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diff --git a/old/68274-0.txt b/old/68274-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 94e1ec8..0000000 --- a/old/68274-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8972 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Neva's three lovers, by Harriet Lewis - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Neva's three lovers - -Author: Harriet Lewis - -Release Date: June 9, 2022 [eBook #68274] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy - of the Digital Library@Villanova University.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEVA'S THREE LOVERS *** - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text -enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=). - -Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end. - - * * * * * - -SELECT LIBRARY No. 231 - -NEVA’S THREE LOVERS - -_BY_ - -MRS. HARRIET LEWIS - -[Illustration] - - - - -Neva’s Three Lovers - - - _A NOVEL_ - - BY - - MRS. HARRIET LEWIS - - AUTHOR OF - - “Adrift in the World,” “The Bailiff’s Scheme,” “The Belle of the - Season,” “Cecil Rosse,” “The Haunted Husband,” “Sundered - Hearts,” and numerous other books published in the - EAGLE, NEW EAGLE, and SELECT Libraries. - - [Illustration] - - STREET & SMITH CORPORATION - PUBLISHERS - 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York - - * * * * * - - Copyright, 1871 and 1892 - By Robert Bonner’s Sons - - Neva’s Three Lovers - - * * * * * - -NEVA’S THREE LOVERS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. THE GAME WELL BEGUN. - - -Sir Harold Wynde, Baronet, was standing upon the pier head at Brighton, -looking idly seaward, and watching the play of the sunset rays on the -waters, the tossing white-capped waves, and the white sails in the -distance against the blue sky. - -He was not yet fifty years of age, tall and handsome and stately, with -fair complexion, fair hair, and keen blue eyes, which at times beamed -with a warm and genial radiance that seemed to emanate from his soul. -The rare nobility of that soul expressed itself in his features. His -commanding intellect betrayed itself in his square, massive brows. His -grand nature was patent in every look and smile. He was a widower with -two children, the elder a son, who was a captain in a fine regiment in -India, the younger a daughter still at boarding-school. He possessed a -magnificent estate in Kent, a house in town, and a marine villa, and -rejoiced in a clear income of seventy thousand pounds a year. - -As might be expected from his rare personal and material advantages, -he was a lion at Brighton, even though the season was at its height, -and peers and peeresses abounded at that fashionable resort. Titled -ladies--to use a well-worn phrase--“set their caps” for him; manœuvring -mammas smiled upon him; portly papas with their “quivers full of -daughters,” and with groaning purses, urged him to dine at their houses -or hotels; and widows of every age looked sweetly at him, and thought -how divine it would be to be chosen to reign as mistress over the -baronet’s estate of Hawkhurst. - -But Sir Harold went his ways quietly, seeming oblivious of the hopes -and schemes of these manœuverers. He had had a good wife, and he had -no intention of marrying again. And so, as he stood carelessly leaning -against the railing on the pier head, under the gay awning, his -thoughts were far away from the gaily dressed promenaders sauntering -down the chain pier or pacing with slow steps to and fro behind him. - -The sunset glow slowly faded. The long gray English twilight began to -fall slowly upon promenaders, beach, chain pier, and waters. The music -of the band swallowed up all other sounds, the murmur of waters, the -hum of gay voices, the sweetness of laughter. - -But suddenly, in one of the interludes of the music, and in the midst -of Sir Harold’s reverie, an incident occurred which was the beginning -of a chain of events destined to change the whole future course of the -baronet’s life, and to exercise no slight degree of influence upon the -lives of others. - -Yet the incident was simple. A little pleasure-boat, occupied by two -ladies and a boatman, had been sailing leisurely about the pier head -for some time. The boatman, one of the ordinary pleasure boatmen who -make a living at Brighton, as at other maritime resorts, by letting -their crafts and services to chance customers, had been busy with -his sail. One of the ladies, a hired companion apparently, sat at -one side of the boat, with a parasol on her knee. The other lady, as -evidently the employer, half reclined upon the plush cushions, and -an Indian shawl of vivid scarlet lavishly embroidered with gold was -thrown carelessly about her figure. One cheek of this lady rested upon -her jewelled hand, and her eyes were fixed with a singular intentness, -a peculiar speculativeness, upon the tall and stalwart figure of Sir -Harold Wynde. - -There was a world of meaning in that long furtive gaze, and had the -baronet been able to read and comprehend it, the tragical history we -are about to narrate would never have happened. But he, wrapped in his -own thoughts, saw neither the boat nor its occupants. - -The little craft crept in quite near to the pier head--so near as to -be but a few rods distant--when the boatman shifted his helm to go -about and stand upon the other tack. The small vessel gave a lurch, -the wind blowing freshly; the lady with the Indian shawl started up, -with a shriek; there was an instant of terrible confusion; and then the -sail-boat had capsized, and her late occupants were struggling in the -waters. - -In a moment the promenaders of the chain pier had thronged upon -the pier head. Cries and ejaculations filled the air. No one could -comprehend how the accident had occurred, but one man who had been -watching the boat averred that the lady with the shawl had deliberately -and purposely capsized it. _And this was the actual fact!_ - -Sir Harold Wynde was startled from the trance-like musings by the -lady’s shriek. He looked down upon the waters and beheld the result of -the catastrophe. The boat’s sail lay half under water. The boatman had -seized the lady’s companion and was clinging to the upturned boat. The -companion had fainted in his arms, and he could not loosen his hold -upon her unless he would have her drown before his eyes. The lady, at -a little distance from her companions in peril, tangled in her mass of -scarlet and gold drapery, her hat lost, her long hair trailing on the -waves, seemed drowning. - -Her peril was imminent. No other boats were near, although one or two -were coming up swiftly from a distance. - -The lady threw up her white arms with an anguished cry. Her glance -sought the thronged pier head in wild appealing. Who, looking at her, -would have dreamed that the disaster was part of a well-contrived -plan--a trap to catch the unwary baronet? - -As she had expected from his well-known chivalrous character, he fell -into the trap. His keen eyes flashed a rapid glance over beach and -waters. The lady was likely to drown before help could come from the -speeding boats. Sir Harold pulled off his coat and made a dive into the -sea. He was an expert swimmer, and reached the lady as she was sinking. -He caught her in his arms and struck out for the boat. The lady became -a dead weight, and when he reached the capsized craft her head lay back -on his breast, her long wet tresses of hair coiled around him like -Medusean locks, and her pale face was like the face of a dead woman. - -Sir Harold clung to the side of the boat opposite that on which the -boatman supported his burden. And thus he awaited the coming of the -boats. - -Among the eager thronging watchers on the pier head above was a tall, -fair-faced man, with a long, waxed mustache, sinister eyes and a -cynical smile. He alone of the throng seemed unmoved by the tragic -incident. - -“It was pretty well done,” he muttered, under his breath--“a little -transparent, perhaps, and a trifle awkward as well, but pretty well -done! The baronet fell into the trap too, exactly as was hoped. Your -campaign opens finely, my beautiful Octavia. Let us see if the result -is to be what we desire. In short, will the baronet be as unsuspicious -all the way through?” - -Sir Harold certainly was unsuspicious at that moment. The helpless -woman in his arms aroused into activity all the chivalry of his -chivalric nature. He held her head above the creeping waves until the -foremost boat had reached him. His burden was the first to be lifted -into the rescuing craft; the lady’s companion followed; the baronet and -the boatman climbing into the boat last, in the order in which they are -named. - -The capsized boat was righted and its owner took possession of her. The -rescuing craft transported the baronet and the two ladies to the beach. -The lady companion had recovered her senses and self-possession, but -the lady employer lay on the cushions pale and motionless. - -On reaching the landing, a cab was found to be in waiting, having -been summoned by some sympathizing spectator. The companion, uttering -protestations of gratitude, entered the vehicle, and her mistress was -assisted in after her. The former gathered her employer in her arms, -crying out: - -“She is dead! She is dead! I have lost my best friend--” - -“Not so, madam,” said Sir Harold, in kindly sympathy. “The lady has -only fainted, I think. To what place shall I tell the cabman to drive?” - -“To the Albion Hotel. Oh, my poor, poor lady! To die so young! It is -terrible!” - -Sir Harold made some soothing response, but being chilled and wet, did -not find it necessary to accompany to their hotel the heroines of the -adventure. He gave their address to the cabman, watched the cab as it -rolled away, and then breaking loose from the crowd of friends who -gathered around him with anxious interrogatories, he secured his coat -and procured a cab for himself and proceeded to his own hotel. - -It was not until he had had a comfortable bath, and was seated in dry -attire in his private parlor, that Sir Harold remembered that he did -not know the name of the lady he had served, or that he had not even -seen her face distinctly. - -“She is as ignorant of my name and identity,” he thought, “as I am of -hers. If the incident could be kept out of the papers, I need never be -troubled with the thanks of her husband, father, or brother.” - -But the incident was not kept out of the papers. Sir Harold Wynde, -being a lion, had to bear the penalty of popularity. The next morning’s -paper, brought in to him as he sat at his solitary breakfast, contained -a glowing account of the previous evening’s adventure, under the -flaming head line of “Heroic Action by a Baronet,” with the sub-lines: -“Sir Harold Wynde saves a lady’s life at the risk of his own. Chivalry -not yet dead in our commonplace England.” And there followed a highly -imaginative description of the lady’s adventure, her name being as yet -unknown, and a warm eulogy upon Sir Harold’s bravery and presence of -mind. - -The baronet’s lip curled as he read impatiently the fulsome article. -He had scarcely finished it when a waiter entered, bringing in upon a -silver tray a large squarely enveloped letter. It was addressed to Sir -Harold Wynde, was stamped with an unintelligible monogram, and sealed -with a dainty device in pale green wax. As the baronet’s only lady -correspondent was his daughter at school, and this missive was clearly -not from her, he experienced a slight surprise at its reception. - -The waiter having departed, Sir Harold cut open the letter with his -pocket knife, and glanced over its contents. - -They were written upon the daintiest, thickest vellum paper unlined, -and duly tinted and monogrammed, and were as follows: - - ALBION HOTEL, Tuesday Morning. - - “SIR HAROLD WYNDE: The lady who writes this letter is the lady whom - you so gallantly rescued from a death by drowning last evening. - I have read the accounts of your daring bravery in the morning’s - papers, and hasten to offer my grateful thanks for your noble and - gallant kindness to an utter stranger. Life has not been so sweet - to me that I cling to it, but yet it is very horrible to go in one - moment from the glow and heartiness of health and life down to the - very gates of death. It was your hand that drew me back at the - moment when those gates opened to admit me, and again I bless you--a - thousand thousand times, I bless you. Alas, that I have to write to - you myself. I have neither father, lover, nor husband, to rejoice in - the life you have saved. I am a widow, and alone in the wide world. - Will you not call upon me at my hotel and permit me to thank you far - more effectively in person? I shall be waiting for your coming in my - private parlor at eleven this morning. - - “Gratefully yours, - “OCTAVIA HATHAWAY.” - -The baronet read the letter again and again. His generous soul was -touched by its sorrowful tone. - -“A widow and alone in the world!” he thought. “Poor woman! What -sentence could be sadder than that? She is elderly, I am sure, and -has lost all her children. I do not want to hear her expressions of -gratitude, but if I can make the poor soul happier by calling on her I -will go.” - -Accordingly, at eleven o’clock that morning, attired in a gentleman’s -unexceptionable morning dress, Sir Harold Wynde, having sent up his -card, presented himself at the door of Mrs. Hathaway’s private parlor -at the Albion Hotel, and knocked for admittance. - -The door was opened to him by the lady’s companion, who greeted him -with effusiveness, and begged him to be seated. - -She was a tall, angular woman, with sharp features, whose -characteristic expression was one of peculiar hardness and severity. -Her lips were thin, and were usually compressed. Her eyes were a light -gray, furtive and sly, like a cat’s eyes. Her pointed chin gave a -treacherous cast to her countenance. Her complexion was of a pale, -opaque gray; her hair, of a fawn color, was worn in three puffs on each -side of her face, and her dress was of a tint to match her hair. Sir -Harold conceived an instinctive aversion to her. - -“Mrs. Hathaway?” he said politely, with interrogative accent. - -“No, I am not Mrs. Hathaway,” was the reply, in a subdued voice, and -the furtive eyes scanned the visitor’s face. “I am only Mrs. Hathaway’s -companion--Mrs. Artress. Mrs. Hathaway has just received your card. She -will be out directly.” - -The words were scarcely spoken when the door of an inner room opened, -and Mrs. Hathaway made her appearance. - -Sir Harold stood up, bowing. - -The lady was by no means the elderly, melancholy personage he had -expected to see. She was about thirty years of age, and looked -younger. She had a tall, statuesque figure, well-rounded and inclined -to _embonpoint_. She carried her head with a certain stateliness. -Her hair was dressed with the inevitable chignon, crimped waves, and -long, floating curl, and despite the monstrosity of the fashion, it -was decidedly and undeniably picturesque. Her face, with its clear -brunette complexion, liquid black eyes, Grecian nose, low brows, and -faultless mouth, was very handsome. There was a fascination in her -manners that was felt by the baronet even before she had spoken. - -She was not dressed in mourning, and it was probable, therefore, that -her widowhood was not of recent beginning. She was clothed in an -exquisitely embroidered morning dress of white, which trailed on the -floor, and was relieved with ornaments of pale pink coral, and a broad -coral-colored sash at her waist. - -“_This_ is Mrs. Hathaway, Sir Harold,” said the gray looking lady’s -companion. - -The lady sprang forward after an impulsive fashion, and clasped the -baronet’s hands in both her own. Her black eyes flooded with tears. -And then, in a broken voice, she thanked her preserver for his gallant -conduct on the previous evening assuring him that her gratitude would -outlast her life. Her protestations and gratitude were not overdone, -and unsuspecting Sir Harold accepted them as genuine, even while they -embarrassed him. - -He remained an hour, finding Mrs. Hathaway charming company and -thoroughly fascinating. The companion sat apart, silent, busy with -embroidery, a mere gray shadow; but her presence gave an easy -unconstraint to both the baronet and the lady. When Sir Harold took his -departure, sauntering down to the German Spa, he carried with him the -abiding memory of Mrs. Hathaway’s handsome brunette face and liquid -black eyes, and thought himself that she was the most charming woman he -had met for years. - -From that day, throughout the season, the baronet was a frequent -visitor at Mrs. Hathaway’s private parlor. The gray companion was -always at hand to play propriety, and the tongues of gossips, though -busy, had no malevolence in them. Sir Harold had his own horses -at Brighton, and placed one at Mrs. Hathaway’s disposal. The widow -accepted it, procured a bewitching costume from town, and had daily -rides with the baronet. She also drove with him in his open, low -carriage, and bowed right and left to her acquaintances upon such -occasions with the gracious condescension of a princess. She sailed -with him in his graceful yacht, upon day’s excursions, her companion -always accompanying, and rumor at length declared that the pair were -engaged to be married. - -Sir Harold heard the reports, and they set him thinking. The society of -Mrs. Hathaway had become necessary to him. She understood his tastes, -studying them with a flattery so delicate that he was pleased without -understanding it. She read his favorite books, played his favorite -music, and displayed talents of no mean order. She was fitted to adorn -any position, however high, and Sir Harold thought with a pleasant -thrill at his heart, how royally she would reign over his beautiful -home. - -In short, questioning his own heart, he found that he had worshiped -his dead wife, who would be to him always young, as when he had buried -her--but with the passion of later manhood, an exacting, jealous -yearning affection, which gives all and demands all. With his children -far from him, his life had been lonely, and he had known many desolate -hours, when he would have given half his wealth for sympathy and love. - -“I shall find both in Octavia,” he thought, his noble face brightening. -“I shall not wrong my children in marrying her. My son will be my heir. -My daughter’s fortune will not be imperilled by my second marriage. -Neva is sixteen, and in two years more will come home. How can I do -better for her than to give her a beautiful mother, young enough to -win her confidence, old enough to be her guide? Octavia would love my -girl, and would be her best chaperon in society, to which Neva must be -by and by introduced. I should find in Octavia then a mother for my -daughter, and a gentle loving wife and companion for myself. But will -she accept me?” - -He put the question to the test that very evening. He found the -handsome widow alone in her parlor, the gray companion being for once -absent, and he told her his love with a tremulous ardor and passion -that it would have been the glory of a good woman to have evoked from a -nature so grand as Sir Harold’s. - -The fascinating widow blushed and smiled assent, and her black-tressed -head drooped to his shoulder, and Sir Harold clasped her in his arms as -his betrothed wife. - -With a lover’s impetuosity he begged her to marry him at an early day. -She hesitated coyly, as if for months she had not been striving and -praying for this hour, and then was won to consent to marry him a month -thence. - -“I am alone in the world, and have no one to consult,” she sighed. “I -have an old aunt, a perfect miser, who lives in Bloomsbury Square, -in London. She will permit me to be married from her house, as I was -before. The marriage will have to be very quiet, for she is averse -to display and expense. However, what she saves will come to me some -day, so I need not complain. I shall want to keep Artress with me, -Sir Harold. I can see that you don’t like her, but she has been a -faithful friend to me in all my troubles, and I cannot abandon her when -prosperity smiles so splendidly upon me. I may keep her, may I not?” - -Thus appealed to, Sir Harold smothered his dislike of the gray -companion, and consented that she should become an inmate of his house. - -Mrs. Hathaway proceeded to explain the causes of her friendlessness. -She was an orphan, and had early married the Honorable Charles -Hathaway, the younger son of a Viscount, who had died five years -before. The Honorable Charles had been a dissipated spendthrift, and -had left his wife the meagre income of some three hundred pounds a -year. Her elegant clothing was, for the most part, relics of better -days. As to the expensive style in which she lived, keeping a companion -and maid, no one knew, save herself and one other, how she managed to -support it. Her name and reputation were unblemished, and the most -censorious tongue had nothing to say against her. - -And yet she was none the less an unscrupulous, unprincipled adventuress. - -This was the woman, the noble, gallant baronet proposed to take to -his bosom as his wife, to endow with his name and wealth, to make the -mother and guide of his pure young daughter. Would the sacrifice of the -generous, unsuspected lover be permitted? - -It _was_ permitted. A month later their modest bridal train swept -beneath the portals of St. George’s Church, Hanover Square. The bride, -radiant in pearl-colored moire, with point lace overdress, wore a -magnificent parure of diamonds, presented to her by Sir Harold. The -baronet looked the picture of happiness. The miserly aunt of Mrs. -Hathaway, a skinny old lady in a low-necked and short-sleeved dress -of pink silk, that, by its unsuitability, made her seem absolutely -hideous, attended by a male friend, who gave away the bride, was -prominent among the group that surrounded the altar. - -Sir Harold’s son and heir was in India, and his daughter had not been -summoned from her boarding-school in Paris. The baronet’s tender father -soul yearned for his daughter’s presence at his second marriage; but -Lady Wynde had urged that Neva’s studies should not be interrupted, -and had begged, as a personal favor, that her meeting with her young -step-daughter might be delayed until her ladyship had become used to -her new position. She professed to be timid and shrinking in regard -to the meeting with Neva, and Sir Harold, in his passionate love for -Octavia, put aside his own wishes, yielding to her request. But he had -written to his daughter, announcing his intended second marriage, and -had received in reply a tender, loving letter full of earnest prayers -for his happiness, and expressing the kindest feelings toward the -expected step-mother. - -The words were spoken that made the strangely assorted pair one flesh. -As the bride arose from her knees the wife of a wealthy baronet, the -wearer of a title, the handsome face was lighted by a triumphant glow, -her black eyes emitted a singular, exultant gleam, and a conscious -triumph pervaded her manner. - -She had played the first part of a daring game--and she had won! - -As she passed into the vestry to sign the marriage register, leaning -proudly upon the arm of her newly made husband, and followed by her few -attending personal friends, a man who had witnessed the ceremony from -behind a clustered pillar in the church, stole out into the square, his -face lighted by a lurid smile, his eyes emitting the same peculiar, -exultant gleam as the bride’s had done. - -This man was the tall, fair-haired gentleman, with waxed mustaches, -sinister eyes and cynical smile, who, nearly three months before, had -witnessed from the pier head at Brighton the rescue of Mrs. Hathaway -from the sea by Sir Harold Wynde. And now this man muttered: - -“The game prospers. Octavia is Lady Wynde. The first act is played. -The next act requires more time, deliberation, caution. Every move must -be considered carefully. We are bound to win the entire game.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. A DECISIVE MOVE COMMANDED. - - -Sir Harold and Lady Wynde ate their wedding breakfast in Bloomsbury -Square, at the house of Lady Wynde’s miserly aunt, Mrs. Hyde. A few of -the baronet’s choice friends were present. The absence of Sir Harold’s -daughter was not especially remarked save by the father, who longed -with an anxious longing to see her face smiling upon him, and to hear -her young voice whispering congratulations upon his second marriage. -Neva had been especially near and dear to him. Her mother had died in -her babyhood, and he had been both father and mother to his girl. He -had early sent his son to school, but Neva he had kept with him until, -a year before, his first wife’s relatives had urged him to send her to -a “finishing school” at Paris, and he had reluctantly yielded. Not even -his passionate love for his bride could overcome or lessen the fatherly -love and tenderness of years. - -Immediately after the breakfast the newly married pair proceeded to -Canterbury by special train. The gray companion and Lady Wynde’s maid -traveled in another compartment of the same coach. The Hawkhurst -carriage was in waiting for the bridal pair at the station. Sir Harold -assisted his wife into it, addressed a few kindly words to the old -coachman on the box, and entered the vehicle. The gray companion and -the maid entered a dog-cart, also in waiting. Hawkhurst was several -miles distant, but the country between it and Canterbury was a -charming one, and Lady Wynde found sufficient enjoyment in looking at -the handsome seats, the trim hedges, and thrifty hop-gardens, and in -wondering if Hawkhurst would realize her expectations. She found indeed -more enjoyment in her own speculations than in the society of her -husband. - -About five o’clock of the afternoon, the bridal pair came in sight of -the ancestral home of the Wynde’s. The top of the low barouche was -lowered and Sir Harold pointed out her future home to his bride with -pardonable pride, and she surveyed it with eager eyes. - -It was, as we have said, a magnificent estate, divided into numerous -farms of goodly size. The home grounds of Hawkhurst proper, including -the fields, pastures, meadows, parks, woods, plantations and gardens, -comprised about four hundred acres. The mansion stood upon a ridge of -ground some half a mile wide, and was seen from several points at a -distance of three or four miles. It was a grand old building of gray -stone, with a long facade, and was three stories in height. Its turrets -and chimneys were noted for their picturesqueness. Its carved stone -porches, its quaint wide windows, its steep roof, from which pert -dormer-windows, saucily projected, were remarkable for their beauty or -oddity. Despite its age, and its air of grandeur and stateliness, there -was a home-like look about the great mansion that Lady Wynde did not -fail to perceive at the first glance. - -The house was flanked on either side by glass pineries, grape houses, -hothouses, greenhouses and similar buildings. Further to the left of -the dwelling, beyond the sunny gardens, was the great park, intersected -with walks and drives, having a lake somewhere in the umbrageous -depths, and herds of fallow-deer browsing on its herbage. In the rear -of the house, built in the form of a quadrangle, of gray stone, were -the handsome stables and offices of various descriptions. The mansion -with its dependencies covered a great deal of ground, and presented an -imposing appearance. - -The house was approached by a shaded drive a half mile or more in -length, which traversed a smooth green lawn dotted here and there with -trees. A pair of bronze gates, protected and attended by a picturesque -gray stone lodge, gave ingress to the grounds. - -These gates swung open at the approach of Sir Harold Wynde and his -bride, and the gate-keeper and his family came out bowing and smiling, -to welcome home the future lady of Hawkhurst. Lady Wynde returned -their greetings with graceful condescension, and then, as the carriage -entered the drive, she fixed her eager eyes upon the long gray facade -of the mansion, and said: - -“It is beautiful--magnificent! You never did justice to its grandeurs, -Harold, in describing Hawkhurst. It is strange that a house so large, -and of such architectural pretension, should have such a bright and -sunny appearance. The sunlight must flood every room in that glorious -front. I should like to live all my days at Hawkhurst!” - -“Your dower house will be as pleasant a home as this although not -so pretentious,” said Sir Harold, smiling gravely. “It is probable -that you being twenty years my junior, will survive me, Octavia, and -therefore I have settled upon you for your life use in your possible -widowhood one of my prettiest places, and one which has served for many -generations as the residence of the dowager widows of our family.” - -The glow on Lady Wynde’s face faded a little, and her lips slightly -compressed themselves, as they were wont to do when she was ill pleased. - -“I have never asked you about your property, Harold,” she remarked, -“but your wife need be restrained from doing so by no sense of -delicacy. I suppose your property is entailed?” - -“Hawkhurst is entailed, but it will fall to the female line in case -of the dying out of heirs male,” replied the baronet, not marking his -bride’s scarcely suppressed eagerness. “It has belonged to our family -from time immemorial, and was a royal grant to one of our ancestors -who saved his monarch’s life at risk of his own. Thus, at my death, -Hawkhurst will go, with the title, to my son. If George should die, -without issue, Hawkhurst--without the title, which is a separate -affair--will go to my daughter.” - -“A weighty inheritance for a girl,” remarked Lady Wynde. “And--and if -she should die without issue?” - -“The estate would go to distant cousins of mine.” - -Lady Wynde started. This was evidently an unexpected reply, and she -could not repress her looks of disappointment. - -“I--I should think your wife would come before your cousins,” she -murmured. - -“How little you know about law, Octavia,” said the baronet, with a -grave, gentle smile. “The property must go to those of our blood. If -our union is blessed with children, the eldest of them would inherit -Hawkhurst before my cousins. But although the law has proclaimed us -one flesh, yet it does not allow you to become the heir of my entailed -property. It is singular even that a daughter is permitted to inherit -before male cousins, but there was a clause in the royal deed of gift -of Hawkhurst to my ancestors that gave the property to females in -the direct line, in default of male heirs, but there has never been a -female proprietor of the estate. I hope there never may be. I should -hate to have the old name die out of the old place. But here we are at -the house. Welcome home, my beautiful wife!” - -The carriage stopped in the porch, and Sir Harold alighted and assisted -out his bride. He drew her arm through his and led her up the lofty -flight of stone steps, and in at the arched and open door-way. The -servants were assembled to welcome home their lady, and the baronet -uttered the necessary words of introduction and conducted his bride to -the drawing-room. - -This was an immensely long apartment, with nine wide windows on its -eastern side looking out upon gardens and park. Sculptured arches, -supported by slender columns of alabaster, relieved the long vista, -and curtains depending from them were capable of dividing the grand -room into three handsome ones. The drawing-room was furnished in modern -style, and was all gayety, brightness and beauty. The furniture, of -daintiest satin-wood, was upholstered in pale blue silk. The carpet, of -softest gray hue, was bordered with blue. - -“It is very lovely,” commented the bride. “And that is a conservatory -at the end? I shall be very happy here, Harold.” - -“I hope so,” was the earnest response. “But let me take you up to your -own rooms, Octavia. They have been newly furnished for your occupancy.” - -He gave her his arm and conducted her out into the wide hall, with its -tesselated floor, up the wide marble staircase, to a suit of rooms -directly over the drawing-room. - -This suit comprised sitting-room, bedroom, dressing-room and bath-room. -Their upholstery was of a vivid crimson hue. A faultless taste had -guided the selection of the various adornments, and Lady Wynde’s eyes -kindled with appreciation as she marked the costliness and beauty of -everything around her. - -“Your trunks have arrived in the wagon, Octavia,” said her husband, -well pleased with her commendations. “Mrs. Artress and your maid, who -came on in the dog-cart, have also arrived. Dinner has been ordered at -seven. I will leave you to dress. And, by the way, should you have need -of me, my dressing-room adjoins your own.” - -He went out. Lady Wynde rang for her maid and her gray companion, and -dressed for dinner. When her toilet was made, the baronet’s bride -dismissed her maid and came out into her warm-hued sitting room, where -Mrs. Artress sat by a window looking out into the leafy shadows of the -park. - -“Well?” said the beauty interrogatively. “What do you think? Have I not -been successful?” - -“So far, yes,” said the grim, ashen-faced companion, raising her light, -hay-colored eyes in a meaning expression. “But the end is not yet. The -game, you know, is only fairly begun.” - -“Yes, I know,” said the bride thoughtfully. “But it is well begun. But -hush, Artress. Here comes my happy bridegroom!” - -There was a mocking smile on her lips as she bade Sir Harold enter. The -wedded pair had a few minutes’ conversation in the sitting-room, her -ladyship’s companion sitting in the deep window seat mute as a shadow, -and they then descended to the drawing-room. Mrs. Artress meekly -followed. She remained near Lady Wynde, in attendance upon her until -after dinner, and then went up to her own room, which was in convenient -proximity to the apartments of Lady Wynde. - -The bride and bridegroom were left to themselves. - -The former played a little upon the grand piano, and then approached -her husband, sitting down beside him upon the same sofa. His noble face -beamed love upon her. But her countenance grew hard with speculative -thoughts. - -“Let me see,” said she, speaking with well-assumed lightness. “What -were we talking about when we arrived, Harold? Oh, about your property! -So, this dear old Hawkhurst will belong to George? And what will Neva -have?” - -“Her mother’s fortune, and several estates which are not entailed. Neva -will be a very rich woman without Hawkhurst. You also, Octavia, will be -handsomely provided for, without detriment to my children.” - -“Oh, yes, of course,” said Lady Wynde. “But if the estates are not -entailed which you intend to give to Neva, you must leave them to her -by will. Have--have you made your will?” - -“Yes; but since I have contracted a new marriage, I shall have to make -a new will. I shall attend to that at my leisure.” - -Lady Wynde became thoughtful, but did not press the subject. She -excused her questionings on the plea of interest in her husband’s -children, and Sir Harold gave no thought to them. - -The days went by; the weeks and months followed. Neva Wynde had not -been summoned home, her step-mother finding plenty of excuses for -deferring the return of her step-daughter. Perhaps she feared that a -pair of keen young eyes, unvailed by glamor, would see how morally -hideous she was--how base and scheming, and unworthy of her husband. - -Sir Harold’s infatuation with his wife deepened as the time wore on. -His love for her became a species of worship. All that she did was good -in his eyes. - -Lady Wynde went into society, visited the first county families, -and received them at Hawkhurst. She gave a ball, dancing and dinner -parties, “tea-fights,” and fetes champetres, without number. She -promoted festivities of every sort, and became one of the most popular -ladies in the county. She was a leader of fashion too, and withal was -so gracious, so circumspect, so full of delicate flattery to every one, -that even venomous tongued gossip had naught but good to say of her. -Her position at Hawkhurst was thus firmly established, and she might be -called a happy woman. - -As the months went on, an air of expectancy began to be apparent in -her manner. The gray companion shared it, moving with a suppressed -eagerness and nervousness, as if waiting for something. And that which -she waited for came at last. - -It was one February evening, more than a year after the bride’s coming -home to Hawkhurst. Outside the night was wild. Within Lady Wynde’s -dressing-room the fire glowed behind its silvered bars, and its rays -danced in bright gleams upon the crimson furniture. The lamps burned -with mellow radiance. In the centre of the room stood the lady of -Hawkhurst. She had dismissed her maid, and was surveying her reflection -in a full-length mirror with a complacent smile. - -She was attired in a long robe of crimson silk, and wore her ruby -ornaments. Her neck and arms were bare. Her liquid black eyes were full -of light; her face was aglow. - -In the midst of her self-admiration, her gray companion entered -abruptly, bearing in her hand a letter. Lady Wynde turned toward her -with a startled look. - -“What have you there, Artress?” she demanded. - -“A letter addressed to me,” was the reply. “I have read it. I have a -question to ask you, Octavia, before I show the letter to you. Sir -Harold Wynde adores you. He loads you with gifts. He lays his heart -under your feet. You are his world, his life, his very soul. And now I -want to ask you--do you love him?” - -The ashen eyes shot a piercing glance into the handsome brunette face, -but the black eyes met hers boldly and the full lips curled in a -contemptuous smile. - -“Love him?” repeated Lady Wynde. “You know I do not. Love him? You know -that I love another even as Sir Harold loves me! Love him? Bah!” - -The gray woman smiled a strange mirthless smile. - -“It is well,” she said. “Now read the letter. The message has come at -last!” - -Lady Wynde seized the letter eagerly. It contained only these words, -without date or signature: - -“_The time has come to get rid of him!_ Now!” - - - - -CHAPTER III. A FATEFUL MOVE DECIDED UPON. - - -Notwithstanding that the sinister message, contained in the single line -of the mysterious missive brought to Lady Wynde by her gray companion, -had been long expected, it brought with it none the less a shock when -it came. - -The paper fluttered slowly from the unloosed fingers of the baronet’s -wife to the floor, and into the liquid black eyes stole a look half -of horror and half of eagerness. Unconsciously her voice repeated the -words of the message, in a hoarse whisper: - -“_It is time to get rid of him._ Now!” - -Lady Wynde shuddered at the sound of her own voice, and she stared at -her gray companion, her eyes full of shrinking and terror. Those ashen -orbs returned her stare with one that was bold, evil, and encouraging. - -“I--I haven’t the courage I thought, Artress,” faltered her ladyship. -“It is a terrible thing to do!” - -“You love Sir Harold, after all?” taunted the companion, as she picked -up the sinister slip of paper and burned it. - -“No, no, but he trusts me; he loves me. There was a time, Artress, when -I could not have harmed a dog that licked my hand or fawned upon me. -And now--but I am not so bad as you think. I am base, unscrupulous, -manœuvring, I know. My marriage was but part of a wicked plan, the -fruit of a conspiracy against Sir Harold Wynde, but I shrink from the -crowning evil we have planned. To play the viper and sting the hand -that has warmed me--to wound to the core the heart that beats so fondly -and proudly for me--to--to cut short the noble, beneficent, happy life -of Sir Harold--oh, I cannot! I cannot!” - -Her ladyship swept forward impetuously toward the hearth and knelt down -before a quaint crimson-cushioned chair, crossing her arms upon it, and -laying her head on her bare white arms. The firelight played upon the -ruddy waves of her long robe, upon the gems at her throat and wrists, -upon her picturesquely dishevelled hair, and upon her stormy, handsome -face. She stared into the fire with her great black terrified eyes, as -if seeking in those dancing flames some mystic meaning. - -Her gray companion flitted across the floor to her side like an evil -shadow. - -“How very tragic you are, my lady,” she said, with a sneer. “It almost -seems as if you were doing a scene out of a melodrama. No one can force -you to any step against your will. You can do whatever you please. Sir -Harold dotes upon you, and you can continue his seemingly affectionate -wife, can receive his caresses, can preside over his household, and -can soothe his declining years. He is not yet fifty-eight years old, -vigorous and healthy, and, as he comes of a long-lived race, he will -live to be ninety, I doubt not. You will, should you survive him, -then be seventy. You can play the tender step-mother to his children. -His daughter is sure to dislike you, and she may cause her father to -distrust you. All this will no doubt be pleasant to you--” - -“Hush, hush!” breathed Lady Wynde, with a tempestuous look in her eyes. -“Let me alone, Artress. You always stir up the demon within me. Forty -years of a dull, staid, respectable existence, when I might be a queen -of society in London, might be married to one I have loved for years! -Forty years! Why, one year seems to me an eternity. It seems a lifetime -since I was married to Sir Harold. I--I will act upon the letter.” - -The gray companion smiled. - -“I was sure you would,” she said. - -“But Sir Harold has not made a new will since our marriage,” urged -Lady Wynde. “By our marriage settlements, I am to have the use of the -dower house, Wynde Heights, during my lifetime, and a life income of -four thousand pounds a year. At my death, both house and income revert -to the family of Wynde. I have nothing absolutely my own, nothing left -to me by will to do with as I please. Craven expected that I would -have the dowry of a princess, I suppose, out of Sir Harold’s splendid -property.” - -“It is not too late to acquire it,” said the companion, significantly. -“Sir Harold is clay in your hands. You can mould him to any shape you -will. He has no child here to counteract your influence. He has money -and estates which he intends to leave by will to his daughter Neva. -If you are clever, you can divert into your own coffers all of Miss -Wynde’s property that is not settled upon her already from her mother’s -estate. It will do no harm to delay acting upon the message for a day -or two, since something of so much importance remains to be transacted.” - -“I am thankful for even a day’s respite,” murmured Lady Wynde. “I have -been eager to receive the message, intending to act upon it promptly. -But I am not all bad, Artress, and I shrink from the consummation of -our plans. If Sir Harold would only die naturally! If something would -only occur to remove him from my path!” - -She breathed heavily as she arose, shook out the folds of her dress, -and moved toward the door. - -“The phial I had when we came here I found was broken yesterday,” said -Artress. “I shall have to go up to London to-morrow for more of that -fluid, so that there must be a day’s delay in any case. We must be very -cautious, for people will wonder at the sudden death of one so hale and -strong, and should suspicion arise, it must find no foundation to build -upon.” - -Lady Wynde nodded assent, and opened the door and went out with a weary -step. She descended the broad staircase, crossed the great hall, and -entered the drawing-room. - -Sir Harold was seated near the fire, in a thoughtful reverie, but arose -at her entrance with a beaming face and a tender smile. - -“It’s a wild night, Octavia,” he said. “Come forward to the fire my -darling. How pale you are! And you are shivering with the cold.” - -He gently forced her into the easy-chair he had vacated, bent over her -with lover-like devotion, patting her head softly with his hand. - -“You look unhappy, dear,” resumed the baronet, after a pause. “Is there -anything you want--a ball, jewels, a trip to the Continent? You know my -purse is yours, and I am ready to go where you may wish to lead.” - -“You are very good!” said Lady Wynde, her black eyes fixed in a gaze -upon the fire, and again she shivered. “I--I am not worthy of all your -kindness, Harold. Hark! There is the dinner-bell. Thank fortune for the -interruption, for I believe I was growing really sentimental!” - -She forced a laugh as she arose and took her husband’s arm, and was -conducted to the dining-room, but there was something in her laughter -that jarred upon Sir Harold, although the unpleasant impression it -produced upon him was evanescent. - -At the dinner Lady Wynde was herself again, bright and fascinating, -only now and then, in some pause of the conversation, there came again -into her eyes that horrified stare which they had worn up stairs, -and which testified how her soul shrank from the awful crime she -contemplated. - -After dinner the pair returned to the drawing-room. Sir Harold drew a -sofa toward the corner of the hearth and sat down upon it, calling his -wife to him. She obeyed, taking a seat beside him. Her face was all -brightness at this moment, and Sir Harold forgot his late anxieties -about her. - -“I believe I am the happiest man in the world, Octavia,” he said -thoughtfully, caressing one of her jewelled hands he had lifted from -her knee, “but my cup of joy lacks a drop or two of sweetness still. -You are all the world to me, my wife, and yet I want something more.” - -“What is it you want, Harold?” - -“I have been thinking about my children,” said the baronet. “It is -over a month since I heard from George, and he does not intend to leave -India this year, although I have urged him to sell his commission and -come home. The boy has a passion for a military life, and he went out -to India against my better judgment. I cannot have George home again -this year, but there is Neva near me. I long to see her, Octavia.” - -“You are the most devoted of fathers,” laughed Lady Wynde. “We have -been married but little over a year, and yet you have made two trips -alone to Paris to see Neva. She must be a very paragon of daughters to -cause her father to forget his bride.” - -Sir Harold’s fair cheeks flushed a little. - -“You forget,” he said, “that Neva was my especial charge from the hour -of her mother’s death till I sent her to that Paris school. My love for -you, Octavia, cannot lessen my love for her. I begin to think that I -have done wrong in not bringing you two together before. I had a most -pathetic letter from Neva before the holidays, begging to be allowed to -come home, but at your request, Octavia, I denied her natural entreaty -and compelled her to remain at her school. Even Madame Da-Caret, the -head of the establishment, thought it singular that Miss Wynde should, -alone of all the English pupils, spend her holidays at the deserted -institution. And now to-day I received a letter from Neva asking if -she was to come home for the Easter holidays. I am afraid I have not -rightly treated my motherless child, Octavia. She has never seen you; -never been at home since you became mistress here. I fear that the poor -child will think her exile due to your influence, to speak frankly, -dear, and that she will regard you with dislike and bitterness, instead -of the trust and confidence I want her to feel in you. You are both so -dear to me that I shall be unhappy if you do not love each other.” - -“There is time enough to form the acquaintance after Neva leaves -school,” said Lady Wynde. “She is but a child yet.” - -“She is seventeen years old, Octavia. I have decided to have her home -at Easter, and I hope you will take some pains to win her trust and -affection. She will meet you half-way, dear.” - -“I am not fond of bread-and-butter school-girls,” said Lady Wynde, half -frowning. “The neighborhood will be agape to see how I play the role -of step-mother. And, to own the truth, Harold, I have no fancy to be -called mother by a tall, overgrown girl, with her hair hanging down her -back in two braids, and her dresses reaching to her ankles. I shall -feel as old as Methuselah.” - -Sir Harold sighed, and a grave shadow settled down upon his square -massive brows. - -“I hope that Neva will win her way to your heart, Octavia,” he remarked -gently. “I thought it would look better if my daughter were to call her -father’s wife by the endearing name of mother, but teach her to call -you what you will. I have faith in your goodness of heart, my wife.” - -“Perhaps I am a little jealous of her,” returned Lady Wynde, with a -forced smile. “You fairly idolize her--” - -“Have I not made her second to you?” interposed the baronet. “Has she -not been banished from her home to please you since you entered it? -When I think of her dull, dreary holidays in her school--holidays! -the name was a mockery--my soul yearns for my child. Jealous of her, -Octavia? What further proofs do you need that I prefer my wife in all -things above my child?” - -“Why,” said Lady Wynde tremulously, a hectic flush burning on either -cheek, “look at the magnificent fortune she will have! While, if you -should die I have only the pitiful income of four thousand pounds a -year.” - -“Pitiful, Octavia!” - -“Yes, it _is_ pitiful, compared to Neva’s. You have estates which -you can convey away absolutely by will. Why should you not make me -independently rich, with property that I can sell if I choose? What you -leave to me is to be mine _for life_. What you leave to Neva is hers -absolutely. This is monstrous, hateful, unjust!” - -The baronet regarded his wife in amazement. - -“You were satisfied with your marriage settlements when they were drawn -up, Octavia,” he said. - -“I was not satisfied even then, but I had no male relatives to speak to -you about the matter, and it would have been indelicate for me to have -said what I thought. But I hoped you would make things right in a will, -as you can easily do. It is _not_ right that such a distinction should -be made between a daughter and a wife!” - -“I am surprised at you, Octavia,” declared the baronet. “Neva inherits -her mother’s fortune with something from me, but I cannot undertake to -alter my intentions in regard to her. The provisions that were made for -my mother are the same as those that have been made for you, and she -found them ample. I can promise you nothing more; but, Octavia,” and he -smiled faintly, “I have no intention of dying soon, and while I live -your income need not to be limited to any certain sum. Let no jealousy -of my Neva warp your noble nature, Octavia. I shall love you all the -better if you love her.” - -“Then you decline to make a new will, with further provision for me?” -demanded the wife, her eyes downcast, the hectic spot burning fiercely -on both cheeks. - -“You surprise me, Octavia. Why are you so persistent about a subject of -which I never dreamed you even thought? I _do_ decline to make further -provision for you, but not because I do not love and appreciate you, -for I do both. So long as there is no issue to our marriage, the -sum settled on you is ample for your own wants. If Providence sends -us children, they will be provided for separately. We will let the -discussion end here, Octavia, with the understanding that Neva will -spend her Easter at Hawkhurst.” - -Lady Wynde compressed her lips and looked sullen, but, as Sir Harold -suggested, the discussion was dropped. The baronet was troubled, and -disappointed in the wife he had believed faultless. The first shadow of -their married life, the first suspicion of distrust of Lady Wynde in -her husband’s mind had come at last, and they were hard to bear. Lady -Wynde went to the piano and executed a dashing fantasia, all storm and -violence, expressive of her mental condition. Sir Harold moved back -from the fire and took up a book, but his grave, saddened face, his -steady, intent gaze, and anxious mouth, showed that he was not reading, -and that his thoughts were sorrowful. - -When Lady Wynde had become tired of music, she went up to her rooms -without a word to her husband. She entered her sitting-room, made -beautiful by her husband’s taste, and going to the fire, knelt down -before it on the hearth-rug. Artress and her maid were neither of them -to be seen, and the baronet’s wife communed in solitude with her own -deformed soul. - -The winds tore through the trees in the park and on the lawn with a -melancholy soughing, and the sound came to the ears of the kneeling -woman. Her room was warm and bright with firelight, lamplight, and the -glowing hue of crimson furniture. Every luxury was gathered within -those walls dedicated to her use. Silken couches and fauteuils, -portfolios of choice engravings, rare bronzes on the low marble -mantel-piece, exquisite statuettes on carved brackets, albums of scenes -in every hand done in water-colors, a beautiful cottage piano, and -a hundred other articles made the room a very temple of comfort and -beauty, yet in the spot where only loving thoughts of her husband -should have had place she dared to harbor thoughts of crime! And that -crime the most hideous that can be named--the crime of _murder_! - -While she was kneeling there, the gray companion stole in softly and -silently. - -Lady Wynde slowly turned her head, recognized the intruder, and stared -again with wide eyes into the flames. - -“You look like a tragedy queen,” said Artress, with a soft laugh -like the gurgling of waters. “You look as if you cast away all your -scruples, and were ready to carry out the game.” - -“I am,” said Lady Wynde, in a hard, suppressed voice. - -“I thought you would come to it. Will Sir Harold make a new will?” - -“No; he absolutely refuses.” - -“Well, four thousand pounds a year need not be despised. And perhaps,” -added Artress significantly, “we can make the sum larger. Am I to go to -town to-morrow?” - -“Yes, by the morning train. Go to Craven, and tell him the phial he -gave you is broken and the contents spilled, and ask him for more of -the--the preparation. I will find occasion to administer it. I have -worked myself up to the necessary point, and would not scruple at any -crime so long as I need not fear discovery. You will be back before -dinner,” added Lady Wynde, her brunette complexion turning as gray as -that of her companion, “and to-morrow night at this time I shall be a -widow!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. A DOOR OPENED TO WICKEDNESS. - - -Soon after daybreak, upon the morning following the occurrence of the -incidents related in the preceding chapter, Lady Wynde’s gray companion -departed from Hawkhurst for Canterbury in a dog-cart which, with -its driver, the baronet’s wife had ordered to be always at Artress’ -disposal. She took the early train up to London, her business a secret -between her mistress and herself. - -At the usual breakfast hour, eight o’clock, Lady Wynde descended to -the breakfast room. Sir Harold was already there, and greeted her with -his usual tender smile, although he looked somewhat careworn. Their -greetings were scarcely over, and the couple had taken their places at -the table, when the butler appeared, bringing in the morning mail bag. - -Sir Harold produced his key and unlocked it. There were a few -newspapers for himself, some packets of silk samples, and a letter from -Madame Elise, her dressmaker, for Lady Wynde. There were two letters -for the baronet, one quite unimportant, which he tossed aside. The -other bore the Indian post-mark. - -“A letter from George,” said Sir Harold, his eyes brightening. “No, -it’s not from George. The address is not in his hand. Who can have -written to me in his stead?” - -He tore open the letter hastily, his countenance falling. - -His first glance was at the date; his second at the signature. An -exclamation broke from his lips as he read aloud the name appended to -the letter: “Cooper Graham, Regimental Surgeon.” - -“What can this mean?” he exclaimed, in sudden agitation. “Can George be -ill? Octavia, read the letter to me. The words seem all blurred.” - -Lady Wynde took the letter, reading it aloud. - -It was long, too long to transcribe here, and its import was terrible -to the baronet. It opened with the announcement that the writer was -the surgeon of Captain Wynde’s regiment, and that Captain Wynde was a -patient under his care. It went on to say that Captain Wynde was the -victim of a terrible and incurable disease under which he had been -suffering for months, and the surgeon had learned that the poor young -man had not written home to his friends the fact of his peril. His -disease was a cancer, which was preying upon his vitals. Captain Wynde -had been relieved of his regimental duties, and sent up into the hill -country, where he now was. The young man’s thoughts by day and night -were of his home--his one longing was to see his father before he died. -Surgeon Graham went on to say that Captain Wynde could not possibly -survive a sea journey; that he could not bear the bracing sea air, nor -the fatigues of the overland route, and he would assuredly die on his -way home. But, he added, that in the cool and quiet seclusion of his -upcountry bungalow, his life could probably be prolonged for some three -months. - -Surgeon Graham concluded his startling letter with a further reference -to Captain Wynde’s anxiety to look once more on his father’s face -before he died. He said that the poor young man had desired that the -letter should not be written to Sir Harold, and that the baronet should -be informed of his son’s illness only in the letter which should -announce that son’s death. - -This terrible news was a fearful shock to Sir Harold. His son George, -the heir of his name and estates, was dying in a far, foreign land, -with a frightful disease, with no relative nor friend about him to -smooth his pillow in his last agony, or to wipe the death-damp from his -brows. The father sobbed aloud in his agony. - -“My boy! my poor boy!” he cried, in a broken voice. “My poor dying boy!” - -“It is very sad,” said Lady Wynde, wondering in her own heart if George -Wynde’s death could be made to benefit her pecuniarily. “The surgeon -seems a very kind-hearted person, and he says that George has an -excellent native nurse, George’s man-servant--” - -Sir Harold interrupted his wife by a gesture of impatience. - -“The man is a Hindoo,” he said. “What consolation can he offer George -in the hour of his death, when his eyes should rest on a tender, loving -face--when his dying hands should grasp the hands of a friend? My poor -brave boy! How could I ever consent to his going out to India? All his -bright, military genius, all his longings to distinguish himself in the -army, must end in an early Indian grave! But he shall not die with not -one of his kindred beside him. We must go to him, Octavia. We shall -reach him in time.” - -Sir Harold seized upon his unopened _Times_, and glanced over the -advertisements. - -“A steamer sails from Marseilles two days hence,” he announced. “We -must be off to-day, immediately, to catch it. I will have a bag packed -at once. Order your maid to pack your trunks, Octavia--” - -He paused, not comprehending the surprised stare in her ladyship’s bold -black eyes. - -“You seem to be laboring under a mistake Sir Harold,” said Lady Wynde, -coolly. “If you choose to go out to India, you can do so. George is -your son and heir, and I suppose it would really look better if you -were to go. But as to my hurrying by sea and land, by day and night, -to witness the death of a young man I never saw, the idea is simply -preposterous. My health could never endure the strain of such a -fatigue. You would have two graves to make instead of one.” - -The lines in Sir Harold’s face contracted as in a sudden spasm. - -“I--I was selfish to think of your going, Octavia,” he said -sorrowfully. “It is true that we should have to travel day and night to -reach Marseilles in time to catch the steamer. The passage of the Red -Sea would also be hard for you. But I was thinking of my poor brave boy -dying there among strangers, with no woman beside him. If--if you could -have gone to him, my wife, and let him feel that he was going from one -mother here to another mother _there_--” - -“I should like to go, if only my health would permit,” sighed Lady -Wynde. “But why do you not take your daughter with you?” - -The father shook his head. - -“She is so young,” he said. “She is so fond of poor George. I cannot -cast so heavy a shadow over her future life as that visit to her -brother’s death-bed would be. No, Octavia, I will go alone.” - -He arose and went out, leaving his breakfast untouched. Lady Wynde -sipped her coffee leisurely, and ate her breakfast with untroubled -appetite. Then she proceeded to her own private sitting-room and took -her place at one of the windows, watching the whirling snow-flakes of -the February storm. - -Sir Harold found her here when he came in, dressed for his journey. -He had ordered a carriage, which was ready. His travelling bag was -packed, and had been taken below. He had come in to say good-bye to his -wife. - -“What a great change a single hour has wrought in our lives!” he said, -as he came up to Lady Wynde and put his arms around her. “Octavia, my -darling, it wrings my heart to leave you. Write to me by every post. I -shall remain with my boy until all is over. Tell me all the home news. -You will have Neva home at Easter, and love her for my sake! She will -be our only child soon!” - -He embraced his wife with passionate affection, and murmured words of -anguished farewell. He tore himself from her, but at the door he turned -back, and spoke to her with a solemnity she had never seen in him -before. - -“Octavia,” he said, “at this moment a strange presentiment comes over -me--a sudden horror--a chill as of death! Perhaps I am to die out there -in India! If--if anything happens to me, Octavia, promise me to be good -to my Neva.” - -“It is not necessary to promise,” said Lady Wynde, “but to please you, -I promise!” - -Sir Harold’s keen blue eyes, full of anguish, rested in a long -steady gaze upon that false handsome face, and the solemnity of his -countenance increased. - -“You will be Neva’s guardian, if I die,” he said, in a broken voice. -“I trust you absolutely. God do unto you, Octavia, as you do unto my -orphan child!” - -How those words rang in the ears of Lady Wynde long afterward! - -Sir Harold gave her a last embrace, and dashed down the stairs and -sprang into the carriage. Lady Wynde watched him with tearless eyes as -he drove down the avenue. - -When he had disappeared from her sight, she said to herself: - -“Of course I could have done nothing to put an end to Sir Harold’s life -this morning. I only hope he will die in India--to save me the trouble -of--of doing anything when he gets back!” - -Sir Harold proceeded to Canterbury with all speed. On arriving, he -proceeded directly to his solicitor’s, had a new will drawn up, -constituting Lady Wynde his daughter’s personal guardian, and making -Neva his sole heiress in the event of her brother’s death, Lady Wynde -having been sufficiently provided for by her marriage settlements. The -will duly signed and witnessed, Sir Harold hastened to the station, -catching the train for Dover. - -He crossed to Calais by the first boat, and went on to Marseilles, by -way of Paris, without stopping even to see his daughter. He was not -only in time to get passage by the _Messageries Imperiales_ steamer, -but had an hour to spare. In this hour he wrote a long and very -tender letter to his daughter, telling her of her brother’s illness, -and hinting of the gloom that had settled down upon his own soul. He -begged her if anything happened to him on this journey, to love her -step-mother, and to obey her in all things, regarding Lady Wynde’s -utterances as if they came from Sir Harold. - -He also wrote a note to his wife, and sent the two ashore to be posted -by one of the agents of the company, just as the vessel weighed anchor -for Suez. - -In thirty-five days after leaving home he was in the Indian hill -country, and beside his dying son. - -Lady Wynde went out very little after her husband’s departure. She gave -no more dinner parties, and behaved with such admirable discretion that -her neighbors were full of praises of her. Although young, handsome -and admired, presiding over one of the finest places in the county, -with no one to direct or thwart her movements, the most censorious -tongue could find nothing to condemn in her. - -The only recreation she allowed herself were her weekly visits to -London, ostensibly to see Madame Elise, but as the ashen-eyed Artress -always accompanied her, they excited no comment even in her own -household. - -Easter drew near, and Lady Wynde wrote to her step-daughter that it -would not be convenient to have her at Hawkhurst during the holidays, -and ordered her to remain at her school. - -The spring months passed slowly. Lady Wynde wrote by every post to her -husband, and received letters as frequently. George’s minutest symptoms -were described to her by the anxious father, and George himself, -looking at his step-mother through his father’s eyes, sent her loving -and pathetic messages, to which she duly responded. - -Thus the time wore on until the midsummer. - -About the middle of July, Lady Wynde received a black-bordered letter -from her husband stating that his son and heir was dead. He had died -at his up-country bungalow, after an illness which had been protracted -considerably beyond the anticipations of his surgeon. Sir Harold wrote -that he was exhausted by long nursing, and that he should remain a -fortnight longer at his son’s bungalow to recruit his own health, and -that he should then start for home. - -“I wish he would come,” said Lady Wynde discontentedly, to her gray -companion. “I am tired of this dull existence. I am anxious to rid -myself of the trammels of my present marriage, and to be free to marry -again.” - -“You can be free within a week after Sir Harold’s return,” said -Artress. “And he will be here in September.” - -“I shall be free in September,” mused Lady Wynde, with sparkling eyes. -“A widow with four thousand a year! Ah, if only some good demon would -bring about that happy fact, leaving _my_ hands unstained with crime?” - -It seemed as if her familiar demon had anticipated her prayer. - -Some two weeks later, a second black-bordered letter was brought to -Lady Wynde. It was in an unfamiliar handwriting, and proved to be from -Surgeon Graham. - -It announced the death of Sir Harold Wynde! - -The surgeon stated that the baronet had made all arrangements for -returning to England, and that he had gone for a last ride among the -hills. He had taken a jungle path, but being well armed and attended by -a Hindoo servant, had anticipated no trouble. Some hours after he had -set out on his ride, about the time the surgeon looked for his return, -the Hindoo servant, covered with dust, rode up alone in a very panic -of terror. With difficulty he told his story. Sir Harold Wynde had -been attacked by a tiger that had leaped upon him from the jungle, and -before his terrified servant could come to his aid, he had been dragged -from his saddle, with the life-blood welling from his torn throat and -breast. The servant, appalled, had not dared to fire, knowing that no -human power could help Sir Harold in his extremity, and the baronet had -been killed before his eyes. The Hindoo had then fled homeward to tell -the awful story. - -The surgeon added, that a party had been made up to visit the scene -of the tragedy. A pool of blood, fragments of Sir Harold’s garments, -the bones of his horse, and the foot-prints of a tiger, all tended to -the confirmation of the Hindoo’s story. A hunt was organized for the -tiger, and he was found near the same spot on the following day and -killed. - -We have given a brief epitome of the letter that declared to Lady Wynde -that her prayer was answered, and that she was a widow. - -She was sitting in the drawing-room at Hawkhurst when the letter was -brought in to her. She was still sitting there, the letter lying on her -lap, twice read, when her gray companion stole into the room. - -“A letter from Sir Harold, Octavia?” said Artress, glancing at the -black-bordered missive. - -“No, it is from that Surgeon Graham,” answered her ladyship, with an -exultant thrill in her low, soft voice. “You cannot guess the news, -Artress. Sir Harold is dead!” - -“Dead?” - -“Yes,” cried Lady Wynde, “and I am a widow. Is it not glorious? A -widow, well-jointured and free to marry again! Ha, ha! Tell the -household the sad news, Artress, and tell them all that I am too -overcome with grief to speak to them. Let the bell at the village be -set tolling. Send a notice of the death to the _Times_. I am a widow, -and the guardian of the heiress of Hawkhurst! You must write to my -step-daughter of her bereavement, and also drop a note to Craven. A -widow, and without crime. The heiress of Hawkhurst in my hands to do -with as I please! Your future is to be linked with mine, my young Neva, -and a fate your father never destined for you shall be yours. I stand -upon the pinnacle of success at last.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. SETTLING INTO HER PLACE. - - -The announcement of Sir Harold Wynde’s death in India, so soon too -after the death of his son and heir, produced a shock throughout his -native county of Kent, and even throughout England; for, although the -baronet had been no politician, he had been one of the best known men -in the kingdom, and there were many who had known and esteemed him, who -mourned deeply at his tragic fate. - -The London papers, the _Times_, the _Morning Post_, and others, came -out with glowing eulogies of the grand-souled baronet whose life had -been so noble and beneficent. The local papers of Kent copied these -long obituaries, and added thereto accounts of the pedigree of the -Wynde family, and a description of the young heiress upon whom, by the -untimely deaths of both father and brother, the great family estates -and possessions, all excepting the bare title, now devolved. - -The retainers of the family, the farmers and servants--those who had -known Sir Harold best--mourned for him, refusing to be comforted. -They would never know again a landlord so genial, nor a master so -kindly: and although they hoped for much from his daughter, yet, as -they mournfully said to each other, Miss Neva would marry some day, -and the chances were even that she would give to Hawkhurst a harsh and -tyrannical master. - -The little village of Wyndham, near Hawkhurst, the very ideal of a -Kentish village, had been mostly owned by Sir Harold Wynde. To him -had belonged the row of shops, the old inn with its creaking sign, -and most of the neat houses that stood in gardens along the single -street. It was Sir Harold who had caused to be built the little new -stone church, with its slender spire, and in this church the mourning -villagers gathered to listen to the sermon that was preached in -commemoration of the baronet’s death. - -Lady Wynde was not present to listen to this sermon. Her gray -companion, attired in deep mourning, with the entire household of -Hawkhurst, was there, and the young clergyman made a feeling allusion -to “the bereaved young widow, sitting alone in her darkened chamber and -weeping for her dead, refusing like Rachel of old, to be comforted.” -Many of the kindly women present shed tears at this picture, but -Artress smiled behind her double mourning vail. She knew that Lady -Wynde was lying upon a sofa in her luxurious sitting-room at Hawkhurst, -busy with a French novel, and she knew also that not one tear had -dimmed her ladyship’s black eyes since the news had come of Sir -Harold’s horrible fate. - -Neighbors and friends thronged to Hawkhurst to offer their condolences -to the young widow. For the first week she was reported inconsolable, -and refused to see any one; but a box of the most elegant and -fashionable mourning having come down from London, Lady Wynde began -to receive her visitors. She affected to be quite broken down by her -bereavement, and for weeks did not go out of doors. And when, finally, -being urged to take care of her health and to become resigned to her -loss, she took morning drives, her equipage looked like a funeral one, -her carriage and horses being alike black, and her own face being -shrouded in double folds of sombre crape. - -Artress had written to Sir Harold’s daughter immediately upon the -arrival of the news of Sir Harold’s death, but the letter had been -cold and practical, and contained merely the terrible announcement, -without one line to soften its horror. About a week later, no letter -having been received from Neva, Lady Wynde wrote a very pathetic -letter, full of protestations of sympathy, and setting forth her own -mock sorrow as something genuinely heart-rending, and declaring herself -utterly prostrated in both body and mind. Her ladyship offered her -condolences to the bereaved daughter, assuring her that henceforth they -“must be all the world to each other,” and concluded her letter by -the false statement that it had been the late Sir Harold’s wish that -his daughter should remain at her Paris school a year longer, and, as -the wishes of the dead are sacred, Lady Wynde had sacrificed her own -personal feelings in the matter, and had consented that Neva should -remain another year “under the care of her excellent French teachers.” - -“That disposes of the girl for a year,” commented Lady Wynde, as she -sealed the missive. “I won’t have her here to spy upon me until the -year of mourning is over, and I am free to do just as I please.” - -So the letter was dispatched, and the baronet’s daughter was condemned -to continue her school tasks, even though her heart might be breaking. -There was no leisure for her in which to weep for the fate of her noble -father; no one who had known him with whom she might talk of him; and -only in the long and lonely night times was she free to weep for him, -and then indeed her pillow was wetted with her tears. - -About three weeks after the receipt of the letter from India announcing -Sir Harold’s death, the baronet’s solicitor at Canterbury received -a note from the widow, requesting him to call at Hawkhurst on the -following day. He obeyed the summons, bringing with him a copy of -Sir Harold’s will, made, as will be remembered, upon the day of the -baronet’s departure from England. Lady Wynde, clad in the deepest -weeds of woe, and attended by Artress, also in mourning, received the -solicitor in the library, a grand apartment with vaulted ceiling, and -lofty walls lined with books in uniform Russia leather bindings. - -“I have sent for you, Mr. Atkins,” said Lady Wynde, when the customary -greetings had been exchanged, “to learn if poor Sir Harold left a will. -I had his desk searched, and no document of the sort can be found. If -he made no will, I am anxious to know how I am to be affected by the -omission.” - -Mr. Atkins, a thin, small man, with a large, bald head, looked -surprised at the simple directness of this speech. He had expected to -find her ladyship overcome with grief, as report portrayed her; but -her eyes were as bright and tearless, her cheeks as red, her features -as composed, as if the business in hand were of the most trivial and -unimportant description. Atkins, who had appreciated Sir Harold’s grand -nature, felt an aversion to Lady Wynde from this moment. - -“She didn’t care for him,” he mentally decided on the instant. “She’s -an arrant humbug, and poor Sir Harold’s love was wasted on her. Upon -my soul, I believe all she cared about him was for the title and his -money.” - -Lady Wynde’s sharp eyes did not fail to perceive the unfavorable -impression she had made. She bit her lip fiercely, and her cheeks -flushed hotly. Her brows arched themselves superciliously, and Mr. -Atkins, marking her impatience, hastened to answer: - -“Sir Harold left a will, my lady. It was drawn up at my office at -Canterbury upon the day on which he left England for India. You will -remember that he left Hawkhurst in the morning and drove to Canterbury. -He came direct to my office, and dictated and signed his will. He -then proceeded directly to the station and went by train to Dover, and -crossed to Calais. The will was left in my keeping and is, there can be -no question, the last will and testament of Sir Harold Wynde.” - -“I presume no one will care to question the will,” said Lady Wynde -coldly, “although Sir Harold was in a very excited frame of mind that -morning, on account of the news of his son’s illness, and the pain -of leaving his home and me. Nevertheless, I dare say he was quite -competent to dictate a will. I sent you the particulars of Sir Harold’s -death, with some of the letters detailing the sad event which I have -received from India. There being no possible doubt of his awful fate, -it is time to prove his will. I wish you to give me some idea of its -contents.” - -The solicitor drew out a long leathern pocket-book and took from it a -neatly folded paper. - -“I have here a copy of the will,” he said briefly. “Is it your -ladyship’s wish to have the will formally read, in the presence of -witnesses?” - -“No, that is unnecessary. Leave out the usual useless preamble and -tell me what disposition my husband made of his property--the freehold -farms, the money in bank, the consols, the bonds and mortgages? All -these he was free to leave to whom he pleased. I desire to know to whom -he did leave them.” - -There was a greediness in the looks and tones of Lady Wynde that -chilled Atkins. In her anxiety to learn the contents of the will, her -ladyship half dropped her mask and displayed something of her true -character, and he was quick to read it. - -“Sir Harold Wynde, in expectation of the death of his son and heir,” -replied Atkins, in his most formal tones, “bequeathed all the property -you have mentioned, all his real and personal property, to his -daughter, Miss Neva Wynde.” - -“All to her?” muttered Lady Wynde. “_All_, you say?” - -“All, my lady. Miss Wynde also inherits Hawkhurst and the entailed -property. She is one of the richest heiresses in England.” - -“And--and my name is not mentioned?” - -“Sir Harold declares that you are provided for by the terms of the -marriage settlement. You have Wynde Heights for your dower house and -four thousand pounds a year during your life, with no restrictions in -regard to a second marriage--a very liberal provision I consider it.” - -“And a very shabby one I consider it,” cried Lady Wynde, with a black -frown. “Sir Harold’s daughter seventy thousand pounds a year, and I -have a paltry four. It is a shame, a miserable, burning shame!” - -“It is unjust, scandalous!” muttered Artress. - -“Sir Harold thought the sum sufficient, and I must say I agree with -him,” declared Atkins. “Your ladyship was contented with the provision -at your marriage. If the allowance was unsatisfactory, why did you not -expostulate with Sir Harold at that time? Why wait until he is dead to -accuse him of injustice?” - -“We will not argue the matter,” said Lady Wynde superciliously. “I -shall not contest the will. And now about my rich young step-daughter. -Who are her appointed guardians?” - -There was a perceptible anxiety in her manner, which Atkins noticed -with some wonder. He referred to his copy of the will, which was open -in his hands. - -“Sir Harold appointed yourself, my lady, the personal guardian of his -daughter,” he said slowly. “Miss Wynde is to reside at Hawkhurst under -your care until she becomes of age or marries. Upon the occurrence of -either of those events your ladyship is to retire to Wynde Heights, -or to whatsoever place you may prefer, leaving Miss Wynde absolute -mistress of Hawkhurst. Of course if Miss Wynde desires you to remain -after her marriage, or the attainment of her majority, you are at -liberty to do as you please. I think you comprehend Sir Harold’s -meaning. If it is not precisely clear, I will read the will--” - -“Do not!” interrupted Lady Wynde impatiently. “I abhor all that -tedious phraseology. I understand that I am Miss Wynde’s sole personal -guardian, that I am to direct her actions, introduce her into society, -and that she is to give me the simple, unhesitating obedience of a -daughter. Is this not so?” - -“It is,” assented Atkins, rather hesitatingly. “Sir Harold expresses -the hope that his widow and his daughter will love each other; and that -your ladyship will give to his orphan child a mother’s tenderness and -affection.” - -“Sir Harold knew that he could depend upon my kindness to his child,” -said Lady Wynde hypocritically. “I promised him before he went away to -be a mother to her, although I shall be but a young mother, to be sure. -I shall be very good to the poor girl, whom I love already. I don’t -know anything about law, Mr. Atkins, but is not some other guardian -also necessary--some one to see to the property, you know?” - -“There are three trustees appointed to look after the estate during -Miss Wynde’s minority,” answered Atkins. “Sir John Freise is one. -You know him well, my lady, and a more incorruptible, honest-souled -gentleman than he does not exist. He is a man of fine business -capacity, and Sir Harold could not have chosen better. I am also a -trustee, and I can answer for my own probity, and for my great devotion -to the interests of Miss Wynde.” - -“And the third trustee--who is he?” - -“The young Earl Towyn. He is the son of one of Sir Harold’s dearest -friends, as you probably know, and his youth admirably balances Sir -John’s age.” - -Lady Wynde looked thoughtful. Her gray companion bent over her work, -embroidering a black monogram upon a black-bordered handkerchief, and -did not look up. Her ashen-hued lashes lay on her ashen cheeks, and she -looked dull, spiritless, a mere gray shadow, as we have called her, but -Atkins, studying her face, had an uncomfortable impression that under -all that coldness a fire was burning. - -“She’s more than she looks to be,” he thought keenly. “I wonder Sir -Harold tolerated her in his house. How singularly she resembles a cat!” - -Lady Wynde presently broke the silence. - -“I understand the situation of affairs,” she said, “and I am obliged -to you for your prompt attendance upon my summons, Mr. Atkins. I shall -leave my money affairs in your hands. I desire my jointure to be paid -into the bank and placed to my credit, so that I may draw upon it when -I please. There is nothing more, I think.” - -“I would like to make a few inquiries about Miss Wynde, if you please, -my lady,” said Atkins, with quiet firmness. “I understand that she -is not at home. Has she not been summoned from her school since her -father’s death?” - -“She has not,” answered Lady Wynde haughtily. - -“Pardon me, madam, but are you not about to summon her?” - -“I am not. Miss Wynde will remain this year at school. Her studies must -be interrupted upon no account at this time.” - -“Not even by her father’s death?” asked Atkins bitterly. “Sir Harold -mentioned to me his desire to have her at home--” - -“Sir Harold Wynde is no longer master of Hawkhurst,” interposed Lady -Wynde, with increased superciliousness. “I believe, by the terms of -the will, that I am mistress here during Neva’s minority. Let me tell -you, Mr. Atkins, that I am my step-daughter’s sole personal guardian, -and that I will submit to no dictation whatever in my treatment of the -girl. If my husband had sufficient confidence in me to make me his -daughter’s guardian, the trustees whom he himself appointed have no -need nor right to comment upon my actions or interfere in my plans. -Permit me to assure you that I will brook no interference, and if you -try to sow dissension between Neva and me you are proving unfaithful to -Sir Harold--as well as oblivious of your own interests.” - -Mr. Atkins sighed, and murmured an apology. He soon after took his -leave, and drove away in the chaise in which he had come. His heart -was very heavy and his face overcast as he emerged from the Hawkhurst -grounds into the highway, and journeyed toward Canterbury. - -“It was a sorry day for Neva Wynde when her father died,” he murmured, -looking back at the grand old seat--“a sorry day! This handsome -black-eyed Lady Wynde, that everybody is praising for an angel of love -and devotion to her husband, is at heart a demon! She means mischief, -though I can’t see how. Poor Neva is booked for trouble!” - -Enough of honest Mr. Atkins’ sentiments had been apparent in his -countenance to prejudice Lady Wynde against him, and to warn her that -he comprehended something of her real character. As may be supposed, -therefore, she did not again summon him to Hawkhurst. - -The days and weeks and months of Lady Wynde’s widowhood passed on -without event. She carried herself circumspectly in the eyes of the -world. No visitors were invited to Hawkhurst, and her ladyship’s visits -to London were few and far between. She seldom went to Canterbury, and -her drives about the neighborhood of Hawkhurst were always of the most -funereal description, with black coach, black horses and black attire, -and a slow gait. Her ladyship was found every Sunday in the baronet’s -great square pew in the little Wyndham church, and as she always sat -with the silken curtains drawn, no one could know that she was not -absorbed in the church services. In short, during the year she had -determined to devote to mourning for her dead husband, the conduct of -Lady Wynde was such as to deepen her popularity throughout the county. -Sir John Freise enthusiastically declared her an angel, her neighbors -praised her, and only honest Mr. Atkins shook his head doubtfully when -her virtues were lauded, and dared to suggest that she might not be all -she seemed. - -The year slowly wore away, and midsummer had come again. The languor -of Lady Wynde’s dull existence had begun to give place to a strange -restlessness. Her deep mourning had grown odious in her sight, and -was replaced by the lovely combinations of white and black, the -delicate lavenders and soft gray hues which are supposed to indicate a -mitigated grief. The hideous widow’s cap, not at all becoming to her -ladyship, was exchanged for lavender ribbons in her hair, and jewels -took the place of the orthodox mourning ornaments of jet. In her “half -mourning,” Lady Wynde appeared more than ever a strikingly handsome -woman. - -“Artress,” she said one morning to her gray companion, as she looked -out of her sitting-room window upon the fair domain of Hawkhurst, “this -dreaded year is over at last. I have satisfied the demands of society; -I have hoodwinked the jealous and envious eyes of neighbors, and am -free at last. If I were to marry to-morrow, no one could say that I -had not treated the memory of Sir Harold Wynde with respect. With the -sacrifice of but little over two years of my life, I have won a fine -income, a splendid home during Neva’s minority, and the guardianship of -one of the greatest heiresses in England. That office is worth three -thousand a year to me while I hold it. Surely I have played my part -well.” - -“You have indeed,” echoed Artress. - -“Neva must come home soon, but my own business must be settled before -her advent on the scene. I shall write to Craven immediately. I will -have no further delay.” - -She went to a small, beautifully inlaid writing desk, which stood in a -recessed window, and sitting down by it, wrote upon heavy velvet paper -the following words: - - “CRAVEN: You may come to me at last. There is no further obstacle - between us. - - “OCTAVIA.” - -This brief missive she inclosed in a square envelope, and stamped with -pale green wax and her favorite device. - -The letter she addressed to The Hon. Craven Black, The Albany, London, -W. - -She then touched her bell. To the servant who came at her summons she -gave the letter, ordering it to be posted at Wyndham village without -delay. When her messenger had gone, her ladyship gave a sigh of -consent, and murmured: - -“I am about to reap the reward of all my schemes. Craven will be here -to-morrow!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. HER LADYSHIP’S ACCOMPLICE. - - -The morrow to which Lady Wynde looked forward with feverish expectation -dawned at last, bright and clear, and deepened into a sultry afternoon. -The baronet’s widow spent hours at her toilet, and the effect of her -labors was satisfactory to her. She surveyed her reflection in a -full-length mirror in her dressing-room with a smile of complacency. -Her black hair was arranged in braids, curls, and finely crimpled -waves, after the fashion of the day, and in the midst of its prodigal -luxuriance, above her forehead, a jeweled spray flashed and glittered. -Her dress, made low in the neck and short in the sleeves, to display -her finely rounded shoulders and arms, was of lustrous silk of lavender -hue, and was draped with a black lace overskirt. A necklace and -bracelets incrusted with diamonds added brilliancy to her appearance. -Her liquid black eyes shone and glittered; her cheeks were red as -damask roses; she had never looked half so handsome in the days when -she had fascinated Sir Harold Wynde and made him adore her. - -She had dismissed her maid, and was giving a last touch to the short -curls that dropped over her forehead, while she talked with Artress, -when wheels were heard coming up the drive. The gray companion flitted -to a shuttered window and peeped out. A cab was approaching the house, -and a man’s head was protruded from the window. His face was half -averted, as he apparently studied the exterior of the dwelling, but -Artress knew him. She glided back to Lady Wynde with the words: - -“He has come!” - -A sudden agitation seemed to convulse the soul of the baronet’s widow. -A sudden paleness swept over her face. She leaned heavily upon the -back of a chair, and stood there motionless until a servant brought up -a silver tray on which lay a large square card with the inscription, -“The Honorable Craven Black,” and announced that the gentleman had been -shown into the drawing-room. Then her ladyship started abruptly, the -color returning to her face in ruddy waves. - -“Come, Artress,” she said, “we will go below. Yet stay. You may delay -your coming for half an hour. Surely no one can find fault with me for -seeing him alone a little while. Since I became a widow for the second -time, I have felt as if I lived in a glass lantern with the eyes of all -Kent upon me. Yet there is no need of carrying my caution too far.” - -She gave a last glance at her reflection in the mirror, a last deft -touch to her attire, and then swept from the room down the stairs, and -slowly entered the drawing-room. - -A gentleman within arose from his seat, and came forward with -outstretched hands and eager face. He was tall, handsome, fair-haired, -with light eyes full of sinister gleams, and his full, sensual lips -wore even now a cynical smile that appeared habitual to them. - -He was the same man who had watched, from the pier head at Brighton, -the rescue of Octavia Hathaway from the sea by Sir Harold Wynde--the -same man who had witnessed the marriage of the baronet and the widow -from behind a clustered pillar in the church, and whose sinister -comments, as he emerged into Hanover Square, we have chronicled. - -His quick glance swept the form and face of Lady Wynde; a look of -admiration burned in his eyes. He held out his arms. With a joyous -cry, the handsome widow sprang forward, and was clasped in his embrace. - -“At last! At last!” she murmured. - -“Yes, at last!” echoed Mr. Black, in tones of exultation. “Nothing -stands between us now, Octavia! We have lost nothing by waiting. -We have been guilty of no crime, and fate itself has played into -our hands. And you, Octavia, in the prime of your beauty, are more -magnificent than ever.” - -He drew her to a sofa and clasped an arm around her waist. Her head -drooped to his shoulder. The flush of intense joy mantled her face. -With all her soul Lady Wynde loved this man, and her voice trembled as -she murmured: - -“Oh, Craven, I am glad that my life of hypocrisy is over at last, that -there is no longer fear of discovery, and that we are free to enjoy -our reward. How long ago it seems since you and I formed and entered -upon our conspiracy which has placed me where I am! I was a widow with -a meager income and expensive tastes. You were a widower with a son to -educate, and a beggarly home and a beggarly income, so that you could -not afford to marry. How well I remember that night in London, when you -told me that if I had courage and boldness proportionate to my beauty, -I could make our fortunes and our happiness. I eagerly asked how I -could do this, and you showed me a copy of a Court Journal in which -was a paragraph to the effect that ‘Sir Harold Wynde had gone down -to Brighton, and that his presence there had created quite a flutter -among marriageable ladies.’ And then you told me of his wealth and -generosity, and urged me to try my fascinations upon him, to win him, -to marry him--and to succeed in good time to a handsome fortune upon -which you and I could marry. How long ago all that seems!” - -“Was it not a clever idea, and cleverly executed?” said Mr. Black -triumphantly. “It was a successful conspiracy, Octavia, and to you -belongs the credit of its success. You went down to Brighton; you -introduced yourself in a novel manner to Sir Harold Wynde; and you -followed up the acquaintance with such effect that he offered you -marriage. And as that was what you wanted, you married him. You would -have made yourself a widow, but that fate saved you the trouble. -Two years and six months ago you were a poor widow, unable to marry -me because of our mutual poverty. Now you are again a widow, rich, -respected, honored throughout Kent, and can marry whom you please. I -am as poor as I was three years ago, and yet, Octavia, I know that you -prefer me to all other men. Is it not so?” - -Lady Wynde blushed as she murmured assent. She was essentially bad, -being unprincipled and unscrupulous, but she loved Craven Black with -her whole heart, and with a fervor that astonished herself. - -After the death of her first husband, Lady Wynde had first met Craven -Black. They had fallen in love with each other, as the phrase goes, at -their first meeting. He was a gambler, dissolute--an adventurer, in -fact, although his respectable birth and connections prevented the name -from attaching to him. He was a widower, and possessed but a scanty -settled income; yet, from his nefarious gains at the gambling table, -and in other ways, he managed to keep up the appearance of a man of -fashion, to keep a private cab and a tiger, chambers at the Albany, -and to educate his only son, now a man grown. His gains were, however, -precarious, and he declined entering upon marriage with a person even -poorer than himself. - -Lady Wynde, in the days of her first widowhood, had been but little -better than an adventuress. It is true that she had a respectable -name, high connections, and a home in her aunt’s house in Bloomsbury -Square; but she was ambitious of social position, she chafed at her -poverty, and had too much worldly wisdom to marry Craven Black in the -then state of their fortunes, even had he desired it. - -When his fertile brain, therefore, formed a scheme by which she could -enrich them both by imposing upon a high-minded gentleman, marrying, -and then putting him out of her way as if his life were valueless, she -hesitated, and finally consented. How she had carried out her share in -the foul conspiracy against Sir Harold, the reader knows. - -“Four thousand pounds a year and a good house are worth serving for,” -said Mr. Black meditatively. “I think, however, that we have waited -long enough, Octavia. When are you going to marry me?” - -“Not before September,” declared Lady Wynde decisively. “I must have -a magnificent wardrobe. I am so tired of dowdy black. And as I shall -have to give up the Wynde family diamonds to the heiress, I must order -some jewels for myself. Let us appoint our marriage to take place in -October. People will talk if it occurs sooner.” - -Craven Black smiled cynically. - -“Shall you care what people say?” he inquired. “I thought you were a -law unto yourself.” - -“Indeed I am not. No woman in the world has a greater regard for ‘they -say’ than I have,” returned Lady Wynde emphatically. “You see I cannot -afford to turn my back upon Mrs. Grundy. I am ambitious to be a social -leader, and to become so, I must give people faith in my knowledge of -the proprieties of life. I occupy a high position here as the widow of -Sir Harold Wynde, and he was a sort of idol here, so that, I dare say, -people will be jealous of my marrying at all. And then, again, I desire -to gain the love and confidence of my step-daughter before I remarry. -Her guardianship is worth three thousand a year to me. I shall have -that sum annually as a recompense for chaperoning her.” - -“I would be willing to chaperon several young ladies on such terms,” -said Mr. Black. “How old is she?” - -“About eighteen.” - -“And how large an income has she?” - -“Seventy thousand a year.” - -An eager light came into Craven Black’s eyes, and an eager glow mounted -to his fair face. - -“A handsome sum,” he ejaculated. “She has a glorious inheritance. What -sort of girl is she?” - -“A bread-and-butter school-girl, I suppose. I have never met her. She -was Sir Harold’s idol, and he was always wanting her to come home, but -I did not want her jealous eyes spying on me, so I contrived to keep -her away. She has not been at Hawkhurst since my coming.” - -“You correspond with her?” - -“I write to her now and then, and she sends me a duty letter, as I call -it, once a month. I generally read a line or two and throw them aside.” - -“Has she any love affair?” inquired Mr. Black thoughtfully. - -“Of course not. A girl in a French boarding-school might as well be in -a convent, as far as love affairs are concerned. What are you thinking -of, Craven?” and Lady Wynde looked at him jealously. - -The glow on Craven Black’s face deepened, as he hastened to answer: - -“I was thinking what if this girl were to take a liking to my son -Rufus? If we could bring about a marriage between her and Rufus, we -should retain her fortune in the family, and Rufus should agree to -allow us ten thousand a year for using our influence with her. What do -you think?” - -Lady Wynde looked startled--pleased. - -“The very thing!” she exclaimed. “I have been thinking that I should -not long be allowed to remain mistress of Hawkhurst after Neva’s -return. An heiress like her will not want for suitors, and she will -marry, and I cannot prevent it. The proper way is to direct her -marriage for our own benefit. Is Rufus likely to please a romantic -school-girl?” - -“I think he cannot fail to please her. He is not yet one and twenty, -well-looking, accomplished, well educated, rather weak-willed and -easily governed, and like clay in my hands. He has romantic notions -about love and marriage, and if he is on the ground first I am sure he -will win the girl’s heart. I had a quarrel with him some weeks ago, and -he went away from me at my command, and has taken cheap rooms somewhere -and is trying to live by painting cheap pictures, or some such thing. -I’ll send for him, and have him up at Wyndham directly.” - -“Why did you quarrel with him, Craven? I thought you were so fond of -him.” - -“I was--I am. But he dared oppose his will to mine, and I turned him -adrift, to let him try how he could get along without me. He is not -long out of his university, and is perfectly helpless about earning -money, but he has some high-flown notions which hardship will cure. To -be frank, our quarrel was about a little music teacher that the boy -thought himself in love with. He has given her up, and will be glad -enough to be summoned to me. When will Miss Wynde be here?” - -“I had a letter to-day from Madame Dalaut, Neva’s preceptress, -inquiring my wishes in regard to the girl. Neva has completed her -studies, and Madame Dalaut insinuates that she ought to be removed -from school and be allowed to enter society. Moreover, the midsummer -holidays have commenced, and the other pupils are gone to their homes. -I have concluded to send Artress over to Paris to-night to bring Neva -home.” - -“Do so. My son shall also be at Wyndham to-morrow, and shall be -introduced to the heiress the day after her return. I will engage rooms -for Rufus and myself at the Wyndham inn, so that I can be near you -until our marriage. Is this plan agreeable to you?” - -“Perfectly. We must be prompt in our actions. Neva must become engaged -to Rufus before she actually enters society here. Her marriage can -take place at the same time with our own in October. Elise can do the -two trousseaux at the same time. It is an admirable plan, and a worthy -continuation of our little game.” - -They talked further, disclosing to each other their nefarious plans of -self-aggrandizement. Craven Black talked in lover-like fashion, and -even the exacting Lady Wynde was persuaded that his passion for her had -received a new impulse, and that he loved her as she loved him--with an -utter devotion. - -As the dinner hour drew near Mr. Black took his departure, not caring -to excite the gossip of the household upon his first visit to Lady -Wynde. Directly after dinner, Artress, attired in gray travelling suit, -set out in a carriage for Canterbury, on her way to Paris, whence she -was to bring to her own home the heiress of Hawkhurst. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. NEVA’S FIRST LOVER. - - -The dingy little packet-boat from Calais to Dover, carrying the mails, -bore her usual complement of passengers upon the bright midsummer day -upon which young Neva Wynde returned after years of absence to her own -country. - -A few tall, mustached Frenchmen, with cigars in their mouths; a -German or two with the inevitable pipe; a few students returning from -foreign universities; a few pedestrian tourists with hobnailed shoes, -preposterous alpenstocks, and a proudly displayed Bradshaw or Murray; -several stout and puffy Englishmen, with singularly pale faces, and the -usual number of rotund ill-dressed English women, with flimsy muslin -dresses and fur tippets in odd contrast--a conjunction much affected -by the average British lady--made up the majority of the passengers. -Some of these people walked about, affecting to enjoy the fresh breeze; -others studied the now useless guide-book, recalling their adventures; -and others scanned the blue shores of France alternately with the -chalk cliffs of England through the tourist glasses slung from their -shoulders, and wondered aloud if the passage would be accomplished in -the usual ninety minutes. - -An odd feature of a Channel packet is the total disregard of -appearances manifested by the passengers upon it. - -Very few, if any, persons go below into the stuffy little cabins, and -doubting souls provide themselves with ominous white bowls at the -outset of the voyage, and should illness come upon them they proceed -to make themselves comfortable upon the deck, or moan, or swear, -according to the sex of the sufferer, totally unmindful and oblivious -of lookers on. - -In a corner by herself, at one side of the boat, her thick green vail -over her face shrouding a bowl that filled her lap, sat Artress, Lady -Wynde’s gray companion, in a condition of abject misery. She had no -thought of any one but herself in that crisis of her physical career, -and gave no heed to her young charge, the one great desire of her soul -being to find herself once more upon solid land. - -At the opposite side of the boat, leaning lightly upon the rail, and -looking back with wistful, longing eyes upon the fading blue of the -French shores, stood a young girl who was strangely lovely. She was -slender and graceful as a swaying reed, and her lithe, light figure -carried itself with a slight hauteur that was inexpressibly charming. -Her high-bred manner, her evident gentleness and sweetness, betrayed -thorough culture of heart and mind. Her face was a rare poem. The -features were slightly irregular, and even in repose, with a grave -shadow upon her fair brows, her countenance had a bright, piquant -witchery. Her complexion was very pure and fair, her lips a vivid -scarlet, and under her broad forehead a pair of wondrous red-brown eyes -sparkled and glowed with strange brilliancy. Her hair, very abundant, -and of a reddish-brown tint as rare as beautiful, was gathered into -braids at the back of her small, noble head. - -She was dressed in a traveling suit of black cashmere, and wore a black -hat surmounted with a scarlet wing. - -She was Neva Wynde, the owner of Hawkhurst, one of the greatest -heiresses in England, and now the object of the sinister machinations -of her handsome step-mother and Craven Black. - -Her school-days were over, and she was on her way to a home she had not -visited for years, and to a guardian whom she did not know, and who -was secretly her enemy. She had emerged from the pleasant security of -the school-room into a region of perils. A premonition of the dangers -before her seemed almost to come upon her now, and into her glowing -eyes crept a look of sorrowful yearning, and of passionate protest -against the friendlessness of her lot. - -A few feet distant from her, also leaning upon the railing, stood a -young man, whose gaze, ostensibly fixed upon the French coast, now and -then rested upon the girl’s speaking face with an expression of keen -admiration and interest. He thought in his own soul that he had never -seen a being so fresh, so dainty, so pure, so rarely beautiful. She -seemed utterly alone. No one inquired how she felt, nor offered her a -seat, nor looked after her, and her young admirer wondered if she were -all alone in the world, as she seemed. - -He was speculating upon the subject when a sudden lurch of the boat -upon the short, chopping Channel waves, caused Neva to involuntarily -loosen her hold upon the railing, and pitched her abruptly along the -deck toward him. He sprang forward and caught her in his arms. She -recovered her equilibrium upon the instant, and again grasped the -railing, blushing, confused, and murmuring her thanks for his civility. - -“The Channel is rough to-day,” remarked the young gentleman. “Shall I -not find you a seat?” - -“Thank you, no,” returned Neva, in her sweet, low, cultured voice. “I -prefer standing.” - -The words were simple enough, and her manner was quiet and reserved, -but her voice went to the young man’s heart, thrilling it with a -strange sensation. He did not attempt a retreat, and Neva looked up at -him with something of surprise in her glorious red-brown eyes. - -As he encountered her full gaze, his face flushed, his eyes glowed, and -a warm smile curved his mouth. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but are you not Miss Wynde of Hawkhurst?” - -Neva bowed assent, with an increasing surprise. - -“I was sure, when I met your full glance, that you were Neva Wynde,” -cried the young gentleman. “You do not remember me, I see; and yet, -when you went away to that odious Paris school you and I parted with -tears, and you promised to be true to me, little Neva. And you have -forgotten me--” - -“No, no,” cried the young girl, an answering glow in her face, and -her eyes shining like suns. “Is it really you, Arthur? How you have -changed!” - -She held out her hand to him, and he clasped it with a warm, lingering -pressure. Her eyes scanned his face in an earnest scrutiny, and she -blushed again when she saw how handsome he was, and how like he was to -an ideal she had long cherished in the very depths of her young soul. - -He was fair, with warm blue eyes, golden hair, and a mustache of -tawny gold. He had a frank, noble face, and his sunny eyes betrayed -a generous soul. One who ran might read in his countenance a brave, -dauntless soul, a grand, unselfish nature, an enlightened spirit, quick -sympathies, and an honest, truthful, resolute character. Neva thought, -as she shyly regarded him, that he was very like a hero of romance. - -“I can hardly believe that it is Arthur,” she said, smiling, her face -softly flushing. “You are not at all like the Arthur Towyn I knew, and -yet I can see the old boyish gayety and brightness of spirit. Your -mustache has changed your looks greatly, Lord Towyn.” - -“It makes me look older perhaps,” said Lord Towyn gravely, “and as I -am but three and twenty, and have a ward who is eighteen years old, it -becomes me to produce as venerable an appearance as possible. Of course -you are aware Neva, that I am one of the three trustees or guardians of -your entire property, appointed by your father in his will?” - -“Yes, I knew it a year ago,” replied Neva, the brightness fading a -little from her face. “Mr. Atkins wrote me about papa’s will. Mr. -Atkins and Sir John Freise are the two other executors. You are very -young for such an appointment, are you not, Lord Towyn?” - -“That is a fault that time will mend,” said his lordship, smiling. “I -am young for the post, but Sir Harold Wynde knew that he could trust -me, especially with two older heads to direct me. I am only the least -of three, you know, and my youth was meant to balance Sir John Freise’s -age. Your school life is over, is it not, Miss Wynde?” - -“Yes, it is over,” and Neva sighed. “I am on my way to a new sort of -life, and to new acquaintances and friends. I feel a sort of terror of -my future, Lord Towyn. I am foolish, I know, but a dread comes over -me when I look forward to going home. Home! Ah, all that made the old -house home has vanished. My poor brother George lies in an Indian -grave. Papa--poor papa--” - -Her voice broke down, and she averted her head. - -Young Lord Towyn came nearer to her. He longed to press her hand and -to offer her his sympathy. He comprehended her desolation, and the -unhealed wound caused by Sir Harold’s fate. His heart bled for her. - -He had known Neva Wynde from her earliest childhood. They had played -together in the woods and gardens of Hawkhurst and before Neva had been -sent to her foreign school the child pair had betrothed themselves -and vowed an eternal fidelity to each other. The late Earl Towyn, the -father of Arthur, and Sir Harold Wynde had been college-mates, and it -had been their dearest wish to unite their families in the persons of -their children, but they had been too wise to broach the idea to the -young couple. They had, however, encouraged the affection of Arthur -and Neva for each other, and had looked forward hopefully to the time -when that childish affection should possibly ripen into the love of -manhood and womanhood. Soon after Neva’s departure for school Lord -Towyn had died, and his son, then at college, had become earl in his -stead. A mysterious fate had also removed Sir Harold Wynde, and Neva’s -step-mother, as is known to the reader, had schemes of her own in -regard to Neva’s marriage. - -The young earl’s mute sympathy seemed to penetrate to Neva’s heart, -for presently she turned her face again to him, and although her mouth -quivered her eyes were brave, as she said brokenly: - -“You will think me unchristian, Lord Towyn, but I cannot become -reconciled to the manner of papa’s death. If he had but died as George -died, peacefully in his bed; but his fate was so horrible--so awful! I -sometimes fancy in the night that I can hear his cries and moans. In my -own imagination I have witnessed his awful death a thousand times. The -horror of it is as fresh to me now as when the news first came. Shall -I ever get used to my sorrow? Will the time ever come, do you think, -when I can think of papa with the calmness and resignation with which I -think of my poor brother?” - -“It was horrible, even to me, beyond all words to describe,” said the -young earl softly. “I loved Sir Harold only less than my own father, -and I have mourned for him as if I had been his son. All ordinary words -of consolation seem a mockery to one who mourns a friend who perished -as he did. He was vigorous and young for his years, noble and true and -good. Let us hope that his pangs and terrors were but brief, Neva. -Perhaps his death was not so terrible to him as it seems to us. It were -better so to die than to languish for years a prey to some excruciating -disease. And let us remember ‘whatever is, is right.’ Instead of -dwelling on the manner of his death, let us remember that his death was -but the opening to him of the gates of life eternal.” - -Neva did not answer, but her face was very grave and tender, and her -sun-like eyes glowed with a softer radiance. There was a brief silence -between them, and finally Neva said, with an abrupt change of the -subject: - -“Do you know Lady Wynde, Lord Towyn?” - -“I have met her several times, but not since Sir Harold’s death,” was -the reply. “Is she traveling with you?” and the young earl glanced -around the deck. - -“No, she sent her companion for me. That is Artress, on the other side -of the boat. I have never seen Lady Wynde.” - -Lord Towyn looked his astonishment. - -“Have you not been home since your father’s marriage, nor since his -death, Miss Wynde?” he asked. - -“No. Papa came once to see me at my school after his marriage, but he -did not bring his wife. I have a picture of her which papa sent me. He -must have adored her. His letters were full of loving praises of her, -and in the last letter he wrote he told me that he desired me to love -and obey her as if she were my own mother. His wishes are sacred to me -now, and I shall try to love her. Is she very handsome?” - -“She is considered handsome,” replied Lord Towyn. “She is dark almost -to swarthiness, and has a gypsy’s black eyes. Sir Harold almost -worshiped her.” - -“Then she must be good?” - -Lord Towyn hesitated. He knew little of the handsome Lady Wynde, but he -had an instinctive distrust of her. - -“She must be good,” he answered thoughtfully. “Had she not been good, -Sir Harold would not have loved her.” - -“Ah, yes, I have thought that a hundred times,” said Neva. “I shall try -to win her love. She is to stay at Hawkhurst as my personal guardian -during my minority, and there can be no indifference between us. It -must be peace or war. I intend it shall be peace. You see, Lord Towyn, -that I shall be almost completely dependent upon her for society and -friendship. I am coming back a stranger to my childhood’s home. Years -of absence have estranged me from the friends I knew, and I have no one -outside of Hawkhurst to look to, save Mr. Atkins and Sir John Freise.” - -“And me,” said Lord Towyn earnestly. “I am associated with them, you -know. But you will not be so utterly friendless as you think. The -old county families will hasten to call upon you, and you can select -your own friends among them. The Lady of Hawkhurst will be feted and -welcomed, and made much of. Your trouble will soon be that you will -have no time to yourself. I desire to add myself to your list of -visitors. I am staying this summer at a place of mine on the Kentish -coast. But here is the Dover pier straight ahead, Miss Wynde. We have -made the voyage in good time, despite the roughness of the Channel.” - -There was no time for further conversation. The suggestive bowls were -being hidden under benches by the late sufferers, and bundles, boxes -and bags were being sought after with reviving energies. Artress -arose, found her traveling bag and umbrellas, and then sought for her -charge. As her gaze encountered Neva’s piquant face upturned to the -admiring glances of a handsome young gentleman, she looked shocked and -horrified, and her sharp, ashen-hued features became vinegary in their -expression. She approached the young lady with unseemly haste, and -exclaimed: - -“Miss Wynde, I am surprised--” - -“Pardon me,” said Neva, quietly interposing, although her face flushed -haughtily, “but I desire to introduce to you, Mrs. Artress, my old -friend Lord Towyn.” - -The young earl bowed, and Mrs. Artress did the same, divided between -her desire to be polite to a nobleman and her anger that Neva should -have renewed his acquaintance while under her charge. Artress was deep -in the confidence of Lady Wynde and Craven Black, and her interests -were identical with theirs. She had a keen scent for danger, and in the -attitude of Lord Towyn toward Neva she recognized an admiration which -might easily deepen into love. - -“Come, my dear,” said Mrs. Artress anxiously. “The boat is at the pier, -and we must hasten ashore. Give me your dressing bag--” - -She paused, seeing that Lord Towyn had already possessed himself of it. -The young earl offered his arm to Neva, and she placed her hand lightly -upon it, and was conducted along the boat to the place of landing. Mrs. -Artress followed, biting her lips with chagrin. - -The landing and examination of baggage were duly accomplished, and -Lord Towyn conducted his charges to a first-class coach of the waiting -train, seated them, and took his place beside Neva. - -“Are you going to Hawkhurst also, my lord?” inquired Mrs. Artress -sourly, as he fed the guard handsomely, in order that no other -travelers might be ushered into their compartment. - -“No, madam, not to-day,” answered the young earl pleasantly. “I am on -my way to Canterbury to consult with Sir John Freise and Mr. Atkins -concerning some business relative to the Hawkhurst property, and I -shall probably do myself the honor to call with them upon Miss Wynde in -a day or two.” - -“Lady Wynde will be happy to see you and to consult with you,” said -Mrs. Artress, with ill-concealed annoyance. “Miss Wynde is too young, -I should judge, to understand anything about business. Besides, her -friends should spare her all trouble of that description.” - -“I shall be always ready to consult with you about business, Lord -Towyn,” said Neva in her clear, low voice. “I desire to fit myself -for my position as owner and dispenser of a large income. I regard -the money intrusted to me as a talent for which I shall be called to -account, and I want to learn to manage my affairs properly, and with -prudence and discretion. I think,” she added lightly, “that I shall -take Miss Burdett Coutts as my exemplar in this matter. She is a -business woman, I understand, and I should like to be like her.” - -Mrs. Artress was silenced, but she thought within herself: - -“Our young lady has opinions of her own, and has the courage to express -them. I am afraid that she is not the bread and butter school-girl we -expected. I am afraid that we shall have trouble with her.” - -The journey to Canterbury was accomplished only too quickly for Lord -Towyn and Neva. They talked of their childhood, but no allusion was -made to their childish betrothal, although both doubtless thought of -it. The young earl explained that he had been over to Brussels for a -week, and had no thought of meeting her on his way home, and his face -as well as his tones told how glad he was of that meeting. - -The Hawkhurst carriage with its liveried servants was in waiting at the -Canterbury station when they alighted. Lord Towyn assisted the ladies -into the vehicle, bade them adieu, and as they drove away followed them -with a lingering gaze. - -“How beautiful Neva is!” he murmured to himself. “And so pure and -sweet and tender, yet spirited! I wonder if she remembers our childish -betrothal? I don’t like that Artress, and I do not quite like Lady -Wynde. I hardly think Neva will be happy with her, their natures -being so dissimilar. I must go out to Hawkhurst to-morrow, and judge -whether they are likely to get on together. If Neva does not like her -step-mother, she has but one avenue of escape from her dominion before -she becomes of age, and that avenue is marriage. If she would only -marry me. I love her already. Love her! I could adore her.” - -A passionate flush arose to his fair cheek, and a tender glowing light -to his warm blue eyes, and he descended the steps and strode out of -the station, his heart thrilling with the strange and new sensation -which he now knew was love. And as he walked along the street, he vowed -within himself that he would woo and, if he could, would win young Neva -Wynde to be his wife. - -Ah, he little knew the gulfs that would arise between him and her--the -dangers, the perils, the sorrows, they two must taste. And even as he -strode along, acknowledging to his own soul that he was Neva’s lover, -Neva was speeding across the pleasant country toward the home where -her enemy awaited her with schemes perfected, and an evil heart hidden -under a smiling face. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. THE SON OF THE HONORABLE CRAVEN BLACK. - - -Upon the morning of the day on which Neva Wynde and Lord Towyn so -strangely encountered each other upon the dingy packet-boat--an -encounter that was destined to be fateful--a scene transpired in one of -the London suburbs to which we would call the attention of the reader. - -In an upper room, in one of the dingiest houses of one of the dingiest -crescents at New Brompton, a young man, a mere youth, was engaged in -painting a picture. The room was bare and comfortless, with threadbare -carpet, decrepit and worn-out furniture, and springless sofa-bed--one -of the poorest rooms, in fact, a lodging-house of the fourth rate can -furnish. There were two windows without curtains, and provided only -with torn and faded blue paper shades, rolled up and confined with -cotton cord. A few ashes were in the grate, showing that although the -season was summer, a fire had lately burned there. - -The picture which the youth was painting stood upon an easel before -one of the windows, and was but little better than a daub. It had been -sketched by a bold and vigorous hand, but was faulty in conception and -ill-colored. The light upon it was bad, and the hand that wielded the -brush was trembling and impatient, weakened by fasting and emotions. - -The painter looked a mere boy, although he was full twenty years of -age. His complexion was florid, his eyes hazel in hue, and he wore his -brown hair long, artist fashion, and tossed back from his high white -forehead. He was handsome, with an honest look in his eyes, and a -pleasant mouth, but his chin was short, and weak in its expression, and -his countenance betrayed a character full of good and noble impulses, -yet with a weakness, indecision, and irresolution that might yet prove -fatal to him. - -He was dressed in a shabby velveteen jacket, daubed with paints and out -at the elbows. His garments, like his lodging, betrayed poverty of the -most unmitigated description. - -This young man was Rufus Black, the only son of Craven Black who was -Lady Wynde’s lover. And it was Rufus Black whom his father and Lady -Wynde had planned should marry Neva Wynde, and thus play into their -hands, enabling them to possess themselves of a portion of Neva’s noble -fortune. - -As Mr. Black had said, he had quarrelled with his son some weeks -before, and cast him off, penniless and destitute of friends, to shift -for himself. He had drifted to his present lodgings, and was trying to -keep soul and body together by painting wretched pictures, which he -sold to a general dealer for wretched pay. - -“The picture don’t suit me,” he said, pushing back his chair, that he -might get a better view of the painting. “It’s only a daub, but it’s as -good as the pay. I’ve been three days at it, and it won’t bring me in -even the fifteen shillings I got for the last. It will do to stop up a -chimney-place, I suppose--and I had such grand ideas of my art, and of -my talents! I meant to achieve fame and fortune, and here I am without -food or fuel, with the rent due, and with my soul so fettered by these -cares, so borne down by despair and remorse, that I am incapable of -work. I am gone to the dogs, as my father told me to go--but, oh, why -did I not travel the downward road alone? Why must I drag _her_ down -with me?” - -A despairing look gathered on his face; the tears filled his eyes; a -sob escaped him. He looked haggard, worn and despairing. He was in no -condition for work, yet he resumed his task with blinded eyes, and -painted on at random with feverish haste. - -He had grown somewhat calmer, with the calmness of an utter despair, -when the door opened, and a girl came in bearing a large basket heavily -loaded. She was a slender young creature, not more than seventeen -years old, and her pale face and narrow chest betrayed a tendency to -consumption. Her complexion was of a clear olive tint; her hair was -of a blue-black color, and was worn in braids; her eyes were dark -and loving, with an appealing expression in them; and, despite the -circumstances of her lot, she maintained a hopeful, sunshiny spirit and -a sunshiny countenance. - -She was the young music-teacher for whose sake Rufus Black had -quarrelled with his father. She was the last member of a large family -who had all died of consumption. She had lost her situation in a -ladies’ school about the time that Rufus had separated himself from -his father; and after the young man had abandoned his parent, he had -hastened to her and begged her to marry him. He was full of hope, -ambitious, determined to achieve fame and fortune by his painter’s -brush, and she was weak and worn, sorrowful and nearly ill, and quite -penniless. Believing in his talents and ability to support them both, -she had accepted the refuge he offered her, and one week after Craven -Black had turned his son adrift, the young pair were married, and moved -into their present dingy quarters. - -They had joined their poverty together, and soon discovered that the -achievement of fame and wealth was uphill work. Rufus was fresh from -his university, unused to work for his bread, and he had overrated -his talent for painting, as he presently discovered. He found it hard -work to sell his poor efforts, and he could not paint enough at first -to bring him in twenty shillings a week. It was now three months -since his marriage, and one by one his books, his better articles of -clothing, his watch, and other trinkets, had been sold or pledged to -buy necessaries or pay the rent. Upon this morning they had had no -breakfast. - -“How big your eyes are, Rufus!” laughed the young wife, throwing -off her battered little hat. “You look as if I had brought you some -priceless treasure; but you well may, for I have the nicest little -breakfast we have had for a week.” - -“Where did you get it?” inquired the young artist, his thin cheeks -flushing with an eagerness he would have concealed. “Have you prevailed -on the grocer to give us credit?” - -“No, I could not do that,” and the young wife shook her head. “I’m -afraid his heart is as hard as the nether mill-stone we read about. -He thinks I’m a humbug--a cheat! But our landlady, Mrs. McKellar, -you know, has faith in your picture, and I borrowed two shillings of -her. See what a sumptuous repast we shall have,” and she proceeded to -display the contents of her basket, unpacking them swiftly. “Here’s -two-pence worth of coffee, a pennyworth of milk, a threepenny loaf, -and a superb rasher of ham of the kind described by the Irishman as ‘a -strake of fat and a strake of lane.’ And here’s a bundle of wood to -boil the coffee; and I’ve gone to the extravagance of a sixpenny pot of -jam, your appetite is so delicate. And now for breakfast.” - -She piled her wood skillfully in the grate, put on her coffee-pot and -frying pan, and lighted her fire. - -Then while her breakfast was cooking, she laid her table with her -scanty ware, and bustled about like an incarnate sunbeam, and no one -would have suspected that she too was weak and hungry, and that she was -sick at heart and full of dread for the future. - -“So breakfast is provided for,” murmured Rufus Black, in a tone in -which it would have been hard to tell which predominated, relief -or bitterness. “I began to fear we should fast to-day, as we did -yesterday.” - -The young wife turned her rasher of ham in the pan, and put her small -allowance of coffee in the pot, before she answered gravely: - -“Rufus, I think I might get another situation to teach music. I have -good references, you know. I don’t like being so utterly dependent upon -you. You have not been used to work. I’m afraid we did very wrong in -getting married.” - -“What else could we do?” demanded Rufus Black. “I could not see you -working yourself to death, Lally, when a little care would save you. -You had to go out of doors in all weathers, and you were going into -a galloping consumption. I expected to be able to support you, but -I’m only a useless fellow, after all. I thought I had talent, but it -has turned out like the fairy money--it has turned to dead leaves at -the moment of using it. I have a university education, and would be -thankful for a situation as usher in a dame’s school. I am willing to -dig ditches, only I’m not strong enough. Oh, Lally, little wife, what -is to become of us?” - -Lally Black--she had been christened Lalla by her romantic mother, -after the heroine of Moore’s poem, but her name had lost its romantic -sound through years of every-day use--approached her young husband, and -softly laid her cheek against his. She stroked his hand gently as she -said: - -“It is I who am useless, Rufus. You ought to have married a rich wife -instead of a poor little music-teacher. I’m afraid you’ll reproach me -in your heart some day for marrying you--there, there, dear boy! I did -not mean it. I know you will never regret our marriage, let what will -be the result!” - -She caressed him tenderly, and then hurried to the fire intent upon -her breakfast. The coffee was steaming, and the ham was cooked. The -busy little housewife made a round of toast, and then announced that -breakfast was ready. Rufus drew up his chair to the table, and Lally -waited upon him, and was so gay and bright and hopeful that he became -infected with her spirit. - -But when the delicious breakfast was over he became grave and haggard -again, and bowed his face on his hand and sat in silence, while she -washed the dishes and carefully put away the remnants of the meal. Then -she came to him and sat on his knee, and drew his hand from his face, -and whispered: - -“Rufus, is your father rich?” - -“He has some three or four hundred pounds a year--that’s all,” answered -Rufus. “Why do you ask?” - -“Could he not assist us a little, if he wished?” ventured Lally. “I -have no relative to apply to. I had a great-aunt who married a rich -man, and I think she lives in London, but I don’t know her name, and -she probably never heard of me, so I can’t write or go to her. Let us -humble ourselves to your father, dear--” - -“To what purpose?” interposed Rufus half fiercely. “My father is a -mercenary, villainous--Don’t stop me, Lally. I am telling the truth, if -he _is_ my father. Thank God, I took after my poor mother. My father -does not know we are married, and I dare not tell him. If I fear -anybody in this world, I fear my father.” - -“But he must know some time of our marriage,” urged the young wife. -“You make me afraid, dear, that we did wrong in marrying. We are too -young, and I had to work for my living. Your father could never forgive -me, and accept me as his daughter. My family is of no account, and -yours is good. People think of all these things, and you will be looked -down upon for your unfortunate, ill-starred marriage. Oh, Rufus, if we -could undo what we have done, it might be well for us.” - -The young husband endeavored to console his wife, and he had brought -back her bright hopefulness, when the postman’s knock was heard on -the street door. A sudden hope thrilled them both. They listened -breathlessly, and not in vain. Presently the housemaid’s heavy tread -was heard on the stairs, and she entered the room, bringing a letter. - -When she had departed, Rufus opened the letter, and the young couple -perused it together. It was dated Wyndham village, and had been written -by Craven Black, and contained simply an announcement that the father -desired to be reconciled to his son; that he saw a way in which he -could make Rufus a rich man; and he begged his son, if he also desired -a reconciliation and wealth, and was willing to submit himself to his -father’s will, to come to him at once by the earliest train. Between -the leaves of the letter was a ten-pound note. - -“You will go, of course?” cried the young wife excitedly. - -“I wish I knew what he meant,” muttered Rufus irresolutely. - -“He is your father, dear, and you will go,” urged Lally. “For my sake, -you will go. And Rufus, I beg you to yield to his wishes. They will not -be unreasonable, I am sure. Say you will go!” - -Rufus hesitated. He knew that when with his father, he was a coward -without a will of his own. What if he should be driven into some act -he should hereafter repent? Yet at last he consented to go to his -father, and an hour later he divided his money with his wife, giving -her the larger share, and took his departure. At that last moment a -horrible misgiving came over him, and he ran back and kissed the little -sunshiny face he loved, and then he went out again and made his way to -the station, with a death-like pall upon his soul. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. A KNOT SUMMARILY SEVERED. - - -Rufus Black’s heart grew heavier still, and his sense of dread -deepened, as he steamed down to Canterbury in the express train. He -had a seat by a window in a second-class compartment in which were -four other passengers, but he was as much alone as if he had had the -compartment to himself. His travelling companions chatted and laughed -and jested among themselves, while he looked from his window upon -hop-gardens, green fields, and clustering hamlets, with sad, unseeing -eyes, and thought of his poverty, his friendlessness, and the slow -starvation that lay before him and his young wife. - -“I could bear it for myself,” he thought bitterly. “But it is hard to -see Lally suffer, and I know she does suffer, although she seems so -light-hearted and brave. My poor little wife! Ah, what place have I in -the world of gay idlers and strong workers? I am neither the one nor -the other. What is to be the end of it all?” - -He looked enviously at the workers in a brick-yard the train was -passing at that moment. There were men there, coarse and ignorant, but -brawny of limb and broad of chest; and there were children too, boys -and girls of tender years, working steadily for scanty pay; but they -were all workers, and they looked stolidly contented with their lot. - -“With all my university education,” thought the boy artist bitterly, -“I am less capable of self-support than those ignorant brick-makers. -Why did my father bring me up with expensive tastes and like the heir -of fine estates, only to cast me off to starve at the first moment -I displeased him? What is the empty name of gentleman worth, if one -cannot keep it and be a worker? If he had put me to some trade, I -should not have been half so miserable to-day. I am only twenty years -old, and my life is a failure at the outset.” - -The train swept on through new scenes, and the course of the young -man’s musings was changed, but their bitterness remained in full -strength. - -“I wonder what my father can want of me,” he said to himself presently. -“How can he put me in the way of a fortune? He promised that I should -study law, but he has forgotten the promise. With a profession to -depend upon, I know I could win a competence. Perhaps it is to speak of -this he has sent for me this morning. He surely cannot mean for me,” -and the young man’s brow darkened, “to become a gambler, as he has -been? I shall refuse, if he proposes it. For my innocent Lally’s sake, -I will keep myself pure of his vices.” - -This resolution was strong within him when he alighted from the train -at Canterbury and took a hansom cab to Wyndham village. The drive of -several miles was occupied with speculations as to what his father -wanted of him, and with thoughts of his young wife in her dingy -lodgings at New Brompton, and he did not even notice the houses, farms -and villas they passed, nor any feature of the scenery, until the horse -slackened his speed to a walk, and the driver opened his small trap in -the roof, and said: - -“The house yonder on the ridge, sir, is Hawkhurst, the seat of the -Wynde family. Sir Harold Wynde died in India a year ago, you know, sir, -and the property belongs to his only child, a daughter. A mile or so -beyond is Wyndham village.” - -Rufus Black turned his gaze upon the fair domain of the Wyndes. It lay -on both sides of the highway, stretching as far as his eye could reach. -The grand old mansion of gray stone, with outlying houses of glass -glittering in the summer sunshine like immense jewels, the great lawns, -the gardens, the park, the cool woods, all these made up one of the -fairest pictures the eyes of Rufus Black had ever rested upon. - -“How glorious!” he said involuntarily. “And it all belongs to a lady!” - -“Yes, sir, a mere girl,” replied the cabman. “She is at school in -France. It’s a great place, is Hawkhurst.” - -He dropped the trap and urged on his horse, but Rufus continued to look -upon the house and estate with great, envious eyes. Why should all this -belong to one, and that one a mere girl, while he wanted for bread? His -soul was convulsed with bitterness and repining, and the shadow of his -trouble rested upon his face. - -A few minutes of brisk driving brought them to Wyndham village, which -consisted merely of one long straggling street, lined with houses and -gardens. In the very centre of the street, upon four corners formed -by the intersection of a country road, was gathered the business -portion of the hamlet. Upon the corner was the village smithy, from -whose open door came the ringing sound of hammer upon anvil. A group -of countrymen were gathered about the door of the smithy, and a few -carts stood before it on the paved street. Upon a second corner was a -general shop and postoffice in one. Upon a third corner was a rival -establishment, of the same description, but without the advantage and -prestige of the postoffice, and on the fourth corner stood the Wyndham -Inn, with its swinging sign, ample court-yard and hospitable look. - -It was an old stone building, with a wide portico in front, on which -were tables and chairs. Rufus Black was driven into the court, and -sprang out of the cab, at the same moment that the portly, rubicund -landlord came out to receive him. The young man inquired for his -father, and was informed that he was in his rooms at the inn. Rufus -paid and dismissed the cabman, and followed the landlord into the inn. - -He was conducted up a flight of uncarpeted stairs, and the landlord -pointed out to him the door of a front chamber as the one at which he -was to knock. Rufus quietly lifted the latch and ushered himself into -the room, closing the door behind him. - -The room was a pleasant little country parlor, with three casement -windows, a faded carpet on the floor, cane-seated furniture, and a -jug of flowers on the mantel-shelf. The sunlight streamed in, but its -heat was tempered by the delicious breeze. The Honorable Craven Black -was not in the room, but there were vestiges of his occupancy on every -side. Upon a small table stood his massive dressing case with mirror -and brushes mounted in exquisitely carved ivory, and with boxes and -bottle-stoppers of finely chased and solid gold. All the appointments -of the large case were luxurious in the extreme, and Rufus thought -bitterly that the sum which that Sybaritic affair had cost would be a -fortune to him in his own present destitution. - -A beautiful inlaid writing case, a tobacco jar of the finest Sevres -porcelain, a Turkish pipe mounted in gold and amber, a liqueur case, -and various other costly trifles, were scattered lavishly about. The -Honorable Craven Black had never denied himself a luxury in his life, -and these things he carried with him wherever he went, as necessary to -his comfort and happiness. - -Rufus Black’s lips curled as he looked on these luxuries and mentally -calculated their cost. He was in the midst of his calculation when the -door of the adjoining bedroom was opened from within, and his father -came out, habited in slippers and dressing-gown, and with an Indian -embroidered cap of scarlet and gold poised lightly on his fair head. - -His light eyes opened a little wider than usual as he beheld his son, -and his usual cynical smile showed itself disagreeably around his white -teeth. - -“So you’ve come at last, have you?” he exclaimed. “I expected you -yesterday.” - -“I received your letter this morning, soon after breakfast, sir,” -answered Rufus, “and I came on at once in the express train. I have -changed my lodgings from the one you knew, and the letter was sent on -from my old to my new address.” - -Mr. Black eyed his son critically, his cynical smile deepening. - -“You have a general out-at-the-elbows look,” he observed. “You’ve gone -down hill since I threw you over. You look hungry and desperate!” - -“I am both,” was the reply, in a reckless tone. “And I have reason to -be. I am starving!” - -Mr. Black flung himself into the only easy chair the room afforded, and -made a gesture to his son to be seated upon the couch. Rufus obeyed. - -“You are in the mood I hoped to find you,” declared the father, with -a disagreeable laugh. “Desperate--starving! That is better than I -expected. What has become of all your fine anticipations of wealth and -fortune achieved with your brush? You do not find it easy to paint -famous pictures?” - -“I mistook my desires for ability,” cried Rufus, his eyes darkening -with the pain of his confession. “I have a liking for painting, and -I fancied that liking was genius. I find myself crippled by not -knowing how to do anything well. My pictures bring me in fifteen -shillings apiece, and cost me three days’ work. I could earn more at -brick-making--if I only knew how to make bricks. When you sent me to -the university, father, you said I should study a profession. I demand -of you the fulfilment of that promise. I want some way to earn my -living!” - -“Better get a living without work,” said Mr. Black coolly. “I don’t -like work, and I don’t believe you do. You want to study law, but your -talents are not transcendent, my son--you will never sit upon the -woolsack.” - -“If I can earn two hundred pounds a year, I will ask nothing more,” -said Rufus bitterly. “I have discovered for myself that my abilities -are mediocre. I shall never be great as anything--unless as a failure! -But if I can only glide along in the great stream of mediocre people, -and be nothing above or below them, I shall be content!” - -“And you say this at twenty years old?” cried his father mockingly. -“You talk like one of double your years. Where have your hopefulness, -your bright dreams, your glowing anticipations, gone? You must have had -a hard experience in the last three months, to be willing to settle -down into a hard-working drudge!” - -“My experience _has_ been hard.” - -“I believe you. You look beaten out, worn out, discouraged. Now, -Rufus, I have sent for you that I may make your fortune as well as -mine. There is a grand prospect opening before you, and you can be one -of the richest men in England, if you choose to be sensible. But you -must obey my orders.” - -“I cannot promise that before knowing what you demand,” said the son, -his face clouding. “I have no sympathy with your manner of life, -father. If you had not the advantage of titled connections, and did not -bear the title of ‘Honorable,’ you would be called an adventurer. You -know you would. I want nothing to do with your ways of life. I will not -be a gambler--not for all the wealth in England!” - -“Don’t refuse till you are asked,” said Mr. Black harshly. “Don’t -imagine that I want to corrupt your fine principles by making a gambler -of you. I am no gamester, even though I play at cards. I play only as -gentlemen play. The game I have in hand for you is easily played, if -you have but ordinary skill. I can make you master of one of the finest -estates in England, if you but say the word!” - -“Honorably? Can you do it honorably?” cried Rufus eagerly. - -“Certainly. I would not propose anything dishonorable to one of your -nice sense of honor,” said Mr. Black, with sarcastic emphasis. - -“What is it you would have me do?” - -“You are young, enthusiastic, well looking and well educated,” said -Mr. Black, without paying heed to his son’s questions. “In short, you -are fitted to the business I have in hand. I intended to give you a -professional education, but if you obey me you won’t want it, and if -you do not obey me you may go to the dogs. I suppose your poverty has -driven that little low-born music teacher out of your head?” - -“What has she to do with this business?” - -“Nothing whatever. I want to make sure that you are well rid of her, -but perhaps it would be as well to leave her name out of the question. -You say you are starving. Now, if you will solemnly promise to obey me, -I will advance you fifty pounds to-day, with which you can fit up your -wardrobe and gratify any luxurious desires you may have.” - -Rufus Black’s eyes sparkled. - -“Speak,” he said impatiently. “I am desperately poor. I would do almost -anything for fifty pounds. What do you want done?” - -Again Craven Black laughed softly, well pleased with his son’s mood. - -“Did you see Hawkhurst as you came?” he asked, with seeming -irrelevancy. “It’s one of the grandest places in Kent.” - -“I saw it. The driver pointed it out to me.” - -“How did it look to you?” - -“Like heaven.” - -“How would you like to be master of that heaven?” - -Rufus stared at his father with wide, incredulous eyes. - -“You are chaffing me,” said the young man, his countenance falling. - -“I am in serious earnest. The owner of Hawkhurst is a young girl, who -is expected home from school to-day. She has lived the life of a nun in -her French school, and does not know one young man from another. She -will be beset with suitors immediately, and the one who comes first -stands the best chance of winning her. I want you to make love to her -and marry her.” - -Rufus Black’s face paled. The suggestion nearly overcame him. The -project looked stupendous, chimerical. - -“I wondered that you should be down here at Wyndham, father,” he said, -“and I suppose you are here because you had formed some design upon -this young heiress. Do you know her?” - -“No, but I know her step-mother, who is her personal guardian,” -explained Craven Black. “Do you remember the handsome widow, Mrs. -Hathaway, whom you saw once at the theatre in my charge? She -married Sir Harold Wynde. He died in India last year, leaving her -well-jointured. I came down to see her the other day, and it seems she -remembers me with her old affection. In short, Rufus, I am engaged to -marry Lady Wynde, and the wedding is to take place in October. She -is her step-daughter’s guardian, as I said, and will have unbounded -influence to back up your suit. The field is clear before you. Go in -and win!” - -Rufus grew yet paler, and his voice was hoarse as he asked: - -“And this is your scheme for making me rich?” - -“It is. The girl has a clear income of seventy thousand pounds a year. -As her husband, you will be a man of consequence. She owns a house in -town, a hunting box in the Scottish Highlands, and other houses in -England. You will have horses and hounds; a yacht, if you wish it, -at your marine villa, and a bottomless purse. You can paint wretched -pictures, and hear the fashionable world praise them as divine. You can -become a member of Parliament. All careers are open to the fortunate -suitor of Neva Wynde.” - -The picture was dazzling enough to the half-starved and desperate -boy. He liked all these things his father enumerated--the houses, the -horses, the luxuries, the money, and the luxurious ease and the honors. -He had found it hard to work, and harder to dispose of his work. All -the bitterness and hardness of his lot arose before him in black -contrast with the brightness and beauty that would mark the destiny of -the favored lover of young Neva Wynde. - -He arose and walked the floor with an impetuous tread, an expression -of keen anguish and keener longing in his eyes. His father watched him -with a furtive gaze, as a cat watches a mouse. It was necessary to his -plans that his son should marry Neva Wynde, and he was sanguine that he -would be able to bring about the match. - -“Well?” he said, tiring of the quick, impetuous walk of his son. “What -do you say?” - -“It is impossible!” returned Rufus abruptly. “Utterly impossible.” - -“And why, if I may be allowed to ask?” inquired Mr. Black blandly, -although a scowl began to gather on his fair forehead. - -“Because--because--the young lady may have other designs for herself--I -can’t marry her for her money--I can’t give up Lally!” - -“The--the young person who taught music? I understood you to say that -she was a corn-chandler’s daughter. And you prefer a low-born, low-bred -creature to a wealthy young lady like Miss Wynde? For a young man -educated as you have been, your good taste is remarkable. You have a -predilection for high-class society, I must say. What is the charm of -this not-to-be-given-up ‘Lally?’ Is she beautiful?” - -“She is beautiful to me.” - -“Which means that she is beautiful to no one else. The beauty which -requires love’s spectacles to distinguish, is ugliness to every one but -the lover. Low-born and low-bred,” repeated Mr. Black, dwelling upon -the words as if they pleased him, “with a pack of poor and ignorant -relations tacked to her skirts, ugly by your own confession, what a -brilliant match she would be for the son of the Honorable Craven Black!” - -“She has no poor relations,” said Rufus hotly. “She has no relations -except a great-aunt, whose name she does not know, and who very likely -does not dream of her existence. It is true that Lally’s father was a -corn-chandler, but he was an honest one, and more than that, he was -an intelligent, upright gentlemen. You arch your brows, as if a man -could not be a tradesman and a gentleman. If the word gentleman has any -meaning, he was a gentleman.” - -“I do not care to discuss the subtle meaning of words; I am willing to -accept them at the valuation society puts upon them. The pedigree of -‘Lally’ is of no interest to me. I merely want to know if you mean to -marry Neva Wynde and be rich, or marry your ‘Lally’ and starve. And if -you are willing to starve yourself, are you willing to have ‘Lally’ -starve also? With your fine ideas of honor, I wonder you can wish to -drag that girl into a marriage that will be to her but a slow death.” - -A groan burst from the youth’s lips. He wrung his hands weakly, while -the secret of his marriage trembled on his tongue. But he dared not -tell it. He was afraid of his father with a deadly fear, and more than -that, he had yet some hope of receiving assistance from his parent. - -“I cannot give her up, father,” he said hoarsely. “I beg you to help -me in some way, and let me go. You are not rich, I know, but you have -influence. You could get me a situation under government, in the Home -office, Somerset House, or as secretary to some nobleman. If you will -do this for me, I will bless you while I live. Oh, father, be merciful -to me. Give me a little help, and let me go my ways.” - -“By Heaven, I will not. If you cling to that girl, you shall have not -one penny from me, not one word of recommendation. You can drift to the -hospital, or the alms-house, and I will not raise a finger to help you! -I will not even give one farthing to save you from a pauper’s burial. I -swear it!” - -Craven Black uttered the oath in a tone of utter implacability, and -Rufus knew that the heavens would sooner fall than his father would -relent. A despair seized upon him, and again he wrung his hands, as he -cried out recklessly: - -“I _must_ cling to her, father. Cast me off if you will, curse me as -you choose--but Lally is my wife!” - -Craven Black was stupefied for the moment. An apoplectic redness -suffused his face, and his eyes gleamed dangerously. - -“Your wife? Your wife?” he muttered, scarcely knowing that he spoke. - -“Yes, she is my wife,” declared Rufus, his voice gathering firmness. -“I married her three months ago. We have been starving together in a -garret at New Brompton. Oh, father--” - -“Not one word! Married to that girl? I will not believe it. Have you a -marriage certificate?” - -“I have. Here it is,” and Rufus drew from his pocket-book a slender -folded paper. “Read it, and you will see that I tell the truth. Lally -Bird is my wife!” - -Craven Black took the paper and perused it with strange deliberation, -the apoplectic redness still suffusing his face. When he had finished, -he deliberately tore the marriage certificate into shreds. Rufus -uttered a cry, and sprang forward to seize the precious document, but -his father waved him back with a gesture of stern command. - -“Poor fool!” said the elder man. “The destruction of this paper would -not affect the validity of your marriage, if it were valid. But it is -not valid.” - -“Not valid.” - -“No; you and the girl are both minors. A marriage of minors without -consent of parents and guardians is not binding. The girl is not your -wife!” - -“But she is my wife. We were married in church--” - -“That won’t make the marriage binding. You are a minor, and so is she. -She had no one to consult, but you married without my consent, and -that fact will render the marriage null and void. More than this,” -and Mr. Black’s eyes sparkled wickedly, “you have committed perjury. -You obtained your marriage license by declaring yourself of age, and -you will not become of age under some months. Do you know what the -punishment is for perjury. It is imprisonment, disgrace, a striped -suit, and prison fare.” - -The young man looked appalled. - -“Who would prosecute me?” he asked. - -“_I_ would. You have got yourself in a tight box, young man. Your -marriage is null and void, and you have committed perjury. Now I will -offer you your choice between two alternatives. You can make love to -Miss Wynde and marry her, and be somebody. Or, if you refuse, I will -prosecute you for perjury, will have you sent to prison, and will brand -that girl with a name that will fix her social station for life. Take -your choice.” - -Craven Black meant every word he said, and Rufus knew that he meant it. -The young fellow shuddered and trembled, and then broke into a wild -appeal for mercy, but his father turned a deaf ear to his anguished cry. - -“You have my decision,” he said coldly. “I shall not reconsider it. The -girl is not your wife, and when she knows her position she will fly -from you.” - -Rufus groaned in his anguish. He knew well the pure soul of his young -wife, and he felt that she would not remain in any position that -was equivocal, even though to leave him might break her heart. The -disgrace, the terror, the poverty of his lot, nearly crushed him to the -earth. - -“What is your answer to be?” demanded Mr. Black. - -The poor young fellow sat down and covered his face with his hands. He -was terribly frightened, and the inherent weakness and cowardice of his -character, otherwise full of noble traits, proved fatal to him now. He -gasped out: - -“I--I don’t know. I must have time to think. It is all so strange--so -terrible.” - -“You can have all day in which to consider the matter. I have engaged -a bedroom for you on the opposite side of the hall. I will show you to -it, and you can think the matter over in solitude.” - -Mr. Black arose and conducted his son across the hall to a bedroom -overlooking the street and the four corners, and here, with a last -repetition of the two alternatives offered him, he left him. - -Poor Rufus, weak and despairing, locked the door and dropped upon his -knees, sobbing aloud in the extremity of his anguish. - -“What shall I do? What can I do?” he moaned. “She is not my wife. My -poor Lally! And I am helpless in my father’s hands. I shall have to -yield--I feel it--I know it. I wish I were dead. Oh, my poor wronged -Lally!” - - - - -CHAPTER X. NEVA AT HOME AGAIN. - - -The home coming of the heiress of Hawkhurst was far different from -that which her father had once lovingly planned for her when looking -forward to her emancipation from school. There was no sign of festivity -about the estate, no gathering of tenants to a feast, no dancing on the -lawn, no floral arches, no music, no gladness of welcome. The carriage -containing Neva Wynde and Mrs. Artress, and attended by liveried -servants, turned quietly into the lodge gates, halted a moment while -Neva spoke to the lodge keepers, whom she well remembered, and then -slowly ascended the long shaded drive toward the house. - -Neva looked around her with kindling eyes. The fair green lawn with its -patches of sunshine and shade, the close lying park with the shy deer -browsing near the invisible wire fence that separated the park from the -lawn, the odors of the flower gardens, all these were inexpressibly -sweet to her after her years of absence from her home. - -“Home again!” she murmured softly. “Although those who made it the -dearest spot in all the world to me are gone, yet still it is home. No -place has charms for me like this.” - -The carriage swept up under the high-pointed arch of the lime trees, -and drew up in the porch, where the ladies alighted. Artress led the -way into the house, and Neva followed with a springing step and a -wildly beating heart. - -The great baronial hall was not brightened with flowers or green -boughs. The oaken floor, black as ebony, was polished like jet. The -black, wainscoted walls, hung with ancient pictures, glittering -shields, a few fowling pieces, a stag’s head with antlers, an ancient -boar’s head, and other treasures, was wide, cool and hospitable. No -servants were gathered here, although Neva looked for them and was -disappointed in not seeing them. Most of the servants had been at -Hawkhurst for many years, and Neva regarded them as old friends. - -It had been the wish of the butler and housekeeper to marshal their -subordinates in the great hall to welcome their young mistress, but -Lady Wynde, hearing of their design, had peremptorily forbidden it, -with the remark that until she came of age, Miss Wynde would not be -mistress of Hawkhurst. And therefore no alternative had remained for -the butler and housekeeper but to smother their indignation and submit -to Lady Wynde’s decree. - -Mrs. Artress flung open the door of the drawing-room with an excessive -politeness and said: - -“Be kind enough to enter, Miss Wynde, and make yourself comfortable -while I inform Lady Wynde of your arrival.” - -“I am not a guest in my own home, and I decline to be treated as one,” -said Neva quietly. “I presume my rooms are ready, and I will go up to -them immediately.” - -“I am not positive,” said Artress hesitatingly, “as to the rooms Lady -Wynde has ordered to be made ready for your use. I will ring and see.” - -“Thank you, but I won’t put you to the trouble. I shall resume -possession of my old rooms, whatever rooms may have been made ready,” -said Neva half haughtily. - -Her cheeks burned with a sense of indignation and annoyance at the -strangeness of her reception. She had not wished for the rejoicings -her father had once planned for her, but she had entered her own house -precisely as some hireling might have done, with no one to receive or -greet her, no one to care if she had come. She turned away to ascend -the stairs, but paused with her foot on the lowest step as a door at -the further end of the hall opened, and the housekeeper, rosy and -rotund, with cap ribbons flying, came rushing forward with outstretched -arms. - -“Oh, my dear Miss Neva,” cried the good woman, who had known and loved -the baronet’s daughter from her birth. “Welcome home, my sweet lamb! -How you have grown--so tall, so beautiful, so bright and sweet!” - -“You dear old Hopper!” exclaimed Neva, springing forward and embracing -the good woman with girlish fervor. “I began to think I must have -entered a strange house. I am so glad to see you!” - -Mrs. Artress looked upon this little scene with an air of disgust, and -with a little sniff hastened up the stairs to the apartments of Lady -Wynde. - -“Your rooms are ready, Miss Neva,” said Mrs. Hopper--“your old rooms. I -made sure you wanted them again, because poor Sir Harold furnished them -new for you only four years ago. I will go with you up stairs.” - -Neva led the way, tripping lightly up the broad steps, and flitting -along the wide upper hall. - -Her rooms comprised a suit opposite those of Lady Wynde. Neva opened -the door of her sitting-room and went in. The portly old butler was -arranging wreaths of flowers about the pictures and statuettes, but -turned as the young girl came in, and welcomed her with an admixture -of warmth and respectfulness that were pleasant to witness. Then he -took his basket of cuttings and withdrew, the tears of joy flooding his -honest eyes. - -The girl’s sitting-room had been transformed by the loving forethought -of the butler into a very bower of beauty. The carpet was of a pale -azure hue starred with arbutus blossoms, and the furniture was -upholstered in blue silk of the same delicate tint. The pictures -on the walls were all choice and framed in gilt, and with their -wreaths of odorous blossoms, gave a fairy brightness to the room. -The silvermounted grate was crowded thickly with choice flowers from -the conservatory, whose colors of white and blue were here and there -relieved with scarlet blossoms like living coals. The wide French -windows, opening upon a balcony, were open. - -“Ah, this is home!” said Neva, sinking down upon a silken couch, and -looking out of one of the windows upon the lawn. “I am glad to be back -again, Hopper, but it’s a sad home coming. Poor Papa!” - -“Poor Sir Harold!” echoed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes. “If he -could only have lived to see you grown up, Miss Neva. It was dreadful -that he should have been taken as he was. I can’t somehow get over the -shock of his death.” - -“I shall never get over it!” murmured Neva softly. - -“I am making you cry the first thing after your return,” exclaimed -Mrs. Hopper, in self-reproach. “I hope those tears are not a bad omen -for you, Miss Neva. I have arranged your rooms,” she added, “as they -used to be, and if they are not right you have only to say so. You are -mistress of Hawkhurst now. Did you bring a maid from Paris, Miss Neva?” - -“No, Mrs. Artress said it was not necessary, and my maid at school did -not wish to leave France. Mrs. Artress said that Lady Wynde had engaged -a maid for me.” - -“Her ladyship intended to give you her own maid, but I made bold to -engage your old attendant, Meggy West, and she is in your bedroom -now. She is wild with joy at the prospect of serving you again.” - -Neva remembered the girl Meggy with pleasure, and said so. - -“I had dreaded having a strange attendant,” she said. “You were -very thoughtful, Hopper. I suppose I ought to dress at once. Since -Lady Wynde did not meet me at the door, she evidently means to be -ceremonious, and I must conform to her wishes. I am impatient to see my -step-mother, Hopper. Is she as good as she is handsome?” - -“I am not fond of Lady Wynde, Miss Neva,” replied the housekeeper, -coloring. “Her ways are different from any I have been accustomed to, -but you must judge of her for yourself. Sir Harold just worshiped the -ground she walked on.” - -Neva did not pursue her questioning, comprehending that Lady Wynde was -not adored by the housekeeper, whoever else might admire her. The young -girl was not one to gossip with servants, nor even with Mrs. Hopper, -who was lady by birth and education, and she dropped the subject. Soon -after Mrs. Hopper withdrew, and Neva went into her bedroom. - -She found here the maid who had attended her before she had left home, -and who was now to resume service with her. The girl was about her own -age, bright-eyed and red-cheeked, hearty and wholesome, the daughter of -one of the Hawkhurst tenants. Neva greeted her so kindly as to revive -the girl’s old affection for her with added fervor, and, Neva’s trunks -having arrived, the process of the toilet was at once entered upon. - -The dress of the heiress of Hawkhurst was exceedingly simple, but she -looked very lovely when fully attired. She wore a dress and overskirt -of white Swiss muslin, trimmed with puffs and ruffles. A broad black -sash was tied around her waist, with a big bow and ends at the back. -Ear-rings, bracelets, and brooch of jet, were her ornaments. - -The housekeeper sent up a tempting lunch, and after partaking of it -Neva went down stairs to the great drawing-room, but it was untenanted. -She stood in the large circular window and looked out upon the cool -depths of the park, and became absorbed in thought. More than half an -hour thus passed, and Neva was beginning to wonder that no one came to -her, when the rustling of silk outside the door was heard, and Lady -Wynde came sweeping into the room. - -Her ladyship presented a decidedly striking appearance. She had laid -aside the last vestige of her mourning garments, and wore a long -maize-colored robe of heavy silk, with ornaments of rubies. Her -brunette beauty was admirably enhanced by her attire, and Neva thought -she had never seen a woman more handsome or more imposing. - -Behind Lady Wynde came Artress, clad in soft gray garb, as usual, and -making an excellent foil to her employer. - -“Lady Wynde, this is Miss Wynde,” said the gray companion, in her soft, -cloying voice. - -Neva came forward, frank and sweet, offering her hand to her -step-mother. Lady Wynde touched it with two fingers, and stooping, -kissed the girl’s forehead. - -“You are welcome home, Neva,” she said graciously. “I am glad to see -you, my dear. I began to think we should never meet. Why, how tall you -are--not at all the little girl I expected to see.” - -“I am eighteen, you may remember, Lady Wynde,” returned Neva quietly. -“One is not usually very small at that age.” - -Her ladyship surveyed her step-daughter with keen scrutiny. She had -already heard Artress’ account of the voyage home from Calais, and of -Neva’s meeting with Lord Towyn, and she was anxious to form some idea -of the girl’s character. - -She saw in the first moment that here was not the insipid, -“bread-and-butter school girl” she had expected. The frank, lovely -face, so bright and piquant, was full of character, and the red-brown -eyes bravely uplifted betrayed a soul awake and resolute. Neva’s -glances were as keen as her own, and Lady Wynde had an uncomfortable -impression that her step-daughter was reading her true character. - -“Sit down, my dear,” she said, somewhat disconcerted. “Artress has been -telling me about your voyage. Artress is my friend and companion, as I -wrote you, and has lived with me so many years that I have learned to -regard her as a sister. I hope you will be friends with her. She is an -excellent mentor to thoughtless youth.” - -Neva bowed, but the smile that played for an instant on her saucy lips -was not encouraging to the would-be “mentor.” - -“I shall try not to trouble her,” she said, smiling, “although I shall -always be glad to receive advice from my father’s wife. I trust that -you and I will be friends, Lady Wynde, for poor papa’s sake.” - -Lady Wynde sat down beside her step-daughter. Artress retreated to a -recessed window, and took up her usual embroidery. Neva exerted herself -to converse with her step-mother, and was soon conscious of a feeling -of disappointment in her. She felt that Lady Wynde was insincere, -a hypocrite, and a double-dealer, and she experienced a sense of -uneasiness in her presence. Could this be the wife her father had -adored? she asked herself. And then she accused herself of injustice -and harsh judgment, believing that her father could not have been -so mistaken in the character of his wife, and in atonement for her -unfavorable opinion she was very gentle, and full of deference. Lady -Wynde congratulated herself upon having won her step-daughter’s good -opinion after all. - -“I must acquire a thorough control and unbounded influence over her,” -she thought. “But how can I do it? If her father had only left her -stronger injunctions to sacrifice everything to my wishes, I think she -would obey the injunctions as if a voice spoke to her from the grave. -She will obey in all things reasonable--I can see that. But if she has -formed a liking for Lord Towyn, how am I to compel her to marry Rufus -Black?” - -The question occupied her attention even while she talked with Neva. It -made her thoughtful through the dinner hour, and silent afterward. Neva -was tired, and went to her own rooms for the night soon after dinner, -and Lady Wynde and Artress talked together for a long time in low tones. - -“I have it!” said her ladyship exultantly, at last. “I have a brilliant -idea, Artress, that will make this girl my bond-slave. But I shall need -the cooperation of Craven. I must see him this very evening. It is -strange he does not come--” - -“He is here,” said the gray companion, as the house door clanged and -heavily shut. “I will go to my room.” - -She slipped like a shadow down the long triple drawing-room and out -at one door, as the Honorable Craven Black was ushered in at the -other. Lady Wynde rose to receive him, welcoming him with smiles, -and presently she unfolded to him the scheme she had just conceived, -and the two conspirators proceeded to discuss it and amplify it, and -prepare it for the ensnarement of the baronet’s daughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. LADY WYNDE’S IDEA ACTED UPON. - - -It was still early upon the evening of Neva’s return to Hawkhurst when -Craven Black took his leave of the handsome widow and set out upon his -walk to Wyndham. The summer night was filled with a light, pleasant -gloom; and the songs of the nightingales, the chirping and drumming of -insects in the Hawkhurst park and plantations, made the air musical. -But Craven Black gave no heed to these things as he strode along -over the hilly road. His mind was busy with the scheme that had been -suggested to him that evening by Lady Wynde, and as he hurried along, -he muttered: - -“It’s a good idea, if well worked out. But there’s no finesse in it. -It’s too simple, if it has any fault. And the girl may see through it, -although that’s not likely. People who are guileless themselves are not -apt to suspect guile in others. We shall have no difficulty with her. -The only one who can balk our plans is that obstinate boy of mine, whom -I have not seen since he shut himself up in his chamber. I must know -his decision before I move a step further in this business. Of course -he will yield to me; he has never dared pit his will against mine, and -say to my face that he would not obey me. Poor weak coward! If he dares -cling to that girl he married, I’ll risk the exposure and disgrace, and -have the marriage legally set aside on the ground of his minority. By -Heaven, if he dares to beard me, he shall find me a very tiger!” - -He set his teeth together and his breath came hissingly between them as -he strode heavily along the village street and approached the Wyndham -inn. He saw that his own rooms were lighted, and that the room that -he had assigned his son was dark. The fear came to him that Rufus had -stolen away and returned to his young wife with the mad idea of flying -with her, and, with a muttered curse upon the boy, he hurried into the -inn and sped swiftly up the stairs, halting at his son’s door, with his -hand on the knob. - -It did not yield to his touch. The door was locked from within. Rufus -must be within that darkened chamber, and as this conviction came to -him Craven Black recovered all his coolness and self-possession. He -crossed the hall into his own room and procured a lighted lamp, and -then returned and knocked loudly on his son’s door. No voice answered -him. No sound came from within the room. - -“Can he have committed suicide?” Craven Black asked himself, with a -sudden fluttering at his heart. “He was desperate enough, but I hardly -think he could have been such a fool as that.” - -He shook the door loudly, but eliciting no reply, he stooped to the -key-hole, and cried, in a clear, hissing whisper: - -“Rufus, open this door, or I’ll break it in! I’ll arouse the whole -house. Quick, I say! Be lively!” - -There was a faint stir within the room, as if a tortured wild beast -were sluggishly turning in his cage, and then an unsteady step crossed -the floor, and an unsteady hand groped feebly about the door, seeking -the key. The bolt suddenly shot back, and then the unsteady steps -retreated a few paces. - -Craven Black opened the door and entered the room, closing the portal -behind him. He set down his lamp, and his light eyes then sought out -the form of his son. - -Rufus stood in the centre of the room, his eyes covered with one hand -to shade them from the sudden light, his figure drooping and abject, -his head bowed to his breast, his mouth white and drawn with lines of -pain. It seemed as if years had passed over his head since the morning. -It would have been scarcely possible to trace in this spiritless, -slouching figure, in this white, haggard face, the boy artist who had -left his young wife that morning. All the brightness, elasticity and -youth seemed gone from him, leaving only a poor broken wreck. - -The cynical smile that was so characteristic of Craven Black’s -countenance came back to his lips as he looked upon his son. He read in -the changed aspect of the boy that he had achieved a victory over Rufus. - -“I have come for your decision, Rufus,” he said. “What is it to be? -Disgrace, imprisonment, a blasted name? Or will you turn from your -low-born adventuress and accept the career I have marked out for you? -Speak!” - -The hand that shaded the artist’s eyes dropped, and he looked at his -father with a countenance so wan, so woeful, so despairing, that a very -demon might have pitied him. Yet his father only smiled at what he -deemed the evidence of the lad’s weakness. - -“Oh, father,” said the young man hollowly, “will you not have mercy -upon me--upon _her_?” - -“None!” replied Craven Black curtly. “Again I demand your choice!” - -Rufus wrung his hands in wild despair. - -“If I abandon her, what will become of her?” he moaned. “She will die -of starvation! My poor little wife!” - -“Do not call her again by that title!” cried Craven Black frowning. -“Can you not comprehend that the marriage is illegal--is null and -void--that she is not your wife? When she hears the truth, she will -turn from you in loathing. As to her support, I will provide for her. -She shall not starve, as she will do if you are sent to prison for -perjury. For the last time I demand your decision. Will you give up the -girl peaceably, or will you be forced to?” - -There was a moment of dead silence. Then the answer came brokenly from -the young man’s lips. - -“I--I give her up!” he muttered. “God help us both!” - -“It is well,” declared Craven Black, more kindly. “You could not do -otherwise. You like the girl now, but a year hence you will smile at -your present folly. Why should you fling away all your possibilities of -wealth and honor for a silly boyish fancy? Cheer up, Rufus. Throw aside -all that despair, and accept the goods the gods provide you. The girl -will marry some one else, as you must do. Your future bride has arrived -at Hawkhurst, and to-morrow evening I shall take you to call upon her. -I suppose you have eaten nothing since the morning, and your first need -is supper.” - -He rang the bell vigorously, and to the servant who came up gave an -order for supper--to be served in his own parlor. Taking up his lamp, -and drawing his son’s arm through his, he conducted Rufus to his own -rooms, and seated him in an easy-chair. The young man’s head fell -forward on his breast and he sat in silence, but Craven Black, rendered -good-natured by the success of his schemes, talked at considerable -length of the revenues of Hawkhurst, and the perfections of Lady Wynde, -and of Neva, whom he had not yet seen. - -The supper of cold game was brought up, and Mr. Black ordered two -bottles of wine. Rufus refused to eat, having, as he declared, no -appetite, but he drank an entire bottle of wine with a recklessness he -had never before displayed, and was finally prevailed upon to take -food. When he had finished, he arose abruptly and retired to his own -chamber. - -The waiter removed the remains of the supper, and Craven Black was left -alone. He sat a little while in his chair, with a complacent smile -on his fair visage, and then arose and locked his door, and brought -forward his small inlaid writing-desk and deposited it upon the table. - -He produced from his pocket a small packet which Lady Wynde had given -him that evening, and opened it. It contained a dozen sheets of note -paper, of the style Sir Harold had liked and had habitually used. It -was a heavy cream-colored vellum paper, unlined, and very thick and -smooth. Upon the upper half of the first page was engraven in black and -gold the baronet’s monogram and crest, and below these to the right, -in quaint black and gold letters, were stamped the words, “Hawkhurst, -Kent.” It was upon paper like this that nearly all of Sir Harold’s -letters to his daughter had been written. - -A dozen square envelopes similarly adorned with crest and monogram -accompanied the paper; and a tiny vial of a peculiar black ink, a half -stick of bronze wax, Sir Harold’s seal, and a half dozen letters, -comprised the remaining contents of the packet. - -The curtains were drawn across the windows, and Mr. Black had carefully -vailed the keyhole of his door, so he leaned back in his chair, with a -pleasant feeling of security, and engaged in the study of the letters. -Five of them had been written by Sir Harold to his wife during the -early part of his visit to India, and bore the Indian postmark. The -sixth letter had been an enclosure in one of those to Lady Wynde, -and was addressed to Neva. It had evidently been thus inclosed by -Sir Harold under the impression that Neva would spend her midsummer -holidays at Hawkhurst in the absence of her father. The letter had been -opened by Lady Wynde and read, and she had thrown it aside, without -thought of delivering it to its rightful owner. - -“How the baronet adored his wife!” thought Craven Black, as he -carefully perused the letters. “What a depth of passion these letters -show. It is strange that Octavia should not have been touched and -pleased by his devotion, and learned to return it. But she had an equal -passion for me, and thought of him only as an obstacle to be removed -from her path. I never loved a woman as Sir Harold loved her. I do not -think I am capable of such intense devotion. I am fond of Octavia--more -fond of her than I ever was of woman before. She is handsome, stately -and keen-witted. Her tastes and mine are similar. She will make me a -rich man, and consequently a happy one. Four thousand a year from her, -and ten thousand a year from Rufus when he marries Miss Wynde. That -won’t be bad. I could have married an African with prospects such as -these!” - -He studied the style of the composition, the peculiar expression, -and the penmanship, at great length, and then took up Sir Harold’s -intercepted letter to his daughter. It was very tender and loving, -and was written in a deep gloom after the death of the baronet’s son -in India. It declared that the father felt a strange conviction that -he should never see again his home, his wife, or his daughter, and he -conjured Neva by her love for him to be gentle, loving and obedient to -her step-mother, to soothe Lady Wynde in the anguish his death would -cause her, if his forebodings proved true, and he should die in India. - -“Women are mostly fools!” muttered Craven Black impatiently. “Why -didn’t Octavia send the girl this letter? Probably because Sir Harold -mentions in it her probable anguish at his loss, and she was waiting -impatiently for the hour of her third marriage. And Sir Harold writes -as if he had expected his daughter to spend her summer’s holidays at -Hawkhurst, and Octavia did not want her here at that time. The girl -must have the letter. It will strengthen Octavia’s influence over her -immensely.” - -After an hour’s keen study, Craven Black seized pen and ink and -carefully imitated upon scraps of paper the peculiar and characteristic -handwriting of Sir Harold. He had a singular aptitude for this sort of -forgery, and devoted himself to his task with genuine zeal. He wrote -out a letter with careful deliberation, studying the effect of every -line, incorporating some of the favorite expressions of the baronet, -and this he proceeded to copy upon a sheet of the paper Lady Wynde -had given him, and in a curiously exact imitation of Sir Harold’s -penmanship. - -He worked for hours upon the letter, finishing it to his satisfaction -only at daybreak of the following morning. His nefarious composition -purported to be a last letter from Sir Harold Wynde to his daughter, -written the night before his tragic death in India, and under a -terrible gloom and foreboding of approaching death! - -The forger began the letter with a declaration of the most tender, -paternal love for Neva on the part of the father in whose name he -wrote, and declared that he believed himself standing upon the brink -of eternity, and therefore wrote a few last lines to Neva, which he -desired her to receive as an addenda to his last will and testament. - -The letter went on to state that Sir Harold adored his beautiful wife, -but that as she was still young, it was not his wish that she should -spend the remainder of her life in mourning for him. He desired her to -marry again, to form new ties, to take a fresh lease of life, and to -make another as happy as she had made him happy! - -This message he wished to be delivered to Lady Wynde from his -daughter’s lips, as his last message to the wife he had worshiped. - -And now came in the subtle point of the forged missive. As from the -pen and heart of Sir Harold Wynde, the letter went on to say that -the father was full of anxieties in regard to his daughter’s future. -She was young, an heiress, and would perhaps become a prey to a -fortune-hunter. From this fate he desired with all his soul to save her. - -“I think I should rise in my grave, if my loving, tender little Neva -were to marry a man who sought her for her wealth,” the forged letter -said. “If I die here, I have a last request to make of you, my child, -and I know that your father’s last wish will be held sacred by you. -If I do not die, this letter will never be delivered to you. I shall -send it to the care of Octavia, to be given to you in the case of my -death. I know not why this strange gloom has come upon me, but I have a -premonition that my death is near. I shall not see you again in life, -my child, my poor little Neva, but if you obey my last request I shall -know it in heaven. - -“My request is this. I have long taken a keen interest in the character -and career of a young man now at Oxford. His talents are good, his -character noble and elevated, his principles excellent. His name is -Rufus Black. He comes of a fine old family, but he is not rich. There -is not a man in the world to whom I would give you so readily as to -Rufus Black. He will come to see you at Hawkhurst some day when the -edge of your grief for me has worn away, and for my sake treat him -kindly. If he asks you to marry him, consent. I shall rest easier in my -grave if you are his wife. - -“My child, your father’s voice speaks to you from the grave; your -father’s arm is stretched out to protect you in your desolation and -helplessness. I lay upon you no commands, but I pray you, by your love -for me, to marry Rufus Black if he comes to woo you. And as you heed -this, my last request, so may you be happy.” - -There was a further page or two of similar purport, and then the letter -closed with a few last tender words, and the name of Sir Harold Wynde. - -“It will do, I think,” said Craven Black exultantly. “I might have -made it stronger, ordered her to marry Rufus under penalty of a -father’s curse, but that would not have been like Sir Harold Wynde, -and she might have suspected the letter to be a forgery. As it is, Sir -Harold himself would hardly dare to deny the letter as his own, should -his spirit walk in here. I’ve managed the letter with the requisite -delicacy and caution, and there can be no doubt of the result. The -handwriting is perfect.” - -He inclosed the letter, and addressed it to Miss Neva Wynde, sealing it -with the bronze wax, and Sir Harold’s private seal. Then he inclosed -the sealed letter in a larger envelope, that which had inclosed the -baronet’s last letter to his wife from India. The letter which had come -in this envelope was written upon three pages, and contained nothing -at variance with his forged missive. Upon the fourth and blank page of -Sir Harold’s last letter he forged a postscript, enjoining Lady Wynde -to give the inclosure--the forgery--to Neva, in case of his death in -India, but to keep it one year, until her school-days were ended, and -the first bitterness of grief at her father’s death was past. - -Craven Black made up the double letter into a thick packet resembling -a book, and addressed it to Lady Wynde. He gathered together all his -scraps of paper and the envelopes remaining and burned them, and -cleared away the evidences of his night’s work. He extinguished his -lights, drew back his curtains, opened his windows to the summer -morning breeze, and flung himself on a sofa and went to sleep. - -He was awakened about eight o’clock by the waiter at the door with his -breakfast. He arose yawning, gave the waiter admittance, and summoned a -messenger, whom he dispatched to Hawkhurst, early as was the hour, with -orders to give the packet he had made into the hands of Lady Wynde or -Mrs. Artress, Lady Wynde’s companion. - -“Artress will be on the look-out for him,” thought Craven Black. “She -will meet the messenger at the lodge gates, and carry the packet -herself to Octavia. So that is arranged!” - -He summoned his son to breakfast, and presently Rufus came in, worn and -haggard, having evidently passed a sleepless night. The two men ate -their breakfast without speaking. After the meal, when the tray had -been removed, Rufus would have withdrawn, but his father commanded him -to remain. - -“I want you to write a letter to that girl in Brompton,” said Craven -Black, in the tone that always compelled the abject obedience of -his son. “Tell her it is all up between you--that she is not your -wife--that you shall never see her again!” - -“I cannot--I cannot! I must see her again. I must break the news to her -tenderly--” - -“Do as I say. There are writing materials on my desk. Write the letter -I have ordered, or, by Heaven, I’ll summon a constable on the spot!” - -Rufus sobbed pitifully, and turned away to hide his weakness. He was -but a boy, a poor, weak, cowardly boy, afraid of his father, unable to -earn a living for himself and Lally, unable even to support himself, -and he had actually gained his marriage license by committing -perjury--swearing that he was of age, and his own master. He had laid -a snare for himself in that wrong act, and was now entangled in that -snare. - -He felt himself helpless in his father’s hands, and sat down at the -desk, and with tear-blinded eyes and unsteady hand, dashed off a wild, -incoherent letter to his poor young wife, telling her that their -marriage was null and void--that she was not his wife--and that they -two must never meet again. When he had appended his name, he bowed his -head on his arms and wept aloud. - -Craven Black coolly perused the letter and approved it. He folded it, -and put it in his pocket-book. - -“I will take it to her,” he said quietly. “My cab is at the door, and -I am ready to start to London. I shall take the half-past ten express, -if I can reach Canterbury in time. You will await my return here. I -shall be back before evening. Reconcile yourself to your fate, Rufus, -and don’t look so woe-begone. I shall expect to find you in a better -frame of mind when I return. As to the girl, I will provide for her -liberally. Fortunately I am in funds just now. I shall send her away -somewhere where she will never cross your path again!” - -Without another glance at his son, he took up his hat and went out. The -rumbling of the carriage wheels, as it bore Craven Black on his way to -Canterbury, aroused Rufus from his stupor. That sound was to him the -knell of his happiness! - - - - -CHAPTER XII. BLACK CONTINUES HIS CONSPIRACY. - - -As the hours wore on after Rufus Black’s departure from the dingy -little lodging he had called home, poor Lally became anxious and -troubled. Her young husband had inspired her with a great awe for his -father, as well as terror of him, but she was a brave little soul and -prayed with all her heart that Rufus would have courage to confess his -marriage, let the consequences of that confession be what they would. -She had a horror of concealment or deception, and she believed that -Craven Black would relent toward his son when he should discover that -he was really married. - -As the afternoon of that first day of solitude wore on, and the hour -for Rufus’ return drew near, she swept and dusted and garnished the -dreary little room as well as she could, put the shining tin kettle on -the grate, and made her simple toilet, putting on her best dress, a -cheap pink lawn that contrasted well with her berry-brown complexion, -and winding a pink ribbon in her hair. She looked very pretty and fresh -and bright when she had finished, and she stood by the window, her -face pressed to the glass, all hopefulness and expectancy, and looked -out upon the opposite side of the crescent until long after the hour -appointed for her husband’s return. But when evening came on and the -gas lamps were lighted in the streets, her expectancy was changed to a -terrible anxiety and she put on her shabby little hat and hurried out -to a little newsstand, investing a penny in an evening paper, with a -vague idea that there must have been an accident on the line and that -her husband had perhaps been killed. - -But no accident being reported, she returned to her poor little home, -and waited for him with what patience she could summon. But he came -not, and no message, letter, or telegram came to allay her fears. She -waited for him until midnight, hearkening to every step in the street, -and then lay down without undressing, consoling herself with the -thought that Rufus would be home in the morning. - -But morning came, and Rufus did not come. Poor Lally was too anxious -to prepare her breakfast, and sustained her strength by eating a piece -of bread while she watched from the window. She assured herself that -it was all right, that Rufus’ prolonged absence was a sign that he had -reconciled himself with his father, and that probably he would return -in company with his parent. This idea prompted her to brush her tangled -waves of hair, and to press out her tumbled dress and otherwise make -herself presentable. - -As the day deepened a conviction that something had happened that was -adverse to her happiness dawned upon her. It was not like Rufus to -leave her in such suspense, and she was sure that some harm had come to -him. - -“Perhaps he has been murdered and thrown out of the railway coach,” she -thought, her round eyes growing big with horror. “I will go to Wyndham -by the next train.” - -She was about to put on her hat when her landlady, a coarse, ill-bred -woman, opened the door unceremoniously, and entered her presence. - -“Going out, Mrs. Black?” she demanded, with a sniff of suspicion. “I -hope you are not going off, like the last lodger I had in this ’ere -blessed room, without paying of the rent? I hope you don’t intend to -give me the slip, Mrs. Black, which you’ve got no clothes nor furniture -to pay the rent, and you owing ten and sixpence!” - -“I have the money for the rent, Mrs. McKellar,” answered Lally, -producing her pocket-book, while her childish face flushed. “I have no -intention of giving you the slip, as you call it. I--I am going down -into the country to look for my husband. Here is your pay.” - -The landlady took her money with an air of relief. Her greed satisfied, -her curiosity became ascendant. - -“Where is Mr. Black, if I may be so bold?” she inquired. “It’s not like -him to be away over night. But young men will be young men, Mrs. Black, -whether they are young gentlemen or otherwise, and they will have their -sprees, you know, Mrs. Black, although I _would_ say that Mr. Black -seemed as steady a young gentlemen as one could wish to see.” - -“He _is_ steady,” asserted the young wife, half indignantly. “He never -goes on a spree. He--he went to see his father, and said he would be -back last night. And, oh, I am so anxious!” she cried, her terrors -getting the better of her reserve. “I am sure he would never have -stayed away like this if something had not happened to him.” - -“Perhaps he’s deserted you?” suggested her Job’s comforter. “Men desert -their wives every day. Lawks! What is that?” the landlady ejaculated, -as a loud double knock was heard on the street door. “It’s not the -postman. Perhaps Mr. Black has been killed, and they’re bringing home -his body.” - -The poor young wife uttered a wild shriek and flew to the head of -the stairs, the ponderous landlady hurrying after her, and reaching -her side just as the slipshod maid-servant opened the door, giving -admittance to Craven Black. - -The landlady descended the stairs noisily, and Lally retreated to her -room. She had hardly gained it when Mr. Black came up the stairs alone -and knocked at the door. She gave him admittance, her big round eyes -full of questioning terror, her pale lips framing the words: - -“My husband?” - -Mr. Black, holding his hat in his hand, closed the door behind him. He -bowed politely to the scared young creature, and demanded: - -“You are Miss Lally Bird?” - -The slight, childish figure drew itself up proudly, and the quivering -voice tried to answer calmly: - -“No, sir; I am Mrs. Rufus Black. My name used to be Lally Bird. Do--do -you come from my husband?” - -“I come from Mr. Rufus Black,” replied Craven Black politely. “I am -the bearer of a note from him, but must precede its delivery with an -explanation. Mr. Black is now in Kent, and will remain there for the -summer.” - -“I--I don’t understand you, sir,” said poor Lally, bewildered. - -There was a rustling outside the door, as the landlady settled herself -at the keyhole, in an attitude to listen to the conversation between -Lally and her visitor. Mrs. McKellar was convinced that there was some -mystery connected with her fourth floor lodgers, and she deemed this a -favorable opportunity of solving it. - -“Permit me to introduce myself to you, Miss Bird,” said her visitor, -still courteously. “I am Craven Black, the father of Rufus.” - -The young wife gasped with surprise, and her face whitened suddenly. -She sat down abruptly, with her hand upon her heart. - -“His father?” she murmured. - -Craven Black bowed, while he regarded her and her surroundings -curiously. The dingy, poverty-stricken little room, with its meagre -plenishing and no luxuries, struck him as being but one remove from an -alms-house. The young wife, in her wretchedly poor attire, with her -big black eyes and brown face, from which all color had been stricken -by his announcement, seemed to him a very commonplace young person, -quite of the lower orders, and he wondered that his university bred son -could have loved her, and that he still desired to cling to her and his -poverty, rather than to leave her and wed an heiress. - -For a moment or more Lally remained motionless and stupefied, and then -the color flashed back to her cheeks and lips, and the brightness to -her eyes. She could interpret the visit of Craven Black in but one -manner--as a token of his reconciliation with his son. - -“Ah, sir, I beg your pardon,” she said, arising to her feet, “but I was -sorely frightened. I have been so anxious about Rufus. I expected him -home last night. And I could not dream that you would come to our poor -home.” - -She placed a chair for him, but he continued standing, hat in hand, and -leaned carelessly upon the chair back. He was the picture of elegance -and cool serenity, while Lally, flushed and excited, glanced down at -her own attire in dismay. - -“I understand that Rufus has remained in Kent,” she said, all -breathless and joyous, “and I suppose you have been kind enough to -come to take me to him. I fear I am hardly fit to accompany you, Mr. -Black. We have been so poor, so terribly poor. But I will be ready in -a moment. Oh, I am so grateful to you, sir, for your goodness to us. -Poor Rufus feared your anger more than all things else. I know I am no -fit match for your son, but--but I love him so,” and the bright face -drooped shyly. “I will be a good wife to him, sir, and a good daughter -to you.” - -“Stay,” said Mr. Black, in a cold, metallic voice. “You are laboring -under a misapprehension, Miss Bird. I am not come to take you down into -Kent. You will never look upon the face of Rufus Black again.” - -“_Sir!_” - -“I mean it, madam. I pity you from my soul; I do, indeed. It were -better for you if you had never seen Rufus Black. You fancy yourself -his wife. You are not so.” - -“Not his wife? Oh, sir, then you do not know? Why, we were married -at St. Mary’s Church, in the parish of Newington. Our marriage is -registered there, and Rufus has a certificate of the marriage.” - -“But still you are not married,” said the pitiless visitor, his keen -eyes lancing the soul of the tortured girl. “Permit me to explain. My -son procured a marriage license, and he made oath that you and he were -both of age, and legally your own masters. He swore to a lie. Now that -is perjury. A marriage of minors without consent of parents is null and -void, and my consent was not given. Your marriage is illegal, is no -marriage at all. You are as free and Rufus is as free as if this little -episode had not been.” - -“Oh, Heaven!” moaned the young girl, in a wild strained voice, sinking -back into a chair. “Not married--not his wife!” - -“You are not his wife,” declared Craven Black mercilessly. “I cannot -comprehend by what fascination you lured my son into this connection -with you, but no doubt he was equally to blame. He is well born and -well connected. You are neither. A marriage between you and him is -something preposterous. I have no fancy for an alliance with the family -of a tallow-chandler. I speak plainly, because delicacy is out of -place in handling this affair. You are of one grade in life, we of -another. I recognize your ambition and desire to rise in the world, but -it must not be done at my expense.” - -“Ambition?” repeated poor Lally, putting her hand to her forehead. “I -never thought of rising in the world when I married Rufus. I loved -him, and he loved me. And we meant to work together, and we have been -so happy. Oh, I am married to him! Do not say that I am not. I am his -wife, Mr. Black--I am his own wife!” - -“And I repeat that you are not,” said Mr. Black harshly. “The law will -not recognize such a marriage. And if you persist in clinging to the -prize you fancy you have hooked, I will have Rufus arrested on the -charge of perjury and sent to prison.” - -Lally uttered a cry of horror. Her eyes dilated, her thin chest heaved, -her black eyes burned with the fires that raged in her young soul. - -“Rufus has recognized the stern necessity of the case, and full of -fears for his own safety he has given you up,” continued Lally’s -persecutor. “He will never see you again, and desires you, if you have -any regard for him and his safety, to quietly give him up, and glide -back into your own proper sphere.” - -“I will not give him up!” cried Lally--“never! never! Not until his own -lips tell me so! You are cruel, but you cannot deceive me. I am his own -wife, and I will never give him up!” - -“Read that!” said Mr. Black, producing the note his son had written. “I -presume you know his handwriting?” - -He tossed to Lally the folded paper. She seized it and read it eagerly, -her face growing white and rigid like stone. She knew the handwriting -only too well. And in this letter Rufus confirmed his father’s words, -and utterly renounced her. A conviction of the truth settled down like -a funeral pall upon her young soul. - -“You begin to believe me, I see,” said Mr. Black, growing uncomfortable -under the awful stare of her horrified eyes. “You comprehend at last -that you are no wife?” - -“What am I then?” the pale lips whispered. - -“Don’t look at me in that way, Miss Bird. Really you frighten me. Don’t -take this thing too much to heart. Of course it’s a disappointment and -all that, but the affair won’t hurt you as if you belonged to a higher -class in life. It’s a mere episode, and people will forget it. You can -resume your maiden name and occupations and marry some one in your own -class, and some day you will smile at this adventure!” - -“Smile? Ah, God!” - -Poor Lally cowered in her chair, her small wan face so full of woe and -despair that even Craven Black, villain as he was, grew uneasy. There -was an appalled look in her eyes, too, that scared him. - -“You take the thing too hardly, Miss Bird,” he said. “I will provide -for you. Rufus must not see you again, and I must have your promise to -leave him unmolested. Give me that promise and I will deal liberally -with you. You must not follow him into Kent. Should you meet him in the -street or elsewhere, you must not speak to him. Do you understand? If -you do, he will suffer in prison for your contumacy!” - -“Oh, Heaven be merciful to me!” wailed the poor disowned young wife. -“See him, and not speak to him? Meet him and pass him by, when I love -him better than my life? Oh, Mr. Black, in the name of Heaven, I beg -you to have pity upon us. I know I am poor and humble. But I love your -son. We are of equal station in the sight of God, and my love for -Rufus makes me his equal. He loves me still--he loves me--” - -“Do not deceive yourself with false hopes,” interposed Craven Black. -“My son recognizes the invalidity of his marriage, and has succumbed to -my will. If you know him well, you know his weak, cowardly nature. He -has agreed never to speak to you again, and, moreover, he has promised -to marry a young lady for whom I have long intended him--” - -A sharp, shrill cry of doubt and horror broke from poor, wronged Lally. - -“It is true,” affirmed Craven Black. - -The girl uttered no further moan, nor sob. Her wild eyes were tearless; -her white lips were set in a rigid and awful smile. - -“I--I feel as if I were going mad!” she murmured. - -“You will not go mad,” said Craven Black, with an attempt at airiness. -“You are not the first woman who has tried to rise above her proper -sphere and fallen back to her own detriment. But, Miss Bird, I must -have your promise to leave Rufus alone. You must resume your maiden -name, and let this episode be as if it had not been.” - -“I shall not trouble Rufus,” the poor girl said, her voice quivering. -“If I am not his wife, and he cannot marry me, why should I?” - -“That is right and sensible. Here are fifty pounds which may prove -serviceable if you should ever marry,” and Mr. Black handed her a crisp -new Bank of England note. - -The girl crumpled it in her hand and flung it back to him, her eyes -flashing. - -“You have taken away my husband--my love--my good name!” she panted. -“How dare you offer me money? I will not take it if I starve!” - -Mr. Black coolly picked up the note and restored it to his pocket. - -He was about to speak further when the door was burst violently open, -and the landlady, flushed with excitement, came rushing in like an -incarnate tornado. The rejection of the money by Lally had incensed her -beyond all that had gone before. - -“I keep a respectable house, I hope, Miss,” snapped the woman. “I’ve -heard all that’s been said here, as is right I should, being a lone -widow and a dependent upon the reputation of my lodging-’us for a -living. And being as you an’t married, though a pretending of it, I -can’t shelter you no longer. Out you go, without a minute’s warning. -There’s your hat, and there’s your sack. Take ’em, and start!” - -Lally obeyed the words literally. She caught up her out-door apparel, -and with one wild, wailing cry, dashed out of the room, down the stairs -and into the street. - -Mr. Black and the landlady regarded each other in a mutual alarm. - -“You have driven her to her death, Madam,” said Craven Black excitedly. -“She has gone out to destroy herself, and you have murdered her.” - -He put on his hat and left the house. The girl’s flying figure had -already disappeared, and the villain’s conscience cried out to him that -she would perish, and that it was _he_, and none other, who had killed -her. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. HOW NEVA RECEIVED THE FORGERIES. - - -While Craven Black was successfully pursuing his machinations to -destroy the happiness of two young lives, Lady Wynde had been active -in carrying out her part in the infamous plot against Neva. The little -packet of forged letters which had cost Lady Wynde’s fellow-conspirator -a night of toil, and which had been sent to Hawkhurst by a special -messenger, had been safely delivered into the hands of Mrs. Artress, -who had been waiting at the gate lodge to receive it. It had so -happened that not even the lodge keeper had witnessed the reception -of the packet, and she had dismissed the messenger, and carefully -concealed the packet upon her person, and returned to the house and to -the presence of her mistress. - -Lady Wynde had not yet risen. She lay in the midst of her white bed, -with her black hair tossing upon her ruffled pillow, one white and -rounded arm lying upon the scarlet satin coverlet, and with a profusion -of dainty frills and laces upon her person. A small inlaid table stood -at her bedside, supporting a round silver tray, upon which gleamed -a silver _tete-a-tete_ set of the daintiest proportions, and at the -moment of her companion’s entrance her ladyship was sipping her usual -morning cup of black coffee, which was expected to tone and strengthen -her nerves for the day. - -She dropped her tiny gold spoon, and looked up eagerly and expectantly, -and Artress, closing the door, drew forth the packet with an air of -triumph. - -“I have received it,” said the gray companion, “and no one is the -wiser for it. The messenger thinks it a book, and the people at -the lodge did not even see it. We are in the usual luck, Octavia. -Everything goes well with us.” - -“I am glad that Craven did not fail me,” murmured Lady Wynde. “I feared -he might find the task too heavy for him. But he is always prompt. Open -the packet, Artress.” - -The companion obeyed, bringing to light the double letter, the one -Craven Black had forged being securely lodged within the last letter -Sir Harold Wynde had written to his wife from India. - -Lady Wynde saw that the inner letter, addressed to Neva, was securely -sealed, read the forged postscript to the letter addressed to her, and -placed both under her pillow, with a complacent smile. - -“Craven is a clever fellow,” she muttered. “And how much he loves -me, Artress. Not many men could have seen the woman they loved marry -another, but Craven and I have been worldly wise, and we shall reap -the reward of our self-denial. If we had married three years ago, -we should have been poor now, mere hangers on upon the outskirts of -society, tolerated for the sake of our connections, but nothing more. -But we determined to play a daring game, and behold our success. I am -again a widow, with four thousand a year and a good house while I live, -and I can lay up money if I choose while I continue the chaperon of -my husband’s daughter. And if our game continues to prosper, and Neva -marries Rufus Black, Craven and I will make ten thousand a year more -for the remainder of our lives. Rufus will have to sign an agreement -giving us that amount out of Neva’s income. Think of it Artress; -fourteen thousand a year!” - -“Of which if you win it, I am to have five hundred,” said Artress, her -gray face flushing. “And if you do not win the ten thousand, I am to -have two hundred pounds a year settled upon me for life. Is not that -our bargain?” - -Lady Wynde nodded assent. - -“And,” continued Artress, “I am to enter society with you, to remain -with you as your guest instead of companion. I have been necessary to -you in playing this game. I have lived with you some three years now, -and though people know that I am a lady born, no one suspects that I -am own cousin to Craven Black, and soon to be your cousin by marriage. -We have joined our forces and wits together in this game, and we shall -enjoy our success together.” - -This, then, was the secret of the connection between the two women so -unlike each other, yet so in unison in their schemes. Mrs. Artress was -the cousin of Craven Black, and being poor as well as unscrupulous, -she was his most faithful ally in his stupendously wicked schemes. The -interests of the three conspirators were indeed identical. - -“I believe I will rise,” said Lady Wynde. “I am impatient to give this -letter to Neva, and to see how she receives it. Do you suppose she is -up?” - -“She has been up these two hours,” answered Artress. “She has been -all over the house, has talked with the butler and the servants, has -visited the stable and gardens, and has even been into the park. She -means to assert her dignity as mistress of Hawkhurst, and to win the -hearts of her dependents, so that in case she disagrees with you they -will support her.” - -Lady Wynde frowned darkly. - -“Miss Neva is not yet of age, and so, although she owns Hawkhurst, -there may be a question whether she is its mistress, or whether I, who -am her guardian and her father’s widow, am mistress here.” - -Her ladyship pulled the bell cord at her bed head, summoning her maid. -Artress retired into Lady Wynde’s sitting-room, and upon the appearance -of her attendant, the widow arose and attired herself in a white -morning wrapper with crimson trimmings, and put upon her head a small -square of white lace adorned with crimson bows. She had some time since -discarded her widow’s cap, as “too horribly unbecoming.” - -She ascertained that Neva was now in her own rooms, and took her way -thither, the forged letters in her hand. Neva was alone when her -step-mother, after a preliminary knock upon the door, entered her -sitting-room, and she greeted Lady Wynde with a smile and look of -welcome. - -Neva was looking very lovely this morning, flushed with her early -exercise, her red-brown eyes strangely brilliant, her red-brown hair -arranged in crimps and braids. She wore a simple dress of white lawn, -made short to escape the ground, and her ribbons and ornaments were -of black. Lady Wynde fancied that Neva’s half-mourning attire was a -reproach to her, and this fancied reproach, coupled with Neva’s bright, -spirited beauty, gave an impulse to her incipient dislike to the girl. - -A vague jealousy of Neva’s youth and loveliness had found place in her -heart on the previous evening. Now that faint spark became fanned into -a burning flame. She aspired to be a social queen, and here under her -very roof, and under her chaperonage, was a girl whom she felt sure -would eclipse her. She would not be known in society as the handsome -Mrs. Black, but as the chaperon of the beautiful Miss Wynde. - -But, despite her anger and jealousy, nothing could have been more -bland and affectionate than the greeting of Lady Wynde to her -step-daughter. She kissed her with seeming tenderness, and caressed her -bright hair as she said: - -“How animated you look, my dear--fairly sparkling! I should fancy that -you have an electric sort of temperament--all fire and glow. Is it not -so? You remind me of your father, Neva. It will be very sweet to have -you with me, but my grief at my husband’s awful death has been so great -that until now I could never bear to look upon his daughter’s face. I -fancied you would look even more like him, and I could not have borne -the resemblance in my first grief.” - -Lady Wynde sighed deeply, and sat down upon the blue silken couch, -drawing Neva to a seat beside her. - -“I have come in to have a long confidential talk with you, my child,” -resumed her ladyship. “There should be between you and me strangely -tender relations. Your poor dear father desired us to be all the world -to each other, and for his sake, as well as your own, I intend to be a -true and good mother to you.” - -“Thank you, madam,” said Neva, gravely, yet gratefully. “I will try to -deserve your kindness, and to be a daughter to you.” - -“You do not call me mother,” suggested Lady Wynde, reproachfully. - -The young girl colored, and her brilliant eyes were suddenly shadowed. -Her scarlet lips quivered an instant, as she said gently: - -“Pardon me, dear Lady Wynde, but one has but one mother. I love my dead -mother as if she were living, even though I know her only through my -dear father’s description of her. I cannot give you her name, and I -think it would hardly be appropriate. You are too young to be called -mother by a grown-up girl. Does it not seem so to you?” - -“Possibly you are right. Suit yourself, my dear. I seek only your -happiness. I can be a mother to you, even if you decline to give me the -name.” - -“And I can equally be a daughter to you, dear Lady Wynde,” said Neva. -“We shall be like sisters, I trust. And I desire to say that I hope you -will consider yourself as fully mistress of Hawkhurst as when poor papa -was here. I shall not interfere with your rule here, even if I may, -until I attain my majority. While I live, my home shall be a home to my -father’s widow.” - -“You are very kind, my dear. All these things will settle themselves -hereafter. I have now to deliver to you a last message from your dear -father--a message, as I might say, from the grave. Your father’s voice -speaks to you from the other world, my dear Neva, and I know that you -will heed its call.” - -Her ladyship drew forth the packet of letters, and laid them on Neva’s -knee. - -“You have there,” continued Lady Wynde, putting her handkerchief to her -eyes, “the last letter I ever received from my dear husband. You may -read it. You will see that he had a presentiment of his approaching -death; that a gloom hung upon him that he could not shake off. That -letter was written the night before his tragic death.” - -Neva opened the letter with trembling hands and read it, even to the -postscript upon the last page which had been forged by the cunning hand -of Craven Black. Her tears fell as she read it. - -“The inclosure--ah, you have not seen it,” said Lady Wynde--“is the -letter alluded to in that last page of the letter to me. You see that -it has never been opened. It is a sealed document to me in every sense, -although, as poor Sir Harold often told me of his secret wishes in -regard to your future, I have some suspicion of its contents. Your -father requested me should he die in India, to give you this letter one -year after his death. The appointed time has now arrived, and I deliver -into your hands the last letter your father ever wrote, and which -contains his last sacred wishes in regard to you. You are to receive it -as an addendum to his will, as a sacred charge, as if his voice were -speaking to you from his home in Heaven!” - -She lifted the sealed letter, laying it in Neva’s hands. - -The young girl received it with an uncontrollable agitation. - -“I--I must read it alone,” she said brokenly. - -“Very well, dear. Go into your dressing-room with it, and when you have -finished reading it come back to me. I have more to say to you.” - -Neva departed without a word, and went into the adjoining room. As the -door closed behind her, Lady Wynde softly arose, crossed the floor, and -peeped in upon the young girl’s privacy through the key-hole of the -door. - -Neva was alone in her dressing-room, and was kneeling down before a -low chair upon which she had laid the forged letter, as yet unopened. -The baronet’s widow watched the girl as she examined the address and -the seal, and then cut open the top of the letter with a pocket-knife. -Neva unfolded the closely written sheet, all stamped with her father’s -monogram, and with low sobs and tear-blinded eyes began to read the -letter, accepting it without doubt or question as her father’s last -letter to her. - -Lady Wynde’s eyes gleamed, and a mocking smile played about her full, -sensual lips, as Neva read slowly page after page, still upon her -knees, now and then pausing to kiss the handwriting she believed to be -her father’s. The forger’s work had been well done. The tender pet -names by which Sir Harold had loved to call his daughter were often -repeated, with such protestations of affection as would most stir a -loving daughter’s heart when receiving them long after the death of her -father, and believing them to have been written by that father’s hand. - -“Oh, papa! poor, poor, papa!” the girl sobbed. “He foresaw my -loneliness and desolation, and left these last words to cheer me. I -will remember your wishes so often expressed in this and other letters. -I will be kind and gentle and obedient to Lady Wynde. I will try to -love her for your sake.” - -When she had grown calmer, Neva read on. As she read that her father -had a last request to make of her, she smiled through her tears, and -murmured: - -“I am glad that he has left me something to do--whatever it may be. -I should like to feel that I am obeying him still, although he is in -Heaven. Dear papa!--your ‘request’ is to me a sacred command, and I -shall so consider it.” - -Lady Wynde’s eyes glittered like balls of jet. She had estimated -rightly the childlike trust of Neva in her father’s love and devotion -to her. - -“She accepts the whole thing as gospel!” thought the delighted schemer. -“Our success is certain. But let me see how she takes it, when she -finds what the ‘request’ is.” - -Neva perused the letter slowly, and again and again, with careful -deliberation. Her surprise became apparent on her features, but there -was no disbelief, no distrust, betrayed on her truthful face. But a wan -whiteness overspread her cheeks and lips, and a weary look came into -her eyes, as she folded the letter at last and hid it in her bosom. She -bent her head as if in prayer, and murmured words which Lady Wynde -tried in vain to hear. They were simple--only these: - -“It is very strange--very strange; but papa meant it for the best. He -feared to leave me unprotected, and a prey to fortune-hunters. Who is -this Rufus Black? Oh, if papa had only mentioned Lord--Lord Towyn!” - -The very thought brought a vivid scarlet to Neva’s face in place of her -strange pallor, and as if frightened at her own thought, she arose and -went to the open window, and leaned upon the casement. - -Lady Wynde stole back to her couch, and she was sitting upon it the -picture of languor when Neva returned, very pale now and subdued, and -with a shadow of trouble in her eyes. - -“Have you finished your letter so soon, dear?” asked the step-mother, -sweetly. “I believe I can guess what were the last injunctions to you -of your dear father. He often told me of his plans for you. Shall you -do as he desired?” - -Again the glowing scarlet flush covered Neva’s cheeks, lips, even her -slender throat. - -“My father’s last wishes are a command to me,” she said, slowly, yet -as if her mind were quite made up to obey the supposed wishes of her -father. - -“It was Sir Harold’s request that you should marry a young man in whom -he took considerable interest--one Rufus Black, was it not?” asked Lady -Wynde. - -Neva uttered a low assent. - -“And you will marry this young fellow?” - -“My father liked him well enough to make him my--my husband,” said -Neva. “I can trust my father’s judgment in all things. I never -disobeyed papa in his life, and I cannot disobey him now that he seems -to speak to me from Heaven. If--if Rufus Black ever proposes marriage -to me, and if he is still worthy of the good opinion papa formed of -him, I--I--” - -Her voice broke down, as she remembered the fair, boyish face, the warm -blue eyes, the tawny hair and noble air of Lord Towyn, and again with -inward shame the question framed itself in her mind--why could not her -father have recommended to her affection young Arthur Towyn, whom her -father had loved next to his own son? Why must he desire her to marry a -man she had never seen? - -“You will marry Rufus!” demanded Lady Wynde, as the girl’s pause became -protracted. - -Neva bowed her head--she could not speak. - -Lady Wynde’s face glowed, and an evil light gleamed in her eyes. Her -heart throbbed wildly with her evil triumph. - -“You are indeed a good and faithful daughter, Neva,” she said -caressingly. “In accordance with your father’s wishes, I must give Mr. -Black every chance to woo you. I believe he knows something of what Sir -Harold designed for you and him, and he is at this moment at Wyndham -village. He is staying at the inn with his father, and both will call -upon you this evening.” - -“So soon?” - -“The sooner the better. I have not seen Rufus Black, but his father -called here last evening. The father knew poor Sir Harold intimately. -And, Neva, dear, in honor of your guests, and in deference to my -wishes, you ought to lay aside all vestige of your mourning to-day. You -have worn black a year, and that is all that modern society demands.” - -“The outward garb does not always indicate the feelings of the heart,” -said Neva. “I will change my manner of dress, since you desire it, but -I shall mourn for papa all my days.” - -As Neva became thoughtful and abstracted, Lady Wynde soon took her -leave. She found Artress in her sitting-room and the gray companion had -no need to ask of her success. - -“Our silly little fish has swallowed the bait,” said Lady Wynde. “She -is ready to immolate herself ‘for dear papa’s sake,’ although I could -see that she is already interested in Lord Towyn. I am impatient for -evening. I want to see how young Rufus Black will proceed in his task -of winning the heiress of Hawkhurst.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. THE MEETING OF NEVA AND RUFUS. - - -The hours of his father’s absence in London were full of an -insupportable suspense to Rufus Black. He was tempted to hurry up to -town by the next train, and only his weakness and cowardice prevented -him from flying to the succor of his wronged young wife. His terror -of his father was a lion in his way. And the act of perjury he had -committed in declaring himself of age when obtaining his marriage -license--an act more of thoughtlessness and boyish ardor than of -deliberate lying--arose now between him and poor Lally like a wall of -iron. He had erred, and must accept the consequences, but he thought to -himself that he would give all his hopes of heaven if Lally might have -been spared his punishment. - -Anguished and despairing, he put on his hat and hurried out into the -street, eager for fresh air and for action. He passed out of the little -hamlet, seeing no one, and wandered into the open country, where a -noble park bordered one side of the road, and fair green fields -stretched far away upon the other. Both park and fields belonged to the -domain of Hawkhurst, but Rufus Black was unconscious of the fact until -he came out in full view of the great gray stone house throned upon the -broad ridge of ground, and set in its parks and gardens like some rare -jewel in its setting. - -Then he recognized the place, and muttered moodily: - -“So, this is what I am to sell my soul for? A goodly price, no doubt, -and more than it is worth. The owner of all this wealth cannot go -begging for a husband, be she ugly as Medusa. Perhaps, after all, I -have been troubling myself for nothing. She may not choose to accept -a shabby young man, without a penny in his pocket, and with a gloomy -face. If she refuses me, I dare say that father will let me go back to -Lally.” - -This thought afforded him some comfort, and he plodded on, seeking -relief from his troubles in exertion. He cared not whither he went, and -his surprise was great when at last, arousing from his abstraction, he -found himself in the streets of Canterbury. - -He was near an inn of the humbler sort, and, with a sudden recklessness -as to what became of him, he turned into the low barroom and demanded a -private parlor. A bare little apartment on the upper floor, overlooking -the inn stables, was assigned him. The floor was uncovered, and a deal -table, rush-bottomed chair and rickety lounge made up the sum of the -furniture. - -Rufus called for brandy and water, tossing a shilling to the frowsy -waiter. A decanter of brandy and a bottle of water were brought to him, -and he entered upon a solitary orgie. He had not been used to drink, -and the fiery liquid mounted to his brain, inducing stupidity and -drunkenness. For an hour or two he drank with brief intermission, but -sleep overpowered him, and his head fell upon the table and he snored -heavily. With his red face, dishevelled hair and stertorous breathing, -his unmistakable aspect of drunkenness, he presented a terrible -contrast to the hopeful boy artist with his honest eyes and loving -soul, who had made the dingy lodging in New Brompton a very paradise to -poor Lally. - -The day wore on. A waiter looked in upon the poor wreck, once or twice, -and went away each time chuckling. In the latter part of the afternoon -Rufus awakened, and came to himself. Ashamed and conscience-stricken, -his first thought being of what Lally would think of him, he summoned a -waiter and demanded strong coffee and food. These were furnished him, -and having partaken of them he settled his bill, and set out to walk -back to Wyndham. - -“It makes no difference what becomes of me now,” he said to himself, as -he strode along the return route. “I have started down hill, and I may -as well keep on descending.” - -He had accomplished half the distance between Canterbury and his -destination, when a four-wheeled cab, traveling briskly, came up behind -him, compelling him to take to the side path. The next moment the cab -stopped, and Craven Black’s head was protruded from the open window, -and Craven Black’s smooth voice called: - -“Is that you, Rufus? What are you doing away out here? Jump in! jump -in!” - -Rufus obeyed, entering the vehicle, and the cabman drove on. - -“Where have you been?” demanded the elder Black, as the son settled -himself upon the front seat and opposite his father. - -“I have spent the day in Canterbury,” returned Rufus sullenly. - -“What have you been doing there?” - -“Getting drunk,” was the dogged answer. - -The young man’s face testified to his truthfulness. His eyes, wild in -their glances, were bloodshot and watery, and he had a reckless air, as -if he had thrown off all restraints of virtue and decency. - -Craven Black experienced a sense of alarm. He began to fear lest his -son would defeat all his plans by his obstinacy and recklessness. - -“You do not ask me about the girl,” said the father, with more -gentleness than was usual to him. “I have seen her.” - -“I supposed you had,” was the reply. “I gave you her address.” - -“I told her the truth,” said Craven Black, puzzled by his son’s strange -mood. “I explained to her kindly enough that her marriage with you was -no marriage at all. She readily accepted the situation. She cried a -little, to be sure, but she said herself that she was of lower rank -than you, and that the match was too unequal. She--she said that of -course all was over between you, and it was best you and she should -never meet again. And in fact, to render any such meeting impossible, -she left her lodging while I was there.” - -Rufus fixed a burning gaze upon his father. - -“I don’t believe a word you say,” he cried. “The news you carried to -her broke my darling’s heart. Do you suppose I do not know how much she -loved me? I was all she had in the wide world--her only friend. Think -of that, sir! Her only friend--and you have torn me from her. If she -dies of grief, you are her murderer.” - -Craven Black shuddered involuntarily, remembering poor Lally’s flight, -and his conviction that she had gone to destroy herself. His emotion -did not pass unnoticed by his son. - -“Poor Lally!” said Rufus, his voice trembling. “It’s all over between -us forever. I have blighted her life, ruined her good name, and made -her an outcast. Yet it was not I who did this. It was you. Her blood be -upon your head. If I could find her and were free to woo her, she would -never take me back, now that I have proved myself a liar, perjurer and -pitiful wretched coward. It is indeed all over between us. You can do -what you like with the wreck you have made me. You might have given me -a chance to redeem myself; you might have let me be true to her, but -you would make me perjure myself doubly. I hope you are pleased with -your work.” - -“Let there be an end of these silly boyish reproaches,” exclaimed Mr. -Black harshly. “You have done with the girl, and are about to enter -upon a new life. I have generously forgiven your errors and crimes. -If you repeat the drunkenness of to-day, I’ll send you to prison. -Try me, and see if I do not. I have brought you a trunk from London, -filled with new clothing from your tailor, shirt-maker, boot-maker -and jeweller. I have spared no expense to make you look as my son -should look. And now, by Heaven, if you disgrace me to-night by any -recklessness and folly, any mock despair, I’ll prosecute you on that -charge of perjury.” - -“You need not fear that I shall disgrace myself, or insult my hostess,” -said Rufus doggedly. “You think no one has the instincts of a gentleman -save yourself.” - -With such recriminations as these, the pair beguiled their drive to -Wyndham; nor did they cease from them after their arrival in Mr. -Black’s private parlor. A sullen silence succeeded in good time, and -reigned throughout the dinner, of which they partook together. After -dinner, they retired to their several rooms to dress. - -The trunk Mr. Black had brought from London had been deposited in his -son’s chamber. Rufus had the key, and unlocked the receptacle, bringing -to light an ample supply of fine garments, perfume cases, a dressing -case, and a set of jewelled shirt studs in a little velvet case. - -He arrayed his boyish figure in his new black garments, noticing -even in his despair that they fitted him as if he had been measured -for them. He waited in his room until his father came for him, and -submitted sullenly to his father’s careful inspection. - -“You’ll do,” commented Craven Black. “If you act as well as you look, I -shall be satisfied. Mind, if you mention to Miss Wynde one word about -the girl Lally, it’s all up with you. The cab is waiting. Come on!” - -They descended together to the cab, and were conveyed to Hawkhurst. -On arriving at the mansion, they alighted, and entered the great -baronial hall, sending in their cards to Lady Wynde by the footman. The -baronet’s widow having signified to her domestic that she was “always -at home” to Mr. Black and his son, the visitors was ushered into the -drawing-room. - -Lady Wynde and Artress arose to receive them. Craven Black presented -his son, and the baronet’s widow welcomed the young man graciously. She -was looking unusually well this evening in a robe of pale amber silk, -with a row of short locks trimmed squarely, nursery fashion, across her -low polished forehead, a long black curl trailing over each shoulder, -and her cheeks glowing with suppressed excitement. Rufus remembered -having seen her before her marriage to Sir Harold Wynde, and his face -brightened as at the sight of a friend. - -He was acquainted, although slightly, with his father’s cousin, Mrs. -Artress, and as he held out his hand to her, he looked his surprise at -seeing her at the house of Lady Wynde. - -“I am her ladyship’s hired companion,” said Artress, explainingly. “My -husband left me very poor, you know, Rufus, and I have been in dear -Lady Wynde’s employ for some three years. I beg you not to recognize -me as a relative, nor to mention the fact to any one. I have my family -pride, you know, Rufus, and it is hard to be obliged to earn one’s own -living when one has not been brought up to it.” - -Her reasons for concealment of the relationship existing between them -seemed to Rufus no reasons at all, but he could not gainsay her wishes, -and muttered that he would obey her. - -“Miss Wynde has gone out for a solitary stroll in the park,” observed -Lady Wynde, as Mr. Black’s eyes wandered about the room. “I sent her -out for the fresh air. She is not looking well, I regret to say. Mr. -Rufus, if you will be kind enough to go down the wide park avenue, you -cannot fail to find her. I beg you will introduce yourself to her, and -bring her back to the house.” - -Rufus bowed, and stepping lightly out of the open window, moved -leisurely toward the park. - -“There is nothing like an informal meeting,” said Lady Wynde, looking -after the young man. “I planned to have the meeting occur in this way, -so that neither should be embarrassed by the presence of a third party.” - -“I should have preferred to keep my eye upon Rufus,” remarked Mr. Black -uneasily. “Did you give the letter to the young lady?” - -“Yes, and she received it exactly as I had expected she would. She is -not at all the style of girl I looked for, Craven, and it is fortunate -for our plans that she cared so much for her father.” - -While the conspirators were thus conversing, Rufus crossed the lawn -and entered the park by a small gate. The wide avenue, a fine carriage -drive, was readily found, and Rufus walked for some distance upon -it, keeping a vigilant look-out for Miss Wynde. He was beginning to -meditate upon a return to the house without the young lady, when a -flutter of white garments among the dusky shadows of a side path caught -his gaze. He plunged into the path without hesitation, and presently -overtook the wearer of the garments, who was of course Miss Wynde. - -Hearing his swift approach, she halted and turned her face toward him. -Rufus also halted, strangely embarrassed under her brave full glance. -She had laid aside her mourning garments, and wore rose-colored ribbons -and a profusion of frills and puffs and lace, in which she looked very -fair and dainty and sweet. Her wine-brown eyes were all aglow, but her -cheeks were pale, and her face was very grave, even to sadness. - -“I beg your pardon,” said Rufus awkwardly, raising his hat. “I am -looking for Miss Wynde.” - -“I am Miss Wynde,” said Neva, with gentle courtesy. - -The young man’s embarrassment was not lessened by this announcement. - -“Lady Wynde sent me to look for you,” he declared. “I--I am Rufus -Black!” - -Neva started and looked at him with her grave, serious eyes. He -appeared to advantage in his new garments, and his face was pale and -worn by the day’s dissipation. His sorrows and his sickness had given -him a refined look to which he was not fully and fairly entitled, and -his eyes met hers frankly and honestly, with a real admiration in their -gaze. - -Neva’s cheeks flushed slightly, and her heart fluttered. Clearly Rufus -Black had not made an unfavorable impression upon her in that first -glance. - -They turned and walked slowly up the path together, entering the -avenue. Rufus tried to conquer his unwonted awkwardness, and singularly -impressed with Neva’s beauty, exerted himself to please her. They -sauntered on, stopping now and then to gather ferns or flowers, and -when they emerged from the park upon the lawn, they were chatting -gayly, and on the best of terms with each other. - -And yet the heart of each was strangely sore. Neva thought of what -“might have been,” and sighed in her inmost soul that the husband her -father was supposed by her to have chosen for her was not the one -her heart most longed for. And Rufus mourned as bitterly as ever in -his soul for his lost young wife, and felt that he should never be -comforted. - -Craven Black and Lady Wynde watched them as they approached the house, -and the lip of the former curled, as he muttered: - -“So fade the griefs of the young! Unstable as water, Rufus is already -this girl’s lover!” - -“They are mutually pleased,” murmured Lady Wynde. “Her father’s -supposed wishes and this young man’s interesting melancholy will -soon efface Lord Towyn’s image from Neva’s mind, if it has made any -impression there.” - -It seemed indeed as if the opinion of the worldly-wise conspirators -would be justified. - -The young couple halted upon the lawn, and Neva’s gravity and the -melancholy of Rufus began to disappear, when the lodge gates swung -open, and three gentleman came riding up the avenue. - -The long twilight had begun, and even Neva’s keen eyes could not -recognize the new-comers at that distance, and she chatted merrily to -Rufus, who answered as lightly. But as the horsemen came nearer, and -Neva regarded them more closely, a sudden silence fell upon her, and a -strange shyness seized her. - -It was a critical movement in the progress of the game which Craven -Black and Lady Wynde were playing, and these new-comers had arrived in -time to give a new turn to it. - -For Neva recognized them as the three guardians of her property--Sir -John Freies, Mr. Atkins, and the young Lord Towyn! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. MR. BLACK GETS A NEW IDEA. - - -As Neva recognized the youngest of her three guardians, as they rode up -the avenue of Hawkhurst at a leisurely pace, a strange embarrassment -seized upon her. The horsemen had not yet seen her in the twilight and -the shadow of shrubbery, and she proposed a return to the drawing-room. -Rufus Black assented, and they passed in at the open French window -which gave directly upon the marble terrace. - -The drawing-room was full of shadows. Artress sat in a recessed window, -silent and immovable, and Lady Wynde and Craven Black were in the -second portion of the triple arched apartment, completely hidden from -view, and their low whispers barely penetrated to the outer room. Lady -Wynde, hearing her step-daughter’s return, came forth, rang for lights, -and ordered the lace curtains to be dropped. - -A score of wax candles were presently glowing in their polished silver -sconces, and a couple of moon-like lamps dispensed a mellow radiance -that penetrated to every corner of the triple room. The curtains, -fluttering in the soft night breeze, shut out all insects, but admitted -the perfumed air. Craven Black, satisfied that his _tete-a-tete_ with -Lady Wynde was over for the present, sauntered into the outer room to -make the acquaintance of the young heiress. - -He had thought of Neva as an insipid, affected, weak-headed young lady, -who would be a mere puppet in his hands and those of Lady Wynde. His -surprise may be imagined when he beheld a slender, spirited girl, with -eyes of red gloom, brown hair tinted with the sunshine, scarlet lips, -and a piquant face, full of an irresistible witchery and sauciness--a -girl so bright and keen of intellect, so resolute and strong in -herself, that he wondered that she could ever have been imposed upon by -even his skilfully forged letter. - -“Neva, my dear,” said Lady Wynde, “allow me to present to you -the Honorable Craven Black--one of your dear papa’s friends, and -consequently yours and mine.” - -Neva acknowledged the introduction by a bow of her haughty little head, -and a smile so warm and sweet that Craven Black was captivated by -it. Any friend of her late father’s had a peculiar claim upon Neva’s -friendship, and Craven Black resolved to elaborate the small fiction, -and coin agreeable little anecdotes of his relations to her father, so -that the heiress would be inspired with a liking for him. - -Before time had been granted for more than the usual commonplaces -incident to an introduction, the three guardians of Miss Wynde were -announced by the footman, and were ushered into the drawing-room. - -Sir John Freise came first--a tall, stately old gentleman, with white -hair and closely cropped whiskers, distinguished for his old-fashioned -courtliness of bearing, and noted throughout Kent for his unswerving -integrity. - -Mr. Atkins, the attorney, came next, looking more than ordinarily -insignificant of person, his bald head shining, his honest face flushed -to redness. He was not fine looking, nor well shaped, but, like Sir -John, he was a man of invincible integrity and honesty of character, -and many years of service to Sir Harold Wynde had inspired him with a -genuine affection for the family, and given him, as one might say, a -personal interest in its prosperity. - -Lastly, and because he preferred to come last, was young Lord Towyn, as -handsome as any knight of chivalry, his golden hair tossed back from -his noble forehead, his blue eyes glowing, and a warm smile playing -about his tawny mustached lips. - -Neva recognized her guardians, and welcomed them all in turn with -handshakings and quiet greetings. Lady Wynde introduced the Blacks, -father and son, to the new-comers. - -“This is scarcely a business visit, Miss Neva,” said Sir John Freise, -leading his young hostess to a sofa with old-fashioned gallantry. “Lord -Towyn and Mr. Atkins have been closeted with me to-day, discussing your -affairs in the way of rents and leases, but it is our business to spare -you these details, and it is your province to enjoy the fruits of our -labors,” and he smiled paternally upon her. “We are come to welcome you -back to the home of your fathers, and to express the hope that you will -fill worthily the place your father has resigned to you.” - -“I will try to walk in papa’s steps,” returned Neva, lowly and gravely. - -“Lady Freise and my girls will call upon you to-morrow,” said Sir John. -“They sent their love to you, and would have come to-day, but that I -begged them to allow you a day to rest in after your journey. You will -be inundated with visitors, Miss Neva. The Lady of Hawkhurst will not -be permitted to hide her light under a bushel! Lady Freise has already -projected no end of fetes, balls and dinners in your honor, and she has -persuaded our young friend Lord Towyn to spend a month with us, so that -you will not lack an escort, should you desire one.” - -“You are very thoughtful, Sir John,” said Lady Wynde, with a curl of -the lip. “Miss Wynde, however, can never lack for an escort. I fancied, -when I saw you three gentlemen enter in such formidable array, that -some horrid red-tape business was about to be transacted. I did not -know indeed but that you had come with some official suggestions as to -the management of the household, or to discuss the matter of pin-money.” - -“All that is settled by Sir Harold’s will,” said Mr. Atkins quietly. -“The baronet was very explicit in his directions, and assigned to Miss -Wynde an extraordinarily liberal allowance until she comes of age, -when, of course she comes into full possession of her magnificent -revenues. Your residence at Hawkhurst was also provided for, Lady Wynde -with a very handsome allowance in recognition of your services to Miss -Wynde as friend and chaperon.” - -“And are we compelled to remain at Hawkhurst, whether we will or not?” -demanded the baronet’s widow. - -“Certainly not,” replied Atkins. “You and Miss Wynde are free to reside -where you please, but it is natural to suppose you will prefer for a -stated residence the seat of the family grandeur.” - -Lady Wynde made no reply, but her glittering eyes became speculative. - -The visitors, while courteous to her ladyship, bestowed the larger -share of their attention upon the young heiress to whom their visit -was directed. They had intended to make but a brief call, but the time -flew by as if on wings. Neva talked with them with cheerful gayety or -gravity, as the subject rendered befitting, and at Sir John’s request -played and sang for him. Lord Towyn leaned over the piano, turning the -music leaves, a rapt expression on his face, and there was not one -present, save Neva, who failed to see that he was already the lover of -the beautiful young heiress. - -Rufus Black recognized the fact with an actual jealousy. He said to -himself with a furious bitterness that his happiness and Lally’s had -been ruined for the sake of Neva Wynde, and he would not be cheated of -fortune and bride by the young earl. - -Craven Black sat apart, his forehead shaded by his hand, his light -eyes fairly devouring the glowing loveliness of Neva’s face. He was a -world-worn, base, dissolute man, incapable of honor and fidelity, even -to the woman who had sinned and perilled so much for him. As he sat -there, he contrasted Neva’s spirited and dainty beauty with the maturer -and lesser charms of Lady Wynde, and strange thoughts and hopes awoke -to life within his breast. - -“My fate is not so settled as to be irrevocable,” he thought within -himself. “I wish I had seen the girl before I forged that letter. Why -should I throw myself away upon four thousand a year and a woman of the -world when, by skillful manœuvring, I might gain seventy thousand per -annum and a bride like an houri? I will study my chances. If there is a -chance for me with Neva, I will run the race with these others and win -the prize.” - -And so, all unknown and unsuspected by Neva, she had three aspirants -to her hand among those who listened to her music. - -And of these three lovers, one only was pure and true and altogether -worthy of her love. Only one loved her without a shadow of greed, and -that one was the young Lord Towyn. - -But which, should she choose among these three, would she prefer? To -whose fate, of these three, would she link her own? Would a regard for -the supposed wishes of her dead father outweigh the desires of her own -heart? These were problems which time alone could solve. - -After the music, Lady Wynde rang for coffee, which was brought in and -dispensed to the guests. Sir John Freise, waxing eloquent upon the -degeneracy of modern society, held Lady Wynde captive. Rufus Black -wandered down the length of the drawing-rooms, looking with an artist’s -eye at the glorious pictures upon the walls. Mr. Atkins and Craven -Black engaged in conversation, and Artress sat apart, silent and -observing, as usual. - -Lord Towyn and Neva also looked at the pictures and talked of their -childhood days, growing animated over their pleasant reminiscences. -The young earl gradually drew his hostess into the great conservatory, -a huge glass dome at the bottom of the drawing-room. Here the air was -heavy with fragrance. Stalks of white lilies sprang from the side -walls, bearing pistils of red and dancing light. Aisles of tropical -shrubbery, thick with golden fruitage or snowy blossoms, or both at -once, stretched on either side. A feathery palm reared its plumed head -in the very centre of the dome. Vines trailed and festooned themselves -from floor to roof, dropping perfume from fiery chalices. And through -the light foliage of a well-trimmed jungle of flowers and leaves, -gleamed a great mellow moon of light, reminding one of a Brazilian -forest on a moonlit summer night. - -“Do you remember when we were here last, Neva?” asked Lord Towyn, as -they paused beside the marble basin of a great fountain, and Neva idly -dropped rose petals upon the crystal waters. “We were standing upon -this very spot, with only that marble Naiad to hear us, and you and I -were but children when we entered upon our childish betrothal. How long -ago that seems! Do you remember it, Neva?” - -The rose petals in the girl’s white fingers were not brighter than her -cheeks. - -“Yes, I remember,” she said, dropping her head over the bright waters. -“What precocious children we were, Lord Towyn.” - -The young earl sighed. - -“The utterance of my title shows the great gulf between the now and the -then,” he said. “I was no lord in those days, and you called me Arthur. -Now when your name comes instinctively to my lips, I must remember that -you are no longer Neva, but Miss Wynde. Why will you not call me by -the old name, and let us take up our old friendship where we left off, -instead of beginning anew as strangers?” - -“I am willing,” said Neva frankly, yet shyly. “I--I look upon you as a -brother, Arthur, and you may call me Neva.” - -Strange to say, the permission thus granted did not seem to delight -Lord Towyn. His warm blue eyes clouded over with a singular discontent, -and a pained expression gathered about his mouth. - -“I don’t want to be considered as your brother, Neva,” he declared, -after a minute’s struggle with himself. “I would prefer to begin again -as your merest acquaintance. A fraternal relation toward you would be -insupportable. For years I have dreamed and hoped that I might some -time win your love. I am no longer a boy, Neva, and I love you with a -man’s love. I have carried your picture for years next my heart. I have -worshiped you in secret ever since our childhood. I do not know how I -have been betrayed into this confession, Neva,” he added. “I did not -intend to be so premature. I do not yet ask you to love or to marry me, -but I do ask you to allow me to become your suitor.” - -Neva’s heart thrilled under this ardent and impassioned declaration as -under an angel’s touch. Then a leaden pall seemed to descend upon her -soul, and her face grew white, as she faltered: - -“It cannot be, Arthur.” - -Lord Towyn shivered with sudden pain. - -“You--you are not promised to another, Neva?” - -“N-no!” - -“You love another then?” - -“Oh, no, no!” - -“It is that I have startled you by my premature confession, Neva?” he -cried tremulously. “Dolt that I am! I have thought and dreamed of you -so much, that I had forgotten how perfect a stranger I must seem to you -after all these years of separation. You cannot take up the old life -where we dropped it. I was foolish to have expected it. Do not let my -undue haste prejudice you against me. It will not, Neva?” - -“No, Arthur,” answered the girl lowly and hesitatingly. - -“And you will give me a chance to reprieve my error?” he demanded -eagerly. “Perhaps in time you may grow to love me, Neva--” - -“Arthur,” said the young girl, nerving herself to tell him of her -father’s supposed last wishes, “I have something to say to you. Papa--” - -Her voice died out in a half sob. - -“Well, darling?” said the young earl, bending nearer to her, his eyes -burning with the love that filled his being. “What of Sir Harold? Did -you fancy that he would not have approved of our love?” - -Neva nodded a dumb assent. - -“And if Sir Harold had approved, do you think you could learn to love -me?” whispered the young earl softly, his eager breath fanning the -girl’s cheek. - -Neva’s silence was interpreted as a favorable answer. - -“Before my father died,” said Lord Towyn gently, “he told me that -it had long been his wish and that of Sir Harold to unite the two -families in our marriage. Sir Harold was in India at the time of my -father’s death, and was not likely, at that distance from home, to have -contracted an aversion to me, or to have formed other plans for your -future. You see, I am right, Neva, and now I claim to be considered as -your suitor. May it not be?” - -“Oh, Arthur,” the girl murmured, sorely perplexed, “I--” - -The story trembled on her lips, but she did not give utterance to it, -for at that critical moment Rufus Black entered the conservatory, and -came up the flower-bordered aisle, with an unmistakable displeasure -upon his melancholy face. - -Neva started guiltily at his approach, as if she had been wronging -him or her dead father in listening to Lord Towyn’s avowals of love. -But although she moved away from the young earl, she paused under a -tropical rose-tree, and began to gather roses, and her two suitors -hovered about her, each recognizing in the other a rival. - -They were presently joined by Neva’s third lover, Craven Black. The -last-named looked moodily and jealously at his son and the young earl, -and devoted himself so closely to the heiress that, with a feeling of -annoyance, Neva presently proposed a return to the drawing-room. - -A glance of jealous anger from the eyes of Lady Wynde greeted Craven -Black as he reentered the presence of his betrothed. The baronet’s -widow began to entertain a suspicion of the disaffection of her lover. - -Sir John Freise was the first to propose a departure, and the horses -were ordered, and he, with Mr. Atkins and Lord Towyn, took their leave. - -Craven Black exchanged a few whispered words with Lady Wynde, -appointing an interview for the next morning, and then also departed -with his son. - -They were to walk to Wyndham, and not a word was spoken by either as -they strode down the wide avenue, and passed out at the lodge gates. -Once out upon the highway, Craven Black broke the silence, saying: - -“Well, Rufus, how do you like Miss Wynde?” - -“She is beautiful--lovely beyond comparison,” answered Rufus -enthusiastically. “I never saw a being so witching, so bright, so -sweet!” - -“You talk like a lover,” sneered Craven Black. “One would not believe -that you had been lying drunk all day at a low inn through love for -another woman.” - -“You will drive me mad!” ejaculated Rufus, his voice choking suddenly. -“How dare you taunt me with my misery and degradation? I did love -Lally--I do love her, God knows. But you have separated us. She -despises me, and I am thrown upon myself. Why grudge me the little -comfort Miss Wynde’s presence and smiles give me? If I had never met -Lally, I should have idolized Miss Wynde. And as Lally can never be -mine again--my poor wronged girl--and I shall go to perdition unless -some hand pulls me back, I turn to Miss Wynde as a drowning man might -turn to any frail support and cling to it. I--I like her. I could -almost say I love her.” - -“Enviable elasticity of youthful affections!” sighed Craven Black, -still sneeringly, and speaking in a stilted voice. “You remind me of a -child, Rufus, whose doll is smashed to-day, but who is equally content -with a new one to-morrow. You remind me also of the old maid’s prayer. -She wanted one man and another, but as the years went on and she grew -old, she ceased to pray for the affections of any man in particular, -but cried out, ‘Any, O Lord, _any_!’ And so, I judge, one woman is to -you the same as another. It is ‘Lalla Rookh’ one day, and Miss Wynde -the next. ‘Extremes meet.’” - -Rufus grew terribly angry. - -“You talk as if you were dissatisfied with me for obeying your own -orders to make myself agreeable to Miss Wynde,” he ejaculated. “Do you -want her now for yourself?” - -Mr. Black hastened to disclaim any such desire. - -“As to me,” said Rufus, with unwonted decision, “I will not be much -longer dependent upon you. I will win Miss Wynde and her fortune, or -I’ll blow my brains out. Lally is lost to me, but all is not lost, as -I thought this morning. I like Miss Wynde. I even love her already, -strange as it may seem, but I do not and cannot love her as I love poor -Lally. But I shall marry her and make her happy. I am desperate, but by -no means helpless and hopeless.” - -Mr. Black maintained a dogged silence during the remainder of the walk. -He bade his son good-night coldly upon the inn stairs, and locked -himself in his own rooms, muttering: - -“The girl has three lovers, for my fickle son really loves her. I must -watch my chances, and not loosen my hold upon Octavia until I have -made sure of Neva. In default of the greater prize, I must not lose -the lesser. It requires some skill to sit upon two stools and not fall -between them. I wish I could have foreseen the turn affairs would take, -and had inserted my name in that forged letter in place of my son’s -name. I shall have to be pretty keen to do away with the effect of that -letter. I would give all I own in the world at present to know which of -her three lovers will win the heiress of Hawkhurst.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. RUFUS ASKS THE MOMENTOUS QUESTION. - - -Craven Black and his son met at their late breakfast in the private -parlor of the former. The father was himself again, cold, polite, and -cynical. The son was sullen and irritable, at war with himself and all -mankind. His grief for the loss of his young wife had lost none of its -poignancy, although he had avowed himself the suitor of another. His -thoughts during the night just passed had been all of Lally, and not of -Neva. In his dreams at least, he was still true to the loving heart he -had broken. - -The pair were sipping their coffee when a waiter brought in Mr. Black’s -morning paper, just arrived from London. Craven Black unfolded the -sheet and scanned its contents lazily. - -“Any news?” inquired Rufus. - -“Nothing particular. It’s all about a war in prospect between Prussia -and France. I never read politics, so I’ll skip the French letter and -alarming head lines. I prefer to read the smaller items. Ah, what is -this?” - -Craven Black started and changed color as his eye rested upon a -familiar name in an obscure paragraph, under a startling title. His -agitation increased as he glanced over the paragraph, taking in its -meaning. - -“What’s the matter?” demanded Rufus. “Any of your acquaintance dead? -Any one left you a fortune?” - -“It is terrible,” said Craven Black, shuddering, and regarding the -paper with horrified eyes. “How could she have been so utterly foolish -and insane? It was not I who killed her.” - -“Killed whom? Then some one is dead?” - -“Poor girl!” muttered Craven Black, still staring at the paper with -wide eyes, as if he read there an accusation of wilful murder. “Poor -Lally--” - -“_Who?_” - -Rufus leaped to his feet with a shriek on his lips, bounded to his -father’s side, and snatched the paper in his trembling hands. - -“I--I see nothing,” he cried. “You shocked me cruelly. I--I thought -that Lally-- Oh, my God!” - -He stood as if suddenly frozen, staring as his father had done at an -item in a lower corner of the paper--an item which bore the title: -“Distressing Case of Suicide. Another unfortunate gone to her death!” - -From the midst of this paragraph the name of Lalla Bird stood out with -startling distinctness. - -Unconsciously to himself, Rufus Black read the brief paragraph aloud in -a hoarse, strained, breathless sort of voice, and his father listened -with head bent forward, and with a horrified look graven on his face, -as upon stone. - -“Last evening,” the notice read, “as officer Rice was pursuing his -usual beat, a young woman dashed past him, bonnetless, her hair -flying, and ran out upon Waterloo Bridge. She was muttering wildly to -herself, and her aspect was that of one beside herself. The officer, -comprehending her purpose, rushed after her, but he was too late to -arrest her in her dread purpose. She looked back at him, sprang up to -the parapet like a flash, and with a last cry upon her lips--a name the -officer could not make out--she precipitated herself into the river. In -falling, her head struck a passing boat, mutilating her features beyond -all semblance of humanity. She was dead when taken from the water, and -will have a pauper’s burial unless some one comes forward to claim her -remains. No token of her identity was found upon her person, but her -handkerchief, floating on the water and picked up immediately by a -boatman, bore the name of Lalla Bird. The girl, for she was very young, -was pretty, and without doubt belonged to that frail class which more -than any other furnishes us suicides.” - -Rufus Black read this paragraph to the very end, and then the paper -fell from his nerveless hands. - -“Dead!” he said hollowly. “Dead!” - -“Dead!” echoed his father hoarsely. - -“_Dead!_” said Rufus Black, turning his burning, terrible eyes upon his -father’s face. “And it was you who killed her! I loved her--I would -have been true to her all her days, but you tore us asunder, and drove -her to despair, madness and death. You are her murderer!” - -Craven Black started, nervously, and looked around him. - -“Don’t, Rufus--don’t,” he ejaculated uneasily. “Some one might hear -you. The girl is to blame for killing herself, and no one else can be -held accountable for it. I offered her money but she would not take it. -It was the landlady who drove her to the--the rash act. The old woman -listened at the door, and suddenly burst in upon us and called the girl -some foul name and ordered her out of her house. The girl fled as if -pursued by demons. I thought then she meant to kill herself--just as -she has done!” - -A groan burst from Rufus Black’s lips. - -“My poor, poor wife!” he moaned. “She _was_ my wife, and she shall not -lie in a pauper’s grave. I am going up to London--” - -“To make a fool of yourself,” interrupted Craven Black, recovering from -his shock. “And to-morrow morning the papers will all come out with the -romantic story that this girl was your wife, and the story will stick -to you all your days. People will say that you drove her to her death. -Your chance of becoming master of Hawkhurst will end on the spot. You -will be cast out and abhorred. Others as pretty and as good as this -girl have been buried at the public expense. Leave her alone.” - -“I cannot--” - -“Suppose you go then? What will you say to the coroner, or police -justice? What excuse will you have for abandoning your wife, as you -persist in calling the girl? Shall you confess your perjury? Can you -stand the cross-questioning, the badgering, the prying into your life -and motives?” - -Rufus shrank within himself in a sort of terror. The besetting weakness -and cowardice of his nature now paralyzed him. - -“I cannot go,” he muttered. “Oh, Lally, my lost wronged wife!” - -He dashed from the room, and entered his own, locking his door, and was -not visible again that day. - -Craven Black attired himself in morning costume and walked over to -Hawkhurst. Neva was in the park, and he had a long private interview -with Lady Wynde. In returning to his inn, he crossed the park, -ostensibly to cut short his walk, but really to exchange a few words -with the heiress. - -He found her in one of the wide shaded paths, but she was not alone. -Lord Towyn, on his way to the house, had just encountered her, and they -were talking to each other, in utter forgetfulness of any supposed -obstacles to their mutual love. Craven Black accosted them, and -lingered a few moments, and then pursued his way homeward, while the -young couple slowly proceeded toward the house. - -Craven Black called at Hawkhurst the next day, and the next, but alone, -Rufus remaining obstinately sequestered in his darkened chamber. Neva -was busy with visitors, Lady Freise and her daughters, and other -friends and neighbors, hastening to call upon the returned heiress. -Lord Towyn found excuses to call nearly every day. He was devoting all -his energies to the task of wooing and winning Neva, and he pushed his -suit with an ardor that brought a cynical smile to Craven Black’s lips -continually. - -There were fetes given at Freise Hall in Neva’s honor; breakfast and -lawn parties at other houses; and the young girl found herself in a -whirl of gayety in strong contrast with her late life of seclusion. - -During the week that followed the publication of the announcement of -Lally Bird’s suicide, Rufus Black did not cross his threshold. He -meditated suicide, and wept and bemoaned his lost darling with genuine -anguish. During this week, Craven Black made various overtures to -Miss Wynde, uttered graceful compliments to her when Lady Wynde was -not within hearing, and threw a lover-like ardor into his tones and -countenance when addressing her. But he could not see that he was -regarded by her with any favor, and grew anxious that his son should -again enter the lists, and win her from Lord Towyn, who seemed to be -having the field nearly to himself. - -After an energetic talk with his son, Craven Black persuaded Rufus to -emerge from his retirement and to again visit Hawkhurst. There is a -refining influence about grief, and Rufus had never looked so well as -when, habited in black, his face pale, thin, and sharp-featured, his -eyes full of melancholy and vain regret, he again called upon Neva. The -impression he had made upon her upon the occasion of his first visit -had been favorable, and it became still more favorable upon this second -visit. Neva received the impression, from his steady melancholy and -the occasional wildness of his eyes, that he was a genius, and became -deeply interested in him. - -Add to this interest the influence of the forged letter, which she -devoutly believed to have been written by her father now dead, and one -will see that even Lord Towyn had in the boy artist a dangerous rival. - -Lady Wynde steadily pursued her preparations for her marriage, -keeping a keen watch upon her lover, whom she more than suspected of -faithlessness to her. She loved him with all her wicked soul, and was -anxious to secure him in matrimonial chains, but her engagement to him -had not yet been announced, and even Neva did not know of it. - -By the exercise of Lady Wynde’s influence, the Blacks, father and son, -were invited to all the parties given in Neva’s honor, and Rufus Black -and Lord Towyn were ever at the side of the young heiress. Lady Wynde -hinted judiciously to a few of her chosen friends that Neva and young -Black were informally betrothed, but that the betrothal was still a -secret. - -As the summer passed and September came, bringing near at hand the -time appointed for the marriage of Lady Wynde and Craven Black, both -the Blacks, father and son, became uneasy and restless. The former -was anxious to try his fate with Neva before committing himself beyond -retrieval with her step-mother. Rufus had learned to love the heiress -with a genuine love, not as he had loved Lally, but still with so much -of fervor that he believed he could not live without her. His grief for -his young wife had not lessened, but time had robbed the blow of its -sharpest sting, and he thought of Lally in heaven, while he coveted -Neva on earth. He grew anxious to put his faith to the test. - -A favorable opportunity was afforded him. - -Neva was fond of walking, and frequently took long walks, despite the -fact that she had carriages and horses at command. One mild September -evening, after her seven o’clock dinner, she walked over to Wyndham -village to purchase at the general dealer’s some Berlin wool urgently -required for the completion of a sofa pillow, or some such trifle, and -sauntered slowly homeward in the gloaming. - -Rufus Black, who was idly wandering in the streets at the time, hurried -after her and offered his escort, and took charge of her parcel. They -walked on together. - -As they emerged from the village into the open country, Rufus felt -that the hour had come in which to learn his fate from Neva’s lips. He -revolved in his mind a dozen ways of putting the momentous question, -but the manner still remained undecided when Neva sat down to rest upon -a way-side bank in the very shadow of Hawkhurst park. - -This bank was her favorite halting-place when going on foot to or from -Wyndham. It was shaded by a giant oak, and clothed in the softest and -greenest turf. Here the earliest primroses blossomed and hearts-ease -starred the ground. Near the bank a small private gate opened into the -park. Rufus decided in his own mind that this was the spot, and this -soft, deepening twilight the hour for the avowal of his love. - -There was no one within the park within view to interrupt him; no one -coming along the road. With a slight sense of nervousness he even -surveyed a way-side thicket that flanked the bank upon one side, as if -fearing some way-side tramp might be lurking there within hearing, but -he saw nothing to discountenance his projects. - -“It’s a lovely evening,” said Neva softly, looking up at the shadowing -sky and around her at the shadowed earth. “The air is full of balm!” - -“Yes, it is lovely,” said Rufus, fixing his gaze upon the young girl, -as if he meant his remark to apply to her face. “How the time has -sped since I first saw you, Miss Neva. Life was very dark to me in -those July days, but you have given it a glow and brightness I did not -dream that it could ever possess. It seems to me that I never existed -until--until I knew you. You cannot fail to know that I love you. I -have often thought that you have purposely encouraged my suit. But be -that as it may, I love you more than all the world, Miss Neva. Will you -be my wife?” - -He waited in a breathless suspense for her reply. - -Neva’s face did not flush with joy, as it might have done had the -speaker been Lord Towyn. She looked very grave, and into her eyes of -red gloom came a sadness that was terrible to see. - -“I like you, Rufus,” she said gently, looking beyond him with -a strange, far-seeing gaze. “I believe you to be good and -honorable--would to God I did not--for then--then--Rufus, I do not know -what to say to you. What shall I answer you?” - -“Say Yes,” pleaded Rufus, with the energy of a gathering terror. “Do -not refuse me, Neva, I implore you. I am not handsome and titled like -Lord Towyn; I am plain and awkward, but I love you with all my soul. -I place my fate in your hands. I have it in me to become great and -good, and if you will be my wife I will be noble for your sake. But if -you cast me off, I shall perish. In you are centred all my hopes. Oh, -Neva, I beseech you to be merciful to me, and to save me from the utter -misery of a life without you. I cannot--cannot live if you cast me off!” - -He spoke with an earnestness that went to Neva’s soul. She trembled, -as if the burden of responsibility laid upon her were too heavy to be -borne. In her uplifted eyes was a wild, beseeching look, as if she -called upon her father from his home in heaven to aid her now. - -“Remember,” said Rufus desperately, “you are deciding upon my life or -death--mortal and physical!” - -Neva read in the declaration an awful sincerity that made her shudder. - -“I must think,” she faltered. “I cannot decide so suddenly. Give me a -week, Rufus--only a week in which to decide. Oh,” she added, under her -breath, with a passionate emphasis, “if papa only knew! He would have -spared me this.” - -Rufus assented to the delay with a beaming face. If she had intended -to refuse him, he thought, she would have done so on the spot. But she -had not refused him, and there was hope. She should be his wife, and he -would be master of Hawkhurst yet. - -In the midst of his self-gratulations, Neva arose and walked slowly -onward, grave and sorrowful. Rufus walked beside her with a joyous -tread. - -When they had passed on into the thickening shadows, and the primrose -bank had been left far behind, a ragged, childish figure stirred itself -from the further shadow of the thicket, and a childish face, wan and -thin and haggard, with a woman’s woe in the great dark eyes, looked -after the young pair with an awful horror and despair. - -That face belonged to the disowned young wife whom Rufus mourned as -dead! The wild and woful eyes were the eyes of Lally Bird! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. THE YOUNG WIFE’S DESOLATION. - - -It was indeed poor Lally Bird, the wronged young wife, whom her husband -mourned as dead, who, crouching in the shelter of the way-side thicket, -stared after Neva Wynde and Rufus Black with eyes full of a burning woe -and despair. - -“He loves her! He loves her!” the poor young creature moaned, in the -utter abandonment of her terrible anguish. “He said her answer meant -life and death to him! And I am so soon forgotten? Oh, he never loved -me--never--never! And he does love her with all his soul--O Heaven!” - -She sank back into the deeper shadow of the thicket, moaning and -wringing her hands. - -Her hat had fallen off, and her face was upturned to the gray evening -sky. That face, still childlike in its outlines and in its innocence, -yet sharp of feature, wan, thin and haggard, was full of wild -beseeching. The great hungry black eyes were upraised to Heaven in -agonized appeal. - -How terribly alone in all the wide world she was! Alone and friendless, -with no roof to shelter her, no food to break a long fast, no -money. She was ragged and forlorn, her feet peeping from their frail -coverings, her sharpened elbows protruding through her sleeves. And now -her last hope had been dashed from her, and it seemed as if nothing -remained to her but to die. - -The story of her life from the moment in which she had fled from -her dingy lodgings at New Brompton, had been one of bitterness and -privation. - -When she had escaped from her only shelter, half maddened and wholly -despairing, with the voices of Craven Black and Mrs. McKellar yet -ringing in her ears, her first impulse had been self-destruction. She -had sped along the streets until, by a circuitous route, she had gained -the river and a jutting pier, but it was daylight, and people were -in waiting for the boats, so her dread purpose was checked, and she -wandered on, wild of face and half distraught, keeping the river ever -in sight, as if the view of its waters soothed her mad despair. - -Wandering aimlessly onward, she passed through foul river streets, -where the vile of every sort congregated, but no one spoke to her or -molested her. The shield of a watchful Providence interposed between -her and all harm. Once or twice some ruffian would have accosted -and stayed her, but a glance into her white and rigid face and wild -unseeing eyes made him shrink back abashed, and she sped on as if -pursued, not knowing the dangers she had escaped. - -She grew weary of foot, and to the wildness of her anguish succeeded -a merciful apathy, which steeped her senses. The night came on; the -gas lamps were lighted in the streets; the warehouses and shops were -closed, there were fewer women in the streets; and in happy homes in -the suburbs, at the north and south and east and west of the great -teeming city, wives and daughters were gathered into pleasant homes. -But she had no home, no refuge, no shelter. She had--oh, saddest of -words, and saddest of meaning--she had nowhere to go! - -And so she plodded on, slowly and wearily now. She had traversed miles -since leaving her lodgings, and it seemed as if her march, like that of -the fabled Wandering Jew, must be eternal. - -At last, still wandering without aim, she staggered through the -turn-gate and out upon the Waterloo Bridge, in the wake of a party of -returning play-goers. No one noticed her, and she passed half-way over -the bridge and sank down upon one of the stone benches, while the party -she had followed went on and were soon lost to view in the Waterloo -Road. - -She was alone on the bridge, in the night and darkness. Below her lay -the dark river, with the small steamers puffing and glancing through -the gloom with their tiny eyes of fire, and lowering their stack-pipes -as they passed under the bridge. A few people stood at the landing -below. Somerset House, dark and silent, like some gigantic mausoleum, -lay to her left. Along the river banks were the great warehouses, long -since closed for the night, and in the distance the dome of St. Paul’s -reared its head, faint and shadowy, among the deeper shadows. - -The glancing lights of the river boats, the lamps at the landing and -along the shores looked strangely unreal to Lally’s dazed eyes. She -crouched in a corner of the seat and peered over the parapet and tried -to think, but her brain seemed paralyzed. The only thought that came -to her was that she was no wife, that Rufus had abandoned and disowned -her, and that he was to marry another. - -People crossed the bridge in laughing groups as the Strand theatres -and concert-halls closed, but no one paid heed to, even if they saw, -the slender, crouching figure with its wild, fearing eyes. Sometimes, -for many minutes together, Lally was alone upon that portion of the -bridge--alone with her desperate soul and her terrible temptation to -end her sorrows in one fatal plunge. - -She arose in one of these intervals to her feet upon the bench and -leaned over the parapet, a prayer upon her lips that Heaven would -forgive the deed she meditated. And, as she stood poised for the leap -into eternity, there came back to her, though years had passed since -she heard it, the voice of her mother, as she had once listened to it, -denouncing the self-murderer as one who destroys his soul as well as -his body. The remembrance of the words, and the thought of her mother, -caused her to drop again into the corner of her bench sobbing, and -weeping a storm of tears that saved her reason. - -The wild outburst of her anguish had been succeeded by a strange -dullness and apathy, when a woman--a mere girl--“bonnetless, and her -hair flying,”--as the Blacks had read in the paper--came running upon -the bridge with moans upon her lips. Lally was as pure and innocent -as a little child, yet she knew at a glance that this poor creature -belonged to that class which is often termed “unfortunate”--as Heaven -knows they are indeed, in every sense of the sad word. This girl came -up to the very niche where Lally was hidden, and sprang upon the bench. -She gave one wild look over her shoulder, at the officer who pursued -her, and then, with the name of some man upon her lips, tossed up her -arms, and sprang over the parapet--into eternity! - -Lally uttered a cry of horror. - -“It might have been me!” was her first thought, and trembling and -terrified, she looked over at the whirling figure as it struck heavily -upon the passing boat. - -And in the same instant Lally’s handkerchief, upon which her name -was marked, and which she had held in her hand, dropped over the -parapet upon the body of the woman. That accident it was that changed -poor Lally’s destiny. For the poor suicide was she of whose death -Rufus Black read in the paper of the following morning, and Lally’s -handkerchief found upon the water beside the dead girl gave the -impression that the suicide was Lally Bird. - -The presence of Lally upon the bridge escaped the notice of the -officer, who turned and ran along the bridge to the end, and hurried -down to the pier, whither the rescued body of the suicide was being -carried. - -People began to gather upon the bridge, seeming almost to spring -up miraculously, and Lally, fearing questioning, or detention as -witness of the suicide, arose and went back by the way she had come, -up Wellington street, into the Strand. She was sufficiently herself -by this time to know that she must seek shelter for the night; but -where could she go? What respectable inn would give shelter to one so -forlorn of aspect, so utterly alone as she? She would be driven forth -as something disreputable and unclean, should she demand lodgings at -such an inn. She had money in her pocket--the share Rufus had given her -of the ten pounds his father had sent him--but she might almost as well -have been penniless, since her money could not procure her respectable -shelter for the night. - -There might be some home for friendly wanderers, some asylum for -respectable women, where she could pass the dangerous hours of -darkness, but she knew of none. Such asylums are generally for -reclaimed women, not for those who have never gone astray. The -omnibuses were still running, it not being yet midnight, and Lally -being too tired to walk further, signalled an empty one and took her -seat in it. - -A long ride followed over rough pavements, past dingy rows of shops -and houses, past small villas in small gardens, looking like toy -establishments, and through a more sparsely settled region. Lally, -overcome with fatigue, dozed most of the time, and was rudely awakened -from her slumbers by the stopping of the omnibus and the rough voice of -the driver bidding her alight. - -She got out, feeling quite dazed, and saw that the omnibus had stopped -at the end of its route, and that the horses were already unhitched and -being led into the stable. She crept away, not knowing where to go, not -even knowing where she was. - -Plodding on wearily, now and then clinging to some way-side fence or -wall for a moment’s rest, she came out upon a wide, deserted heath, -open to whoever might choose to camp upon it. This was Hampstead Heath. -She walked out upon the turf for some distance, and lay down in the -shelter of a furze patch, thinking she was going to die. The skies were -dark above her, and all around her the black gloom brooded, covering -her from the sight of any tramps who might be taking their sleep that -summer night on that same broad common. - -And here Lally slept the sleep of utter weariness. She awakened at the -dawn of the new day, and started up, with a wild look around her. - -There were donkeys of diminutive breed grazing around her, a few tramps -rising lazily from the ground, and a score of industrious people, men, -women, boys and girls, digging up groundsel, chickweed and other green -weeds, to sell in the great city for the sustenance of birds. - -Lally wonderingly surveyed this species of industry of which she -had not previously suspected the existence, and then hastily took -her departure, not even tempted to prolong her stay by the offer of -some bread and cheese from an old, blackened chimney-sweep, who had -evidently also slept upon the heath. - -All thoughts of self-destruction had gone from her mind, and the -question as to her future course now presented itself. The school with -which she had formerly been connected as music teacher was broken up, -and among the few people she had known there was one only to whom she -was tempted to go in her distress. That one was an old, consumptive -woman who had been “wardrobe mistress” at the seminary during Lally’s -stay there--that is, the old woman had mended and darned the garments -of the pupils, and had supported herself on her meagre pay. She lived -at Notting Hill, the school having been located in that neighborhood, -and Lally knew her address. The old woman had been kind to her, and -Lally resolved to seek her. - -She walked a portion of the distance, and availed herself of the aid -of omnibuses when she could. Yet the morning was well on when the girl -climbed the rickety stairs to the garret of her old friend, and timidly -knocked for admittance. - -The old woman was at home, busy with her needle, and gave Lally -admittance. More--when she heard her pitiful story--she gave the girl -sympathy and the tenderest kindness. She was very near her grave, and -very poor, but she offered Lally a share of her home, and the girl -gratefully accepted it. Here she ate breakfast. During the day her -old friend borrowed a copy of the morning’s paper, as was her daily -custom, and Lally read in it the account of the suicide on Waterloo -Bridge, her name being given--to her utter amazement--as that of the -self-murderess. - -Having a conviction that Rufus would see the same notice, as indeed he -had done, she visited the coroner’s office with a yearning to see her -young husband as he should bend over the poor mutilated body believing -it to be her own, and to relieve his anguish and remorse. But Rufus -came not, and the suicide was buried in a pauper’s grave. - -Lally went back to the garret at Notting Hill, with a strange gloom -on her face, and shared the labors of the old seamstress, gradually -assuming the entire support of her friend, as the old woman’s strength -failed. She did all the sewing her friend--who was now wardrobe -mistress at a boys’ school--had engaged to do, and nursed her with a -daughter’s tenderness, actually starving herself to nourish her only -friend, watching by day and night at her side, denying herself food, -clothes, and needed rest, to take care of the one who had befriended -her; but with all her care and kindness the old woman faded day by day, -and early in September died, invoking with her last breath blessings on -Lally’s name. - -The few sticks of furniture were sold to give the old woman a decent -burial. Lally was out of money--out of everything. The superintendent -of the boys’ school refused to allow her to continue the duties she had -performed in the old woman’s name, alleging that she was too young. -And as a last blow, she was turned out of her lodgings because of her -inability to pay the rent. - -At this crisis of her history, when as it seemed only death presented -an open door to her, she resolved to go down to Wyndham and look once -more on her husband’s face. - -To think, with our desperate Lally, was to act. She set out to walk -to Wyndham, working in the hop-fields for sustenance as she went. -Thus she did three full days of work before she arrived near her -destination, and she had crept into the way-side thicket to rest before -continuing her journey to Wyndham, when she chanced to overhear the -conversation between Neva Wynde and Rufus Black. - -Her despair, as she listened to the words of her young husband in -declaring his love for Neva, may be imagined. She did not dream how -bitterly he had mourned for his lost young wife; she did not dream that -she was dearer to him still than Neva could ever be. How could she -tell, when listening to his passionate vows of love to Miss Wynde, that -the young wife who had slept in his bosom was in his thoughts by day -and by night, and was regarded by him as a holy, precious memory? - -“It’s all over!” she sobbed, pressing her face down upon the dewy turf. -“I am forgotten--but why should I not be? I never was his wife. He said -so himself in his letter to me that I carry still next my heart. Not -his wife--but _she_ will be! How beautiful she is! How lovely her face -was, how clear her voice. She would pity me if she knew, but she is an -heiress, I dare say, while I am only the poor outcast Rufus has made -me! Oh, Rufus, Rufus!” - -She wailed aloud, but she had learned to bear her griefs in silence, -and presently she struggled to her feet and walked in the direction in -which the heiress and her lover had gone--the same way by which Lally -had recently come. - -There was no need for her to go to Wyndham now. Her presence there, or -her appearance to Rufus, might embarrass his relations to his newer -love, and possibly interfere with his marriage. He thought her dead, -and had not even come forward to claim the body he supposed to be hers. -Ah, yes, she had never been his wife, and she was forgotten. She would -never cross his path again. - -She staggered wearily along the road, in and out of the beaten -foot-path, with the twilight deepening around her, and with a deeper -twilight settling down upon her heart and brain. She passed the -Hawkhurst park, the picturesque stone lodge guarding the great bronze -gates, and here she paused. - -The lodge was closed, and a faint light streamed out through the dotted -white curtains. Lally crept close to the great gates formed of bronze -spears tipped with gilt, like the gates of the Tuileries gardens at -Paris, and pressing her face against the cool rods, looked up the -avenue. - -At the distance of half a mile or more, the great gray stone mansion -sat throned upon a broad ridge of land, and lights flared from the wide -uncurtained windows far upon the terrace, and the glass dome of flowers -was all alight, and the stately old house looked to the homeless -wanderer down by the gates like Paradise. - -Her eager eyes searched the terrace, and then, inch by inch, the great -tree-arched avenue. - -Midway up the avenue, walking slowly, as lovers walk, she saw her young -husband and Neva Wynde. With great jealous eyes she watched their -progress through the shadows, and, when they paused in the stream of -light upon the terrace, and Rufus Black bent low toward the heiress, a -great flame leaped into poor Lally’s sombre eyes, and she caught her -breath sharply. - -The heiress and her suitor stood for some moments upon the terrace, -unconscious of the eyes upon them. Rufus declined to go into the house -that evening, alleging his agitation as an excuse. Neva took her -small parcel which he had carried, and he seized her hand, uttering -passionate words of love, and begging her to look favorably upon his -suit. Then not waiting for an answer, he pressed her hand to his lips, -and dashed down the avenue toward the gates, while Neva entered the -house. - -And all this the jealous, disowned wife saw, with her face growing -death-like, and the flame burning yet more brightly in her sombre eyes. - -“She has accepted him,” she muttered. “She will not take the week to -consider his suit. They are betrothed. I was sure she lived here. -Perhaps she owns the place, and he will be its master. They will both -be rich and happy and beloved, while I--Ah, how swiftly he comes! He -walked like that the night _I_ accepted him. But I am not his wife; I -never was, even when I thought myself so. He must not see me. No shadow -from the past must darken his happy life--his and hers. It is all -over--all over--and I shall never see his face again!” - -With one last, long lingering look, and a sob that came from her very -soul, she turned and sped down the road like a mad creature--away from -Wyndham, and Rufus, and all her hopes--going, ah, where? - -And Rufus, with his new love-dream glowing in his soul, came out of the -Hawkhurst grounds, and hurried toward his inn, never dreaming how near -he had been to his lost wife, nor how surely he had lost her. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. ONE OF NEVA’S LOVERS DISPOSED OF. - - -Upon his return to the Wyndham inn, Rufus Black found his father -awaiting him in their private parlor. The elder Black arched his brows -inquiringly as his son came in, and Rufus bowed to him gayly, as he -said: - -“Well, father, you ought to be pleased with me now. I have offered -myself to Miss Wynde.” - -Craven Black started. - -“She has accepted you?” he demanded. - -“Not yet. She wants to think the matter over, and I have consented to -let the thing rest where it is for a week. I take it as a good sign -that she did not refuse me at once. Her hesitation implies a regard for -me--” - -“Or a sense of duty toward some one else,” muttered Craven Black. -“Curse that letter. If I had seen the girl, I would never have written -it.” - -“What is it you say, father? I did not catch your words.” - -“They were not meant for your ears. So, Miss Wynde demands a week in -which to consider your offer? It would be proper for you to refrain -from going to Hawkhurst to-morrow. I’ll explain to her that you -remained away from motives of delicacy.” - -“Which I shall not do,” said Rufus doggedly. “I shall go to Hawkhurst -to-morrow evening. I will not leave the field clear to Lord Towyn. He’s -an earl, rich, handsome, and intellectual, the very man to capture a -girl’s heart, and if I know myself, I am not going to give him a clear -field. Why, he loves her better than I do even, and I can only come out -ahead of him by dint of sheer persistency. It’s a mystery to me how -she refrained from saying No to me, when she can have Lord Towyn if she -chooses. There is something behind her hesitation--some hidden cause--” - -“Which you will do well to let alone,” interposed his father. “‘Take -the goods the gods provide’ without questioning.” - -Rufus was not satisfied, but concluded to act upon this advice. - -The next morning Craven Black attired himself with unusual care, and -mounted his piebald horse, a new purchase, and set out alone, at a -slow canter, for Hawkhurst. He knew that the heiress usually took a -morning ride, attended only by her groom, and he knew in what direction -these rides usually lay. It was impossible for him to demand a private -interview with her at her home without exciting the suspicions and -jealousy of Lady Wynde, and he was determined to see the heiress alone, -and discover in what estimation she held him. He was also determined -not to accept quietly the four thousand a year of the baronet’s widow -until he knew, beyond all peradventure, that he could not obtain the -seventy thousand per annum of the baronet’s daughter. - -He rode up to Hawkhurst lodge, slackening his speed, but not pausing. -As it happened, a little boy, a son of the lodge keeper, was playing in -the road, and Craven Black tossed him a sixpence, and demanded if Miss -Wynde were out riding, and which way she had gone. - -“Dingle Farm way,” said the urchin, scrambling in the dust for the -shining coin. “She’s been gone a long time.” - -“Who is with her?” asked Craven Black. - -“Jim, the groom--that be all.” - -Black put spurs to his horse and dashed on. He knew where the Dingle -Farm was, it having been pointed out to him by Lady Wynde, as a portion -of the Hawkhurst property. The ride was a favorite one with Neva, being -unusually diversified. The road led through the Dingle wood, across a -common, and skirted a chalk-pit of unusual size and depth. - -Craven Black turned off from the main road into a narrower one that -led across the country, and pursued this course until he entered into -the cool shadows of the Dingle wood. Still riding briskly, he came -out a little later upon the Dingle common, a square mile of unfenced -heath, covered with furze bushes. At the further edge of the common -was the chalk-pit, now disused. The road ran dangerously near to the -precipitous side of the pit, and there was no railing or fence to serve -as a safeguard. Beyond the chalk-pit lay the Dingle Farm, a cozy, red -brick farm-house, embowered with trees. - -The morning was clear and bright, and the sun was shining. As Craven -Black emerged from the shadow of the wood he swept a keen glance over -the level common, and beheld a mile or more away, beyond the chalk-pit, -but approaching it, the figure of Miss Wynde. - -She was superbly mounted upon a thoroughbred horse, and was followed at -a little distance by her groom. - -Even at that distance, Craven Black noticed how well Neva sat her -horse; how erectly she carried her lithe, light figure; how proudly the -little head was poised upon her shoulders. She was coming on toward him -at a sweeping gait, her long green robe fluttering in the swift breeze -she made. - -“She will be a wife to be proud of,” thought Craven Black, with a -strange stirring at his heart. “How fearless she is. One would think -she would pass the chalk-pit at a walk, but it is evident she does not -intend to.” - -He dashed on to meet her. Neva saw him coming, recognized him, and -the close grasp upon her bridle rein relaxed, and the fierce gallop -subsided into a quiet canter. - -She was past the chalk-pit when he came up to her, and she bowed to him -coldly, but courteously. - -“Good-morning, Miss Wynde,” said Mr. Black. “You were having a mad ride -here. I fairly shuddered when I saw you coming. A single sheer on the -part of your horse would have sent you over the precipice.” - -“Oh, Badjour and I understand each other,” said Neva lightly, patting -the horse’s proudly arched neck. “I never ride a horse, Mr. Black, if I -have not confidence in my ability to control him.” - -“But the road is so narrow and dangerous at this point,” said Craven -Black, wheeling and riding slowly at her side. - -“You are right, Mr. Black. The road must be fenced in. I will speak to -Lord Towyn about it.” - -“And why not to Sir John Freise or Mr. Atkins, who are equally your -guardians?” asked Craven Black, with an attempt at playfulness. - -“Because I presume I shall see Lord Towyn first,” replied Neva, -gravely. “What do you say to a race, Mr. Black? I see that you are -returning with me.” - -Craven Black looked over his shoulder. The discreet groom had fallen -behind out of earshot. Now was the time to make his declaration of -love. Such an opportunity might not again occur. - -“The truth is, Miss Wynde,” he exclaimed, “I came out to meet you. I -want to have a quiet talk with you, if you will hear me.” - -Neva bowed her head gravely, and her reins fell loosely in her -gauntleted hand. They were out upon the wide common now, the Dingle -farm behind them. The Dingle wood ahead. - -“You may guess the nature of the communication I have to make to you, -Miss Wynde,” said her elderly lover, with an appearance of agitation, a -portion of which was genuine. “That which I have to say would be more -fittingly said in some other position perhaps. I should prefer to say -it on my knees to you, as the knights made love in olden times.” - -“Oh!” said Neva. “Hadn’t we better move on faster, Mr. Black?” - -“Coquettish like all of your sex!” said Craven Black, drawing nearer to -her. “You understand my meaning, Neva? You know that I love you--I who -never loved before--” - -“Surely,” cried Neva, with an arch sparkle in her red-brown eyes, “you -did not perjure yourself when you married the mother of your son?” - -Craven Black bit his lips fiercely, but said smilingly: - -“That marriage was one of convenience. No love entered into it, on -my side, at least. I never loved till I met you, fair Neva. You have -younger suitors, but not one among them all who will be to you what I -would be--your slave, your minister, your subject.” - -“And I should want my husband to be my king,” murmured Neva softly. -“And I would be his queen.” - -“That arrangement would suit me perfectly,” declared Craven Black, -feeling a little awkward at his love-making, not altogether sure -Neva was not secretly laughing at him, yet eagerly catching at the -assistance her words afforded him. “I would be your king, Miss Neva--” - -He paused in anger, as the girl’s light laugh made music in his ears -that he by no means appreciated. His anger deepened, as Neva looked at -him with a bright sauciness, a piquant witchery of eyes and mouth. - -“You are very kind,” the girl laughed, “but I do not think--pardon me, -Mr. Black--that you are of the stuff of which kings of the kind I meant -are made!” - -Craven Black’s fair face flushed. He tugged at his light beard with -nervous fingers. An angry light glowered in his light eyes. - -“I may not know the full meaning of your words, Miss Neva,” he said, -forcing himself to speak calmly. “A romantic young girl like you -is sure to have many fancies which time will prune. A young girl’s -fancy is like the overflowing of some graceful rose-tree. When time -shall have picked off a bud here, a leaf there, or a half-blown rose -elsewhere, the remainder of the blossoming will be more perfect. I -am no knight of romance, but I am not aware that there is anything -ridiculous in my face or figure. Ladies of the world have smiled -graciously upon me, and more than one peeress would have taken my name -had I but asked her. My heart is fresh and young, full of romantic -visions like yours. My love is honest, and a king could offer no -better. Miss Wynde, I ask you to be my wife!” - -Neva’s face was grave now, but the sparkle was still in her eyes, as -she said: - -“I am sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Black, but I thought you were a -suitor of Mrs. Artress. I never had an idea that your visits were -directed to me. I am deeply grateful for the honor you have done me--I -suppose that is the proper remark to make under the circumstances; the -ladies in novels always say it--but I must decline it.” - -“And why, if I may be allowed to ask?” demanded Craven Black, his face -deepening in hue nearly to purple. “Why this insulting refusal of an -honest offer of marriage, Miss Wynde?” - -Neva regarded her angry suitor with cool gravity. - -“I beg your pardon if the manner of my refusal seemed insulting,” she -said gently, “but the idea seems so singular--so preposterous! At the -risk of offending you again, Mr. Black, I must suggest that a union -with Mrs. Artress would be more suitable. I am only a girl, and young -still, as you know, and it is proper that youth should mate with youth.” - -“You prefer my son then?” - -“To you? I do.” - -“And you will marry him?” - -The lovely face shadowed, but Neva answered quietly: - -“Mr. Rufus has asked me that question, sir, and I prefer to have him -receive his answer from my lips. Whatever my feelings toward him, I -have no indecision in regard to you.” - -“And you actually and decidedly refuse me?” - -“Actually and decidedly, Mr. Black!” - -“Is there no hope that you may change your mind Miss Wynde? Will no -devotion upon my part affect your resolution?” - -“None whatever. I cannot even give your proposal serious consideration, -Mr. Black. I am willing to regard you as a friend. As a lover, pardon -me, you would be intolerable to me.” - -Neva spoke with an honest frankness that increased Craven Black’s -anger. He saw that he had no chance of winning her love or her fortune, -and it behooved him not to lose the lesser fortune and lesser charms of -her step-mother. He tried to take his failure philosophically, but in -refusing his love, Neva had made him her bitter and unscrupulous enemy. - -“I accept my defeat, Miss Wynde,” he said bitterly, “and resign all my -pretensions to your hand. Pardon my folly, and forget it. I hope my son -will meet with better success in his suit. And may I ask as a favor -that you will keep my proposal secret, not even telling it to your -step-mother?” - -“I am not in the habit of boasting of such things, even to Lady Wynde,” -said Neva, coldly. “Your proposal, Mr. Black, is already forgotten.” - -They were in Dingle wood now, and the heiress struck her horse sharply -and dashed away at a canter. Craven Black kept pace with her, and at a -discreet distance behind followed the liveried groom. - -Neither spoke again until they were out of the wood, and had traversed -the cross-road and gained the highway. When the gray towers of -Hawkhurst loomed up in full view, their speed slackened, and Craven -Black said hastily: - -“One word, Miss Wynde. I have your solemn promise, have I not, that you -will never betray the fact that I have proposed marriage to you?” - -Neva bowed haughtily. - -“Since you have not confidence in my delicacy,” she said, “I will give -the promise.” - -Craven Black’s face flushed with something of triumph. He was still -smarting with his anger and disappointment, still secretly foaming -with a bitter rage, but he desired to show Neva that he was not at all -crushed or humiliated. - -“Thank you,” he said. “I shall rely upon that promise. The truth is, -Miss Neva, a betrayal of my secret would cause me serious trouble. -Ladies never pardon even a slight and temporary disaffection like mine. -I am engaged to be married, and my promised bride is the most exacting -of women. She would rage if she knew that I had looked with love upon -one so many years her junior.” - -“Indeed! You will marry Artress then?” - -“Artress?” ejaculated Black, in well-counterfeited amazement. “What, -marry the companion when I can have the mistress? No, indeed, Miss -Neva. I am engaged to Lady Wynde!” - -“To Lady Wynde--to my father’s widow?” - -Black bowed assent. - -Neva was astounded. She had been too busy with her friends since her -return to Hawkhurst to detect the real object of Craven Black’s visits, -and both Lady Wynde and Black had conspired to hoodwink her. She had -never contemplated the possibility of Lady Wynde marrying for the third -time. The idea almost seemed sacrilegious. Her father had seemed to -her so grand and noble, so above other men, that she had not deemed it -possible for a woman who had once been honored with his love to marry -another. - -“It is like Marie Louise, who married her chamberlain after having been -the wife of Napoleon,” she thought. “It is incredible. I refuse to -believe it!” - -Her incredulity betrayed itself in her face. - -“You don’t believe it?” said Black, with a mocking smile. “It is true, -I assure you. Lady Wynde and I became engaged before your return from -school. We are to be married next month. Her trousseau is secretly -preparing in London.” - -His manner convinced Neva that he spoke the truth. - -“And so,” she said, her lip curling, “when your wedding-day is so near, -and the woman you have won is making ready for your marriage, you amuse -yourself in talking love to me! And that is your idea of honor, Mr. -Black? You are well named. Craven by name, and Craven by nature!” - -She inclined her head haughtily and dashed on. Black, choking with -rage, hurried in close pursuit. The lodge gates swung open at their -approach, and they galloped up the avenue. Lady Wynde came out upon -the terrace to meet them. Neva dismounted at the carriage porch, the -terrace being only upon one side of the mansion, and with a haughty -little bow to Lady Wynde passed into the house. - -Black dismounted and gave his horse in charge of the stable lad who -had taken in hand the horse of Neva, and then walked toward the open -drawing-room window with his betrothed wife. - -“What is the matter between you and Neva, Craven?” asked Lady Wynde -jealously. “You look as black as a thundercloud, and she looked like an -insulted queen. What have you been saying to her?” - -“I thought it time to divulge our secret to her, my darling,” said -Black hypocritically. “Our wedding-day is so near that I deemed it best -to inform her. I met her out riding, and seized upon the occasion to -declare the truth.” - -“And what did she say?” - -“She fairly withered me with her scorn; recommended me to marry Matilda -Artress; and seemed to regard my marriage with her father’s widow as a -species of sacrilege. I hate her!” he hissed between his clenched teeth. - -Lady Wynde smiled, well-pleased. - -“And so do I,” she acknowledged frankly. “But it is for our interest to -counterfeit friendship for her. Be patient, Craven. Some day you and I -may bring down her haughty pride to the dust.” - -“Suppose she refuses Rufus?” - -“You and I will soon be married, Craven, and in our union is strength. -Tell Rufus to write to Neva, delaying her answer to his suit for -a month. By that time we shall be married. If she refuses then to -accept your son as her husband, we can contrive some way to compel her -obedience. I am her step-mother and guardian, and have authority which -I shall use if I am pushed to the wall. I promise you, Craven, that we -shall secure our ten thousand a year out of Neva’s fortune, and that we -shall compel the girl to marry your son. Leave it all to me. Only wait -and see!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. NEVA’S CHOICE FORESHADOWED. - - -In accordance with the advice of his scheming father, Rufus Black -wrote a letter to Neva Wynde entreating her to take a month or six -weeks, instead of the single week for which she had stipulated, -for the consideration of his suit. And Neva, struggling between -conflicting feelings, whose nature the reader already knows, and glad -to be relieved of the necessity for an immediate decision, gratefully -accepted the offered reprieve. - -The engagement of Craven Black and Lady Wynde, now that it had been -declared to Neva, was no longer kept a secret from the world. Mr. -Black, in a moment of good-natured condescension, informed his host at -the Wyndham inn, and the amazed landlord bruited the story through the -village. The engagement was publicly announced in the court papers, -Craven Black himself writing the paragraph and procuring its insertion, -and this announcement was copied into the Kentish journals. - -As may be imagined, the news of Lady Wynde’s intended marriage produced -quite a sensation in the neighborhood of Hawkhurst. Sir Harold Wynde’s -former friends were scandalized that he should have been so soon -forgotten by the wife he had idolized, and that a man so palpably -inferior to the baronet in character and attributes should have been -chosen to take his place. Others, the three guardians of Neva’s -property among the number, were ill-pleased that Craven Black should -take his place during Neva’s minority as nominal master of Hawkhurst, -and accordingly one morning, a fortnight after the publication of the -engagement, Sir John Freise, Mr. Atkins, and Lord Towyn, rode over to -Hawkhurst, and demanded an interview with Lady Wynde and Neva. - -Miss Wynde appeared first in the drawing-room, simply dressed in -white, and fresh from a ramble in the park. She looked a little worn -and troubled, as if her nights were spent more in anxious thoughts -than in slumbers, but the radiance of her wonderful red-brown eyes was -undimmed, and her face had lost nothing of the piquant witchery which -was its chiefest charm. - -Before time had been granted Neva to more than exchange greetings with -her guardians, Lady Wynde entered the room with an indolent languor of -motion, and welcomed her visitors with effusion. - -“This is an unexpected pleasure, gentlemen,” said her ladyship, her -black eyes glancing from one to another. “You have come to congratulate -me upon the change in my prospects, I dare say. I have been overwhelmed -with calls during the past week, and begin to find my connection with -an old county family decidedly onerous,” and she laughed softly. “All -of Sir Harold’s friends have been to see me, and really I believe that -some of them have felt it their duty to condole with Neva upon the -misfortune of so soon possessing a step-papa.” - -The three gentlemen had called for the purpose of discussing with Lady -Wynde and Neva the expected change in the prospects of her ladyship, -but the quiet audacity of the handsome widow’s speech and manner -half-confounded them. - -Sir John Freise, being the eldest of the party, took upon himself the -office of spokesman. - -“I was an old friend of Sir Harold, Lady Wynde,” he said, a little -stiffly. “I was a man when Sir Harold was a boy, but I knew him well, -and I loved him. I know how deeply he was attached to you, and it is -for his sake that I have now intruded upon you. You are still young, -and with your attractions and your fortune you are peculiarly liable -to be beset by fortune-hunters. As your late husband’s most intimate -friend, I desire to ask you if you have well considered this step you -are about to take?” - -Lady Wynde bowed a cold assent. - -“Your knowledge of the character of Mr. Black can be but slight,” -persisted Sir John Freise, leaning his chin upon the gold knob of his -walking-stick, and regarding the handsome widow with troubled eyes. “He -has been at Wyndham but a few months. I grant that he is of attractive -exterior, Lady Wynde, but what do you know of his character? I have not -come here to make any charges against Mr. Black but those I am prepared -to substantiate. These gentlemen who have accompanied me will bear me -out in the statement that I have no personal prejudices in the matter, -and that I am actuated only by a desire for your ladyship’s happiness -and that of Miss Wynde. I have written to London since hearing the -report of your engagement, and yesterday received a reply of so much -moment that I summoned Lord Towyn from his marine villa and Mr. Atkins -from Canterbury to accompany me into your presence, and assist me to -impart to you the unpleasant news. Lady Wynde, this Craven Black, -your accepted lover, is a scoundrel, a gamester, a man unworthy your -consideration for a moment.” - -“Indeed!” said Lady Wynde, with a slight sneer. “Mr. Black, to my -knowledge, goes in the first society. He visited at the Duke of -Cheltenham’s last year, and the duke is a perfect Puritan, as every one -knows.” - -“The Duke of Cheltenham is a distant connection of Mr. Black, and -invited him to his house with the hope of winning him into better -courses,” said Sir John gravely. “But it is not Mr. Black’s high -connections, but the man himself, with whom your destiny is to be -linked, Lady Wynde. I implore you to consider your decision. Better to -remain for ever the honored widow of Sir Harold Wynde than to become -the wife of Mr. Craven Black.” - -“I do not think so,” said her ladyship, her sneer deepening. “I -believe I am competent to choose for myself, Sir John, and it is _my_ -happiness, you will be pleased to remember, which is at stake. I resent -your interference, as uncalled for and intrusive. I shall marry Mr. -Craven Black in two weeks from to-day, and if you do not approve the -marriage I presume you will be able to testify your disapproval by -remaining away from the wedding.” - -Sir John looked deeply pained; Mr. Atkins looked disgusted. Lord -Towyn’s warm blue eyes were directed toward Neva rather than toward -Lady Wynde, but he lost nothing of the conversation. - -“I have performed only my duty in warning you, Lady Wynde,” said Sir -John, after a pause. “You are bent upon this marriage with a man who -was a stranger to you three months since, and so soon after the tragic -death of Sir Harold Wynde in India?” - -“I have waited a year and three months before marrying again,” declared -Lady Wynde, impatiently. “Why should I wait longer? Surely a year of -mourning is all that custom requires. And as to not knowing Mr. Black, -permit me to say that I know him well. I knew him before I ever met Sir -Harold. Frequenting the same circles in town, and meeting more than -once at the same houses in the country, it is impossible that I should -not have known him. And here I beg you will drop the subject. I am in -no mood to hear your aspersions of an honorable man, and your jealousy -for the memory of Sir Harold Wynde need not blind you to the fact that -virtue and honor did not die with him.” - -Sir John looked shocked and amazed. Neva’s face paled, and a sudden -indignation flamed in her eyes, but she remained silent. - -“I think, with all deference to your opinion, Sir John,” said Mr. -Atkins, “that, as Lady Wynde suggests, we would better drop the subject -of Mr. Black. It is difficult to convey unpleasant information in a -case like this without giving offence. We have done our duty, and that -must content us. Let us now come to the actual business in hand. Allow -me to ask you, Lady Wynde, if you intend to continue your residence at -Hawkhurst after becoming Mrs. Craven Black?” - -A flash of defiance shot from her ladyship’s black eyes. - -“Certainly, I intend to reside here with my husband during the minority -of my step-daughter,” she declared boldly. “I am Neva’s guardian, and -my residence as such was assigned at Hawkhurst.” - -“Sir Harold never contemplated a state of affairs such as you propose -Madam,” said Mr. Atkins doggedly. “To make this Mr. Craven Black -nominal master of the home of the Wyndes is something utterly unlooked -for.” - -“Where I am mistress, my husband will be master!” asserted Lady Wynde, -with temper. - -“It should be so,” declared Mr. Atkins, “but you see how inappropriate -it would be to make Mr. Black master of Hawkhurst. Good taste--pardon -my plainness--would dictate your ladyship’s retirement from Hawkhurst -upon the occasion of your third marriage, and we have come to propose -that Hawkhurst be closed, Miss Neva transferred to the guardianship of -Sir John Freise and Lady Freise, and that you and your new husband take -up your abode at Wynde Heights, your dower house, or at any other place -you may prefer.” - -Lady Wynde frowned her anger and defiance. - -“I shall remain at Hawkhurst,” she exclaimed haughtily. “If you desire -to remove me, you must do so by process of law. If you think her -father’s wife an unfit personal guardian for Miss Wynde, you can have -Sir Harold’s will set aside, or take legal proceedings to obtain for -her another guardian. I shall not relinquish my post, or the charge my -dead husband reposed in me, until I am compelled to do so.” - -The young Lord Towyn’s face flushed, and he addressed Neva, in his -clear ringing voice: - -“Miss Wynde, this matter concerns you above all others, and it is -for you to have a voice in it. The proposed marriage of Lady Wynde -completely vitiates your present relations to her. In becoming Mrs. -Craven Black, I consider that Lady Wynde throws off all allegiance to -Sir Harold Wynde, and ceases to be your step-mother. It is for you to -decide if you will choose a new personal guardian in her stead.” - -All eyes turned upon the fair young girl. The young earl awaited her -reply with a breathless anxiety. Sir John Freise and Mr. Atkins fixed -their eager gaze upon her, and Lady Wynde regarded her sharply and with -some uneasiness. - -“Before Neva comes to a decision,” said her ladyship hastily, “I have -a word to say to her. Have I not treated you with all kindness and -tenderness, Neva, since you came under this roof? Have I been guilty of -one act of neglect, of step-motherly cruelty, or want of consideration? -Have not your wishes been considered in all things?” - -Neva could not answer these questions in the negative. - -“There is no stipulation in Sir Harold’s will that I should not -again marry,” continued Lady Wynde. “Sir Harold, without mention of -the contingency of another marriage on my part, constituted me his -daughter’s personal guardian, with the request that I make Hawkhurst -my home until Neva marries or attains her majority. Not one word is -said about or against my marriage, you will observe; and certainly -Sir Harold Wynde was too sensible to expect me to remain a widow -long--at my age too. My marriage, therefore, does not interfere with -my relations toward Neva as her step-mother and personal guardian. Any -court of law will confirm this decision. If you choose, Neva, to apply -for a change of guardians, and to make a scandal, and to make your name -common on every lip, I can only regret your ill-taste, and that you -have yielded to such ill-guidance.” - -Mr. Atkins felt a sentiment of admiration mingle with his dislike for -Lady Wynde. - -“She ought to have been a lawyer,” he thought. “She’s a mighty sharp -woman, and we are sure to get the worst of it in a battle with her. -Pity we made the attack, if it is only to put her on her guard.” - -Neva was still considering the matter intently. She had a thorough -contempt for Craven Black, and disliked the prospect of being under -the same roof with him, but she dreaded still more the publicity -that would be given to her application for change of guardians. She -remembered her father’s many injunctions to cling to Lady Wynde until -her own marriage, or the attainment of her majority. Lady Wynde had not -been unkind to her, nor illy fulfilled her duties as chaperon. Neva -had actually nothing of which to complain, save Lady Wynde’s proposed -marriage. She was a conscientious girl, and she could not decide to -throw off the yoke her father had placed upon her shoulders, simply -because Lady Wynde had chosen to enter into new relations which were -not likely to affect the old. She felt that she was placed in a cruel -position, but her duty, she thought, was plain to her. - -“Well, what is your decision, my child?” asked Sir John Freise -paternally. - -“You are very kind to me, Sir John, and you also, Lord Towyn and Mr. -Atkins,” said the young girl tremulously, “and I cannot properly -express my gratitude to you for your concern for me. I appreciate all -you have said, all that you mean. I own that Lady Wynde’s intended -marriage is repugnant to me, and that I cannot understand how her -ladyship can take Mr. Craven Black into papa’s place, but I have tried -to reconcile myself to the change. And I think,” added Neva, her tones -gathering firmness, and a brave look shining in her eyes of red gloom, -“that I have not sufficient excuse for appealing to the law to give me -a change of guardians. I shall have little to do or say to Mr. Craven -Black, and Hawkhurst is large enough for us both. It was papa’s wish -that I should remain for a certain period under the care of Lady Wynde, -and I cannot forget that she was papa’s wife, and that he loved her. -And more,” concluded Neva very gently, “if Lady Wynde is about to -contract an imprudent marriage, and if she is likely to know sorrow -because of her false step, she will need my friendship when the truth -comes home to her. I thank you again, Sir John, Lord Towyn, Mr. Atkins, -but I do not think I should be justified in taking the decided step you -advise.” - -“I don’t know but you are right, Neva,” said Sir John. “At any rate, -give your ideas of duty a fair trial, and if you change your mind -let us know. It is not as if you were going away from us. Mr. Black, -finding himself in a quiet, decorous neighborhood, may choose to settle -down, and become a better man. We shall see you frequently, and my -house will always be open to you, my dear, and my wife and girls will -always be glad to receive you as an inmate of our family.” - -“I shall not forget your kindness, Sir John,” said Neva gratefully. - -“Miss Neva has always a way of escape from an unpleasant situation,” -said the practical Mr. Atkins. “Her marriage will free her from Lady -Wynde’s guardianship without publicity of an unpleasant description.” - -Neva reddened vividly. - -The frankness with which the conversation had been distinguished had -considerably surprised the young earl. No one seemed to require the use -of diplomacy in making plain an unpleasant meaning, and even Lady Wynde -did not seem offended at the utterance of home truths from the lips of -Mr. Atkins. It was an hour for plain-dealing, which was freely indulged -in. - -The visitors, finding their errand fruitless, offered Lady Wynde their -best wishes for her future, and bade her good-morning. At the door, Sir -John Freise looked back with a smile and said: - -“You look pale, Neva. Come down the avenue for a walk. I have a message -for you from the girls which I forgot to deliver.” - -Neva procured her hat, and followed Sir John out of the house. The -horses were in waiting, and Mr. Atkins mounted. Sir John and Lord Towyn -took their bridles on their arms, and walked slowly down the long -arched avenue with the young heiress. - -Lady Wynde watched them jealously from the window. - -“I am afraid, my dear,” said the kindly baronet, “that you have made -a romantic decision to-day, but you must decide in this matter for -yourself. If you remain unmarried, these Blacks will fairly riot -at Hawkhurst for the next three years. Craven Black will fill your -father’s house with dissolute company, and you will be brought in -contact with men whom your father would never have allowed to cross his -threshold.” - -“Should such an event arise,” said Neva, her lovely face growing -resolute and stern, “I will then consider your proposition, Sir John, -to seek a change of guardians. But I dread the publicity such a -proceeding would cause.” - -“Why don’t you take into consideration Atkins’ idea then?” demanded Sir -John, smiling, yet earnest. “You must marry some day, Neva; why not -marry soon? You have plenty of suitors. Only choose some one worthy to -stand in your father’s place, and you will be happy. Your marriage will -be the best way out of the difficulty--the best and the easiest. It -would be a great load off my mind to see you happily married, my dear -child. Wait a moment, Atkins?” added the baronet, raising his voice. -“Why go so fast? I have a word to say to you.” - -The kindly old man hurried on to speak to his coadjutor, leading his -horse as he went, and Neva and Lord Towyn were left to themselves--an -opportunity specially planned by Sir John, who regarded his manœuvres -as decidedly Machiavellian, and who consequently plumed himself upon -their success. - -The young earl’s visit at Freise Hall had long since terminated, and -he was now stopping at his marine villa on the coast, a dozen miles or -more away. The distance was not so great that he could not ride over to -Hawkhurst every pleasant day, and he did so with an utter disregard of -distance or exertion. His suit with Neva, however, had never progressed -beyond his early declaration of love, Neva’s reserve having chilled him -whenever he had attempted to renew the subject. - -He recognized his present favorable opportunity, and hastened to -improve it. - -“I am afraid we took you by storm to-day, Neva,” said the young -earl, as they slowly walked down the avenue, considerably behind Mr. -Atkins and Sir John, who had now mounted. “But Sir John Freise was -determined to make an effort to save Lady Wynde from a union which she -is likely to regret. Her ladyship is too pure and true to comprehend -the character of her suitor, and she will cling to him all the more -determinedly because of our well-meant warning.” - -By this it will be seen that Lord Towyn, with his frank nature, and -honest soul, had not the slightest suspicion of the real character of -Lady Wynde. If Craven Black was bad, she was also bad. She could never -have loved or been wholly at ease in the society of a good man. - -“I am sorry for her,” said Neva, sighing. - -“She must ‘go her own gait,’” said Lord Towyn, “but you must not be -involved in her unhappiness. Neva, darling Neva, I would almost die -to spare you one pang of sorrow, one shadow of grief. I love you, -and each day only adds to that love,” and his voice grew unsteady and -impassioned. “You have held me off at arms’ length ever since that -evening in which I told you so prematurely how dear you were to me. Do -not repulse me now. Tell me honestly, my darling, whether you could be -happy with me--whether I am dearer to you than another?” - -His blue eyes, radiant with the warmth of his glowing soul, flashed an -electric light into hers. His passionate face, so fair and handsome, so -noble in expression and feature, looked love upon hers. Neva’s eyelids -trembled and drooped. An answering thrill convulsed her heart, and she -knew in that moment that, come what would, she loved Arthur Towyn with -all her soul, even as he loved her, and that she would know perfect -happiness only as his wife. - -Yet the conviction came upon her as a painful shock, and in that -instant the struggle between her love and her duty of obedience to the -supposed wishes of her dead father began in her heart. - -“You love me?” whispered the young earl ardently, and with a passionate -tremor of his voice. “Neva, with all my soul I love you, and I never -loved before. Do I love in vain?” - -The shy, red-brown eyes were upraised for a brief glance, but in their -swift flash Lord Towyn read his answer, and knew himself beloved. - -There was a brief silence between them full of rapture. They exchanged -no betrothal kiss, no embrace, but Lord Towyn held Neva’s hand in his, -and in his fervent pressure his soul spoke to hers. - -“I may tell Sir John and Mr. Atkins that we are betrothed, may I not, -my darling?” said the young earl softly, as they walked on yet more -slowly. - -“Not yet, Arthur--not yet. I love you,” and the girl’s voice sank to -a whisper her lover’s ears could scarcely catch, “but I want a little -time to decide. Don’t look surprised, Arthur; I do love you better than -all the world, but it is all so new and strange, and--and--” - -“I understand,” said the earl, his face beaming. “Our love is too -sacred to be proclaimed on the instant we acknowledge it ourselves. -We will keep it secret until after Lady Wynde’s marriage; but we are -promised, darling! Our happiness would be complete if we could know -beyond all doubt that Sir Harold smiles upon our union. And why should -he not smile upon our marriage from his home in Heaven? He loved me, -Neva, and he desired our marriage. My father told me this on his -death-bed.” - -“If I could think so!” breathed Neva. “I know papa loved you, Arthur. -Do you think he would really approve our marriage?” - -“What an anxious little face! I know he would approve it, Neva. My -blessed little darling, mine own, whom no one can take from me!” cried -Lord Towyn passionately. “I am going home to dine with Sir John, and -I will call upon you this evening. I am going to exact a lover’s -privilege of seeing you when I please, without the cold, prying eyes of -Mrs. Artress devouring me. I will be prudent and secret, Neva, since -you insist upon it, but oh, if my month of probation were over and I -might proclaim my happiness to the world!” - -They parted near the lodge gates, and Neva returned slowly toward the -house, while her young lover vaulted into his saddle and rejoined his -friends with a countenance so rapturous that they could not avoid -knowing that he had confessed his love to Neva and had not been -rejected. - -While they overwhelmed him with congratulations, which he tried to -disclaim as altogether premature, Neva’s mind was divided between joy -and grief, and she murmured: - -“What shall I do? What is right for me to do? I love Arthur, and -life will not be complete without him. Shall I, for the sake of that -love, disregard papa’s last wishes which I vowed to accept as sacred -commands? Oh, if I only knew what to do!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX. WAS IT A DREAM? - - -As the time appointed for the marriage of Lady Wynde and Craven Black -drew near, great preparations were entered upon for its celebration. -One would have thought, from the scale of the arrangements on foot, -that the heiress of Hawkhurst was to be the bride, rather than the -baronet’s widow. Dress-makers came down from London, boxes were sent to -and fro, new jewels from Emanuel’s or Ryder’s, were selected to replace -the Wynde family jewels, which Mr. Atkins had compelled the handsome -widow to yield up to her step-daughter, and Artress made a special -trip to Brussels for laces, and to Paris for delicate and sumptuous -novelties in attire. One or two of Madame Elise’s best work women spent -several days at Hawkhurst in fitting robes, and Lady Wynde, with Neva, -Artress and two maids, spent a week in London at the long-closed town -house of Sir Harold. - -The eventful day came at last, and was one of the mellowest of all that -mellow October. The sun flooded the little village of Wyndham in waves -of golden light. The pretty little stone church in which the marriage -ceremony was to be performed was beautifully decorated with flowers. -A floral arch vailed the door-way. A carpet of red roses, from the -glass-houses at Hawkhurst, strewed the path the bride must traverse in -going from her carriage to the church door. - -Inside the church, myrtles and red roses festooned the walls, and were -suspended above the spot where the bride and groom would stand, in -the form of a marriage bell. The breath of roses filled the air with -perfume sweeter than “gales from Araby.” - -Long before eleven o’clock, the villagers and the tenants of Hawkhurst -began to assemble at the church. They were all in gala attire, for -Lady Wynde, with an insatiable vanity, had decreed that her third -marriage-day was to be a gala-day for the retainers of the Wynde -family. The villagers and tenants were all invited to a grand out-door -feast at Hawkhurst, where a hogshead of ale, it was said, was to -be broached, and deers and pigs roasted whole. A brass band from -Canterbury had been engaged for the evening, and there would be colored -lanterns suspended from the trees, and dancing on the terrace and on -the lawn. - -Soon after eleven, the carriages of various county families began -to arrive at the church. Sir John and Lady Freise, with their seven -blooming daughters whose ages ranged from eighteen to thirty-five, were -among the first comers. One of the white-gloved ushers, with a bridal -favor pinned to his coat, showed them into a reserved seat. Other -acquaintances and friends, some curious, some full of condemnation, -made their appearance, and were similarly accommodated. Lord Towyn and -Mr. Atkins came in together. - -It was nearly twelve o’clock when two carriages rolled up to the -church door, bringing the bridal party from Hawkhurst. From the first -of these alighted Neva and Rufus Black. The heiress was attired in -white, with pink ribbon at her waist and pink roses securing the frill -of lace at her throat, and Rufus wore the prescribed dress suit of -black. They walked up the aisle side by side, and more than one noticed -how pale the young girl was. They took their places in the Wynde family -pew, for Neva had resolutely declined to enact the part of bride’s-maid -to her father’s widow, and would have declined to appear at the -wedding had not she realized that her absence would be more marked and -conspicuous than her presence. - -The young heiress had scarcely sank into her seat, when a fluttering -at the door declared to the assembly that the hero and heroine of the -occasion were at hand. In defiance of the custom of meeting at the -altar, Craven Black and Lady Wynde came in together, she leaning upon -his arm. - -Her ladyship was dressed in a pink moire, with sweeping court train of -pink velvet. She had worn white at her first marriage, pearl color at -her second; and for the third, and most satisfactorily to her, had put -on the color of love. A diadem set with flashing diamonds starred her -black, fashionably dishevelled hair, above her low forehead. Her arms -and neck were bare, and glittered with gems. Her face was flushed with -triumph; her black eyes shone with a perfect self-content. - -The bridal pair took their places before the altar, and the clergyman -and his assistants began their office. The usual questions were asked -and answered; the usual appeal made to any one who knew “any just -cause or impediment why these two should not be united,” but which, of -course, received no response; and her third marriage ring was slipped -upon Lady Wynde’s finger, and for the third time she was a wife. - -If any regret mingled with her present happiness, it was that by her -third marriage she lost the title her second alliance had conferred -upon her. But as there was a prospect that Craven Black would inherit -a title some day, and that she would then be a peeress, she easily -contented herself with her present untitled condition. - -After the ceremony, the newly married pair proceeded to the vestry -and signed the marriage register. Friends and curious acquaintances -thronged in upon them with congratulations, and soon after, when the -church bell began peeling merrily, the bride and groom reentered their -carriage, and drove home to Hawkhurst. - -Neva and Rufus Black followed in the second carriage. - -The guests invited to the wedding breakfast entered their carriages, -and followed in the wake of the bridal pair. - -The villagers and tenants, in a great, straggling crowd, proceeded -on foot along the dusty road, to take their part in the out-door -festivities. - -A magnificent green arch had been erected over the great gates, with -the monogram of the bride and groom curiously intertwisted, and -lettered in red roses upon the green ground. Three similar arches -intersected at regular distances the long avenue. The marble terrace -was bordered with orange trees, oleanders, lemon-trees, and tropical -shrubs, all in wooden tubs, and the front porch was a very bower of -myrtles and red roses. - -“It is all in singularly bad taste,” was Sir John Freise’s exclamation, -as he surveyed the scene. “It’s very fine, girls, and would do very -well if it was all for Neva’s marriage, but it is worse than tomfoolery -to invite Sir Harold Wynde’s tenantry and friends to rejoice at the -wedding of Sir Harold’s widow to a man not worthy to tie his shoes. I -must repeat that it is in singularly bad taste. The tenantry are not -Lady Wynde’s; the house is not Lady Wynde’s. What can be done to give -distinction to the marriage-day of the heiress, if all this display is -made for Lady Wynde?” - -Sir John’s sentiment was the general one among the house guests. Some -were disgusted, and others privately sneered, but there were some to -whom the proceedings of the baronet’s widow seemed eminently proper, -and these fawned upon her now. - -The wedding breakfast was eaten in the grand old dining-hall, among -flowers which, by a rare refinement of taste, had been chosen for this -room without perfume. The tables were resplendent with gold and silver -plate. Fruits of rare species and delicious flavor, fresh from the -hot-houses of Hawkhurst, were nestled among blossoms or green leaves. A -noted French cook from London had charge of the commissary department, -and the rare old wines from Sir Harold’s cellar were unequalled. - -While toasts were offered and drank to the newly married pair in -the banquet hall, the tenantry were amusing themselves with their -barbecue and ale out of doors, and their hilarity corresponded to the -lower-toned merriment within the house. - -After the breakfast, Sir John Freise and his family, and several -others, all of whom had come out of respect to Neva rather than to -compliment Lady Wynde, took their departure. Many guests remained for -the ball. Lord Towyn took his leave toward evening, and Neva retired to -her own room, whence she did not emerge again that night. - -She had tried hard to dissuade Lady Wynde from giving the ball, but -her persuasions had not availed. Neva had declined to attend the -ball, and Lady Freise had supported her in her refusal. How could she -dance in honor of the third marriage of her father’s widow? All day -her thoughts had been of India and of her father, and remembering his -tragical fate, how could she rejoice at a union which could never have -taken place but for his death? - -Her step-mother was angry at what she deemed Neva’s obstinacy, and came -to her and commanded her to descend to the ball-room. The young girl -was sternly resolute in her refusal, and the bride went away muttering -her anger and annoyance, but powerless to compel obedience. - -There was dancing until a late hour that night in the old baronial hall -that traversed the centre of the great mansion, and there was dancing -outside upon the terrace and lawn to the music of a brass band. Mrs. -Craven Black--Lady Wynde no longer--was the belle of the occasion, full -of gayety and brightness. Mrs. Artress, to the amazement of everybody -who had known her as the gray companion of Lady Wynde, flashed forth -in the sudden splendor of jewels and a trained dress of crimson silk, -and Craven Black danced one set with her, and saw her supplied with -numerous partners. Mrs. Artress considered that her day of servitude -was over, and that it was quite possible that she might make a “good -match” with some wealthy country gentleman, for whom, during all the -evening, she kept a diligent look-out. - -Among the guests were two or three reporters of society papers from -London, whom Craven Black, with an eye to the publicity of his glory, -had invited down to Hawkhurst. These gentlemen danced and supped -and wined, and in the pauses of these exercises wrote down glowing -descriptions of the festivities, elaborate details of the ladies’ -dresses, and ecstatic little eulogies of the bride’s beauty and -connection with the Wynde family, and of the groom’s pedigree, stating -the precise value of Craven Black’s prospects of a succession to his -cousin, Viscount Torrimore. - -The aunt of the bride, Mrs. Hyde of Bloomsbury Square, was not present. -She lay indeed at the point of death, a fact which Mrs. Craven Black -judiciously confined to her own breast, the news having reached her -that morning as she was dressing for her bridal. - -At twelve o’clock, midnight, fire-works were displayed on the lawn. -They lasted over half an hour, and were very creditable. After they had -finished, carriages were ordered, and the house guests departed in a -steady stream until all were gone. The tenantry and villagers departed -to their homes on foot or in wagons, as they had come. The colored -lanterns were taken down from the trees; the musicians went away, and -the lights one by one died out of the great mansion. - -The bridal pair were to remain a week at Hawkhurst, and were then to go -to Wynde Heights, the dower house of the baronet’s widow, and it had -been arranged that Neva should accompany her step-mother. Rufus Black -was to be a member of the party also, and much was hoped by Mr. and -Mrs. Craven Black from the enforced propinquity of the young couple. - -Silence succeeded to the late noise, confusion and merriment--a -silence the more profound by contrast with what had preceded. The -household had retired. Neva had long since dismissed her maid and gone -to bed, thinking sadly of her father. Even before the last carriage -had rolled away, Neva had fallen asleep, not-withstanding her wrapt -musings concerning her father, and as the hours went on, and darkness -and silence fell, that sleep had deepened into a strange and almost -breathless slumber. - -But suddenly she sprang up, broad awake, her eyes starting, a cold dew -on her forehead, a wild cry upon her lips. - -She stared around her with a look of terror. The white curtains of her -bed were fluttering in the breeze from her open window, and around her -lay the thick gloom of her chamber. - -Her voice called through the darkness in a wild, piercing wail: - -“Oh, papa, papa! I dreamed--ah, was it a dream?--that he still lives! I -saw him, pale and ghastly, at the door of a hut among the Indian hills, -and I heard his voice calling the names: ‘Octavia! Neva!’ He is not -dead--he is not dead! So surely as I live, I believe that papa too is -alive! Oh, my father, my father!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. A SCENE IN INDIA. - - -Neva Wynde had retired to her bed, as will be remembered, upon the -marriage night of Lady Wynde and Craven Black, her thoughts all of her -father and of his tragic fate in India. All day long she had thought -of him with tender yearning, pity and regret, recalling to mind his -goodness, nobleness, and grandeur of soul; and when night came, and -she lay in her bed with the noise of revellers in the drawing-rooms -and on the lawn coming faintly to her ears, she had sobbed aloud at -the thought that her father had been so soon forgotten, and that his -friends and tenantry were now making merry over the marriage of his -widow to a man unworthy to cross the threshold of Hawkhurst. - -And thus sobbing and thinking, she had slept, and in her sleep had -dreamed that her father still lived, and that she saw him standing at -the door of a hut among the far-off Indian hills, and that she heard -his voice calling “Octavia! Neva!” And thus dreaming, she had awakened -with a cry of terror, to ask of herself if it was only a dream. - -It was not strange that she had thus dreamed, since all the day and all -the evening her mind had been fixed upon her father. It would have been -strange if she had not dreamed of him. Her dream had had the clearness -of a vision, but Neva was not romantic, and although she slept no -more that night, but walked her floor with noiseless steps and wildly -questioning eyes, yet she convinced herself long before the morning -that she had been the victim of her excited imagination, and that her -dream was “only a dream.” - -But was it so? There is a philosophy in dreams which not the wisest of -us can fathom. And although the cause of Neva’s dream can be simply -and naturally explained as the result of her agitated thoughts of her -father, yet might one not also think, with less of this world’s wisdom, -perhaps, and more of tenderness, that the girl’s guardian angel had -placed that picture before her in her sleep, and so made recompense, in -the joy of her dream, for her day of anguish and unrest? - -Be this as it may, our story has to deal with actual facts, and has now -to take a startling turn, perhaps not anticipated by the reader. - -It was about one o’clock of the morning when Neva awakened from her -dream. - -It was then about seven o’clock--there being six hours difference in -time--in India. - -Among the cool shadows of the glorious Himalayas are many country -seats, or “bungalows,” occupied at certain seasons by exhausted English -merchants from Calcutta, with their families, by army officers, and by -others of foreign birth, enervated or rendered sickly by the scorching -heats of the sea-coast or more level regions. They find “among the -hills” the fresh air, and consequent health, for which otherwise they -would have to undertake, at all inconvenience and expense, a voyage -home to England or Holland. - -These bungalows, for the most part, are cheaply built of bamboo, with -thatched roofs, and are encircled with broad and shaded verandas, -always roofed, and sometimes latticed at the sides and grown with -vines, to form a cool and leafy arcade, which serves all the purposes -of promenade, sitting-room, music-room, dining-room, and even sleeping -room, for there are usually bamboo couches scattered about, upon which -the indolent resident takes his siesta at midday. - -To one of these bungalows, a fair type of the rest, we will now direct -the attention of the reader. - -It stood upon an elevated plateau, with the tall mountains crested -with snow in the distance. It was surrounded at the distance of a few -miles by a range of hills, and between it and them lay miles of forest, -which was an impenetrable jungle. Around the bungalow was a clearing -of limited extent, and which was dotted with plumed palms, bamboo, and -banyan trees. - -The dwelling, frail like all of its class, was sufficiently well built -for the climate. It was constructed of bamboo, was a single story in -height, and was thatched with the broad leaves of the palm. A veranda, -twelve feet wide, surrounded it. Its interior consisted of a broad -hall, extending from front to rear, with two rooms opening from each -side of it. The central hall, containing no staircase, was a long and -wide apartment, which served as dining-room, sitting-room, and parlor, -when required. - -A little in the rear of this dwelling were two others, one of which -served as the kitchen of the establishment, and the other as the -quarters of the half-dozen native servants belonging to the place. - -The bungalow which we have thus briefly described belonged to a Major -Archer, H. M. A., and it was under its roof that George Wynde had -breathed his last. It was from its broad veranda that Sir Harold Wynde -had rode away for a last morning ride in India, upon that fatal day on -which he had encountered the tiger of the jungle, in which encounter he -was said to have perished. - -At about seven o’clock of the morning then, as we have said, and about -the moment when Neva awakened from her dream, Major Archer reclined -lazily upon a bamboo couch in the shadow of his veranda. He was dressed -in a suit of white linen, and wore a broad-brimmed straw-hat, which was -tipped carelessly upon the back part of his head. He was reading an -English paper, received that morning at the hands of his messenger, and -indolently smoking a cigar as he read. - -The major was a short, stout, choleric man, with a warm heart and a -ready tongue. He had greatly loved young Captain Wynde, and still -mourned his death, and he mourned also the tragic fate of Sir Harold. - -“Not much news by this mail,” the major muttered, as he withdrew his -cigar and emitted a cloud of smoke from his pursed lips. - -“And no hope whatever of our regiment being ordered back to England! -We shall get gray out here in this heathenish climate, while the fancy -regiments play the heroes at balls in country towns at home. The good -things of life are pretty unevenly distributed any how.” - -He replaced his cigar and clapped his hands sonorously. A light-footed -native, clad in loose white trousers and white turban, and having his -copper-colored waist naked, glided around an angle of the veranda and -approached him with a salaam. - -“Sherbet,” said the major sententiously. - -The servant muttering, “Yes, Sahib,” glided away as he had come. - -The major let fall his paper and reclined his head upon a bamboo rest, -continuing to smoke. He had arisen hours before, had taken his usual -morning ride to the house of a friend, his nearest neighbor, three -miles distant, and had returned to breakfast with his wife and family, -who were now occupied in one of the four rooms of the dwelling. The -major’s duties for the day were now to be suspended until sunset, -the intervening hours being spent in smoking, reading, sleeping and -partaking frequently of light and cooling refreshments. - -The sherbet was presently brought to the major in a crystal jug upon a -salver. He laid down his cigar and sipped the beverage with an air of -enjoyment, yet lazily, as he did everything. - -“I don’t see how I should get along without you, Karrah,” said the -major. “And you know it too, you dog. I pay you big wages as it is, -and now I want to know how much extra you will take, and forego your -present practice of stealing. I think I’d better commute. Mrs. Archer -says you are robbing us right and left. What do you say?” - -The native, a slim, lithe, sinewy fellow with oblong black eyes, full -of slyness and wickedness, a mouth indicative of a cruel disposition, -and with movements like a cat, grinned at the major’s speech, but did -not deny the charge. He had formerly been George Wynde’s servant and -nurse, then Sir Harold’s attendant, and was now Major Archer’s most -valued servant. He had made himself necessary to the officer by his -knowledge of all his master’s requirements, and his exact fulfillment -of them; by his skill in concocting sherbets and other cooling drinks; -by his apparent devotion, and in other ways. Being so highly valued, he -had every opportunity, in that loosely ordered household, of robbing -his employer, and he was maintaining a steady drain upon the major’s -purse which that officer now purposed to abolish. - -“Come, you coppery rascal,” said the major good-humoredly, “what will -you take to let the sugar and tea and coffee and the rest of the things -alone, except when you find them on the table?” - -“Karrah no make bargain, Sahib,” said the native, rolling up his eyes. -“Karrah do better as it is.” - -“No doubt; but I’m afraid, my worthy copper, that we shall have to part -unless you and I can commute your stealings. Yesterday, for instance, I -left five gold sovereigns in my other coat pocket, and last night when -I happened to think of them and look for them they were gone. You took -them--” - -“No prove, Sahib--no prove!” said the native stolidly. - -“I can prove that no one but you went into that room yesterday except -me,” declared the major coolly. “You needn’t deny the theft, even if -you purpose taking that trouble. I know you took the money. You are a -thief, Karrah,” continued his master placidly and indolently, “and a -liar, Karrah, and a scoundrel, Karrah; but your race is all tarred with -the same stick, and I might as well have you as another. By the way my -fine Buddhist, if that is what you are, did you use to steal right and -left from Captain Wynde?” - -“Karrah honest man; Karrah no steal, but Karrah always same.” - -“Always the same! Poor George! Poor fellow! No wonder he died!” -muttered the major compassionately. “It was a consumption of the lungs -by disease, and a consumption of means by a scoundrel. And did you take -in Sir Harold in the same way?” - -The Hindoo’s face darkened, and an odd gleam shone in his eyes. - -“Sir Harold no ’count gen’leman,” he said briefly. “Karrah no like him. -Three days ’fore tiger eat him, Karrah look into Sir Harold’s purse and -take out gold, only few miserable pieces, and Karrah look into Captain -Wynde’s trunk and take a few letters and diamond pin. Sir Harold come -in sudden, see it all; he eyes fire up; he seize Karrah by waistband -and kick he out doors. Karrah hate Sir Harold--_hate--hate_!” - -The indolent officer shrank before the sudden blaze of his servant’s -eyes, with a sudden realization of the possibilities of that ignorant, -untaught and vicious nature. - -“Why, you’re a perfect demon, Karrah,” exclaimed the major. “You’re a -firebrand--a--a devil! If you hated Sir Harold to such an extent, how -did it happen that you continued in his service, and were even his -attendant upon that last ride?” - -The Hindoo smiled slowly, a strange, cruel smile. - -“Oh,” he said softly, “Karrah go back; Karrah say sorry; know no -better. Sir Harold smile sad, say been hasty, and forgive. Karrah say -he love Sir Harold. That night Karrah send messenger up country--” - -He paused abruptly, as if he had said more than he intended. - -“Well, what did you send a messenger up country for, you rascal?” - -“To Karrah’s people, many miles away, to say that Karrah not come -home,” declared the Hindoo more guardedly. “Makes no difference why -Karrah sent. Karrah stay with Sahib Sir Harold three days, and see him -die. Then Karrah live with Sahib Major.” - -“I hope you don’t hate me,” said the major, with a shudder. “I have -a fancy that your hatred would be as deadly as a cobra’s. If it were -not for the tiger, I might think--But, pshaw! And yet--I say, Karrah, -did you know that there was a tiger in that part of the jungle that -morning?” - -“Karrah know nothing,” returned the Hindoo. “Karrah good fellow. He has -enemies--they happen die, that’s all. Karrah no set a tiger on Sahib. -Karrah no friend tigers. Sahib have more sherbet?” - -“No, nothing more. You may go, Karrah.” - -The Hindoo glided away around the angle of the veranda. - -“I believe I’ll have to let the fellow go,” muttered the major, -uneasily. “His looks and words give me a strangely unpleasant -sensation. I shall take care not to offend him, or he may season my -sherbet with a snake’s venom. How he glared in that one unguarded -moment when he said he hated Sir Harold! There was murder in his look. -I declare I had a hundred little shivers down my spine. If Sir Harold -had not been killed so unmistakably by a tiger, and if Doctor Graham -and I had not seen the fresh tracks and the marks of the struggle, and -if the tiger had not been afterward killed, I should think--I should be -sure--” - -An anxious look gathered on his face, and he ended his sentence by a -heavy sigh. - -“Strange!” he said presently, giving utterance to his secret thoughts; -“my wife never liked this fellow, although I could see no difference -between him and the rest. She insists that he is treacherous and cruel. -I’ll dismiss him, and tell her that I do so out of deference to her -judgment. But the truth is, since I’ve seen the fellow’s soul glaring -out of his eyes, I sha’n’t dare to sleep nights for fear I may have -offended his High Mightiness. I think it better for me that he should -travel out of this.” - -He had just announced to himself this decision, when raising his eyes -carelessly and looking out from the cool shadows of the pleasant -veranda, he beheld a horseman approaching his bungalow, riding at great -speed. - -“It may be Doctor Graham coming up for a month, as I invited him,” -thought the major, too indolent to feel more than a trivial curiosity -at the sight of a coming stranger. “But the doctor’s too sensible to -ride like that. It is either a green Englishman, with orders from -headquarters for me, or it’s some reckless native. In either case the -fellow’s preparing for a first-class sunstroke or fever, or something -of that nature. But that’s his look-out. I’ve troubles enough of my own -without worrying about him. It might be as well to finish my sherbet -before losing my appetite under an order to return to my post. Oh, -bother the army!” - -He sipped his sherbet leisurely, not even looking again at the -horseman, who came on swiftly, urging his horse to a last burst of -speed. That the horse was jaded, his jerking, convulsive mode of going -plainly showed. He was wet with sweat, and his head hung low, and he -frequently stumbled. The horseman urged him on with spur and whip, now -and then looking behind him as if he feared pursuit. - -The major did not look up until the horseman drew rein before the -bungalow, and alighted at a huge stone which served as a horse-block. -The stranger came slowly and falteringly toward the veranda, and then -the Sybaritic major set down his empty cup and glanced at him. - -The glance became a fixed gaze, full of wildness and affright. - -The stranger slowly entered the shade of the veranda and there -halted, his features working, his form trembling. He looked weary and -travel-stained. His haggard eyes spoke to the owner of the bungalow in -a wild appeal. - -With the peculiar movement of an automaton, the major slowly arose -to his feet and came forward, his face white, his eyes dilating, a -tremulous quiver on his lips. - -“Don’t you know me, major?” asked the stranger wearily. - -“Great heaven!” cried the major, even his lips growing white. “It is -not a ghost! I am not dreaming! Have the dead come to life? It is--_it -is--Sir Harold Wynde_!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. BACK AS FROM THE DEAD. - - -The stranger who stood upon the veranda of Major Archer’s bungalow was -tall and thin, with a haggard face, worn and sharp of feature, and full -of deeply cut lines, such as a long-continued anguish never fails to -graven on the features. His weary eyes were deeply sunken under his -brows, and were outlined with dark circles. His hair was streaked with -gray, and his long ragged beard was half gray also. His face was white -like death, and unutterably wan. His garments were torn, and hung about -his lank body in rags, save where they were ill-patched with bits of -rags and vegetable fibres. - -Was Major Archer right? Could this haggard and pitiable being be Sir -Harold Wynde of Hawkhurst, one of the richest baronets in England, who -was supposed to have perished in the clutches of a tiger? - -It seemed incredible--impossible. - -And yet when the heavy eyelids lifted from the thin white cheeks, and -looked upon the major, it was Sir Harold’s soul that looked through -them. They were the keen blue eyes the major remembered so well, so -capable of sternness or of tenderness, so expressive of the grand and -noble soul, the pure and lofty character, which had distinguished the -baronet. - -Yes, the stranger was Sir Harold Wynde--alive and well! - -“You know me then, Major?” he said. “I am not changed, as I thought, -beyond all recognition!” - -He held out his hand. The major grasped it in a mixture of bewilderment -and amazement, and not without a thrill of superstitious terror. - -“I--I thought you were dead, Sir Harold,” he stammered. “We all thought -so, Graham and all. We thought you were killed by a tiger. I--I don’t -know what to make of this!” - -Sir Harold let go the major’s hand and staggered to the bamboo couch -upon which he sank wearily. - -“He’s not dead--but dying,” muttered the major. “Lord bless my soul! -What am I to do?” - -He clapped his hands vigorously. A moment later his Hindoo servant -Karrah glided around upon the front veranda. - -“Bring brandy--sherbet--anything!” gasped the major, pointing at his -guest. “He’s fainting, Karrah--” - -Sir Harold lifted his weary head and gazed upon the Hindoo. The sight -seemed to endue him with new life. He leaped to his feet, and his blue -eyes blazed with an awful lightning, as he pointed one long and bony -finger at the native, and cried: - -“Traitor! Viper! Arrest him, Major. I accuse him--” - -The Hindoo stood for a second appalled, but as the last words struck -his hearing he flung at the baronet a glance of deadly hatred, and then -turned in silence and fled from the bungalow, making toward the jungle. - -Something of the truth flashed upon the major’s mind. He routed up his -household in a moment, and dispatched them in pursuit of the fugitive. - -Aroused by the tumult, Mrs. Archer came forth from her chamber. She was -a portly woman, and was dressed in a light print, and wore a cap. Her -husband met her in the hall and told her what had occurred. Restraining -her curiosity, she hastened to prepare food and drink for the returned -baronet. - -Meanwhile Sir Harold had sank down again upon the couch. The major -approached him, and said: - -“You look worn out, Sir Harold. Let me show you to a room, where I will -attend upon you. My men will capture that scoundrel--never fear. Come -with me.” - -The baronet arose and took the major’s arm and was led into the central -hall of the house, and into one of the four rooms the house contained. -It was the room in which his son had died. The windows were closely -shuttered, but admitted the air at the top. The floor was of wood and -bare. A bedstead, couch, and chairs of bamboo comprised the furniture. - -At one side of the room were two spacious closets. One of these -contained a portable bath-tub, a rack of fresh white towels, and plenty -of water. The other contained clothes depending from hooks. - -“You’ll find your own suit of clothes there, Sir Harold,” said the -major. “I intended to send them to England, but I am as fond of -procrastination as ever. It’s just as well though, now. You can take -them home yourself.” - -Sir Harold sat down in the nearest chair. - -“Home!” he whispered. “How are they--Octavia? Neva?” - -“All well--or they were when I heard last.” - -“Tell me what you know of them?” And Sir Harold’s great hungry eyes -searched the major’s face. “They believe me dead?” - -“Certainly, Sir Harold. Everybody believes you dead. And I am dying to -know how it is that you are alive. Where have you been these fifteen -months? How did you escape the tiger?” - -The desired explanation was delayed by the appearance at the door of -Mrs. Archer, who brought a jug of warm spiced drink and a plate of -food. The major took the tray, and shut his wife out, returning to his -guest. - -Sir Harold was nearly famished, and ate and drank like one starving. -When his hunger was appeased, and a faint color began to dawn in his -face, he pushed the tray from him, and spoke in a firmer voice than he -had before employed. - -“I have imagined terrible things about my wife and Neva,” he said. “My -poor wife! I have thought of her a thousand times as dead of grief. Do -you know, major, how she took the report of my death?” - -“I have heard,” said the major, “she nearly died of grief. For a long -time she shut herself up, and was inconsolable, and when she did -venture out at last, it was in a funereal coach, and dressed in the -deepest mourning. There are few wives who mourn as she did.” - -Sir Harold’s lips quivered. - -“My poor darling!” he muttered inaudibly. “My precious wife! I shall -come back to you from the dead.” - -“Lady Wynde is heart-broken, they say,” said the major. “One of the men -in our mess, a lieutenant, is from Canterbury and hears all the Kentish -gossip, and he says people were afraid that Lady Wynde would go into a -decline.” - -“My poor wife!” said Sir Harold, with a sobbing breath. “I knew how she -loved me. We were all the world to each other, Major. I must be careful -how she hears the news that I am living. The sudden shock may kill her. -Have you any news of my daughter also?” - -“She was still at school when I last heard of her,” answered the -major. “There is no more news of your home, Sir Harold. Your family -are mourning for you and you will bring back their lost happiness. You -ought to have seen your obituaries in the London papers. Some of them -were a yard long, and I’d be willing to die to-day if I could only read -such notices about myself. That sounds a little Hibernian, but it’s -true. And your tenantry put on mourning, and they had funeral sermons -and so on. By all the rules, you ought to have been dead, and, by the -Lord Harry, I can’t understand why you are not.” - -Sir Harold smiled wanly. - -“Let me explain why I am not,” he said. “You remember that I was taking -my last ride in India, and was about to start for Calcutta, to embark -for England, when I disappeared? Some three days before that I had a -quarrel, if I might call it so, with the Hindoo Karrah--” - -“I know it. He told me about it for the first time this morning.” - -“You understand then that I had incurred his enmity by kicking him out -of this house? I found him stealing the effects of my dead son. He had -also stolen from me. The letters he was stealing he was acute enough -to know were precious to me, and there was George’s diary, for which I -would not have taken any amount of money. The scoundrel meant to get -away with these, and then sell them to me at his own terms. I took back -my property, and punished him as he deserved. I have now reason to -believe he went away that night to his friends among the hills--” - -“He did. He told me he did. But what did he go for?” cried the major -excitedly. - -“You can soon guess. The next morning Karrah came back, professing -repentance,” said Sir Harold. “I reproached myself for having been too -harsh upon the poor untaught heathen, and took him back. He accompanied -me upon that last ride, and was so humble, so deprecating, so gentle, -that I even felt kindly toward him. We rode out into the jungle. I -was in advance, riding slowly, and thinking of home, when suddenly a -monstrous tiger leaped out of a thicket and fastened his claws in the -neck of my horse. I fought the monster desperately, for he had pinned -my leg to the side of my horse, and I could not escape from him. We -had a frightful struggle, and I must have succumbed but for Karrah, -who shot at the tiger, wounding him, I think, in the shoulder, and -frightening him into retreat.” - -“And so you escaped, when we all thought you killed?” cried the major. - -“My horse was dying,” said the baronet, “and I was wounded and -bleeding. I thought I was dying. I fell from my saddle to the ground, -groaning with pain. Karrah came up, and bent over me, with a devilish -smile and moistened my lips with brandy from a flask he carried. Then, -muttering words in his own language which I could not understand, he -carried me to his own horse, mounted, with me in his arms, and rode -off in the direction in which we had been going, and away from your -bungalow.” - -“The scoundrel! What was that for?” - -“After a half-hour’s ride, we came to a hollow, where three natives -were camped. Karrah halted, and addressed them. They gathered around -us, and then Karrah said to me, in English, that he hated me, that he -would not kill me, but meant me to suffer, and that these men were his -brothers, who lived a score of miles away up among the mountains. I -was to be their slave. He transferred me to their care, disregarding -my pleas and offered bribes, and rode away on his return to you. I was -carried on horseback, securely bound, a score of miles to the north and -westward. How I suffered on that horrible journey, wounded as I was, I -can never tell you. A dozen times I thought myself dying.” - -“It is a wonder you did not die!” - -“It is,” said Sir Harold. “We went through savage jungles, and forded -mountain torrents. We went up hill and down, and more than once leaped -precipices. I was in a dead faint when we reached the home of the -three Hindoos, but afterward I found how wild and secluded the spot -was, and that there were no neighbors for miles around. Their cabin -was niched in a cleft in a mountain, and hidden from the eye of any -but the closest searcher. Had you searched for me, you would never -have found me. It was in a rear hut, small and dark, with a mud floor, -and windowless walls, that I have been a prisoner for fifteen months, -major. My enemies, for the most part, left me to myself, and I have -dragged out my weary captivity with futile plans of escape. Ah, I have -known more than the bitterness of death!” - -“If we had only known it, we’d have scoured all India for you, Sir -Harold,” said the major hotly. “We’d have strung up every native until -we got the right ones. But that episode of the tiger--for it seems -that the tiger was only an episode, coming into the affair by accident, -but greatly assisting Karrah’s foul treachery--threw us off the scent, -and made us think you dead. Why did we not suspect the truth?” - -“How could you? Don’t reproach yourself, major. My chiefest sufferings -during these horrible fifteen months have been on account of my wife -and my daughter. To feel myself helpless, a slave to those Hindoo -pariahs, bound continually and in chains, while Octavia and Neva were -weeping for me and crying out in their anguish, and perhaps needing -me--ah, that was almost too hard to bear! Now and then Karrah came to -taunt me in my prison, and to tell me how he hated me, and how sweet -was his revenge. He told me that you had heard through a friend that my -poor wife was dying of her grief. After that I tried, with increased -ingenuity, to find some way of escape. Last night the three Hindoos -went away--upon a marauding expedition, I think. After they had gone, -one of the women brought me my usual evening meal of boiled rice. I -pleaded to her to release me, but she laughed at me. She went out, -leaving the door open, intending to return soon for the dish. The sight -of the sky and of the green earth without nerved me to desperation. -I was confined by a belt around my waist, to which an iron chain was -attached, the other end of the chain being secured to a ring in the -wall. I had wrenched my belt and the chain a thousand times, but last -night when I pulled at it with the strength of a madman, it gave way. I -fell to the floor--unfettered!” - -“You bounded up like an India rubber ball, I dare swear?” cried the -major, wiping his eyes sympathetically. - -“I leaped up, and darted out of the door. There was a horse tethered -near the hut. I bounded on his back and sped away, as the woman came -hurrying out in wild pursuit. I knew the general direction in which -your bungalow lay. I rode all night, going out of my road, but being -set straight again by some kindly Hindoos; and here I am, weary, worn, -but Oh, how thankful and blest!” - -The baronet bowed his head on his hands, and his tears of joy fell -thickly. - -“You’re safe now, Sir Harold,” cried the major. “I hear a hubbub -outside. My fellows have got back, with Karrah, no doubt. I want to -superintend the skinning him, and while I am gone, you can refresh -yourself with a bath, and put on a suit of Christian garments. My -wife is dying to see you. I hear her pacing the hall like a caged -leopardess. Get ready, and I’ll come back to you as soon as you have -had a little sleep. You’re among friends, my dear Sir Harold; and, by -Jove, I’m glad to see you again!” - -He pressed Sir Harold’s hand, catching his breath with a peculiar -sobbing, and hurried out. - -His servants had returned, but Karrah had escaped. The major indulged -in some peculiar profanity, as he listened to this report, and then -withdrew to his wife’s cool room, and told her Sir Harold’s story. - -The baronet, meanwhile, took a bath and went to bed. He slept for -hours, awakening after noon. He shaved and trimmed his beard, dressed -himself in the suit of clothes he had formerly worn, and which were now -much too large for him, and came forth into the central hall of the -dwelling. Major Archer was lounging here, and came forward hastily, -with both hands outstretched, and with a beaming face. - -“You look more like yourself, Sir Harold!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Archer -is out on the veranda, and is full of impatience to see you.” - -He linked his arm in the baronet’s and conducted him out to the -veranda, presenting him to Mrs. Archer, who greeted him with a certain -awe and kindliness, as one would welcome a hero. - -The little Archers were playing about under the charge of an ayah, and -they also came forward timidly to welcome their father’s guest. - -Tiffin--the India luncheon--was served on the veranda, and after it was -over, and the young people had dispersed, Sir Harold said to his host: - -“When does the next steamer leave for England?” - -“Three days hence. You will have time to catch the mail if you write -to-day,” said Major Archer. - -“Write! Why, I shall go in her, Major!” - -“Impossible, Sir Harold. You are not fit for the voyage,” said Mrs. -Archer. - -“I must go,” persisted the baronet, in a tone no one could dispute. -“Think of my wife--of my daughter. Every day that keeps me from them -seems an eternity. Major, I was robbed by Karrah of every penny I -possessed. Plunder was a part of his motive, as well as desire for -revenge. I shall have to draw upon you for a sufficient sum for my -expenses.” - -“It’s fortunate, and quite an unprecedented thing with me, that I have -a couple of hundred pounds in bank in Calcutta,” said the major. “I -wish it were a thousand, but you’re quite welcome to it, Sir Harold--a -thousand times welcome. I appreciate your impatience to be on your way -home. If it were I, and your wife was my Molly, I’d travel day and -night--but there, I’ve said enough. I’ll go to Calcutta with you, and -see you off on the _Mongolian_. I wish I could do more for you.” - -“You can, Major. You can keep silence concerning my reappearance,” -declared Sir Harold thoughtfully. “My wife is reported to be dying -of grief. If she hears too abruptly that I still live, the shock may -destroy her. Major, I am going home under a name not my own, that -the story of my adventures may not be bruited about before she sees -me. I will not reveal myself to any one in Calcutta, nor to any one -in England, before reaching home. I will go quietly and unknown to -Hawkhurst, and reveal myself with all care and caution to Neva, who -will break the news to my wife.” - -“Sir Harold is right,” said Mrs. Archer. “Lady Wynde and Miss Wynde -should not first hear the news by telegraph, or letter, or through the -newspapers. Their impatience, anxiety, and suspense, after hearing that -Sir Harold still lives, and before they can see him, will be terrible. -The shock, as Sir Harold suggests, might almost be fatal to Lady Wynde.” - -“My wife is always right,” said the burly major, with a glance of -admiration at his spouse. “Sir Harold, you cannot do better than to -follow your instincts and my Molly’s counsels. It is settled then, that -you return to England under an assumed name, and see your own family -before you proclaim your adventures to the world. What name shall you -adopt as a ‘name of voyage,’ to translate from the French?” - -“I will call myself Harold Hunlow,” said the baronet. “Hunlow was my -mother’s name. I am rested, Major, and if you can give me a mount, -we’ll be off at sunset on our way to Calcutta.” - -It was thus agreed. That very evening Sir Harold Wynde and Major Archer -set out for Calcutta on horseback, arriving in time to secure passage -in the _Mongolian_. And on the third day after leaving Major Archer’s -bungalow, Sir Harold Wynde was at sea, and on his way to England. Ah, -what a reception awaited him! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. NEVA’S DECISION ABOUT RUFUS. - - -Could her guardian angel have whispered to Neva that her father did -indeed still live, and that at the very moment of her vivid dream he -stood upon the veranda of Major Archer’s Indian bungalow, weak, wasted -and weary, but with the principle of life strong within him, what agony -she might have been spared in the near future! what terrors and perils -she might perhaps have escaped! - -But she did not know it--she could not guess that life held for her a -joy so rare, so pure, so sweet, as that of welcoming back to his home -her father so long and bitterly mourned as dead. - -As we have said, she remained awake during the remainder of the night, -walking her floor in her white gown and slippered feet, now and then -wringing her hands, or sobbing softly, or crying silently; and thus the -weary hours dragged by. - -Before the clear sunlight of the soft September morning, which stole -at last into her pleasant rooms, Neva’s dream lost its vividness and -semblance of reality, and the conviction settled down upon her soul -that it was indeed “only a dream.” - -She dressed herself for breakfast in a morning robe of white, with -cherry-colored ribbons, but her face was very pale, and there was a -look of unrest in her red-brown eyes when she descended slowly and -wearily to the breakfast-room at a later hour than usual. - -This room faced the morning sun, and was octagon shaped, one half of -the octagon projecting from the house wall, and being set with sashes -of French plate-glass, like a gigantic bay-window. One of the glazed -sections opened like a door upon the eastern marble terrace, with its -broad surface, its carved balustrade, and its rows of rare trees and -shrubs in portable tubs. - -There was no one in the room when Neva entered it. The large table -was laid with covers for five persons. The glazed door was ajar, and -the windows were all open, giving ingress to the fresh morning air. -The room was all brightness and cheerfulness, the soft gray carpet -having a border of scarlet and gold, the massive antique chairs being -upholstered in scarlet leather, and the sombreness of the dainty buffet -of ebony wood being relieved by delicate tracery of gold, drawn by a -sparing hand. - -Neva crossed the floor and passed out upon the terrace, where a gaudy -peacock strutted, spreading his fan in the sunlight, and giving -utterance to his harsh notes of self-satisfaction. Neva paced slowly up -and down the terrace, shading her face with her hand. A little later -she heard some one emerge from the breakfast room upon the terrace, and -come behind her with an irregular and unsteady tread. - -“Good-morning, Miss Neva,” said Rufus Black, as he gained her side. “A -lovely morning, is it not?” - -Neva returned his salutation gravely. She knew that Rufus Black had -slept under the same roof with herself the preceding night, after the -ball, and that a room at Hawkhurst had been specially assigned him by -Lady Wynde, now Mrs. Craven Black. - -“You ought to have sacrificed your scruples, and come down to the -drawing-rooms last night,” said Rufus Black. “I assure you we had -a delightful time, but you would have been the star of the ball. I -watched the door for your appearance until the people began to go -home, and I never danced, although there was no end of pretty girls, -but they were not pretty for me,” added Rufus, sighing. “There is for -me _now_ only one beautiful girl in the whole world, and you are she, -sweet Neva.” - -“Did you ever love any one before you loved me?” asked Neva, with a -quiet frankness and straightforwardness, looking up at him with her -clear eyes full of dusky glow. - -“Ye--no!” stammered Rufus, turning suddenly pale, and his honest eyes -blenching. “Almost every man has had his boyish fancies, Miss Neva. -Whatever mine may have been, my life has been pure, and my heart is all -your own. You believe me?” - -“Yes, I believe you. Mr. and Mrs. Black have come down to breakfast, -Mr. Rufus. Let us go in.” - -She led the way back to the breakfast room, Rufus following. They -found the bride and bridegroom and Mrs. Artress waiting for them. Neva -greeted Lady Wynde by her new name, and bowed quietly to Craven Black -and Mrs. Artress. The little party took seats at the table, and the -portly butler, with a mute protest in his heart against the new master -of Hawkhurst, waited upon them, assisted by skillful subordinates. - -Mrs. Craven Black, dressed in white, looked the incarnation of -satisfaction. She had so far succeeded in the daring game she had been -playing, and her jet-black eyes glittered, and her dark cheeks were -flushed to crimson, and her manner was full of feverish gayety, as she -did the honors of the Hawkhurst breakfast table to her new husband. - -Three years before she had been a poor adventuress, unable to -marry the man she loved. Now, through the success of a daring and -terrible conspiracy, she was wealthy, the real and nominal mistress -of one of the grandest seats in England; the personal guardian of -one of the richest heiresses in the kingdom; and the wife of her -fellow-conspirator, to obey whose behests, and to marry whom, she had -been willing to peril her soul’s salvation. - -Only one thing remained to render her triumph perfect, her fortune -magnificent, and her success assured. Only one move remained to be -played, and her game would be fully played. - -That move comprehended the marriage of Neva Wynde to Rufus Black, and -Mrs. Craven Black, from the moment of her third marriage, resolved to -devote all her energies to the task of bringing about the union upon -which she was determined. - -The breakfast was eaten by Neva almost in silence. When the meal was -over Mr. and Mrs. Craven Black strolled out into the gardens, arm in -arm. Mrs. Artress, who had fully emerged from her gray chrysalis, -and who was now dressed in pale blue, hideously unbecoming to her -ashen-hued complexion, retired to her own room to enjoy her triumph in -solitude, and to count the first installment of the yearly allowance -that had been promised her, and which had already been paid her, with -remarkable promptness, by Lady Wynde. - -Neva went to the music-room, and began to play a weird, strange melody, -in which her very soul seemed to find utterance. In the midst of her -abstraction, the door opened, and Rufus Black came in softly. - -He was standing at her side when her wild music ceased abruptly, and -she looked up from the ivory keys. - -“Your music sounds like a lament, or a dirge,” said Rufus, leaning upon -the piano and regarding with admiration the pale, rapt face and glowing -eyes. - -“I meant it so,” said Neva. “I was thinking of my father.” - -“Ah,” said Rufus, rather vacantly. - -“I dreamed of papa last night,” said Neva softly, resting her elbow on -the crashing keys and laying one rounded cheek upon her pink palm. “I -dreamed he was alive, Rufus, and that I saw him standing before the -door of an Indian hut, or bungalow, or curious dwelling; and my dream -was like a vision.” - -“A rather uncomfortable one,” suggested Rufus. “You were greatly -excited yesterday, Neva, I could see that; and, as your mind was all -stirred up concerning your father, you naturally dreamed of him. It -would make a horrid row if your dream could only turn out true, and you -ought to rejoice that it cannot. You have mourned for him, and the edge -of your grief has worn off--” - -“No, no, it has not,” interrupted the girl’s passionate young voice. -“If I had seen him die, I could have been reconciled to the will of -God. But to lose him in that awful manner--never to know how much he -suffered during the moments when he was struggling in the claws of that -deadly tiger--oh, it seems at times more than I can bear. And to think -how soon he has been forgotten!” and Neva’s voice trembled. “His wife -whom he idolized has married another, and his friends and tenantry have -danced and made merry at her wedding. Of all who knew and loved him, -only his daughter still mourns at his awful fate!” - -“It is hard,” assented Rufus, “but it’s the way of the world, you know. -If it will comfort you any, Neva, I will tell you that half the county -families came to the wedding breakfast to support and cheer you by -their presence, and the other half came out of sheer curiosity. But few -of the best families remained to the ball.” - -“Papa thought much of you, did he not, Rufus?” asked Neva, thinking of -that skilfully forged letter which was hidden in her bosom, and which -purported to be her father’s last letter to her from India. - -Rufus Black had been warned by his father that Neva might some day thus -question him, and Craven Black had told his son that he must answer -the heiress in the affirmative. Rufus was weak of will, cowardly, and -timid, but it was not in him to be deliberately dishonest. He could not -lie to the young girl, whose truthful eyes sought his own. - -“I had no personal acquaintance with Sir Harold Wynde, Neva,” the young -man said, inwardly quaking, yet daring to tell the truth. - -“But--but--papa said--I don’t really comprehend, Rufus. I thought that -papa loved you.” - -“If Sir Harold ever saw me, I do not know it,” said Rufus, cruelly -embarrassed, and wondering if his honesty would not prove his ruin. “I -was at the University--Sir Harold may have seen me, and taken a liking -to me--” - -Neva looked strangely perplexed and troubled. Certainly the awkward -statement of Rufus did not agree with the supposed last declaration of -her father. - -“There seems some mystery here which I cannot fathom,” she said. “I -have a letter written by papa in India, under the terrible foreboding -that he would die there, and in this letter papa speaks of you with -affection, and says--and says--” - -She paused, her blushes amply completing the sentence. - -A cold shiver passed over the form of Rufus. He comprehended the -cause of Neva’s blushes, and a portion of his father’s villainy. He -understood that the letter of which Neva spoke had been forged by -Craven Black, and that it commanded Neva’s marriage with Craven Black’s -son. What could he say? What should he do? His innate cowardice -prevented him from confessing the truth, and his awe of his father -prevented him from betraying him, and he could only tremble and blush -and pale alternately. - -“Papa might have taken an interest in you, without making himself known -to you,” suggested Neva, after a brief pause. “Some act of yours might -have made your name known to him, and he might secretly have watched -your course without betraying to you his interest in you, might he not?” - -“He might,” said Rufus huskily. - -“I can explain the matter in no other way. It is singular. Perhaps poor -papa might not have well known what he was writing, but the letter is -so clearly written that that idea is not tenable. After all, so long as -he wrote the letter, what does it matter?” said Neva wearily. “He must -have known you, Rufus--or else the letter was forged!” - -Rufus averted his face, upon which a cold sweat was starting. - -“Who would have forged it?” he asked hoarsely. - -“That I do not know. I know no one base enough for such a deed. It -could not have been forged, of course, Rufus, but the discrepancy -between your statement and that in the letter makes me naturally -doubt. Papa was the most truthful of men. He hated a lie, and was -so punctilious in regard to the truth that he was always painfully -exact in his statements. He trained me to scorn a lie, and was even -particular about the slightest error in repeating a story. How then -could he speak of knowing you? Perhaps, though, I am mistaken. I may -find, on referring to the letter, that he speaks of liking you and -taking an interest in you, without alluding to a personal acquaintance.” - -“If I had known Sir Harold, I should have tried to deserve his good -opinion,” said Rufus, his voice trembling. “I have the greatest -reverence for his character, and I wish I might be like him.” - -“There are few like papa,” said Neva, a sudden glow transfiguring her -face. - -“How you loved him, Neva. If I had had such a father!” and Rufus -sighed. “I would rather have an honorable, affectionate father whom I -could revere and trust than to have a million of money!” - -Neva reached out her hand in sympathy, and the young man seized it -eagerly, clinging to it. - -“Neva,” he exclaimed, with a sudden energy of passion, “it is more than -a month since I asked you to be my wife, and you have not yet given me -my answer. Will you give it to me now?” - -The girl withdrew her hand gently, and rested her cheek again on her -hand. - -“I know I am not worthy of you,” said Rufus, beseechingly. “I am poor -in fortune, weak of character, a piece of drift-wood blown hither and -thither by adverse winds, and likely to be tossed on a rocky shore at -last, if you do not have pity upon me. Neva, such as I am, I beseech -you to save me!” - -“I am powerless to save any one,” said Neva gently. “Your help must -come from above, Rufus.” - -“I want an earthly arm to cling to,” pleaded Rufus, his tones growing -shrill with the sudden fear that she would reject him. “I have in me -all noble impulses, Neva; I have in me the ability to become such a -man as was your father. I would foster all noble enterprises; I would -become great for your sake. I would study my art and make a name of -which you should be proud. Will you stoop from your high estate, Neva, -and have pity upon a weak, cowardly soul that longs to be strong and -brave? Will you smile upon my great love for you, and let me devote my -life to your happiness and comfort?” - -His wild eyes looked into hers with a prayerfulness that went to her -soul. He seemed to regard her as his earthly saviour--and such indeed, -if she accepted him, she would be, for she would bring him fortune, -and, what he valued more, her affection, her pure life, her brave soul, -on which his own weak nature might be stayed. - -“Poor Rufus!” said Neva, with a tenderness that a sister might have -shown him. “My poor boy!” and her small face beamed with sisterly -kindness upon the tall, awkward fellow, the words coming strangely from -her lips. “I am sorry for you.” - -“And you will marry me?” he cried eagerly. - -The young face became grave almost to sternness. The lovely eyes -gloomed over with a great shadow. - -“I want to obey papa’s wishes as if they were commands,” she said. “I -have thought and prayed, day after day and night after night. I like -you, Rufus, and I cannot hear your appeals unmoved. I believe I am not -selfish, if I am true to my higher nature, and obey the instincts God -has implanted in my soul. I must be untrue to God, to myself, and to -my own instincts, or I must pay no heed to that last letter and to the -last wishes of poor papa. Which shall I do? I have decided first one -way, and then the other. The possibility that that letter was--was not -written by papa--and there is such a possibility--I cannot now help but -consider. Forgive me, Rufus, but I have decided, and I think papa, who -has looked down from heaven upon my perplexity and my anguish, must -approve my course. I feel that I am doing right, when I say,” and here -her hand took his, “that--that I cannot marry you.” - -“Not marry me! Oh, Neva!” - -“It costs me much to say it, Rufus, but I must be true to myself, to -my principles of honor. I do not love you as a wife should love her -husband. I could not stand up before God’s altar and God’s minister, -and perjure myself by saying that I thus loved you. No, Rufus, no; it -may not be!” - -Rufus bowed his head upon the piano, and sobbed aloud. - -His weakness appealed to the girl’s strength. She had seldom seen a man -in tears, and her own tears began to flow in sympathy. - -“I am so sorry, Rufus!” she whispered. - -“But you will not save me? You will not lift a hand to save me from -perdition?” - -“I will be your sister, Rufus.” - -“Until you become some other man’s wife!” cried Rufus, full of jealous -anguish. “You will marry some other man--Lord Towyn, perhaps?” - -The girl retreated a few steps, a red glory on her features. A strange -sweet shyness shone in her eyes. - -“I see!” exclaimed Rufus, in a passion of grief and jealousy. “You will -marry Lord Towyn? Oh, Neva! Neva!” - -“Rufus, it cannot matter to you whom I marry since I cannot marry you. -Let us be friends--brother and sister--” - -“I will be all to you or nothing!” ejaculated Rufus violently. “I will -marry you or die!” - -He broke from the grasp she laid upon him, and with a wild cry upon his -lips, dashed from the room. - -In the hall he encountered Craven Black and his bride, just come in -from the garden. He would have brushed past them unseeing, unheeding, -but his father, seeing his excitement and agitation, grasped his arm -forcibly, arresting his progress. - -“What’s the matter?” demanded Craven Black fiercely. “What’s up?” - -“I’m going to kill myself!” returned Rufus shrilly, trying to break -loose from that strong, unyielding clasp. “It’s all over. Neva has -refused me, and turned me adrift. She is going to marry Lord Towyn!” - -“Oh, is she?” said Craven Black mockingly. “We’ll see about that.” - -“We will see!” said Neva’s step-mother, with a cruel and fierce -compression of her lips. “I am Miss Wynde’s guardian. We will see if -she dares disobey her father’s often repeated injunctions to obey me! -If she does refuse, she shall feel my power!” - -“Defer your suicide until you see how the thing turns out, my son,” -said Craven Black, with a little sneer. “Go to your room and dry your -tears, before the servants laugh at you.” - -Rufus Black slunk away, miserable, yet with reviving hope. Perhaps the -matter was not ended yet? Perhaps Neva would reconsider her decision? - -As he disappeared up the staircase, Mrs. Craven Black laid her hand on -her bridegroom’s arm, and whispered: - -“The girl will prove restive. We shall have trouble with her. If we -mean to force her into this marriage, we must first of all get her away -from her friends. Where shall we take her? How shall we deal with her?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. LALLY FINDS A NEW HOME. - - -Nearly six weeks had intervened between Rufus Black’s proposal of -marriage to Neva Wynde on the road-side bank and his final rejection by -her in the music-room at Hawkhurst. - -It will be remembered that there had been a hidden witness to the -half-despairing, half-loving, proposal of Rufus, and that this hidden -witness, seeing, but unseen, was no other than the wronged young wife -whom Rufus Black mourned as dead, and whom in his soul he loved a -thousand-fold better than the beautiful young heiress. - -During the six weeks that had passed, what had become of Lally--poor, -heart-broken, despairing Lally? - -We have narrated how she staggered away in the night gloom, after -seeing Rufus and Neva together in the square of light from the home -windows upon the marble terrace, not knowing whither she went, -but hurrying as swiftly as she might from her young husband, from -happiness, and from hope itself. - -She had no thought of suicide. She had learned many lessons by the -bedside of her old friend the seamstress, whose dying hours she had -cheered. She had learned that life may be very bitter and hard to bear, -but that it may not be thrown aside, or flung back in anger or despair -to the Giver. Its burdens must be borne, and he who bears them with -earnest patience, and in humble obedience to the divine will, shall -some day exchange the cross of suffering for the crown of a great -reward. No; Lally, weak and frail as she was, deserted by humanity, -would never again seriously think of suicide. - -She wandered on in the soft starlight and moonlight, a helpless, -homeless, hopeless creature, with nowhere to go, as we have said. She -had no money in her pocket, no food, and her shoes were worn out, and -her clothes were patched and darned and pitiably frayed and worn. The -very angels must have pitied her in her utter forlornness. - -For an hour or two she tottered on, but at last wearied to exhaustion, -she sank down in the shelter of a way-side hedge, and sobbed and moaned -herself to sleep. - -She was awake again at daybreak, and hurried up and on, as if flying -from pursuit. About eleven o’clock she came to a hop-garden, divided -from the road by wooden palings. There were men and women, of the tramp -species, busy at work here under the supervision of the hop farmer. -Lally halted and clung to the palings with both hands, and looked -through the interstices upon the busy groups with dilating eyes. - -She was worn with anguish, but even her mental sufferings could not -still the demands of nature. She was so hungry that it seemed as if a -vulture were gnawing at her vitals. She felt that she was starving. - -The hop-pickers, many of them tramps who lived in unions and -alms-houses in the winter, and who stray down into Kent during the hop -season, presently discovered the white and hungry face pressed against -the palings, and jeered at the girl, and called her names she could not -understand, making merry at her forlornness. - -The hop raiser heard them, and discovering the object of their rude -merriment, came forward, opened a gate in the palings, and hailed the -girl. He was short of hands, he said, and would give her sixpence a -day, and food and drink, if she chose to help in the hop picking. - -Lally nodded assent, and crept into the gate, and into the presence of -those who mocked at her. Her eyes were so wild, her manner so strange -and still, that the workers stared at her in wonder, whispered among -themselves, discovering that she was not of their kind, and turned -their backs upon her. - -It was taken for granted that the new hand had had her breakfast, -and not a crust was offered to her. The hop raiser had doubts about -her sanity, and observed her narrowly, but a dozen times that day he -mentally congratulated himself on his acquisition. Lally worked with -feverish energy, trying--ah, how vainly--to escape from her thoughts, -and she did the work of two persons. She had bread and cheese and a -glass of ale at noon, and a similar allowance of food for supper. - -That night she slept in a barn with the women tramps, but chose -a remote corner, where she buried herself in the hay, and slept -peacefully. - -The next day she would have wandered on in her unrest, but the farmer, -discovering her intention, offered her a shilling a day, and she -consented to remain. That night she again slept in her remote corner of -the barn, and no one spoke to her or molested her. - -She made no friends among the tramps, not even speaking to them. They -were rude, vicious, quarrelsome. She was educated and refined, had been -the teacher and companion of ladies, and was herself a lady at heart. -She went among these rude companions by the soubriquet of “The Lady,” -and this was the only name by which the hop farmer knew her. - -For a week Lally kept up this toil, laboring in the hop-fields by -day, and sleeping in a barn at night. At the end of that period, the -work being finished, she was no longer wanted, and she went her way, -resuming her weary tramp, with six shillings and sixpence in her pocket. - -For the next fortnight she worked in various hop-fields, paying -nothing for food or lodging. Her pay was better too, she earning a -sovereign in the two weeks. - -Three weeks after overhearing Rufus solicit the hand of Miss Wynde in -marriage, Lally found herself at Canterbury, shoeless and ragged, a -very picture of destitution. Her first act was to purchase a pair of -shoes, a ready-made print dress and a thin shawl. Her purchases were -all of the cheapest description, not costing her over five shillings. -She added to the list a round hat of coarse straw, around which she -tied a dark blue ribbon. - -She found a cheap lodging in the town; and here put on her new clothes. -The lodging was an attic room, with a dormer window, close up under the -slates of a humble brick dwelling. There was no carpet on her floor, -and the furniture comprised only an iron bed-stead, a chair and a -table. The house was rented by a tailor, who used the ground floor for -his shop and residence, and sub-let the upper rooms to a half dozen -different families. The three attic rooms were let to women, Lally -being one, and two thin, consumptive seamstresses occupying the others. - -It was necessary for Lally to find employment without delay, and she -inserted an advertisement in one of the local papers, soliciting a -position as nursery governess. She had the written recommendation of -her former employers, the superintendents of a ladies’ school, and with -this she hoped to secure a situation. - -Her advertisement was repeated for three days without result. Upon -the fourth day, as she was counting her slender store of money, and -wondering what she was to do when that was gone, the postman’s knock -was heard on the private door below, and presently the tailor’s little -boy came to Lally’s room bringing a letter. - -She tore it open eagerly. It was dated Sandy Lands, and was written in -a painfully minute style of penmanship, with faint and spidery letters. -The writer was a lady, signing herself Mrs. Blight. She stated that -she had a family of nine children, five of whom were young enough to -require the services of a nursery governess. If “L. B.”--the initials -Lally had appended to her advertisement--could give satisfactory -references, was an accomplished musician, spoke French and German, and -was well versed in the English branches, she might call at Sandy Lands -upon the following morning at ten o’clock. - -Accordingly the next morning Lally set out in a cab for Sandy Lands, -whose location Mrs. Blight had described with sufficient accuracy. It -was situated in one of the fashionable suburbs of the old cathedral -town. Lally expected from the grandeur of its name to find a large and -handsome estate, but found instead a pert little villa, close to the -road, and separated from it by a high brick wall in which was a wooden -gate. The domain of Sandy Lands comprised a half-acre of rather sterile -soil, in which a few larches struggled for existence, and an acacia and -a lime tree led a sickly life. - -The little villa, with plate-glass windows, green parlor shutters -drawn half-way up, a gabled roof, from which three saucy little dormer -windows protruded, was unmistakably the house of which Lally was in -search, for on one side of the gate, over a slit in the wall required -for the use of the proper letter-box, was the legend in bright gilt -letters, “Sandy Lands.” - -The cabman alighted and rang the garden bell. A smart looking housemaid -with white cap and white apron answered the call. Lally alighted and -asked if Mrs. Blight were at home. The smart housemaid eyed the humbly -clad stranger rather contemptuously, and remarked that she could not -be sure; Mrs. Blight might be at home, and then again she might not. - -“I received a letter from her telling me to call at this hour,” said -Lally, with what dignity she could summon. “I am seeking a situation as -nursery governess.” - -“Oh, then Missus is at home,” replied the housemaid. “You can come in, -Miss.” - -Bidding the cabman wait, Lally followed the servant across the garden -to a rear porch and was ushered into a small over-furnished reception -room. - -“What name shall I say, Miss?” asked the maid, pausing in the act of -withdrawal. - -“Miss Bird,” answered poor Lally, who had relinquished her young -husband’s name, believing that she had no longer any right to it. - -The maid went out, and was absent nearly twenty minutes. Lally began -to think herself forgotten, and grew nervous, and engaged in a mental -computation of her cabman’s probable charges. The maid finally -appeared, however, and announced that “Missus was in her boudoir, and -would see the young person.” - -Lally was conducted up stairs to a front room overlooking the road. -This room, like the one below, was over-furnished. The wide window -opened upon a balcony, and before it, half-reclining upon a silken -couch, was a lady in a heavy purple silk gown, and a profusion of -jewelry--a lady, short, stout, and red-visaged, with a nose much turned -up at the end, and so ruddy as to induce one to think it in a state of -inflammation. - -“Miss Bird!” announced the maid abruptly, flinging in the words like a -discharge of shot, and retired precipitately. - -Mrs. Blight turned her gaze upon Lally in a languid curiosity, and -waved her hand condescendingly, as an intimation that the “young -person” might be seated. - -Lally sat down. - -Mrs. Blight then raised a pair of gold-mounted eye-glasses to her -nose, and scrutinized Lally more closely, after what she deemed a very -high-bred and _nonchalant_ fashion indeed. - -She beheld a humbly dressed girl, not past seventeen, but looking -younger, with a face as brown as a berry and velvet-black eyes, which -were strangely pathetic and sorrowful--a girl who had known trouble -evidently, but who was pure and innocent as one might see at a glance. - -“Ah, is your name Bird?” asked Mrs. Blight languidly. “Seems as if I -had heard the name somewhere, but I can’t be sure. Of course you have -brought references, Miss Bird?” - -“I have only a recommendation signed by ladies in whose service I have -been,” said Lally. “I have been a music-teacher, but I possess the -other accomplishments you require.” - -She drew forth the little worn slip of paper which she had guarded as -of more value to her than money, because it declared her respectable -and a competent music-teacher, and gave it into the lady’s fat hands. - -“It is not dated very lately,” said Mrs. Blight. “How am I to know that -this recommendation is not a forgery? People do forge such things, I -hear. Why, a friend of mine took a footman on a forged recommendation, -and he ran away and took all her silver.” - -Lally’s honest cheeks flushed, and her heart swelled. She would have -arisen, but that the lady motioned to her to retain her seat, and so -long as there was a prospect that she might secure the situation Lally -would remain. - -“The recommendation looks all right,” continued Mrs. Blight, scanning -it with her glass, while she held it afar off, and daintily between -two fingers, as if it were a thing unclean. “You look honest too, but -appearances are _so_ deceiving! I had a nurse girl once who looked like -a Madonna, and as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she turned -out a perfect minx, artful as a cat. What salary do you expect?” - -“I--I don’t know, Madam. I have never been employed as nursery -governess.” - -“My husband allows me forty pounds a year for the salary of the -governess,” said Mrs. Blight. “But, of course, forty pounds ought -to get a governess with the very best of references. You are -inexperienced, as you confess. Now I will take the risk of you turning -out bad, if you should decide to remain with me as governess to my -five children, at a salary of twenty pounds a year, board and washing, -lights and fuel, included.” - -It was “Hobson’s choice--that or none”--to poor Lally. Twenty pounds -a year, and to be sheltered and fed and warmed besides, seemed very -liberal after her recent terrible struggle with the vulture of -starvation. - -“I will accept it, Mrs. Blight,” she said, her voice trembling--“that -is, if you will take me when you know that I have only the clothes -I stand in, and that for a few weeks I shall need my pay weekly to -provide me with decent garments.” - -“Oh, as to that,” said Mrs. Blight, “your clothes are poor, beggarly, -I might say. They will have to be improved at once. I will advance you -a quarter’s salary, five pounds, if you are quite sure you will use it -for clothes, and that you do not intend to cheat me out of my money. -You see I always speak plainly. My governesses are not pampered. They -have to earn their money, but that you probably expect to do. I don’t -know of another lady in Canterbury who would do as I am doing, lending -money to a perfect stranger, on a recommendation you may have written -yourself. But I am different from other ladies. _I_ am a judge of -physiognomy, and am not often deceived in my estimate of people. Why -are you out of clothes?” - -“I have been out of a situation as a teacher for some time,” said -Lally. “I have the present addresses of the ladies who signed my -recommendation, and I beg you to write to them to assure yourself -that I have spoken the truth. The addresses are written on the -recommendation itself.” - -“I noticed them, and shall write this very morning,” declared Mrs. -Blight. “Go now for your clothes, and be back to luncheon. I want to -introduce you to the children, who are running wild.” - -She waved her hand, and Lally, with her five pounds in her hand, -took her departure. She had found a new home, and one not likely to -be pleasant, but it would afford her shelter, and she believed she -could bear all things rather than to pass again through the poverty -and misery she had known. She little knew that it was the hand of -Providence that had brought her to Sandy Lands, and that the acceptance -of her present situation was destined to change the entire future -current of her existence, and even to affect that of her young husband. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. LALLY IN HER NEW SITUATION. - - -Lally returned to Canterbury in the cab that had brought her out to -Sandy Lands, Mrs. Blight’s pert little villa in the suburbs, and -entered upon the task of procuring a neat although necessarily scanty -wardrobe. She bought a cheap box, which she had sent to her lodgings. -A lady’s furnishing house yielded her a change of under garments, -another print dress, and a gown of black alpaca, and a supply of -collars and cuffs; her entire purchases amounting to three pounds ten -shillings. She carried her effects to her attic lodgings, the rent of -which she had paid in advance, packed her box, and set out again in the -cab for Sandy Lands. - -It was noon when the vehicle stopped again before the little villa. The -cabman rang the garden bell as before, and when the housemaid appeared -he dumped down Lally’s box upon the gravelled walk, received his pay, -and departed. The smart housemaid was as contemptuous as before of -Lally’s humble garments, but spoke to her familiarly, as if the two -were upon a social level, and conducted her toward the rear porch, -saying: - -“Missus said you was to be shown up to your room, Miss, to make your -twilet before seeing the children. If you please,” added the girl, -with increasing familiarity, “you and I are to see a good deal of each -other, and so I want to know what to call you.” - -Whatever the social rank of Lally’s parents, Lally herself was a lady -by instinct and education. The housemaid’s easy patronage was offensive -to her. She answered quietly: - -“You may call me Miss Bird.” - -“Oh,” said the housemaid, with a sniff and a toss of her head. “That’s -the talk, is it? Well, then, Miss Bird, follow me up to your room. This -way, Miss Bird. Up these stairs, Miss Bird.” - -Lally followed her guide up the stairs to the third and topmost story, -and to a rear room. - -“This is the room of the nussery governess,” said the offended -housemaid, her nose in the air. “The room on your right is the -school-room, Miss Bird. That on the left is the nussery. You are to -have your room to yourself, Miss Bird, which I hopes will suit you. -There’s no petting of governesses in this here ’stablishment. You rises -at seven, Miss Bird, and eats with the children. You begins lessons at -nine o’clock, Miss Bird, and keeps ’em up till luncheon, and then comes -music, langwidges, and them sort. Dinner in the school-room, Miss Bird, -at five o’clock. Your evenings you has to yourself.” - -“I shall receive my list of duties from Mrs. Blight,” said Lally -pleasantly, “but I am obliged to you all the same.” - -The housemaid’s face softened under Lally’s gentleness and sweetness. - -“I wouldn’t wonder if she was a born lady, after all,” the girl -thought. “She won’t stand putting down, and her face is that sorrowful -I pity her.” - -But she did not give expression to these thoughts. What she did say was -this: - -“My name’s Loizy, and if I can do anything for you just let me know. -There’s my bell, and I must go. When you get ready, come down stairs to -Missus’s boo-door.” - -She vanished just as the house boy, or Buttons, as he was called, -appeared with Lally’s box. He set this down near the door, and also -departed. Left alone, Lally examined her new home with a faint thrill -of interest. - -The floor was bare, with the exception of a strip of loose and -threadbare carpet before the low brass bedstead. There was a -chintz-covered couch, a chintz-covered easy-chair, a chest of drawers, -and a green-shuttered blind at the single window. The room had a dreary -aspect, but to Lally it was a haven of refuge. - -She locked her door and knelt down and prayed, thanking God that He had -been so good to her as to give her a safe shelter and a home. Then, -rising, she dressed herself as quickly as possible, putting on her -black alpaca dress, a spotless linen collar and cuffs, a black sash, -and a black ribbon in her hair. Thus attired, she descended the stairs, -finding the way to the boudoir, at the door of which she knocked. - -Mrs. Blight’s languid voice bade her enter. - -She obeyed, finding her employer still reclining in an armed chair, -looking as if she had not moved since Lally’s previous visit. She had -a book in one hand, a paper cutter in the other. She recognized Lally -with a sort of pleased surprise. - -“Ah, back again, and punctual!” she exclaimed, glancing at a toy clock -in white and blue enamel on the low mantel-piece. “I had a great many -misgivings after you went away, Miss Bird. Five pounds is a good deal -of money to one in your position in life, and the world is _so_ full of -swindlers. I have already written to the ladies to whom you referred -me. I suppose I should have waited for their answer before engaging -you, but I am such an impulsive creature, I always do just as I feel at -the spur of the moment. My husband calls me ‘a child of impulse,’ and -the words describe me exactly. I’m glad to see you back. I don’t know, -I’m sure, what I should have said to Mr. Blight if you had decamped, -for he does not appreciate my ability to read faces. The time I got -taken in with my last cook--the one we found lying with her head in a -brass kettle, and the kitchen fire gone out, at the very hour when I -had a large company assembled to dine with me--Charles said, ‘Fudge, -don’t let us hear any more about physiognomy.’ You see, I engaged the -woman because her face was all that could be desired. And since that -time Charles won’t hear a word about physiognomy.” - -Lally sat down, obeying a wave of Mrs. Blight’s hand. That “child of -impulse,” silly, garrulous, and puffed up with self-importance and -vulgarity, pursued her theme until she had exhausted it. - -“You are looking very well, Miss Bird,” she said, changing the subject, -“but all in black--why, you are quite a black-bird, I declare,” and she -laughed at her own wit. “Are you in mourning? Have you lately lost a -friend?” - -“Yes, madam,” replied Lally sorrowfully, “I have lately lost the only -friend I had in the whole world.” - -“Oh, indeed. That is sad; but I do hope you won’t wear a long face and -go moping about the house, frightening the children,” said Mrs. Blight, -with a candor that was less charming than oppressive to her newly -engaged governess. “You must do as the poet so romantically says: - - “‘Wear a smile, - Though the cold heart runs darkly to ruin the while.’ - -“If he doesn’t say that, it’s some such thing, and a very pretty -sentiment too. And now let us discuss your new duties.” - -She proceeded to sketch Lally’s duties much as the housemaid had -done. Then she gave a history of each one of the five children who -were to be under Lally’s supervision. Three of the children were boys, -and their fond mother described them as paragons. Her girls also were -extraordinary in their mental and physical attractions, “having once -been taken at the Zoological gardens during a visit to London, by a -strange gentleman, for the children of a nobleman!” - -“I will accompany you to the nursery, Miss Bird,” said the lady, -arising. “I desire to introduce you to my darlings. I have great faith -in the instincts of children, and I want to see what my children think -of you.” - -Accordingly Mrs. Blight conducted Lally again to the upper floor and -to the nursery, which was at the moment of their entrance in a state of -wildest confusion and disorder. - -The nurse, a stout old woman, and the nursemaid, a red-faced young -girl, were in a state of despair, and frantically holding their hands -to their ears, while five robust, boisterous, frouzy-headed children -rode about the room upon chairs, played “tag,” and otherwise disported -themselves. - -The entrance of Mrs. Blight and Lally caused a cessation of the noise. -The mother called her children to her, but they retreated with their -fingers in their mouths, looking askance at their new governess. The -three “noble boys” presently set up a loud bellowing, and the two girls -who had been “mistaken by a strange gentleman for the children of a -nobleman,” hid behind their nurses. - -It required all the persuasions, coupled with threats, of Mrs. Blight, -to induce her shy children to show themselves to Lally. It appeared -that they had a horror of governesses, regarding them as tyrants and -ogresses created especially to destroy the happiness of children; but -Lally’s smiles, added to the fact that she looked but little more than -a child, finally induced them to be sociable and to approach her. - -“In a day or two you won’t be able to do anything with them, Miss,” -said the head nurse. “They’ll ride rough-shod over you.” - -“They are so spirited,” murmured Mrs. Blight. “Study their characters -closely, Miss Bird, and be very tender with them. I have one child -more than the Queen, and my children are named for the royal family. -These three boys are Leopold, Albert Victor, and George. The girls are -named Victoria and Alberta. My elder children are at school. Children, -this is Miss Bird, your new governess. Now come with her into the -school-room. Lessons begin immediately.” - -The little flock, with Lally at their head, was conducted to the -school-room, a large, bare apartment, furnished with two benches, a -teacher’s chair and desk, and a black-board. Here Mrs. Blight left -them, convinced that she had fulfilled her duties as parent and -employer, and returned to her book. - -Lally proceeded to examine into the acquirements of her pupils, finding -them lamentably ignorant. Lessons were given out, but there was no -disposition on the part of her pupils to study. They threw paper balls -at each other, whispered and giggled, and altogether proved at the very -outset a sore trial to their young teacher. Their shyness lasted for -but a brief period, and then, having no longer fear of the sad-faced -governess, they began to romp about the room, to shout, and to engage -in a general game of frolics. - -Lally had a vein of decision in her character, and with the exercise -of a gentle firmness induced her pupils to return to their seats. She -explained their lessons to them, with an unfailing patience, but the -hours of that September afternoon seemed almost endless to her. The -children were froward, disobedient, and idle. They had been spoiled by -their mother, and were full of mischievous tricks, so that Lally’s soul -wearied within her. - -Dinner, a very plain and frugal one, was served to the governess and -the children in the school-room at five o’clock. After dinner, Lally’s -time belonged to herself, and she put on her hat and went out for a -walk, having a longing for the fresh air. - -This first day at Sandy Lands was a fair type of the days that -followed. The children, under Lally’s firm but gentle rule, became -more quiet and studious, and conceived an affection for their young -governess. Mrs. Blight was delighted with their improvement. She had -received a reply from Lally’s former employers, giving the young girl -very high praise, and was consequently well pleased with herself for -securing such valuable services as Lally’s at a salary less than half -she had ever before paid to a governess. - -Mr. Blight was a lawyer in good practice at Canterbury, and spent his -days at his office, returning to Sandy Lands to dine, and leaving home -immediately after breakfast. He was a small, ferret-eyed man, always -in a hurry, a mere money making machine, with a great ambition to make -or acquire a fortune. At present he lived fully up to his income, a -fact which gave both him and Mrs. Blight much secret anxiety. With -ten children to educate and provide for, several servants to pay, a -carriage and pair for Mrs. Blight, and the lawyer’s wines, cigars, -frequent elaborate dinners to his friends, and other items by no means -small to settle, Mr. Blight was continually harassed by debt, and yet -had not sufficient strength of will to reduce his expenses and live -within his income. - -One cause, perhaps, of their indiscreet self-indulgence was that they -had “expectations.” - -There was an old lady connected with the family, the widow of a wealthy -London banker who had been Mr. Blight’s uncle. This old lady was -supposed to have no relatives of her own to enrich at her death, and -the Blights had lively hopes of inheriting her fifty thousand pounds, -which had descended to her absolutely at her husband’s death, and of -which she was free to dispose as she might choose. - -This lady lived in London, at the West End, was very eccentric, very -irascible, and went little in society, being quite aged and infirm. She -was in the habit of coming down to Sandy Lands annually in September, -ostensibly to spend a month with her late husband’s relatives; but she -always returned home within a week, alleging that she could not bear -the noise of the Blight children, and that a month under the same roof -with them would deprive her of life or reason. It was now about the -time of this lady’s annual visit, and one morning, when Lally had been -about two weeks at Sandy Lands, Mrs. Blight came up to the school-room, -an open letter in her hand, and dismissing the children to the nursery -for a few minutes, said confidentially: - -“Miss Bird, I have just received a letter from the widow of my -husband’s uncle, a remarkable old lady, with fifty thousand pounds at -her own absolute disposal. My husband is naturally the old lady’s heir, -being her late husband’s nephew, and we expect to inherit her property. -Her name is Mrs. Wroat.” - -“An odd name!” murmured Lally. - -“And she’s as odd as her name,” declared Mrs. Blight. “She comes here -at this time every year, and always brings a parrot, a lap-dog, a -band-box in a green muslin case, a blue umbrella, and a snuffy old -maid, who eyes us all as if we had designs on her mistress’s life. The -absurd old creature is devoted to her mistress, who is a mere bundle -of whims and eccentricities. The old lady calls for a cup of coffee at -midnight, and she hates our dear children, and she thrashed Leopold -with her cane last year, because he put nettles in her bed and flour -on her best cap, the poor dear innocent child. And I never dared to -interfere to save Leopold, though his screams rang through the house, -and I stood outside her door listening and peeping, for you know we -must have her fifty thousand pounds, even if she takes the lives of all -my darlings!” and Mrs. Blight’s tone was pathetic. “She’s a nasty old -beast--there! Of course I say it in confidence, Miss Bird. It would -be all up with us, if Aunt Wroat were to hear that I said that. She’s -very tenacious of respect, and all that bother, and insisted I should -punish Albert Victor because he called her ‘an old curmudgeon.’” - -“When do you expect this lady?” asked Lally. - -“To-morrow, with her maid, lapdog, parrot, umbrella and bandbox. She -writes that she will stay a month, and that she must have no annoyance -from the children, and that she won’t have them in her room--the old -nuisance! If it wasn’t for her money, I’d telegraph her to go to -Guinea, but as we are situated I can’t. I must put up with her ways. -And what I want of you, Miss Bird, is to see that the children do -not stir off this floor while she is here. Let them die for want of -exercise, the poor darlings, rather than we offend this horrid old -woman. If we sacrifice ourselves, she can’t leave her property to some -fussy old charity, that’s one comfort.” - -“I will do my best to keep the children out of Mrs. Wroat’s sight,” -said Lally gravely. - -“You must succeed in doing so, for the old lady says this will probably -be her last visit to us, as she is growing more and more infirm, and -she hints that it is time to make her will. Everything depends upon -her reception on the occasion of this visit. Let her get miffed at us, -and it’s all up. I declare I wish I had a place where I could hide the -children during her stay. She must not see or hear them, Miss Bird.” - -“Is there anything more that I can do, Mrs. Blight?” - -“Yes; she always has the governess play upon the piano and sing to her -in the evening. She is fond of music, desperately so. We always hire -a cottage piano and put it in her sitting-room while she stays, and -the governess plays to her there evenings. She’s very liberal with a -governess who can play well. She gave Miss Oddly last year a five-pound -note. And always when she leaves us after a visit, she hands me twenty -pounds and says she never wants to be indebted to anybody, and that’s -to defray her expenses while here. I have to take it. I wouldn’t dare -to refuse it.” - -“I shall be glad to amuse her in any way, Mrs. Blight,” declared the -young governess. “I shall not mind her eccentricities, and shall -remember that she is ‘aged and infirm.’” - -“And she has fifty thousand pounds which we must have,” said Mrs. -Blight. “Don’t fail to remember that!” - -Much relieved at having guarded against a meeting between her expected -guest and her children, Mrs. Blight departed to seek an interview with -her cook. - -Extensive preparations were made that day for the reception of Mrs. -Wroat. Two rooms were prepared for her use, one of them having two -beds, one bed being for the use of the maid. A cottage piano was hired -and put into one of the rooms. The choicest articles of furniture in -the house were arranged for her use. The hint that Mrs. Wroat was -thinking of making her will was sufficient to render her time-serving, -money-hunting relatives gentle, pliable, and apparently full of tender -anxiety for her happiness and comfort. - -Mr. Blight was informed of the good news when he came home to dinner, -and he sought a personal interview with his children’s governess, -entreating her to keep the youngsters out of sight during the visit of -Mrs. Wroat, as she valued her situation. - -Everything being thus arranged, it only remained for the guest to -arrive. - -No. 232 of the SELECT LIBRARY, entitled “Neva’s Choice,” is the sequel -to the foregoing novel, and the story of Neva’s romance, together with -the intrigues and plottings of her enemies, is charmingly brought to -its conclusion. - - * * * * * - -What Makes a Superwoman? - - Beauty? No! - Daintiness? No! - Wit? No! - Youth? No! - Femininity? 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You won’t lose anything by such -substitution, because the books by the authors named are very uniform -in quality. - -In ordering Street & Smith novels by mail, it is advisable to make a -choice of at least two titles for each book wanted, so as to give us an -opportunity to substitute for titles that are now out of print. - - STREET & SMITH CORPORATION, - 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Punctuation has been made consistent. - -Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in -the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have -been corrected. - -The following changes were made: - -p. 35: Missing letter assumed to be C (Even Madame Da-Caret, the) - -p. 114: second changed to third (her third marriage) - -p. 216: In changed to I’ll (cruel. 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