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diff --git a/old/69843-0.txt b/old/69843-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 199237e..0000000 --- a/old/69843-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9604 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gloriana, by Lady Florence Dixie - -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: Gloriana - or, the revolution of 1900 - -Author: Lady Florence Dixie - -Release Date: January 20, 2023 [eBook #69843] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLORIANA *** - - - - - - GLORIANA; - - OR, - - THE REVOLUTION OF 1900. - - -[Illustration: Faithfully yours. Florence Dixie.] - - - - - GLORIANA; - OR, - THE REVOLUTION OF 1900. - - - BY - - LADY FLORENCE DIXIE, - - AUTHOR OF “REDEEMED IN BLOOD,” “THE YOUNG CASTAWAYS,” “ACROSS - PATAGONIA,” ETC. - - LONDON: - HENRY AND COMPANY, - 6, BOUVERIE STREET, E.C. - 1890. - - - - - Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. - - - - - TO - - ALL WOMEN - - AND - - SUCH HONOURABLE, UPRIGHT, AND COURAGEOUS - - MEN - - -_As, regardless of Custom and Prejudice, Narrow-mindedness and -Long-established Wrong, will bravely assert and uphold the Laws of -Justice, of Nature, and of Right; I dedicate the following pages, with -the hope that a straightforward inspection of the evils afflicting -Society, will lead to their demolition in the only way possible—namely, -by giving to Women equal rights with Men. Not till then will Society be -purified, wrongdoing punished, or Man start forward along that road -which shall lead to Perfection._ - - - - -[Illustration] - - PREFACE. - - “Thus we were told in words Divine - That there were truths men could not bear - E’en from the lips of Christ to hear. - These have now slowly been unfurled, - But still to a reluctant world. - - “Prophets will yet arise to teach - Truths which the school-men fail to reach, - Which priestly doctrine still would hide, - And worldly votaries deride, - And statesmen fain would set aside.” - - -I make no apology for this preface. It may be unusual but then the book -it deals with is unusual. There is but one object in “Gloriana.” It is -to speak of evils which do exist, to study facts which it is a crime to -neglect, to sketch an artificial position—the creation of laws false to -Nature—unparalleled for injustice and hardship. - -Many critics, like the rest of humanity, are apt to be unfair. They take -up a book, and when they find that it does not accord with their -sentiments, they attempt to wreck it by ridicule and petty, spiteful -criticism. They forget to ask themselves, “Why is this book written?” -They altogether omit to go to the root of the Author’s purpose; and the -result is, that false testimony is often borne against principles which, -though drastic, are pure, which, though sharp as the surgeon’s knife, -are yet humane; for it is genuine sympathy with humanity that arouses -them. - -There is no romance worth reading, which has not the solid foundation of -truth to support it; there is no excuse for the existence of romance, -unless it fixes thought on that truth which underlies it. Gloriana may -be a romance, a dream; but in the first instance, it is inextricably -interwoven with truth, in the second instance, dreams the work of the -brain are species of thought, and thought is an attribute of God. -Therefore is it God’s creation. - -There may be some, who reading “Gloriana,” will feel shocked, and be apt -to misjudge the author. There are others who will understand, -appreciate, and sympathise. There are yet others, who hating truth, will -receive it with gibes and sneers; there are many, who delighting in the -evil which it fain would banish, will resent it as an unpardonable -attempt against their liberties. An onslaught on public opinion is very -like leading a Forlorn Hope. The leader knows full well that death lies -in the breach, yet that leader knows also, that great results may spring -from the death which is therefore readily sought and faced. “Gloriana” -pleads woman’s cause, pleads for her freedom, for the just -acknowledgment of her rights. It pleads that her equal humanity with man -shall be recognised, and therefore that her claim to share what he has -arrogated to himself, shall be considered. “Gloriana,” pleads that in -woman’s degradation man shall no longer be debased, that in her -elevation he shall be upraised and ennobled. The reader of its pages -will observe the Author’s conviction, everywhere expressed, that Nature -ordains the close companionship not division of the sexes, and that it -is opposition to Nature which produces jealousy, intrigue, and unhealthy -rivalry. - -“Gloriana” is written with no antagonism to man. Just the contrary. The -Author’s best and truest friends, with few exceptions, have been and are -men. But the Author will never recognise man’s glory and welfare in -woman’s degradation. - - “And hark! a voice with accents clear - Is raised, which all are forced to hear. - ’Tis woman’s voice, for ages hushed, - Pleading the cause of woman crushed; - Pleading the cause of purity, - Of freedom, honour, equity, - Of all the lost and the forlorn, - Of all for whom the Christ was born.” - -If, therefore, the following story should help men to be generous and -just, should awaken the sluggards amongst women to a sense of their -Position, and should thus lead to a rapid Revolution it will not have -been written in vain. - - THE AUTHOR. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - MAREMNA’S DREAM 1 - BOOK I. 5 - BOOK II. 116 - BOOK III. 249 - - - - -[Illustration] - - MAREMNA’S DREAM. - INTRODUCTION TO - GLORIANA; - _OR, A DREAM OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1900_. - - - A rose-red sunset, - Mingling its radiance with the purple heath, - Flooding the silver lake with blushing light, - Dyeing the ocean grey a crimson hue, - Streaking the paling sky with rosy shafts; - Clinging to Nature with a ling’ring kiss, - Ere it shall vanish from a drowsy earth, - To rouse in new-deck’d cloak of shining gold - A waking world far o’er the ocean’s wave. - Maremna sleeps, - Close cushion’d in the heather’s warm embrace; - The rose-red sunset plays around her form— - A graceful, girlish figure, lithe and fair, - Small, slim, yet firmly knit with Nature’s power— - Unfetter’d Nature! which will not be bound - By Fashion’s prison rules and cultur’d laws. - Maremna sleeps. - One rosy cheek lies pillow’d on her hand, - And through her waving, wandering auburn curls - The zephyr cupids frolic merrily, - Tossing them to and fro upon her brow - In sportive play. It is a brow of thought, - Endow’d by God and Nature, though, alas! - Held in paralysis by selfish laws - Which strive to steal a fair inheritance, - And bid the woman bow the knee to man. - Maremna sleeps. - The white lids veil the large grey, lustrous eyes, - The auburn lashes sweep the sunlit cheeks, - Yet are they wet, and cling to the soft skin - Whereon the damp of tears is glazing fast. - Maremna’s sleep is not the sleep of rest, - For ever and anon the blood-red lips - Unclose, and strive to speak, but yet remain - Silent and speechless, tied by some dread force - Which intervenes, denying to the brain - That comfort which the power of speech doth bring. - Who is Maremna?— - A noble’s child, rear’d amidst Nature’s scenes, - Her earliest friends! _They_ guided her first steps, - Speaking of God and His stupendous works - Long ere Religion’s dogma intervened. - Child of a chieftain o’er whose broad domains - She roamed, a happy, free, unfetter’d waif, - Loving the mountain crag and forest lone, - The straths and corries, rugged glens and haunts - Of the red deer and dove-like ptarmigan; - Loving the language of the torrent’s roar, - Or the rough river’s wild bespated rush; - Loving the dark pine woods, amidst whose glades - The timid roe hides from the gaze of man; - Loving the great grey ocean’s varying face, - Now calm, now rugged, rising into storm, - Anon so peaceful, so serene, and still, - When passion’s fury sinks beneath the wave. - Maremna sleeps - Amidst the scenes that rear’d her early years - Yet is Maremna now no more a child, - Nor guileless with the innocence of youth. - Hers it has been to roam God’s mighty world, - And learn the ways and woful deeds of men, - And, weary with her world-wide pilgrimage, - Maremna’s steps have sought her early haunts, - Hoping for rest where childhood once did play. - Rest for Maremna! - An idle thought; a foolish sentiment! - Unto the brain which God has bidden “Think” - No rest can come from Solitude’s retreat; - For solitude breeds thought, and shapes its course - And bids it live within the form of speech, - Or bids the mighty pen proclaim its life, - And write its words upon the scrolls of men. - Thus with Maremna. - Rest she has sought, but sought it all in vain. - What God decrees no mortal hand can stay. - “Think.” He ordains, and lo! the brain _must_ think, - Nor close its eyes upon the mammoth truth. - Truth must prevail! Truth must be held aloft! - What matter if the cold world sneers or scoffs? - Sneering and scoffing is the work of man, - Truth, the almighty handiwork of God. - It may be dimm’d, it may be blurr’d from sight, - Yet must it triumph in the end, and win; - For is not truth a sun which cannot die, - Though unbelief may cloud it for a time? - Maremna sleeps; - Sleeps where in childhood oft she lay and dream’d, - Dream’d of fantastic worlds and fairy realms. - And now, in sleep, Maremna dreams again, - But dreams no more of elves and laughing sprites. - Hers, though a dream, is stern reality, - Mingled with visions of a future day; - Hers is a dream of hideous, living wrong, - Wrong which ’tis woman’s duty to proclaim - And man’s to right, and right right speedily, - Or crush the form of justice underfoot. - Maremna sleeps, - And in her sleep a vision fills her brain. - This is Maremna’s Dream. - - - - -[Illustration] - - GLORIANA; - OR, - _THE REVOLUTION OF 1900._ - - _BOOK I._ - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -“I am tired, mother.” - -“Tired, child! And why?” - -“Mother, I have been spouting to the wild sea waves.” - -“And what have you been saying to them, Gloria?” - -“Ah, mother! ever so much.” - -Let us look at the speakers, a mother and child, the former as she -stands leaning against a stone balustrade, which overlooks a small -Italian garden, upon which the sun is shining brightly. Far out beyond -is the gleaming sea, and on its sparkling, silvery sheen the woman’s -eyes are absently fixed as she hearkens to the complaining prattle of -the child by her side. She is a beautiful woman is Speranza de Lara, one -upon whom Dame Nature has showered her favours freely. As the stranger, -looking upon her for the first time, would deem her but a girl in years, -and exclaim admiringly at her beauty, it would be difficult to convince -him that her age is thirty-five, as in effect it is. - -Speranza’s eyes are blue, with the turquoise shade lighting up their -clear depths, and a fringe of silky auburn eyelashes confining them -within bounds. Her magnificent hair is of a slightly lighter hue, and as -the sun plays on the heavy coil that is twisted gracefully upon her -noble head, the golden sparks dance merrily around it, like an aureole -of gold. - -And the child? We must look nearer still at her, for she not only is -beautiful, but there is writ upon her face the glowing sign of genius. -Like her mother, Gloriana, or, as we shall prefer to call her, Gloria, -has blue eyes, but they are the blue of the sapphire, deep in -contradistinction to the turquoise shade, which characterises those of -Speranza. Auburn eyelashes, too, fringe the child’s wonderful eyes, but -again these are many shades darker than the mother’s, while masses of -auburn curls play negligently and unconfined, covering the girl’s back -like a veil of old-gold. Such is Gloriana de Lara at the age of twelve. - -“Won’t Gloria tell mother what that ‘_ever so much_’ was?” - -She puts the question gently, does Speranza. She has never moved from -the position in which we first found her, and her eyes are still -dreamily searching the waste of blue waters beyond. But as she speaks -the child puts her arm caressingly through that of the mother’s, and -lays her golden head against that mother’s shoulder. - -“Ah! yes, mother, of course I will tell _you_.” - -“Then tell me, Gloria.” - -“I was imagining the foam flakelets to be girls, mother, and I looked -upon them as my audience. I told them, mother darling, of all the wrongs -that girls and women have to suffer, and then I bade them rise as one to -right these wrongs. I told them all I could think of to show them how to -do so, and then I told them that I would be their leader, and lead them -to victory or die. And the wavelets shouted, mother. I seemed to hear -them cheer me on, I seemed to see them rising into storm, the wind -uprose them, and their white foam rushed towards me, and I seemed to see -in this sudden change the elements of a great revolution.” - -“Like a dream, Gloria.” - -“A living dream, mother; at least it was so to me. It brought a feeling -to my heart, mother, which I know will never leave it more, until, -until——” - -The girl pauses, and the great tears rise to her eyes. Speranza raises -herself suddenly, and, confronting the child, lays both hands upon her -shoulders. - -“Until what, child?” - -“Until I’ve won, mother,” cries Gloria, as she raises her glorious eyes, -in which the tears still tremble, to her mother’s face. - -“Ah, Gloria! the odds are against you, my darling.” - -“Don’t I know that, mother; don’t I know that well? But I am not afraid. -I made a vow, mother, to-day, I made it to those waves; and something -tells me that I shall keep that vow and win, though in doing so I may -die.” - -“Hush, Gloria, hush, child; don’t talk like that.” - -“And don’t you want me to win, mother? After all you have suffered, -after all you have taught me, would you have your child turn back from -the path she has set herself to follow, because perhaps at that path’s -end lies death?” - -“Child, it is a cause I would gladly lay down my life for, but how can I -bring myself to wish you to sacrifice yourself?” - -“What is sacrifice in a great cause, mother? I fear no sacrifice, no -pain, no consequence, so long as victory crowns me in the end.” - -The mother’s arms are round her child’s neck now, her head is bending -down and the bright gold of Speranza’s lovely hair is close beside the -glossy, wandering dark gold curls of Gloria. In the heart of the former -a new-born hope is rising, vague, undefinable, yet still there, and -which fills it with a happiness she has not known for many and many a -day. - -“My child,” she exclaims softly, “can it be, that after all these years -of weary, lonely suffering, I am awaking to find in you, you, the -offspring of a forbidden love, the messenger that shall awake the world -to woman’s wrongs, and make suffering such as I have endured _no longer -possible_?” - -“Yes, mother, I feel it,” answers Gloria earnestly; “and that is why I -have made my plans to-day. Everything must have a beginning you know, -mother, and therefore I must begin, and begin at once. You must help me, -mother darling. I can do nothing without your co-operation.” - -“Tell me your plans, Gloria, and mother will help you if she can.” - -“My plans are many, but the first must have a premier consideration. -Mother, I must go to school.” - -“To school, child! I thought you always have begged me not to send you -to school.” - -“It must be to a boy’s school, mother. You must send me to Eton.” - -“To Eton?” - -“Yes, mother; don’t you understand?” - - * * * * * - -Here a retrospect is necessary to enable the reader to comprehend the -above conversation. - -Thirty-five years previously there had been born to a young widow in the -Midland Counties of England a posthumous child and daughter, to whom the -name of Speranza had been given. The widow, Mrs. de Lara by name, was -left badly off. Her husband, who had been an officer in the British -service, had sold out, and accepted an estate agency from a rich -relative, upon whose property he lived in a tiny but snug cottage, which -nestled amidst some pine and oak woods on the shores of as beautiful a -lake as was to be seen all the country round. Captain and Mrs. de Lara -were a very happy pair. Theirs had been a love match; and she never -regretted the rich offers of marriage which she had rejected for the -sake of the handsome, dashing but well-nigh penniless young officer. Her -father, furious at what he considered a _mésalliance_, had cut her off -with a shilling; and thus it was that the two had had a hard struggle to -make ends meet on the little possessed by the captain. What mattered it? -They were happy. - -Grief, however, soon came to cloud that home of peace and contentment. -An accidental discharge of his gun inflicted on Captain de Lara a mortal -wound. He died in the arms of his heart-broken wife, who lived just long -enough to give birth to the little Speranza, dying a fortnight later, -and leaving, penniless and friendless, two little boys and the baby girl -referred to. The captain’s rich relative adopted them. He was a -kind-hearted man, and felt that he could not turn them adrift on the -world, but his wife, a hard-hearted and scheming woman, resented the -adoption bitterly, and led the children a sad and unhappy life. She had -a son and daughter of her own, aged respectively five and six years, and -upon these she lavished a false and mistaken affection, spoiling them in -every possible way, and bringing them up to be anything but pleasant to -those around them. - -When old enough Speranza’s brothers were sent to school, and given to -understand by their adopted father that they might choose their own -professions. The eldest selected the army, the youngest the navy, and -each made a start in his respective line of life. But Speranza, being a -girl, had no chances thrown out to her. She was a very beautiful girl, -strong, healthy, and clever; but of what use were any of these -attributes to her? - -“If I were only a boy,” she would bitterly moan to herself, “I could -make my way in the world. I could work for my living, and be free -instead of being what I am, the butt of my adopted mother.” - -It is necessary to explain that Speranza’s adopted parents were the Earl -and Countess of Westray, and that their two children were Bertrand -Viscount Altai and Lady Lucy Maree. Dordington Court was the family -seat, and it was here that Speranza spent the first sixteen years of her -life. - -There were great doings at Dordington Court when Lord Altai came of age. -A large party was invited to take part in the week’s festivities, and -duly assembled for the occasion. Many beautiful women were there, but -none could compare in beauty with Speranza de Lara. She was only -seventeen years of age at the time, but already the promise of exquisite -loveliness could not but be apparent to every one. It captivated many, -but none more so than young Altai himself. - -He was not a good man was the young viscount. Injudicious indulgence as -a child had laid the seeds of selfishness and indifference to the -feelings of others. He had been so accustomed to have all he wanted, -that such a word as “refusal” was hardly known to him. He had grown up -in the belief that what Altai asked for must be granted as a matter of -course. And now, in pursuit of his passions, he chose to think himself, -or imagined himself, in love with Speranza, and had determined to make -her his wife. - -He chose his opportunity for asking her. It was the night of a great -ball given at Dordington Court during the week’s festivities. Speranza -had been dancing with him, and when the dance was over he led her away -into one of the beautiful conservatories that opened from one of the -reception-rooms, and was lighted up with softly subdued pink fairy -lamps. He thought he had never seen her look more beautiful, and his -passion hungered to make her his own more than ever. - -He put the usual question, a question which—no reason has yet been given -why—a man arrogates to himself _alone_ to put. He never dreamed that -she, the penniless Speranza de Lara, the adopted orphan of his father -and mother, would refuse _him_. He took it as of course for granted that -she would jump at his offer. Were there not girls—and plenty too—in the -house who would have given their eyes for such a proposal? He put the -question therefore confidently, nay, even negligently, and awaited the -answer without a doubt in his mind as to what it would be. - -He started. She was speaking in reply. Could he believe his ears, and -was that answer No? And yet there was no mistaking it, for the voice, -though low, was clear and very distinct. It decidedly said him Nay. Yes, -Speranza had refused him. It was the first rebuff he had ever received -in his life, the first denial that had ever been made to request of his. -It staggered him, filled him with blind, almost ungovernable, fury. More -than ever he coveted the girl who had rejected him, more than ever he -determined to make her, what the law told him she should be if he -married her, his own. - -He left her suddenly, anger and rage at heart, and she, with a sad and -weary restlessness upon her, wandered out into the clear moonlit night, -and stood gazing over the beautiful lake at her feet, and at the tiny -cottage at the far end where her father and mother had died, and where -she had been born. - -What was it that stood in Speranza’s eyes? Tears, large and clear as -crystals, were falling from them, and sobs shook her graceful upright -frame, as she stood with her hands clasped to her forehead in an agony -of grief. Only seventeen, poor child, and yet so miserable! It was a -cruel sight for any one to see. But no one saw it save the pale moon and -twinkling stars that looked down calmly and sweetly on the sobbing girl. - -A harsh voice sounded suddenly at her elbow, a rough grasp was laid upon -her arm. With a cry in which loathing and horror were mixed Speranza -turned round, only to confront the contemptuous, haughty woman, who had -never said a kind or nice word to her in all her life. - -“How dare you, girl, behave like this?” had cried the countess -furiously. “How dare you so answer my darling boy, who has thus -condescended to honour you with his love?” - -In vain the miserable child had striven to explain to the infuriated -woman that she did not care for Lord Altai. Such an explanation had only -aggravated the countess’s anger, who, after many and various threats, -had declared that unless Speranza consented to gratify her darling boy’s -passion, she would induce the earl to deprive Speranza’s two brothers of -their allowances, and therefore of their professions, which, in other -words, meant ruin to them. - -She was a clever woman was Lady Westray. She knew exactly where to -strike to gain her end. The threat which she threw out about Speranza’s -two brothers she knew pretty well would take effect; for did she not -also know that out to them the poor child’s whole heart had gone? Rather -than injure them, the girl determined to sacrifice herself. - -A month later a great wedding took place. Envied of all who saw her, -Speranza de Lara became Viscountess Altai, and the wife of the man whom -she detested and loathed. Sold by the law which declares that however -brutally a man may treat his wife, so that he does not strike her, she -has no power to free herself from him; sold by the law which declares -her to be that man’s slave, this woman, bright with the glory of a high -intellect, perfect in Nature’s health and strength, was committed to the -keeping of a man whom Fashion courted and patted on the back, whilst -declaring him at the same time to be the veriest _roué_ in London. _He_ -could go and do as _he_ pleased; indulge in brutal excess, pander to -every hideous passion of his heart, poison with his vile touch the -beautiful creature whom he looked down upon as “only a woman”; but -_she_, if _she_ dared to overstep the line of propriety, and openly -declare her love for another, she would be doomed to social ostracism, -shunned and despised as a wanton, and out of the pale of decent society. - -She did so dare! For six long years she bore with his brutal excess and -depraved passions; for six long years she suffered the torture which -only those who have so suffered can understand. Then she succumbed. - -It was a dark November evening when she met her fate. The Altais were in -Scotland, entertaining a party of friends for the covert shooting in -Lord Westray’s splendid Wigtownshire preserves. The guests had all -arrived but one, and he put in an appearance when the remainder of the -party had gone upstairs to dress for dinner. Lady Altai had waited for -him, as he was momentarily expected, and on his arrival he had been -ushered into the drawing-room. His name was Harry Kintore, a captain in -a smart marching regiment. As she entered the drawing-room he was -standing with his back to the fire, and their eyes met. Right through -her ran a thrill, she knew not why or wherefore, while he, transfixed by -her beauty, could not remove his eyes. There have been such cases before -of love at first sight. This was a case about which there could be no -dispute; both felt it was so, both knew it to be beyond recall. - -How she struggled against her fate none can tell. With her husband’s -increased brutality the gentleness and devotion of young Kintore was all -the more _en evidence_. And when at length he bade her fly with him -beyond the reach of so much misery and cruelty, was it a wonder that she -succumbed, and flew in the face of the law that bound her to the -contrary? - -She left him, that cruel brute, who had made her life a desert and a -hell. She left him for one who to her was chivalrous and tender, loving -and sympathetic. The world cried shame upon her, and spoke of Lord Altai -as an injured man; the world ostracised her while it courted anew the -fiend who had so grievously wronged her. And when, in the hunger of his -baffled passion, this pampered _roué_ followed the two who had fled from -him, and with cold-blooded cruelty shot dead young Harry Kintore, the -world declared it could not blame him, and that it served Lady Altai -right. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER II. - - -“Good-morning, my dear,” exclaims Lady Manderton, as she enters the cosy -boudoir of her bosom friend and confidante, Mrs. de Lacy Trevor, as this -latter, in a neat _peignoir_, lies stretched out, novel in hand, on an -easy couch overlooking the fast-filling street of Piccadilly about -eleven o’clock on the morning of the 5th June, 1890. - -“Ciel! my dear, what brings you here, and dressed, too, at this -unearthly hour?” - -“Chute, Vivi, don’t talk so loud. A mere rencontre, that’s all. Arthur -and I have arranged a little lark, and I told him to meet me here. I -knew you wouldn’t mind.” - -“He, he!” giggles Vivi; “but what have you done with Man?” - -“Oh! he’s safe enough, my dear. Gone off to his club. Thinks I’ve gone -to get a gown tried on. He, he! What fools men are!” - -“Think themselves deuced clever, nevertheless, Dodo,” laughs Vivi. “It’s -not an hour since Trebby was raving at me, laying down the law at the -way I go on with Captain Kilmarnock. Of course I pretended to be awfully -cut up, rubbed my eyes, got up a few tears and sniffs, got rid of him -with a kiss or two, packed him off to his club, and at twelve o’clock -Kil and I are off to Maidenhead together.” - -This announcement creates the greatest amusement between the two ladies, -judging by the peals of laughter that follow it. - -“By-the-bye, Dodo, where were you yesterday?” inquires Vivi Trevor, -after the laughter has subsided. - -“I, my dear? Why, I was with H.R.H.’s party for the 4th of June. You -can’t think what a jolly day we had, Vivi. Some of the recitations were -quite delightful, and there was a boy called Hector D’Estrange, who was -simply too lovely for words. We all fell in love with him, I can tell -you. I never saw such eyes in my life. Won’t he break some of our hearts -some day!” - -“Hector D’Estrange; but who is he?” - -“That’s just what every one was asking, but no one seemed to know. It -appears he has taken the school by storm. Does everything tiptop. -Splendid batsman, bowler, oarsman, wonderful at racquets, undefeatable -at books—in fact, my dear, beautiful as an Adonis, and clever past -expression.” - -“Oh, Dodo! I must see this Adonis. I love pretty boys.” - -“And plucky ones, too,” laughs Vivi. “I was speaking to young Estcourt, -who is his chum, and he told me that when Hector D’Estrange first came -to Eton, a good many attempts were made to bully him, but he soon -settled his tormentors, and gave one of them, a big overgrown monster, -such a drubbing, that he never molested him more. What fun, Dodo, it -would have been to see my Adonis punching the overgrown bully! I did -laugh when Estcourt told me. I do so hate overgrown boys. Don’t you, -Dodo?” - -“Of course I do, Vivi. Detest them!” - -There is a ring at the door bell. Vivi jumps up and looks out of the -window. - -“It’s Arthur!” is all she exclaims. - -“Well, ta ta, Vivi! won’t bother you with him,” laughs Lady Manderton, -as she stoops to kiss her friend. “See you to-night, I suppose, at -Ferdey’s—eh? Love to Kil. Don’t let Trebby catch you, and a pleasant -outing to you both;” saying which she is off out of the room, and -running downstairs to meet her friend Sir Arthur Muster-Day, a smart -young guardsman, whom it has pleased her for the time being to think -that she likes better than any one else in the world. - -They are off together, happy in each other’s company. Sir Arthur is not -married, and he thinks it just the thing to be seen about as much as -possible in the company of one of London’s newest belles. Lady Manderton -doesn’t care a rap for her husband, and is considerably bored that her -husband evinces a certain amount of affection for her; she only married -him for his money and position, and did not at all bargain for the -affection part of the affair. - -As for Vivi, after her friend is gone, she jumps up and rings for her -maid. That important individual having made her appearance, she and Vivi -are soon engrossed with the all-paramount question of the moment—dress. -Half-a-dozen gowns are pulled out, put on, pulled off and discarded, -until at length one appears to please more than the others. - -“How do you think I look in this, Marie?” she inquires a little -anxiously. “Is it becoming?” - -“Mais, madame, c’est tout-à-fait charmante,” replies the well-drilled -maid with an expression of admiration. - -Vivi is satisfied. The gown remains on her person, and in a short time -she is dressed and ready for her day’s outing. Twelve o’clock strikes. A -neat brougham dashes up to the door. In less time almost than it takes -to tell it, Vivi has taken her seat in the carriage, and is being -whirled through the busy streets of London, _en route_ to Captain -Kilmarnock’s rooms. There she will pick him up, and together they will -proceed to Maidenhead, what to do God knows. We had better leave them. - -A few minutes later, and there is another ring at the door, and the -footman opens it to Mr. de Lacy Trevor. As he does so, the latter -inquires— - -“Is Mrs. Trevor in?” - -“No, sir, just gone out,” answers the servant. - -“Do you know where to, James?” again asks Mr. Trevor. - -“I do not, sir, but perhaps Mademoiselle Marie will know.” - -Marie is called, and arrives all smiles and bows. “Really, she thinks -madame has gone out for a drive with her friend Lady Manderton, and to -lunch with her afterwards. _C’est tout._” - -Mr. Trevor sighs. - -“There will be no lunch wanted, James,” he observes quietly. “I shall -lunch at the club.” - -He wanders down the street in the direction of St. James’s. He wonders -if Vivi has forgotten the promise she made him that morning to lunch at -home, and go for a ride with him afterwards. He so rarely sees her now, -and when he does it is seldom alone. She never seems to have any time to -give to him, and yet he is not brutal to her, or neglectful, or wrapped -up in some one else, as many other men are. He loves her so dearly, and -would do anything to make her happy; but he can quite see how she shuns -him, and how much happier she looks when in Captain Kilmarnock’s -company. And then, with a shudder, he starts and stares eagerly across -the street, for there she is—yes, actually there she is, in Captain -Kilmarnock’s brougham, with the captain beside her, driving rapidly in -the direction of Piccadilly. - -Mr. Trevor has a strange lump in his throat as he ascends the steps of -the Conservative and enters that roomy club. - -“Waiter!” he calls out, and his voice is somewhat husky. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Bring me a stiff brandy-and-soda, waiter, and mind it _is_ stiff,” -continues Mr. Trevor, as he throws himself wearily into a chair. The -soda with its stiff complement of brandy arrives. It is mixed carefully -by the waiter, and handed to the sad-hearted man. He drinks it eagerly. -He has not a strong head, and knows that he cannot take much, but he -feels that oblivion must in this instance be sought, if possible, no -matter how, so long as it is attained. - -The brandy, in a measure, has the desired effect. He feels it -perforating through his body and mounting to his brain. Things don’t -look quite so gloomy to him now, and the loneliness of his position is -less acutely felt. Two men are talking to each other close by him. He -knows one of them. It is Sir Ralph Vereton, and he holds in his hand a -copy of the June number of the _Free Review_. - -“It is a wonderful article for a boy to write, and an Eton boy, too,” he -hears the baronet exclaiming. “Have you read it, Critchley?” - -“Well, no, I can’t say that I have, but I will, old chap, when I get -home. I’m afraid I haven’t time to just now.” - -“What’s that, Vereton?” inquires Mr. Trevor, leaning forward in his -chair, “anything particularly clever?” - -“Hulloa, Trevor! you there? Didn’t see you, old man. What! you haven’t -read an Eton boy’s ‘Essay on Woman’s Position’? Every one is talking -about it. It’s deuced clever and original, whatever one may think of the -opinions, and is clearly written by a lad who will make his mark in the -world.” - -“Let’s have a look at it, Vereton, if you don’t want it, there’s a good -chap. I want something to read,” exclaims Mr. Trevor eagerly, reaching -out his hand for the periodical, which the baronet passes to him -good-naturedly. It is open at the page of honour, the first page in the -book, and as Mr. Trevor scans the heading he reads it as follows: -“Woman’s Position in this World. By Hector D’Estrange, an Eton boy.” He -starts reading it, languidly at first, as if the remarks of a boy on -such a subject cannot possibly be worth reading, but he is soon absorbed -in the article, and never budges in his chair until he has read it -through and through. - -And there are some parts to which he turns again and again, as though he -would burn their truths into his brain, and keep them there never to be -forgotten. One in especial rivets his attention, so much so that he -commits it to memory. - -“When a girl is born,” it ran, “no especial difference is made in the -care of her by doctor or nurse. Up to a certain age the treatment which -she and her brother receive is exactly the same. Why, I ask, should -there be ever any change in this treatment? Why should such a marked -contrast be drawn later on between the sexes? Is it for the good of -either that the girl should be both physically and mentally stunted, -both in her intellect and body,—that she should be held back while the -boy is pressed forward? Can it be argued with any show of reason that -her capacity for study is less, and her power of observation naturally -dwarfed in comparison with that of the boy? Certainly not. I confidently -assert that where a girl has fair play, and is given equal opportunities -with the boy, she not only equals him in mental capacity, but far -outruns him in such; and I also confidently assert, that given the -physical opportunities afforded to the boy, to develop and expand, and -strengthen the body by what are called ‘manly exercises,’ the girl would -prove herself every inch his equal in physical strength. There are -those, I know, who will sneer at these opinions, but in the words of -Lord Beaconsfield, I can only asseverate that ‘the time will come,’ when -those who sneer will be forced to acknowledge the truth of this -assertion. - -“Well then, granting, for the sake of argument, that what I have stated -is correct, why, I ask, should all that men look forward to and hold -most dear, be denied to women? Why should the professions which men have -arrogated to themselves be entirely monopolised by their sex, to the -exclusion of women? I see no manner of reason why, if women received the -same moral, mental, and physical training that men do, they should not -be as fit—nay, infinitely more fit—to undertake the same duties and -responsibilities as men. I do not see that we should be a wit less badly -governed if we had a woman Prime Minister or a mixed Cabinet, or if -women occupied seats in the Houses of Parliament or on the bench in the -Courts of Justice. - -“Of course woman’s fitness to undertake these duties depends entirely on -the manner in which she is educated. If you stunt the intellect, tell -her nothing, and refuse to exercise the physical powers which Nature has -given her, you must expect little from such an unfortunate creature. Put -man in the same position in which yon put woman, and he would be in a -very short time just as mentally and physically stunted as she is. - -“All very well to declare that it is a woman’s business to bear -children, to bring them up, to attend to household matters, and to leave -the rest to men. A high-spirited girl or woman will not, in every -instance, accept this definition of her duties by man as correct. That -such a definition is clearly man’s, it is not difficult to see, for -woman would never have voluntarily condemned herself to a life of such -inert and ambitionless duties as these. But so long as this definition -of woman’s duty and position be observed and accepted by Society, so -long will this latter be a prey to all the evils and horrors that -afflict it, and which are a result of woman’s subjection and -degradation. - -“Think you, you who read these words, that hundreds of women now -unhappily married would ever have contracted that terrible tie had they -been aware of what they were doing, or had they had the smallest hope of -advancement and prospects of success in life without? Certainly not. -Marriage is contracted in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred by women -desirous of making for themselves a home, and because in no other -quarter can they adopt agreeable and pleasant professions and -occupations like men. Were it possible, they would either not have -married, or at least have waited until, with the knowledge of man which -they _should_ possess—but which, unfortunately, nowadays comes to them -only with marriage—they could select for themselves, with their eyes -open, a partner suited to them in every respect. As it is, what does one -see? Women, especially in the higher grades of society, marry only to -escape in many instances the prim restraints of home. Others marry for -money and position, because they know that the portals, through which -men may pass to try for these, are closed to them. The cruel laws by -which men have shut women out from every hope of winning name and fame, -are responsible for hundreds of wretched marriages, which have seared -the world with their griefs. If, in the narrow sphere within which she -moves, a woman errs, let not the man blame her, but rather look to the -abolition of unnatural laws which have brought about her degradation.” - - * * * * * - -Mr. Trevor sits very still in his chair. A flood of thoughts have come -to fill his brain. They keep him very busy and occupied. The revelations -thrown upon woman’s position by the straightforward, truth-breathing -article of Hector D’Estrange, have taken him by storm, and have -completely revolutionised his ideas. He has hitherto been so accustomed -to look upon and treat women with the self-satisfied, conscious feeling -of superiority assumed by men, that such ideas as these before him are -startlingly strange and extraordinary. His position with Vivi, and hers -in regard to him, presents itself now to his mind in a totally different -light to that in which he has hitherto been accustomed to regard it. He -remembers how he first met her hardly a year ago, a beautiful, lively, -healthy girl, whose scheming mother, knowing no better, had thrust her -into the busy mart, willing to sell her to the highest bidder. He -remembers how passionately he fell in love with this girl, how he never -paused to ask himself if his love were returned. He recalls full well -the bitter look that had crossed her face when he had asked her to be -his wife, and the cold, matter-of-fact way in which she had accepted -him. Then his thoughts fly back to his wedding day, and a shudder runs -through Launcelot Trevor as he recalls the utter absence of love on her -part towards him. And, remembering all this, he cannot but feel that -Hector D’Estrange is right. If, in the narrow sphere within which poor -Vivi had moved, she had, according to the notions of propriety laid down -by Mrs. Grundy, erred, Launcelot Trevor feels that the blame must rest -not so much with her, as with the cruel laws that had left that -beautiful girl no other option but to sell herself for gold; for be it -remembered, she had been educated up to no higher level, been imbued -with no better aim. She had been taught that the only opening for a girl -is to get herself well married, that while men could go forth into the -world with a score of professions to choose from, she must for ever -regard herself as shut out from that world of enterprise, daring, and -fame, created, so says man, solely for himself. - -He sits on in his chair, his thoughts still busy with the new problem -that has presented itself so startlingly to his mind. The luncheon hour -is far past, much of the afternoon has slipped away, still Launcelot -Trevor remains where he had seated himself many hours before. Men keep -coming in and out; friends and acquaintances nod to him as they pass. He -scarcely heeds them, or pays attention to what they say. His mind is -absorbed by the truths which he has faced for the first time. - -Suddenly he starts; the clock is striking seven. He remembers that at -eight o’clock he and Vivi are engaged to dine out. He jumps up, bids the -hall-porter hail a hansom, and in a few minutes is being driven towards -Piccadilly. - -“Has Mrs. Trevor returned yet?” he again inquires of the servant who -opens the door to him. - -“Yes, sir, she is in the drawing-room with Captain Kilmarnock.” - -He walks slowly upstairs. All is very silent in the room mentioned. He -stands on the threshold, hardly daring to open the door. He can hear a -rustling inside, and, yes, unmistakably the sound of a kiss. He coughs -audibly as he lays his hand on the door’s handle. He can hear a -scuffling of feet, and on entering perceives Vivi sitting bolt upright -on the sofa, and Captain Kilmarnock apparently warming his hands over -the fireplace. Unfortunately there is no fire! - -She looks at him as he comes in, and for a moment their eyes meet. A -bright flush rises to Vivi’s cheeks. She expects to see him furious, as -he had been that morning, and is surprised, nay, even awed by the sad -expression on his face. - -“Vivi,” he says very quietly, “I think we ought to be dressing for -dinner. Good-evening to you, Kilmarnock. Are you to be at Ferdey’s -to-night?” - -“No, Trevor,” stammers the captain, visibly uncomfortable. “I have -another engagement.” - -“Oh, well, shall see you again, I suppose, soon? Good-night, old chap. -Must go and dress. Vivi dear, don’t be late.” - -He goes out as he speaks, and closes the door behind him. Hector -D’Estrange’s words are still next his heart. - -“Poor Vivi,” he mutters to himself. “It is not her fault. Poor Vivi.” - -He is hardly out of the room, when she looks up at Captain Kilmarnock. -The scared expression is still in her face. - -“Kil,” she whispers, “that _was_ a near squeak. You had better be off, -old man. Didn’t hear the front door bell ring, did you?” - -“No,” he answers in a rather sulky tone. “Hang him! He’s always where -he’s not wanted. But you are right. I’d better be off. To-morrow at -three. Don’t forget.” - -“All right,” she answers, with a smile. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER III. - - -Always busy and astir, the little town of Melton Mowbray presents a more -than usually busy aspect on the morning of the 15th April, 1894. It is -early yet, nevertheless the streets ring with the sound of trotting and -cantering hacks, as well as the more sober paces of the strings of -horses returning from exercise to their respective stables. - -People are coming and going at a rapid rate. They nearly all seem to -know each other, judging by the little nods, and “good-mornings,” and -suchlike familiar greetings with which friends meet, and in which these -afore-mentioned personages indulge, as they hurry by each other. - -A party of horsemen and horsewomen are just riding out of the stables -belonging to The Limes. They are laughing and talking merrily. We have -seen two of the women before, and their names are Mrs. de Lacy Trevor -and Lady Manderton. Close in attendance upon them are two smart -good-looking men, whom we must introduce to the reader as Lord Charles -Dartrey and the Earl of Westray. The former appears to be entirely taken -up with the first-named lady, the latter—already introduced to the -reader in a former chapter as Lord Altai—with the last-named one. - -There is yet another pair in that cheery group that we must particularly -notice. They are a man and woman, both young, both good-looking, and -both unmistakably at home in the saddle. If one can judge from -appearances, the woman must be about twenty-two years of age, the man -perhaps five or six years her senior. Both are mounted on grey horses, -and both look every inch what they are, splendid equestrians. The woman -is well known in Society’s world, as also in the tiny hunting world of -Melton. She is Lady Flora Desmond, and the man is handsome Captain -“Jack” Delamere. - -They trot through the streets at a merry pace, down past the Harborough -Hotel, over the railway, away on by Wicklow Lodge, towards Burton -Lazarus. It is a beautiful morning, and the sun is shining brightly on -the flats that lie below. Dalby Hall, nestling amidst its woods on the -far hillside, stands out distinct and clear, with the same bright sun -gleaming on its gables and windows. - -“What a glorious morning, Jack!” exclaims Lady Flora enthusiastically. -“Why, it’s like summer, is it not?” - -The others are a little on ahead, and these two have fallen in the rear. -Jack looks at the speaker with a smile. - -“It is a grand day, Florrie, and it suits you, too. I never saw you -looking better in my life.” - -She flushes up. Florrie Desmond does not care about compliments,—she -values them at their worth,—but she and Jack are fast friends, and she -is not quite averse to them from him. She answers, however. - -“Shut up, you goose, and don’t talk nonsense.” - -She is a clever woman is Flora Desmond, cleverer far than some people -take her to be. Her bringing up has not been exactly like other women’s, -and she has always kicked against the restraints and restrictions put -upon her sex. She is the daughter of the Marquis and Marchioness of -Douglasdale, and an orphan, having lost her father at an early age. Lady -Douglasdale was, in her day, a very beautiful woman, a _persona grata_ -at Court, where her husband exercised the duties of Comptroller of the -Household, and was a favourite with his sovereign; but after the -marquis’s death she took greatly to travelling, and thus it was that -Flora Ruglen, in conjunction with her twin brother Archie, saw most of -the great world of Europe before she was ten years of age. - -Travelling expands the mind, and brightens the senses. It had this -effect upon the girl, forming much of her character before its time. At -that early age she exhibited peculiar characteristics. No one could get -her to settle down to study under a governess; she loathed the sight of -school books, and led her unfortunate preceptors a sad life; yet, in -strange contradiction to so much wilfulness and apparent indolence, she -was seldom without the companionship of a book in her play hours, and -when not otherwise engaged with her brother, would invariably be found -poring over these books, thirstily seeking knowledge, or committing to -paper, in powerful language for one so young, the impressions of her -youthful brain. - -She had dreams had Flora Ruglen—dreams of a bright future, an -adventurous career. The time had not arrived when the road which she and -her twin brother had been pursuing, would branch off in different -directions, his leading forth to opportunities of power, fame, and -glory, hers along a lane, narrow and cramped, and with nothing to seek -at the end, save that against which her bright independent spirit -rebelled and revolted. But it came at last, when the companion of her -happy childhood’s days was taken from her, when Archie was sent to -school, and she was left alone. It came upon her with a suddenness which -she found difficult to realise, and the blow was terrible. To describe -what she suffered would be well-nigh impossible. Only those who by -experience have learnt it, could be brought to understand the horror of -her position. But Flora Ruglen, having faced it, brought all the courage -of her nature to support it, though from that moment she became utterly -changed. She had no one in whom to confide; neither her mother nor any -one else would have understood her. With girls of her own age she had -nothing in common, and they looked on her with awe as a proud, stuck-up -being. None could guess at the warm heart that beat beneath Flora -Ruglen’s apparently cold and reserved demeanour—except one, and that one -was a boy of about her own age. - -She had made his acquaintance during the holidays, when Archie, home -from school, had invited his “best pal” to spend them at Ruglen Manor, -the beautiful dower property of Lady Douglasdale. It was with young Lord -Estcourt that Archie Douglasdale had struck up so keen a friendship. The -lads had been “new boys” at Eton together, and in the first strangeness -of introduction to that boy’s world had been thrown into each other’s -company a good deal, being in the same house, and, as in Flora’s case, -much of the same age. - -When Estcourt came to Ruglen Manor Flora Ruglen was about seventeen -years of age. She was interested in her brother’s friend, inasmuch as he -had lately lost his mother, and was an orphan. It did not take long for -a firm friendship to spring up between the boy and girl. Nigel Estcourt -was an only child, had never known what it was to have brothers and -sisters, and was ready to look upon Flora in that light gladly enough. -He and she were a great deal in each other’s company, and for the first -time in her life she unloosed the cords of her heart, and told him of -the trouble that had descended upon her life. - -He sympathised with her did young Nigel. How could he help it, being, as -he was, the friend of Hector D’Estrange? That extraordinary boy had -risen to be head of the school. None could equal him at Eton, and his -name had gone forth beyond the portals of the college as the coming man -of his day. The article in the _Free Review_, which had first brought -his name into prominence in the year 1890, had created a good deal of -discussion in many circles. Of course it had been vigorously attacked. -What great stroke aimed at Justice and Freedom but has ever been so -opposed, hounded down, and decried? But truth is like a bright sun which -no mortal power can dim. It may be clouded for a time, but it must shine -forth and ultimately prevail. - -He had left Eton, gone to Oxford, and had there taken high honours. He -no sooner made his appearance in the world of fashion, politics, and -letters, than he was received and courted everywhere. Never before had a -youth risen so rapidly in the scale of success. He was undoubtedly the -idol of his day, and in 1894 only twenty-one. It was extraordinary. -Hector D’Estrange would marvel often at it himself. He had gone out into -the world in what was mere childhood, prepared to combat with the many -difficulties which he knew must beset his path. He was over modest was -this boy. He had not sufficiently estimated his great and surpassing -genius, but it had shone forth, been recognised and approved of, because -he was a man. - -To return to Flora Ruglen. At the age of eighteen she lost her mother, -and the guardianship of the girl devolved on her aunt, a giddy, worldly -woman, the late marquis’s sister, and Countess of Dunderfield. No two -women could have been more diametrically opposite then these two, no two -characters more unlike. Briefly, and to cut the matter short, Lady -Dunderfield insisted on taking Flora into Society, and set herself to -bring about a match between the high-souled, high-spirited girl, and the -Duke of Dovetail, a rich old monstrosity, whose rent-roll was nigh on a -million, and whose body was afflicted by almost every disease under the -sun. - -Had the girl been in a position to map out her own line of life, what a -different tale might now be told! She was not. The law denied her the -right to choose her future; it curtailed her line of action within -certain bounds. What could she do? The odds were against her, and she -sought refuge through the first outlet that presented itself. - -This outlet was in the shape of a young baronet, a youth of twenty-one. -He thought himself very much in love with Lady Flora Ruglen. He -proposed, and she accepted him. Lady Dunderfield forbade Sir Reginald -Desmond the house. The young people took French leave of her, fled to -Scotland, and were married, and Lady Dunderfield, green with -disappointment and rage, had to accept the fact. This is how Flora -Ruglen became Lady Flora Desmond. Had she erred in the step she took? -Perhaps so. What other alternative had she? Had the law permitted her to -go out into the world and adopt the profession of her choice, there is -little doubt that ere this Flora Ruglen would have made a great name for -good. - - * * * * * - -He pretends to be offended at her remark does Jack Delamere, and pulls -his horse a little away from her own. She notices the movement, and -laughs lightly, as she urges her animal alongside him, and taps him -gently on the shoulder with her whip. - -“Look there, Jack!” she exclaims at the same time; “we are not the first -on the course after all. Look at those two riding over the fence -alongside the brook. Who are they, I wonder? The woman can ride, it is -easy enough to see that.” - -They are just turning to the left through the gate leading to the -Steeplechase Course on the Burton Flats, and as Jack Delamere’s eyes -follow the direction indicated by Flora Desmond, he at once perceives -two mounted figures, galloping up the course in the direction of the -grand stand. One is a man, the other a woman. - -As Flora Desmond has declared, the woman can ride. She sits her horse -straight as a dart. He is pulling a bit, but she has him well in hand, -and he is not likely to get away with her. - -“Hector D’Estrange, by all that’s holy! and with a woman, too,” laughs -Jack Delamere. “Look, Florrie! Is the world coming to an end, or am I -dreaming?” - -“That you are certainly not,” she answers quickly; “there is no mistake -about it. But who is she?” - -They have joined the others now, and find them equally exercised over -the female apparition. - -It may be explained that this is the morning of the Melton Hunt -Steeplechases, and that this party has ridden over early to the course -to go round the fences, and inspect them severally. They had bargained -on being the first in the field, but now perceive that they have been -forestalled by Hector D’Estrange and his companion. - -“Let’s go and have a look,” suggests Lord Westray. He is an admirer of -women, and it is easy to perceive, even at the distance which separates -the party from the stranger, that she is a fine one. - -They all gallop down to the stand, riding along in a row towards Hector -and his friend. He sees them coming, and says something to her, and -Flora notices that she brings her horse closer to his side. Mrs. Trevor -and Lady Manderton are all eyes and stare as they pass the two. Hector -has raised his hat politely, and wished them a good-morning. His face is -flushed with the exercise of riding, his rich auburn hair shines out -like gold in the sunlight, his glorious eyes, dark in their -sapphire-blue, look particularly winning and beautiful. But it is with -his companion that the eyes of the others are busy. They are all struck -by her extreme loveliness, and are loud in wonder as to who she is. Only -Lord Westray is silent; white as a sheet, too. It is years since he set -eyes on Lady Altai, and now he sees again, after a long lapse of time, -the woman whom he so grievously wronged more than twenty-two years -before—his divorced wife, Speranza de Lara. - -“Come on,” he exclaims, just a shade roughly to Lady Manderton. He has -of late been, by the way, making up to her. She has got tired of Sir -Arthur Muster-Day, and has shelved him for the “wicked earl,” by which -name Lord Westray is known in Society circles. Mrs. Trevor, too, though -she still sticks to Kil, and makes him believe that she is as devoted to -him as ever, has managed to hook on to herself several other devoted -swains, to all of whom in turn she expresses a mint of devotion, while -really feeling not the slightest affection for any of them. She has -played her part well, however, for they each severally believe -themselves to be “_the_ favoured man” in her good graces. - -They gallop forward in the wake of Lord Westray, and Flora Desmond and -Jack Delamere are once more alone. - -“What a lovely woman!” she bursts out, as soon as they have passed -Hector D’Estrange and Speranza. “Jack, did you ever see such eyes? I -never saw lovelier, unless perhaps Hector D’Estrange’s. What a handsome -pair the two make!” - -“Well, yes, Florrie, she is certainly a lovely woman. Cunning dog, young -Hector, to have kept her out of sight so long. Now we can understand why -he is so cold to women. Of course that’s where his heart is, without -doubt,” answers Jack Delamere, with a smile. - - * * * * * - -“The Melton Hunt Steeplechases of 1894 are over. The meeting will long -be remembered by the unparalleled success of Mr. Hector D’Estrange, who, -riding in the six races printed on the card for competition, came in -first, the winner of every one of them. This success is all the more -remarkable, inasmuch as four of the winners were non-favourites, so that -the wins must be ascribed to the splendid horsemanship of their jockey. -The feat is unparalleled, the nearest approach to it being when Captain -‘Doggie’ Smith in 1880 carried off all the races on the card except one, -being defeated in a match which closed the day’s proceedings between -Lord Hastings’ Memory, and Lord James Douglas’ The General. In this -match ‘Doggie’ Smith rode Lord Hastings’ mare, and Lord James Douglas -his own horse, The General.” - -Such is the announcement chronicled in a well-known weekly sporting -paper a few days after the Melton Hunt Steeplechases of 1894, scoring -yet another triumph on the path of thoroughness for Hector D’Estrange. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IV. - - -“So you will not?” - -“A thousand times, no!” - -They are standing facing each other are the speakers—one a beautiful, -tall, graceful woman, with masses of rich gold hair coiled upon her -noble head, and eyes whose light is like the turquoise gem, the other a -middle-sized, handsome, good-looking man, whose dark eyes gleam with -fury and disappointed passion. - -We have seen them both before, this man and woman, seen them on more -than one occasion; for it is not difficult to recognise in that -evil-featured man the person of Lord Westray, or in that beautiful woman -that of Speranza de Lara. - -He has come here for no good purpose has the “wicked earl.” Ever since, -on the Burton Flats, he had fallen across the lovely woman whose life he -had made a desert, Lord Westray had been a prey to a consuming passion -to regain that which he had lost. Twice in her life Speranza had defied -him, and on each occasion he had had his revenge. The first was when, as -a girl of seventeen, she had refused him, and he, through the -instrumentality of his cruel mother, who had played on her love for her -brothers, had forced her to become his wife. The second was when, in -defiance of man’s laws, she had fled from his vile brutality and hateful -presence, with the first and last love of her young life, poor Harry -Kintore; and he, following up those two to the sunny land where they had -sought a refuge, and where they asked for no other boon but to be -allowed to live with and for each other, had shot down in her very -presence the man to save whom she would have given a thousand lives of -her own. - -And now he is here, oblivious of all his past brutality, to insult her -with yet another proposal, one more hideous than any he has ever made -before. Consumed with passion for this woman, who had defied him, he has -actually come to propose that she shall forget the past and re-marry -him! - -Forget the past! Is it likely? Will the memory of her suffering -childhood ever pass away? Will the recollection of her wedding day fade -from her mind? Will the six years of torture as his wedded wife -disappear like a dream? Above all, can she ever forget her first meeting -with Harry Kintore, the heart’s awakening that came with it, or the -terrible moment when, struck down at her feet, his dear eyes looked -their love for the last time? Impossible. - -He grinds his teeth with rage does Lord Westray as her clear, sad voice -distinctly gives him his answer. He is racking his brain for a means of -overcoming her, and forcing her once more to obey his will. The fact -that she defies him, hates him, loathes him, has refused him, only -arouses in him more madly than ever the desire to become possessed of -her once again. Lord Westray possesses, in a heightened degree, in an -aggravated form, the characteristic peculiar to all men, of desiring -that which is either hard to get, or which denies itself to them, and -which, if once obtained, fades in value in their eyes. It is Speranza’s -resistance to his wishes that fires him with the fury of a wild animal -to regain her. - -“You shall repent this!” he mutters angrily. “Speranza, you should know -better than to defy _me_. Have I not been a match for you twice? and, by -God! if you do not do as I ask now I will be again.” - -She shudders with horror as she hears his cold-blooded words, triumphing -at his past deeds of brutality and crime. She pulls herself together, -however. She is alone with him, and must keep him at bay. Speranza is no -coward. - -“I do not fear you,” she answers haughtily; “you cannot do me more evil -than you have already. I am beyond the reach of your vengeance now. -Nothing _you_ can do can harm _me_.” - -“I don’t know so much about that,” he replies savagely. “How about -Hector D’Estrange?” - -She starts, and the rich blood flushes to her face as she eyes him with -evident terror. Can it be that he knows, that he will unveil the secret -before—but no, it is impossible; she has it safe enough. - -He notes the start, the crimson blush, and the look of terror, and he -congratulates himself on having, by a chance shot, hit on the right -point to cow her. - -“You’re a fine person to play the prude and the proper,” he says, with a -sneer. “They used to tell me that you were inconsolable over that ass -Kintore, but the beauty of Hector D’Estrange appears to have effected a -sudden cure. I congratulate you on your new conquest. You have aimed -high. He is the rising man of his day, and you have thrown your net well -to catch the golden fish. Are you not ashamed of yourself, however, -woman,—you who are over the forties, to take up with a boy of -twenty-one?” - -She flushes again. Then he does not know? Thank God for that! How young -she looks as she stands there in her unfading beauty, with a look in her -blue eyes of contemptuous loathing. She will let him believe what he -likes, so that he does not know the truth; that is all she desires to -hide from him. - -In pursuance of this desire she answers: - -“Hector D’Estrange and I _are_ friends. I am not ashamed to own it. -Neither he nor I require your advice, however, as to how our friendship -is to be conducted. And now I bid you leave me. I order you from my -house, which I inhabit not by your charity.” - -“No, but by the charity of Harry Kintore, you wanton!” he answers with -an oath. “You knew pretty well what you were about when you got the fool -to settle all his estates and money on you, which you now lavish on -Hector D’Estrange, but——” - -“Peace, devil! fiend in human shape!” she cries furiously, as she -clenches her hands, and brings the right one down with a crash on the -table beside her. He notices a flash on one of the fingers. All the -others are ringless but this one, and on it sparkles two splendid -diamonds and sapphires set deep in their broad thick band of gold. He -knows this ring of old. He saw it long ago, when she held the dying head -of Harry Kintore in her hands, and he knows that it was the young man’s -gift to her. That she should wear it, now that she has taken up with -Hector D’Estrange, mystifies him. - -He is about to reply, when the door of the room they are in opens, and -Lord Westray finds himself face to face with Hector. He is a head and -shoulders taller than the earl is this young man, and as he advances -into the room the latter’s face falls slightly, and his fingers move -nervously by his side. Like all bullies, Lord Westray is a coward, and -doesn’t half fancy his position. - -But there is no angry look in Hector D’Estrange’s eyes; only from their -sapphire depths looks out a cold, calm expression of contempt. - -“Lord Westray,” he remarks, in a voice impressive because of its very -quietness, “for what reason have we the honour of your presence here? -Allow me to inform you that this honour is not desired by Mrs. de Lara. -Your brougham is at the door. I must request you to seek it.” - -He says no more, but stands with the handle of the door in his hand, -waiting for the earl to obey. This latter looks at him fiercely, the -eyes of the two meet. Those of the bully and depraved coward cannot face -the calm, disdainful look of Hector D’Estrange; they fall before it, and -in another moment the earl is gone. - -They listen to the wheels of the departing brougham as it rattles -through the streets in the direction of South Kensington. As its echoes -die away the young man turns to Speranza. - -“Mother,” he exclaims, “has he been here to insult you? Ah, mother! God -only knows the strain I put upon myself, or I would have shot him down -where he stood, the brute, the fiend! I nearly lost control of myself, -but I heard your last words, and understood what you were striving to -hide from him. Thank God I did, or in a hasty moment I might have laid -bare our secret.” - -“And I, too, say thank God, Gloria. At one moment I fancied he was in -possession of it, but I quickly found out that he was on another tack. -Horrible as the idea was, it was better to let him foster it, than to -give him a chance of learning the truth. Ah, Gloria dearest! if once the -secret is in his hands, we need look for no mercy in that quarter.” - -“I know it, mother,” answers Gloria, in other words Hector D’Estrange; -for the reader must have had no difficulty in recognising in this -latter, the beautiful girl who had made her vow to the wild sea waves, -ten years previously on the sunny shores of the Adriatic, and who now, -as Hector D’Estrange, is working out the accomplishment of that vow. - -And she has worked well has Gloria de Lara, patiently and perseveringly, -never losing an opportunity, never casting a chance aside. Her beauty -and her genius have gone straight to the hearts of men, and she uses -these gifts given her by God, not for vain glory and fleeting -popularity, but in pursuit of justice and in furtherance of the one -great aim of her life. - -“Let us change the subject, my darling,” exclaims Speranza, with a -shudder; “let us drive from our minds the thought of one so horrible and -contemptible. Tell me, my precious child,” she continues, laying her -hand on Gloria’s shoulder, and kissing her gently on the forehead, “how -have you got on with the clubs to-day?” - -“Excellently, mother. I came to tell you all about them, or I should not -have been here until to-morrow,” answers Gloria, as she seats herself on -a low stool at her mother’s feet. - -It is the middle of May, the sun is shining brightly, and the sparrows -are hopping and chirping merrily about in the square outside. The early -green on the trees is as yet unclouded by the dust of London’s busy -season, and all is fair, and soft, and young to look upon. - -The large fortune and noble estates left to Speranza de Lara by young -Harry Kintore have been well and wisely wielded by the woman, in whose -heart the memory of her darling still shines as brightly as on the day -he died. She has never misspent a farthing of the vast wealth that he -confided to her care. It has been used in carrying out philanthropic -works, alleviating suffering, and helping on the accomplishment of their -child’s design, his child and hers. - -They are busy over a new one just now. With her mother’s money at her -command, Gloria, under the name of Hector D’Estrange, is establishing -throughout London, and in the different large towns of Great Britain and -Ireland, institutions where women and girls can meet each other, and for -a mere nominal fee learn to ride, to shoot with gun and rifle, to swim, -to run, and to indulge in the invigorating influences of gymnastics and -other exercises, calculated to strengthen and improve the physique of -those taking part therein. Classes, too, technical and otherwise, for -the education of girls and women on an equality with boys and men, as -well as free libraries, form part of these institutions, each of which, -as it is founded, becomes crowded to overflowing. - -In connection with these institutions Gloria has lately set on foot -clubs, the members of which she is forming into volunteer companies, who -are drilled by the hand of discipline into smartness and efficiency. The -movement has been enthusiastically taken up by the women of Great -Britain and Ireland, thousands of whom have been enrolled in these -volunteer forces. Of course Hector D’Estrange has his enemies. The -jealous and the narrow-minded; the old fogies who would have a great -wrong continue for ever, rather than fly in the face of prejudice to -right it; the women who love their degradation and hug their chains; the -men who think the world must be coming to an end if women are to be -acknowledged as their equals, have all fought tooth and nail against the -splendid idea and the practical conception of Hector D’Estrange. -Ridicule, abuse, calumny, false testimony, have been hurled against his -giant work. They have each and all failed to disturb or harm it, for its -foundation is built on the rock of justice, of right, and of nature. - -“Well, mother,” continues the girl, “we have had a great consultation -to-day. All the details for a big review have been discussed. We shall -want two good years more to get everything efficiently arranged, when I -calculate that Hector D’Estrange will be able to bring into the field -quite 100,000 well-drilled troops. But I am in no hurry yet; there is -still much to be done. And now I have some more news to give you, -mother. I have been invited to stand by the Douglasdale division of -Dumfriesshire for Parliament, and to contest the seat when Mr. Reform -resigns. I saw Archie Douglasdale to-day; he has promised to give me all -his support. And what do you think, mother? Why, his sister, Lady Flora -Desmond, has joined our new club. It is to be called the Desmond Lodge, -and I have put her in command of it.” - -“She will be a great help to you, Gloria,” answers Speranza. “From all -you have told me of her, she is the right sort in the right place.” - -“She is indeed, mother. Although I have many a good and true lieutenant -thoroughly in touch with my ideas in our volunteer force, there is not -one that can come up to Lady Flora. She will be a mountain of help to -me, and I know I can trust her. I could trust her even with _our_ -secret.” - -“Oh! never divulge _that_, Gloria.” - -“Not I, mother! It was only an allegory, to give you an idea of my high -opinion of her. But, till the right time comes, our secret will be with -me as silent as the grave.” - -They talk on, busy with their plans, hopeful of the future, and what it -is to bring, do these two women. The afternoon flits by, the chirp of -the sparrows grows dull, the sun is sinking aslant the roofs of the -opposite houses, the evening is creeping on apace. Gloria de Lara rises -from her seat, and throws her arms around Speranza’s neck. - -“I must go now, mother,” she says gently. “I wish I could stay, but I -have an engagement. Good-night, my precious mother. Kiss Gloria before -she goes.” - -“God bless you, my child,” answers the mother, as she presses the girl -to her heart; “God bless you, and keep you prospering in your work, my -valiant young Hector D’Estrange.” - -And the girl passes out from her mother’s presence into the silent -square. She is echoing Speranza’s prayer, and is pulling herself -together, for out of that mother’s presence she has her part to play. -She is no longer Gloria de Lara, but popular, successful Hector -D’Estrange. - - * * * * * - -There is yet another scene at which we must glance before this chapter -closes. Let us enter Lord Westray’s house in Grosvenor Square. He is in -the drawing-room pacing up and down, his face dark with anger and -passion. A footman enters, bearing on a massive silver salver a tiny -scented bijou note. He hands the missive respectfully to his lordship, -who takes it impatiently. - -“The bearer is to wait for an answer, my lord.” - -“Answer be d——d!” begins Lord Westray; but suddenly recollecting -himself, he continues, “Very well, Walter, come up when I ring.” - -“Yes, my lord.” - -The servant retires. His face is very grave, but it relaxes into a leer -as he closes the door. - -“’Spec’s the old un’s rather tired of her by now. Gives her another week -before they sez good-morning to each other,” he soliloquises to himself -as he goes downstairs. As he does so, Lord Westray opens the note. It is -from Lady Manderton, and runs as follows:— - - “DEAREST OLD POTSIE,—Have got a ripping little supper on to-night. - Man’s away, and we will have some fun. Have asked several kindred - spirits. Shall look for you at ten. - - “Your ever-devoted ‘DODO.’” - -“I can’t go,” he mutters. “Hang the woman, I’m sick of her! She was all -very well a little while ago, but nothing will satisfy me but Speranza -now. I _will_ have her or nobody; and if I don’t have her, I will have -what’s next best, revenge.” - -He writes a note hastily. It is to excuse himself. He has an awful -headache, and cannot come. - -Lady Manderton gets the note a quarter of an hour later, and bites her -lip as she reads it. “Never mind,” she says quietly, “he sha’n’t have -another chance. My next man is Spicer. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, -he’s awfully in love, and he’ll be very useful. He’ll do.” - -She sits down and writes another note. It is addressed to the Hon. Amias -Spicer, Grenadier Guards. She sends him the same sort of invitation -which she sent to Lord Westray. - -It is not long before an answer comes back. Amias Spicer is in the -seventh heaven. He will be sure to come. - -And at ten o’clock he comes punctually. Poor young fool! - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER V. - - -Montragee House is decked out at its brightest. The noble owner, Evelyn, -Duke of Ravensdale, is giving a ball this night, to which all the pearl -of London society has been bidden. Flocks of royalties have been also -invited, and nearly all have signified their intention of being present. -It is a wonderful sight as one drives up to the entrance gates of the -great mansion, which is ablaze with light. Every window is neatly framed -in soft green moss, from out of which fairy lamps peep and sparkle like -thousands of glow-worms. Festoons of roses twine around the porch -pillars of the great front door, and the scene that greets the eye on -entry almost baffles description. Floating throughout the corridors and -vestibules come the soft sounds of dreamy music, the atmosphere is -redolent with the sweet scent of rare and lovely flowers, the place is a -wilderness of beautiful sights, as up and down the broad flights of the -magnificent staircase well-known men and women come and go. - -A burst of martial music ever and anon heralds the approach of royalty. -As each successive arrival takes place, the brilliant crowd sways to and -fro to catch a sight of the gods which it adores. Above, the sound of -lively strains announces that dancing has begun, and every one hurries -to take part in the pleasure of the light fantastic toe. - -The dance music has suddenly ceased. Every one has turned to ascertain -the cause. The noble host is observed to be making for the centre of the -magnificent suite of rooms where every one is enjoying his or herself. -He carries in his hand a telegram, and with the other hand slightly -raised, appears to be enjoining silence. Very striking to look at is -Evelyn, Duke of Ravensdale. His age may be between twenty-five and -twenty-six. He is very tall and broad-shouldered, his hair, dark as the -raven’s wing, close curls about his forehead, which is high, and white, -and intellectual. His eyes are also very dark, with a soft, dreamy look -in them, his mouth firm set and well made, is sheltered by a long silken -moustache. - -Silence has sunk on all around. One might hear a pin drop so intense has -it become. Every one is on a tiptoe of expectation. The sight of that -telegram has set every heart beating. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” calls out the duke, raising it on high, “I have -good news for you all. This is a telegram from my dear friend, Hector -D’Estrange. He has beaten his opponent by 2,330 votes, and is now member -for the Douglasdale division of Dumfriesshire.” - -What a shout goes up! Men and women cheer again and again. It is felt -that the pinnacle of fame on which that young man rests has gone up -higher in the scale of merited success. Even his enemies cannot help -feeling glad, for Hector D’Estrange is a name to conjure by. - -“He’ll be Prime Minister before another year or two are gone,” exclaims -Sir Randolph Fisticuffs, just a little jealously to a lady by his side. -She looks at him earnestly as she replies, - -“God bless the day when he is! We shall get justice then.” - -“Oh!” he answers pettishly, “that’s just it. He has set all you women -discontented with your lot; he has lit a fire which won’t be readily -extinguished. Mark my words, he’ll burn his fingers over it yet, if he -don’t take care.” - -“Not he,” she answers stoutly; “Hector D’Estrange knows what he is -about. He has won the devoted, undying love of hundreds, nay, thousands -and tens of thousands of women, for his brave, chivalrous exposure of -their wrongs, and defence of their rights.” - -Sir Randolph Fisticuffs laughs. - -“You ought to join the Woman’s Volunteer Corps,” he observes -sarcastically. - -“Ought I?” She opens her grey eyes wide. “As it happens, I joined it a -year ago.” - -“The devil you did!” he exclaims in a surprised tone. “So you are a -Hector D’Estrangeite, eh?” - -“I am,” she answers proudly. - -The music has recommenced; a dreamy waltz is sounding through the room; -every one has begun dancing again. Only the dowagers are at rest. Not a -man appears unoccupied. Yes, one is, though. It is the young Duke of -Ravensdale himself. - -He is leaning against a bank of moss and roses apparently watching the -busy throng. There is a far-away look in his eyes, however, which tells -that his thoughts have flown beyond the giddy pastime of the hour. He is -thinking of his friend’s latest triumph, and what will be the outcome of -it all. For Evelyn Ravensdale’s heart has gone out to Hector D’Estrange, -and he loves him with that devoted, admiring love which some men have -been known to inspire in others. - -“Just look at the duke,” whispers Lady Tabbycat to her friend Mrs. -Moreton Savage; “one would think there wasn’t a pretty girl in the room, -or a heart aching for him, by the way he stands there doing nothing and -saying nothing. I can’t think what makes him so shy and reserved. He was -all fire just now when he was telling us of Hector D’Estrange’s triumph; -and now just look at him, my dear.” - -Mrs. Moreton Savage does look at him, but she is just as far from making -him out as her friend Lady Tabbycat is. Mrs. Moreton Savage is a dame -whose mind has never soared beyond the fitting on of a dress, the making -of matches, and the desirability of knowing all the best people in -society. She has worked assiduously with those aims in view, and has the -satisfaction of knowing that she has been more or less successful. Such -a thought as the condition of society, and the people in the past, -present, and future, has never entered her brain. She is quite content -that things should go on exactly as they are, that there should be -immense riches on one side, intense misery and poverty on the other. -Such problems as the relation of man and woman in this world, and the -terrible evils arising out of the false position of the sexes, has never -troubled her. She has no wish to see mankind perfected, or to place -Society on a higher level and basis than it is. There is just this -difference, therefore, between herself and the man whom she and Lady -Tabbycat are discussing, and that is that _he does_. Often and often -have the young duke and Hector D’Estrange discussed these problems -together in their early morning rides or cosy after-dinner chats. It is -Hector D’Estrange who has converted him to his present way of thinking. -He had come into his property a sufficiently self-conceited, spoilt -young man; with the world at his feet, men and women angling for his -favours, as many will do to the highborn and the rich. He had never -paused to wonder what he should do with his money, and position, and -power. He was preparing himself to enjoy life in the only way which up -till then he had viewed as possible, when a fateful chance threw him in -the path of Hector D’Estrange. - -Men wondered at the change in the young Duke of Ravensdale. It was such -a sudden one; they could not make it out; it mystified them altogether. -Some put it down to love, and wondered who was the lucky one. - -He has roused himself from his dreams with a shake and a start, and is -standing upright now. A boy is passing close by him, a boy with pretty -curling brown hair and large hazel eyes, a boy in whose face laughter -and happiness are shining brightly, a boy whose life so far has been -sunshine perpetual, without the storm and the hurricane. It would hardly -be possible to find two brothers more extremely unlike than Evelyn, Duke -of Ravensdale, and his younger and only brother, Lord Bernard Fontenoy. -No one looking at the two standing together would take them to be -related, certainly not so closely as they are. - -“Bernie,” calls the duke, as the boy passes along, and in an instant -this latter is at his side. - -“Yes, Evie,” he asks inquiringly, looking up into his brother’s face. -“Anything you want me to do?” - -“Yes, dear,” answers the duke. “I want you to take my place for an hour -or two. I have business that calls me away. Now, do you think, Bernie, -that I can trust your giddy head to see to everything in my absence?” - -“Giddy head!” pouts the boy, pretending to look seriously offended. “If -you did well-nigh eight months’ hard study out of twelve, you would like -to enjoy yourself in the few hours snatched from toil and mental -struggle.” - -“Poor boy! you look hard-worked and suffering,” laughs the duke, as he -eyes the bright, healthy, handsome face of the youthful complainant; -“but seriously, Bernie, can I trust you to overlook everything for me?” - -“Of course you can, Evie,” replies Bernard, with a look of importance. -“I promise you I will see to everything tiptop. I suppose if you’re away -I shall have to take in the Princess to supper, sha’n’t I? Do you think -Her Royal Highness will put up with a jackanapes like me?” - -“I think so, Bernie. Anyhow, you must do your best. Go and make my -excuses to the Prince. A sudden business calls me away; I will be back -as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, my boy, do your best to take my -place. I am sure I can trust you.” - -He lays his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder as he turns to go. Bernie -Fontenoy idolises his brother, but he feels at this moment as if there -is nothing in the wide world he would not do for him, if it were in his -power. - -Evie Ravensdale passes quickly down the beautiful grand staircase -towards the front door. Pompous servants are hurrying to and fro. A big -portly butler, with a magnificent white waistcoat and ponderously heavy -gold chain, is giving his orders in a voice the importance of which can -only be measured by the value he puts upon himself. As he sees the duke -descending, however, he moderates his tone, and is all obsequiousness in -a moment. - -“Repton, give me my cloak and hat, please,” commands the duke in a -quiet, civil voice, and the magnificent functionary hastens to obey. He -is wondering all the time, however, what it can be that takes his Grace -out at such a time. - -“A hansom, Repton, please.” - -Repton turns to a crimson-plushed, knee-breeched, white-silk-stockinged -subordinate. - -“Call a hansom, John,” he says loftily. It would be quite impossible for -himself, the great Mr. Repton, to perform such a menial office; no one -could expect it of _him_. The whistle rings through Whitehall. Rumbling -wheels answer the summons. In a few minutes a hansom dashes up. The -great Mr. Repton holds open the front door; Evie Ravensdale passes out. -One of the crimson-plushed, knee-breeched menials unfolds the cab doors, -and stands with his hands over the wheels while his master springs in; -then he closes them to. - -“Where to, your Grace?” he inquires respectfully. - -And Evie Ravensdale, looking up at his brilliantly lighted luxurious -mansion above him, answers somewhat absently, “Whitechapel.” - -The fit is on him to see and contrast the misery of some of London’s -quarters with the wealth and the luxury which he has just quitted. -Hector D’Estrange’s telegram has brought it to his mind. He remembers -his last conversation with that dearly beloved friend, and how it had -turned on that very point. The splendour of his own mansion, the -brilliancy that he saw around him a few minutes since is about to be -changed for cold, dark, ill-lighted streets, narrow alleys, and filthy -courts. He wants to see it all for himself. - -The hansom rattles through the streets. It goes at a good pace, but it -seems a long time getting to its destination. At length it pulls up. - -“What part of Whitechapel, sir?” inquires the cabman, looking through -the aperture in the roof of his vehicle. - -“You may put me down here, cabby,” answers the young duke, handing him -half-a-sovereign; “and if you like to wait for me, I may be about an -hour gone. I’ll pay you well, if you will.” - -“You’re a genelman, I can sees that pretty plainly,” answers the cabman -glibly, as he touches his hat, and pockets the half-sovereign. “I’ll -wait, sir; no fear.” - -Evelyn Ravensdale wanders through the gloomy, ill-lighted streets. -Midnight has chimed out from Big Ben; it is getting on towards one -o’clock, and he does not meet many people. A policeman or two saunter -along their beats, and turn their lights upon him as he passes. -Sometimes a man and woman flit past him, or a solitary man by himself. -He passes a dark, gloomy-looking archway into which the light from a -flickering gas-lamp just penetrates. He can see a boy and girl with -white, pinched faces asleep in an old barrel in one corner, a shivering, -skinny dog curled up at their feet. The sight is terrible to him. He -steps into the archway, and touches the boy on the shoulder. With a -frightened cry the lad starts up and eyes him beseechingly. - -“Ah, bobby! Don’t turn us out to-night,” he says pleadingly. “Maggie’s -so poorly and sick, she can hardly stand up. See, she’s asleep now. -Don’t wake her, please, bobby, don’t.” - -He starts suddenly, and pulls his forelock as he perceives that it is -not a policeman he is talking to. “Beg pardon, sir,” he says, “thought -it was a bobby.” - -“Have you no better place than this to sleep in, my poor lad?” inquires -the duke pityingly, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder. - -“Ah, sir! this is a gran’ place. We don’t allays gets the likes o’ this. -Poor Maggie, she was so pleased when we found this ’ere barrel. See, -sir, how she do sleep.” - -“Is Maggie your sister?” asks the young duke, with a half-sob. - -“No, sir, she’s my gal. Maggie and me, we’ves been together a long time -now, we has.” - -“And what do you do for a living, boy?” continues Evelyn Ravensdale -gently. - -“Anything, sir, we can get to do. It’s not allays we can get a job, and -then we have to go hungry like.” - -“My God!” bursts from the young man’s lips, but he says no more. The -next moment he has pressed a couple of sovereigns into the poor lad’s -hand, and is gone. - -He wanders on through the same street. He takes no note of the name of -it. His thoughts are far too busy for that. He is approaching another -street, less lonely and better lighted than the one he is in. There are -more people about, and he sees several women loitering up and down near -the corner. Instinctively he crosses the street so as to avoid them. Two -of them are making off after two men that have just passed by, the third -is left alone. She spies the young duke at once, and runs across the -street to cut him off. He sees he cannot avoid her, and pulls himself -together. In another moment she is by his side, with one hand on his -arm. - -“Won’t you come home with me, dear?” she says softly. “Won’t you——” - -“Peace, woman!” he almost shouts, as he flings off her hand from his -arm. She starts back with a low cry, and he sees a face, young still, -with traces of great beauty, but careworn and haggard with suffering. -His heart is filled with a great pity; he feels that such sights as -these are unendurable to him. He feels that he cannot face them. - -“Poor thing, poor thing,” he says gently; “forgive me if I was rough to -you. This is no place for you, my child. You look a mere child; are you -not one?” - -“I am eighteen,” she stammers. - -“Eighteen, and so fallen!” he exclaims in a horrified tone. “Ah, child! -get away out of this.” - -“And starve?” she ejaculates bitterly. “Easy for you to talk; you are -not starving.” - -“Starving!” He utters that word with a peculiar intonation. It tells her -what pity there is in his heart for her. - -“Oh, sir!” she exclaims, “I would not be here if I were not driven to -it. I don’t want to be here. I hate it; I hate it! It is my hard, hard -fate, that I am here.” - -“Have you no father, no mother to care for you?” he asks sadly. - -“No, sir, not to care for me,” she answers, with a sob. “Father’s in -gaol. Mother walks the streets like me, to make her bread. She told me -I’d better do so too, unless I wanted to starve. That’s how it is, sir.” - -He covers his face with one hand, and groans aloud. His thoughts have -rushed back to the luxury he has but lately quitted; he compares it with -the misery he has just witnessed. Once more his hand is in his pocket. - -“If I give you this, my child,” he says, drawing out a five-pound note, -“will you promise me to go home at once, and leave these streets of -infamy and wrong; and if I give you my card, and promise to place you in -a way of earning an honest livelihood, will you call at my house -to-morrow for a letter which I will leave to be given to you? Will you -try and get your mother, too, to come with you?” - -She bursts into tears. “Ah, sir! may God in heaven bless you. Yes, yes, -I will promise; indeed I will. Gladly, too gladly.” - -He holds out to her the card and the bank-note. As she takes them she -bends over his hand and kisses it passionately. He draws it gently away. - -“Remember your promise,” he says quietly. - -“I will,” she answers, between her sobs. “Oh God! I would die for you, -sir.” - -He watches her as she turns away and disappears in the gloom. Heavy -tears are in his eyes. - -“I must go home now,” he whispers to himself. “_I cannot see more._” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VI. - - -“Ten to one bar one, ten to one bar one, ten to one bar one.” The ring -is roaring itself hoarse over these words; the hubbub is deafening; it -reverberates all around; it echoes and re-echoes through the hot June -air. - -It is Derby Day. The waving downs of Epsom are alive with people; they -swarm over every cranny and nook of the wide-stretching space on either -side of the straight run-in; they surge to and fro like a sea of dark, -moving matter; they contribute to the busy air of life, that has -established its reign on all around. It is a great day. Always crowded, -Epsom is more than usually so. Old _habitués_ of the place declare, that -never in their memories—and some of them have pretty old ones—can they -recollect such a swarming throng. - -But the reason for all this crowd is an excellent one. Have not the -people come to see the great horse win? - -He is in the paddock now, and is being stripped, for the saddling bell -has rung. He is the centre of a pushing, hustling throng, all eager to -catch a glimpse of the unbeaten hero of the day; for have not his -triumphs been such as a horse and its owner might well be proud of, -carrying, as he does, the laurels of the Dewhurst Plate, the Middle Park -Plate, and the Two Thousand Guineas upon him? - -What a grand-looking horse he is! How his rich, ruddy chestnut coat -glistens in the sun like armour of burnished gold! Such a quiet beast, -too, neither snatching, nor stamping, nor doing aught that a restive or -vicious racehorse would. - -“He can’t be beat!” exclaims a young man who has been standing silently -watching the stripping process. “I’ll be a man or a mouse, Florrie; I’ll -stand every penny I’ve got on him or lose all, hanged if I won’t!” - -“Don’t be a fool, Reggie,” answers the lady addressed. She is close -beside him, and has laid her hand on his arm. It is Flora Desmond. - -“Fool or no fool,” he answers quickly, “I mean to have this dash. I tell -you he can’t be beat. It’s only a question of pluck laying the odds. -Hanged if I won’t stand every penny of the £100,000 which I have got on -him. They are taking twenty to one now.” - -“Suppose he is beaten,” she says quietly? - -“Then I shall be a beggar,” he answers, with a laugh; “but I’m not -afraid. By God! I’ll stand my chance.” - -He turns as he speaks, and tries to get through the crowd. What can she -do? She has little or no influence with him, and if she had, this is no -place in which to reason and argue with him. She feels downcast and sad; -for although she, like every one else, has little doubt in her mind that -Corrie Glen will win, there is just the chance, ever so slight, that he -might not. And if he does not, “well, what then?” - -“Ruin!” she soliloquises half aloud, as she puts the question to -herself, and answers it in that one word. There is a bitter smile on -Flora Desmond’s face, for she knows what ruin would mean. - -“Are you looking Corrie Glen over, Lady Flora?” inquires a voice at her -elbow. She has no need to turn round to discover the speaker, for she -knows the voice full well. It is that of Hector D’Estrange. - -He has heard the conversation between Sir Reginald Desmond and his wife, -and as the former elbows his way through the crowd, he has pushed -forward and sidled into his place by her side. - -“Yes, Mr. D’Estrange, I am,” she answers just a shade wearily. “Like -every one else, I am looking at the crack. I suppose he can’t be beat? -By-the-bye,” she adds hastily, “you’ve a horse in this race, haven’t -you?” - -“I have a mare,” he replies significantly; “and whom do you think is -going to ride her, qualified for a jockey’s license, and everything on -purpose?” - -“Who?” she inquires absently. - -“Why, Bernie Fontenoy. The boy’s a splendid rider, and mark my words, -Lady Flora, if he doesn’t win, it will be a near thing between my Black -Queen and Corrie Glen.” - -She starts. She has never known Hector D’Estrange to err yet, and her -husband’s rash act recurs more forcibly to her mind. “May I see Black -Queen?” she inquires hastily. - -“Certainly,” he answers; “come with me.” - -They push through the crowd, still surging round the chestnut horse, and -make their way across the paddock to a quiet spot, where very few people -are observable. A coal-black mare has just been stripped, and her jockey -is standing close beside her. His colours are tinselled-gold. - -“That is Black Queen,” observes Hector D’Estrange quietly. “You are a -good judge of a horse, Lady Flora; what do you think of her?” - -She does not reply, but walks up to within a few paces of the mare, and -looks her over keenly. She sees before her an animal which, to her eyes, -used though she is to good-looking horses, is a perfect picture. The -mare is coal-black; there is not a white hair on her; she is faultlessly -shaped all over. - -“I think that I never saw a greater beauty in all my life!” exclaims -Flora Desmond, and there is a true ring of admiration in her tone. As -she speaks the Duke of Ravensdale comes up. - -“So you’re going to win the Derby, Bernie, are you?” he inquires -jokingly, as he raises his hat to Flora Desmond, and holds out his hand -to her. “Nice youngster that,” he continues, addressing her. “Gave me no -peace till I gave him leave to ride, which I never should have done, had -it not been at Hector’s request; and now I do believe that he thinks he -is going to win!” - -“I shall have a good try, Evie,” the boy replies in a mettled voice. “I -can’t do more than ride my very best, can I, Mr. D’Estrange?” - -“No indeed, my boy, that you cannot,” answers this latter kindly. “Do -your best; no one can ask for more.” - -There is a light in Bernie’s eye, a flush on his cheek. Flora notes them -both. Full well she knows what they mean. - -“Mr. D’Estrange,” she says hurriedly, moving a few paces aside, “may I -speak to you for one moment?” - -He follows her with a grave, inquiring look. - -“I know you never bet,” she continues quickly, “but do you know what -they are laying against Black Queen?” - -“A hundred to one,” he answers carelessly. - -“Then will you do me a great favour?” she says in a sad, pleading voice. -“Though you never bet, and I hate it, will you lay me out a £1,000 in -the ring, so that if Black Queen wins I shall win £100,000? I wouldn’t -ask this of you, only you seem so confident in your mare, and, and——” - -“I understand,” he answers quietly; “I’ll do it for you, Lady Flora. The -race lies between Corrie Glen and my mare, and I quite understand why -you want to back the latter. I couldn’t help hearing what Sir Reginald -said over there. It’s on his account, is it not?” - -“It is,” she answers bitterly. “As you heard him, you will quite -understand.” - -“Leave it to me,” he continues in a kind voice. “I’ll just give Bernie -his last instructions, and then I’ll hurry across and do your -commission. Will you come over to the stand with Ravensdale?” - -“I will,” she answers, with a grateful look in her eyes. - -And now Bernie has got his last orders, and the beautiful mare, with its -handsome jockey, is moving slowly across the paddock to the course. The -tinselled-gold on the boy’s jacket gleams and sparkles in the sun, and -many an admiring eye rests on the two as they pass out. - -He has come out last, and is at the tail end of the long file of horses -parading past the stand. Every one is so keen on singling out the -favourite, that Black Queen at first is not much noticed. Yet the -sparkling gold on the jacket is bound to attract the eye, and the fact -that Lord Bernard Fontenoy, brother of the Duke of Ravensdale, is riding -the coal-black mare, awakens interest in the dark steed. - -“Why, it’s little Lord Bernie riding, I do declare!” giggles Mrs. de -Lacy Trevor to Lord Charles Dartrey, who is leaning over her chair -pointing out the horses and jockeys on the card in her lap. “What a duck -he looks! Oh, I wish Dodo was here!” - -“Can’t think what D’Estrange means by putting the boy up. He can’t win; -and it will only break his heart,” ejaculates Lord Charles -superciliously. - -“How old is Lord Bernie?” queries Mrs. Trevor in an interested voice. -“Oh, I do wish the darling would win!” - -“That’s impossible,” says Lord Charles loftily, “nothing can beat Corrie -Glen.” - -They are cantering down to the post now, the favourite with great raking -strides covering his ground comfortably, and playing kindly with his -snaffle, as his jockey leans forward and eases him a bit. Bernie has not -started the Black Queen yet; he is leaning down talking to his brother. -All eyes are upon him, however, as they see him squeeze the duke’s hand, -which is laid on the boy’s knee. Suddenly, however, he dresses himself -upright. - -“I must go now, Evie dear,” he says, and there is a tremor in his voice. -“Oh, pray that I may win!” - -Then he sets the mare into a canter, and follows in the wake of the -others. - -“My word! that mare moves well,” exclaimed Sir Horsey de Freyne -nervously; “don’t half like the look of her. Think I must have something -on her for luck. Belongs to that deuced lucky fellow D’Estrange, too. -Shouldn’t be surprised to see the gold jacket flashing in first.” - -“Bosh!” answers Sir Reginald Desmond, who is standing next to him. “My -dear old fellow, it’s only throwing your money away. Corrie Glen can’t -be beat.” - -But Sir Horsey de Freyne is not convinced, and goes off to see what he -can get laid him against the mare. - -“S’pose you’ve backed the favourite, old chap?” inquires another shining -light at Sir Reggie’s elbow. - -“Yes,” answers this latter shortly. - -“Had a plunge, eh?” persists the golden youth, who doesn’t know a horse -from a cow. - -“Have got £100,000 on him,” is Sir Reggie’s curt reply. He is looking -through his glasses, and his face is rather white. - -“Oh! I say,” blurts out the youth, as he edges off to tell all those who -will listen to him; “I say, you know, Desmond’s laid out £100,000 on the -favourite.” - -There is a murmur in the stands; it runs through them all like an -electric shock. “They’re off!” is the hoarse cry that resounds suddenly -from hundreds of throats. To an excellent start, Lord Marcovitch Bolster -has despatched the lot, and as they all stare through their glasses, -they can perceive that Hamptonian has taken up the running, closely -followed by Masterman Ready, Holyoakes, and Kesteven. Lying fifth is the -favourite, and two lengths behind him gleams a flashing spot of gold. A -strange horse is overhauling the lot, Hamptonian drops back, and the -stranger creeping to the front makes the pace terrific. But fast as he -goes he cannot shake off the chestnut, who apparently without effort is -going easily enough, and keeping his place as fifth in the crowd. Now -the spot of gold seems nearer up; it passes Corrie Glen, and falls into -fourth place, Kesteven retiring to the rear. They are racing down the -incline. Masterman Ready begins to tire, and the spot of flashing gold -closes up to Holyoakes. These two come along neck and neck, Corrie Glen -just behind them, the strange horse still in the van. Tattenham Corner -is reached. They round it in the order named, and enter the straight; -but here the stranger is in difficulties, and Holyoakes and Black Queen, -on which sits the spot of gold rigid almost as marble, begin to close -upon him. A little more than a quarter of a mile from home they reach -him, and he flings up the sponge, retiring to the rear. There are only -three horses left in the race now, Holyoakes, Black Queen, and Corrie -Glen. This latter is drawing up to the first two named, with great -raking strides he is alongside them, and quickly the three are abreast. -A distant roar sounds in Bernie’s ears, there is a film over his eyes, -his heart feels as if it must stop beating, but he sits very still, and -does not attempt to urge his horse any faster. Suddenly he sees a flash -on his left. The jockey who is riding Holyoakes has his whip out, and -Bernie knows he has nothing any longer to fear from him. He glances to -the right; the great chestnut is flashing along; there is no whip needed -there. - -“Oh God! let me win,” bursts from the boy’s pale lips, as he tightens -his rein ever so little, and touches the mare gently with the spur. He -is surprised at the effect. He thought she had been going fast before, -but she is going faster now. She is quite a length ahead of Corrie Glen, -and the jockey of this latter is visibly surprised. He has begun to ride -the horse at last, and his whip is actually out. - -“Corrie Glen wins! Corrie Glen wins!” comes the wild shout from the -stands, as the noble chestnut, with a supreme effort, closes with the -Black Queen. They are hardly fifty yards from the winning post; the roar -is terrific. Bernie hears it, but he can see nothing now. He makes, -however, a final effort, and calls on the mare once more; he has never -used his whip. - -“Corrie Glen wins! Corrie Glen wins!” The words pierce to his brain. He -has done his best, he cannot do more; he knows this well; yet would to -God he could win! - -“Corrie Glen wins!” Ah! they don’t know the Black Queen. She has -answered the boy’s last call; she has made one more magnificent effort; -and, shooting ahead of the favourite, passes the post a winner by a -neck! - -What a yell goes up from the ring! Blank deadly consternation is in the -faces of the backers. In the stands there is very little cheering. -Hardly a soul in all that vast crowd has backed the “dark” black mare. - -And Sir Reginald Desmond is still standing where we left him. He is -deadly pale; his arms are folded on his chest; there is despair in his -eyes. - -“Had a bad race, old chap? I fear we all have,” says a voice at his -elbow. He laughs, and turns towards the speaker. This latter starts as -he notices the ghastly, haggard look on the young baronet’s face. - -“Yes—well, yes, haven’t had a good one,” answers Sir Reggie coolly, -taking out his cigarette-case and leisurely selecting a cigarette -therefrom. “Have a cigarette, Fernley?” - -“No thanks, Desmond, am just going to have lunch. Wonderful race young -Bernie Fontenoy rode there. Won’t the brat be proud?” - -“Oh! ah! yes, won’t he?” answers Sir Reggie absently. His thoughts have -wandered again. He is looking ahead into the black future. Now that it -is too late, he is cursing himself for a fool and an idiot. Oh! why did -he not take Flora’s advice? - -The stand in which he is, is nearly empty. Every one is making off to -get lunch; in a few minutes it is entirely deserted. He sits on alone in -it. The cigarette he had lit so ostentatiously not long since has gone -out, but it is still clenched between his teeth. - -The future _will_ rise to his mind. How can such as he face it? He has -never been brought up to do anything; he is ill-read, ill-taught, and -ignorant. He has never given his mind to anything but amusing himself; -and now if he pays the ring what is justly owing to it he will be a -beggar, with nothing to live on and nothing to look forward to but -misery, and, in his eyes, disgrace. - -Poor Sir Reginald! He feels his position acutely, it is burning itself -into his brain. He feels that it is past endurance, that _he cannot_ -face it. - -“I’ll go home,” he says wearily to himself. “I can’t face Flora after -this; it’s all too dreadful.” - -He rises wearily and goes out. The back of the stand is more or less -crowded by the hangers-on and scum of every race-course. How he hates -and loathes the sight of them now; how their rough, coarse, -pleasure-seeking faces bring up to his mind, with haunting horror, the -great loss which he has sustained! He is staying near the race-course, -and has not far to go, so he hurries through the crowd and makes -straight for The Laurels, which is the name of the place. He reaches it, -and tries the front door. It is locked; of course no one is expected -back yet. He knows of a side-entrance though through the smoking-room. -Ten to one the careful servants have forgotten it. He walks round and -tries it. Yes, true enough, they have. Very quietly Sir Reginald slips -in. In another moment he is upstairs and in his bedroom. - -He turns the key in the door, and goes over to the writing table. His -face is still deadly pale, and he walks like one who has had too much to -drink. He sits at the table and scrawls a few hurried lines. They are as -follows:— - - “Flora dear, forgive me. I’ve been a brute and an idiot. Would to God - I had taken your advice! But it’s too late now. You’ll pay the ring - for me, dear. Let them know it was my last wish. If I lived we should - be beggars, and I can’t condemn you and the ‘little one’ to that. But - at my death you’ll get all that money that is to come to you and the - child. Good-bye, dear old girl. You’ve been good and kind to me. This - is about all Reggie can do to show you he is grateful. Good-bye. - Forgive.” - -She has been looking for him a long time, and so has Hector D’Estrange, -but there is no sign of Sir Reginald Desmond anywhere. At last she can -stand it no longer. - -“I must go back to The Laurels,” she says; “perhaps he is there.” - -Estcourt, who is standing by her, offers to accompany her, and thither -they proceed in silence. Of course when they reach the house no one has -seen him. The servants assure her ladyship that Sir Reginald has not -returned; they must have seen him if he had. They forget to add that the -greater number of them have been perched on the high wall surrounding -The Laurels, during the greater part of the day, watching the races. - -“I’ll just run up to the bedroom and have a look,” says Flora to -Estcourt. “I won’t be a minute.” - -He waits below, but almost directly hears his name called,— - -“Estcourt, come here.” - -He races up the stairs. He finds her standing outside the door of a -bedroom. - -“I can’t get in,” she says hurriedly. “I’ve called, but there is no -reply. Oh, Estcourt! do you think he is in there?” - -He makes no reply, but runs downstairs. In a few minutes he is back with -a hatchet. Curious servants are following him. - -“Stand back,” he says to Flora. She obeys, and the young man brings the -hatchet with tremendous force against the lock. Three, four, five -strokes, and he has broken it to shivers. Then he opens the door. - -Sir Reginald Desmond is seated at his writing table. His left hand is -beneath his chest, his head is resting on the table above it, his right -is outstretched and hanging over the side. Just below it on the floor -lies a revolver, and drip, drip, drip, dripping on to the chair on which -he sits, is a stream of running blood. Who shall judge him as he lays -there silent, and fast stiffening? for— - -“He is dead, and blame and praise fall on his ear alike, now hushed in -death.” - -Those may do so who can. I cannot. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VII. - - -“Were you in the Commons last night? Did you go to hear Hector -D’Estrange?” - -“Rather; I think all the world was there, or trying to be there. I don’t -think I have ever seen such a crowd before.” - -“What a wonderful speaker he is, to be sure!” - -“Yes. With the exception of Gladstone, I don’t suppose there ever was -one like him, or ever will be again. Talk of orators of bygone days! -Pooh! they never came up to him.” - -“Well, the women have got the Suffrage in full at last, thanks to him. -The next thing is to see what use they’ll make of it.” - -“Better, perhaps, than we men have.” - -The speakers are two men, the Honourable Tredegar Molyneux, M.P., and -Colonel des Vœux of the Blues. Nearly four years have passed since the -events related in the last chapter. The world has been slowly marching -forward, and many things have happened between that time and this. In -the political world, and in Parliament, like everywhere else, Hector -D’Estrange has made a stir. His eloquence and debating power are the -wonder of all who hear him, and his practical, sympathetic knowledge of -the social questions of the day has made him the idol of the masses. He -has just succeeded in carrying his Woman’s Suffrage Bill by a large -majority, thereby conferring on women, married or unmarried, in this -respect, identical rights with men. And now to-day in the monster Hall -of Liberty, which he has founded, and which has been erected by the -lavish subscriptions of the women of Great Britain, Ireland, and the -world at large, he is to preside at the ceremony of its opening. It _is_ -a monster building. Talk of Olympia, of the Albert Hall—why, they are -dwarfs beside it! - -In shape it is circular, and towers aloft towards heaven, its great dome -pinnacle crowned by a cap of glass, which report declares to consist of -a million panes. Around this glass a gilded crown is twined, and holding -it there—one in a kneeling attitude, the other upright, with one hand -high upraised towards heaven—are two gilded women’s forms. They are the -Statues of Liberty. - -The interior of this vast structure is wonderful to look upon. The floor -or centre is raised, and constructed so as to move on a pivot slowly -round. It consists of an immense ring, the middle of which presents the -appearance of a giant circus. On the right, or side facing the great -entrance, is a monster swimming bath, and exactly opposite, or on the -other side of the circus, is a huge platform. Suspended in mid air, a -very network of trapezes and other gymnastic appliances hang, while -stretched tightly beneath them is a monster net. Around the arena, with -a low palisade separating it from the same, is a broad circular -horse-ride, and raised slightly above this, running all round in a -similar manner, a roomy promenade. Then come tier above tier, tier above -tier of seats, amidst which here and there boxes are placed -promiscuously, while dotted about all over these countless and seemingly -never-ending stories, are cosy platforms enthroned in a wealth of green, -where abundance of refreshments are obtainable. - -The seats come to an end at last, and are replaced by six broad -balconies running entirely round the building, and built one above the -other; opening on to these balconies are what appear to the spectator in -the arena as thousands of pigeon-holes. In reality they are doors, -communicating each one with a tiny but compact room, in which stands a -bed, two chairs, a washhand-stand, a small dressing table, and a writing -table. It is stated that in all, opening off from these balconies, are -ten thousand rooms. These rooms have been included in the building to -accommodate women students from all parts of the world, who may wish to -take part in the physical drill or educational advantages afforded by -this great central institute for the training of womankind. Attached to -the Hall of Liberty are large lecture-rooms, studying-rooms, and -reading-rooms, and in connection with these a monster library. Outside -the building are the stables, one of the wonders of London, the grooms -being entirely composed of girls and women; and clustering round the -mother structure like a miniature town, are the pretty cottages and -dwellings of the immense staff of instructors, teachers, and lecturers -connected with the institution. It is a wonderful structure, and its -erection is a triumph, the magnitude of which can hardly be measured, -for Hector D’Estrange. It was he who conceived it, it was he who -submitted it to the approval of his countrymen, and it was he who -commanded the expenditure of the voluminous subscriptions, which in -answer to his appeal poured in from all quarters of the globe. No less -marvellous was the rapidity with which it arose, thousands of workmen -having been employed in its construction. - -It is finished now; it towers to heaven like a mighty giant from some -unknown world. The gilded Statues of Liberty flash back the sun’s rays, -and stand out to view for miles and miles around. All London is flocking -to the ceremony of its opening, for is not the genius that conceived and -placed it there to be the principal functionary of the day? - -All is orderly in the streets; the vast crowd is held and kept in check -by the military and the police. A good-humoured, happy crowd, it seems -to be, with here and there occasionally a little rough horse-play. But -no harm is done. The people are on their best behaviour, for Hector -D’Estrange, the idol of that people, has appealed to them to preserve -order. - -The vast building is rapidly filling. Since the great doors have been -thrown open, it has been one successive influx of people. There is no -disorder, for there is a separate passage for the holders of each class -of ticket, and along these the incomers are marshalled by the liveried -servants of the establishment. It is a wonderful sight to see the people -swarming to their places, and all the while through the building -trembles dreamy music, which thrills the senses, and makes them all -aglow with gentle and tender feeling. At last it is full. There is not -an inch of standing room in all that vast space set aside for -spectators; every seat is appropriated. Not a vacant one to be seen, and -it is computed that there are 50,000. - -Every class is there; from the prince and peer, to the labouring man and -peasant, all have come, attracted by the all-powerful genius who is to -address that monster meeting this day. Imbued with the same feeling, -impelled by the same curiosity, attracted by the same sentiment, that -crowd of mixed denominations and sexes awaits his coming in breathless -expectation. - -And it has not long to wait. The clock is striking eleven, when a -distant roar is heard, and the strains of martial music come floating -from afar. In the great Hall of Liberty a sudden hush has fallen; the -dreamy music has ceased abruptly, and a supreme silence reigns. - -Again that roar! It is like the booming of a thousand cannons. It is -steady now and unceasing; it rushes forward along the dense walls of -spectators that throng the streets on either side of the way up which -Hector D’Estrange has to pass. - -A whisper runs through the vast hall, a whisper of suppressed excitement -and expectation. “He is coming; he is coming!” is on every one’s lips, -as with eyes aglow and hearts thrilling with eagerness, the people bend -forward in their seats to watch for him. - -The crowds outside the building have begun to cheer. The martial music -is very distinct now. The plaudits are every moment becoming more -intense, until they break into a deep and prolonged roar. As they do so, -the great folding doors of the Hall of Liberty are thrown open, and the -people rise in a body to their feet. - -He is entering now. Preceded by the band of the White Regiment of the -Women’s Volunteer Companies, playing a march triumphant, he passes -through the giant portals. His head is bared, and he is mounted on a -milk-white horse, which he sits with grace and ease. As he does so the -sun shines down on his dark auburn hair, lighting it up with the tints -of old-gold that play amidst the curls which nestle on his high, white -brow, while the sapphire light in his glorious eyes shoots forth with a -gleam of triumph as he surveys the magnificent scene. - -He is dressed in the White Guard Regiment uniform of the Women’s -Volunteer Companies, of which he is Commander-in-Chief; but the regiment -itself is his own especial one. It was the first which he established -four and a half years ago, when he first took the matter in hand. The -idea has prospered since then, and the women enrolled in all the -companies of the Volunteer force number 200,000. - -It is a fitting uniform for the occasion, one which he has done well to -don; for the first business of to-day’s ceremonial will be the march -past of the “picked” of the companies of these 200,000. - -He has ridden round the broad, spacious horse-ride followed by one or -two especial friends, conspicuous amongst whom is the Duke of -Ravensdale. The cheering is deafening; it never ceases for a moment. It -swells and swells again, like the mighty midocean waves, that bear -onwards in their wild career to break on the lone sea-shore. - -And now he has dismounted, and, with his friends, has taken his place on -the evergreen flower-decked platform. Even as he does so his dark -sapphire eyes are raised aloft, and sweep with their dreamy gaze the -thousands that throng that vast Hall of Liberty, as if seeking amidst -the multitude one especial form. It is even so; and as they roam the sea -of faces, all turned to his, they are suddenly brought to a standstill. -The anxious, searching look within them dies away, giving place to one -of calm contentment and repose, for Speranza is there. - -The mother’s eyes are fixed upon her child. Through the filmy distance -of space cannot Gloria perceive this well? For a moment, one brief -moment, the hero of the hour is Gloriana de Lara, in the next, he is -Hector D’Estrange. The audience is still cheering,—it seems as though it -will never cease,—but he has raised his hand, and like magic a great -silence falls. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, and the clear, exquisite voice -thrills through the huge building, “I shall have a few words to say to -you before I declare the Hall of Liberty open, but first we will witness -the march past of the representatives of all the companies of the -Women’s Volunteer force of which I have the honour to be -Commander-in-Chief.” - -A flourish of trumpets and loud cheering greets this announcement. Once -more the great entrance doors unfold, the band of the White Regiment -strikes up a march, as through the portals, ten abreast, and mounted on -grey horses, that regiment advances at a trot. - -And at their head is one whom we have seen before. Very handsome she -looks in her uniform of pure white cloth, with the gold facings -glittering on her breast, and her sword in its silver sheath dangling -sparkling at her side. Flora Desmond is not greatly changed since we saw -her last, in appearance certainly, but over her life has come a wondrous -transformation. She is Hector D’Estrange’s right hand, and in aiding him -to carry out his noble aims is thoroughly in her element. - -The white troopers advance at a trot rapid enough, but as each line -passes the platform on which Hector D’Estrange is standing they break -into a canter, increased to a gallop, whirling round the broad-spaced -horse-ride in magnificent order. Looking along the serried line of -horses’ heads hardly a hair’s breadth in difference can be -distinguished, so compact is the position which is maintained throughout -the ranks. - -The march strains cease, and give way to a flourish of trumpets. -Simultaneously the galloping steeds are reined on to their haunches, -remaining motionless as statues. Thus they stand until the voice of -Flora Desmond is heard giving the order to retreat, when they fall into -position, and retire at the trot, she riding round to join her chief on -the platform. - -And in this wise, headed by their respective bands and officers, -representative companies of Hector D’Estrange’s two hundred regiments -march or gallop past him. The ceremony occupies some two hours, but they -roll by all too quickly for the spectators, who, spell-bound by what -they see, watch the revolving scenes with the keenest interest. - -The last one closes appropriately. Crashing and rumbling through the -wide-opened entrance dash the artillery. They come on at a rapid pace, -and wheeling round into the vast arena form up into splendid line. The -work of detaching the horses and unlimbering the guns is that of a -moment. In the next, a tremendous roar rings forth from the mouths of a -score of cannon which have been rapidly charged and fired. - -Ere the echoes have died away the horses are again attached, the guns as -rapidly limbered up, and one by one the gun-carriages dash from the -scene, the great doors closing upon them. - -Then cheer after cheer rings through the densely packed building as -Hector D’Estrange advances to the front of the platform to speak. But he -is raising his hand once more, as though appealing to be heard, and -again a great silence falls. - -“We are here to-day,” the bright, clear ringing voice declares, “to open -a building the magnitude of which cannot be measured by any other in the -world. The Hall of Liberty stands here to day as a living witness to the -desire of woman to be heard. It was six years ago that I first saw it in -my dreams. It is reality now, and will endure through all time, as a -memorial of the first great effort made by woman to shake off the chains -of slavery, that ever since our knowledge of man began, have held her a -prisoner in the gilded gaols of inactivity and helplessness. I stand -here to-day prepared to deny that woman is the inferior of man, either -in mental capacity or physical strength, provided always that she be -given equal advantages with him. I go further still, and declare that in -the former respect she is his superior. You deny it? Then give her the -chance, and I have no fear but that she will prove that I have not lied. -You have to-day seen passed in review 10,000 representatives of the -200,000 volunteers that in a little more than four years have been -enrolled and drilled into the splendid efficiency witnessed on this -memorable occasion. Will you pretend or seek to tell yourselves that in -warfare they would be unavailing? I laugh such an idea to scorn. One of -our most heart-stirring writers—I allude to Whyte-Melville—has left it -declared in his writings, ‘that if a legion of Amazons could be rendered -amenable to discipline they would conquer the world.’ He was right. The -physical courage, of which men vaunt so much, is as nothing when -compared with that greater and more magnificent virtue, ‘moral courage,’ -which women have shown that they possess in so eminent a degree over -men; and hence physical courage would come as an agreeable and welcome -visitor where hitherto it has been forcibly denied admission. - -“Men and women who hear me to-day, I beseech you ponder the truth of -what I have told you in your hearts. You boast of a civilisation -unparalleled in the world’s history. Yet is it so? Side by side with -wealth, appalling in its magnitude, stalks poverty, misery, and wrong, -more appalling still. I aver that this poverty, misery, and wrong is, in -a great measure, due to the false and unnatural position awarded to -woman; nor will justice, reparation, and perfection be attained until -she takes her place _in all things_ as the equal of man. - -“And now, my friends, I will detain you no longer. In this great Hall of -Liberty woman will find much which has long been denied her. It is but a -drop in the ocean of that which is her right, yet is it a noble -beginning of that which must inevitably come. I declare this Hall of -Liberty to be open.” - -That is all. He says no more, but with a stately inclination to the vast -audience turns back to where his friends stand. His horse is led forward -by a youthful orderly in the uniform of the White Regiment, and as he -mounts it the band strikes up once more. Bareheaded as he entered, he -rides slowly from the scene of his triumph, and passing again through -the portals of the Hall of Liberty comes out into the densely, -wall-lined street, amidst the roar of the thousands that are there to -greet. Such is the welcome of _the people_ to Hector D’Estrange. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -Lord Westray sits alone in his sanctum in Grosvenor Square. There is an -anxious expression on his face, for he has been expecting some one who -has not turned up. He has already consulted his watch about half-a-dozen -times, and he consults it again. Then he gets up and rings the bell. - -He can hear it tinkling downstairs from where he sits. “A smart -servant,” he thinks to himself, “would have answered it quickly.” Yet he -would think this no longer, if he could only hear “his smart servant’s” -remark anent that bell. - -“James,” calls out that worthy, who is seated in the room on an easy -armchair in front of the fireplace, with his feet against the -chimney-piece, “what bell’s that?” - -“My lord’s, sir,” is the laconic reply from the lackey outside. - -“Oh! ah! tha-a-anks. Let him ring again.” - -The bell does peal again, this time furiously, and Stuggins, with a face -of disgust, pulls his feet down from the chimney-piece. - -“My word! what a hard time of it we have’s,” he ejaculates to himself, -as he rises slowly from his seat to go upstairs. - -On reaching Lord Westray’s sanctum, however, his face is composed and -affable. - -“This is the second time I’ve rung,” exclaims Lord Westray angrily. -“Surely, Stuggins, there is some one in the house to answer the bell.” - -“I was in my room, my lord, and did not hear it,” responds Stuggins in a -conciliatory voice. - -“Has no one called yet, Stuggins?” - -“No one, my lord.” - -“Well, he’ll be here at any moment now. Mind he is shown up without any -delay.” - -“Certainly, my lord.” - -And the sleek, over-fed domestic goes off smiling. - -Ten minutes later, and there is a ring at the doorbell. Lord Westray -starts and listens. - -“It’s he!” he ejaculates briefly. - -And in a few minutes the “he” is politely waved in by Stuggins. - -“Mr. Trackem, my lord.” - -“All right, Stuggins, shut the door. Not at home if any one else calls.” - -“Very good, my lord.” - -The door is shut, and Lord Westray rises and shakes the new-comer by the -hand. - -“Glad to see you, Mr. Trackem,” he observes heartily. “Began to fear you -were not coming. A little late, eh?” - -“A little, my lord, but I was usefully employed.” - -“Made out where she is, Mr. Trackem?” - -“Yes,” responds this latter solemnly. - -Lord Westray rubs his hands delightedly. - -“Where?” he asks eagerly. - -“Near Windsor, my lord. I found it out by shadowing Mr. D’Estrange.” - -“Capital!” exclaims Lord Westray, with a laugh. “And does she still go -under the name of Mrs. de Lara?” - -“Yes, my lord.” - -“Now, Mr. Trackem, what are your plans?” - -Mr. Trackem puts on a mysterious look, walks quickly to the door of the -sanctum, and opens it suddenly. “What do you want?” he inquires sharply -of some one without. - -“If you please, sir, I was just coming in to see if his lordship had -rung,” answers Stuggins stolidly, who had never quitted the outside of -the door since we last saw him, and who had been listening intently all -the time. - -“Lord Westray did _not_ ring,” answers Mr. Trackem, coldly, “and you are -_not_ required.” - -“Oh! very good, sir,” and Stuggins retires defeated, and much put about. - -Mr. Trackem watches the butler’s retreating form till it is out of -sight, then he closes the door softly, and returns to his original place -near Lord Westray. - -“These are my plans, my lord. I propose to take down two of my men by -rail. Two will be ample, as more might attract attention and be in the -way. I shall send a brougham and smart pair of trotters the day before. -I have ascertained by observation that Mrs. de Lara invariably goes for -a walk in the evening by herself, that her servants do not sit up for -her, as she writes in her study late at night, and I have further -ascertained that she is frequently in the habit of leaving the house -before any one is up, and coming up to town. This is a most valuable -point, as her absence will attract no attention. But to be safe I have -possessed myself of some of her writing paper and a sample of her -writing, and a note will be duly left, apprising her maid of her -departure, and intention to remain in London for a few days.” - -“By Jove, Mr. Trackem, you are a smart one! I don’t see how your plan -can fail,” exclaims the wicked earl with a laugh. - -“I never fail, my lord, in any of these little businesses,” answers Mr. -Trackem, with a suave smile. - -“But ain’t you afraid of the police finding you out?” inquires Lord -Westray, just a little nervously. - -Mr. Trackem laughs outright. “Police!” he ejaculates contemptuously. -“What’s the good of them? Think they know a lot, know nothing. Why, my -lord, the police are useless in matters of this sort; and as for -detectives, why, it’s easy to green them up the wrong way. I don’t fear -them. I’m a match for every noodle detective in and around Scotland -Yard, I am,” and Mr. Trackem gives a self-satisfied laugh. - -“Well, Mr. Trackem, when is it to be?” inquires the earl anxiously, -after a short lull in the conversation. - -“It’s to be the day after to-morrow,” answers Mr. Trackem. “To-morrow my -men go down. I shall follow, and just give them a squint at the place, -and then they’ll be all prepared for the next day. Never fear, my lord; -by Wednesday she shall be in your power.” - -“In _my_ power!” The words come triumphantly, though mutteringly, -through the ground teeth of the man whom Speranza de Lara had called, -and justly so, “a fiend in human shape.” Yes, she had spurned him, -loathed him, defied him, forbidden him her presence. Through these long -years he had striven to regain her in vain, and now—ah, now!—he would be -amply and surely revenged. - -“Well, I am sure, Mr. Trackem, I cannot thank you sufficiently for the -excellent way in which you have laid your plans in order to carry out my -commission,” he says warmly. “And now to business. I am to give you £50 -down now, and the remaining £150 when the transaction is finally -accomplished. Is not that so?” - -“It is, my lord,” answers the vile creature blandly. - -Lord Westray pulls out a drawer in his writing table, and taking out a -cheque book is not long in writing off an order for £50 to the credit of -self. This he hands to his visitor, who accepts it deferentially, and -commits it to a greasy pocket-book, after which he takes up his hat and -stick, preparatory to leaving. - -“Won’t you take something?” inquires the earl with his hand on the bell. -“A glass of sherry, brandy-and-soda, or what?” - -“No thank you, my lord, nothing,” answers Mr. Trackem. “Must keep a -clear head in my business. Thanks all the same.” - -They shake hands, these two scheming monsters, both intent on a base and -ruffianly deed, yet one of them is regarded as a gentleman, is received -and welcomed by society, is high in the graces of the Government of the -day, and accounted a clever man and useful statesman. Clothed in these -mantles of virtue, he is free to do as he pleases. Wickedness will not -bar Society’s doors against him, or lose him his high preferments. Is he -not a man, one of the dominant and self-styled superior race? Therefore, -is he not free to do as he pleases? - - * * * * * - -The day has come,—a hot July one. Down upon the dusty country roads the -sun has burnt fiercely all day long. The cattle and beasts of the field -have eagerly sought for shade and refuge from the torturing flies that -ever haunt their presence, but evening has fallen at last, and with it -relief has come. - -It is cool and pleasant along the banks of the old Thames. The silver -streak glides sluggishly along, with the moon’s pale light playing -softly upon it. The stars twinkle merrily forth to endure their brief -sweet reign; Nature looks ghostlike in her mantle of sleep. - -A fairy cottage, half hidden in walnut trees and clinging ivy, peeps -forth upon that scene. The smooth lawns around it gleam white as the -driven snow beneath the moon’s soft gleams. Tall dark trees rise up -behind in ebony framework, making an efficient background, while through -the still air trembles and quivers the nightingale’s exquisite song. - -It would seem, at a first glance, as if all were asleep in that cottage; -but no, there is yet a light left in one of the rooms on the -ground-floor. Suddenly a pair of window-doors in it are flung open, and -a tall, graceful woman steps out through them. Her head is uncovered, -the moon gleams down upon the thick masses of pale gold hair that cover -it, and shines in her glittering eyes of turquoise-blue. It is Speranza -de Lara. - -“What a glorious night!” she soliloquises to herself. “I suppose my -darling is speaking now. She said it would be about ten o’clock. Oh, -Harry! my precious long-lost love, would that you could see _our_ child -now!” - -She has pressed the ring with its glittering brilliants to her lips,—the -only ring she wears. The stones flash and sparkle in the moon’s light -like gems of living fire, beautiful, pure, and shining as the love that -is next her heart. Much more than a score of years have passed away -since Harry Kintore died in her arms, but if she lived through countless -scores of years that love would burn just the same. She wanders along -the gravel carriage drive, her thoughts busy with the past. Anon they -fleet forward to the future, and then a light of triumph dances in her -eyes. But it is with the past that she is chiefly occupied this night, -for it is the 14th of July, the anniversary of the day on which her -darling died. - -She has passed along the shady avenue, and entered a tiny straggling -path, shut in by tall dark trees. It is a glade upon which the gardener -has not been allowed to bestow his fostering care. He has been forbidden -this spot by his mistress, who loves to leave it in possession of the -primrose and violet, the wild anemone or dark blue hyacinth that Nature -has scattered so plentifully around. It is Speranza’s safe retreat, away -from the outside world, the spot where she best loves to roam. - -All is quiet; not a sound disturbs the tenor of her thoughts as she -walks quietly along. Suddenly, however, her eye is arrested by a gleam -of light in front of her. The next moment two dark forms spring forward -in her path, and she sees that they are men. - -Speranza is no coward. We already know that well. Screaming is without -her ken, she has no knowledge of it. Of fear, she only knows the name. -If it is a thrill that permeates the body from head to foot, and sends -the blood rushing through the system with irresistible impetus, then -Speranza knows what that strange, mysterious sensation called fear is. -But then it only makes her feel defiant. She has no thought of fleeing. -Her impulse is to stand and face the danger, whatever it may be. - -“Who are you?” she asks in a quiet, measured voice; “and what do you -want here?” - -“You,” is the laconic answer, as the speaker seizes her by the arm, and -deftly getting behind her, endeavours to draw her two elbows together. -The pain is excruciating, but Speranza’s blood is up. She is no weakly -woman, helpless with life-long inactivity and want of muscle power. She -is strong and flexible as wire, and makes her assailant feel this too, -as with a wrench she frees herself, and springs backward behind him, -facing them both once more. With a foul oath the man who had first -attacked her bares a short, ugly-looking knife, and his companion does -so as well. - -“No use resisting!” exclaims this latter. “If you do you’ll get a taste -of these. Better come quietly.” - -She does not even answer them. Her lovely head is thrown back, her blue -eyes shoot defiance, even while in them trembles the look of despair. -Her hands hang clenched by her side, but she never quails for a second. - -They rush at her, their knives poised threateningly. She seizes the -blades with both her hands, and holds them with the grim clutch of a -last great effort. With a brutal laugh they jerk them backwards, and the -sharp, keen edges cut clean into her tightly closed palms. Out pours the -rich, dark blood from the cruel, gaping wounds, as with a low cry, the -first that has escaped her, she lets go her hold. Then, with the -ferocity of tigers, they spring upon, and force her to the ground. In -another moment the gag is on her mouth, tight straps are round her arms -and ankles, and she is a prisoner at their feet. - -“Come on quick, now!” exclaims one of the men. “My, Bill! she be a -strong, plucky one, and no mistake! If it ’adn’t been for that there -root we shouldn’t have mastered her so easily—no, nor we should.” - -The root referred to is the jagged, stumpy end of a fallen tree. Against -this Speranza’s head had struck in falling, rendering her senseless. No -wonder they tied her so easily. - -They lift her between them, and carry her across the copsewood towards a -low hedge, outside which lies the road. Over this they hoist her, and -then lay her down on the pathway, one of them giving a long, low -whistle. - -There is an answering whistle down the road, a rumbling and stamping as -of carriage wheels and horses’ feet. Two lights gleam through the -darkness, like the eyes of some terrible monster, and the next moment a -carriage dashes up. - -“Got her?” inquires a thin, spare man, jumping out. - -“Right as a trivet, sir,” they answer. - -“Well, put her in! Look sharp; no time to lose. I thought I heard -footsteps as I came along,” and Mr. Trackem, for it is he, holds open -the door. - -They obey his orders without more ado, and then he jumps in. - -“Now then! look alive, men! One on the box, one in with her and me.” - -It is done. The men are “sharp uns.” They know their master, and he -knows his men. The next moment the carriage is bowling along towards -Windsor, _en route_ for London. - -Who will track them, who discover them? Not the detectives of Scotland -Yard! - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IX. - - -There has been a late sitting in the House of Commons. A protracted -debate on the crowded condition of the filthy alleys and slums in that -most wonderful city of the world, London, has kept members fully -occupied. But twelve o’clock, midnight, has struck, and the Commons are -dispersing. It has been a great night for Hector D’Estrange. He has -spoken for an hour and a half to a spell-bound audience; for does it not -know full well that the subject of that night’s discussion is one in -which he is no novice, it having been undertaken on his own motion? - -He has spoken for an hour and a half, and has told them many things. Has -he not a right to do so? None like him have dived into those terrible -slums, have visited night after night, as he has done, those abodes of -crime, of vice, of wickedness, and of misery. He knows them well, and -has depicted them as they _are_, to the wondering representatives of a -nation, in language of which he alone is master. - -He has seen much, and knows much of the horrors which he has depicted so -vividly, yet not even he knows some of the depths of infamy that exist -in that cesspool of Modern Babylon. He has yet another experience to -incur. - -“Dear old Hector, that was a grand speech of yours!” exclaims the Duke -of Ravensdale, who, having been an attentive listener during the debate, -has run down to join his friend as the latter leaves the Commons. “Come -across to Montragee House, and let us have a little supper. Wish you -would stay there the night, old man!” - -“I can’t, Evie,” replies Hector. “I have to go down to Windsor by an -early train, and must go home and order my things to be packed up; but -I’ll come across for half an hour or so and have a mouthful, as I went -without my dinner.” - -They walk along, linked arm-in-arm, towards Whitehall, and as they do so -Big Ben chimes out the hour of half-past twelve. - -“How time flies, to be sure!” remarks the young duke thoughtfully. -“Funny thing time is—eh, Hector?” - -“It is,” answers this latter gravely; “a something without being, shape, -or substance, and yet a thing that has been, is, and yet shall be.” - -“What a happy chap you ought to be, Hector! I don’t suppose there’s an -hour in your life which you can look back upon as having wasted or -misspent, save in doing good and trying to help others,” exclaims his -friend in an almost envious tone. “Would to God I could say the same of -myself!” - -“Hush, Evie! don’t try and make me vain; and don’t run yourself down -before me. I won’t allow it. God knows you are earnest enough in your -desire to do good, and, dear Evie, you have succeeded. I don’t suppose -there’s another in your position who has done so much. I never had such -a good true friend as you in all my undertakings, except one, and of -course I except her.” - -“Her!” exclaims his friend in a somewhat surprised voice. “Whom, -Hector?” - -“My mother,” he answers quietly. “She has been my right hand through -life. I could not have got on without her.” - -“Your mother, Hector!” says the duke in a low voice. “Have you a mother -alive?” - -“Yes, Evie, and one of the best that ever lived. I will introduce her to -you some day. She knows you well by hearsay, for I have often spoken of -you to her. But a favour, dear old Evie; don’t ever mention her to any -one; promise me.” - -“Of course not, Hector. You know the simplest wish of yours is law to -me. Well, here we are; we’ll finish our chat inside over some soup and -oysters, and anything else you like to have.” - -The duke’s hand is on the bell, but he pulls it very softly. - -“Won’t do to peal it,” he remarks. “The sound would awaken Bernie, he’s -such a light sleeper; and always will get up to welcome me if he awakes, -dear little chap.” - -“Let’s see, how old is he now?” queries Hector D’Estrange; “well nigh -sixteen, is he not? He’s a dear lad, and I like him especially on -account of his love for you. He does love you, Evie.” - -“Yes,” answers the duke softly, “and I love him. Bernie is all I have -got to love, unless it be you, Hector.” - -He does not see the bright flush that rises to Hector D’Estrange’s -beautiful face, or the passionate look in the sapphire eyes. It might -have startled him if he had. But the great massive doors are unclosing -now, and he enters, followed by his friend. - -“Supper in my study, Repton, please,” he exclaims. “Is Lord Bernard -asleep?” - -“Fast, your Grace,” answers that individual confidentially. “His -lordship wanted to sit up for your Grace, but when I gave him your -Grace’s message he went straight to bed.” - -“That’s right,” says the duke heartily. “Bernie’s a good lad. God bless -him!” - -The two have moved on into the duke’s study, and Repton has hurried off -to command his Grace’s supper to be served immediately. He has pompous -manners, has Repton, a high opinion of himself, and certain notions of -his own importance and dignity, but he is a good servant nevertheless, -and a faithful one. He is not of the Stuggins’ class. He would as soon -dream of keeping his Grace waiting for his supper as of jumping over the -moon. - -The consequence is, that in the twinkling of an eye supper is served in -the study. And the two friends, as they sit discussing it, wander off on -some favourite theme, so that the time passes quicker than they think. -Suddenly they are startled by hearing a bell peal. The duke springs to -his feet. - -“Good heavens! What can that be?” he exclaims nervously. “Is it Bernie’s -bell; is the boy ill, I wonder? I must go and see. It’s past two -o’clock.” - -“It’s the front door bell, I think,” says Hector D’Estrange. “Hark, -Evie! there are voices in the entrance hall. Open the door and listen.” - -The duke does so. A woman’s voice is plainly distinguishable, appealing -to Repton. - -“For God’s sake,” he hears her saying, “let me see the duke. I must see -him. It is a matter of life and death. If you tell him it is for Mr. -D’Estrange he will see me, I know.” - -“I have no orders from his Grace to admit you,” answers Repton -pompously, “and certainly cannot disturb his Grace at this hour. You -must write or call again to-morrow morning, and all I can do is to -report your wish to his Grace.” - -He bangs the door to as he speaks, but the next moment steps sound -behind him, and Hector D’Estrange has seized the handle and pulled it -open. His face is very white, and there is terror in his eyes. - -“Rita!” he calls out, “is that you, Rita? My God! what brings you here?” - -“Mr. D’Estrange!” she bursts out with a low, glad cry. “Oh, are you -here? Thank God! thank God!” - -She has rushed forward and seized him by the hand, and the duke, who has -followed close behind him, recognises in the youthful, fair-featured -girl the sad, haggard, careworn, starving creature whom but a few years -back he had rescued from prostitution and degradation. Yet in what a -terrible condition she seems. Her dress is torn and mudstained, her -shoes likewise, her fair, soft hair dishevelled and hanging about her -face and down her back, while her expression is that of one scared by a -terrible fear. - -“Come quick, come quick!” she cries imploringly, “before it is too late. -Oh, Mr. D’Estrange! they have waylaid her, and carried her off. I saw -her bound, with her poor cut bleeding hands, and could not help her; but -I know where she is, and can guide you to the place, if you will only -come.” - -“Rita,” exclaims Hector D’Estrange, in a voice the very calmness of -which fills her with awe, “come into the duke’s study for a minute, and -explain yourself. Follow me.” - -He leads the way with Evie Ravensdale following, and she close behind -the duke. As for Repton, he is rigid with astonishment. - -The three enter the study, and the door is closed. “Now, Rita,” queries -Hector excitedly, “explain.” - -“I will,” she cries again. “It is your mother. She was out in her -favourite walk this evening about ten, and I was coming home rather late -from Windsor. I saw her attacked by two men in the spinny, bound hand -and foot, after having been knocked senseless. A carriage drove up, and -they put her into it. My first impulse was to rush to help her and shout -for assistance, but in a moment I reflected how useless that would be. I -determined to hang on to the carriage behind, and see where they took -her to. It was a terrible drive, but God helped me, and I succeeded, -though I’m about done. I saw the house they took her into. I know the -spot well; I can take you there straight now. But come, please come, or -it will be too late.” - -There is a look of fury and hatred so intense in Hector D’Estrange’s -eyes, that the duke can hardly recognise him as the sweet, -gentle-featured friend whom he loves so dearly. - -“Evie,” he says in a strained, unnatural voice, “I can explain nothing -now. It is impossible. But you can trust me, Evie. My mother, my -precious mother, is in terrible danger. Will you help me to save her?” - -The duke’s reply is laconic, but Hector knows its meaning. They are -simple words, “I will.” - -“Then come,” he exclaims feverishly; “lead on, Rita, brave, plucky Rita! -I’ll never forget what you have done to-day.” - -She does not reply, for they are hurrying out of the room. They are in -the hall now, and both Hector and Evie Ravensdale have seized their -hats. But the next moment the duke has slipped a loaded revolver into -his pocket, and handed another to his friend. - -“Take this,” is all he says. “You may want it.” - -There is a four-wheeler at the door. They all three get in quickly. As -Rita does so she gives the order, “Whitechapel. Quick,” she adds, “and -you shall be paid well!” - -The cab-horse trots swiftly along. The hope of a substantial fare has -given the cabby wings. No well-bred brougham horse could go quicker. He -flies along does that old cab-horse. - -On the outskirts of Whitechapel Rita calls a halt. “We must get out -here,” she observes. “Mr. D’Estrange, please give the cabman a -sovereign, and tell him to wait.” - -He obeys her. He can trust her, can Hector D’Estrange. Ever since the -day when, at Evie Ravensdale’s request, he had appointed her as his own -and his mother’s secretary, Rita Vernon has served him with a fidelity -and painstaking exactitude of which he knows no parallel. She leads the -way through dark, uninviting streets. She knows the locality well. She -learnt it years ago, before Evie Ravensdale came there to save her from -a doom far more terrible than death. She had declared then that she -would willingly die for him. The same feeling animates her now. For Evie -Ravensdale Rita Vernon would deem it a happiness to die. - -They have passed through courts and filthy alleys, through streets well -and ill-lighted. Very few people are about. Only a policeman or two on -their beats pass them as they move along. Now they are turning into a -sort of crescent or half square, with houses superior to those of the -localities they have traversed. As they do so Rita turns to the two men -following her, and pointing to a house at the further end, exclaims, -“There!” - -There are no lights in the windows; the place is silent and dark. - -“How shall we get in?” asks the duke. - -There is a bitter smile on Rita’s face as she replies. - -“I will show you, but remember you must play your part. I shall pretend -I am bringing you here, and that there’s another woman coming. I’ll -order a room, and once in there I know how to find her.” - -She says no more, but passes swiftly along the pavement, they close at -her heels. On reaching the house she pulls the bell softly. - -The door is opened cautiously, and a woman’s face peers out. - -“What’s wanted?” she inquires suspiciously. - -“I’ve brought these gentlemen here,” answers Rita. “We want a room. Your -best if it’s empty.” - -“Can’t have you to-night,” replies the woman. “The whole house is took.” - -She is about to shut the door when Rita springs into the opening. The -next moment she has the woman by the throat. “Quick!” she cries in a low -voice. “Gag her, tie her hands and feet!” - -No need to speak further. Both Hector D’Estrange and Evie Ravensdale -have obeyed. Three handkerchiefs suffice to gag the woman, tie her -ankles together, and her wrists behind her. Then they look at Rita. - -“Put her in here!” exclaims this latter, opening a door on the right. -“It’s dark. Never mind; I know the place; she’s safe there.” - -They lift her in, and lay her on the floor. Rita closes the door, and -locks it. A dim light is burning in the hall, but no one is stirring; -only in the distance they think they catch a sound of voices. - -“Come on,” she says excitedly. “I am sure I can find them. They’ll be in -the best room. Follow me.” - -She goes up the stairs quietly, her companions as noiselessly following. -On reaching the landing she turns down a passage to the right, and comes -to a halt opposite a door. - -“Listen,” she says in a low tone. “_You two should know that voice._” - -But she has no time to say more. Pale with fury, with murder in his -eyes, Hector D’Estrange has burst open the door. A flood of light almost -blinds him as he enters, but through it all he sees the mother that he -loves. - -Speranza de Lara is stretched on a sofa. Her ankles are still tightly -secured, her wrists likewise. Around her, like a cloak of gold, falls -her lovely hair. There is a mad, wild look in her eyes terrible to -behold, but her lips are mute and speechless, for she is gagged. And -beside her stands that monster, that petted _roué_ of Society, that -“fiend in human shape,”—the Earl of Westray. - -There is a loud cry as a shot rings through the silent house. - - - END OF BOOK I. - - - - -[Illustration] - - _BOOK II._ - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -It is the year 1900. Men are hoping that it will be a peaceful one, -after the factious bickerings of 1898–99. While the National party and -the Progressists have been snarling over contentious bones, they have -omitted to notice in the bye-elections unmistakable signs of public -weariness and disgust with squabbles so profitless. - -The National party, into which the Unionists have been merged, and the -Progressists—a party arisen on the ashes of the Liberals—have failed to -take warning by these signs. Woman’s Suffrage, established as law by the -action of Hector D’Estrange, has materially altered the aspect of the -old state of things, and brought about a thorough and healthy change of -thought in many places. The women have given their aid enthusiastically -to Hector D’Estrange, and worked heartily in support of the youthful -reformer. Almost every bye-election has returned a D’Estrangeite -candidate. - -Now at length the General Election is over, and the Parliament returned -is a curious one. Including the Irish, Scotch, and Welsh Home Rulers, -the D’Estrangeite members are in a majority, the Nationals coming next, -and the Progressists last. - -And yet the majority referred to is a somewhat precarious and unworkable -one, for if the two latter parties choose to combine, they can wreck the -new Government completely. No one knows this better than Hector -D’Estrange, who, having been invited by his sovereign to form a Cabinet, -has succeeded in doing so, and occupies the proud position of Prime -Minister at the age of twenty-eight. - -Only sixteen years since Gloria de Lara made her vow to the wild sea -waves,—and now? - -Has the prayer that accompanied that vow been answered? - -Not yet. - - * * * * * - -“Is it not tempting defeat, my child, to introduce the bill at so early -a date?” - -“Mother dear, it is my only opportunity. The position I hold is, I know, -quite untenable for any length of time. The Government may be defeated -at any moment, and then my chance is gone. Though I have not the -slightest hope of carrying the bill, I shall yet gain a tremendous point -by its introduction. I shall be defeated on it without a doubt, but it -will be before the country, and I can appeal to the country upon it.” - -“Ever right, my child.” - -The speakers are Speranza and Gloria de Lara. The former is now fifty -years of age, but years sit lightly on her shoulders. The new century -beholds her as lovely and youthful-looking as ever; time has not played -havoc with that fair face. - -And the pale golden hair is golden still. No sign of whitening age is -discernible in the thick tresses. It seems as though fair youth will -never quit her side, for Speranza is unchanged. - -Unchanged in all save one thing. Since that terrible day, upon which the -last chapter closed so abruptly, there has dwelt in Speranza’s lovely -eyes a hunted, haunting look of fear. She has never quite recovered from -the shock of that most awful trial, and none dare mention to her the -name of Lord Westray. - -He has never been heard of since that day. His disappearance at the time -caused the greatest excitement. Men declared that he must have been -foully murdered, and his body secreted by the murderer or murderers. Of -course the blame was thrown on the Irish, with whom Lord Westray was no -favourite. Not long before his disappearance he had been appointed Chief -Secretary for Ireland, an appointment that had given the greatest -dissatisfaction to the Irish. There was nothing beyond surmise, however, -to account for his fate. - -They are sitting in Speranza de Lara’s private room in Montragee House, -which has been her home ever since the terrible day above referred to. -Apartments in the huge building have been set aside for her use, for it -is the delight of Evie Ravensdale to lavish upon the mother of his -dearest friend on earth all the affection and love of a son. And his -love is returned indeed, for Speranza’s heart has gone out to him with -all the love of a mother, a love only surpassed by that which she feels -for her child. - -The great day has come at last, when Hector D’Estrange is to introduce -to Parliament his bill for the absolute and entire enfranchisement of -the women of his country. The bill, it is whispered, is not a mere -stepping-stone to future power for the sex, but a free and unfettered -charter of liberty, a distinct emancipation from past slavery, a final -and decisive declaration that women are not man’s inferiors, but have as -clear and inalienable a right as he to share the government of their -country, and to adopt the professions hitherto arrogated by men solely -to themselves. Hector D’Estrange’s colleagues have been made aware of -the bill’s contents, and have loyally and nobly elected to stand or fall -upon it. They have all been selected for their singularly wide and -sympathetic views, and are not likely to forsake their chief in the -moment of trial. So also can he depend upon all the D’Estrangeite -members, without a fear that there will be a single seceder from their -ranks; but he knows that the defeat which he expects will come from the -united forces of the Progressists and Nationals, who for a time have -buried their feuds and disputes, in the desire to defeat the -revolutionary schemes of Hector D’Estrange. - -There is a knock at the door, and, in response to Hector’s invitation to -enter, it opens, and a young man comes in. It is Lord Bernard Fontenoy, -very much grown since we saw him last. He is eighteen now, but looks -older, and is the Duke of Ravensdale’s Secretary, the duke being -Minister for Foreign Affairs. - -“A telegram, Mr. D’Estrange,” he observes. “Will there be any answer?” - -Hector takes the missive and opens it. It is from Flora Desmond, and -runs as follows:— - - “The ten regiments have marched in from Oxford, and are quartered in - the Hall of Liberty. Twenty-seven miles completed in eight and a half - hours; not a single private fell out of the ranks. Will be down to see - you in an hour or so.” - -“No, Bernie; no answer, thanks. Is Evie in yet?” queries the recipient. - -“I’ll go and see,” answers the youth, vanishing as he speaks. - -“Dear mother, I must leave you now, but will see you again before I go -to the House. Estcourt and Douglasdale will be here directly, and the -latter is to escort you to-night,” observes Hector D’Estrange, rising -and kissing Speranza. - -The mother throws her arms around her child. The anxious look in her -eyes is intensified. - -“My darling, may all go well with you to-night. It is foolish, I know, -but there is a foreboding of evil next my heart which I cannot shake -off, try as I may. Ah, Gloria! if aught should happen to you, my -precious child, what would your mother do?” - -“Why, mother, what ails you, dearest? Evil happen to Gloria? What fancy -is this? Of course I expect defeat; but that will not be evil; merely -the beginning of a great end. - -“I do not allude to that, dear one, but to something quite different. -Gloria, I had a terrible dream last night. I saw him close to me, the -being that I loathe. He had you down, and stood above you with a naked -sword raised threateningly. I rushed to save you, but ere I could avert -his arm he had pointed it straight down at you, and pierced you to the -heart.” - -“Tush, mother, a mere dream, that’s all. You must not dwell upon it. -Dear mother, put it from your mind.” - -“Would to God that I could, Gloria! But it haunts me like a spectre, and -will not pass away. However, my child, I must not damp your spirits with -my fancies. Go now to your duties, from which I must not keep you, and -mother will do her best to drive the dream away.” - -“That’s right, motherling. Do, for Gloria’s sake.” - -He kisses her tenderly and goes out, for he hears Evie Ravensdale’s step -approaching. The two friends and colleagues meet just outside the door. - -“Let’s go to your room, Evie,” he says gently, “and let us have a chat -before I go to work. Chats with you are a luxury now. We don’t find much -time for them, do we? By-the-bye, I have just had a telegram from Flora -Desmond: the regiments have reached the Hall of Liberty. She reports the -last march of twenty-seven miles in eight and a half hours, with not one -single fall out from the ranks. Yet they would have us believe that -women are weak, feeble creatures, unable to endure fatigue. There is the -lie direct.” - -They pass on into the duke’s study, a room full of pleasant memories for -Hector D’Estrange. Many a happy hour has he spent here with the truest -and best friend of his life, the one man whom he loves above all things, -and, with the exception of Speranza, the only being to whom he is -passionately attached. A big oil painting hangs above the fireplace. Two -figures are represented on the canvas. One is a tall, dark-haired, -dark-eyed man, with long silken moustache and aristocratic mien, the -other of shorter and slighter build, with a face of exquisite beauty. -The features are those of a very young man, the eyes are sapphire-blue, -the glossy, close curling hair of a deep old-gold colour. It is easy to -recognise the former as Evelyn, Duke of Ravensdale, the latter as Hector -D’Estrange. The picture has been executed by the duke’s order, and -represents the two friends first meeting—ever memorable for both. - -They sit on alone together, these kindred spirits, happy in the -communion of each other’s thoughts. They are seeking to scan the future -and what it will bring, diving into the days that have yet to come. With -Evie Ravensdale, it is a firm belief in the ultimate success of Hector -D’Estrange’s scheme, a supreme and absolute confidence in his young -chief’s ascendant star. - -“I wonder who will be the first woman Prime Minister,” he observes -dreamily. He is looking into the glowing coals, and does not notice the -flush that rises to Hector D’Estrange’s cheeks. - -“Ah, yes, who indeed?” echoes the latter quietly. - -“Sometimes I think, Hector, that I can see her. Certainly I have seen -her in my dreams,” continues the young duke softly. - -“Can you describe her, Evie?” asks his friend. - -“Ask me to paint your face, Hector, and then you have her in living -life. Yes, my woman Prime Minister is an exact counterpart of Hector -D’Estrange. Ah, Hector! if you were only a woman how madly I should love -you; for love you as I do now, it can never be the same love as it would -be if you were a woman.” - -It is fortunate that the shaded and softly subdued lamps in Evie -Ravensdale’s study are low, or certainly the look in Hector D’Estrange’s -face would have betrayed the secret of Gloria de Lara. As it is, he only -laughs softly. - -“So I am your woman’s ideal, am I, Evie?” he asks in a would-be -bantering tone. - -“Yes, Hector, you are. Your face is too lovely for a man’s. You ought to -have been a woman. And yet if you had been, the glory of Hector -D’Estrange would be an untold tale. There is, alas! no woman living, I -fear, who would have been able to beat down the laws that held her -enchained as you have done. How the women worship you, Hector, and -rightly.” - -The front door bell is pealing. In a few minutes the study door is -opened, and Lady Flora Desmond is announced. - -She comes in easy and graceful, her White Guard’s uniform fitting to -perfection her supple and agile form. People have grown accustomed to -Hector D’Estrange’s women volunteers. The uniforms no longer strike them -as strange and unfeminine, for custom is the surest cure with offended -Mrs. Grundy. - -“What a dense crowd there is, to be sure!” she exclaims, after first -greetings have been exchanged. “I had hard work to get my guards through -it. But they are in order now, and a clear way is kept right up to -Westminster, so you will have no difficulty in getting your carriage -along, Mr. D’Estrange.” - -“Is it so late?” he inquires in a surprised tone. “Evie and I have been -talking away, and did not notice how the time was slipping. Pray wait -here. I shall not be many minutes dressing. I must wear my White Guard’s -uniform to-night, you know.” - -“Very well, Mr. D’Estrange. I will wait for you here,” she replies. -There is a ring in Flora Desmond’s voice which tells how happy she is. -She has never dreamed of seeing such a day as this. - - * * * * * - -He is standing on the steps of Montragee House, clad in his White -Guard’s uniform. A long line of the White Regiment keep the road clear -to Westminster. The crowd is dense all round. Nothing but a sea of faces -can be seen, and the cheers of the people have grown into a hoarse, -continuous roar. Thousands and thousands of women are amongst that -crowd, women, with hearts full of love and devotion for their hero; -women who would account it a happiness to die for him at any hour; women -who are strong in their gratitude for what he has done, and is trying to -do for them. He has entered the carriage that stands in waiting in front -of the ducal mansion, and with Evie Ravensdale has taken his seat -therein. As it drives rapidly towards Westminster the mighty volume of -cheering is again and again renewed, a few hisses being here and there -noticeable. - -How describe the scene within the House of Commons? To attempt to do so -would be but to court failure. The precincts are thronged until there is -no standing room. There is eager expectation on every face. - -The roar of the crowd outside has penetrated the vast building, and -tells those within that he is approaching. A thrill runs through that -assembly of princes, peers, commoners, and ladies who are there to await -his coming, and then the silence of intense expectation falls on all -around. - -He is entering now, and walks slowly forward to take his seat. He is -received with a burst of enthusiasm by his own colleagues and party, and -is watched with interest by every woman who looks down upon him from the -spacious galleries that at his instance have been erected for ladies, in -place of the wild beast cage originally considered by men as good enough -for the inferior sex. And now he has taken his seat while awaiting the -usual formalities, and the eyes of the House are upon him. It would be a -trying position for an old Parliamentary hand, one used to many years of -debate. Is it not just a shade so for Gloria de Lara, as she sits there -under the name of Hector D’Estrange preparing to do battle for her sex? - -But she has risen now. The silence of death has fallen once more on the -House, for the clear, beautiful voice is speaking at last, and this is -what it says. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER II. - - -“Mr. Speaker, I make no apology to you, sir, or to honourable gentlemen -for the bill which I am about to introduce to the House. It is a bill -embodying a simple act of justice to woman, a tardy though complete -offer by man to repair the wrong which he has done her in the past. Now -the bill is simple enough, and contains no ambiguous clauses. It states -in terse, clear language what it is that we propose to bestow on woman, -the rights to which she is entitled, and the manner in which we suggest -that they should take effect. - -“We have rightly, though tardily, bestowed the suffrage upon her. That -was an act which should have been performed years ago, but one which has -been delayed by much of that unwieldy and unworkable machinery that -clogs and hampers the operations of the Westminster Parliament. I refer -to the numerous local affairs of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, -which, as you know, I have frequently expressed as my opinion, might be -more profitably, efficiently, and quickly disposed of in the separate -countries named, leaving the time that is consumed here in attending to -them free for the consideration of great Imperial and National social -questions, which are, alas! and dangerously so, being pressed into the -background. - -“The bestowal of the suffrage on woman is a practical acknowledgment by -man that woman has a right to be considered as a being who can reason, -and who can study humanity in its various phases, and act on her own -responsibility. It is not for me here to seek for the causes which have -hitherto led man to believe to the contrary. His belief, in a great -measure, has been due to woman’s weak acceptance of his arbitrary laws; -for I do not suppose it will be pretended by any one that the laws laid -down for the sacrifice of woman’s freedom were the creation of a woman’s -brain. But this weak acceptance of these arbitrary laws cannot fairly be -ascribed entirely to the fault of woman. ‘Slavery in no form is -natural;’ it is an artificial creation of man’s; and woman’s slavery -cannot be taken as an exception to this maxim. She has, in point of -fact, been subjected to bondage, a bondage which has, in a manner, -become second nature to her, and which custom has taught her to regard -as a part of the inevitable. - -“But if honourable gentlemen will believe me, Nature is stronger than -custom, and more powerful than law. Nature is a force that cannot be -repressed finally and absolutely. It is like an overwhelming torrent -against which you may erect monster dykes, which you may dam up for a -time, but all the while the waters are rising, and will find their level -in the end. Through countless years woman has been repressed. Every -human force and ingenuity of man have been employed to establish her -subjection. From religion downwards it has been the cry ‘Women, submit -to men!’ a cry which I may safely say was never originated by herself. - -“Now Nature has established a law which is inviolable. It has laid down -the distinction between the sexes, but here Nature stops. Nature gives -strength and beauty to man, and Nature gives strength and beauty to -woman. In this latter instance man flies in the face of Nature, and -declares that she must be artificially restrained. Woman must not be -allowed to grow up strong like man, because if she did, the fact would -establish her equality with him, and this cannot be tolerated. So the -boy and man are allowed freedom of body, and are trained up to become -muscular and strong, while the woman, by artificial, not natural laws, -is bidden to remain inactive and passive, and in consequence weak and -undeveloped. Mentally it is the same. Nature has unmistakably given to -woman a greater amount of brain power. This is at once perceivable in -childhood. For instance, on the stage, girls are always employed in -preference to boys, for they are considered brighter and sharper in -intellect and brain power. Yet man deliberately sets himself to stunt -that early evidence of mental capacity, by laying down the law that -woman’s education shall be on a lower level than that of man’s; that -natural truths, which all women should early learn, should be hidden -from her; and that while men may be taught everything, women must only -acquire a narrow and imperfect knowledge both of life and of Nature’s -laws. - -“I maintain to honourable gentlemen that this procedure is arbitrary and -cruel, and false to Nature. I characterise it by the strong word of -Infamous. It has been the means of sending to their graves unknown, -unknelled, and unnamed, thousands of women whose high intellects have -been wasted, and whose powers for good have been paralysed and -undeveloped. To the subjection and degradation of woman I ascribe the -sufferings and crimes of humanity, nor will Society be ever truly -raised, or ennobled, or perfected until woman’s freedom has been -granted, and she takes her rightful place as the equal of man. Viewing -this great social problem in this light, we have deemed it our duty to -present to Parliament a bill, establishing as law, firstly, the mixed -education of the sexes, that is to say, bringing into force the -principle of mixed schools and colleges, in which girls and boys, young -men and young women, can be educated together; secondly, the extension -of the rights of primogeniture to the female sex, so that while -primogeniture remains associated with the law of entail, the eldest -born, not the eldest son, shall succeed the owner of property and -titles; also that all the professions and positions in life, official or -otherwise, shall be thrown open as equally to women as to men; and -thirdly, that women shall become eligible as Members of Parliament, and -peeresses in their own right eligible to sit in the Upper House as well -as to undertake State duties. Such is the drastic, the sweeping measure -by which we desire to wipe off for ever and repair, though tardily, a -great wrong. Honourable gentlemen will perceive that we take no half-way -course. We are not inclined to accept the doctrine of ‘by degrees,’ -believing that this would only prolong the evil and injustice which -daily arise from the delay in emancipating the female sex; and I will -now as briefly as possible set forth to honourable gentlemen the -arguments in favour of the three clauses contained in this bill. - -“With regard to the first one, namely, the advisability of educating -girls and boys, young women and young men, together, it is necessary to -point out that the system of separating the sexes throughout their -educational career has arisen chiefly from the totally different forms -of education meted out to each. We hold that these different forms are -pernicious and morally unhealthy, calculated to evilly influence the -sensual instincts of the male sex, and to instil into the other sex a -totally wrong and mischievous idea of the right and wrong side of -Nature. We are convinced that this system has been productive of an -immense amount of immorality and consequent suffering and degradation in -the past, and that the system of elevating Nature into a mystery is the -greatest conceivable incitement to sensuality and immorality. We hold -that there should be no mystery or secrecy anent the laws of God. We -hold that in creating mystery we condemn God’s law—namely, Nature, to be -what it is not—indecent; and we hold that the system of separating the -sexes, of telling all to the one and enshrouding everything in silence -and mystery to the other, has had the evil effect of producing -immorality, so wide and far-spreading as to be frightful in its -hideousness and magnitude; while it has been productive of millions of -miserable marriages, of disease, and of evil immeasurable and appalling. - -“Nature tells us truths which we cannot condemn as falsehoods, however -much we may avert our eyes from their light. Nature tells us that it is -natural for the male and female sex to be together. If we bring up the -young to face this truth, if we bring up the young to accept as natural -and rational the laws of pure and unaffected Nature, they will accept it -as it is. But if we clothe it in boys’ and men’s eyes in fanciful -garments, and leave girls and women in ignorance of its truths, we must -expect the terrible and horrible results which have followed such -unnatural teaching through centuries of time. - -“We therefore emphatically in this clause record our protest against the -system of teaching the young to regard Nature in a false light, in other -words, to judge of God’s laws as impure. We believe such a system of -education to be, as we have said, an incentive to the male sex to do -wrong, while totally unfitting the female sex to do right. The beginning -of all immorality on woman’s side has sprung from ignorance, and from -the system of mystery and the tendency to declare indecent that which -cannot be so, being God’s law. In regard to the physical condition of -the sexes, we hold that where equal opportunities are afforded to both -of strengthening, developing, and improving the body, little material -difference will be found in the two. There are many strong men in this -world, and there are many strong women, as there are weakly men and -weakly women. I have never heard it yet argued, that because a man is -not strong in body he is therefore unfitted to take part in the affairs -of State. Yet woman’s weakness is one of the reasons adduced for -excluding her therefrom. We believe that in a big public school, say, -for instance, at Eton, if girls and boys were admitted together, that -girls would very soon prove that neither physically nor mentally were -they inferior to boys, nor should such a pernicious doctrine be ever -inculcated into the boy’s brain. He should not be brought up as he is -now, to look down on his sisters as inferior to him, nor should those -sisters be told that he is their superior in strength and mental -capacity. It is a doctrine the perniciousness of which is far-reaching, -and a distinct infringement of the natural. - -“This leads us to the consideration of the second clause, the adoption -by women of those professions hitherto arrogated to themselves solely by -men. We are of opinion that, granted a similar education as men, women -are in every way as fitted to occupy those professions. I may be allowed -here perhaps, to refer with pride to that magnificent body of women over -200,000 strong who are now enrolled in the regiments of the Women’s -Volunteer forces, of which I am proud to call myself a member, and whose -uniform I am fittingly wearing on this occasion. We have before us a -splendid evidence of woman’s power to combine and come under discipline. -These regiments are kept up to their full force, and are all due to -individual effort and womanly sacrifice. There is no State aid in the -question, and yet the efficiency of each regiment is perfect. Disbanded -and scattered, they can be summoned to their ranks at a few days’ -notice, without fear that they will fail. I point to this as a brilliant -example of what women can accomplish in so short a time, by -self-sacrifice and simple determination. The same argument of their -efficiency to enter the army applies to the navy, and to any other -profession hitherto occupied solely by man. - -“But, believing as I do, that with the admission of women into the -conduct of affairs of State, wars, and all their attendant horrors, -would quickly become a thing of the past, I dwell shortly on the second -clause, passing on to the third, which, in conjunction with the first, I -regard as the most important part to be examined. - -“It is now eleven years since County Councils were established. At the -very first elections women were chosen as representatives, but on an -appeal to the law they were ousted from their seats. We have wisely -remedied that state of things, and no one thinks it odd or extraordinary -now, to see women sitting in these County Councils as members. On the -contrary, it is tacitly acknowledged that their presence is, and has -been, productive of much good. Well, will honourable gentlemen tell me -in what great particulars these County Councils differ from Parliament? - -“Both are debating assemblies, and both are conducted on almost similar -lines. What is there preposterous and appalling in the suggestion that -women should become Members of Parliament, and when, by genius or -talents, they can attain to such, assume Cabinet rank, and claim the -right to carry on the affairs of their country? It is merely custom that -now debars them, a custom established by the selfishness and arrogance -of man, and accepted by woman in the same manner as slaves in the past, -from long custom, accepted the lash from their taskmasters. The -taskmasters had established the right to flog their slaves; they had -dammed up the slowly rising waters of rebellion, but these rose to their -level at last, and overflowed, and slavery is no more. The analogy holds -good in the case of woman, whose greater slavery is not yet entirely -overcome. That it will finally be, is as certain as that the hours of -Time never go back. You may fight against it, you may pile the dykes -higher, you may go on damming the rising waters as you will, but the -time must inevitably come, when those dykes and dams will crumble away -beneath the overwhelming flood, which your own efforts will have -entirely accumulated and brought to its tremendous and irresistible -strength. We may be met with many arguments in condemnation of this -bill. One will be that it will obstruct the rite of marriage. We deny -this. We grant you that it may diminish the number of marriages, but we -contend that this will be a blessing rather than a curse. Thousands of -miserable unions are yearly effected in consequence of woman’s unnatural -and one-sided position in Society. In all these cases she does not marry -because, with a knowledge of the subject, with every profession thrown -open to her and chance to get on equal to men, she is satisfied that she -prefers married life. No. In the cases referred to, she marries for -money, or for position, or to escape the restraints of home, or because -she has no chance of making her way in the world, and the result is that -these marriages are miserable failures, and the offspring of such either -diseased in body or in mind, or condemned to grow up to a life of -misery, and, in thousands of cases, immorality and crime. - -“There is a problem creeping gradually forward upon us, a problem that -will have to be solved in time, and that is the steady increase of -population. If it advances at its present rate, the hour will come when -this earth will not be able to contain it. What then? We may possibly by -that time have arranged, with the aid of science, for conveyances which -shall carry our superfluous population to other realms of light, but it -is equally possible that if this be so, those realms may not consent to -receive the emigrants. What then? I believe that with the emancipation -of women we shall solve this problem now. Fewer children will be born, -and those that are born will be of a higher and better physique than the -present order of men. The ghastly abortions, which in many parts pass -muster nowadays, owing to the unnatural physical conditions of Society, -as men, women, and children, will make room for a nobler and higher -order of beings, who will come to look upon the production of mankind in -a diseased or degraded state, as a wickedness and unpardonable crime, -against which all men and women should fight and strive. The -emancipation of women will, I am convinced, lead up to the creation of -the great and the beautiful, to higher morals and nobler aims. - -“Yet, as we are now, what is the sad reality? In this huge, over-crowded -city alone, the greatest the world has ever known, amidst rich and poor -alike, teems immorality awful and appalling in its magnitude. Deeds are -committed of which even some of the most vicious have no idea. Thousands -are born in our midst who should never see the light of day. Born in -disease, these miserable victims of vice and immorality grow up to beget -to others like horrors, and in the teeming millions of this vast city -alone exist misery and sin too terrible to contemplate. - -“We submit, therefore, to honourable gentlemen that the first step -towards the regeneration and upraising of mankind is the emancipation of -woman, and with her emancipation the careful training of the sexes -together. Convinced that the time has come, when it would be dangerous -to delay this emancipation, we have made it the plank on which the -Government of the day intend to stand or fall. We would further, -perhaps, overstep the bounds of custom, and ask that the fate of the -measure be decided to-night by a vote taken on it immediately. If the -vote be adverse, the Government will at once resign, and appeal to the -country on the clauses of the bill. They are clauses which I think, -to-night, it would be but waste of time to discuss. They can be -discussed before the country if the bill be rejected. Yet, ere I sit -down, I would beg of honourable gentlemen to consider the few words -which I have had the honour, and, I thank God, the opportunity to make -to them. I would appeal to them to put aside party feeling, and vote for -the common good as their consciences dictate. I solemnly warn them, -however, that they cannot put back the hand of time, and that the hour -must be reached at last when the cause of woman will triumph; for, as I -have already remarked, Nature is like the rising waters of a great -flood, which the hand and ingenuity of man may restrain for a time, but -which must find a level at last and overflow. The course of Nature is -unconquerable; no art of man can defeat it, wrought as it is by the hand -of God.” - -He has sat down. He has been heard throughout in death-like silence, but -now the Ministerialists and D’Estrangeites are cheering him again and -again. Yet chill as ice are the Nationals and Progressists. They cannot -rise to the height of generosity to which he has appealed. In this -moment of uncertainty for many, Hector D’Estrange knows that the bill is -doomed. - - * * * * * - -The House has divided. It has recorded its vote. The numbers for and -against the emancipation of women have been announced. The author of the -bill was no false prophet when he predicted defeat. By a majority of 120 -it has been rejected. - -Then the rafters ring with the wild cheering of the victorious -Opposition, of that strange medley of parties, that hating each other -cordially, yet hate still more the high-souled, far-reaching, -justice-loving principles of Hector D’Estrange. Again and again the -cheering is renewed, drowning in its volume the counter-cheers of the -D’Estrangeites, wild, almost ungovernable in its elation, full of bitter -meaning, echoing with sneering emphasis the triumph of selfishness over -right. - -He sits very quietly through it all, hardly seeming to notice this -outburst of the victors. He does not grudge them their momentary -triumph; his thoughts do not dwell upon the defeat which he has just -sustained. They are far away, out beyond the portals of the present, -clasping the warm hands of the future, reading the bright letters that -twine their golden circlet round its brow, as they flash their meaning -forth in the one word “Victory!” - -Be of good cheer, brave heart, for victory is at hand! - -The House has adjourned; it is five minutes past twelve. As the Prime -Minister passes out he is joined by Evie Ravensdale, who at once links -his arm within that of his friend and colleague. Although the duke’s -carriage is in waiting, these two purposely refrain from entering it, so -as to avoid the crowd and the inevitable demonstration which would -follow recognition thereby. In this manner they escape detection by the -populace. - -Not entirely, however. Sharp eyes have recognised Hector D’Estrange. He -has not gone many steps when a hand is laid on his shoulder. - -“Mr. D’Estrange,” he hears a voice saying, “I arrest you in the name of -the law.” - -“On what charge?” he inquires in a quick, startled voice. - -“On the charge, sir, of murdering Lord Westray,” is the reply. - -In a moment his quick brain has taken in the situation, and he knows -that resistance is useless. - -“Very well,” he answers quietly, “I will go with you. Evie,” he adds, in -a calm, composed voice “please go at once to my poor mother.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER III. - - -“Say, prisoner at the bar, are you or are you not guilty of the murder -of Lord Westray?” - -“Not guilty.” - -The answer comes in a clear and distinct voice, a voice in which there -is neither faltering nor evasion. It is a voice singularly rich and -melodious, a voice which one would think could not readily lie. - -A hum runs through the crowded court, an indescribable buzz and movement -of excitement, but there is joy and relief on many a face, where -hitherto doubt and perplexity had reigned. - -The court is crowded to suffocation. All the well-known faces of the day -are present. The rush to obtain admittance has been unprecedented, and -the excitement and popular feeling in regard to the case is unparalleled -in the annals of the law courts. - -He stands there very quietly, but erect as a dart. His arms are folded -on his chest, and his whole carriage is one of easy dignity. None, -looking at the beautiful face, with its clear, radiant complexion, -magnificent eyes, and high, pale, thoughtful brow, around which the -old-gold curls lovingly cluster, could bring themselves to believe that -that man is a murderer. - -Yet, as we have seen, of crime so terrible Hector D’Estrange stands -accused. Since that fearful night when, with murder in his eyes, he had -burst into that room of ill fame, and found his beloved mother in the -power and at the mercy of the man who had blighted her early life, and -who had pursued her with such relentless vengeance, neither Hector -D’Estrange nor society at large had seen Lord Westray. As we may -remember, the former in that moment of horror and fury had been tried to -the highest pitch. A shot had rung out through the silent house, -followed by a loud cry, and that was all. - -He stands accused not merely of murder, but of having secreted the body -of his victim with intent to avoid detection. At the coroner’s inquest -evidence had been forthcoming to show how, acting upon various anonymous -communications received, the heir-at-law of the deceased had placed the -matter in the hands of the police, who thereupon had discovered the body -and clothes of Lord Westray buried deep in the ground at Mrs. de Lara’s -residence near Windsor. Evidence had likewise been forthcoming to prove, -that Hector D’Estrange was the last person seen in the company of Lord -Westray, and the clothes of the murdered nobleman had been fully -identified by his valet and others as those in which he was last seen -alive. The body was, of course, past recognition. Two years in the earth -would necessarily render it so; yet on the skeleton little finger of one -hand a plain gold ring had been found, as also around the skeleton’s -neck a gold chain and locket, the latter containing a faded portrait of -the late Countess of Westray, the earl’s mother. It had been proved that -Lord Westray always wore this ring, chain, and locket, and his valet had -sworn that he was wearing them the very day on which he disappeared. -Public opinion was perplexed. Even those who would glory in Hector -D’Estrange’s innocence found it difficult to believe him so. Everything -appeared so clear against him, so unanswerably conclusive, that men and -women shook their heads and sighed when hopes of his acquittal were -expressed. But the day of trial had come at last, and Hector D’Estrange -was there to confront his accusers. - - * * * * * - -In face of the terrible charge preferred against their chief, the -members of the Ministry have unconditionally resigned, and a provisional -Government, pending an appeal to the country, has been hastily -constructed from the National party. The Government of the day is -therefore known to be rabidly antagonistic to the late revolutionary -Prime Minister, who now stands accused of murder. The counsel retained -for the prosecution by the Crown is the Attorney-General, aided and -assisted by two Q.C.’s, but Hector D’Estrange has retained no one to aid -him. He defends himself. - -And now with a flourish and many theatrical attitudes, Sir Anthony -Stickleback begins the case for the prosecution. Sir Anthony is fond of -rhetoric, and he airs it to the court, fully to his own satisfaction. He -has many long-winded phrases to get through before he closes with the -main point, which may be briefly told in his closing summary of the -statements contained in his opening address. - -“I shall therefore, my lord, call witnesses who will speak to the -evident intimacy which has existed between Mr. D’Estrange and Mrs. de -Lara through so many years. These witnesses will be able to show -moreover, that on several occasions Mrs. de Lara received visits from -her late husband, Lord Westray, during Mr. D’Estrange’s absence; that -she was frequently in the habit of mysteriously disappearing from her -residence near Windsor on visits to London, and that on one of these -occasions—the occasion, in fact, when Mr. D’Estrange followed her—she -actually left a note for her maid, acquainting her with her departure. I -shall show how Mr. D’Estrange, having surprised her in the company of -Lord Westray, deliberately fired his revolver at that nobleman. The last -thing seen of this latter unfortunate gentleman was in the company of -Mr. D’Estrange, who had announced his intention of taking him to his -home in Grosvenor Square. It is needless to say that from that day -forward Lord Westray has never been seen in living life, though, in -consequence of several anonymous communications received, private -inquiry was set on foot by those who have been determined to bring the -murderer to justice, and which has resulted in the discovery of the body -and the clothes which Lord Westray was wearing when last seen, buried -deep in the earth, in the private grounds near Windsor belonging to Mrs. -de Lara. I will now, my lord, proceed to call the witnesses for the -prosecution.” - -And one by one the witnesses are brought forward to swear away the life -of Hector D’Estrange. - -Charles Weston deposes that he was for many years Mrs. de Lara’s butler, -and that he frequently admitted Lord Westray to her house, but always in -the absence of Mr. D’Estrange. Only on one occasion did Mr. D’Estrange -come in while Lord Westray was in the house, and he recalls high words -passing between the two, followed by the hasty departure of Lord -Westray, whose brougham was awaiting him at Mrs. de Lara’s door. This -was when she resided in London. After this Lord Westray always came on -foot, and he, Weston, had strict orders to keep a sharp look out for Mr. -D’Estrange, so as to give the two full warning. He remembers perfectly -well bringing Mrs. de Lara a note from Lord Westray the very day on -which she disappeared from her Windsor residence, and the same on which -Lord Westray was murdered, and he also remembers a note being left that -night by Mrs. de Lara for her _maid_. - -Cross-examined by Hector D’Estrange. “Are you not a discharged servant -of Mrs. de Lara’s, Weston?” - -“No, sir,” answers this person with cool effrontery. “I gave notice -myself.” - -“You will swear, Weston, that Mrs. de Lara did not dismiss you for -drunkenness and gross impertinence?” - -“Certainly, sir. Mrs. de Lara told me I had had too much to drink, and I -told her I would leave. I gave a month’s notice.” - -“Thank you, Weston, I have no more to ask you.” Hector D’Estrange’s -voice has a peculiar ring of unutterable contempt in it. The wretch -winces as he receives the order to “stand down.” - -Victoire Hester is next called. She deposes to being Mrs. de Lara’s late -maid. She corroborates Charles Weston’s evidence. Asked if she remembers -the writing paper used by Mrs. de Lara and Hector D’Estrange, -“Perfectly,” is her reply. - -“Can she select a specimen from amidst the packet of letters handed -her?” - -“Certainly,” she replies again. - -In a few minutes she has picked out three letters all written in the -same hand and on a similar stamp of paper. - -“This,” she declares, “is the paper used by Mrs. de Lara and Mr. -D’Estrange all the time that I have been in Mrs. de Lara’s service.” - -Asked again if she recognises the handwriting on the letter, she -unhesitatingly declares it to resemble Lord Westray’s. Asked if she -received a note from Mrs. de Lara, acquainting her with her sudden -departure for London the night of the murder, she answers, “_Yes!_” - -Cross-examined by Hector D’Estrange. - -“Victoire Hester, are you not engaged to Charles Weston, and were you -not dismissed by Mrs. de Lara?” - -“No, sir,” she unblushingly replies. “I gave notice same as Charles did, -because Mrs. de Lara behaved so improperly to me.” - -“Victoire Hester, you say that Mrs. de Lara left a note for you on the -night of the supposed murder of Lord Westray, informing you she had gone -to London?” - -“Yes,” is the reply. - -“But was she not in the habit of frequently going up to town in the same -way without leaving notes?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then how is it she should trouble to do what she had never done before, -Victoire Hester?” - -The maid is visibly flurried. - -“I don’t know, sir,” she stammers. - -“Thank you, Victoire.” The cold, calm, contemptuous voice comes again, -and the maid in turn steps down. - -Alfred Hawkins corroborates Charles Weston’s evidence, as to driving -Lord Westray to Mrs. de Lara’s South Kensington residence on one -occasion. He states that he was groom to the late lord, and is still so -to his successor. - -“I call for Mr. Trackem,” enunciates Sir Anthony Stickleback in an -important voice, “since the accused does not wish to ask Alfred Hawkins -any questions.” - -Mr. Trackem enters the witness box. He is extremely well dressed, and -has an air of importance about him. Like Sir Anthony, he has evidently a -good opinion of himself. - -“Mr. Trackem, you own a certain house in Verdegrease Crescent, do you -not?” inquires Sir Anthony blandly. - -“I do, sir,” answers Mr. Trackem. - -“Have you or have you not admitted Mrs. de Lara to the house?” - -“Frequently, sir,” answers that individual. - -“Presumably for what purpose?” - -“On each occasion, sir, to meet Lord Westray.” - -“Do you, Mr. Trackem, know anything of Rita Vernon?” asks Sir Anthony. - -“Certainly, sir. She used frequently to visit my house.” - -“Will you name the last two occasions you have seen her, Mr. Trackem?” - -“Well, sir, the first was on the night of the 20th of June, 1894, and -the last on the night of Lord Westray’s murder,” answers Mr. Trackem. - -“Was she with any one on those two occasions?” - -“Yes, sir, each time with the same person.” - -“And that person, Mr. Trackem, was?” - -“The Duke of Ravensdale,” answers the scoundrel quickly. - -A movement of intense surprise pervades the court. - -“Will you describe to his lordship and the jury all you know about the -terrible occurrence of which Lord Westray was the victim, Mr. Trackem?” -commands Sir Anthony Stickleback, folding his arms. - -“I will do my best, sir. On the afternoon of the day on which Lord -Westray disappeared, I received a note from Mrs. de Lara, sent -especially by Rita Vernon. In this note she instructed me to retain my -house free for the night, and to admit no one but Lord Westray. I acted -as requested, and she and his lordship arrived about half-past one. I -retired to bed, there being no one in the house but two men-servants and -a woman. The men, like myself, had retired to rest. Suddenly I was -startled by hearing a shot, followed by a loud cry. I jumped out of bed, -slipped into my trousers, and called my two men. We proceeded to the -room in which were Lord Westray and Mrs. de Lara. On entering, we found -it in possession of Mr. D’Estrange, the Duke of Ravensdale, and Rita -Vernon. The two latter were beside Mrs. de Lara, who was lying on a -sofa. Lord Westray was stretched out on the floor, blood issuing from a -wound in the throat, and above him stood Mr. D’Estrange, with a -discharged revolver in his hand. - -“I at once rushed up to him, and accused him of attempting to murder -Lord Westray. He replied that he was sorry for what he had done, but -that he did it in a moment of passion. He declared that he did not think -he had seriously hurt the earl, and that he would take him to his home -if I would procure a cab. At the same time he begged the Duke of -Ravensdale and Rita Vernon to take charge of Mrs. de Lara. I was getting -seriously alarmed at the turn affairs had taken, and upon Lord Westray -expressing a wish to get home, I acceded to Mr. D’Estrange’s request. -Two cabs were procured. In one of them Mr. D’Estrange and Lord Westray -took their departure, in the other Mrs. de Lara; the duke, and Rita -Vernon. I saw them off from the door, and then re-entered the house. As -I did so, I heard a groaning in a room on the right. I procured a light -and opened the door, the key of which was turned in the lock. To my -surprise I found my woman servant laid out on the ground, bound hand and -foot with handkerchiefs, while a third gagged her mouth. I produce these -handkerchiefs now. One has a ducal coronet on it, the other H. -D’Estrange worked on it, and the third the name of Rita Vernon. Next day -I received a letter, apparently in Lord Westray’s writing, begging me to -keep strict silence on all that had occurred. He declared that if it -leaked out his reputation would be lost, and he informed me that he -intended disappearing for a couple of years, at the end of which he -would return. He enclosed me some money, and promised to continue the -donation quarterly, on condition of my silence. I received six donations -in all, and three letters. At last the donations ceased, and I began to -grow suspicious.” - -“What first made you suspicious?” - -“Well, sir, I noticed one day that the paper on which these letters were -written was exactly similar to the quality used by Mrs. de Lara in her -note to me on the afternoon of the day when the murder was committed, -and I also thought Lord Westray’s continued absence after the time -specified was suspicious. Finally, I went and made a clean breast of it -to the present earl, who I found in receipt of various anonymous -communications declaring the murder, and indicating where the body and -clothes were concealed. He employed me to find out all I could. I set to -work, sir, communicated with the police, and investigations were set on -foot, with the result as we all know it.” - -“Ah! you combine the work of a private detective with your other -business, do you, Mr. Trackem?” inquires the Attorney-General -graciously. - -“I do, sir.” - -Cross-examined by Hector D’Estrange. - -“Have you the letter which you allege Mrs. de Lara wrote you?” - -“The counsel for the prosecution has it, sir,” answers Mr. Trackem. - -“Is it not a little strange you should have preserved that letter all -these years, in view of the fact that you thought Lord Westray alive, -and is it not a little strange that your communication to the new Lord -Westray should have been almost simultaneous with the receipt by him of -anonymous information?” pursues the accused. - -It is Mr. Trackem’s turn to look confused, but he quickly pulls himself -together as he answers, “No, I do not think so.” - -Other witnesses are called to corroborate Mr. Trackem’s statement in -some particulars, and to testify to the discovery of Lord Westray’s body -and clothes, the latter being produced in court, this production causing -much excitement. - -Walter Long is next called. He identifies the chain, locket, and ring -found on the skeleton as belonging to his late master, and he also -identifies the clothes. He swears positively that Lord Westray was -wearing all these things the day he disappeared. - -“These, my lord,” declares Sir Anthony, “are the witnesses for the -prosecution.” - -And with this statement the Court adjourns for luncheon. - -On reassembling, Hector D’Estrange opens the case for the defence. - -“I shall not,” he observes quietly, “detain the Court at any length with -my opening statement. I have been charged with undue intimacy with Mrs. -de Lara. The charge is stupid and disgusting, and when I inform your -lordship and the gentlemen of the jury that Mrs. de Lara is my mother, -this will at once be evident, and show the groundlessness of the charge. -I deny the statement that Lord Westray was a frequent and admitted -visitor at my mother’s house, though he made many endeavours to be one. -Only once he obtained ingress, and was ordered out both by Mrs. de Lara -and myself. He has been the curse of my mother’s life. The sufferings of -Lady Altai must be green in the memory of many, while the fate that -befell my father at his hands is matter of history. I shall call Mrs. de -Lara, who will deny having written either to Mr. Trackem or to her maid. -She will explain how these so-called mysterious visits to London were -solely to see her child. She will describe to you how it was her custom -to walk out at night in her grounds at Windsor, and how on the evening -of the day on which I am accused of murdering Lord Westray, she was set -upon by two men, gagged, bound hand and foot, transferred to a carriage, -and taken in it to London, where, at the house of Mr. Trackem, she was -handed over to the mercy of Lord Westray, from whom God in His mercy -enabled me to rescue her in time. This evidence will be corroborated by -Rita Vernon, who will explain all she was eyewitness to. She will tell -you how she clung to the back of the brougham which contained Mrs. de -Lara all the way to London, and having taken note of the house—which, -alas! she knew too well—hurried to Montragee House to apprise the Duke -of Ravensdale, whom she knew to be my dear friend, of the terrible -occurrence. There she happily found both him and myself, and we at once -proceeded to my mother’s rescue. Effecting an entrance into the house, -we gagged and bound the woman who let us in, and then, guided by Rita -Vernon, stole noiselessly upstairs to what Rita styled the best room. On -reaching the door she halted, and bade me listen to a voice, which I -recognised as that of Lord Westray’s. Mad with fury, I dashed open the -door—what to find? Why my mother, gagged and bound, a prisoner in the -hands of the scoundrel who had wrecked and ruined her life. My lord, -would not the sight have driven you mad? I drew my revolver, and shot -him where he stood. He uttered a cry and fell. Quickly the duke and I -cut the thongs that bound my mother. Her hands were cramped and -saturated with blood, across both palms extending a ghastly gash. We -carried her tenderly downstairs, procured a cab, and in Rita Vernon’s -and the Duke of Ravensdale’s kind care she was transferred to Montragee -House. I then went back to the room where Lord Westray was lying, where -I found him alone with Mr. Trackem. I offered to call the police and -state what had occurred. Lord Westray was seated on the sofa, and begged -me not to do so. He declared the wound was nothing, and requested me to -leave him, and on no account to disclose what had occurred. For my -mother’s sake, and yet on another account, I agreed. Next day I called -upon Mr. Trackem, who informed me of the letter he had received from -Lord Westray, the contents of which he has communicated in his evidence -to-day. I regret, however, to have to say that the greater part of the -remainder of his evidence has been falsely given, why, I am at a loss to -understand, as beyond the encounter in the house in Verdegrease -Crescent, I had no quarrel with him whatsoever. I propose now to call my -witnesses.” - -Mrs. de Lara is called. Her appearance in court excites the greatest -interest. For though few have seen the beautiful Lady Altai of former -days, the story of her marriage, her flight with Harry Kintore, and the -tragic sequel in which Lord Westray figured so prominently, is well -known in Society. So this is Speranza de Lara, mother of Hector -D’Estrange? - -“No wonder he is handsome, with such a mother as that!” gasps Mrs. de -Lacy Trevor. “Dodo dear, it’s the same lovely woman we met him riding -with on the Burton Course long ago, at Melton, don’t you remember? The -mystery’s cleared at last.” - -She stops abruptly and stares at her friend, for Lady Manderton is -scarcely heeding her, and there are large tears in her fine, handsome -eyes. - -“Why, what is the matter, Dodo?” - -“Nothing, Vivi, nothing! There, don’t attract attention,” she answers -hastily. - -She is thinking though, how wasted has been her life. She has heard -Hector D’Estrange’s statement, and believes it implicitly. She is -thinking that others may not, though. If Hector D’Estrange is condemned, -well, Dodo Manderton feels that she would die to save him. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IV. - - -“Mrs. de Lara,” queries Hector D’Estrange, in a voice in which respect -and tenderness are mingled, “you have heard the statement for the -prosecution in which you and I are accused of undue intimacy? You have -heard my reply, in which I declare you to be my mother? Which statement -is correct?” - -“Yours,” she replies in a firm, clear voice. “I am your mother.” - -“And my father?” he again asks. - -“Was Captain Harry Kintore.” - -“Both Weston and Victoire state that they gave you a month’s notice. Is -this a fact?” - -“It is not,” she replies firmly; “it was I who gave it to them. To -Weston for being drunk and impertinent, to Victoire for the latter -fault.” - -“It is stated by Weston that you were in the habit of receiving frequent -visits from Lord Westray? Is this so?” - -“It is not,” she answers quickly; “the statement is a wicked falsehood. -Only once he obtained admittance, when he came to insult me with the -proposal that I should re-marry him and forget the past. You came in -when he was there, and requested him to leave the house.” - -“Did he do so?” - -“At once,” she replies. - -“Since then have you been annoyed by his presence, or in any other way?” - -“By his presence, no, until the night on which he is alleged to have -been murdered, but by letters, yes.” - -“You have kept or destroyed those letters?” - -“Every one is destroyed!” she replies almost fiercely; “most of them -unopened.” - -“Can you remember the date when Rita Vernon first came to you, and who -sent her?” - -“Yes, well,” answers Speranza. “It was the 21st of June, 1894. She -brought a letter from you, written at the instance of the Duke of -Ravensdale. I at once made her my secretary and general amanuensis.” - -“Has she served you faithfully?” - -“None more so,” she replies. - -“Mrs. de Lara, you have heard Mr. Trackem’s statement, that you sent her -with a note to him on the day of the supposed murder. Is this true, or -false?” - -“False!” she replies sternly. - -“And you have heard Victoire’s declaration that you left a letter for -her, apprising her of your departure for London the night of the -supposed murder. Is this true?” - -“It is not,” she answers. “I wrote no letter.” - -“Will you give his lordship and the gentlemen of the jury your version -of what occurred on the night in question.” - -She gives it in a firm, clear voice, without hesitation or faltering. -She tells the facts as we have described them in a former chapter. A -shudder runs through the court at their mere recital. Is it possible -that such horrors reflect the truth? Sir Anthony smiles superciliously. - -“Hallucination,” he mutters audibly. “Many women are subject to it.” - -She looks at him contemptuously, but scorns to further notice the great -man’s brutality. - -“You swear, Mrs. de Lara, that what you have stated is absolutely -correct?” - -“Absolutely,” she answers calmly; “I swear it.” - -Cross-examined by the Attorney-General. - -“You will swear that you were not in the habit of receiving Lord -Westray, Mrs. de Lara? Now, pray be careful, very careful.” - -Again the same contemptuous glance, as she proudly replies, “I swear -it.” - -“And you mean to say that you never sent Rita Vernon with a letter to -Mr. Trackem, or left a note for Victoire Hester on the day of Lord -Westray’s murder? Again I ask you to be careful.” - -“I did not!” is her fierce reply. - -Sir Anthony puts his hands on his hips. There is a self-satisfied smile -on his face as he glances round the court, but he questions no further. - -“I have no more to ask the witness,” he remarks jauntily. - -Rita Vernon is next called and questioned. She describes her first -meeting with the Duke of Ravensdale, and what followed. She gives in -simple, unaffected language the story of the attack on Speranza and the -part she played in it. Again Sir Anthony is heard to mutter the word -“hallucination.” He has no questions to put to the witness—yet stay—as -she is about to leave the box he jumps up. - -“One moment please, Miss Vernon,” he remarks in a suave voice. “I -presume, of course, that you are grateful to the Duke of Ravensdale for -all his kindness?” - -There is a flash in her grey eyes, but she answers quietly, - -“Need you ask it, sir? I would die for his Grace.” - -The next witness is the duke himself. He corroborates the statements -made by Hector D’Estrange, Speranza de Lara, and Rita Vernon. His -evidence is listened to with marked attention, and the keenest interest -by the Court. Sir Anthony does not cross-examine him. - -As he steps down, Hector D’Estrange’s voice is heard speaking. - -“I have one more witness to call,” he is saying. “This will be my last, -my lord. I call for Dr. Merioneth.” - -A white-haired man enters the box and is sworn. - -“Dr. Merioneth, do you recall attending Mrs. de Lara many years ago?” -inquires the accused. - -“I do,” replies the witness. - -“Will you state for what purpose, and how many years have elapsed since -then?” is the next question. - -“I attended Mrs. de Lara in her confinement, and it is twenty-eight -years ago,” answers the old doctor. - -“Where, Dr. Merioneth?” - -“At Ancona, sir, on the Adriatic.” - -“The child was born well and healthy, I believe?” - -“A beautiful child indeed,” replies the doctor. “I wish all children -resembled it.” - -“Thank you, Dr. Merioneth.” - -“Stay, I have a word, please, to put to you,” exclaims the -Attorney-General, jumping up. “You have not told us the sex of the -child, doctor.” - -For a moment the old man hesitates. Then he looks sadly at the prisoner. - -“A girl it was,” he replies in a low voice. - -“Ha! a girl you say?” echoes the counsel for the prosecution in a loud -voice, as he looks round the court with a knowing air. “Thank you, -doctor. I am greatly obliged to you for that information.” - -This concludes the evidence for the defence. - -Then Sir Anthony rises slowly and portentously. His hands are behind -him, he leans perilously forward, and his gown is stuck out behind like -a lady’s dress-improver. He appears thoroughly satisfied with the -appearance of importance which he believes this attitude gives him, but -it is not so certain that others share that opinion. - -“My lord, and gentlemen of the jury,” he begins in a somewhat pompous -voice, “the case before us is a very peculiar one, yet I hope to detain -you at very little length in reviewing it. The prisoner, Mr. D’Estrange, -is accused of a base and horrible murder, and it is my painful duty to -endeavour to bring home to the jury the absolute certainty of his guilt. -It will be necessary in so doing to show motive for the crime, and I -think I shall be able to point to this motive as conclusive, jealousy -prompting and being at the bottom of it. It is now, my lord, and -gentlemen of the jury, nigh on thirty years ago that Mrs. de Lara, then -known as Lady Altai, broke faith with her husband, whom in wedding she -had sworn to love, honour, and obey, and shamelessly fled with her -lover, Captain Harry Kintore. It is known that Lord Altai, who was -devoted to his wife, pursued the two, coming up with them at Ancona. -Here, having confronted them, a fierce dispute ensued. It is said that -Captain Kintore drew a revolver, and in self-defence Lord Altai fired at -him, unfortunately with fatal effect. I wish to dwell as lightly as -possible upon a matter so terrible, and therefore pass on to the next -event in this painful story, namely, the birth of a child. Dr. Merioneth -has been called, ostensibly to bear witness to that birth. Unfortunately -he has marred the case for the defence by informing us that the child to -which Mrs. de Lara gave birth was a female. Now, my lord, one of the -chief points of Mr. D’Estrange’s defence is, that the intimacy which we -declare has existed between him and this lady for so long a time is -impossible, inasmuch as Mrs. de Lara is his mother. She has herself so -stated this, and furthermore pointed to Captain Kintore as being Mr. -D’Estrange’s father. This statement must fall to the ground in face of -what Dr. Merioneth has told us. So much for that portion of the defence, -as I do not suppose Mr. D’Estrange is going to pose before us as a -woman. It would appear that Mrs. de Lara is not averse to this mode of -life. She married Lord Altai by her own free will. Next we find her -leaving him and electing a new lover in the person of Captain Kintore, -and of late years we have direct evidence that Mr. D’Estrange has been -the favoured man. Yet not only this, but the evidence sworn to by -Charles Weston, Victoire Hester, and Mr. Trackem points to the existence -of a secret intimacy carried on by this lady with her divorced husband, -Lord Westray. Both she and Mr. D’Estrange now tell us that only once did -the late earl obtain admission to Mrs. de Lara’s house, and then it was -in opposition to the latter’s wishes. I leave you to judge if this -statement be possible of either acceptance or belief, in face of what -the witnesses referred to have told us. - -“We have heard some evidence likewise of the way in which Rita Vernon -became introduced into Mrs. de Lara’s household. It appears that she was -formerly no novice to Mr. Trackem’s house. She does not deny this. In -fact, how could she? Does it not strike you, gentlemen, that Rita Vernon -was just a peculiar class of young woman to put in the responsible -position described by Mrs. de Lara, and does it not seem very clear that -the use to which her services were put was of a totally different -nature? We were told distinctly by Mr. Trackem that Mrs. de Lara sent -him a note by Rita Vernon on the day of the murder, instructing him to -retain his house for her and Lord Westray. Mrs. de Lara denies having -written this note. I produce it, and it runs as follows:— - - “‘SIR,—Please to reserve the house to-night as usual for Lord Westray - and myself. We shall arrive between twelve and one. - - “S. DE LARA.’ - -“What is to be thought, my lord, of the veracity of such witnesses as -Mrs. de Lara and Rita Vernon, for the girl denies having delivered this -note? Yet here we have it, and we have furthermore the fact, that on the -night when Mr. D’Estrange shot Lord Westray, Mrs. de Lara was found -alone with that nobleman in Mr. Trackem’s house. And, gentlemen, as -against this very clear and circumstantial evidence, we are asked by -Mrs. de Lara and Rita Vernon to accept a romance which all sane men can -only regard in the light of hallucination, if not, as I regret to -believe, downright deliberate falsehood. We are asked to believe that -Mrs. de Lara was waylaid in her own grounds at night, overcome by -ruffians, and carried off bound hand and foot to London. We are asked to -believe that a slight, frail girl like Rita Vernon performed a task -which a man of herculean strength would have found almost beyond his -power to accomplish. We are asked, in fact, to believe that Rita Vernon, -whom you have had an opportunity of seeing, could cling to a brougham -between Windsor and London, and then sum up sufficient force to make her -way to Montragee House at half-past two in the morning, where of course, -like in a fairy tale, she finds the Duke of Ravensdale and Mr. -D’Estrange all ready to accompany her to the release of the lady fair. -The story defeats its own end by its wild improbability, unsupported by -fact, and establishes at once the reasonable and circumstantial evidence -of the side for the prosecution. I maintain that there is proof positive -that Mr. D’Estrange, assisted by Rita Vernon,—who in this instance -betrayed her mistress,—came upon the unfortunate earl with intent to -murder. He admits that he shot him, but he declines to give any further -information as to what he did with Lord Westray after leaving the house -in Verdegrease Crescent. We find, moreover, that the three letters -purporting to come from Lord Westray, and addressed to Mr. Trackem, are -all written on paper which Victoire Hester has identified as the quality -and class always used by Mr. D’Estrange and Mrs. de Lara, and exactly -similar to the paper on which the notes to Mr. Trackem and Victoire -Hester were penned on the day of the murder. The writing of the last -note is denied. Again I meet that denial by producing the note. It runs -thus:— - - “‘HESTER,—I have gone up to town for a few days, will let you know - when to expect me back. Miss Vernon has accompanied me. - - “‘Faithfully yours, - “‘S. DE LARA.’ - -“Such facts leave very little doubt in my mind but that Mrs. de Lara had -arranged to meet Lord Westray, and that Rita Vernon betrayed her -intention to Mr. D’Estrange. Such facts convince me that this latter -resolved on vengeance. He deliberately went to Verdegrease Crescent, and -shot Lord Westray, and finally, under cover of repentance, decoyed him -from the house, and got rid of him somehow and somewhere. What follows? -A letter arrives for Mr. Trackem, who is frightened out of his wits at -the turn affairs have taken—a letter, purporting to come from Lord -Westray. By a strange coincidence, this letter and others following are -all written on the same class of paper as that used by Mr. D’Estrange in -Mrs. de Lara’s house. Lastly, the very suit which Lord Westray was known -to have been wearing the night he was shot at, has been found buried -deep in the ground on the property of Mrs. de Lara at Windsor, bearing -evidence of having been a long time under the earth, and in close -proximity to it the body of a man reduced to a skeleton was also -discovered. Around the neck of this skeleton a gold chain and locket was -found, and on the little finger a plain gold ring. These have been -identified by the late earl’s valet, who has sworn to seeing them on the -earl’s person the day he disappeared. It would be superfluous for me to -detain you with further details, the points of evidence which I have -submitted being, it appears to me, too clear for it to be possible to -draw any other conclusion but the one that Mr. D’Estrange deliberately, -and of malice aforethought, did shoot at Lord Westray with intent to -kill, and did afterwards, in some manner not yet unravelled, make away -with the life of that unfortunate nobleman. I ask you, therefore, to put -aside from your minds Mr. D’Estrange’s high position and social status, -and to find a verdict in accordance with the evidence before you.” - -The great man sits down hastily, and glances round the court. An almost -unnatural stillness reigns therein. Every eye is bent on the prisoner, -and then on the beautiful, pale, gold-headed woman, whose gaze is -riveted on her child’s face with an intensity terrible to witness. But -there is nothing but calmness on the features of Hector D’Estrange, in -whose eyes the confident, triumphant expression shines, which conscious -innocence alone could create. - -“I will endeavour, like the Attorney-General,” he observes, “to detain -the Court as shortly as possible. But at the very outset I would wish to -point out to you that the evidence of Weston and Victoire is not -trustworthy, as being that of discharged servants. Mrs. de Lara has told -you most emphatically that Lord Westray paid her no visits, save the one -referred to by the coachman, Alfred Hawkins. She has told you how that -visit was forced upon her, and how Lord Westray was ordered out of the -house by myself. There is absolutely no evidence corroborative of that -given by Charles Weston, which I can only characterise as pure and -malicious invention, the same remark applying to the false testimony of -Victoire Hester. This woman has declared that Mrs. de Lara wrote her a -note the night of the supposed murder apprising her of her visit to -London. Yet these visits with Mrs. de Lara were of frequent occurrence, -and she had never before found it necessary to acquaint Victoire of her -movements. My lord, I declare the letter to be a forgery, as I also -declare the letter to which Mr. Trackem refers as coming from Mrs. de -Lara to be likewise. My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, the -Attorney-General has passed a cruel and unnecessary sneer on Mrs. de -Lara’s account of the ruffianly and brutal attack made upon her by the -undoubtedly hired scoundrels of her most bitter foe. He has attributed -all to romance, hallucination, deliberate falsehood. His insinuations -are brutal and cowardly. My mother, like myself, _would scorn to tell a -lie_. We leave that to the poltroons and cowards who seek by forgery and -perjury to swear away the life of one who is innocent. I maintain that -Mrs. de Lara’s account and description of what took place is in every -essential particular true, while the corroborative evidence of Rita -Vernon bears it out in every detail. The Duke of Ravensdale has clearly -stated to you how the poor girl sought him at Montragee House, and the -state she was in after her terrible drive. The Attorney-General smiles -scornfully at the idea of a woman being capable of such pluck and -heroism as Rita Vernon evinced on that occasion. I cast back the slur -into his teeth. I tell him that if he wishes to find true courage and -heroism combined, he must go to a woman to discover it. But it is not to -such as he, that women will go for justice. - -“And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to put -yourselves in my place. Had you been called to that house of ill fame, -and there found a being whom you honoured, loved, and respected, in the -hands and power of her bitterest enemy, bound hand and foot, gagged, -bleeding, and helpless, would you not have acted as I did, and in the -fury and horror of the moment lost all power of restraint? I admit that -I shot Lord Westray; I have never denied it. But I do deny that I caused -his death; and what is more, _I confidently believe that he is alive at -this moment_, and that this foul accusation is a plot to ruin me, to be, -in fact, revenged on yonder noble lady, who has through life resented -his brutality, defied and scouted him, and refused to submit to his -hideous desires. I make no pretence of being able to account for his -disappearance, for the alleged discovery of his body and clothes, for -the letters written in his handwriting on the paper used by myself and -Mrs. de Lara. I am unable to understand it all save in the light of a -base, foul, and detestable plot which has for its object revenge. Of -that I know him to be perfectly capable. - -“And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I have but one more -statement to make ere I close these remarks. I once more positively -affirm that Mrs. de Lara is my mother, and that the intimacy of which I -am accused is a base and unfounded fabrication.” - -He has folded his arms, and his voice has ceased. A burst of applause -greets him as he stops speaking. Vainly the judge calls for order. - -“This is an exhibition that I will not tolerate,” exclaims that worthy -functionary. “Another such a disgraceful proceeding, and I will cause -the whole court to be instantly cleared.” - -This produces silence. Sir James Grumpy is a bit of a martinet. The -public knows that he means what he says. - -And now he proceeds in his summing up. Very carefully he goes over all -the points advanced by both sides, but it is apparent to all, from the -first, that the summing up is most unfavourable to the accused. It takes -him about an hour to get through his task, and all the time Hector -D’Estrange stands motionless, with folded arms and immovable features. -Only now and again the dark blue eyes wander to where Speranza is -sitting, with the Duke of Ravensdale by her side. - -The summing up is over at length, and the jury have retired to consider -their verdict. Apparently, however, they had made up their minds -beforehand, for they do not keep the Court long waiting. In a few -minutes every one has reassembled. - -“Gentlemen of the jury, have you considered your verdict?” rings out a -harsh, sing-song voice. - -“We have,” answers the foreman. - -“You find the accused guilty or not guilty of the murder of Lord -Westray?” - -Amidst a silence, terrible in its intensity, comes the answer— - -“Guilty.” - -A thrill of horror runs through the court. There is hardly a dry eye -within it. The duke has got Speranza’s hand in his, but she never moves. - -“Hector D’Estrange, have you any reason to give why sentence of death -should not be passed upon you?” again inquires the harsh, sing-song -voice. - -“I have,” he answers, with a low musical laugh. “My reason is, that if I -am put to death, murder will indeed be committed, for I am guiltless. I -wish to add also one word of explanation, for I see the time has come. -Both Sir Anthony and the learned judge have laid great stress on the -apparent falsehood of which they allege I have been guilty, in declaring -that I am the child of Captain Harry Kintore and Mrs. de Lara. They -point to the fact that Dr. Merioneth has declared that the child born at -Ancona was a girl. Has it never struck you, my lord, and gentlemen of -the jury, that a girl could do what I have done in youth, a woman -accomplish what I have accomplished in maturer years? No. I plainly see -that this has not struck you, for you are men. You will not acknowledge -that a woman can equal man, and with fair opportunities rise to power -and fame. Yet such has been my aim in life to prove, for this I have -struggled; and had it not been for the base machinations of enemies, -would assuredly have lived to triumphantly achieve. Know, however, that -Hector D’Estrange is no liar. If for sixteen years he has practised on -Society what may be called a fraud, it was for the sake of righting a -terrible wrong. My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I again declare -myself to be the child of Captain Kintore and Mrs. de Lara, but I -confess my sex. In Hector D’Estrange the world beholds a woman—her name, -Gloria de Lara.” - -Amidst confusion and excitement unparalleled sentence of death is -passed. Yet, as the judge’s words come to a close, a voice rings through -the court, a voice in which defiance and love are mingled. It is a -woman’s voice. Many recognise it as Flora Desmond’s. - -“As there is a God above,” it cries, “Gloria de Lara shall not die!” - -But even as all eyes are turned in search of the speaker, Flora Desmond -has vanished. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER V. - - -“Guilty!” “Condemned to death!” “Hector D’Estrange a woman!” The words -have passed through the court, along the corridors, and out into the -street beyond, where the crowds press eagerly forward to hear the news. -It is received at first with astonishment and incredulity. Some people -call it a hoax, others laugh at the statement as a wild improbability, -and wonder what the real truth is. But even as they discuss the rumour, -a movement is visible opposite the court, as an officer of the White -Guards’ Regiment makes her appearance outside. An orderly mounted on a -grey horse is holding an empty-saddled white one in readiness, and as -the officer makes her appearance, brings the steed alongside the steps -leading up to the entrance. - -The officer is no stranger to the crowd. Flora Desmond’s features are -well known to it. Is she not the leader of Hector D’Estrange’s especial -regiment, a regiment entirely drawn from the women of “the people”? -Whatever may be the feeling of the middle class and a portion of that -one which claims to rank above it, in regard to Hector D’Estrange, one -thing is certain, that amidst the poor and the needy, amidst the -suffering and the struggling, that name is a talisman to conjure by. - -She comes down the steps hurriedly, and mounts her horse in haste. The -crowd sways and presses towards her in spite of the efforts of large -numbers of police to repress them. - -“The verdict?” they shout inquiringly. “Tell us the verdict!” - -She stands up in her stirrups and looks at that sea of faces. Enemies -there may be amongst them, hundreds, perhaps, antagonistic to Hector -D’Estrange, but amidst the rough faces of the thousands that press -around her, she knows that the majority are true as steel. - -“Guilty!” she calls out. “He is condemned to die! I mistake the people, -however, if they will believe the verdict or acquiesce in the sentence. -Say you, whom he loves, whose hard lot he has struggled to raise, will -you permit it?” - -“Never!” comes the fierce shout from hundreds, nay, thousands of -throats. “Hector D’Estrange shall not die!” - -“I knew it,” she replies proudly. “Justice shall be upheld. I knew the -people would be true to him, men as well as women. He shall not die!” - -They cheer and cheer again as she makes her way through the crowd -followed by her orderly. It gives room to her willingly, and opens a -passage for her horse. She rides along rapidly in the direction of a -quiet side street, well away from the thronging crowd of people. Even as -she does so the rumbling wheels of the prison-van strike on her ear. She -can see it approaching, surrounded by a strong force of police, and as -she does so, she urges on her horse. - -Flora Desmond passes rapidly along the quiet, deserted street, until she -nearly reaches the end, and then turns her horse down a narrow alley -leading therefrom. This brings her into a wide, spacious yard, around -which a big square building is built, in the centre of which is a large -archway with strong iron gates, guarded by two mounted sentries. They -salute her as she rides up, and the iron gates are unlocked at once. She -rides through them, and enters what appears to be an immense -riding-school, in which are drawn up a hundred troopers of the White -Regiment. Her eye scans them keenly and rapidly. They are in perfect -order, and look fit for any work. Every face is turned towards her. - -“Hector D’Estrange has been declared guilty,” she says in a clear, -distinct voice, “and is condemned to die! I am here to lead you to his -rescue. If any one is to die, it shall be we who will do so, not him. -Follow me, guards. There is not a moment to be lost.” - -She places herself at their head. They pass out into the courtyard, and -the gates are locked behind them. The sentries fall into their places, -and the troopers, six abreast, follow in the wake of their -gallant-hearted leader. At a smart trot they pass down the quiet street. -In the distance they can hear the roar of the crowd, which is cheering -loudly; and they know that Hector D’Estrange is being removed to the -prison from which his accusers hope never again to see him issue. - -They are nearing the crowd now, for it is surging their way. The -prison-van is coming along at a smart pace, guarded by its bevy of -policemen. It is not a hundred yards from where Flora Desmond, at the -head of her hundred and two guards, sits motionless on her horse, for -she has called a halt, and is awaiting their coming. - -Suddenly she stands up in her stirrups and turns to her troopers. At the -same moment she draws her sword. - -“Forward!” she cries, waving it above her head. “Forward, guards of -_his_ regiment; rescue him or die!” - -She has put her horse in motion as she speaks, and with the rush of a -whirlwind the White Guards bear down upon the prison-van. The policemen -catch sight of them coming, and close around it manfully. The driver -whips up the horses, and urges them along at a canter. “Of what avail?” -The White Guards are upon them; nothing can withstand the charge. It is -the work of a moment. - -“Sever the traces; cut the horses loose!” shouts Flora Desmond, as she -gallops up alongside one of the animals, and, seizing its rein, brings -it up on to its haunches, one of the troopers doing likewise by the -other. - -They obey her promptly and rapidly, while the remainder engage the -police escort, who resist gallantly. “Of what avail?” The crowd has -closed round, willing and eager to assist in the work of rescue. The -odds are too great to allow the representatives of law and order to -prevail. - -Twice over Flora Desmond has summoned the policeman inside to unlock the -door of the van, but he stands to his guns and refuses. “If you do not,” -she cries, “I shall be forced to fire through the lock until I break it, -and the bullets may injure you. Come, man, no use resisting now.” - -But the policeman is staunch in the performance of what he considers his -duty, and remains firm in his determination not to betray his trust. - -“Then throw yourself flat on the ground, my man,” again calls out Flora -Desmond, “for I am going to fire.” - -She pauses for a moment to give him time to obey, then raises a -revolver, and fires once, twice, thrice through the lock, which gives -way at last. The crowd cheers loudly, the door of the van is flung open, -and in a moment Flora Desmond is beside Gloria de Lara. - -“Thank God!” she exclaims. “Here, come this way. I have a horse all -ready for you.” - -The policeman is lying motionless on the floor of the van. The two step -across him, and pass quickly out of the wheeled prison. As they do so -the people press forward to welcome their hero, for to them, in spite of -the rumours, Gloria de Lara is still Hector D’Estrange. She has mounted -her horse, and raised her hand to enjoin silence. The police escort has -been overcome; its members are passively accepting what to them is the -inevitable. They have sought to do their duty. They can do no more. - -“Friends,” she calls out in the voice they know and love so well, “I -have been unjustly accused and unjustly condemned. If it were not so, I -would not accept the rescue brought me by my faithful women guards, -aided by your kindly and generous devotion. My enemies are those who -would fight against true progress, and the abolition of scandals and -wrongs which must destroy this great nation with their wickedness, -unless abolished in time. I have sought to probe to their root these -scandals and these wrongs, have sought to submit to you the quickest and -surest way to remedy them. I tell you that the greatest evils we have to -face are the social ones. To them I ascribe all the sufferings and sins -of the poor, the sins and false position of the rich. There are bad laws -which must be done away with, good ones which must be set up to -accomplish such social reform. Before you can do this you must set -Nature on an even footing, and do away with the artificial barriers -which you have raised against woman’s progress and advancement; for -until she has the same powers and opportunities as man, a thorough and -exhaustive reform of the evils which afflict Society, will never be -efficiently undertaken. - -“And now, my friends, we are on the eve of a great revolution. If the -people will stand by me, I will stand by them. Let us loyally determine -to carry this great question to a successful issue, nor rest till it has -been accomplished. I am going to trust myself amongst those whom I have -ever loved, whose condition I have sought to raise. Yet ere doing so, I -have one confession to make to you. Hector D’Estrange, whose advancement -has been rapid and unparalleled almost in the annals of statesmanship, -must be no longer known to you under that name. The time has come when I -must confess myself. Before you you see one of the despised and feeble -sex, the unfitted to rule, the inferior of man. _I am a woman!_ -Henceforth I am no longer Hector D’Estrange, but Gloria de Lara.” - -She has ceased speaking, and begun to move her horse through the crowd. -Men and women press round her to kiss her hand. Poor men are more -generous than rich ones. With rare exceptions, the fire of suffering -purifies from self, and makes the heart appreciate true worth more -readily. It is the people’s voice that generally forces on all great -reforms; it is the people’s will that carries everything before it, when -the reform required is a just one. - -It never enters these men’s minds to depreciate her deeds, to belittle -her acts, because she is a woman. Their reason tells them that she -understands their wants, that her great heart is in sympathy with their -needs, that she has sought to help them when in power, and that now her -enemies have got the upper hand, all their loyalty and devotion is -needed to support the cause, which she has told them lies at the root of -all future social reform, which means progress, comfort, and happiness -for the toiling millions. But there is a sound of many horses’ feet -coming towards them, and all eyes are turned in the direction whence the -sounds come. The ever-increasing crowd sways to and fro, expectant and -anxious, instinctively apprehending what is to come. - -“Form up, guards!” Flora Desmond’s voice is heard shouting. “Close round -her, and defend her with your lives. It is not we who seek to spill -blood, but if our rulers will have it so, then let it be. We will show -them that woman is not the helpless coward they imagine. If necessary, -we will fight to save her. Retreat in good order on Montragee House.” - -They close round her, obedient to the order. The movement is executed -silently but swiftly, and with an exactitude which speaks volumes for -the discipline of the White Guards. “Shade of Whyte-Melville,” could ye -arise now, you would behold your prophecy an accomplished fact, for the -Amazons, whom you predicted, if rendered amenable to discipline, could -conquer the world, are before you there. The sounds have assumed shape, -and a troop of Horse Guards Blue, hastily turned out to support the arm -of the law, are in view now. The horses have been ridden at a good pace, -for the foam studs their black shining coats. At the word of command the -troopers rein up. - -The position is a difficult one. Between them and the White Guards a -dense, impenetrable crowd is surging. To charge that crowd means death -to many, yet it can only be compassed in this manner. The order which -the officer in command has received is, however, specific. It is to -disperse the crowd, to give every assistance to the police, and to -recapture the prisoner at any cost. - -It is a soldier’s duty to obey superior orders, nor question the why or -wherefore. It is no part of a soldier’s duty to use his own discretion. - - “His not to reason why, - His but to do and die.” - -So at least thinks Colonel Jack Delamere, as his quick eye takes in the -scene. Duty is a strange thing. It nerves the heart not only to physical -but to moral deeds of courage. Surely it is no insignificant act of the -latter which draws from that gallant officer the command to obey an -order which he loathes, for, apart from all other considerations, Jack -Delamere loves Flora Desmond, and knowing her as he does, he is aware -that the order will probably mean death to the being for whom he would -willingly sacrifice his own life. - -“Make way, my friends,” he calls out imploringly to the people. “Make -way, I beseech of you. My orders are to disperse the crowd, and I must -obey them. If you do not make way, I shall be forced to order my men to -charge.” - -A loud shout of defiance is the only reply which he receives. There are -heroes and heroines in that crowd. They are resolved that only over -their trampled and crushed bodies, shall Jack Delamere and his Blues -come up with the White Guards, who are retreating in good order with -Gloria de Lara in their midst. Every minute is precious for this latter, -and the crowd will do its best to afford these precious minutes. - -There is a tremor in Jack Delamere’s voice as he once more puts his -request. The crowd mistake it for a sign of anger, and defy him with -jeers and sneers. - -“Then be it so,” he says sadly, as with a heavy heart he gives the order -which must bring death to many. - -His men obey. The black horses charge into the swaying mass, and men and -women go down before them. Some make a desperate fight for it before -they succumb, clinging to the animals’ bridles, and attempting to force -them back from their onward career. But the troopers have their swords -out, and the unarmed cannot prevail over the armed. Nevertheless there -is no surrender, no cry for quarter or mercy. The crowd are in earnest -in their desire to let the White Guards get away with their beloved -charge, and their resistance is dogged and determined. - -The police have joined in, and are using their batons freely. Shouts and -cries resound, and the crowd grows denser every moment, swelled by the -numbers that have hastened to the scene. Dead and dying are lying on the -cold stone pavements of the street. Even the latter are forgotten in the -fierce fight that is raging, a fight undertaken by the people that the -idol of their hearts may live. - -It is an unequal contest, and can only end one way. Nigh every trooper -has cut his way through at the expense of many a life. They are -re-forming now, and with Jack Delamere at their head set off in pursuit -of the White Guards, the crowd following as best it can in the rear. - -But its devotion and sturdy resistance have given the start to Gloria de -Lara’s escort, and ride as they may, the Blues on their black horses -cannot come up with the lightly mounted greys of the White Guards. These -flash along Whitehall at full speed, with their precious charge in their -midst. Another moment, and the hoofs of the horses are clattering -through the entrance to Montragee House. It is the work of an instant -for the great folding doors to unclose. Once through them, and Gloria de -Lara is safe. Flora Desmond has laid her hand on the bridle of this -latter’s horse. - -“Quick!” she exclaims. “Pass in there, Gloria. Ah! do not delay. -Remember that your life means liberty to thousands. It is not a question -of self. I know well how you would wish to stay and help us, but your -duty is to preserve your life first. No one doubts your courage.” - -“God bless you, Flora! Yes, I will do my duty, for the sake of the great -cause that shall triumph.” - -She springs from her horse as she speaks, and as one of the troopers -leads it towards the stables, she turns to the others. “Brave guards,” -she exclaims, “none know better than you that Gloria de Lara is grateful -for your devotion and staunch loyalty.” - -“We would die for you!” they shout enthusiastically, and many of their -voices tremble. Even as they cease, the Duke of Ravensdale is on the -threshold of his noble mansion. His hand is on Gloria’s arm. - -“Great God be praised!” bursts from his white lips. “Gloria, they shall -never touch you here!” - -He draws her gently into the great front hall, and the door is closed -and barred behind them. There is a triumphant smile on Flora Desmond’s -features; her quick ear has caught the sound of galloping horses. “Do -you hear them?” she laughs defiantly. “They come too late. Brave people! -They have done their part well, and she is saved. Now follow me, guards. -She has no need of us just yet. We must seek a safety for the future -good that we may do, and for the sake of the cause we love. There is -work ahead of us—hard work, and plenty too, for the revolution has -begun!” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VI. - - -“My dear, how did you ever manage to get here? How could you venture -out? Isn’t it terrible, my dear?” exclaims Mrs. de Lacy Trevor, as her -friend Lady Manderton enters her boudoir in the snug Piccadilly mansion, -already introduced to the reader, on the morning following upon the -events related in the last chapter. Outside, the streets are filled with -an angry and excited crowd. The rougher element have taken advantage of -the _mêlée_, to introduce themselves into its midst, and are parading -the streets, causing confusion and terror to the more respectable and -orderly portion of the crowd, whose presence is to be accounted for by -totally different circumstances to those which have attracted the -irredeemable portion of Society. The news of the verdict and sentence on -Hector D’Estrange, the confession as to sex of the late Prime Minister, -the daring and masterly rescue of the prisoner by Flora Desmond and her -White Guards, the devoted resistance of the crowd to the charge of the -Blues under Colonel Delamere, and the ultimate escape of Gloria de Lara -from her pursuers, has spread like wild-fire through the metropolis. -London has been in a state of the greatest excitement throughout the -night. The most startling and improbable rumours have been afloat as to -the intentions of the Government, while the people are loudly clamouring -for a squashing of the verdict, an annulment of the sentence, and a free -pardon for their idol, to many more than ever popular now that her sex -is disclosed. For, let it be whispered, that this disclosure has -operated in winning over to Gloria de Lara’s side many a wavering mind, -which is able now to recognise in the brilliant successful life of -Hector D’Estrange, the unanswerable and irrefutable proof of woman’s -power to equal man in all things, provided fair play and equal -opportunities be given to her. Of the murder of Lord Westray, her -adherents believe her to be absolutely guiltless, and are loud in -condemnation of the verdict. - -Such is the position of affairs on the morning in question,—a position -sufficiently grave, to warrant the calling out of the troops to assist -the police in maintaining order, amidst this wholly unparalleled scene -of public protest and sympathy. - -There is a quiet smile on Lady Manderton’s face as she answers her -friend. - -“I came here on foot, Vivi, and I have come to say good-bye. Ah, Vivi! -you need not stare, dear. I’m not the old Dodo you have been accustomed -to. Great God! why were not my eyes opened before, all the time that -Hector D’Estrange has been working for us? But it is not too late. I can -retrieve the past even yet, by working on behalf of Gloria de Lara’s -cause. Ay, Vivi, it is a cause well worth dying for.” - -“Why, Dodo, you must be clean gone cracked! What are you going to do?” - -Lady Manderton takes a newspaper out of her pocket, and hands it to Mrs. -de Lacy Trevor. “Have you read this?” she inquires at the same time. - -Mrs. de Lacy Trevor opens it and reads. - - - THE GREAT D’ESTRANGE TRIAL. - - SPEECHES OF THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL AND - HECTOR D’ESTRANGE. - THE JUDGE’S SUMMING UP. - VERDICT AND SENTENCE. - EXTRAORDINARY CONFESSION OF THE PRISONER. - SENTENCE OF DEATH. - DARING RESCUE OF THE PRISONER. - BY LADY FLORA DESMOND AND WHITE GUARDS. - DETERMINED RESISTANCE TO THE MILITARY. - GREAT LOSS OF LIFE. - DEATH OF THE POLICEMAN FORTESCUE, WHO WAS IN - CHARGE OF THE PRISONER. - WARRANTS OUT FOR THE ARREST OF GLORIA DE LARA - AND LADY FLORA DESMOND. - -Beneath these startling announcements Mrs. de Lacy Trevor further reads -much of which she did not know. Then she lays down the paper. - -“My dear, it’s like a dream,” she exclaims. “What will happen?” - -“What has happened already,” answers Lady Manderton. “Revolution. Vivi,” -she continues eagerly, “I suppose it’s no use asking you to take the -step I’m going to? I’m going to throw in my lot with Gloria de Lara, and -help her by every means in my poor power.” - -“Dodo! what do you mean?” cries her friend in a horrified voice. - -“I mean what I have said, Vivi,” answers Lady Manderton in a quiet, sad -voice. “Vivi, I can’t tell you how terribly I feel my past wasted life. -But it was not all my fault. I was brought up to nothing better, and -probably should never have realised it, if Hector D’Estrange had not -been born. Ah, Vivi! Gloria’s life has opened my eyes. I see now that if -woman had fair play, women in the position of you and I, Vivi, would -never throw away and waste our lives as we have done. But, thank God, -there is a chance of remedying it. At any rate, I’ll do my best. For -Gloria de Lara’s noble cause I would die willingly a thousand times.” - -She has taken her friend’s hand as she speaks. “Good-bye, Vivi,” she -says gently. - -But Vivi has risen and thrown her arms round Lady Manderton’s neck. - -“Don’t, don’t, Dodo! You musn’t go! There are going to be terrible -doings; I can see that plainly. Oh, Dodo! please don’t go.” - -There is just a slight curl of contempt upon the lips of Lady -Manderton’s handsome mouth as she kisses the weak, timid woman, whom all -these years she has been contented to call friend. Then she gently -undoes the tightly clasped hands of Vivi Trevor from around her neck, -and presses her firmly but kindly back into her seat. “I have no fear, -Vivi. There, now, don’t cry; you will hear of me soon, dear—God grant -better employed than I have been. There now, think of what I’ve said. -Good-bye.” The next moment she is gone, and Vivi Trevor is left alone. - -For a time she sits like one in a dream, then she rises and walks to the -window. The crowd is still surging to and fro. All traffic is rendered -impossible save on foot. Mounted policemen and military patrol the -street, interfering as little as possible with the people, who, save for -the rougher element already mentioned, are orderly enough, albeit -excited and angry. - -“What will happen?” mutters Vivi to herself. “What a strange sight! -Never realised before what a number of people London contains, and what -a strange-looking lot, too! Didn’t think there were such people in -existence.” - -There is a knock at her boudoir door as she stands thus soliloquising to -herself. - -“Come in,” she answers. - -It is Marie, the French maid, and she is the bearer of a note. - -“A letter for madame,” she says. - -“Marie, what a fearful crowd!” exclaims her mistress. “What will happen? -Have you ever seen anything like it before?” - -“Mais jamais, jamais de ma vie, madame,” answers the Frenchwoman -shuddering. “C’est terrible.” - -“Marie, you can bring me my coffee and bread-and-butter now,” continues -Vivi, as she turns the note over in her hand and looks at it curiously. -It is from Mr. Trevor. - -“Madame will have to take _café noir_ this morning,” remarks the maid -gloomily. - -“_Café noir?_ You know I hate it, Marie.” - -“Tant pis, madame,” replies the woman, with a shrug of the shoulders. -“But no milkman has called, and there is no milk in the house.” - -“But we shall starve, Marie!” exclaims her mistress. - -“Je le crois bien, madame,” is all the other replies as she leaves the -room. Marie is not a stranger to revolution. She was in Paris as a young -girl during the revolt which cost Napoleon III. his throne. She knows -well the suffering which an upheaval of the people always brings with -it. She will be astonished at nothing that may come. Has she not been -detailing her experiences downstairs to the frightened servants, who are -undergoing _their_ first hardships in Mr. and Mrs. de Lacy Trevor’s -luxurious service by having to go without milk in their tea that -morning? Do they, by any chance, cast a thought to the suffering -thousands who have no tea into which to put either milk or sugar,—those -suffering thousands whose condition and very existence has given the -brain of Gloria de Lara many a racking thought, as—when in power—she has -pondered the problem, so far unravelled, of their amelioration and -upraising? Not a bit of it. These servants do not realise a suffering -which they have never seen. It is just the world’s way. Not one half of -it knows how the other half lives. - -Left alone, Vivi Trevor opens her husband’s note. She thinks it strange -he should write to her. He has never written to her before while staying -under the same roof. She has not set eyes on him since the day before, -when he parted with her after the trial, conviction, and sentence of -Hector D’Estrange. He had not come in to dinner that night, nothing out -of the way to Vivi, the comings and goings of her husband being of small -importance or interest to her. These two have drifted more than ever -apart since the days when Mr. Trevor first had his eyes opened by the -Eton boy’s article in the _Free Review_. He has never sought to -interfere with his wife’s goings on, feeling that to do so would only -make his desolate home more unhomely and comfortless than ever. It is -therefore with some surprise that Vivi reads the following:— - - “MY DEAREST VIVI,—You will wonder at these few lines, but I feel I owe - you some little explanation, though whether you will care about it I - know not. Our lives as regards one another have not been over happy; - at least I can speak for myself in saying so. I do not blame you, - Vivi, for the want of affection you have always shown me, or for your - goings on with other men. The fault lies in your bringing up, and the - false position in which your sex is placed by man’s unnatural laws. I - learnt to recognise this long ago, and to acknowledge the teaching of - Hector D’Estrange as true and just. That noble genius, now unveiled to - a wondering world as Gloria de Lara, is paying the penalty of her - attempt to naturalise woman’s position in this world, as a lead up to - many and much-needed social reforms. I feel strongly that in this - moment of trial she should receive the support of all men and women, - high and low, rich and poor, who feel with her, and I have determined - to place my services at her disposal. This, Vivi, will naturally take - me away from you for a time, perhaps for ever. Who knows? Only God. - You will not miss me, for I have never been anything to you. I do not - blame you, dearest, for I ought never to have married you. Still I - loved you, and love you still; that is my only plea, and I ask your - forgiveness. You will perhaps accord it when you realise that I am - giving my life to the upraising of your sex, and to attaining its - freedom, thereby accomplishing the first great step in the direction - of social reform, on which the gaze of Gloria de Lara is fixed. How - this struggle will end I know not. It will be the greatest revolution - this world has ever known,—far-reaching in its results, and, let us - hope and pray, bringing about a final, fair, and lasting settlement of - that all-momentous question, which has given to the world its noblest - woman in Gloria de Lara. Good-bye, Vivi. - - “Your ever-devoted husband, - “LAUNCELOT TREVOR.” - -She lays the letter down on her lap, and sits staring at it. Her -thoughts fly back across the years of her wedded life, years spent in -vain amusements and false excitements. She cannot recall a single kindly -or unselfish act on her part towards the man who has loved her so -devotedly and tenderly, nor can she lay hold of one single act of -usefulness upon which she can look back with either pleasure or -satisfaction. Very acutely she feels this now; and yet has it been -entirely her own fault? - -“What else could I do?” she murmurs to herself. “I was never brought up -to think of anything else. Mother bade me marry well and quickly. That’s -exactly what I did do. What other opening was given me? None. If I had -been a man, and properly educated, I might have done something; but as -it was, what else could I do?” - -Her thoughts are flying on ahead now, to that vague future of which she -can know nothing till it comes. Yet what hope does that glance ahead -bring to Vivi Trevor? Absolutely none. In the past her life had been -wasted, and now the future, when regarded, brings her nothing but the -vague dread of growing old and _passée_, with nothing to turn to when -that time comes, nothing to console her for the gay, giddy life which -she has led in the past. - -She is beginning to understand Lady Manderton’s words and action better -now. Launcelot Trevor’s note has opened her eyes very wide. Vivi vividly -sees what she has never seen before, for she is beginning to think for -the first time. - -She throws herself face downwards on the sofa upon which she had been -reclining so daintily, when Lady Manderton called in upon her but a -short time since. There is a big black void all round Vivi Trevor’s -heart, a dull, hopeless feeling of despair. Large tears are welling up -into her beautiful eyes, and bitter sobs shake her slight, girlish -frame. - -Poor Vivi! She is truly miserable, and yet she has no idea how to end -that misery. In a like position, Lady Manderton had risen equal to the -occasion; but then the latter is of different stuff to her hitherto gay, -unthinking friend, a woman of stronger brain and sterner mould, one who -is able to make up her mind, and act promptly when occasion requires it. - -There she lies, this victim of neglected childhood and unfair, unnatural -laws. She lies there, a living protest against the selfishness and -conceit that have built up that wall within which she lies imprisoned. -Of what good is life to such as she, whose education since childhood has -been vain, mindless, ephemeral? If Vivi Trevor had never been born, the -world would have lost nothing. And yet, as a drop is to an ocean, so is -the life of this one despairing soul to the thousands who, like her, -have gone down to their graves in uselessness and obscurity, not because -in natural body and mind they were unfitted to work in the great army of -man, not because in desire and willingness they were found wanting, but -because of that barrier, that artificial mountain which one sex has -forbidden the other sex to climb, which one sex has erected in the face -of Nature, to shut out the operations of Nature’s laws. - -These words but reflect the thoughts of thousands, who, wearily -struggling along the path of life, ask themselves wonderingly, “Why -existence, if this is all it brings?” Many a tired and saddened soul has -lain itself down to die, with the undefined feeling that the wasted life -left behind might not have been if only—only—ay, if only what? Gloria de -Lara, Flora Desmond, and others, could answer that vague, yearning cry. -They would reply, “If only Nature had been obeyed.” Therein lies the -secret of the troubles of this world, the suffering, agony, and misery -that millions have to put up with, while a clique lives and reigns, -making laws and leading the multitude by the nose under the guise of -liberty and freedom! For every happy heart, thousands there are of -wretched ones; for every well-fed mortal, thousands there are who starve -and suffer. The world is old, its years unknown to the ken of man. -Through all these years man has ruled therein, and this is what he has -brought it to! Can he do nothing better? Yes, but only hand in hand with -woman. Nature declares it; and he who would fight against Nature, must -create the evils that torture the world. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VII. - - -Downing Street is awake betimes, and within the precincts of the -residence of the First Lord of the Treasury an unusual stir and signs of -an unwonted anxiety are perceivable. Seated around a long oblong table -in a singularly doleful-looking room, are a baker’s dozen of gentlemen, -apparently in eager discussion. Perplexity and anxiety is on every face, -not unmixed, in some cases, with vacuity. A stranger dropped from the -clouds, and unaccustomed to the ways, and manners, and customs of our -planet, might innocently inquire who these disturbed-looking personages -are, and what their business? He would be told in reply that the -personages are nothing more nor less than the Sovereign of Great -Britain’s Ministers, their business, the holding of a Cabinet Council. -But at such an hour, nine o’clock in the morning! Why, in the ordinary -course of affairs, poor old Lord Muddlehead, the Secretary of State for -the Colonies, would be adjusting his night-cap, and turning over for his -second sleep in bed, and that excellent nonentity, Lord Donothing, Lord -President of the Council and Privy Seal, would be sweetly dreaming of -rest and peace, well merited and well earned, after the arduous and -fatiguing duties attaching to his noble office! - -However, a matter of importance has shaken sleep from their eyes, as -they have been summoned post-haste to attend their chief on urgent -public business. - -The chief in question, the first Lord of the Treasury, the Prime -Minister of Great Britain and Ireland, is the Duke of Devonsmere, a -tall, aristocratic-looking man, with thick moustaches, whiskers, and -beard, in which the grey hairs of advancing age are rapidly gathering. -He has thick lips, a not very pleasant eye, and a forehead chiefly -remarkable for the crease or wrinkle, which, starting from the centre, -runs down perpendicularly to meet the nose. He has a voice far from -genial; and, in fact, his manner all round is cold, and haughty, and -unwinning. - -The duke is a good speaker. That is his chief _forte_. He has not -particularly distinguished himself through life as a great politician, -though he has held high posts in various Ministries. He has been -Secretary for War in a former Ministry, but seceded from his chief when -this latter brought in his Irish Home Rule Bill. No one has ever been -able to accuse the Duke of Devonsmere of attempting to aggrandise -himself. In politics he has been strictly honest according to his -lights, though many believe that in the old days of Conservatives and -Liberals, he would have graced more appropriately the ranks of the -former, which as a Unionist he eventually joined. However, those days -are past. There are no Liberals, or Conservatives, or Unionists now. The -former having adopted the Progressist title, the two latter become -merged in the National party, of which party the Duke of Devonsmere is -the head. - -The position which he holds at this moment is an awkward one. His is -only a provisional Ministry, held together by the temporary support of -the Progressist party, the natural and avowed enemy of the Nationals. -But the hatred of the Progressists for the D’Estrangeites is so intense, -that for a time their minor enmity with the Nationals is merged and -forgotten in this new and greater one. It is, therefore, with such -assistance as this, that the duke, with a Cabinet chiefly distinguished -for its dulness and want of perspicacity, is endeavouring to cope with -the extraordinary state of affairs, that has arisen on the defeat of -Hector D’Estrange’s policy, and the revolution which has resulted from -the events following upon that defeat. - -Gloria de Lara is at large. Although warrants have been issued for her -arrest as well as that of Lady Flora Desmond, no traces of either have -yet been discovered. Of course the officials of Scotland Yard surrounded -Montragee House, and demanded admission soon after the former’s rescue; -but when at length the great front door was thrown open for the -admittance of the officers of the law, they were received only by Lord -Bernard Fontenoy, who smilingly regretted that he could afford them no -information or assist their search in any way. All he knew was that his -brother had left him in charge of Montragee House during his unavoidable -absence. Clearly there was very little to be extracted from the youthful -lord. - -The Home Department Minister is speaking now, but apparently affording -but cold comfort to his colleagues. Mr. Mayhew belongs to the English -bar. He is an excellent speaker, but that is all. It would have been -better if he had stuck to his profession exclusively, and left politics -alone, for he has not shone in them. He is a weak man, and an obstinate -one, and can never be got to acknowledge having committed a mistake. He -has held office before in a Conservative Ministry in the same -department, which did not profit much by his supervision, or attain any -particular distinction for efficiency. He is the best man, however, that -the Nationals have at their command for the post, which is not saying -much for the existing state of things. - -“Detectives are at work in nearly every great centre, and the police are -fully instructed how to act,” he assures his colleagues. - -“Don’t you think, Mayhew, that Hector D’Estrange, or, as I suppose we -must now call her, Gloria de Lara, has many secret friends in the force? -There is no doubt she has the mass of the working classes of the country -on her side—certainly nearly every woman amongst them. Depend upon it -your detectives will not trace her, and it seems to me you are all of -you vastly underrating her power.” - -The speaker is a man of about fifty years of age, with a fine forehead, -rather scant hair, prominent, intelligent eyes, a sallow complexion, and -somewhat of the middle height. He looks younger than he really is, and -it is probably his long thick moustache that gives him a little of the -military appearance. But Lord Pandulph Chertsey is no soldier. He is -every inch a politician, living for nothing else but politics. - -While we can pass over the remainder of the Devonsmere Cabinet without -notice, because of the extreme mediocrity of talent displayed therein, a -glance at the character of Lord Pandulph Chertsey is necessary. The -extraordinary point which first strikes one is—why is not Lord Pandulph -Prime Minister? Clearly amongst all those thirteen gentlemen he is the -only one possessing a large grasp of thought, or a power to look at -events and regard them as they are. Few men have been more abused than -Lord Pandulph; and yet he has done nothing to merit that abuse beyond -showing a certain independence of mind and an inclination to follow the -dictates of conscience before party. He has been accused of ambition. It -is certain that if he had been less honest in his political career, and -less straightforward, he might have risen more quickly to supreme power. -But though doubtless ambitious—and what sin is there in that?—he has -known how to subordinate his ambition to the dictates of his conscience -in all matters, which, according to his lights, he believes affect the -welfare of Society. He sees clearly now what the high and dignified Duke -of Devonsmere, old Lord Muddlehead, Lord Donothing, and their colleagues -do not see in the least. He sees that Gloria de Lara, though she may -have many an enemy in the country, is yet a power which must not be -despised. Lord Pandulph has no sympathy with her cause or her teachings; -but that is no reason why he should ignore the fact that there are -thousands who have, and who are prepared to support her. Mr. Mayhew -shakes his head. We have said he is an obstinate man, and obstinacy is -more or less a sign of weakness. - -“No, no,” he says hastily. “I think it is you, Chertsey, who overrate -her power. Of course she has a few friends, but not many. I always said -D’Estrangeism was ephemeral. You will see how quickly the storm she has -raised will become subdued. I have not the slightest doubt on that -score. But for the sake of law and order we must strain every nerve to -arrest both her and Lady Flora. It is a terrible business, but murder -cannot go unpunished, that is very clear.” - -Lord Pandulph laughs, as he glances at the duke, who is sprawling back -in his chair with his legs stretched out. Mr. Mayhew’s remarks appear to -him ridiculous. “Depend upon it,” he exclaims again, “that you are -utterly underrating her power. We know enough of Hector D’Estrange to be -pretty well certain that Gloria de Lara will not remain inactive. You -talk of your detectives and police, but let me remind you that there are -scattered throughout the country those companies of Women Volunteers, -whom she can call out at any moment. Surely you do not underrate their -power for mischief?” - -But Mr. Mayhew does, and so do the rest of the Cabinet, including the -Duke of Devonsmere. This latter is a bitter opponent of Gloria de Lara’s -advocacy for woman’s freedom. He is quite convinced that the sex is -hopelessly inferior to his own, and regards their emancipation with the -same horror as did the South in the American Civil War when the North -upheld the abolition of slavery. - -“I think we are straying wide of the mark, Chertsey,” he observes rather -gruffly. “The policy we have got to decide on, is how the riotous crowds -that are paralysing public freedom are to be suppressed. There is no -doubt that for the moment this adventuress has a strong party in her -favour, but I think, with Mayhew, that all sympathy with her will -quickly subside, especially if the Government show a bold and determined -front to the mutineers. The most strenuous efforts must be made to -arrest those two women, and so put an end to the mutiny which they have -provoked. I consider, therefore, that the military ought to be employed -to assist the police, and I have little doubt that in a very short time -order will be restored. Do you all think with me?” - -The eleven satellites do, but not the independent planet. Lord Pandulph -does not agree, and he says so plainly. He thinks it will be madness to -employ the military, and thus provoke civil brawls, and perhaps civil -war. He cannot make himself responsible for such a state of things. - -“I am very sorry,” he says gravely, “but I am quite unable to fall in -with such a policy, which, if pursued, I believe will entail lamentable -results. Do your best if you think it possible to arrest the leaders of -this movement by means of detectives and police, but for goodness’ sake -keep the soldiers out of the fray. However, if you persist, I can make -way for a fresh Secretary for India. I can resign.” - -“That is an old game with you,” remarks the duke drily. “It will not be -the first time you have left your colleagues in the lurch.” - -“Say rather not the first time that I have refused to stifle conscience -for the sake of office, or to make over my honest opinion to the care of -others,” answers Lord Pandulph somewhat hotly, nettled no doubt by the -duke’s unfair remark. “However,” he continues quietly, “I have no wish -to mar the unanimity of these proceedings, and will withdraw. My reasons -for resignation can be fully explained in the proper place.” - -There is a significant ring in his voice which cannot be mistaken. The -duke knows perfectly well that with Lord Pandulph out of his Cabinet, -this excellent clique will be little less than a group of mechanical -dolls. To lose Lord Pandulph means discredit to his Ministry, and a -considerable loss of confidence outside it. He feels he must temporise. - -“Really, Chertsey, I don’t understand what you want,” he observes -impatiently. “A short while ago you were making fun of the detective -force, and assuring us we had underrated Gloria de Lara’s power. Now -that I propose to take decisive measures to arrest that power, you -object to them. Will you propose a policy yourself?” - -“Well, I will, as you invite me to do so,” answers Lord Pandulph, with a -smile, “but I do not suppose you will adopt it. However, here is my -opinion. I am not in sympathy with Gloria de Lara’s desires, but I fully -recognise that her doctrines are accepted by thousands. I am not likely -to forget that it was she who raised the Hall of Liberty, who drilled -into efficiency a large Woman Volunteer Force, and who has worked her -way into the affections of vast numbers of the working classes. Having -read the evidence at her trial, I am extremely dissatisfied with the -verdict, while in regard to the death of the policeman in the -prison-van, I do not look upon Lady Flora’s act as murder. We are -assured by members of the police force, that she fired through the lock -of the van, only after giving the policeman full warning of her -intention to do so. She naturally supposed he had lain down as she bade -him; and though his death is most grievous, really she cannot be accused -of murder. Looking at matters in this light, I think the wisest thing -the present Government can do is to appeal to the country to decide the -question, revoke the warrant against Lady Flora, and offer Gloria de -Lara a fresh trial. Such a policy may be out of the way, but we must not -forget that we are now facing a state of affairs unparalleled in the -world’s history. For my part, I cannot take the responsibility of -deciding for the country. It is the country which should be appealed to, -and allowed to decide for itself.” - -He has spoken as befits a statesman, who is able and willing to look -upon the people as the proper tribunal to decide the policy to be -pursued. But the Duke of Devonsmere, unlike Lord Pandulph, has never and -will never be able to quit his aristocratic perch in order to descend to -the people’s level. He is willing to give them a policy and ask them to -accept it, but he cannot realise that the masses are able to produce one -for themselves. It is not wonderful that he thinks as he does, for he is -not, and never has been, in touch with the people. - -Like Mr. Mayhew, he shakes his head. - -“Your proposal is simple madness, Chertsey. I, for one, cannot fall in -with it.” - -He looks sternly at the eleven satellites who are regarding him. They -thoroughly understand that look. - -“Nor we,” they murmur deferentially, apeing the abject acquiescence of -poor old Lord Muddlehead. - -Again Lord Pandulph laughs. Words would not measure the contemptuous -ring that there is in that laugh. - -“And you will pardon me if I say that I think your proposal madness -also. I cannot agree to it, and it is best I should resign,” he says -quietly. - -“Very well,” answers the duke coldly. “As you are determined, so be it, -Chertsey.” - -Lord Pandulph rises. He accepts his _congé_ willingly. It has been gall -and wormwood to work with such colleagues as these. He is out of place, -and he feels it. He knows that he ought to be where the duke is sitting. -Undoubtedly he ought. - -“Then it is understood? I shall tender my resignation without any delay, -so that you will be able to nominate my successor. This being so, it is -better I should retire at once. Good-morning, Devonsmere.” And without -deigning recognition of the eleven satellites, Lord Pandulph leaves the -room. - -“Really, Chertsey is about the most insufferable fellow to deal with I -have ever known,” murmurs Lord Hankney, the Minister for Agriculture, -adjusting his eyeglass. “We shall do much better without him, -Devonsmere.” - -So they sit on in council these strange twelve, a Ministry -misrepresentative of the people. The policy against which Lord Pandulph -warned them, they agree to adopt. The military is to be ordered out, a -direct incentive to civil war, while the warrants for the arrest of -Gloria de Lara and Lady Flora Desmond are to remain in force. It is the -old story, merely history repeating itself, of a group of men omitting -to consult the people—whose paid servants they are—before acting. -Office, unfortunately, nowadays is too much considered as the happy -hunting ground of a clique or class, to the exclusion of the people’s -acknowledged representatives. So the wrong men step in, and take upon -themselves responsibilities for which they are totally disqualified and -unfitted; and thus are mistakes committed for which those who pay the -taxes have to suffer. The case in point is a good one. Such a decision -would never have been come to had the Duke of Devonsmere’s Cabinet -contained some of the people’s representatives. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -“What news, Evie?” - -The speaker has risen from a low wooden stool just outside the -verandahed porch of a pretty, straggling, rambling cottage, hidden -amidst many and various creepers, whose parasitical arms interlace with -each other in bewildering confusion. All around stretch dark pine woods -far as the eye can reach, as it scans their broad expanse through the -cuttings in the forest, fashioned by the hand of man. - -Gloria de Lara it is, who thus questions the new-comer. A tall, -powerful-looking man, with thick, bushy beard and whiskers, and a -clean-shaven upper lip. He is dressed in the habiliments of a navvy, and -carries on his back a bag of tools. These he throws down as he replies, - -“News, Gloria? Much what I expected. You are to be hunted down by every -means at the command of Scotland Yard. Warrants are out not only for -your arrest but for Lady Flora’s as well, and the military are to be -employed to assist the police in suppressing the ‘riotous crowds,’ as -such are termed the people who are agitating in your favour. Pandulph -Chertsey has resigned. Bernie was in the House last night to hear him -give his reasons. He says Chertsey made a splendid speech, in which he -advocated an appeal to the country to settle this question, and a fresh -trial for you. His remarks were received in gloomy silence by both -Progressists and Nationals, though loudly applauded by the -D’Estrangeites. But the two former have no intention to appeal at -present. They hate you and yours too much, Gloria. They want to crush -you first before they do anything else. To accomplish this, dog and cat -though they be, they will be amicable in order to attain their end.” - -“I know that,” she answers, with a sad smile; “but I will do my best to -baulk them until my work is done. Then, they may do as they please.” - -“Hush, Gloria!” exclaims Evie Ravensdale, with a shudder. “Do not speak -of harm befalling you. O God, forfend it! I could not survive it.” - -She smiles again, still sadly, as she lays her hand on his arm, and -looks at him with the dark sapphire eyes that have haunted him day and -night for many a year with a strange, yearning love, which he often -found hard to fathom. He understands it all now, however. There is no -mystery about that love any longer. Its cause, Gloria de Lara. - -“It is I who should say hush, Evie dear,” she says gently, “and it is -you who must not speak thus. Remember the great cause we have both at -heart, the glorious cause that must and shall win! On its behalf are we -not ready to face trial and trouble, and many an anxious hour? Ah, Evie! -remember our vows.” - -Yes, he remembers them well enough. Is he not striving to fulfil them -even now? But the future, threatening, as it does, the person of all -that he holds most dear, is dark and fearsome in Evie Ravensdale’s -anxious mind. - -“Did you manage to see Flora Desmond?” she inquires, breaking thus the -silence which has followed her last words. - -“Yes, Gloria,” he answers; “and that reminds me that I have much to tell -you. Lady Flora has not been idle. She is indeed a most wonderful woman. -There she is working away in the heart of London, with the warrant for -her arrest duly out, with detectives and police in every direction, and -yet not an idea have they where she is, thanks to the people’s loyalty.” - -“God bless them!” is all Gloria says. She is eagerly awaiting the -information he has to give her. - -“She is not working single-handed either. Who do you think has joined -the White Guards, Gloria? You will never guess.” - -“Who?” she says anxiously. - -“Why, Lady Manderton! and Launcelot Trevor has offered his services to -Lady Flora.” - -“Lady Manderton!” Gloria can hardly believe her ears. She looks -incredulously at the speaker. - -“It is true, Gloria, however impossible it may seem; and a real -enthusiastic worker she is. However, to business. Lady Flora told me to -tell you, that she has sent picked messengers from the White Guards to -every one of our Volunteer centres, so as to be able to keep up active -communication with them all. The code adopted works admirably, and has -been arranged with extreme skill and forethought. In a few days all will -be ready for your campaign. She suggests that you should hold a first -meeting in the Hall of Liberty. The White Guards will be in readiness -for that one. If the police and military interfere every means for -escape will be at hand. Before they have time to look round you will be -heard of at York, where you will be attended by the Women’s Rifle Corps, -and so on. Rapidity of action will be the characteristic feature of your -campaign—a regular Will-o’-the-wisp crusade, in fact. Of course it will -be attended by a good deal of risk; but it is quite certain that the -people must be appealed to, and those who are supporting you now not -left in the lurch. God grant there may be no more blood shed!” - -“Yes, God grant it indeed!” she answers fervently. “Nevertheless, Evie, -’twere better thus to shed one’s blood than to submit any longer and -without protest to the present state of things. Whatever may be the -outcome of this revolution, I have no fear but that it will lead up to -victory in the future. I may never see the day. What matter? _It will -come._” - -She laughs softly, a low triumphant laugh, as her mind’s eye strives to -pierce the murky darkness of the future. Instinctively she realises what -lies behind that impenetrable veil, and sees with the glance of prophecy -the promised land beyond. It is thus with all reformers. If to them was -only vouchsafed the cold, sneering support which the world generally -bestows upon early effort, they would sink and die beneath the venomed -shafts of the unbelievers; but these latter do not see the noble visions -which are given to the pioneers of the future, visions which beckon them -forward, and unfold to their eager gaze the triumph of their labours in -the establishment of that for which they have given their lives. - -“Well, I will go and get rid of this disguise,” observes the duke, with -a smile. “This beard and these whiskers are uncommonly hot, Gloria. -By-the-bye, when does Mrs. de Lara sail?” - -“In two days, Evie, she goes by the White Star Line,” answers his -companion. “I left her in the study just before meeting you. Go in and -see her before you change.” - -He passes on through the porch, outside of which he had found her -sitting on his arrival, and enters the cottage, and Gloria takes up her -old position to ponder and think over the situation of affairs, which -her trusty messenger has brought to her from the outside world. - -We have not seen her since that eventful evening, when she was rescued -by Flora Desmond and her White Guards from the arm of the law, and -safely escorted to Montragee House. Here a hasty consultation had been -held, and it was at once decided that without delay she must quit the -duke’s mansion. Within an hour of her entrance she had left the ducal -residence, and in a suit of plain dark clothes had sought a safe asylum -with humble friends, in a quarter of the city where no one dreamed of -searching for her. The duke himself had quitted his home to avoid -awkward questions, leaving it in the care of his brother, and Mrs. de -Lara had repaired to her Windsor residence. Communication had been -maintained through loyal and trustworthy friends, and from her refuge in -the mighty city, Gloria had rejoined her mother and the duke at “The -Hut,” a tiny out-of-the-way residence belonging to the latter, situated -in the heart of the pine forests that clothe the country for miles -around, between Bracknell and Wokingham. From this secluded nook she -could hold communication with her friends through the medium of Evie -Ravensdale, who in various disguises passed to and fro between Bracknell -and London daily. - -Meanwhile the Devonsmere Ministry has been active. Supported by the -Nationals and Progressists, a Bill has been hastily passed through the -House of Commons, and sent up to the House of Lords for approval. It -grants the Government exceptional facilities for suppressing the public -meetings, which may be held by Gloria de Lara’s supporters. A large -number of special constables have been enrolled, and entrusted with -extensive powers. The military have been ordered to hold themselves in -readiness to support the police, and a special proclamation has been -issued, offering a large reward for the delivery up to justice of the -persons of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, or any man or woman found -actively espousing the former’s cause. Armed with these tremendous -powers, the Devonsmere Ministry are confident that the revolution will -be summarily suppressed, and the chief actors brought speedily to -justice. In vain Lord Pandulph Chertsey has warned them against the -course they have resolved upon. He is unheeded, for the Ministry have a -majority in their favour in both Houses, and are determined to enforce -their policy rigidly and unrelentingly. - -All this Gloria de Lara knows full well. The situation is thoroughly -understood by her, and the risk fully appreciated, but she knows also -that she will be faithful to her vow. She is of the same mind now as she -was when, as a child, looking over the lovely Adriatic, that feeling had -entered her heart which had bidden her go forward and struggle for the -cause, even though the struggle should end in death. She made a vow -then; through all these years she has kept it. Now that danger and death -stare her in the face, will she draw back appalled? No, ten thousand -times no. - -Her plans are fully formed, and none so fit as Gloria to carry them into -effect. In every part of the kingdom she has faithful emissaries at -work. Aided by them, large open-air meetings are to be convened, which -she will address in turn, vanishing as quickly and mysteriously as she -appears. In this way she will be able to hold communication with the -people in every part of the country, and scatter broadcast the seeds of -her great doctrine. She knows full well that aid and sympathy will come -to her from all parts of the world. She is sending messengers in every -direction, Mrs. de Lara having volunteered to visit America on behalf of -her child’s cause. She knows that the flame once kindled, will never -more be extinguished, until victory waves aloft the wand of peace. If in -the struggle she be doomed to fall—what matter, so that the great cause -triumph? - -She has the law against her, but law is only strong so long as the -people acknowledge it to be just, and agree to obey it. No law is -binding or sacred which has not been ratified by the people’s approval. -There is no natural Divine right which gives to a few men the power and -authority to impose on millions a command to obey. Might alone can force -it. It has been declared that might is right. What if the people defy -might, and struggle against its tyranny for the triumph of right? - -She sits on alone, revolving this truth in her mind. Thought absorbs her -with its dreamy influence, carrying her on beyond the present into the -great unfathomed future before her. She sees the storm which she has -raised angry and defiant, the elements thereof tossed and buffeted, but -she knows that after that storm the waves of fury will be stilled in a -great calm. - -“Dreaming, Gloria? Of what, pray?” - -She starts. The voice thrills her, for she loves it well. Gloria’s -contact with the world in her self-imposed duties has not blunted or -dulled the instincts of Nature. In past days, it was a favourite remark -with our grandmothers and grandfathers, that woman’s connection with the -coarser things of life would degrade her by constant familiarity with -them. Poor things! They judged of Nature from the narrow-minded -platforms on which they had been educated, knew nothing of and cared -nothing for the sighs of liberty, or the rights of Nature. - -Yes! though her life has been one of constant intercourse with man, -though she has been and is familiar with the coarser things of life, -Gloria loves, and loves truly and well. Hers is not the love of a timid, -ignorant girl, longing to escape the captivity in which she has been -reared, or the selfish, guilty love of the _intriguante_, whose love -would fade and disappear were it not deemed unholy. Hers is the love of -one who, knowing the world well, understanding the character of man, -drilled to a knowledge of the laws of Nature, yet elects to love one -being above all others. Gloria’s love is one that once given, can never -die. - -As with her, so it is with Evie Ravensdale. The world has courted his -love, but its wiles have not awoke it. Often, when in loving commune -with his friend Hector D’Estrange, the thought would flash through the -young duke’s mind, that if Hector had been a woman, the great love of -which he felt himself capable, would have gone out to her absolutely and -without reserve. What was the subtle power that had attracted him to -Hector D’Estrange, which had made him pause on the verge of pleasure’s -precipice, and, casting to the winds his hitherto selfish existence, had -made him body and soul the devoted adherent of the young reformer? - -Evie Ravensdale knows the reason now. From the moment that he learnt -that in Hector D’Estrange was embodied the person of Gloria de Lara, he -understood that the influence of a noble, high-minded, and genuine -woman, had allured him from the false glare and glitter of the world, -and had given him an aim in life. - -“Ah, dear Evie! have I not much to think of? In such times as these, -thought does not take much rest.” - -She rises as she speaks, and links her arm in his. Men have often -watched Hector D’Estrange and the Duke of Ravensdale in this friendly -attitude before. Such an ape is Fashion, that it has become the _proper -thing_ for men to walk arm-in-arm. Doubtless, however, in view of the -change which has come about in the altered fortunes of Hector -D’Estrange, it will be suddenly discovered that such an attitude is both -unbecoming and improper. So much for the monkey Custom and its cousin -ape Fashion! - -“Let us go for a stroll, Gloria,” he pleads, “the evening is so -glorious; and it may be long before we have the chance again of a quiet -chat together. We used to enjoy those _tête-à-têtes_ at Montragee when -you were Hector D’Estrange, did we not?” - -“Yes,” she says quietly. “I did love them, Evie. In fact, I think I set -too great a store upon them, more than was good for me to do; but they -were a true rest and pleasure after toil and anxiety, and I accepted -them as such.” - -They have descended a gentle slope as she speaks and entered a glade in -the forest. The warm, red glow of the setting sun pierces in parts the -thickly grouped pines, and plays upon the ferns and bracken that grow in -green luxuriance beneath. The evening commune of the birds is dying into -a low twitter, and the rabbits have commenced to peep forth from their -burrows to see if all is still, preparatory to indulging in the evening -meal, as is their wont and custom at this hour. - -What is it that throws its shadow across the glade in the wake of Evie -Ravensdale and Gloria de Lara? As the two saunter slowly along the -forest’s green pathway, the figure of a man suddenly presents itself at -the entrance to the glade, and stands motionless gazing after the -retreating pair. Only for a moment though, as with a low laugh he turns -quickly in the direction of “The Hut.” His movements are peculiar. He -does not walk openly up to the cottage, but, concealing himself behind -the rhododendron bushes which surround it in thick luxuriance, he -stealthily and silently gains the porch, outside of which Gloria de Lara -was sitting on the arrival of Evie Ravensdale. - -Passing noiselessly along the verandah which runs round “The Hut,” the -man suddenly comes to a halt outside a half-opened window, and peers in. -A logwood fire burns cheerily on the hearth, but there are no lamps as -yet in the room, and this is the only light that irradiates it. It is -sufficient, however, to enable him to make out the form of a woman -seated by the fire. Her elbows are resting on her knees, and her head is -bent in her hands, and through the half-opened fingers she is gazing -into the glowing blaze. A single ring flashes on the third finger of her -left hand; one ring only, but no more. The man’s eyes dilate with -passion and fury as they watch her. The expression is that of a wild -beast gloating upon its prey. This man, too, has a smile of triumph upon -his coarse, sensual lips, mingled with malignity and hate. - -A quick shudder runs through Speranza de Lara—for this lonely woman is -no other than she—as with a sudden impulse she raises her head and looks -towards the window with a scared and startled expression. The man draws -quickly back from his post of observation, and passing rapidly along the -verandah disappears amidst the thick bushes already mentioned. Too late, -however, to conceal his features from the gaze of the woman, who, alas! -knows them too well. With a cry of horror she springs forward, and -pushing open the window makes her way out on to the verandah. Two -minutes later, and the tongue of a little tower bell rings out -half-a-dozen sharp, warning notes. Evie Ravensdale and Gloria de Lara -know full well their meaning. Their sound heralds the word “danger,” and -brings them sharply to attention. When, a few minutes later, they reach -“The Hut,” they find Speranza anxiously awaiting them. - -“Evie and Gloria,” she says in a quiet, self-possessed voice, in which -all trace of excitement is absent, “this is no longer a safe place for -either of you. It must be quitted at once. I have just seen him.” - -“Him! Who, mother dearest?” inquires Gloria anxiously. - -“The worst enemy I have ever known, and therefore yours too,” my -darling, answers Speranza, with a shudder. “Ever right, my child, were -you when you said he was not dead, for I have just looked on the face of -Lord Westray.” - -As she speaks the distant sound of a galloping horse strikes upon their -ears. - -“Evie,” says Gloria coolly, a quiet smile lighting up her face, “will -you see to the horses being saddled at once?” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IX. - - -The roar of London’s traffic has died away, for a few brief hours, peace -has spread her mystic wings o’er the city of wealth and poverty, -pleasure and suffering, joy and pain, virtue and crime. In the sumptuous -dwellings of the wealthy, the gentry stretch their pampered bodies on -the soft couch of ease and warmth, imitated to a nicety by their -dependents. In the dwellings of the middle class, comfort if not -absolute sumptuousness is displayed and enjoyed. In the dwellings of the -working class, overcrowding and limited space is the chief -characteristic, while in the dwellings of the helpless, homeless, and -foodless, the vault of heaven is their canopy, the cold flag-stones -their couch of rest. - -Yet above these scenes, so diversified and strange, peace for a few -brief hours has spread her wings. The tramp of the tired horse is -silent, the patter of millions of feet is still. Even the wandering, -homeless, hungry cur is curled up in some byway fast asleep, dreaming, -no doubt, of the rich steaks of meat upon which his poor famished eyes -had been fixed this afternoon, when the cruel butcher drove him so -mercilessly away. - -But there is a faint glimmer of light stealing through the fast-closed -shutters of Mr. Trackem’s private room, in Verdegrease Crescent, and if, -like the fairy of old, we obtain ingress therein in some mysterious -manner, we shall find that worthy seated in a comfortable armchair, with -his head thrown back against a soft cushion, his legs crossed, his -elbows firmly planted on the chair’s arms, and his hands lightly joined -together. A warm fire glows in front of him, and the smile on his face -betokens a thorough satisfaction with things in general, and especially -with himself. - -On the opposite side of the hearthrug is another armchair, likewise -occupied, but by a man apparently in by no means so placid and contented -a frame of mind as Mr. Trackem. He wears a rough coat and waistcoat of -Cheviot wool, and his cord riding breeches and black top-boots are -covered with mud and mire. There is blood on his spurs too, which -betokens a hard usage of the poor beast that has lately carried him. On -the floor lies a brown slouch hat and riding-whip, while by their side -is a soft satin cushion, similar to the one against which Mr. Trackem’s -head is reclining, and which his visitor has disdainfully tossed on one -side. - -The manner of this man is excited, and he is leaning forward, and -speaking fast and rapidly. He is a handsome man, but has not a nice -face, and grey hairs are beginning to mingle in his thick beard, -whiskers, and moustache, as well as amidst the once raven locks of his -hair. He has thick sensual lips, two rows of fine white teeth, and a -restless, roving expression in his dark eyes. - -“I tell you, Trackem, I have seen them all three, and I greatly fear -that Mrs. de Lara recognised me. Maybe she did not, for the moment she -looked round I made off as hard as I could, and have ridden straight -from the spot to this place. But if she did, there will be great danger -of our plot being discovered, and the idea to me is simply maddening -after all I have done, and risked, and put up with to carry it -successfully to an issue.” - -Mr. Trackem refuses, however, to get excited. - -“Pray listen, my lord,” he says suavely. “I think it is extremely -unlikely that Mrs. de Lara recognised you. But even if she did, of what -avail? She cannot prove it, and her statement would only be regarded in -the light of falsehood, invented to screen Gloria de Lara, or else in -the light of hallucination. We managed that point very well at the -trial. No, no; have no fear on that score. The only point to be looked -at is this. If Mrs. de Lara recognised you, or even took alarm at seeing -a stranger in her child’s place of refuge, she, and those with her, have -in all probability sought a fresh hiding-place. If this be so, their -arrest will have to be postponed, until we can lay hands on the spot of -their new asylum. It is a pity, for my efforts appeared to be on the -verge of crowning success. However, cheer up, my lord. Trackem has never -yet failed in any of his jobs, and will not in this one.” - -“I was a fool to act as I did!” exclaims Lord Westray, for it is no -other than he; “but I could not resist the impulse, Trackem. How do you -propose to act if to-morrow we find the birds have flown?” - -“I propose this, my lord,” answers Mr. Trackem in a decided voice. “I -intend to send round information to Scotland Yard of their whereabouts. -Should this information prove too late, I propose to proceed in this -wise. I have in my employ a young woman of extremely prepossessing -appearance, and without doubt the cutest of all my staff. She has never -failed me yet, and I am not apprehensive that she will on this occasion. -My instructions to her will be to ascertain Gloria de Lara’s -whereabouts, to join her in this rebellion—to be, in fact, one of her -most devoted adherents, until such time as I shall require her to be -otherwise. When she has been thoroughly entrusted with the rebel -secrets, nothing will be easier than to transmit them to us; in fact, I -think you know what I mean, my lord.” - -“I understand,” mutters the other moodily. “You mean to set her to the -informer’s trade. A female Judas, in fact.” - -“You have it, my lord, extremely well expressed. Ha, ha!” laughs Mr. -Trackem quietly, as he rubs his hands together, and nods approvingly. -“And what does your lordship think of my little plan?” he continues -inquiringly. - -“Damned clever and diabolical, Trackem, if you want to know the truth,” -answers Lord Westray a shade bitterly. He has fallen pretty low, but -this seems indeed the lowest depth of the abyss into which he is invited -to plunge, for the being who is an accessory before the fact is every -whit as villainous as the being performing the deed. Of course he knows -this. - -“Clever, I grant you, my lord. It is my business to be so. Diabolical I -demur to. All is fair in love and war. But pardon me, excuse a moment’s -absence,” and Mr. Trackem, as if struck by a sudden idea, rises and -leaves the room. - -Lord Westray rises, too, and begins pacing up and down it. There is a -dark, angry look in his eyes, and a cruel smile on his thick lips. - -“All fair in love and war,” he exclaims savagely; “that is a true -saying. I loved her—yes, I did love Speranza once, but she scorned and -flouted me, and I could not forget that. Even after I married her I -loved her, I believe, though she complained that I treated her cruelly. -And what if I did? She was only a woman, and my wife. What business had -she to complain? What business had she to take the law into her own -hands, and go off with that fellow? Ah! I think she counted without her -host there, but I was revenged,—yes, yes, I took ample revenge. And -then, when she might have made it up, when I offered to re-marry her, -she flung me from her path, and that girl of hers, whom I thought then -was a man, ordered me out of the house. Ah! but I think there again I -have come off the victor. I think it is I who have scored. The world -believes me dead; Hector D’Estrange, now Gloria de Lara, is my murderer. -If we lay hands on her, the Government is bound to make her pay the full -penalty of the law. It will break Speranza’s heart, and I, I shall -triumph and be revenged. None shall flout or scorn _me_ without rueing -it. By God! no one ever shall.” - -The laugh is a horrid one with which these last words are accompanied. -It is hard to believe the man a human being. Character of this -description is false to Nature, surely? Yes, but the education which -produced it was false and unnatural too. Human character depends greatly -on early teaching. The parent has a heavy responsibility in the moulding -of youth’s first impressions. Lady Westray, if from the grave you could -arise and look upon your handiwork, perhaps even you, shallow, vain, -heartless as you were in life, might shudder and repent! - -At this stage the door opens, readmitting Mr. Trackem. He walks over to -his seat by the fire and reoccupies it. - -“I have sent for her, my lord,” he informs Lord Westray in a -business-like voice. “It has struck me that it will be best to employ my -female Judas without any delay. Second thoughts convince me that it -would be mere waste of time to communicate with Scotland Yard. I have -not the smallest doubt that, as Mrs. de Lara caught sight of you, ‘The -Hut’ is vacated ere this. At any rate, we will put Léonie on the track, -and start her from there. I have no fear that she will disappoint us. -She has a marvellous genius for the discovery of the hidden.” - -“A human bloodhound and Judas combined in one,” laughs Lord Westray. “I -am curious, Trackem, to behold this monstrosity.” - -“A curiosity which is about to be gratified,” remarks the other coolly, -as a low tap is heard on the door of the room in which these two men are -hatching their diabolical plans. “Come in, Léonie.” - -The door opens softly, and a woman glides in. She is small and of slight -build, with a bright, fair complexion, even, firm mouth, dark grey eyes -fringed round with a wealth of lashes, which at once attract the -onlooker by their extraordinary thickness. Her hair, which is cut short, -is soft, glossy, and wavy, and is parted on one side, clustering upon -her forehead and around her face. On this face play the lights and -shades of a constantly changing expression, and if ever genius told its -tale in eyes, it is indelibly stamped in these. - -Mr. Trackem smiles covertly as he glances at Lord Westray, and notices -the expression of surprise in this latter’s face. Léonie has walked -straight over to Mr. Trackem’s chair, and is standing beside him. - -“You want me?” she inquires in a matter-of-fact voice. Apparently the -break of dawn summons is not in the least strange to her. - -“I do, Léonie,” answers her master quickly. “I have a little job on hand -that I think I can entrust to you, and I rely upon you to carry it out -successfully. There is, as you no doubt know, a large reward offered for -the apprehension of the adventuress Gloria de Lara, or for such -information as may lead to that apprehension. Now I see no reason why my -clever little Léonie should not be the person to win that reward, or at -any rate a part of it. My commission to you is this. First of all get -speech with this Gloria. This necessitates finding her out. Next, worm -yourself into her confidence by a display of zeal which I can perfectly -trust you to simulate. Keep me informed of her plans and movements as -soon as you are able to speak with certainty of them, and be ready to -act as I bid you on receipt of any communication or instruction which I -may desire to send you. Now, Léonie, remember I trust this job to you, -because there is none so fitted as you to undertake it. I have every -faith in your sagacity and prudence. I have heard a good deal of Gloria -de Lara’s wonderful cleverness; I am mistaken if my little Léonie is not -her match.” - -There is a glitter in the girl’s dark grey eyes, a quiet smile on her -lips. - -“You may trust me,” she remarks laconically. - -“I know I can,” answers Mr. Trackem gravely; “I know that very well. -Now, Léonie, your work begins at once. Gloria de Lara, her mother -Speranza de Lara, and the Duke of Ravensdale were seen at a little place -called ‘The Hut,’ near Bracknell, belonging to the duke. I have reason -to think, however, that they have fled that place this very night. You -had better go straight there, and take up the scent from the spot. I -leave all to you. You can draw upon me, you know. Keep me advised of -your whereabouts, stick to the letter of my instructions, and send me -good news as quickly as possible. I have no more to say, unless it be -that you are to effect that which Scotland Yard cannot.” - -“I will,” answers this strange laconic creature, as with a slight -inclination she turns and leaves the room. - -“Well, I’m blowed, Trackem, if that is not the queerest elf I ever set -eyes upon in my life!” exclaims Lord Westray as the door closes. “Where -on earth did you raise her from?” - -“A pretty elf, too, eh, my lord? Hardly a monstrosity,” observes Mr. -Trackem drily. “Where did I raise her from, you ask? Well, that’s just -the point. I don’t care to tell you who she is, but I’ll tell you this -much. She’s the daughter of a customer of past days. Her father was a -great man. At least the world said he was. She’s got plenty of blue -blood in her veins; she’s well bred enough. Her mother died here. The -great man forsook her, and the child was left in my hands. I found her -pretty, remarkably intelligent, and quick-witted. I determined to train -her to be useful, and I think I have succeeded. She has certainly proved -a most profitable speculation, and repaid the excellent education I have -given her. I have no reason to repent my philanthropic act,” and Mr. -Trackem laughs drily. - -“Well, you are a clever fellow, and no mistake, Trackem. I gave you -credit for a good deal, but not for rearing detectives from childhood. I -thought I knew pretty nearly everything, but this is a new experience,” -remarks the earl, fairly surprised. - -“Yes, my lord, you have seen a good deal and know a good deal. I admit -your experience is wide and varied. But not even you know half that goes -on in this wonderful city. There’s many a queer thing takes place about -which outsiders know nothing. It’s only natural. What else can you -expect in a place like this? And now I think I have no more to -communicate for the moment. It will be daylight soon, and I feel I want -a snatch of sleep. I will bid you good-night therefore; and I don’t -suppose you will be sorry to follow my example. You have had a pretty -long, tiring, and eventful day. Good-night, my lord.” - -Saying which, Mr. Trackem rises from his armchair, takes hold of a small -hand-lamp standing on a table close by, and with an obsequious bow to -the patron, for the sake of whose gold he is serving, leaves the room. - -For yet another hour that patron paces up and down it, absorbed in moody -thought. It is hard to draw the picture of this man, when one thinks how -otherwise it might have been had the passions of his youth been curbed, -his early life disciplined, and his powers for good fostered and -encouraged. If the dream of Gloria de Lara be realised, the time will -come when character such as this will know an existence no longer; but -this can only be when the standard of morality is placed on a higher -pedestal, and the laws of Nature are acknowledged and upheld. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER X. - - -Quitting the presence of Mr. Trackem and Lord Westray, Léonie has -hurried to her bedroom, from which the former personage had so -unceremoniously summoned her. The bedroom in question is small and -plainly furnished. A scant, square piece of carpet covers the middle of -the floor. There are two chairs in the room, a tiny iron bedstead, a -washhand-stand, and a large wardrobe. This latter article takes up an -ungenerous share of the space which the little room affords, but it is -evidently an article of some importance, for Léonie goes straight to it -and throws it open, displaying to view some half-a-dozen shelves, upon -which a number of suits of clothes of varied and multifarious shapes, -are neatly arranged. - -After scrutinising them for a few minutes Léonie selects a strong -dark-coloured pair of riding breeches, gaiters to match, and a loose -jacket and waistcoat of the same material, which she lays on the bed. To -these are quickly added a grey flannel shirt and a complete silk under -riding suit. She then proceeds with her toilet, and when dressed looks -every inch a comely lad of some seventeen summers, smart, neat, and -natty. - -Her next act is to pack a small saddle portmanteau with a change of -underclothing, toilet and washing articles, which completes the outfit -of Mr. Trackem’s youthful detective; for Léonie, though a slave, is not -unmindful of her personal appearance. She knows she is pretty, and likes -to look so, a vanity for which the looking-glass is largely responsible. -A small oil lamp burns fitfully in one corner of the room. She fills a -tiny kettle with water, and placing it on a miniature stand, sets it to -heat above the flame. Then she makes her bed, and tidies up her room -with business-like alacrity, and as the kettle begins to hiss, she takes -from the chimney-piece a cup and saucer, a small tin of preserved coffee -and milk, and a spoon. In a few minutes this Bohemian girl has mixed -herself a steaming cupful of the beverage, and abstracting a couple of -biscuits from a small paper parcel also on the chimney-piece, proceeds -to enjoy her somewhat camp-like meal. - -But she wastes no time over it. Léonie is essentially a business-like -person. She has settled in her mind the exact hour at which she must set -out, and she knows she has not many minutes to spare. - -In effect, grey dawn is beginning to streak the murky sky with light. -She can hear a distant tower clock chiming the hour of five, and she -sets down her cup on a chair close by and takes up the little -portmanteau. “Time I started,” she mutters to herself, as she cons in -her mind Mr. Trackem’s instructions. Léonie is a most perfectly -disciplined young lady; she has thoroughly learnt the lesson of -obedience. It has never entered her head to disregard or evade her -master’s commands. Mr. Trackem has certainly succeeded in teaching her -to take a pride in her work, and in training her to a faithful discharge -of duty. He has reason to congratulate himself, and to boast that this -girl slave has never failed him yet. - -She passes along the passage leading to the staircase, and descends this -latter noiselessly. All is silent throughout the house as she lets -herself out of the front door and closes it softly behind her. Then she -sets off at a smart walk along the Crescent, and gaining a side street -turns down it. - -The street in question is more or less a mews, but as yet there are very -few signs of life within it. Léonie, however, seems quite at home in -this place, for she walks down it unhesitatingly, until at length she -comes to a halt opposite a stable door. - -Drawing a key from her pocket she unlocks this door and lets herself in. -There are some half-a-dozen horses tied up in an equal number of stalls, -and they greet her with neighs and a good deal of grunting and stamping -about. A rough shaggy-looking dog, with the coat and body of a -stag-hound, and the head and drooping ears of a bloodhound, rises from a -bed of hay in the corner of the stable, and comes up to her with wagging -tail and a doggy smile on his rough and shaggy face. She pats him -kindly. “Come on, Nero,” she says at the same time; “I shall want you.” -Then she goes to the corn bin and measures into the sieve a feed of -oats, which she takes over to a bay horse at the far end of the stable. -This produces a loud protest from the remaining five animals, which to -any one acquainted with horse language is unmistakable. - -Perhaps there is a kind corner in Léonie’s heart. Maybe it is only to -secure quiet. Who knows? But she fills up the sieve brimful once more, -and divides the oats amongst the five protesting animals. At any rate, -it gives them contentment for a while, judging by the crunching and -munching that goes on. - -A little harness-room adjoins the stable, and Léonie dives into this, -and unearths a neat light man’s saddle with grey girths and a pair of -bright small steels. The saddle is quickly girthed on to the bay horse, -and then a plain double snaffle is produced from the same quarter to be -slipped in the animal’s mouth directly he has finished his meal. Léonie -is anxious to be off before the stable men come in, which will be about -six o’clock. - -Consulting her watch, she sees it is nigh on half-past five. As the -clock chimes that hour the girl leads the horse out into the mews, -followed by Nero. Closing the stable door and locking it, she turns to -her steed, and gathering the reins in her left hand puts her foot in the -stirrup, and swings herself lightly on to his back. - -“Come on, Nero,” she calls again to the dog as she puts her horse into a -trot and leaves the mews behind her. - -Her course is taken for Waterloo Station. None whose gaze fall upon her -as she rides through the awakening streets, followed by her shaggy -companion, would take her for what she is, a female detective in the -employ of Mr. Trackem. But then a well-got-up detective ought to be -unrecognisable, and Léonie, the handsome, gentlemanly youth to all -appearance, _is_ well got up. - -On reaching Waterloo, Léonie sees to the boxing of her horse and dog. -She elects, too, to travel with them in the horse-box as far as -Bracknell, which place is reached at nine o’clock. Here the horse-box is -run into a siding. - -Léonie loses no time, for she knows that every moment is precious. She -sees to the unboxing of the horse, and before remounting him slips a -shilling into the porter’s hand. - -“How far is ‘The Hut’ from here?” she inquires as she does so. - -“What, the Duke of Ravensdale’s Hut, sir? Oh, nigh on two miles. But -there’s no one there, sir. It’s shut up; there’s only the forrester and -his wife.” - -“Just, the persons I want to see. You mean of course——, there now, the -name has quite slipped me,” exclaimed Léonie, with well-feigned -appearance of annoyance at the name having just that moment escaped her -memory. - -“Why, Miles Gripper, old Miles Gripper and his wife, sir,” puts in the -porter, eager to supply the young gentleman’s defective memory. “They -are well known to the country round, sir.” - -“Of course, of course; how stupid of me to forget!” answers Léonie -briskly. “Well, now, my man, just tell me how I must frame for ‘The -Hut.’” - -“Just cross that there bridge, sir,” explains the porter, pointing -upwards, “and bear away down to the right. Keep straight on that road, -sir, till you can’t go no further; there you’ll see a road going left -and right. Take the right turn, sir, and after that the next right turn -what ever is, and then stick to that road, and never mind any turns that -you see, until you come to two cross-roads, the left one with a -signboard directing to Aldershot. Don’t you go taking either of those -two turns, sir, but ride on another fifty yards, and you’ll see a small -wooden gate on the left. That leads to ‘The Hut’. It’s away in the -forest.” - -“Thank you, my man,” says Léonie politely. “I think I understand. I go -up over that, bridge, bear to the right, keep straight on till I must -turn right or left, then take the right turn, and the very next that is, -ride straight on until I reach the cross-roads, then about fifty yards -further, where a gate on the left leads up to ‘The Hut.’ Is that it? - -“Exact, sir. You couldn’t have it more exact, sir. If you follow those -directions you can’t mistake,” answers the porter glibly. The shilling -and the young gentleman’s whole appearance has impressed him. - -“Well, good-morning, my man, and many thanks,” says Léonie, as she -begins to move her horse away. She is surprised when the next moment the -porter comes up alongside her. - -“Beg pardon, sir, no offence, sir, but be you a friend of the duke?” - -Léonie is perplexed, but she answers evasively, “What do you want to -know that for, my man?” - -“Because,” answers the honest fellow with an eager look in his eyes, -“because, sir, I’ve been reading all about how the Government is -a-hunting of him and that great man Mr. Hector D’Estrange. Least they -say Mr. D’Estrange is a woman. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I don’t -see what it matters whether Mr. D’Estrange is a man or a woman, sir. -He’s the people’s friend, sir; he wants to help us poor folk. There is -no humbug about him, sir, and we love him for that, we do. If you know -them, can you tell me if they are safe, sir? Forgive a poor fellow -asking this, sir—but oh! I’d die for them, I would, sir!” - -The blood rushes to Léonie’s face. What is it that brings it there? -Perhaps a vague, undefined feeling of shame that she should be bent on -an errand so degrading with the true words of the honest working man -ringing in her ears. - -“Yes, they are safe,” she says hurriedly. “Here, take this, my man.” - -She throws him another shilling, and as he stoops to pick it up, she -puts her horse into a quick trot, and widens the distance between -herself and her interlocutor. What does Léonie know of goodness, -gratitude, or any high and noble virtue? In that young, cold, -calculating heart of hers, what room is there for devotion or love? She -wonders, as she rides along, why that man’s words brought that flush to -her face, and what that strange feeling was that made her heart beat and -her pulse throb. She puts it down to a fear that her object and mission -might be recognised. - -“I’m getting nervous, I believe,” she laughs to herself. “That will -never do. Mr. Trackem has always told me to be cool and self-possessed. -What a fool I was to let that man see he had flustered me! Léonie, you -are an idiot!” - -She tightens her horse’s rein, and just touches him lightly with her -heels as she speaks, and the animal breaks into a canter. Nero gallops -happily by her side. The dog is enjoying his outing in the country. Two -miles at this pace is quickly got over, but Léonie draws rein as she -reaches the cross-roads. To the left stands a signboard, and “Aldershot” -is written on it. - -“Fifty yards further on,” mutters the girl as she trots forward. The -porter’s directions are very exact; the wooden gate is before her. - -She rides through it, and enters a narrow carriage drive, closed in on -both sides by tall pine-trees. Thick rhododendron bushes fill up a few -open spaces here and there. The little road is steep and precipitous, -leading sharply upwards. Léonie throws the reins on her horse’s neck and -gives him his head. She has no fear that her four-footed friend will -stumble. Horse and rider know each other well. - -Suddenly, however, she picks up the reins and urges him forward. A -sudden thought has struck Léonie. She must not be caught napping. The -time has come to employ her detective wiles, and she acts on the impulse -that has seized her. Such a pace up such an incline is naturally trying -to her steed. Thus, when rounding a sharp turn in the forest road she -comes into full view of ‘The Hut,’ her animal’s sides are heaving pretty -freely, and he is decidedly blowing. - -She brings him up to the little front entrance at the same pace, and -reins him up abruptly. In another moment she has pealed the bell. - -She can hear a slight scuttling inside, and voices whispering, which -causes a delay not at all in keeping with her plans, so she peals the -bell again. - -Then steps come rapidly forward, and an elderly man in a dark green cord -suit and brass buttons opens the door. - -“I have a message for the Duke of Ravensdale,” exclaims Léonie in a low, -confidential voice. “You are Miles Gripper, are you not? Ask his Grace -if I can see him. It is of the utmost importance, admitting of no -delay.” - -Miles Gripper scratches his silver head and looks perplexed. He is a -faithful servant and an honest one. His instructions have keen most -specific. He has been told to feign absolute ignorance of the duke’s -movements or whereabouts, though he knows them well. But Léonie’s words -have staggered him. - -“Gracious!” he ejaculates. “But his Grace is not here, sir.” - -“Not here!” gasps Léonie, with well-feigned dismay. “Good God! what is -to be done?” - -“Is his Grace in danger?” blurts out the forrester tremulously. “Oh, -sir! what is it?” - -“Danger!” echoes Léonie. “I should just think so. Look here, my man, I -have come post-haste from London to see him. He must be warned, or both -he and Gloria de Lara will be in custody before the day is down. Can I -trust you to take his Grace a message? I was told you were a faithful -and trustworthy servant of his.” - -Miles Gripper is completely taken in. His honest heart bounds with -loyalty at Léonie’s words. - -“Ah, sir! and that’s just true. His Grace has no one more devoted than -old Miles Gripper. I’d give my life for his Grace, I would. But, God -forgive me, how can I take your message, sir, in time? He’s far from -here by now.” - -“What! far from here?” again gasps Léonie; “but not out of riding -distance, surely? Tell me where he is, and, tired as my horse is, I’ll -do all that is in human power to reach him. God grant I may not be too -late!” - -What does Léonie know of God? Still less does she care about Him. God, -to Léonie, is an expression, a forcible expression, and no more. The -expression serves her well on this occasion, however. Miles Gripper’s -honest heart is no match for detective acting. Believing that he is -serving the duke, he passes the secret, which he was bidden to keep, -into the care of this apparently devoted and self-sacrificing adherent -of his master. - -“And drat ye for a big-headed fool, when his Grace express forbade ye -say aught of his whereabouts save to the Lady Flora,” Léonie hears a -sharp, angry woman’s voice exclaiming. But she waits to hear no more. -She is on her horse, and trotting quickly down the hill with the secret -she had been puzzling her brains how to win, safe in her keeping. Small -wonder at Dame Gripper’s ire. - -“Come on, Nero, laddie,” laughs the girl detective. “I thought I should -want you, doggie, but I can do without you now. However, come along.” - -She rides back to the cross-roads and the signboard. On one of this -latter’s arms is printed “Marlow.” - -“That’s it,” she mutters to herself, as she turns her horse’s head into -the long straight road, which, girt on either side by tall dark trees, -stretches far as the eye can reach. “I’m safe on the track now, I am.” - -Léonie is happy. One of the most difficult obstacles in her path has -been lightly cleared, and quite unexpectedly too. Yes, she is happy, if -it be possible for one so hard and callous to be so. Perhaps the dawn of -a better day is coming for this child of an unholy love. As she rides -along in the bright spring morning however, with her rough dog galloping -by her side, she has no higher aim in life than to carry out -successfully the “little job” which Mr. Trackem has confided to her -care. - - - END OF BOOK II. - - - - -[Illustration] - - _BOOK III._ - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -It is the last day of summer, and the evening hour is creeping on apace. -A truly glorious day it has been, warmed by a brilliant sun, the heat of -which has been tempered by one of those gentle zephyrs that love to play -where all is warmth and sunshine. - -But now the day is dying, fading, as it were, gradually away. Time, -which the science of man can never stay, stalks slowly on his path. It -is he who declares that the spell of life which has lit the day with its -brilliance, must pass onward into the darkness of advancing night. - -For what is life but a greater day of warmth and sunshine, storm and -rain? What is death but the night which brings rest after the toils or -pleasures of that day? What is the future life beyond, but a new day -breaking into existence, perchance in a world more lovely than our own? - -So thinks Gloria de Lara as she leans on her oars and watches the dying -glories of this fading day vanish beneath the waves of the western sea. -The zephyr which has played so joyously amidst the light and sunshine of -earlier hours, has fled to his couch of rest, and now not a breath stirs -the glassy waters of Glenuig Bay, which, lit by the radiance of the -setting sun, blazes all around like a lake of molten gold. - -Above its gleaming waters and those of Loch Eilort tower heather-girt -mountains in their mantles of purple and of blue. Higher still above -these well-clad slopes the grey stone of shaggy crags looks down, and -higher yet above these lonely scenes the golden eagle hovers, secure -from the destroying hand of man. Not altogether lonely though, if one -may judge from a pale, thin line of smoke that suddenly curls upwards -through the still air from one of those high grey crags. It catches the -eye of Gloria de Lara as she leans upon her oars, and sends a flush of -surprise to her thoughtful, dreaming face. - -“So soon!” she exclaims, and there is a ring of wonder in her tone; but -she settles herself to her oars, and sends the boat along with quick, -powerful strokes. She has pointed its head for the open sea, straight, -in fact, for the channel that joins the heaving swell of the grey -Atlantic with the placid waters of Loch Eilort. - -Months have passed away since we were last in Gloria de Lara’s company. -We left her when the spring of the early year was just budding into -life, we rejoin her now on the eve of spring’s destroyer’s -advent—autumn. - -How has it fared through these months of light and sunshine with this -woman and her cause? A retrospect will show. - -We have seen how Léonie, on reaching ‘The Hut,’ had found it vacated, -and had ridden on in the direction of Great Marlow. Truth indeed, she -took the same route over which Gloria, Speranza, and Evie Ravensdale had -ridden the night before. No sooner had it been decided to quit ‘The -Hut,’ than Gloria had despatched Rita Vernon to London, to apprise Flora -Desmond of the change, and then she and her two companions had ridden on -in the darkness of night towards Great Marlow. On reaching the outskirts -of the town, the three had turned down a narrow lane leading in the -direction of Bisham Abbey woods, and Gloria, with a confidence which -familiarity with a place always engenders, had led the way. Finally, the -lane had opened into green fields with a line of bridle gates leading -through them, and these she had carefully followed for a time. At -length, however, Gloria had borne away from the beaten track, and -directed her horse’s head towards a long strip or belt of trees, at the -further end of which stood a solitary cottage with a large barn behind -it, and some compactly built dog-kennels in the rear. In one of the -windows of this lonely dwelling a solitary light was burning, a light -which told the fugitive in silent words of the faithful watch that was -being kept. - -Now this was the cottage of the head keeper of the Bisham Abbey estate, -both of whose daughters were troopers in the White Guards’ Regiment. The -entire family was loyal to Gloria de Lara’s cause, and this cottage was -one amidst many a dwelling of the people where Gloria knew she had only -to knock to gain admittance, only to show herself to obtain a loyal -greeting and hospitable and secure shelter from tracking foes. The -organisation which had thus contrived to spread a network of secret and -devoted friends throughout the length and breadth of the United Kingdom -of Great Britain and Ireland was surely no mean and contemptible one, -and spoke volumes for the constructive and administrative capacity of -Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond. In every county this network had its -headquarters in the Volunteer centres, with which communication was -actively kept up by means of a code peculiar to this organisation. - -Against these forces of a people’s love the Government had brought to -bear the forces of the law. All that money and power could procure were -at this Government’s command. And yet the difficulty of working had -become pretty soon apparent, amidst a people whose lips refused to tell, -and whose eyes became blinded by a sudden cloud whenever information was -sought or demanded. In order to guard against the importation of -informers into the Volunteer ranks, Flora Desmond had issued an order to -the effect that no more aspirants were to be enrolled, an order which -greatly hampered and took by surprise the forces of Scotland Yard, which -had counted on informers’ assistance to a large degree in obtaining -information. - -It was at the cottage, therefore, of staunch, true, old Joe Webster, -that Gloria had sought her first refuge amongst the people, after her -flight from the metropolis. It was from the same cottage that Speranza -had bidden her child farewell before setting out on her voyage to the -United States, as an accredited delegate to plead the D’Estrangeite -cause. It was at this cottage that Flora Desmond had secretly held -council with her chief, and had arranged the details of the first public -meeting at which Gloria was to appear. And it was at old Joe Webster’s -cottage, too, that Léonie, in pursuit of the _rôle_ which Mr. Trackem -had set her to play, had presented herself before Gloria, and -representing herself as one who had left home and interests to serve the -great cause, had implored Gloria de Lara not to refuse her services, but -to let her work for her even in the most menial capacity. - -The bright, earnest face of the girl, her dark eyes glowing with genius, -her pleading voice and apparent enthusiasm, had struck home to Gloria de -Lara’s heart, the noble nature of which could not suspect treachery to -lurk beneath such evident devotion. Léonie’s prayer had been heard by -the woman who trusted her, and on whose betrayal and destruction she was -bent. The first great meeting had been one of unlimited success for the -D’Estrangeite cause, and therefore of proportionate discomfiture and -humiliation for the Government. In the crowded Hall of Liberty, the -D’Estrangeite members had assembled to protest against the assumption by -the Nationals of the conduct of affairs without first making an appeal -to the country, and also to call for a free pardon for Flora Desmond, -and a fresh trial for Gloria de Lara. Government reporters had attended -and taken voluminous notes of the speeches, policemen and detectives had -assembled in full force by command of Mr. Mayhew, and established a -strict watch. Proceedings, in fact, were in full swing, and it only -needed the presence of one being on whom the thoughts of all were -centred in that vast throng, to complete the assembly. Suddenly, upon -the lowest of the six circular galleries that surrounded the dome of the -hall, two forms were seen to appear. No need in pointing them out to -inquire who they were. The low cheer which greeted their first -appearance, soon swelled into a roar of wild, tumultuous applause and -welcome, which flooded the vast building with deafening strain, and told -of the enthusiasm and love that awoke it. What other being but Gloria de -Lara could have commanded such an ovation? Truth it was she and her -trusty companion Flora Desmond, who stood before them, habited in the -uniform of the White Guards’ Regiment, in which the people knew them -both so well. - -In full view of the crowded House, in full view of the D’Estrangeite -members, in full view of Government reporters, and Mr. Mayhew’s police -and detective forces, Gloria had addressed the vast throng. Spellbound -the people had listened to her words of hope, of encouragement, and of -cheer. And when, in conclusion, she had bidden them fight on for the -right, and actively resist wrong, the cheers had rung out again and -again with deafening roar. Yet even as those cheers began to die away -and the people’s eyes turn lovingly once more to their great leader, -Gloria and her companion had vanished. - -And what had Mr. Mayhew’s police been about? Why had they not arrested -these daring two? How possible? The only means by which the galleries -above could be reached, was through some twenty iron doors below. Yet -when the police sought an entry, they found these doors securely barred -by an invisible hand from within. - -Of course a cordon of constables had been quickly drawn around the -building, and detectives had watched anxiously day and night. Futile! as -it soon became evident, when news reached the Government a few days -later that Gloria de Lara had addressed a meeting in the north of -England, that the police and troops hastily summoned had attempted to -arrest her, but that, securely guarded by the Women’s Border Light Horse -Volunteers, she had managed to effect an escape, and no trace of her -whereabouts had up till then been obtained. Energetic authorities, -however, took care to cap this unwelcome intelligence with the -information that the police were prosecuting an unremitting search! _Cui -bono?_ - -Meeting upon meeting had followed; concourse after concourse had -assembled. Simultaneously they would be heard of in the north, south, -east, and west of England, of Scotland, or of Ireland. No public -placards or advertisements announced these meetings, and yet they were -always well attended. It seemed as though some secret, mysteriously -silent fiery cross passed through the districts in which they were held. -But the authorities could not say for certain; they could only surmise. -Machinery was at work beneath the surface which they had no power to -fathom. The speakers at these meetings were manifold and various. The -D’Estrangeite members were particularly active, but after Gloria de Lara -and Flora Desmond, the people’s favourites were undoubtedly the Duke of -Ravensdale, Nigel Estcourt, Lady Manderton, Launcelot Trevor, Archie -Douglasdale, and Jack Delamere! Wonder of wonders! What! Colonel -Delamere? The swagger Guardsman, the spoilt child of Society, the man -whose life had hitherto been one long succession of amusement and -pleasure? Is it possible? Quite so. There is no impossibility when -Nature steps in to the rescue. - -What influence has been at work thus to change the current of Jack -Delamere’s pleasant but useless existence? What has induced him to take -up the cudgels for Gloria de Lara’s cause? Ay, what? - -Ever since that evening when, in obedience to orders, Jack Delamere had -charged the crowd which barred the way between his Blues and the White -Guards, ever since that day when he had marked the heroism of those men -and women that composed it, ever since he had seen them go down before -the horses of his troopers, sacrificing their lives so that their idol’s -might be spared, Jack Delamere had been a faithful and devoted adherent -of the D’Estrangeite cause. Perhaps, too, his love for Flora Desmond may -have influenced him. Who knows? The influence of a noble and high-souled -woman is surely the greatest incentive a man can have to do right. - -Money, too, had poured in from all quarters of the globe, and from all -manners and classes of people. The women, who in the palmy days of -Hector D’Estrange had responded to his appeal on behalf of the Hall of -Liberty, had not been laggard when the author of its being had again -called upon them for sympathy and aid. The sinews of war had flowed in -rapidly, and none had commanded it more quickly than Speranza de Lara. - -Such a state of things had of course become intolerable to the -Devonsmere Ministry, which in the early days of the movement had so -confidently predicted its speedy collapse, as well as the arrest of -Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond. Every effort to capture these two had, -however, proved unavailing, protected as they had been by a people’s -love. - -A people’s love! It was a noble gift to have won, a treasure of which -they might well be proud, one which they might surely pray ever to -deserve. None knew better than Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, that -without it their fates must long since have been a prison’s cell and a -felon’s doom. - -In the eyes of this Government matters had become desperate. The efforts -of the police had been paralysed. Conflicts had taken place between the -military and the Women’s Volunteer Regiments, and strong measures -appeared necessary to check the disorders. Gloria de Lara’s enemies had -pointed to the Volunteer organisation as the root of the mischief, and -it had been resolved to destroy it. Parliament had been asked to grant -exceptional powers to meet this dangerous combination. Parliament had -acquiesced, and forthwith a proclamation had been issued declaring the -Women’s Volunteer organisation to be illegal, and decreeing the instant -disbandment of its regiments. The exceptional powers had furthermore -empowered the police to arrest and imprison without trial all women who -should be seen wearing the uniform of these regiments; and it had -likewise been decreed a felony to shelter or harbour the persons of -Gloria de Lara or Lady Flora Desmond, or to take part in any public -meeting in which they should participate. - -This Coercion Act, the first which had ever been passed for Great -Britain and Ireland combined, had rendered the position of Gloria de -Lara and Flora Desmond one of extreme peril, while threatening the -liberties of thousands of their countrymen. A secret meeting had been -called, the situation discussed, and it had been agreed that for the -sake of the cause thus threatened these two must leave the country. - -But how? That was the question. Every port and sea-going vessel was -strictly watched. In this dilemma Archie Douglasdale had submitted a -plan. - -This plan was that his sister and Gloria de Lara, together with Nigel -Estcourt and himself, should retire to one of his properties on the -shores of Glenuig Bay, where amidst its shaggy woods nestled a little -fishing box, remote from the haunts of man. In this lonely retreat, -guarded by trusty Ruglen retainers, he had declared his belief that for -a time they could rest concealed, while Evie Ravensdale, repairing to -London, should from there direct the immediate fitting-out of his yacht, -in which, so soon as ready, he should put to sea, and work round to the -Sound of Arisaig, where the fugitives could be embarked. And this plan -had been approved of and acted upon. Gloria de Lara, Flora Desmond, -Nigel Estcourt, and Archie Douglasdale had taken up their quarters in -this safe retreat, and Evie Ravensdale had repaired to London. With him -had gone Léonie, who had been commissioned to bear back the duke’s -instructions when all was ready. It was a fatal arrangement this last; -but Léonie had played her part well, and had won the confidence of all. -Thus it is that we find Gloria de Lara on the last dying day of summer, -amidst the scenes described at the opening of this chapter. - -Léonie has arrived from London. She has been instructed, she declares, -to inform Gloria de Lara that the duke’s yacht _Eilean_ will proceed to -sea and cruise about in the neighbourhood of Muck Island, so as to avoid -the steamer track. The duke himself will make Glenuig Bay in a fishing -smack, embarking every one thereon the day after his arrival. This -arrival is timed for to-day, and Evie Ravensdale has sent a private -message by Léonie asking Gloria to meet the smack at its entrance to the -bay. At least so says Léonie, and Gloria believes her. She has sent the -former to the top of a high crag to watch for the advent of the smack, -with instructions to light a warning fire on sighting it. We have seen -the pale blue line arise, and now Gloria, with quick, rapid strokes, is -pulling for the bay’s entrance. Her heart is happy, for is not Evie -Ravensdale at hand? She never dreams of treachery. - -The boat flies through the water, which parts with hissing sound on -either side of the bow’s keel. Now the splash and upheaving of the craft -tells the rower that she has left the bay and entered the open sea. She -casts a glance ahead, and sees the smack bearing down towards her, and -then she sees the sail lowered and the vessel hove to. Once more she -plies her oars, for she has caught sight of a tall figure waving to her, -and making signs to bring the boat alongside the smack. - -“Ship oars!” she hears a voice exclaiming as she nears it, and she obeys -with alacrity. - -In another moment a sailor has seized the painter, and two others have -sprung into the boat. She looks up expecting to see the face of Evie -Ravensdale. One glance, and she knows that she is betrayed. - -“Up with the sails! Starboard the helm! Put the boat about, and fetch -yon lad off the rocks,” is the quick command she hears given as the -sailors heave her aloft on to the deck, and two other men push her into -the cabin below. Then the hatch is battened down. There is a coarse -laugh. Once more has Léonie won. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER II. - - -“There is the smoke, Estcourt; Ravensdale must be in sight,” exclaims -Flora Desmond, as she leans on her empty rifle and scans the peaceful -scene far away below. - -“So soon?” inquires the young man looking up. “We must have strangely -miscalculated the time.” - -“Well, there’s the smoke right enough, Estcourt; and Léonie is far too -smart to make a mistake. However, no need to hurry; it is such a -glorious evening, and the last for me on these dear old hills, perhaps -for ever.” - -She says the last words sadly, and there is a yearning look in her fine -eyes as they rove the familiar glens and corries, rugged crags and -purple stretches which she and Archie Douglasdale learnt to know by -heart in childhood, in their happy hunting excursions together long ago. -Far away below, Loch Eilort and Glenuig Bay shimmer in the setting sun, -whose light is gleaming across the grey waters of the open sea. - -These two have been away all day after deer, and Archie Douglasdale is -still absent on the same quest. They have not seen him since they parted -with him on the Black Crags some seven hours ago. - -Lord Estcourt rises and comes to her side. He is a tall, well-made man, -with expressive features, and a pair of grey eyes which Society has -declared to be magnificent. Plenty of women therein have been willing to -fall in love with Nigel Estcourt; no end of scheming and would-be -mothers-in-law have instructed their daughters in the virtues, wealth, -and charming characteristics of that very nice young fellow, and charged -the poor things to exert their utmost to win him. But Nigel Estcourt has -never yet been seen to pay court to any woman, and Fashion marvels -thereat. But since he was a boy of seventeen he has held love’s secret -next his heart. It was at Ruglen Manor, long ago, when, as a mere lad, -he first saw Flora Ruglen, that Nigel Estcourt first opened the book of -love. It was to him that she, his first girl friend, had opened her -heart, and it was to her that his boyish soul had responded. Born with a -golden spoon in his mouth, with all that the world most covets, it was -but natural that Fashion should court him. But Nigel Estcourt was not -responsive to its adulation, and snubbed it most unmercifully. - -When Flora Ruglen had married Sir Reginald Desmond, young Nigel had -sorely grieved; but his friendship for her had not abated, for he loved -her just the same. He was still only a boy, of course, and no one would -have seriously predicted that this, his first love, would be his last. - -Other men had loved Flora Desmond, and love her still. She has had no -lack of offers since poor Reggie Desmond died. Over and over again has -smart Jack Delamere pressed his suit. He has never loved any woman like -he does her, but he presses his suit in vain; for gently, kindly but -firmly, Flora Desmond has told him that she will never marry again. She -had told Estcourt the same thing when for the first time, now three -years ago, he had confessed his love and asked her to marry him. She had -told him then that he must put that love from him for ever, for the -reply which she then gave him would remain unchanged. Yet, with tears in -her lovely eyes, Flora had told him also how deeply she valued his -friendship, how grateful and honoured she felt by his love, and how she -prayed that the strong, firm bond which had held them together so long, -since as boy and girl they had first made friends, would endure through -life. Perhaps if one thing had not happened, Flora Desmond might have -returned young Estcourt’s love. Perhaps if the wand of fate had not -decreed otherwise, her heart might have gone out to him. It seemed -almost natural that she should love him, he who had received her -earliest confidences and been her first friend. But one thing had -intervened to make this impossible. Flora Desmond loved another. - -Some women can love much and often, some can almost adore, and then -forget. To Flora this was impossible. Hers was a heart which could not -lightly love, which, slow to appreciate, would nevertheless, when once -unlocked, love truly, faithfully, and well. And thus it had been with -this woman so seemingly love free. For years ago that feeling had -flooded her heart, had taken possession of her, never to pass away, when -as Lady Flora Desmond, but a year after her marriage, she had seen Evie -Ravensdale for the first time. - -Who shall describe or fathom the depth of a true and pure love? None -have been able to do so yet, none ever will. Flora’s love was such as -asked for no return, content only to be allowed to love. - -And yet, who knows that there may not have shot, now and again, through -Flora’s heart when, after the death of Reginald Desmond, she and Evie -Ravensdale were thrown often into each other’s company, a gleam of hope -that her love might in time come to be returned? It may have been so; -but if so, it vanished finally and for ever when the personality of -Hector D’Estrange was revealed in Gloria de Lara. Unmistakably on that -evening when she had rescued this latter from the prison-van and had -handed her into Evie Ravensdale’s safe keeping at Montragee House, Flora -Desmond had read in the dark and beautiful eyes of the young duke the -secret of his heart. - -It never entered her mind to cavil at his choice or to resent it. No -pang of jealousy had shot through her heart against the woman to whom -his love had been clearly given. Only, when she had read his secret, had -the feeling rushed over her that the love which she had nursed and -cherished for so long, was imperishable and impossible of recall. - -Not that she wished or sought to recall it. Flora would have sooner died -than part with the first true love of her life; it was to her a treasure -that she prized beyond expression, priceless to her in value. He lays -his right hand on her shoulder for a moment as he stands by her side, -and she feels it tremble. - -“It is a day I shall never forget, Flora,” he says gently; “I have been -very happy. It will be something for your old friend to look back upon, -when you are far away.” - -“What do you mean Estcourt?” she inquires hastily. “But you are coming -with us?” - -“No,” he answers decisively. “I have other work to do. I shall never -rest till I have obtained for you the pardon that will extricate you -from this outlawed life. I can be of use to you by remaining, I have -some influence still in high quarters, and I could do you no good by -going to America. Of course I should like to go; you know, Flora, I am -never so happy as when I am with you, but I don’t mean to think of _Ego_ -on this occasion.” - -The tears rise to her eyes. - -“I shall miss you, Estcourt, dear old Estcourt,” she says softly; and -then her hand steals into his, and he feels the grateful pressure in its -firm touch. - -The blood rushes to the young man’s face, for that touch thrills him -through and through, though the ring in her voice tells him that -affection, and affection only, not love, is there. - -“You’ll never miss me as I shall you,” he answers passionately. “Ah, -Flora! you don’t know the dull, blank void that comes over me when you -are not by; you don’t understand the lonely feeling that masters me, the -yearning to see your dear face again. Of course, Flora, you cannot -understand what I suffer, for I don’t believe you know what love means. -I have often heard you called ‘the cold Lady Flora.’ I begin to believe -you are rightly named.” - -It is her turn to flush now, but she turns her head away that he may not -see the hot blood in her cheeks. Evie Ravensdale’s face is before her in -imagination. She sees the dear, dark, dreamy eyes, the clear-cut -features, the beautiful forehead around which the raven curls are -clustering; she sees him as plainly as though he stood before her, for -is not his presence burnt into her mind with the exactitude of reality? -She loves him with all her heart, and power, and soul, and mind. No -sacrifice for his sake would seem hard. To die that he might live would -be a joy. If Flora Desmond does not know what love means, then who does? - -But Estcourt can only judge by what he sees. He knows she has rejected -the love of many men. There is no one, save himself, to whom she appears -to give a preference, and has she not told him that she can never marry -him? Is he not justified in his conclusions, therefore? Perhaps so. Few -men have ever been able to read a woman right. - -She pulls herself together, however, and turns his remark off with a -jest. - -“Cold am I, Estcourt? An iceberg, probably! I almost think so, too, for -it’s actually beginning to feel chilly up here. How blood-red the sun -has turned. Mark my words; we are in for a storm this evening, and I -doubt any embarkation being possible to-morrow. I know these old shores -well.” - -“If you are chilly, Flora,” he says almost bitterly, “we had better make -haste down the Crag Vale. It would not do for you to catch cold.” Her -evident desire to turn the conversation has not escaped him. It hurts -him, and he shows it. - -She marks the bitter tone of his voice. Flora knows Estcourt so well. A -woman can generally read a man pretty correctly if she chooses to; of a -certainty if the man loves her. - -She faces him suddenly with the glow of the blood-red sun lighting up -her handsome face. She is earnest in what she is going to say, and she -looks it. - -“Estcourt, dear old Estcourt, let there be no misunderstanding between -us two, and on the eve of parting. This may be the last opportunity of -telling you what I wish to. Don’t gibe me as cold and heartless, for it -is not true, not true. Do I not know how chivalrously and devotedly you -have loved me, and am I not grateful to you for your noble and generous -love? Why should I ask the question, because you know it? You know I -would not speak untruly, and I tell you that your love is very precious -to me, and I value your great friendship more than anybody else’s in -this world. Were you not my first friend? Am I likely to forget that? -But, Estcourt, dear old man, you must not throw your love away on me, -for I shall never marry again. I shall always look on you as my first, -best, and truest friend, and love you dearly, very dearly as such, but I -can never marry again—no, Estcourt, never!” - -“Nor I,” he answers quietly, with a sad smile. “You are hardly the woman -to bid a man marry where he does not love. Flora, I have loved you ever -since I first saw you; I shall never love any one else but you. At least -you will do me the justice to believe that I am as unalterable as you -are. Let us never bring this subject up again. Let it bide by the Crag -Vale Cairn.” - -He kisses her hand tenderly and respectfully, and then he lets it fall. - -“Let’s go down now, Flora dear,” he says gently. “I wonder why -Ravensdale’s smack has not turned the point yet. It ought to be round by -now if Léonie were right.” - -“I’ll back her to be right,” answers Flora, with a slight laugh. “She’s -not likely to mislead Gloria, who, by-the-bye, I saw turning the point -in her coracle quite ten minutes ago. They’ll be round in a second, I -daresay.” - -The two scramble down the rough face of the mountain side in silence. -The thoughts of both are busy. Suddenly, however, Estcourt brings -himself to a halt and calls out to Flora, who is a little ahead of him, - -“Flora! who can that be?” - -Her eyes follow the direction in which his hand points, and she sees a -four-oared boat coming out of Loch Eilort into the Sound of Arisaig at a -rapid pace, and heading for Glenuig Bay. - -“It must be Archie,” she calls back. “I suppose he got to the far end of -the lake, and has come back by water. The boat is Bruce Ruglen’s, and -the oarsmen are his four sons. I know it and them well.” - -He comes running down to where she is standing. - -“Flora dear,” he says quickly, “use your eyes. The man in the stern is -not Douglasdale. It’s Evie, as I live! What can Léonie have meant, and -why does not Gloria come back? Surely there cannot have been treachery? -My God! surely not?” - -But Flora never stops to surmise. Her face is deadly pale, and she has -turned at his words, and is hurrying with fleet steps down the mountain -side, with Estcourt following quickly in the rear. Fast, faster she -goes. Flora Desmond is as nimble as a deer. No monstrous, tied-back -petticoats encumber her. She is habited in the neat, graceful kilt in -the tartan of her brother’s clan and her own, which suits to perfection -her supple, well-made form. In it she is free to use the physical powers -which Nature has given her, and which she has never sought to stunt or -to curtail. - -She makes straight for the shore, and as she moves along she loads her -rifle. Then as she reaches the water’s edge she fires it off. - -This attracts the inmates of the boat. They look her way, and perceive -that she is signalling to them to come in shore. In a moment Evie -Ravensdale has turned the boat’s nose in her direction, and she sees -that he is urging the oarsmen to exert their utmost. - -The men endeavour to obey; they bend their backs, and send the boat -hissing through the still waters. Foam flakelets fly before the racing -keel propelled by irresistible force, and yet to Flora Desmond it -appears to come but slowly. - -“Back water, men!” she shouts, as the boat nears the shore. “Don’t beach -her. I want to push her off and jump in.” - -Estcourt is beside her now, and they are both up to their knees in the -water. The men are resting on their oars as the boat glides slowly -forward. - -But Flora and Estcourt have it by the prow. - -“Now, Estcourt, push off!” exclaims the former, as bending chest -downwards she arrests its course. The edge of her kilt in front sinks -into the water, in another moment her knee is on the boat’s edge, and -she is standing in the bow with her companion by her side. - -“Evie!” she exclaims, in a low excited voice, “how is it you have come -this way? Is anything wrong? We expected you in a smack, and Gloria has -gone to meet you.” - -“A smack!” gasps the young duke. “What do you mean?” - -But she does not answer him. She has turned, and is addressing the four -clansmen. - -“Ruglens,” she says quickly, “pull to the point for your lives! Pull -men, pull; pull with the strength God gave you. God in heaven, pull!” - -They answer to her appeal, do these young giants. Do they not know her -well? Is she not a Ruglen? Are they not Ruglens too? Have they not as -children played with their young chief and his sister, joined in their -rambles, mingled with their sports? Well do these Highland laddies -understand her quick command, understand it and obey. She has crossed to -the stern, where the duke sits staring mutely at her. - -“Give me the helm, Evie,” she says quietly. “I can steer the shortest -cut. Don’t look like that, Evie; it may be all a mistake.” - -But her voice tells him she does not think so. - -The boat tears through the water; the clansmen are doing their best. -There is not a word spoken. Only the splash of the oars, the dull thud -of the twisting rowlocks, the hiss of the boat’s keel, break the -stillness of Glenuig’s Bay. - -They have reached the point now. Four more gallant strokes from the men -whose brows are thickly studded with the bead drops of extraordinary -toil, and the boat rises on the first rolling swell of the open sea. - -The smack is there; it catches the straining eyes of Evie Ravensdale, as -he springs up and gazes across the great grey ocean waste. To her dying -day Flora will never forget the terrible groan of agony which bursts -from him. - -Ay, the smack is there, but they come too late. The brown sail is -spread, it is already far away, vanishing into the creeping, dull, dark -veil of the advancing night and rising storm. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER III. - - -“All shall come right, everything shall be explained; you shall have -immediate liberty, if, on behalf of your mother, you will promise me -what I ask. I know perfectly well she will do it if _you_ ask her. Now -will you?” - -The speaker is a middle-aged man, with deep, dark eyes, handsome -features, and bold, resolute carriage. Grey hairs peep here and there -from out his thick beard, moustache, and whiskers, and there are grey -hairs in his once raven hair. He is dressed in a navy-blue serge suit, -and wears the buttons of the royal yacht squadron. - -To all appearance the person he is addressing is a young man of some -twenty-three or twenty-four summers. He is tall, and slight, with a face -of extreme beauty. He has rich gold-auburn hair, and his eyes are deep -blue in colour. Nothing will compare with them but the sapphire. - -He wears a well-fitting shepherd’s plaid kilt, stockings to match, and -silver mounted brogues. A loose white flannel shirt and waistcoat and -jacket complete his attire. - -“I will not,” is the stern, cold reply which he gives to the speaker’s -query. - -This latter grinds his teeth, but checks the rising anger within him, -and speaks once more in a persuasive, almost pleading voice. - -“Think again. Consider all that depends on your decision. After all, my -request is perfectly honourable. I simply ask that she shall consent to -re-marry me.” - -“Great God! and you call that an honourable request, Lord Westray? You -think it a simple matter, that my mother should wed again my father’s -murderer? I tell you a death of hideous torture would be more preferable -to me, than that a fate so awful should befall her. Cease, I pray you, -this subject. I have but one answer to your hateful proposal, and that -is, no!” - -“Have you weighed well in your mind the fate that awaits you, Hector -D’Estrange, if you persist in this refusal?” asks Lord Westray -threateningly. - -“My name is Gloria de Lara, my lord, not Hector D’Estrange, as I think -you know full well. The fate that awaits me I fully realise. I am -condemned to death for a murder never committed; I am to die that your -vile vengeance on my beloved mother may be fully wreaked. Do your worst. -I do not fear death; and my mother will bear the blow as bravely and as -nobly as she has borne others.” - -She folds her arms proudly, and there is a world of scorn in her -beautiful eyes as she fixes them on the cowardly brute before her. A -wild gust of wind shrieks angrily above board as the smack rises and -plunges in the trough of a choppy sea. The blood-red sun has vanished, -an inky darkness has set in, and the wind is rapidly increasing from a -fresh breeze into a regular fierce and nasty gale. - -Lord Westray staggers, and almost reels up against her as the smack -lurches forward on the crest of a more than usually excitable wave. -There is a rush of feet on deck, and men’s voices are heard shouting -above the noisy wind. She starts back from him in horror; she would not -touch him for the world. His very presence in the close, stuffy little -cabin seems to stifle her. Gladly would she seek an asylum in the -ocean’s angry waves, and trust to Fate to enable her to reach the shore, -or die. - -The cabin door opens, and the skipper peers in. - -“Beg pardon, sir,” he says, touching his oil-skin cap, “but I must put -to sea, sir, I must. We’re in for a regular duster. I daren’t coast no -longer, sir. It’s pitch black, and the shore for miles along is almighty -dangerous.” - -“I’ll come on deck, Hutchins,” answers Lord Westray quickly. He is a -good sailor, but the intelligence does not please him. As he turns to -leave the cabin Léonie steals in. She is drenched with sea water, and -her hair is wringing wet. As she seats herself in a corner of the cabin -she glances shyly at Gloria. This latter returns the look with one of -mingled pity and contempt. Léonie’s eyes drop before that look. For the -first time in her life a feeling of shame rushes over her. - -“This is a terrible storm,” she says in a low voice, as a wave crashes -along the deck, part of it finding its way into the cabin. “I heard one -of the men say he did not think the boat would weather it.” - -“God grant it may not!” answers Gloria sternly, and then, as if -influenced by a sudden impulse, she continues gently, “Ah! Léonie, -child, what could have tempted you to act so basely? What have I ever -done to you that you should treat me thus?” - -“I did my duty,” answers the girl sullenly. “I did what I was ordered to -do. It is my trade.” - -“Your trade, child? Good heavens! what are you, and who ordered you to -betray me?” - -“My master, Mr. Trackem,” answers Léonie, simply. “I belong to his -detective gang. I’ve served him ever since I can remember. I’ve never -failed him yet, and he told me not to fail him this time. I promised I -would not, and I have obeyed him.” - -There is an evident sincerity in her tone, and Gloria, with her power of -deep insight into character, reads Léonie’s at a glance. - -“Have you no mother, no father, my poor Léonie?” she inquires softly, as -she comes over to the girl’s side, and lays her hand on her curly head. - -“Mother, father? No, of course not,” answers Léonie, with a slight -laugh. “They are both dead. Mr. Trackem always says he’s acted father, -mother, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, and cousin by me. I don’t quite -know what he means by that, but that is what he says.” - -“Poor Léonie, poor wee Léonie. God! what a fate! You are not to blame -them, my poor child. Ah! how fully I forgive you,” says Gloria, as with -a sudden impulse she stoops and kisses the girl who has betrayed her, on -the cheek. Only another revelation has come to her from that cesspool of -Modern Babylon; only another fearful wrong unknown, unstudied, and -unforbidden, brought to light. - -Léonie looks up quickly. There is a queer expression in her intelligent -eyes. - -“Why do you kiss me? Why do you speak so kindly? Why do you forgive me -for betraying you?” she inquires rather eagerly. - -“Because I believe in God,” answers Gloria gently. - -“God! Why, Mr. Trackem always laughs at God,” interposes Léonie, with a -shrug of her shoulders. “He always tells me that God is an invention of -the devil, and all clergymen and priests are fallen angels.” - -“Oh, hush, Léonie; hush, my poor, poor child! This is terrible. Do not -talk in that awful way,” and the tears start trembling to Gloria’s -lovely eyes. “Léonie, God is good; He is our friend, He helps those who -pray to Him. If we die to-night we shall be brought face to face with -Him.” - -“I don’t understand what you mean,” answers the girl quietly, “but I do -know this. I expected abuse and reproaches from you, but I have received -only kindness, forgiveness, and gentle words. You have kissed me, and no -one has ever done that before. I am sorry now I betrayed you. Yes, I am; -and I will try and save you if I can—unless, unless we are drowned -to-night. Do you think we shall be drowned? You can swim, I know, but I -can’t. Mr. Trackem never taught me how to do that.” - -“If it comes to swimming I will do my best to help you, Léonie, at least -so long as God gives me strength to do so,” answers Gloria quietly. - -Again Léonie looks up. In her untrained, untutored mind Nature is -beginning to assert its sway, and gratitude knocks gently at her heart. - -“You would do that for me, would you? You would try to save my life, -after what I have done to you? Did God teach you that?” she asks with a -quivering voice. - -“Yes, Léonie.” - -“Then I love God, and I love you. May I give you a kiss, just as you -kissed me? I want to show you how I love you,” cries Léonie, with a half -sob. “No one has ever been kind to me like this before.” - -She rises as she speaks, and takes one of Gloria’s hands. This latter is -almost startled by the extraordinary likeness which for a brief moment -sweeps across the girl’s features, a likeness to Bernie Fontenoy. - -There is a terrible crash overhead. It sounds like falling timber. -Again, a rush of feet, and Gloria and Léonie hear the skipper’s voice -raised in loud command. - -“He is ordering out the boat, Léonie. That must have been the mast that -went with that crash. I can feel by the movement of the ship that she’s -helpless. We shall drift on the rocks, and then she’ll soon break up,” -exclaims Gloria, almost eagerly. - -“Then we shall be drowned,” answers her companion in a quiet, composed -voice. “I’m not afraid. I think I should have been if this had happened -yesterday, but I am not now.” - -She stops suddenly as the cabin door creaks open to admit Lord Westray. - -He looks flurried and anxious, but his glance at once seeks Gloria. - -“The smack is practically a wreck,” he says quickly, “and we are going -to take to the boat. I will save you if you will promise me what I asked -you.” - -“Go!” cries Gloria sternly. “Now you know that I will die rather than do -so. Go, bad man! and may God have mercy on you.” - -He looks at her furiously. But there is no time for arguing; the skipper -is calling to him to hurry. - -“So be it,” he bursts out, with a coarse laugh. “Your blood be on your -own head. I’ll leave you, and save the gallows the trouble of hanging -you. Come on, girl.” - -These last words are addressed to Léonie. - -“What! go with you, and leave her? I’ll drown rather!” exclaims Léonie, -with a contemptuous laugh. - -“Drown like a rat, then,” he says with an oath, as he bangs the door and -leaves them. They hear him scrambling up the little companion ladder, -they hear his voice shouting to the skipper, but the wind shrieks -louder, and the howl of the tempest drowns all other sounds. - -Again there is a rush of water along the deck, a hissing and washing -sound, as the huge wave which has occasioned it tears madly on its -course, part of it bursting open the cabin door, and flooding the floor -on which Gloria and Léonie are standing. - -“We must get on deck, Léonie; we can’t stay here, child. Here, take hold -of my hand; we must keep together,” exclaims Gloria in a quick, -peremptory voice. - -They are half-blinded by the thick spray which sweeps in their faces as -they stagger up the ladder, clinging like grim death to the rails. It is -pitch dark, not the faintest gleam of light gives them the smallest -indication of their whereabouts, only the white foam of the towering -billows now and again flashes across their aching eyes, blinded by the -salt sea water. - -Plenty of wreckage is floating about on the deck, and amongst it a -life-belt knocks up against one of Gloria’s ankles. With a pleased -exclamation she at once secures it, and proceeds to slip it over -Léonie’s shoulders. - -“If this poor wreck founders,” she explains as she does so, “this will -keep you afloat, child. I am glad I saw it.” - -“But you,” says Léonie quickly; “you have not one.” - -“Never mind me, child. You forget that I can swim. If we manage to stick -together, this belt will be a great help to me, as you will see. And -now, Léonie, we can do nothing but cling to these rails and trust in -God. Keep a good look out for the waves. When you see one rushing this -way don’t try and stand up against it, it will only knock you backwards, -but bend yourself, hold your breath, and put your head through it. -Quick, have a care, child!” She utters these last words in a sharp -warning tone as she tightens her grasp on Léonie’s hand. A dense dark -wall seems to tower above them, a swirl and a rush is all she hears as a -monster wave envelops her and Léonie in its folds. It tears the rail, to -which her left hand clings, from her grasp. She feels herself lifted up -like a straw, and borne forward by the resistless rush and volume of -water. With the desperation of death in her clutch, her right hand still -grips the still, cold fingers of her young companion, whose grasp has -slackened altogether. A floating spar strikes her with some force. She -clutches at it, but it sweeps past her, and is gone as the wave carries -her ever onwards. - -A sudden ebb in the resistless current as if by magic arrests her -course. She feels herself dragged back along the line she has come. Then -the volume of water abruptly leaves her, and her feet touch the deck -again. - -Gloria is up in a moment; she knows there is not a minute to spare. In -her present position another such a billow would sweep her clear of the -smack altogether into the raging sea. - -“Jump up, Léonie!” she shouts, but Léonie never stirs. As Gloria tugs at -her arm to try and arouse her, she knows by the dead weight of the -girl’s body that Léonie is either dead or insensible. - -With a supreme effort she raises the now helpless girl in her arms, and -staggers forward to the cabin with her burden. A wave strikes her as she -reaches it, and dashes her once more to the ground. For a second time -she is swept like a straw along the deck, and for the second time the -ebb arrests her progress, and leaves her in the same position as before. - -“Oh God!” she gasps, “how long? This is indeed a living death.” - -She still grasps the stiff, clammy fingers of the helpless girl, but -hope has left her. She only now wishes that death may come, and come -quickly. - -There is a wild shriek ahead. It rises high above the wind’s roar. Then -a ghastly, unearthly sound comes out of the blackness of night. Even on -death’s threshold it awakes to attention the senses of Gloria de Lara. -Through the blinding spray she strains the last glance on life which she -feels is left to her. High above, like a huge black mountain rising -suddenly out of the sea, looms a gigantic apparition. It towers above -her like some fearful, unknown spectre. There is a flash of light in the -air, a loud shout, a grating sound. Loud o’er all shrieks the tempest -whistle, she feels the smack part from her, a mighty current sucks her -beneath the waves; down, down it drags her into the bottomless abyss of -the ocean’s awful crater, as the great ship sweeps forward on its -course. Even in this moment of death’s agony Gloria’s brain is clear. -She relaxes her grasp of Léonie, who, with the life-belt around her, has -that one straw of hope to cling to. As the waters of the surging -Atlantic sweep over her her last cry is to God; her last vision of the -life which she is quitting, is the face of Evie Ravensdale. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IV. - - -Peace after the storm! Ay, in so far that the tempest fiend has -vanished, leaving behind him only the low moan of the dying gale. High -above the heights which look down on Eilean Fianan, Tiorin’s ruins, and -the lovely woods of Shona’s Isle, hover the cloud mists of rising morn, -through whose seemingly tissue veil glint and gleam the joyous sparks, -fantastic offspring of the new-born sun. - -Its light, too, is warming those heights with a rosy glow, and the thick -dark woods are pierced with its golden shafts. Like myriad diamonds -sparkle the raindrops on the pines, and the dew on the glades and fairy -rings, where elfin goblins have held their midnight orgies. - -Yet the gale has left its after-birth in the rolling swell, which beats -in relentless fury on the rock-girt coast of Shona’s Isle, and lashes -the sandy stretch of beach between Ardtoe and Ru Druimnich. High tide is -rising on those shores, an inland current has set in, and in its grasp -are the trophies of the storm-fiend’s victory over the handiwork of man. - -What are these trophies? Why, here and there a spar, a tossing barrel, a -broken oar. There is something floating, too, on the heaving swell with -which the waves are making merry, for they carry it to the sandy beach -and drag it back again, toss it still further inland, and smother it in -their spray. - -It is a choice plaything; the salt sea waves are battling for it hard, -but the tide and the inland current say them nay, and the sandy beach -gives it a rugged welcome. There for a time it may rest. - -It! But what may it be? A human body, surely? - -Out in the bay the yacht _Eilean_ is coasting up and down. Eager eyes -are scanning the waste of water, and every sign of wreckage is minutely -observed. Ever and anon the voices of the men aloft shout down some new -discovery to the anxious watchers on the deck below. There is a look of -intense agony in the eyes of the young Duke of Ravensdale as he paces -that snow-white deck. His features are drawn and haggard, his cheeks are -deathly pale, and the lines of care have seared their mark indelibly -across his high and noble brow. - -“Wreckage ahoy!” The men on the look out have spied another victim of -the gale which the inland current is drawing to Ardnamurchan’s shores. -What can it be? It looks like the back of a whale, or a huge porpoise -turning over in its course. What can it be? - -The _Eilean_ steams towards it, and comes close up alongside it. No, it -is no whale. Only the remnant of a fishing smack, part of which appears -to have been bodily severed from the whole. - -The sharp order to man the lifeboat cutter is given. In a few minutes it -is riding the heaving swell. All eyes are occupied with this new -discovery; even the look-out men have forgotten their duty aloft. -Suddenly, however, Flora Desmond’s voice rings out. She has been keeping -silent, faithful watch by Evie Ravensdale. - -“What’s that?” she cries. - -In a moment he is straining with an eager, hungry look those wild, -despairing eyes. She is pointing away to starboard, and he sees, -unmistakably sees, a human head and shoulders rising up and down on the -grey ocean’s surface. With a low cry he springs forward. Were it not for -Flora’s restraining clutch he would be overboard and swimming to meet -it. - -“Wait, Evie!” she says imploringly. “The boat will fetch it in a moment. -Don’t go, Evie. Alas, it is not she!” - -She has a clear sight has Flora Desmond. She has caught a glimpse of the -dead white face thrown back as it rises on the crest of the heaving -swell, and she knows that it is not the face of Gloria de Lara. But when -the lifeboat cutter retrieves the body, and it is hoisted on to the -deck, then indeed Flora cannot restrain a cry of horror as she -recognises in the set, rigid face, wide open, staring eyes, and close -clenched teeth the unmistakable features of the girl traitoress, the -female Judas, Léonie. - -“Take her from my sight! Oh God! take her away!” bursts from the pale -lips of Evie Ravensdale, as in a moment the sight of the body before him -drives from his heart the clinging hope that Gloria is not dead. He -knows now that the storm-fiend has claimed her for his victim, that on -this earth the dark blue eyes will never look their love again. - -As they bear Léonie from his sight an unnatural calmness seizes him. He -turns to Flora. - -“We must do our duty, Flora. Mine is to see you safe. We will put the -helm about, and steer for the great free land. And when we get there -Flora, you will see her mother and break it to her, won’t you?” - -His words are so cold and measured, his face so unmoved, that Flora is -half fearful for his reason. She lays her hand gently on his arm. - -“Not yet, Evie. We must put back to Shona first. We must not give up the -search yet. I mean to examine the whole coast line between this and Ru -Druimnich.” - -“But she is dead, Flora. Don’t you know she is dead?” he says coldly. - -“Still, Evie, we may find her dear body. Oh no, Evie, we must not give -up the search; we must seek on,” answers Flora. She dare not buoy him up -with the fresh hope that Gloria may be alive. The sight of Léonie has -told her this cannot be; yet still she is resolved more than ever to -search on for the body of her friend. The boatswain is standing near. -She sends him with instructions to the captain, to put the yacht’s head -about and run for Moidart’s Loch, and then she resumes her watch by Evie -Ravensdale. Time flies, but he does not notice her; his eyes are staring -out over the ocean wave. As they near the Loch, Nigel Estcourt comes up. - -“A moment, Flora,” he says, motioning her to come apart. “The doctor is -trying to bring Léonie round. He says life is not extinct. If he can -only succeed, we may be able to extract from her what has happened. Will -you go and see her? I will keep Ravensdale company while you go down?” - -“You must be very gentle, Estcourt. You must watch him closely, too; I -am terribly afraid for his reason. He seems turned to stone since he set -eyes on Léonie. It is a bad sign. If tears would come they would relieve -him. Ah! God help him. It is terrible.” - -She sighs deeply as she turns from him. Heavy at heart, yet is Flora’s -heart heavier still when it thinks of the agony which Evie Ravensdale is -suffering. What would she not endure to bring comfort and peace to his -tortured soul! - -She makes her way down to the cabin where Léonie is lying; the doctor, -with the stewardess and her assistant, are busy treating her. He looks -up hopefully as Flora enters. - -“She has moved; she has struggled for breath,” he observes quickly. -“Lady Flora, she will live. She seems to me a mere child. I wonder who -she is.” - -But Flora does not answer, only she moves over to the couch, and looks -down on the motionless girl. - -It is strange, but as she looks she sees the same remarkable resemblance -in this girl to Bernie Fontenoy, which Gloria had remarked the previous -night. Certainly it is strange, very strange. - -There is a long-drawn sigh, and then a struggle for breath. Léonie -clutches the air with her hands, and her lips move. - -“I am stifling,” she gasps; “don’t choke me, don’t, please don’t! Let me -breathe, please let me breathe!” The doctor raises her up slightly, and -again Léonie sighs. Then she draws a long breath. “I love you,” she says -softly; “I love you, Gloria. I love God, too. I wish I hadn’t betrayed -you now. But you have forgiven me, you have been kind to me, you have -kissed me. Oh! those waves, those dreadful waves! They will kill you; -you have given me the life-belt, and you have not got one. Take it off, -Gloria. Put it on yourself and leave me. I don’t mind drowning. I would -like to drown for you. Let me kiss you first. Let me sleep now; let me -die.” - -Her hitherto fixed and staring eyes shoot with a gleam of returning -intelligence. She closes them, and her head falls forward. - -“She will sleep now,” observes the doctor, as he lays her down and turns -her on her side, “and when she awakes she will be all right. A -marvellous recovery. She must have wonderful vitality in her. We will -leave her now quiet, Lady Flora. The yacht is in motion again. Do we -continue the search?” - -“Yes, but along the coast. I must go now, doctor. You will let me know -later how the patient is, won’t you?” - -“Certainly,” he answers cheerfully. - -Flora returns on deck. Léonie’s words have puzzled her. They were -clearly addressed to Gloria, and yet these disjointed utterances can -convey but one interpretation of her fate. Gladly would Flora swallow a -grain of hope, but she knows that it would only make the reality harder -to bear, a reality which she has faced and accepted already. - -“Gloria,” she whispers, “if you can hear me now, you will know how true -was Flora’s friendship. God help me, and I will clear your name of that -foul charge laid to your door. Léonie may know something of it, and she -will tell me, for on the threshold of death has she not said that she -loves you?” - -Brave, noble Flora! Self is buried in those generous words. She never -pauses to think of the danger in which she stands, or the trouble which -she must suffer. But Flora is heroic. - -The yacht is gliding into Moidart’s Loch, and again the lifeboat cutter -is manned and lowered. Flora has determined to search the whole shore -within the radius of the drifting inland current, which long experience -of these coasts has taught her, draws wrecks thereto. - -She will conduct the search in this direction herself, while, as is now -arranged, Estcourt and Archie Douglasdale will prosecute it along -Shona’s rocky coast in the large gig. Archie had returned to Glenuig -Bay, on the evening before, only to find the fishing box deserted, his -sister, Ravensdale, and Estcourt gone. One of his trusty Ruglen -retainers awaited him, however, with the information that they had -crossed the hills by Kinlockmoidart for Eilean Shona, where the duke’s -yacht lay anchored. The message which Léonie had been entrusted to -convey was to this very effect, the duke having further commissioned her -to apprise Gloria of his intended arrival alone, from the Loch Eilort -side. - -“Evie,” says Flora gently, “you will come with me, will you not? I am -going to search the sand beaches in the cutter up to Ru Druimnich. Come, -Evie.” - -He turns almost sullenly. God help him! The torture he is suffering is -writ in his eyes. “She is dead,” is all he says. But he follows Flora, -nevertheless, and they enter the cutter together. Then he bows his face -in his hands and remains silent. - -The search they make is thorough. How could it be else with Flora in -command? And gradually the cutter creeps slowly on in the direction of -the body on the shore. - -It is sighted at length; the look-out man utters his warning cry, and -Flora stands suddenly up and stares eagerly ahead. - -Yes, there it lies, high and dry on the sandy beach. Undoubtedly a human -form. - -“Bend to your oars, lads!” she cries. “I’m going to beach her;” and with -that she brings the boat’s nose sharply for the shore. “Evie,” she says -again, “rouse yourself, Evie. We shall be in the breakers in a minute. -There is a body on the beach.” - -He looks up quickly. Just a gleam of hope is in his wild eyes, and he is -thoroughly on the alert. The boat rushes forward; it rises high on the -first breaker, and is hurled towards the shore. True is the hand that -holds the tiller and the nerve that guides it. Straight as a dart does -Flora keep the cutter’s nose, and her voice encourages the oarsmen to -their duty, the seething foam half fills the boat, but it gallantly -rides the water still, as another breaker bears it onward. Now the keel -grates the sandy bottom. - -“Ship oars, lads, and out of her!” Flora commands, but she sets the -example, too. - -She is in the water waist high. In a moment the stalwart sailors have -obeyed her. Rough, willing hands grasp the cutter’s sides, and with -combined force to the seaman’s cheery “Pull, boys, together,” run her -high and dry on to the beach. - -But Evie Ravensdale has rushed forward. Hope still surges in his heart. -The body is stretched out upon the sand, the figure is lying on its -face, the hands are clenched. It is easy, however, to see that the body -is not that of a woman; it is plain as plain can be that it is a man. - -He sees this at once, and turns away with a bitter, despairing cry. It -was a mad, vain hope to have indulged in, and yet in his breaking heart, -Evie Ravensdale had prayed to be allowed to look upon her face once -more, ay, even though it were in death. - -An exclamation from Flora for a moment attracts him. She has followed -him and has turned the body over. - -“Evie!” she cries, and there is a passionate ring of triumph in her -voice, “though Gloria be dead, her pure, fair fame is saved. Though God -has taken her, He has dashed to the ground the foul lie with which they -sought to doom her. Look, Evie, look! Her noble name is cleared.” - -With a startled, eager look he comes to her side. He sees at his feet -the pallid upturned face of a dead man. This man has dark hair, and a -dark thick beard, moustache and whiskers in which grey hairs are -stealing fast. This man has dark eyes, but the lustre of life has left -them, and his white teeth are clenched together with a horrid grin. - -He stares down at the corpse below him. The wild, hungry look in his -beautiful eyes is dying now. Triumph and exultation are there. - -“Gloria!” he cries, “my darling, you have triumphed. They thought they -could kill you with a false and awful lie. There is your answer. Nor -shall your great cause die. I swear to win it for you! I swear—I swear -it now!” - -He turns away with a gasping sob. But Flora has no longer any fear for -him. Evie Ravensdale’s vow will bid him live, live on for Gloria’s sake. - -Calmly and quietly she turns to the sailors. “We will carry that body to -Dorlin, my lads. Guard it well. There lies the man whom a too confident -jury declared to be dead, for whose murder the noblest of women was -unjustly condemned. That corpse is Lord Westray!” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER V. - - -The blinds are drawn down in the single window of a small bedroom that -overlooks a narrow, dull, and dingy street, not far removed from -Trafalgar Square. The room, though clean, bears a poverty-stricken look, -for in it, in addition to the bed, there are only two chairs, an old -table, and a dilapidated sofa with a thin rug covering it. There is a -small washhand-stand in this room besides the other articles named, but -this is all. - -Lying on the bed is a large-eyed, pale, emaciated young man, upon whose -face is unmistakably written the sign of death. His thin hands, in which -the blue veins show prominently clear, lie listlessly on the coverlet, -though now and again the feeble fingers twitch nervously thereat, and a -hectic flush covers his pale cheeks. His large hollow eyes have a -brilliant, shining look in them, and they appear to be fixed on the door -of the room which stands slightly ajar. - -There is a sound of the street door downstairs opening, and the movement -of several feet. The young man raises himself up and listens eagerly, -but the exertion is too much for him, and he sinks back with a heavy -sigh. The footsteps he has heard are ascending the staircase, however, -and his eyes devour the door more eagerly than before. It opens and -admits a young girl, a girl who would decidedly be called pretty were it -not for the pinched, careworn look that rules in her regular and -well-cut features. She bears a great resemblance to the invalid whom we -have been describing. This is not to be wondered at, seeing she is his -twin-sister. - -“Maggie,” he exclaims in a low voice as she enters, “have you brought -him?” - -“Yes, Eric,” she answers at once, as she comes to his bedside, and puts -the old faded coverlet at which his fingers have been twitching smooth -and tidy. - -“Where is he?” again asks the brother in the same low voice. - -“Downstairs, Eric. I’ll fetch him up. He’s brought another gentleman -with him. He calls him a magistrate, I think. He said this gentleman -must take your deposition, because he couldn’t,” says Maggie, as she -opens the door. The next minute she is running down the somewhat rickety -staircase. Two gentlemen are standing in the passage below. - -“This way, please, sirs,” she says politely, and they follow up behind -her to Eric Fortescue’s room. The two gentlemen are Colonel Francis -Barrett, divisional magistrate, and Evie, Duke of Ravensdale. - -Eric Fortescue fixes his eyes on the latter, whom he knows well by -sight. He has seen him often before with Hector D’Estrange. - -“You wish to see me, my lad?” inquires the duke in a kind, but sad -voice. “Your sister tells me you have something particular to say to -me?” - -“Yes,” answers the sick youth, in his low, feeble voice; “and I want -you, sir, to take down what I say, and hear me swear it’s all true. I -want to tell you quick, sir, because I’m dying; I can’t last long.” - -There is a sob over by the window. Maggie is looking out into the -miserable street with her forehead pressed against one of its cracked -panes. - -“Say all you have to say very slowly to this gentleman then, my lad,” -answers Evie Ravensdale. “He is a magistrate, and will take your -deposition, and hear you swear to it.” - -“I want to tell you, sir, how wicked I have been. But God has forgiven -me, for Father Vaughan has heard my confession, and given me absolution. -I’m a Catholic, sir, you know. But Father Vaughan told me I ought to -tell you what I’m going to, because of the great wrong which other -people have suffered by what I’ve helped to do. So, sir, this is it. - -“I’m twenty-three years of age, sir, and I have earned my living since a -boy, and since poor mother died, in the service of Mr. Trackem. He’s a -private detective agent, sir, and something else besides. He always said -I was a sharp lad, and that I did things quick for him, so that when I -was eighteen he made me his head clerk, and used to tell me all about -his affairs and jobs. It was he and I who arranged that attack on Mrs. -de Lara, and several days before it I had watched her every night when -she came out for her evening stroll, and the night before the attack I -got into her sitting-room while she was out, and stole a lot of her -note-paper and some of her writing. I was at Mr. D’Estrange’s trial, -sir, and all what Mrs. de Lara and Miss Vernon and you swore to was -quite true, and nearly all what Mr. Trackem said was a lie. Well, sir, -after Mr. D’Estrange and you and Miss Vernon rescued Mrs. de Lara, Mr. -Trackem and I and Lord Westray held a consultation. His lordship was -very much put about, and swore he would be revenged. He offered me and -Mr. Trackem a deal of money to help him, and then Mr. Trackem hatched -the plan, sir. I can imitate handwriting well, and he made me write two -letters copying Mrs. de Lara’s handwriting. One was to her maid, saying -she was going up to London, and the other to Mr. Trackem, telling him to -keep the house in Verdegrease Crescent for her and Lord Westray. And -then Lord Westray himself wrote several letters in the vein described by -Mr. Trackem at the trial. And then, sir, Mr. Trackem arranged with his -lordship all about buying a poor man’s body, as soon as one could be -found suitable for the purpose. You look startled, sir, but it’s not -difficult to do a job of that sort in some parts of London, and, in -fact, one was soon got. We put Lord Westray’s gold ring on one of its -little fingers, and hung the chain and locket about its neck, and it was -me, sir, that took it down by night and buried it in Mrs. de Lara’s -grounds where it was found, and close to it I buried the clothes which -Lord Westray was wearing the night that Mr. D’Estrange fired at him. By -this time Lord Westray had gone abroad, but it was all arranged that in -two years’ time or so Mr. D’Estrange was to be accused of the murder. -When that time had elapsed, anonymous letters were sent to the present -Lord Westray, telling him all about the murder, and then Mr. Trackem -went and told his lordship what he knew. Everything happened as we -wanted it to. The matter was placed in Mr. Trackem’s hands; he -communicated with the police, and he employed me and a dog of his called -Nero, a half-bred bloodhound, to hunt the grounds of Mrs. de Lara’s -place at night in search of the body and clothes. I had previously given -Nero a lesson or two as to their whereabouts, so he soon traced them in -the presence of the police. This is all I know, sir. On my dying oath I -swear that Mr. D’Estrange did not murder Lord Westray. The wound -received was slight, and soon healed up. This is my confession, sir. I -know I did wrong, but I was a poor boy, and I was sorely tempted by the -money offered me. I loved a girl, sir. She was called Léonie, and she -was in Mr. Trackem’s service. I wanted to marry her, and I didn’t dare -ask her till I got money. But God has punished me. I shall never see -Léonie again; she’s gone away, I don’t know where, and now I’m dying. If -it had not been for dear sister Maggie I should have been dead by now, -for Lord Westray never paid me the money he promised to; least if he -gave it to Mr. Trackem I never got it. Not that I want it now. I would -not touch it for all the world, indeed I would not. And now, sir, I want -to ask you to forgive me as I know God has, and I want you to ask Mrs. -de Lara and Mr. D’Estrange to forgive me too. I think if they saw me as -you do now, sir, they would pity and forgive me.” - -The young man pauses, and listens eagerly for a reply. The hectic flush -has deepened in his cheeks, and his eyes gleam with the fire that -heralds death more brilliantly than ever. - -“My poor lad, I do forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven myself,” says -Evie Ravensdale softly. Terrible and horrible as is the plot which this -dying youth has disclosed to him, yet in the presence of that death -which he can see approaching fast, he feels that he must forgive. - -“And Mrs. de Lara, Mr. D’Estrange?” persists Eric Fortescue anxiously. - -“Mr. D’Estrange is dead,” is all that Evie Ravensdale can trust himself -to reply. - -Eric Fortescue starts up in his bed, and stares wildly at the duke. - -“Not hanged, sir? Oh God! not hanged, sir? I thought he escaped, sir?” - -A hollow racking cough seizes him. The blood dyes his lips as he falls -back helplessly as before. In a moment Maggie is by his side with her -left arm tenderly round him, and supporting him in a sitting position, -as she wipes the blood from his lips with an old handkerchief. - -“Have you anything, my girl, to moisten his lips with?” inquires the -duke, horrified at the sight before him. - -“No, sir,” she answers in a low, hopeless voice. “He had his last orange -yesterday, and I have not a penny left except enough for the rent. I -daren’t use that. They would turn us out if that was not paid punctual.” - -Evie Ravensdale shudders; words would not paint his feelings. - -“Here, Maggie,” he says, “here is some money. Run, my girl, and buy what -you think he will fancy, and we will stay with him until you return. At -least, colonel, I won’t ask you to. I know your time is precious. Will -you swear this lad, and let him sign that deposition, and then I won’t -keep you? But I want to stay myself and see him comfortable before I -leave.” - -With a happy smile lighting up her face Maggie Fortescue hurries from -the room, and then Eric swears to and signs the deposition. The -signature is tremblingly and weakly penned, still there it is, a living -witness to the truth of Speranza and Gloria de Lara’s innocence. - -These formalities completed, Colonel Barrett takes his departure with -the precious document in his safe keeping. Its contents will ring -through the world before another sun is down. No sooner has he gone, -than Eric Fortescue turns his eyes once more on the duke. - -“I’m glad he’s gone, sir,” he says slowly, and speaking with difficulty, -“because I want to tell you one more thing very particular, sir. It will -be my last words, I think, for I feel I’m sinking. It’s about Léonie, -sir. I want to tell you who she is, sir. Mr. Trackem told me, sir, long -ago. Her mother was Nell Stanley. Of course you know who I mean, sir—the -big beauty whom your father, sir, took away from Lord Beauladown. It was -she they fought that duel over. Well, Léonie is Nell Stanley’s child, -and her father was the late Duke of Ravensdale. He treated her mother -very bad, poor thing, and forsook her altogether after she got -disfigured with the small-pox. She came to live in Verdegrease Crescent, -and earned her living on the streets. But she did not live long, and -died at Mr. Trackem’s house when Léonie was three years old. Mr. Trackem -was beginning detective business then. Léonie was so pretty and so -smart, that he kept her and trained her to the work, and that’s how I -came to know her, sir. And I did love her, and it was my love which -tempted me to do all the wicked things I did. But God has punished me, -sir. I am dying. I shall never see Léonie any more. Still I should be -happy if I knew you would care for her, sir.” - -He says the last words in a whisper. He has used all the strength that -he possesses to make this last statement. Poor Eric Fortescue! _It is -his last._ - -Maggie’s footstep is on the stairs; she is coming up so quickly. She has -bought some grapes amongst other things with the duke’s gift. - -“Look, Eric dear!” she exclaims, as she hurries in, and holds up a big -bunch of fine black grapes for him to view. “Look what I’ve got you!” - -But Eric’s eyes are closed, and the hectic flush has given way to a -deathly pallor. He has made his last effort on this earth. - -She sets the things down on the rickety table with a low cry, and comes -over to the bedside. - -“Eric,” she pleads, “look at Maggie, Eric, poor Maggie; she’s brought -you such nice things.” - -He opens his big eyes, the brilliant gleam in them has died out; there -is a dead, heavy, vacant look in them. - -“I’m going, Maggie,” she hears him mutter; “tell Father Vaughan I _did_ -tell all. There’s mother, Maggie; how pretty she looks. She’s in a -garden full of flowers and fruits and pretty things. The sun is so -bright and the air so pure. And there’s Léonie—dear, pretty little -Léonie. Don’t hold me, Maggie; I must go to her, I must——” - -And Maggie, bending over her twin brother, hears his voice grow still, -feels on her cheek the last breath of life that goes forth with these -words, for Eric Fortescue is dead. - -Poor Maggie! She is weak, and ill, and suffering. For weeks she has -worked hard to support her brother, and watched by his bedside in her -spare hours. She has stinted herself of food to buy him little -delicacies. But of late, work has been hard to get, and during the last -week she has obtained but scant employment, barely sufficient to buy -bread with. At this moment food has not passed her lips for thirty-six -hours, and the last bite she had, was a few crusts soaked in water, the -remnants of some bread from the crumb of which she had made her brother -a little bread and milk. Poor Maggie! It is as well. He wants no bread -and milk now. - -But she does not cry or sob when she knows it is all over. She merely -closes the dull, staring, lustreless eyes, smooths the worn coverlet -once more, joins his hands as if in prayer, and drawing a small crucifix -from her chest, kisses it, and places it between his thin white fingers. -Then she turns to Evie Ravensdale. - -“He is dead, your Grace,” she says meekly; “it is God’s will. I will -never forget your kindness in forgiving him. Poor Eric! he was a good -lad if he had not been led astray. Can I fetch you a cab, your Grace?” - -Her voice is quiet, almost matter-of-fact, and yet Maggie Fortescue is -alone in the world, hungry, tired, weary, and penniless. - -“No, Maggie,” he says gently, “certainly not. I am going away now, but I -will send some one to help you. And when you have buried your poor -brother, you must come to this address and let me know. I have several -things to ask you, and you must let me help you to earn a comfortable -living.” - -“God bless your Grace!” she answers in a low voice. Then, as Evie -Ravensdale turns to go, she holds out some silver to him, saying as she -does so: - -“It’s the change, your Grace, out of what you gave me to get those -things for Eric.” - -“Keep it, keep it, Maggie,” he says huskily; and then he turns and -leaves the poor scantily furnished room in which he has learned so much, -and in which he has established, absolutely and completely, the -innocence of the woman whose lost image is ever before his eyes. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VI. - - -And while Eric Fortescue unburdens his soul of the heavy sin that has -stained it, and bears it, purified and triumphant, through the portals -of a new life, there is confusion and rage in the heart of Mr. Trackem -as he sits at his business table hastily examining papers and committing -them to the safe keeping of a large fire, which consumes each -consignment as it is thrown in. - -Mr. Trackem’s usually confident and satisfied expression, has given -place to one of anxiety and fear. That he is disturbed is evident. - -“Curse the fellow!” he keeps muttering to himself; and then a gleam of -baffled rage shoots from his cunning eyes. - -There comes a knock at the door, a peculiar knock. He is evidently -acquainted with it, for he looks up eagerly and calls out, “Come in.” - -A woman enters obedient to the summons. She is a woman with a plump, -artificial-looking figure, her hair is yellow, and her eyes, eyelashes, -and eyebrows are dark. An unmistakable sign of powder and rouge affords -to her cheeks an appearance of pinkness, which all women who decorate -themselves in this manner verily believe looks natural and becoming. -Alas! if they could only see themselves as others see them! She is -overdressed is this woman, with plenty of rings on her fingers and -jewellery about her, and her whole air unmistakably stamps her for what -she is. - -“Well?” inquires Mr. Trackem in an impatient voice, as she comes in. -“How you dawdle, Victoire! Were they there?” - -“Yes,” she replies at once. “I saw the duke, and a strange gentleman, -and the girl Maggie, all go into the house.” - -“Did you follow and hear what Eric said?” again asks Mr. Trackem. He -never stops the work upon which he is engaged, in spite of his anxiety -to hear what she has to say. - -“How could I?” she answers peevishly. “I’m not a fairy who can become -invisible at will. I saw them go in, that’s all, and then I hurried back -here.” - -“Curse him!” is all Mr. Trackem vouchsafes in reply, but he works away -harder than ever. - -Hanging over the back of a chair close to his table is a great-coat, and -on the seat lies a pot hat, pair of gloves, and walking-stick. On the -ground below the chair stands a small black business bag. Into this bag -Mr. Trackem ever and anon commits a paper from out the heap that he is -destroying. - -There is a long pause. Then Victoire speaks. - -“What are you going to do? I suppose you won’t be safe here now?” she -inquires. - -“Safe!” he laughs angrily, “rather not. I suppose they’ll have the -bloodhounds on me before an hour’s out. No, Victoire, I must cut it.” - -“And what’s to become of me?” she asks, somewhat aghast. “You’ll leave -me some money, Trackem, and let me know where you are going to?” - -“Money! I’ve deuced little left of that now; and as for telling you -where I’m going to, I’m not such a fool. Why, you’d blurt it out any -moment,” and Mr. Trackem laughs sneeringly. - -“But what’s to become of me?” she again inquires. - -“Damned if I know!” he replies impatiently. “I don’t suppose you’ll have -much trouble in making a living along with some one else, same way as -you’ve made it here. You don’t suppose I can saddle myself with you now, -and drag you about wherever I go? What a fool you are, Victoire!” - -“Then you are going to throw me up?” she asks in a low voice. - -“Haven’t I told you I can’t drag you about all over the place?” he -answers savagely. - -“But you’ll leave me a little money, won’t you?” she says, with a half -sob. “I haven’t got a farthing, Trackem.” - -“Then you must go and make it, my girl,” he replies coarsely. “You’ll -have no difficulty in doing that, and I’ve no money to give you. You -know perfectly well that I’ve nigh ruined myself with lending all the -money that I did to that Lord Westray, and now he’s dead I can’t get it -back. Curse him! I wish I’d never seen him, or had anything to do with -that Mrs. de Lara and her daughter. They’ve beat us fair and square, -Victoire, even though the daughter be dead. Fair and square.” - -“I hate them both,” she bursts out with unreasoning fury. “They are the -cause of my misery now. Oh, Trackem! don’t forsake me. I might have had -a comfortable, respectable home with Charles, but I threw it up to be -with you. What did I do it for but because I loved you? I’m a bad one, -no doubt; but at least I loved you, and do love you still. Don’t forsake -me! I’ll stop here and put the trackers off the scent, and do all I know -how to help you, only promise me you’ll let me know where you are -by-and-by, and let me join you again.” - -A brilliant thought strikes Mr. Trackem. He has not the slightest -intention of doing as she asks, but it will be just as well, he thinks, -to lead her to believe that he will. And meantime she may be useful in -assisting his escape. - -“Well, Victoire,” he says in a more conciliatory voice, “you’re a good -girl and a faithful one. Look here, here’s five pounds, and I’ll send -you more soon. Stay here as long as you can, and keep the bloodhounds at -bay. If the staff get uneasy, you can hoodwink them. When you change -your address put it in the _Times_. And now, my girl, give us a kiss. I -must be off. Every moment makes it more risky.” - -He has finished burning his compromising papers, has taken up his hat, -stick, and gloves, thrown his coat over one arm, and picked up the -business bag. He is quite ready to go. - -She throws her arms round his neck. Fallen, degraded, wicked as is -Victoire Hester, yet she loves this vile, scheming, and contemptible -wretch, for whose sake she has steeped her soul in the inky dye of sin, -and turned from the path of honour and of truth. - -“There now, there now, that’s enough, old girl,” he says hastily, and as -she unclasps her hands from about his neck, he steps quickly towards the -door and opens it. - -“Remember, Victoire, you baulk the trackers,” he says significantly, and -then he passes out from her presence, and is gone. - -She hears the front door open and shut again, and springs to the window. -She can just catch sight of him as he passes along the Crescent. It is -her last glimpse, and in spite of his promise to the contrary, she feels -that it is. But Victoire Hester for the moment forgets herself. In the -presence of the danger which threatens the man she loves, she becomes -calm. All trace of his hasty departure must be quickly obliterated. She -feels that this is imperatively necessary. Quickly she sets to work, -tidies up his table, sets the room neat, and with her own hands collects -the burnt paper and carries it off. Then she opens the windows to let -out the smell which the burning paper has emitted, heaps more coals on -the fire, and moves into Mr. Trackem’s bedroom to arrange his things. In -less than an hour all is ship-shape and tidy as usual. There is not a -sign of hasty departure. - -A few hours later there comes a ring at the front door. Victoire has -given instructions that she will see any one that calls. She has often -before undertaken this duty in Mr. Trackem’s absence, and the servant -sees nothing strange in the order. He therefore admits the new-comers, -and shows them into Mr. Trackem’s business room. These two new-comers -are men. They are dressed in dark clothes, and they both seat themselves -to await his coming. - -“Run him in pretty sharp, eh?” observes one of them with a smile, as the -door closes on the servant. - -“Haven’t got him yet, Bush,” retorts the other quietly. Inspector -Truffle is not of so sanguine a temperament as is Inspector Bush. - -“As good as though,” replies Inspector Bush confidently, but he stops -abruptly as he hears steps approaching. Again the door of Mr. Trackem’s -business room opens. Victoire enters. There is blank disappointment on -Inspector Bush’s face. Victoire sees it as she fixes her dark eyes full -upon him. - -“Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” she says quietly; “you wished to see Mr. -Trackem? I am sorry to say he is away, but I expect him back the day -after to-morrow. His head clerk is ill too, but I can do anything for -you in Mr. Trackem’s place. I always attend to his affairs in his -absence.” - -She smiles good-naturedly on the blank, nonplussed detectives. She seems -to give her attention especially to Inspector Bush. Inspector Truffle -rises to the occasion. - -“Thank you, madam,” he says briskly, “but I fear the business we have -come about can only be transacted with Mr. Trackem. The fact is, madam, -we came to settle an account that we owe him, and which would require -Mr. Trackem’s signature to be of any use as a receipt. And the worst of -it is, we are going away, and shall not be able to call again.” - -He fixes a piercing glance upon her as he speaks, but Victoire is equal -to the occasion. She does not believe a word of Inspector Truffle’s -statement, and divines perfectly well what his business is. - -She assumes a disappointed air as she exclaims, - -“It is a great pity. But what is to be done? I do not think I can -possibly get Mr. Trackem back before the day after to-morrow. However, I -will telegraph to him, and will send you his reply. Will you favour me -with your address?” - -Here is a poser. Victoire sees it, and inwardly chuckles. But again -Inspector Truffle attempts to uphold the fair fame of detective -smartness. - -“Certainly, madam,” he replies, as he takes out his card-case and hands -her a card therefrom, upon which she reads the address of a well-known -firm of solicitors. - -She assumes a most deferential manner. - -“I think Mr. Trackem will make every effort to be here by to-morrow. I -will telegraph at once, and unless you hear to the contrary, will you -kindly call on Mr. Trackem at the same hour to-morrow, if you please, -gentlemen?” - -Mr. Truffle is triumphant. - -“We will,” he answers. “Well, thank you, madam. Good-afternoon to you.” - -“Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” she replies with admirably feigned regret -ringing in her voice. - -Inspectors Truffle and Bush betake themselves to the comfortable hansom -that awaits them. As it rattles along, the former breaks silence. - -“We managed that capitally,” he says with a chuckle. “Quite took her in. -The chink of money soon made her open her ears. Bet you it brings Mr. -Trackem home pretty quick.” - -“Yes,” answers Inspector Bush. “I didn’t like the look of the woman when -she first came in, but she took the bait readily enough. Poor things, -those sort of women. No match for the likes of us, eh?” - -Inspector Truffle has had more experience than Inspector Bush, and -doesn’t agree there. But he thinks, as he drives along, that anyhow -_this one_ is quite taken in. - -Is she, though? You’ll find out your mistake, inspector, when you call -to-morrow with Inspector Bush _at the same hour_! - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VII. - - -The lights are low and softly subdued in Evie Ravensdale’s private study -or sanctum in Montragee House, the blinds and curtains are drawn, the -fire casts its flickering shadows on the ceiling and walls as ever and -anon the little gas-jets from the coals shoot forth their vivid blaze, -relapsing immediately after into smoke and gloom. The sounds of mimic -warfare which they produce are the only ones which break the stillness -prevailing, unless it be the low breathing of the dog Nero, which is -stretched upon the hearthrug. - -He would hardly, however, lie there so quietly and contentedly, if he -were the only occupant of the room, for a dog’s chief characteristic is -love of company, loneliness being his pet aversion. - -Nor is he alone, as we shall see if we glance at the big armchair drawn -up in front of the fire, and looking again, perceive that it is -occupied. - -The figure which sits there, is in truth very still and silent. It is -laying back with its knees crossed and its arms resting on each side of -the chair. Its head is slightly bent forward, and its dreamy eyes -glitter in the firelight, which they are roving as if in search of an -object prized but lost. - -What does Evie Ravensdale see in that flickering firelight which appears -suddenly to arrest his gaze? It must be some cherished object indeed, -judging by the happy smile which for a few brief moments lights up the -otherwise sad face, on which melancholy has stamped its mournful -features. That which he sees is but a passing vision however, for the -smile quickly dies away, and leaves the dark eyes searching again amidst -the glowing coals, for the picture that has come and vanished. Above the -fireplace, shrouded on either side by heavy curtains of old-gold plush, -hangs the oil painting which represents his first meeting with Hector -D’Estrange. It is only when alone that Evie Ravensdale draws those -curtains aside, and then none can see the emotion which the picture -arouses in him. For the memories which it awakens, albeit noble and -tender, are painful, recalling, as they do, the image of her whom in -life he has most cherished and now lost. - -He is sitting there alone, but his mind is busy and his brain hard at -work. The sudden revulsion of feeling throughout the country, aroused by -the discovery of the drowned body of Lord Westray and the tragic fate of -Gloria de Lara, coupled with the published declarations of Léonie -Stanley, and later on the startling dying depositions of Eric Fortescue, -have all combined to create this reaction in favour of the D’Estrangeite -party. The Devonsmere Government, weak in composition and intellect, at -once succumbed, and Lord Pandulph Chertsey, the free lance of the -National party, stepped into the Duke of Devonsmere’s shoes. But Lord -Pandulph was too clever and practical to attempt to govern the fiery -steed of public opinion with mimic reins of power. He appealed to that -tribunal which alone has the right to nominate its rulers, the people, -and demanded of the country its mandate. And now the country, without -demur or hesitation, has spoken out in no uncertain tone. The light of a -pure and noble life has penetrated the darkness of opposition and -prejudice, and has fulfilled the prophecy which in childhood Gloria de -Lara predicted. The cause of right and justice has triumphed, and the -reign of selfishness, greed, and monopoly has passed away. - -By a glorious majority D’Estrangeism has won. The Progressists are -nowhere, and the Nationals have been returned mutilated in numbers. The -D’Estrangeites, recruited by sixty additional seats, declare the -country’s will, and Evie Ravensdale, at the command of his sovereign, -has formed a Ministry, known under the name of the Second D’Estrangeite -Cabinet. - -These changes have been rapid. Little more than a month has passed away -since the death of Gloria de Lara resounded through the world, and -already the vision which her childhood’s genius conjured up as she spoke -to the waves of the blue Adriatic, and predicted victory, is on the eve -of realisation. For even as it had been her first act of power to bring -in a bill for the complete emancipation of women, so is it Evie -Ravensdale’s intention to do likewise. - -But the position is different. When Hector D’Estrange submitted his bill -to the Commons, he knew that for many reasons it was doomed, the first, -and foremost being that the country had not spoken, or pronounced -unmistakably for or against the change. On this occasion there can be no -misunderstanding however, for the Parliament returned gives the -D’Estrangeites a majority over the other parties in the House combined, -and in plain words declares the will of the people. But there is just -this difference again. Whereas the first bill was introduced to the -Commons, the second, in virtue of Evie Ravensdale’s rank, must make its -_début_ in the Lords. Will this latter assembly accept it? It remains to -be seen. Yet surely in the face of the country’s mandate, the peers will -submit to the people’s wishes! - -No wonder then that the brain of the young Premier is busy and hard at -work. In three hours from now, he will be submitting the bill to his -peers, and appealing to them in the name of justice and right, in the -name of fairness and honesty, in the name of the great dead, to breathe -upon it the breath of life. Surely the victory which the child Gloria -foretold, which the young genius foresaw, is now at length to be won. -Ah! surely yes. - -“My darling,” he whispers softly, as the vision, which for a few brief -moments has shone in the gleaming coals, passes away in the changing -light thereof, “my darling, would to God that you were here, would to -God that I had the counsel of your clear brain, the courage of your -strong heart to support me! Yet hear me, Gloria, and help me to keep my -vow. Have I not sworn to dedicate my life to the great work which your -noble genius conceived and sought to accomplish? And with God’s help I -will be the faithful servant of your great cause. So help me God!” - -He rises as he speaks, and fixes his gaze on the painting above him. It -almost seems to him as though the figure of Hector D’Estrange portrayed -therein, stands there in living life. He can hardly realise, as he looks -at the beautiful face, that the spirit which made Gloria so noble in -life, does not animate it now. In the subdued light and the flickering -gleam of the fire, the features look living and real; to Evie Ravensdale -they bring high resolves and noble inspirations, which only the -influence of that which is great and lofty, can awaken. - - * * * * * - -Estcourt is late in the House, too late to hear the whole of the -Premier’s speech; he has been delayed by business of pressing moment. -About five o’clock in the afternoon, a telegram had been put into his -hands, the contents of which had dazed and struck him well-nigh -speechless. He could not summon courage to credit its contents. -Recovering however, from his surprise, his first impulse had been to -seek his chief and lay the telegram before him. Second thoughts had -decided him, however, on not doing so, and he had elected instead to -send off a long telegram himself. This telegram bore reference entirely -to the one which he had received, and was addressed to a friend in South -America. During the remainder of the day Estcourt has been anxiously and -feverishly awaiting the reply. So important does he regard this reply, -that he continues to await it, and in the House of Lords, crowded by -every active member belonging to it, he alone is absent. It is natural, -therefore, that his absence should have caused both surprise and -comment, especially as he is a prominent member of the Second -D’Estrangeite Ministry. - -He has come in now, however, and his colleagues eye him curiously. They -cannot help noticing the suppressed look of excitement in his face, and -the eager, restless expression in his eyes. Estcourt’s ordinary manner -is so quiet and calm that these unusual symptoms are all the more -noticeable and surprising. But the duke is still speaking; attention is -soon again riveted on what he is saying, and Estcourt is enabled, at any -rate, to hear the latter part of a speech whose persuasive eloquence and -oratorical power, amaze the House, Evie Ravensdale never before having -been regarded but as a common-place speaker, and orator of mediocre -talent. - -“On this solemn occasion,” he is saying as Estcourt comes in, “I beseech -of your lordships to cast aside the cloak of old prejudices and selfish -monopoly, and obey the unmistakable will of the country, which has -appointed a House of Commons pledged to carry this great act of human -justice and reparation. I appeal to you to show on this occasion a true -courage worthy of men, and abolish for ever from the Statute Book those -disabilities under which women are deprived of rights to which they are -entitled by reason of their common humanity with man. The stale -arguments of past days can no longer be advanced in opposition to this -bill. The false and brutal pretexts which formerly were adopted to -reason away the human rights of women, can no longer be resorted to. -Woman has triumphantly established the fact that her mental capacities -are equal to man’s—ay, and her physical powers of strength and endurance -as well, where she has been given fair chances and fair play. There -remains but one argument against the removal of her disabilities and the -triumphant assertion of the principles of this bill; that one argument -is selfishness. Men are unwilling, in many instances, to allow women -whom they have held in subjection so long, to assume a position of -equality with themselves. These men object to remove the halo with which -they have self-crowned themselves; they object, in fact, to share with -women the good things of this earth. There is but one definition of this -attitude of opposition, and that is selfishness, my lords, pure and -unadulterated selfishness. But the time has come when this selfishness -is too glaring and apparent to pass from sight, when it must be faced, -fought with, and conquered. On its defeat depends—not the welfare of man -only, but the welfare and advance of the world. We have sought to rule -against the laws of Nature too long, we have sought, by artificial -means, to keep the world going, and we have failed. What has the rule of -man accomplished? The vain gratification of a few, the misery of -millions and hundreds of millions. War has been invented to glorify men, -to uphold dynasties loathed, in many instances, by the people; vice and -immorality rage for the gratification of the ruler man; philanthropy -exists to patch up the sores and abscesses brought about in Society by -his excesses; the starving, the criminal, and the miserable, are -supported by taxes wrung from the people. Religion spreads abroad its -thousands of arms, each one asserting its sole right to be, but the fact -remains: war is spreading, crime increasing, immorality assuming giant -proportions, misery, disease, and wrongdoing growing mightier day by -day, while the forces that could and would stay these horrors, still -wear the badge of slavery. - -“I appeal to your lordships to face these facts, and act upon them -generously and courageously. From our midst a great and commanding -figure has but lately passed away,—one who began in childhood an heroic -and courageous resistance to wrong, and who maintained that resistance -through her all too short career. Gloria de Lara, in the person of -Hector D’Estrange, triumphantly established the fact of woman’s equality -with man, and undeniably asserted the right of her sex to share with him -in the government of the world. - -“And I ask your lordships to consider in a generous manner the motives -which first prompted the great heart of Gloria de Lara to do battle for -her sex, and which ultimately strengthened its resolve to maintain the -contest to the last. Was it not a dawning comprehension of the terrible -wrong under which her mother had become an outcast in this world, -shunned and despised by Society at large? Did not Gloria de Lara -recognise that in woman’s unnatural position lay the root of the evil? -Then, as she grew up, and personally made herself acquainted with the -woes afflicting Society, did she not struggle to remedy this position, -recognising therein the key to human suffering? I bear testimony to her -life of patient, unwearying research amidst the suffering and slaving -classes. This it was that gave her such a grasp of her subject, when in -the House of Commons she sought to unveil to the members thereof the -horrors that existed. The dream of her life was, to be spared in order -to carry great social measures of reform, but she recognised the fact -that to do this effectually, woman must first be placed on the level of -equality with man. For this she struggled, for this she fought on -against overwhelming odds. I need not dwell on the false and brutal -charge which was brought against her, which forced her to disclose her -sex, which condemned her to die, and which—when rescued by her own Women -Guards—made her an outcast and a wanderer, and a felon in the eyes of -the law. The falsity of this detestable lie has been abundantly proved -in the discovery of the dead body of the man who ruined and blasted her -mother’s life, who brought about her own pathetic and irredeemable -death. In her name I appeal for justice, and I confidently believe that -I shall not appeal in vain. I desire that the division shortly to be -taken shall seal the fate of the measure on behalf of victory or defeat. -You have the voice of the country ringing in your ears, but high above -that voice should sound the loud appeal, which a great and noble example -sends forth, the appeal of the glorious dead.” - -He sits down amidst a storm of applause, unusual in this august and -dignified assembly. He hardly hears it; he takes no note of the varied -scene around him. Evie Ravensdale sees before him the face of but one -being, that being Gloria de Lara. Is not her spirit near encouraging, -upholding, and leading him on to victory? - -But he is awakened from his dream at the call of duty. The division is -being taken at last, and all wait in breathless expectation for the -result. - -“The Content’s have it!” By a majority of 107 the peers obey the -country’s mandate, and acknowledge the people’s will as law. Gloria has -triumphed. That which she predicted is realised, the vow which she made -is accomplished. Ah! in this moment of victory, who would not wish her -here, instead of in the cold arms of death? - -Of death? Silence is being called for, and Lord Estcourt is endeavouring -to make himself heard. He is successful at last. - -“I wish to explain to the House,” he begins, “why I was not in my place -when my noble friend began his speech. My excuse will be acceptable to -this House, I feel sure. The fact is, I received a telegram containing -startling intelligence, so startling that I conceived it to be a hoax. I -took steps to ascertain the truth, and am satisfied of the authenticity -of the first intelligence. I have to announce to your lordships the -glorious news that Gloria de Lara is not dead. By God’s almighty -goodness she is alive—alive to witness the triumph of her cause. Truly -indeed you may exclaim with me in accepting this wonderful intelligence, -it is God’s will—it is the hand of God.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -“Gloria de Lara lives!” The words have rung far and wide o’er land and -distant sea. They have entered the homes of the great, the cottages of -the poor, they have brought joy to millions of weary hearts, who know -that while that great name breathes the breath of life, reform cannot -die. - -Yes, Gloria lives, lives! But how? Have we not seen her in the clutch of -Death? - -We left her therein. We left her being borne down by the resistless, -sucking whirlpool of the sinking smack as the massive trading steamer, -which had cut clean through the frail barque, bore on its course. As she -parted her hold of Léonie, Gloria had clutched the sinking wreck with -that strong and tenacious grip which the drowning alone can command. The -lighter and severed portion of the wreck had been swept forward by an -enormous wave, which carried with it likewise the body of Léonie, -supported on the crest of the sea by the life-belt, which Gloria had -tied around her. - -But the bright, flashing light which had danced in Gloria’s eyes ere she -was borne downwards, had searched from stem to stern the helpless, -storm-tossed craft, and the anxious gaze of the man on the look out had -been able to detect those two frail human forms. As the shout of “Boat -ahoy!” had rung out through the shrieking storm, the steamer had crashed -through her frail antagonist in the manner already described. But the -skipper of _The Maid of Glad Tidings_, as such the steamer was named, -was brave and humane. In spite of the storm he had skilfully brought his -vessel to the rescue. The electric light had swept the sea in search of -the unlucky boat, and after a time a portion of her had been sighted, a -helpless and dismantled wreck. Yet to that wreck a human form was -clinging. - -A brave crew had manned the lifeboat, and with the true pluck of British -seamen, had fought against terrible odds to rescue that one lone, -helpless creature. They succeeded; and amidst that black night and -howling storm, another deed of heroism had silently written its tale -upon the scrolls of British fame. And as Captain Ruglen’s gaze had first -fallen on the rescued victim of the storm, he had started. He was a big, -powerful man, with a tender, kindly heart. When, therefore, he bent over -the silent figure and raised it in his arms, bearing it below to his own -cabin, his men only saw in this act another evidence of the skipper’s -kindly disposition. Yet in that brief glance, Gloria de Lara had been -recognised; for what devoted adherent of her cause who had ever looked -upon her face could forget it? Certes, not Captain Ruglen. A member of -Ruglen clan, he was also an out-and-out D’Estrangeite; nor was this the -first time that he had been in the company of Hector D’Estrange. But he -knew that the once successful and powerful idol of Society was now a -hunted and doomed felon, with a large reward out for her apprehension. -He knew that many of his crew were not D’Estrangeites, and that it might -go hard with him and her if she were recognised. Thus had he borne her -to his cabin, determined there to protect and shield her, and carry her -to the far-away free shores of the Spanish main, whither _The Maid of -Glad Tidings_ was bound. - -Reaching it, Gloria’s first act had been to wire to Speranza de Lara in -North America, and to Estcourt in England. As yet she had heard no -tidings of the wonderful events which had led up to the triumph of her -cause. - -But those tidings sped back to her along the electric wire. They came in -the shape of a loving message of welcome from the man she loved. From -Evie Ravensdale she learnt how victory had crowned her efforts; from him -came the tidings of great joy that her vow had been accomplished. - - * * * * * - -Once more the vast crowd of London surges in the streets,—a happy, -joyous, good-humoured crowd nevertheless. Every house is gay with -bunting and flags, and triumphal arches are in every street through -which the procession will pass along. - -What procession? - -Why, is not this the day upon which Gloria de Lara is to reach our -shores, and is she not to be welcomed back and publicly honoured in the -great Hall of Liberty, where, when last she stood, she was a condemned -and hunted felon? - -The yacht _Eilean_ has gone to meet her. It has joined the _Colossus_, -in which Gloria has made her passage from South America at the mouth of -the Thames. The party on board the _Eilean_ consists solely of Speranza -de Lara, Flora Desmond, and her child, a fine girl of seven years, -together with Evie Ravensdale, Estcourt, Léonie, and Rita Vernon. All, -with the exception of Speranza, wear the white gold-braided uniform of -the White Guards’ Regiment of the Women Volunteers, an organisation -which a Royal Proclamation has called back to life. - -The _Colossus_ has yielded up its precious charge. As the cutter bears -Gloria de Lara away from the great war monster’s side towards the white, -graceful _Eilean_ that awaits her, the cannon belch forth their parting -salute and welcome in one breath. There, standing on the deck ready to -grasp her hand in a deep and loving tenderness, with heartfelt gratitude -for her wonderful deliverance, stand the two beings whom she loves most -in the world, Speranza de Lara and Evie Ravensdale. What human words -could describe that meeting, for they thought her dead, and behold she -is there in living life? - -Tilbury Docks are reached; the roar of distant cannon announce her -arrival. There she stands on the yacht’s bridge with Evie Ravensdale by -her side. As the crowd sways to and fro to catch a glimpse of her, the -people see that she wears the White Guards’ Uniform. The regiment is -there to meet and welcome her. As she leaves the yacht, its band strikes -up the beautiful march “Triumphant,” the same which had welcomed her to -the Hall of Liberty, when, as Hector D’Estrange, she had performed the -opening ceremony. The milk-white steed which she had ridden on that -occasion now awaits her in its trappings of white-and-gold. Never has -horse been so groomed and petted as this one. - -In sight of the crowd she bids her mother a courteous and tender -farewell, for Speranza has elected to drive straight to Montragee House, -there to await her child’s return. A brilliant mounted throng await the -former’s coming; many well-known faces are there, amongst which Gloria -catches sight of those of Lady Manderton and Launcelot Trevor. - -Now she has mounted her milk-white charger Saladin, and with Evie -Ravensdale and Nigel Estcourt on her right, and Flora Desmond and Archie -Douglasdale on her left, is riding slowly forward. In close attendance -behind are Rita Vernon and Léonie Stanley. The latter’s eyes are busy in -the crowd, and seem to search the ranks forward as they ride along. The -brilliant throng of mounted friends close in, the cheering of the crowd -is deafening; it will be one long loud roar until the Hall of Liberty is -reached. - -The way is kept by the Women’s Volunteer Regiments, and the order is -perfect. As Gloria and Flora ride along, they catch glimpses of old, -tried, true, and trusty friends among the ranks—friends who in time of -trouble stood by them, and laboured lovingly to make easier the rugged -path which they were then treading. - -It is a soul-inspiring sight. Many of the people have brought flowers -with them, and as the procession approaches they cast them loosely in -the air, out of which they descend in a shower of many colours to carpet -the way, along which Gloria must pass, with their bright and variegated -bloom. The strains of the White Guards’ band, the glitter of their -white-and-gold uniforms, the loud cheering of the enthusiastic crowds as -the brilliant cavalcade moves along, is a sight which the onlooker is -not likely to forget. It thrills the hearts of that vast woman world, -assembled to do honour to the one who has worked for and who has won -their emancipation. - -One long triumphal march. One uninterrupted scene of unchecked -enthusiasm is the welcome accorded her from the Docks to the Hall of -Liberty. The sun is shining on the gilded statues and million panes -which crown that wondrous structure, as she approaches the building -which her genius conceived and raised,—approaches it, no longer as the -hunted felon upon whose head the price of gold is set, but as a free -woman, a victorious general who has conquered the demon armies of -Monopoly and Selfishness, and thrown open to the people the free gates -of happiness and reform. Now through the giant portals she rides once -more. Great God! what a burst of welcome, and what a scene! From floor -to ceiling the monster building is crammed. Every available space has -been occupied; there is not a foot of standing room. - -She has uncovered, and they see her face as she rides round the circular -ride towards the huge platform,—the same face of exquisite beauty which -they remember and know so well. As she dismounts, she is received by the -chairman of the committee appointed to carry out the day’s proceedings, -and to present the people’s address of welcome, to which thousands of -representative names from every county have been attached. - -On the platform are gathered every member of the Ministry and every -D’Estrangeite Member of Parliament. Truly a royal welcome by staunch and -faithful friends; for as Gloria dismounts and steps upon the platform -she is greeted with a loud long cheer by these men of generous mould, -who have fought so nobly on behalf of her holy cause. All honour be to -them for ever! - -Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, Lord Mayor of London, presents and reads the -address of welcome, and as he concludes it, Gloria de Lara stands -forward to reply. An intense silence falls. All are eager to hear again -a voice which they had believed to be for ever stilled in death. - -“My friends,” she begins, and though the voice has all the clear, -ringing sweetness of yore, there is undoubtedly a tremor in it, “it -would require a special language, one of which we have yet no knowledge, -to convey to you the emotions which this scene of magnificent welcome -awakens within me. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for it, as -well as all those true and gallant friends who have created this -glorious day; for next to God it is the people who have created it. In -this welcome which you give to me, the humble and all too unworthy -representative of a magnificent cause, the great principle of human -freedom is at length recognised, that freedom inherited at birth, and -only wrung from individuals by oppression and wrong. Human freedom means -the right to take part in the creation of laws for the better government -and perfection of man; it means that man and woman are born equal, are -created to work hand in hand for the greater happiness of mankind. -Hitherto this principle of mighty truth has not been recognised, with -the awful results shown forth in man’s ever-increasing degradation. By -the acknowledgment of this principle you have laid the train which, when -fired, will put an end to immorality and social wrongs, which will make -evil unpleasant to perform, and which will degrade the performer to the -position of a leper, the shunned and outcast of Society, loathed and -despised by his fellow-men. By the acknowledgment of this principle, a -day of darkness has sunk to rise no more, and one of brightness, and -promise, and fair hope has arisen to cheer us along the glorious path of -reform. Much there is to be done, mountains of prejudice, and -selfishness, and greed yet to be faced and conquered; but the army which -the acknowledgment of human freedom has raised, is an army which will -fight victoriously to the end; for it is an army in which men and women -will do battle side by side and shoulder to shoulder, undeterred by -class jealousies or the odious assumption of superiority by one sex over -another. My friends, as I stand to-day in this Hall of Liberty and look -upon this magnificent scene, memories rise up before me of a stirring -and eventful past. I see before me now, a picture which in childhood I -loved to imagine, a glorious reality which in the past haunted my waking -dreams. On many incidents of that past I would prefer not to dwell, -arousing, as they must, the bitterness of human nature. Rather is the -province of the conqueror, of the victorious to forgive and forget, to -look forward to the future, and strive for the possibilities which that -future may contain. We are starting along a new path in life, a path -open to all, not monopolised by the few, a path which, as time goes on, -shall show traces of victory on all sides. I ask the great army of my -countrymen to endeavour to win those victories as speedily as possible, -so that in the future, the day may dawn when there shall be no misery, -no wickedness, no crime. In that army, women now find a place; let them -triumphantly prove their right to be there. They have yet an uphill road -to climb, but I have confidence that they will compass it, and now that -the gates of freedom are thrown open to them, take part in all the great -deeds of the world. Upon them the eyes of this world will be fixed; upon -them depends the ultimate freedom of the human race. I have no fear as -to the result; I do not for one moment dread the trial. I believe, -moreover, that the presence and natural companionship of woman will -upraise and influence man’s character for good, banishing from his daily -life those coarser habits which self-indulgence and lack of moral -influence have allowed to creep therein, and that Society, in its -remodelled state, will thus be enabled to deal with the evils which -infest it. My friends, I need detain you no longer. On my arrival in -this country I was informed that my old constituency had re-elected me -as its member. I rejoice to hear that I have several women -fellow-members in the Legislature to whom men, generous and -noble-hearted men, have relinquished places. To tell you that the -remainder of my life, which God has so mercifully spared to me, will be -employed in working for the people, in devoting every energy I possess -to their advancement, is the sum of my declaration here to-day. Rest -assured that for them, no one will struggle harder than Gloria de Lara.” - -A simple speech, a quiet, honest declaration. Though she stands there, -the cynosure of all eyes, there is no vanity or conceit in those few -simple words. Gloria’s aim is unveiled. It is the upraising and triumph -of humanity. She lives but to work on its behalf. - -She is on the point of stepping back amidst a perfect hurricane of -cheers, when Evie Ravensdale comes to her side. - -“One moment, Gloria; stay where you are,” he whispers. “I have something -to say.” - -He raises his hand to ask for silence, and the people accord it to him. - -“My friends,” he exclaims, “for with Gloria de Lara may I not call you -my friends? I have a pleasing task to perform in that which I am going -to say. As Gloria de Lara has told you, the law of this country has at -length acknowledged the principle of human freedom, and woman’s right to -equal man is finally recognised. When the country spoke out so -unmistakably on behalf of human freedom, my sovereign bade me assume the -reins of power. I accepted them, not unwillingly; for the only object I -had in life was to carry out the great reforms which the genius of -Gloria de Lara had conceived, and of which she had made me the -confidant. At that time I believed, with all others, that she was dead. -But, my friends, she is alive. And now I tell you that she only has a -right to assume the reins confided to me, she alone has the right to -carry those great reforms. The person who conceived them alone has that -right, and I, her deputy, relinquish it to her. I tell you that Gloria -de Lara must be your Prime Minister, while I will take my part as a -humble worker with the people. With the full approval of my colleagues -and every D’Estrangeite member, I intend forthwith to tender my -resignation, and to advise my sovereign to send for Gloria de Lara.” - -There can be no mistaking the genuine ring of approval in the mighty -cheer that bursts forth from the thousands of throats in that densely -packed building. Truly the child’s heartfelt prayer has been answered in -this splendid tribute paid to her unselfish labours, from the days of -childhood far into those of womanhood. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER IX. - - -Wealth and magnificence rear their forms in and around the precincts of -St. Stephen’s. They do not, however, monopolise the entire space, for -here and there the squalid streets of poverty abide, with all their -_wealth_ and _magnificence_, of suffering, crime, and sin. One of these -streets is just across the river, and the clock in the big tower of the -Houses of Parliament can peep and peer therein, even from its misty -height. - -Staring from a dust-begrimed window on the second floor of a -dirty-looking dwelling situated in the street named, stands a woman, -whose rough, untidy hair is tied back in a knot, and whose coarse, -seared features show signs of former enamelling, now disused. Poor -wretch! there is hunger and misery in her eyes, and despair as well. -Some would say insanity gleams there. - -She is listening to the cannons’ roar as they belch forth their welcome -to Gloria de Lara. Their booming sound is maddening to the hungry, -lonely, despairing woman, who stands there with not a friend in the -world. - -Yes, he has forsaken her, got away scot-free himself, but left her to -wait for and look for him in vain. Victoire Hester has parted with her -jewellery and tawdry finery for a mere song, the five-pound note which -Mr. Trackem gave her is expended, and she has not a farthing left in the -world. To-morrow she must find three shillings for the rent of her -miserable, unhealthy room, and she has not got it, nor has a morsel of -food touched her lips this day. She is broken-hearted. Worse than that, -she is jealous, angry, bitter. It maddens her to think of Gloria at the -pinnacle of success, and she who sought to assist in her ruin, at the -bottom of the abyss of abject misery. - -What is left to her in the world? Nothing. Her character is gone. She -cannot find work, and if she could, she would not undertake it. She has -no heart to do anything, for in her coarse, hard way, she loved Trackem, -loved him only to lose him. - -“Whose fault but hers?” she mutters angrily as the cannon boom once -more. “Why should she be happy, while I die here like a dog? Not that I -want to live, I mean to die; but she sha’n’t live to be happy, that she -sha’n’t! I’ll send her first, and then I’ll go myself. Ha, ha!” - -Surely insanity rings in that voice. Poor Victoire! You do not know how -lovingly Gloria would forgive you, if she only knew the state you were -in, how eagerly she would seek to raise you from that fallen state, and -set you on the straight path once more. But all this you do not know. - -She goes over to a tumble-down-looking chest of drawers that has seen -better days, and pulls open one of the drawers. Out of this she takes a -six-chambered bull-dog revolver, examines it carefully, and slips it -into her pocket. It used to belong to Mr. Trackem, and she had brought -it away with her when she left the house in Verdegrease Crescent, a few -hours after the departure of Inspectors Truffle and Bush. She has kept -it by her,—it is about the only thing she has not parted with,—vaguely -feeling that it may be useful, if Mr. Trackem does not answer her -piteous appeals in the agony columns of the _Times_; for Victoire Hester -has determined to put an end to herself now that he has forsaken her. -The rich and well clothed may condemn her, but who could, who diving -into the arid desert of that lonely, hopeless heart, beheld the mortal -wound inflicted by despair? - -The revolver safe, she next unearths an old woollen shawl, which she -flings over her head and pins under her chin. Then she is ready, and she -gropes her way down the dark staircase into the street. - -She is hungry, weary, and weak, but she walks briskly along, looking -straight ahead of her. People are hurrying across Westminster Bridge -eager to get a good place in the line along which Gloria de Lara will -pass on her way from the Hall of Liberty to Montragee House. Victoire -Hester is intent on securing a good place too. - -And she is successful. She takes her stand in Whitehall, not a stone’s -throw from the Duke of Ravensdale’s mansion. She will have a long time -to wait, but she steels herself to endure it. - -Denser and denser grows the throng, but Victoire Hester, though pushed -and hustled about, nevertheless maintains her position in the front -rank. She feels she must hold that at any cost; it is necessary for her -purpose. There is a tremor in the crowd, as if an electric current had -passed through it. Now the boom of cannon resounds once more. These -warning notes tell the people that the ceremony is over in the Hall of -Liberty, and that Gloria de Lara is leaving it for Montragee House. - -A hum runs along the serried walls of human forms; the electric current -is apparently again at work. From afar strains of martial music come -floating to the people’s ears, arousing them to the pitch of expectancy -and excitement. There is a dull continuous roar too; it never seems to -cease, as it rises and falls like the waves of a turbulent sea, breaking -upon the wild shores of a rock-bound coast. Yet as it comes nearer, the -roar assumes a human sound; it is that of thousands and tens of -thousands of voices cheering lustily. Victoire Hester’s trembling hand -gropes in her pocket for the revolver. She knows now that Gloria de Lara -is approaching, and that the moment which will close her own life is at -hand. Yes, surely insanity is writ in those eyes as they stare hungrily -forward. How terribly they gleam! - -No one notices her, however. Every eye is bent upon the approaching -procession. There comes the band of the White Guards,—how soul-stirring -its music!—and there, too, is the milk-white charger Saladin, with -arching neck and proud carriage; for does he not bear a precious charge -indeed, in the person of Gloria de Lara? - -The sun gleams down upon her gilded helmet, and lights with a living -blaze the gold braiding upon her uniform. How beautiful she looks as she -rides along with the glance of eager thousands upon her! How she loves -the people! How they return that love! Surely none in that wildly -enthusiastic crowd would seek to harm her? - -Yes, _one_ would though, and we know who. The madness in Victoire -Hester’s brain is increased by the scene before her. More than ever she -questions the right of this woman to be happy, to be the idol of -thousands, while she is doomed to be friendless and miserable. - -Will no one stay her hand? Will no one arrest and strike down the engine -of death which she is steadily raising and bringing to bear full on -Gloria’s breast? Ah! can no one in this moment of wild excitement see -the danger that threatens the idol of the people? See! Victoire’s finger -is on the trigger! God! can no one see and stay it? - -Yes, one can see it, though she cannot stay it—one whose glance has -faithfully swept the crowd ahead of Gloria all the way along. Only a -pair of dark grey faithful eyes, with a wondrous wealth of lashes -shading their intelligent depths, only a girl in years, yet with the -light of genius stamped on the beautiful forehead above them. She sees -and recognises Victoire Hester in spite of her changed aspect and the -mad look in her eyes. Léonie Stanley sees the revolver raised and the -assassin’s finger on the trigger. Deep into her horse’s flanks she -drives her spurs. He springs furiously forward, brushes roughly against -Saladin and his rider, and covers like a shield the person of Gloria de -Lara. - -Only just in time though! The revolver’s note rings forth, speeding from -its lips the messenger of death; yet another note, and it claims two -victims for its own. One is a wild, pale, haggard woman stretched out -upon the street, from whose temple blood is flowing, the other a young -officer of the White Guards’ Regiment, who has fallen forward on the -grey neck of her horse, and whose blood is staining his dappled -well-groomed coat. Dear little Léonie, she has not lived in vain; she -has proved her love and gratitude at last; she has shown how ill-fitting -was the cloak of Judas, in which the wicked had striven to clothe her. -She has lived to prove her gratitude, and is faithful unto death. - - - - -[Illustration] - - CHAPTER X. - - -=1999.= It is a lovely scene on which that balloon looks down,—a scene -of peaceful villages and well-tilled fields, a scene of busy towns and -happy working people, a scene of peace and prosperity, comfort and -contentment, which only a righteous Government could produce and -maintain. - -The balloon is passing over London, a London vastly changed from the -London of 1900. Somehow it wears a countrified aspect, for every street -has its double row of shady trees, and gardens and parks abound at every -turn. This London, unlike its predecessor, is not smoke-begrimed, nor -can it boast of dirty courts and filthy alleys like the London of 1900. -Every house, great and small, bears the aspect of cleanliness and -comfort, for poverty and misery are things no longer known. - -A stranger in the balloon looks down with interest upon this scene. His -gaze, wandering across the mighty city, is arrested by two gleaming -gilded statues crowning a monster edifice, upon whose cap of glittering -panes the sun is shining brightly. - -“Is that the Hall of Liberty?” he inquires of his guide. - -“Yes,” answers the person addressed, “the same as was raised a century -ago by the great Duchess of Ravensdale, of noble memory.” - -“Is she buried there?” asks the stranger dreamily. - -“Buried there! Ah, no!” replies the man almost indignantly. “I thought -all the world knew where Gloria of Ravensdale sleeps. There is a -beautiful grave overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, on the shores of Glenuig -Bay. It is there where Gloria sleeps, by the side of her husband Evelyn, -the good Duke of Ravensdale. It was her wish, and her wish with the -nation was law. Every year the grave is resorted to by thousands, who -lay upon it their tributes of lovely flowers.” - -“Is any one else buried there?” again the stranger asks. - -“Yes, sir, a great woman, Lady Flora Desmond. She survived Gloria of -Ravensdale for many years, and carried on her noble works of reform. She -was Prime Minister for twenty years, and her last request was to be -buried at the feet of the Duke and Duchess of Ravensdale.” - -“The Ravensdales owned immense wealth, and parted with it all, so -history says,” murmurs the stranger. - -“Ay, sir, they gave it all to the poor. At least, they spent it on the -poor, and by their noble example induced others to do likewise,” answers -the man. “There is no poverty in this country now, sir. As we pass -across it you will see evidence of peace and contentment, and plenty -everywhere. We owe it all to the glorious reforms of Gloria of -Ravensdale.” - -“That is a very lovely garden not far from Westminster Bridge which you -lately pointed out to me,” continued the stranger. “What a glorious -wealth of flowers!” - -“Ah! that sir is where Léonie Stanley saved Gloria de Lara from -assassination by a maniac. But she lost her life in doing so. She was -accorded a public funeral, and by the wish of the nation buried where -she fell. The garden was laid out afterwards. It is the nation’s pride -to keep it beautiful. Léonie’s heroic deed will for ever live in the -hearts of a grateful people.” - -“And where is the great Lord Estcourt buried?” - -“In the National Burial Ground, where only those whom the nation loves -to honour are laid.” - -“Yonder splendid building is the Imperial Parliament, is it not?” -pursues the stranger. - -“Yes, sir. That is where the representatives of our Federated Empire -watch over its welfare. To Gloria of Ravensdale we owe the triumph of -Imperial Federation. She lived long enough to see England, Ireland, -Scotland, and Wales peacefully attending to their private affairs in -their Local Parliaments, while sending delegates to represent them in -the Imperial Assembly. Ah, sir! that Imperial Assembly is a wonderful -sight. Therein we see gathered together representative men and women -from all parts of our glorious Empire, working hand in hand to spread -its influence amongst the nations of the world, with all of whom we are -at peace.” - -The balloon is rapidly drifting northwards. As the shades of evening -begin to creep on apace it moves along Scotland’s western coasts. The -aeronaut in charge of it guides it above the graves of Evie and Gloria -Ravensdale, and Lady Flora Desmond. As the sun goes down across the -western sea, it bathes, with a farewell flood of glory, the last -resting-place on this earth of the great dead. The balloon descends, -guided by a skilful hand. It soon reaches the ground, and in a short -time the stranger stands by these graves. Three simple marble hearts lie -above them, on which are engraved in golden letters the names of those -who sleep below. And at the head of the graves a marble cross is -standing with a few simple words thereon. The stranger goes over to the -cross, and reads:— - - Sacred to the Memory of - - GLORIA DE LARA, DUCHESS OF RAVENSDALE, - - The mighty Champion of Women’s Freedom - and the Saviour of her People. - As also to that of Evelyn, the good Duke of Ravensdale, - and the beloved and revered Lady Flora Desmond. - Their names are engraved in the hearts of millions now - and for all time. Amen. - -Surely Gloria had triumphed? What greater reward did she hope for than -the welfare and love of the people? - - * * * * * - - MAREMNA’S DREAM. - - A soft wind sweeps across Maremna’s form, - She starts, and springs from off her heath’ry couch. - It was a dream, and yet not all a dream; - For scenes which in her wand’rings she’s beheld - Have throng’d that vision. She has seen again - That which has cross’d her in the paths of men, - That which has taught her life’s reality. - Yet deep within, Maremna’s soul is stirr’d - By that bright vision of a fight well won, - A gleam of hope that yet these things shall be, - That freedom shall not ever droop and pine, - But strike a blow for glorious liberty. - A waking vision to Maremna’s soul, - Yet none the less inspiring, for the gleam - Which first awoke within her mightier half - Has glow’d and burnt into a fervent flame, - which none but God can ever extinguish. - A blood-red sunset! - Bathed in its glow Maremna stands alone, - Alone where oft in childhood she has play’d. - The vision is before her bright and clear— - Lo! it awakes her from a living trance, - Bids her arise and buckle on her mail. - Far off she hears the busy din of war, - And knows that duty calls her to the fray. - In that brief hour Maremna’s vow is made. - Low sinks the sun, and gloom o’erspreads the earth, - As down the rugged mountain side she wends - Her way. Maremna’s high resolve is ta’en— - Faithful till Death to be, unto her vow. - - - THE END. - - - Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney Ld., London and Aylesbury. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ - - - - - REDEEMED IN BLOOD. - - - BY - LADY FLORENCE DIXIE, - - _Author of - “The Young Castaways,” “Across Patagonia,” “In the Land of Misfortune,” - etc._ - - In Three Vols. Crown 8vo, 31s. 6d. - - - OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. - -“A novel of stirring adventure, but also one with a purpose.”—_Morning -Post._ - -“In this novel, Lady Florence Dixie inculcates her well-known theories -about the education and position of women. The way is paved for various -thrilling adventures.”—_Times._ - -“Lady Florence Dixie has the courage of her opinions; she writes freely -and frankly, with a natural grace of manner that makes her works -interesting and readable, and she has the art of writing a good story -while enforcing her theories. There is plenty of excitement, adventure, -and interest in the story, and, apart from its too startling title, Lady -Florence Dixie’s novel will commend itself to the reading -public.”—_Life._ - -“Under whatever impression the book is first opened, it is likely to be -perused for its own sake to the end.”—_Sunday Times._ - -“Carries us through at breathless speed.”—_Truth._ - -“That Lady Florence Dixie can write well, is shown not only by her -natural sketch MŒVA, but by the character of Lady Ettrick, and her -charming sketches at the opening of the youthful lovers Rory and Lorna, -who certainly do not bend to the customs of conventional society. -Whatever else be said for or against the novel it is indubitably -exciting.”—_Academy._ - -“Lady Florence is a vivacious writer; many of her social sketches are -very happy, and among her faults she certainly does not number that of -dulness.”—_Literary World._ - -“Lady Florence Dixie always writes brightly ... her dominant qualities -are to be found in ‘Redeemed in Blood.’”—_World._ - -“On the subject of rational dress and the prevailing system of bringing -up young people, Lady Florence is neither silent nor soft spoken; she -has very pronounced opinions as to the way in which girls should be -brought up, and she gives free expression to them. She writes naturally, -sensibly, and skilfully.”—_Scotsman._ - -“It is written with so much dash and go, and there is so much -delightfully fresh incident in it, that it is eminently -readable.”—_Glasgow Herald._ - -“There is no sham romanticism in the book; its literary workmanship is -vigorous. Whatever else Lady Florence may be, she is emphatically -original.”—_Scottish Leader._ - -“The opening chapter contains some capital descriptive wanting, and the -interest is most cleverly kept up to the end.”—_Newcastle Chronicle._ - - - NEW WORK FOR THE YOUNG. - - By the Author of “THE YOUNG CASTAWAYS.” - - - ANIWEE; - OR, THE WARRIOR QUEEN. - - A Tale of the Araucanian Indians. - - BY LADY FLORENCE DIXIE. - - _Large Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, 5s._ [_In preparation._ - - LONDON: HENRY & CO., 6, BOUVERIE STREET, E.C. - - - _Price 5s. Illustrated._ - - - RAYMI; - OR, THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN. - - A Tale of Adventure. - - BY CLIVE HOLLAND, - - _Author of “The Golden Hawk,” etc._ - - OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. - -“An attractive tale of adventure.”—_Morning Post._ - -“We have had a great many stories of adventure showered upon us.... Some -of these have been good, some, a large proportion, bad: many -indifferent.... ‘Raymi’ is more good than indifferent; it is certainly -very far from being a bad book of its kind.”—_Daily News._ - -“There is much quaint and fresh interest about this well-written story -of adventures and wonders in far-away lands.... The relations of the -girl (Clara Savill) to the crew and her father are touched in with a -firm hand, and delineated in a way that invests this part of the -narrative with all the charm of truth to nature.... Let it suffice that -in ‘Raymi’ we have a good stirring story of adventure, which is marred -neither by improbability nor extravagance.”—_Public Opinion._ - -“A tale of adventure and peril of surpassing interest is comprised in -this large and handsome volume.... It possesses all the traits that go -to captivate attention.”—_Aberdeen Journal._ - -“A really cleverly written story of stirring sea fights and buccaneering -deeds, and strange adventures among a strange people.... Mr. Holland -conducts his hero through many marvellous nautical and terrestrial -experiences with a skill which seems to us not to fall very far behind -that of Mr. Clark Russell.... ‘Raymi’ has not a single fault that we can -discover.”—_Glasgow Herald._ - -“We have here a book to delight the heart and stir the pulse of -adventurous youth, besides containing much matter to interest ‘children -of older growth.’... The author’s story is all his own, and is not -unworthy in plot and vividness of the reputation won by his earlier -work. The author traces with no little skill and graphic power the -remote wanderings and strange and thrilling experiences of one Hugh -Carton, a sailor lad, in distant parts.”—_Birmingham Daily Post._ - -“This admirable romance. The adventures of the hero amongst ‘marvellous -scenes and marvellous people’ are related most vividly and with -considerable skill.... The sea fights and perils and dangers of the deep -are also very well done.”—_Newcastle Dally Chronicle._ - - - LONDON: HENRY & CO., 6, BOUVERIE STREET, E.C., - AND AT ALL BOOKSELLERS. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 3. 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