p> - -<p>"No, no; why should he?" said Lady Eleanor, then she flushed as if with -shame. "Yes, yes, of course! and you think he will come?"</p> - -<p>"There he is!" said Lady Denby, as they heard Yorke's step in the hall. -"For heaven's sake don't breathe to him the charming sentiments you -have favored me with."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor shook her head and bit her lips to bring the color into -them.</p> - -<p>"Do not fear," she said. "It is only when I am alone or with you that I -show my doubts and fears."</p> - -<p>Yorke came in and took her in his arms and kissed her.</p> - -<p>"You have heard the news, Eleanor, I see," he said gravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is dreadful, dreadful! To think that all three should be -gone—those two poor boys! You are going over, Yorke?" for he had got -on his traveling ulster.</p> - -<p>"Yes; I am going to meet Fleming at Charing Cross to-morrow morning. I -shall have to go back at once."</p> - -<p>"At once! It was good of you to come so far just to say good-by; -but you are always good to me, Yorke," and she laid her head on his -shoulder. "This—this will make a difference to you, dearest?"</p> - -<p>He did not affect not to understand her.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, simply. "Two days ago there seemed little chance of my -being the Duke of Rothbury. Now—but I hope and trust dear old Dolph -will live to be a hundred."</p> - -<p>"And I, and I!" she responded fervently. "I would rather have you as -you are, Yorke; far, far rather."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid that this sad affair will delay our marriage, Eleanor," he -said, and he said it as regretfully as he could.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she whispered, her face still hidden on his shoulder—"Yes, it -must, I suppose; but"—he could almost feel her blush—"but not for -long?" she asked, nearly inaudibly.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," he stammered. "I—we shall see. I must find Dolph. He -was in Switzerland, but I think it is very likely that he has moved -down south with the cooler weather. He will be cut up. He liked poor -Eustace better than any of us did. I must go now, dear," he said, -presently.</p> - -<p>"So soon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am afraid so. Is there anything you want me to do—anything I -can tell Dolph?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"There is only one thing I want," she said, in a low voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> "and that -is—you! Come back as soon—the first moment you can, Yorke, and—and -don't forget me!"</p> - -<p>He would have been a far worse man than he was if he had not been -touched by the depth of her love, and he kissed her with greater warmth -than he had ever before shown her.</p> - -<p>When he had gone Lady Eleanor threw herself down on the sofa and hid -her face in her hands, and Lady Denby, when she came in an hour later, -found her thus.</p> - -<p>Do it as luxuriously as you may, the journey from England to the -south of Italy is a tiresome and aggravating one, and Yorke reached -Policastro—the place at which the bodies were lying—worn out -mentally and physically. It was fortunate that the devoted Fleming had -accompanied him, and never did his devotion display itself more plainly -or to better advantage. There were a number of persons, busybodies, -there, who would have surrounded Lord Auchester at once—the whole -coast was in a state of excitement over the catastrophe—but Fleming -kept them at bay, and insisted upon his master taking some rest before -he commenced the painful duties necessitated by the circumstances.</p> - -<p>"His lordship isn't going to see any one to-night," he assured the -landlord of the hotel. "Not if it was the King of Italy himself. If -anybody wants to know anything, let them come to me."</p> - -<p>The landlord only half understood, but he was considerably awed by -Fleming's tone, and departed shrugging his shoulders and spreading out -his hands after the manner of his nation.</p> - -<p>In the morning Yorke went and identified the bodies and arranged for -the funeral, and was returning to the hotel when he met Grey, the -duke's valet.</p> - -<p>"His grace has just arrived, my lord. I came to meet you," he said. "I -hope your lordship is well?" he added, respectfully, and with rather a -serious glance at Yorke's face.</p> - -<p>Yorke nodded.</p> - -<p>"All right, thank you, Grey," he said. "And the duke?"</p> - -<p>Grey hesitated.</p> - -<p>"About as well as usual, I hope, my lord," he said, quietly. "This sad -affair has upset him, of course, and—and he hasn't been very strong -lately—not since we left England, indeed, my lord. Your lordship will -find him looking thinner," he added, as if to warn Yorke.</p> - -<p>Yorke quickened his pace, and Grey led him to the duke's room.</p> - -<p>The room was darkened by the drawn blinds, and Yorke, coming out of -the sunlight saw but indistinctly for a moment; then, as the duke -raised himself on the couch, he started and found speech difficult. The -duke was but a shadow of even his former self, and the hand which he -extended was so thin that Yorke was afraid to press it.</p> - -<p>"Why, Dolph," he said, with forced cheerfulness, "this is a surprise! -How did you come here?"</p> - -<p>"We have been traveling night and day, as you have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> doubt," said -the duke, and his voice sounded much thinner and more feeble than when -Yorke had last heard it. "Pull up an inch or two of one of the blinds -and let me look at you."</p> - -<p>Yorke did so, and came back to the couch, and the duke, after scanning -his face, fell back with a faint sigh.</p> - -<p>"And so you are going to be the next duke, after all. How you and I -have fretted—No, I don't know that you ever cared much, but I did—and -it has all come right at last! The Providence that 'shapes our ends, -rough-hew them as we will,' has decreed that poor Eustace and his boys -should go down there in the bay and that you should reign in his place!"</p> - -<p>"I wish they were all alive still," said Yorke, with sincerity.</p> - -<p>"I know you do," responded the duke. "But I can't help thinking, as I -have always thought, that you will make a good duke, Yorke. You have -the presence and the moral strength, and a better temper than poor -Eustace. He was too fond of his money. But of the dead let us speak -nothing but good. And now about yourself. Why did you not write and -tell me of your engagement? Never mind; I understand. And if I did not -write and tell you I was glad, you knew it without any epistolatory -assurance from me. You have done wisely, Yorke, very wisely. Eleanor -has everything that a man wants in a wife—youth, beauty, wealth and -station. She will make a splendid duchess, Yorke."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Yorke, staring at the carpet moodily.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I must hang on until you are married," said the duke, as -cheerfully and coolly as if he were talking of somebody else. "Once or -twice lately I have been inclined to throw up the sponge, but somehow -I've got a hankering to see you settled; and then I suppose I shall -want to live long enough to take the next heir on my knee. Men are -never satisfied. But I don't suppose I shall be able to hold out till -then."</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake, don't talk such arrant nonsense!" Yorke said, -emphatically. "You are no worse than you were."</p> - -<p>The duke smiled at him calmly but significantly.</p> - -<p>"My dear fellow, I am hanging on to life by my eyelashes," he said, in -a matter-of-fact tone.</p> - -<p>"You must get back to England as quickly as possible," said Yorke, -trying to speak in an assured and perfectly confident voice. "There -is nothing like England in the winter, after all. Come back and let -Eleanor nurse you."</p> - -<p>"That's an inducement, certainly," said the duke. "Eleanor and I were -always good friends."</p> - -<p>There was silence for a few moments; then the duke, after glancing once -or twice at Yorke's grave face, said, in a low voice that faltered:</p> - -<p>"There—there is no news of—of—"</p> - -<p>He stopped.</p> - -<p>"Of whom?" said Yorke, with a frown, though he knew well enough.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Of Leslie," said the duke, and a faint flush passed over his emaciated -face.</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"No," he replied, clearing his throat. "No, I have seen nothing and -heard nothing of her since I left Portmaris."</p> - -<p>"She must have gone out of England," said the duke, knitting his brows. -"Her father being an artist—as he thinks himself, poor fellow—would -be ready enough to come abroad here on the Continent. It is strange -that I have not run across them."</p> - -<p>Yorke said nothing, but the frown on his forehead deepened and darkened.</p> - -<p>"When I shuffle off this mortal coil you will find in my will that I -have mentioned—Leslie." He paused before the name. "You won't mind, -Yorke? She wouldn't take any money from me alive, but she may not mind -when I'm gone. After all, it was a cruel trick we—no, I—played her, -Yorke," he said, in a remorseful tone.</p> - -<p>"It was!" said Yorke, curtly. "But it was a test, and she failed in it."</p> - -<p>The duke sighed. Silence again for a moment or two; then, as if he were -giving speech to a thought that had occurred to him before, and often -before, this he said, hesitatingly:</p> - -<p>"Do you think—mind, I only ask you the question for the sake of asking -it; I have no reason for doing so—but do you think that there was the -slightest chance of our having made a mistake?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" demanded Yorke.</p> - -<p>"I mean—well, it is difficult to say exactly what I mean. But you -know—or perhaps you don't know—how sick men brood and brood over a -thing. You see, we have so much time on our hands lying on our backs -and counting the flies on the ceiling, that we think over things a -great deal more closely than men in sound health. And—and at times a -doubt has crossed my mind." He stopped. "There is no ground for it. -I am sure I could not have been mistaken; she spoke only too plainly -the morning we parted. Besides, there is the fact of her breaking her -appointment with you; of leaving you without a word beyond the message -she sent by me."</p> - -<p>"And the message she sent by Arnheim. I met him the other day and he -gave it to me; I went off too quickly on the other occasion for him to -do so. It was like that she sent by you; she wished to see me no more," -said Yorke, grimly.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes! There could be no mistake, and yet—well, I have lain and -thought of her as she was when we first met her, do you remember?"</p> - -<p>Yorke smiled grimly. Did he remember?</p> - -<p>"So girlish and innocent; so quick to be pleased, and so grateful," he -sighed.</p> - -<p>"Yes; sometimes it has seemed impossible to me that she should have -been so base and mercenary. But there could be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> no mistake, as you say. -And, mind, I should not have said this if you had still been unsettled -and hankering after her; but now——."</p> - -<p>"Don't say it now, either!" broke out Yorke, springing to his feet and -pacing up and down. "For God's sake, don't talk of—of that time or -of her. I—I can't bear it! I beg your pardon, Dolph; but don't you -see—don't you understand that though a man may cover up his wound -and cease to complain, the heart may sting and ache still? I want to -forget—to forget! and—and if there is any doubt—but there can't -be—I've got to shut my eyes and ears to it—to put it away from me. -If I did not—if I entertained it for a moment—well—" He stopped and -laughed bitterly. "That way madness lies! You and I had better agree to -taboo the subject. The sound of her name—How soon can we leave this -place?" he broke off.</p> - -<p>The duke sighed.</p> - -<p>"You must get back as quickly as possible," he said. "Eleanor will -miss you. The wedding need not be put off very long. You are already -practically the duke. I shall pass over all the business of the estate -to you at once, and it is right and fitting that you should be married. -The world will see that. Three months, too, will be long enough to -wait; the wedding can be a perfectly quiet one."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Yorke, dully. "Settle it as you like."</p> - -<p>"Yes! it can't be too soon," said the duke, thoughtfully. "You've got -to consider me, you know," and he laughed. "Look here, my lord, you -may as well begin to take the burden on your shoulders. Give me that -dispatch-box; there are some letters Grey has been bothering me about. -It is something about the trees in the Home park at Rothbury. Cut 'em -down or let 'em stand, just as you think proper. They will be yours, -you know, very shortly, thank God!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> - -<h3>THE NEW LOVE.</h3> - - -<p>A fortnight later Lucy was returning from a rather lengthy ramble. She -had a companion, one of the school-girls, this being the universal -holiday, Saturday afternoon, and they both carried a basket full of -roots and leaves; for whenever Lucy went out she managed to bring home -something for planting in the little garden of which she and Leslie -were so fond and proud.</p> - -<p>"I hope you're not getting tired, Jenny," she said to the girl who -tripped on proudly beside her.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, Miss Lucy."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm glad you are not," remarked Lucy; "for we are a long way -from home yet."</p> - -<p>"And it is going to rain," added Jenny, with that placid indifference -to the weather which distinguishes country children.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What; and I have brought no umbrella, and you have only that thin -cloak, Jenny. But perhaps you are wrong. I always notice that when -people say it is going to rain, it invariably turns out fine, perhaps -for weeks."</p> - -<p>"It's going to rain now, Miss Lucy," repeated Jenny, still more -confidently; and a moment or two afterward she added, "There!"</p> - -<p>Lucy felt a spot on her face and seized the girl's basket.</p> - -<p>"You must let me carry this, Jenny, because we shall have to hurry all -we know. It will never do to go in wet through. What would Miss Leslie -say?"</p> - -<p>This formula, which she found of great service when admonishing the -children, lent speed to Jenny's small feet, and Lucy and she hurried -along the road. But quickly as they went the rain caught them up, and -presently it came down in a torrent.</p> - -<p>Jenny laughed, and Lucy, being rather careful of her clothes, and -inclined to take matters seriously, was constrained to laugh too.</p> - -<p>"We must get under a tree," she said. "There, squeeze up against the -trunk, and I will stand in front of you and shelter you as well as I -can. Oh, what would I give for an umbrella!"</p> - -<p>Jenny leaned against the tree and amused herself by twisting a spray -of brown ivy leaves into a wreath, and looking up at the weather now -and again; and Lucy was rapidly sinking into that semi-indifferent, -semi-despairing condition which such circumstances produce, when she -heard the rattle of a cart coming along the road.</p> - -<p>"Jenny, there is a cart, and I believe it is going to Newfold," she -said, with a sudden hopefulness. "Perhaps it is someone we know—one of -the tradespeople. If so, we will ask them to give us a lift."</p> - -<p>"They won't wait to be asked, Miss Lucy," said Jenny, shrewdly, and -indeed truthfully, for the two school-teachers were already favorites -in Newfold.</p> - -<p>"Here it is now," said Lucy; then she sighed disappointedly. "It is a -dog cart—a gentleman's dog-cart," she said. "Bother!"</p> - -<p>It came abreast of them and was spinning past, when suddenly the -gentleman who was driving seemed to see them, and after a moment's -hesitation he pulled up the horse.</p> - -<p>"You mustn't stand under that tree," he called out.</p> - -<p>Lucy colored and started for two reasons; one, because she had been -brought up in habits of obedience, and generally did what she was told, -no matter who told her, and especially if the order was issued in a -commanding voice, and this was a commanding voice. The other reason was -that she recognized the voice itself. It was the gentleman she had met -in the lane, and to whom she had given the fern root.</p> - -<p>"Come away," he said, gravely; then he appeared to recognise her, for -he jumped down and, still holding the reins, came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> forward and raised -his hat, Jenny laughing to see the rain pour off the brim.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not see who it was for a moment, -the rain is pelting so. But all the same you really must not stand -there. There is thunder in the air, and it is dangerous standing under -a tree—lightning you know!"</p> - -<p>Lucy uttered a little cry, then laughed and blushed.</p> - -<p>"Of course. How foolish of me not to think of it! But when you called -out I was afraid I was doing some injury to the tree by trespassing."</p> - -<p>He laughed—a grave, short kind of laugh, which, however, seemed to -Lucy to suit him somehow.</p> - -<p>"How wet you are!" he said. "Have you been standing here long?"</p> - -<p>"Ever since it began," replied Lucy with a little shrug of her -shoulders—a trick she had unconsciously caught from Leslie. "And we -are waiting till it stops."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid you will have to wait a long time," he remarked. "It has -set for a wet evening. May I ask where you are going?"</p> - -<p>"To Newfold," said Lucy.</p> - -<p>"Newfold? Ah, yes! Will you let me offer you a lift? I am going there, -or, at any rate, very near there—as far as the London road goes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, thank you," said Lucy, flushing. He looked disappointed; then -he glanced at Jenny.</p> - -<p>"The little girl is getting very wet. She will take a chill," he said, -gravely.</p> - -<p>"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Lucy, with instant alarm. "Oh, dear! -And I am afraid she is not very strong. It doesn't in the least matter -so far as I am concerned, for I never take cold. I am used to the -country and rough weather; but Jenny——."</p> - -<p>Jenny grinned at the idea of her being in any danger from an autumn -storm, but she was too wise to make any remark, for she was dying for a -ride in the handsome dog-cart.</p> - -<p>"I think you had better let me take her—and you," he said; and seeing -that she still hesitated, he cut the Gordian knot by lifting Jenny into -the cart and holding out his hand for Lucy.</p> - -<p>Then when she was seated he got out a big carriage umbrella and put it -up for them, and quickly slipping off his waterproof, arranged it on -the seat behind so that it completely covered them.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you will get wet!" remonstrated Lucy, much distressed; but he -laughed and made light of the business.</p> - -<p>"We Londoners like getting wet sometimes," he said. "It is a change, -you see. In London we take as much care of ourselves as if a spot of -rain would kill us."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I know," said Lucy, with shy pride. "I have lived in London for -some time."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I thought you said you were used to the country?" he remarked.</p> - -<p>"So I am—I was born in the country," Lucy explained, in her frank, -simple manner—a manner, by the way, which possesses a greater charm -for some, indeed most, men, than all the cultivated artificialities.</p> - -<p>"I have lived all my life," she said—"all my life"—as if she were at -least ninety—"in the country until I went up to London to cram for my -exam."</p> - -<p>"Your exam.?" he said, invitingly, and yet not obtrusively, and there -was nothing in the interest displayed in his face which indicated -presumptuous or idle curiosity.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Lucy, blushing faintly; "I am a teacher."</p> - -<p>"A governess?" he said.</p> - -<p>"No, a teacher," corrected Lucy, with fine emphasis. "I am one of the -teachers at the village school. There are only two—I mean teachers. I -am the second."</p> - -<p>"And do you like being a teacher?" he asked. His voice was as grave as -ever, but the expression of interest seemed increasing; the pleasant -face looked so pretty and innocent and girlish under the shadow of the -big umbrella; the clear, low voice rang so true and sweet. It seemed -to the weary city man as if he had stopped to pick up one of the wild -flowers from the hedge-row.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," said Lucy, promptly.</p> - -<p>"I thought so by the way you spoke," he said, with a smile; and Lucy -laughed and blushed again.</p> - -<p>"I like it very much," she said. "But, then, ours is such a nice -school, and the girls are all such good girls, aren't they, Jenny?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Miss Lucy," assented Jenny, from under the wrap into which she -had nestled.</p> - -<p>"Self-praise, eh?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but she is really a very good girl," said Lucy, in a confidential -whisper, which seemed to make them more intimate. "They are all good, -and so we are both as happy as we can be."</p> - -<p>"We both?" he said.</p> - -<p>"I mean my fellow-teacher; my principal," said Lucy, "Miss—" She was -about to tell him the name, but stopped, remembering that he was a -stranger and that Leslie might not like to be so confidential, about -herself, at any rate.</p> - -<p>"I am very glad you are so happy," he said. "Do you know, I had been on -the point of visiting your school."</p> - -<p>"You?" said Lucy, opening her eyes with surprise; and, as he noticed, -with something else—a faint but unmistakable pleasure.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "It belongs to a lady who is a friend of mine. She is -kind enough to let me see to some of her business matters."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The kindness seems to be on the other side," said Lucy, laughing.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe colored and found himself laughing too.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "let us say we are both kind. I was going to explain -that she had asked me to do something in connection with the school. I -forget what it was now."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it was the roof," said Lucy, eagerly. "It is rather bad in one -or two places, and the other morning two or three spots of water came -through. Oh, I hope it was the roof!"</p> - -<p>"It must have been," he said, with due gravity; "and I will see that -it is put right at once. Is there anything else that wants doing, -Miss—Miss Lucy, I think you said your name was?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Lucy Somes," she said, thinking hard, and trying to remember if -there was anything else wrong at her beloved school. "N-o, I don't -think there is anything else the matter, excepting the roof."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I had better come and see for myself, he said, in a -matter-of-fact way.</p> - -<p>"Are you—an architect?" Lucy inquired, rather timidly.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe smiled.</p> - -<p>"No; I am nothing nearly so clever. I am only an ordinary business man, -very hard worked and very glad to run away from the city and into the -fresh air."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes; how you must enjoy it!" said Lucy, with a sympathetic little -sigh, "to get away from the crowd and the heat and the smoke."</p> - -<p>So they talked, and as Ralph Duncombe listened to the sweet young voice -it seemed to him as if there was a power in it to soothe his weary, -restless spirit; and when Lucy suddenly exclaimed, as if she were quite -surprised that they should have reached the spot so soon, "Why, here is -the corner!" he pulled the horse up with evident reluctance.</p> - -<p>"I'll drive you around to the school," he said; but Lucy declined, and -so earnestly that he could not persist.</p> - -<p>He lifted them down, and cut short Lucy's blushing thanks.</p> - -<p>"It is I who ought to be, and am very much, obliged to you, Miss -Somes," he said, "for you have made one part of my lonely drive very -pleasant. I hope you won't be any the worse for your wetting."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but I am as dry as a bone—and so is Jenny," said Lucy, blushing -still more. "Good-by—and you will not forget the roof?"</p> - -<p>"No, no," he said; "but I must come and see it myself."</p> - -<p>He sat bolt upright in the cart, watching them as they ran along the -road shining with the rain, and a strange feeling took possession of -him. How lonely he had been before he saw them! How lonely all his life -was! He was rich, fearfully rich, and yet there was not a streak of -sunshine in his life. His love for Leslie Lisle had clouded it over as -with a pall. Oh! why had the fates dealt with him so unkindly? Why had -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> not given his heart to some girl like the one who had just left -him—one who would have returned his love, and borne for him the sweet -name of—wife?</p> - -<p>For the first time in his life Ralph Duncombe found himself thinking -tenderly and wistfully of some other woman than Leslie Lisle.</p> - -<p>He thought of her several times the next day. Her sweet girlish face -came between him and a most important letter he was writing; and once -during the morning his chief clerk came in and found him—the great -city man—sitting with his head leaning on his hands and his eyes fixed -vacantly on the window.</p> - -<p>When Saturday came around again he remembered that he must go round -to White Place to see Lady Eleanor. He had the horse harnessed, and -drove along the road, light now with the autumn sunshine, and every -inch of the way he thought of Lucy. When, in the afternoon, he reached -the corner where he had set her and Jenny down, he pulled up, stared -straight in front of him for a moment, then suddenly turned the corner -and drove to the school, and his heart beat as it had not beaten since -he said good-by to Leslie as he saw Lucy's girlish figure in the -garden. She wore a plain cotton frock; a big sun hat, much battered and -sunburned, was on her head, and the prettiest and most useless of rakes -in her hand. She almost dropped this apology for a tool when she saw -him, and the color ran up her cheeks as she came to the gate.</p> - -<p>"You have come to see the roof!" she said. "That is kind of you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have come to see the roof!" he said.</p> - -<p>He had forgotten all about it; but he could scarcely say he had come to -see her.</p> - -<p>"I am so sorry," said Lucy; "but my friend—the principal, you know—is -out. She does not often leave the house and garden, even for an hour, -excepting to go to church; but I persuaded her to go down to the -village this afternoon. I am so very sorry!"</p> - -<p>"So am I," responded Ralph, with mendacious politeness. "May I come in?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, please!" said Lucy. "But the horse?"</p> - -<p>"He will stand till this day week," said Ralph. "But I'll hitch the -reins over the palings all the same."</p> - -<p>"This way," said Lucy, eagerly; and she led him to the school-room. He -stared up at the very small hole in the roof with the deepest gravity -apparently; but in reality he was thinking how sweetly pretty the face -beside him looked as she upturned to gaze aloft.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said, with a laugh. "I'll see that it is put straight. -You are sure there is nothing else?"</p> - -<p>"N-o," said Lucy, "nothing. Oh, yes! the gate to the meadow is so very -old that that the donkey in the next field pushes it open, and—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Let us go in and see it," said Ralph, promptly. "We may as well do -everything that wants doing at once."</p> - -<p>They went to the meadow, and he examined the gate and admired the -view across the fields, and on Lucy telling him it was much better -from the edge of the wood, he wandered off in that direction, and, -somehow or other, they found themselves sitting on the stile that led -into the plantation and talking, as Lucy put it afterward, "like old -friends"—so much so, indeed, that it was with quite a start that Lucy -heard the clock strike five.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I have not offered you any tea!" she exclaimed, remorsefully. -"Please come into the school-house. My friend will be back by this -time, and she will be quite angry at my want of hospitality."</p> - -<p>Ralph, picturing to himself a middle-aged school-mistress as the -'principal,' glanced at his watch hesitatingly; but seeing a look of -disappointment beginning to cloud Lucy's face, rose promptly.</p> - -<p>Why should he not go in to tea with her? It was the last time he -would see her, having an opportunity of listening to the sweet young -voice; and at the thought a sudden pang shot through his heart. He had -spent his life following a will-o'-the-wisp. Leslie Lisle, even if -he found her, could never be his. Why should he not ask this pretty, -innocent-eyed girl—</p> - -<p>"Lucy," he said, suddenly, and yet gently.</p> - -<p>She started at the sound of the Christian name, and turned her eyes -upon him questioningly.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened," he said, still more gently, but with an earnest -gravity that thrilled her. "And yet I am afraid I shall frighten you. -Do you know what it is I am going to ask you? No, you cannot guess. -Lucy, since last Saturday I have been thinking of you every day!"</p> - -<p>"Of me?" The words left her lips in a whisper, and the color deepened -in her cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Of you!" he said, fervently. "I love you, Lucy. Will you be my wife?"</p> - -<p>She stepped back, her eyes opening wide, her parted lips tremulous. But -when he took her hand she did not shrink back further, and she did not -attempt to take the hand away.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They wandered hand in hand about the lanes for an hour, while the horse -contentedly nibbled at the grass at the bottom of the garden hedge, -and during that hour Ralph told her who and what he was—told her -everything, indeed, excepting his love for Leslie Lisle—and Lucy was -still in 'love's amaze' as they made their way back to the house.</p> - -<p>"You must come in, if only for a moment," she said as -he was unfastening the reins. "I want to tell her—my -fellow-teacher—to—to—to show you to her." Her eyes sunk and her -voice trembled. "I know she will be so glad! Besides, I—I couldn't -tell her about it all by myself. It is so sudden—so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> dreadfully -sudden—that I should die of shame!" and her face grew crimson as she -laughed.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said; "I will come in; but it must be only for a -moment, Lucy."</p> - -<p>She opened the gate, and as she did so something glittering on the path -caught her eye.</p> - -<p>She stooped and picked it up.</p> - -<p>"Why, it's a ring!" she exclaimed—"a gentleman's ring! You must have -dropped it as you came in—Ralph."</p> - -<p>"Not I!" he said, shaking his head.</p> - -<p>He had not worn a ring since—since he had given his to Leslie.</p> - -<p>"But you must have done," she said, with charming persistence. "No -gentleman has passed this gate excepting you, sir."</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"Let me see," he said.</p> - -<p>He took the ring, looked at it, and the smile fled from his face, which -suddenly went pale. It was the ring he had given Leslie! He stood, dumb -with amazement.</p> - -<p>"Well?" she said, linking her arm in his, and so intent on the ring -that she did not notice his pallor and constraint.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, and his voice rang out with a strange doubt and -trouble—"yes, it is my ring!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> - -<h3>"POOR GIRL!"</h3> - - -<p>Ralph Duncombe stood looking at the ring as a man looks upon some -trinket he has happened on that belonged to some dearly loved friend -long since dead. The ring he had given to Leslie! Back in a flash came -the memory of that morning he had given it to her. The sea, the beach, -the lovely face floated before his eyes and made him giddy. He had just -asked this sweet, innocent girl to be his wife; he had no right, no -wish to think of Leslie as a lover, and yet—ah, well, in the heart, as -in heaven, there are many manoeuvres, and for the moment the old love -filled the biggest place in Ralph Duncombe's heart.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" asked Lucy, with faint wonder at his silence and -stillness. "Is it so very precious a ring? Let me look at it. Would you -have been very sorry if you had lost it?"</p> - -<p>"Very," he said, scarcely knowing what he said.</p> - -<p>"How glad I am that I found it! You must have dropped it as you came -in. How careless of you!"</p> - -<p>"No," he said, bravely; he could no more prevaricate before that sweet -innocence than lie outright. "No, Lucy, I did not drop it just now. I -parted with it a long while ago, and I have not seen it since until -now."</p> - -<p>Lucy gazed up at him open-eyed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Then how did it come here?" she asked, in an awestruck whisper. "To -whom did you give it? A gentleman, of course?"</p> - -<p>"No," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "It was to——."</p> - -<p>Before he could add 'a woman,' a voice low and clear, a voice which -thrilled him and awoke the echo—thank God, for Lucy's sake—only the -echo—of his old passion, was heard in the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Lucy, are you there?"</p> - -<p>It was Leslie's voice! Ralph Duncombe started, and in the shock of -surprise seized Lucy's arm.</p> - -<p>"Who is that?" he breathed, in a hushed whisper, his eyes fixed on the -doorway.</p> - -<p>"Why, how nervous you are!" she said, laughing softly, but a little -timidly, for she had seen him start, and felt the pressure of his hand. -"Who should it be but my friend, Miss Lisle?"</p> - -<p>"Miss—Lisle!" he repeated.</p> - -<p>Something in his voice startled Lucy, and she shrank from him the -slightest bit in the world. But he noticed it, and he put his arm round -her.</p> - -<p>"Your—your fellow teacher is called Leslie Lisle?" he said.</p> - -<p>"I didn't say 'Leslie,'" said Lucy, half-frightened; "but it is Leslie."</p> - -<p>As she spoke, a tall, slim figure in a white dress appeared against -the dim background of the open doorway, then came towards them, then -stopped.</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Lucy? You are not alone——." As she stopped her eyes -glanced quickly from one to the other, dilating as she looked; then her -face grew crimson, and she spoke his name: "Ralph!"</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he answered, and made a movement towards her; then, as if -suddenly remembering the wondering, frightened girl on his arm, stopped.</p> - -<p>"You—you know one another!" said Lucy, at last, in a kind of gasp. -"Oh, what does it mean?"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe, the ever ready, self-possessed city man, the man whose -clerks regarded him as of iron rather than flesh and blood, stood -biting his lip, and staring at the white figure motionless and dumb.</p> - -<p>But the gods made women quick, and that glance from one to the other -had told Leslie all their story. Trembling a little, but outwardly -calm, she glided towards them.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, slowly, distinctly, "Mr. Duncombe and I know each -other. We are old, very old friends——."</p> - -<p>"Friends?" fell from Lucy's quivering lips, and spoke doubtfully in her -wide-open eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes, dear," said Leslie, softly, "great friends—nothing more." The -last two words were breathed rather than spoken, and Lucy's lips opened -with a deep sigh of relief, and the hand that had been gradually -slipping, slipping from Ralph's arm, tightened again.</p> - -<p>"This—this is a surprise, Les—Miss Lisle," he said at last,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> and his -voice sounded almost harsh from his emotion. "Where have you been? What -has happened?" he glanced at the black scarf, at the black ribbons on -her sleeves, and his voice faltered.</p> - -<p>Leslie's head drooped for a moment, then she raised it bravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" she said, answering his unspoken question. "Months ago. I will -tell you about it—presently. Will you both go in? You have something -to tell me, I see," and she smiled. "I will come directly. I have lost -something——."</p> - -<p>Lucy took Ralph's hand and held it up.</p> - -<p>"It is found," she said, and pointed to the ring solemnly. "It was to -you he gave it, was it not, Leslie?" and a dark, a terrible fear, a -pang almost of jealousy shook her heart.</p> - -<p>Leslie motioned to Ralph to be silent, and taking Lucy's hand drew her -towards her.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Lucy," she said, in a low voice, every word thrilling intensely. -"The ring was given to me by Mr. Duncombe. It was given to me as a -pledge of friendship. It was a farewell gift. Given without requital; a -pledge and a token that if ever I needed the donor's help I had but to -send it as a message to find that help. Since the day he gave it to me -I have not seen Mr. Duncombe, but I have not forgotten him nor ceased -to cherish my ring. And yet," a sad little smile curved her lip. "I -have lost it twice——."</p> - -<p>Somehow, these last few words went farther to reassure Lucy than -anything else could go. Lovers do not lose their love tokens! If Leslie -had cared for Ralph, she would have taken better care of her ring.</p> - -<p>"I—I don't understand—ah, yes, I do! I see it all!" she said, with a -little sob, and looking from one to the other. "I understand it all! It -is very natural," her voice choked a little. "Who could see you, know -you, without loving you——."</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush!" whispered Leslie in her ear. "That was so long ago that -he has forgotten it. There is only one woman in the world he loves, and -she is here!" and she drew Lucy's face against her bosom with a loving -pressure.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe stood, as a man in such a situation must stand, silent -and awkward. It seemed as if both had clean forgotten him, but suddenly -Leslie held out her hand to him.</p> - -<p>"We have not shaken hands yet," she said, with a little laugh, "and we -are keeping you outside in the most inhospitable fashion. Pray come -in!" and she went in, still holding Lucy to her.</p> - -<p>"Now let me turn up the lamp; how the evenings draw in, do they not? -Supper is ready, and——." Then she broke down, and sinking into a -chair, leant her head in her hands.</p> - -<p>Lucy knelt beside her and soothed her.</p> - -<p>"It is her father she is thinking of," she whispered to Ralph with -womanly instinct; she knew that Leslie would have died rather than weep -over a lost lover before that lover and the woman who had won him. "It -is of her father; the sight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> you has brought it all back to her! Oh, -how wonderful it all is! To think that you——."</p> - -<p>"I'd better go!" said Ralph, with a man's aptitude at doing the wrong -thing.</p> - -<p>"No, no! wait till she has got over it. She will be all right in a -moment; you don't know how brave she is."</p> - -<p>Indeed, almost in a moment Leslie had dried her tears.</p> - -<p>"Forgive me!" she murmured penitently. "How selfish you must think me! -and I am so full of happiness at her happiness too! And it was to this -gentleman—this old friend of mine—you gave the fern root, and it was -he who drove you and Jenny home in the rain!"</p> - -<p>"Yes! isn't it like a fairy story, Leslie? And you are really glad?" -she asked wistfully.</p> - -<p>Leslie took the upturned face in her hand.</p> - -<p>"Gladder than I have ever been in my life—than I have been for, ah! so -long!" she corrected herself. "If I could have chosen your future for -you I would have chosen just this that fate has planned. You will make -each other very, very happy, I know! Now sit down, Mr. Duncombe. I will -promise not to—not to cry again. Lucy, cut some bread. I will be back -in a moment."</p> - -<p>As she left the room, Lucy stole half timidly up to Ralph.</p> - -<p>"Oh, how could you think of me after—after loving her!" she whispered.</p> - -<p>He bent his head and kissed her.</p> - -<p>"Say no more, Lucy," he said gravely. "Let the past bury its dead. Yes -I—I loved her; but she—I was no more to her, never could have been -more to her, than just a friend. I know it now; are you satisfied, -dearest?"</p> - -<p>She looked into his eyes for a moment, a look which seemed to sink -into his soul; then she let her head fall on his breast with a sigh -of peace. When Leslie came down there were no tears in her eyes, and -presently, of her own accord, she spoke of her father's death, and told -Ralph Duncombe how she had met with Lucy, and how they had passed their -exams and obtained the school. But not one word did she say of Yorke. -Ralph noticed this.</p> - -<p>"And why did you not send to me?" he said reproachfully.</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"You were too proud!" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that was it," she admitted quietly. "I was too proud."</p> - -<p>"And it would have given me much pleasure to have helped you!" he said. -"Is there nothing I can do now? Can you think of nothing?"</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head with a faint smile.</p> - -<p>"We have everything we want, have we not, Lucy?" she said.</p> - -<p>Lucy blushed. She certainly had.</p> - -<p>"No, there is nothing," continued Leslie, then she stopped and he -looked up quickly.</p> - -<p>"There is something you have thought of?" he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> - -<p>Leslie's head drooped thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>"Yes, there is something," she said. Lucy got up as if to leave the -room; but Leslie put out a hand and stayed her. "No, dear, it is no -secret; besides, if it were, you must not keep secrets from each other. -Wait a moment."</p> - -<p>Lucy and Ralph exchanged glances.</p> - -<p>"Do you know anything?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Lucy shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No," she replied in an awed whisper, "she has told me nothing of her -past—nothing. We love each other like sisters, and I think there is -no one in the world half so good or sweet as Leslie, but I should not -dare—yes, that is the word—to ask for her confidence."</p> - -<p>Leslie came back into the room. She had a small packet in her hand, and -she laid it on the table before Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>"I am going to ask you to do something for me," she said with a smile -that flickered sadly, as if it were very near tears. "I wish you to -give this to the person to whom it is addressed."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe took up the packet.</p> - -<p>"The Duke of Rothbury!" he said aloud.</p> - -<p>Lucy opened her eyes.</p> - -<p>"You may open it," said Leslie in a low voice. "It is of value—great -value, I believe. If it had not been I would have sent it by post. Yes, -open it."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe opened the packet and stared amazed.</p> - -<p>"It is of great value," he said gravely; "and—and I am to give it to -the Duke of Rothbury?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie, her lips quivering. The sight of the sorrow which -she was trying to hide stirred him past repression.</p> - -<p>"He gave you this?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but—but do not ask me any questions, please," she faltered.</p> - -<p>Her color came and went.</p> - -<p>"It is not necessary," he said. "You have suffered, and at his -hands——."</p> - -<p>"No—no——."</p> - -<p>"But it is yes, yes!" he said, with restrained passion, and with a -strange perplexity. Great heaven, what a mistake Lady Eleanor had made! -It was not Lord Auchester then, but the Duke of Rothbury Leslie had -been going to marry.</p> - -<p>"I will give it him," he said sternly.</p> - -<p>Leslie looked up with a sudden glance of apprehension.</p> - -<p>"Give it to him; but that is all!" she said meaningly. "There is -nothing to be said—or done."</p> - -<p>"You mean that if—if he has injured you, you have forgiven him?" he -said.</p> - -<p>"Long, long ago!" she breathed. "You may say that, if—if there should -be occasion, but no more."</p> - -<p>He bowed his head.</p> - -<p>"It shall be as you wish," he said; "your word is a law to me."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I knew you would do it for me," she said in a low voice; "would -understand."</p> - -<p>Then, as if she wished the subject to be closed, she began to talk of -his and Lucy's strange meeting, and their future.</p> - -<p>"It is the greatest pity in the world that you should have happened to -be passing the day Lucy was frightened by the wild horseman, for the -Government will lose one of its best teachers."</p> - -<p>"And I shall gain one of the best of wives!" he murmured. They talked -for half an hour, and Leslie seemed as light-hearted as they, but -presently she stole out of the room, looking over her shoulder in the -doorway with a "good-night."</p> - -<p>"Do you understand it?" whispered Lucy, as he took her in his arms to -say farewell. "Does it mean that Leslie might have been a duchess?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think so," he said. "I don't quite understand it; I feel as if -I were groping in the dark with just a glimmer of light. But, anyhow, I -know, I am sure that the fault, if there was any, was his, and I wish -that she had left me free to tell him so and exact reparation."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but that is just what you must not do!" said Lucy sternly. "It is -just what Leslie does not want. You are to give him back the diamonds -and say nothing excepting that she forgives him!"</p> - -<p>He nodded with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"Poor Leslie! How she must have suffered!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you can see that by her face, even now; and it is ever so much -happier and brighter than when I saw it first. Ah, Ralph, I wish she -were as happy as we are!"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe, as he drove along the road to White Place with the -diamond pendant in his pocket, felt like a man struggling with a -tremendous enigma. Lady Eleanor had evidently made a terrible and -unaccountable blunder in stating and believing that it was Yorke -Auchester whom Leslie was going to marry. How could she have made such -a mistake? And what had happened to break off the marriage? Had the -duke jilted Leslie? At the thought—though he was in love with Lucy -now—his face grew red with anger and he felt that, duke or no duke, he -would have called him to account but for Leslie's injunction.</p> - -<p>When he reached White Place he found Lady Eleanor pacing up and down -the room with an open letter in her hand, and she turned to greet him -with a smile on her flushed face.</p> - -<p>"You have good news?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes." She nodded twice with a joyous light in her eyes. "I have heard -from Lord Auchester. He is coming back the day after to-morrow. He and -the Duke of Rothbury——."</p> - -<p>Ralph started, and his face darkened.</p> - -<p>"The Duke of Rothbury?" he said. "I am glad of that, Lady Eleanor, -for I wish to see him. And, Lady Eleanor, I have something to tell -you—something you will be glad to hear. There has been a strange and -awkward mistake. It was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> Lord Auchester who was going to marry -Miss—Miss Lisle, but the Duke of Rothbury."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor's face paled, and she caught her breath.</p> - -<p>"Not—Yorke! The duke! Ah, no, no! That cannot be!"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, but I am right," he said, rather sternly.</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No, no; I saw—" She stopped, and the color flew to her face. "I saw -him buying the—the wedding ring."</p> - -<p>Ralph stared at her, then he smiled grimly.</p> - -<p>"He may have bought a ring, but not for himself," he said. "It may have -been for the duke, for it was the duke she was going to marry, Lady -Eleanor."</p> - -<p>"How—how do you know?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle herself told me."</p> - -<p>She started.</p> - -<p>"She! Where—where is she?"</p> - -<p>"She is the teacher at the school at Newfold."</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor sank into a chair, and looked up at him with frightened -eyes.</p> - -<p>"Here—so near? Oh, let me think!" and she clasped her hands over her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"That is what I have been doing; thinking," he said grimly. "It has -been a terrible blunder. I do not know all the circumstances—scarcely -any, indeed—of the case; I only know that it was the duke to whom she -was engaged."</p> - -<p>"Was? Then it is broken off?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said gravely. "By Miss Lisle—for good and sufficient -reasons, I am certain."</p> - -<p>She looked at him keenly.</p> - -<p>"You know her—you have known her all along." She saw him color, and -added in a breath—"Ah, I understand!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "I have known Miss Lisle a long time. I had hoped once -to induce her to become my wife, but——."</p> - -<p>"And now?"</p> - -<p>"I am engaged to another lady," he said, rather stiffly. "Miss Lisle -refused me. That is all that need be said on that point, Lady Eleanor."</p> - -<p>She inclined her head.</p> - -<p>"It has been a terrible blunder," she said thoughtfully. "But—ah, what -a load your news has removed from my heart! Not Lord Auchester, but the -duke!"</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Yorke was all her own now!</p> - -<p>"Can you tell me the duke's address. Lady Eleanor?" he asked after a -pause.</p> - -<p>"His London house is in Grosvenor Square. He will go there, and not to -Rothbury, on his return to England. Do you want to see him?" she added. -"Why?"</p> - -<p>"I have a small matter of business with his grace," he replied.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor looked at his grave face apprehensively.</p> - -<p>"You will not——."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Tell him anything that has occurred? Scarcely, Lady Eleanor," he said. -"That which you and I did in regard to these bills and Lord Auchester's -money affairs must forever remain secret. Erase it from your memory."</p> - -<p>"Ah, if I could!" she murmured. "When I think of the possibility of his -knowing——."</p> - -<p>"It is not likely that he will ever know," he said. "The secret is -yours and mine alone. You say that Lord Auchester is returning the day -after to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"In that case, Lady Eleanor, my visits to White Place must cease. You -will not need any help of mine in the future—I need not say that I -should be as ready and willing to be of assistance to you as I have -ever been—but it will be better that all communication between us -should cease. You will not misunderstand me?"</p> - -<p>"No, no! I understand," she said. "I am very grateful for all you have -done. But for you I should not be as happy as I am."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to have helped you to that happiness, however slightly," -he said. "And I trust that you may be happier still in the future. -Good-by, Lady Eleanor."</p> - -<p>He held her hand for a moment or two, then left her. He had no desire -to see her again. If he could have done so, he would have wiped from -his memory the plot in which he had been concerned with her to drive -Lord Auchester into her arms; indeed, as he drove through the silent -night he felt heartily ashamed of it. He thought of Leslie and Lucy -throughout the journey with a strange sense of confusion. He loved the -gentle girl who had given him her heart, but he would remain Leslie's -friend and champion. That the Duke of Rothbury had in some way behaved -badly to her he felt assured, and but for his promise to Leslie he -would have called him to account. As it was, he had bound himself to -the simple return of the diamond pendant.</p> - -<p>He carried it in his breast pocket for the two following days, and on -the third went to Grosvenor Square.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; his grace is at home, but I do not know whether he can see -you. I will ask his gentleman."</p> - -<p>Grey came into the hall, and shook his head as Ralph Duncombe preferred -a request for an interview.</p> - -<p>"His grace only returned yesterday, and is very tired, sir," he said. -"I am afraid he cannot see you."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe wrote on the back of his card, "From Miss Lisle," and -enclosed it in an envelope.</p> - -<p>"Give that to his grace," he said.</p> - -<p>Grey came back after a few minutes.</p> - -<p>"His grace will see you, sir. Follow me, if you please," and he led the -way to the study at the back of the hall.</p> - -<p>The duke was lying on the adjustable couch, and the sight of his wasted -form and deathlike face startled Ralph Duncombe and drove all the anger -from his heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> - -<p>The duke signed to Grey to withdraw, then raised himself on his elbow -and looked at Ralph Duncombe keenly.</p> - -<p>"You wish to see me?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Ralph, and unconsciously he lowered his voice.</p> - -<p>"And you come from—Miss Lisle?" A faint, very faint color tinged the -transparent face.</p> - -<p>"I do, your grace. I am charged with a simple mission. Miss Lisle bids -me return this to your grace," and he held out the packet.</p> - -<p>The duke took it and opened it, and gazed at the pendant as it flashed -in the palm of his hand.</p> - -<p>"She told you to return it to me? I did not give——." He stopped.</p> - -<p>"I was to return it to the Duke of Rothbury," said Ralph, rather -sternly.</p> - -<p>"To—the—Duke of Rothbury; yes, yes," said the duke in a low voice, -and the color deepened in his face. "You have come from Miss Lisle? You -know where she is; may I ask her address?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot give it to your grace," said Ralph.</p> - -<p>The duke flashed his eyes—they glittered in their dark rings—then he -let them fall, and sighed.</p> - -<p>"I understand. At least you will tell me whether she is well and—and -happy?"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe's wrath smouldered.</p> - -<p>"She is well now, and I trust happy," he said.</p> - -<p>"Now? Has she been ill?"</p> - -<p>"Ill and in great trouble. Her father is dead——."</p> - -<p>The duke raised himself to an upright position, then sank back.</p> - -<p>"Poor girl, poor girl!" he murmured.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe flushed.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle neither asks nor would accept your pity, your grace," he -said, sternly. "I am ignorant of the events connected with that gift or -its return. I do not wish to know anything about it, but of this I am -assured—that Miss Lisle desires to hold no further communication with -you."</p> - -<p>The duke was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>"Very good," he said at last. "I understand. But I think if she knew -how much I desire her forgiveness for the deceit I practised upon her, -and how near I am to that land which forgiveness cannot reach, she -would not refuse to forgive me."</p> - -<p>"I have discharged my mission," said Ralph coldly. He could not bring -himself to convey Leslie's forgiveness.</p> - -<p>The duke touched an electric bell.</p> - -<p>"I wish you good day, sir," he said, and sank back with a sigh. But, -after Ralph Duncombe had gone, he opened his hand and looked at the -diamond pendant, which still lay in his palm.</p> - -<p>"Yorke had given her this," he said musingly. "But why did she send it -to me? Why? What shall I do with it? Give it to him? Dare I do so just -now? Will it be safe to call up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> sleeping memories? Had I not better -wait until—until after the wedding?"</p> - -<p>He decided that he would do so, and carefully placing the pendant in -the drawer of a cabinet that stood near his elbow, he sank back again -and closed his eyes. But his lips moved long afterwards, and "Poor -girl, poor girl!" came from them, as if he were still thinking of her.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> - -<h3>"VENGEANCE IS MINE."</h3> - - -<p>The weeks rolled on, and the wedding morn of Yorke and Eleanor Dallas -stood but three days off. It was to be a quiet wedding, in consequence -of the death of Lord Eustace and his two sons; but the heir to the -great dukedom of Rothbury could not be married without some slight -fuss, and the society papers contained interesting little paragraphs -concerning the event. The happy young people were to be married at -a little church in Newfold, a picturesque village near Lady Eleanor -Dallas's seat, White Place. There were to be only two bridesmaids, -cousins of the bride, and the great Duke of Rothbury himself was to -be the bridegroom's best man, provided that the duke should be well -enough, the paragraphist went on to say, adding that, as was well -known, the duke had been in bad health of late. After the ceremony -the young couple were to start for the South of France, and on their -return it had been arranged that they should go to Rothbury Castle, the -seat of the duke, who intended handing over the management of the vast -estate to his heir.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor read these and similar paragraphs until she had got them -by heart. To her the days seemed to drag along with forty-eight hours -to each, and they had appeared all the longer in consequence of Yorke's -absence, for on the plea of having to make his preparations, and -business for the duke, he had not paid many visits to White Place since -his return from Italy. But though Eleanor felt his absence acutely she -was too wise to complain.</p> - -<p>"I shall have him altogether presently," was the thought that consoled -her. "All my own, my own with no fear of anything or anybody coming -between us."</p> - -<p>But she was terribly restless, and wandered about the grounds, and from -room to room, 'where bridal array was littered all around,' as if she -were possessed of some uneasy spirit.</p> - -<p>"If one could only send you into a mesmeric sleep and wake you just -before the ceremony, my dear Nell, it would be a delightful arrangement -for all concerned," said Lady Denby. "It is the man who is generally -supposed to be the nervous party in the business, but I'll be bound -Yorke is as cool as a cucumber."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> - -<p>If not exactly as cool as that much abused vegetable, Yorke certainly -showed very little excitement, and as he walked into the duke's study -on the evening of the third day before that appointed for the wedding, -the duke, glancing at him keenly, remarked on his placidity.</p> - -<p>"You take things easily, Yorke," he said.</p> - -<p>"As how?" said Yorke, dropping into a chair, and poking the fire.</p> - -<p>"Well, you don't look as flurried as a nearly married man is supposed -to look."</p> - -<p>"I am not flurried," he said. "Why should I be?" and he looked round -with the poker in his hand. "Fleming has seen about the clothes, the -banns have been put up, and the tickets taken. There is nothing more to -be done on my side, I imagine. No, I am not at all flurried."</p> - -<p>"But you look tired," said the duke. "Is everything all right at -Rothbury?" Yorke had just come from there.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he replied listlessly. "I saw Lang about those leases and -arranged about the timber, and I told them to have everything ready -for you. I am glad you are going to winter there, Dolph. You will be -as comfortable, now that the whole place is warmed by that hot water -arrangement, as if you were at Nice, and will have the satisfaction, in -addition, of knowing that you are benefitting the people around. They -complained sadly of the place being shut up so much."</p> - -<p>"Well, you can alter that," said the duke. "You like the place and can -live there five or six months out of the year. I believe it is supposed -to be one of the nicest places in the kingdom."</p> - -<p>Yorke nodded and leant back, his eyes fixed on the fire.</p> - -<p>"You dine here to-night?" asked the duke after a pause.</p> - -<p>Yorke nodded again.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, yes. I'll take my dinner in here with you, if you don't mind."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't mind," said the duke with a smile of gratitude and -affection lighting up his wan face. "I wish you were going to dine in -here with me for the rest of my life; but that's rather selfish, isn't -it? Don't be longer away than you can help, Yorke. It may happen that -Eleanor will get tired of the Continent; if she should, come home at -once."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Yorke. "I am in her hands, of course."</p> - -<p>"Of course, and you couldn't be in better or sweeter."</p> - -<p>"No," assented Yorke absently. "Did you send back that draft of the -leases I posted to you?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?" The duke thought a moment. "No, I didn't. I forgot all about -them."</p> - -<p>Yorke smiled.</p> - -<p>"You see that it is time I handed in my checks and allowed a better -man to take the berth," said the duke cheerfully. "I'm very sorry, -especially as you have taken so much trouble about the business. Let me -see, where did I put them? I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten. Look in -that bureau drawer, will you?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke got up and sauntered across the room. He looked very tall and -thin in his dark mourning suit of black serge, and the duke noticed -that he was paler than when he had seen him last, paler and more tired -looking.</p> - -<p>"Never mind," he said. "Let the lawyers make out fresh ones."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'll find 'em," said Yorke. "You have stuffed them in somewhere," -and he opened drawer after drawer, in the free and easy manner in which -a favorite son opens the drawers and cupboards of a father. "I'll back -you for carefully mislaying things, especially papers, against any man -in England—excepting myself."</p> - -<p>"Grey always sees to them. He has spoilt me," remarked the duke -apologetically.</p> - -<p>"That's what I tell my man Fleming," said Yorke. "I should mislay my -head if he didn't put it on straight every morning when he brushed my -hair."</p> - -<p>The duke laughed.</p> - -<p>"They are a pattern pair," he said. "Don't trouble. Ring for Grey."</p> - -<p>But Yorke in an absent mechanical fashion still sauntered round the -room searching for the missing drafts, and presently he opened the -drawer of the small cabinet which generally stood beside the duke's -couch, but which this evening was immediately behind him.</p> - -<p>Yorke opened the drawer and turned over the things, and was closing it -again when his eyes caught the glitter of diamonds.</p> - -<p>"You keep a choice collection of things in these drawers of yours, -Dolph," he said.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" asked the duke.</p> - -<p>Yorke pulled out the pendant.</p> - -<p>"Only diamonds," he said, "and very handsome ones, too. Where on -earth did you get them, and who are they for? Perhaps I'd better not -go poking about any longer, or I shall come upon some secret——." He -stopped suddenly. He had been speaking in a tone of lazy badinage, -scarcely heeding what he was saying, until suddenly he recognized the -pendant.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I've no secrets," said the duke. "What is it you have found! Ah!" -He had swung himself round by the lever and saw Yorke gazing at the -pendant lying in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Where did you get this?" demanded Yorke. The duke looked at his face -as he asked the question. It was grave, with curiosity and surprise; -but the duke was glad to see that it showed no keener emotion, and told -himself that Yorke was forgetting Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Do you recognize it?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Yorke slowly. "It is a thing I gave——." He stopped. "How -did it come here? Where did you get it?"</p> - -<p>"It was brought to me," said the duke in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Brought to you? Why to you?" Yorke demanded, looking up from the -pendant. What memories it awakened!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I cannot tell you."</p> - -<p>"Who brought it?"</p> - -<p>"A man by the name of—I forget. His card is in the drawer."</p> - -<p>Yorke looked.</p> - -<p>"No, it is not here."</p> - -<p>"Then it is lost. His name—his name—yes, I remember. It was Duncombe. -Ralph Duncombe."</p> - -<p>"Ralph Duncombe?" Yorke spoke the name two or three times. He seemed to -think that he had heard it before, but he could not recall it. He put -the pendant in his pocket, and went and stood before the fire with his -back to the duke.</p> - -<p>"Did he give no message—no explanation?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"No," said the duke. "He acted as if he thought I had sent the thing to -her."</p> - -<p>Yorke did not look round. Why had Finetta sent back the pendant, and -why had she sent it to the duke instead of to him, Yorke?</p> - -<p>"You don't want to talk about it?" said the duke after a pause.</p> - -<p>"No, I don't," assented Yorke grimly. "There are some things one would -prefer to forget."</p> - -<p>"Ah, if one could, if one could!" muttered the duke.</p> - -<p>The dinner came in soon afterwards; and the two men talked of the -approaching marriage, of the plans for the winter, of the game at -Rothbury, of everything but the diamond pendant. Then suddenly Yorke, -who had been answering in an absent-minded kind of way, uttered an -exclamation.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" demanded the duke.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," said Yorke sharply. Then he looked at his watch. "Do you -mind my leaving you before the coffee?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit. Where are you going?"</p> - -<p>Yorke made no reply, perhaps he did not hear. He got up, and rang for -Grey to bring his hat.</p> - -<p>"I shall not be back till late, Dolph," he said. "Don't sit up."</p> - -<p>He had remembered suddenly where he had seen this Ralph Duncombe's -name. It was the man who had hunted him down to the ruin from which -Eleanor had saved him; and it was by this man Finetta had sent back the -diamond pendant. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from the -coincidence; it was Finetta, then, who had sought to revenge herself -for his desertion of her, by planning his ruin and disgrace. It was she -who had brought about this marriage of his, this marriage which would -enslave him for life.</p> - -<p>Yorke was not a bad-tempered man, nor a malignant, but at that moment -he was possessed of a burning desire to confront Finetta, and charge -her with her perfidy.</p> - -<p>He went down the Strand and entered the Diadem. The stall-keeper looked -at him with lively surprise and interest.</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you back, my lord," he said, with profound respect.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yorke took the programme and glanced at it.</p> - -<p>"Miss Finetta appears to-night?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, my lord! She will be on in a few minutes."</p> - -<p>Yorke sat bolt upright in his stall, glaring at the stage. There -were several persons in the front of the house who knew him, but he -looked neither to the left nor the right. His heart was on fire. The -false-hearted woman! She had pretended to bid him farewell in peace -and friendship, and had betrayed him! Yes, he would wait until the -performance was over, and would go round and confront her. There should -be no scene, but he would tell her that her baseness was known, and, if -possible, shame her.</p> - -<p>It was a foolish resolve, but, alas! Yorke was never celebrated for -wisdom.</p> - -<p>The orchestra played the opening to the second act, the usual chorus -sang, and the usual comic man cracked the time-honored wheezes, and -then the band played a few bars of an evidently well known melody, for -the gallery greeted the music with an anticipatory cheer, and a moment -afterwards Finetta bounded on the stage. There was a roar of delighted -welcome, and amidst it she came sailing and smiling gracefully down to -the footlights, her dark eyes flashing round with a half-languorous, -half-defiant gleam in them of which the public was so fond.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly she saw the well known face there in the stalls. For a -second she paused in her slow, waltzing step, and looked at him with -a look that he might well take for fear. The conductor of the band -glanced up, surprised; it was the first time Finetta had ever missed a -step. But before he could pull the band together and catch up the lost -bar she had gone on dancing, and danced with her accustomed grace and -precision.</p> - -<p>Yorke watched her with a grim fury. This smiling, dancing jade -had plotted to ruin him, had tried to drive him into a debtors' -court—worse, had forced him to marry Eleanor Dallas! He could have -sprung up there and then and accused her of her vileness; and the -desire to do so was so great that he was on the point of rising to -leave the theater and await her at the stage door, when suddenly he saw -her falter and stumble, and the next instant—the same instant—she had -disappeared, and in the spot where she had just stood was a gaping hole.</p> - -<p>The house rose with a gasp, a sigh of horror that rose to a yell of -indignation and accusation.</p> - -<p>It was the old story: 'Someone had blundered' and left the trap door -unbolted, and London's favorite dancer had danced upon it and gone down -to the depths beneath.</p> - -<p>The audience rose, yelling, shouting, pushing this way and that; the -curtain was lowered, the lights turned up, and the manager, in the -inevitable evening dress, appeared, with his hand upon his heart. He -assured the audience that Miss Finetta was not hurt—not seriously -hurt—and that though it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> would not be wise for her to dance again that -evening, he trusted that she would appear again to-morrow night, etc., -etc.</p> - -<p>Yorke waited till the plausible excuse was concluded, then he -quietly—in a dream, as it were—went out and round to the stage door.</p> - -<p>And one line of the Book he had, alas! read too seldom, rang in his -ears as he went: "Vengeance is Mine!"</p> - -<p>The stage door keeper knew him in a moment, but in answer to Yorke's -inquiry if he could see Miss Finetta, shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, sir! There's a rumor that she's kil——."</p> - -<p>Yorke pushed by him and made his way to the dressing rooms. There was a -crowd of chorus girls and supers surging to and fro in the corridor and -clustered together in little knots; all talking in hurried whispers.</p> - -<p>They made way for Yorke and he knocked at the door of Finetta's -dressing room. The manager opened it.</p> - -<p>"Is it the doctor—oh, it's you, my lord!" he said in a whisper. "It's -an awful thing! In the middle of the season, too!"</p> - -<p>"Is she——," began Yorke in a low voice, hoarse with agitation. But low -as it was it was heard by someone within the room, for Finetta's voice, -weak and hollow with pain, said:</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Yorke? Let him come in!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> - -<h3>FINETTA'S CONFESSION.</h3> - - -<p>Yorke went in. Finetta was lying on the sofa, lying with that awful -inert look which tells its own story. Her shapely arm hung down limply, -helplessly; across her face, white as death, a thin line of blood -trickled, coming again as fast as the trembling dresser wiped it away. -One or two women stood near her, silent and apprehensive.</p> - -<p>She lifted her eyes heavily and tried to smile.</p> - -<p>"I—I thought you would come," she said painfully. "I saw you in the -stalls."</p> - -<p>Yorke bent over her, all the anger sped from his heart.</p> - -<p>"Are you hurt, Fin?" he said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said. "Badly, I think. Some—some fool left the trap -unbolted; or—" a gleam of fire shot into her eyes for a moment—"or -was it done on purpose, eh? There's one or two here who wouldn't be -sorry to have me out of the bills. Well, they'll have their wish for a -short time."</p> - -<p>"Have you sent for a doctor?" Yorke asked the manager.</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"Doctor! I don't want any doctor here," said Finetta sharply. "I want -to go home. Take me home, Yorke. Never mind what they say. Take me -home, if you have to do it on a stretcher."</p> - -<p>"Very well," he said.</p> - -<p>The manager drew him outside.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You can't do it, I'm afraid, my lord. She's too hurt to be moved."</p> - -<p>"Don't listen to him, Yorke!" Finetta's voice came to them. "Take me -home."</p> - -<p>A long slight table stood in the passage. Yorke wrenched the legs -off and called to a couple of carpenters. Then, with the help of the -manager and dresser, he laid Finetta on this impromptu stretcher and -carried her to the brougham which was waiting outside.</p> - -<p>"Drive slowly," he said to the man.</p> - -<p>"No, let him go fast," panted Finetta. "I can bear it," and she -clenched her teeth. Yorke sat beside her and supported her, and she lay -with her head on his shoulder, her teeth set hard, her hands grasping -each other, and no cry or groan passed her lips.</p> - -<p>At the sound of the brougham wheels Polly came to the door, and uttered -a cry of alarm at the sight of her sister lying limp and helpless in -Yorke's arms.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord Yorke!" she gasped.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened, Polly," he said. "Finetta has met with an -accident."</p> - -<p>They carried her upstairs.</p> - -<p>"Get her undressed and into bed," he said. "I'm going for a doctor."</p> - -<p>"You—you will come back, Yorke?" Finetta managed to say.</p> - -<p>"Of course," he said. "Keep up your heart, Fin. You'll be all right."</p> - -<p>He got the doctor, and while he was upstairs making his examination -Yorke paced up and down the sumptuous dining-room in which he had spent -so many pleasant, merry hours.</p> - -<p>It seemed an age before the doctor came down.</p> - -<p>"Well?" asked Yorke anxiously.</p> - -<p>The doctor looked down with the professional gravity.</p> - -<p>"She is very badly hurt," he said. "Oh, no," he added, seeing Yorke -start and wince. "I don't say that it will kill her, but—you see she -struck the edge of the trap with her back. I think I should like to -have Sir Andrew."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" said Yorke. "I will send for him at once——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, to-morrow will do, my lord," said the doctor. "He could do no -more for her than I can accomplish, and she is—unfortunately—in very -little pain. But there seems to be something on her mind, something in -which your lordship is concerned, and she is very anxious to see you."</p> - -<p>"I will go to her," said Yorke at once.</p> - -<p>They went upstairs, and Finetta turned her great eyes upon them.</p> - -<p>"What has he been telling you, Yorke?" she asked feebly. "Am I going to -die? Don't be afraid, I'm not a milksop, and I shan't go into hysterics -and make a scene. I suppose I've got to die, as well as other people."</p> - -<p>"No, no, there is no talk of dying, Fin," he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Then what is it? Why do you both look so glum?" she said, impatiently. -"There's nothing much in falling down a trap: I've seen heaps of people -do it. What is it? Am I going to be laid up long? Ask him how soon I -shall be able to dance again?"</p> - -<p>"Better be quiet," said the doctor, with his hand on her pulse.</p> - -<p>"You answer my question," she retorted as furiously as her weakness -would allow.</p> - -<p>"I'll answer any questions you like to-morrow," he said soothingly. "I -want you to rest now."</p> - -<p>"They're all like that—a pack of old women," she said, "and they think -we're all old women too! Rest! ah, if he could give me something that -would make me rest——. Don't go, Yorke; not yet. I—I want to say -something to you. It's a long time since you were here, Yorke," and she -sighed.</p> - -<p>He sat down beside the bed and held her hand, and she turned her eyes -upon him gratefully, then averted them and groaned faintly.</p> - -<p>"Did I hurt you, Fin?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" she replied. "It wasn't that. It—it was something I was -thinking of."</p> - -<p>"You mustn't talk," said the doctor.</p> - -<p>She opened her lips and grinned at him contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"Why mustn't I? Do you think I am going off my head? Well, there—but -don't leave me, or if you do, come again to-morrow, Yorke," and she -turned her head away and closed her eyes.</p> - -<p>Yorke sat beside her through the night, holding her hand. At times she -seemed to fall into an uneasy slumber, from which she would wake and -look from him to Polly with a vacant gaze which grew troubled when it -rested on his face, and then she would sigh and close her eyes again. -Toward morning she fell into a deep sleep, and Yorke went home, but -only remained long enough to change his clothes, and returned to St. -John's Wood. He found Sir Andrew there, and the great man greeted him -with a significant gravity; but before he could speak Finetta turned -her eyes to Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Ask him to tell me the truth of the case, Yorke!" she said, in a voice -much weaker than that of last night. "I'm not afraid. He says I'm not -going to die; but ask him how soon I shall get back to the Diadem!"</p> - -<p>Sir Andrew smiled, but it was the smile which masks the face of the -physician while he pronounces sentence.</p> - -<p>"Not yet awhile, my dear young lady," he said.</p> - -<p>"Not yet—ah!" She tried to sit up, but sank back and fixed her dark -bold eyes on him. "You mean! What is it you mean? Not—not——," her -voice quivered and broke. "Oh, God, you mean that I shall never dance -again!"</p> - -<p>The doctor looked down. She read his answer in his face, and silenced -Sir Andrew's conventional protest.</p> - -<p>"You—you needn't lie. I—I can see it in your faces. Oh!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> and a low -but heart-breaking cry rose from her white lips. "Oh, never, never -again! Never to dance again! Oh, Yorke, Yorke, tell them to kill me! -I'd rather die—rather, ten thousand times rather! Never to dance -again. It isn't true," she burst out, her tone changed to weak fury and -resentment. "You don't know. You can't tell. Doctors are fools, all of -'em. Send them away, Yorke. I hate the sight of them standing there -like a couple of undertakers. What, not to dance again! It's a lie! -It's a——." Then she covered her face with her hands, and her whole -body shook and trembled.</p> - -<p>The paroxysms passed, and she drew a long breath and put out her hand -to Yorke.</p> - -<p>"It's true," she said, in a faint voice, "I feel it. Don't—don't mind -what I said, gentlemen. It—it's knocked me rather hard. You see, I've -got nothing to—to live for but my dancing. I'm—I'm nothing without -that. Oh, God, what an end! To lie here——," she turned her head away -and groaned.</p> - -<p>Yorke held her hand in silence.</p> - -<p>What could he say? The doctors went; the morning passed; he sat and -held Finetta's hand as she dozed heavily.</p> - -<p>Every now and then she stirred and opened her eyes, saw and recognized -him, and with a sigh closed them again, as if his presence soothed and -comforted her.</p> - -<p>He left her in the middle of the day, promising to return in a few -hours. He was to be married in two days time, and there were things -to be done and settled. He found a letter from Lady Eleanor awaiting -him—a loving, passionate letter, reminding him of some trifle in -connection with their wedding trip. He put it in his pocket, scarcely -read, and in the afternoon returned to Finetta. Her eyes turned to the -door with painful, feverish eagerness as he entered, and she smiled -gratefully and yet, as it seemed to him, with a curious mixture of fear -and sadness.</p> - -<p>"You—you are very good to me, Yorke," she said. "Better—better than I -deserve."</p> - -<p>"All right, Fin," he said, pressing her hand. "You'd do the same for -me; old friends, you know."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "old friends." She was silent a moment or two, then -with an effort she said, "Yorke, I've got something to tell you. -And—and I think I'd rather die than say it."</p> - -<p>"Don't say it then," he said promptly. "What's it matter? You've got to -keep quiet, the doctor said——."</p> - -<p>"But I've got to say it," she broke in with a moan. "I can't sleep or -rest while it's on my mind. You can't guess what it is, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>"No. Never mind. Let it slide till you get better, Fin."</p> - -<p>She shook her head as well as she could.</p> - -<p>"That would be a long time to keep it," she said. "Yorke, what brought -you to the theater last night?"</p> - -<p>He started slightly. It might almost be said that he had forgotten the -diamond pendant, which was still in his waistcoat pocket.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why, I came to see you, of course," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, her large eyes fixed on his. "Yes, but why? I saw your -face, Yorke, and there was mischief in it. I saw that you had found out -something, if not all."</p> - -<p>"Found out what?" he asked carelessly. "Oh, you mean about the pendant? -What made you send it back, Fin?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him with a puzzled frown.</p> - -<p>"What pendant? What are you talking about?"</p> - -<p>"The diamond ornament you sent back," he said. "But there, don't -worry——."</p> - -<p>"Diamonds I sent back? Is that likely? But what diamonds? You never -gave me any."</p> - -<p>He tried to smile banteringly; he thought her mind was wandering.</p> - -<p>"Never mind. There!" He took the pendant from his pocket and laid it in -her hand. "Take it back again, and keep it this time."</p> - -<p>She looked at it, and from it to him.</p> - -<p>"I never sent this to you—I never saw it before," she said.</p> - -<p>"All right, it doesn't matter——."</p> - -<p>"Never! You say you gave it to me. When? When?"</p> - -<p>"I sent it to you the night—the day after we parted," he said.</p> - -<p>Her eyes dilated, and she put her hand to her head.</p> - -<p>"You—sent this—this to me? You must be out of your mind, or I am. And -you say I sent it back!"</p> - -<p>"Look here, Fin," he said soothingly, "I know what it is you want to -say to me, and I want to save you the trouble and worry of saying it, -so I will tell you that I know all, and that I forgive you, if that's -what you want."</p> - -<p>Her face twitched, and her eyes fell from his.</p> - -<p>"You know all!" she faltered.</p> - -<p>He nodded gravely.</p> - -<p>"Yes. And I'll own up that I was mad. I came to the theater last night -to have a row with you. But that's all past, clean past. And after all -you didn't do me any damage, Fin—not the damage you meant to," he -corrected himself as the thought of his coming marriage flashed across -him. "It would have been all up a tree with me if a—a friend hadn't -found the money at the last moment; but as it turned out we got the -best of you and your friend, Mr. Ralph Duncombe."</p> - -<p>She gazed at him with knitted brows.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Ralph who? I never heard the name before. What are you talking -about?" she demanded.</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<p>"Answer! Tell me!" she broke out. "Explain what you are driving at, or -I shall go clean mad."</p> - -<p>He bit his lip.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you let it rest?" he said wearily. "I tell you I'm ready -to forget it, that I've forgiven you. After all it was tit for tat, -and only natural. And it was clever, too, in a way. Did you think of -it yourself, Fin, or did this strange gentleman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> this new friend of -yours, hit upon the idea of buying up my debts and hunting me into a -corner——."</p> - -<p>He stopped, for with a tremendous effort she had raised herself.</p> - -<p>"Stop!" she panted. "This—this is all new to me. I know nothing of it. -It's not that I wanted to tell you about. Not that. I never bought your -debts. I never heard this man's name before in my life. Ah"—for his -face had gone white—"you believe me! It wasn't me who planned that."</p> - -<p>"Not you? Then who?"</p> - -<p>She fell back.</p> - -<p>"Ah," she breathed, "I—I can guess. Oh, Yorke, this you have told me -makes it all the harder for me. But I must tell you. It weighs on my -heart like—like lead. Ever since I fell, all the while I've been lying -here her face has haunted me. I see it waking and sleeping, all white -and drawn, with the tears running down it as it was when I told her."</p> - -<p>"Whose—whose face? Whose?" he said, a vague presentiment mingling with -his amazement and confusion.</p> - -<p>"The young lady's—Leslie Lisle's," she gasped.</p> - -<p>He sprang to his feet, then sank into the chair again, and sat -breathing hard for a moment.</p> - -<p>She waited till she had regained strength, then hurried on.</p> - -<p>"It was me who—who separated you. Yorke, wait, don't—don't speak. -It—it was a chance that helped me. I'd followed you to that place, -Portmaris, and I was caught by the tide, and she tried to save me, and -we climbed the cliff, and when I fainted she found the locket with your -portrait in my bosom. See," and she drew the locket out and held it to -him.</p> - -<p>He took it mechanically and uttered a cry—a terrible cry.</p> - -<p>"I gave you this! It's false! You stole it! Oh, Fin, forgive -me—forgive me, but I feel as if I were going mad!" and he covered his -face with his hands.</p> - -<p>She let her hand rest on his arm timidly.</p> - -<p>"Hold on!" she panted. "Let me tell you all as it happened. The -tangle's coming straight. There's—there's been some devil's work -besides mine! She saw the portrait and—and recognized it. I told her -that you'd given it to me—as you had——."</p> - -<p>"No, no! I sent it to her the same day as I sent this thing to you."</p> - -<p>She gazed at him perplexedly for a moment; then she laughed a mirthless -laugh.</p> - -<p>"My God!" she said, "I see! You put them in the wrong papers! and I -thought you—you cared for me still; and—and I told her so. And she -believed it!"</p> - -<p>"You told her—she believed it!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she panted hoarsely. "She believed it, and gave you up! She -couldn't do otherwise after finding that locket and—and the lies I -told her. I said you were going to marry me——."</p> - -<p>She stopped and looked at his face, white and set.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You—you could kill me even as I lie here, Yorke," she said, in a -dull, despairing voice. "I can see it in your eyes."</p> - -<p>He turned his eyes away.</p> - -<p>"Go—go on!" he said, almost inarticulately.</p> - -<p>She put her hand to her brow.</p> - -<p>"I left her there, looking more dead than alive, and came back to town, -and I thought you'd come back to me. I—I waited, and one day I saw you -in Hancock's buying the—the ring; and I knew she'd taken you back, and -all in the moment I—I told her, and then I got frightened at what I'd -done. And when I saw that she had managed to do what I had failed over, -and had separated you from Leslie Lisle and got you for herself——."</p> - -<p>He rose and stretched out his hands to her as if he would stop her.</p> - -<p>"Her? Who?"</p> - -<p>"Who?" she opened her eyes upon him. "Why, Lady Eleanor Dallas! It's -she you are going to marry, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>He went to the mantel shelf and dropped his head upon his arms; then he -came back and sank into the chair again with his hands thrust into his -pockets, his head upon his breast.</p> - -<p>"It's—it's a bad business, Yorke," she panted wearily. "But—but don't -be too hard on me, or on her. For she loves you, Yorke! Ah! that's been -the trouble all round; we've all loved you too well!" and she turned -her face away and closed her eyes.</p> - -<p>He sat and stared before him like a man dazed. For one moment he had -felt convinced that Finetta's disclosure was the outcome of delirium; -but as she had gone on with her confession, he knew that she was -speaking of realities.</p> - -<p>They had misjudged Leslie after all; she had not left him because she -had discovered that he was not a duke! The reflection was the only one -relieving streak of light in the gloom. What should he do? What could -he do? Where was Leslie? And even if he found her, how could he desert -Lady Eleanor? How could he throw her over on the very eve of their -wedding day? She had not sinned against him, as Finetta had done; her -only sin, as Finetta had so truly said, consisted in loving him too -well. No, even if he knew where Leslie Lisle was, he could not desert -Eleanor. He must marry her and try—as he had been trying all this -time—to tear Leslie's image from his heart. But, ah, how much harder -this feat had become since Finetta's disclosure.</p> - -<p>She looked round at last.</p> - -<p>"You are still here, Yorke," she said. "You haven't gone? I thought—I -thought you'd have left me directly, and that I shouldn't have seen you -again."</p> - -<p>He laughed, scarcely knowing what he did.</p> - -<p>"Not much use in that, Fin," he said drearily, hopelessly. "You acted -like—well, like a woman, I suppose——."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she moaned. "I acted like a demon. I hadn't any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> pity, any mercy! -I watched her getting whiter and whiter—I heard her cry out as if I'd -stabbed her——."</p> - -<p>He put up his hand to silence her.</p> - -<p>"That—that will do, Fin!" he said hoarsely.</p> - -<p>"But I should have given in to her and kept back the lies if you hadn't -sent me this."</p> - -<p>She put her hand to her bosom and drew out the locket. "That gave me -the pluck and the obstinacy. I thought after all you cared for me——." -She stopped. "It was a mistake all round, and—and—so I don't care to -keep it any longer. Take it, Yorke."</p> - -<p>He shook his head; but she put the locket in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Do you think I'd keep it now I know you didn't mean it for me, but for -her? Not me! Take it and—well, give me the other."</p> - -<p>He suffered her to close his hand over the locket; and she took the -pendant and laid it on the pillow.</p> - -<p>"I know now why she put her hand to her bosom once or twice; this was -lying there. Poor girl! Yes, I can be sorry for her, for I knew what -she felt. But it's too late now, Yorke, I suppose. You've got to marry -Lady Eleanor, eh? Well," as he remained silent, "let's hope that poor -young thing has forgotten you!"</p> - -<p>Yorke got up and strode up and down, biting his lip and shutting and -opening his hands.</p> - -<p>"Better go now, Yorke," she said with a sigh. "I know you hate the -sight of me; that's only natural——."</p> - -<p>"No, no, Fin!" he said with a frown. "I'm not so bad as that; but I -feel confused and half mad. God forgive us all, we all seem to have -conspired to work her harm! Even Dolph—and I who loved her! Yes, I'd -better go, Fin; but I will come back——."</p> - -<p>"No, you won't," she said quietly, "at least, not till after your -marriage. But, Yorke——."</p> - -<p>"Well?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"If—if you should ever find her—Miss Lisle," she said, in a low, -hesitating voice, "I wish—I wish you'd tell her I'd made a clean -breast of it; and—and ask her to come and see me. She'd come; she's -one of that sort of women that are always ready to forgive; and she'll -forgive me right enough when she sees me lying here helpless as a log, -and remembers how hard I fought beside her up that beastly cliff that -day! Go now, Yorke, and—well, I don't know that God would bless you -any the sooner for my asking Him. But you have been very easy with me, -Yorke, after all I've done to make you wretched."</p> - -<p>Her voice died away inaudibly at the last words, and she took the hand -he gave her and laid it on her lips.</p> - -<p>Yorke went out with the locket in his hand, and a burning fire in his -heart and brain.</p> - -<p>This butterfly o' the wind, this dancing girl, had wrecked Leslie's and -his lives! Wrecked and ruined them irreparably. She had spoken of his -finding Leslie; but where could he look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> for her, and, indeed, would it -not be better that they should never meet again? He had got to marry -Eleanor—and the day after to-morrow; Finetta's confession—like most -confessions by the way—had come too late!</p> - -<p>In a frame of mind which beggars description he went to Bury Street and -resumed his packing; then, in the midst of it, he remembered that he -had promised to go to White Place that evening.</p> - -<p>This butterfly o' the wind, this dancing girl, had wrecked his life! As -he thought of this, he found the locket in his pocket, and transferred -it to that of the waistcoat he was putting on.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XL.</h2> - -<h3>"MY SWEET GIRL LOVE."</h3> - - -<p>When he got down to White Place—he had walked from the station—he -found Lady Denby alone.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor has gone out," she said, "but only for a stroll. As you did -not come by the usual train she gave you up. Why didn't you wire?"</p> - -<p>"I forgot it," he replied absently.</p> - -<p>Lady Denby laughed ironically.</p> - -<p>"What is the use of having a special wire if you don't use it?" she -said. "Have you had your dinner?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," he replied, though he had eaten nothing since the morning.</p> - -<p>Lady Denby looked at him curiously.</p> - -<p>"You are not looking very well, Yorke," she said. "You seem tired and -fagged, and a change is what you want."</p> - -<p>"Well, I shall get it directly," he said, with unconscious grimness. -"Which way has Eleanor gone? I'll see if I can find her."</p> - -<p>"She said something about going to the village," Lady Denby replied; -"but I don't expect she will get beyond the grounds. Have some coffee -or something."</p> - -<p>He mixed a brandy and soda, more to please her than himself, and then -went out.</p> - -<p>Remembering what Lady Denby had said, he should have kept to the park, -but he was not thinking of Lady Eleanor or the way she had taken, and -he went straight out of the gate and along the road to the village.</p> - -<p>He was thinking, alas! not of the woman he was going to marry in two -days' time, but of Leslie Lisle; thinking that, perhaps, some day he -should meet her. What would he say to her then? Would it be just simply -"How do you do, Miss Lisle?" and go on his way again? Ah, no! Let him -meet her when he might, sooner or later he would have to tell her how -they had been separated, and why, when the knowledge of Finetta's -perfidy had come to him, it was too late to go back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> to her! He would -have to tell her that, would have to clear himself in her eyes!</p> - -<p>He walked on, wrapt in bitter thoughts, haunted by the spectre which -takes the shape of 'It might have been,' and found himself far on the -London Road. He had, all unconsciously, passed the village, and he -would have still kept striding along, but that a heavy shower, which -had been threatening for some time, came pelting down. So he turned -back at a slower pace, and, as most men do when they are getting wet, -thought of a pipe.</p> - -<p>He found his pipe and a tobacco pouch, but his match box was absent. -He hunted in the corners and crevices of his pockets for a match, but -unsuccessfully, and he was about to give up the idea of a smoke, when -he came upon the school and school-house. He stopped and looked at it -absently; he had been so absorbed in gloomy reverie as he passed it on -his way from White Place that he had not noticed it.</p> - -<p>He stood by the little white gate in the close-cut hedge for a moment -or two to see if any one was about of whom he could ask a light; then, -as no one appeared, he pushed open the gate, walked up the narrow, -weedless path, and knocked at the door.</p> - -<p>A neat, a remarkably neat, little handmaid answered the knock, and in -severe accents said:</p> - -<p>"Round to the back-door, my man."</p> - -<p>Yorke had his coat collar turned up, and his short pipe in his mouth, -and the little maid had taken him for a tramp or a pedlar.</p> - -<p>He smiled, and entering into the humor of the thing, obediently, not to -say humbly, went round the house and presented himself at the back-door.</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it?" asked the girl.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I only want a light for my pipe," said Yorke. "Will you be good -enough to give me one?"</p> - -<p>She saw her mistake in a moment, and grew crimson.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, but we have so many tra—er—so many -strange kind of people come knocking."</p> - -<p>"Then you do well to be careful," he said.</p> - -<p>She ran and brought him a box of matches, and he lit his pipe and -thanked her, raising his hat, and was turning to go out of the garden, -when she said:</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't you like to wait till the heaviest of the rain is over, sir?"</p> - -<p>Yorke would have declined, but that he was afraid she might think he -was wounded by her mistaking him for a tramp, so he said:</p> - -<p>"Thank you, I'll stand up under the hedge for a minute or two," and -he stood under a couple of the limes that bordered the side of the -garden, and puffed at his pipe. It did occur to him to wonder whether -Lady Eleanor had got back to White Place before the storm broke, and -whether she, in her turn, would wonder where he was; but he was just in -that frame of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> mind in which a man is glad to stand still and smoke and -think, and keep as far away as possible from friends and acquaintances. -Besides, after the next two days he might find it difficult, if not -impossible, to smoke a pipe in solitude. So he leant against the trunk -of the lime and went over in his mind all the details of Finetta's -confession. He saw it all as plainly as if he had been present at the -scene between her and Leslie. He understood how quick Leslie would be -to surrender him to the woman who had, as she thought, a prior right; -how greatly Leslie's maiden pride and jealousy would aid Finetta in her -task. And as he thought, his soul rose in bitter protest against the -fate which had wrecked both their lives.</p> - -<p>He finished his pipe, and was refilling it, and had his hand upon the -tobacco pouch, when suddenly he heard a voice singing.</p> - -<p>He paid no attention for a moment, then his hands grew motionless, and -he clutched the pouch tightly, and he looked up with a sudden flush, a -sudden light flashing in his eyes. For the voice was singing this song:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">My sweet girl love, with frank blue eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Though years have passed, I see you still,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">There where you stand beside the mill,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beneath the bright autumnal skies.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Then he laughed, laughed with a bitter, self-mockery.</p> - -<p>"I'm going out of my mind," he said, with intense self-scorn. "Here's -some girl singing a silly ballad, which no doubt sells by the thousand, -and I'm actually trying to persuade myself that the voice is like -Leslie's, just because I once heard her singing it! Yes, I'm going mad, -there's no doubt of that," and half-angrily he pressed his cap on his -forehead, savagely struck a light and lit his pipe, and prepared to -march out, though it was still raining in torrents. But as he passed -the front window, framed in the red autumnal leaves of the Virginian -creeper, he heard the voice more distinctly, and he stopped and began -to tremble, looking hard toward the window.</p> - -<p>"I am a fool!" he told himself. "I have been thinking of her so -constantly. I am so much upset that I should think any young girl I -happened to meet like her, any voice I heard like hers. This one, for -instance, is—is——."</p> - -<p>The perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and the hand that held -the pipe shook, for at that moment the last words of the song died away -with a peculiar little trill, a soft little sigh, which he remembered -in Leslie's voice, and hers alone, most distinctly.</p> - -<p>"It is easily proved," he muttered, and he stole across the small -square of grass up to the window, and looked in.</p> - -<p>For a moment or two the room seemed dark, the objects within it -indistinct; then he saw a girl seated at the piano, a slim, graceful -figure in some black, softly draping stuff, that of itself seemed to -speak of Leslie. She was seated with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> back toward the window, but -as he leant on the window-sill she moved her head, and a cry burst from -him. It was Leslie!</p> - -<p>He drew back from the window-sill and leant against the wall, under the -dripping Virginian creeper, his heart knocking against his ribs, his -lips parched and dry.</p> - -<p>What should he do? Go into the house and speak to her? Ah, not now! -Not now, just before his marriage! And yet—oh, God!—how hard it was! -Leslie in there—Leslie in there, still deeming him false, and a few -words would undeceive her. He took a couple of steps to the door, then -pulled up, and in another moment or two he would have rushed down the -path and out of the gate, but there rose, even as he turned, the sweet, -sad voice again, and his resolution melted like wax in a furnace. He -opened the door, went along the passage, paused a moment to collect -some fragment of self-possession and self-restraint, then entered the -parlor.</p> - -<p>He stood gazing at her with hungry, longing eyes, and an ache in his -heart, which grew almost unendurable, then he said as softly as he -could:</p> - -<p>"Leslie!"</p> - -<p>She stopped singing, but did not turn her head. She had, in fancy, -heard him breathe her name so often.</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he repeated, drawing nearer.</p> - -<p>Her hands grew motionless on the keys, and she looked round. Then she -rose slowly, like a ghost, her face growing whiter and whiter, her eyes -dilating, and "Yorke" breathed from her parted lips.</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he said again. "Oh, Leslie!" and he held out his arms to her.</p> - -<p>She seemed to struggle against the potent influence he exerted, then -she came nearer, swaying a little, like one walking in her sleep.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my darling, my darling, is it you? Really you?" he said in a -subdued voice, as if he feared to startle, frighten her.</p> - -<p>She was almost in his arms, her bosom heaving, her lips quivering, when -she seemed to remember; and with a cry, the saddest he had ever heard, -she swayed away from him, extending one hand as if to keep him off.</p> - -<p>He caught the hand, and held it in a grasp like that of a vice.</p> - -<p>"You shrink from me, Leslie? Oh, my dearest—to shrink from me!"</p> - -<p>She seemed to struggle for voice, and found it at last.</p> - -<p>"Why—why have you come?" she breathed.</p> - -<p>"Why have you hidden from me?" he responded, and there was almost a -touch of indignation in the earnest, pleading voice. "Why did you do -it, Leslie? Oh, God, if you knew what I have suffered——."</p> - -<p>"You—have—suffered?" she repeated. "Ah, no, not you! It is I——." She -stopped and sighed deeply.</p> - -<p>He almost forced her, by her hand, into a chair and knelt beside her.</p> - -<p>"Leslie, Leslie!" he cried, striving hard to speak calmly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> coolly. -"Listen to me. I'll try and explain. I'll try and tell you how this -cruel thing has been brought about. It will be hard work, for the words -sound like a jumble in my ears, and it is all I can do to keep myself -from taking you in my arms—ah, don't shrink, don't be frightened! I -will leave you to be the judge when—when you have heard all. Leslie, -that woman Finetta——."</p> - -<p>She started and turned her face from him.</p> - -<p>"Leslie! Leslie! She lied. She told you she was to be my wife. It was -not true, then or ever! As Heaven is my witness, there was not even -love between us, on my side. I had parted from her two days before——."</p> - -<p>"Oh, hush!" she broke out with a kind of jerk. "I remember every -word—every word. It is burnt into my heart."</p> - -<p>"It was false!" he said vehemently. "I can understand, imagine, all she -would say! She is an actress—would have deceived a woman of the world, -much more easily one all innocence and purity like yourself, dearest."</p> - -<p>She looked at him as if a glimmer of hope was dawning, then her -face clouded again, and she tried to take her hand from his, but -unsuccessfully.</p> - -<p>"You—you forget," she murmured. "The portrait. You sent it to her the -day you sent my gift to me! Your portrait!"</p> - -<p>He could have groaned.</p> - -<p>"No," he thundered, gripping her hand. "I sent that to you!"</p> - -<p>"To—me?" fell from her lips.</p> - -<p>"Yes, to you! The diamond thing I sent to her—listen and believe me, -Leslie. Look in my eyes! Ah, dearest, do you think—how could you ever -have thought—that I would be false to you? Why, I should never have -believed you false to me, though an angel had whispered it. I sent the -pendant to her because we had been good friends, and—and—ah, I must -speak openly—because I knew that she wished we might be something -more. It was a parting gift—a parting gift—from friend to friend, -that was all! But fate chose that I, like a fool, should misdirect the -packages! Leslie, the portrait was for you, the diamonds for her! Ah, -think, consider, dearest! Should I send such a thing to you? To you, -whose taste is so pure and refined!"</p> - -<p>She began to tremble, and he drew still nearer to her.</p> - -<p>"Why—why—did you not come—and—tell me this sooner?" she almost -wailed.</p> - -<p>He hung his head for a moment, then he looked up and met her eyes -steadily.</p> - -<p>"Leslie, I will tell you all. I—I have wronged you cruelly. I -have been a fool. Yes, so great, so insensate a fool as to believe -that, having learned the imposition we had practised on you, having -discovered that I was not the Duke of Rothbury, you repented of our -engagement——."</p> - -<p>"You were not the Duke of Rothbury," she said, her brows knit; "are you -not?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, if Dolph were only here!" he groaned. "No, dearest, I am not; and -at that time there was little chance of my ever being the duke. It is -Dolph—Mr. Temple—as we called him, who is the duke. It was a whim—a -freak of his. Oh, you see!"</p> - -<p>Yes, she saw, and the color came to her face, and a proud, wounded look -into her lovely eyes.</p> - -<p>"And—and you thought that it was because I believed you to be a -duke—and only because of that—that I——."</p> - -<p>"Leslie, here on my knees I plead guilty. You cannot despise me more -than I despise myself! But, dearest, think! The last words you spoke to -Dolph the morning you parted with him! Think, was there not some slight -excuse?"</p> - -<p>She hung her head.</p> - -<p>"It—it is all past now," she said at last with a deep sigh. "We cannot -re-live it all! Ah, no!"</p> - -<p>And she turned her face away as a tear rolled down her cheek. Before -that tear he lost his self-command. He forgot Lady Eleanor, forgot that -his wedding-day, as fixed, was within a few hours, and he caught her -in his arms. She uttered a low cry, and bent away from him, her hands -against his breast; but before the fire, the anguish of appeal, in his -eyes her own fell; she trembled and quivered like an imprisoned bird, -then felt herself crushed against his breast.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my darling, my darling!" he murmured brokenly. "As if you and I -could part again! No, no, never again while life lasts! Never again, -dearest. Oh, don't cry!" He kissed the tears away, and laid her face -against his lovingly, protectingly. "Don't cry, Leslie, or I shall -think you can never forgive me! And——." He looked at the black dress. -"Where is your father?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Yorke, Yorke!" she sobbed.</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush! dearest! And you bore it all alone!" he groaned. "And I -should have been by your side to help and comfort you! What shall I -say, what shall I do, to prove my remorse? It was all my fault!"</p> - -<p>"No, no," she responded, woman-like. "Not all, Yorke! I—I ought not -to have believed that—that woman. I felt that she was not—not a good -woman, and I ought not to have trusted her. But the portrait, Yorke! It -all seemed so clear, so conclusive."</p> - -<p>"I know," he said gravely; "I have heard it from her own lips."</p> - -<p>"From her own lips?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said gently. "She has confessed it all. If she sinned, she -has been punished. Finetta, the dancing girl, will never dance again; -she is helpless and crippled for life."</p> - -<p>Leslie uttered a low cry of horror and shuddered.</p> - -<p>"Oh, God forgive me! and I was just wishing she might be punished. Oh, -Yorke, where is she? I—I cannot forget her temptation, and I—I will -try and forgive her!"</p> - -<p>"She wants to see you, dearest!" he said; "I left her this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> morning -with a prayer for your forgiveness on her lips. I will take you to see -her, and she will explain all that may be still dark. See, she sent you -this," and he put the locket in her hand. "But, dearest, I want to hear -all about yourself. Why are you here—and are you here alone?"</p> - -<p>"I am the teacher here," she said. "Let me go now, Yorke, dear!"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" he said, "I cannot!" and he held her still closer. "Tell it -to me with your head lying on my shoulder, your heart to mine——." He -stopped suddenly, and Leslie following his eyes, would have broken from -him, for two persons had entered, Lucy and Ralph Duncombe, but Yorke -still held her.</p> - -<p>Lucy uttered a low cry of amazement, and the color flew to her face.</p> - -<p>"Oh, come away," she whispered to Ralph.</p> - -<p>But he strode in and confronted Yorke with indignant menace.</p> - -<p>"No!" he said, sternly; "I am Miss Lisle's friend, and it is my duty to -protect her!"</p> - -<p>"To protect her!" repeated Yorke mechanically, and staring at him.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" said Ralph. "Leslie—Miss Lisle—do you know who this gentleman -is?"</p> - -<p>Leslie, white and red by turns, raised her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" she said, almost inaudibly.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe started.</p> - -<p>"You know who he is? And—and that he is engaged—to be married to Lady -Eleanor Dallas the day after to-morrow!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XLI.</h2> - -<h3>"IT IS THE TRUTH."</h3> - - -<p>Leslie looked at Ralph Duncombe vacantly for a moment, as if she had -failed to understand him; then the color began to ebb from her face and -left it white, and she strove feebly to release herself from Yorke's -enfolding arms.</p> - -<p>He did not speak, but he glared at Ralph Duncombe in a kind of -half-dazed fury.</p> - -<p>Lucy was the first to break the awful silence which followed Ralph's -announcement.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, no, it is not—it cannot be true! There must be some mistake, -Ralph," she exclaimed, almost inaudibly.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe bit his lip. He had spoken in the first heat of his -amazement and indignation, and was, perhaps, sorry that he had done so, -or, at any rate, that he had spoken so precipitately.</p> - -<p>"It is true," he said doggedly. "Ask him! It is for him to explain."</p> - -<p>All eyes were fixed on Yorke. The two women's with an anxious, -expectant look in them, as if they were only waiting for his -contradiction and denial.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></p> - -<p>But his face grew as white as Leslie's, and after looking round wildly -he hung his head and groaned.</p> - -<p>Leslie drew herself away from him slowly, her gaze still fixed on him, -her bosom heaving, and dropped the locket from her hand. It went with a -dull thud to the floor. She had been in Paradise a moment or two ago, -had been filled with a joy which in its intensity almost atoned for the -past months of sorrow and anguish; and now she was plunged back into -the depths again.</p> - -<p>It was Lucy who spoke again. Losing her timidity in her anxiety for the -friend she loved so dearly; she glided to Yorke, and put her hand on -his arm.</p> - -<p>"Oh, speak, sir!" she implored him. "Say that it is not true! Don't you -see that she is waiting?" And she looked over her shoulder at Leslie.</p> - -<p>Yorke followed her eyes, then looked down at her pretty, anxious face -despairingly.</p> - -<p>"I cannot!" fell from his lips.</p> - -<p>Lucy shrank back from him, and stole her arm round Leslie to support -her.</p> - -<p>"You cannot! Oh!"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe came further into the room.</p> - -<p>"He cannot deny it," he said. "I know—am a friend of Lady Eleanor -Dallas. I know this gentleman, though he does not know me. He is Lord -Auchester, the heir, now, to the Duke of Rothbury, and he is engaged -to marry Lady Eleanor. The wedding is to take place the day after -to-morrow. I am sorry—yes, I am sorry—that I blurted out the truth! -but the sight of him—well, I am an old friend of Miss Lisle's, and -I claim the right to protect her. If his lordship considers that I -have exceeded a friend's privilege he is at liberty to demand any -satisfaction I can give him."</p> - -<p>Yorke raised his head. His face was set and white, his eyes heavy -with despair. He felt as the ancient gladiator felt at the moment the -fatal net caught him in its meshes, and the dagger was descending to -strike him to the heart; as the miserable wretch in the dock feels -when the sentence of death is being pronounced. For a moment it seemed -as if he could not speak, and he wiped the cold sweat from his face -mechanically; then he said in a low, broken voice:</p> - -<p>"It is the truth!" He looked at Leslie, scarcely imploringly so much as -hopelessly, despairingly. "I had forgotten it! Yes," he went on almost -fiercely, "I had forgotten it! I was so happy that I lost all memory of -it! You, sir, who came as an accuser, who no doubt, think me an utter -blackguard and lost to all sense of honour, shall be my judge as well -as my accuser."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I do not wish——," he began; but Yorke silenced him with a gesture -that was full of the dignity of despair.</p> - -<p>"Hear me, please! Miss Lisle and I were engaged to be married—that -is, months ago. We met at a place called Portmaris,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> and—" he glanced -at Lucy—"sir, I loved her as truly and devotedly as you can love this -young lady. We were to have been married——."</p> - -<p>"You!" exclaimed Ralph Duncombe. "No, it was the Duke of Rothbury to -whom she was engaged."</p> - -<p>Yorke sighed.</p> - -<p>"No, it was to me," he said. "I exchanged titles with my cousin, the -duke; why, need not be explained. Leslie—Miss Lisle understands. It -was a foolish trick, and, like most follies, has brought trouble and -sorrow in its wake. But for that stupid freak—. We were to have been -married, but on the eve of our marriage we were separated, torn apart -by a wicked lie, which, aided by a wrongly addressed envelope, served -to ruin our happiness. Miss Lisle thought I had deceived her, and, -acting on the promptings of a heart that is all truth and purity, she -cast me off. I lost her in all senses of the word, and I felt that I -deserved to lose her. Now, sir, call your imagination to your aid. Look -on this young lady whom you love, and try and put yourself in my place. -Picture to yourself my state and condition, having lost all that made -life worth living! Ah, you can!" for Ralph Duncombe looked down and bit -his lip.</p> - -<p>Yorke passed his hand across his brow and sighed heavily, and for a -moment seemed as if he had finished his explanation; then he looked up, -as if awaking suddenly.</p> - -<p>"I was in that state in which a man might win pity from his worst -enemy; but I had an enemy—of whose existence I was and am still -ignorant—and he chose that moment to hunt me into still greater -straits. I have been a fool in more senses of the word than one. I was -heavily in debt. It was because of that millstone of debt that I had -induced Miss Lisle to consent to a secret marriage. My enemy, whoever -he was, discovered this; he bought up all my debts and liabilities, -and constituting himself my sole creditor, he came down upon me with -all the weight of those debts, meaning to crush me. I should have gone -under, never to rise again. I should have been ruined and disgraced, -should have brought disgrace upon the name I bear and all connected -with me. But——." He paused, and his face worked. "There was one -who—who had some little regard for me, and—and she stepped in and -saved me; lifted me out of the mire and set me on my feet again; saved -me from the consequences of my folly, and saved the old name from -shame. Gratitude is a poor word to describe what I felt toward her! -I—I made the debt I owed her still heavier by asking her to take -that which she had saved. And—and in the goodness of her heart she -consented! From that time until now—until now!—I have been true to -her in deed and intent. I have striven to forget the woman to whom I -had given my heart, there at Portmaris, the woman who was all the world -to me"—his voice broke—"the woman whom I lost on our wedding eve! -To-day, to-day only, have I heard from the woman who separated us a -full confession of the deception by which she effected her purpose. But -I knew it was too late to regain my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> lost happiness. Too late! I never -expected to see Miss Lisle again, scarcely hoped to do so, excepting -that it might be once before I died, that I might say to her, 'With all -my faults and follies, I was true to you, Leslie!'"</p> - -<p>Leslie, standing rigid and motionless, moaned faintly.</p> - -<p>He cast an agonized look at her.</p> - -<p>"Then—then I came by the merest chance to this cottage. I heard her -voice. I stole in, and in the joy of meeting her, and reconciliation -with her, in that great joy the past was blotted out from my mind, and -I forgot—I say I forgot that I was betrothed to another, that I was -within a few hours of being wedded to another."</p> - -<p>His voice died away, and he stood with downcast head and vacant eyes. -Then he looked up.</p> - -<p>"There is my story, sir! You say that you are a friend of—of Miss -Lisle's. It is for you to demand—exact satisfaction for the wrong that -I have done her. But, mind, that wrong dates only from to-day! I have -loved her——." He broke down for a moment; then went on almost sternly, -"What I have to do, what I can do to atone, I will do! I—I can never -hope for Miss Lisle's forgiveness——."</p> - -<p>Leslie's hands writhed together, and Lucy's arm held her still more -firmly.</p> - -<p>"I can never hope to see her again. But I will say this in her hearing, -that I would lay down my life to wipe out the past, to render her happy -in the future."</p> - -<p>Leslie's hands stole up to her face.</p> - -<p>"For the rest," he went on, "I will tell Lady Eleanor all that I have -told you. It is her due. She shall be the judge; she shall dispose of -my future. I owe her much more than can be told."</p> - -<p>He stopped, then looked up, and there was a light in his eyes which -made Lucy shrink.</p> - -<p>"One thing more. I have spoken of the way in which I was hunted down. -That part of the business is a mystery still. But I am going to solve -it! I am going to find Mr. Ralph Duncombe."</p> - -<p>Lucy broke from Leslie, and with a cry of terror flung herself on -Ralph's arm, and looked over her shoulder at Yorke's stern face.</p> - -<p>Yorke stopped and started, his face grew red and then white, and he -strode forward.</p> - -<p>"What!" he cried, under his breath. "Are you——."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe put Lucy from him gently, and came a step forward to -meet him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said gravely, "my name is Ralph Duncombe."</p> - -<p>"You!" said Yorke, as if his amazement over-mastered his anger. "Do you -mean that it is you who bought up my debts and hunted me down?"</p> - -<p>"It was I!" said Ralph stolidly.</p> - -<p>"But—but——." Yorke groaned. "Why? Why, what harm did I ever do you? -Why, man, I never saw you before to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> I never saw your name until I -read it in the writs! Why? Why?" and he stood with clenched hands, the -veins standing out on his forehead.</p> - -<p>Ralph bit his lip, but he looked full into Yorke's blazing eyes.</p> - -<p>"Why did you do it?" demanded Yorke in a low voice, which was all the -more ominous for its quietude. "What was I to you that you should -concern yourself in my affairs? That you should try and ruin me? It was -you who drove me——," he was going to say "into a marriage with Lady -Eleanor," but he stopped himself in time. "Why did you do it?"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe remained silent for a moment, then he said:</p> - -<p>"My lord, I desired to break off the engagement between you and Miss -Lisle."</p> - -<p>"You? Why? Ah——."</p> - -<p>The light flashed upon him; then he glanced at Lucy, who stood, -trembling, with one hand upon Ralph's arm.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Ralph. "But Miss Lisle had rejected me, she would never -have been my wife, and, in saying this, I will say no more! I have -another reason."</p> - -<p>"That reason?" demanded Yorke, with barely restrained fury.</p> - -<p>"I decline to answer," said Ralph.</p> - -<p>Yorke made a movement as if to seize him or strike him. Lucy screamed, -Leslie seemed as if to spring between them, then flung herself on her -knees beside a chair, and this recalled Yorke to himself.</p> - -<p>"Forgive me," he murmured, casting a glance at her; then in a loud tone -he said to Ralph significantly:</p> - -<p>"This is not the place for a scene, Mr. Duncombe. I shall demand an -explanation from you elsewhere. I—I will go now." He put his hand -to his brow, and his face lost its fury as he turned it to Leslie, -kneeling, with her face in her hands. "Yes, I will go now. Good-by, -Les—Miss Lisle. Forgive me all the trouble and sorrow I have caused -you! God knows, as I said, I would lay down my life to win a day's -happiness for you! I—I think in your heart of hearts you know that. -I—I have been a wretchedly unfortunate man! It is all my own fault, I -dare say, and yet——. Well! All the talking in the world will not talk -out the past, will not help me through the future! Good-by! God bless -you, Leslie."</p> - -<p>His voice broke into a kind of sob, and he strode toward the door.</p> - -<p>As he did so, as, half-blind with misery, he fumbled at the handle, the -door opened from the outside, and a tall figure stood on the threshold.</p> - -<p>It was Lady Eleanor Dallas! She was wrapped in a very dark cloak, -dripping wet, above which her beautiful face gleamed white as that of a -Grecian statue.</p> - -<p>She held the door, and leaned against it to support herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> and the -hand she raised, as if to stop him, shook and quivered as if with ague.</p> - -<p>"Stop, Yorke!" she moaned, rather than said.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XLII.</h2> - -<h3>LOVE AND PRIDE.</h3> - - -<p>"Eleanor!" he said hoarsely.</p> - -<p>She looked at him as if she found it impossible to speak for a moment; -then she drew herself upright, and pushed the wet hair from her -forehead.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is I," she said, in a low voice, in which agony and pride -struggled for the mastery.</p> - -<p>"Where—where did you come from? How long——."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, answering his unfinished question, "I have been -listening. They told me at home that you had gone out to look for me, -and I followed you. I heard your voice as I was passing, and I came -into the garden. I have been standing by the window and——. Every -word!" fell from her white lips.</p> - -<p>"You—you should not have listened," he said "Come away," and he put -out his hand as if to draw her outside; but she did not move.</p> - -<p>"I am going presently," she said, speaking as if with an effort. "I—I -want to say something. Yorke——." She seemed as if she were about to -break down, but mastered her emotion and came a step or two farther -into the room. "Yorke, you have not heard all yet, not the whole truth. -He," she glanced at Ralph Duncombe, "could not tell you, but I will."</p> - -<p>A presentiment of what was coming fell on Yorke and he tried to stop -her.</p> - -<p>"No!" he said. "Say no more, Eleanor, but come home with me."</p> - -<p>"I cannot," she said. "I must speak. Miss Lisle——." She drew nearer to -Leslie, who had risen and stood against the window, her hands clasped, -her head turned away. "Miss Lisle, you have been cruelly wronged. And -by me!"</p> - -<p>Leslie started and looked up quickly. Lady Eleanor gazed at her, seeing -her face distinctly for the first time, and so the two stood and looked -at each other—these two beautiful women who were fated to love the -same man!</p> - -<p>"It was I who—who separated you from Lord Auchester."</p> - -<p>Yorke held up his hand to stop her.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>But she did not remove her eyes from Leslie's face.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I. It was I who employed Mr. Duncombe to buy the debts and summon -Lord Auchester."</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe looked up.</p> - -<p>"Is—is this necessary, Lady Eleanor?" he said gravely. "I am ready to -take all the responsibility."</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "It was I! The woman Finetta told me that the marriage -was to take place, and I did all I could to prevent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> it. You wonder -that I should admit it?" she smiled, with a mixture of pride and -despair. "I have told you that I have been standing by the window -there, and have heard all. Do you think that I would hold Lord -Auchester to his promise, that I would consent to his marrying me now -that I know he is in love with another woman?"</p> - -<p>Her eyes flashed and her lips curved haughtily, though her voice was as -low as before.</p> - -<p>"I tell you this now," she went on, "that Lord Auchester may not hold -Mr. Duncombe to blame. The sin, if sin there was, was mine, and I atone -for it!" As she spoke the last words she glided across the room and -stood in front of Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Miss Lisle, if I were to say that I am sorry, you would not believe -me. You are a woman like myself, and—you will understand! I knew Lord -Auchester before you did, and"—she looked round haughtily—"I loved -him. If there is any shame in that, I accept it. He knew that I loved -him."</p> - -<p>"For God's sake, be silent—come away!" exclaimed Yorke almost -inaudibly.</p> - -<p>She glanced at him as if she scarcely saw him.</p> - -<p>"It was the happiest, proudest day of my life when he asked me to be -his wife, and—and in the conviction that I could, and should, make him -happy, I did not regret the means by which I had won him. I forgot, you -see," she smiled bitterly, "that the day of reckoning might come. It -has come and I face it! All the world may know the story——."</p> - -<p>"No, no! Oh, no!" panted Lucy, whose gentle heart was melted by the -agony which she knew this proud woman was suffering.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor did not even look at her.</p> - -<p>"I do not care who knows!" she said. "I have made my confession, and I -have done with it." She made an eloquent gesture with her hands.</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment; then she said, addressing Leslie, in a -low, distinct voice:</p> - -<p>"I do not ask for your forgiveness, Miss Lisle. If I stood in your -place I should find it as impossible to forgive as you do. I will not -even utter the conventional wish that you may be happy. I tried to ruin -your happiness in securing my own, and I have failed. Let that console -you, as it will torture me! If you need further consolation, take it in -the assurance that he has loved you all the time he has been promised -to me. Yes!" she said with a deep sigh, "I have felt that all through. -His heart was always yours, never mine. If this evening's work had -never been, if we had married, he would have gone on loving you, and my -punishment would have been greater than it is."</p> - -<p>She was silent a moment; then, still looking at Leslie, she said, -inaudibly to the rest:</p> - -<p>"That woman, Finetta, lied when she spoke of you. Yes! I can understand -how he came to choose you before me!"</p> - -<p>She turned and drew her cloak round her and moved to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> door. Yorke -started as if roused from a kind of stupor, and went forward as if to -accompany her, but she drew away from him.</p> - -<p>"Your place is here," she said icily, "not with me!"</p> - -<p>He stopped, irresolute, half dazed by conflicting emotions, and she -looked over her shoulder at Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>"I ordered my carriage to follow me," she said in a dull, mechanical -voice. "Will you see if it is on the road, Mr. Duncombe?"</p> - -<p>He started forward and offered his arm; but Yorke motioned him aside -and took her hand.</p> - -<p>"No!" he said hoarsely. "My place is by your side. You are my promised -wife, Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>He spoke the words in the tone a man might use who is about to lead a -forlorn hope which must end in death, as a man who is resigning all -chance of happiness. She understood and smiled bitterly as she drew her -hand from his.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, Lord Auchester," she said pointing bitterly to Leslie, -"there stands your promised wife," and with one long look into his face -she turned and left them.</p> - -<p>Yorke was a gentleman. He could not let the woman whom he was pledged -to marry in a few hours go out into the night like an outcast. He -followed her and Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor," he said in deep agitation, "you will let me come with you?"</p> - -<p>The sound of wheels was heard on the muddy road, and she stood and -listened to them rather than to him.</p> - -<p>"Eleanor, think what you do!" he said. "I stand by my promise, my -engagement, notwithstanding——."</p> - -<p>"Notwithstanding that I obtained it by a fraud!" she said, turning her -eyes upon him. "Yes, I knew you would say that; and I am grateful. -But you forget, Yorke, I heard every word you said. You would give -me—what? not yourself, not your heart? You cannot, it belongs to her. -Go to her! Forget me!" Then her voice broke, her pride melted, and she -held out her arms to him, her white face drawn and haggard. "Oh, Yorke, -I loved you so! No, do not come near me! I am not so degraded as to -accept such a sacrifice! You love her, and I do not wonder! No, I do -not wonder! She is more beautiful than I am, and better, a thousand -times better! You will make her happy, and—oh, how much more is this! -she will make you happy. Good-by! Go back to her! Plead to her, kneel -to her, to forgive you. You will find it hard, these good women are -always harder than we are! She would not have done as much to win you -as I have, and will therefore, be all the slower to forgive! But go! -And—and——." The carriage was drawing near. She threw back the hood of -the cloak and flashed all her proud white loveliness upon him. "When -you think of me, think of me as I am at this moment, at the moment I -relinquished you!"</p> - -<p>He stood motionless, and she drew near and laid a white hand upon each -of his shoulders, looked into his eyes, a lingering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> farewell look; -then as Ralph Duncombe opened the carriage door, she let her hands drop -slowly and got into the carriage. Ralph was following her, but she -stayed him with a gesture.</p> - -<p>"No, no! Alone! Alone!" came from her parted lips.</p> - -<p>The word "Alone! Alone!" fell like a funeral knell upon Yorke's ear; it -was the last word he was to hear from Lady Eleanor's lips for many a -year.</p> - -<p>The two men stood and gazed after the carriage; then Yorke turned upon -Ralph Duncombe.</p> - -<p>"At any rate, I have a man to deal with now!" he said savagely.</p> - -<p>"And one who will not shrink from the encounter, my lord," responded -Ralph promptly.</p> - -<p>"You have to account to me for your conduct Mr Duncombe," said Yorke. -"You have interfered in my affairs most unwarrantably. What have you to -say?"</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe flushed angrily and a passionate retort rose to his -lips, but he crushed it down.</p> - -<p>"You have every right to demand an explanation, Lord Auchester," he -said with an unnatural calmness, "and I give it you. I interfered -because I once loved Miss Lisle, and because I did not consider you -a fit husband for her. I judged you by the estimate I had formed on -hearsay. I thought that I was doing Miss Lisle a service in helping to -prevent the marriage."</p> - -<p>Yorke swore.</p> - -<p>"Even your anger shall not stop me in confessing that I erred," Ralph -went on. "I was wrong, I admit it. But I did what I did for the best."</p> - -<p>"The best!" groaned Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Yes! You cannot but know the character the world gives you. A -spendthrift—one who carried on an intrigue with a dancing woman——."</p> - -<p>Yorke held up his hand.</p> - -<p>"No more, sir!" he said sternly.</p> - -<p>But Ralph went on doggedly:</p> - -<p>"I thought I was acting wisely and righteously in preventing your -marriage to such a woman as Leslie Lisle. I admit I was wrong; and I am -ready to yield you any satisfaction you may desire."</p> - -<p>Yorke looked into the honest face, into the steadfast eyes, for a -moment; then he sighed.</p> - -<p>"You are right. I was never worthy of her! What man of us all is?"</p> - -<p>"None!" said Ralph. "But, notwithstanding, I say, go and ask her to be -your wife, Lord Auchester."</p> - -<p>Yorke seemed staggered by this knockdown advice, and hung his head. -Then he looked up, breathing hard.</p> - -<p>"I will," he said, and he strode into the house, Ralph Duncombe -remaining outside.</p> - -<p>Leslie had sunk into a chair, and Lucy was kneeling beside her, holding -her hands and murmuring those inarticulate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> words of sympathy and -consolation which only women can utter—for at such times a man is -always an imbecile and a fool.</p> - -<p>Yorke strode in and bent over the chair.</p> - -<p>"Leslie," he said, in a hoarse, broken voice. "Leslie, I have come back -to you. I don't know what to say to you, except that I love you, that -I have never ceased to love you since the first day we met there at -Portmaris. Will you forgive me? Will you be my wife, Leslie?"</p> - -<p>A profound silence followed his impassioned words. Lucy, kneeling, held -Leslie's hands.</p> - -<p>"Speak to him, dear," she whispered, the tears rolling down her face. -"Speak to him, Leslie."</p> - -<p>But Leslie could not speak. She was a woman, just a woman, and she -found it hard to forgive his betrothal to Lady Eleanor. All else -counted for nothing. But that——! She sat motionless and dumb.</p> - -<p>"I understand," he said, almost inaudibly. "You are right. -Well—good-by, Leslie, good-by!"</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" whispered Lucy in an agony.</p> - -<p>But still Leslie did not move, but sat, her face hidden, her hands -tightly clasped.</p> - -<p>"It's no use," said Yorke. "It is more than I could hope for! Good-by, -Leslie!"</p> - -<p>"Leslie, dear, dear Leslie, he is going!" whispered Lucy. But Leslie -remained motionless and silent, and Yorke, with a groan, left them.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Ralph, as Yorke came out into the darkness and the rain.</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I have failed," he said grimly.</p> - -<p>"What? Stop!" exclaimed Ralph moved to pity by the despair and -hopelessness of the voice. "Why, man, she loves you!"</p> - -<p>Yorke shook his head again.</p> - -<p>"Not now," he said, in a dull, heavy way. "She did, but now I have lost -her. The best, the sweetest——." His voice broke.</p> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe seized his arm.</p> - -<p>"Wait!" he said. "You are wrong! If ever a woman loved a man, Leslie -Lisle loves you!"</p> - -<p>Yorke disengaged his arm from Ralph's grasp.</p> - -<p>"There is no hope for me," he said, despairingly. "I have lost her," -and he passed through the gate, and was swallowed up by the darkness.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor reached White Place, and went straight to her own room, -and presently Lady Denby came to her.</p> - -<p>"Good heavens, Eleanor, what have you been doing to yourself?" she -exclaimed, as she stared at the dripping cloak. "Why, you are wet to -the skin! You will catch your death of cold. Where is Yorke?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yorke?" said Lady Eleanor, with a spasmodic laugh. "Yorke will not -trouble you again, aunt. He has gone!"</p> - -<p>"Gone!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, for good! There will be no wedding the day after to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"My dear Eleanor, are you mad?"</p> - -<p>"No, I am sane at last," said Lady Eleanor. "The engagement is broken -off. Do you remember my telling you, when I heard of Eustace's death, -and his boys', that I was afraid things would go wrong? Well, they have -gone wrong. For Heaven's sake, don't stare at me like that! Tell my -maid to pack my clothes; I shall leave here to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"But—but, what has happened?" demanded Lady Denby.</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor laughed harshly.</p> - -<p>"He has found the girl he has been in love with all this time. It is -not me he wanted to marry, but her. That's all! Tell them to pack up!"</p> - -<p>"But—but, my dear Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>Lady Eleanor flung her wet hair from her face.</p> - -<p>"There is no 'but,'" she said wearily. "He has gone. Let us go away out -of England, no matter where. And—and the day after to-morrow was to be -my wedding day! No wedding day will ever dawn for me!"</p> - -<p>She sank upon a sofa and hid her face and lay motionless for an hour, -Lady Denby standing near. Then suddenly Lady Eleanor started and raised -her head.</p> - -<p>"What was that?"</p> - -<p>"I heard nothing," said Lady Denby.</p> - -<p>"I heard a horse; some one has ridden out of the courtyard. It is -Yorke. That is the last of him!"</p> - -<p>It was Yorke. He had walked swiftly through the lane to White Place, -and going straight to the stable had saddled his horse.</p> - -<p>"It's a dark night, my lord," said the groom, who held the lantern, -and he looked curiously and apprehensively at the stern face. "An' the -ground's soft and slippery, my lord," he added.</p> - -<p>Yorke did not, however, seem to hear him, but tossing him a sovereign -leapt into the saddle and went out of the courtyard at a canter. The -horse was fresh and somewhat startled at being taken out so late and -into the darkness, and under ordinary circumstances Yorke would have -let him go easy until he quieted down, but to-night he had no thought -for the horse or himself, or anything else; and when they had got -outside the park and on the London road he let the animal have its -head, and even touched it with his heel. This was quite enough, and -they went spinning along the slippery road at a breakneck pace. It was -very dark, the rain was still coming down in good old English fashion, -and the horse was getting more and more nervous as he felt, by some -instinct, that his master was riding carelessly and recklessly. Yorke -scarcely knew whether he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> was riding or walking until suddenly he saw -something white flash along the ground in front. It was only a white -cat, but if it had been a ghost the horse could not have been more -frightened. He stopped almost instantly and shied, and, on Yorke's -striking him, reared. Yorke was a good rider and kept his seat, but -when he struck the horse again and tried to force him over, the animal, -half mad with fright, reared still higher, until he stood as upright as -a circus horse; then, losing his balance, slipped on the greasy road -and came down backward on the top of Yorke.</p> - -<p>It was done in a moment, with scarcely any sound save the clatter and -splash of the horse's hoofs as he rose and shook himself, trembling -and panting, and in the silence of the night Yorke lay motionless, his -whole length stretched out upon the ground, the rain beating down upon -his upturned face.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Ralph Duncombe had gone to the inn and the two girls, left alone, were -still in the parlor. Leslie had scarcely changed her attitude, and -seemed sunk in lethargic indifference, which was really the result of -exhaustion, and though she listened to Lucy's arguments and prayers, -made no response to them.</p> - -<p>Lucy pleaded hard for Yorke. With a woman's quick insight she had -pierced the haze by which his actions and motives seemed obscured, and -had jumped at, rather than worked out, the whole truth.</p> - -<p>"Are you going to let him go, Leslie," she asked for the twentieth -time, "after all he has suffered?"</p> - -<p>"I have suffered also," said Leslie at last.</p> - -<p>"But through no fault of his! Or, at any rate, not entirely through his -fault. Is it because he changed titles with the duke that you are so -angry, and will not forgive him?"</p> - -<p>Leslie shook her head.</p> - -<p>"I do not care about that," she said simply.</p> - -<p>"Is it because he was so great a friend with that dancing woman?"</p> - -<p>Leslie's face flushed, but she shook her head.</p> - -<p>"No," said Lucy quickly. "He had not seen you then, remember. He said -good-by to her after he had met you. You needn't want any more than -that. What is it then? Ah, it is because of his engagement to Lady -Eleanor!"</p> - -<p>Leslie turned her face away her brows drawn together.</p> - -<p>"But think, dear!" pleaded Lucy. "What could he do? Lady Eleanor had -saved him from ruin—he did not know that it was she and Ralph who had -driven him into a corner; remember, she had saved him, and he knew that -she loved him, and he thought that you had thrown him over. Oh, Leslie, -he only did what any man would have done. Forgive him, dear! He loves -you with all his heart and soul, any one—a woman especially—can see -that. There, you are trembling! Leslie, let your heart speak for you. -Let me send for him!" and she rose, as if she meant to sally out that -moment and bring Yorke back, but Leslie caught her arm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No," she said with a set face. "I must think. I cannot forget that he -was going to be married to—to Lady Eleanor the day after to-morrow. It -is better that he should keep to his engagement to that lady."</p> - -<p>She could forgive him everything but his betrothal to Lady Eleanor.</p> - -<p>As she spoke she kissed Lucy and went to her own room. In crossing the -parlor she saw the locket with Yorke's portrait lying on the floor. She -paused a moment, a moment only, then went on, and left it lying there.</p> - -<p>But half an hour afterward, when all was still, the door opened, and -she entered the room and picked up the locket, gazed at the portrait, -and was about to press it to her lips, when she stopped and shuddered, -remembering in whose keeping the locket had been. Indeed, she was -about to drop it on the floor again, when a singular sound broke the -stillness. It was as if some one were moving in the garden. She thrust -the locket into the bosom of her dress and went to the window. The rain -had ceased, and there was a glimmer of moonlight between the clouds. -By this uncertain light she saw something standing on the small lawn. -She was rather frightened for a moment, till she saw it was a horse. -She was not in a condition of mind to care very much about the garden, -but she thought of Lucy's pride in it, and fondness for it, and she -opened the door and stole out, intending to drive the horse, which she -suspected had strayed from one of the adjoining meadows, through the -gate.</p> - -<p>But when she got near it she saw that it was saddled. She did not -immediately realize the significance of this fact. Then it flashed upon -her, and she ran into the house and into Lucy's room. Lucy was still -dressed, and seemed to expect her.</p> - -<p>"I heard you moving about, dear," she said lovingly, "and I knew you -would come to tell me that you had forgiven him and taken him back."</p> - -<p>"No, no!" exclaimed Leslie. "Come—come at once!"</p> - -<p>They ran down hand in hand, and Lucy uttered a cry of alarm as she saw -the horse.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dahlias, Leslie! Oh, oh!"</p> - -<p>"Hush!" said Leslie in a whisper. "Don't you see? It is saddled! There -has been an accident. Get the lantern, Lucy! Quick! I will catch the -horse!"</p> - -<p>"No, no, you cannot!"</p> - -<p>But Leslie went up to the great creature guardedly, and after a -moment's fidgeting he allowed her to get hold of the bridle.</p> - -<p>Lucy was back with the lantern in a moment or two, and stood trembling; -it was Leslie who was calm and cool now.</p> - -<p>"Look, Lucy, there is blood on his shoulder and back! He has fallen, -and—and I am afraid for his rider. Wait!"</p> - -<p>She snatched the lantern from Lucy's hand, and running to the road, -examined it.</p> - -<p>"Thank God for the rain!" she said fervently. "See, every hoof mark!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span></p> - -<p>She slung the bridle over the gate, and holding the lantern close -to the ground, followed the tracks. It was Lucy who first saw the -motionless figure lying in the road, and she uttered a faint scream.</p> - -<p>In another moment she was kneeling beside it, and then she stretched -out her arm as if to hide the white, blood-stained face from Leslie.</p> - -<p>"Keep back! Don't come near!" she gasped in a paroxysm of terror. "Oh, -Leslie, Leslie, it is he!"</p> - -<p>Leslie sank on to her knees, and put Lucy's arm aside, and looked at -the face.</p> - -<p>"He is dead!" she screamed. "Dead! I have killed him!" And uttering -heartbroken wails like some wild, distraught creature, she took his -head upon her bosom and held it there, calling upon his name in an -agony of despair and remorse.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> - -<h3>"LESLIE, YOUR WIFE!"</h3> - - -<p>Lucy stood and wrung her hands, looking round helplessly, almost -terrified out of her senses by Leslie's terrible outburst of passionate -grief. But her helplessness lasted only for a moment or two. She bent -down and shook, literally shook, Leslie's shoulder.</p> - -<p>"He is not dead!" she said, "but he will be if we let him lie here!"</p> - -<p>She had hit upon the surest way of rousing Leslie. She stopped the -awful wailing, held Yorke's face from her and looked at it—oh, with -what a scrutiny!—then sprang to her feet.</p> - -<p>"Help me!" she said through her clenched teeth, and she put her arms -around Yorke's broad shoulders, and raised him from the ground. She -felt strong enough to carry him by herself! Between them they carried -him into the house and into Lucy's room.</p> - -<p>"Now I will go for the doctor," said Leslie, with a calmness which -terrified Lucy almost as much as her grief had done, but Lucy snatched -up her shawl.</p> - -<p>"No, I will go! You must stay with him! You—you will not break down, -Leslie?"</p> - -<p>A smile crossed Leslie's white face; and, sufficiently answered, Lucy -sped away.</p> - -<p>When she came back with the doctor they found that Leslie had—heaven -only knows how—got off Yorke's saturated coat and waistcoat, and -washed the blood from his face; and she stood outside the door holding -Lucy's hand, calm and composed, while the doctor made his examination. -Then he called them in.</p> - -<p>"No bones broken, thank God!" he said; "the horse must have fallen on -him, and I was afraid——. But he has struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> his head, and there is -mischief in a blow like this. He will want careful nursing." He looked -from one to the other, and Leslie moved forward a little. The doctor -nodded. "Very good," he said, as if accepting her; and he began at once -to give her the necessary instructions. "When he comes to he must be -kept quiet."</p> - -<p>Ralph, who had been fetched by the doctor's man, entered the room, and -the doctor sent him into the village for some things he required; on -the way Ralph roused the postmaster and sent a telegram to the Duke of -Rothbury.</p> - -<p>The two girls and the doctor watched beside Yorke throughout the -morning, but he still lay motionless and apparently lifeless.</p> - -<p>The doctor's face grew graver as the hours passed, and he drew Ralph -aside.</p> - -<p>"Better send for his friends," he said; "I had hoped to bring him round -before this; there is Lady Eleanor Dallas——."</p> - -<p>Ralph started. He and the rest of them had forgotten her.</p> - -<p>He got on Yorke's horse, and rode full pelt for White Place.</p> - -<p>"Their ladyships left by the first train this morning for the -Continent, sir," said the butler; "Paris, I think, but I'm not sure; I -was to wait till they sent their address."</p> - -<p>Ralph rode back and whispered the result of his message to Lucy; she -looked relieved.</p> - -<p>"I—I am not sorry!" she said. "If she had come Leslie would have gone, -perhaps! No, I am not sorry! Oh, Ralph, if he should die!"</p> - -<p>In the afternoon a fly drove up to the door and Grey helped the duke -out. He was as white as the face that lay on the pillow upstairs, and -for a moment or two he could not speak, but sat with lightly folded -hands listening as Ralph told the whole strange story.</p> - -<p>"Take me to him," he said at last.</p> - -<p>They took him upstairs, and he started at sight of Leslie beside the -bed; then he held out his hand, and Leslie put hers into it without a -word; indeed, almost indifferently and without removing her eyes from -Yorke's face. For her all the world lay there, hovering between life -and death!</p> - -<p>He stood watching Yorke for some time, then he went downstairs again.</p> - -<p>"Will he live?" he asked the doctor.</p> - -<p>The doctor gave the usual shake of the head and shrug.</p> - -<p>"It is a difficult case, your grace," he said vaguely.</p> - -<p>The duke put his hand before his eyes for a moment or two. "If he -should die it will kill her!" He had been watching Leslie's face as -well as Yorke's.</p> - -<p>Two days passed. A stillness like that of death itself reigned over the -little house. Toward evening Lucy implored Leslie to go to her room and -take some rest.</p> - -<p>"And leave him?" was the only response, and she held the limp hand -still more tightly. The night fell and Leslie had sunk on her knees -with her face on the dear hand, praying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> silently, when she felt the -hand against her cheek move. She raised her head and motioned to Lucy -and the doctor and they drew back.</p> - -<p>The hand moved again, and presently the thrill that was almost an agony -in its intensity, ran warm through Leslie's heart, for she saw the eyes -she had watched hour by hour open slowly.</p> - -<p>There was no life or intelligence in them for a minute or so, but -Leslie bent over him and whispered his name. They lighted up, and a -smile flickered on his face and his lips moved.</p> - -<p>She bent still lower and heard him—surely no other could have caught -those faint accents!—whisper her name.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is—Leslie!" she said.</p> - -<p>He smiled again, and his fingers closed over hers weakly and yet -clingingly.</p> - -<p>"That's—that's right, my darling!" he said. "I knew you'd come! -I've driven Stevens at the club half wild about that telegram; but -I'll—I'll give him a five-pound note. Leslie——."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she murmured.</p> - -<p>"I've got the certificate, license, whatever you call it, and we'll be -married to-day——."</p> - -<p>Her face flushed and the tears blinded her.</p> - -<p>"I'm too busy now to tell you how I love you for trusting me, dearest, -but I'll tell you after its all over. The snuggest little church! I've -got everything read—Where's a cab—Where——."</p> - -<p>He stopped and a shudder ran through him, and the expression of his -face changed swiftly.</p> - -<p>"Leslie!" he cried, in a voice of grief and dread. "Where are you? I -have lost you! Lost you; Leslie, come back to me! Oh, God, she has -gone, gone forever! Come back to me, dearest, dearest!"</p> - -<p>The doctor stepped forward hurriedly with a grave anxiety in his -manner; but Leslie motioned him back.</p> - -<p>She put her arm round Yorke and laid her face against his—her own -scarlet and white by turns—and in a voice inaudible to the rest, -whispered:</p> - -<p>"I am here, dear Yorke! Don't you know—have you forgotten? It is I, -Leslie—your wife!"</p> - -<p>He looked puzzled for a moment, then a smile broke over his face and he -laughed as he turned his face to her.</p> - -<p>"I—I must have been dreaming, Leslie!" he said joyfully. "Yes, that's -it! What an idiot I am! I forgot we were married yesterday! Think of -it! Where are we? On the steamer—in Italy—where? My—my head feels -queer, and the things work about me. Just—just tell me again, dearest."</p> - -<p>"It is Leslie—your wife," she murmured, her love telling her what he -wanted.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" he murmured, with a laugh of infinite content. "Married -yesterday, of course; stupid things, dreams. Leslie! My wife! Married -yesterday!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then with a sigh of blissful assurance and perfect peace he closed his -eyes and fell asleep on her bosom.</p> - -<p>Lucy stood crying, the tears were rolling down the duke's wan cheeks, -and even the doctor found it necessary to turn his head away.</p> - -<p>Then Lucy found herself outside the room sobbing on Ralph Duncombe's -shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am so happy, so happy!" she sobbed. "It is all right now!"</p> - -<p>"All right?" he said with masculine density.</p> - -<p>"Yes, don't you see? Didn't you hear!" opening her eyes. "She is bound -to marry him now! Why, it's almost as if they were married already."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> - -<h3>HUSBAND AND—BROTHER.</h3> - - -<p>The great duke who built Rothbury Castle was no fool.</p> - -<p>He chose the best of the hills, placed his house on the brow amidst a -belt of oaks and elms and surrounded by park-like lawns. He made the -body and the two wings in a long facade facing due south, and all along -the front he ran a terrace of white stone with flights of broad steps -leading down to the lawns and Italian gardens, which were then in vogue.</p> - -<p>From this terrace a view was obtained which was almost, if not quite, -as grand as that which enraptures the gaze from Richmond Hill; while -looked at from below, the castle presented an appearance which might -well be described as magnificent. Each succeeding duke had done what he -could to improve, or at any rate maintain, the ancestral home, and all -England was proud of Rothbury Castle.</p> - -<p>On an evening in June the duke was seated in his bath-chair in a corner -of the terrace looking wistfully and expectantly towards the most -distant part of the drive, which wound round and about the tall elms -like a yellow snake. Beside him stood Grey, also looking expectant, and -every now and then covertly glancing at his watch behind his master's -back.</p> - -<p>Just below the terrace was an arch composed of laurels, studded with -roses; the great flag and the Rothbury arms floated from one of the -towers and other flags flapped in the soft breeze from Venetian masts, -and lines stretched from point to point of the castle and grounds. -Servants in their dark claret livery hurried to and fro or stood in -groups looking toward the same spot on which the duke's eye was fixed. -The hall door was open wide, and at the foot of the stairs stood the -general servants of the household—all of them, from the stately -housekeeper in satin to the scullery-maid in her black stuff dress -and white apron. In fact, the whole place was in a state of pleasant -excitement, and no one excepting the duke in his chair seemed able to -keep still in one place for more than a minute at a time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That train's late, Grey," said the duke with a painfully poor attempt -at indifference. "It always is late. See that I write to the Traffic -Director about it, will you? It is something shameful the way this line -is mismanaged. It must be twenty minutes late, I know!"</p> - -<p>"Not quite, your grace; about a quarter, I should say," said Grey, -pulling out his watch.</p> - -<p>"Oh, put that watch away!" said the duke. "You have lugged it out -twenty times during the last half hour. Do you think I haven't seen -you? I wish to heaven you'd go away if you must fidget."</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, your grace," said Grey from behind, and hiding a smile. -"Shall I wheel your grace in, the air is rather——."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! It's as hot as—as a furnace. Are they coming yet? They seem -to forget that I'm a director of this beastly line! By George, I'll -go down to their next board meeting and make it hot for them! More -accidents occur from the unpunctuality of trains than anything else. -Ah, what's that?"</p> - -<p>"They're coming, your grace!" exclaimed Grey.</p> - -<p>The duke made a movement as if he were about to rise, then he sank back -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"Go and tell them; they can't see as well as we can. See that -everything is ready."</p> - -<p>"Yes, your grace; but there's no need, they've seen the carriage," he -added, as the servants began to move about like a hive of bees, and -then, as if by mutual consent, swarmed upon the principal flight of -steps from the terrace.</p> - -<p>The carriage, with its four white horses, swept along the avenue, the -postilions cracking their whips and keeping their steeds at a smart -gallop; and presently Yorke, who had been leaning forward, said:</p> - -<p>"The first view of the castle, Leslie!"</p> - -<p>Leslie bent forward eagerly and a faint cry of amazement and delight -escaped her.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Yorke, how lovely, how lovely!" she murmured. "I had no idea it -was so large or so beautiful. It is an Aladdin's palace! And look, -Yorke, there is an arch of flowers! How kind of them! Oh——," she drew -a long breath and sank back. "I think I am a little frightened by it -all!"</p> - -<p>He leant his arm on the side of the carriage and looked at her with a -smile on his lips, and the light of a passionate love in his eyes.</p> - -<p>The view before them was beautiful enough in all conscience, but the -loveliness beside him transcended it! Six months of such happiness as -falls to few mortals had done wonders for Leslie. It had brought back -the color to her face, the light to her eyes, the music of youth's joy -and love's ecstasy to her voice. It was the Leslie of Portmaris with -something added, a something too delicately intangible for words, but -the charm of which all felt who met and talked with her.</p> - -<p>If it was possible Yorke had grown to love her with a deeper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> and more -passionate love since their marriage, and his pride in her beauty had -verged on the ridiculous; and sometimes Leslie, made to blush under -his gaze, would put her hands over her eyes. The intensity of his love -almost frightened her; and she was as one who fears for the safety of a -precious vase which fate may overturn or some malignant wand cast from -its pedestal and shatter.</p> - -<p>The six months of happiness had wrought wonders for Yorke also. The wan -and haggard, the hopeless, listless expression had vanished from his -face, and in its place was a look of contentment and youthful energy -which gave him back all the brightness that had helped to win Leslie's -heart.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, the old Yorke with his ready laugh and jest who sat -beside his sweetheart-wife, as they bowled toward their future home.</p> - -<p>"There you are!" he said presently. "You can see the terrace now. By -George, what a mob! It's a regular reception! There'll be a speech -for certain! Do you think you are equal to returning thanks, my lady? -Just think over a few 'graceful phrases,' as the newspapers put -it—something neat and short."</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't Yorke!" she pleaded. "If you knew how my heart was -beating——."</p> - -<p>"Let me feel it," he said promptly, seizing upon the excuse.</p> - -<p>"No, no, sir! You mustn't! Fleming may look round any moment," and she -cast a glance of mock warning at that important individual seated on -the box. "But you may hold my hand, if you like. Isn't it trembling?" -and she turned her eyes upon him piteously, though a soft smile played -upon her parted lips. "Oh, Yorke, I feel so—so small before all this. -I ought to have been six feet high, and very, very stately! And instead -I feel so tiny and insignificant! There is one good thing. I shall be -able to get behind you and hide myself. Do you know that you have grown -dreadfully big, Yorke?"</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"Have I? I dare say. Happiness, like laughter, makes one grow fat. I -shouldn't be surprised if I developed into a kind of Daniel Lambert. -There was one fat Rothbury. I'll show you his portrait, and if you like -it I'll try and live up to it. Oh, what lots I have to show you! But, -I forgot, I must leave that to Dolph! The dear old chap will love to -trot you around the place, for he's proud of it, though he is always -growling and calling it a barracks, and an overgrown show. Dear old -Dolph! Now—oh, you are not going to cry!"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" Leslie responded, wiping her eyes stealthily. "It—it was -only the sun in my eyes. Oh, Yorke, how good Heaven has been to us in -every way! Think how sad it would have been to have come home and found -him gone from us!"</p> - -<p>Yorke nodded with momentary gravity.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Heaven has been very good to us, dearest," he said in a low, -fervent voice. "In that as in all things."</p> - -<p>The horses tore along as if they knew they were being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> eagerly waited -for, and presently the sound of cheering rose and swelled into a volume -as the carriage passed under the arch. As it passed Leslie looked up -and uttered an exclamation of delight.</p> - -<p>"Oh, look, Yorke!" she cried. "Yorke, look!"</p> - -<p>Half a dozen of the prettiest of the village school-girls stood on a -bower on top of the arch, and the moment the carriage was underneath -they began to sing and throw roses into it.</p> - -<p>"Stop, stop for one moment!" pleaded Leslie. "I—I want to speak to -them. Oh, I can't, I can't!" she cried. "You speak, Yorke! Thank them, -oh, thank them!"</p> - -<p>They could not stop, and in despair Leslie snatched up one of the roses -and kissed it at the children, and waved her hand.</p> - -<p>"That's better than a speech," said Yorke delightedly. "Look at them -clapping their hands, and hear them shouting. Commend me to Lady -Auchester for doing the right thing in an emergency. Here we are!" he -exclaimed, as the carriage drew up at the steps, and four grooms ran -forward to the horses' heads, and he got out and held his hand to her.</p> - -<p>As they passed up the steps, lined on either side by the servants, the -cheers were redoubled, mingled with shouts:</p> - -<p>"Welcome home, my lord! Welcome home, my lady!"</p> - -<p>At the top of the steps stood the gray-haired butler. Yorke nearly -spoiled his short speech by shaking hands with him, but the old fellow -stammered it out, and Yorke, with his wife on his arm, looked round -with his bright smile, and opened his lips.</p> - -<p>But, as he said afterward, a lump came into his throat, and for a -moment or two he could not utter a word, and even then he found himself -stammering as the butler had done, as he said:</p> - -<p>"Thank you, thank you! I should like to tell you how deeply I feel your -kindness, but I can't, somehow! But I do feel it very much, and so does -my wife, my dear wife——," he stopped suddenly, and in the unexpected -silence, a voice—it was that of the little scullery-maid, who had -edged forward—was heard distinctly—"Oh, isn't she lovely!"</p> - -<p>A proud light flashed into Yorke's eyes, and he held his head high.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "she is lovely! But she is something better than that; -she is good—good!"</p> - -<p>One touch of nature like this makes the whole world kin, and a shout -went up which echoed and re-echoed round the old walls.</p> - -<p>Leslie stood 'covered with blushes,' but her hand closed on her -husband's, and with a loving, grateful pressure, as she looked up at -him with a pride which equaled his own.</p> - -<p>Then Yorke went quickly across the terrace—the servants drawing back -with true delicacy—to where the bath-chair stood, and in another -instant the duke's hand was grasped in his. But after an affectionate -glance at his happy face the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> duke motioned him aside, and held out -both hands towards Leslie.</p> - -<p>"My welcome comes last, but it's not the least, my dear," he said.</p> - -<p>Leslie stood for a second hesitating, her color coming and going, then -she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.</p> - -<p>His thin face flushed, and he held her a moment, patting her arm in the -way a man does when he is having a hard fight with his emotion.</p> - -<p>"You're both looking very well, young people," he said, but without -removing his eyes from Leslie's face. "Very well—and absurdly happy."</p> - -<p>Leslie laughed, and her eyes dwelt on him with an expression of -satisfaction and rejoicing, which he did not understand until she said:</p> - -<p>"And you—oh, how well you look, how different."</p> - -<p>He shook his head with one of his quaintly grim smiles.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I'm very sorry, and I hope you'll both forgive me for being so -inconsiderate, but I was never half so well in my life. I'm afraid I'm -going to be a nuisance, and keep poor Yorke waiting for the title for a -year or two."</p> - -<p>"All right, Dolph," said Yorke in his old breezy voice. "We'll tell you -when we're tired of waiting."</p> - -<p>"Do, do!" he said. "Mind, that's a promise! Now you are tired, and you -want to rest before dinner. Yorke, you'll have to do the honors of the -house; Leslie won't care to wait while I limp along."</p> - -<p>Leslie drew his arm through hers and looked down at him with the smile -which a sister bestows upon a beloved and afflicted brother, and with -an added tenderness too subtle for analysis.</p> - -<p>"I will not go without you," she said. "Lean upon me, or rather I will -lean upon you, for I am a little tired, and you are quite strong."</p> - -<p>The duke's face flushed with pleasure and satisfaction as he got up.</p> - -<p>"Very well," he said.</p> - -<p>They entered the vast hall, and he pointed out the great staircase -upon which Royalist and Roundhead had fought till the stairs ran with -blood—the stains were there still, under the carpet; the old oak -carving; the tattered banners which the Rothburys of old had borne in -many a fight for king and country; the tapestry hangings, which not -even Windsor could match; the oriel window of stained glass, brought -piece by piece from Flanders; the long line of family portraits. Then -he took her through the state apartments, with their gilded carvings -and priceless furniture, grand lofty rooms, as splendid as anything she -had seen, even in palatial Venice; to the library, which a studious, -book-loving duke had constructed with infinite care and pains, and -filled with rare and choice editions; to the smaller rooms in which he -and she and Yorke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> would live, and which with their modern decorations -and furniture were the epitome of elegance and comfort. Then they -went up the great staircase and along the broad corridors, lined with -pictures and statuary.</p> - -<p>"These are your rooms," he said, opening a door, and smiling as Leslie -uttered a cry of amazement and delight. "You like them?" he said -quietly, but evidently delighted at her delight. "I'm glad of that. -It has been an amusement for me while you have been away getting them -ready. I hope you'll find all you want, but you must remember that I'm -only a miserable bachelor, and make allowances if you miss anything."</p> - -<p>"What shall I say to him, Yorke?" she said, appealing to Yorke -helplessly.</p> - -<p>The duke drew her on as if to escape her thanks.</p> - -<p>"You shan't be bothered with more rooms now," he said. "To-morrow you -shall see it all. You must get acquainted with your own house, you -know, as soon as possible."</p> - -<p>As he spoke Yorke, who had walked beside them too moved for speech, -stopped before the half opened door and pushed it open.</p> - -<p>It was a plainly furnished room—very plainly, no silks or satins or -inlaid furniture here, but an ordinary iron bedstead, and dressing -table and washstand of plain deal.</p> - -<p>"My room," said the duke simply.</p> - -<p>Leslie stopped and peeped in, then she stood still, surprised and -touched at its simplicity.</p> - -<p>"Why have you given us all the beautiful things, and left none for -yourself, duke?" she said reproachfully.</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm simple in my tastes," he said. "But I half thought of -furnishing this room as a boudoir for you, there is such a pretty view. -Come in!"</p> - -<p>She went in and to the window, but she did not look at the view, for -her eye was caught by a picture hanging on the wall at the foot of the -bed.</p> - -<p>It was the picture her father had painted, and "Mr. Temple" had bought.</p> - -<p>She looked at it in silence and the tears filled her eyes; then she -turned her lovely face to the duke and tried to speak.</p> - -<p>"All right, my dear," he said in a low voice. "I like to have it -there. It reminds me of old times. Reminds me of the Portmaris days, -when, blinded by my own conceit, I thought all women were false and -worthless. You have opened my eyes, my dear, and I see more clearly -now! There! There!" for her tears fell fast. "That is all past now."</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment, then lifted his eyes to her face with a tender -regard, and murmured:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all its chords with might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight—<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>"I suppose he has told you how it was with me, my dear?"</p> - -<p>Leslie's eyes dropped for an instant, then she raised them and looked -into his, and her hand closed tightly on his thin one.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said with a smile, "you must cut your heart in two, and give -one-half to your husband, and the other to—your brother!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">CHAPTER XLV.</h2> - -<h3>THE CUP OF HAPPINESS.</h3> - - -<p>Six weeks later, when the world of fashion was ringing with the praises -of Lady Auchester's beauty and amiability, and the society papers were -prophesying that the future Duchess of Rothbury would become the most -popular of the leaders of ton, Leslie and Yorke drove in a hansom to -St. John's Wood.</p> - -<p>They were very silent during the journey, and when they stopped at the -house in which the famous Finetta of the Diadem had held so many merry -parties, Leslie got out of the cab alone.</p> - -<p>She was inside the house nearly an hour, and when she came out with her -veil down and re-entered the cab she did not speak for some time, but -held her husband's hand in eloquent silence.</p> - -<p>"Well, dearest?" he said at last.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am glad I came," she said, in a low voice. "Very glad. Oh, -Yorke, how changed she is! I scarcely knew her. You remember how strong -and self-reliant she was? Now——," she stopped with a little sob. "And -yet she is so happy and cheerful. She spends all her time thinking and -working for others; the poor girls at the theater where she was, come -and see her, and she helps them in all sorts of ways. While I was there -the clergyman came in, and he spoke a few words to me outside her room. -He said that if there ever was a really good woman she was one."</p> - -<p>"Poor Fin!" said Yorke, under his breath.</p> - -<p>"No, no," said Leslie; "not pity, Yorke. She does not need that, for -she is happier now lying there, than ever she was in the old days of -her strength and triumph. I told her all about you, and Lucy and Ralph, -and she wants me to take Lucy to see her. She and Lucy will just suit -each other. And Yorke——," she paused and held out her tiny fist to -him. "She has given me something; for a wedding present, she said. -Guess what it is."</p> - -<p>"I give it up," he said quietly.</p> - -<p>She opened her hand and showed him the diamond pendant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'I thought you would come some day,' she said, Yorke, and if you could -have seen her face when she said it! 'And so I kept it for you.'"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One day Lord Auchester and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Duncombe -were staying at a country house in the North. It was an extremely -pleasant party, of which those two ladies were, by general consent, -admitted to be the belles, and the hostess, not unnaturally proud of -having the famous Lady Auchester under her roof, decided to give a big -dance which should include all the neighboring county families and -their guests.</p> - -<p>Half an hour before the opening of the ball, while Leslie was dressing, -the hostess, Lady Springmore, came in to her in a great flush of -excitement and distress.</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dear Lady Auchester, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, when Leslie -had sent her maid away. "I am heartbroken about it, and I don't know -what to do."</p> - -<p>"What is it, Lady Springmore?" asked Leslie, more amused than -frightened at her hostess' fluster. "Has the floor fallen in, or the -ices gone wrong?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, my dear! It's—it's something concerning you and Lord -Auchester," and she clasped her hands and sank into a chair.</p> - -<p>"Then I'd better call my husband," said Leslie, looking toward the next -dressing-room, where Yorke was brushing his hair and whistling "like a -ploughboy," as Leslie often declared.</p> - -<p>"No, no. And yet—oh, I'd better tell you at once. My dear Lady -Auchester, the Marlows have got Lady Eleanor Dallas staying with -them—and she's coming here to-night!"</p> - -<p>Leslie blushed, but she said quietly, "Well?"</p> - -<p>"Well!" echoed the hostess in a kind of despair. "Don't you see, dear? -She doesn't know you are here, and—and—oh, what shall I do?"</p> - -<p>"Do nothing," replied Leslie, as quietly as before.</p> - -<p>"But—but will it not be awkward and unpleasant for you, dear Lady -Auchester?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Leslie, in her old, downright way. "Yes; it will be both -awkward and unpleasant, but if we ran away from all the awkwardness and -unpleasantness in life we should spend our time in perpetual flight. I -see you know our story, Lady Springmore."</p> - -<p>"Oh, every one does, my dear," murmured that lady apologetically.</p> - -<p>"Just so," said Leslie calmly. "Well, if you are kind enough to ask my -advice, it is: Do nothing. The world is so small that Lady Dallas and -we are sure to meet sometimes, and—well," she smiled, "do you think -that we shall make a scene in your pretty ballroom? Wait!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span></p> - -<p>She opened the door of the dressing-room an inch or two and called to -Yorke.</p> - -<p>"Hallo!" he called back. "What is it? Want me to come and admire you in -your warpaint, I suppose? Shan't! Tired of admiring you!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, hush, hush!" said Leslie, blushing like a rose. "Lady Springmore -is here, Yorke. She has come to tell us that—that Lady Eleanor Dallas -is coming to-night."</p> - -<p>"The devil!"</p> - -<p>"No, dear, Lady Eleanor," said Leslie, sweetly and naively.</p> - -<p>He came to the door and poked his head round; then he saw by her face -what he was expected to say, and said it like a good and docile husband.</p> - -<p>"Delighted to see any guest of yours, Lady Springmore!" he said, -bobbing his head at her, and promptly disappeared.</p> - -<p>An hour or two later, when the ball was in full swing, Leslie heard the -footman announce Lady Eleanor Dallas.</p> - -<p>She had been waiting for it, and was prepared. Lady Eleanor entered. -She was thinner, and looked pale, and rather listless, and the air of -pride and hauteur were more pronounced than of old.</p> - -<p>Superbly dressed, she moved through the crowd with a faint smile of -greeting for her acquaintances; then suddenly she saw Leslie. She -stopped for just one instant, and the blood rushed to her face; then -she came toward her, and, Leslie coming forward too, they met each -other half way, so to speak.</p> - -<p>The few conventional words were spoken, and by that time Lady Eleanor -had recovered her presence of mind, and was once more the stately, -haughty patrician who suffers and is silent.</p> - -<p>"Your husband is here, Lady Auchester?" she said, quite calmly.</p> - -<p>"I will bring him to you," said Leslie, promptly.</p> - -<p>She found Yorke, and put her arm through his, pressing it to give him -courage, for in all cases like this the bravest man is as like as not -to prove an arrant coward.</p> - -<p>"She is here, Yorke! Now, mind!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord!" he groaned. Then he pulled himself together quite suddenly. -"If she can go through it, I can!" he said, grimly.</p> - -<p>In another moment they were facing each other—Yorke with an -unconsciously stern face, Lady Eleanor with a faint smile which masked -more than pen can tell.</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Lord Auchester?" she said, giving him her hand.</p> - -<p>Yorke took it, and for a moment he found that it trembled; but he said -afterwards that he thought it was only fancy.</p> - -<p>Then, without another word, she turned and moved away.</p> - -<p>They met—they were bound to meet—often in the after years, but it was -never more than "How do you do, Lord Auchester?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> "I hope you are well, -Lady Eleanor?" until Leslie's first girl was born.</p> - -<p>There had been a good deal of fuss—as the duke said, who made more -fuss than any one else—over the birth of the son and heir; but this -child, the first girl, was hailed as if she were the most wonderful -production the world had ever seen, and Lucy was regarded with -boundless envy because she was chosen as godmother.</p> - -<p>But the day before the christening Leslie received a magnificent set of -pearls, inclosed in a box of white ivory, inside which was a slip of -paper, bearing, in Lady Eleanor's handwriting, this inscription:</p> - -<p>"To my godchild, Leslie Eleanor Auchester."</p> - -<p>Yorke was amazed and bewildered, but Leslie understood in an instant.</p> - -<p>"What does it mean?" he demanded, staring at her, and almost letting -the casket drop.</p> - -<p>"It means that she is going to transfer her love to our—no, -your—little one, Yorke," she said. "Oh, don't you see? And we thought -she hated us!"</p> - -<p>She caught up her baby and kissed it, and laughed and cried over it, in -her joy and thankfulness, for every time she had met Lady Eleanor her -tender heart had ached. But now this little mite had removed the only -thorn in Leslie's bed of roses.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she shall have her," she said.</p> - -<p>"Eh?" exclaimed Yorke, staring. "What! Altogether? I say!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, not altogether!" said Leslie, with a little gasp, and clutching -her baby tighter. "No, not altogether, but—but nearly! Oh, Yorke, -Yorke, my cup of happiness is full now. Quite, quite full!"</p> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;">[THE END.]</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;"> -<img src="images/image4.jpg" width="375" height="643" alt="Twenty Masterpieces in Paper Covers" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/image5.jpg" width="400" height="580" alt="Drink Coca-Cola" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</p> - -<p>Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. -</p></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Leslie's Loyalty, by Charles Garvice - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESLIE'S LOYALTY *** - -***** This file should be named 50440-h.htm or 50440-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/4/4/50440/ - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Demian Katz and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images -courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/cover-image.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/cover-image.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8f74203..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/cover-image.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/image1.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/image1.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0561346..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/image1.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/image2.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/image2.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a691e12..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/image2.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/image3.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/image3.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f8105e5..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/image3.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/image4.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/image4.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d1bf1bc..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/image4.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50440-h/images/image5.jpg b/old/50440-h/images/image5.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index aff285b..0000000 --- a/old/50440-h/images/image5.jpg +++ /dev/null |
