Little Novels .........................................................................................................................................................1

THE course of this narrative describes the return of a disembodied spirit to earth, and leads the reader on new

Not in the obscurity of midnight, but in the searching light of day, did the supernatural influence assert itself.

Neither revealed by a vision, nor announced by a voice, it reached mortal knowledge through the sense which

The record of this event will of necessity produce conflicting impressions. It will raise, in some minds, the

doubt which reason asserts; it will invigorate, in other minds, the hope which faith justifies; and it will leave

the terrible question of the destinies of man, where centuries of vain investigation have left itin the dark.

Having only undertaken in the present narrative to lead the way along a succession of events, the writer

declines to follow modern examples by thrusting himself and his opinions on the public view. He returns to

the shadow from which he has emerged, and leaves the opposing forces of incredulity and belief to fight the

THE events happened soon after the first thirty years of the present century had come to an end.

On a fine morning, early in the month of April, a gentleman of middle age (named Rayburn) took his little

daughter Lucy out for a walk in the woodland pleasureground of Western London, called Kensington

The few friends whom he possessed reported of Mr. Rayburn (not unkindly) that he was a reserved and

solitary man. He might have been more accurately described as a widower devoted to his only surviving

child. Although he was not more than forty years of age, the one pleasure which made life enjoyable to

Playing with her ball, the child ran on to the southern limit of the Gardens, at that part of it which still

remains nearest to the old Palace of Kensington. Observing close at hand one of those spacious covered seats,

called in England "alcoves," Mr. Rayburn was reminded that he had the morning's newspaper in his pocket,

and that he might do well to rest and read. At that early hour the place was a solitude.

Lucy tossed up her ball; and Lucy's father opened his newspaper. He had not been reading for more than ten

He looked up directly. The child's pale face startled him. He took her on his knee and kissed her.

"You oughtn't to be frightened, Lucy, when I am with you," he said, gently. "What is it?" He looked out of

the alcove as he spoke, and saw a little dog among the trees. "Is it the dog?" he asked.

"She came near to me. I thought she was going to say something. She seemed to be ill."

There, Lucy found herself at a loss how to express what she had to say nextand took refuge in silence.

"The lady was frightenedand that frightened me. I think," the child repeated positively, "she's mad."

It occurred to Mr. Rayburn that the lady might be blind. He rose at once to set the doubt at rest.

But Lucy clung to him with both hands; Lucy declared that she was afraid to be by herself. They left the

The new point of view at once revealed the stranger, leaning against the trunk of a tree. She was dressed in

the deep mourning of a widow. The pallor of her face, the glassy stare in her eyes, more than accounted for

They advanced a few steps. It was now easy to see that the lady was young, and wasted by illnessbut

(arriving at a doubtful conclusion perhaps under the present circumstances) apparently possessed of rare

personal attractions in happier days. As the father and daughter advanced a little, she discovered them. After

some hesitation, she left the tree; approached with an evident intention of speaking; and suddenly paused. A

change to astonishment and fear animated her vacant eyes. If it had not been plain before, it was now beyond

all doubt that she was not a poor blind creature, deserted and helpless. At the same time, the expression of her

face was not easy to understand. She could hardly have looked more amazed and bewildered, if the two

strangers who were observing her had suddenly vanished from the place in which they stood.

The next words were suspended on his lips. It was impossible to realize such a state of things; but the strange

impression that she had already produced on him was now confirmed. If he could believe his senses, her face

did certainly tell him that he was invisible and inaudible to the woman whom he had just addressed! She

moved slowly away with a heavy sigh, like a person disappointed and distressed. Following her with his eyes,

he saw the dog once morea little smoothcoated terrier of the ordinary English breed. The dog showed

none of the restless activity of his race. With his head down and his tail depressed, he crouched like a creature

paralyzed by fear. His mistress roused him by a call. He followed her listlessly as she turned away.

"Did I feel it again?" she said, as if perplexed by some doubt that awed or grieved her. After a while her arms

rose slowly, and opened with a gentle caressing actionan embrace strangely offered to the empty air! "No,"

she said to herself, sadly, after waiting a moment. "More perhaps when tomorrow comesno more

today." She looked up at the clear blue sky. "The beautiful sunlight! the merciful sunlight!" she murmured.

He was by this time convinced that the poor creature was in no condition to be permitted to go out without

some one to take care of her. From motives of humanity, he was resolved on making the attempt to

THE lady left the Gardens by the nearest gate; stopping to lower her veil before she turned into the busy

thoroughfare which leads to Kensington. Advancing a little way along the High Street, she entered a house of

respectable appearance, with a card in one of the windows which announced that apartments were to let.

Mr. Rayburn waited a minutethen knocked at the door, and asked if he could see the mistress of the house.

The servant showed him into a room on the ground floor, neatly but scantily furnished. One little white object

With a child's unceremonious curiosity Lucy pounced on the card, and spelled the name, letter by letter: "Z,

Her father looked at the card, as he took it away from her, and put it back on the table. The name was printed,

The mistress made her appearance. Mr. Rayburn heartily wishe d himself out of the house again, the moment

he saw her. The ways in which it is possible to cultivate the social virtues are more numerous and more

varied than is generally supposed. This lady's way had apparently accustomed her to meet her

fellowcreatures on the hard ground of justice without mercy. Something in her eyes, when she looked at

Mr. Rayburn at once stated the object of his visitas clearly, as civilly, and as concisely as a man could do

it. He was conscious (he added) that he had been guilty perhaps of an act of intrusion.

The manner of the mistress of the house showed that she entirely agreed with him. He suggested, however,

that his motive might excuse him. The mistress's manner changed, and asserted a difference of opinion.

"I only know the lady whom you mention," she said, "as a person of the highest respectability, in delicate

health. She has taken my first floor apartments, with excellent references; and she gives remarkably little

trouble. I have no claim to interfere with her proceedings, and no reason to doubt that she is capable of taking

"I am not responsible for what you observed in Kensington Gardens. If your time is of any value, pray don't

Dismissed in those terms, Mr. Rayburn took Lucy's hand and withdrew. He had just reached the door, when it

was opened from the outer side. The Lady of Kensington Gardens stood before him. In the position which he

and his daughter now occupied, their backs were toward the window. Would she remember having seen them

"Excuse me for intruding on you," she said to the landlady. "Your servant tells me my brotherinlaw called

She looked for the message, and appeared to be disappointed: there was no writing on the card.

Mr. Rayburn lingered a little in the doorway on the chance of hearing something more. The landlady's

Replying in those words, the lady looked at Mr. Rayburn for the first time; and suddenly drew back from

She seemed to be incapable of appreciating the kindness of his motive. After hesitating a little she addressed

Without waiting for a reply, she led the way to the stairs. Mr. Rayburn and Lucy followed. They were just

beginning the ascent to the first floor, when the spiteful landlady left the lower room, and called to her lodger

over their heads: "Take care what you say to this man, Mrs. Zant! He thinks you're mad."

Mrs. Zant turned round on the landing, and looked at him. Not a word fell from her lips. She suffered, she

feared, in silence. Something in the sad submission of her face touched the springs of innocent pity in Lucy's

That artless expression of sympathy drew Mrs. Zant down the few stairs which separated her from Lucy.

"May I kiss your dear little girl?" she said to Mr. Rayburn. The landlady, standing on the mat below,

expressed her opinion of the value of caresses, as compared with a sounder method of treating young persons

in tears: "If that child was mine," she remarked, "I would give her something to cry for."

The first words she spoke showed that the landlady had succeeded but too well in prejudicing her against Mr.

"You don't know yet what I really do think. Will you give me a minute's attention?"

"No," she said positively. "The child pities me, I want to speak to the child. What did you see me do in the

Gardens, my dear, that surprised you?" Lucy turned uneasily to her father; Mrs. Zant persisted. "I first saw

you by yourself, and then I saw you with your father," she went on. "When I came nearer to you, did I look

"You are confusing my little girl," he said. "Allow me to answer your questionsor excuse me if I leave

There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She put her hand to her head.

"I don't think I'm fit for it," she answered vacantly. "My courage has been sorely tried already. If I can get a

little rest and sleep, you may find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have reasons

for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you tomorrow? Or write to you? Where do you live?"

Mr. Rayburn laid his card on the table in silence. She had strongly excited his interest. He honestly desired to

be of some service to this forlorn creatureabandoned so cruelly, as it seemed, to her own guidance. But he

had no authority to exercise, no sort of claim to direct her actions, even if she consented to accept his advice.

As a last resource he ventured on an allusion to the relative of whom she had spoken downstairs.

"Goodby, my little friend. If you live to grow up, I hope you will never be such a miserable woman as I

am." She suddenly looked round at Mr. Rayburn. "Have you got a wife at home?" she asked.

"And you have a child to comfort you! Please leave me; you harden my heart. Oh, sir, don't you understand?

Mr. Rayburn was silent when he and his daughter were out in the street again. Lucy, as became a dutiful

child, was silent, too. But there are limits to human enduranceand Lucy's capacity for selfcontrol gave

He only answered by nodding his head. His daughter had interrupted him at that critical moment in a man's

reflections, when he is on the point of making up his mind. Before they were at home again Mr. Rayburn had

arrived at a decision. Mrs. Zant's brotherinlaw was evidently ignorant of any serious necessity for his

interferenceor he would have made arrangements for immediately repeating his visit. In this state of

things, if any evil happened to Mrs. Zant, silence on Mr. Rayburn's part might be indirectly to blame for a

serious misfortune. Arriving at that conclusion, he decided upon running the risk of being rudely received, for

Leaving Lucy under the care of her governess, he went at once to the address that had been written on the

visitingcard left at the lodginghouse, and sent in his name. A courteous message was returned. Mr. John

He observed that the customary position of the furniture in a room had been, in some respects, altered. An

armchair, a sidetable, and a footstool had all been removed to one of the windows, and had been placed as

close as possible to the light. On the table lay a large open roll of morocco leather, containing rows of elegant

little instruments in steel and ivory. Waiting by the table, stood Mr. John Zant. He said "Goodmorning" in a

bass voice, so profound and so melodious that those two commonplace words assumed a new importance,

coming from his lips. His personal appearance was in harmony with his magnificent voice he was a tall,

finelymade man of dark complexion; with big brilliant black eyes, and a noble curling beard, which hid the

whole lower part of his face. Having bowed with a happy mingling of dignity and politeness, the

conventional side of this gentleman's character suddenly vanished; and a crazy side, to all appearance, took

its place. He dropped on his knees in front of the footstool. Had he forgotten to say his prayers that morning,

and was he in such a hurry to remedy the fault that he had no time to spare for consulting appearances? The

doubt had hardly suggested itself, before it was set at rest in a most unexpected manner. Mr. Zant looked at

For the moment, Mr. Rayburn lost his presence of mind. He looked at the instruments on the sidetable.

"Excuse me, sir, " returned the polite operator, "the term you use is quite obsolete in our profession." He rose

"Don't mention it! You are not, I imagine, in want of my professional services. To what motive may I

"I have come here," he answered, "under circumstances which require apology as well as explanation."

Mr. Zant's highly polished manner betrayed signs of alarm; his suspicions pointed to a formidable

conclusiona conclusion that shook him to the innermost recesses of the pocket in which he kept his money.

"Make your mind easy," he replied. "I don't want money. My object is to speak with you on the subject of a

Doubting if he had chosen a convenient time for his visit, Mr. Rayburn hesitated.

"Certainly not. My morning hours of attendance on my clients are from eleven to one." The clock on the

mantelpiece struck the quarterpast one as he spoke. "I hope you don't bring me bad news?" he said, very

earnestly. "When I called on Mrs. Zant this morning, I heard that she had gone out for a walk. Is it indiscreet

Mr. Rayburn at once mentioned what he had seen and heard in Kensington Gardens; not forgetting to add a

The lady's brotherinlaw listened with an interest and sympathy, which offered the strongest possible

contrast to the unprovoked rudeness of the mistress of the lodginghouse. He declared that he could only do

justice to his sense of obligation by following Mr. Rayburn's example, and expressing himself as frankly as if

"The sad story of my sisterinlaw's life," he said, "will, I think, explain certain things which must have

naturally perplexed you. My brother was introduced to her at the house of an Australian gentleman, on a visit

to England. She was then employed as governess to his daughters. So sincere was the regard felt for her by

the family that the parents had, at the entreaty of their children, asked her to accompany them when they

"She was literally alone in the world, sir. When I tell you that she had been brought up in the Foundling

Hospital, you will understand what I mean. Oh, there is no romance in my sisterinlaw's story! She never

has known, or will know, who her parents were or why they deserted her. The happiest moment in her life

was the moment when she and my brother first met. It was an instance, on both sides, of love at first sight.

Though not a rich man, my brother had earned a sufficient income in mercantile pursuits. His character spoke

for itself. In a word, he altered all the poor girl's prospects, as we then hoped and believed, for the better. Her

employers deferred their return to Australia, so that she might be married from their house. After a happy life

"Pardon me," he said; "I am not able, even yet, to speak composedly of my brother's death. Let me only say

that the poor young wife was a widow, before the happy days of the honeymoon were over. That dreadful

calamity struck her down. Before my brother had been committed to the grave, her life was in danger from

Those words placed in a new light Mr. Rayburn's first fear that her intellect might be deranged. Looking at

him attentively, Mr. Zant seemed to understand what was passing in the mind of his guest.

"No!" he said. "If the opinions of the medical men are to be trusted, the result of the illness is injury to her

physical strengthnot injury to her mind. I have observed in her, no doubt, a certain waywardness of temper

since her illness; but that is a trifle. As an example of what I mean, I may tell you that I invited her, on her

recovery, to pay me a visit. My house is not in Londonthe air doesn't agree with memy place of

residence is at St. SallinsonSea. I am not myself a married man; but my excellent housekeeper would have

received Mrs. Zant with the utmost kindness. She was resolvedobstinately resolved, poor thingto remain

in London. It is needless to say that, in her melancholy position, I am attentive to her slightest wishes. I took

a lodging for her; and, at her special request, I chose a house which was near Kensington Gardens.

"Is there any association with the Gardens which led Mrs. Zant to make that request?"

"Some association, I believe, with the memory of her husband. By the way, I wish to be sure of finding her at

home, when I call tomorrow. Did you say (in the course of your interesting statement) that she intendedas

you supposedto return to Kensington Gardens tomorrow? Or has my memory deceived me?"

"Thank you. I confess I am not only distressed by what you have told me of Mrs. ZantI am at a loss to

know how to act for the best. My only idea, at present, is to try change of air and scene. What do you think

"It would not be easy for me, just now," he said, "to leave my patients and take her abroad."

The obvious reply to this occurred to Mr. Rayburn. A man of larger worldly experience might have felt

"Why not renew your invitation and take her to your house at the seaside?" he said.

In the perplexed state of Mr. Zant's mind, this plain course of action had apparently failed to present itself.

"The very thing!" he said. "I will certainly take your advice. If the air of St. Sallins does nothing else, it will

improve her health and help her to recover her good looks. Did she strike you as having been (in happier

This was a strangely familiar question to askalmost an indelicate question, under the circumstances A

certain furtive expression in Mr. Zant's fine dark eyes seemed to imply that it had been put with a purpose.

Was it possible that he suspected Mr. Rayburn's interest in his sisterinlaw to be inspired by any motive

which was not perfectly unselfish and perfectly pure? To arrive at such a conclusion as this might be to judge

hastily and cruelly of a man who was perhaps only guilty of a want of delicacy of feeling. Mr. Rayburn

honestly did his best to assume the charitable point of view. At the same time, it is not to be denied that his

words, when he answered, were carefully guarded, and that he rose to take his leave.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Must you really go? I shall have the honor of returning your visit tomorrow,

when I have made arrangements to profit by that excellent suggestion of yours. Goodby. God bless you."

He held out his hand: a hand with a smooth s urface and a tawny color, that fervently squeezed the fingers of

a departing friend. "Is that man a scoundrel?" was Mr. Rayburn's first thought, after he had left the hotel. His

moral sense set all hesitation at restand answered: "You're a fool if you doubt it."

DISTURBED by presentiments, Mr. Rayburn returned to his house on foot, by way of trying what exercise

The experiment failed. He went upstairs and played with Lucy; he drank an extra glass of wine at dinner; he

took the child and her governess to a circus in the evening; he ate a little supper, fortified by another glass of

wine, before he went to bedand still those vague forebodings of evil persisted in torturing him. Looking

back through his past life, he asked himself if any woman (his late wife of course excepted!) had ever taken

the predominant place in his thoughts which Mrs. Zant had assumedwithout any discernible reason to

account for it? If he had ventured to answer his own question, the reply would have been: Never!

All the next day he waited at home, in expectation of Mr. John Zant's promised visit, and waited in vain.

Toward evening the parlormaid appeared at the family teatable, and presented to her master an unusually

large envelope sealed with black wax, and addressed in a strange handwriting. The absence of stamp and

Having drawn the inevitable conclusion, Mr. Rayburn shut himself up in his library. He was afraid of Lucy's

curiosity and Lucy's questions, if he read Mrs. Zant's letter in his daughter's presence.

Looking at the open envelope after he had taken out the leaves of writing which it contained, he noticed these

"My one excuse for troubling you, when I might have consulted my brotherinlaw, will be found in the

pages which I inclose. To speak plainly, you have been led to fear that I am not in my right senses. For this

very reason, I now appeal to you. Your dreadful doubt of me, sir, is my doubt too. Read what I have written

about myselfand then tell me, I entreat you, which I am: A person who has been the object of a

supernatural revelation? or an unfortunate creature who is only fit for imprisonment in a madhouse?"

Mr. Rayburn opened the manuscript. With steady attention, which soon quickened to breathless interest, he

YESTERDAY morning the sun shone in a clear blue skyafter a succession of cloudy days, counting from

The radiant light had its animating effect on my poor spirits. I had passed the night more peacefully than

usual; undisturbed by the dream, so cruelly familiar to me, that my lost husband is still livingthe dream

from which I always wake in tears. Never, since the dark days of my sorrow, have I been so little troubled by

the selftormenting fancies and fears which beset miserable women, as when I left the house, and turned my

Attended by my only companion, the little dog who had been his favorite as well as mine, I went to the quiet

On that soft grass, under the shade of those grand trees, we had loitered together in the days of our betrothal.

It was his favorite walk; and he had taken me to see it in the early days of our acquaintance. There, he had

first asked me to be his wife. There, we had felt the rapture of our first kiss. It was surely natural that I should

wish to see once more a place sacred to such memories as these? I am only twentythree years old; I have no

child to comfort me, no companion of my own age, nothing to love but the dumb creature who is so faithfully

I went to the tree under which we stood, when my dear one's eyes told his love before he could utter it in

words. The sun of that vanished day shone on me again; it was the same noontide hour; the same solitude was

around me. I had feared the first effect of the dreadful contrast between past and present. No! I was quiet and

resigned. My thoughts, rising higher than earth, dwelt on the better life beyond the grave. Some tears came

into my eyes. But I was not unhappy. My memory of all that happened may be trusted, even in trifles which

The first object that I saw, when my eyes were clear again, was the dog. He crouched a few paces away from

me, trembling pitiably, but uttering no cry. What had caused the fear that overpowered him?

I called to the dog; he remained immovableconscious of some mysterious coming thing that held him

The still figure of the dog disappeared from my view: the lonely scene round me disappearedexcepting the

light from heaven, the tree that sheltered me, and the grass in front of me. A sense of unutterable expectation

kept my eyes riveted on the grass. Suddenly, I saw its myriad blades rise erect and shivering. The fear came

to me of something passing over them with the invisible swiftness of the wind. The shivering advanced. It

was all round me. It crept into the leaves of the tree over my head; they shuddered, without a sound to tell of

their agitation; their pleasant natural rustling was struck dumb. The song of the birds had ceased. The cries of

In that dazzling light, in that fearful silence, I felt an Invisible Presence near me. It touched me gently.

At the touch, my heart throbbed with an overwhelming joy. Exquisite pleasure thrilled through every nerve in

my body. I knew him! From the unseen worldhimself unseenhe had returned to me. Oh, I knew him!

And yet, my helpless mortality longed for a sign that might give me assurance of the truth. The yearning in

me shaped itself into words. I tried to utter the words. I would have said, if I could have spoken: "Oh, my

angel, give me a token that it is You!" But I was like a person struck dumbI could only think it.

The Invisible Presence read my thought. I felt my lips touched, as my husband's lips used to touch them when

he kissed me. And that was my answer. A thought came to me again. I would have said, if I could have

I was conscious of thinking once more. I would have said, if I could have spoken: "Are you here to protect

I felt myself held in a gentle embrace, as my husband's arms used to hold me when he pressed me to his

The touch that was like the touch of his lips, lingered and was lost; the clasp that was like the clasp of his

arms, pressed me and fell away. The gardenscene resumed its natural aspect. I saw a human creature near, a

At that moment, when I was my own lonely self again, the sight of the child soothed and attracted me. I

advanced, intending to speak to her. To my horror I suddenly ceased to see her. She disappeared as if I had

And yet I could see the landscape round me; I could see the heaven above me. A time passedonly a few

minutes, as I thoughtand the child became visible to me again; walking handinhand with her father. I

approached them; I was close enough to see that they were looking at me with pity and surprise. My impulse

was to ask if they saw anything strange in my face or my manner. Before I could speak, the horrible wonder

Was the Invisible Presence still near? Was it passing between me and my fellowmortals; forbidding

It must have been so. When I turned away in my ignorance, with a heavy heart, the dreadful blankness which

had twice shut out from me the beings of my own race, was not between me and my dog. The poor little

creature filled me with pity; I called him to me. He moved at the sound of my voice, and followed me

languidly; not quite awakened yet from the trance of terror that had possessed him.

Before I had retired by more than a few steps, I thought I was conscious of the Presence again. I held out my

longing arms to it. I waited in the hope of a touch to tell me that I might return. Perhaps I was answered by

indirect means? I only know that a resolution to return to the same place, at the same hour, came to me, and

The morning of the next day was dull and cloudy; but the rain held off. I set forth again to the Gardens.

My dog ran on before me into the streetand stopped: waiting to see in which direction I might lead the

way. When I turned toward the Gardens, he dropped behind me. In a little while I looked back. He was

following me no longer; he stood irresolute. I called to him. He advanced a few stepshesitatedand ran

I went on by myself. Shall I confess my superstition? I thought the dog's desertion of me a bad omen.

Arrived at the tree, I placed myself under it. The minutes followed each other uneventfully. The cloudy sky

darkened. The dull surface of the grass showed no shuddering consciousness of an unearthly creature passing

I still waited, with an obstinacy which was fast becoming the obstinacy of despair. How long an interval

elapsed, while I kept watch on the ground before me, I am not able to say. I only know that a change came.

Under the dull gray light I saw the grass movebut not as it had moved, on the day before. It shriveled as if

a flame had scorched it. No flame appeared. The brown underlying earth showed itself winding onward in a

thin stripwhich might have been a footpath traced in fire. It frightened me. I longed for the protection of

A touch answered me. It was as if a hand unseen had taken my handhad raised it, little by littlehad left

it, pointing to the thin brown path that wound toward me under the shriveled blades of grass.

The unseen hand closed on my hand with a warning pressure: the revelation of the coming danger was near

The figure of a man appeared, advancing toward me along the thin brown path. I looked in his face as he

The consciousness of myself as a living creature left me. I knew nothing; I felt nothing. I was dead.

When the torture of revival made me open my eyes, I found myself on the grass. Gentle hands raised my

head, at the moment when I recovered my senses. Who had brought me to life again? Who was taking care of

Some lines had been added on the last page; but they had been so carefully erased as to be illegible. These

"I had begun to write the little that remains to be told, when it struck me that I might, unintentionally, be

exercising an unfair influence on your opinion. Let me only remind you that I believe absolutely in the

supernatural revelation which I have endeavored to describe. Remember thisand decide for me what I dare

Judged from the point of view of the materialist, Mrs. Zant might no doubt be the victim of illusions

(produced by a diseased state of the nervous system), which have been known to existas in the celebrated

case of the bookseller, Nicolai, of Berlinwithout being accompanied by derangement of the intellectual

powers. But Mr. Rayburn was not asked to solve any such intricate problem as this. He had been merely

instructed to read the manuscript, and to say what impression it had left on him of the mental condition of the

writer; whose doubt of herself had been, in all probability, first suggested by remembrance of the illness from

Under these circumstances, there could be little difficulty in forming an opinion. The memory which had

recalled, and the judgment which had arranged, the succession of events related in the narrative, revealed a

Having satisfied himself so far, Mr. Rayburn abstained from considering the more serious question suggested

At any time his habits of life and his ways of thinking would have rendered him unfit to weigh the arguments,

which assert or deny supernatural revelation among the creatures of earth. But his mind was now so disturbed

by the startling record of experience which he had just read, that he was only conscious of feeling certain

impressionswithout possessing the capacity to reflect on them. That his anxiety on Mrs. Zant's account had

been increased, and that his doubts of Mr. John Zant had been encouraged, were the only practical results of

the confidence placed in him of which he was thus far aware. In the ordinary exigencies of life a man of

hesitating disposition, his interest in Mrs. Zant's welfare, and his desire to discover what had passed between

her brotherinlaw and herself, after their meeting in the Gardens, urged him into instant action. In half an

"I hope you will excuse the bad light," she said; "my head has been burning as if the fever had come back

again. Oh, don't go away! After what I have suffered, you don't know how dreadful it is to be alone."

The tone of her voice told him that she had been crying. He at once tried the best means of setting the poor

lady at ease, by telling her of the conclusion at which he had arrived, after reading her manuscript. The happy

result showed itself instantly: her face brightened, her manner changed; she was eager to hear more.

He understood the allusion. Expressing sincere respect for her own convictions, he told her honestly that he

was not prepared to enter on the obscure and terrible question of supernatural interposition. Grateful for the

tone in which he had answered her, she wisely and delicately changed the subject.

"I must speak to you of my brotherinlaw," she said. "He has told me of your visit; and I am anxious to

The careworn look appeared again in her face. "If you had felt as kindly toward him as he feels toward you,"

Mr. Rayburn thought of the supernatural appearances, described at the close of her narrative. "You believe in

that terrible warning," he remonstrated; "and yet, you go to your brotherinlaw's house!"

"I believe," she answered, "in the spirit of the man who loved me in the days of his earthly bondage. I am

under his protection. What have I to do but to cast away my fears, and to wait in faith and hope? It might

have helped my resolution if a friend had been near to encourage me." She paused and smiled sadly. "I must

remember," she resumed, "that your way of understanding my position is not my way. I ought to have told

you that Mr. John Zant feels needless anxiety about my health. He declares that he will not lose sight of me

until his mind is at ease. It is useless to attempt to alter his opinion. He says my nerves are shatteredand

who that sees me can doubt it? He tells me that my only chance of getting better is to try change of air and

perfect reposehow can I contradict him? He reminds me that I have no relation but himself, and no house

She said those last words in accents of melancholy resignation, which grieved the good man whose one

merciful purpose was to serve and console her. He spoke impulsively with the freedom of an old friend

"I want to know more of you and Mr. John Zant than I know now," he said. "My motive is a better one than

That reply encouraged him to proceed with what he had to say. "When you recovered from your faintingfit,"

"He asked what could possibly have happened, in such a quiet place as Kensington Gardens, to make me

"Nothing. I don't know what he thought of me; he might have been surprised, or he might have been

"Yes. Since my recovery, his engagements with country patients have kept him away from London. I have

not seen him since he took these lodgings for me. But he is always considerate. He has written more than

once to beg that I will not think him neglectful, and to tell me (what I knew already through my poor

"Always. The one complaint I ever heard my husband make of John Zant was that he didn't come to see us

often enough, after our marriage. Is there some wickedness in him which we have never suspected? It may

bebut how can it be? I have every reason to be grateful to the man against whom I have been

supernaturally warned! His conduct to me has been always perfect. I can't tell you what I owe to his influence

"Oh, no! no! He was dying of rapid consumptionbut his sudden death took the doctors by surprise. One of

them thought that he might have taken an overdose of his sleeping drops, by mistake. The other disputed this

conclusion, or there might have been an inquest in the house. Oh, don't speak of it any more! Let us talk of

"Tomorrow." She looked at Mr. Rayburn with a piteous entreaty in her eyes; she said, timidly: "Do you ever

The request, at which she had only dared to hint, touched on the idea which was at that moment in Mr.

Interpreted by his strong prejudice against John Zant, what she had said of her brotherinlaw filled him with

forebodings of peril to herself; all the more powerful in their influence, for this reasonthat he shrank from

distinctly realizing them. If another person had been present at the interview, and had said to him afterward:

"That man's reluctance to visit his sisterinlaw, while her husband was living, is associated with a secret

sense of guilt which her innocence cannot even imagine: he, and he alone, knows the cause of her husband's

sudden death: his feigned anxiety about her health is adopted as the safest means of enticing her into his

houseif those formidable conclusions had been urged on Mr. Rayburn, he would have felt it his duty to

reject them, as unjustifiable aspersions on an absent man. And yet, when he took leave that evening of Mrs.

Zant, he had pledged himself to give Lucy a holiday at the seaside: and he had said, without blushing, that the

child really deserved it, as a reward for general good conduct and attention to her lessons!

THREE days later, the father and daughter arrived toward evening at St. SallinsonSea. They found Mrs.

The poor woman's joy, on seeing them, expressed itself like the joy of a child. "Oh, I am so glad! so glad!"

was all she could say when they met. Lucy was halfsmothered with kisses, and was made supremely happy

by a present of the finest doll she had ever possessed. Mrs. Zant accompanied her friends to the rooms which

had been secured at the hotel. She was able to speak confidentially to Mr. Rayburn, while Lucy was in the

The one event that had happened during Mrs. Zant's short residence at St. Sallins was the departure of her

brotherinlaw that morning, for London. He had been called away to operate on the feet of a wealthy patient

who knew the value of his time: his housekeeper expected that he would return to dinner.

As to his conduct toward Mrs. Zant, he was not only as attentive as everhe was almost oppressively

affectionate in his language and manner. There was no service that a man could render which he had not

eagerly offered to her. He declared that he already perceived an improvement in her health; he congratulated

her on having decided to stay in his house; and (as a proof, perhaps, of his sincerity) he had repeatedly

Mr. Rayburn kept his idea to himself. He professed ignorance; and asked next what sort of person the

"Such a strange creature," she said, "and in the habit of taking such liberties that I begin to be afraid she is a

"Noonly middleaged. This morning, after her master had left the house, she actually asked me what I

thought of my brotherinlaw! I told her, as coldly as possible, that I thought he was very kind. She was

quite insensible to the tone in which I had spoken; she went on from bad to worse. "Do you call him the sort

of man who would take the fancy of a young woman?" was her next question. She actually looked at me (I

might have been wrong; and I hope I was) as if the "young woman" she had in her mind was myself! I said: "I

don't think of such things, and I don't talk about them." Still, she was not in the least discouraged; she made a

personal remark next: "Excuse mebut you do look wretchedly pale." I thought she seemed to enjoy the

defect in my complexion; I really believe it raised me in her estimation. "We shall get on better in time," she

said; "I am beginning to like you." She walked out humming a tune. Don't you agree with me? Don't you

"I can hardly give an opinion until I have seen her. Does she look as if she might have been a pretty woman at

Mr. Rayburn smiled. "I was thinking," he resumed, "that this person's odd conduct may perhaps be accounted

for. She is probably jealous of any young lady who is invited to her master's houseand (till she noticed

Innocently at a loss to understand how she could become an object of the housekeeper's jealousy, Mrs. Zant

looked at Mr. Rayburn in astonishment. Before she could give expression to her feeling of surprise, there was

an interruptiona welcome interruption. A waiter entered the room, and announced a visitor; described as "a

A voice which they both recognized answered gayly, from the outer side of the door:

"WELCOME to St. Sallins! " cried Mr. John Zant. "I knew that you were expected, my dear sir, and I took

my chance at finding you at the hotel." He turned to his sisterinlaw, and kissed her hand with an elaborate

gallantry worthy of Sir Charles Grandison himself. "When I reached home, my dear, and heard that you had

gone out, I guessed that your object was to receive our excellent friend. You have not felt lonely while I have

been away? That's right! that's right!" he looked toward the balcony, and discovered Lucy at the open

window, staring at the magnificent stranger. "Your little daughter, Mr. Rayburn? Dear child! Come and kiss

Her father approached the window to administer the necessary reproof. Mr. John Zant interfered in the cause

of mercy with his best grace. He held up his hands in cordial entreaty. "Dear Mr. Rayburn! The fairies are

sometimes shy; and this little fairy doesn't take to strangers at first sight. Dear child! All in good time. And

what stay do you make at St. Sallins? May we hope that our poor attractions will tempt you to prolong your

He put his flattering little question with an ease of manner which was rather too plainly assumed; and he

looked at Mr. Rayburn with a watchfulness which appeared to attach undue importance to the reply. When he

said: "What stay do you make at St. Sallins?" did he really mean: "How soon do you leave us?" Inclining to

adopt this conclusion, Mr. Rayburn answered cautiously that his stay at the seaside would depend on

circumstances. Mr. John Zant looked at his sisterinlaw, sitting silent in a corner with Lucy on her lap.

"Exert your attractions," he said; "make the circumstances agreeable to our good friend. Will you dine with us

Lucy was far from receiving this complimentary allusion in the spirit in which it had been offered. "I'm not a

"And a naughty child," her father added, with all the severity that he could assume.

The man with the big beard was amusedamiably, paternally amusedby Lucy's plain speaking. He

repeated his invitation to dinner; and he did his best to look disappointed when Mr. Rayburn made the

"Another day," he said (without, however, fixing the day). "I think you will find my house comfortable. My

housekeeper may perhaps be eccentricbut in all essentials a woman in a thousand. Do you feel the change

from London already? Our air at St. Sallins is really worthy of its reputation. Invalids who come here are

Mr. Rayburn was evidently expected to say that she looked better. He said it. Mr. John Zant seemed to have

"Surprisingly better!" he pronounced. "Infinitely better! We ought both to be grateful. Pray believe that we

"You don't quite understand? Is it possible that you have forgotten our conversation when I first had the

"You notice the return of her color, the healthy brightness of her eyes. (No, my dear, I am not paying you idle

compliments; I am stating plain facts.) For that happy result, Mr. Rayburn, we are indebted to you."

"Surely yes! It was at your valuable suggestion that I thought of inviting my sisterinlaw to visit me at St.

Sallins. Ah, you remember it now. Forgive me if I look at my watch; the dinner hour is on my mind. Not, as

your dear little daughter there seems to think, because I am greedy, but because I am always punctual, in

justice to the cook. Shall we see you tomorrow? Call early, and you will find us at home."

He gave Mrs. Zant his arm, and bowed and smiled, and kissed his hand to Lucy, and left the room. Recalling

their interview at the hotel in London, Mr. Rayburn now understood John Zant's object (on that occasion) in

assuming the character of a helpless man in need of a sensible suggestion. If Mrs. Zant's residence under his

roof became associated with evil consequences, he could declare that she would never have entered the house

Mr. Rayburn was placed between two alternatives. In Mrs. Zant's interests he must remain, no matter at what

sacrifice of his own inclinations, on good terms with her brotherinlawor he must return to London, and

leave the poor woman to her fate. His choice, it is needless to say, was never a matter of doubt. He called at

the house, and did his innocent bestwithout in the least deceiving Mr. John Zantto make himself

agreeable during the short duration of his visit. Descending the stairs on his way out, accompanied by Mrs.

Zant, he was surprised to see a middleaged woman in the hall, who looked as if she was waiting there

"The housekeeper," Mrs. Zant whispered. "She is impudent enough to try to make acquaintance with you."

"I hope you like our wateringplace, sir," she began. "If I can be of service to you, pray command me. Any

friend of this lady's has a claim on meand you are an old friend, no doubt. I am only the housekeeper; but I

presume to take a sincere interest in Mrs. Zant; and I am indeed glad to see you here. We none of us

knowdo we?how soon we may want a friend. No offense, I hope? Thank you, sir. Goodmorning."

There was nothing in the woman's eyes which indicated an unsettled mind; nothing in the appearance of her

lips which suggested habits of intoxication. That her strange outburst of familiarity proceeded from some

strong motive seemed to be more than probable. Putting together what Mrs. Zant had already told him, and

what he had himself observed, Mr. Rayburn suspected that the motive might be found in the housekeeper's

REFLECTING in the solitude of his own room, Mr. Rayburn felt that the one prudent course to take would

be to persuade Mrs. Zant to leave St. Sallins. He tried to prepare her for this strong proceeding, when she

"If you still regret having forced yourself to accept your brotherinlaw's invitation," was all he ventured to

say, "don't forget that you are perfect mistress of your own actions. You have only to come to me at the hotel,

"I should be a thankless creature, indeed," she said, "if I accepted your proposal. Do you think I am

ungrateful enough to involve you in a personal quarrel with John Zant? No! If I find myself forced to leave

There was no moving her from this resolution. When she and Lucy had gone out together, Mr. Rayburn

remained at the hotel, with a mind ill at ease. A man of readier mental resources might have felt at a loss how

to act for the best, in the emergency that now confronted him. While he was still as far as ever from arriving

Had Mrs. Zant returned? He looked up as the door was opened, and saw to his astonishmentMr. John

"Don't let me alarm you, sir," the woman said. "Mrs. Zant has been taken a little faint, at the door of our

"I was bringing her back to you, sir, when we met a lady and her little girl at the door of the hotel. They were

on their way to the beachand Miss Lucy begged hard to be allowed to go with them. The lady said the two

"I think not, sir. But I should like to say something in her interests. May I? Thank you." She advanced a step

nearer to him, and spoke her next words in a whisper. "Take Mrs. Zant away from this place, and lose no time

The housekeeper answered in a curiously indirect mannerpartly in jest, as it seemed, and partly in earnest.

"When a man has lost his wife," she said, "there's some difference of opinion in Parliament, as I hear,

whether he does right or wrong, if he marries his wife's sister. Wait a bit! I'm coming to the point. My master

is one who has a long head on his shoulders; he sees consequences which escape the notice of peopl e like

me. In his way of thinking, if one man may marry his wife's sister, and no harm done, where's the objection if

another man pays a compliment to the family, and marries his brother's widow? My master, if you please, is

"You insult Mrs. Zant," Mr. Rayburn answered, "if you suppose that such a thing is possible!"

"Oh! I insult her, do I? Listen to me. One of three things will happen. She will be entrapped into consenting

"You are talking nonsense," he said. "There can be no marriage; the law forbids it."

"Are you one of the people who see no further than their noses?" she asked insolently. "Won't the law take

his money? Is he obliged to mention that he is related to her by marriage, when he buys the license?" She

paused; her humor changed; she stamped furiously on the floor. The true motive that animated her showed

itself in her next words, and warned Mr. Rayburn to grant a more favorable hearing than he had accorded to

her yet. "If you won't stop it," she burst out, "I will! If he marries anybody, he is bound to marry ME. Will

"I will go back with you to John Zant's house," he said, "and judge for myself."

"I must go firstor you may not be let in. Follow me in five minutes; and don't knock at the street door."

"We have forgotten something," she said. "Suppose my master refuses to see you. His temper might get the

better of him; he might make it so unpleasant for you that you would be obliged to go."

"My temper might get the better of me," Mr. Rayburn replied; "andif I thought it was in Mrs. Zant's

"In this way. If you picked a quarrel with my master, I should be blamed for it because I showed you upstairs.

Besides, think of the lady. You might frighten her out of her senses, if it came to a struggle between you two

The language was exaggerated; but there was a force in this last objection which Mr. Rayburn was obliged to

"And, after all," the housekeeper continued, "he has more right over her than you have. He is related to her,

Mr. Rayburn declined to let himself be influenced by this consideration, "Mr. John Zant is only related to her

by marriage," he said. "If she prefers trusting in mecome what may of it, I will be worthy of her

"That only means another quarrel," she answered. "The wise way, with a man like my master, is the

"In that case, sir, I'll wish you goodby. We will leave Mrs. Zant to do the best she can for herself."

"When you called at our house," she began, "did you notice the doors in the passage, on the first floor? Very

well. One of them is the door of the drawingroom, and the other is the door of the library. Do you remember

"I thought it a large welllighted room," Mr. Rayburn answered. "And I noticed a doorway in the wall, with a

"That's enough for our purpose," the housekeeper resumed. "On the other side of the curtain, if you had

looked in, you would have found the library. Suppose my master is as polite as usual, and begs to be excused

for not receiving you, because it is an inconvenient time. And suppose you are polite on your side and take

yourself off by the drawingroom door. You will find me waiting downstairs, on the first landing. Do you see

"You surprise me, sir. What is to prevent us from getting back softly into the library, by the door in the

passage? And why shouldn't we use that second way into the library as a means of discovering what may be

going on in the drawingroom? Safe behind the curtain, you will see him if he behaves uncivilly to Mrs.

Zant, or you will hear her if she calls for help. In either case, you may be as rough and ready with my master

as you find needful; it will be he who has frightened her, and not you. And who can blame the poor

housekeeper because Mr. Rayburn did his duty, and protected a helpless woman? There is my plan, sir. Is it

If Mr. Rayburn had felt no more than an ordinary interest in Mrs. Zant, he would have let the woman go. As

it was, he stopped her; and, after some further protest (which proved to be useless), he ended in giving way.

He gave the promise. She smiled, nodded, and left him. True to his instructions, Mr. Rayburn reckoned five

"They are both in the drawingroom," she whispered, leading the way upstairs. "Step softly, and take him by

A table of oblong shape stood midway between the drawingroom walls. At the end of it which was nearest

to the window, Mrs. Zant was pacing to and fro across the breadth of the room. At the opposite end of the

table, John Zant was seated. Taken completely by surprise, he showed himself in his true character. He

started to his feet, and protested with an oath against the intrusion which had been committed on him.

Heedless of his action and his language, Mr. Rayburn could look at nothing, could think of nothing, but Mrs.

Zant. She was still walking slowly to and fro, unconscious of the words of sympathy which he addressed to

John Zant's voice broke the silence. His temper was under control again: he had his reasons for still

Mr. Rayburn's interest was concentrated on Mrs. Zant; he took no notice of the apology.

"About a quarter of an hour ago. I was fortunately at home. Without speaking to me, without noticing me, she

All restlessness in her movements had come to an end. She was standing at the further end of the table, which

was nearest to the window, in the full flow of sunlight pouring at that moment over her face. Her eyes looked

out straight before hervoid of all expression. Her lips were a little parted: her head drooped slightly toward

her shoulder, in an attitude which suggested listening for something or waiting for something. In the warm

brilliant light, she stood before the two men, a living creature selfisolated in a stillness like the stillness of

"Be so good as to remember, " Mr. John Zant answered, "that the decision rests with me, as the lady's

relative. I am sensible of the honor which your visit confers on me. But the time has been unhappily chosen.

Mr. Rayburn had not forgotten the housekeeper's advice, or the promise which she had exacted from him. But

the expression in John Zant's face was a serious trial to his selfcontrol. He hesitated, and looked back at

If he provoked a quarrel by remaining in the room, the one alternative would be the removal of her by force.

Fear of the consequences to herself, if she was suddenly and roughly roused from her trance, was the one

The housekeeper was waiting for him below, on the first landing. When the door of the drawingroom had

been closed again, she signed to him to follow her, and returned up the stairs. After another struggle with

himself, he obeyed. They entered the library from the corridorand placed themselves behind the closed

curtain which hung over the doorway. It was easy so to arrange the edge of the drapery as to observe, without

Mrs. Zant's brotherinlaw was approaching her at the time when Mr. Rayburn saw him again.

In the instant afterward, she movedbefore he had completely passed over the space between them. Her still

figure began to tremble. She lifted her drooping head. For a moment there was a shrinking in heras if she

had been touched by something. She seemed to recognize the touch: she was still again.

John Zant watched the change. It suggested to him that she was beginning to recover her senses. He tried the

She still remained in the same position; apparently at his mercy, neither hearing him nor seeing him.

At the instant when he attempted to embrace herat the instant when Mr. Rayburn rushed into the

roomJohn Zant's arms, suddenly turning rigid, remained outstretched. With a shriek of horror, he struggled

to draw them backstruggled, in the empty brightness of the sunshine, as if some invisible grip had seized

"What has got me?" the wretch screamed. "Who is holding my hands? Oh, the cold of it! the cold of it!"

His features became convulsed; his eyes turned upward until only the white eyeballs were visible. He fell

The housekeeper ran in. She knelt by her master's body. With one hand she loosened his cravat. With the

Mrs. Zant still kept her place; but there was another change. Little by little, her eyes recovered their natural

living expressionthen slowly closed. She tottered backward from the table, and lifted her hands wildly, as

if to grasp at something which might support her. Mr. Rayburn hurried to her before she felllifted her in

One of the servants met them in the hall. He sent her for a carriage. In a quarter of an hour more, Mrs. Zant

"The doctors give little hope. The paralytic stroke is spreading upward to his face. If death spares him, he will

live a helpless man. I shall take care of him to the last. As for youforget him."

"Read it, and destroy it," she said. "It is written in ignorance of the terrible truth."

He obeyedand looked at her in silence, waiting to hear more. She hid her face. The few words she had

addressed to him, after a struggle with herself, fell slowly and reluctantly from her lips.

She said: "No mortal hand held the hands of John Zant. The guardian spirit was with me. The promised

Having spoken, she rose to retire. He opened the door for her, seeing that she needed rest in her own room.

Left by himself, he began to consider the prospect that was before him in the future. How was he to regard

the woman who had just left him? As a poor creature weakened by disease, the victim of her own nervous

delusion? or as the chosen object of a supernatural revelationunparalleled by any similar revelation that he

had heard of, or had found recorded in books? His first discovery of the place that she really held in his

estimation dawned on his mind, when he felt himself recoiling from the conclusion which presented her to his

pity, and yielding to the nobler conviction which felt with her faith, and raised her to a place apart among

Arrived at the end of the journey, Lucy held fast by Mrs. Zant's hand. Tears were rising in the child's eyes.

WHEN I first saw him, he was lost in one of the Dead Cities of Englandsituated on the South Coast, and

Shall I describe Sandwich? I think not. Let us own the truth; descriptions of places, however nicely they may

be written, are always more or less dull. Being a woman, I naturally hate dullness. Perhaps some description

of Sandwich may drop out, as it were, from my report of our conversation when we first met as strangers in

His way was, in the first place, to retrace his steps. Then to turn to the left. Then to go on until he found two

streets meeting. Then to take the street on the right. Then to look out for the second turning on the left. Then

to follow the turning until he smelled stablesand there was the inn. I put it in the clearest manner, and

This was rude. We are naturally and properly indignant with any man who is rude to us. But whether we turn

our backs on him in contempt, or whether we are merciful and give him a lesson in politeness, depends

entirely on the man. He may be a bear, but he may also have his redeeming qualities. This man had

redeeming qualities. I cannot positively say that he was either handsome or ugly, young or old, well or ill

dressed. But I can speak with certainty to the personal attractions which recommended him to notice. For

instance, the tone of his voice was persuasive. (Did you ever read a story, written by one of us, in which we

failed to dwell on our hero's voice?) Then, again, his hair was reasonably long. (Are you acquainted with any

woman who can endure a man with a cropped head?) Moreover, he was of a good height. (It must be a very

tall woman who can feel favorably inclined toward a short man.) Lastly, although his eyes were not more

than fairly presentable in form and color, the wretch had in some unaccountable manner become possessed of

beautiful eyelashes. They were even better eyelashes than mine. I write quite seriously. There is one woman

So I gave my lost stranger a lesson in politeness. The lesson took the form of a trap. I asked him if he would

like me to show him the way to the inn. He was still annoyed at losing himself. As I had anticipated, he

"When you were a boy, and you wanted something," I said, "did your mother teach you to say 'Please'?"

He positively blushed. "She did," he admitted; "and she taught me to say 'Beg your pardon' when I was rude.

This curious apology increased my belief in his redeeming qualities. I led the way to the inn. He followed me

in silence. No woman who respects herself can endure silence when she is in the company of a man. I made

"Do you come to us from Ramsgate?" I began. He only nodded his head. "We don't think much of Ramsgate

here," I went on. "There is not an old building in the place. And their first Mayor was only elected the other

This point of view seemed to be new to him. He made no attempt to dispute it; he only looked around him,

and said: "Sandwich is a melancholy place, miss." He was so rapidly improving in politeness, that I

encouraged him by a smile. As a citizen of Sandwich, I may say that we take it as a compliment when we are

told that our town is a melancholy place. And why not? Melancholy is connected with dignity. And dignity is

associated with age. And we are old. I teach my pupils logic, among other thingsthere is a specimen.

Whatever may be said to the contrary, women can reason. They can also wander; and I must admit that I am

wandering. Did I mention, at starting, that I was a governess? If not, that allusion to "pupils" must have come

My tone seemed to astonish him. "You speak as if you were proud of its being a decayed place," he said.

I quite respected him; this was such an intelligent remark to make. We do enjoy our decay: it is our chief

distinction. Progress and prosperity everywhere else; decay and dissolution here. As a necessary

consequence, we produce our own impression, and we like to be original. The sea deserted us long ago: it

once washed our walls, it is now two miles away from uswe don't regret the sea. We had sometimes

ninetyfive ships in our harbor, Heaven only knows how many centuries ago; we now have one or two small

coasting vessels, half their time aground in a muddy little riverwe don't regret our harbor. But one house in

the town is daring enough to anticipate the arrival of resident visitors, and announces furnished apartments to

let. What a becoming contrast to our modern neighbor, Ramsgate! Our noble marketplace exhibits the laws

made by the corporation; and every week there are fewer and fewer people to obey the laws. How

convenient! Look at our one warehouse by the river sidewith the crane generally idle, and the windows

mostly boarded up; and perhaps one man at the door, looking out for the job which his better sense tells him

cannot possibly come. What a wholesome protest against the devastating hurry and overwork elsewhere,

which has shattered the nerves of the nation! "Far from me and from my friends" (to borrow the eloquent

language of Doctor Johnson) "be such frigid enthusiasm as shall conduct us indifferent and unmoved'' over

the bridge by which you enter Sandwich, and pay a toll if you do it in a carriage. "That man is little to be

envied" (Doctor Johnson again) who can lose himself in our labyrinthine streets, and not feel that he has

reached the welcome limits of progress, and found a haven of rest in an age of hurry.

I am wandering again. Bear with the unpremeditated enthusiasm of a citizen who only attained years of

discretion at her last birthday. We shall soon have done with Sandwich; we are close to the door of the inn.

He looked down at me from under his beautiful eyelashes (have I mentioned that I am a little woman?), and

Any other man would have offended me. This man blushed like a boy, and looked at the pavement instead of

looking at me. By this time I had made up my mind about him. He was not only a gentleman beyond all

doubt, but a shy gentleman as well. His bluntness and his odd remarks were, as I thought, partly efforts to

disguise his shyness, and partly refuges in which he tried to forget his own sense of it. I answered his

audacious proposal amiably and pleasantly. "You would only lose your way again," I said, "and I should have

"I have ordered lunch here," he said, "and I am quite alone." He stopped in confusion, and looked as if he

rather expected me to box his ears. "I shall be forty next birthday," he went on; "I am old enough to be your

father." I all but burst out laughing, and stepped across the street, on my way home. He followed me. "We

might invite the landlady to join us," he said, looking the picture of a headlong man, dismayed by the

consciousness of his own imprudence. "Couldn't you honor me by lunching with me if we had the landlady?"

This was a little too much. "Quite out of the question, sirand you ought to know it," I said with severity.

He half put out his hand. "Won't you even shake hands with me?" he inquired piteously. When we have most

properly administered a reproof to a man, what is the perversity which makes us weakly pity him the minute

afterward? I was fool enough to shake hands with this perfect stranger. And, having done it, I completed the

total loss of my dignity by running away. Our dear crooked little streets hid me from him directly.

As I rang at the doorbell of my employer's house, a thought occurred to me which might have been alarming

BEFORE many more days passed I had troubles of my own to contend with, which put the eccentric stranger

Unfortunately, my troubles are part of my story; and my early life mixes itself up with them. In consideration

of what is to follow, may I say two words relating to the period before I was a governess?

I am the orphan daughter of a shopkeeper of Sandwich. My father died, leaving to his widow and child an

honest name and a little income of L80 a year. We kept on the shopneither gaining nor losing by it. The

truth is nobody would buy our poor little business. I was thirteen years old at the time; and I was able to help

my mother, whose health was then beginning to fail. Never shall I forget a certain bright summer's day, when

I saw a new customer enter our shop. He was an elderly gentleman; and he seemed surprised to find so young

a girl as myself in charge of the business, and, what is more, competent to support the charge. I answered his

questions in a manner which seemed to please him. He soon discovered that my education (excepting my

knowledge of the business) had been sadly neglected; and he inquired if he could see my mother. She was

resting on the sofa in the back parlorand she received him there. When he came out, he patted me on the

cheek. "I have taken a fancy to you," he said, "and perhaps I shall come back again." He did come back again.

My mother had referred him to the rector for our characters in the town, and he had heard what our

clergyman could say for us. Our only relations had emigrated to Australia, and were not doing well there. My

mother's death would leave me, so far as relatives were concerned, literally alone in the world. "Give this girl

a firstrate education," said our elderly customer, sitting at our teatable in the back parlor, "and she will do.

If you will send her to school, ma'am, I'll pay for her education." My poor mother began to cry at the prospect

of parting with me. The old gentleman said: "Think of it," and got up to go. He gave me his card as I opened

the shopdoor for him. "If you find yourself in trouble," he whispered, so that my mother could not hear him,

"be a wise child, and write and tell me of it." I looked at the card. Our kindhearted customer was no less a

person than Sir Gervase Damian, of Garrum Park, Sussexwith landed property in our county as well! He

had made himself (through the rector, no doubt) far better acquainted than I was with the true state of my

mother's health. In four months from the memorable day when the great man had taken tea with us, my time

had come to be alone in the world. I have no courage to dwell on it; my spirits sink, even at this distance of

time, when I think of myself in those days. The good rector helped me with his adviceI wrote to Sir

A change had come over his life as well as mine in the interval since we had met.

Sir Gervas e had married for the second timeand, what was more foolish still, perhaps, at his age, had

married a young woman. She was said to be consumptive, and of a jealous temper as well. Her husband's

only child by his first wife, a son and heir, was so angry at his father's second marriage that he left the house.

The landed property being entailed, Sir Gervase could only express his sense of his son's conduct by making

These particulars I gathered from the steward, who was expressly sent to visit me at Sandwich.

"Sir Gervase never makes a promise without keeping it," this gentleman informed me. "I am directed to take

you to a firstrate ladies' school in the neighborhood of London, and to make all the necessary arrangements

for your remaining there until you are eighteen years of age. Any written communications in the future are to

pass, if you please, through the hands of the rector of Sandwich. The delicate health of the new Lady Damian

makes it only too likely that the lives of her husband and herself will be passed, for the most part, in a milder

climate than the climate of England. I am instructed to say this, and to convey to you Sir Gervase's best

By the rector's advice, I accepted the position offered to me in this unpleasantly formal mannerconcluding

(quite correctly, as I afterward discovered) that I was indebted to Lady Damian for the arrangement which

personally separated me from my benefactor. Her husband's kindness and my gratitude, meeting on the

neutral ground of Garrum Park, were objects of conjugal distrust to this lady. Shocking! shocking! I left a

sincerely grateful letter to be forwarded to Sir Gervase; and, escorted by the steward, I went to schoolbeing

I know I am a fool. Never mind. There is some pride in me, though I am only a small shopkeeper's daughter.

For the four years during which I remained at the school, my poor welfare might be a subject of inquiry to the

rector, and sometimes even the stewardnever to Sir Gervase himself. His winters were no doubt passed

abroad; but in the summer time he and Lady Damian were at home again. Not even for a day or two in the

holiday time was there pity enough felt for my lonely position to ask me to be the guest of the housekeeper (I

expected nothing more) at Garrum Park. But for my pride, I might have felt it bitterly. My pride said to me,

"Do justice to yourself." I worked so hard, I behaved so well, that the mistress of the school wrote to Sir

Gervase to tell him how thoroughly I had deserved the kindness that he had shown to me. No answer was

received. (Oh, Lady Damian!) No change varied the monotony of my lifeexcept when one of my

schoolgirl friends sometimes took me home with her for a few days at vacation time. Never mind. My pride

As the last halfyear of my time at school approached, I began to consider the serious question of my future

Of course, I could have lived on my eighty pounds a year; but what a lonely, barren existence it promised to

be!unless somebody married me; and where, if you please, was I to find him? My education had

thoroughly fitted me to be a governess. Why not try my fortune, and see a little of the world in that way?

Even if I fell among illconditioned people, I could be independent of them, and retire on my income.

The rector, visiting London, came to see me. He not only approved of my ideahe offered me a means of

carrying it out. A worthy family, recently settled at Sandwich, were in want of a governess. The head of the

household was partner in a business (the exact nature of which it is needless to mention) having "branches"

out of London. He had become superintendent of a new "branch"tried as a commercial experiment, under

special circumstances, at Sandwich. The idea of returning to my native place pleased medull as the place

When the steward's usual halfyearly letter arrived soon afterward, inquiring what plans I had formed on

leaving school, and what he could do to help them, acting on behalf of Sir Gervase, a delicious tingling filled

me from head to foot when I thought of my own independence. It was not ingratitude toward my benefactor;

it was only my little private triumph over Lady Damian. Oh, my sisters of the sex, can you not understand

So to Sandwich I returned; and there, for three years, I remained with the kindest people who ever breathed

the breath of life. Under their roof I was still living when I met with my lost gentleman in the street.

Ah, me! the end of that quiet, pleasant life was near. When I lightly spoke to the odd stranger of the expiring

trade of the town, I never expected that my employer's trade was expiring too. The speculation had turned out

to be a losing one; and all his savings had been embarked in it. He could no longer remain at Sandwich, or

afford to keep a governess. His wife broke the sad news to me. I was so fond of the children, I proposed to

her to give up my salary. Her husband refused even to consider the proposal. It was the old story of poor

I had already written, soon after my return to Sandwich; breaking through the regulations by directly

addressing Sir Gervase. I expressed my grateful sense of his generosity to a poor girl who had no family

claim on him; and I promised to make the one return in my power by trying to be worthy of the interest he

had taken in me. The letter was written without any alloy of mental reserve. My new life as a governess was

such a happy one that I had forgotten my paltry bitterness of feeling against Lady Damian.

It was a relief to think of this change for the better, when the secretary at Garrum Park informed me that he

had forwarded my letter to Sir Gervase, then at Madeira with his sick wife. She was slowly and steadily

wasting away in a decline. Before another year had passed, Sir Gervase was left a widower for the second

time, with no child to console him under his loss. No answer came to my grateful letter. I should have been

unreasonable indeed if I had expected the bereaved husband to remember me in his grief and loneliness.

Could I write to him again, in my own trumpery little interests, under these circumstances? I thought (and

still think) that the commonest feeling of delicacy forbade it. The only other alternative was to appeal to the

everready friends of the obscure and helpless public. I advertised in the newspapers.

The tone of one of the answers which I received impressed me so favorably, that I forwarded my references.

The next post brought my written engagement, and the offer of a salary which doubled my income.

The story of the past is told; and now we may travel on again, with no more stoppages by the way.

THE residence of my present employer was in the north of England. Having to pass through London, I

arranged to stay in town for a few days to make some necessary additions to my wardrobe. An old servant of

the rector, who kept a lodginghouse in the suburbs, received me kindly, and guided my choice in the serious

matter of a dressmaker. On the second morning after my arrival an event happened. The post brought me a

letter forwarded from the rectory. Imagine my astonishment when my correspondent proved to be Sir

The letter was dated from his house in London. It briefly invited me to call and see him, for a reason which I

should hear from his own lips. He naturally supposed that I was still at Sandwich, and requested me, in a

I went to the house the same day. While I was giving my name, a gentleman came out into the hall. He spoke

"Sir Gervase," he said, "believes he is going to die. Don't encourage him in that idea. He may live for another

year or more, if his friends will only persuade him to be hopeful about himself."

The change in my benefactor, since I had seen him last, startled and distressed me. He lay back in a large

armchair, wearing a grim black dressinggown, and looking pitiably thin and pinched and worn. I do not

think I should have known him again, if we had met by accident. He signed to me to be seated on a little chair

"I wanted to see you," he said quietly, "before I die. You must have thought me neglectful and unkind, with

good reason. My child, you have not been forgotten. If years have passed without a meeting between us, it

He stopped. A pained expression passed over his poor worn face; he was evidently thinking of the young wife

whom he had lost. I repeatedfervently and sincerely repeatedwhat I had already said to him in writing.

"I owe everything, sir, to your fatherly kindness." Saying this, I ventured a little further. I took his wan white

He gently drew his hand away from me, and sighed as he did it. Perhaps she had sometimes kissed his hand.

I told him of my new situation, and how I had got it. He listened with evident interest.

"I was not selfdeceived," he said, "when I first took a fancy to you in the shop. I admire your independent

feeling; it's the right kind of courage in a girl like you. But you must let me do something more for

yousome little service to remember me by when the end has come. What shall it be?"

"Try to get better, sir; and let me write to you now and then," I answered. "Indeed, indeed, I want nothing

"You will accept a little present, at least?" With those words he took from the breastpocket of his

dressinggown an enameled cross attached to a gold chain. "Think of me sometimes," he said, as he put the

chain round my neck. He drew me to him gently, and kissed my forehead. It was too much for me. "Don't

Once more he stopped; once more he was thinking of the lost wife. I pulled down my veil, and ran out of the

THE next day I was on my way to the north. My narrative brightens againbut let us not forget Sir Gervase

I ask permission to introduce some persons of distinction:Mrs. Fosdyke, of Carsham Hall, widow of

General Fosdyke; also Master Frederick, Miss Ellen, and Miss Eva, the pupils of the new governess; also two

Discreet and dignified; handsome and wellbredsuch was my impression of Mrs. Fosdyke, while she

harangued me on the subject of her children, and communicated her views on education. Having heard the

views before from others, I assumed a listening position, and privately formed my opinion of the schoolroom.

It was large, lofty, perfectly furnished for the purpose; it had a big window and a balcony looking out over

the garden terrace and the park beyonda wonderful schoolroom, in my limited experience. One of the two

doors which it possessed was left open, and showed me a sweet little bedroom, with amber draperies and

maplewood furniture, devoted to myself. Here were wealth and liberality, in the harmonious combination so

seldom discovered by the spectator of small means. I controlled my first feeling of bewilderment just in time

to answer Mrs. Fosdyke on the subject of reading and recitationviewed as minor accomplishments which a

"While the organs are young and pliable," the lady remarked, "I regard it as of great importance to practice

children in the art of reading aloud, with an agreeable variety of tone and correctness of emphasis. Trained in

this way, they will produce a favorable impression on others, even in ordinary conversation, when they grow

up. Poetry, committed to memory and recited, is a valuable means toward this end. May I hope that your

Formal enough in language, but courteous and kind in manner. I relieved Mrs. Fosdyke from anxiety by

informing her that we had a professor of elocution at school. And then I was left to improve my acquaintance

They were fairly intelligent children; the boy, as usual, being slower than the girls. I did my bestwith many

a sad remembrance of the far dearer pupils whom I had leftto make them like me and trust me; and I

succeeded in winning their confidence. In a week from the time of my arrival at Carsham Hall, we began to

The first day in the week was one of our days for reciting poetry, in obedience to the instructions with which

I had been favored by Mrs. Fosdyke. I had done with the girls, and had just opened (perhaps I ought to say

profaned) Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," in the elocutionary interests of Master Freddy. Half of Mark

Antony's first glorious speech over Caesar's dead body he had learned by heart; and it was now my duty to

teach him, to the best of my small ability, how to speak it. The morning was warm. We had our big window

I recited the first eight lines, and stopped there feeling that I must not exact too much from the boy at first.

"Don't do anything of the kind, Freddy," said a voice from the garden; "it's all spoken wrong."

Who was this insolent person? A man unquestionablyand, strange to say, there was something not entirely

unfamiliar to me in his voice. The girls began to giggle. Their brother was more explicit. "Oh," says Freddy,

The one becoming course to pursue was to take no notice of the interruption. "Go on," I said. Freddy recited

the lines, like a dear good boy, with as near an imitation of my style of elocution as could be expected from

"Poor devil!" cried the voice from the garden, insolently pitying my attentive pupil.

I imposed silence on the girls by a lookand then, without stirring from my chair, expressed my sense of the

insolence of Mr. Sax in clear and commanding tones. "I shall be obliged to close the window if this is

repeated." Having spoken to that effect, I waited in expectation of an apology. Silence was the only apology.

It was enough for me that I had produced the right impression. I went on with my recitation.

"Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest (For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable

men), Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me"

"Oh, good heavens, I can't stand that! Why don't you speak the last line properly? Listen to me."

Dignity is a valuable quality, especially in a governess. But there are limits to the most highly trained

endurance. I bounced out into the balconyand there, on the terrace, smoking a cigar, was my lost stranger

He recognized me, on his side, the instant I appeared. "Oh, Lord!" he cried in tones of horror, and ran round

the corner of the terrace as if my eyes had been mad bulls in close pursuit of him. By this time it is, I fear,

useless for me to set myself up as a discreet person in emergencies. Another woman might have controlled

herself. I burst into fits of laughter. Freddy and the girls joined me. For the time, it was plainly useless to

pursue the business of education. I shut up Shakespeare, and allowedno, let me tell the truth,

They only seemed to know what Mr. Sax himself had told them. His father and mother and brothers and

sisters had all died in course of time. He was the sixth and last of the children, and he had been christened

"Sextus" in consequence, which is Latin (here Freddy interposed) for sixth. Also christened "Cyril" (here the

girls recovered the lead) by his mother's request; "Sextus" being such a hideous name. And which of his

Christian names does he use? You wouldn't ask if you knew him! "Sextus," of course, because it is the

ugliest. Sextus Sax? N ot the romantic sort of name that one likes, when one is a woman. But I have no right

to be particular. My own name (is it possible that I have not mentioned it in these pages yet?) is only Nancy

Is he married? The eldest girl thought not. She had heard mamma say to a lady, "An old German family, my

dear, and, in spite of his oddities, an excellent man; but so poorbarely enough to live onand blurts out

the truth, if people ask his opinion, as if he had twenty thousand a year!" "Your mamma knows him well, of

course?" "I should think so, and so do we. He often comes here. They say he's not good company among

grownup people. We think him jolly. He understands dolls, and he's the best back at leapfrog in the whole

of England." Thus far we had advanced in the praise of Sextus Sax, when one of the maids came in with a

note for me. She smiled mysteriously, and said, "I'm to wait for an answer, miss."

"I am so ashamed of myself, I daren't attempt to make my apologies personally. Will you accept my written

excuses? Upon my honor, nobody told me when I got here yesterday that you were in the house. I heard the

recitation, andcan you excuse my stupidity?I thought it was a stagestruck housemaid amusing herself

with the children. May I accompany you when you go out with the young ones for your daily walk? One

In my position, there was but one possible answer to this. Governesses must not make appointments with

strange gentlemeneven when the children are present in the capacity of witnesses. I said, No. Am I

claiming too much for my readiness to forgive injuries, when I add that I should have preferred saying Yes?

We had our early dinner, and then got ready to go out walking as usual. These pages contain a true

confession. Let me own that I hoped Mr. Sax would understand my refusal, and ask Mrs. Fosdyke's leave to

accompany us. Lingering a little as we went downstairs, I heard him in the hallactually speaking to Mrs.

Fosdyke! What was he saying? That darling boy, Freddy, got into a difficulty with one of his bootlaces

exactly at the right moment. I could help him, and listenand be sadly disappointed by the result. Mr. Sax

"You needn't introduce me to the new governess," I heard him say. "We have met on a former occasion, and I

produced a disagreeable impression on her. I beg you will not speak of me to Miss Morris."

Before Mrs. Fosdyke could say a word in reply, Master Freddy changed suddenly from a darling boy to a

detestable imp. "I say, Mr. Sax!" he called out, "Miss Morris doesn't mind you a bitshe only laughs at

The answer to this was the sudden closing of a door. Mr. Sax had taken refuge from me in one of the

Getting down into the hall, we found Mrs. Fosdyke with her garden hat on, and one of the two ladies who

were staying in the house (the unmarried one) whispering to her at the door of the morningroom. The

ladyMiss Melburylooked at me with a certain appearance of curiosity which I was quite at a loss to

"I will walk with you and the children," Mrs. Fosdyke said to me. "Freddy, you can ride your tricycle if you

like." She turned to the girls. "My dears, it's cool under the trees. You may take your skippingropes."

She had evidently something special to say to me; and she had adopted the necessary measures for keeping

the children in front of us, well out of hearing. Freddy led the way on his horse on three wheels; the girls

followed, skipping merrily. Mrs. Fosdyke opened the business by the most embarrassing remark that she

"I find that you are acquainted with Mr. Sax," she began; "and I am surprised to hear that you dislike him."

She smiled pleasantly, as if my supposed dislike of Mr. Sax rather amused her. What "the ruling passion"

may be among men, I cannot presume to consider. My own sex, however, I may claim to understand. The

ruling passion among women is Conceit. My ridiculous notion of my own consequence was wounded in

"Really, ma'am," I said, "I can't undertake to answer for any impression that Mr. Sax may have formed. We

"He is a very odd man," she admitted, "but I can tell you there is a fine nature under that strange surface of

his. However," she went on, "I am forgetting that he forbids me to talk about him in your presence. When the

opportunity offers, I shall take my own way of teaching you two to understand each other: you will both be

grateful to me when I have succeeded. In the meantime, there is a third person who will be sadly disappointed

"Can you keep a secret, Miss Morris? Of course you can! The person is Miss Melbury."

(Miss Melbury was a dark woman. It cannot be because I am a fair woman myselfI hope I am above such

narrow prejudices as thatbut it is certainly true that I don't admire dark women.)

"She heard Mr. Sax telling me that you particularly disliked him, " Mrs. Fosdyke proceeded. "And just as you

appeared in the hall, she was asking me to find out what your reason was. My own opinion of Mr. Sax, I

ought to tell you, doesn't satisfy her; I am his old friend, and I present him of course from my own favorable

point of view. Miss Melbury is anxious to be made acquainted with his faultsand she expected you to be a

Thus far we had been walking on. We now stopped, as if by common consent, and looked at one another.

In my previous experience of Mrs. Fosdyke, I had only seen the more constrained and formal side of her

character. Without being aware of my own success, I had won the mother's heart in winning the goodwill of

her children. Constraint now seized its first opportunity of melting away; the latent sense of humor in the

great lady showed itself, while I was inwardly wondering what the nature of Miss Melbury's extraordinary

interest in Mr. Sax might be. Easily penetrating my thoughts, she satisfied my curiosity without committing

herself to a reply in words. Her large gray eyes sparkled as they rested on my face, and she hummed the tune

of the old French song, "C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour!" There is no disguising itsomething in this

disclosure made me excessively angry. Was I angry with Miss Melbury? or with Mr. Sax? or with myself? I

Finding that I had nothing to say on my side, Mrs. Fosdyke looked at her watch, and remembered her

"I have a dinnerparty today," she said, "and I have not seen the housekeeper yet. Make yourself beautiful,

I WORE my best dress; and, in all my life before, I never took such pains with my hair. Nobody will be

foolish enough, I hope, to suppose that I did this on Mr. Sax's account. How could I possibly care about a

man who was little better than a stranger to me? No! the person I dressed at was Miss Melbury.

She gave me a look, as I modestly placed myself in a corner, which amply rewarded me for the time spent on

my toilet. The gentlemen came in. I looked at Mr. Sax (mere curiosity) under shelter of my fan. His

appearance was greatly improved by evening dress. He discovered me in my corner, and seemed doubtful

whether to approach me or not. I was reminded of our first odd meeting; and I could not help smiling as I

called it to mind. Did he presume to think that I was encouraging him? Before I could decide that question, he

took the vacant place on the sofa. In any other manafter what had passed in the morningthis would have

been an audacious proceeding. He looked so painfully embarrassed, that i t became a species of Christian

I peeped round the corner of my fan at Miss Melbury. She was looking at us. I shook hands with Mr. Sax.

"What sort of sensation is it," he asked, "when you shake hands with a man whom you hate?"

"I really can't tell you," I answered innocently; "I have never done such a thing."

"You would not lunch with me at Sandwich," he protested; "and, after the humblest apology on my part, you

won't forgive me for what I did this morning. Do you expect me to believe that I am not the special object of

your antipathy? I wish I had never met with you! At my age, a man gets angry when he is treated cruelly and

"Oh, yes, I do. I heard what you said about me to Mrs. Fosdyke, and I heard you bang the door when you got

He received this reply with every appearance of satisfaction. "So you listened, did you? I'm glad to hear that."

Throughout this frivolous talk (I only venture to report it because it shows that I bore no malice on my side)

Miss Melbury was looking at us like the basilisk of the ancients. She owned to being on the wrong side of

thirty; and she had a little moneybut these were surely no reasons why she should glare at a poor

governess. Had some secret understanding of the tender sort been already established between Mr. Sax and

herself? She provoked me into trying to find outespecially as the last words he had said offered me the

"I can prove that I feel a sincere interest in you," I resumed. "I can resign you to a lady who has a far better

He stared at me with an appearance of bewilderment, which seemed to imply that the attachment was on the

lady's side, so far. It was of course impossible to mention names; I merely turned my eyes in the right

direction. He looked where I lookedand his shyness revealed itself, in spite of his resolution to conceal it.

His face flushed; he looked mortified and surprised. Miss Melbury could endure it no longer. She rose, took a

"I am going to sing," she said, handing the music to him. "Please turn over for me, Mr. Sax."

I think he hesitatedbut I cannot feel sure that I observed him correctly. It matters little. With or without

Miss Melbury sangwith perfect selfpossession, and an immense compass of voice. A gentleman near me

said she ought to be on the stage. I thought so too. Big as it was, our drawingroom was not large enough for

her. The gentleman sang next. No voice at allbut so sweet, such true feeling! I turned over the leaves for

him. A dear old lady, sitting near the piano, entered into conversation with me. She spoke of the great singers

at the beginning of the present century. Mr. Sax hovered about, with Miss Melbury's eye on him. I was so

entranced by the anecdotes of my venerable friend, that I could take no notice of Mr. Sax. Later, when the

dinnerparty was over, and we were retiring for the night, he still hovered about, and ended in offering me a

bedroom candle. I immediately handed it to Miss Melbury. Really a most enjoyable evening!

THE next morning we were startled by an extraordinary proceeding on the part of one of the guests. Mr. Sax

Nature has laidso, at least, philosophers saysome heavy burdens upon women. Do those learned persons

include in their list the burden of hysterics? If so, I cordially agree with them. It is hardly worth speaking of

in my casea constitutional outbreak in the solitude of my own room, treated with eaudecologne and

water, and quite forgotten afterward in the absorbing employment of education. My favorite pupil, Freddy,

had been up earlier than the rest of usbreathing the morning air in the fruitgarden. He had seen Mr. Sax

and had asked him when he was coming back again. And Mr. Sax had said, "I shall be back again next

In the meanwhile we, in the schoolroom, had the prospect before us of a dull time in an empty house. The

remaining guests were to go away at the end of the week, their hostess being engaged to pay a visit to some

During the next three or four days, though I was often alone with Mrs. Fosdyke, she never said one word on

the subject of Mr. Sax. Once or twice I caught her looking at me with that unendurably significant smile of

hers. Miss Melbury was equally unpleasant in another way. When we accidentally met on the stairs, her black

eyes shot at me passing glances of hatred and scorn. Did these two ladies presume to think?

No; I abstained from completing that inquiry at the time, and I abstain from completing it here.

The end of the week came, and I and the children were left alone at Carsham Hall.

I took advantage of the leisure hours at my disposal to write to Sir Gervase; respectfully inquiring after his

health, and informing him that I had been again most fortunate in my engagement as a governess. By return

of post an answer arrived. I eagerly opened it. The first lines informed me of Sir Gervase Damian's death.

The letter dropped from my hand. I looked at my little enameled cross. It is not for me to say what I felt.

Think of all that I owed to him; and remember how lonely my lot was in the world. I gave the children a

How long an interval passed before I could call to mind that I had only read the first lines of the letter, I am

not able to say. When I did take it up I was surprised to see that the writing covered two pages. Beginning

again where I had left off, my head, in a moment more, began to swim. A horrid fear overpowered me that I

might not be in my right mind, after I had read the first three sentences. Here they are, to answer for me that I

"The will of our deceased client is not yet proved. But, with the sanction of the executors, I inform you

confidentially that you are the person chiefly interested in it. Sir Gervase Damian bequeaths to you,

absolutely, the whole of his personal property, amounting to the sum of seventy thousand pounds."

If the letter had ended there, I really cannot imagine what extravagances I might not have committed. But the

writer {head partner in the firm of Sir Gervase's lawyers) had something more to say on his own behalf. The

manner in which he said it strung up my nerves in an instant. I can not, and will not, copy the words here. It is

The man's object was evidently to let me perceive that he disapproved of the will. So far I do not complain of

himhe had, no doubt, good reason for the view he took. But, in expressing his surprise "at this

extraordinary proof of the testator's interest in a perfect stranger to the family," he hinted his suspicion of an

influence, on my part, exercised over Sir Gervase, so utterly shameful, that I cannot dwell on the subject. The

language, I should add, was cunningly guarded. Even I could see that it would bear more than one

interpretation, and would thus put me in the wrong if I openly resented it. But the meaning was plain; and

"The present Sir Gervase, as you are doubtless aware, is not seriously affected by his father's will. He is

already more liberally provided for, as heir under the entail to the whole of the landed property. But, to say

nothing of old friends who are forgotten, there is a surviving relative of the late Sir Gervase passed over, who

is nearly akin to him by blood. In the event of this person disputing the will, you will of course hear from us

The letter ended with an apology for delay in writing to me, caused by difficulty in discovering my address.

At first I was too indignant to be able to think of what I ought to do. Our posttime was late, and my head

ached as if it would burst into pieces. I had plenty of leisure to rest and compose myself. When I got cool

Even if I had been treated kindly, I should certainly not have taken the money when there was a relative

living with a claim to it. What did I want with a large fortune! To buy a husband with it, perhaps? No, no!

from all that I have heard, the great Lord Chancellor was quite right when he said that a woman with money

at her own disposal was "either kissed out of it or kicked out of it, six weeks after her marriage." The one

difficulty before me was not to give up my legacy, but to express my reply with sufficient severity, and at the

"SIRI will not trouble you by attempting to express my sorrow on hearing of Sir Gervase Damian's death.

You would probably form your own opinion on that subject also; and I have no wish to be judged by your

"With regard to the legacy, feeling the sincerest gratitude to my generous benefactor, I nevertheless refuse to

"Be pleased to send me the necessary document to sign, for transferring my fortune to that relative of Sir

Gervase mentioned in your letter. The one condition on which I insist is, that no expression of thanks shall be

addressed to me by the person in whose favor I resign the money. I do not desire (even supposing that justice

is done to my motives on this occasion) to be made the object of expressions of gratitude for only doing my

In due course of post a formal acknowledgment arrived. I was requested to wait for the document until the

will had been proved, and was informed that my name should be kept strictly secret in the interval. On this

occasion the executors were almost as insolent as the lawyer. They felt it their duty to give me time to

reconsider a decision which had been evidently formed on impulse. Ah, how hard men areat least, some of

them! I locked up the acknowledgment in disgust, resolved to think no more of it until the time came for

getting rid of my legacy. I kissed poor Sir Gervase's little keepsake. While I was still looking at it, the good

children came in, of their own accord, to ask how I was. I was obliged to draw down the blind in my room, or

they would have seen the tears in my eyes. For the first time since my mother's death, I felt the heartache.

Perhaps the children made me think of the happier time when I was a child myself.

THE will had been proved, and I was informed that the document was in course of preparation when Mrs.

"The time seems to me to have come," she said, "when I had better make you and Mr. Sax understand each

I felt myself blushing. I had been thinking of my conduct to Mr. Saxand I was heartily ashamed of it, too.

Mrs. Fosdyke went on, half in jest, half in earnest. "Consult your own sense of propriety!" she said. "Was the

poor man to blame for not being rude enough to say No, when a lady asked him to turn over her music?

Could he help it, if the same lady persisted in flirting with him? He ran away from her the next morning. Did

you deserve to be told why he left us? Certainly notafter the vixenish manner in which you handed the

bedroom candle to Miss Melbury. You foolish girl! Do you think I couldn't see that you were in love with

him? Thank Heaven, he's too poor to marry you, and take you away from my children, for some time to

come. There will be a long marriage engagement, even if he is magnanimous enough to forgive you. Shall I

She took pity on me at last, and sat down to write to Mr. Sax. His reply, dated from a country house some

twenty miles distant, announced that he would be at Carsham Hall in three days' time.

On that third day the legal paper that I was to sign arrived by post. It was Sunday morning; I was alone in the

In writing to me, the lawyer had only alluded to "a surviving relative of Sir Gervase, nearly akin to him by

blood." The document was more explicit. It described the relative as being a nephew of Sir Gervase, the son

I have tried on three different sheets of paper to describe the effect which this discovery produced on

meand I have torn them up one after another. When I only think of it, my mind seems to fall back into the

helpless surprise and confusion of that time. After all that had passed between usthe man himself being

then on his way to the house! what would he think of me when he saw my name at the bottom of the

How long I sat petrified, with the document on my lap, I never knew. Somebody knocked at the schoolroom

door, and looked in and said something, and went out again. Then there was an interval. Then the door was

opened again. A hand was laid kindly on my shoulder. I looked upand there was Mrs. Fosdyke, asking, in

The tone of her voice roused me into speaking. I could think of nothing but Mr. Sax; I could only say, "Has

Answering in those terms, she glanced at the paper in my lap. In the extremity of my helplessness, I acted like

She neither moved nor spoke until I had done. Her first proceeding, after that, was to take me in her arms and

give me a kiss. Having so far encouraged me, she next spoke of poor Sir Gervase.

"We all acted like fools," she announced, "in needlessly offending him by protesting against his second

marriage. I don't mean youI mean his son, his nephew, and myself. If his second marriage made him

happy, what business had we with the disparity of years between husband and wife? I can tell you this, Sextus

was the first of us to regret what he had done. But for his stupid fear of being suspected of an interested

motive, Sir Gervase might have known there was that much good in his sister's son."

"See what the kind old man says of you," she went on, pointing to the words. I could not see them; she was

obliged to read them for me. "I leave my money to the one person living who has been more than worthy of

the little I have done for her, and whose simple unselfish nature I know that I can trust."

I pressed Mrs. Fosdyke's hand; I was not able to speak. She took up the legal paper next.

"Do justice to yourself, and be above contemptible scruples," she said. "Sextus is fond enough of you to be

almost worthy of the sacrifice that you are making. Signand I will sign next as the witness."

I obeyed. She asked for the lawyer's letter. I gave it to her, with the lines which contained the man's vile

insinuation folded down, so that only the words above were visible, which proved that I had renounced my

legacy, not even knowing whether the person to be benefited was a man or a woman. She took this, with the

Oh, what a long time passed before I heard the longexpected knock at the door! "Come in," I cried

Mrs. Fosdyke had deceived me. Mr. Sax had returned in her place. He closed the door. We two were alone.

He was deadly pale; his eyes, as they rested on me, had a wild startled look. With icy cold fingers he took my

hand, and lifted it in silence to his lips. The sight of his agitation encouraged meI don't to this day know

why, unless it appealed in some way to my compassion. I was bold enough to look at him. Still silent, he

placed the letters on the tableand then he laid the signed paper beside them. When I saw that, I was bolder

He answered, "I thank you with my whole heart; I admire you more than words can say. But I can't take it."

"The fortune is yours," he said gently. "Remember how poor I am, and feel for me if I say no more."

His head sank on his breast. He stretched out one hand, silently imploring me to understand him. I could

endure it no longer. I forgot every consideration which a woman, in my position, ought to have remembered.

That evening, Mrs. Fosdyke indulged her sly sense of humor in a new way. She handed me an almanac.

"After all, my dear," she remarked, "you needn't be ashamed of having spoken first. You have only used the

THE guests would have enjoyed their visit to Sir Peter's country housebut for Mr. Cosway. And to make

matters worse, it was not Mr. Cosway but the guests who were to blame. They repeated the old story of Adam

and Eve, on a larger scale. The women were the first sinners; and the men were demoralized by the women.

Mr. Cosway's bitterest enemy could not have denied that he was a handsome, wellbred, unassuming man.

No mystery of any sort attached to him. He had adopted the Navy as a professionhad grown weary of it

after a few years' serviceand now lived on the moderate income left to him, after the death of his parents.

Out of this unpromising material the lively imaginations of the women built up a romance. The men only

noticed that Mr. Cosway was rather silent and thoughtful; that he was not ready with his laugh; and that he

had a fancy for taking long walks by himself. Harmless peculiarities, surely? And yet, they excited the

curiosity of the women as signs of a mystery in Mr. Cosway's past life, in which some beloved object

As a matter of course, the influence of the sex was tried, under every indirect and delicate form of approach,

to induce Mr. Cosway to open his heart, and tell the tale of his sorrows. With perfect courtesy, he baffled

curiosity, and kept his supposed secret to himself. The most beautiful girl in the house was ready to offer

herself and her fortune as consolations, if this impenetrable bachelor would only have taken her into his

One of the guests staying in the house was Mr. Cosway's intimate friendformerly his brotherofficer on

board ship. This gentleman was now subjected to the delicately directed system of investigation which had

failed with his friend. With unruffled composure he referred the ladies, one after another, to Mr. Cosway. His

The last resource left to our fair friends was to rouse the dormant interest of the men, and to trust to the

confidential intercourse of the smokingroom for the enlightenment which they had failed to obtain by other

In the accomplishment of this purpose, the degree of success which rewarded their efforts was due to a

favoring state of affairs in the house. The shooting was not good for much; the billiardtable was under

repair; and there were but two really skilled whistplayers among the guests. In the atmosphere of dullness

thus engendered, the men not only caught the infection of the women's curiosity, but were even ready to

listen to the gossip of the servants' hall, repeated to their mistresses by the ladies' maids. The result of such an

essentially debased state of feeling as this was not slow in declaring itself. But for a lucky accident, Mr.

Cosway would have discovered to what extremities of illbred curiosity idleness and folly can lead persons

holding the position of ladies and gentlemen, when he joined the company at breakfast on the next morning.

The newspapers came in before the guests had risen from the table. Sir Peter handed one of them to the lady

She first looked, it is needless to say, at the list of births, deaths, and marriages; and then she turned to the

general newsthe fires, accidents, fashionable departures, and so on. In a few minutes, she indignantly

"Here is another unfortunate man," she exclaimed, "sacrificed to the stupidity of women! If I had been in his

place, I would have used my knowledge of swimming to save myself, and would have left the women to go

"Oh yesthe old story. A gentleman takes two ladies out in a boat. After a while they get fidgety, and feel

an idiotic impulse to change places. The boat upsets as usual; the poor dear man tries to save themand is

"Yes. They are all strangers to me; I speak on principle." Asserting herself in those words, the indignant lady

handed the newspaper to Mr. Cosway, who happened to sit next to her. "When you were in the navy," she

continued, "I dare say your life was put in jeopardy by taking women in boats. Read it yourself, and let it be a

Mr. Cosway looked at the narrative of the accidentand revealed the romantic mystery of his life by a burst

To declare that Sir Peter and his guests were all struck speechless, by discovering in this way that Mr.

Cosway was a married man, is to say very little. The general impression appeared to be that he was mad. His

neighbors at the table all drew back from him, with the one exception of his friend. Mr. Stone looked at the

newspaper: pressed Mr. Cosway's hand in silent sympathyand addressed himself to his host.

"Permit me to make my friend's apologies," he said, until he is composed enough to act for himself. The

circumstances are so extraordinary that I venture to think they excuse him. Will you allow us to speak to you

Sir Peter, with more apologies addressed to his visitors, opened the door which communicated with his study.

Mr. Stone took Mr. Cosway's arm, and led him out of the room. He noticed no one, spoke to no onehe

After an unendurable interval of nearly an hour's duration, Sir Peter returned alone to the breakfastroom.

Mr. Cosway and Mr. Stone had already taken their departure for London, with their host's entire approval.

"It is left to my discretion " Sir Peter proceeded, "to repeat to you what I have heard in my study. I will do so,

on one conditionthat you all consider yourselves bound in honor not to mention the true names and the real

Subject to this wise reservation, the narrative is here repeated by one of the company. Considering how he

may perform his task to the best advantage, he finds that the events which preceded and followed Mr.

Cosway's disastrous marriage resolve themselves into certain wellmarked divisions. Adopting this

The sailing of her Majesty's ship Albicore was deferred by the severe illness of the captain. A gentleman not

possessed of political influence might, after the doctor's unpromising report of him, have been superseded by

another commanding officer. In the present case, the Lords of the Admiralty showed themselves to be models

of patience and sympathy. They kept the vessel in port, waiting the captain's recovery.

Among the unimportant junior officers, not wanted on board under these circumstances, and favored

accordingly by obtaining leave to wait for orders on shore, were two yo ung men, aged respectively

twentytwo and twentythree years, and known by the names of Cosway and Stone. The scene which now

introduces them opens at a famous seaport on the south coast of England, and discloses the two young

"I think that last bottle of champagne was corked," Cosway remarked. "Let's try another. You're nearest the

Stone rang, under protest. He was the elder of the two by a year, and he set an example of discretion.

"I am afraid we are running up a terrible bill," he said. "We have been here more than three weeks"

"And we have denied ourselves nothing," Cosway added. "We have lived like princes. Another bottle of

champagne, waiter. We have our ridinghorses, and our carriage, and the best box at the theater, and such

cigars as London itself could not produce. I call that making the most of life. Try the new bottle. Glorious

drink, isn't it? Why doesn't my father have champagne at the family dinnertable?"

"I should say not. He didn't give me anything like the money I expected, when I said goodbyand I rather

think he warned me solemnly, at parting, to take the greatest care of it.' There's not a farthing more for you,'

he said, 'till your ship returns from her South American station.' Your father is a clergyman, Stone."

Instead of adopting this suggestion, Stone rose with a very grave face, and once more rang the bell. "Ask the

The landladyotherwise Mrs. Pounceentered the room. She was short, and old, and fat, and painted, and

a widow. Students of character, as revealed in the face, would have discovered malice and cunning in her

bright black eyes, and a bitter vindictive temper in the lines about her thin red lips. Incapable of such

subtleties of analysis as these, the two young officers differed widely, nevertheless, in their opinions of Mrs.

Pounce. Cosway's reckless sense of humor delighted in pretending to be in love with her. Stone took a dislike

to her from the first. When his friend asked for the reason, he made a strangely obscure answer. "Do you

remember that morning in the wood when you killed the snake?" he said. "I took a dislike to the snake."

"Well, my young heroes," said Mrs. Pounce (always loud, always cheerful, and always familiar with her

"Take a glass of champagne, my darling," said Cosway; "and let me try if I can get my arm round your waist.

The landlady passed this over without notice. Though she had spoken to both of them, her cunning little eyes

rested on Stone from the moment when she appeared in the room. She knew by instinct the man who disliked

"We have been here some time," he said, "and we shall be obliged, ma'am, if you will let us have our bill."

"Nothing of the sort!" Cosway interposed. "We have no news of the captain, and we are going to the theater

"Certainly, sir," said Mrs. Pounce, with a sudden assumption of respect. "But we are very busy downstairs,

Mrs. Pounce instantly left the room, without waiting for any further remark from Cosway's friend.

"I wish we had gone to some other house," said Stone. "You mark my wordsthat woman means to cheat

Cosway expressed his dissent from this opinion in the most amiable manner. He filled his friend's glass, and

But Stone's usually smooth temper seemed to be ruffled; he insisted on his own view. "She's impudent and

inquisitive, if she is not downright dishonest," he said. "What right had she to ask you where we lived when

we were at home; and what our Christian names were; and which of us was oldest, you or I? Oh, yesit's all

very well to say she only showed a flattering interest in us! I suppose she showed a flattering interest in my

affairs, when I awoke a little earlier than usual, and caught her in my bedroom with my pocketbook in her

hand. Do you believe she was going to lock it up for safety's sake? She knows how much money we have got

as well as we know it ourselves. Every halfpenny we have will be in her pocket tomorrow. And a good

Even this cogent reasoning failed in provoking Cosway to reply. He took Stone's hat, and handed it with the

utmost politeness to his foreboding friend. "There's only one remedy for such a state of mind as yours," he

At ten o'clock the next morning Cosway found himself alone at the breakfasttable. He was informed that

Mr. Stone had gone out for a little walk, and would be back directly. Seating himself at the table, he

perceived an envelope on his plate, which evidently inclosed the bill. He took up the envelope, considered a

little, and put it back again unopened. At the same moment Stone burst into the room in a high state of

"News that will astonish you!" he cried. "The captain arrived yesterday evening. His doctors say that the

seavoyage will complete his recovery. The ship sails todayand we are ordered to report ourselves on

It covered two sides of a prodigiously long sheet of paper. The sum total was brightly decorated with lines in

red ink. Stone looked at the total, and passed it in silence to Cosway. For once, even Cosway was prostrated.

In dreadful stillness the two young men produced their pocketbooks; added up their joint stores of money,

and compared the result with the bill. Their united resources amounted to a little more than onethird of their

The only alternative that presented itself was to send for Mrs. Pounce; to state the circumstances plainly; and

Mrs. Pounce presented herself superbly dressed in walking costume. Was she going out; or had she just

returned to the inn? Not a word escaped her; she waited gravely to hear what the gentlemen wanted. Cosway,

presuming on his position as favorite, produced the contents of the two pocketbooks and revealed the

"There is all the money we have," he concluded. "We hope you will not object to receive the balance in a bill

Mrs. Pounce answered with a stern composure of voice and manner entirely new in the experience of Cosway

"I have paid ready money, gentlemen, for the hire of your horses and carriages," she said; "here are the

receipts from the livery stables to vouch for me; I never accept bills unless I am quite sure beforehand that

they will be honored. I defy you to find an overcharge in the account now rendered; and I expect you to pay it

Mrs. Pounce entirely agreed with him. "And if you are not on board," she remarked "you will be tried by

"My dear creature, we haven't time to send home, and we know nobody in the town," pleaded Cosway. "For

"I am not a pawnbroker," said the inflexible lady. "You must either pay your lawful debt to me in honest

She paused and looked at Cosway. Her fat face brightenedshe smiled graciously for the first time.

C osway stared at her in unconcealed perplexity. He helplessly repeated her last words. " We must either pay

Was she joking? Was she intoxicated? Was she out of her senses? Neither of the three; she was in perfect

possession of herself; her explanation was a model of lucid and convincing arrangement of facts.

"My position here has its drawbacks," she began. "I am a lone widow; I am known to have an excellent

business, and to have saved money. The result is that I am pestered to death by a set of needy vagabonds who

want to marry me. In this position, I am exposed to slanders and insults. Even if I didn't know that the men

were after my money, there is not one of them whom I would venture to marry. He might turn out a tyrant

and beat me; or a drunkard, and disgrace me; or a betting man, and ruin me. What I want, you see, for my

own peace and protection, is to be able to declare myself married, and to produce the proof in the shape of a

certificate. A born gentleman, with a character to lose, and so much younger in years than myself that he

wouldn't think of living with methere is the sort of husband who suits my book! I'm a reasonable woman,

gentlemen. I would undertake to part with my husband at the church doornever to attempt to see him or

write to him afterwardand only to show my certificate when necessary, without giving any explanations.

Your secret would be quite safe in my keeping. I don't care a straw for either of you, so long as you answer

my purpose. What do you say to paying my bill (one or the other of you) in this way? I am ready dressed for

the altar; and the clergyman has notice at the church. My preference is for Mr. Cosway," proceeded this

terrible woman with the cruelest irony, "because he has been so particular in his attentions toward me. The

license (which I provided on the chance a fortnight since) is made out in his name. Such is my weakness for

Mr. Cosway. But that don't matter if Mr. Stone would like to take his place. He can hail by his friend's name.

Oh, yes, he can! I have consulted my lawyer. So long as the bride and bridegroom agree to it, they may be

married in any name they like, and it stands good. Look at your watch again, Mr. Stone. The church is in the

next street. By my calculation, you have just got five minutes to decide. I'm a punctual woman, my little

"I ought to have mentioned," she resumed, "that I shall make you a present of the bill, receipted, on the

conclusion of the ceremony. You will be taken to the ship in my own boat, with all your money in your

pockets, and a hamper of good things for the mess. After that I wash my hands of you. You may go to the

Caught in the landlady's trap, the two victims looked at each other in expressive silence. Without time enough

to take legal advice; without friends on shore; without any claim on officers of their own standing in the ship,

the prospect before them was literally limited to Marriage or Ruin. Stone made a proposal worthy of a hero.

Cosway matched him in generosity. "No," he answered. "It was I who brought you here; and I who led you

Before Stone could remonstrate, the five minutes expired. Punctual Mrs. Pounce appeared again in the

In fiveandtwenty minutes more, Mrs. Pounce had become Mrs. Cosway; and the two officers were on their

Four years elapsed before the Albicore returned to the port from which she had sailed.

In that interval, the death of Cosway's parents had taken place. The lawyer who had managed his affairs,

during his absence from England, wrote to inform him that his inheritance from his late father's "estate" was

eight hundred a year. His mother only possessed a life interest in her fortune; she had left her jewels to her

Cosway's experience of the life of a naval officer on foreign stations (without political influence to hasten his

promotion) had thoroughly disappointed him. He decided on retiring from the service when the ship was

"paid off." In the meantime, to the astonishment of his comrades, he seemed to be in no hurry to make use of

the leave granted him to go on shore. The faithful Stone was the only man on board who knew that he was

afraid of meeting his "wife." This good friend volunteered to go to the inn, and make the necessary

investigation with all needful prudence. "Four years is a long time, at her age," he said. "Many things may

An hour later, Stone returned to the ship, and sent a written message on board, addressed to his

brotherofficer, in these words: "Pack up your things at once, and join me on shore. "

Stone looked significantly at the idlers on the landingplace. "Wait," he said, "till we are by ourselves."

They got into an empty carriage; and Stone at once relieved his friend of all further suspense.

"Nobody is acquainted with the secret of your marriage, but our two selves," he began quietly. "I don't think,

"I have seen a letter (written by her own lawyer) which announces her death," Stone replied. "It was so short

that I believe I can repeat it word for word: 'Dear SirI have received information of the death of my client.

Please address your next and last payment, on account of the lease and goodwill of the inn, to the executors

of the late Mrs. Cosway.' There, that is the letter. 'Dear Sir' means the present proprietor of the inn. He told

me your wife's previous history in two words. After carrying on the business with her customary intelligence

for more than three years, her health failed, and she went to London to consult a physician. There she

remained under the doctor's care. The next event was the appearance of an agent, instructed to sell the

business in consequence of the landlady's declining health. Add the death at a later time and there is the

beginning and the end of the story. Fortune owed you a good turn, Cosway and Fortune has paid the debt.

Arrived in London, Stone went on at once to his relations in the North. Cosway proceeded to the office of the

family lawyer (Mr. Atherton), who had taken care of his interests in his absence. His father and Mr. Atherton

had been schoolfellows and old friends. He was affectionately received, and was invited to pay a visit the

"You will be near enough to London to attend to your business at the Admiralty," said Mr. Atherton, "and

you will meet a visitor at my house, who is one of the most charming girls in Englandthe only daughter of

the great Mr. Restall. Good heavens! have you never heard of him? My dear sir, he's one of the partners in the

Cosway was wise enough to accept this last piece of information as quite conclusive. The next day, Mrs.

Atherton presented him to the charming Miss Restall; and Mrs. Atherton's young married daughter (who had

been his playfellow when they were children) whispered to him, half in jest, half in earnest: "Make the best

Cosway shuddered inwardly at the bare idea of a second marriage. Was Miss Restall the sort of woman to

She was small and slim and darka graceful, wellbred, brightly intelligent person, with a voice exquisitely

sweet and winning in tone. Her ears, hands, and feet were objects to worship; and she had an attraction,

irresistibly rare among the women of the present timethe attraction of a perfectly natural smile. Before

Cosway had been an hour in the house, she discovered that his long term of service on foreign stations had

furnished him with subjects of conversation which favorably contrasted with the commonplace gossip

addressed to her by other men. Cosway at once became a favorite, as Othello became a favorite in his day.

The ladies of the household all rejoiced in the young officer's success, with the exception of Miss Restall's

companion (supposed to hold the place of her lost mother, at a large salary), one Mrs. Margery.

Too cautious to commit herself in words, this lady expressed doubt and disapprobation by her looks. She had

white hair, irongray eyebrows, and protuberant eyes; her looks were unusually expressive. One evening, she

caught poor Mr. Atherton alone, and consulted him confidentially on the subject of Mr. Cosway's income.

This was the first warning which opened the eyes of the good lawyer to the nature of the "friendship" already

established between his two guests. He knew Miss Restall's illustrious father well, and he feared that it might

On a certain Saturday afternoon, while Mr. Atherton was still considering how he could most kindly and

delicately suggest to Cosway that it was time to say goodby, an empty carriage arrived at the villa. A note

from Mr. Restall was delivered to Mrs. Atherton, thanking her with perfect politeness for her kindness to his

daughter. Circumstances," he added, "rendered it necessary that Miss Restall should return home that

The "circumstances" were supposed to refer to a gardenparty to be given by Mr. Restall in the ensuing

The ladies of the family, still devoted to Cosway's interests, entertained no doubt that Mrs. Margery had

privately communicated with Mr. Restall, and that the appearance of the carriage was the natural result. Mrs.

Atherton's married daughter did all that could be done: she got rid of Mrs. Margery for one minute, and so

arranged it that Cosway and Miss Restall took leave of each other in her own sittingroom.

When the young lady appeared in the hall she had drawn her veil down. Cosway escaped to the road and saw

the last of the carriage as it drove away. In a little more than a fortnight his horror of a second marriage had

become one of the dead and buried emotions of his nature. He stayed at the villa until Monday morning, as an

act of gratitude to his good friends, and then accompanied Mr. Atherton to London. Business at the Admiralty

was the excuse. It imposed on nobody. He was evidently on his way to Miss Restall.

"Leave your business in my hands," said the lawyer, on the journey to town, "and go and amuse yourself on

the Continent. I can't blame you for falling in love with Miss Restall; I ought to have foreseen the danger, and

waited till she had left us before I invited you to my house. But I may at least warn you to carry the matter no

further. If you had eight thousand instead of eight hundred a year, Mr. Restall would think it an act of

presumption on your part to aspire to his daughter's hand, unless you had a title to throw into the bargain.

Look at it in the true light, my dear boy; and one of these days you will thank me for speaking plainly."

The result, from his point of view, led him into a change of residence. He left his hotel and took a lodging in

On the same evening he applied (with the confidence due to a previous arrangement) for a letter at the

neighboring postoffice, addressed to E. C.the initials of Edwin Cosway. "Pray be careful," Miss Restall

wrote; "I have tried to get you a card for our garden party. But that hateful creature, Margery, has evidently

spoken to my father; I am not trusted with any invitation cards. Bear it patiently, dear, as I do, and let me hear

Not submitting to this first disappointment very patiently, Cosway sent his reply to the postoffice, addressed

to A. R.the initials of Adela Restall. The next day the impatient lover applied for another letter. It was

waiting for him, but it was not directed in Adela's handwriting. Had their correspondence been discovered?

"Dear Mr. Cosway, my heart sympathizes with two faithful lovers, in spite of my age and my duty. I inclose

an invitation to the party tomorrow. Pray don't betray me, and don't pay too marked attention to Adela.

Discretion is easy. There will be twelve hundred guests. Your friend, in spite of appearances, Louisa

How infamously they had all misjudged this excellent woman! Cosway went to the party a grateful, as well as

a happy man. The first persons known to him, whom he discovered among the crowd of strangers, were the

Athertons. They looked, as well they might, astonished to see him. Fidelity to Mrs. Margery forbade him to

enter into any explanations. Where was that best and truest friend? With some difficulty he succeeded in

finding her. Was there any impropriety in seizing her hand and cordially pressing it? The result of this

Mrs. Margery behaved like the Athertons! She looked astonished to see him and she put precisely the same

question: "How did you get here?" Cosway could only conclude that she was joking. "Who should know that,

dear lady, better than yourself?" he rejoined. "I don't understand you," Mrs. Margery answered, sharply. After

a moment's reflection, Cosway hit on another solution of the mystery. Visitors were near them; and Mrs.

Margery had made her own private use of one of Mr. Restall's invitation cards. She might have serious

reasons for pushing caution to its last extreme. Cosway looked at her significantly. "The least I can do is not

It seemed like a fatality. She looked astonished; and she said: "How did you get here?" No intrusive visitors

were within hearing, this time. "My dear!" Cosway remonstrated, "Mrs. Margery must have told you, when

she sent me my invitation." Adela turned pale. "Mrs. Margery?" she repeated. "Mrs. Margery has said

nothing to me; Mrs. Margery detests you. We must have this cleared up. No; not nowI must attend to our

guests. Expect a letter; and, for heaven's sake, Edwin, keep out of my father's way. One of our visitors whom

he particularly wished to see has sent an excuseand he is dreadfully angry about it."

She left him before Cosway could explain that he and Mr. Restall had thus far never seen each other.

He wandered away toward the extremity of the grounds, troubled by vague suspicions; hurt at Adela's cold

reception of him. Entering a shrubbery, which seemed intended to screen the grounds, at this point, from a

lane outside, he suddenly discovered a pretty little summerhouse among the trees. A stout gentleman, of

mature years, was seated alone in this retreat. He looked up with a frown. Cosway apologized for disturbing

The stout gentleman replied by an inarticulate soundsomething between a grunt and a cough.

"Excuse my entering into conversation," he persisted. "I feel like a stranger here. There are so many people

The stout gentleman suddenly burst into speech. Cosway had touched a sympathetic fiber at last.

"There are a good many people here whom I don't know," he said, gruffly. "You are one of them. What's your

The stout gentleman rose with fury in his looks. He burst out with an oath; and added the in tolerable

question, already three times repeated by others: "How did you get here?" The tone was even more offensive

than the oath. "Your age protects you, sir, " said Cosway, with the loftiest composure. "I'm sorry I gave my

"Rude?" shouted the old gentleman. "You want my name in return, I suppose? You young puppy, you shall

He turned his back and walked off. Cosway took the only course now open to him. He returned to his

The next day no letter reached him from Adela. He went to the postoffice. No letter was there. The day wore

on to eveningand, with the evening, there appeared a woman who was a stranger to him. She looked like a

"Please be at the gardendoor that opens on the lane, at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Knock three times at

the doorand then say 'Adela.' Some one who wishes you well will be alone in the shrubbery, and will let

you in. No, sir! I am not to take anything; and I am not to say a word more." She spokeand vanished.

Cosway was punctual to his appointment. He knocked three times; he pronounced Miss Restall's Christian

name. Nothing happened. He waited a while, and tried again. This time Adela's voice answered strangely

"Did you expect any one else?" Cosway asked. "My darling, your message said ten o'clockand here I am. "

"I sent no message," said Adela, as they confronted each other on the threshold.

In the silence of utter bewilderment they went together into the summerhouse. At Adela's request, Cosway

repeated the message that he had received, and described the woman who had delivered it. The description

applied to no person known to Miss Restall. "Mrs. Margery never sent you the invitation; and I repeat, I never

sent you the message. This meeting has been arranged by some one who knows that I always walk in the

Still mentally in search of the enemy who had betrayed them, she checked herself, and considered a little. "Is

it possible?" she began, and paused again. Her eyes filled with tears. "My mind is so completely upset,"

she said, "that I can't think clearly of anything. Oh, Edwin, we have had a happy dream, and it has come to an

end. My father knows more than we think for. Some friends of ours are going abroad tomorrowand I am to

go with them. Nothing I can say has the least effect upon my father. He means to part us foreverand this is

She put her arm round Cosway's neck and lovingly laid her head on his shoulder. With tenderest kisses they

reiterated their vows of eternal fidelity until their voices faltered and failed them. Cosway filled up the pause

by the only useful suggestion which it was now in his power to makehe proposed an elopement.

Adela received this bold solution of the difficulty in which they were placed exactly as thousands of other

She first said positively No. Cosway persisted. She began to cry, and asked if he had no respect for her.

Cosway declared that his respect was equal to any sacrifice except the sacrifice of parting with her forever.

He could, and would, if she preferred it, die for her, but while he was alive he must refuse to give her up.

Upon this she shifted her ground. Did he expect her to go away with him alone? Certainly not. Her maid

could go with her, or, if her maid was not to be trusted, he would apply to his landlady, and engage "a

respectable elderly person" to attend on her until the day of their marriage. Would she have some mercy on

him, and just consider it? No: she was afraid to consider it. Did she prefer misery for the rest of her life?

Never mind his happiness: it was her happiness only that he had in his mind. Traveling with unsympathetic

people; absent from England, no one could say for how long; married, when she did return, to some rich man

whom she hatedwould she, could she, contemplate that prospect? She contemplated it through tears; she

contemplated it to an accompaniment of sighs, kisses, and protestationsshe trembled, hesitated, gave way.

At an appointed hour of the coming night, when her father would be in the smokingroom, and Mrs. Margery

would be in bed, Cosway was to knock at the door in the lane once more; leaving time to make all the

The one pressing necessity, under these circumstances, was to guard against the possibility of betrayal and

surprise. Cosway discreetly alluded to the unsolved mysteries of the invitation and the message. "Have you

Adela answered with some embarrassment. "Only one person," She said"dear Miss Benshaw."

"Don't you really know, Edwin? She is richer even than papashe has inherited from her late brother one

halfshare in the great business in the City. Miss Benshaw is the lady who disappointed papa by not coming

to the gardenparty. You remember, dear, how happy we were when we were together at Mr. Atherton's? I

was very miserable when they took me away. Miss Benshaw happened to call the next day and she noticed it.

'My dear,' she said (Miss Benshaw is quite an elderly lady now), 'I am an old maid, who has missed the

happiness of her life, through not having had a friend to guide and advise her when she was young. Are you

suffering as I once suffered?' She spoke so nicelyand I was so wretchedthat I really couldn't help it. I

"Perhaps, my love, she has spoken about us (not meaning any harm) to some friend of hers? Old ladies are so

"I have thought it just possible myself," she admitted. "There is plenty of time to call on her today. I will set

Toward evening Cosway's arrangements for the elopement were completed. He was eating his solitary dinner

when a note was brought to him. It had been left at the door by a messenger. The man had gone away without

"Miss Benshaw presents her compliments to Mr. Cosway, and will be obliged if he can call on her at nine

This invitation was evidently the result of Adela's visit earlier in the day. Cosway presented himself at the

house, troubled by natural emotions of anxiety and suspense. His reception was not of a nature to compose

him. He was shown into a darkened room. The one lamp on the table was turned down low, and the little light

thus given was still further obscured by a shade. The corners of the room were in almost absolute darkness.

"I must beg you to excuse the darkened room. I am suffering from a severe cold. My eyes are inflamed, and

my throat is so bad that I can only speak in a whisper. Sit down, sir. I have got news for you ."

"The worst possible news," said the whispering voice. "You have an enemy striking at you in the dark."

Cosway asked who it was, and received no answer. He varied the form of inquiry, and asked why the

unnamed person struck at him in the dark. The experiment succeeded; he obtained a reply.

"It is reported to me," said Miss Benshaw, "that the person thinks it necessary to give you a lesson, and takes

a spiteful pleasure in doing it as mischievously as possible. The person, as I happen to know, sent you your

invitation to the party, and made the appointment which took you to the door in the lane. Wait a little, sir; I

have not done yet. The person has put it into Mr. Restall's head to send his daughter abroad tomorrow.

"You needn't be afraid, Mr. Cosway; Miss Restall will not leave England. Your enemy is allpowerful. Your

enemy's object could only be to provoke you into planning an elopementand, your arrangements once

completed, to inform Mr. Restall, and to part you and Miss Adela quite as effectually as if you were at

opposite ends of the world. Oh, you will undoubtedly be parted! Spiteful, isn't it? And, what is worse, the

There was a moment of silence. Cosway looked at the lamp. Once roused, as usual with men of his character,

"Miss Benshaw," he said, "I dare say you think me a fool; but I can draw my own conclusion, for all that.

The only reply was a chuckling laugh. All voices can be more or less effectually disguised by a whisper but a

laugh carries the revelation of its own identity with it. Cosway suddenly threw off the shade over the lamp

Three days had passed. Cosway sat alone in his lodgingpale and worn: the shadow already of his former

He had not seen Adela since the discovery. There was but one way in which he could venture to make the

inevitable disclosurehe wrote to her; and Mr. Atherton's daughter took care that the letter should be

received. Inquiries made afterward, by help of the same good friend, informed him that Miss Restall was

"Cheer up, sir, " said the good woman. "There is better news of Miss Restall today."

"Don't trifle with me!" he answered fretfully; "tell me exactly what the servant said."

The mistress repeated the words. Miss Restall had passed a quieter night, and had been able for a few hours

to leave her room. He asked next if any reply to his letter had arrived. No reply had been received.

If Adela definitely abstained from writing to him, the conclusion would be too plain to be mistaken. She had

"Here's Mr. Stone come back, sir!" she exclaimed joyfullyand hurried away to let him in.

"Don't speak of her," cried Cosway. "I should have murdered her when I saw her face, if I had not instantly

left the house. I may be the death of the wretch yet, if you presist in speaking of her!"

"Must I remind you that you owe something to your old comrade?" he asked. "I left my father and mother,

the morning I got your letter and my one thought has been to serve you. Reward me. Be a man, and hear

what is your right and duty to know. After that, if you like, we will never refer to the woman again."

Cosway took his hand, in silent acknowledgment that he was right. They sat down together. Stone began.

"She is so entirely shameless," he said, "that I had no difficulty in getting her to speak. And she so cordially

"Of course, she lies," Cosway said bitterly, "when she calls herself Miss Benshaw?"

"No; she is really the daughter of the man who founded the great house in the City. With every advantage that

wealth and position could give her the perverse creature married one of her father's clerks, who had been

deservedly dismissed from his situation. From that moment her family discarded her. With the money

procured by the sale of her jewels, her husband took the inn which we have such bitter cause to

rememberand she managed the house after his death. So much for the past. Carry your mind on now to the

time when our ship brought us back to England. At that date, the last surviving member of your wife's

familyher elder brotherlay at the point of death. He had taken his father's place in the business, besides

inheriting his father's fortune. After a happy married life he was left a widower, without children; and it

became necessary that he should alter his will. He deferred performing his duty. It was only at the time of his

last illness that he had dictated instructions for a new will, leaving his wealth (excepting certain legacies to

old friends) to the hospitals of Great Britain and Ireland. His lawyer lost no time in carrying out the

instructions. The new will was ready for signature (the old will having been destroyed by his own hand),

when the doctors sent a message to say that their patient was insensible, and might die in that condition."

"Perfectly right. Our wretched landlady, as next of kin, succeeded, not only to the fortune, but (under the

deed of partnership) to her late brother's place in the firm: on the one easy condition of resuming the family

name. She calls herself "Miss Benshaw." But as a matter of legal necessity she is set down in the deed as

"Mrs. Cosway Benshaw." Her partners only now know that her husband is living, and that you are the

Cosway whom she privately married. Will you take a little breathing time? or shall I go on, and get done with

"She doesn't in the least care," Stone proceeded, "for the exposure. 'I am the head partner,' she says 'and the

rich one of the firm; they daren't turn their backs on Me.' You remember the information I receivedin

perfect good faith on his partfrom the man who keeps the inn? The visit to the London doctor, and the

assertion of failing health, were adopted as the best means of plausibly severing the lady's connection (the

great lady now!) with a calling so unworthy of her as the keeping of an inn. Her neighbors at the seaport were

all deceived by the stratagem, with two exceptions. They were both menvagabonds who had pertinaciously

tried to delude her into marrying them in the days when she was a widow. They refused to believe in the

doctor and the declining health; they had their own suspicion of the motives which had led to the sale of the

inn, under very unfavorable circumstances; and they decided on going to London, inspired by the same base

hope of making discoveries which might be turned into a means of extorting money."

"By the help of her lawyer, who was not above accepting a handsome private fee. He wrote to the new

landlord of the inn, falsely announcing his client's death, in the letter which I repeated to you in the railway

carriage on our journey to London. Other precautions were taken to keep up the deception, on which it is

needless to dwell. Your natural conclusion that you were free to pay your addresses to Miss Restall, and the

poor young lady's innocent confidence in 'Miss Benshaw's' sympathy, gave this unscrupulous woman the

means of playing the heartless trick on you which is now exposed. Malice and jealousyI have it, mind,

from herself!were not her only motives. 'But for that Cosway,' she said (I spare you the epithet which she

put before your name), 'with my money and position, I might have married a needy lord, and sunned myself

in my old age in the full blaze of the peerage.' Do you understand how she hated you, now? Enough of the

subject! The moral of it, my dear Cosway, is to leave this place, and try what change of scene will do for you.

Stone shook his head. "Still hoping, my poor friend, for a line from Miss Restall? You distress me."

"I am sorry to distress you, Stone. If I can get one pitying word from her, I can submit to the miserable life

They were silent. The evening slowly darkened; and the mistress came in as usual with the candles. She

He tore it open; read it in an instant; and devoured it with kisses. His highly wrought feelings found their vent

in a little allowable exaggeration. "She has saved my life!" he said, as he handed the letter to Stone.

"My love is yours, my promise is yours. Through all trouble, through all profanation, through the hopeless

separation that may be before us in this world, I live yoursand die yours. My Edwin, God bless and

The separation had lasted for nearly two years, when Cosway and Stone paid that visit to the country house

which is recorded at the outset of the present narrative. In the interval nothing had been heard of Miss Restall,

except through Mr. Atherton. He reported that Adela was leading a very quiet life. The one remarkable event

had been an interview between "Miss Benshaw" and herself. No other person had been present; but the little

that was reported placed Miss Restall's character above all praise. She had forgiven the woman who had so

The two friends, it may be remembered, had traveled to London, immediately after completing the fullest

explanation of Cosway's startling behavior at the breakfasttable. Stone was not by nature a sanguine man. "I

don't believe in our luck," he said. "Let us be quite sure that we are not the victims of another deception."

The accident had happened on the Thames; and the newspaper narrative proved to be accurate in every

respect. Stone personally attended the inquest. From a natural feeling of delicacy toward Adela, Cosway

hesitated to write to her on the subject. The everhelpful Stone wrote in his place.

After some delay, the answer was received. It inclosed a brief statement (communicated officially by legal

authority) of the last act of malice on the part of the late headpartner in the house of Benshaw and

Company. She had not died intestate, like her brother. The first clause of her will contained the testator's

grateful recognition of Adela Restall's Christian act of forgiveness. The second clause (after stating that there

were neither relatives nor children to be benefited by the will) left Adela Restall mistress of Mrs. Cosway

Benshaw's fortuneon the one merciless condition that she did not marry Edwin Cosway. The third

clauseif Adela Restall violated the conditionhanded over the whole of the money to the firm in the City,

Some months later, Adela came of age. To the indignation of Mr. Restall, and the astonishment of the

"Company," the money actually went to the firm. The fourth epoch in Mr. Cosway's life witnessed his

marriage to a woman who cheerfully paid half a million of money for the happiness of passing her life, on

But Cosway felt bound in gratitude to make a rich woman of his wife, if work and resolution could do it.

When Stone last heard of him, he was reading for the bar; and Mr. Atherton was ready to give him his first

NOTE.That "most improbable" part of the present narrative, which is contained in the division called The

First Epoch, is founded on an adventure which actually occurred to no less a person than a cousin of Sir

Walter Scott. In Lockhart's delightful "Life," the anecdote will be found as told by Sir Walter to Captain Basil

Hall. The remainder of the present story is entirely imaginary. The writer wondered what such a woman as

the landlady would do under certain given circumstances, after her marriage to the young midshipmanand

THE day before I left London, to occupy the post of second secretary of legation at a small German Court, I

took leave of my excellent French singingmaster, Monsieur Bonnefoy, and of his young and pretty daughter

Our farewell interview was saddened by Monsieur Bonnefoy's family anxieties. His elder brother, known in

the household as Uncle David, had been secretly summoned to Paris by order of a republican society.

Anxious relations in London (whether reasonably or not, I am unable to say) were in some fear of the

At parting, I made Mademoiselle Jeanne a present, in the shape of a plain gold brooch. For some time past, I

had taken my lessons at Monsieur Bonnefoy's house; his daughter and I often sang together under his

direction. Seeing much of Jeanne, under these circumstances, the little gift that I had offered to her was only

the natural expression of a true interest in her welfare. Idle rumor assertedquite falselythat I was in love

Having alluded to my lessons in singing, it may not be out of place to mention the circumstances under which

I became Monsieur Bonnefoy's pupil, and to allude to the change in my life that followed in due course of

Our family propertyexcepting the sum of five thousand pounds left to me by my motheris landed

property strictly entailed. The estates were inherited by my only brother, Lord Medhurst; the kindest, the best,

and, I grieve to say it, the unhappiest of men. He lived separated from a bad wife; he had no children to

console him; and he only enjoyed at rare intervals the blessing of good health. Having myself nothing to live

on but the interest of my mother's little fortune, I had to make my own way in the world. Poor younger sons,

not possessed of the commanding ability which achieves distinction, find the roads that lead to prosperity

closed to them, with one exception. They can always apply themselves to the social arts which make a man

agreeable in society. I had naturally a good voice, and I cultivated it. I was ready to sing, without being

subject to the wretched vanity which makes objections and excusesI pleased the ladiesthe ladies spoke

favorably of me to their husbandsand some of their husbands were persons of rank and influence. After no

very long lapse of time, the result of this combination of circumstances declared itself. Monsieur Bonnefoy's

lessons became the indirect means of starting me on a diplomatic careerand the diplomatic career made

poor Ernest Medhurst, to his own unutterable astonishment, the hero of a love story!

The story being true, I must beg to be excused, if I abstain from mentioning names, places, and dates, when I

enter on German ground. Let it be enough to say that I am writing of a bygone year in the present century,

when no such thing as a German Empire existed, and when the revolutionary spirit of France was still an

object of wellfounded suspicion to tyrants by right divine on the continent of Europe.

ON joining the legation, I was not particularly attracted by my chief, the Minister. His manners were

oppressively polite; and his sense of his own importance was not sufficiently influenced by diplomatic

reserve. I venture to describe him (mentally speaking) as an empty man, carefully trained to look full on

My colleague, the first secretary, was a far more interesting person. Bright, unaffected, and agreeable, he at

once interested me when we were introduced to each other. I pay myself a compliment, as I consider, when I

We took a walk together in the palace gardens on the evening of my arrival. Reaching a remote part of the

grounds, we were passed by a lean, sallow, sourlooking old man, drawn by a servant in a chair on wheels.

My companion stopped, whispered to me, "Here is the Prince," and bowed bareheaded. I followed his

example as a matter of course. The Prince feebly returned our salutation. "Is he ill?" I asked, when we had put

"Shakespeare," the secretary replied, "tells us that 'one man in his time plays many parts.' Under what various

aspects the Prince's character may have presented itself, in his younger days, I am no t able to tell you. Since l

have been here, he has played the part of a martyr to illness, misunderstood by his doctors."

"Ah, she is not so easily described! I can only appeal to your memory of other women like her, whom you

must often have seenwomen who are tall and fair, and fragile and elegant; who have delicate aquiline

noses and melting blue eyeswomen who have often charmed you by their tender smiles and their supple

graces of movement. As for the character of this popular young lady, I must not influence you either way;

"With a suggestion," he replied, "which may be worth considering. If you wish to please the Princess, begin

"One of the ladies in waitingbosom friend of her Highness, and chosen repository of all her secrets.

Personally, not likely to attract you; short and fat, and illtempered and ugly. Just at this time, I happen

myself to get on with her better than usual. We have discovered that we possess one sympathy in

commonwe are the only people at Court who don't believe in the Prince's new doctor."

"It strikes me," he said, "that the Doctor is a spy. Mind! I have no right to speak of him in that way; it is only

my impressionand I ought to add that appearances are all in his favor. He is in the service of our nearest

royal neighbor, the Grand Duke; and he has been sent here expressly to relieve the sufferings of the Duke's

good friend and brother, our invalid Prince. This is an honorable mission no doubt. And the man himself is

handsome, wellbred, and (I don't quite know whether this is an additional recommendation) a countryman

of ours. Nevertheless I doubt him, and the Baroness doubts him. You are an independent witness; I shall be

I was presented at Court, toward the end of the week; and, in the course of the next two or three days, I more

than once saw the Doctor. The impression that he produced on me surprised my colleague. It was my opinion

that he and the Baroness had mistaken the character of a worthy and capable man.

BUT the Princessthe gentle, gracious, beautiful Princesswhat can I say of her Highness?

I had been a little discouraged by the reception that I met with from her father. Strictly confining himself

within the limits of politeness, he bade me welcome to his Court in the fewest possible words, and then

passed me by without further notice. He afterward informed the English Minister that I had been so

unfortunate as to try his temper: "Your new secretary irritates me, sirhe is a person in an offensively

perfect state of health." The Prince's charming daughter was not of her father's way of thinking; it is

impossible to say how graciously, how sweetly I was received. She honored me by speaking to me in my own

language, of which she showed herself to be a perfect mistress. I was not only permitted, but encouraged, to

talk of my family, and to dwell on my own tastes, amusements, and pursuits. Even when her Highness's

attention was claimed by other persons waiting to be presented, I was not forgotten. The Baroness was

instructed to invite me for the next evening to the Princess's teatable; and it was hinted that I should be

My friend the secretary, standing near us at the time, looked at me with a mysterious smile. He had suggested

that I should make advances to the Baronessand here was the Baroness (under royal instructions) making

On the occasion of my second reception by the Princess, at her little evening party, I detected the Baroness,

more than once, in the act of watching her Highness and myself, with an appearance of disapproval in her

manner, which puzzled me. When I had taken my leave, she followed me out of the room.

"I have a word of advice to give you," she said. "The best thing you can do, sir, is to make an excuse to your

BEFORE the season came to an end, the Court removed to the Prince's countryseat, in the interests of his

Highness's health. Entertainments were given (at the Doctor's suggestion), with a view of raising the patient's

depressed spirits. The members of the English legation were among the guests invited. To me it was a

delightful visit. I had again every reason to feel gratefully sensible of the Princess's condescending kindness.

Meeting the secretary one day in the library, I said that I thought her a perfect creature. Was this an absurd

remark to make? I could see nothing absurd in itand yet my friend burst out laughing.

"My good fellow, nobody is a perfect creature," he said. "The Princess has her faults and failings, like the rest

"Use your eyes," he went on; "and you will see, for example, that she is shallow and frivolous. Yesterday was

a day of rain. We were all obliged to employ ourselves somehow indoors. Didn't you notice that she had no

"There you are wrong at any rate," I declared. "I saw her reading the newspaper."

"You saw her with the newspaper in her hand. If you had not been deaf and blind to her defects, you would

have noticed that she couldn't fix her attention on it. She was always ready to join in the chatter of the ladies

about her. When even their stores of gossip were exhausted, she let the newspaper drop on her lap, and sat in

I reminded him that she might have met with a dull number of the newspaper. He took no notice of this

"You were talking the other day of her warmth of feeling," he proceeded. "She has plenty of sentiment

(German sentiment), I grant you, but no true feeling. What happened only this morning, when the Prince was

in the breakfastroom, and when the Princess and her ladies were dressed to go out riding? Even she noticed

the wretchedly depressed state of her father's spirits. A man of that hypochondriacal temperament suffers

acutely, though he may only fancy himself to be ill. The Princess overflowed with sympathy, but she never

proposed to stay at home, and try to cheer the old man. Her filial duty was performed to her own entire

satisfaction when she had kissed her hand to the Prince. The moment after, she was out of the roomeager

to enjoy her ride. We all heard her laughing gayly among the ladies in the hall."

I could have answered this also, if our discussion had not been interrupted at the moment. The Doctor came

into the library in search of a book. When he had left us, my colleague's strong prejudice against him

"Haven't you noticed," he replied, "that when the Princess is talking to you, the Doctor always happens to be

My friend looked at me with an oddly mingled expression of doubt and surprise. "Do you really not

"My dear Ernest, you are a rare and admirable example to the rest of usyou are a truly modest man."

EVENTS followed, on the next day, which (as will presently be seen) I have a personal interest in relating.

The Baroness left us suddenly, on leave of absence. The Prince wearied of his residence in the country; and

the Court returned to the capital. The charming Princess was reported to be "indisposed," and retired to the

A week later, I received a note f rom the Baroness, marked "private and confidential." It informed me that she

had resumed her duties as ladyinwaiting, and that she wished to see me at my earliest convenience. I

obeyed at once; and naturally asked if there were better accounts of her Highness's health.

The Baroness's reply a little surprised me. She said, "The Princess is perfectly well."

"She has never been ill," the Baroness answered. "Her indisposition was a sham; forced on her by me, in her

own interests. Her reputation is in peril; and youyou hateful Englishmanare the cause of it."

Not feeling disposed to put up with such language as this, even when it was used by a lady, I requested that

she would explain herself. She complied without hesitation. In another minute my eyes were opened to the

truth. I knewno; that is too positivelet me say I had reason to believe that the Princess loved me!

It is simply impossible to convey to the minds of others any idea of the emotions that overwhelmed me at that

critical moment of my life. I was in a state of confusion at the time; and, when my memory tries to realize it, I

am in a state of confusion now. The one thing I can do is to repeat what the Baroness said to me when I had

"I suppose you are aware," she began, "of the disgrace to which the Princess's infatuation exposes her, if it is

discovered? On my own responsibility I repeat what I said to you a short time since. Do you refuse to leave

Does the man live, honored as I was, who would have hesitated to refuse? Find him if you can!

"Very well," she resumed. "As the friend of the Princess, I have no choice now but to take things as they are,

and to make the best of them. Let us realize your position to begin with. If you were (like your elder brother)

a nobleman possessed of vast estates, my royal mistress might be excused. As it is, whatever you may be in

the future, you are nothing now but an obscure young man, without fortune or title. Do you see your duty to

I saw my duty as plainly as she did. "Her Highness's secret is a sacred secret," I said. "I am bound to shrink

The Baroness smiled maliciously. "I may have occasion," she answered, "to remind you of what you have

At first, I doubted whether she was in jest or in earnest. The next instant, I remembered that the secretary had

"It is evidently one of your virtues," the Baroness proceeded, "to be slow to suspect. Prepare yourself for a

disagreeable surprise. The Doctor has been watching the Princess, on every occasion when she speaks to you,

with some object of his own in view. During my absence, young sir, I have been engaged in discovering what

that object is. My excellent mother lives at the Court of the Grand Duke, and enjoys the confidence of his

Ministers. He is still a bachelor; and, in the interests of the succession to the throne, the time has arrived when

he must marry. With my mother's assistance, I have found out that the Doctor's medical errand here is a

pretense. Influenced by the Princess's beauty the Grand Duke has thought of her first as his future duchess.

Whether he has heard slanderous stories, or whether he is only a cautious man, I can't tell you. But this I

know: he has instructed his physicianif he had employed a professed diplomatist his motive might have

been suspectedto observe her Highness privately, and to communicate the result. The object of the report is

to satisfy the Duke that the Princess's reputation is above the reach of scandal; that she is free from

entanglements of a certain kind; and that she is in every respect a person to whom he can with propriety offer

his hand in marriage. The Doctor, Mr. Ernest, is not disposed to allow you to prevent him from sending in a

favorable report. He has drawn his conclusions from the Princess's extraordinary kindness to the second

secretary of the English legation; and he is only waiting for a little plainer evidence to communicate his

"There is but one way of doing it," she answered; "and that way has (comically enough) been suggested to me

"No hurry, Mr. Ernestno hurry! You shall be fully enlightened, if you will only wait a little. The Prince, I

must tell you, believes in his daughter's indisposition. When he visited her this morning, he was attended by

his medical adviser. I was present at the interview. To do him justice, the Doctor is worthy of the trust

reposed in himhe boldly attempted to verify his suspicions of the daughter in the father's presence."

"Oh, in the wellknown way that has been tried over and over again, under similar circumstances! He merely

invented a report that you were engaged in a loveaffair with some charming person in the town. Don't be

"Do you suppose she is weak enough to believe the Doctor? Her Highness beat him at his own weapons; not

the slightest sign of agitation on her part rewarded his ingenuity. All that you have to do is to help her to

mislead this medical spy. It's as easy as lying: and easier. The Doctor's slander declares that you have a

loveaffair in the town. Take the hintand astonish the Doctor by proving that he has hit on the truth."

It was a hot day; the Baroness was beginning to get excited. She paused and fanned herself.

"What a thickheaded man this is!" she said, pleasantly. "Must I put it more plainly still? Engage in what

your English prudery calls a 'flirtation,' with some woman herethe lower in degree the better, or the

Princess might be jealousand let the affair be seen and known by everybody about the Court. Sly as he is,

the Doctor is not prepared for that! At your age, and with your personal advantages, he will take appearances

for granted; he will conclude that he has wronged you, and misinterpreted the motives of the Princess. The

secret of her Highness's weakness will be preservedthanks to that sacrifice, Mr. Ernest, which you are so

It was useless to remonstrate with such a woman as this. I simply stated my own objection to her artfully

"I don't wish to appear vain," I said; "but the woman to whom I am to pay these attentions may believe that I

really admire herand it is just possible that she may honestly return the feeling which I am only assuming."

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "how can anything that you do for the Princess be hard on a woman of the

lower orders? There must be an end of this nonsense, sir! You have heard what I propose, and you know what

the circumstances are. My mistress is waiting for your answer. What am I to say?"

"Quite impossible today, without running too great a risk. Your reply must be made through me."

There was to be a Court concert at the end of the week. On that occasion I should be able to make my own

"On the contrary, I cordially agree. Your base hesitation may lead to results which I have not hitherto dared

"Between this and tomorrow," the horrid woman replied, "the Princess may end in seeing you with my eyes.

MY enemies say that I am a weak man, unduly influenced by persons of rankbecause of their rank. If this

we re true, I should have found little difficulty in consenting to adopt the Baroness's suggestion. As it was,

the longer I reflected on the scheme the less I liked it. I tried to think of some alternative that might be

acceptably proposed. The time passed, and nothing occurred to me. In this embarrassing position my mind

became seriously disturbed; I felt the necessity of obtaining some relief, which might turn my thoughts for a

while into a new channel. The secretary called on me, while I was still in doubt what to do. He reminded me

that a new prima donna was advertised to appear on that night; and he suggested that we should go to the

We found the theater already filled, before the performance began. Two French gentlemen were seated in the

"She is advertised as 'Mademoiselle Fontenay,'" one of them said. "That sounds like an assumed name."

"It is an assumed name," the other replied. "She is the daughter of a French singingmaster, named

To my friend's astonishment I started to my feet, and left him without a word of apology. In another minute I

was at the stagedoor, and had sent in my card to "Mademoiselle Fontenay." While I was waiting, I had time

to think. Was it possible that Jeanne had gone on the stage? Or were there two singingmasters in existence

named Bonnefoy? My doubts were soon decided. The French womanservant whom I remembered when I

was Monsieur Bonnefoy's pupil, made her appearance, and conducted me to her young mistress's

I found her standing before the glass, having just completed her preparations for appearing on the stage.

Dressed in her picturesque costume, she was so charming that I expressed my admiration heartily, as became

her old friend. "Do you really like me?" she said, with the innocent familiarity which I recollected so well.

"See how I look in the glassthat is the great test." It was not easy to apply the test. Instead of looking at her

image in the glass, it was far more agreeable to look at herself. We were interruptedtoo soon

interruptedby the callboy. He knocked at the door, and announced that the overture had begun.

"I have a thousand things to ask you," I told her. "What has made this wonderful change in your life? How is

Her face instantly saddened; her hand trembled as she laid it on my arm to silence me.

"Don't speak of him now," she said, "or you will unnerve me. Come to me tomorrow when the stage will not

be waiting; Annette will give you my address." She opened the door to go out, and returned. "Will you think

me very unreasonable if I ask you not to make one of my audience tonight? You have reminded me of the

dear old days that can never come again. If I feel that I am singing to you" She left me to understand the

rest, and turned away again to the door. As I followed her out, to say goodby, she drew from her bosom the

little brooch which had been my parting gift, and held it out to me. "On the stage, or off, " she said, "I always

My good old friend and master had died suddenly. To add to the bitterness of that affliction, he had died in

debt to a dear and intimate friend. For his daughter's sake he had endeavored to add to his little savings by

speculating with borrowed money on the Stock Exchange. He had failed, and the loan advanced had not been

repaid, when a fit of apoplexy struck him down. Offered the opportunity of trying her fortune on the operatic

stage, Jeanne made the attempt, and was now nobly employed in earning the money to pay her father's debt.

"It was the only way in which I could do justice to his memory," she said, simply. "I hope you don't object to

I took her hand, poor childand let that simple action answer for me. I was too deeply affected to be able to

"It is not in me to be a great actress," she resumed; "but you know what an admirable musician my father

was. He has taught me to sing, so that I can satisfy the critics, as well as please the public. There was what

they call a great success last night. It has earned me an engagement for another year to come, and an increase

of salary. I have already sent some money to our good old friend at home, and I shall soon send more. It is

my one consolationI feel almost happy again when I am paying my poor father's debt. No more now of my

sad story! I want to hear all that you can tell me of yourself." She moved to the window, and looked out. "Oh,

the beautiful blue sky! We used sometimes to take a walk, when we were in London, on fine days like this. Is

I took her to the palace gardens, famous for their beauty in that part of Germany.

Arm in arm we loitered along the pleasant walks. The lovely flowers, the bright sun, the fresh fragrant breeze,

all helped her to recover her spirits. She began to be like the happy Jeanne of my past experience, as easily

pleased as a child. When we sat down to rest, the lap of her dress was full of daisies. "Do you remember," she

said, "when you first taught me to make a daisychain? Are you too great a man to help me again now?"

We were still engaged with our chain, seated close together, when the smell of tobaccosmoke was wafted to

I looked up and saw the Doctor passing us, enjoying his cigar. He bowed; eyed my pretty companion with a

Another person interrupted us, whom I recognized as the elder brother of Monsieur Bonnefoyalready

mentioned in these pages, under the name of Uncle David. Having left France for political reasons, the old

republican had taken care of his niece after her father's death, and had accepted the position of Jeanne's

business manager in her relations with the stage. Uncle David's object, when he joined us in the garden, was

to remind her that she was wanted at rehearsal, and must at once return with him to the theater. We parted,

"Let me apologize for having misunderstood you yesterday," she said: "and let me offer you my best

congratulations. You have done wonders already in the way of misleading the Doctor. There is only one

objection to that girl at the theaterI hear she is so pretty that she may possibly displease the Princess. In

other respects, she is just in the public position which will make your attentions to her look like the beginning

I was too indignant to place any restraint on the language in which I answered her.

"Understand, if you please," I said, "that I am renewing an old friendship with Mademoiselle Jeannebegun

under the sanction of her father. Respect that young lady, madam, as I respect her."

"If you only say that to the Princess," she remarked, "as well as you have said it to me, there will be no

danger of arousing her Highness's jealousy. I have a message for you. At the concert, on Saturday, you are to

retire to the conservatory, and you may hope for an interview when the singers begin the second part of the

programme. Don't let me detain you any longer. Go back to your young lady, Mr. Ernestpray go back!"

ON the second night of the opera the applications for places were too numerous to be received. Among the

crowded audience, I recognized many of my friends. They persisted in believing an absurd report (first

circulated, as I imagine, by the Doctor), which asserted that my interest in the new singer was something

more than the interest of an old friend. When I went behind the scenes to congratulate Jeanne on her success,

I was annoyed in another wayand by the Doctor again. He followed me to Jeanne's room, to offer

his congratulations; and he begged that I would introduce him to the charming prima donna. Having

expressed his admiration, he looked at me with his insolently suggestive smile, and said he could not think of

prolonging his intrusion. On leaving the room, he noticed Uncle David, waiting as usual to take care of

Jeanne on her return from the theaterlooked at him attentivelybowed, and went out.

The next morning, I received a note from the Baroness, expressed in these terms:

"More news! My rooms look out on the wing of the palace in which the Doctor is lodged. Half an hour since,

I discovered him at his window, giving a letter to a person who is a stranger to me. The man left the palace

immediately afterward. My maid followed him, by my directions. Instead of putting the letter in the post, he

took a ticket at the railwaystationfor what place the servant was unable to discover. Here, you will

observe, is a letter important enough to be dispatched by special messenger, and written at a time when we

have succeeded in freeing ourselves from the Doctor's suspicions. It is at least possible that he has decided on

sending a favorable report of the Princess to the Grand Duke. If this is the case, please consider whether you

will not act wisely (in her Highness's interests) by keeping away from the concert."

Viewing this suggestion as another act of impertinence on the part of the Baroness, I persisted in my intention

of going to the concert. It was for the Princess to decide what course of conduct I was bound to follow. What

did I care for the Doctor's report to the Duke! Shall I own my folly? I do really believe I was jealous of the

ENTERING the Concert Room, I found the Princess alone on the dais, receiving the company. "Nervous

prostration" had made it impossible for the Prince to be present. He was confined to his bedchamber; and

I bowed to the Baroness, but she was too seriously offended with me for declining to take her advice to notice

my salutation. Passing into the conservatory, it occurred to me that I might be seen, and possibly suspected,

in the interval between the first and second parts of the programme, when the music no longer absorbed the

attention of the audience. I went on, and waited outside on the steps that led to the garden; keeping the glass

door open, so as to hear when the music of the second part of the concert began.

After an interval which seemed to be endless, I saw the Princess approaching me.

She had made the heat in the Concert Room an excuse for retiring for a while; and she had the Baroness in

attendance on her to save appearances. Instead of leaving us to ourselves, the malicious creature persisted in

paying the most respectful attentions to her mistress. It was impossible to make her understand that she was

not wanted any longer until the Princess said sharply, "Go back to the music!" Even then, the detestable

woman made a low curtsey, and answered: "I will return, Madam, in five minutes."

The Princess was dressed with exquisite simplicity, entirely in white. Her only ornaments were white roses in

her hair and in her bosom. To say that she looked lovely is to say nothing. She seemed to be the ethereal

creature of some higher sphere; too exquisitely delicate and pure to be approached by a mere mortal man like

myself. I was awed; I was silent. Her Highness's sweet smile encouraged me to venture a little nearer. She

pointed to a footstool which the Baroness had placed for her. "Are you afraid of me, Ernest?" she asked

Her divinely beautiful eyes rested on me with a look of encouragement. I dropped on my knees at her feet.

She had asked if I was afraid of her. This, if I may use such an expression, roused my manhood. My own

She laid her fair hand on my head, and looked at me thoughtfully. "Forget my rank," she whispered"have I

not set you the example? Suppose that I am nothing but an English Miss. What would you say to Miss?"

My lips said it on her hand. She bent forward. My heart beats fast at the bare remembrance of it. Oh, heavens,

"There is your reward," she murmured, "for all you have sacrificed for my sake. What an effort it must have

been to offer the pretense of love to an obscure stranger! The Baroness tells me this actressthis

The Baroness was quite mischievous enough to have also mentioned the false impression, prevalent about the

Court, that I was in love with Jeanne. I attempted to explain. The gracious Princess refused to hear me.

"Do you think I doubt you?" she said. "Distinguished by me, could you waste a look on a person in that rank

of life?" She laughed softly, as if the mere idea of such a thing amused her. It was only for a moment: her

thoughts took a new directionthey contemplated the uncertain future. "How is this to end?" she asked.

"Dear Ernest, we are not in Paradise; we are in a hard cruel world which insists on distinctions in rank. To

what unhappy destiny does the fascination which you exercise over me condemn us both?"

She pausedtook one of the white roses out of her bosomtouched it with her lipsand gave it to me.

"I wonder whether you feel the burden of life as I feel it?" she resumed. "It is immaterial to me, whether we

are united in this world or in the next. Accept my rose, Ernest, as an assurance that I speak with perfect

sincerity. I see but two alternatives before us. One of them (beset with dangers) is elopement. And the other,"

Would Englishmen in general have rightly understood such fearless confidence in them as this language

implied? I am afraid they might have attributed it to what my friend the secretary called "German sentiment."

Perhaps they might even have suspected the Princess of quoting from some oldfashioned German play.

Under the irresistible influence of that glorious creature, I contemplated with such equal serenity the perils of

elopement and the martyrdom of love, that I was for the moment at a loss how to reply. In that moment, the

evil genius of my life appeared in the conservatory. With haste in her steps, with alarm in her face, the

Baroness rushed up to her royal mistress, and said, "For God's sake, Madam, come away! The Prince desires

Her Highness rose, calmly superior to the vulgar excitement of her lady in waiting. "Think of it tonight," she

She pressed my hand; she gave me a farewell look. I sank into the chair that she had just left. Did I think of

elopement? Did I think of suicide? The elevating influence of the Princess no longer sustained me; my nature

The morning found me with my pen in my hand, confronting the serious responsibility of writing to the

Princess, and not knowing what to say. I had already torn up two letters, when Uncle David presented himself

with a message from his niece. Jeanne was in trouble, and wanted to ask my advice.

My state of mind, on hearing this, became simply inexplicable. Here was an interruption which ought to have

I naturally expected that the old Frenchman would return with me to his niece, and tell me what had

happened. To my surprise, he begged that I would excuse him, and left me without a word of explanation. I

found Jeanne walking up and down her little sittingroom, flushed and angry. Fragments of torn paper and

heaps of flowers littered the floor; and three unopen jewelcases appeared to have been thrown into the

empty fireplace. She caught me excitedly by the hand the moment I entered the room.

"You are my true friend," she said; "you were present the other night when I sang. Was there anything in my

behavior on the stage which could justify men who call themselves gentlemen in insulting me?"

"I must ask it. Some of them send flowers, and some of them send jewels; and every one of them writes

lettersinfamous, abominable letterssaying they are in love with me, and asking for appointments as if I

She could say no more. Poor dear Jeanneher head dropped on my shoulder; she burst out crying. Who

could see her so cruelly humiliatedthe faithful loving daughter, whose one motive for appearing on the

stage had been to preserve her father's good nameand not feel for her as I did? I forgot all considerations of

prudence; I thought of nothing but consoling her; I took her in my arms; I dried her tears; I kissed her; I said,

"Tell me the name of any one of the wretches who has written to you, and I will make him an example to the

rest!" She shook her head, and pointed to the morsels of paper on the floor. "Oh, Ernest, do you think I asked

you to come here for any such purpose as that? Those jewels, those hateful jewels, tell me how I can send

So far it was easy to console her. I sent the jewels at once to the manager of the theaterwith a written

notice to be posted at the stage door, stating that they were waiting to be returned to the persons who could

"Try, my dear, to forget what has happened," I said. "Try to find consolation and encouragement in your art."

"I have lost all interest in my success on the stage," she answered, "now I know the penalty I must pay for it.

When my father's memory is clear of reproach, I shall leave the theater never to return to it again."

For a while we were silent. Without any influence to lead to it that I could trace, I found myself recalling the

language that the Princess had used in alluding to Jeanne. When I thought of them now, the words and the

tone in which they had been spoken jarred on me. There is surely something mean in an assertion of

superiority which depends on nothing better than the accident of birth. I don't know why I took Jeanne's hand;

I don't know why I said, "What a good girl you are! how glad I am to have been of some little use to you!" Is

my friend the secretary right, when he reproaches me with acting on impulse, like a woman? I don't like to

think so; and yet, this I must ownit was well for me that I was obliged to leave her, before I had perhaps

said other words which might have been alike unworthy of Jeanne, of the Princess, and of myself. I was

called away to speak to my servant. He brought with him the secretary's card, having a line written on it: "I

As we shook hands, Jeanne asked me if I knew where her uncle was. I could only tell her that he had left me

at my own door. She made no remark; but she seemed to be uneasy on receiving that reply.

WHEN I arrived at my rooms, my colleague hurried to meet me the moment I opened the door.

"I am going to surprise you," he said; "and there is no time to prepare you for it. Our chief, the Minister, has

seen the Prince this morning, and has been officially informed of an event of importance in the life of the

Engaged to the Dukeand not a word from her to warn me of it! Engagedafter what she had said to me no

longer ago than the past night! Had I been made a plaything to amuse a great lady? Oh, what degradation! I

was furious; I snatched up my hat to go to the palaceto force my way to herto overwhelm her with

"There is your leave of absence from the legation," he said; "beginning from today. I have informed the

Minister, in strict confidence, of the critical position in which you are placed. He agrees with me that the

Princess's inexcusable folly is alone to blame. Leave us, Ernest, by the next train. There is some intrigue

going on, and I fear you may be involved in it. You know that the rulers of these little German States can

"Whether the Prince has acted of his own free willor whether he has been influenced by some person about

himI am not able to tell you. He has issued an order to arrest an old Frenchman, known to be a republican,

and suspected of associating with one of the secret societies in this part of Germany. The conspirator has

taken to flight; having friends, as we suppose, who warned him in time. But this, Ernest, is not the worst of it.

"I am sorry to say I do. Advantage has been taken of her relationship to the old man, to include that innocent

creature in political suspicions which it is simply absurd to suppose that she has deserved. She is ordered to

Could I feel a moment's hesitation, after the infamous manner in which the Princess had sacrificed me to the

Grand Duke? Could I think of the poor girl, friendless, helplesswith nobody near her but a stupid

womanservant, unable to speak the language of the countryand fail to devote myself to the protection of

Jeanne? Thank God, I reached her lodgings in time to tell her what had happened, and to take it on myself to

IN three days more, Jeanne was safe in London; having traveled under my escort. I was fortunate enough to

find a home for her, in the house of a lady who had been my mother's oldest and dearest friend.

We were separated, a few days afterward, by the distressing news which reached me of the state of my

brother's health. I went at once to his house in the country. His medical attendants had lost all hope of saving

him: they told me plainly that his release from a life of suffering was near at hand.

While I was still in attendance at his bedside, I heard from the secretary. He inclosed a letter, directed to me

in a strange handwriting. I opened the envelope and looked for the signature. My friend had been entrapped

Besides addressing me in French (a language seldom used in my experience at the legation), the writer

disguised the identity of the persons mentioned by the use of classical names. In spite of these precautions, I

felt no difficulty in arriving at a conclusion. My correspondent's special knowledge of Court secrets, and her

I translate the letter; restoring to the persons who figure in it the names under which they are already known.

"When you left the Prince's dominions, my dear sir, you no doubt believed yourself to be a free agent. Quite a

mistake! You were a mere puppet; and the strings that moved you were pulled by the Doctor.

"On a certain night, which you well remember, the Princess was unexpectedly summoned to the presence of

her father. His physician's skill had succeeded in relieving the illustrious Prince, prostrate under nervous

miseries. He was able to attend to a state affair of importance, revealed to him by the Doctorwho then for

the first time acknowledged that he had presented himself at Court in a diplomatic, as well as in a medical

"This state affair related to a proposal for the hand of the Princess, received from the Grand Duke through the

authorized medium of the Doctor. Her Highness, being consulted, refused to consider the proposal. The

Prince asked for her reason. She answered: 'I have no wish to be married.' Naturally irritated by such a

ridiculous excuse, her father declared positively that the marriage should take place.

"The impression produced on the Grand Duke's favorite and emissary was of a different kind.

"Certain suspicions of the Princess and yourself, which you had successfully contrived to dissipate, revived in

the Doctor's mind when he heard the lady's reason for refusing to marry his royal master. It was now too late

to regret that he had suffered himself to be misled by cleverly managed appearances. He could not recall the

favorable report which he had addressed to the Dukeor withdraw the proposal of marriage which he had

"In this emergency, the one safe course open to him was to get rid of Youand, at the same time, so to

handle circumstances as to excite against you the pride and anger of the Princess. In the pursuit of this latter

object he was assisted by one of the ladies in waiting, sincerely interested in the welfare of her gracious

mistress, and therefore ardently desirous of seeing her Highness married to the Duke.

"A wretched old French conspirator was made the convenient pivot on which the intrigue turned.

"An order for the arrest of this foreign republican having been first obtained, the Prince was prevailed on to

extend his distrust of the Frenchman to the Frenchman's niece. You know this already; but you don't know

why it was done. Having believed from the first that you were really in love with the young lady, the Doctor

reckoned confidently on your devoting yourself to the protection of a friendless girl, cruelly exiled at an

"The one chance against us was that tender considerations, associated with her Highness, might induce you to

hesitate. The lady in waiting easily moved this obstacle out of the way. She abstained from delivering a letter

addressed to you, intrusted to her by the Princess. When the great lady asked why she had not received your

reply, she was informed (quite truly) that you and the charming opera singer had taken your departure

together. You may imagine what her Highness thought of you, and said of you, when I mention in conclusion

"So, Mr. Ernest, these clever people tricked you into serving their interests, blindfold. In relating how it was

done, I hope I may have assisted you in forming a correct estimate of the state of your own intelligence. You

have made a serious mistake in adopting your present profession. Give up diplomacyand get a farmer to

Permit me to mention a circumstance, and to leave my answer to be inferred. Jeanne is Lady Medhurst.

LATE in the autumn, not many years since, a public meeting was held at the Mansion House, London, under

The list of gentlemen invited to address the audience had been chosen with two objects in view. Speakers of

celebrity, who would rouse public enthusiasm, were supported by speakers connected with commerce, who

would be practically useful in explaining the purpose for which the meeting was convened. Money wisely

spent in advertising had produced the customary resultevery seat was occupied before the proceedings

Among the late arrivals, who had no choice but to stand or to leave the hall, were two ladies. One of them at

once decided on leaving the hall. "I shall go back to the carriage," she said, "and wait for you at the door."

Her friend answered, "I shan't keep you long. He is advertised to support the second Resolution; I want to see

An elderly gentleman, seated at the end of a bench, rose and offered his place to the lady who remained. She

hesitated to take advantage of his kindness, until he reminded her that he had heard what she said to her

friend. Before the third Resolution was proposed, his seat would be at his own disposal again. She thanked

him, and without further ceremony took his place He was provided with an operaglass, which he more than

once offered to her, when famous orators appeared on the platform; she made no use of it until a

speakerknown in the City as a shipownerstepped forward to support the second Resolution.

The moment he rose, the lady asked for the operaglass. She kept it to her eyes for such a length of time, and

with such evident interest in Mr. Lismore, that the curiosity of her neighbors was aroused. Had he anything to

say in which a lady (evidently a stranger to him) was personally interested? There was nothing in the address

that he delivered which appealed to the enthusiasm of women. He was undoubtedly a handsome man, whose

appearance proclaimed him to be in the prime of lifemidway perhaps between thirty and forty years of age.

But why a lady should persist in keeping an operaglass fixed on him all through his speech, was a question

Having returned the glass with an apology, the lady ventured on putting a question next. "Did it strike you,

This betrayal of interest in the speaker did not escape the notice of a lady, seated on the bench in front. Before

"I am afraid Mr. Lismore is troubled by anxieties connected with his business," she said. "My husband heard

it reported in the City yesterday that he was seriously embarrassed by the failure"

A loud burst of applause made the end of the sentence inaudible. A famous member of Parliament had risen

to propose the third Resolution. The polite old man took his seat, and the lady left the hall to join her friend.

"Far from it! But I have heard a report about him which has alarmed me: he is said to be seriously troubled

"We can stop at the first stationer's shop we pass, and ask to look at the Directory. Are you going to pay Mr.

THE next day a clerk entered Mr. Lismore's private room at the office, and presented a visitingcard. Mrs.

Callender had reflected, and had arrived at a decision. Underneath her name she had written these

To Mr. Lismoreconscious of the disastrous influence occasionally exercised over busy men by youth and

Observing the lady, as she approached him, with the momentary curiosity of a stranger, he noticed that she

still preserved the remains of beauty. She had also escaped the misfortune, common to persons at her time of

life, of becoming too fat. Even to a man's eye, her dressmaker appeared to have made the most of that

favorable circumstance. Her figure had its defects concealed, and its remaining merits set off to advantage. At

the same time she evidently held herself above the common deceptions by which some women seek to

conceal their age. She wore her own gray hair; and her complexion bore the test of daylight. On entering the

room, she made her apologies with some embarrassment. Being the embarrassment of a stranger (and not of a

"I am at your service," he answered a little stiffly; "especially if you will be so kind as to mention your

He was completely at a loss to understand what she meant, and he said so plainly. Instead of explaining

"Do you remember the night of the eleventh of March, between five and six years since?"

"No," he said, "I don't r emember it. Excuse me, Mrs. Callender, I have affairs of my own to attend to which

"Let me assist your memory, Mr. Lismore; and I will leave you to your affairs. On the date that I have

referred to, you were on your way to the railwaystation at Bexmore, to catch the night express from the

As a hint that his time was valuable the shipowner had hitherto remained standing. He now took his

customary seat, and began to listen with some interest. Mrs. Callender had produced her effect on him

"It was absolutely necessary," she proceeded, "that you should be on board your ship in the London Docks at

nine o'clock the next morning. If you had lost the express, the vessel would have sailed without you."

The expression of his face began to change to surprise. "Who told you that?" he asked.

"You shall hear directly. On your way into the town, your carriage was stopped by an obstruction on the

"Gently, sir! You suspected me just now of wasting your valuable time. Don't rashly conclude that I am the

"Is there no excuse for my failing to recognize you?" Mr. Lismore asked. "We were on the dark side of the

"And you," she interposed, "after saving me at the risk of your own life, turned a deaf ear to my poor

husband's entreaties, when he asked you to wait till I had recovered my senses."

"Your poor husband? Surely, Mrs. Callender, he received no serious injury from the fire?"

"The firemen rescued him under circumstances of peril," she answered, "and at his great age he sank under

the shock. I have lost the kindest and best of men. Do you remember how you parted from himburned and

bruised in saving me? He liked to talk of it in his last illness. 'At least' (he said to you), 'tell me the name of

the man who has preserved my wife from a dreadful death.' You threw your card to him out of the carriage

window, and away you went at a gallop to catch your train! In all the years that have passed I have kept that

card, and have vainly inquired for my brave seacaptain. Yesterday I saw your name on the list of speakers at

the Mansion House. Need I say that I attended the meeting? Need I tell you now why I come here and

"You have not done with me yet," she resumed with a smile. "Do you remember what I said of my errand,

"Something more than the gratitude which only says 'Thank you,' " she added. "Before I explain myself,

however, I want to know what you have been doing, and how it was that my inquiries failed to trace you after

The appearance of depression which Mrs. Callender had noticed at the public meeting showed itself again in

"My story has one merit," he said; "it is soon told. I cannot wonder that you failed to discover me. In the first

place, I was not captain of my ship at that time; I was only mate. In the second place, I inherited some money,

and ceased to lead a sailor's life, in less than a year from the night of the fire. You will now understand what

obstacles were in the way of your tracing me. With my little capital I started successfully in business as a

shipowner. At the time, I naturally congratulated myself on my own good fortune. We little know, Mrs.

He stopped. His handsome features hardenedas if he was suffering (and concealing) pain. Before it was

possible to speak to him, there was a knock at the door. Another visitor, without an appointment, had called;

"The gentleman begs you will see him, sir. He has something to tell you which is too important to be

"It is enough for today that we understand each other," she said. "Have you any engagement tomorrow,

She pointed to her card on the writingtable. "Will you come to me tomorrow evening at that address? I am

like the gentleman who has just called; I, too, have my reason for wishing to see you."

He gladly accepted the invitation. Mrs. Callender stopped him as he opened the door for her.

"Shall I offend you," she said, "if I ask a strange question before I go? I have a better motive, mind, than mere

"Forgive me again," she resumed. "At my age, you cannot possibly misunderstand me; and yet"

She hesitated. Mr. Lismore tried to give her confidence. "Pray don't stand on ceremony, Mrs. Callender.

He found it impossible to conceal his surprise. But he answered without hesitation.

"There is no such bright prospect in my life," he said. "I am not even in love."

Ernest Lismore was thoroughly puzzled. What could be the old lady's object in ascertaining that he was still

free from a matrimonial engagement? If the idea had occurred to him in time, he might have alluded to her

domestic life, and might have asked if she had children? With a little tact he might have discovered more than

this. She had described her feeling toward him as passing the ordinary limits of gratitude; and she was

evidently rich enough to be above the imputation of a mercenary motive. Did she propose to brighten those

dreary prospects to which he had alluded in speaking of his own life? When he presented himself at her house

He smiled as the idea occurred to him. "An appropriate time to be thinking of my chances of marriage!" he

THE gentleman who had so urgently requested an interview was a devoted friendwho had obtained a

It had been truly reported that he was in a position of pecuniary embarrassment, owing to the failure of a

mercantile house with which he had been intimately connected. Whispers affecting his own solvency had

followed on the bankruptcy of the firm. He had already endeavored to obtain advances of money on the usual

conditions, and had been met by excuses for delay. His friend had now arrived with a letter of introduction to

a capitalist, well known in commercial circles for his daring speculations and for his great wealth.

Looking at the letter, Ernest observed that the envelope was sealed. In spite of that ominous innovation on

established usage, in cases of personal introduction, he presented the letter. On this occasion, he was not put

off with excuses. The capitalist flatly declined to discount Mr. Lismore's bills, unless they were backed by

He applied for help to two mercantile men whom he had assisted in their difficulties, and whose names would

have satisfied the moneylender. They were most sincerely sorrybut they, too, refused

The one security that he could offer was open, it must be owned, to serious objections on the score of risk. He

wanted an advance of twenty thousand pounds, secured on a homewardbound ship and cargo. But the vessel

was not insured; and, at that stormy season, she was already more than a month overdue. Could grateful

colleagues be blamed if they forgot their obligations when they were asked to offer pecuniary help to a

merchant in this situation? Ernest returned to his office, without money and without credit.

A man threatened by ruin is in no state of mind to keep an engagement at a lady's teatable. Ernest sent a

letter of apology to Mrs. Call ender, alleging extreme pressure of business as the excuse for breaking his

"The lady was just going out, sir, when I rang at the door," he explained, "and she took the letter from me

herself. She didn't appear to know your handwriting, and she asked me who I came from. When I mentioned

"DEAR MR. LISMOREOne of us must speak out, and your letter of apology forces me to be that one. If

you are really so proud and so distrustfull as you seem to be, I shall offend you. If not, I shall prove myself to

"Your excuse is 'pressure of business.' The truth (as I have good reason to believe) is 'want of money.' I heard

a stranger, at that public meeting, say that you were seriously embarrassed by some failure in the City.

"Let me tell you what my own pecuniary position is in two words. I am the childless widow of a rich man"

Ernest paused. His anticipated discovery of Mrs. Callender's "charming daughter" was in his mind for the

moment. "That little romance must return to the world of dreams," he thoughtand went on with the letter.

"After what I owe to you, I don't regard it as repaying an obligationI consider myself as merely performing

"Circumstances (which it is impossible for me to mention before we meet) put it out of my power to help

youunless I attach to my most sincere offer of service a very unusual and very embarrassing condition. If

you are on the brink of ruin, that misfortune will plead my excuseand your excuse, too, if you accept the

loan on my terms. In any case, I rely on the sympathy and forbearance of the man to whom I owe my life.

"After what I have now written, there is only one thing to add. I beg to decline accepting your excuses; and I

shall expect to see you tomorrow evening, as we arranged. I am an obstinate old womanbut I am also your

But he was too sensible a man to be content with wonderinghe decided on keeping his engagement.

WHAT Doctor Johnson called "the insolence of wealth" appears far more frequently in the houses of the rich

than in the manners of the rich. The reason is plain enough. Personal ostentation is, in the very nature of it,

ridiculous. But the ostentation which exhibits magnificent pictures, priceless china, and splendid furniture,

can purchase good taste to guide it, and can assert itself without affording the smallest opening for a word of

depreciation, or a look of contempt. If I am worth a million of money, and if I am dying to show it, I don't ask

Keeping his engagement with Mrs. Callender, Ernest discovered that riches might be lavishly and yet

In crossing the hall and ascending the stairs, look where he might, his notice was insensibly won by proofs of

the taste which is not to be purchased, and the wealth which uses but never exhibits its purse. Conducted by a

manservant to the landing on the first floor, he found a maid at the door of the boudoir waiting to announce

him. Mrs. Callender advanced to welcome her guest, in a simple evening dress perfectly suited to her age. All

that had looked worn and faded in her fine face, by daylight, was now softly obscured by shaded lamps.

Objects of beauty surrounded her, which glowed with subdued radiance from their background of sober color.

The influence of appearances is the strongest of all outward influences, while it lasts. For the moment, the

scene produced its impression on Ernest, in spite of the terrible anxieties which consumed him. Mrs.

Callender, in his office, was a woman who had stepped out of her appropriate sphere. Mrs. Callender, in her

"I am afraid you don't thank me for forcing you to keep your engagement," she said, with her friendly tones

"Indeed I do thank you," he replied. "Your beautiful house and your gracious welcome have persuaded me

She led him to a seat beside her, and waited to speak again until her maid had brought in the tea.

"Have you read my letter in the same friendly spirit in which I wrote it?" she asked, when they were alone

"But you don't know yet what I have to say. Let us understand each other before we make any objections on

either side. Will you tell me what your present position isat its worst? I can and will speak plainly when

my turn comes, if you will honor me with your confidence. Not if it distresses you," she added, observing

"Do you thoroughly understand me?" he asked, when the whole truth had been laid before her without

"If your overdue ship returns safely, within a month from this time, you can borrow the money you want,

without difficulty. If the ship is lost, you have no alternative (when the end of the month comes) but to accept

"I have twenty times as much money as that, Mr. Lismore, at my sole disposalon one condition."

"Does the fulfillment of the condition depend in some way on any decision of mine?"

"I conceal it from you," she said; "but I want confidence. Here" (she pointed to the cup) "is the friend of

women, rich or poor, when they are in trouble. What I have now to say obliges me to speak in praise of

myself. I don't like itlet me get it over as soon as I can. My husband was very fond of me: he had the most

absolute confidence in my discretion, and in my sense of duty to him and to myself. His last words, before he

died, were words that thanked me for making the happiness of his life. As soon as I had in some degree

recovered, after the affliction that had fallen on me, his lawyer and executor produced a copy of his will, and

said there were two clauses in it which my husband had expressed a wish that I should read. It is needless to

She still controlled her agitationbut she was now unable to conceal it. Ernest made an attempt to spare her.

"Yes. Before I tell you why, I want to know what you would doin a certain case which I am unwilling even

to suppose. I have heard of men, unable to pay the demands made on them, who began business again, and

"And you want to know if there is any likelihood of my following their example?" he said. "Have you also

heard of men who have made that second effortwho have failed againand who have doubled the debts

they owed to their brethren in business who trusted them? I knew one of those men myself. He committed

"If ruin comes," he interposed, "a man without money and without credit can make but one last atonement.

IN less than the minute she had asked for, Mrs. Callender was calm enough to go on.

"I now possess what i s called a lifeinterest in my husband's fortune," she said. "The money is to be divided,

"Yes. I am to be absolute mistress of the whole of the four hundred thousand pounds" her voice dropped,

and her eyes looked away from him as she spoke the next words"on this one condition, that I marry again."

"Surely I have mistaken you," he said. "You mean on this one condition, that you do not marry again?"

"No, Mr. Lismore; I mean exactly what I have said. You now know that the recovery of your credit and your

After a moment of reflection he took her hand and raised it respectfully to his lips. "You are a noble woman!"

She made no reply. With drooping head and downcast eyes she waited for his decision. He accepted his

"I must not, and dare not, think of the hardship of my own position," he said; "I owe it to you to speak

without reference to the future that may be in store for me. No man can be worthy of the sacrifice which your

generous forgetfulness of yourself is willing to make. I respect you; I admire you; I thank you with my whole

"A young woman," she answered, would shrink from sayingwhat I, as an old woman, mean to say now. I

refuse to leave you to your fate. I ask you to prove that you respect me, admire me, and thank me with your

whole heart. Take one day to thinkand let me hear the result. You promise me this?"

NEXT morning Ernest received a letter from Mrs. Callender. She wrote to him as follows:

"There are some considerations which I ought to have mentioned yesterday evening, before you left my

"I ought to have reminded youif you consent to reconsider your decisionthat the circumstances do not

"At my age, I can with perfect propriety assure you that I regard our marriage simply and solely as a

formality which we must fulfill, if I am to carry out my intention of standing between you and ruin.

"Thereforeif the missing ship appears in time, the only reason for the marriage is at an end. We shall be as

"In the other event, I should ask you to submit to certain restrictions which, remembering my position, you

"We are to live together, it is unnecessary to say, as mother and son. The marriage ceremony is to be strictly

private; and you are so to arrange your affairs that, immediately afterward, we leave England for any foreign

place which you prefer. Some of my friends, and (perhaps) some of your friends, will certainly misinterpret

our motivesif we stay in our own countryin a manner which would be unendurable to a woman like me.

"As to our future lives, I have the most perfect confidence in you, and I should leave you in the same position

of independence which you occupy now. When you wish for my company you will always be welcome. At

other times, you are your own master. I live on my side of the house, and you live on yoursand I am to be

allowed my hours of solitude every day, in the pursuit of musical occupations, which have been happily

associated with all my past life and which I trust confidently to your indulgence.

"At my age, you cannot, in the course of Nature, be troubled by the society of a grateful old woman for many

years. You are young enough to look forward to another marriage, which shall be something more than a

mere form. Even if you meet with the happy woman in my lifetime, honestly tell me of itand I promise to

"In the meantime, don't think, because I write composedly, that I write heartlessly. You pleased and

interested me, when I first saw you, at the public meeting. I don't think I could have proposed, what you call

this sacrifice of myself, to a man who had personally repelled methough I might have felt my debt of

gratitude as sincerely as ever. Whether your ship is saved, or whether your ship is lost, old Mary Callender

"Let me have your answer this evening, either personally or by letterwhichever you like best."

MRS. CALLENDER received a written answer long before the evening. It said much in few words:

"A man impenetrable to kindness might be able to resist your letter. I am not that man. Your great heart has

The few formalities which precede marriage by special license were observed by Ernest. While the destiny of

their future lives was still in suspense, an unacknowledged feeling of embarrassment, on either side, kept

Ernest and Mrs. Callender apart. Every day brought the lady her report of the state of affairs in the City,

ON the day before the shipowner's liabilities became due, the terms of the report from the City remained

unchangedand the special license was put to its contemplated use. Mrs. Callender's lawyer and Mrs.

Callender's maid were the only persons trusted with the secret. Leaving the chief clerk in charge of the

business, with every pecuniary demand on his employer satisfied in full, the strangely married pair quitted

They arranged to wait for a few days in Paris, to receive any letters of importance which might have been

addressed to Ernest in the interval. On the evening of their arrival, a telegram from London was waiting at

their hotel. It announced that the missing ship had passed up Channelundiscovered in a fog, until she

Mrs. Lismore's taste for music was matched by Ernest's taste for painting. In his leisure hours he cultivated

the art, and delighted in it. The picturegalleries of Munich were almost the only galleries in Europe which

he had not seen. True to the engagements to which she had pledged herself, his wife was willing to go

wherever it might please him to take her. The one suggestion she made was, that they should hire furnished

apartments. If they lived at an hotel, friends of the husband or the wife (visitors like themselves to the famous

They were soon established in a house large enough to provide them with every accommodation which they

Ernest's days were passed in the galleries; Mrs. Lismore remaining at home, devoted to her music, until it was

time to go out with her husband for a drive. Living together in perfect amity and concord, they were

nevertheless not living happily. Without any visible reason for the change, Mrs. Lismore's spirits were

depressed. On the one occasion when Ernest noticed it she made an effort to be cheerful, which it distressed

him to see. He allowed her to think that she had relieved him of any further anxiety. Whatever doubts he

But when two people are living together in a state of artificial tranquillity, it seems to be a law of Nature that

the element of disturbance gathers unseen, and that the outburst comes inevitably with the lapse of time.

In ten days from the date of their arrival at Munich, the crisis came. Ernest returned later than usual from the

picturegallery, andfor the first time in his wife's experienceshut himself up in his own room.

He appeared at the dinnerhour with a futile excuse. Mrs. Lismore waited until the servant had withdrawn.

Her manner, when she said those few words, took him by surprise. She was unquestionably confused; and,

instead of lookin g at him, she trifled with the fruit on her plate. Embarrassed on his side, he could only

There was a pause. She looked up at himand suddenly looked away again. But he saw it plainly: there

He complied with her requestthe more readily, having his own reasons for being glad to escape the glaring

"I think I will rest a little on the sofa," she resumed. In the position which he occupied, his back would have

been now turned on her. She stopped him when he tried to move his chair. "I would rather not look at you,

Not the words, but the tone, touched all that was generous and noble in his nature. He left his place, and knelt

"I should be the most ungrateful wretch living," he said, "if I did not think of you, and you only, now that my

confession is made. We will leave Munich tomorrowand, if resolution can help me, I will only remember

She hid her face on his breast, and reminded him of that letter of her writing, which had decided the course of

"When I thought you might meet the happy woman in my lifetime, I said to you, 'Tell me of itand I

promise to tell her that she has only to wait.' Time must pass, Ernest, before it can be needful to perform my

promise. But you might let me see her. If you find her in the gallery tomorrow, you might bring her here."

Mrs. Lismore's request met with no refusal. Ernest was only at a loss to know how to grant it.

"You tell me she is a copyist of pictures," his wife reminded him. "She will be interested in hearing of the

portfolio of drawings by the great French artists which I bought for you in Paris. Ask her to come and see

them, and to tell you if she can make some copies. And say, if you like, that I shall be glad to become

He felt her breath beating fast on his bosom. In the fear that she might lose all control over herself, he tried to

relieve her by speaking lightly. "What an invention yours is!" he said. "If my wife ever tries to deceive me, I

She rose abruptly from the sofakissed him on the foreheadand said wildly, "I shall be better in bed!"

THE next morning he knocked at the door of his wife's room and asked how she had passed the night.

"I have slept badly," she answered, "and I must beg you to excuse my absence at breakfasttime." She called

him back as he was about to withdraw. "Remember," she said, "when you return from the gallery today, I

Three hours later he was at home again. The young lady's services as a copyist were at his disposal; she had

The sittingroom was empty when they entered it. He rang for his wife's maidand was informed that Mrs.

Lismore had gone out. Refusing to believe the woman, he went to his wife's apartments. She was not to be

When he returned to the sittingroom, the young lady was not unnaturally offended. He could make

allowances for her being a little out of temper at the slight that had been put on her; but he was inexpressibly

disconcerted by the manneralmost the coarse mannerin which she expressed herself.

"I have been talking to your wife's maid, while you have been away," she said. "I find you have married an

"Let me beg you to alter your opinion," he answered. "You are wronging my wife; she is incapable of any

The young lady laughed. "At any rate you are a good husband," she said satirically. "Suppose you own the

He was not merely surprisedhe was disgusted. Her beauty had so completely fascinated him, when he first

saw her, that the idea of associating any want of refinement and good breeding with such a charming creature

never entered his mind. The disenchantment to him was already so complete that he was even disagreeably

affected by the tone of her voice: it was almost as repellent to him as the exhibition of unrestrained bad

The reply produced no effect on her. On the contrary, she became more insolent than ever.

"I have a fertile fancy," she went on, "and your absurd way of taking a joke only encourages me! Suppose

you could transform this sour old wife of yours, who has insulted me, into the sweetest young creature that

This passed the limits of his endurance. "I have no wish," he said, "to forget the consideration which is due to

She ran to the door as he spoke, and placed herself in the way of his going out.

She suddenly threw her arms round his neck, kissed him passionately, and whispered, with her lips at his ear:

"Oh, Ernest, forgive me! Could I have asked you to marry me for my money if I had not taken refuge in a

WHEN he had sufficiently recovered to think, he put her back from him. "Is there an end of the deception

"You are not to be harder on me than I deserve," she answered, gently. "Did you ever hear of an actress

He began to understand her. "Forgive me if I spoke harshly," he said. "You have put me to a severe trial."

From that moment she had won her pardon. He took her hand, and made her sit by him.

"Yes," he said, "I have heard of Miss Max and of her wonderful powers of personationand I have always

"Yes, I heard that she was a pattern of modesty and good conduct, and that she gave up her profession, at the

"Will you come with me to my room?" she asked. "I have something there which I wish to show you."

"Read the lines, Ernest, which begin at the top of the page. Let my dead husband speak for me."

"My motive in marrying Miss Max must be stated in this place, in justice to herand, I will venture to add,

in justice to myself. I felt the sincerest sympathy for her position. She was without father, mother, or friends;

one of the poor forsaken children, whom the mercy of the Foundling Hospital provides with a home. Her

after life on the stage was the life of a virtuous woman: persecuted by profligates; insulted by some of the

baser creatures associated with her, to whom she was an object of envy. I offered her a home, and the

protection of a fatheron the only terms which the world would recognize as worthy of us. My experience

of her since our marriage has been the experience of unvarying goodness, sweetness, and sound sense. She

has behaved so nobly, in a trying position, that I wish her (even in this life) to have her reward. I entreat her

to make a second choice in marriage, which shall not be a mere form. I firmly believe that she will choose

well and wiselythat she will make the happiness of a man who is worthy of herand that, as wife and

mother, she will set an example of inestimable value in the social sphere that she occupies. In proof of the

heartfelt sincerity with which I pay my tribute to her virtues, I add to this my will the clause that follows."

"Will you now believe that I never loved till I saw your face for the first time?" said his wife. "I had no

experience to place me on my guard against the fascinationthe madness some people might call itwhich

possesses a woman when all her heart is given to a man. Don't despise me, my dear! Remember that I had to

save you from disgrace and ruin. Besides, my old stage remembrances tempted me. I had acted in a play in

which the heroine didwhat I have done! It didn't end with me, as it did with her in the story. She was

represented as rejoicing in the success of her disguise. I have known some miserable hours of doubt and

shame since our marriage. When I went to meet you in my own person at the picturegalleryoh, what

relief, what joy I felt, when I saw how you admired meit was not because I could no longer carry on the

disguise. I was able to get hours of rest from the effort; not only at night, but in the daytime, when I was shut

up in my retirement in the musicroom; and when my maid kept watch against discovery. No, my love! I

hurried on the disclosure, because I could no longer endure the hateful triumph of my own deception. Ah,

She abruptly left him. The drawer that she had opened to take out the copy of the will also contained the false

gray hair which she had discarded. It had only that moment attracted her notice. She snatched it up, and

MY brother, the clergyman, looked over my shoulder before I was aware of him, and discovered that the

volume which completely absorbed my attention was a collection of famous Trials, published in a new

He laid his finger on the Trial which I happened to be reading at the moment. I looked up at him; his face

startled me. He had turned pale. His eyes were fixed on the open page of the book with an expression which

"Reminds you of what?" I asked. "You don't mean to say you know anything about the Trial?"

"Guilty?" I repeated. "Why, the man was acquitted by the jury, with the full approval of the judge! What call

"There are circumstances connected with that Trial," my brother answered, "which were never communicated

to the judge or the jurywhich were never so much as hinted or whispered in court. I know themof my

own knowledge, by my own personal experience. They are very sad, very strange, very terrible. I have

mentioned them to no mortal creature. I have done my best to forget them. Youquite innocentlyhave

brought them back to my mind. They oppress, they distress me. I wish I had found you reading any book in

"Surely," I suggested, "you might tell your brother what you are unwilling to mention to persons less nearly

related to you. We have followed different professions, and have lived in different countries, since we were

"Yes," he said. "I know I can trust you." He waited a moment, and then he surprised me by a strange

"Do you believe," he asked, "that the spirits of the dead can return to earth, and show themselves to the

I answered cautiouslyadopting as my own the words of a great English writer, touching the subject of

"You ask me a question," I said, "which, after five thousand years, is yet undecided. On that account alone, it

"Promise me," he resumed, "that you will keep what I tell you a secret as long as I live. After my death I care

little what happens. Let the story of my strange experience be added to the published experience of those

other men who have seen what I have seen, and who believe what I believe. The world will not be the worse,

and may be the better, for knowing one day what I am now about to trust to your ear alone."

My brother never again alluded to the narrative which he had confided to me, until the later time when I was

sitting by his deathbed. He asked if I still remembered the story of Jeromette. "Tell it to others," he said, "as I

ON a fine summer evening, many years since, I left my chambers in the Temple, to meet a fellowstudent,

You were then on your way to India; and I had taken my degree at Oxford. I had sadly disappointed my

father by choosing the Law as my profession, in preference to the Church. At that time, to own the truth, I

had no serious intention of following any special vocation. I simply wanted an excuse for enjoying the

pleasures of a London life. The study of the Law supplied me with that excuse. And I chose the Law as my

On reaching the place at which we had arranged to meet, I found that my friend had not kept his appointment.

After waiting vainly for ten minutes, my patience gave way and I went into the Gardens by myself.

I took two or three turns round the platform devoted to the dancers without discovering my fellowstudent,

and without seeing any other person with whom I happened to be acquainted at that time.

For some reason which I cannot now remember, I was not in my usual good spirits that evening. The noisy

music jarred on my nerves, the sight of the gaping crowd round the platform irritated me, the blandishments

of the painted ladies of the profession of pleasure saddened and disgusted me. I opened my cigarcase, and

A man who is habitually careful in choosing his cigar has this advantage over a man who is habitually

careless. He can always count on smoking the best cigar in his case, down to the last. I was still absorbed in

choosing my cigar, when I heard these words behind mespoken in a foreign accent and in a woman's voice:

I turned round and discovered a little lady very simply and tastefully dressed, who looked both angry and

alarmed as she rapidly passed me on her way to the more frequented part of the Gardens. A man (evidently

the worse for the wine he had drunk in the course of the evening) was following her, and was pressing his

tipsy attentions on her with the coarsest insolence of speech and manner. She was young and pretty, and she

cast one entreating look at me as she went by, which it was not in manhoodperhaps I ought to say, in

I instantly stepped forward to protect her, careless whether I involved myself in a discreditable quarrel with a

blackguard or not. As a matter of course, the fellow resented my interference, and my temper gave way.

Fortunately for me, just as I lifted my hand to knock him down, at policeman appeared who had noticed that

he was drunk, and who settled the dispute officially by turning him out of the Gardens.

I led her away from the crowd that had collected. She was evidently frightenedI felt her hand trembling on

"If I can sit down for a few minutes," she said in her pretty foreign accent, "I shall soon be myself again, and

I shall not trespass any further on your kindness. I thank you very much, sir, for taking care of me."

We sat down on a bench in a retired par t of the Gardens, near a little fountain. A row of lighted lamps ran

I have said that she was "a little lady." I could not have described her more correctly in three words.

Her figure was slight and small: she was a wellmade miniature of a woman from head to foot. Her hair and

her eyes were both dark. The hair curled naturally; the expression of the eyes was quiet, and rather sad; the

complexion, as I then saw it, very pale; the little mouth perfectly charming. I was especially attracted, I

remembered, by the carriage of her head; it was strikingly graceful and spirited; it distinguished her, little as

she was and quiet as she was, among the thousands of other women in the Gardens, as a creature apart. Even

the one marked defect in hera slight "cast" in the left eyeseemed to add, in some strange way, to the

quaint attractiveness of her face. I have already spoken of the tasteful simplicity of her dress. I ought now to

add that it was not made of any costly material, and that she wore no jewels or ornaments of any sort. My

She was perfectly unembarrassed and unaffected. We fell as easily into talk as if we had been friends instead

I asked how it was that she had no companion to take care of her. "You are too young and too pretty," I said

She took no notice of the compliment. She calmly put it away from her as if it had not reached her ears.

"I have no friend to take care of me," she said simply. "I was sad and sorry this evening, all by myself, and I

thought I would go to the Gardens and hear the music, just to amuse me. It is not much to pay at the gate;

"No friend to take care of you?" I repeated. "Surely there must be one happy man who might have been here

I would have given worlds to have recalled those foolish words the moment they passed my lips. I felt that I

had taken a vulgar liberty with her. Her face saddened; her eyes dropped to the ground. I begged her pardon.

"There is no need to beg my pardon," she said. "If you wish to know, siryes, I had once a sweetheart, as

you call it in England. He has gone away and left me. No more of him, if you please. I am rested now. I will

I was determined not to part with her in that way. I begged to be allowed to see her safely back to her own

door. She hesitated. I took a man's unfair advantage of her, by appealing to her fears. I said, "Suppose the

blackguard who annoyed you should be waiting outside the gates?" That decided her. She took my arm. We

A walk of half an hour brought us to the house in which she lodgeda shabby little house in a bystreet,

She held out her hand at the door, and wished me goodnight. I was too much interested in her to consent to

leave my little foreign lady without the hope of seeing her again. I asked permission to call on her the next

day. We were standing under the light of the streetlamp. She studied my face with a grave and steady

"Yes," she said at last. "I think I do know a gentleman when I see him. You may come, sir, if you please, and

So we parted. So I entereddoubting nothing, foreboding nothingon a scene in my life which I now look

I AM speaking at this later time in the position of a clergyman, and in the character of a man of mature age.

Remember that; and you will understand why I pass as rapidly as possible over the events of the next year of

my lifewhy I say as little as I can of the errors and the delusions of my youth.

I called on her the next day. I repeated my visits during the days and weeks that followed, until the shabby

little house in the bystreet had become a second and (I say it with shame and selfreproach) a dearer home

All of herself and her story which she thought fit to confide to me under these circumstances may be repeated

The name by which letters were addressed to her was "Mademoiselle Jeromette." Among the ignorant people

of the house and the small tradesmen of the neighborhoodwho found her name not easy of pronunciation

by the average English tongueshe was known by the friendly nickname of "The French Miss." When I

knew her, she was resigned to her lonely life among strangers. Some years had elapsed since she had lost her

parents, and had left France. Possessing a small, very small, income of her own, she added to it by coloring

miniatures for the photographers. She had relatives still living in France; but she had long since ceased to

correspond with them. "Ask me nothing more about my family," she used to say. "I am as good as dead in my

This was allliterally allthat she told me of herself. I have never discovered more of her sad story from

She never mentioned her family namenever even told me what part of France she came from or how long

she had lived in England. That she was by birth and breeding a lady, I could entertain no doubt; her manners,

her accomplishments, her ways of thinking and speaking, all proved it. Looking below the surface, her

character showed itself in aspects not common among young women in these days. In her quiet way she was

an incurable fatalist, and a firm believer in the ghostly reality of apparitions from the dead. Then again in the

matter of money, she had strange views of her own. Whenever my purse was in my hand, she held me

resolutely at a distance from first to last. She refused to move into better apartments; the shabby little house

was clean inside, and the poor people who lived in it were kind to herand that was enough. The most

expensive present that she ever permitted me to offer her was a little enameled ring, the plainest and cheapest

thing of the kind in the jeweler's shop. In all relations with me she was sincerity itself. On all occasions, and

under all circumstances, she spoke her mind (as the phrase is) with the same uncompromising plainness.

"I like you," she said to me; "I respect you; I shall always be faithful to you while you are faithful to me. But

my love has gone from me. There is another man who has taken it away with him, I know not where."

She refused to tell me. She kept his rank and his name strict secrets from me. I never discovered how he had

met with her, or why he had left her, or whether the guilt was his of making of her an exile from her country

and her friends. She despised herself for still loving him; but the passion was too strong for hershe owned

it and lamented it with the frankness which was so preeminently a part of her character. More than this, she

plainly told me, in the early days of our acquaintance, that she believed he would return to her. It might be

tomorrow, or it might be years hence. Even if he failed to repent of his own cruel conduct, the man would

still miss her, as something lost out of his life; and, sooner or later, he would come back.

"I shall receive him," she replied, "against my own better judgmentin spite of my own firm persuasion that

"You have a will of your own," I said. "Exert it if he attempts to return to you."

"I have no will of my own," she answered quietly, "where he is concerned. It is my misfortune to love him."

Her eyes rested for a moment on mine, with the utter selfabandonment of despair. "We have said enough

From that time we never spoke again of the unknown man. During the year that followed o ur first meeting,

she heard nothing of him directly or indirectly. He might be living, or he might be dead. There came no word

of him, or from him. I was fond enough of her to be satisfied with thishe never disturbed us.

THE year passedand the end came. Not the end as you may have anticipated it, or as I might have

You remember the time when your letters from home informed you of the fatal termination of our mother's

illness? It is the time of which I am now speaking. A few hours only before she breathed her last, she called

me to her bedside, and desired that we might be left together alone. Reminding me that her death was near,

she spoke of my prospects in life; she noticed my want of interest in the studies which were then supposed to

be engaging my attention, and she ended by entreating me to reconsider my refusal to enter the Church.

"Your father's heart is set upon it," she said. "Do what I ask of you, my dear, and you will help to comfort

Her strength failed her: she could say no more. Could I refuse the last request she would ever make to me? I

knelt at the bedside, and took her wasted hand in mine, and solemnly promised her the respect which a son

Having bound myself by this sacred engagement, I had no choice but to accept the sacrifice which it

imperatively exacted from me. The time had come when I must tear myself free from all unworthy

associations. No matter what the effort cost me, I must separate myself at once and forever from the unhappy

At the close of a dull foggy day I set forth with a heavy heart to say the words which were to part us forever.

Her lodging was not far from the banks of the Thames. As I drew near the place the darkness was gathering,

and the broad surface of the river was hidden from me in a chill white mist. I stood for a while, with my eyes

fixed on the vaporous shroud that brooded over the flowing waterI stood and asked myself in despair the

The mist chilled me to the bones. I turned from the riverbank, and made my way to her lodgings hard by. "It

must be done!" I said to myself, as I took out my key and opened the house door.

She was not at her work, as usual, when I entered her little sittingroom. She was standing by the fire, with

The instant she turned to meet me, I saw in her face that something was wrong. Her ordinary manner was the

manner of an unusually placid and selfrestrained person. Her temperament had little of the liveliness which

we associate in England with the French nature. She was not ready with her laugh; and in all my previous

experience, I had never yet known her to cry. Now, for the first time, I saw the quiet face disturbed; I saw

tears in the pretty brown eyes. She ran to meet me, and laid her head on my breast, and burst into a passionate

Could she by any human possibility have heard of the coming change in my life? Was she aware, before I had

I waited until her first burst of emotion had worn itself out. Then I askedwith an uneasy conscience, with a

She drew herself away from me, sighing heavily, and gave me the open letter which I had seen in her hand.

"Read that," she said. "And remember I told you what might happen when we first met."

It was signed in initials only; but the writer plainly revealed himself as the man who had deserted her. He had

repented; he had returned to her. In proof of his penitence he was willing to do her the justice which he had

hitherto refusedhe was willing to marry her, on the condition that she would engage to keep the marriage a

secret, so long as his parents lived. Submitting this proposal, he waited to know whether she would consent,

I gave her back the letter in silence. This unknown rival had done me the service of paving the way for our

separation. In offering her the atonement of marriage, he had made it, on my part, a matter of duty to her, as

well as to myself, to say the parting words. I felt this instantly. And yet, I hated him for helping me.

She took my hand, and led me to the sofa. We sat down, side by side. Her face was composed to a sad

"I have refused to see him, she said, "until I had first spoken to you. You have read his letter. What do you

I could make but one answer. It was my duty to tell her what my own position was in the plainest terms. I did

my dutyleaving her free to decide on the future for herself. Those sad words said, it was useless to prolong

the wretchedness of our separation. I rose, and took her hand for the last time.

I see her again now, at that final moment, as plainly as if it had happened yesterday. She had been suffering

from an affection of the throat; and she had a white silk handkerchief tied loosely round her neck. She wore a

simple dress of purple merino, with a blacksilk apron over it. Her face was deadly pale; her fingers felt icily

"Promise me one thing," I said, "before I go. While I live, I am your friendif I am nothing more. If you are

"Strange!' she said, speaking to herself. "He feels as I feel. He is afraid of what may happen to me, in my life

I attempted to reassure her. I tried to tell her what was indeed the truththat I had only been thinking of the

She paid no heed to me; she came back and put her hands on my shoulders and thoughtfully and sadly looked

"My mind is not your mind in this matter," she said. "I once owned to you that I had my forebodings, when

we first spoke of this man's return. I may tell you now, more than I told you then. I believe I shall die young,

and die miserably. If I am right, have you interest enough still left in me to wish to hear of it?"

The tone of steady conviction in which she spoke alarmed and distressed me. My face showed her how

"There, there!" she said, returning to her natural manner; "don't take what I say too seriously. A poor girl who

has led a lonely life like mine thinks strangely and talks strangelysometimes. Yes; I give you my promise.

If I am ever in trouble, I will let you know it. God bless youyou have been very kind to megoodby!"

A tear dropped on my face as she kissed me. The door closed between us. The dark street received me.

It was raining heavily. I looked up at her window, through the drifting shower. The curtains were parted: she

was standing in the gap, dimly lit by the lamp on the table behind her, waiting for our last look at each other.

Slowly lifting her hand, she waved her farewell at the window, with the unsought native grace which had

charmed me on the night when we first met. The curtain fell againshe disappearednothing was before

IN two years from that time, I had redeemed the promise given to my mother on her deathbed. I had entered

My father's interest made my first step in my new profession an easy one. After serving my preliminary

apprenticeship as a curate, I was appointed, before I was thirty years of age, to a living in the West of

My new benefice offered me every advantage that I could possibly desirewith the one exception of a

sufficient income. Although my wants were few, and although I was still an unmarried man, I found it

desirable, on many accounts, to add to my resources. Following the example of other young clergymen in my

position, I det ermined to receive pupils who might stand in need of preparation for a career at the

Universities. My relatives exerted themselves; and my good fortune still befriended me. I obtained two pupils

to start with. A third would complete the number which I was at present prepared to receive. In course of

time, this third pupil made his appearance, under circumstances sufficiently remarkable to merit being

It was the summer vacation; and my two pupils had gone home. Thanks to a neighboring clergyman, who

kindly undertook to perform my duties for me, I too obtained a fortnight's holiday, which I spent at my

During my sojourn in the metropolis, I was offered an opportunity of preaching in a church, made famous by

the eloquence of one of the popular pulpitorators of our time. In accepting the proposal, I felt naturally

anxious to do my best, before the unusually large and unusually intelligent congregation which would be

At the period of which I am now speaking, all England had been startled by the discovery of a terrible crime,

perpetrated under circumstances of extreme provocation. I chose this crime as the main subject of my

sermon. Admitting that the best among us were frail mortal creatures, subject to evil promptings and

provocations like the worst among us, my object was to show how a Christian man may find his certain

refuge from temptation in the safeguards of his religion. I dwelt minutely on the hardship of the Christian's

first struggle to resist the evil influenceon the help which his Christianity inexhaustibly held out to him in

the worst relapses of the weaker and viler part of his natureon the steady and certain gain which was the

ultimate reward of his faith and his firmnessand on the blessed sense of peace and happiness which

accompanied the final triumph. Preaching to this effect, with the fervent conviction which I really felt, I may

say for myself, at least, that I did no discredit to the choice which had placed me in the pulpit. I held the

While I was resting in the vestry on the conclusion of the service, a note was brought to me written in pencil.

A member of my congregationa gentlemanwished to see me, on a matter of considerable importance to

himself. He would call on me at any place, and at any hour, which I might choose to appoint. If I wished to be

satisfied of his respectability, he would beg leave to refer me to his father, with whose name I might possibly

The name given in the reference was undoubtedly familiar to me, as the name of a man of some celebrity and

influence in the world of London. I sent back my card, appointing an hour for the visit of my correspondent

THE stranger made his appearance punctually. I guessed him to be some two or three years younger than

myself. He was undeniably handsome; his manners were the manners of a gentlemanand yet, without

After the first preliminary words of politeness had been exchanged between us, my visitor informed me as

In the first place (as I have already said), I disliked him. In the second place, he was too old to be a fit

companion for my other two pupilsboth lads in their teens. In the third place, he had asked me to receive

him at least three weeks before the vacation came to an end. I had my own pursuits and amusements in

prospect during that interval, and saw no reason why I should inconvenience myself by setting them aside.

He noticed my hesitation, and did not conceal from me that I had disappointed him.

"I have it very much at heart," he said, "to repair without delay the time that I have lost. My age is against

me, I know. The truth isI have wasted my opportunities since I left school, and I am anxious, honestly

anxious, to mend my ways, before it is too late. I wish to prepare myself for one of the UniversitiesI wish

to show, if I can, that I am not quite unworthy to inherit my father's famous name. You are the man to help

me, if I can only persuade you to do it. I was struck by your sermon yesterday; and, if I may venture to make

the confession in your presence, I took a strong liking to you. Will you see my father, before you decide to

say No? He will be able to explain whatever may seem strange in my present application; and he will be

happy to see you this afternoon, if you can spare the time. As to the question of terms, I am quite sure it can

He was evidently in earnestgravely, vehemently in earnest. I unwillingly consented to see his father.

The young man had led an idle and desultory life. He was weary of it, and ashamed of it. His disposition was

a peculiar one. He stood sorely in need of a guide, a teacher, and a friend, in whom he was disposed to

confide. If I disappointed the hopes which he had centered in me, he would be discouraged, and he would

relapse into the aimless and indolent existence of which he was now ashamed. Any terms for which I might

stipulate were at my disposal if I would consent to receive him, for three months to begin with, on trial.

They were all of opinion (and justly of opinion so far) that the new connection would be an excellent one for

me. They all reproached me for taking a purely capricious dislike to a wellborn and wellbred young man,

and for permitting it to influence me, at the outset of my career, against my own interests. Pressed by these

considerations, I allowed myself to be persuaded to give the new pupil a fair trial. He accompanied me, the

LET me be careful to do justice to a man whom I personally disliked. My senior pupil began well: he

produced a decidedly favorable impression on the persons attached to my little household.

The women, especially, admired his beautiful light hair, his crisplycurling beard, his delicate complexion,

his clear blue eyes, and his finely shaped hands and feet. Even the inveterate reserve in his manner, and the

downcast, almost sullen, look which had prejudiced me against him, aroused a common feeling of romantic

enthusiasm in my servants' hall. It was decided, on the high authority of the housekeeper herself, that "the

new gentleman" was in loveand, more interesting still, that he was the victim of an unhappy attachment

For myself, I tried hard, and tried vainly, to get over my first dislike to the senior pupil.

I could find no fault with him. All his habits were quiet and regular; and he devoted himself conscientiously

to his reading. But, little by little, I became satisfied that his heart was not in his studies. More than this, I had

my reasons for suspecting that he was concealing something from me, and that he felt painfully the reserve on

his own part which he could not, or dared not, break through. There were moments when I almost doubted

whether he had not chosen my remote country rectory as a safe place of refuge from some person or persons

For example, his ordinary course of proceeding, in the matter of his correspondence, was, to say the least of

He received no letters at my house. They waited for him at the village post office. He invariably called for

them himself, and invariably forbore to trust any of my servants with his own letters for the post. Again,

when we were out walking together, I more than once caught him looking furtively over his shoulder, as if he

suspected some person of following him, for some evil purpose. Being constitutionally a hater of mysteries, I

determined, at an early stage of our intercourse, on making an effort to clear matters up. There might be just a

chance of my winning the senior pupil's confidence, if I spoke to him while the last days of the summer

"Excuse me for noticing it," I said to him one morning, while we were engaged over our books"I cannot

help observing that you appear to have some trouble on your mind. Is it indiscreet, on my part, to ask if I can

He changed colorlooked up at me quicklylooked down again at his bookstruggled hard with some

secret fear or secret reluctance that was in himand suddenly burst out with this extraordinary question: "I

He paused again; struggled with himself again; and startled me by a second outbreak, even stranger than the

"I am one of the people you preached at in your sermon," he said. "That's the true reason why I asked you to

take me for your pupil. Don't turn me out! When you talked to your congregation of tortured and tempted

I was so astonished by the confession, that I lost my presence of mind. For the moment, I was unable to

"Don't turn me out!" he repeated. "Help me against myself. I am telling you the truth. As God is my witness, I

"Tell me the whole truth," I said; "and rely on my consoling and helping yourely on my being your friend."

In the fervor of the moment, I took his hand. It lay cold and still in mine; it mutely warned me that I had a

"There must be no concealment between us," I resumed. "You have entered my house, by your own

confession, under false pretenses. It is your duty to me, and your duty to yourself, to speak out."

The man's inveterate reservecast off for the moment onlyrenewed its hold on him. He considered,

"A person is in the way of my prospects in life," he began slowly, with his eyes cast down on his book. "A

person provokes me horribly. I feel dreadful temptations (like the man you spoke of in your sermon) when I

am in the person's company. Teach me to resist temptation. I am afraid of myself, if I see the person again.

"It will not do," I answered. "You are so far from really opening your heart to me, that you won't even let me

know whether it is a man or a woman who stands in the way of your prospects in life. You used the word

'person,' over and over againrather than say 'he' or 'she' when you speak of the provocation which is trying

My reply evidently found him at the end of his resources. He tried, tried desperately, to say more than he had

said yet. No! The words seemed to stick in his throat. Not one of them would pass his lips.

"Give me time," he pleaded piteously. "I can't bring myself to it, all at once. I mean well. Upon my soul, I

"One more day!" he said. "You don't know how hard it is to speak plainly. I am half afraid; I am half

I had hitherto only disliked him. Try as I might (and did) to make merciful allowance for his reserve, I began

THE day of the deferred confession came, and brought an event with it, for which both he and I were alike

unprepared. Would he really have confided in me but for that event? He must either have done it, or have

We met as usual at the breakfasttable. My housekeeper brought in my letters of the morning. To my

surprise, instead of leaving the room again as usual, she walked round to the other side of the table, and laid a

letter before my senior pupilthe first letter, since his residence with me, which had been delivered to him

He started, and took up the letter. He looked at the address. A spasm of suppressed fury passed across his

face; his breath came quickly; his hand trembled as it held the letter. So far, I said nothing. I waited to see

He was afraid to open it in my presence. He got on his feet; he said, in tones so low that I could barely hear

I waited for half an hourfor a quarter of an hour after thatand then I sent to ask if he had forgotten his

In a minute more, I heard his footstep in the hall. He opened the breakfastroom door, and stood on the

"I beg your pardon," he said, still standing at the door. "I must ask for leave of absence for a day or two.

"Can I be of any use?" I asked. "I am afraid your letter has brought you bad news?"

"Wait a few minutes," I urged. "Wait long enough to treat me like your friendto tell me what your trouble

He made no reply. He stepped into the hall and closed the doorthen opened it again a little way, without

"Business in London," he repeatedas if he thought it highly important to inform me of the nature of his

The result of my reflections is easily described. I determined on discontinuing my relations with my senior

pupil. In writing to his father (which I did, with all due courtesy and respect, by that day's post), I mentioned

as my reason for arriving at this decision:First, that I had found it impossible to win the confidence of his

son. Secondly, that his son had that morning suddenly and mysteriously left my house for London, and that I

must decline accepting any further responsibility toward him, as the necessary consequence.

I had put my letter in the postbag, and was beginning to feel a little easier after having written it, when my

housekeeper appeared in the study, with a very grave face, and with something hidden apparently in her

"Would you please look, sir, at what we have found in the gentleman's bedroom, since he went away this

I knew the housekeeper to possess a woman's full share of that amicable weakness of the sex which goes by

the name of "Curiosity." I had also, in various indirect ways, become aware that my senior pupil's strange

departure had largely increased the disposition among the women of my household to regard him as the

victim of an unhappy attachment. The time was ripe, as it seemed to me, for checking any further gossip

"Your only business in my pupil's bedroom," I said to the housekeeper, "is to see that it is kept clean, and that

it is properly aired. There must be no interference, if you please, with his letters, or his papers, or with

anything else that he has left behind him. Put back directly whatever you may have found in his room."

The housekeeper had her full share of a woman's temper as well as of a woman's curiosity. She listened to me

"Must I put it back, sir, on the floor, between the bed and the wall?" she inquired, with an ironical assumption

of the humblest deference to my wishes. "That's where the girl found it when she was sweeping the room.

Anybody can see for themselves," pursued the housekeeper indignantly, "that the poor gentleman has gone

away brokenhearted. And there, in my opinion, is the hussy who is the cause of it!"

With those words, she made me a low curtsey, and laid a small photographic portrait on the desk at which I

In an instant, my heart was beating wildlymy head turned giddythe housekeeper, the furniture, the walls

The portrait that had been found in my senior pupil's bedroom was the portrait of Jeromette!

I HAD sent the housekeeper out of my study. I was alone, with the photograph of the Frenchwoman on my

There could surely be little doubt about the discovery that had burst upon me. The man who had stolen his

way into my house, driven by the terror of a temptation that he dared not reveal, and the man who had been

Recovering selfpossession enough to realize this plain truth, the inferences that followed forced their way

into my mind as a matter of course. The unnamed person who was the obstacle to my pupil's prospects in life,

the unnamed person in whose company he was assailed by temptations which made him tremble for himself,

stood revealed to me now as being, in all human probability, no other than Jeromette. Had she bound him in

the fetters of the marriage which he had himself proposed? Had she discovered his place of refuge in my

house? And was the letter that had been delivered to him of her writing? Assuming these questions to be

answered in the affirmative, what, in that case, was his "business in London"? I remembered how he had

spoken to me of his temptations, I recalled the expression that had crossed his face when he recognized the

handwriting on the letterand the conclusion that followed literally shook me to the soul. Ordering my horse

The train by which he had traveled to London had reached the terminus nearly an hour since. The one useful

course that I could take, by way of quieting the dreadful misgivings crowding one after another on my mind,

was to telegraph to Jeromette at the address at which I had last seen her. I sent the subjoined

"If you are in any trouble, telegraph to me. I will be with you by the first train. Answer, in any case."

There was nothing in the way of the immediate dispatch of my message. And yet the hours passed, and no

answer was received. By the advice of the clerk, I sent a second telegram to the London office, requesting an

"Improvements in street. Houses pulled down. No trace of person named in telegram."

"The day of his return to me will bring with it the darkest days of my life." . . . . . "I shall die young, and die

miserably. Have you interest enough still left in me to wish to hear of it?" .... "You shall hear of it." Those

words were in my memory while I rode home in the cloudless moonlight night. They were so vividly present

to me that I could hear again her pretty foreign accent, her quiet clear tones, as she spoke them. For the rest,

the emotions of that memorable day had worn me out. The answer from the telegraph office had struck me

with a strange and stony despair. My mind was a blank. I had no thoughts. I had no tears.

I was about halfway on my road home, and I had just heard the clock of a village church strike ten, when I

became conscious, little by little, of a chilly sensation slowly creeping through and through me to the bones.

The warm, balmy air of a summer night was abroad. It was the month of July. In the month of July, was it

possible that any living creature (in good health) could feel cold? It was not possibleand yet, the chilly

My horse was walking along an open highroad. Neither trees nor waters were near me. On either side, the flat

Yes: I saw it. With my own eyes I saw it. A pillar of white mistbetween five and six feet high, as well as I

could judgewas moving beside me at the edge of the road, on my left hand. When I stopped, the white mist

stopped. When I went on, the white mist went on. I pushed my horse to a trotthe pillar of mist was with

me. I urged him to a gallopthe pillar of mist was with me. I stopped him againthe pillar of mist stood

The white color of it was the white color of the fog which I had seen over the riveron the night when I had

gone to bid her farewell. And the chill which had then crept through me to the bones was the chill that was

I went on again slowly. The white mist went on again slowlywith the clear bright night all round it.

I was awed rather than frightened. There was one moment, and one only, when the fear came to me that my

reason might be shaken. I caught myself keeping time to the slow tramp of the horse's feet with the slow

utterances of these words, repeated over and over again: "Jeromette is dead. Jeromette is dead." But my will

was still my own: I was able to control myself, to impose silence on my own muttering lips. And I rode on

My groom was waiting for my return at the rectory gate. I pointed to the mist, passing through the gate with

I entered the rectory. The housekeeper met me in the hall. I pointed to the mist, entering with me.

"I am afraid you are not well, sir," she said. "Your color is all goneyou are shivering. Let me get you a

I went into my study, on the groundfloor, and took the chair at my desk. The photograph still lay where I

had left it. The pillar of mist floated round the table, and stopped opposite to me, behind the photograph.

The housekeeper brought in the wine. I put the glass to my lips, and set it down again. The chill of the mist

was in the wine. There was no taste, no reviving spirit in it. The presence of the housekeeper oppressed me.

My dog had followed her into the room. The presence of the animal oppressed me. I said to the woman:

It lengthened slowly, until it reached to the ceiling. As it lengthened, it grew bright and luminous. A time

passed, and a shadowy appearance showed itself in the center of the light. Little by little, the shadowy

appearance took the outline of a human form. Soft brown eyes, tender and melancholy, looked at me through

the unearthly light in the mist. The head and the rest of the face broke next slowly on my view. Then the

figure gradually revealed itself, moment by moment, downward and downward to the feet. She stood before

me as I had last seen her, in her purplemerino dress, with the blacksilk apron, with the white handkerchief

tied loosely round her neck. She stood before me, in the gentle beauty that I remembered so well; and looked

at me as she had looked when she gave me her last kisswhen her tears had dropped on my cheek.

I fell on my knees at the table. I stretched out my hands to her imploringly. I said: "Speak to meO, once

Her eyes rested on me with a divine compassion in them. She lifted her hand, and pointed to the photograph

on my desk, with a gesture which bade me turn the card. I turned it. The name of the man who had left my

I looked up at her again, when I had read it. She lifted her hand once more, and pointed to the handkerchief

round her neck. As I looked at it, the fair white silk changed horribly in colorthe fair white silk became

A moment moreand the vision of her began to grow dim. By slow degrees, the fi gure, then the face, faded

back into the shadowy appearance that I had first seen. The luminous inner light died out in the white mist.

The mist itself dropped slowly downwardfloated a moment in airy circles on the floorvanished. Nothing

was before me but the familiar wall of the room, and the photograph lying face downward on my desk.

THE next day, the newspapers reported the discovery of a murder in London. A Frenchwoman was the

victim. She had been killed by a wound in the throat. The crime had been discovered between ten and eleven

I leave you to draw your conclusion from what I have related. My own faith in the reality of the apparition is

immovable. I say, and believe, that Jeromette kept her word with me. She died young, and died miserably.

Take up the Trial again, and look at the circumstances that were revealed during the investigation in court.

You will see that she did indeed marry him privately; that they lived together contentedly, until the fatal day

when she discovered that his fancy had been caught by another woman; that violent quarrels took place

between them, from that time to the time when my sermon showed him his own deadly hatred toward her,

reflected in the case of another man; that she discovered his place of retreat in my house, and threatened him

by letter with the public assertion of her conjugal rights; lastly, that a man, variously described by different

witnesses, was seen leaving the door of her lodgings on the night of the murder. The Lawadvancing no

further than thismay have discovered circumstances of suspicion, but no certainty. The Law, in default of

direct evidence to convict the prisoner, may have rightly decided in letting him go free.

But I persisted in believing that the man was guilty. I declare that he, and he alone, was the murderer of

I HEAR that the "shocking story of my conduct" was widely circulated at the ball, and that public opinion

(among the ladies), in every part of the room, declared I had disgraced myself. But there was one dissentient

voice in this chorus of general condemnation. You spoke, Madam, with all the authority of your wide

celebrity and your high rank. You said: "I am personally a stranger to the young lady who is the subject of

remark. If I venture to interfere, it is only to remind you that there are two sides to every question. May I ask

if you have waited to pass sentence, until you have heard what the person accused has to say in her own

These just and generous words produced, if I am correctly informed, a dead silence. Not one of the women

who had condemned me had heard me in my own defense. Not one of them ventured to answer you.

How I may stand in the opinions of such persons as these, is a matter of perfect indifference to me. My one

anxiety is to show that I am not quite unworthy of your considerate interference in my favor. Will you honor

I will pass as rapidly as I can over the subject of my family; and I will abstain (in deference to motives of

My father was the second son of an English nobleman. A German lady was his first wife, and my mother.

Left a widower, he married for the second time; the new wife being of American birth. She took a

stepmother's dislike to mewhich, in some degree at least, I must own that I deserved.

When the newly married pair went to the United States they left me in England, by my own desire, to live

under the protection of my unclea General in the army. This good man's marriage had been childless, and

his wife (Lady Claudia) was, perhaps on that account, as kindly ready as her husband to receive me in the

character of an adopted daughter. I may add here, that I bear my German mother's Christian name,

Wilhelmina. All my friends, in the days when I had friends, used to shorten this to Mina. Be my friend so far,

After these few words of introduction, will your patience bear with me, if I try to make you better acquainted

with my uncle and aunt, and if I allude to circumstances connected with my new life which had, as I fear,

WHEN I think of the good General's fatherly kindness to me, I really despair of writing about him in terms

that do justice to his nature. To own the truth, the tears get into my eyes, and the lines mingle in such

confusion that I cannot read them myself. As for my relations with my aunt, I only tell the truth when I say

that she performed her duties toward me without the slightest pretension, and in the most charming manner.

At nearly fifty years old, Lady Claudia was still admired, though she had lost the one attraction which

distinguished her before my time the attraction of a perfectly beautiful figure. With fine hair and

expressive eyes, she was otherwise a plain woman. Her unassuming cleverness and her fascinating manners

were the qualities no doubt which made her popular everywhere. We never quarreled. Not because I was

always amiable, but because my aunt would not allow it. She managed me, as she managed her husband, with

perfect tact. With certain occasional checks, she absolutely governed the General. There were eccentricities in

his character which made him a man easily ruled by a clever woman. Deferring to his opinion, so far as

appearances went, Lady Claudia generally contrived to get her own way in the end. Except when he was at

his Club, happy in his gossip, his good dinners, and his whist, my excellent uncle lived under a despotism, in

Prosperous and pleasant as it appeared on the surface, my life had its sad side for a young woman.

In the commonplace routine of our existence, as wealthy people in the upper rank, there was nothing to ripen

the growth of any better capacities which may have been in my nature. Heartily as I loved and admired my

uncle, he was neither of an age nor of a character to be the chosen depositary of my most secret thoughts, the

friend of my inmost heart who could show me how to make the best and the most of my life. With friends

and admirers in plenty, I had found no one who could hold this position toward me. In the midst of society I

As I remember them, my hours of happiness were the hours when I took refuge in my music and my books.

Out of the house, my one diversion, always welcome and always fresh, was riding. Without, any false

modesty, I may mention that I had lovers as well as admirers; but not one of them produced an impression on

my heart. In all that related to the tender passion, as it is called, I was an undeveloped being. The influence

that men have on women, because they are men, was really and truly a mystery to me. I was ashamed of my

own coldnessI tried, honestly tried, to copy other girls; to feel my heart beating in the presence of the one

chosen man. It was not to be done. When a man pressed my hand, I felt it in my rings, instead of my heart.

These confessions made, I have done with the past, and may now relate the events which my enemies, among

WE were in London for the season. One morning, I went out riding with my uncle, as usual, in Hyde Park.

The General's service in the army had been in a cavalry regiment service distinguished by merits which

justified his rapid rise to the high places in his profession. In the huntingfield, he was noted as one of the

most daring and most accomplished riders in our county. He had always delighted in riding young and

highspirited horses; and the habit remained with him after he had quitted the active duties of his profession

in later life. From first to last he had met with no accident worth remembering, until the unlucky morning

His horse, a fiery chestnut, ran away with him, in that part of the Parkride call ed Rotten Row. With the

purpose of keeping clear of other riders, he spurred his runaway horse at the rail which divides the Row from

the grassy inclosure at its side. The terrified animal swerved in taking the leap, and dashed him against a tree.

He was dreadfully shaken and injured; but his strong constitution carried him through to recoverywith the

The doctors, on taking leave of their patient, united in warning him (at his age, and bearing in mind his

weakened leg) to ride no more restive horses. "A quiet cob, General," they all suggested. My uncle was

sorely mortified and offended. "If I am fit for nothing but a quiet cob," he said, bitterly, "I will ride no more."

Under these sad circumstances (and my aunt being no horsewoman), I had apparently no other choice than to

give up riding also. But my kindhearted uncle was not the man to let me be sacrificed to his own

disappointment. His ridinggroom had been one of his soldierservants in the cavalry regimenta quaint

sour tempered old man, not at all the sort of person to attend on a young lady taking her ridingexercise

alone. "We must find a smart fellow who can be trusted," said the General. "I shall inquire at the club."

For a week afterward, a succession of grooms, recommended by friends, applied for the vacant place.

The General found insurmountable objections to all of them. "I'll tell you what I have done," he announced

one day, with the air of a man who had hit on a grand discovery; "I have advertised in the papers."

Lady Claudia looked up from her embroidery with the placid smile that was peculiar to her. "I don't quite like

advertising for a servant,� she said. "You are at the mercy of a stranger; you don't know that you are not

"Or you may be deceived by a false character," I added on my side. I seldom ventured, at domestic

consultations, on giving my opinion unaskedbut the new groom represented a subject in which I felt a

"I'm much obliged to you both for warning me that I am so easy to deceive," the General remarked satirically.

"Unfortunately, the mischief is done. Three men have answered my advertisement already. I expect them here

Lady Claudia looked up from her embroidery again. "Are you going to see them yourself?" she asked softly.

"I have hitherto considered myself a better judge of a groom than my steward," the General interposed.

"However, don't be alarmed; I won't act on my own sole responsibility, after the hint you have given me. You

and Mina shall lend me your valuable assistance, and discover whether they are thieves, drunkards, and what

WE naturally supposed that the General was joking. No. This was one of those rare occasions on which Lady

Claudia's tactinfallible in matters of importanceproved to be at fault in a trifle. My uncle's selfesteem

had been touched in a tender place; and he had resolved to make us feel it. The next morning a polite message

came, requesting our presence in the library, to see the grooms. My aunt (always ready with her smile, but

rarely tempted into laughing outright) did for once laugh heartily. "It is really too ridiculous!" she said.

However, she pursued her policy of always yielding, in the first instance. We went together to the library

The three grooms were received in the order in which they presented themselves for approval. Two of them

bore the ineffaceable mark of the publichouse so plainly written on their villainous faces, that even I could

see it. My uncle ironically asked us to favor him with our opinions. Lady Claudia answered with her sweetest

smile: "Pardon me, Generalwe are here to learn." The words were nothing; but the manner in which they

were spoken was perfect. Few men could have resisted that gentle influenceand the General was not one of

the few. He stroked his mustache, and returned to his petticoat government. The two grooms were dismissed.

If the stranger's short coat and light trousers had not proclaimed his vocation in life, I should have taken it for

granted that there had been some mistake, and that we were favored with a visit from a gentleman unknown.

He was between dark and light in complexion, with frank clear blue eyes; quiet and intelligent, if appearances

were to be trusted; easy in his movements; respectful in his manner, but perfectly free from servility. "I say!"

the General blurted out, addressing my aunt confidentially, "he looks as if he would do, doesn't he?"

The appearance of the new man seemed to have had the same effect on Lady Claudia which it had produced

on me. But she got over her first feeling of surprise sooner than I did. "You know best," she answered, with

"Step forward, my man," said the General. The groom advanced from the door, bowed, and stopped at the

foot of the tablemy uncle sitting at the head, with my aunt and myself on either side of him. The inevitable

My aunt's want of interest in the proceedings expressed itself by a little weary sigh. She leaned back

The General went on with his questions: "What experience have you had as a groom?"

The General looked agreeably surprised. "Seven years in only two situations is a good character in itself," he

My uncle looked sharply across the table. The groom sustained the look with respectful but unshaken

composure. The General took up the papers, and seemed to be once more favorably impressed as he read

them. "Personal references in each case if required in support of strong written recommendations from both

his employers," he informed my aunt. "Copy the addresses, Mina. Very satisfactory, I must say. Don't you

Lady Claudia replied by a courteous bend of her head. The General went on with his questions. They related

to the management of horses; and they were answered to his complete satisfaction.

"Michael Bloomfield, you know your business," he said, "and you have a good character. Leave your address.

The groom took out a blank card, and wrote his name and address on it. I looked over my uncle's shoulder

when he received the card. Another surprise! The handwriting was simply irreproachablethe lines running

perfectly straight, and every letter completely formed. As this perplexing person made his modest bow, and

withdrew, the General, struck by an afterthought, called him back from the door.

"One thing more," said my uncle. "About friends and followers? I consider it my duty to my servants to allow

them to see their relations; but I expect them to submit to certain conditions in return"

"I beg your pardon, sir," the groom interposed. "I shall not give you any trouble on that score. I have no

"I am telling you the plain truth, sir. I never heard who my father and mother wereand I don't expect to

He said those words with a bitter composure which impressed me painfully. Lady Claudia was far from

feeling it as I did. Her languid interest in the engagement of the groom seemed to be completely

exhaustedand that was all. She rose, in her easy graceful way, and looked out of the window at the

courtyard and fountain, the housedog in his kennel, and the box of flowers in the coachman's window.

In the meanwhile, the groom remained near the table, respectfully waiting for his dismissal. The General

spoke to him sharply, for the first time. I could see that my good uncle had noticed the cruel tone of that

"One word more, before you go," he said. "If I don't find you more mercifully inclined toward my horses than

you seem to be toward your father and mother, you won't remain long in my service. You might have told me

you had never heard who your parents were, without speaking as if you didn't care to hear."

He put the question very quietly, but, at the same time, so firmly that he even surprised my aunt. She looked

round from the windowthen turned back again, and stretched out her hand toward the curtain, intending, as

"May I ask, sir, why I should care about a father and mother who deserted me? Mind what you are about, my

lady!" he criedsuddenly addressing my aunt. "There's a cat in the folds of that curtain; she might frighten

He had barely said the words before the housekeeper's large tabby cat, taking its noonday siesta in the

Lady Claudia was, naturally enough, a little perplexed by the man's discovery of an animal completely hidden

in the curtain. She appeared to think that a person who was only a groom had taken a liberty in presuming to

For the first time since he had entered the room the groom looked a little confused.

"It's a sort of presumption for a man in my position to be subject to a nervous infirmity," he answered. "I am

one of those persons (the weakness is not uncommon, as your ladyship is aware) who know by their own

unpleasant sensations when a cat is in the room. It goes a little further than that with me. The 'antipathy,' as

My aunt turned to her husband, without attempting to conceal that she took no sort of interest in the groom's

Michael Bloomfield seemed to have noticed my aunt's ungracious manner. He looked at her for a moment

This short answer was so entirely out of the character of my aunt that the General took her kindly by the

"Write to the man" She paused and smiled contemptuously. "Imagine a groom with an antipathy to cats!"

she said, turning to me. "I don't know what you think, Mina. I have a strong objection, myself, to servants

who hold themselves above their position in life. Write," she resumed, addressing her husband, "and tell him

My uncle looked at me in expressive silence walked slowly to the writingtableand glanced at his wife,

in the faint hope that she might change her mind. Their eyes metand she seemed to recover the command

"I remember the time," she said, softly, "when any caprice of mine was a command to you. Ah, I was younger

The General's reception of this little advance was thoroughly characteristic of him. He first kissed Lady

Claudia's hand, and then he wrote the letter. My aunt rewarded him by a look, and left the library.

"What the deuce is the matter with her?" my uncle said to me when we were alone. "Do you dislike the man,

"Certainly not. As far as I can judge, he appears to be just the sort of person we want."

"And knows thoroughly well how to manage horses, my dear. What can be your aunt's objection to him?"

"I am so ashamed of myself," she said, sweetly. "At my age, I have been behaving like a spoiled child. How

good you are to me, General! Let me try to make amends for my misconduct. Will you permit me?"

She took up the General's letter, without waiting for permission; tore it to pieces, smiling pleasantly all the

while; and threw the fragments into the wastepaper basket. "As if you didn't know better than I do!" she

She left the room for the second time. For the second time my uncle looked at me in blank perplexityand I

looked back at him in the same condition of mind. The sound of the luncheon bell was equally a relief to both

of us. Not a word more was spoken on the subject of the new groom. His references were verified; and he

ALWAYS careful in anything that concerned my welfare, no matter how trifling it might be, my uncle did

not trust me alone with the new groom when he first entered our service. Two old friends of the General

accompanied me at his special request, and reported the man to be perfectly competent and trustworthy. After

that, Michael rode out with me alone; my friends among young ladies seldom caring to accompany me, when

I abandoned the park for the quiet country roads on the north and west of London. Was it wrong in me to talk

to him on these expeditions? It would surely have been treating a man like a brute never to take the smallest

notice of himespecially as his conduct was uniformly respectful toward me. Not once, by word or look, did

Ought I to blush when I confess (though he was only a groom) that he interested me?

In the first place, there was something romantic in the very blankness of the story of his life.

He had been left, in his infancy, in the stables of a gentleman living in Kent, near the highroad between

Gravesend and Rochester. The same day, the stableboy had met a woman running out of the yard, pursued

by the dog. She was a stranger, and was not welldressed. While the boy was protecting her by chaining the

dog to his kennel, she was quick enough to place herself beyond the reach of pursuit.

The infant's clothing proved, on examination, to be of the finest linen. He was warmly wrapped in a beautiful

shawl of some foreign manufacture, entirely unknown to all the persons present, including the master and

mistress of the house. Among the folds of the shawl there was discovered an open letter, without date,

Like the shawl, the paper was of foreign manufacture. The handwriting presented a strongly marked

character; and the composition plainly revealed the mistakes of a person imperfectly acquainted with the

English language. The contents of the letter, after alluding to the means supplied for the support of the child,

announced that the writer had committed the folly of inclosing a sum of a hundred pounds in a banknote, "to

pay expenses." In a postscript, an appointment was made for a meeting in six months' time, on the eastward

side of London Bridge. The stableboy's description of the woman who had passed him showed that she

belonged to the lower class. To such a person a hundred pounds would be a fortune. She had, no doubt,

No trace of her was ever discovered. On the day of the appointment the police watched the eastward side of

London Bridge without obtaining any result. Through the kindness of the gentleman in whose stable he had

been found, the first ten years of the boy's life were passed under the protection of a charitable asylum. They

gave him the name of one of the little inmates who had died; and they sent him out to service before he was

eleven years old. He was harshly treated and ran away; wandered to some trainingstables near Newmarket;

attracted the favorable notice of the headgroom, was employed among the other boys, and liked the

occupation. Growing up to manhood, he had taken service in private families as a groom. This was the story

But there was something in the man himself which attracted attention, and made one think of him in his

I mean by this, that there was a spirit of resistance to his destiny in him, which is very rarely found in

servingmen of his order. I remember accompanying the General "on one of his periodical visits of

inspection to the stable." He was so well satisfied that he proposed extending his investigations to the groom's

"If you don object, Michael?" he added, with his customary consideration for the selfrespect of all persons

in his employment. Michael's color rose a little; he looked at me. "I am afraid the young lady will not find my

The only disorder in the groom's room was produced, to our surprise, by the groom's books and papers.

Cheap editions of the English poets, translations of Latin and Greek classics, handbooks for teaching French

and German "without a master," carefully written "exercises" in both languages, manuals of shorthand, with

more "exercises" in that art, were scattered over the table, round the central object of a readinglamp, which

spoke plainly of studies by night. "Why, what is all this?" cried the General. "Are you going to leave me,

Michael, and set up a school?" Michael answered in sad, submissive tones. "I try to improve myself,

sirthough I sometimes lose heart and hope." "Hope of what?" asked my uncle. "Are you not content to be a

servant? Must you rise in the world, as the saying is?" The groom shrank a little at that abrupt question. "If I

had relations to care for me and help me along the hard ways of life," he said, "I might be satisfied, sir, to

remain as I am. As it is, I have no one to think about but myselfand I am foolish enough sometimes to look

So far, I had kept silence; but I could no longer resist giving him a word of encouragementhis confession

was so sadly and so patiently made. "You speak too harshly of yourself," I said; "the best and greatest men

have begun like you by looking beyond themselves." For a moment our eyes met. I admired the poor lonely

fellow trying so modestly and so bravely to teach himselfand I did not care to conceal it. He was the first

to look away; some suppressed emotion turned him deadly pale. Was I the cause of it? I felt myself tremble

as that bold question came into my mind. The General, with one sharp glance at me, diverted the talk (not

"I have heard of your being deserted in your infancy by some woman unknown," he said. "What has become

of the things you were wrapped in, and the letter that was found on you? They might lead to a discovery, one

of these days." The groom smiled. "The last master I served thought of it as you do, Sir. He was so good as to

write to the gentleman who was first burdened with the care of me and the things were sent to me in

He took up an unlocked leather bag, which opened by touching a brass knob, and showed us the shawl, the

linen (sadly faded by time) and the letter. We were puzzled by the shawl. My uncle, who had served in the

East, thought it looked like a very rare kind of Persian work. We examined with interest the letter, and the

fine linen. When Michael quietly remarked, as we handed them back to him, "They keep the secret, you see,"

THAT night, lying awake thinking, I made my first discovery of a great change that had come over me. I felt

Never yet had my life been so enjoyable to me as it was now. I was conscious of a delicious lightness of

heart. The simplest things pleased me; I was ready to be kind to everybody, and to admire everything. Even

the familiar scenery of my rides in the park developed beauties which I had never noticed before. The

enchantments of music affected me to tears. I was absolutely in love with my dogs and my birdsand, as for

my maid, I bewildered the girl with presents, and gave her holidays almost before she could ask for them. In a

bodily sense, I felt an extraordinary accession of strength and activity. I romped with the dear old General,

and actually kissed Lady Claudia, one morning, instead of letting her kiss me as usual. My friends noticed my

new outburst of gayety and spiritand wondered what had produced it. I can honestly say that I wondered

too! Only on that wakeful night which followed our visit to Michael's room did I arrive at something like a

clear understanding of myself. The next morning completed the process of enlightenment. I went out riding

as usual. The instant when Michael put his hand under my foot as I sprang into the saddle, his touch flew all

As to describing the first sense of confusion that overwhelmed me, even if I were a practiced writer I should

be incapable of doing it. I pulled down my veil, and rode on in a sort of trance. Fortunately for me, our house

looked on the park, and I had only to cross the road. Otherwise I should have met with some accident if I had

ridden through the streets. To this day, I don't know where I rode. The horse went his own way quietlyand

The groom! Is there any human creature so free from the hateful and antiChristian pride of rank as a woman

who loves with all her heart and soul, for the first time in her life? I only tell the truth (in however

unfavorable a light it may place me) when I declare that my confusion was entirely due to the discovery that I

was in love. I was not ashamed of myself for being in love with the groom. I had given my heart to the man.

What did the accident of his position matter? Put money into his pocket and a title before his nameby

another accident: in speech, manners, and attainments, he would he a gentleman worthy of his wealth and

Even the natural dread of what my relations and friends might say, if they discovered my secret, seemed to be

a sensation so unworthy of me and of him, that I looked round, and called to him to speak to me, and asked

him questions about himself which kept him riding nearly side by side with me. Ah, how I enjoyed the gentle

deference and respect of his manner as he answered me! He was hardly bold enough to raise his eyes to mine,

when I looked at him. Absorbed in the Paradise of my own making, I rode on slowly, and was only aware

that friends had passed and had recognized me, by seeing him touch his hat. I looked round and discovered

the women smiling ironically as they rode by. That one circumstance roused me rudely from my dream. I let

Michael fall back again to his proper place, and quickened my horse's pace; angry with myself, angry with

the world in general, then suddenly changing, and being fool enough and child enough to feel ready to cry.

How long these varying moods lasted, I don't know. On returning, I slipped off my horse without waiting for

AFTER taking off my ridinghabit, and cooling my hot face with eaudecologne and water, I went down to

the room which we called the morningroom. The piano there was my favorite instrument and I had the idea

As I sat down before the piano, I heard the opening of the door of the breakfastroom (separated from me by

a curtained archway), and the voice of Lady Claudia asking if Michael had returned to the stable. On the

servant's reply in the affirmative, she desired that he might be sent to her immediately.

No doubt, I ought either to have left the morningroom, or to have let my aunt know of my presence there. I

did neither the one nor the other. Her first dislike of Michael had, to all appearance, subsided. She had once

or twice actually taken opportunities of speaking to him kindly. I believed this was due to the caprice of the

moment. The tone of her voice too suggested, on this occasion, that she had some spiteful object in view, in

sending for him. I knew it was unworthy of meand yet, I deliberately waited to hear what passed between

"Turn to the light. I wish to see people when I speak to them. You were observed by some friends of mine;

"Your business is to ride at a certain distance behind your mistress. Has your experience taught you that?"

"You were not riding behind Miss Minayour horse was almost side by side with hers. Do you deny it?"

"You behaved with the greatest improprietyyou were seen talking to Miss Mina. Do you deny that?"

I knew now what the smiles meant on the false faces of those womenfriends of mine who had met me in the

park. An ordinary man, in Michael's place, would have mentioned my own encouragement of him as a

sufficient excuse. He, with the inbred delicacy and reticence of a gentleman, had taken all the blame on

himself. Indignant and ashamed, I advanced to the breakfastroom, bent on instantly justifying him. Drawing

aside the curtain, I was startled by a sound as of a person sobbing. I cautiously looked in. Lady Claudia was

I withdrew, completely bewildered. The extraordinary contradictions in my aunt's conduct were not at an end

yet. Later in the day, I went to my uncle, resolved to set Michael right in his estimation, and to leave him to

speak to Lady Claudia. The General was in the lowest spirits; he shook his head ominously the moment. I

mentioned the groom's name. "I dare say the man meant no harmbut the thing has been observed. I can't

have you made the subject of scandal, Mina. My wife makes a point of itMichael must go.

Before he could answer me, a footman appeared with a message. "My lady wishes to see you, sir."

The General rose directly. My curiosity had got, by this time, beyond all restraint. I was actually indelicate

enough to ask if I might go with him! He stared at me, as well he might. I persisted; I said I particularly

wished to see Lady Claudia. My uncle's punctilious good breeding still resisted me. "Your aunt may wish to

I was incapable of waiting: my obstinacy was something superhuman. The bare idea that Michael might lose

his place, through my fault, made me desperate, I suppose. "I won't trouble you to send for me," I persisted;

"I will go with you at once as far as the door, and wait to hear if I may come in." The footman was still

present, holding the door open; the General gave way. I kept so close behind him that my aunt saw me as her

husband entered the room. "Come in, Mina," she said, speaking and looking like the charming Lady Claudia

of everyday life. Was this the woman whom I had seen crying her heart out on the sofa hardly an hour ago?

"On second thoughts," she continued, turning to the General, "I fear I may have been a little hasty. Pardon me

for troubling you about it againhave you spoken to Michael yet? No? Then let us err on the side of

My uncle was evidently relieved. I seized the opportunity of making my confession, and taking the whole

blame on myself. Lady Claudia stopped me with the perfect grace of which she was mistress.

"My good child, don't distress yourself! don't make mountains out of molehills!" She patted me on the cheek

with two plump white fingers which felt deadly cold. "I was not always prudent, Mina, when I was your age.

Besides, your curiosity is naturally excited about a servant who iswhat shall I call him?a foundling."

She paused and fixed her eyes on me attentively. "What did he tell you?" she asked. "Is it a very romantic

The General began to fidget in his chair. If I had kept my attention on him, I should have seen in his face a

warning to me to be silent. But my interest at the moment was absorbed in my aunt. Encouraged by her

amiable reception, I was not merely unsuspicious of the trap that she had set for meI was actually foolish

enough to think that I could improve Michael's position in her estimation (remember that I was in love with

him!) by telling his story exactly as I have already told it in these pages. I spoke with fervor. Will you believe

it?her humor positively changed again! She flew into a passion with me for the first time in her life.

"Lies!" she cried. "Impudent lies on the face of theminvented to appeal to your interest. How dare you

repeat them? General! if Mina had not brought it on herself, this man's audacity would justify you in instantly

The General's sense of fair play roused him for once into openly opposing his wife.

"You are completely mistaken," he said. "Mina and I have both had the shawl and the letter in our

handsand (what was there besides?) ah, yes, the very linen the child was wrapped in."

What there was in those words to check Lady Claudia's anger in its full flow I was quite unable to

understand. If her husband had put a pistol to her head, he could hardly have silenced her more effectually.

She did not appear to be frightened, or ashamed of her outbreak of rageshe sat vacant and speechless, with

her eyes on the General and her hands crossed on her lap. After waiting a moment (wondering as I did what it

meant) my uncle rose with his customary resignation and left her. I followed him. He was unusually silent

and thoughtful; not a word passed between us. I afterward discovered that he was beginning to fear, poor

man, that his wife's mind must be affected in some way, and was meditating a consultation with the physician

As for myself, I was either too stupid or too innocent to feel any positive forewarning of the truth, so far.

After luncheon, while I was alone in the conservatory, my maid came to me from Michael, asking if I had any

commands for him in the afternoon. I thought this rather odd; but it occurred to me that he might want some

To my astonishment, the maid announced that Lady Claudia had employed Michael to go on an errand for

her. The nature of the errand was to take a letter to her bookseller, and to bring back the books which she had

ordered. With three idle footmen in the house, whose business it was to perform such service as this, why had

she taken the groom away from his work? The question obtained such complete possession of my mind that I

actually summoned courage enough to go to my aunt. I said I had thought of driving out in my ponycarriage

that afternoon, and I asked if she objected to sending one of the three indoor servants for her books in

She received me with a strange hard stare, and answered with obstinate selfpossession: "I wish Michael to

go!" No explanation followed. With reason or without it, agreeable to me or not agreeable to me, she wished

I begged her pardon for interfering, and replied that I would give up the idea of driving on that day. She made

no further remark. I left the room, determining to watch her. There is no defense for my conduct; it was mean

and unbecoming, no doubt. I was drawn on, by some force in me which I could not even attempt to resist.

At first, I thought of speaking to Michael; not with any special motive, but simply because I felt drawn

toward him as the guide and helper in whom my heart trusted at this crisis in my life. A little consideration,

however, suggested to me that I might be seen speaking to him, and might so do him an injury. While I was

still hesitating, the thought came to me that my aunt's motive for sending him to her bookseller might be to

Out of her way in the house? No: his place was not in the house. Out of her way in the stable? The next

The best bedrooms, my room included, were all in front of the house. I went up to my maid's room, which

looked on the courtyard; ready with my excuse, if she happened to be there. She was not there. I placed

An interval elapsedlong or short, I cannot say which; I was too much excited to look at my watch. All I

know is that I discovered her! She crossed the yard, after waiting to make sure that no one was there to see

her; and she entered the stable by the door which led to that part of the building occupied by Michael. This

Forty minutes passed before I saw her again. And then, instead of appearing at the door, she showed herself

at the window of Michael's room; throwing it wide open. I concealed myself behind the window curtain, just

in time to escape discovery, as she looked up at the house. She next appeared in the yard, hurrying back. I

waited a while, trying to compose myself in case I met any one on the stairs. There was little danger of a

meeting at that hour. The General was at his club; the servants were at their tea. I reached my own room

What had my aunt been doing for forty minutes in Michael's room? And why had she opened the window?

I spare you my reflections on these perplexing questions. A convenient headache saved me from the ordeal of

meeting Lady Claudia at the dinnertable. I passed a restless and miserable night; conscious that I had found

my way blindly, as it were, to some terrible secret which might have its influence on my whole future life,

and not knowing what to think, or what to do next. Even then, I shrank instinctively from speaking to my

uncle. This was not wonderful. But I felt afraid to speak to Michaeland that perplexed and alarmed me.

Consideration for Lady Claudia was certainly not the motive that kept me silent, after what I had seen.

The next morning my pale face abundantly justified the assertion that I was still ill.

My aunt, always doing her maternal duty toward me, came herself to inquire after my health before I was out

of my room. So certain was she of not having been observed on the previous dayor so prodigious was her

power of controlling herselfthat she actually advised me to go out riding before lunch, and try what the

fresh air and the exercise would do to relieve me! Feeling that I must end in speaking to Michael, it struck me

that this would be the one safe way of consulting him in private. I accepted her advice, and had another

approving pat on the cheek from her plump white fingers. They no longer struck cold on my skin; the

customary vital warmth had returned to them. Her ladyship's mind had recovered its tranquillity.

Michael was not in his customary spirits. With some difficulty, I induced him to tell me the reason. He had

decided on giving notice to leave his situation in the General's employment. As soon as I could command

myself, I asked what had happened to justify this incomprehensible proceeding on his part. He silently

offered me a letter. It was written by the master whom he had served before he came to us; and it announced

that an employment as secretary was offered to him, in the house of a gentleman who was "interested in his

What it cost me to preserve the outward appearance of composure as I handed back the letter, I am ashamed

to tell. I spoke to him with some bitterness. "Your wishes are gratified," I said; "I don't wonder that you are

eager to leave your place." He reined back his horse and repeated my words. "Eager to leave my place? I am

heartbroken at leaving it." I was reckless enough to ask why. His head sank. "I daren't tell you," he said. I

went on from one imprudence to another. "What are you afraid of?" I asked. He suddenly looked up at me.

Is it possible to fathom the folly of a woman in love? Can any sensible person imagine the enormous

importance which the veriest trifles assume in her poor little mind? I was perfectly satisfiedeven perfectly

happy, after that one look. I rode on briskly for a minute or twothen the forgotten scene at the stable

"When I returned from the City I found the bag open; and the things I kept in itthe shawl, the linen, and the

My heart gave one great leap in me, and broke into vehement throbbings, which made it impossible for me to

say a word more. I reined up my horse, and fixed my eyes on Michael. He was startled; he asked if I felt faint.

"My own belief," he proceeded, "is that some person burned the things in my absence, and opened the

window to prevent any suspicion being excited by the smell. I am certain I shut the window before I left my

room. When I closed it on my return, the fresh air had not entirely removed the smell of burning; and, what is

more, I found a heap of ashes in the grate. As to the person who has done me this injury, and why it has been

done, those are mysteries beyond my fathomingI beg your pardon, missI am sure you are not well.

In the tumult of horror and amazement that filled my mind, I could still feel a faint triumph stirring in me

through it all, when I saw how alarmed and how anxious he was about me. Nothing more passed between us

on the way back. Confronted by the dreadful discovery that I had now made, I was silent and helpless. Of the

guilty persons concerned in the concealment of the birth, and in the desertion of the infant, my noblyborn,

highlybred, irreproachable aunt now stood revealed before me as one! An older woman than I might have

been hard put to it to preserve her presence of mind, in such a position as mine. Instinct, not reason, served

me in my sore need. Instinct, not reason, kept me passively and stupidly silent when I got back to the house.

"We will talk about it tomorrow," was all I could say to Michael, when he gently lifted me from my horse.

I excused myself from appearing at the luncheontable; and I drew down the blinds in my sittingroom, so

that my face might not betray me when Lady Claudia's maternal duty brought her upstairs to make inquiries.

The same excuse served in both casesmy ride had failed to relieve me of my headache. My aunt's brief

visit led to one result which is worth mentioning. The indescribable horror of her that I felt forced the

conviction on my mind that we two could live no longer under the same roof. While I was still trying to face

this alternative with the needful composure, my un cle presented himself, in some anxiety about my

continued illness. I should certainly have burst out crying, when the kind and dear old man condoled with me,

if he had not brought news with him which turned back all my thoughts on myself and my aunt. Michael had

shown the General his letter and had given notice to leave. Lady Claudia was present at the time. To her

husband's amazement, she abruptly interfered with a personal request to Michael to think better of it, and to

"I should not have troubled you, my dear, on this unpleasant subject," said my uncle, "if Michael had not told

me that you were aware of the circumstances under which he feels it his duty to leave us. After your aunt's

interference (quite incomprehensible to me), the man hardly knows what to do. Being your groom, he begs

me to ask if there is any impropriety in his leaving the difficulty to your decision. I tell you of his request,

Mina; but I strongly advise you to decline taking any responsibility on yourself."

I answered mechanically, accepting my uncle's suggestion, while my thoughts were wholly absorbed in this

last of the many extraordinary proceedings on Lady Claudia's part since Michael had entered the house.

There are limitsout of books and playsto the innocence of a young unmarried woman. After what I had

just heard the doubts which had thus far perplexed me were suddenly and completely cleared up. I said to my

secret self: "She has some human feeling left. If her son goes away, she knows that they may never meet

From the moment when my mind emerged from the darkness, I recovered the use of such intelligence and

courage as I naturally possessed. From this point, you will find that, right or wrong, I saw my way before me,

To say that I felt for the General with my whole heart, is merely to own that I could be commonly grateful. I

sat on his knee, and laid my cheek against his cheek, and thanked him for his long, long years of kindness to

me. He stopped me in his simple generous way. "Why, Mina, you talk as if you were going to leave us!" I

started up, and went to the window, opening it and complaining of the heat, and so concealing from him that

he had unconsciously anticipated the event that was indeed to come. When I returned to my chair, he helped

me to recover myself by alluding once more to his wife. He feared that her health was in some way impaired.

In the time when they had first met, she was subject to nervous maladies, having their origin in a "calamity"

which was never mentioned by either of them in later days. She might possibly be suffering again, from some

other form of nervous derangement, and he seriously thought of persuading her to send for medical advice.

Under ordinary circumstances, this vague reference to a "calamity" would not have excited any special

interest in me. But my mind was now in a state of morbid suspicion. I had not heard how long my uncle and

aunt had been married; but I remembered that Michael had described himself as being twentysix years old.

Bearing these circumstances in mind, it struck me that I might be acting wisely (in Michael's interest) if I

persuaded the General to speak further of what had happened, at the time when he met the woman whom an

evil destiny had bestowed on him for a wife. Nothing but the consideration of serving the man I loved would

have reconciled me to making my own secret use of the recollections which my uncle might innocently

confide to me. As it was, I thought the means would, in this case, be for once justified by the end. Before we

I found it an easier task than I had anticipated to turn the talk back again to the days when the General had

seen Lady Claudia for the first time. He was proud of the circumstances under which he had won his wife.

Ah, how my heart ached for him as I saw his eyes sparkle, and the color mount in his fine rugged face!

This is the substance of what I heard from him. I tell it briefly, because it is still painful to me to tell it at all.

My uncle had met Lady Claudia at her father's country house. She had then reappeared in society, after a

period of seclusion, passed partly in England, partly on the Continent. Before the date of her retirement, she

had been engaged to marry a French nobleman, equally illustrious by his birth and by his diplomatic services

in the East. Within a few weeks of the weddingday, he was drowned by the wreck of his yacht. This was the

Lady Claudia's mind was so seriously affected by the dreadful event, that the doctors refused to answer for

the consequences, unless she was at once placed in the strictest retirement. Her mother, and a French maid

devotedly attached to her, were the only persons whom it was considered safe for the young lady to see, until

time and care had in some degree composed her. Her return to her friends and admirers, after the necessary

interval of seclusion, was naturally a subject of sincere rejoicing among the guests assembled in her father's

house. My uncle's interest in Lady Claudia soon developed into love. They were equals in rank, and well

suited to each other in age. The parents raised no obstacles; but they did not conceal from their guest that the

disaster which had befallen their daughter was but too likely to disincline her to receive his addresses, or any

man's addresses, favorably. To their surprise, they proved to be wrong. The young lady was touched by the

simplicity and the delicacy with which her lover urged his suit. She had lived among worldly people. This

Had no unusual circumstances occurred? Had nothing happened which the General had forgotten? Nothing.

IT is surely needless that I should stop here, to draw the plain inferences from the events just related.

Any person who remembers that the shawl in which the infant was wrapped came from those Eastern regions

which were associated with the French nobleman's diplomatic servicesalso, that the faults of composition

in the letter found on the child were exactly the faults likely to have been committed by the French

maidany person who follows these traces can find his way to the truth as I found mine.

Returning for a moment to the hopes which I had formed of being of some service to Michael, I have only to

say that they were at once destroyed, when I heard of the death by drowning of the man to whom the

evidence pointed as his father. The prospect looked equally barren when I thought of the miserable mother.

That she should openly acknowledge her son in her position was perhaps not to be expected of any woman.

Had she courage enough, or, in plainer words, heart enough to acknowledge him privately?

I called to mind again some of the apparent caprices and contradictions in Lady Claudia's conduct, on the

memorable day when Michael had presented himself to fill the vacant place. Look back with me to the record

of what she said and did on that occasion, by the light of your present knowledge, and you will see that his

likeness to his father must have struck her when he entered the room, and that his statement of his age must

have correctly described the age of her son. Recall the actions that followed, after she had been exhausted by

her first successful efforts at selfcontrolthe withdrawal to the window to conceal her face; the clutch at

the curtain when she felt herself sinking; the harshness of manner under which she concealed her emotions

when she ventured to speak to him; the reiterated inconsistencies and vacillations of conduct that followed,

all alike due to the protest of Nature, desperately resisted to the lastand say if I did her injustice when I

believed her to be incapable of running the smallest risk of discovery at the prompting of maternal love.

There remained, then, only Michael to think of. I remember how he had spoken of the unknown parents

whom he neither expected nor cared to discover. Still, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to accept a

chance outbreak of temper as my sufficient ju stification for keeping him in ignorance of a discovery which

so nearly concerned him. It seemed at least to be my duty to make myself acquainted with the true state of his

What I felt it my duty to do in this serious matter, I determined to do at once. Besides, let me honestly own

that I felt lonely and desolate, oppressed by the critical situation in which I was placed, and eager for the

relief that it would be to me only to hear the sound of Michael's voice. I sent my maid to say that I wished to

speak to him immediately. The crisis was already hanging over my head. That one act brought it down.

After making him take a chair, I began by saying that I had received his message, and that, acting on my

uncle's advice, I must abstain from interfering in the question of his leaving, or not leaving, his place. Having

in this way established a reason for sending for him, I alluded next to the loss that he had sustained, and asked

if he had any prospect of finding out the person who had entered his room in his absence. On his reply in the

negative, I spoke of the serious results to him of the act of destruction that had been committed. "Your last

He smiled sadly. "You know already, miss, that I never expected to discover them."

"Do you never think of your mother?" I asked. "At your age, she might be still living. Can you give up all

"If I have done her wrong, in believing that she deserted me," he answered, "the heartache is but a poor way

He interrupted me sternly. "I would not cross the street to see her," he said. "A woman who deserts her child

is a monster. Forgive me for speaking so, miss! When I see good mothers and their children it maddens me

Hearing these words, and watching him attentively while he spoke, I could see that my silence would be a

His eyes softened instantly. Little by little the color faded out of his face as he answered me.

"The General kindly said, when I spoke of leaving my place" His voice faltered, and he paused to steady it.

"My master," he resumed, "said that I need not keep my new employer waiting by staying for the customary

So far, I had succeeded in controlling myself. At that reply I felt my resolution failing me. I saw how he

"I am not willing," I said. "I am sorryvery, very sorry to lose you. But I will do anything that is for your

He rose suddenly, as if to leave the room; mastered himself; stood for a moment silently looking at methen

"If I succeed, Miss Mina, in my new employmentif I get on to higher thingsis itis it presuming too

much, to ask if I might, some dayperhaps when you are out riding aloneif I might speak to youonly to

He could say no more. I saw the tears in his eyes; saw him shaken by the convulsive breathings which break

from men in the rare moments when they cry. He forced it back even then. He bowed to meoh, God, he

bowed to me, as if he were only my servant! as if he were too far below me to take my hand, even at that

moment! I could have endured anything else; I believe I could still have restrained myself under any other

circumstances. It matters little now; my confession must be made, whatever you may think of me. I flew to

him like a frenzied creatureI threw my arms round his neckI said to him, "Oh, Michael, don't you know

that I love you?" And then I laid my head on his breast, and held him to me, and said no more.

In that moment of silence, the door of the room was opened. I started, and looked up. Lady Claudia was

I saw in her face that she had been listeningshe must have followed him when he was on his way to my

room. That conviction steadied me. I took his hand in mine, and stood side by side with him, waiting for her

to speak first. She looked at Michael, not at me. She advanced a step or two, and addressed him in these

That deliberate insult was all that I wanted to make me completely mistress of myself. I told Michael to wait

a moment, and opened my writing desk. I wrote on an envelope the address in London of a faithful old

servant, who had attended my mother in her last moments. I gave it to Michael. "Call there tomorrow

He looked at Lady Claudia, evidently unwilling to leave me alone with her. "Fear nothing," I said; "I am old

enough to take care of myself. I have only a word to say to this lady before I leave the house. "With that, I

took his arm, and walked with him to the door, and said goodby almost as composedly as if we had been

Lady Claudia's eyes followed me as I shut the door again and crossed the room to a second door which led

into my bedchamber. She suddenly stepped up to me, just as I was entering the room, and laid her hand on

"What do I see in your face?" she asked as much of herself as of mewith her eyes fixed in keen inquiry on

"I will send you with a letter to him. Come back when I ring again." She turned to me as the man withdrew.

"I shall be happy to see the General, if you will inclose my address in your letter to him."

Replying in those terms, I wrote the address for the second time. Lady Claudia knew perfectly well, when I

gave it to her, that I was going to a respectable house kept by a woman who had nursed me when I was a

"One last question," she said. "Am I to tell the General that it is your intention to marry your groom?"

Her tone stung me into making an answer which I regretted the moment it had passed my lips.

"You can put it more plainly, if you like," I said. "You can tell the General that it is my intention to marry

She was near the door, on the point of leaving me. As I spoke, she turned with a ghastly stare of horrorfelt

about her with her hands as if she was groping in darknessand dropped on the floor.

I instantly summoned help. The womenservants carried her to my bed. While they were restoring her to

herself, I wrote a few lines telling the miserable woman how I had discovered her secret.

"Your husband's tranquillity," I added, "is as precious to me as my own. As for your son, you know what he

thinks of the mother who deserted him. Your secret is safe in my keepingsafe from your husband, safe

I sealed up those words, and gave them to her when she had come to herself again. I never heard from her in

reply. I have never seen her from that time to this. She knows she can trust me.

And what did my good uncle say, when we next met? I would rather report what he did, when he had got the

better of his first feelings of anger and surprise on hearing of my contemplated marriage. He consented to

receive us on our weddingday; and he gave my husband the appointment which places us both in an

"Come back in a year's time," he said. "I will wait to be thanked till the experience of your married life tells

The year passed; and the General received the honest expression of my gratitude. He smiled and kissed me;

but there was something in his face which suggested that he was not quite satisfied yet.

A wiser woman would have taken the hint and dropped the subject. My folly persisted in putting another

At this conclusion I arrived, sitting in a Roman theaternow many years since. My friend and traveling

companion, Rothsay, cordially agreed with me. Experience had given us some claim to form an opinion. We

had visited, at that time, nearly every city in Italy. Whereever a theater was open, we had attended the

performances of the companies which travel from place to place; and we had never seen bad acting from first

to last. Men and women, whose names are absolutely unknown in England, played (in modern comedy and

drama for the most part) with a general level of dramatic ability which I have never seen equaled in the

theaters of other nations. Incapable Italian actors there must be, no doubt. For my own part I have only

discovered them, by ones and twos, in England; appearing among the persons engaged to support Salvini and

On the occasion of which I am now writing, the night's performances consisted of two plays. An accident, to

be presently related, prevented us from seeing more than the introductory part of the second piece. That one

actin respect of the influence which the remembrance of it afterward exercised over Rothsay and

The scene of the story was laid in one of the principalities of Italy, in the bygone days of the Carbonaro

conspiracies. The chief persons were two young noblemen, friends affectionately attached to each other, and

On the rising of the curtain, the scene before us was the courtyard of a prison. We found the beautiful girl

(called Celia as well as I can recollect) in great distress; confiding her sorrows to the jailer's daughter. Her

father was pining in the prison, charged with an offense of which he was innocent; and she herself was

suffering the tortures of hopeless love. She was on the point of confiding her secret to her friend, when the

appearance of the young nobleman closed her lips. The girls at once withdrew; and the two friendswhom I

now only remember as the Marquis and the Countbegan the dialogue which prepared us for the story of the

The Marquis had been tried for conspiracy against the reigning Prince and his government; had been found

guilty, and is condemned to be shot that evening. He accepts his sentence with the resignation of a man who

is weary of his life. Young as he is, he has tried the round of pleasures without enjoyment; he has no interests,

no aspirations, no hopes; he looks on death as a welcome release. His friend the Count, admitted to a farewell

interview, has invented a stratagem by which the prisoner may escape and take to flight. The Marquis

expresses a grateful sense of obligation, and prefers being shot. "I don't value my life," he says; "I am not a

happy man like you." Upon this the Count mentions circumstances which he has hitherto kept secret. He

loves the charming Celia, and loves in vain. Her reputation is unsullied; she possesses every good quality that

a man can desire in a wifebut the Count's social position forbids him to marry a woman of low birth. He is

heartbroken; and he too finds life without hope a burden that is not to be borne. The Marquis at once sees a

way of devoting himself to his friend's interests. He is rich; his money is at his own disposal; he will bequeath

a marriage portion to Celia which will make her one of the richest women in Italy. The Count receives this

proposal with a sigh. "No money," he says, "will remove the obstacle that still remains. My father's fatal

objection to Celia is her rank in life. "The Marquis walks apartconsiders a littleconsults his watchand

returns with a new idea. "I have nearly two hours of life still left," he says. "Send for Celia: she was here just

now, and she is probably in her father's cell." The Count is at a loss to understand what this proposal means.

The Marquis explains himself. "I ask your permission," he resumes, "to offer marriage to Celiafor your

sake. The chaplain of the prison will perform the ceremony. Before dark, the girl you love will be my widow.

My widow is a lady of titlea fit wife for the greatest nobleman in the land." The Count protests and refuses

in vain. The jailer is sent to find Celia. She appears. Unable to endure the scene, the Count rushes out in

horror. The Marquis takes the girl into his confidence, and makes his excuses. If she becomes a widow of

rank, she may not only marry the Count, but will be in a position to procure the liberty of the innocent old

man, whose strength is failing him under the rigors of imprisonment. Celia hesitates. After a struggle with

herself, filial love prevails, and she consents. The jailer announces that the chaplain is waiting; the bride and

bridegroom withdraw to the prison chapel. Left on the stage, the jailer hears a distant sound in the city, which

he is at a loss to understand. It sinks, increases again, travels nearer to the prison, and now betrays itself as the

sound of multitudinous voices in a state of furious uproar. Has the conspiracy broken out again? Yes! The

whole population has risen; the soldiers have refused to fire on the people; the terrified Prince has dismissed

his ministers, and promises a constitution. The Marquis, returning from the ceremony which has just made

Celia his wife, is presented with a free pardon, and with the offer of a high place in the reformed ministry. A

new life is opening before himand he has innocently ruined his friend's prospects! On this striking

While we were still applauding the first act, Rothsay alarmed me: he dropped from his seat at my side, like a

man struck dead. The stifling heat in the theater had proved too much for him. We carried him out at once

into the fresh air. When he came to his senses, my friend entreated me to leave him, and see the end of the

play. To my mind, he looked as if he might faint again. I insisted on going back with him to our hotel.

On the next day I went to the theater, to ascertain if the play would be repeated. The boxoffice was closed.

My interest in discovering how the story ended led me next to the booksellers' shopsin the hope of buying

the play. Nobody knew anything about it. Nobody could tell me whether it was the original work of an Italian

writer, or whether it had been stolen (and probably disfigured) from the French. As a fragment I had seen it.

ONE of my objects in writing these lines is to vindicate the character of an innocent woman (formerly in my

service as housekeeper) who has been cruelly slandered. Absorbed in the pursuit of my purpose, it has only

now occurred to me that strangers may desire to know something more than they know now of myself and

my friend. "Give us some idea," they may say, "of what sort of persons you are, if you wish to interest us at

A most reasonable suggestion, I admit. Unfortunately, I am not the right man to comply with it.

In the first place, I cannot pretend to pronounce judgment on my own character. In the second place, I am

incapable of writing impartially of my friend. At the imminent risk of his own life, Rothsay re scued me from

a dreadful death by accident, when we were at college together. Who can expect me to speak of his faults? I

Under these embarrassing circumstancesand not forgetting, at the same time, that a servant's opinion of his

master and his master's friends may generally be trusted not to err on the favorable sideI am tempted to

I slept badly on our first night at Rome; and I happened to be awake while the man was talking of us

confidentially in the courtyard of the hoteljust under my bedroom window. Here, to the best of my

recollection, is a faithful report of what he said to some friend among the servants who understood English:

"My master's well connected, you must knowthough he's only plain Mr. Lepel. His uncle's the great

lawyer, Lord Lepel; and his late father was a banker. Rich, did you say? I should think he was richand be

hanged to him! No, not married, and not likely to be. Owns he was forty last birthday; a regular old bachelor.

Not a bad sort, taking him altogether. The worst of him is, he is one of the most indiscreet persons I ever met

with. Does the queerest things, when the whim takes him, and doesn't care what other people think of it. They

say the Lepels have all got a slate loose in the upper story. Oh, no; not a very old familyI mean, nothing

compared to the family of his friend, young Rothsay. They count back, as I have heard, to the ancient kings of

Scotland. Between ourselves, the ancient kings haven't left the Rothsays much money. They would be glad,

I'll be bound, to get my rich master for one of their daughters. Poor as Job, I tell you. This young fellow,

traveling with us, has never had a spare fivepound note since he was born. Plenty of brains in his head, I

grant you; and a little too apt sometimes to be suspicious of other people. But liberaloh, give him his

dueliberal in a small way. Tips me with a sovereign now and then. I take itLord bless you, I take it.

What do you say? Has he got any employment? Not he! Dabbles in chemistry (experiments, and that sort of

thing) by way of amusing himself; and tells the most infernal lies about it. The other day he showed me a

bottle about as big as a thimble, with what looked like water in it, and said it was enough to poison everybody

in the hotel. What rot! Isn't that the clock striking again? Near about bedtime, I should say. Wish you good

There are our charactersdrawn on the principle of justice without mercy, by an impudent rascal who is the

best valet in England. Now you know what sort of persons we are; and now we may go on again.

Rothsay and I parted, soon after our night at the theater. He went to Civita Vecchia to join a friend's yacht,

waiting for him in the harbor. I turned homeward, traveling at a leisurely rate through the Tyrol and

After my arrival in England, certain events in my life occurred which did not appear to have any connection

at the time. They led, nevertheless, to consequences which seriously altered the relations of happy past years

The first event took place on my return to my house in London. I found among the letters waiting for me an

invitation from Lord Lepel to spend a few weeks with him at his country seat in Sussex.

I had made so many excuses, in past years, when I received invitations from my uncle, that I was really

ashamed to plead engagements in London again. There was no unfriendly feeling between us. My only

motive for keeping away from him took its rise in dislike of the ordinary modes of life in an English

countryhouse. A man who feels no interest in politics, who cares nothing for field sports, who is impatient

of amateur music and incapable of small talk, is a man out of his element in country society. This was my

unlucky case. I went to Lord Lepel's house sorely against my will; longing already for the day when it would

The routine of my uncle's establishment had remained unaltered since my last experience of it.

I found my lord expressing the same pride in his collection of old masters, and telling the same story of the

wonderful escape of his picturegallery from fireI renewed my acquaintance with the same members of

Parliament among the guests, all on the same side in politicsI joined in the same dreary amusementsI

saluted the same resident priest (the Lepels are all born and bred Roman Catholics)I submitted to the same

rigidly early breakfast hour; and inwardly cursed the same peremptory bell, ringing as a means of reminding

us of our meals. The one change that presented itself was a change out of the house. Death had removed the

lodgekeeper at the parkgate. His widow and daughter (Mrs. Rymer and little Susan) remained in their pretty

cottage. They had been allowed by my lord's kindness to take charge of the gate.

Out walking, on the morning after my arrival, I was caught in a shower on my way back to the park, and took

In the bygone days I had respected Mrs. Rymer's husband as a thoroughly worthy manbut Mrs. Rymer

herself was no great favorite of mine. She had married beneath her, as the phrase is, and she was a little too

conscious of it. A woman with a sharp eye to her own interests; selfishly discontented with her position in

life, and not very scrupulous in her choice of means when she had an end in view: that is how I describe Mrs.

Rymer. Her daughter, whom I only remembered as a weakly child, astonished me when I saw her again after

the interval that had elapsed. The backward flower had bloomed into perfect health. Susan was now a lovely

little modest girl of seventeenwith a natural delicacy and refinement of manner, which marked her to my

mind as one of Nature's gentlewomen. When I entered the lodge she was writing at a table in a corner, having

some books on it, and rose to withdraw. I begged that she would proceed with her employment, and asked if I

might know what it was. She answered me with a blush, and a pretty brightening of her clear blue eyes. "I am

trying, sir, to teach myself French," she said. The weather showed no signs of improvingI volunteered to

help her, and found her such an attentive and intelligent pupil that I looked in at the lodge from time to time

afterward, and continued my instructions. The younger men among my uncle's guests set their own stupid

construction on my attentions "to the girl at the gate," as they called herrather too familiarly, according to

my notions of propriety. I contrived to remind them that I was old enough to be Susan's father, in a manner

which put an end to their jokes; and I was pleased to hear, when I next went to the lodge, that Mrs. Rymer

The day of my departure arrived. Lord Leper took leave of me kindly, and asked for news of Rothsay. "Let

me know when your friend returns," my uncle said; "he belongs to a good old stock. Put me in mind of him

On my way to the train I stopped of course at the lodge to say goodby. Mrs. Rymer came out alone I asked

I might have been mistaken, but I thought Mrs. Rymer answered me in no very friendly way. Resolved to

judge for myself, I entered the lodge, and found my poor little pupil sitting in a corner, crying. When I asked

her what was the matter, the excuse of a "bad headache" was the only reply that I received. The natures of

young girls are a hopeless puzzle to me. Susan seemed, for some reason which it was impossible to

She denied it with such evident sincerity that I could not for a moment suspect her of deceiving me. Whatever

the cause of her distress might be, it was plain that she had her own reasons for keeping it a secret.

She said it so sadly that I proposedpurely from the wish to encourage hera continuation of our lessons

"Send your exercises to me once a week," I suggested; "and I will return them corrected "

She thanked me in low tones, with a shyness of manner which I had never noticed in her before. I had done

my best to cheer herand I was conscious, as we shook hands at parting, that I had failed. A feeling of

disappointment overcomes me when I see young people out of spirits. I was sorry for Susan.

ONE of my faults (which has not been included in the list set forth by my valet) is a disinclination to occupy

myself with my own domestic affairs. The proceedings of my footman, while I had been away from home,

left me no alternative but to dismiss him on my return. With this exertion of authority my interference as

chief of the household came to an end. I left it to my excellent housekeeper, Mrs. Mozeen, to find a sober

successor to the drunken vagabond who had been sent away. She discovered a respectable young mantall,

plump, and rosywhose name was Joseph, and whose character was beyond reproach. I have but one excuse

for noticing such a trifling event as this. It took its place, at a later period, in the chain which was slowly

My uncle had asked me to prolong my visit and I should probably have consented, but for anxiety on the

subject of a near and dear relativemy sister. Her health had been failing since the death of her husband, to

whom she was tenderly attached. I heard news of her while I was in Sussex, which hurried me back to town.

In a month more, her death deprived me of my last living relation. She left no children; and my two brothers

This affliction placed me in a position of serious embarrassment, in regard to the disposal of my property

I had hitherto made no will; being well aware that my fortune (which was entirely in money) would go in due

course of law to the person of all others who would employ it to the best purposethat is to say, to my sister

as my nearest of kin. As I was now situated, my property would revert to my uncle if I died intestate. He was

a richer man than I was. Of his two children, both sons, the eldest would inherit his estates: the youngest had

already succeeded to his mother's ample fortune. Having literally no family claims on me, I felt bound to

recognize the wider demands of poverty and misfortune, and to devote my superfluous wealth to increasing

the revenues of charitable institutions. As to minor legacies, I owed it to my good housekeeper, Mrs. Mozeen,

not to forget the faithful services of past years. Need I addif I had been free to act as I pleasedthat I

should have gladly made Rothsay the object of a handsome bequest? But this was not to be. My friend was a

man morbidly sensitive on the subject of money. In the early days of our intercourse we had been for the first

and only time on the verge of a quarrel, when I had asked (as a favor to myself) to be allowed to provide for

"It is because I am poor," he explained, "that I refuse to profit by your kindnessthough I feel it gratefully."

"You will understand this," he resumed; "I should never recover my sense of degradation, if a mercenary

motive on my side was associated with our friendship. Don't say it's impossible! You know as well as I do

that appearances would be against me, in the eyes of the world. Besides, I don't want money; my own small

income is enough for me. Make me your executor if you like, and leave me the customary present of five

hundred pounds. If you exceed that sum I declare on my word of honor that I will not touch one farthing of

it." He took my hand, and pressed it fervently. "Do me a favor," he said. "Never let us speak of this again !"

In now making my will, I accordingly appointed Rothsay one of my executors, on the terms that he had

prescribed. The minor legacies having been next duly reduced to writing, I left the bulk of my fortune to

"A dreary disposition of property for a man of your age," he said, "I hope to receive a new set of instructions

My wife and children! The idea seemed to be so absurd that I burst out laughing. It never occurred to me that

I was sitting alone, after my legal adviser had taken his leave, looking absently at the newlyengrossed will,

when I heard a sharp knock at the housedoor which I thought I recognized. In another minute Rothsay's

bright face enlivened my dull room. He had returned from the Mediterranean that morning.

"Am I interrupting you?" he asked, pointing to the leaves of manuscript before me. "Are you writing a book?"

"Do you remember what I said, when we once talked of your will?" he asked. I set his doubts at rest

immediatelybut he was not quite satisfied yet. "Can't you put your will away?" he suggested. "I hate the

Mrs. Mozeen answered the bell. Rothsay looked at her, as if he wished to have my housekeeper put away as

well as my will. From the first moment when he had seen her, he conceived a great dislike to that good

creature. There was nothing, I am sure, personally repellent about her. She was a little slim quiet woman,

with a pale complexion and bright brown eyes. Her movements were gentle; her voice was low; her decent

gray dress was adapted to her age. Why Rothsay should dislike her was more than he could explain himself.

He turned his unreasonable prejudice into a jokeand said he hated a woman who wore slate colored

I explained to Mrs. Mozeen that I wanted witnesses to the signature of my will. Naturally enoughbeing in

"My will recognizes what I owe to your good services," I said. "If you are one of the witnesses, you will lose

With her customary tact, Mrs. Mozeen expressed her gratitude silently, by a lookand left the room.

"Why couldn't you tell that woman to send the servants, without mentioning her legacy?" Rothsay asked.

It was impossible to make a serious reply to this ridiculous exhibition of Rothsay's prejudice against poor

"I'm not joking," Rothsay answered. "You are infatuated about your housekeeper. When you spoke of her

"It struck me that they were unusually well preserved eyes for a woman of her age."

The appearance of the valet and the footman put an end to this idle talk. The will was executed, and locked

up. Our conversation turned on Rothsay's travels by sea. The cruise had been in every way successful. The

matchless shores of the Mediterranean defied description; the sailing of the famous yacht had proved to be

worthy of her reputation; and, to crown all, Rothsay had come back to England, in a fair way, for the first

"It was a dirty little modern picture, picked up in a bystreet at Palermo. It is a Virgin and Child, by Guido."

On further explanation it appeared that the picture exposed for sale was painted on copper. Noticing the

contrast between the rare material and the wretchedly bad painting that covered it, Rothsay had called t o

mind some of the wellknown stories of valuable works of art that had been painted over for purposes of

disguise. The price asked for the picture amounted to little more than the value of the metal. Rothsay bought

it. His knowledge of chemistry enabled him to put his suspicion successfully to the test; and one of the guests

on board the yachta famous French artisthad declared his conviction that the picture now revealed to

view was a genuine work by Guido. Such an opinion as this convinced me that it would be worth while to

submit my friend's discovery to the judgment of other experts. Consulted independently, these critics

confirmed the view taken by the celebrated personage who had first seen the work. This result having been

obtained, Rothsay asked my advice next on the question of selling his picture. I at once thought of my uncle.

An undoubted work by Guido would surely be an acquisition to his gallery. I had only (in accordance with

his own request) to let him know that my friend had returned to England. We might take the picture with us,

My uncle's answer arrived by return of post. Other engagements obliged him to defer receiving us for a

month. At the end of that time, we were cordially invited to visit him, and to stay as long as we liked.

In the interval that now passed, other events occurredstill of the trifling kind.

One afternoon, just as I was thinking of taking my customary ride in the park, the servant appeared charged

with a basket of flowers, and with a message from Mrs. Rymer, requesting me to honor her by accepting a

little offering from her daughter. Hearing that she was then waiting in the hall, I told the man to show her in.

Susan (as I ought to have already mentioned) had sent her exercises to me regularly every week. In returning

them corrected, I had once or twice added a word of welldeserved approval. The offering of flowers was

evidently intended to express my pupil's grateful sense of the interest taken in her by her teacher.

I had no reason, this time, to suppose that Mrs. Rymer entertained an unfriendly feeling toward me. At the

first words of greeting that passed between us I perceived a change in her manner, which ran in the opposite

extreme. She overwhelmed me with the most elaborate demonstrations of politeness and respect; dwelling on

her gratitude for my kindness in receiving her, and on her pride at seeing her daughter's flowers on my table,

until I made a resolute effort to stop her by asking (as if it was actually a matter of importance to me!)

"Oh, on business, sir! My poor husband invested his little savings in bank stock, and I have just been drawing

my dividend. I do hope you don't think my girl overbold in venturing to send you a few flowers. She

wouldn't allow me to interfere. I do assure you she would gather and arrange them with her own hands. In

themselves I know they are hardly worth accepting; but if you will allow the motive to plead"

I made another effort to stop Mrs. Rymer; I said her daughter could not have sent me a prettier present.

"She is so grateful, sir, and so proud of your goodness in looking at her exercises. The difficulty of the French

language seem as nothing to her, now her motive is to please you. She is so devoted to her studies that I find

it difficult to induce her to take the exercise necessary to her health; and, as you may perhaps remember,

Susan was always rather weakly as a child. She inherits her father's constitution, Mr. Lepelnot mine."

Here, to my infinite relief, the servant appeared, announcing that my horse was at the door.

Mrs. Rymer opened her mouth. I saw a coming flood of apologies on the point of pouring outand seized

my hat on the spot. I declared I had an appointment; I sent kind remembrances to Susan (pitying her for

having such a mother with my whole heart); I said I hoped to return to my uncle's house soon, and to continue

the French lessons. The one thing more that I remember was finding myself safe in the saddle, and out of the

Reflecting on what had passed, it was plain to me that this woman had some private end in view, and that my

abrupt departure had prevented her from finding the way to it. What motive could she possibly have for that

obstinate persistence in presenting poor Susan under a favorable aspect, to a man who had already shown that

he was honestly interested in her pretty modest daughter? I tried hard to penetrate the mysteryand gave it

Three days before the date at which Rothsay and I were to pay our visit to Lord Lepel, I found myself

compelled to undergo one of the minor miseries of human life. In other words I became one of the guests at a

large dinnerparty. It was a rainy day in October. My position at the table placed me between a window that

was open and a door that was hardly ever shut. I went to bed shivering; and woke the next morning with a

headache and a difficulty in breathing. On consulting the doctor, I found that I was suffering from an attack

of bronchitis. There was no reason to be alarmed. If I remained indoors, and submitted to the necessary

treatment, I might hope to keep my engagement with my uncle in ten days or a fortnight.

There was no alternative but to submit. I accordingly arranged with Rothsay that he should present himself at

Lord Lepel's house (taking the picture with him), on the date appointed for our visit, and that I should follow

On the day when he was to leave London, my friend kindly came to keep me company for a while. He was

followed into my room by Mrs. Mozeen, with a bottle of medicine in her hand. This worthy creature, finding

that the doctor's directions occasionally escaped my memory, devoted herself to the duty of administering the

remedies at the prescribed intervals of time. When she left the room, having performed her duties as usual, I

saw Rothsay's eyes follow her to the door with an expression of sardonic curiosity. He put a strange question

"Who engaged that new servant of yours?" he asked. "I mean the fat fellow, with the curly flaxen hair."

"Hiring servants," I replied, "is not much in my way. I left the engagement of the new man to Mrs. Mozeen."

"Lepel," he said, "your respectable housekeeper is in love with the fat young footman."

It is not easy to amuse a man suffering from bronchitis. But this new outbreak of absurdity was more than I

"I thought I should raise your spirits," Rothsay proceeded. "When I came to your house this morning, the

valet opened the door to me. I expressed my surprise at his condescending to take that trouble. He informed

me that Joseph was otherwise engaged. 'With anybody in particular?' I asked, humoring the joke. 'Yes, sir,

with the housekeeper. She's teaching him how to brush his hair, so as to show off his good looks to the best

advantage.' Make up your mind, my friend, to lose Mrs. Mozeenespecially if she happens to have any

"My good fellow, that won't make any difference to Joseph. In the days when we were rich enough to keep a

manservant, our footmanas handsome a fellow as ever you saw, and no older than I ammarried a witch

with a lame leg. When I asked him why he had made such a fool of himself he looked quite indignant, and

said: 'Sir! she has got six hundred pounds.' He and the witch keep a public house. What will you bet me that

we don't see your housekeeper drawing beer at the bar, and Joseph getting drunk in the parlor, before we are a

I was not well enough to prolong my enjoyment of Rothsay's boyish humor. Besides, exaggeration to be

really amusing must have some relation, no matter how slender it may be, to the truth. My housekeeper

belonged to a respectable family, and was essentially a person accust omed to respect herself. Her brother

occupied a position of responsibility in the establishment of a firm of chemists whom I had employed for

years past. Her late husband had farmed his own land, and had owed his ruin to calamities for which he was

in no way responsible. Kindhearted Mrs. Mozeen was just the woman to take a motherly interest in a

welldisposed lad like Joseph; and it was equally characteristic of my valetespecially when Rothsay was

thoughtless enough to encourage himto pervert an innocent action for the sake of indulging in a stupid jest.

A week passed. I had expected to hear from Rothsay. To my surprise and disappointment no letter arrived.

Susan was more considerate. She wrote, very modestly and prettily, to say that she and her mother had heard

of my illness from Mr. Rothsay, and to express the hope that I should soon be restored to health. A few days

later, Mrs. Rymer's politeness carried her to the length of taking the journey to London to make inquiries at

my door. I did not see her, of course. She left word that she would have the honor of calling again.

The second week followed. I had by that time perfectly recovered from my attack of bronchitisand yet I

The doctor himself seemed to be at a loss to understand the symptoms that now presented themselves. A vile

sensation of nausea tried my endurance, and an incomprehensible prostration of strength depressed my

spirits. I felt such a strange reluctance to exert myself that I actually left it to Mrs. Mozeen to write to my

uncle in my name, and say that I was not yet well enough to visit him. My medical adviser tried various

methods of treatment; my housekeeper administered the prescribed medicines with unremitting care; but

nothing came of it. A physician of great authority was called into consultation. Being completely puzzled, he

retreated to the last refuge of bewildered doctors. I asked him what was the matter with me. And he

"I have been obliged to request your friend Rothsay to bring his visit to a conclusion. Although he refuses to

confess it, I have reason to believe that he has committed the folly of falling seriously in love with the young

girl at my lodge gate. I have tried remonstrance in vain; and I write to his father at the same time that I write

to you. There is much more that I might say. I reserve it for the time when I hope to have the pleasure of

Ill as I was, I forgot my sufferings the moment I looked at him. Wild and haggard, he stared at me with

"Do you think I am mad? I dare say I am. I can't live without her." Those were the first words he said when

But I had more influence over him than any other person; and, weak as I was, I exerted it. Little by little, he

To have expressed any surprise, on my part, at what had happened, would have been not only imprudent, but

unworthy of him and of me. My first inquiry was suggested by the fear that he might have been hurried into

openly confessing his passion to Susanalthough his position forbade him to offer marriage. I had done him

an injustice. His honorable nature had shrunk from the cruelty of raising hopes, which, for all he knew to the

contrary, might never be realized. At the same time, he had his reasons for believing that he was at least

"She was always glad to see me," said poor Rothsay. "We constantly talked of you. She spoke of your

kindness so prettily and so gratefully. Oh, Lepel, it is not her beauty only that has won my heart! Her nature

His voice failed him. For the first time in my remembrance of our long companionship, he burst into tears.

I was so shocked and distressed that I had the greatest difficulty in preserving my own selfcontrol. In the

"You are the favorite son," I reminded him. "Is there no gleam of hope in the future?"

It was expressed with a moderation which I had hardly dared to expect. Mr. Rothsay the elder admitted that

he had himself married for love, and that his wife's rank in the social scale (although higher than Susan's) had

"In such a family as ours," he wroteperhaps with pardonable pride"we raise our wives to our own

degree. But this young person labors under a double disadvantage. She is obscure, and she is poor. What have

This meant, as I interpreted it, that the main obstacle in the way was Susan's poverty. And I was rich! In the

excitement that possessed me, I followed the impulse of the moment headlong, like a child.

"While you were away from me," I said to Rothsay, "did you never once think of your old friend? Must I

remind you that I can make Susan your wife with one stroke of my pen?" He looked at me in silent surprise. I

took my checkbook from the drawer of the table, and placed the inkstand within reach. "Susan's marriage

portion," I said, "is a matter of a line of writing, with my name at the end of it."

He burst out with an exclamation that stopped me, just as my pen touched the paper.

"Good heavens!" he cried, "you are thinking of that play we saw at Rome! Are we on the stage? Are you

I was so startled by this wild allusion to the pastI recognized with such astonishment the reproduction of

one of the dramatic situations in the play, at a crisis in his life and minethat the use of the pen remained

suspended in my hand. For the first time in my life I was conscious of a sensation which resembled

"Don't think me ungrateful," he said. "You dear, kind, good fellow, consider for a moment, and you will see

that it can't be. What would be said of her and of me, if you made Susan rich with your money, and if I

married her? The poor innocent would be called your castoff mistress. People would say: 'He has behaved

The point of view which I had failed to see was put with terrible directness of expression: the conviction that

I was wrong was literally forced on me. What reply could I make? Rothsay evidently felt for me.

He held out his hand to say goodby. I insisted on his taking up his abode with me, for the present at least.

Ordinary persuasion failed to induce him to yield. I put it on selfish grounds next.

Through the wakeful night, I tried to consider what moral remedies might be within our reach. The one useful

conclusion at which I could arrive was to induce Rothsay to try what absence and change might do to

compose his mind. To advise him to travel alone was out of the question. I wrote to his one other old friend

The owner of the yacht had that very day given directions to have his vessel laid up for the winter season. He

at once countermanded the order by telegraph. "I am an idle man," he said, "and I am as fond of Rothsay as

you are. I will take him wherever he likes to go." It was not easy to persuade the object of these kind

intentions to profit by them. Nothing that I could say roused him. I spoke to him of his picture. He had left it

at my uncle's house, and neither knew nor cared to know whether it had been sold or not. The one

consideration which ultimately influenced Rothsay was presented by the doctor; speaking as follows (to

"I warned your friend," he said, "that his conduct was causing anxiety which you were not strong enough to

bear. On hearing this he at once promised to follow the advice which you had given to him, and to join the

yacht. As you know, he has kept his word. May I ask if he has ever followed the medical profession?"

Replying in the negative, I begged the doctor to tell me why he had put his question.

He answered, "Mr. Rothsay requested me to tell him all that I knew about your illness. I complied, of course;

mentioning that I had lately adopted a new method of treatment, and that I had every reason to feel confident

of the results. He was so interested in the symptoms of your illness, and in the remedies being tried, that he

took notes in his pocketbook of what I had said. When he paid me that compliment, I thought it possible that

I was pleased to hear of my friend's anxiety for my recovery. If I had been in better health, I might have asked

myself what reason he could have had for making those entries in his pocketbook.

The owner of the yacht wrote to beg that I would send him a report of my health, addressed to a port on the

south coast of England, to which they were then bound. "If we don't hear good news," he added, "I have

reason to fear that Rothsay will overthrow our plans for the recovery of his peace of mind by leaving the

With no small difficulty I roused myself sufficiently to write a few words with my own hand. They were

words that liedfor my poor friend's sake. In a postscript, I begged my correspondent to let me hear if the

THE weary days followed each otherand time failed to justify the doctor's confidence in his new remedies.

My uncle came to see me. He was so alarmed that he insisted on a consultation being held with his own

physician. Another great authority was called in, at the same time, by the urgent request of my own medical

man. These distinguished persons held more than one privy council, before they would consent to give a

positive opinion. It was an evasive opinion (encumbered with hard words of Greek and Roman origin) when

it was at last pronounced. I waited until they had taken their leave, and then appealed to my own doctor.

The doctor answered for himself as well as for his illustrious colleagues. "We have great faith in the new

I understood what that meant. They were afraid to tell me the truth. I insisted on the truth.

It was then the first week in December. I understood that I might reckonat the utmoston three weeks of

life. What I felt, on arriving at this conclusion, I shall not say. It is the one secret I keep from the readers of

The next day, Mrs. Rymer called once more to make inquiries. Not satisfied with the servant's report, she

entreated that I would consent to see her. My housekeeper, with her customary kindness, undertook to convey

the message. If she had been a wicked woman, would she have acted in this way? "Mrs. Rymer seems to be

sadly distressed," she pleaded. "As I understand, sir, she is suffering under some domestic anxiety which can

Did this anxiety relate to Susan? The bare doubt of it decided me. I consented to see Mrs. Rymer. Feeling it

necessary to control her in the use of her tongue, I spoke the moment the door was opened.

"I am suffering from illness; and I must ask you to spare me as much as possible. What do you wish to say to

The tone in which I addressed Mrs. Rymer would have offended a more sensitive woman. The truth is, she

had chosen an unfortunate time for her visit. There were fluctuations in the progress of my malady; there

were days when I felt better, and days when I felt worseand this was a bad day. Moreover, my uncle had

tried my temper that morning. He had called to see me, on his way to winter in the south of France by his

physician's advice; and he recommended a trial of change of air in my case also. His country house (only

thirty miles from London) was entirely at my disposal; and the railway supplied beds for invalids. It was

useless to answer that I was not equal to the effort. He reminded me that I had exerted myself to leave my

bedchamber for my armchair in the next room, and that a little additional resolution would enable me to

follow his advice. We parted in a state of irritation on either side which, so far as I was concerned, had not

The mere allusion to Susan had its composing effect on me. I said kindly that I hoped she was well.

Before I could ask what this meant, we were interrupted by the appearance of the servant, bringing the letters

which had arrived for me by the afternoon post. I told the man, impatiently, to put them on the table at my

"What is distressing Susan?" I inquired, without stopping to look at the letters.

"She is fretting, sir, about your illness. Oh, Mr. Lepel, if you would only try the sweet country air! If you only

"What are you thinking of?" I asked her. "A young girl like your daughter nursing Me! You ought to have

"I know what you ought to do!" She made that strange reply with a furtive look at me, half in anger, half in

I heard the woman plainlyand yet, I declare, I doubted the evidence of my senses.

"She's breaking her heart for you," Mrs. Rymer burst out. "She's been in love with you since you first

darkened our doorsand it will end in the neighbors finding it out. I did my duty to her; I tried to stop it; I

tried to prevent you from seeing her, when you went away. Too late; the mischief was done. When I see my

girl fading day by daycrying about you in secret, talking about you in her dreamsI can't stand it; I must

speak out. Oh, yes, I know how far beneath you she isthe daughter of your uncle's servant. But she's your

equal, sir, in the sight of Heaven. My lord's priest converted her only last yearand my Susan is as good a

"It's possible," I said, "that you may not be deliberately deceiving me. If you are yourself deceived, I am

bound to tell you the truth. Mr. Rothsay loves your daughter, and, what is more, Mr. Rothsay has reason to

"That Susan loves him?" she interposed, with a mocking laugh. "Oh, Mr. Lepel, is it possible that a clever

man like you can't see clearer than that? My girl in love with Mr. Rothsay! She wouldn't have looked at him a

second time if he hadn't talked to her about you. When I complained privately to my lord of Mr. Rothsay

hanging about the lodge, do you think she turned as pale as ashes, and cried when he passed through the gate,

She had complained of Rothsay to Lord LepelI understood her at last! She knew that my friend and all his

family were poor. She had put her own construction on the innocent interest that I had taken in her daughter.

Careless of the difference in rank, blind to the malady that was killing me, she was now bent on separating

Rothsay and Susan, by throwing the girl into the arms of a rich husband like myself!

"You are wasting your breath," I told her; "I don't believe one word you say to me."

"Believe Susan, then!" cried the reckless woman. "Let me bring her here. If she's too shamefaced to own the

This was intolerable. In justice to Susan, in justice to Rothsay, I insisted on silence. "No more of it!" I said.

"Take care how you provoke me. Don't you see that I am ill? don't you see that you are irritating me to no

She altered her tone. "I'll wait," she said, quietly, "while you compose yourself."

With those words, she walked to the window, and stood there with her back toward me. Was the wretch

taking advantage of my helpless condition? I stretched out my hand to ring the bell, and have her sent

awayand hesitated to degrade Susan's mother, for Susan's sake. In my state of prostration, how could I

arrive at a decision? My mind was dreadfully disturbed; I felt the imperative necessity of turning my thoughts

to some other subject. Looking about me, the letters on the table attracted my attention. Mechanically, I took

them up; mechanically I put them down again. Two of them slipped from my trembling fingers; my eyes fell

on the uppermost of the two. The address was in the handwriting of the good friend with whom Rothsay was

Just as I had been speaking of Rothsay, here was the news of him for which I had been waiting.

"There is, I fear, but little hope for our friendunless this girl on whom he has set his heart can (by some

lucky change of circumstances) become his wife. He has tried to master his weakness; but his own infatuation

is too much for him. He is really and truly in a state of despair. Two evenings sinceto give you a

melancholy example of what I meanI was in my cabin, when I heard the alarm of a man overboard. The

man was Rothsay. My sailingmaster, seeing that he was unable to swim, jumped into the sea and rescued

him, as I got on deck. Rothsay declares it to have been an accident; and everybody believes him but myself. I

know the state of his mind. Don't be alarmed; I will have him well looked after; and I won't give him up just

yet. We are still bound southward, with a fair wind. If the new scenes which I hope to show him prove to be

of no avail, I must reluctantly take him back to England. In that case, which I don't like to contemplate, you

He might return in a month's timereturn to hear of the death of the one friend, on whose power and will to

help him he might have relied. If I failed to employ in his interests the short interval of life still left to me,

could I doubt (after what I had just read) what the end would be? How could I help him? Oh, God! how could

Mrs. Rymer left the window, and returned to the chair which she had occupied when I first received her.

Still determined to reach her end, she tried again to force her unhappy daughter on me. "Will you consent,"

If she had been a little nearer to me, I am afraid I should have struck her. "You wretch!" I said, "do you know

A lie! If circumstances favored her, I knew, on Rothsay's authority, what Susan would do.

The thought burst on my mind, like light bursting on the eyes of a man restored to sight. If Susan agreed to go

through the form of marriage with a dying bridegroom, my rich widow could (and would) become Rothsay's

wife. Once more, the remembrance of the play at Rome returned, and set the last embers of resolution, which

sickness and suffering had left to me, in a flame. The devoted friend of that imaginary story had counted on

death to complete his generous purpose in vain: he had been condemned by the tribunal of man, and had been

reprieved. Iin his place, and with his selfsacrifice in my mindmight found a firmer trust in the future;

Encouraged by my silence, the obstinate woman persisted. "Won't you even send a message to Susan?" she

Mrs. Rymer started to her feet. "You leave it to Susan to be your wife, if she likes?"

In two weeks and a day from that time, the deed was done. When Rothsay returned to England, he would ask

WHATEVER may be thought of my conduct, let me say this in justice to myselfI was resolved that Susan

Half an hour after Mrs. Rymer had left my house, I wrote to her daughter, plainly revealing the motive which

led me to offer marriage, solely in the future interest of Rothsay and herself. "If you refuse," 1 said in

conclusion, "you may depend on my understanding you and feeling for you. But, if you consentthen I have

a favor to ask Never let us speak to one another of the profanation that we have agreed to commit, for your

I had formed a high opinion of Susantoo high an opinion as it seemed. Her reply surprised and

I stipulated that the marriage should be kept strictly secret, for a certain period. In my own mind I decided

that the interval should be held to expire, either on the day of my death, or on the day when Rothsay returned.

My next proceeding was to write in confidence to the priest whom I have already mentioned, in an earlier

part of these pages. He has reasons of his own for not permitting me to disclose the motive which induced

him to celebrate my marriage privately in the chapel at Lord Lepel's house. My uncle's desire that I should try

change of air, as offering a last chance of recovery, was known to my medical attendant, and served as a

sufficient reason (although he protested against the risk) for my removal to the country. I was carried to the

station, and placed on a bedslung by ropes to the ceiling of a saloon carriage, so as to prevent me from

feeling the vibration when the train was in motion. Faithful Mrs. Mozeen entreated to be allowed to

accompany me. I was reluctantly compelled to refuse compliance with this request, in justice to the claims of

my lord's housekeeper; who had been accustomed to exercise undivided authority in the household, and who

had made every preparation for my comfort. With her own hands, Mrs. Mozeen packed everything that I

required, including the medicines prescribed for the occasion. She was deeply affected, poor soul, when we

I bore the journeyhappily for me, it was a short onebetter than had been anticipated. For the first few

days that followed, the purer air of the country seemed, in some degree, to revive me. But the deadly sense of

weakness, the slow sinking of the vital power in me, returned as the time drew near for the marriage. The

ceremony was performed at night. Only Susan and her mother were present. No persons in the house but

I signed my new will (the priest and Mrs. Rymer being the witnesses) in my bed that night. It left everything

Obliged, it is needless to say, to preserve appearances, Susan remained at the lodge as usual. But it was

impossible to resist her entreaty to be allowed to attend on me, for a few hours daily, as assistant to the

regular nurse. When she was alone with me, and had no inquisitive eyes to dread, the poor girl showed a

depth of feeling, which I was unable to reconcile with the motives that could alone have induced her (as I

then supposed) to consent to the mockery of our marriage. On occasions when I was so far able to resist the

languor that oppressed me as to observe what was passing at my bedsideI saw Susan look at me as if there

were thoughts in her pressing for utterance which she hesitated to express. Once, she herself acknowledged

this. "I have so much to say to you," she owned, "when you are stronger and fitter to hear me." At other

times, her nerves seemed to be shaken by the spectacle of my sufferings. Her kind hands trembled and made

mistakes, when they had any nursing duties to perform near me. The servants, noticing her, used to say, "That

pretty girl seems to be the most awkward person in the house." On the day that followed the ceremony in the

chapel, this want of selfcontrol brought about an accident which led to serious results.

In removing the small chest which held my medicines from the shelf on which it was placed, Susan let it drop

on the floor. The two full bottles still left were so completely shattered that not even a teaspoonful of the

Shocked at what she had done, the poor girl volunteered to go herself to my chemist in London by the first

train. I refused to allow it. What did it matter to me now, if my death from exhaustion was hastened by a day

or two? Why need my life be prolonged artificially by drugs, when I had nothing left to live for? An excuse

for me which would satisfy others was easily found. I said that I had been long weary of physic, and that the

That night I did not wake quite so often as usual. When she came to me the next day, Susan noticed that I

looked better. The day after, the other nurse made the same observation. At the end of the week, I was able to

leave my bed, and sit by the fireside, while Susan read to me. Some mysterious change in my health had

completely falsified the prediction of the medical men. I sent to London for my doctorand told him that the

improvement in me had begun on the day when I left off taking his remedies. "Can you explain it?" I asked.

He answered that no such "resurrection from the dead" (as he called it) had ever happened in his long

experience. On leaving me, he asked for the latest prescriptions that had been written. I inquired what he was

going to do with them. "I mean to go to the chemist," he replied, "and to satisfy myself that your medicines

I owed it to Mrs. Mozeen's true interest in me to tell her what had happened. The same day I wrote to her. I

also mentioned what the doctor had said, and asked her to call on him, and ascertain if the prescriptions had

A more innocently intended letter than this never was written. And yet there are people who have declared

WHETHER I was so weakened by illness as to be incapable of giving my mind to more than one subject for

reflection at a time (that subject being now the extraordinary recovery of my health)or whether I was

preoccupied by the effort, which I was in honor bound to make, to resist the growing attraction to me of

Susan's societyI cannot presume to say. This only I know: when the discovery of the terrible position

toward Rothsay in which I now stood suddenly overwhelmed me, an interval of some days had passed. I

Susan was in the room. I was wholly unable to hide from her the sudden change of color which betrayed the

I don't think I heard her. The play was in my memory againthe fatal play, which had wound itself into the

texture of Rothsay's life and mine. In vivid remembrance, I saw once more the dramatic situation of the first

act, and shrank from the reflection of it in the disaster which had fallen on my friend and myself.

She looked at me in innocent surprise. "Has he met with some misfortune?" she asked, quietly.

"Misfortune"did she call it? Had I not said enough to disturb her tranquillity in mentioning Rothsay's

She came nearer to me with timid pleasure in her eyeswith the first faint light of a smile playing round her

"You say it very strangely," she murmured. "Surely, my dear one, you ought to love me? Since the first day

"You love me?" I repeated. "Have you read?" My voice failed me; I could say no more.

Am I a coward? The bare recollection of what followed that reply makes me tremble. Time has passed. I am a

new man now; my health is restored; my happiness is assured: I ought to be able to write on. No: it is not to

be done. How can I think coolly? how force myself to record the suffering that I innocently, most innocently,

inflicted on the sweetest and truest of women? Nothing saved us from a parting as absolute as the parting that

follows death but the confession that had been wrung from me at a time when my motive spoke for itself. The

artless avowal of her affection had been justified, had been honored, by the words which laid my heart at her

She had risen to leave me. In a last look, we had silently resigned ourselves to wait, apart from each other, for

the day of reckoning that must follow Rothsay's return, when we heard the sound of carriagewheels on the

He looked first at Susanthen at me. In both of us be saw the traces that told of agitation endured, but not

"We were thinking of you, and speaking of you," I replied, "just before you came in."

"We?" he repeated, turning toward Susan once more. After a pause, he offered me his handand drew it

"I am waiting, Rothsay, until I know that we are the same firm friends as ever."

She gave him her hand cordially. "May I stay here?" she said, addressing herself to me.

In my situation at that moment, I understood the generous purpose that animated her. But she had suffered

enough alreadyI led her gently to the door. "It will be better," I whispered, "if you will wait downstairs in

the library." She hesitated. "What will they say in the house?" she objected, thinking of the servants and of

the humble position which she was still supposed to occupy. "It matters nothing what they say, now." I told

"There seems to be some private understanding between you," Rothsay said, when we were alone.

"You shall hear what it is," I answered. "But I must beg you to excuse me if I speak first of myself."

"Quite needless, Lepel. I met your doctor this morning. I know that a council of physicians decided you

"They might have proved to be right," Rothsay rejoined, "but for the accident which spilled your medicine

I could hardly believe that I understood him. "Do you assert," I said, "that my medicine would have killed

"Let me have your explanation first. I was not prepared to find Susan in your room. I was surprised to see

traces of tears in her face. Something has happened in my absence. Am I concerned in it?"

I said it quietlyin full possession of myself. The trial of fortitude through which I had already passed

seemed to have blunted my customary sense of feeling. I approached the disclosure which I was now bound

to make with steady resolution, resigned to the worst that could happen when the truth was known.

"Do you remember the time," I resumed, "when I was so eager to serve you that I proposed to make Susan

"Do you remember asking me if I was thinking of the play we saw together at Rome? Is the story as present

"You asked if I was performing the part of the Marquisand if you were the Count. Rothsay! the devotion

of that ideal character to his friend has been my devotion; his conviction that his death would justify what he

had done for his friend's sake, has been my conviction; and as it ended with him, so it has ended with

"Bear this in mind," I said. "When I married her, I was doomed to death. Nay, more. In your interestsas

He stepped up to me, in silence, and raised his hand with a threatening gesture.

That action at once deprived me of my selfpossession. I spoke with the ungovernable rashness of a boy.

"Insult me," I repeated; "it is one way out of the unendurable situation in which we are placed. You may trust

me to challenge you. Duels are still fought on the Continent; I will follow you abroad; I will choose pistols; I

will take care that we fight on the fatal foreign system; and I will purposely miss you. Make her what I

"Is that your refuge?" he asked, scornfully. "No! I won't help you to commit suicide."

God forgive me! I was possessed by a spirit of reckless despair; I did my best to provoke him.

"Reconsider your decision," I said; "and rememberyou tried to commit suicide yourself."

He turned quickly to the door, as if he distrusted his own powers of selfcontrol.

I went to the window. I opened it and let the cold wintry air blow over my burning head. I don't know how

long I sat at the window. There came a time when I saw Rothsay on the house steps. He walked rapidly

toward the park gate. His head was down; he never once looked back at the room in which he had left me.

As he passed out of my sight, I felt a hand laid gently on my shoulder. Susan had returned to me.

"He will not come back," she said. "Try still to remember him as your old friend. He asks you to forgive and

She had made the peace between us. I was deeply touched; my eyes filled with tears as I looked at her. She

kissed me on the forehead and went out. I afterward asked what had passed between them when Rothsay

spoke with her in the library. She never has told me what they said to each other; and she never will. She is

Later in the day I was told that Mrs. Rymer had called, and wished to "pay her respects."

I refused to see her. Whatever claim she might have otherwise had on my consideration had been forfeited by

the infamy of her conduct, when she intercepted my letter to Susan. Her sense of injury on receiving my

message was expressed in writing, and was sent to me the same evening. The last sentence in her letter was

"However your pride may despise me," she wrote, "I am indebted to you for the rise in life that I have always

desired. You may refuse to see mebut you can't prevent my being the motherinlaw of a gentleman."

Soon afterward, I received a visit which I had hardly ventured to expect. Busy as he was in London, my

"You shall judge for yourself," he replied. "I come from Mr. Rothsay, to say for him what he is not able to

"Yes. He has sailed to join the expedition of rescueI ought rather to call it the forlorn hopewhich is to

In other words, he had gone to seek death in the fatal footsteps of Burke and Wills. I could not trust myself to

The doctor saw that there was a reason for my silence, and that he would do well not to notice it. He changed

"May I ask," he said, "if you have heard from the servants left in charge at your house in London?"

"Something has happened which they are evidently afraid to tell you, knowing the high opinion which you

have of Mrs. Mozeen. She has suddenly quitted your service, and has gone, nobody knows where. I have

There was this inscription on the address: "For my good master, to wait until he returns home." The few lines

"Distressing circumstances oblige me to leave you, sir, and do not permit me to enter into particulars. In

asking your pardon, I offer my sincere thanks for your kindness, and my fervent prayers for your welfare."

That was all. The date had a special interest for me. Mrs. Mozeen had written on the day when she must have

"There are two explanations suggested," the doctor informed me. "One of them, which is offered by your

female servants, seems to me absurd. They declare that Mrs. Mozeen, at her mature age, was in love with the

young man who is your footman! It is even asserted that she tried to recommend herself to him, by speaking

of the money which she expected to bring to the man who would make her his wife. The footman's reply,

informing her that he was already engaged to be married, is alleged to be the cause which has driven her from

I begged that the doctor would not trouble himself to repeat more of what my women servants had said.

"The other explanation," the doctor interposed, "comes from Mr. Rothsay, and is of a very serious kind."

"A view that startles me," the doctor said. "You remember my telling you of the interest he took in your

symptoms, and in the remedies I had employed? Well! Mr. Rothsay accounts for the incomprehensible

recovery of your health by asserting that poisonprobably administered in small quantities, and intermitted

at intervals in fear of discoveryhas been mixed with your medicine; and he asserts that the guilty person is

It was impossible that I could openly express the indignation that I felt on hearing this. My position toward

"May I ask," the doctor continued, "if Mrs. Mozeen was aware that she had a legacy to expect at your death?"

"Did she know that I doubted if my prescriptions had been properly prepared, and that I intended to make

"Do you think her brother told her that I was referred to him, when I went to the chemists?"

I repeat here my conviction of my housekeeper's innocence. I protest against the cruelty which accuses her.

And, whate ver may have been her motive in suddenly leaving my service, I declare that she still possesses

my sympathy and esteem, and I invite her to return to me if she ever sees these lines.

I have only to add, by way of postscript, that we have heard of the safe return of the expedition of rescue.

Time, as my wife and I both hope, may yet convince Rothsay that he will not be wrong in counting on

In the meanwhile we possess a memorial of our absent friend. We have bought his picture.

"THE Captain is still in the prime of life," the widow remarked. "He has given up his ship; he possesses a

sufficient income, and he has nobody to live with him. I should like to know why he doesn't marry."

"The Captain was excessively rude to Me," the widow's younger sister added, on her side. "When we took

leave of him in London, I asked if there was any chance of his joining us at Brighton this season. He turned

his back on me as if I had mortally offended him; and he made me this extraordinary answer: 'Miss! I hate the

sight of the sea.' The man has been a sailor all his life. What does he mean by saying that he hates the sight of

These questions were addressed to a third person presentand the person was a man. He was entirely at the

mercy of the widow and the widow's sister. The other ladies of the familywho might have taken him under

their protectionhad gone to an evening concert. He was known to be the Captain's friend, and to be well

acquainted with events in the Captain's life. As it happened, he had reasons for hesitating to revive

associations connected with those events. But what polite alternative was left to him? He must either inflict

disappointment, and, worse still, aggravate curiosityor he must resign himself to circumstances, and tell

the ladies why the Captain would never marry, and why (sailor as he was) he hated the sight of the sea. They

were both young women and handsome womenand the person to whom they had appealed (being a man)

followed the example of submission to the sex, first set in the garden of Eden. He enlightened the ladies, in

THE British merchantman, Fortuna, sailed from the port of Liverpool (at a date which it is not necessary to

specify) with the morning tide. She was bound for certain islands in the Pacific Ocean, in search of a cargo of

sandalwooda commodity which, in those days, found a ready and profitable market in the Chinese

A large discretion was reposed in the Captain by the owners, who knew him to be not only trustworthy, but a

man of rare ability, carefully cultivated during the leisure hours of a seafaring life. Devoted heart and soul to

his professional duties, he was a hard reader and an excellent linguist as well. Having had considerable

experience among the inhabitants of the Pacific Islands, he had attentively studied their characters, and had

mastered their language in more than one of its many dialects. Thanks to the valuable information thus

obtained, the Captain was never at a loss to conciliate the islanders. He had more than once succeeded in

Possessing these merits, he had also his fair share of human defects. For instance, he was a little too

conscious of his own good looksof his bright chestnut hair and whiskers, of his beautiful blue eyes, of his

fair white skin, which many a woman had looked at with the admiration that is akin to envy. His shapely

hands were protected by gloves; a broadbrimmed hat sheltered his complexion in fine weather from the sun.

He was nice in the choice of his perfumes; he never drank spirits, and the smell of tobacco was abhorrent to

him. New men among his officers and his crew, seeing him in his cabin, perfectly dressed, washed, and

brushed until he was an object speckless to look upona merchantcaptain soft of voice, careful in his

choice of words, devoted to study in his leisure hourswere apt to conclude that they had trusted themselves

at sea under a commander who was an anomalous mixture of a schoolmaster and a dandy. But if the slightest

infraction of discipline took place, or if the storm rose and the vessel proved to be in peril, it was soon

discovered that the gloved hands held a rod of iron; that the soft voice could make itself heard through wind

and sea from one end of the deck to the other; and that it issued orders which the greatest fool on board

discovered to be orders that had saved the ship. Throughout his professional life, the general impression that

this variously gifted man produced on the little world about him was always the same. Some few liked him;

everybody respected him; nobody understood him. The Captain accepted these results. He persisted in

reading his books and protecting his complexion, with this result: his owners shook hands with him, and put

The Fortuna touched at Rio for water, and for supplies of food which might prove useful in case of scurvy. In

due time the ship rounded Cape Horn, favored by the finest weather ever known in those latitudes by the

oldest hand on board. The mateone Mr. Duncalfa boozing, wheezing, selfconfident old seadog, with

a flaming face and a vast vocabulary of oaths, swore that he didn't like it. "The foul weather's coming, my

lads," said Mr. Duncalf. "Mark my words, there'll be wind enough to take the curl out of the Captain's

For one uneventful week, the ship cruised in search of the islands to which the owners had directed her. At

the end of that time the wind took the predicted liberties with the Captain's whiskers; and Mr. Duncalf stood

For three days and three nights the Fortuna ran before the storm, at the mercy of wind and sea. On the fourth

morning the gale blew itself out, the sun appeared again toward noon, and the Captain was able to take an

observation. The result informed him that he was in a part of the Pacific Ocean with which he was entirely

Mr. Duncalf, as became his rank, was consulted first. His opinion possessed the merit of brevity. "My lads,

this ship's bewitched. Take my word for it, we shall wish ourselves back in our own latitudes before we are

many days older." Which, being interpreted, meant that Mr. Duncalf was lost, like his superior officer, in a

The remaining members of the council having no suggestions to offer, left the Captain to take his own way.

He decided (the weather being fine again) to stand on under an easy press of sail for fourandtwenty hours

Soon after nightfall, something did come of it. The lookout forward hailed the quarterdeck with the dread

cry, "Breakers ahead!" In less than a minute more, everybody heard the crash of the broken water. The

Fortuna was put about, and came round slowly in the light wind. Thanks to the timely alarm and the fine

weather, the safety of the vessel was easily provided for. They kept her under a short sail; and they waited for

The dawn showed them in the distance a glorious green island, not marked in the ship's chartsan island girt

about by a coralreef, and having in its midst a highpeaked mountain which looked, through the telescope,

like a mountain of volcanic origin. Mr. Duncalf, taking his morning draught of rum and water, shook his

groggy old head and said (and swore): "My lads, I don't like the look of that island." The Captain was of a

different opinion. He had one of the ship's boats put into the water; he armed himself and four of his crew

who accompanied him; and away he went in the morning sunlight to visit the island.

Skirting round the coral reef, they found a natural breach, which proved to be broad enough and deep enough

not only for the passage of the boat, but of the ship herself if needful. Crossing the broad inner belt of smooth

water, they approached the golden sands of the island, strew ed with magnificent shells, and crowded by the

dusky islandersmen, women, and children, all waiting in breathless astonishment to see the strangers land.

The Captain kept the boat off, and examined the islanders carefully. The innocent, simple people danced, and

sang, and ran into the water, imploring their wonderful white visitors by gestures to come on shore. Not a

creature among them carried arms of any sort; a hospitable curiosity animated the entire population. The men

cried out, in their smooth musical language, "Come and eat!" and the plump blackeyed women, all laughing

together, added their own invitation, "Come and be kissed!" Was it in mortals to resist such temptations as

these? The Captain led the way on shore, and the women surrounded him in an instant, and screamed for joy

at the glorious spectacle of his whiskers, his complexion, and his gloves. So the mariners from the far north

THE morning wore on. Mr. Duncalf, in charge of the ship, cursing the island over his rum and water, as a

"beastly green strip of a place, not laid down in any Christian chart," was kept waiting four mortal hours

before the Captain returned to his command, and reported himself to his officers as follows:

He had found his knowledge of the Polynesian dialects sufficient to make himself in some degree understood

by the natives of the new island. Under the guidance of the chief he had made a first journey of exploration,

and had seen for himself that the place was a marvel of natural beauty and fertility. The one barren spot in it

was the peak of the volcanic mountain, composed of crumbling rock; originally no doubt lava and ashes,

which had cooled and consolidated with the lapse of time. So far as he could see, the crater at the top was

now an extinct crater. But, if he had understood rightly, the chief had spoken of earthquakes and eruptions at

certain bygone periods, some of which lay within his own earliest recollections of the place.

Adverting next to considerations of practical utility, the Captain announced that he had seen sandalwood

enough on the island to load a dozen ships, and that the natives were willing to part with it for a few toys and

trinkets generally distributed among them. To the mate's disgust, the Fortuna was taken inside the reef that

day, and was anchored before sunset in a natural harbor. Twelve hours of recreation, beginning with the next

morning, were granted to the men, under the wise restrictions in such cases established by the Captain. That

interval over, the work of cutting the precious wood and loading the ship was to be unremittingly pursued.

Mr. Duncalf had the first watch after the Fortuna had been made snug. He took the boatswain aside (an

ancient seadog like himself), and he said in a gruff whisper: "My lad, this here ain't the island laid down in

our sailing orders. See if mischief don't come of disobeying orders before we are many days older."

Nothing in the shape of mischief happened that night. But at sunrise the next morning a suspicious

circumstance occurred; and Mr. Duncalf whispered to the boatswain: "What did I tell you?" The Captain and

the chief of the islanders held a private conference in the cabin, and the Captain, after first forbidding any

communication with the shore until his return, suddenly left the ship, alone with the chief, in the chief's own

What did this strange disappearance mean? The Captain himself, when he took his seat in the canoe, would

have been puzzled to answer that question. He asked, in the nearest approach that his knowledge could make

to the language used in the island, whether he would be a long time or a short time absent from his ship.

The chief answered mysteriously (as the Captain understood him) in these words: "Long time or short time,

Paddling his light little boat in silence over the smooth water inside the reef, the chief took his visitor ashore

at a part of the island which was quite new to the Captain. The two crossed a ravine, and ascended an

The Captain looked in the direction indicated to him, and discovered a second and a smaller island, lying

away to the southwest. Taking out his telescope from the case by which it was slung at his back, he narrowly

examined the place. Two of the native canoes were lying off the shore of the new island; and the men in them

appeared to be all kneeling or crouching in curiously chosen attitudes. Shifting the range of his glass, he next

beheld a whiterobed figure, tall and solitarythe one inhabitant of the island whom he could discover. The

man was standing on the highest point of a rocky cape. A fire was burning at his feet. Now he lifted his arms

solemnly to the sky; now he dropped some invisible fuel into the fire, which made a blue smoke; and now he

cast other invisible objects into the canoes floating beneath him, which the islanders reverently received with

bodies that crouched in abject submission. Lowering his telescope, the Captain looked round at the chief for

an explanation. The chief gave the explanation readily. His language was interpreted by the English stranger

"Wonderful white man! the island you see yonder is a Holy Island. As such it is Tabooan island sanctified

and set apart. The honorable person whom you notice on the rock is an allpowerful favorite of the gods. He

is by vocation a Sorcerer, and by rank a Priest. You now see him casting charms and blessings into the canoes

of our fishermen, who kneel to him for fine weather and great plenty of fish. If any profane person, native or

stranger, presumes to set foot on that island, my otherwise peaceful subjects will (in the performance of a

religious duty) put that person to death. Mention this to your men. They will be fed by my male people, and

fondled by my female people, so long as they keep clear of the Holy Isle. As they value their lives, let them

respect this prohibition. Is it understood between us? Wonderful white man! my canoe is waiting for you. Let

Understanding enough of the chief's language (illustrated by his gestures) to receive in the right spirit the

communication thus addressed to him, the Captain repeated the warning to the ship's company in the plainest

possible English. The officers and men then took their holiday on shore, with the exception of Mr. Duncalf,

who positively refused to leave the ship. For twelve delightful hours they were fed by the male people, and

fondled by the female people, and then they were mercilessly torn from the fleshpots and the arms of their

new friends, and set to work on the sandalwood in good earnest. Mr. Duncalf superintended the loading, and

waited for the mischief that was to come of disobeying the owners' orders with a confidence worthy of a

STRANGELY enough, chance once more declared itself in favor of the mate's point of view. The mischief

did actually come; and the chosen instrument of it was a handsome young islander, who was one of the sons

The Captain had taken a fancy to the sweettempered, intelligent lad. Pursuing his studies in the dialect of the

island, at leisure hours, he had made the chief's son his tutor, and had instructed the youth in English by way

of return. More than a month had passed in this intercourse, and the ship's lading was being rapidly

completedwhen, in an evil hour, the talk between the two turned on the subject of the Holy Island.

The chief's son looked round him suspiciously. "Promise me you won't tell anybody!" he began very

"There is one other person on the island," the lad whispered; "a person to feast your eyes upon, if you could

only see her! She is the Priest's daughter. Removed to the island in her infancy, she has never left it since. In

that sacred solitude she has only looked on two human beingsher father and her mother. I once saw her

from my canoe, taking care not to attract her notice, or to approach too near the holy soil. Oh, so young, dear

master, and, oh, so beautiful!" The chief's son completed the description by kissing his own hands as an

The Captain's fine blue eyes sparkled. He asked no more questions; but, later on that day, he took his

telescope with him, and paid a secret visit to the eminence which overlooked the Holy Island. The next day,

and the next, he privately returned to the same place. On the fourth day, fatal Destiny favored him. He

Standing alone upon the cape on which he had already seen her father, she was feeding some tame birds

which looked like turtledoves. The glass showed the Captain her white robe, fluttering in the seabreeze;

her long black hair falling to her feet; her slim and supple young figure; her simple grace of attitude, as she

turned this way and that, attending to the wants of her birds. Before her was the blue ocean; behind her rose

the lustrous green of the island forest. He looked and looked until his eyes and arms ached. When she

disappeared among the trees, followed by her favorite birds, the Captain shut up his telescope with a sigh, and

From that hour he became an altered man; he was languid, silent, interested in nothing. General opinion, on

A week more elapsed, and the officers and crew began to talk of the voyage to their market in China. The

Captain refused to fix a day for sailing. He even took offense at being asked to decide. Instead of sleeping in

Not many hours afterward (just before daybreak), Mr. Duncalf, snoring in his cabin on deck, was aroused by

a hand laid on his shoulder. The swinging lamp, still alight, showed him the dusky face of the chief's son,

convulsed with terror. By wild signs, by disconnected words in the little English which he had learned, the

lad tried to make the mate understand him. Dense Mr. Duncalf, understanding nothing, hailed the second

officer, on the opposite side of the deck. The second officer was young and intelligent; he rightly interpreted

The Captain had broken his own rules. Watching his opportunity, under cover of the night, he had taken a

canoe, and had secretly crossed the channel to the Holy Island. No one had been near him at the time but the

chief's son. The lad had vainly tried to induce him to abandon his desperate enterprise, and had vainly waited

on the shore in the hope of hearing the sound of the paddle announcing his return. Beyond all reasonable

The one chance for his life was to conceal what he had done, until the ship could be got out of the harbor, and

then (if no harm had come to him in the interval) to rescue him after nightfall. It was decided to spread the

report that he had really been taken ill, and that he was confined to his cabin. The chief's son, whose heart the

Captain's kindness had won, could be trusted to do this, and to keep the secret faithfully for his good friend's

Toward noon, the next day, they attempted to take the ship to sea, and failed for want of wind. Hour by hour,

the heat grew more oppressive. As the day declined, there were ominous appearances in the western heaven.

The natives, who had given some trouble during the day by their anxiety to see the Captain, and by their

curiosity to know the cause of the sudden preparations for the ship's departure, all went ashore together,

looking suspiciously at the sky, and reappeared no more. Just at midnight, the ship (still in her snug berth

inside the reef) suddenly trembled from her keel to her uppermost masts. Mr. Duncalf, surrounded by the

startled crew, shook his knotty fist at the island as if he could see it in the dark. "My lads, what did I tell you?

With the morning the threatening aspect of the weather unexpectedly disappeared. A faint hot breeze from the

land, just enough to give the ship steerageway, offered Mr. Duncalf a chance of getting to sea. Slowly the

Fortuna, with the mate himself at the wheel, half sailed, half drifted into the open ocean. At a distance of

barely two miles from the island the breeze was felt no more, and the vessel lay becalmed for the rest of the

At night the men waited their orders, expecting to be sent after their Captain in one of the boats. The intense

darkness, the airless heat, and a second shock of earthquake (faintly felt in the ship at her present distance

from the land) warned the mate to be cautious. "I smell mischief in the air," said Mr. Duncalf. "The Captain

Still no change came with the new day. The dead calm continued, and the airless heat. As the day declined,

another ominous appearance became visible. A thin line of smoke was discovered through the telescope,

ascending from the topmost peak of the mountain on the main island. Was the volcano threatening an

eruption? The mate, for one, entertained no doubt of it. "By the Lord, the place is going to burst up!" said Mr.

WHAT was the Captain doing? and what chance had the crew of finding him that night?

He had committed himself to his desperate adventure, without forming any plan for the preservation of his

own safety; without giving even a momentary consideration to the consequences which might follow the risk

that he had run. The charming figure that he had seen haunted him night and day. The image of the innocent

creature, secluded from humanity in her island solitude, was the one image that filled his mind. A man,

passing a woman in the street, acts on the impulse to turn and follow her, and in that one thoughtless moment

shapes the destiny of his future life. The Captain had acted on a similar impulse, when he took the first canoe

he had found on the beach, and shaped his reckless course for the tabooed island.

Reaching the shore while it was still dark, he did one sensible thinghe hid the canoe so that it might not

betray him when the daylight came. That done, he waited for the morning on the outskirts of the forest.

The trembling light of dawn revealed the mysterious solitude around him. Following the outer limits of the

trees, first in one direction, then in another, and finding no trace of any living creature, he decided on

An hour of walking brought him to rising ground. Continuing the ascent, he got clear of the trees, and stood

on the grassy top of a broad cliff which overlooked the sea. An open hut was on the cliff. He cautiously

looked in, and discovered that it was empty. The few household utensils left about, and the simple bed of

leaves in a corner, were covered with fine sandy dust. Nightbirds flew blundering out of the inner cavities of

the roof, and took refuge in the shadows of the forest below. It was plain that the hut had not been inhabited

Standing at the open doorway and considering what he should do next, the Captain saw a bird flying toward

him out of the forest. It was a turtledove, so tame that it fluttered close up to him. At the same moment the

sound of sweet laughter became audible among the trees. His heart beat fast; he advanced a few steps and

stopped. In a moment more the nymph of the island appeared, in her white robe, ascending the cliff in pursuit

of her truant bird. She saw the strange man, and suddenly stood still; struck motionless by the amazing

discovery that had burst upon her. The Captain approached, smiling and holding out his hand. She never

moved; she stood before him in helpless wondermenther lovely black eyes fixed spellbound on his face;

her dusky bosom palpitating above the fallen folds of her robe; her rich red lips parted in mute astonishment.

Feasting his eyes on her beauty in silence, the Captain after a while ventured to speak to her in the language

of the main island. The sound of his voice, addressing her in the words that she understood, roused the lovely

creature to action. She started, stepped close up to him, and dropped on her knees at his feet.

"My father worships invisible deities," she said, softly. "Are you a visible deity? Has my mother sent you?"

She pointed as she spoke to the deserted hut behind them. "You appear," she went on, "in the place where my

mother died. Is it for her sake that you show yourself to her child? Beautiful deity, come to the

The Captain gently raised her from the ground. If her father saw him, he was a doomed man.

Infatuated as he was, he had sense enough left to announce himself plainly in his own character, as a mortal

creature arriving from a distant land. The girl instantly drew back from him with a look of terror.

"He is not like my father," she said to herself; "he is not like me. Is he the lying demon of the prophecy? Is he

The Captain's experience of the sex showed him the only sure way out of the awkward position in which he

Her eyes met his eyes; a faint smile trembled on her lips. He ventured on asking what she meant by the

predestined destruction of the island. She held up her hand solemnly, and repeated the prophecy.

The Holy Island was threatened with destruction by an evil being, who would one day appear on its shores.

To avert the fatality the place had been sanctified and set apart, under the protection of the gods and their

priest. Here was the reason for the taboo, and for the extraordinary rigor with which it was enforced.

Listening to her with the deepest interest, the Captain took her hand and pressed it gently.

Her slim brown fingers closed frankly on his hand. "You feel soft and friendly," she said with the fearless

The next moment she snatched her hand away from him; the sense of his danger had suddenly forced itself on

her mind. "If my father sees you," she said, "he will light the signal fire at the Temple, and the people from

the other island will come here and put you to death. Where is your canoe? No! It is daylight. My father may

see you on the water." She considered a little, and, approaching him, laid her hands on his shoulders. "Stay

here till nightfall," she resumed. "My father never comes this way. The sight of the place where my mother

died is horrible to him. You are safe here. Promise to stay where you are till nighttime."

Freed from anxiety so far, the girl's mobile temperament recovered its native cheerfulness, its sweet gayety

and spirit. She admired the beautiful stranger as she might have admired a new bird that had flown to her to

be fondled with the rest. She patted his fair white skin, and wished she had a skin like it. She lifted the great

glossy folds of her long black hair, and compared it with the Captain's bright curly locks, and longed to

change colors with him from the bottom of her heart. His dress was a wonder to her; his watch was a new

revelation. She rested her head on his shoulder to listen delightedly to the ticking, as he held the watch to her

ear. Her fragrant breath played on his face, her warm, supple figure rested against him softly. The Captain's

arm stole round her waist, and the Captain's lips gently touched her cheek. She lifted her head with a look of

pleased surprise. "Thank you," said the child of Nature, simply. "Kiss me again; I like it. May I kiss you?"

The tame turtledove perched on her shoulder as she gave the Captain her first kiss, and diverted her

thoughts to the pets that she had left, in pursuit of the truant dove. "Come," she said, "and see my birds. I

keep them on this side of the forest. There is no danger, so long as you don't show yourself on the other side.

My name is Aimata. Aimata will take care of you. Oh, what a beautiful white neck you have!" She put her

arm admiringly round his neck. The Captain's arm held her tenderly to him. Slowly the two descended the

cliff, and were lost in the leafy solitudes of the forest. And the tame dove fluttered before them, a winged

Aimata's resolution to send him away in the darkness was a forgotten resolution already. She had let him

persuade her that he was in no danger, so long as he remained in the hut on the cliff; and she had promised, at

parting, to return to him while the Priest was still sleeping, at the dawn of day.

He was alone in the hut. The thought of the innocent creature whom he loved was sorrowfully as well as

tenderly present to his mind. He almost regretted his rash visit to the island. "I will take her with me to

England," he said to himself. "What does a sailor care for the opinion of the world? Aimata shall be my

The intense heat oppressed him. He stepped out on the cliff, toward midnight, in search of a breath of air.

At that moment, the first shock of earthquake (felt in the ship while she was inside the reef) shook the ground

he stood on. He instantly thought of the volcano on the main island. Had he been mistaken in supposing the

crater to be extinct? Was the shock that he had just felt a warning from the volcano, communicated through a

submarine connection between the two islands? He waited and watched through the hours of darkness, with a

vague sense of apprehension, which was not to be reasoned away. With the first light of daybreak he

descended into the forest, and saw the lovely being whose safety was already precious to him as his own,

She waved her hand distractedly as she approached him. "Go!" she cried; "go away in your canoe before our

He did his best to quiet her alarm. Was it the shock of earthquake that had frightened her? No: it was more

than the shock of earthquakeit was something terrible which had followed the shock. There was a lake near

the Temple, the waters of which were supposed to be heated by subterranean fires. The lake had risen with

the earthquake, had bubbled furiously, and had then melted away into the earth and been lost. Her father,

viewing the portent with horror, had gone to the cape to watch the volcano on the main island, and to implore

by prayers and sacrifices the protection of the gods. Hearing this, the Captain entreated Aimata to let him see

the emptied lake, in the absence of the Priest. She hesitated; but his influence was allpowerful. He prevailed

Reaching the furthest limit of the trees, they came out upon open rocky ground which sloped gently

downward toward the center of the island. Having crossed this space, they arrived at a natural amphitheater of

rock. On one side of it the Temple appeared, partly excavated, partly formed by a natural cavern. In one of

the lateral branches of the cavern was the dwelling of the Priest and his daughter. The mouth of it looked out

on the rocky basin of the lake. Stooping over the edge, the Captain discovered, far down in the empty depths,

Aimata pointed to the abyss, and hid her face on his bosom. "My father says," she whispered, "that it is your

She looked up at him with a quick glance of reproach. "Do you think I would tell him, and put your life in

peril?" she asked. "My father felt the destroyer of the island in the earthquake; my father saw the coming

destruction in the disappearance of the lake." Her eyes rested on him with a loving languor. "Are you indeed

the demon of the prophecy?" she said, winding his hair round her finger. "I am not afraid of you, if you are. I

am a creature bewitched; I love the demon." She kissed him passionately. "I don't care if I die," she

The Captain made no attempt to reason with her. He took the wiser wayhe appealed to her feelings.

"You will come and live with me happily in my own country," he said. "My ship is waiting for us. I will take

She clapped her hands for joy. Then she thought of her father, and drew back from him in tears.

The Captain understood her. "Let us leave this dreary place," he suggested. "We will talk about it in the cool

She gave him her hand. "Where I first said I loved you!" she repeated, smiling tenderly as she looked at him.

Mr. Duncalf came on deck after his supper. The thin line of smoke, seen rising from the peak of the mountain

that evening, was now succeeded by ominous flashes of fire from the same quarter, intermittently visible. The

faint hot breeze from the land was felt once more. "There's just an air of wind," Mr. Duncalf remarked. "I'll

One of the boats was lowered into the waterunder command of the second mate, who had already taken the

bearings of the tabooed island by daylight. Four of the men were to go with him, and they were all to be well

"You will keep a lookout, sir, with a lantern in the bows. If the natives annoy you, you know what to do.

Always shoot natives. When you get anigh the island, you will fire a gun and sing out for the Captain."

Without taking the slightest notice of the astonishment that he had caused, the commander of the

Fortuna paddled his canoe to the side of the ship. Instead of ascending to the deck, he stepped into the boat,

waiting alongside. "Lend me your pistols," he said quietly to the second officer, "and oblige me by taking

your men back to their duties on board." He looked up at Mr. Duncalf and gave some further directions. "If

there is any change in the weather, keep the ship standing off and on, at a safe distance from the land, and

throw up a rocket from time to time to show your position. Expect me on board again by sunrise."

"What!" cried the mate. "Do you mean to say you are going back to the islandin that boatall by

"I am going back to the island," answered the Captain, as quietly as ever; "in this boatall by myself." He

"You're deserting your duty!" the old seadog shouted, with one of his loudest oaths.

"Attend to my directions," the Captain shouted back, as he drifted away into the darkness.

Mr. Duncalfviolently agitated for the first time in his lifetook leave of his superior officer, with a

ALONE in the boat, the Captain looked with a misgiving mind at the flashing of the volcano on the main

If events had favored him, he would have removed Aimata to the shelter of the ship on the day when he saw

the emptied basin on the lake. But the smoke of the Priest's sacrifice had been discovered by the chief; and he

had dispatched two canoes with instructions to make inquiries. One of the canoes had returned; the other was

kept in waiting off the cape, to place a means of communicating with the main island at the disposal of the

Priest. The second shock of earthquake had naturally increased the alarm of the chief. He had sent messages

to the Priest, entreating him to leave the island, and other messages to Aimata suggesting that she should

exert her influence over her father, if he hesitated. The Priest refused to leave the Temple. He trusted in his

gods and his sacrificeshe believed they might avert the fatality that threatened his sanctuary.

Yielding to the holy man, the chief sent reenforcements of canoes to take their turn at keeping watch off the

headland. Assisted by torches, the islanders were on the alert (in superstitious terror of the demon of the

prophecy) by night as well as by day. The Captain had no alternative but to keep in hiding, and to watch his

opportunity of approaching the place in which he had concealed his canoe. It was only after Aimata had left

him as usual, to return to her father at the close of evening, that the chances declared themselves in his favor.

The fireflashes from the mountain, visible when the night came, had struck terror into the hearts of the men

on the watch. They thought of their wives, their children, and their possessions on the main island, and they

one and all deserted their Priest. The Captain seized the opportunity of communicating with the ship, and of

exchanging a frail canoe which he was ill able to manage, for a swiftsailing boat capable of keeping the sea

As he now neared the land, certain small sparks of red, moving on the distant water, informed him that the

Carefully avoiding the lights, he reached his own side of the island without accident, and, guided by the

boat's lantern, anchored under the cliff. He climbed the rocks, advanced to the door of the hut, and was met,

"I dreamed that some dreadful misfortune had parted us forever," she said; "and I came here to see if my

dream was true. You have taught me what it is to be miserable; I never felt my heart ache till I looked into the

hut and found that you had gone. Now I have seen you, I am satisfied. No! you must not go back with me.

My father may be out looking for me. It is you that are in danger, not I. I know the forest as well by dark as

"Now you are here," he said, "why should I not place you at once in safety? I have been to the ship; I have

brought back one of the boats. The darkness will befriend uslet us embark while we can."

"Your father is in no danger, my love. The canoes are waiting for him at the cape; I saw the lights as I

With that reply he drew her out of the hut and led her toward the sea. Not a breath of the breeze was now to

be felt. The dead calm had returnedand the boat was too large to be easily managed by one man alone at

As he spoke, the deep silence of the forest below them was broken by a sound. A harsh wailing voice was

She kissed him with passionate fervor; she held him to her for a moment with all her strength.

"Expect me at daybreak," she said, and disappeared down the landward slope of the cliff.

He listened, anxious for her safety. The voices of the father and daughter just reached him from among the

trees. The Priest spoke in no angry tones; she had apparently found an acceptable excuse for her absence.

Little by little, the failing sound of their voices told him that they were on their way back together to the

Temple. The silence fell again. Not a ripple broke on the beach. Not a leaf rustled in the forest. Nothing

moved but the reflected flashes of the volcano on the main island over the black sky. It was an airless and an

He went into the hut, and laid down on his bed of leavesnot to sleep, but to rest. All his energies might be

required to meet the coming events of the morning. After the voyage to and from the ship, and the long

For some little time he kept awake, thinking. Insensibly the oppression of the intense heat, aided in its

influence by his own fatigue, treacherously closed his eyes. In spite of himself, the weary man fell into a deep

He was awakened by a roar like the explosion of a park of artillery. The volcano on th e main island had burst

into a state of eruption. Smoky flamelight overspread the sky, and flashed through the open doorway of the

He waded out of the hut, and the water rose to his middle. He looked round him by the lurid light of the

eruption. The one visible object within the range of view was the sea, stained by reflections from the

bloodred sky, swirling and rippling strangely in the dead calm. In a moment more, he became conscious that

the earth on which he stood was sinking under his feet. The water rose to his neck; the last vestige of the roof

He looked round again, and the truth burst on him. The island was sinkingslowly, slowly sinking into

volcanic depths, below even the depth of the sea! The highest object was the hut, and that had dropped inch

by inch under water before his own eyes. Thrown up to the surface by occult volcanic influences, the island

had sunk back, under the same influences, to the obscurity from which it had emerged!

A black shadowy object, turning in a wide circle, came slowly near him as the alldestroying ocean washed

its bitter waters into his mouth. The buoyant boat, rising as the sea rose, had dragged its anchor, and was

floating round in the vortex made by the slowly sinking island. With a last desperate hope that Aimata might

have been saved as he had been saved, he swam to the boat, seized the heavy oars with the strength of a giant,

and made for the place (so far as he could guess at it now) where the lake and the Temple had once been.

He looked round and round him; he strained his eyes in the vain attempt to penetrate below the surface of the

seething dimpling sea. Had the panicstricken watchers in the canoes saved themselves, without an effort to

preserve the father and daughter? Or had they both been suffocated before they could make an attempt to

escape? He called to her in his misery, as if she could hear him out of the fathomless depths: "Aimata!

Aimata!" The roar of the distant eruption answered him. The mounting fires lit the solitary sea far and near

over the sinking island. The boat turned slowly and more slowly in the lessening vortex. Never again would

those gentle eyes look at him with unutterable love! Never again would those fresh lips touch his lips with

their fervent kiss! Alone, amid the savage forces of Nature in conflict, the miserable mortal lifted his hands in

frantic supplicationand the burning sky glared down on him in its pitiless grandeur, and struck him to his

knees in the boat. His reason sank with his sinking limbs. In the merciful frenzy that succeeded the shock, he

saw afar off, in her white robe, an angel poised on the waters, beckoning him to follow her to the brighter and

the better world. He loosened the sail, he seized the oars; and the faster he pursued it, the faster the mocking

All that the devotion of the officers of the Fortuna could do for their unhappy commander was done on the

homeward voyage. Restored to his own country, and to skilled medical help, the Captain's mind by slow

degrees recovered its balance. He has taken his place in society againhe lives and moves and manages his

affairs like the rest of us. But his heart is dead to all new emotions; nothing remains in it but the sacred

remembrance of his lost love. He neither courts nor avoids the society of women. Their sympathy finds him

grateful, but their attractions seem to be lost on him; they pass from his mind as they pass from his

"Now you know, ladies, why the Captain will never marry, and why (sailor as he is) he hates the sight of the

I looked out of window, as the evening closed in, before I barred the shutters and drew the curtains for the

night. The clouds hid the hilltops on either side of our valley. Fantastic mists parted and met again on the

lower slopes, as the varying breeze blew them. The blackening waters of the lake before our window seemed

to anticipate the coming darkness. On the more distant hills the torrents were just visible, in the breaks of the

mist, stealing their way over the brown ground like threads of silver. It was a dreary scene. The stillness of all

things was only interrupted by the splashing of our little waterfall at the back of the house. I was not sorry to

The day happened to be my birthday. I sat by the peatfire, waiting for the lamp and the teatray, and

contemplating my past life from the vantageground, so to speak, of my fiftyfifth year.

There was wonderfully little to look back on. Nearly thirty years since, it pleased an allwise Providence to

cast my lot in this remote Scottish hamlet, and to make me Minister of Cauldkirk, on a stipend of

seventyfour pounds sterling per annum. I and my surroundings have grown quietly older and older together.

I have outlived my wife; I have buried one generation among my parishioners, and married another; I have

borne the wear and tear of years better than the kirk in which I minister and the manse (or parsonagehouse)

in which I liveboth sadly out of repair, and both still trusting for the means of reparation to the pious

benefactions of people richer than myself. Not that I complain, be it understood, of the humble position

which I occupy. I possess many blessings; and I thank the Lord for them. I have my little bit of land and my

cow. I have also my good daughter, Felicia; named after her deceased mother, but inheriting her comely

Neither let me forget my elder sister, Judith; a friendless single person, sheltered under my roof, whose

temperament I could wish somewhat less prone to look at persons and things on the gloomy side, but whose

compensating virtues Heaven forbid that I should deny. No; I am grateful for what has been given me (from

on high), and resigned to what has been taken away. With what fair prospects did I start in life! Springing

from a good old Scottish stock, blessed with every advantage of education that the institutions of Scotland

and England in turn could offer; with a career at the Bar and in Parliament before meand all cast to the

winds, as it were, by the measureless prodigality of my unhappy father, God forgive him! I doubt if I had five

pounds left in my purse, when the compassion of my relatives on the mother's side opened a refuge to me at

September 14th.Thus far I had posted up my Diary on the evening of the 13th, when an event occurred so

completely unexpected by my household and myself, that the pen, I may say, dropped incontinently from my

It was the time when we had finished our tea, or supperI hardly know which to call it. In the silence, we

could hear the rain pouring against the window, and the wind that had risen with the darkness howling round

the house. My sister Judith, taking the gloomy view according to customcopious draughts of good Bohea

and two helpings of such a mutton ham as only Scotland can produce had no effect in raising her spiritsmy

sister, I say, remarked that there would be ships lost at sea and men drowned this night. My daughter Felicia,

the brightesttempered creature of the female sex that I have ever met with, tried to give a cheerful turn to

her aunt's depressing prognostication. "If the ships must be lost," she said, "we may surely hope that the men

will be saved." "God willing," I put inthereby giving to my daughter's humane expression of feeling the fit

religious tone that was all it wantedand then went on with my written record of the events and reflections

of the day. No more was said. Felicia took up a book. Judith took up her knitting.

My two companions, as is the way of women, set up a scream. I was startled myself, wondering who could be

out in the rain and the darkness and striking at the door of the house. A stranger it must be. Light or dark, any

person in or near Cauldkirk, wanting admission, would know where to find the bellhandle at the side of the

door. I waited a while to hear what might happen next. The stroke was repeated, but more softly. It became

me as a man and a minister to set an example. I went out into the passage, and I called through the door,

Immediately upon this my cheerful sister expressed her view of the matter through the open parlor door.

What would the Good Samaritan have done in my place? Assuredly he would have run the risk and opened

A man, dripping wet, with a knapsack on his back and a thick stick in his hand, staggered in, and would, I

think, have fallen in the passage if I had not caught him by the arm. Judith peeped out at the parlor door, and

said, "He's drunk." Felicia was behind her, holding up a lighted candle, the better to see what was going on.

"Look at his face, aunt," says she. "Worn out with fatigue, poor man. Bring him in, fatherbring him in."

Good Felicia! I was proud of my girl. "He'll spoil the carpet," says sister Judith. I said, "Silence, for shame!"

and brought him in, and dropped him dripping into my own armchair. Would the Good Samaritan have

thought of his carpet or his chair? I did think of them, but I overcame it. Ah, we are a decadent generation in

"Be quick, father"' says Felicia; "he'll faint if you don't give him something!"

I took out one of our little drinking cups (called among us a "Quaigh"), while Felicia, instructed by me, ran to

the kitchen for the creamjug. Filling the cup with whisky and cream in equal proportions, I offered it to him.

He drank it off as if it had been so much water. "Stimulant and nourishment, you'll observe, sir, in equal

Felicia burst out laughing. I gave him another. As I turned to hand it to him, sister Judith came behind me,

and snatched away the creamjug. Never a generous person, sister Judith, at the best of timesmore

He handed me back the empty cup. "I believe, sir, you have saved my life," he said. "Under Providence," I

put inadding, "But I would remark, looking to the state of your clothes, that I have yet another service to

offer you, before you tell us how you came into this pitiable state." With that reply, I led him upstairs, and set

before him the poor resources of my wardrobe, and left him to do the best he could with them. He was rather

a small man, and I am in stature nigh on six feet. When he came down to us in my clothes, we had the

merriest evening that I can remember for years past. I thought Felicia would have had a hysteric fit; and even

sister Judith laughedhe did look such a comical figure in the minister's garments.

As for the misfortune that had befallen him, it offered one more example of the preternatural rashness of the

English traveler in countries unknown to him. He was on a walking tour through Scotland; and he had set

forth to go twenty miles afoot, from a town on one side of the Highland Border, to a town on the other,

without a guide. The only wonder is that he found his way to Cauldkirk, instead of perishing of exposure

"Will you offer thanks for your preservation to the Throne of Grace, in your prayers tonight?" I asked him.

We have a spare room at the manse; but it had not been inhabited for more than a year past. Therefore we

made his bed, for that night, on the sofa in the parlor; and so left him, with the fire on one side of his couch,

and the whisky and the mutton ham on the other in case of need. He mentioned his name when we bade him

goodnight. Marmaduke Falmer of London, son of a minister of the English Church Establishment, now

deceased. It was plain, I may add, before he spoke, that we had offered the hospitality of the manse to a man

September 15th.I have to record a singularly pleasant day; due partly to a return of the fine weather, partly

Attired again in his own clothing, he was, albeit wanting in height, a finely proportioned man, with

remarkably small hands and feet; having also a bright mobile face, and large dark eyes of an extraordinary

diversity of expression. Also, he was of a sweet and cheerful humor; easily pleased with little things, and

amiably ready to make his gifts agreeable to all of us. At the same time, a person of my experience and

penetration could not fail to perceive that he was most content when in company with Felicia. I have already

mentioned my daughter's comely looks and good womanly qualities. It was in the order of nature that a

young man (to use his own phrase) getting near to his thirtyfirst birthday should feel drawn by sympathy

toward a wellfavored young woman in her fourandtwentieth year. In matters of this sort I have always

As the evening closed in, I was sorry to notice a certain change in our guest for the worse. He showed signs

of fatiguefalling asleep at intervals in his chair, and waking up and shivering. The spare room was now

I begged him not to stand on ceremony, and to betake himself at once to his bed. Felicia (having learned the

accomplishment from her excellent mother) made him a warm sleepingdraught of eggs, sugar, nutmeg, and

spirits, delicious alike to the senses of smell and taste. Sister Judith waited until he had closed the door

behind him, and then favored me with one of her dismal predictions. "You'll rue the day, brother, when you

November 28th.God be praised for all His mercies! This day, our guest, Marmaduke Falmer, joined us

He is sadly deteriorated, in a bodily sense, by the wasting rheumatic fever that brought him nigh to death; but

he is still young, and the doctor (humanly speaking) has no doubt of his speedy and complete recovery. My

sister takes the opposite view. She remarked, in his hearing, that nobody ever thoroughly got over a

rheumatic fever. Oh, Judith! Judith! it's well for humanity that you're a single person! If haply, there had been

any man desperate enough to tackle such a woman in the bonds of marriage, what a pessimist progeny must

Looking back over my Diary for the last two months and more, I see one monotonous record of the poor

fellow's sufferings; cheered and varied, I am pleased to add, by the devoted services of my daughter at the

sick man's bedside. With some help from her aunt (most readily given when he was nearest to the point of

death), and with needful services performed in turn by two of our aged women in Cauldkirk, Felicia could not

have nursed him more assiduously if he had been her own brother. Half the credit of bringing him through it

belonged (as the doctor himself confessed) to the discreet young nurse, always ready through the worst of the

illness, and always cheerful through the long convalescence that followed. I must also record to the credit of

Marmaduke that he was indeed duly grateful. When I led him into the parlor, and he saw Felicia waiting by

the armchair, smiling and patting the pillows for him, he took her by the hand, and burst out crying.

Weakness, in part, no doubtbut sincere gratitude at the bottom of it, I am equally sure.

November 29th.However, there are limits even to sincere gratitude. Of this truth Mr. Marmaduke seems to

be insufficiently aware. Entering the sittingroom soon after noon today, I found our convalescen t guest and

his nurse alone. His head was resting on her shoulder; his arm was round her waistand (the truth before

A man may be of a liberal turn of mind, and may yet consistently object to freedom when it takes the form of

unlicensed embracing and kissing; the person being his own daughter, and the place his own house. I signed

to my girl to leave us; and I advanced to Mr. Marmaduke, with my opinion of his conduct just rising in words

to my lipswhen he staggered me with amazement by asking for Felicia's hand in marriage.

"You need feel no doubt of my being able to offer to your daughter a position of comfort and respectability,"

His raptures over Felicia; his protestations that she was the first woman he had ever really loved; his profane

declaration that he preferred to die, if I refused to let him be her husbandall these flourishes, as I may call

them, passed in at one of my ears and out at the other. But eight hundred pounds sterling per annum,

descending as it were in a golden avalanche on the mind of a Scottish minister (accustomed to thirty years'

annual contemplation of seventyfour pounds)eight hundred a year, in one young man's pocket, I say,

completely overpowered me. I just managed to answer, "Wait till tomorrow" and hurried out of doors to

recover my selfrespect, if the thing was to be anywise done. I took my way through the valley. The sun was

shining, for a wonder. When I saw my shadow on the hillside, I saw the Golden Calf as an integral part of

November 30th.I have made amends for yesterday's backsliding; I have acted as becomes my parental

The temptation to do otherwise, has not been wanting. Here is sister Judith's advice: "Make sure that he has

got the money first; and, for Heaven's sake, nail him!" Here is Mr. Marmaduke's proposal: "Make any

conditions you please, so long as you give me your daughter." And, lastly, here is Felicia's confession:

"Father, my heart is set on him. Oh, don't be unkind to me for the first time in your life!"

But I have stood firm. I have refused to hear any more words on the subject from any one of them, for the

"So serious a venture as the venture of marriage," I said, "is not to be undertaken on impulse. As soon as Mr.

Marmaduke can travel, I request him to leave us, and not to return again for six months. If, after that interval,

he is still of the same mind, and my daughter is still of the same mind, let him return to Cauldkirk, and

(premising that I am in all other respects satisfied) let him ask me for his wife."

There were tears, there were protestations; I remained immovable. A week later, Mr. Marmaduke left us, on

his way by easy stages to the south. I am not a hard man. I rewarded the lovers for their obedience by keeping

sister Judith out of the way, and letting them say their farewell words (accompaniments included) in private.

May 28th.A letter from Mr. Marmaduke, informing me that I may expect him at Cauldkirk, exactly at the

Writing to this effect, he added a timely word on the subject of his family. Both his parents were dead; his

only brother held a civil appointment in India, the place being named. His uncle (his father's brother) was a

merchant resident in London; and to this near relative he referred me, if I wished to make inquiries about him.

The names of his bankers, authorized to give me every information in respect to his pecuniary affairs,

followed. Nothing could be more plain and straightforward. I wrote to his uncle, and I wrote to his bankers.

In both cases the replies were perfectly satisfactorynothing in the slightest degree doubtful, no

prevarications, no mysteries. In a word, Mr. Marmaduke himself was thoroughly well vouched for, and Mr.

Marmaduke's income was invested in securities beyond fear and beyond reproach. Even sister Judith, bent on

picking a hole in the record somewhere, tried hard, and could make nothing of it.

The last sentence in Mr. Marmaduke's letter was the only part of it which I failed to read with pleasure.

He left it to me to fix the day for the marriage, and he entreated that I would make it as early a day as

possible. I had a touch of the heartache when I thought of parting with Felicia, and being left at home with

nobody but Judith. However, I got over it for that time, and, after consulting my daughter, we decided on

naming a fortnight after Mr. Marmaduke's arrivalthat is to say, the twentyfirst of June. This gave Felicia

time for her preparations, besides offering to me the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my

soninlaw's disposition. The happiest marriage does indubitably make its demands on human forbearance;

and I was anxious, among other things, to assure myself of Mr. Marmaduke's good temper.

June 22d.The happy change in my daughter's life (let me say nothing of the change in my life) has come:

they were married yesterday. The manse is a desert; and sister Judith was never so uncongenial a companion

to me as I feel her to be now. Her last words to the married pair, when they drove away, were: "Lord help you

I had no heart to write yesterday's record, yesterday evening, as usual. The absence of Felicia at the

suppertable completely overcame me. I, who have so often comforted others in their afflictions, could find

no comfort for myself. Even now that the day has passed, the tears come into my eyes, only with writing

about it. Sad, sad weakness! Let me close my Diary, and open the Bibleand be myself again.

June 23d.More resigned since yesterday; a more becoming and more pious frame of mindobedient to

God's holy will, and content in the belief that my dear daughter's married life will be a happy one.

They have gone abroad for their holidayto Switzerland, by way of France. I was anything rather than

pleased when I heard that my soninlaw proposed to take Felicia to that sink of iniquity, Paris. He knows

already what I think of balls and playhouses, and similar devils' diversions, and how I have brought up my

daughter to think of themthe subject having occurred in conversation among us more than a week since.

That he could meditate taking a child of mine to the headquarters of indecent jiggings and abominable

However, Felicia reconciled me to it in the end. She declared that her only desire in going to Paris was to see

the picturegalleries, the public buildings, and the fair outward aspect of the city generally. "Your opinions,

father, are my opinions," she said; "and Marmaduke, I am sure, will so shape our arrangements as to prevent

our passing a Sabbath in Paris." Marmaduke not only consented to this (with the perfect good temper of

which I have observed more than one gratifying example in him), but likewise assured me that, speaking for

himself personally, it would be a relief to him when they got to the mountains and the lakes. So that matter

Speaking of relief, I must record that Judith has gone away to Aberdeen on a visit to some friends. "You'll be

wretched enough here," she said at parting, "all by yourself." Pure vanity and selfcomplacence! It may be

resignation to her absence, or it may be natural force of mind, I began to be more easy and composed the

moment I was alone, and this blessed state of feeling has continued uninterruptedly ever since.

September 5th.A sudden change in my life, which it absolutely startles me to record. I am going to

My purpose in taking this most serious step is of a twofold nature. I have a greater and a lesser object in view.

The greater object is to see my daughter, and to judge for myself whether certain doubts on the vital question

of her happiness, which now torment me night and day, are unhappily founded on truth. She and her husband

returned in August from their weddingtour, and took up their abode in Marmaduke's new residence in

London. Up to this time, Felicia's letters to me were, in very truth, the delight of my lifeshe was so entirely

happy, so amazed and delighted with all the wonderful things she saw, so full of love and admiration for the

best husband that ever lived. Since her return to London, I perceive a complete change.

She makes no positive complaint, but she writes in a tone of weariness and discontent; she says next to

nothing of Marmaduke, and she dwells perpetually on the one idea of my going to London to see her. I hope

with my whole heart that I am wrong; but the rare allusions to her husband, and the constantly repeated desire

to see her father (while she has not been yet three months married), seem to me to be bad signs. In brief, my

anxiety is too great to be endured. I have so arranged matters with one of my brethren as to be free to travel to

My lesser object may be dismissed in two words. Having already decided on going to London, I propose to

call on the wealthy nobleman who owns all the land hereabouts, and represent to him the discreditable, and

indeed dangerous, condition of the parish kirk for want of means to institute the necessary repairs. If I find

myself well received, I shall put in a word for the manse, which is almost in as deplorable a condition as the

Sister Judith is packing my portmanteau. According to custom, she forbodes the worst. "Never forget," she

says, "that I warned you against Marmaduke, on the first night when he entered the house."

September 10th.After more delays than one, on land and sea, I was at last set ashore near the Tower, on the

afternoon of yesterday. God help us, my worst anticipations have been realized! My beloved Felicia has

It is not to be denied that I made my entry into my soninlaw's house in a disturbed and irritated frame of

mind. First, my temper was tried by the almost interminable journey, in the noisy and comfortless vehicle

which they call a cab, from the riverwharf to the westend of London, where Marmaduke lives. In the

second place, I was scandalized and alarmed by an incident which took placestill on the endless journey

We had just approached a large building, most profusely illuminated with gas, and exhibiting prodigious

colored placards having inscribed on them nothing but the name of Barrymore. The cab came suddenly to a

standstill; and looking out to see what the obstacle might be, I discovered a huge concourse of men and

women, drawn across the pavement and road alike, so that it seemed impossible to pass by them. I inquired of

my driver what this assembling of the people meant. "Oh," says he, "Barrymore has made another hit." This

answer being perfectly unintelligible to me, I requested some further explanation, and discovered that

"Barrymore" was the name of a stageplayer favored by the populace; that the building was a theater, and

that all these creatures with immortal souls were waiting, before the doors opened, to get places at the show!

The emotions of sorrow and indignation caused by this discovery so absorbed me that I failed to notice an

attempt the driver made to pass through, where the crowd seemed to be thinner, until the offended people

resented the proceeding. Some of them seized the horse's head; others were on the point of pulling the driver

off his box, when providentially the police interfered. Under their protection, we drew back, and reached our

destination in safety, by another way. I record this otherwise unimportant affair, because it grieved and

revolted me (when I thought of the people's souls), and so indisposed my mind to take cheerful views of

anything. Under these circumstances, I would fain hope that I have exaggerated the true state of the case, in

My good girl almost smothered me with kisses. When I at last got a fair opportunity of observing her, I

thought her looking pale and worn and anxious. Query: Should I have arrived at this conclusion if I had met

with no example of the wicked dissipations of London, and if I had ridden at my ease in a comfortable

They had a succulent meal ready for me, and, what I call, fair enough whisky out of Scotland. Here again I

remarked that Felicia ate very little. and Marmaduke nothing at all. He drank wine, tooand, good heavens,

champagne wine!a needless waste of money surely when there was whisky on the table. My appetite being

satisfied, my soninlaw went out of the room, and returned with his hat in his hand. "You and Felicia have

many things to talk about on your first evening together. I'll leave you for a whileI shall only be in the

way." So he spoke. It was in vain that his wife and I assured him he was not in the way at all. He kissed his

"There, father!" says Felicia. "For the last ten days he has gone out like that, and left me alone for the whole

evening. When we first returned from Switzerland, he left me in the same mysterious way, only it was after

"I don't know what to make of his explanation," says Felicia. "When he went away in the daytime, he told me

he had business in the City. Since he took to going out at night, he says he goes to his club."

"He says it's in Pall Mall. There are dozens of clubs in that streetand he has never told me the name of

his club. I am completely shut out of his confidence. Would you believe it, father? he has not introduced one

of his friends to me since we came home. I doubt if they know where he lives, since he took this house."

I said nothing, and looked round the room. It was fitted up with perfectly palatial magnificence. I am an

ignorant man in matters of this sort, and partly to satisfy my curiosity, partly to change the subject, I asked to

see the house. Mercy preserve us, the same grandeur everywhere! I wondered if even such an income as eight

hundred a year could suffice for it all. In a moment when I was considering this, a truly frightful suspicion

crossed my mind. Did these mysterious absences, taken in connection with the unbridled luxury that

surrounded us, mean that my soninlaw was a gamester? a shameless shuffler of cards, or a debauched

bettor on horses? While I was still completely overcome by my own previsions of evil, my daughter put her

For the first time I observed a bracelet of dazzling gems on her wrist. "Not diamonds?" I said. She answered,

with as much composure as if she had been the wife of a nobleman, "Yes, diamondsa present from

Marmaduke." This was too much for me; my previsions, so to speak, forced their way into words. "Oh, my

She showed none of the horror I had anticipated; she only shook her head and began to cry.

I was petrified; my tongue refused its office, when I would fain have asked her what she meant. Her besetting

sin, poor soul, is a proud spirit. She dried her eyes on a sudden, and spoke out freely, in these words: "I am

not going to cry about it. The other day, father, we were out walking in the park. A horrid, bold,

yellowhaired woman passed us in an open carriage. She kissed her hand to Marmaduke, and called out to

him, 'How are you, Marmy?' I was so indignant that I pushed him away from me, and told him to go and take

a drive with his lady. He burst out laughing. 'Nonsense!' he said; 'she has known me for yearsyou don't

understand our easy London manners.' We have made it up since then; but I have my own opinion of the

Morally speaking, this was worse than all. But, logically viewed, it completely failed as a means of

We went on to the uppermost story. It was cut off from the rest of the house by a stout partition of wood, and

When I tried the door it was locked. "Ha!" says Felicia, "I wanted you to see it for yourself!" More suspicious

proceedings on the part of my soninlaw! He kept the door constantly locked, and the key in his pocket.

When his wife asked him what it meant, he answered: "My study is up thereand I like to keep it entirely to

myself." After such a reply as that, the preservation of my daughter's dignity permitted but one answer: "Oh,

I now asked myselfstill in connection with my soninlaw's extravagant expenditurewhether the clew

to the mystery might not haply be the forging of banknotes on the other side of the baize door. My mind was

prepared for anything by this time. We descended again into the diningroom. Felicia saw how my spirits

were dashed, and came and perched upon my knee. "Enough of my troubles for tonight, father," she said. "I

am going to be your little girl again, and we will talk of nothing but Cauldkirk, until Marmaduke comes

back." I am one of the firmest men living, but I could not keep the hot tears out of my eyes when she put her

arm round my neck and said those words. By good fortune I was sitting with my back to the lamp; she didn't

A little after eleven o'clock Marmaduke returned. He looked pale and weary. But more champagne, and this

time something to eat with it, seemed to set him to rights againno doubt by relieving him from the

I had been warned by Felicia to keep what had passed between us a secret from her husband for the present;

so we had (superficially speaking) a merry end to the evening. My soninlaw was nearly as good company

as ever, and wonderfully fertile in suggestions and expedients when he saw they were wanted. Hearing from

his wife, to whom I had mentioned it, that I purposed representing the decayed condition of the kirk and

manse to the owner of Cauldkirk and the country round about, he strongly urged me to draw up a list of

repairs that were most needful, before I waited on my lord. This advice, vicious and degraded as the man who

So far I had written in my Diary, in the forenoon. Returning to my daily record, after a lapse of some hours, I

have a new mystery of iniquity to chronicle. My abominable soninlaw now appears (I blush to write it) to

After the meal they call luncheon, I thought it well before recreating myself with the sights of London, to

attend first to the crying necessities of the kirk and the manse. Furnished with my written list, I presented

myself at his lordship's residence. I was immediately informed that he was otherwise engaged, and could not

possibly receive me. If I wished to see my lord's secretary, Mr. Helmsley, I could do so. Consenting to this,

Mr. Helmsley heard what I had to say civilly enough; expressing, however, grave doubts whether his lordship

would do anything for me, the demands on his purse being insupportably numerous already. However, he

undertook to place my list before his employer, and to let me know the result. "Where are you staying in

London?" he asked. I answered: "With my soninlaw, Mr. Marmaduke Falmer." Before I could add the

address, the secretary started to his feet and tossed my list back to me across the table in the most uncivil

"Upon my word," says he, "your assurance exceeds anything I ever heard of. Your soninlaw is concerned

in the robbery of her ladyship's diamond braceletthe discovery was made not an hour ago. Leave the

house, sir, and consider yourself lucky that I have no instructions to give you in charge to the police." I

protested against this unprovoked outrage, with a violence of language which I would rather not recall. As a

Her guilty husband was with her. I was too angry to wait for a fit opportunity of speaking. The Christian

humility which I have all my life cultivated as the first of virtues sank, as it were, from under me. In terms of

burning indignation I told them what had happened. The result was too distressing to be described. It ended in

Felicia giving her husband back the bracelet. The hardened reprobate laughed at us. "Wait till I have seen his

Does he mean to escape to foreign parts? Felicia, womanlike, believes in him still; she is quite convinced that

there must be some mistake. I am myself in hourly expectation of the arrival of the police.

With gratitude to Providence, I note before going to bed the harmless termination of the affair of the

braceletso far as Marmaduke is concerned. The agent who sold him the jewel has been forced to come

forward and state the truth. His lordship's wife is the guilty person; the bracelet was hersa present from her

husband. Harassed by debts that she dare not acknowledge, she sold it; my lord discovered that it was gone;

She declared that the bracelet had been stolen from her. Asked for the name of the thief, the reckless woman

(having no other name in her mind at the moment) mentioned the man who had innocently bought the jewel

of her agent, otherwise my unfortunate soninlaw. Oh, the profligacy of the modern Babylon! It was well I

went to the secretary when I did or we should really have had the police in the house. Marmaduke found them

in consultation over the supposed robbery, asking for his address. There was a dreadful exhibition of violence

and recrimination at his lordship's residence: in the end he repurchased the bracelet. My soninlaw's

It is not so to my mind. I freely admit that I too hastily distrusted Marmaduke; but am I, on that account, to

give him back immediately the place which he once occupied in my esteem? Again this evening he

mysteriously quitted the house, leaving me alone with Felicia, and giving no better excuse for his conduct

than that he had an engagement. And this when I have a double claim on his consideration, as his

September 11th.The day began well enough. At breakfast, Marmaduke spoke feelingly of the unhappy

result of my visit to his lordship, and asked me to let him look at the list of repairs. "It is just useless to expect

anything from my lord, after what has happened," I said. "Besides, Mr. Helmsley gave me no hope when I

stated my case to him." Marmaduke still held out his hand for the list. "Let me try if I can get some

subscribers," he replied. This was kindly meant, at any rate. I gave him the list; and I began to recover some

of my old friendly feeling for him. Alas! the little gleam of tranquillity proved to be of short duration.

We made out our plans for the day pleasantly enough. The check came when Felicia spoke next of our plans

for the evening. "My father has only four days more to pass with us," she said to her husband. "Surely you

won't go out again tonight, and leave him?" Marmaduke's face clouded over directly; he looked embarrassed

"You will stay with us this evening, won't you?" says Felicia. No: he was not free for the evening. "What!

another engagement? Surely you can put it off?" No; impossible to put it off. "Is it a ball, or a party of some

kind?" No answer; he changed the subjec the offered Felicia the money repaid to him for the bracelet.

"Buy one for yourself, my dear, this time." Felicia handed him back the money, rather too haughtily, perhaps.

He jumped up, goodtempered as he was, in something very like a ragethen looked at me, and checked

himself on the point (as I believe) of using profane language. "This is downright persecution!" he burst out,

with an angry turn of his head toward his wife. Felicia got up, in her turn. "Your language is an insult to my

father and to me!" He looked thoroughly staggered at this: it was evidently their first serious quarrel.

Felicia took no notice of him. "I will get ready directly, father; and we will go out together." He stopped her

as she was leaving the roomrecovering his good temper with a readiness which it pleased me to see.

"Come, come, Felicia! We have not quarreled yet, and we won't quarrel now. Let me off this one time more,

and I will devote the next three evenings of your father's visit to him and to you. Give me a kiss, and make it

up." My daughter doesn't do things by halves. She gave him a dozen kisses, I should thinkand there was a

"But what shall we do tomorrow evening?" says Marmaduke, sitting down by his wife, and patting her hand

"Take us somewhere," says she. Marmaduke laughed. "Your father objects to public amusements. Where

does he want to go to?" Felicia took up the newspaper. "There is an oratorio at Exeter Hall," she said; "my

father likes music." He turned to me. "You don't object to oratorios, sir?" "I don't object to music," I

answered, "so long as I am not required to enter a theater." Felicia handed the newspaper to me. "Speaking of

theaters, father, have you read what they say about the new play? What a pity it can't be given out of a

theater!" I looked at her in speechless amazement. She tried to explain herself. "The paper says that the new

play is a service rendered to the cause of virtue; and that the great actor, Barrymore, has set an example in

producing it which deserves the encouragement of all truly religious people. Do read it, father!" I held up my

hands in dismay. My own daughter perverted! pinning her faith on a newspaper! speaking, with a perverse

expression of interest, of a stageplay and an actor! Even Marmaduke witnessed this lamentable exhibition of

backsliding with some appearance of alarm. "It's not her fault, sir," he said, interceding with me. "It's the fault

of the newspaper. Don't blame her!" I held my peace; determining inwardly to pray for her. Shortly afterward

my daughter and I went out. Marmaduke accompanied us part of the way, and left us at a telegraph office.

"Who are you going to telegraph to?" Felicia asked. Another mystery! He answered, "Business of my own,

September 12th.Is my miserable soninlaw's house under a curse? The yellowhaired woman in the open

carriage drove up to the door at halfpast ten this morning, in a state of distraction. Felicia and I saw her from

the drawingroom balconya tall woman in gorgeous garments. She knocked with her own hand at the

doorshe cried out distractedly, "Where is he? I must see him!" At the sound of her voice, Marmaduke

(playing with his little dog in the drawingroom) rushed downstairs and out into the street. "Hold your

What she answered we failed to hear; she was certainly crying. Marmaduke stamped on the pavement like a

She was in time to hear the diningroom locked. Following her, I prevented the poor jealous creature from

making a disturbance at the door. God forgive menot knowing how else to quiet herI degraded myself

by advising her to listen to what they said. She instantly opened the door of the back diningroom, and

beckoned to me to follow. I naturally hesitated. "I shall go mad," she whispered, "if you leave me by myself!"

What could I do? I degraded myself the second time. For my own childin pity for my own child!

We heard them, through the flimsy modern foldingdoors, at those times when he was most angry, and she

most distracted. That is to say, we heard them when they spoke in their loudest tones.

"How did you find out where I live?" says he. "Oh, you're ashamed of me?" says she. "Mr. Helmsley was

with us yesterday evening. That's how I found out!" "What do you mean?" "I mean that Mr. Helmsley had

your card and address in his pocket. Ah, you were obliged to give your address when you had to clear up that

matter of the bracelet! You cruel, cruel man, what have I done to deserve such a note as you sent me this

morning?" "Do what the note tells you!" "Do what the note tells me? Did anybody ever hear a man talk so,

out of a lunatic asylum? Why, you haven't even the grace to carry out your own wicked deceptionyou

haven't even gone to bed!" There the voices grew less angry, and we missed what followed. Soon the lady

burst out again, piteously entreating him this time. "Oh, Marmy, don't ruin me! Has anybody offended you?

Is there anything you wish to have altered? Do you want more money? It is too cruel to treat me in this

wayit is indeed!" He made some answer, which we were not able to hear; we could only suppose that he

had upset her temper again. She went on louder than ever "I've begged and prayed of youand you're as

hard as iron. I've told you about the Princeand that has had no effect on you. I have done now. We'll see

what the doctor says." He got angry, in his turn; we heard him again. "I won't see the doctor!" "Oh, you

refuse to see the doctor?I shall make your refusal knownand if there's law in England, you shall feel it!"

Their voices dropped again; some new turn seemed to be taken by the conversation. We heard the lady once

more, shrill and joyful this time. "There's a dear! You see it, don't you, in the right light? And you haven't

forgotten the old times, have you? You're the same dear, honorable, kindhearted fellow that you always

There was a sound in the next room which might have beenI cannot be certainthe sound of a kiss. The

next moment, we heard the door of the room unlocked. Then the door of the house was opened, and the noise

of retreating carriagewheels followed. We met him in the hall, as he entered the house again.

"I insist on knowing who that woman is, and what she wants here." Those were her first words. He looked at

her like a man in utter confusion. "Wait till this evening; I am in no state to speak to you now!" With that, he

It is little more than three weeks since they returned to London from their happy weddingtourand it has

The clock has just struck seven; a letter has been left by a messenger, addressed to my daughter. I had

persuaded her, poor soul, to lie down in her own room. God grant that the letter may bring her some tidings

My mind has not been kept long in suspense. Felicia's waitingwoman has brought me a morsel of writing

paper, with these lines penciled on it in my daughter's handwriting: "Dearest father, make your mind easy.

Everything is explained. I cannot trust myself to speak to you about it tonightand he doesn't wish me to

do so. Only wait till tomorrow, and you shall know all. He will be back about eleven o'clock. Please don't

September 13th.The scales have fallen from my eyes; the light is let in on me at last. My bewilderment is

Before I was out of my room in the morning, my mind was upset by the arrival of a telegram addressed to

myself. It was the first thing of the kind I ever received; I trembled under the prev ision of some new

Of all the people in the world, the person sending the telegram was sister Judith! Never before did this

distracting relative confound me as she confounded me now. Here is her message: "You can't come back. An

architect from Edinburgh asserts his resolution to repair the kirk and the manse. The man only waits for his

lawful authority to begin. The money is readybut who has found it? Mr. Architect is forbidden to tell. We

Naturally concluding that Judith's mind must be deranged, I went downstairs to meet my soninlaw (for the

first time since the events of yesterday) at the late breakfast which is customary in this house. He was waiting

for mebut Felicia was not present. "She breakfasts in her room this morning," says Marmaduke; "and I am

to give you the explanation which has already satisfied your daughter. Will you take it at great length, sir? or

will you have it in one word?" There was something in his manner that I did not at all likehe seemed to be

setting me at defiance. I said, stiffly, "Brevity is best; I will have it in one word."

If the last line extracted from my dear father's Diary does not contain explanation enough in itself, I add some

sentences from Marmaduke's letter to me, sent from the theater last night. (N. B.I leave out the expressions

. . . "Just remember how your father talked about theaters and actors, when I was at Cauldkirk, and how you

listened in dutiful agreement with him. Would he have consented to your marriage if he had known that I was

one of the 'spouting rogues,' associated with the 'painted Jezebels' of the playhouse? He would never have

consentedand you yourself, my darling, would have trembled at the bare idea of marrying an actor.

"Have I been guilty of any serious deception? and have my friends been guilty in helping to keep my secret?

My birth, my name, my surviving relatives, my fortune inherited from my fatherall these important

particulars have been truly stated. The name of Barrymore is nothing but the name that I assumed when I

"As to what has happened, since our return from Switzerland, I own that I ought to have made my confession

to you. Forgive me if I weakly hesitated. I was so fond of you; and I so distrusted the Puritanical convictions

which your education had rooted in your mind, that I put it off from day to day. Oh, my angel ....!

"Yes, I kept the address of my new house a secret from all my friends, knowing they would betray me if they

paid us visits. As for my mysteriouslyclosed study, it was the place in which I privately rehearsed my new

part. When I left you in the mornings, it was to go to the theater rehearsals. My evening absences began of

"Your father's arrival seriously embarrassed me. When you (most properly) insisted on my giving up some of

my evenings to him, you necessarily made it impossible for me to appear on the stage. The one excuse I

could make to the theater was, that I was too ill to act. It did certainly occur to me to cut the Gordian knot by

owning the truth. But your father's horror, when you spoke of the newspaper review of the play, and the

"The arrival at the theater of my written excuse brought the manageress down upon me, in a state of

distraction. Nobody could supply my place; all the seats were taken; and the Prince was expected. There was

what we call a scene between the poor lady and myself. I felt I was in the wrong; I saw that the position in

which I had impulsively placed myself was unworthy of meand it ended in my doing my duty to the

theater and the public. But for the affair of the bracelet, which obliged me as an honorable man to give my

name and address, the manageress would not have discovered me. She, like every one else, only knew of my

address at my bachelor chambers. How could you be jealous of the old theatrical comrade of my first days on

"Do you remember my leaving you at the telegraph office? It was to send a message to a friend of mine, an

architect in Edinburgh, instructing him to go immediately to Cauldkirk, and provide for the repairs at my

expense. The theater, my dear, more than trebles my paternal income, and I can well afford it. Will your

father refuse to accept a tribute of respect to a Scottish minister, because it is paid out of an actor's pocket?

"And, I say, Feliciawill you come and see me act? I don't expect your father to enter a theater; but, by way

of further reconciling him to his soninlaw, suppose you ask him to hear me read the play?"

THE disasters that follow the hateful offense against Christianity, which men call war, were severely felt in

England during the peace that ensued on the overthrow of Napoleon at Waterloo. With rare exceptions,

distress prevailed among all classes of the community. The starving nation was ripe and ready for a

revolutionary rising against its rulers, who had shed the people's blood and wasted the people's substance in a

Among the unfortunate persons who were driven, during the disastrous early years of this century, to strange

shifts and devices to obtain the means of living, was a certain obscure medical man, of French extraction,

named Lagarde. The Doctor (duly qualified to bear the title) was an inhabitant of London; living in one of the

narrow streets which connect the great thoroughfare of the Strand with the bank of the Thames.

The method of obtaining employment chosen by poor Lagarde, as the one alternative left in the face of

starvation, was, and is still considered by the medical profession to be, the method of a quack. He advertised

Addressing himself especially to two classes of the community, the Doctor proceeded in these words:

"I have the honor of inviting to my house, in the first place: Persons afflicted with maladies which ordinary

medical practice has failed to cureand, in the second place: Persons interested in investigations, the object

of which is to penetrate the secrets of the future. Of the means by which I endeavor to alleviate suffering and

to enlighten doubt, it is impossible to speak intelligibly within the limits of an advertisement. I can only offer

to submit my system to public inquiry, without exacting any preliminary fee from ladies and gentlemen who

may honor me with a visit. Those who see sufficient reason to trust me, after personal experience, will find a

moneybox fixed on the waitingroom table, into which they can drop their offerings according to their

means. Those whom I am not fortunate enough to satisfy will be pleased to accept the expression of my

regret, and will not be expected to give anything. I shall be found at home every evening between the hours

Toward the close of the year 1816 this strange advertisement became a general topic of conversation among

educated people in London. For some weeks the Doctor's invitations were generally acceptedand, all

things considered, were not badly remunerated. A faithful few believed in him, and told wonderful stories of

what he had pronounced and prophesied in the sanctuary of his consultingroom. The majority of his visitors

simply viewed him in the light of a public amusement, and wondered why such a gentlemanlike man should

ON a raw and snowy evening toward the latter part of January, 1817, a gentleman, walking along the Strand,

turned into the street in which Doctor Lagarde lived, and knocked at the physician's door.

He was admitted by an eld erly male servant to a waitingroom on the first floor. The light of one little lamp,

placed on a bracket fixed to the wall, was so obscured by a dark green shade as to make it difficult, if not

impossible, for visitors meeting by accident to recognize each other. The metal moneybox fixed to the table

was just visible. In the flickering light of a small fire, the stranger perceived the figures of three men seated,

So far as objects were to be seen, there was nothing to attract attention in the waitingroom. The furniture

was plain and neat, and nothing more. The elderly servant handed a card, with a number inscribed on it, to the

new visitor, said in a whisper, "Your number will be called, sir, in your turn," and disappeared. For some

minutes nothing disturbed the deep silence but the faint ticking of a clock. After a while a bell rang from an

inner room, a door opened, and a gentleman appeared, whose interview with Doctor Lagarde had terminated.

His opinion of the sitting was openly expressed in one emphatic word"Humbug!" No contribution dropped

The next number (being Number Fifteen) was called by the elderly servant, and the first incident occurred in

the strange series of events destined to happen in the Doctor's house that night.

One after another the three men who had been waiting rose, examined their cards under the light of the lamp,

The servant advanced to investigate the matter. The numbers possessed by the three visitors, instead of being

Fifteen, Sixteen and Seventeen, proved to be Sixteen, Seventeen and Eighteen. Turning to the stranger who

"Have I made a mistake, sir? Have I given you Number Fifteen instead of Number Eighteen?"

A mistake had certainly been made, but not the mistake that the servant supposed. The card held by the latest

visitor turned out to be the card previously held by the dissatisfied stranger who had just left the

roomNumber Fourteen! As to the card numbered Fifteen, it was only discovered the next morning lying in

Acting on his first impulse, the servant hurried out, calling to the original holder of Fourteen to come back

and bear his testimony to that fact. The streetdoor had been opened for him by the landlady of the, house.

She was a pretty womanand the gentleman had fortunately lingered to talk to her. He was induced, at the

On returning to the waitingroom, he addressed a characteristic question to the assembled visitors.

The servantcompletely puzzled by his own stupidityattempted to make his apologies.

"Pray forgive me, gentlemen," he said. "I am afraid I have confused the cards I distribute with the cards

Left by themselves, the visitors began to speak jestingly of the strange situation in which they were placed.

The original holder of Number Fourteen described his experience of the Doctor in his own pithy way. "I

applied to the fellow to tell my fortune. He first went to sleep over it, and then he said he could tell me

nothing. I asked why. 'I don't know,' says he. ' I do,' says I'humbug!' I'll bet you the long odds, gentlemen,

Before the wager could be accepted or declined, the door of the inner room was opened again. The tall, spare,

black figure of a new personage appeared on the threshold, relieved darkly against the light in the room

"Gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence. The accidentas we now suppose it to bewhich has given to the

last comer the number already held by a gentleman who has unsuccessfully consulted me, may have a

meaning which we can none of us at present see. If the three visitors who have been so good as to wait will

allow the present holder of Number Fourteen to consult me out of his turnand if the earlier visitor who left

me dissatisfied with his consultation will consent to stay here a little longersomething may happen which

will justify a trifling sacrifice of your own convenience. Is ten minutes' patience too much to ask of you?"

The three visitors who had waited longest consulted among themselves, and (having nothing better to do with

their time) decided on accepting the Doctor's proposal. The visitor who believed it all to be "humbug" coolly

took a gold coin out of his pocket, tossed it into the air, caught it in his closed hand, and walked up to the

"Heads, stay," he said, "Tails, go." He opened his hand, and looked at the coin. "Heads! Very good. Go on

"You believe in chance," said the Doctor, quietly observing him. "That is not my experience of life."

He paused to let the stranger who now held Number Fourteen pass him into the inner roomthen followed,

THE consultingroom was better lighted than the waitingroom, and that was the only difference between

the two. In the one, as in the other, no attempt was made to impress the imagination. Everywhere, the

commonplace furniture of a London lodginghouse was left without the slightest effort to alter or improve it

Seen under the clearer light, Doctor Lagarde appeared to be the last person living who would consent to

degrade himself by an attempt at imposture of any kind. His eyes were the dreamy eyes of a visionary; his

look was the prematurelyaged look of a student, accustomed to give the hours to his book which ought to

have been given to his bed. To state it briefly, he was a man who might easily be deceived by others, but who

Signing to his visitor to be seated, he took a chair on the opposite side of the small table that stood between

themwaited a moment with his face hidden in his hands, as if to collect himselfand then spoke.

"Do you come to consult me on a case of illness?" he inquired, "or do you ask me to look to the darkness

The answer to these questions was frankly and briefly expressed. "I have no need to consult you about my

"I accept your conditions," the stranger rejoined. "I never believe nor disbelieve. If you will excuse my

"You have heard of me as a charlatan who contrives to amuse a few idle people," he said. "I don't complain

of that; my present position leads necessarily to misinterpretation of myself and my motives. Still, I may at

least say that I am the victim of a sincere avowal of my belief in a great science. Yes! I repeat it, a great

science! New, I dare say, to the generation we live in, though it was known and practiced in the days when

pyramids were built. The age is advancing; and the truths which it is my misfortune to advocate, before the

time is ripe for them, are steadily forcing their way to recognition. I am resigned to wait. My sincerity in this

matter has cost me the income that I derived from my medical practice. Patients distrust me; doctors refuse to

consult with me. I could starve if I had no one to think of but myself. But I have another person to consider,

who is very dear to me; and I am driven, literally driven, either to turn beggar in the streets, or do what I am

He paused, and looked round toward the corner of the room behind him. "Mother," he said gently, "are you

An elderly lady, dressed in deep mourning, rose from her seat in the corner. She had been, thus far, hidden

from notice by the high back of the easychair in which her son sat. Excepting some f olds of fine black lace,

laid over her white hair so as to form a headdress at once simple and picturesque, there was nothing

remarkable in her attire. The visitor rose and bowed. She gravely returned his salute, and moved so as to

"To be of any use to you," answered Doctor Lagarde, "I must be thrown into the magnetic trance. The person

Bending over him, she took both the Doctor's hands, and looked steadily into his eyes. No words passed

between them; nothing more took place. In a minute or two, his head was resting against the back of the

She laid his hands gently on the arms of the chair, and turned to address the visitor.

"Let the sleep gain on him for a minute or two more," she said. "Then take one of his hands, and put to him

"You might fire off a pistol, sir, close to his ear, and he would not hear it. The vibration might disturb him;

that is all. Until you or I touch him, and so establish the nervous sympathy, he is as lost to all sense of our

"My son's belief, sir, is my belief in this thing as in other things. I have heard what he has been saying to you.

It is for me that he sacrifices himself by holding these exhibitions; it is in my poor interests that his

hardlyearned money is made. I am in infirm health; and, remonstrate as I may, my son persists in providing

for me, not the bare comforts only, but even the luxuries of life. Whatever I may suffer, I have my

compensation; I can still thank God for giving me the greatest happiness that a woman can enjoy, the

She smiled fondly as she looked at the sleeping man. "Draw your chair nearer to him," she resumed, "and

take his hand. You may speak freely in making your inquiries. Nothing that happens in this room goes out of

With those words she returned to her place, in the corner behind her son's chair.

The visitor took Doctor Lagarde's hand. As they touched each other, he was conscious of a faintlytitillating

sensation in his own handa sensation which oddly reminded him of bygone experiments with an electrical

"I wish to question you about my future life," he began. "How ought I to begin?"

The Doctor spoke his first words in the monotonous tones of a man talking in his sleep.

"Own your true motive before you begin," he said. "Your interest in your future life is centered in a woman.

You wish to know if her heart will be yours in the time that is to comeand there your interest in your future

This startling proof of the sleeper's capacity to look, by sympathy, into his mind, and to see there his most

secret thoughts, instead of convincing the stranger, excited his suspicions. "You have means of getting

"Hundreds of strangers come here to consult my son," she said quietly. "If you believe that we know who

those strangers are, and that we have the means of inquiring into their private lives before they enter this

"I should like to have some explanation," he added. "The thing is so very extraordinary. How can I prevail

"He can only tell you what he sees," Madame Lagarde answered; "ask him that, and you will get a direct

"I see two figures standing side by side. One of them is your figure. The other is the figure of a lady. She only

appears dimly. I can discover nothing but that she is taller than women generally are, and that she is dressed

The man to whom he was speaking started at those last words. "Her favorite color!" he thought to

himselfforgetting that, while he held the Doctor's hand, the Doctor could think with his mind.

"Yes," added the sleeper quietly, "her favorite color, as you know. She fades and fades as I look at her," he

went on. "She is gone. I only see you, under a new aspect. You have a pistol in your hand. Opposite to you,

there stands the figure of another man. He, too, has a pistol in his hand. Are you enemies? Are you meeting to

There was another interval. An appearance of disturbance showed itself on the sleeper's face. Suddenly, he

"Send for the visitors who are there," he said. "They are all to come in. Each one of them is to take one of my

hands in turnwhile you remain where you are, holding the other hand. Don't let go of me, even for a

Madame Lagarde touched a bell on the table. The servant received his orders from her and retired. After a

short absence, he appeared again in the consultingroom, with one visitor only waiting on the threshold

"The other three gentlemen have gone away, madam," the servant explained, addressing Madame Lagarde.

"They were tired of waiting. I found this gentleman fast asleep; and I am afraid he is angry with me for taking

"Sleep of the common sort is evidently not allowed in this house." With that remark the gentleman entered

the room, and stood revealed as the original owner of the card numbered Fourteen.

Viewed by the clear lamplight, he was a tall, finelymade man, in the prime of life, with a florid complexion,

goldenbrown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. Noticing Madame Lagarde, he instantly checked the flow of his

satire, with the instinctive goodbreeding of a gentleman. "I beg your pardon," he said; "I have a great many

faults, and a habit of making bad jokes is one of them. Is the servant right, madam, in telling me that I have

The florid gentleman (still privately believing it to be all "humbug") was delighted to make himself of any

use. "I congratulate you, sir," he said, with his easy humor, as he passed the visitor who had become

possessed of his card. "Number Fourteen seems to be a luckier number in your keeping than it was in mine."

As he spoke, he took Doctor Lagarde's disengaged hand. The instant they touched each other the sleeper

started. His voice rose; his face flushed. "You are the man!" he exclaimed. "I see you plainly now!"

"You are standing opposite to the gentleman here who is holding my other hand; and (as I have said already)

"Considering that you and I are total strangers, sir," he said, "don't you think the Doctor had better introduce

us, before he goes any further? We have got to fighting a duel already, and we may as well know who we are,

before the pistols go off." He turned to Doctor Lagarde. "Dramatic situations don't amuse me out of the

theater," he resumed. "Let me put you to a very commonplace test. I want to be introduced to this gentleman.

"Certainly. I have only to look into your own knowledge of yourselves, while I am in this trance, and while

"Introduce us, then! " retorted the jesting gentleman. "And take my name first."

"Mr. Percy Linwood," replied the Doctor; "I have the honor of presenting you to Captain Bervie, of the

With one accord, the gentlemen both dropped Doctor Lagarde's hands, and looked at each other in blank

"Of course he has discovered our names somehow!" said Mr. Percy Linwood, explaining the mystery to his

Captain Bervie had not forgotten what Madame Lagarde had said to him, when he too had suspected a trick.

He now repeated it (quite ineffectually) for Mr. Linwood's benefit. "If you don't feel the force of that

argument as I feel it," he added, "perhaps, as a favor to me, sir, you will not object to our each taking the

Doctor's hand again, and hearing what more he can tell us while he remains in the state of trance?"

"With the greatest pleasure!" answered goodhumored Mr. Linwood. "Our friend is beginning to amuse me; I

"I can tell you nothing more than I have told you already. The figures of the duelists have faded away, like

the other figures I saw before them. What I see now looks like the winding gravelpath of a garden. A man

and a woman are walking toward me. The man stops, and places a ring on the woman's finger, and kisses

Captain Bervie opened his lips to continue his inquiriesturned paleand checked himself. Mr. Linwood

Captain Bervie positively insisted on receiving clearer information than this. "Surely you can see

"I can see that she has long darkbrown hair, falling below her waist. I can see that she has lovely

darkbrown eyes. She has the look of a sensitive nervous person. She is quite young. I can see no more."

"Look again at the man who is putting the ring on her finger," said the Captain. "Are you sure that the face

He walked to the door. Mr. Percy Linwood dropped Doctor Lagarde's hand, and appealed to the retiring

Mr. Linwood could hardly fail to see that any further attempt to treat the matter lightly might lead to

"It is difficult to speak seriously of this kind of exhibition," he resumed quietly. "But I suppose I may

mention a mere matter of fact, without meaning or giving offense. The description of the lady, I can

positively declare, does not apply in any single particular to any one whom I know."

Captain Bervie turned round at the door. His patience was in some danger of failing him. Mr. Linwood's

unruffled composure, assisted in its influence by the presence of Madame Lagarde, reminded him of the

claims of politeness. He restrained the rash words as they rose to his lips. "You may make new

Upon that, he went out. Percy Linwood waited a little, reflecting on the Captain's conduct.

Had Doctor Lagarde's description of the lady accidentally answered the description of a living lady whom

Captain Bervie knew? Was he by any chance in love with her? and had the Doctor innocently reminded him

that his love was not returned? Assuming this to be likely, was it really possible that he believed in prophetic

revelations offered to him under the fantastic influence of a trance? Could any man in the possession of his

Pondering these questions, Percy decided on returning to his place by the Doctor's chair. "Of one thing I am

certain, at any rate," he thought to himself. "I'll see the whole imposture out before I leave the house!"

He took Doctor Lagarde's hand. "Now, then! what is the next discovery?" he asked.

"No. The man, this time, is the Captain. The woman is agitated by something that he is saying to her. He

seems to be trying to persuade her to go away with him. She hesitates. He whispers something in her ear. She

yields. He leads her away. The darkness gathers behind them. I look and look, and I can see no more."

Doctor Lagarde sighed, and reclined in his chair. "My head is heavy," he said; "my spirits are dull. The

darkness baffles me. I have toiled long enough for you. Drop my hand and leave me to rest."

"It will be useless, sir, to ask him any more questions tonight," she said. "He has been weak and nervous all

day, and he is worn out by the effort he has made. Pardon me, if I ask you to step aside for a moment, while I

She laid her right hand gently on the Doctor's head, and kept it there for a minute or so. "Are you at rest

Madame Lagarde returned to Percy. "If you are not yet satisfied," she said, "my son will be at your service

"Thank you, madam, I have only one more question to ask, and you can no doubt answer it. When your son

"My son will be as absolutely ignorant of everything that he has seen, and of everything that he has said in

Percy Linwood swallowed this last outrageous assertion with an effort which he was quite unable to conceal.

Returning to the waitingroom, he noticed the moneybox fixed to the table. "These people look poor," he

thought to himself, "and I feel really indebted to them for an amusing evening. Besides, I can afford to be

liberal, for I shall certainly never go back." He dropped a fivepound note into the moneybox, and left the

Walking toward his club, Percy's natural serenity of mind was a little troubled by the remembrance of

Captain Bervie's language and conduct. The Captain had interested the young man in spite of himself. His

first idea was to write to Bervie, and mention what had happened at the renewed consultation with Doctor

Lagarde. On second thoughts, he saw reason to doubt how the Captain might receive such an advance as this,

on the part of a stranger. "After all," Percy decided, "the whole thing is too absurd to be worth thinking about

seriously. Neither he nor I are likely to meet again, or to see the Doctor againand there's an end of it."

He never was more mistaken in his life. The end of it was not to come for many a long day yet.

WHILE the consultation at Doctor Lagarde's was still fresh in the memory of the persons present at it,

Chance or Destiny, occupied in sowing the seeds for the harvest of the future, discovered as one of its fit

The Major was a smart little man, who persisted in setting up the appearance of youth as a means of hiding

the reality of fifty. Being still a bachelor, and being always ready to make himself agreeable, he was generally

popular in the society of women. In the ballroom he was a really welcome addition to the company. The

German waltz had then been imported into England little more than three years since. The outcry raised

against the dance, by persons ski lled in the discovery of latent impropriety, had not yet lost its influence in

certain quarters. Men who could waltz were scarce. The Major had successfully grappled with the difficulties

of learning the dance in mature life; and the young ladies rewarded him nobly for the. effort. That is to say,

they took the assumption of youth for granted in the palpable presence of fifty.

Knowing everybody and being welcome everywhere, playing a good hand at whist, and having an

inexhaustible fancy in the invention of a dinner, Major Mulvany naturally belonged to all the best clubs of his

time. Percy Linwood and he constantly met in the billiardroom or at the dinnertable. The Major approved

of the easy, handsome, pleasanttempered young man. "I have lost the first freshness of youth," he used to

say, with pathetic resignation, "and I see myself revived, as it were, in Percy. Naturally I like Percy."

About three weeks after the memorable evening at Doctor Lagarde's, the two friends encountered each other

"Let the theater wait, my boy. My old regiment gives a ball at Woolwich tonight. I have got a ticket to

spare; and I know several sweet girls who are going. Some of them waltz, Percy! Gather your rosebuds while

The invitation was accepted as readily as it was given. The Major found the carriage, and Percy paid for the

posthorses. They entered the ballroom among the earlier guests; and the first person whom they met,

Percy bowed a little uneasily. "I feel some doubt," he said, laughing, "whether we have been properly

"Not properly introduced!" cried Major Mulvany. "I'll soon set that right. My dear friend, Percy Linwood; my

Captain Bervie acknowledged the introduction by a cold salute. Percy, yielding to the goodnatured impulse

"You missed something worth hearing when you left the Doctor the other night," he said. "We continued the

sitting; and you turned up again among the persons of the drama, in a new character"

"Excuse me for interrupting you," said Captain Bervie. "I am a member of the committee, charged with the

He withdrew without waiting for a reply. Percy looked round wonderingly at Major Mulvany. "Strange!" he

said, "I feel rather attracted toward Captain Bervie; and he seems to have taken such a dislike to me that he

"I'll tell you," answered the Major, confidentially. "Arthur Bervie is madly in lovemadly is really the

wordwith a Miss Bowmore. And (this is between ourselves) the young lady doesn't feel it quite in the same

way. A sweet girl; I've often had her on my knee when she was a child. Her father and mother are old friends

of mine. She is coming to the ball tonight. That's the true reason why Arthur left you just now. Look at

himwaiting to be the first to speak to her. If he could have his way, he wouldn't let another man come near

the poor girl all through the evening; he really persecutes her. I'll introduce you to Miss Bowmore; and you

will see how he looks at us for presuming to approach her. It's a great pity; she will never marry him. Arthur

Bervie is a man in a thousand; but he's fast becoming a perfect bear under the strain on his temper. What's the

This last remark was perfectly justified. In telling the Captain's lovestory, Major Mulvany had revived his

young friend's memory of the lady in the blue dress, who had haunted the visions of Doctor Lagarde.

"Tell me," said Percy, "what is Miss Bowmore like? Is there anything remarkable in her personal appearance?

As he spoke, there arose among the guests in the rapidlyfilling ballroom a low murmur of surprise and

admiration. The Major laid one hand on Percy's shoulder, and, lifting the other, pointed to the door.

"What is Miss Bowmore like?" he repeated. "There she is! Let her answer for herself."

A young lady was entering, dressed in plain silk, and the color of it was a pale blue! Excepting a white rose at

her breast, she wore no ornament of any sort. Doubly distinguished by the perfect simplicity of her apparel,

and by her tall, supple, commanding figure, she took rank at once as the most remarkable woman in the room.

Moving nearer to her through the crowd, under the guidance of the complaisant Major, young Linwood

gained a clearer view of her hair, her complexion, and the color of her eyes. In every one of these particulars

While Percy was absorbed over this strange discovery, Major Mulvany had got within speaking distance of

the young lady and of her mother, as they stood together in conversation with Captain Bervie. "My dear Mrs.

Bowmore, how well you are looking! My dear Miss Charlotte, what a sensation you have made already! The

glorious simplicity (if I may so express myself) of your dress isiswhat was I going to say?the ideas

Miss Bowmore's magnificent brown eyes, wandering from the Major to Percy, rested on the young man with

a modest and momentary interest, which Captain Bervie's jealous attention instantly detected.

"They are forming a dance," he said, pressing forward impatiently to claim his partner. "If we don't take our

"Stop! stop!" cried the Major. "There is a time for everything, and this is the time for presenting my dear

friend here, Mr. Percy Linwood. He is like me, Miss Charlottehe has been struck by your glorious

simplicity, and he wants words." At this part of the presentation, he happened to look toward the irate

Captain, and instantly gave him a hint on the subject of his temper. "I say, Arthur Bervie! we are all

goodhumored people here. What have you got on your eyebrows? It looks like a frown; and it doesn't

become you. Send for a skilled waiter, and have it brushed off and taken away directly!"

"May I ask, Miss Bowmore, if you are disengaged for the next dance?" said Percy, the moment the Major

"Miss Bowmore is engaged to me for the next dance," said the angry Captain, before the young lady could

"With pleasure, Mr. Linwood," said Miss Bowmore. She would have been no true woman if she had not

resented the open exhibition of Arthur's jealousy; it was like asserting a right over her to which he had not the

shadow of a claim. She threw a look at Percy as her partner led her away, which was the severest punishment

In jealous distrust of Percy, the Captain took the conductor of the band aside, and used his authority as

committeeman to substitute another dance. He had no sooner turned his back on the orchestra than the wife of

the Colonel of the regiment, who had heard him, spoke to the conductor in her turn, and insisted on the

original programme being retained. "Quote the Colonel's authority," said the lady, "if Captain Bervie ventures

to object." In the meantime, the Captain, on his way to rejoin Charlotte, was met by one of his brother

officers, who summoned him officially to an impending debate of the committee charged with the

administrative arrangements of the suppertable. Bervie had no choice but to follow his brother officer to the

Barely a minute later the conductor appeared at his desk, and the first notes of the music rose low and

"Percy, my boy!" cried the Major, recognizing the melody, "you're in luck's wayit's going to be a wa ltz!"

Almost as he spoke, the notes of the symphony glided by subtle modulations into the inspiriting air of the

waltz. Percy claimed his partner's hand. Miss Charlotte hesitated, and looked at her mother.

"I have learned to waltz," she answered, modestly; "but this is such a large room, and there are so many

Miss Bowmore looked again at her mother. Her foot was keeping time with the music, under her dress; her

heart was beating with a delicious excitement; kindhearted Mrs. Bowmore smiled and said: "Once round,

In another moment Percy's arm took possession of her waist, and they were away on the wings of the waltz!

Could words describe, could thought realize, the exquisite enjoyment of the dance? Enjoyment? It was

moreit was an epoch in Charlotte's lifeit was the first time she had waltzed with a man. What a

difference between the fervent clasp of Percy's arm and the cold, formal contact of the mistress who had

taught her! How brightly his eyes looked down into hers; admiring her with such a tender restraint, that there

could surely be no harm in looking up at him now and then in return. Round and round they glided, absorbed

in the music and in themselves. Occasionally her bosom just touched him, at those critical moments when she

was most in need of support. At other intervals, she almost let her head sink on his shoulder in trying to hide

from him the smile which acknowledged his admiration too boldly. "Once round," Percy had suggested;

"once round," her mother had said. They had been ten, twenty, thirty times round; they had never stopped to

rest like other dancers; they had centered the eyes of the whole room on themincluding the eyes of Captain

Berviewithout knowing it; her delicately pale complexion had changed to rosyred; the neat arrangement

of her hair had become disturbed; her bosom was rising and falling faster and faster in the effort to

breathebefore fatigue and heat overpowered her at last, and forced her to say to him faintly, "I'm very

Percy led her into the cooler atmosphere of the refreshmentroom, and revived her with a glass of lemonade.

Her arm still rested on hisshe was just about to thank him for the care he had taken of herwhen Captain

"Mrs. Bowmore wishes me to take you back to her," he said to Charlotte. Then, turning to Percy, he added:

"Will you kindly wait here while I take Miss Bowmore to the ballroom? I have a word to say to youI will

The Captain spoke with perfect politenessbut his face betrayed him. It was pale with the sinister whiteness

Percy sat down to cool and rest himself. With his experience of the ways of men, he felt no surprise at the

marked contrast between Captain Bervie's face and Captain Bervie's manner. "He has seen us waltzing, and

he is coming back to pick a quarrel with me." Such was the interpretation which Mr. Linwood's knowledge of

the world placed on Captain Bervie's politeness. In a minute or two more the Captain returned to the

refreshmentroom, and satisfied Percy that his anticipations had not deceived him.

Although it was no later in the year than the month of February, the sun was shining brightly, and the air was

as soft as the air of a day in spring. Percy and Charlotte were walking together in the little garden at the back

"Mr. Linwood," said the young lady, "you were to have paid us your first visit the day after the ball. Why

"I have counted the hours since we parted, Miss Charlotte. If I had not been detained by business"

"I understand! For three days business has controlled you. On the fourth day, you have controlled

There was no answering such a declaration as this. Guiltily conscious that Charlotte was right in refusing to

accept his wellworn excuse, Percy made an awkward attempt to change the topic of conversation.

They happened, at the moment, to be standing near a small conservatory at the end of the garden. The glass

door was closed, and the few plants and shrubs inside had a lonely, neglected look. "Does nobody ever visit

this secluded place?" Percy asked, jocosely, "or does it hide discoveries in the rearing of plants which are

"Satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Linwood, by all means," Charlotte answered in the same tone. "Open the door,

Percy obeyed. In passing through the doorway, he encountered the bare hanging branches of some creeping

plant, long since dead, and detached from its fastenings on the woodwork of the roof. He pushed aside the

branches so that Charlotte could easily follow him in, without being aware that his own forced passage

through them had a little deranged the folds of spotless white cambric which a welldressed gentleman wore

round his neck in those days. Charlotte seated herself, and directed Percy's attention to the desolate

"The mystery which your lively imagination has associated with this place," she said, "means, being

interpreted, that we are too poor to keep a gardener. Make the best of your disappointment, Mr. Linwood, and

sit here by me. We are out of hearing and out of sight of mamma's other visitors. You have no excuse now for

She fixed her eyes on him as she said those words. Before Percy could think of another excuse, her quick

observation detected the disordered condition of his cravat, and discovered the upper edge of a black plaster

"You have been hurt in the neck!" she said. "That is why you have kept away from us for the last three days!"

Her eyes, still resting on his face, assumed an expression of suspicious inquiry, which Percy was entirely at a

loss to understand. Suddenly, she started to her feet, as if a new idea had occurred to her. "Wait here," she

In a minute or two, Miss Bowmore returned, with a newspaper in her hand. "Read that," she said, pointing to

The passage that she indicated contained an account of a duel which had recently taken place in the

neighborhood of London. The names of the duelists were not mentioned. One was described as an officer,

and the other as a civilian. They had quarreled at cards, and had fought with pistols. The civilian had had a

narrow escape of his life. His antagonist's bullet had passed near enough to the side of his neck to tear the

Charlotte's eyes, riveted on Percy, detected a sudden change of color in his face the moment he looked at the

newspaper. That was enough for her. "You are the man!" she cried. "Oh, for shame, for shame! To risk your

"I would risk it again," said Percy, "to hear you speak as if you set some value on it."

She looked away from him without a word of reply. Her mind seemed to be busy again with its own thoughts.

Did she meditate returning to the subject of the duel? Was she not satisfied with the discovery which she had

No such doubts as these troubled the mind of Percy Linwood. Intoxicated by the charm of her presence,

emboldened by her innocent betrayal of the interest that she felt in him, he opened his whole heart to her as

unreservedly as if they had known each other from the days of their childhood. There was but one excuse for

"You don't know how completely you have become a part of my life, sinc e we met at the ball," he went on.

"That one delightful dance seemed, by some magic which I can't explain, to draw us together in a few

minutes as if we had known each other for years. Oh, dear! I could make such a confession of what I

feltonly I am afraid of offending you by speaking too soon. Women are so dreadfully difficult to

understand. How is a man to know at what time it is considerate toward them to conceal his true feelings; and

at what time it is equally considerate to express his true feelings? One doesn't know whether it is a matter of

days or weeks or monthsthere ought to be a law to settle it. Dear Miss Charlotte, when a poor fellow loves

you at first sight, as he has never loved any other woman, and when he is tormented by the fear that some

other man may be preferred to him, can't you forgive him if he lets out the truth a little too soon?" He

ventured, as he put that very downright question, to take her hand. "It really isn't my fault," he said, simply.

To Percy's delight, the first experimental pressure of his hand, far from being resented, was softly returned.

"I'll forgive you for talking nonsense, Mr. Linwood," she said; "and I will even permit you to come and see

me again, on one conditionthat you tell the whole truth about the duel. If you conceal the smallest

"Haven't I owned everything already?" Percy inquired, in great perplexity. "Did I say No, when you told me I

"Could you say No, with that plaster on your neck?" was the ready rejoinder. "I am determined to know more

than the newspaper tells me. Will you declare, on your word of honor, that Captain Bervie had nothing to do

with the duel? Can you look me in the face, and say that the real cause of the quarrel was a disagreement at

cards? When you were talking with me just before I left the ball, how did you answer a gentleman who asked

you to make one at the whisttable? You said, 'I don't play at cards.' Ah! You thought I had forgotten that?

"Only tell me what you wish to know, Miss Charlotte," said Percy humbly. "If you will put the questions, I

"He said I had added tenfold to my offense, by waltzing with you in such a manner as to make you the

"No; I contradicted him instantly. And I said, besides, 'It's an insult to Miss Bowmore, to suppose that she

"Well, he lost his temper; I would rather not repeat what he said when he was mad with jealousy. There was

"Yes. We managed it when the cardroom was emptying at suppertime, and nobody was present but Major

"No; I had your flower with me, the flower you gave me out of your nosegay, at the ball."

"I gave it a sly kiss while they were measuring the ground; and (don't tell anybody!) I put it next to my heart

"He walked (as the seconds had arranged it) ten paces forward; and then he stopped, and lifted his pistol"

"Don't tell me any more! Oh, to think of my being the miserable cause of such horrors! I'll never dance again

as long as I live. Did you think he had killed you, when the bullet wounded your poor neck?"

"Hardly felt it? How he talks! And when the wretch had done his best to kill you, and when it came to your

"No; I had no quarrel with him, poor fellow; I just stood where I was, and fired in the air"

Before he could stop her, Charlotte seized his hand, and kissed it with an hysterical fervor of admiration,

"Why shouldn't I kiss the hand of a hero?" she cried, with tears of enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. "Nobody

but a hero would have given that man his life; nobody but a hero would have pardoned him, while the blood

was streaming from the wound that he had inflicted. I respect you, I admire you. Oh, don't think me bold! I

can't control myself when I hear of anything noble and good. You will understand me better when we get to

"Are we never to be nearer and dearer to each other than old friends?" he asked in a whisper. "I am not a

heroyour goodness overrates me, dear Miss Charlotte. My one ambition is to be the happy man who is

worthy enough to win you. At your own time! I wouldn't distress you, I wouldn't confuse you, I wouldn't for

the whole world take advantage of the compliment which your sympathy has paid to me. If it offends you, I

She sighed as he said the last words; trembled a little, and silently looked at him.

Percy read his answer in her eyes. Without meaning it on either side their heads drew nearer together; their

cheeks, then their lips, touched. She started back from him, and rose to leave the conservatory. At the same

moment, the sound of slowlyapproaching footsteps became audible on the gravel walk of the garden.

" My father! " she exclaimed, turning to Percy. "Come, and be introduced to him."

JUDGING by appearances, Mr. Bowmore looked like a man prematurely wasted and worn by the cares of a

troubled life. His eyes presented the one feature in which his daughter resembled him. In shape and color they

were exactly reproduced in Charlotte; the difference was in the expression. The father's look was habitually

restless, eager, and suspicious. Not a trace was to be seen in it of the truthfulness and gentleness which made

the charm of the daughter's expression. A man whose bitter experience of the world had soured his temper

and shaken his faith in his fellowcreaturessuch was Mr. Bowmore as he presented himself on the surface.

He received Percy politelybut with a preoccupied air. Every now and then, his restless eyes wandered from

the visitor to an open letter in his hand. Charlotte, observing him, pointed to the letter.

"Dreadful news!" Mr. Bowmore answered. "Dreadful news, my child, to every Englishman who respects the

liberties which his ancestors won. My correspondent is a man who is in the confidence of the Ministers," he

continued, addressing Percy. "What do you think is the remedy that the Government proposes for the

universal distress among the population, caused by an infamous and needless war? Despotism, Mr. Linwood;

despotism in this free country is the remedy! In one week more, sir, Ministers will bring in a Bill for

Before Percy could do justice in words to the impression produced on him, Charlotte innocently asked a

"Good God!" cried Mr. Bowmore, "is it possible that a child of mine has grown up to womanhood, in

Mr. Bowmore reverently uncovered his head, saluting an invisible Habeas Corpus Act. He took his daughter

by the hand, with a certain parental sternness: his voice trembled with emotion as he spoke his next words:

"The Habeas Corpus Act, my child, forbids the imprisonment of an English subject, unless that imprisonment

can be first justified by law. Not even the will of the reigning monarch can prevent us from appearing before

the judges of the land, and summoning them to declare whether our committal to prison is legally just."

He put on his hat again. "Never forget what I have told you, Charlotte!" he said solemnly. "I would not

remove my hat, sir," he continuing, turning to Percy, "in the presence of the proudest autocrat that ever sat on

a throne. I uncover, in homage to the grand law which asserts the sacredness of human liberty. When

Parliament has sanctioned the infamous Bill now before it, English patriots may be imprisoned, may even be

hanged, on warrants privately obtained by the paid spies and informers of the men who rule us. Perhaps I

weary you, sir. You are a young man; the conduct of the Ministry may not interest you."

"On the contrary," said Percy, "I have the strongest personal interest in the conduct of the Ministry."

"My late father had a claim on government," Percy answered, "for money expended in foreign service. As his

heir, I inherit the claim, which has been formally recognized by the present Ministers. My petition for a

settlement will be presented by friends of mine who can advocate my interests in the House of Commons."

"In such a matter as this you cannot have too many friends to help you," he said. "I myself have some

influence, as representing opinion outside the House; and I am entirely at your service. Come tomorrow, and

let us talk over the details of your claim at my humble dinnertable. Today I must attend a meeting of the

BranchHampdenClub, of which I am vicepresident, and to which I am now about to communicate the

alarming news which my letter contains. Excuse me for leaving youand count on a hearty welcome when

"I hope you like my father?" said Charlotte. "All our friends say he ought to be in Parliament. He has tried

twice. The expenses were dreadful; and each time the other man defeated him. The agent says he would be

certainly elected, if he tried again; but there is no money, and we mustn't think of it."

A man of a suspicious turn of mind might have discovered, in those artless words, the secret of Mr.

Bowmore's interest in the success of his young friend's claim on the Government. One British subject, with a

sum of ready money at his command, may be an inestimably useful person to another British subject (without

ready money) who cannot sit comfortably unless he sits in Parliament. But honest Percy Linwood was not a

man of a suspicious turn of mind. He had just opened his lips to echo Charlotte's filial glorification of her

father, when a shabbilydressed manservant met them with a message, for which they were both alike

"Captain Bervie has called, Miss, to say goodby, and my mistress requests your company in the parlor."

HAVING delivered his little formula of words, the shabby servant cast a look of furtive curiosity at Percy and

withdrew. Charlotte turned to her lover, with indignation sparkling in her eyes and flushing on her cheeks at

the bare idea of seeing Captain Bervie again. "Does he think I will breathe the same air," she exclaimed,

"You are sadly mistaken," he said. "Captain Bervie stood to receive my fire as fairly as I stood to receive his.

When I discharged my pistol in the air, he was the first man who ran up to me, and asked if I was seriously

hurt. They told him my wound was a trifle; and he fell on his knees and thanked God for preserving my life

from his guilty hand. 'I am no longer the rival who hates you,' he said. 'Give me time to try if change of scene

will quiet my mind; and I will be your brother, and her brother.' Whatever his faults may be, Charlotte,

Arthur Bervie has a great heart. Go in, I entreat you, and be friends with him as I am."

Charlotte listened with downcast eyes and changing color. "You believe him?" she asked in low and

She secretly resented the comparison, and detested the Captain more heartily than ever. "I will go in and see

him, if you wish it," she said. "But not by myself. I want you to come with me."

She made no reply. Percy had done his best to convince her, and had evidently failed.

They went together into the cottage. Fixing her eyes steadily on the Captain's face, Charlotte saw it turn pale

when Percy followed her into the parlor. The two men greeted one another cordially. Charlotte sat down by

her mother, preserving her composure so far as appearances went. "I hear you have called to bid us

"I have got two months' leave," the Captain answered, without looking at her while he spoke.

She turned away to her mother. Bervie seized the opportunity of speaking to Percy. "I have a word of advice

for your private ear." At the same moment, Charlotte whispered to her mother: "Don't encourage him to

The Captain showed no intention to prolong his visit. To Charlotte's surprise, when he took leave of the

ladies, Percy also rose to go. "His carriage," he said, "was waiting at the door; and he had offered to take

Charlotte instantly suspected an arrangement between the two men for a confidential interview. Her obstinate

distrust of Bervie strengthened tenfold. She reluctantly gave him her hand, as he parted from her at the

parlordoor. The effort of concealing her true feeling toward him gave a color and a vivacity to her face

which made her irresistibly beautiful. Bervie looked at the woman whom he had lost with an immeasurable

sadness in his eyes. "When we meet again," he said, "you will see me in a new character." He hurried out of

Charlotte followed Percy into the passage. "I shall be here tomorrow, dearest!" he said, and tried to raise her

hand to his lips. She abruptly drew it away. "Not that hand!" she answered. "Captain Bervie has just touched

She put her arm over his shoulder, and touched the plaster on his neck gently with her finger. "There's one

Percy left her, laughing. At the front gate of the cottage he found Arthur Bervie in conversation with the same

"What has become of the other servant?" Bervie asked. "I mean the old man who has been with Mr.

Bervie looked hard at the man for a moment, and then joined Percy at the carriage door. The two gentlemen

"What do you think of Mr. Bowmore's new servant?" asked the Captain as they drove away from the cottage.

There was a pause. When the conversation was resumed, it turned on commonplace subjects. The Captain

looked uneasily out of the carriage window. Percy looked uneasily at the Captain.

They had left Dartford about two miles behind them, when Percy noticed an old gabled house, sheltered by

magnificent trees, and standing on an eminence well removed from the highroad. Carriages and

saddlehorses were visible on the drive in front, and a flag was hoisted on a staff placed in the middle of the

"Something seems to be going on there," Percy remarked. "A fine old house! Who does it belong to?"

Bervie smiled. "It belongs to my father," he said. "He is chairman of the bench of local magistrates, and he

He stopped and looked at Percy with some embarrassment. "I am afraid I have surprised and disappointed

you," he resumed, abruptly changing the subject. "I told you when we met just now at Mr. Bowmore's cottage

that I had something to say to you; and I have not yet said it. The truth is, I don't feel sure whether I have

"Whatever your advice is," Percy answered, "trust me to take it kindly on my side."

"You will probably pass much of your time at the cottage," he began, "and you will be thrown a great deal

into Mr. Bowmore's society. I have known him for many years. Speaking from that knowledge, I most

seriously warn you against him as a thoroughly unprincipled and thoroughly dangerous man."

This was strong languageand, naturally enough, Percy said so. The Captain justified his language.

"Without alluding to Mr. Bowmore's politics," he went on, "I can tell you that the motive of everything he

says and does is vanity. To the gratification of that one passion he would sacrifice you or me, his wife or his

daughter, without hesitation and without remorse. His one desire is to get into Parliament. You are wealthy,

and you can help him. He will leave no effort untried to reach that end; and, if he gets you into political

Percy made a last effort to take Mr. Bowmore's partfor the one irresistible reason that he was Charlotte's

"Pray don't think I am unworthy of your kind interest in my welfare," he pleaded. "Can you tell me of any

"I can tell you of three facts," Bervie said. "Mr. Bowmore belongs to one of the most revolutionary clubs in

England; he has spoken in the ranks of sedition at public meetings; and his name is already in the black book

at the Home Office. So much for the past. As to the future, if the rumor be true that Ministers mean to stop

the insurrectionary risings among the population by suspending the Habeas Corpus Act, Mr. Bowmore will

certainly be in danger; and it may be my father's duty to grant the warrant that apprehends him. Write to my

father to verify what I have said, and I will forward your letter by way of satisfying him that he can trust you.

In the meantime, refuse to accept Mr. Bowmore's assistance in the matter of your claim on Parliament; and,

above all things, stop him at the outset, when he tries to steal his way into your intimacy. I need not caution

you to say nothing against him to his wife and daughter. His wily tongue has long since deluded them. Don't

let him delude you! Have you thought any more of our evening at Doctor Lagarde's?" he asked, abruptly

"I hardly know," said Percy, still under the impression of the formidable warning which he had just received.

"Let me jog your memory," the other continued. "You went on with the consultation by yourself, after I had

left the Doctor's house. It will be really doing me a favor if you can call to mind what Lagarde saw in the

Thus entreated Percy roused himself. His memory of events were still fresh enough to answer the call that his

friend had made on it. In describing what had happened, he accurately repeated all that the Doctor had said.

"A man like me, trying to persuade a woman like" he checked himself, as if he was afraid to let Charlotte's

name pass his lips. "Trying to induce a woman to go away with me," he resumed, "and persuading her at last?

"When we get to London," said the Captain, "we shall pass along the Strand, on the way to your chambers.

"Is it not serious?" Bervie asked. "Have you and I, so far, not done exactly what this man saw us doing? Did

we not meet, in the days when we were rivals (as he saw us meet), with the pistols in our hands? Did you not

recognize his description of the lady when you met her at the ball, as I recognized it before you?"

"Mere coincidences!" Percy answered, quoting Charlotte's opinion when they had spoken together of Doctor

Lagarde, but taking care not to cite his authority. "How many thousand men have been crossed in love? How

many thousand men have fought duels for love? How many thousand women choose blue for their favorite

color, and answer to the vague description of the lady whom the Doctor pretended to see?"

"Say that it is so," Bervie rejoined. "The thing is remarkable, even from your point of view. And if more

Arrived at the Strand, Percy set the Captain down at the turning which led to the Doctor's lodgings. "You will

That night, the Captain's pen performed the Captain's promise, in few and startling words.

"Melancholy news! Madame Lagarde is dead. Nothing is known of her son but that he has left England. I

have found out that he is a political exile. If he has ventured back to France, it is barely possible that I may

hear something of him. I have friends at the English embassy in Paris who will help me to make inquiries;

and I start for the Continent in a day or two. Write to me while I am away, to the care of my father, at 'The

Manor House, near Dartford.' He will always know my address abroad, and will forward your letters. For

your own sake, remember the warning I gave you this afternoon! Your faithful friend, A. B."

THERE WAS a more serious reason than Bervie was aware of, at the time, for the warning which he had

thought it his duty to address to Percy Linwood. The new footman who had entered Mr. Bowmore's service

Well practiced in the infamous vocation that he followed, the wretch had been chosen by the Department of

Secret Service at the Home Office, to watch the proceedings of Mr. Bowmore and his friends, and to report

the result to his superiors. It may not be amiss to add that the employment of paid spies and informers, by the

English Government of that time, was openly acknowledged in the House of Lords, and was defended as a

The reports furnished by the Home Office Spy, under these circumstances, begin with the month of March,

"MR. SECRETARYSince I entered Mr. Bowmore's service, I have the honor to inform you that my eyes

and ears have been kept in a state of active observation; and I can further certify that my means of making

myself useful in the future to my honorable employers are in no respect diminished. Not the slightest

"The young gentleman now on a visit to Mr. Bowmore is, as you have been correctly informed, Mr. Percy

Linwood. Although he is engaged to be married to Miss Bowmore, he is not discreet enough to conceal a

certain want of friendly feeling, on his part, toward her father. The young lady has noticed this, and has

resented it. She accuses her lover of having allowed himself to be prejudiced against Mr. Bowmore by some

"Mr. Percy's clumsy defense of himself led (in my hearing) to a quarrel! Nothing but his prompt submission

" 'If you showed a want of confidence in Me' (I heard Miss Charlotte say), 'I might forgive it. But when you

show a want of confidence in a man so noble as my father, I have no mercy on you.' After such an expression

of filial sentiment as this, Mr. Percy wisely took the readiest way of appealing to the lady's indulgence. The

young man has a demand on Parliament for moneys due to his father's estate; and he pleased and flattered

Miss Charlotte by asking Mr. Bowmore to advise him as to the best means of asserting his claim. By way of

advancing his political interests, Mr. Bowmore introduced him to the local Hampden Club; and Miss

Charlotte rewarded him with a generosity which must not be passed over in silence. Her lover was permitted

to put an engagement ring on her finger, and to kiss her afterward to his heart's content."

"Mr. Percy has paid more visits to the Republican Club; and Justice Bervie (father of the Captain) has heard

of it, and has written to his son. The result that might have been expected has followed. Captain Bervie

announces his return to England, to exert his influence for political good against the influence of Mr.

"In the meanwhile, Mr. Percy's claim has been brought before the House of Commons, and has been

adjourned for further consideration in six months' time. Both the gentlemen are indignantespecially Mr.

Bowmore. He has called a meeting of the Club to consider his young friend's wrongs, and has proposed the

"Mr. Percy has been elected. Captain Bervie has tried to awaken his mind to a sense of the danger that

threatens him, if he persists in associating with his republican friendsand has utterly failed. Mr. Bowmore

and Mr. Percy have made speeches at the Club, intended to force the latter gentleman's claim on the

immediate attention of Government. Mr. Bowmore's flow of frothy eloquence has its influence (as you know

from our shorthand writers' previous reports) on thousands of ignorant people. As it seems to me, the reasons

for at once putting this man in prison are beyond dispute. Whether it is desirable to include Mr. Percy in the

order of arrest, I must not venture to decide. Let me only hint that his seditious speech rivals the more

"So much for the present. I may now respectfully direct your attention to the future.

"On the second of April next the Club assembles a public meeting, 'in aid of British liberty,' in a field near

Dartford. Mr. Bowmore is to preside, and is to be escorted afterward to Westminster Hall on his way to plead

Mr. Percy's cause, in his own person, before the House of Commons. He is quite serious in declaring that 'the

minions of Government dare not touch a hair of his head.' Miss Charlotte agrees with her father And Mr.

Percy agrees with Miss Charlotte. Such is the state of affairs at the house in which I am acting the part of

"I inclose shorthand reports of the speeches recently delivered at the Hampden Club, and have the honor of

"I immediately waited on Justice Bervie (in plain clothes, of course), and gave him your official letter,

"He quite understood the necessity for keeping the arrest a strict secret, in the interests of Government. The

only reluctance he felt in granting the warrant related to his son's intimate friend. But for the peremptory tone

of your letter, I really believe he would have asked you to give Mr. Percy time for consideration. Not being

rash enough to proceed to such an extreme as this, he slyly consulted the young man's interests by declining,

on formal grounds, to date the warrant earlier than the second of April. Please note that my visit to him was

"If the object of this delay (to which I was obliged to submit) is to offer a chance of escape to Mr. Percy, the

same chance necessarily includes Mr. Bowmore, whose name is also in the warrant. Trust me to keep a

watchful eye on both these gentlemen; especially on Mr. Bowmore. He is the most dangerous man of the two,

and the most likely, if he feels any suspicions, to slip through the fingers of the law.

"I have also to report that I discovered three persons in the hall of Justice Bervie's house, as I went out.

"One of them was his son, the Captain; one was his daughter, Miss Bervie; and the third was that

smoothtongued old soldier, Major Mulvany. If the escape of Mr. Bowmore and Mr. Linwood is in

contemplation, mark my words: the persons whom I have just mentioned will be concerned in itand

perhaps Miss Charlotte herself as well. At present, she is entirely unsuspicious of any misfortune hanging

over her head; her attention being absorbed in the preparation of her bridal finery. As an admirer myself of

the fair sex, I must own that it seems hard on the girl to have her lover clapped into prison, before the

"I will bring you word of the arrest myself. There will be plenty of time to catch the afternoon coach to

"Hereunless something happens which it is impossible to foreseemy report may come to an end."

* Readers who may desire to test the author's authority for this statement, are referred to "The Annual

ON the evening of the first of April, Mrs. Bowmore was left alone with the servants. Mr. Bowmore and Percy

had gone out together to attend a special meeting of the Club. Shortly afterward Miss Charlotte had left the

A few minutes only after the departure of her father and Percy, she received a letter, which appeared to cause

"Mamma, I must see Captain Bervie for a few minutes in private, on a matter of serious importance to all of

us. He is waiting at the front gate, and he will come in if I show myself at the hall door."

"There is no time for explanation," was the only answer she received; "I ask you to leave me for five minutes

Mrs. Bowmore still hesitated. Charlotte snatched up her garden hat, and declared, wildly, that she would go

out to Captain Bervie, if she was not permitted to receive him at home. In the face of this declaration, Mrs.

Although she had given way, Mrs. Bowmore was not disposed to trust her daughter, without supervision, in

the society of a man whom Charlotte herself had reviled as a slanderer and a false friend. She took up her

position in the veranda outside the parlor, at a safe distance from one of the two windows of the room which

had been left partially open to admit the fresh air. Here she waited and listened.

As they became more and more excited, both Charlotte and Bervie ended in unconsciously raising their

"I swear it to you on my faith as a Christian!" Mrs. Bowmore heard the Captain say. "I declare before God

"I can't believe you! I daren't believe you! Oh, how can you ask me to do such a thing? Let me go! let me

Bervie had put her da ughter's arm on his arm, and was trying to induce her to leave the parlor with him. She

resisted, and implored him to release her. He dropped her arm, and whispered in her ear. She looked at

"Be it so!" he answered. "And remember one thing: every minute is precious; the fewest words are the best."

Mrs. Bowmore reentered the cottage by the adjoining room, and met them in the passage. In few words,

"I must go at once to Justice Bervie's house. Don't be afraid, mamma! I know what I am about, and I know I

"Going to Justice Bervie's!" cried Mrs. Bowmore, in the utmost extremity of astonishment. "What will your

"My sister's carriage is waiting for me close by," Bervie answered. "It is entirely at Miss Bowmore's disposal.

She can easily get back, if she wishes to keep her visit a secret, before Mr. Bowmore and Mr. Linwood

He led her to the door as he spoke. She ran back and kissed her mother tenderly. Mrs. Bowmore called to

"I daren't let you go," she said to her daughter, "without your father's leave!"

Charlotte seemed not to hear, the Captain seemed not to hear. They ran across the front garden, and through

More than two hours passed; the sun sank below the horizon, and still there were no signs of Charlotte's

Feeling seriously uneasy, Mrs. Bowmore crossed the room to ring the bell, and send the manservant to

As she approached the fireplace, she was startled by a sound of stealthy footsteps in the hall, followed by a

loud noise as of some heavy object that had dropped on the floor. She rang the bell violently, and opened the

door of the parlor. At the same moment, the spyfootman passed her, running out, apparently in pursuit of

somebody, at the top of his speed. She followed him, as rapidly as she could, across the little front garden, to

the gate. Arrived in the road, she was in time to see him vault upon the luggageboard at the back of a

postchaise before the cottage, just as the postilion started the horses on their way to London. The spy saw

Mrs. Bowmore looking at him, and pointed, with an insolent nod of his head, first to the inside of the vehicle,

and then over it to the highroad; signing to her that he designed to accompany the person in the postchaise

Turning to go back, Mrs. Bowmore saw her own bewilderment reflected in the faces of the two female

"Who can the footman be after, ma'am?" asked the cook. "Do you think it's a thief?"

"Simpleton!" she said. "Do thieves travel in that way? I wish my master had come back," she proceeded,

Mrs. Bowmore, returning through the gardengate, instantly stopped and looked at the woman.

"What makes you mention your master's name, Amelia, when you fear that something is wrong?" she asked.

"I am loth to alarm you, ma'am," she said; "and I can't rightly see what it is my duty to do."

Mrs. Bowmore's heart sank within her under the cruelest of all terrors, the terror of something unknown.

"Don't keep me in suspense," she said faintly. "Whatever it is, let me know it."

She led the way back to the parlor. The housemaid followed her. The cook (declining to be left alone)

"It was something I heard early this afternoon, ma'am," Amelia began. "Cook happened to be busy"

The cook interposed: she had not forgiven the housemaid for calling her a simpleton. "No, Amelia, if you

"I don't know that your mind makes much difference," Amelia resumed. "What it comes to is thisit was I,

The cook looked as if she declined to believe her own ears. Mrs. Bowmore pointed to the door. The cook said

"Oh?"accenting it as a question. Mrs. Bowmore's finger still pointed. The cook, in solemn silence, yielded

"I was getting the vegetables, ma'am," Amelia proceeded, "when I heard voices on the other side of the

paling. The wood is so old that one can see through the cracks easy enough. I saw my master, and Mr.

Linwood, and Captain Bervie. The Captain seemed to have stopped the other two on the pathway that leads to

the field; he stood, as it might be, between them and the back way to the houseand he spoke severely, that

"He said these words, ma'am: 'For the last time, Mr. Bowmore,' says he, 'will you understand that you are in

danger, and that Mr. Linwood is in danger, unless you both leave this neighborhood tonight?' My master

made light of it. 'For the last time,' says he, 'will you refer us to a proof of what you say, and allow us to judge

for ourselves?' 'I have told you already,' says the Captain, 'I am bound by my duty toward another person to

keep what I know a secret.' 'Very well,' says my master, 'I am bound by my duty to my country. And I tell

you this,' says he, in his high and mighty way, 'neither Government, nor the spies of Government, dare touch

"That's quite true," said Mrs. Bowmore, still believing in her husband as firmly as ever.

"Captain Bervie didn't seem to think so," she said. "He lost his temper. 'What stuff!' says he; 'there's a

Government spy in your house at this moment, disguised as your footman.' My master looked at Mr.

Linwood, and burst out laughing. 'You won't beat that, Captain,' says he, 'if you talk till doomsday.' He turned

about without a word more, and went home. The Captain caught Mr. Linwood by the arm, as soon as they

"He did, indeed, ma'amand he was in earnest about it, too. 'If you value your liberty,' he says to Mr.

Linwood; 'if you hope to become Charlotte's husband, consult your own safety. I can give you a passport.

Escape to France and wait till this trouble is over.' Mr. Linwood was not in the best of tempersMr.

Linwood shook him off. 'Charlotte's father will soon be my father,' says he, 'do you think I will desert him?

My friends at the Club have taken up my claim; do you think I will forsake them at the meeting tomorrow?

You ask me to be unworthy of Charlotte, and unworthy of my friendsyou insult me, if you say more.' He

"Lifted up his hands, ma'am, to the heavens, and lookedI declare it turned my blood to see him. If there's

What the housemaid's belief was, remained unexpressed. Before she could get to her next word, a shriek of

horror from the hall announced that the cook's powers of interruption were not exhausted yet.

Mistress and servant both hurried out in terror of they knew not what. There stood the cook, alone in the hall,

confronting the stand on which the overcoats and hats of the men of the family were placed.

"Where's the master's traveling coat?" cried the cook, staring wildly at an unoccupied peg. "And where's his

cap to match! Oh Lord, he's off in the postchaise! and the footman's after him!"

Coat and capboth made after a foreign pattern, and both strikingly remarkable in form and color to English

eyeshad unquestionably disappeared. It was equally certain that they were well known to the foot man,

whom the Captain had declared to be a spy, as the coat and cap which his master used in traveling. Had Mr.

Bowmore discovered (since the afternoon) that he was really in danger? Had the necessities of instant flight

only allowed him time enough to snatch his coat and cap out of the hall? And had the treacherous manservant

seen him as he was making his escape to the postchaise? The cook's conclusions answered all these

questions in the affirmativeand, if Captain Bervie's words of warning had been correctly reported, the

Under this last trial of her fortitude, Mrs. Bowmore's feeble reserves of endurance completely gave way. The

poor lady turned faint and giddy. Amelia placed her on a chair in the hall, and told the cook to open the front

The cook obeyed; and instantly broke out with a second terrific scream; announcing nothing less, this time,

than the appearance of Mr. Bowmore himself, alive and hearty, returning with Percy from the meeting at the

Fully assured, as he had declared himself to be, of the sanctity of his person (politically speaking), Mr.

Bowmore turned pale, nevertheless, when he looked at the unoccupied peg on his clothes stand. Had some

man unknown personated him? And had a postchaise been hired to lead an impending pursuit of him in the

wrong direction? What did it mean? Who was the friend to whose services he was indebted? As for the

proceedings of the manservant, but one interpretation could now be placed on them. They distinctly justified

what Captain Bervie had said of him. Mr. Bowmore thought of the Captain's other assertion, relating to the

urgent necessity for making his escape; and looked at Percy in silent dismay; and turned paler than ever.

Percy's thoughts, diverted for the moment only from the lady of his love, returned to her with renewed

Terrified at the effect which her attempt at explanation produced on Percy, helplessly ignorant when she was

called upon to account for her daughter's absence, Mrs. Bowmore could only shed tears and express a devout

trust in Providence. Her husband looked at the new misfortune from a political point of view. He sat down

and slapped his forehead theatrically with the palm of his hand. "Thus far," said the patriot, "my political

assailants have only struck at me through the newspapers. Now they strike at me through my child!"

Percy made no speeches. There was a look in his eyes which boded ill for Captain Bervie if the two met. "I

He hired his horse at an inn in the town, and set forth for Justice Bervie's house at a gallop.

During Percy's absence, Mr. Bowmore secured the front and back entrances to the cottage with his own

These first precautions taken, he ascended to his room and packed his travelingbag. "Necessaries for my use

in prison," he remarked. "The bloodhounds of Government are after me." "Are they after Percy, too?" his

wife ventured to ask. Mr. Bowmore looked up impatiently, and cried "Pooh!"as if Percy was of no

consequence. Mrs. Bowmore thought otherwise: the good woman privately packed a bag for Percy, in the

Mr. Bowmore stalked up and down the parlor, meditating. At intervals, ideas of flight presented themselves

attractively to his mind. At intervals, ideas of the speech that he had prepared for the public meeting on the

next day took their place. "If I fly tonight," he wisely observed, "what will become of my speech? I will

He sat down and crossed his arms fiercely. As he looked at his wife to see what effect he had produced on

her, the sound of heavy carriagewheels and the trampling of horses penetrated to the parlor from the

Mr. Bowmore started to his feet, with every appearance of having suddenly altered his mind on the question

of flight. Just as he reached the hall, Percy's voice was heard at the front door. "Let me in. Instantly!

Mrs. Bowmore drew back the bolts before the servants could help her. "Where is Charlotte?" she cried;

"Gone!" Percy answered furiously. "Eloped to Paris with Captain Bervie! Read her own confession. They

He handed a note to Mrs. Bowmore, and turned aside to speak to her husband while she read it. Charlotte

wrote to her mother very briefly; promising to explain everything on her return. In the meantime, she had left

home under careful protectionshe had a lady for her companion on the journeyand she would write

again from Paris. So the letter, evidently written in great haste, began and ended.

Percy took Mr. Bowmore to the window, and pointed to a carriage and four horses waiting at the

"Do you come with me, and back me with your authority as her father?" he asked, sternly. "Or do you leave

Mr. Bowmore was famous among his admirers for his "happy replies." He made one now.

"I am not Brutus," he said. "I am only Bowmore. My daughter before everything. Fetch my travelingbag."

While the travelers' bags were being placed in the chaise, Mr. Bowmore was struck by an idea.

He produced from his coatpocket a roll of many papers thickly covered with writing. On the blank leaf in

which they were tied up, he wrote in the largest letters: "Frightful domestic calamity! VicePresident

Bowmore obliged to leave England! Welfare of a beloved daughter! His speech will be read at the meeting by

Secretary Joskin, of the Club. (Private to Joskin. Have these lines printed and posted everywhere. And, when

you read my speech, for God's sake don't drop your voice at the ends of the sentences.)"

He threw down the pen, and embraced Mrs. Bowmore in the most summary manner. The poor woman was

ordered to send the roll of paper to the Club, without a word to comfort and sustain her from her husband's

lips. Percy spoke to her hopefully and kindly, as he kissed her cheek at parting.

On the next morning, a letter, addressed to Mrs. Bowmore, was delivered at the cottage by private messenger.

Opening the letter, she recognized the handwriting of her husband's old friend, and her old friendMajor

"DEAR MRS. BOWMOREIn matters of importance, the golden rule is never to waste words. I have

"How I discovered that my friend was in danger, I must not tell you at present. Let it be enough if I say that I

have been a guest under Justice Bervie's hospitable roof, and that I know of a Home Office spy who has taken

you unawares, under pretense of being your footman. If I had not circumvented him, the scoundrel would

have imprisoned your husband, and another dear friend of mine. This is how I did it.

"Do you happen to remember that your husband and I are as near as may be of about the same height? Very

good, so far. Did you, in the next place, miss Bowmore's traveling coat and cap from their customary peg? I

am the thief, dearest lady; I put them on my own humble self. Did you hear a sudden noise in the hall? Oh,

forgive meI made the noise! And it did just what I wanted of it. It brought the spy up from the kitchen,

"What did the wretch see when he got into the hall? His master, in traveling costume, running out. What did

he find when he reached the garden? His master escaping, in a postchaise, on the road to London. What did

he do, the born blackguard that he was? Jumped up behind the chaise to make sure of his prisoner. It was dark

when we got to London. In a hop, skip, and jump, I was out of the carriage, and in at my own door, before he

"The date of the warrant, you must know, obliged him to wait till the morning. All that night, he and the Bow

Street runners kept watch They came in with the sunriseand who did they find? Major Mulvany snug in his

bed, and as innocent as the babe unborn. Oh, they did their duty! Searched the place from the kitchen to the

garretsand gave it up. There's but one thing I regretI let the spy off without a good thrashing. No matter.

"Let me know the first good news of our darling fugitives, and I shall be more than rewarded for what little I

FEELING himself hurried away on the road to Dover, as fast as four horses could carry him, Mr. Bowmore

had leisure to criticise Percy's conduct, from his own purely selfish point of view.

"If you had listened to my advice," he said, "you would have treated that man Bervie like the hypocrite and

villain that he is. But no! you trusted to your own crude impressions. Having given him your hand after the

duel (I would have given him the contents of my pistol!) you hesitated to withdraw it again, when that

slanderer appealed to your friendship not to cast him off. Now you see the consequence!"

"Wait till we get to Paris!" All the ingenuity of Percy's traveling companion failed to extract from him any

Foiled so far, Mr. Bowmore began to start difficulties next. Had they money enough for the journey? Percy

touched his pocket, and answered shortly, "Plenty." Had they passports? Percy sullenly showed a letter.

"There is the necessary voucher from a magistrate," he said. "The consul at Dover will give us our passports.

Mind this!" he added, in warning tones, "I have pledged my word of honor to Justice Bervie that we have no

political object in view in traveling to France. Keep your politics to yourself, on the other side of the

Mr. Bowmore listened in blank amazement. Charlotte's lover was appearing in a new characterthe

It was useless to talk to him. He deliberately checked any further attempts at conversation by leaning back in

the carriage, and closing his eyes. The truth is, Mr. Bowmore's own language and conduct were insensibly

producing the salutary impression on Percy's mind which Bervie had vainly tried to convey, under the

disadvantage of having Charlotte's influence against him. Throughout the journey, Percy did exactly what

At every stage, they inquired after the fugitives. At every stage, they were answered by a more or less

intelligible description of Bervie and Charlotte, and of the lady who accompanied them. No disguise had been

When the first tumult of his emotions had in some degree subsided, this strange circumstance associated itself

in Percy's mind with the equally unaccountable conduct of Justice Bervie, on his arrival at the manor house.

The old gentleman met his visitor in the hall, without expressing, and apparently without feeling, any

indignation at his son's conduct. It was even useless to appeal to him for information. He only said, "I am not

in Arthur's confidence; he is of age, and my daughter (who has volunteered to accompany him) is of age. I

have no claim to control them. I believe they have taken Miss Bowmore to Paris; and that is all I know about

He had shown the same dense insensibility in giving his official voucher for the passports. Percy had only to

satisfy him on the question of politics; and the document was drawn out as a matter of course. Such had been

the father's behavior; and the conduct of the son now exhibited the same shameless composure. To what

conclusion did this discovery point? Percy abandoned the attempt to answer that question in despair.

At the pierhead they found a coastguardsman on duty, and received more information.

In 1817 the communication with France was still by sailingvessels. Arriving long after the departure of the

regular packet, Bervie had hired a lugger, and had sailed with the two ladies for Calais, having a fresh breeze

in his favor. Percy's first angry impulse was to follow him instantly. The next moment he remembered the

insurmountable obstacle of the passports. The Consul would certainly not grant those essentially necessary

The only alternative was to wait for the regular packet, which sailed some hours laterbetween eight and

nine o'clock in the forenoon. In this case, they might apply for their passports before the regular office hours,

if they explained the circumstances, backed by the authority of the magistrate's letter.

Mr. Bowmore followed Percy to the nearest inn that was open, sublimely indifferent to the delays and

difficulties of the journey. He ordered refreshments with the air of a man who was performing a melancholy

"When I think of my speech," he said, at supper, "my heart bleeds for the people. In a few hours more, they

will assemble in their thousands, eager to hear me. And what will they see? Joskin in my place! Joskin with a

manuscript in his hand! Joskin, who drops his voice at the ends of his sentences! I will never forgive

After an unusually quick passage across the Channel, the travelers landed on the French coast, before the

defeated spy had returned from London to Dartford by stagecoach. Continuing their journey by post as far

as Amiens, they reached that city in time to take their places by the diligence to Paris.

Arrived in Paris, they encountered another incomprehensible proceeding on the part of Captain Bervie.

Among the persons assembled in the yard to see the arrival of the diligence was a man with a morsel of paper

in his hand, evidently on the lookout for some person whom he expected to discover among the travelers.

After consulting his bit of paper, he looked with steady attention at Percy and Mr. Bowmore, and suddenly

approached them. "If you wish to see the Captain," he said, in broken English, "you will find him at that

hotel." He handed a printed card to Percy, and disappeared among the crowd before it was possible to

Even Mr. Bowmore gave way to human weakness, and condescended to feel astonished in the face of such an

In half an hour more the landlord had received them, and the waiter had led them to the right door. Percy

Captain Bervie was alone, reading a newspaper. Before the first furious words had escaped Percy's lips,

"She is in that room," he said; "speak quietly, or you may frighten her. I know what you are going to say," he

added, as Percy stepped nearer to him. "Will you hear me in my own defense, and then decide whether I am

He put the question kindly, with something that was at once grave and tender in his look and manner. The

extraordinary composure with which he acted and spoke had its tranquilizing influence over Percy. He felt

"I will tell you first what I have done," the Captain proceeded, "and next why I did it. I have taken it on

myself, Mr. Linwood, to make an alteration in your wedding arrangements. Instead of being married at

Dartford church, you will be married (if you see no objection) at the chapel of the embassy in Paris, by my

This was too much for Percy's selfcontrol. "Your audacity is beyond belief," he broke out.

"And beyond endurance," Mr. Bowmore added. "Understand this, sir! Whatever your defense may be, I ob

"You are the victim of your own obstinate refusal to profit by a plain warning," Bervie rejoined. "At the

eleventh hour, I entreated you, and I entreated Mr. Linwood, to provide for your own safety; and I spoke in

"To use your own language," he said, "I have still to decide whether you have behaved toward me like a

"Very well put!" Mr. Bowmore chimed in. "Come to the point, sir! My daughter's reputation is in question."

"Miss Bowmore's reputation is not in question for a single instant," Bervie answered. "My sister has been the

"Journey?" Mr. Bowmore repeated, indignantly. "I want to know, sir, what the journey means. As an

outraged father, I ask one plain question. Why did you run away with my daughter?"

Bervie took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Percy with a smile.

It was a copy of the warrant which Justice Bervie's duty had compelled him to issue for the "arrest of Orlando

Bowmore and Percy Linwood." There was no danger in divulging the secret now. British warrants were

"I ran away with the bride," Bervie said coolly, "in the certain knowledge that you and Mr. Bowmore would

run after me. If I had not forced you both to follow me out of England on the first of April, you would have

"Wait, Percy, before you answer him," Mr. Bowmore interposed. "He is ready enough at excusing himself.

But, observehe hasn't a word to say in justification of my daughter's readiness to run away with him."

Mr. Bowmore reserved the right of all others which he most prized, the right of using his tongue. "For the

Bervie proceeded: "Your daughter consented to run away with me, because I took her to my father's house,

and prevailed upon him to trust her with the secret of the coming arrests. She had no choice left but to let her

obstinate father and her misguided lover go to prisonor to take her place with my sister and me in the

travelingcarriage." He appealed once more to Percy. "My friend, you remember the day when you spared

For once, there was an Englishman who was not contented to express the noblest emotions that humanity can

feel by the commonplace ceremony of shaking hands. Percy's heart overflowed. In an outburst of unutterable

gratitude he threw himself on Bervie's breast. As brothers the two men embraced. As brothers they loved and

The door on the right was softly opened from within. A charming facethe dark eyes bright with happy

tears, the rosy lips just opening into a smilepeeped into the room. A low sweet voice, with an undernote

"When you have quite done, Percy, with our good friend, perhaps you will have something to say to ME?"

THE persons immediately interested in the marriage of Percy and Charlotte were the only persons present at

At the little breakfast afterward, in the French hotel, Mr. Bowmore insisted on making a speech to a select

audience of six; namely, the bride and bridegroom, the bridesmaid, the Chaplain, the Captain, and Mrs.

Bowmore. But what does a small audience matter? The English frenzy for making speeches is not to be

cooled by such a trifle as that. At the end of the world, the expiring forces of Nature will hear a dreadful

Percy wisely made his honeymoon a long one; he determined to be quite sure of his superior influence over

Mr. and Mrs. Bowmore accompanied Captain Bervie and Miss Bervie on their way back to England, as far as

Boulogne. In that pleasant town the banished patriot set up his tent. It was a cheaper place to live in than

Paris, and it was conveniently close to England, when he had quite made up his mind whether to be an exile

on the Continent, or to go back to his own country and be a martyr in prison. In the end, the course of events

settled that question for him. Mr. Bowmore returned to England, with the return of the Habeas Corpus Act.

The years passed. Percy and Charlotte (judged from the romantic point of view) became two uninteresting

married people. Bervie (always remaining a bachelor) rose steadily in his profession, through the higher

grades of military rank. Mr. Bowmore, wisely overlooked by a new Government, sank back again into the

obscurity from which shrewd Ministers would never have assisted him to emerge. The one subject of interest

left, among the persons of this little drama, was now represented by Doctor Lagarde. Thus far, not a trace had

been discovered of the French physician, who had so strangely associated the visions of his magnetic sleep

Steadfastly maintaining his own opinion of the prediction and the fulfillment, Bervie persisted in believing

that he and Lagarde (or Percy and Lagarde) were yet destined to meet, and resume the unfinished

consultation at the point where it had been broken off. Persons, happy in the possession of "sound common

sense," who declared the prediction to be skilled guesswork, and the fulfillment manifest coincidence,

ridiculed the idea of finding Doctor Lagarde as closely akin to that other celebrated idea of finding the needle

in the bottle of hay. But Bervie's obstinacy was proverbial. Nothing shook his confidence in his own

More than thirteen years had elapsed since the consultation at the Doctor's lodgings, when Bervie went to

Paris to spend a summer holiday with his friend, the chaplain at the English embassy. His last words to Percy

and Charlotte when he took his leave were: "Suppose I meet with Doctor Lagarde?"

It was then the year 1830. Bervie arrived at his friend's rooms on the 24th of July. On the 27th of the month

the famous revolution broke out which dethroned Charles the Tenth in three days.

On the second day, Bervie and his host ventured into the streets, watching the revolution (like other reckless

Englishmen) at the risk of their lives. In the confusion around them they were separated. Bervie, searching for

his companion, found his progress stopped by a barricade, which had been desperately attacked, and

desperately defended. Men in blouses and men in uniform lay dead and dying together: the tricolored flag

Bervie had just revived a poor wretch with a drink from an overthrown bowl of water, which still had a few

drops left in it, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder from behind. He turned and discovered a National

Guard, who had been watching his charitable action. "Give a helping hand to that poor fellow," said the

citizensoldier, pointing to a workman standing near, grimed with blood and gunpowder. The tears were

rolling down the man's cheeks. "I can't see my way, sir, for crying," he said. "Help me to carry that sad

burden into the next street." He pointed to a rude wooden litter, on which lay a dead or wounded man, his

face and breast covered with an old cloak. "There is the best friend the people ever had," the workman said.

"He cured us, comforted us, respected us, loved us. And there he lies, shot dead while he was binding up the

TOWARD the middle of June, in the year 1817, I went to take the waters at Maplesworth, in Derbyshire,

I am an only child; and I was twentyone years old at my last birthday. On coming of age I inherited a house

and lands in Derbyshire, together with a fortune in money of one hundred thousand pounds. The only

education which I have received has been obtained within the last two or three years of my life; and I have

thus far seen nothing of Society, in England or in any other civilized part of the world. I can be a competent

witness, it seems, in spite of these disadvantages. Anyhow, I mean to tell the truth.

My father was a French colonist in the island of Saint Domingo. He died while I was very young; leaving to

my mother and to me just enough to live on, in the remote part of the island in which our little property was

situated. My mother was an Englishwoman. Her delicate health made it necessary for her to leave me, for

many hours of the day, under the care of our household slaves. I can never forget their kindness to me; but,

unfortunately, their ignorance equaled their kindness. If we had been rich enough to send to France or

England for a competent governess we might have done very well. But we were not rich enough. I am

ashamed to say that I was nearly thirteen years old before I had learned to read and write correctly.

Four more years passedand then there came a wonderful event in our lives, which was nothing less than

My mother was distantly related to an ancient and wealthy English family. She seriously offended those

proud people by marrying an obscure foreigner, who had nothing to live on but his morsel of land in the West

Indies. Having no expectations from her relatives, my mother preferred happiness with the man she loved to

every other consideration; and I, for one, think she was right. From that moment she was cast off by the head

of the family. For eighteen years of her life, as wife, mother, and widow, no letters came to her from her

English home. We had just celebrated my seventeenth birthday when the first letter came. It informed my

mother that no less than three lives, which stood between her and the inheritance of certain portions of the

family property, had been swept away by death. The estate and the fortune which I have already mentioned

had fallen to her in due course of law, and her surviving relatives were magnanimously ready to forgive her at

We wound up our affairs at Saint Domingo, and we went to England to take possession of our new wealth.

At first, the return to her native air seemed to have a beneficial effect on my mother's health. But it was a

temporary improvement only. Her constitution had been fatally injured by the West Indian climate, and just

as we had engaged a competent person to look after my neglected education, my constant attendance was

needed at my mother's bedside. We loved each other dearly, and we wanted no strange nurses to come

between us. My aunt (my mother's sister) relieved me of my cares in the intervals when I wanted rest.

For seven sad months our dear sufferer lingered. I have only one remembrance to comfort me; my mother's

I was nearly nineteen years old before I had sufficiently rallied my courage to be able to think seriously of

At that age one does not willingly submit one's self for the first time to the authority of a governess. Having

my aunt for a companion and protectress, I proposed to engage my own masters and to superintend my own

My plans failed to meet with the approval of the head of the family. He declared (most unjustly, as the event

proved) that my aunt was not a fit person to take care of me. She had passed all the later years of her life in

retirement. A good creature, he admitted, in her own way, but she had no knowledge of the world, and no

firmness of character. The right person to act as my chaperon, and to superintend my education, was the

I declined, with all needful gratitude and respect, to take his advice. The bare idea of living with a stranger so

soon after my mother's death revolted me. Besides, I liked my aunt, and my aunt liked me. Being made

acquainted with my decision, the head of the family cast me off, exactly as he had cast off my mother before

So I lived in retirement with my good aunt, and studied industriously to improve my mind until my

twentyfirst birthday came. I was now an heiress, privileged to think and act for myself. My aunt kissed me

tenderly. We talked of my poor mother, and we cried in each other's arms on the memorable day that made a

wealthy woman of me. In a little time more, other troubles than vain regrets for the dead were to try me, and

other tears were to fill my eyes than the tears which I had given to the memory of my mother.

I MAY now return to my visit, in June, 1817, to the healing springs at Maplesworth.

This famous inland wateringplace was only between nine and ten miles from my new home called

Nettlegrove Hall. I had been feeling weak and out of spirits for some months, and our medical adviser

recommended change of scene and a trial of the waters at Maplesworth. My aunt and I established ourselves

in comfortable apartments, with a letter of introduction to the chief doctor in the place. This otherwise

harmless and worthy man proved, strangely enough, to be the innocent cause of the trials and troubles which

The day after we had presented our letter of introduction, we met the doctor on the public walk. He was

accompanied by two strangers, both young men, and both (so far as my ignorant opinion went) persons of

some distinction, judging by their dress and manners. The doctor said a few kind words to us, and rejoined

his two companions. Both the gentlemen looked at me, and both took off their hats as my aunt and I

I own I thought occasionally of the wellbred strangers during the rest of the day, especially of the shortest of

the two, who was also the handsomest of the two to my thinking. If this confession seems rather a bold one,

remember, if you please, that I had never been taught to conceal my feelings at Saint Domingo, and that the

events which followed our arrival in England had kept me completely secluded from the society of other

The next day, while I was drinking my glass of healing water (extremely nasty water, by the way) the doctor

While he was asking me about my health, the two strangers made their appearance again, and took off their

hats again. They both looked expectantly at the doctor, and the doctor (in performance of a promise which he

had already made, as I privately suspected) formally introduced them to my aunt and to me. First (I put the

handsomest man first) Captain Arthur Stanwick, of the army, home from India on leave, and staying at

Maplesworth to take the waters; secondly, Mr. Lionel Varleigh, of Boston, in America, visiting England, after

traveling all over Europe, and stopping at Maplesworth to keep company with his friend the Captain.

On their introduction, the two gentlemen, observing, no doubt, that I was a little shy, forbore delicately from

Captain Stanwick, with a beautiful smile, and with teeth worthy of the smile, stroked his whiskers, and asked

me if I had found any benefit from taking the waters. He afterward spoke in great praise of the charming

scenery in the neighborhood of Maplesworth, and then, turning away, addressed his next words to my aunt.

Mr. Varleigh took his place. Speaking with perfect gravity, and with no whiskers to stroke, he said:

"I have once tried the waters here out of curiosity. I can sympathize, miss, with the expression which I

observed on your face when you emptied your glass just now. Permit me to offer you something nice to take

the taste of the waters out of your mouth." He produced from his pocket a beautiful little box filled with

sugarplums. "I bought it in Paris," h e explained. "Having lived a good deal in France, I have got into a habit

of making little presents of this sort to ladies and children. I wouldn't let the doctor see it, miss, if I were you.

He has the usual medical prejudice against sugarplums." With that quaint warning, he, too, made his bow

Thinking it over afterward, I acknowledged to myself that the English Captainalthough he was the

handsomest man of the two, and possessed the smoothest mannershad failed, nevertheless, to overcome

my shyness. The American traveler's unaffected sincerity and goodhumor, on the other hand, set me quite at

my ease. I could look at him and thank him, and feel amused at his sympathy with the grimace I had made,

after swallowing the illflavored waters. And yet, while I lay awake at night, wondering whether we should

meet our new acquaintances on the next day, it was the English Captain that I most wanted to see again, and

not the American traveler! At the time, I set this down to nothing more important than my own perversity.

The next morning brought the doctor to our hotel on a special visit to my aunt. He invented a pretext for

sending me into the next room, which was so plainly a clumsy excuse that my curiosity was aroused. I

gratified my curiosity. Must I make my confession plainer still? Must I acknowledge that I was mean enough

I heard my dear innocent old aunt say: "Doctor! I hope you don't see anything alarming in the state of

The doctor burst out laughing. "My dear madam! there is nothing in the state of the young lady's health which

need cause the smallest anxiety to you or to me. The object of my visit is to justify myself for presenting

those two gentlemen to you yesterday. They are both greatly struck by Miss Bertha's beauty, and they both

urgently entreated me to introduce them. Such introductions, I need hardly say, are marked exceptions to my

general rule. In ninetynine cases out of a hundred I should have said No. In the cases of Captain Stanwick

and Mr. Varleigh, however, I saw no reason to hesitate. Permit me to assure you that I am not intruding on

your notice two fortunehunting adventurers. They are both men of position and men of property. The family

of the Stanwicks has been well known to me for years; and Mr. Varleigh brought me a letter from my oldest

living friend, answering for him as a gentleman in the highest sense of the word. He is the wealthiest man of

the two; and it speaks volumes for him, in my opinion, that he has preserved his simplicity of character after a

long residence in such places as Paris and Vienna. Captain Stanwick has more polish and ease of manner, but,

looking under the surface, I rather fancy there may be something a little impetuous and domineering in his

temper. However, we all have our faults. I can only say, for both these young friends of mine, that you need

feel no scruple about admitting them to your intimacy, if they happen to please youand your niece. Having

now, I hope, removed any doubts which may have troubled you, pray recall Miss Bertha. I am afraid I have

The smoothly eloquent doctor paused for the moment; and I darted away from the door.

Our plans for the day included a drive through the famous scenery near the town. My two admirers met us on

horseback. Here, again, the Captain had the advantage over his friend. His seat in the saddle and his

ridingdress were both perfect things in their way. The Englishman rode on one side of the carriage and the

American on the other. They both talked well, but Mr. Varleigh had seen more of the world in general than

Captain Stanwick, and he made himself certainly the more interesting and more amusing companion of the

On our way back my admiration was excited by a thick wood, beautifully situated on rising ground at a little

distance from the highroad: "Oh, dear," I said, "how I should like to take a walk in that wood!" Idle,

thoughtless words; but, oh, what remembrances crowd on me as I think of them now!

Captain Stanwick and Mr. Varleigh at once dismounted and offered themselves as my escort. The coachman

warned them to be careful; people had often lost themselves, he said, in that wood. I asked the name of it. The

name was Herne Wood. My aunt was not very willing to leave her comfortable seat in the carriage, but it

Before we entered the wood, Mr. Varleigh noted the position of the highroad by his pocketcompass.

Captain Stanwick laughed at him, and offered me his arm. Ignorant as I was of the ways of the world and the

rules of coquetry, my instinct (I suppose) warned me not to distinguish one of the gentlemen too readily at the

On a nearer view, the place disappointed me; the further we advanced, the more horribly gloomy it grew. The

thicklygrowing trees shut out the light; the damp stole over me little by little until I shivered; the

undergrowth of bushes and thickets rustled at intervals mysteriously, as some invisible creeping creature

passed through it. At a turn in the path we reached a sort of clearing, and saw the sky and the sunshine once

more. But, even here, a disagreeable incident occurred. A snake wound his undulating way across the open

space, passing close by me, and I was fool enough to scream. The Captain killed the creature with his

We left the clearing and tried another path, and then another. And still the horrid wood preyed on my spirits. I

agreed with my aunt that we should do well to return to the carriage. On our way back we missed the right

path, and lost ourselves for the moment. Mr. Varleigh consulted his compass, and pointed in one direction.

Captain Stanwick, consulting nothing but his own jealous humor, pointed in the other. We followed Mr.

Varleigh's guidance, and got back to the clearing. He turned to the Captain, and said, goodhumoredly: "You

see the compass was right." Captain Stanwick, answered, sharply: "There are more ways than one out of an

Mr. Varleigh seemed to be at a loss to understand his rudeness; there was a pause. The two men looked at

each other, standing face to face on the brown earth of the clearingthe Englishman's ruddy countenance,

light auburn hair and whiskers, and wellopened bold blue eyes, contrasting with the pale complexion, the

keenlyobservant look, the dark closelycut hair, and the delicatelylined face of the American. It was only

for a moment: I had barely time to feel uneasy before they controlled themselves and led us back to the

carriage, talking as pleasantly as if nothing had happened. For days afterward, nevertheless, that scene in the

clearingthe faces and figures of the two men, the dark line of trees hemming them in on all sides, the

brown circular patch of ground on which they stoodhaunted my memory, and got in the way of my

brighter and happier thoughts. When my aunt inquired if I had enjoyed the day, I surprised her by saying No.

And when she asked why, I could only answer: "It was all spoiled by Herne Wood."

The terror of those dreadful days creeps over me again when I think of them. I mean to tell the truth without

shrinking; but I may at least consult my own feelings by dwelling on certain particulars as briefly as I can. I

shall describe my conduct toward the two men who courted me in the plainest terms, if I say that I

In books, women are generally represented as knowing their own minds in matters which relate to love and

marriage. This is not my experience of myself. Day followed day; and, ridiculous as it may appear, I could

Captain Stanwick was, at first, the man of my choice. While he kept his temper under control, h e charmed

me. But when he let it escape him, he sometimes disappointed, sometimes irritated me. In that frame of mind

I turned for relief to Lionel Varleigh, feeling that he was the more gentle and the more worthy man of the

two, and honestly believing, at such times, that I preferred him to his rival. For the first few days after our

visit to Herne Wood I had excellent opportunities of comparing them. They paid their visits to us together,

and they divided their attentions carefully between me and my aunt. At the end of the week, however, they

began to present themselves separately. If I had possessed any experience of the natures of men, I might have

known what this meant, and might have seen the future possibility of some more serious estrangement

between the two friends, of which I might be the unfortunate cause. As it was; I never once troubled my head

about what might be passing out of my presence. Whether they came together, or whether they came

separately, their visits were always agreeable to me. and I thought of nothing and cared for nothing more.

One day Captain Stanwick called much earlier than usual. My aunt had not yet returned from her morning

walk. The Captain made some excuse for presenting himself under these circumstances which I have now

Without actually committing himself to a proposal of marriage he spoke with such tender feeling, he

managed his hold on my inexperience so delicately, that he entrapped me into saying some words, on my

side, which I remembered with a certain dismay as soon as I was left alone again. In half an hour more, Mr.

Lionel Varleigh was announced as my next visitor. I at once noticed a certain disturbance in his look and

manner which was quite new in my experience of him. I offered him a chair. To my surprise he declined to

"I must trust to your indulgence to permit me to put an embarrassing question to you," he began. "It rests with

you, Miss Laroche, to decide whether I shall remain here, or whether I shall relieve you of my presence by

"Is it your wish," he went on, "that I should pay you no more visits except in Captain Stanwick's company, or

My astonishment deprived me for the moment of the power of answering him. "Do you really mean that

Captain Stanwick has forbidden you to call on me?" I asked as soon as I could speak.

"I have exactly repeated what Captain Stanwick said to me half an hour since," Lionel Varleigh answered.

In my indignation at hearing this, I entirely forgot the rash words of encouragement which the Captain had

entrapped me into speaking to him. When I think of it now, I am ashamed to repeat the language in which I

resented this man's presumptuous assertion of authority over me. Having committed one act of indiscretion

already, my anxiety to assert my freedom of action hurried me into committing another. I bade Mr. Varleigh

welcome whenever he chose to visit me, in terms which made his face flush under the emotions of pleasure

and surprise which I had aroused in him. My wounded vanity acknowledged no restraints. I signed to him to

take a seat on the sofa at my side; I engaged to go to his lodgings the next day, with my aunt, and see the

collection of curiosities which he had amassed in the course of his travels. I almost believe, if he had tried to

Remember what my life had beenremember how ignorantly I had passed the precious days of my youth,

how insidiously a sudden accession of wealth and importance had encouraged my folly and my prideand

My aunt came in from her walk, before Mr. Varleigh's visit had ended. She received him rather coldly, and he

perceived it. After reminding me of our appointment for the next day, he took his leave.

"What appointment does Mr. Varleigh mean?" my aunt asked, as soon as we were alone. "Is it wise, under the

circumstances, to make appointments with Mr. Varleigh?" she said, when I had answered her question. I

naturally inquired what she meant. My aunt replied, "I have met Captain Stanwick while I was out walking.

He has told me something which I am quite at a loss to understand. Is it possible, Bertha, that you have

received a proposal of marriage from him favorably, without saying one word about your intentions to me?"

I instantly denied it. However rashly I might have spoken, I had certainly said nothing to justify Captain

Stanwick in claiming me as his promised wife. In his mean fear of a fair rivalry with Mr. Varleigh, he had

deliberately misinterpreted me. "If I marry either of the two," I said, "it will be Mr. Varleigh!"

My aunt shook her head. "These two gentlemen seem to be both in love with you, Bertha. It is a trying

position for you between them, and I am afraid you have acted with some indiscretion. Captain Stanwick tells

me that he and his friend have come to a separation already. I fear you are the cause of it. Mr. Varleigh has

left the hotel at which he was staying with the Captain, in consequence of a disagreement between them this

morning. You were not aware of that when you accepted his invitation. Shall I write an excuse for you? We

must, at least, put off the visit, my dear, until you have set yourself right with Captain Stanwick."

I began to feel a little alarmed, but I was too obstinate to yield without a struggle. "Give me time to think over

it," I said. "To write an excuse seems like acknowledging the Captain's authority. Let us wait till tomorrow

THE morning brought with it another visit from Captain Stanwick. This time my aunt was present. He looked

at her without speaking, and turned to me, with his fiery temper showing itself already in his eyes.

"I have no secrets from my aunt," I answered. "Whatever you have to say, Captain Stanwick, may be said

He opened his lips to reply, and suddenly checked himself. He was controlling his anger by so violent an

effort that it turned his ruddy face pale. For the moment he conquered his temperhe addressed himself to

"Has that man Varleigh lied?" he asked; "or have you given him hopes, tooafter what you said to me

"I said nothing to you yesterday which gives you any right to put that question to me," I rejoined. "You have

My aunt attempted to say a few temperate words, in the hope of soothing him. He waved his hand, refusing to

"You have misunderstood me," he said, "if you think I am a man to be made a plaything of in the hands of a

My aunt interposed once more, with a resolution which I had not expected from her.

He paid no heed to her; he persisted in speaking to me. "It is my misfortune to love you," he burst out. "My

whole heart is set on you. I mean to be your husband, and no other man living shall stand in my way. After

what you said to me yesterday, I have a right to consider that you have favored my addresses. This is not a

mere flirtation. Don't think it! I say it's the passion of a life! Do you hear? It's the passion of a man's whole

life! I am not to be trifled with. I have had a night of sleepless misery about youI have suffered enough for

youand you're not worth it. Don't laugh! This is no laughing matter. Take care, Bertha! Take care!"

My aunt rose from her chair. She astonished me. On all ordinary occasions the most retiring, the most

feminine of women, she now walked up to Captain Stanwick and looked him full in the face, without

"You appear to have forgotten that you are speaking in the presence of two ladies," she said. "Alter your tone,

Half angry, half frightened, I tried to speak in my turn. My aunt signed to me to be silent. The Captain drew

back a step as if he felt her reproof. But his eyes, still fixed on me, were as fiercely bright as ever. There the

"I will leave you in undisturbed possession of the room," he said to my aunt with bitter politeness. "Before I

go, permit me to give your niece an opportunity of reconsidering her conduct before it is too late." My aunt

drew back, leaving him free to speak to me. After considering for a moment, he laid his hand firmly, but not

roughly, on my arm. "You have accepted Lionel Varleigh's invitation to visit him," he said, "under pretense

of seeing his curiosities. Think again before you decide on keeping that engagement. If you go to Varleigh

tomorrow, you will repent it to the last day of your life." Saying those words, in a tone which made me

tremble in spite of myself, he walked to the door. As he laid his hand on the lock, he turned toward me for the

last time. "I forbid you to go to Varleigh's lodgings," he said, very distinctly and quietly. "Understand what I

My aunt sat down by me and took my hand kindly. "There is only one thing to be done," she said; "we must

return at once to Nettlegrove. If Captain Stanwick attempts to annoy you in your own house, we have

neighbors who will protect us, and we have Mr. Loring, our rector, to appeal to for advice. As for Mr.

She put out her hand to ring the bell and order the carriage. I stopped her. My childish pride urged me to

assert myself in some way, after the passive position that I had been forced to occupy during the interview

"No," I said, "it is not acting fairly toward Mr. Varleigh to break our engagement with him. Let us return to

Nettlegrove by all means, but let us first call on Mr. Varleigh and take our leave. Are we to behave rudely to

a gentleman who has always treated us with the utmost consideration, because Captain Stanwick has tried to

frighten us by cowardly threats? The commonest feeling of selfrespect forbids it."

My aunt protested against this outbreak of folly with perfect temper and good sense. But my obstinacy (my

firmness as I thought it!) was immovable. I left her to choose between going with me to Mr. Varleigh, or

letting me go to him by myself. Finding it useless to resist, she decided, it is needless to say, on going with

We found Mr. Varleigh very courteous, but more than usually grave and quiet. Our visit only lasted for a few

minutes; my aunt using the influence of her age and her position to shorten it. She mentioned family affairs as

the motive which recalled us to Nettlegrove. I took it on myself to invite Mr. Varleigh to visit me at my own

house. He bowed and thanked me, without engaging himself to accept the invitation. When I offered him my

hand at parting, he raised it to his lips, and kissed it with a fervor that agitated me. His eyes looked into mine

with a sorrowful admiration, with a lingering regret, as if they were taking their leave of me for a long while.

"Don't forget me!" he whispered, as he stood at the door, while I followed my aunt out. "Come to

Nettlegrove," I whispered back. His eyes dropped to the ground; he let me go without a word more.

This, I declare solemnly, was all that passed at our visit. By some unexpressed consent among us, no allusion

whatever was made to Captain Stanwick; not even his name was mentioned. I never knew that the two men

had met, just before we called on Mr. Varleigh. Nothing was said which could suggest to me the slightest

suspicion of any arrangement for another meeting between them later in the day. Beyond the vague threats

which had escaped Captain Stanwick's lipsthreats which I own I was rash enough to despiseI had no

warning whatever of the dreadful events which happened at Maplesworth on the day after our return to

I can only add that I am ready to submit to any questions that may be put to me. Pray don't think me a

heartless woman. My worst fault was ignorance. In those days, I knew nothing of the false pretenses under

which men hide what is selfish and savage in their natures from the women whom it is their interest to

I am of German nationality; established in England as teacher of the use of the sword and the pistol since the

Finding business slack in London, it unfortunately occurred to me to try what I could do in the country. I had

heard of Maplesworth as a place largely frequented by visitors on account of the scenery, as well as by

invalids in need of taking the waters; and I opened a gallery there at the beginning of the season of 1817, for

fencing and pistol practice. About the visitors I had not been deceived; there were plenty of idle young

gentlemen among them who might have been expected to patronize my establishment. They showed the most

barbarous indifference to the noble art of attack and defensecame by twos and threes, looked at my gallery,

and never returned. My small means began to fail me. After paying my expenses, I was really at my wits' end

He described himself as an American, and said he had traveled a great deal. As my ill luck would have it, he

stood in no need of my instructions. On the two or three occasions when he amused himself with my foils and

my pistols, he proved to be one of the most expert swordsmen and one of the finest shots that I ever met with.

It was not wonderful: he had by nature cool nerves and a quick eye; and he had been taught by the masters of

Early in Julythe 9th or 10th of the month, I thinkI was sitting alone in my gallery, looking ruefully

enough at the last two sovereigns in my purse, when a gentleman was announced who wanted a lesson. "A

private lesson," he said, with emphasis, looking at the man who cleaned and took care of my weapons.

I sent the man out of the room. The stranger (an Englishman, and, as I fancied, judging by outward

appearances, a military man as well) took from his pocketbook a fiftypound banknote, and held it up

before me. "I have a heavy wager depending on a fencing match," he said, "and I have no time to improve

myself. Teach me a trick which will make me a match for a man skilled in the use of the foil, and keep the

I hesitated. I did indeed hesitate, poor as I was. But this devil of a man held his banknote before me

I waited a little. The infernal banknote still tempted me. In spite of myself, I tried him again.

"If I teach you the trick," I persisted, "will you undertake to make no bad use of your lesson?"

"Of course I will," he answered. "Take the money, and don't keep me waiting any longer."

I took the money, and I taught him the trickand I regretted it almost as soon as it was done. Not that I

knew, mind, of any serious consequences that followed; for I returned to London the next morning. My

sentiments were those of a man of honor, who felt that he had degraded his art, and who could not be quite

sure that he might not have armed the hand of an assassin as well. I have no more to say.

If I did not firmly believe my master to be out of his senses, no punishment that I could receive would prevail

But I say he is mad, and therefore not accountable for what he has donemad for love of a young woman. If

I could have my way, I should like to twist her neck, though she is a lady, and a gr eat heiress into the

bargain. Before she came between them, my master and Mr. Varleigh were more like brothers than anything

else. She set them at variance, and whether she meant to do it or not is all the same to me. I own I took a

dislike to her when I first saw her. She was one of the lighthaired, blueeyed sort, with an innocent look and

I hear I am not expected to give an account of the disagreement between the two gentlemen, of which this

lady was the cause. I am to state what I did in Maplesworth, and what I saw afterward in Herne Wood. Poor

as I am, I would give a fivepound note to anybody who could do it for me. Unfortunately, I must do it for

On the 10th of July, in the evening, my master went, for the second time that day, to Mr. Varleigh's lodgings.

I am certain of the date, because it was the day of publication of the town newspaper, and there was a law

report in it which set everybody talking. There had been a duel with pistols, a day or two before, between a

resident in the town and a visitor, caused by some dispute about horses. Nothing very serious came of the

meeting. One of the men only was hurt, and the wound proved to be of no great importance. The awkward

part of the matter was that the constables appeared on the ground, before the wounded man had been

removed. He and his two seconds were caught, and the prisoners were committed for trial. Dueling (the

magistrates said) was an inhuman and unchristian practice, and they were determined to put the law in force

and stop it. This sentence made a great stir in the town, and fixed the date, as I have just said, in my mind.

Having been accidentally within hearing of some of the disputes concerning Miss Laroche between my

master and Mr. Varleigh, I had my misgivings about the Captain's second visit to the friend with whom he

had quarreled already. A gentleman called on him, soon after he had gone out, on important business. This

gave me an excuse for following him to Mr. Varleigh's rooms with the visitor's card, and I took the

I heard them at high words on my way upstairs, and waited a little on the landing. The Captain was in one of

his furious rages; Mr. Varleigh was firm and cool as usual. After listening for a minute or so, I heard enough

(in my opinion) to justify me in entering the room. I caught my master in the act of lifting his

canethreatening to strike Mr. Varleigh. He instantly dropped his hand, and turned on me in a fury at my

intrusion. Taking no notice of this outbreak of temper, I gave him his friend's card, and went out. A talk

followed in voices too low for me to hear outside the room, and then the Captain approached the door. I got

out of his way, feeling very uneasy about what was to come next. I could not presume to question Mr.

Varleigh. The only thing I could think of was to tell the young lady's aunt what I had seen and heard, and to

plead with Miss Laroche herself to make peace between them. When I inquired for the ladies at their

The next morning he seemed to be quite himself again. He said to me, "Thomas, I am going sketching in

Herne Wood. Take the paintbox and the rest of it, and put this into the carriage."

He handed me a packet as thick as my arm, and about three feet long, done up in many folds of canvas. I

made bold to ask what it was. He answered that it was an artist's sketching umbrella, packed for traveling.

In an hour's time, the carriage stopped on the road below Herne Wood. My master said he would carry his

sketching things himself, and I was to wait with the carriage. In giving him the socalled umbrella, I took the

occasion of his eye being off me for the moment to pass my hand over it carefully; and I felt, through the

canvas, the hilt of a sword. As an old soldier, I could not be mistakenthe hilt of a sword.

What I thought, on making this discovery, does not much matter. What I did was to watch the Captain into

I tracked him along the path to where there was a clearing in the midst of the trees. There he stopped, and I

got behind a tree. He undid the canvas, and produced two swords concealed in the packet. If I had felt any

doubts before, I was certain of what was coming now. A duel without seconds or witnesses, by way of

keeping the town magistrates in the darka duel between my master and Mr. Varleigh! As his name came

into my mind, the man himself appeared, making his way into the clearing from the other side of the wood.

What could I do to stop it? No human creature was in sight. The nearest village was a mile away, reckoning

from the further side of the wood. The coachman was a stupid old man, quite useless in a difficulty, even if I

had had time enough to go back to the road and summon him to help me. While I was thinking about it, the

Captain and Mr. Varleigh had stripped to their shirts and trousers. When they crossed their swords, I could

stand it no longerI burst in on them. "For God Almighty's sake, gentlemen," I cried out, "don't fight

without seconds!" My master turned on me, like the madman he was, and threatened me with the point of his

sword. Mr. Varleigh pulled me back out of harm's way. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, as he led me back to

the verge of the clearing; "I have chosen the sword instead of the pistol expressly to spare his life."

Those noble words (spoken by as brave and true a man as ever breathed) quieted me. I knew Mr. Varleigh

The duel began. I was placed behind my master, and was consequently opposite to his antagonist. The

Captain stood on his defense, waiting for the other to attack. Mr. Varleigh made a pass. I was opposite the

point of his sword; I saw it touch the Captain's left shoulder. In the same instant of time my master struck up

his opponent's sword with his own weapon, seized Mr. Varleigh's right wrist in his left hand, and passed his

sword clean through Mr. Varleigh's breast. He fell, the victim of a murderous trickfell without a word or a

The Captain turned slowly, and faced me with his bloody sword in his hand. I can't tell you how he looked; I

can only say that the sight of him turned me faint with terror. I was at WaterlooI am no coward. But I tell

you the cold sweat poured down my face like water. I should have dropped if I had not held by the branch of

My master waited until I had in a measure recovered myself. "Feel if his heart beats," he said, pointing to the

I obeyed. He was deadthe heart was still; the beat of the pulse was gone. I said, "You have killed him!"

The Captain made no answer. He packed up the two swords again in the canvas, and put them under his arm.

Then he told me to follow him with the sketching materials. I drew back from him without speaking; there

was a horrid hollow sound in his voice that I did not like. "Do as I tell you," he said: "you have yourself to

thank for it if I refuse to lose sight of you now." I managed to say that he might trust me to say nothing. He

refused to trust me; he put out his hand to take hold of me. I could not stand that. "I'll go with you," I said;

"don't touch me!" We reached the carriage and returned to Maplesworth. The same day we traveled by post to

In London I contrived to give the Captain the slip. By the first coach the next morning I want back to

Maplesworth, eager to hear what had happened, and if the body had been found. Not a word of news reached

I went to the woodon foot, fearing that I might be traced if I hired a carriage. The country round was as

solitary as usual. Not a creature was near when I entered the wood; not a creature was near when I looked

EARLY in the month of October, 1817, I was informed that Miss Bertha Laroche had called at my house, and

I had first been presented to Miss Laroche on her arrival, with her aunt, to take possession of her property at

Nettlegrove Hall. My opportunities of improving my acquaintance with her had not been so numerous as I

could have desired, and I sincerely regretted it. She had produced a very favorable impression on me.

Singularly inexperienced and impulsivewith an odd mixture of shyness and vivacity in her manner, and

subject now and then to outbursts of vanity and petulance which she was divertingly incapable of

concealingI could detect, nevertheless, under the surface the signs which told of a true and generous

nature, of a simple and pure heart. Her personal appearance, I should add, was attractive in a remarkable

degree. There was something in it so peculiar, and at the same time so fascinating, that I am conscious it may

have prejudiced me in her favor. For fear of this acknowledgment being misunderstood, I think it right to add

The moment she entered the room, her appearance alarmed me: she looked literally panicstricken. I offered

to send for my wife; she refused the proposal. I entreated her to take time at least to compose herself. It was

not in her impulsive nature to do this. She said, "Give me your hand to encourage me, and let me speak while

I can." I gave her my hand, poor soul. I said, "Speak to me, my dear, as if I were your father."

So far as I could understand the incoherent statement which she addressed to me, she had been the object of

admiration (while visiting Maplesworth) of two gentlemen, who both desired to marry her. Hesitating

between them and perfectly inexperienced in such matters, she had been the unfortunate cause of enmity

between the rivals, and had returned to Nettlegrove, at her aunt's suggestion, as the best means of extricating

herself from a very embarrassing position. The removal failing to alleviate her distressing recollections of

what had happened, she and her aunt had tried a further change by making a tour of two months on the

Continent. She had returned in a more quiet frame of mind. To her great surprise, she had heard nothing of

either of her two suitors, from the day when she left Maplesworth to the day when she presented herself at my

Early that morning she was walking, after breakfast, in the park at Nettlegrove when she heard footsteps

behind her. She turned, and found herself face to face with one of her suitors at Maplesworth. I am informed

that there is no necessity now for my suppressing the name. The gentleman was Captain Stanwick.

After his first glance at her, he held his hand over his bloodshot eyes as if the sunlight hurt them. Without a

word to prepare her for the disclosure, he confessed that he had killed Mr. Varleigh in a duel. His remorse (he

declared) had unsettled his reason: only a few days had passed since he had been released from confinement

"You are the cause of it," he said wildly. "It is for love of you. I have but one hope left to live formy hope

in you. If you cast me off, my mind is made up. I will give my life for the life that I have taken; I will die by

my own hand. Look at me, and you will see that I am in earnest. My future as a living man depends on your

decision. Think of it today, and meet me here tomorrow. Not at this time; the horrid daylight feels like fire

in my eyes, and goes like fire to my brain. Wait till sunsetyou will find me here."

He left her as suddenly as he had appeared. When she had sufficiently recovered herself to be able to think,

she decided on saying nothing of what had happened to her aunt. She took her way to the rectory to seek my

It is needless to encumber my narrative by any statement of the questions which I felt it my duty to put to her

under these circumstances. My inquiries informed me that Captain Stanwick had in the first instance

produced a favorable impression on her. The less showy qualities of Mr. Varleigh had afterward grown on

her liking; aided greatly by the repelling effect on her mind of the Captain's violent language and conduct

when he had reason to suspect that his rival was being preferred to him. When she knew the horrible news of

Mr. Varleigh's death, she "knew her own heart" (to repeat her exact words to me) by the shock that she felt.

Toward Captain Stanwick the only feeling of which she was now conscious was, naturally, a feeling of the

My own course in this difficult and painful matter appeared to me to be clear. "It is your duty as a Christian

to see this miserable man again," I said. "And it is my duty as your friend and pastor, to sustain you under the

He drew back on seeing me. I explained to him, temperately and firmly, what my position was. With sullen

looks he resigned himself to endure my presence. By degrees I won his confidence. My first impression of

him remains unshakenthe man's reason was unsettled. I suspected that the assertion of his release was a

falsehood, and that he had really escaped from the asylum. It was impossible to lure him into telling me

where the place was. He was too cunning to do thistoo cunning to say anything about his relations, when I

tried to turn the talk that way next. On the other hand, he spoke with a revolting readiness of the crime that he

had committed, and of his settled resolution to destroy himself if Miss Laroche refused to be his wife. "I have

nothing else to live for; I am alone in the world," he said. "Even my servant has deserted me. He knows how I

killed Lionel Varleigh." He paused and spoke his next words in a whisper to me. "I killed him by a trickhe

This confession was so horrible that I could only attribute it to an insane delusion. On pressing my inquiries, I

found that the same idea must have occurred to the poor wretch's relations, and to the doctors who signed the

certificates for placing him under medical care. This conclusion (as I afterward heard) was greatly

strengthened by the fact that Mr. Varleigh's body had not been found on the reported scene of the duel. As to

the servant, he had deserted his master in London, and had never reappeared. So far as my poor judgment

went, the question before me was not of delivering a selfaccused murderer to justice (with no corpse to

testify against him), but of restoring an insane man to the care of the persons who had been appointed to

I tried to test the strength of his delusion in an interval when he was not urging his shocking entreaties on

He looked at me with a wild terror in his eyes. Suddenly he lifted his right hand, and shook it in the air, with

a moaning cry, which was unmistakably a cry of pain. "Should I see his ghost," he asked, "if I had not killed

him? I know it, by the pain that wrings me in the hand that stabbed him. Always in my right hand! always the

same pain at the moment when I see him!" He stopped and ground his teeth in the agony and reality of his

delusion. "Look!" he cried. "Look between the two trees behind you. There he iswith his dark hair, and his

shaven face, and his steady look! There he is, standing before me as he stood in the wood, with his eyes on

my eyes, and his sword feeling mine!" He turned to Miss Laroche. "Do you see him too?" he asked eagerly.

She controlled herself with a wonderful courage. "I don't see him," she answered.

He took out his handkerchief, and passed it over his face with a gasp of relief. "There is my last chance!" he

said. "If she will be true to meif she will be always near me, morning, noon, and night, I shall be released

from the sight of him. See! he is fading away already! Gone!" h e cried, with a scream of exultation. He fell

on his knees, and looked at Miss Laroche like a savage adoring his idol. "Will you cast me off now?" he

asked, humbly. "Lionel was fond of you in his lifetime. His spirit is a merciful spirit. He shrinks from

frightening you, he has left me for your sake; he will release me for your sake. Pity me, take me to live with

It was dreadful to hear him. I saw that the poor girl could endure no more. "Leave us," I whispered to her; "I

He heard me, and instantly placed himself between us. "Let her promise, or she shan't go."

She felt, as I felt, the imperative necessity of saying anything that might soothe him. At a sign from me she

He was satisfiedhe insisted on kissing her hand, and then he let her go. I had by this time succeeded in

inducing him to trust me. He proposed, of his own accord, that I should accompany him to the inn in the

village at which he had been staying. The landlord (naturally enough distrusting his wretched guest) had

warned him that morning to find some other place of shelter. I engaged to use my influence with the man to

make him change his purpose, and I succeeded in effecting the necessary arrangements for having the poor

wretch properly looked after. On my return to my own house, I wrote to a brother magistrate living near me,

and to the superintendent of our county asylum, requesting them to consult with me on the best means of

lawfully restraining Captain Stanwick until we could communicate with his relations. Could I have done

more than this? The event of the next morning answered that questionanswered it at once and forever.

PRESENTING myself at Nettlegrove Hall toward sunset, to take charge of Miss Laroche, I was met by an

This good lady had been informed of the appearance of Captain Stanwick in the park, and she strongly

disapproved of encouraging any further communication with him on the part of her niece. She also

considered that I had failed in my duty in still leaving the Captain at liberty. I told her that I was only waiting

to act on the advice of competent persons, who would arrive the next day to consult with me; and I did my

best to persuade her of the wisdom of the course that I had taken in the meantime. Miss Laroche, on her side,

was resolved to be true to the promise that she had given. Between us, we induced her aunt to yield on certain

"I know the part of the park in which the meeting is to take place," the old lady said; "it is my niece's favorite

walk. If she is not brought back to me in half an hour's time, I shall send the menservants to protect her."

The twilight was falling when we reached the appointed place. We found Captain Stanwick angry and

suspicious; it was not easy to pacify him on the subject of our delay. His insanity seemed to me to be now

more marked than ever. He had seen, or dreamed of seeing, the ghost during the past night. For the first time

(he said) the apparition of the dead man had spoken to him. In solemn words it had condemned him to expiate

his crime by giving his life for the life that he had taken. It had warned him not to insist on marriage with

Bertha Laroche: "She shall share your punishment if she shares your life. And you shall know it by this

I tried to compose him. He shook his head in immovable despair. "No," he answered; "if she sees him when I

see him, there ends the one hope of release that holds me to life. It will be goodby between us, and goodby

We had walked on, while we were speaking, to a part of the park through which there flowed a rivulet of

clear water. On the further bank, the open ground led down into a wooded valley. On our side of the stream

rose a thick plantation of firtrees intersected by a winding path. Captain Stanwick stopped as we reached the

place. His eyes rested, in the darkening twilight, on the narrow space pierced by the path among the trees. On

a sudden he lifted his right hand, with the same cry of pain which we had heard before; with his left hand he

took Miss Laroche by the arm. "There!" he said. "Look where I look! Do you see him there?"

As the words passed his lips, a dimlyvisible figure appeared, advancing toward us along the path.

Was it the figure of a living man? or was it the creation of my own excited fancy? Before I could ask myself

the question, the man advanced a step nearer to us. A last gleam of the dying light fell on his face through an

opening in the trees. At the same instant Miss Laroche started back from Captain Stanwick with a scream of

terror. She would have fallen if I had not been near enough to support her. The Captain was instantly at her

He stooped over her, and touched her cold cheek with his lips. "Goodby!" he said, in tones suddenly and

He leaped the rivulet; he crossed the open ground; he was lost to sight in the valley beyond.

As he disappeared, the visionary man among the firtrees advanced; passed in silence; crossed the rivulet at a

I was left alone with the swooning woman. Not a sound, far or near, broke the stillness of the coming night.

No 5.Mr. Frederic Darnel, Member of the College of Surgeons, testifies and says:

IN the intervals of my professional duty I am accustomed to occupy myself in studying Botany, assisted by a

friend and neighbor, whose tastes in this respect resemble my own. When I can spare an hour or two from my

patients, we go out together searching for specimens. Our favorite place is Herne Wood. It is rich in material

for the botanist, and it is only a mile distant from the village in which I live.

Early in July, my friend and I made a discovery in the wood of a very alarming and unexpected kind. We

found a man in the clearing, prostrated by a dangerous wound, and to all appearance dead.

We carried him to the gamekeeper's cottage on the outskirts of the woods, and on the side of it nearest to our

village. He and his boy were out, but the light cart in which he makes his rounds, in the remoter part of his

master's property, was in the outhouse. While my friend was putting the horse to, I examined the stranger's

wound. It had been quite recently inflicted, and I doubted whether it had (as yet, at any rate) really killed him.

I did what I could with the linen and cold water which the gamekeeper's wife offered to me, and then my

friend and I removed him carefully to my house in the cart. I applied the necessary restoratives, and I had the

pleasure of satisfying myself that the vital powers had revived. He was perfectly unconscious, of course, but

In a few days more I felt fairly sure of him. Then the usual fever set in. I was obliged, in justice to his friends,

to search his clothes in presence of a witness. We found his handkerchief, his purse, and his cigarcase, and

nothing more. No letters or visiting cards; nothing marked on his clothes but initials. There was no help for it

When that time came, he acknowledged to me that he had divested himself purposely of any clew to his

identity, in the fear (if some mischance happened to him) of the news of it reaching his father and mother

abruptly, by means of the newspapers. He had sent a letter to his bankers in London, to be forwarded to his

parents, if the bankers neither saw him nor heard from him in a month's time. His first act was to withdraw

this letter. The other particulars which he communicated to me are, I am told, already known. I need only add

that I willingly kept his secret, simply speaking of him in the neighborhood as a traveler from foreign parts

His convalescence was a long one. It was the beginning of Octob er before he was completely restored to

health. When he left us he went to London. He behaved most liberally to me; and we parted with sincere

MY first proceeding, on my recovery, was to go to the relations of Captain Stanwick in London, for the

I do not wish to justify myself at the expense of that miserable man. It is true that I loved Miss Laroche too

dearly to yield her to any rival except at her own wish. It is also true that Captain Stanwick more than once

insulted me, and that I endured it. He had suffered from sunstroke in India, and in his angry moments he was

hardly a responsible being. It was only when he threatened me with personal chastisement that my patience

gave way. We met sword in hand. In my mind was the resolution to spare his life. In his mind was the

His relations informed me of the symptoms of insane delusion which he had shown after the duel; of his

escape from the asylum in which he had been confined; and of the failure to find him again.

The moment I heard this news the dread crossed my mind that Stanwick had found his way to Miss Laroche.

I arrived late in the evening, and found Miss Laroche's aunt in great alarm about her niece's safety. The young

lady was at that very moment speaking to Stanwick in the park, with only an old man (the rector) to protect

her. I volunteered to go at once, and assist in taking care of her. A servant accompanied me to show me the

place of meeting. We heard voices indistinctly, but saw no one. The servant pointed to a path through the

firtrees. I went on quickly by myself, leaving the man within call. In a few minutes I came upon them

The fear of seriously alarming Miss Laroche, if I showed myself too suddenly, deprived me for a moment of

my presence of mind. Pausing to consider what it might be best to do, I was less completely protected from

discovery by the trees than I had supposed. She had seen me; I heard her cry of alarm. The instant afterward I

saw Stanwick leap over the rivulet and take to flight. That action roused me. Without stopping for a word of

Unhappily, I missed my footing in the obscure light, and fell on the open ground beyond the stream. When I

had gained my feet once more, Stanwick had disappeared among the trees which marked the boundary of the

park beyond me. I could see nothing of him, and I could hear nothing of him, when I came out on the

highroad. There I met with a laboring man who showed me the way to the village. From the inn I sent a

letter to Miss Laroche's aunt, explaining what had happened, and asking leave to call at the Hall on the next

Early in the morning the rector came to me at the inn. He brought sad news. Miss Laroche was suffering from

a nervous attack, and my visit to the Hall must be deferred. Speaking next of the missing man, I heard all that

Mr. Loring could tell me. My intimate knowledge of Stanwick enabled me to draw my own conclusion from

the facts. The thought instantly crossed my mind that the poor wretch might have committed his expiatory

suicide at the very spot on which he had attempted to kill me. Leaving the rector to institute the necessary

Advancing from the highroad to the wood, I saw two persons at a little distance from mea man in the

dress of a gamekeeper, and a lad. I was too much agitated to take any special notice of them; I hurried along

the path which led to the clearing. My presentiment had not misled me. There he lay, dead on the scene of the

duel, with a bloodstained razor by his side! I fell on my knees by the corpse; I took his cold hand in mine;

I was still kneeling, when I felt myself seized from behind. I struggled to my feet, and confronted the

gamekeeper. He had noticed my hurry in entering the wood; his suspicions had been aroused, and he and the

lad had followed me. There was blood on my clothes; there was horror in my face. Appearances were plainly

against me; I had no choice but to accompany the gamekeeper to the nearest magistrate.

My instructions to my solicitor forbade him to vindicate my innocence by taking any technical legal

objections to the action of the magistrate or of the coroner. I insisted on my witnesses being summoned to the

lawyer's office, and allowed to state, in their own way, what they could truly declare on my behalf; and I left

my defense to be founded upon the materials thus obtained. In the meanwhile I was detained in custody, as a

With this event the tragedy of the duel reached its culminating point. I was accused of murdering the man

This last incident having been related, all that is worth noticing in my contribution to the present narrative

comes to an end. I was tried in due course of law. The evidence taken at my solicitor's office was necessarily

altered in form, though not in substance, by the examination to which the witnesses were subjected in a court

of justice. So thoroughly did our defense satisfy the jury, that they became restless toward the close of the

When I was a free man again, it is surely needless to dwell on the first use that I made of my honorable

acquittal. Whether I deserved the enviable place that I occupied in Bertha's estimation, it is not for me to say.

Let me leave the decision to the lady who has ceased to be Miss LarocheI mean the lady who has been

ONE afternoon old Miss Dulane entered her drawingroom; ready to receive visitors, dressed in splendor,

Just as a saucy bronze nymph on the mantelpiece struck the quarter to three on an elegant clock under her

Miss Dulane wore her own undisguised gray hair, dressed in perfect harmony with her time of life. Without

an attempt at concealment, she submitted to be too short and too stout. Her appearance (if it had only been

made to speak) would have said, in effect: "I am an old woman, and I scorn to disguise it."

Mrs. Newsham, tall and elegant, painted and dyed, acted on the opposite principle in dressing, which

confesses nothing. On exhibition before the world, this lady's disguise asserted that she had reached her

thirtieth year on her last birthday. Her husband was discreetly silent, and Father Time was discreetly silent:

"Shall we talk of the weather and the news, my dear? Or shall we come to the object of your visit at once?"

"Your tone and manner, my good friend, are no doubt provoked by the report in the newspaper of this

morning. In justice to you, I refuse to believe the report." So Mrs. Newsham adopted her friend's suggestion.

"He is young enough to be your son; and he is marrying youimpudently, undisguisedly marrying youfor

"In a week or two more, Elizabeth, I shall remind you that I am the wife of a nobleman's son."

"A younger son, as you say. He finds the social position, and I find the moneyhalf a million at my own

sole disposal. My future husband is a good fellow in his way, and his future wife is anot her good fellow in

her way. To look at your grim face, one would suppose there were no such things in the world as marriages of

"Not at your time of life. I tell you plainly, your marriage will be a public scandal."

"That doesn't frighten us," Miss Dulane remarked. "We are resigned to every illnatured thing that our

friends can say of us. In course of time, the next nine days' wonder will claim public attention, and we shall

be forgotten. I shall be none the less on that account Lady Howel Beaucourt. And my husband will be happy

in the enjoyment of every expensive taste which a poor man call gratify, for the first time in his life. Have

Mrs. Newsham's uneasy virtue shuddered. "What a profanation of marriage!" she exclaimed.

"Nothing of the sort," her friend pronounced positively. "Marriage, by the law of England (as my lawyer tells

"Call it what you please, Matilda. Do you expect to live a happy life, at your age, with a young man for your

"A happy life," Miss Dulane repeated, "because it will be an innocent life." She laid a certain emphasis on the

Mrs. Newsham resented the emphasis, and rose to go. Her last words were the bitterest words that she had

"You have secured such a truly remarkable husband, my dear, that I am emboldened to ask a great favor. Will

"A very serious objection, Elizabeth. You are not pure enough in mind to be worthy of my husband's

With that reply the first of the remonstrances assumed hostile proportions, and came to an untimely end.

THE second remonstrance was reserved for a happier fate. It took its rise in a conversation between two men

The elder man was one of those admirable human beings who are cordial, gentle, and goodtempered,

without any conscious exercise of their own virtues. He was generally known in the world about him by a

fond and familiar use of his Christian name. To call him "Sir Richard" in these pages (except in the character

of one of his servants) would be simply ridiculous. When he lent his money, his horses, his house, and

(sometimes, after unlucky friends had dropped to the lowest social depths) even his clothes, this general

benefactor was known, in the best society and the worst society alike, as "Dick." He filled the hundred

mouths of Rumor with his nickname, in the days when there was an opera in London, as the proprietor of the

"Beautybox." The ladies who occupied the box were all invited under the same circumstances. They

enjoyed operatic music; but their husbands and fathers were not rich enough to be able to gratify that

expensive taste. Dick's carriage called for them, and took them home again; and the beauties all agreed (if he

ever married) that Mrs. Dick would be the most enviable woman on the face of the civilized earth. Even the

false reports, which declared that he was privately married already, and on bad terms with his wife, slandered

him cordially under the popular name. And his intimate companions, when they alluded among each other to

a romance in his life which would remain a hidden romance to the end of his days, forgot that the occasion

justified a serious and severe use of his surname, and blamed him affectionately as "poor dear Dick."

The hour was midnight; and the friends, whom the most hospitable of men delighted to assemble round his

dinnertable, had taken their leave with the exception of one guest specially detained by the host, who led

"You were angry with our friends," Dick began, "when they asked you about that report of your marriage.

Dick took the young lord's hand. Simply and seriously, he said: "Accept my congratulations."

"There isn't another man or woman in the whole circle of my acquaintance," he declared, "who would have

congratulated me on marrying Miss Dulane. I believe you would make allowances for me if I had committed

"I hope I should," Dick answered gravely. "When a man is my friendmurder or marriageI take it for

granted that he has a reason for what he does. Wait a minute. You mustn't give me more credit than I deserve.

I don't agree with you. If I were a marrying man myself, I shouldn't pick an old maidI should prefer a

young one. That's a matter of taste. You are not like me. You always have a definite object in view. I may not

Beaucourt was not unworthy of the friendship he had inspired. "I should be ungrateful indeed," he said, "if I

"The only poor friend of mine," Dick remarked, "who has never borrowed money of me."

Beaucourt went on without noticing this. "I have three expensive tastes," he said. "I want to get into

Parliament; I want to have a yacht; I want to collect pictures. Add, if you like, the selfish luxury of helping

poverty and wretchedness, and hearing my conscience tell me what an excellent man I am. I can't do all this

on five hundred a yearbut I can do it on forty times five hundred a year. Moral: marry Miss Dulane."

Listening attentively until the other had done, Dick showed a sardonic side to his character never yet

"I suppose you have made the necessary arrangements," he said. "When the old lady releases you, she will

"That's the first illnatured thing I ever heard you say, Dick. When the old lady dies, my sense of honor takes

fright, and turns its back on her will. It's a condition on my side, that every farthing of her money shall be left

"What a question! Am I her relation because the laws of society force a mock marriage on us? How can I

make use of her money unless I am her husband? and how can she make use of my title unless she is my

wife? As long as she lives I stand honestly by my side of the bargain. But when she dies the transaction is at

Dick exhibited another surprising side to his character. The most compliant of men now became as obstinate

"All very well," he said, "but it doesn't explain whyif you must sell yourselfyou have sold yourself to an

old lady. There are plenty of young ones and pretty ones with fortunes to tempt you. It seems odd that you

"No, Dick. It would have been odd, and worse than odd, if I had tried my luck with a young woman."

"You shall see it directly. If I marry an old woman for her money, I have no occasion to be a hypocrite; we

both know that our marriage is a mere matter of form. But if I make a young woman my wife because I want

her money, and if that young woman happens to be worth a straw, I must deceive her and disgrace myself by

Dick's face suddenly brightened with a mingled expression of relief and triumph.

"Ha! my mercenary friend," he burst out, "there's something mixed up in this business which is worthier of

you than anything I have heard yet. Stop! I'm going to be clever for the first time in my life. A man who talks

of love as you do, must have felt love himself. Where is the young one and the pretty one? And what has she

done, poor dear, to be deserted for an old woman? Good God! how you look at me! I have hurt your

feelingsI have been a greater fool than everI am more ashamed of myself than words can say!"

"You have made a very natural mistake," he said. "There was a young lady. She has refused meabsolutely

refused me. There is no more love in my life. It's a dark life and an empty life for the rest of my days. I must

see what money can do for me next. When I have thoroughly hardened my heart I may not feel my

misfortune as I feel it now. Pity me or despise me. In either case let us say goodnight."

He went out into the hall and took his hat. Dick went out into the hall and took his hat.

The man was simply irresistible. Beaucourt sat down resignedly on the nearest of the hall chairs. Dick asked

him to return to the diningroom. "No," he said; "it's not worth while. What I can tell you may be told in two

minutes." Dick submitted, and took the next of the hall chairs. In that inappropriate place the young lord's

unpremeditated confession was forced out of him, by no more formidable exercise of power than the kindness

"When you hear where I met with her," he began, "you will most likely not want to hear any more. I saw her,

He looked at Dick. Perfectly quiet and perfectly impenetrable, Dick only said, "Go on." Beaucourt continued

"She was singing Arne's delicious setting of Ariel's song in the 'Tempest,' with a taste and feeling completely

thrown away on the greater part of the audience. That she was beautifulin my eyes at leastI needn't say.

That she had descended to a sphere unworthy of her and new to her, nobody could doubt. Her modest dress,

her refinement of manner, seemed rather to puzzle than to please most of the people present; they applauded

her, but not very warmly, when she retired. I obtained an introduction through her musicmaster, who

happened to be acquainted professionally with some relatives of mine. He told me that she was a young

widow; and he assured me that the calamity through which her family had lost their place in the world had

brought no sort of disgrace on them. If I wanted to know more, he referred me to the lady herself. I found her

very reserved. A long time passed before I could win her confidenceand a longer time still before I

ventured to confess the feeling with which she had inspired me. You know the rest."

"No. I had foreseen that obstacle, and had followed the example of the adventurous nobleman in the old

story. Like him, I assumed a name, and presented myself as belonging to her own respectable middle class of

life. You are too old a friend to suspect me of vanity if I tell you that she had no objection to me, and no

"A motive associated with her dead husband," Beaucourt answered. "He had married hermind, innocently

married herwhile his first wife was living. The woman was an inveterate drunkard; they had been

separated for years. Her death had been publicly reported in the newspapers, among the persons killed in a

railway accident abroad. When she claimed her unhappy husband he was in delicate health. The shock killed

him. His widowI can't, and won't, speak of her misfortune as if it was her faultknew of no living friends

who were in a position to help her. Not a great artist with a wonderful voice, she could still trust to her

musical accomplishments to provide for the necessities of life. Plead as I might with her to forget the past, I

always got the same reply: 'If I was base enough to let myself be tempted by the happy future that you offer, I

should deserve the unmerited disgrace which has fallen on me. Marry a woman whose reputation will bear

inquiry, and forget me.' I was mad enough to press my suit once too often. When I visited her on the next day

she was gone. Every effort to trace her has failed. Lost, my friendirretrievably lost to me!"

"Break off your mad engagement to Miss Dulane," he said. "Be a man, Howel; wait and hope! You are

throwing away your life when happiness is within your reach, if you will only be patient. That poor young

creature is worthy of you. Lost? Nonsense! In this narrow little world people are never hopelessly lost till

they are dead and underground. Help me to recognize her by a description, and tell me her name. I'll find her;

I'll persuade her to come back to youand, mark my words, you will live to bless the day when you

This wellmeant remonstrance was completely thrown away. Beaucourt's despair was deaf to every entreaty

that Dick had addressed to him. "Thank you with all my heart," he said. "You don't know her as I do. She is

Those were the last words he said to his friend in the character of a single man.

"SEVEN months have passed, my dear Dick, since my 'inhuman obstinacy' (those were the words you used)

made you one of the witnesses at my marriage to Miss Dulane, sorely against your will. Do you remember

your parting prophecy when you were out of the bride's hearing? 'A miserable life is before that woman's

"Never, my dear boy, attempt to forecast the future again. Viewed as a prophet you are a complete failure. I

"But you must not mistake me. I am far from saying that I am a happy man; I only declare myself to be a

contented man. My old wife is a marvel of good temper and good sense. She trusts me implicitly, and I have

given her no reason to regret it. We have our time for being together, and our time for keeping apart. Within

our inevitable limits we understand each other and respect each other, and have a truer feeling of regard on

both sides than many people far better matched than we are in point of age. But you shall judge for yourself.

Come and dine with us, when I return on Wednesday next from the trial trip of my new yacht. In the

"My wife's niece has been her companion for years. She has left us to be married to an officer, who has taken

her to India; and we are utterly at a loss how to fill her place. The good old lady doesn't want much. A

nicetempered refined girl, who can sing and play to her with some little taste and feeling, and read to her

now and then when her eyes are wearythere is what we require; and there, it seems, is more than we can

get, after advertising for a week past. Of all the 'companions' who have presented themselves, not one has

"Can you help us? In any case, my wife sends you her kind remembrances; and (true to the old times) I add

~ On the day which followed the receipt of this letter, Dick paid a visit to Lady Howel Beaucourt.

"Pardon me if I ask a question first," Dick replied. "Do you object to a young widow?"

"Then I have found the very person you want. And, oddly enough, your husband has had something to do

There was an undertone of jealousy in Lady Howel's voicejealousy excited not altogether without a

motive. She had left it to Beaucourt's sense of honor to own the truth, if there had been any love affair in his

past life which ought to make him hesitates before he married. He had justified Miss Dulane's confidence in

him; acknowledging an attachment to a young widow, and adding that she had positively refused him. "We

have not met since," he said, "and we shall never meet again." Under those circumstances, Miss Dulane had

considerately abstained from asking for any further details. She had not thought of the young widow again,

until Dick's language had innocently inspired her first doubt. Fortunately for both of them, he was an

outspoken man; and he reassured her unreservedly in these words: "Your husband knows nothing about it."

"Through my uncle's library," Dick replied. "His will has left me his collection of booksin such a

wretchedly neglected condition that I asked Beaucourt (not being a reading man myself) if he knew of any

competent person who could advise me how to set things right. He introduced me to Farleigh Halford, the

wellknown publishers. The second partner is a book collector himself, as well as a bookseller. He kindly

looks in now and then, to see how his instructions for mending and binding are being carried out. When he

called yesterday I thought of you, and I found he could help us to a young lady employed in his office at

"To save her eyes, poor soul. When the senior partner, Mr. Farleigh, met with her, she was reduced by family

misfortunes to earn her own living. The publishers would have been only too glad to keep her in their office,

but for the oculist's report. He declared that she would run the risk of blindness, if she fatigued her weak eyes

much longer. There is the only objection to this otherwise invaluable personshe will not be able to read to

"A perfect lady. I have seen her and spoken to her; I answer for her manners, and I guarantee her personal

For a moment Lady Howel hesitated. After a little reflection, she decided that it was her duty to trust her

excellent husband. "I will receive the charming widow," she said, "tomorrow at twelve o'clock; and, if she

BEAUCOURT had prolonged the period appointed for the trial trip of his yacht by a whole week. His

apology when he returned delighted the kindhearted old lady who had made him a present of the vessel.

"There isn't such another yacht in the whole world," he declared. "I really hadn't the heart to leave that

beautiful vessel after only three days experience of her." He burst out with a torrent of technical praises of the

yacht, to which his wife listened as attentively as if she really understood what he was talking about. When

his breath and his eloquence were exhausted alike, she said, "Now, my dear, it's my turn. I can match your

"He did indeed. You shall see for yourself how grateful I ought to be to your friend."

She opened a door which led into the next room. "Mary, my dear, come and be introduced to my husband."

Beaucourt started when he heard the name, and instantly recovered himself. He had forgotten how many

Lady Howel returned, leading her favorite by the hand, and gayly introduced her the moment they entered the

She looked at her husband. The utterance of his name was instantly suspended on her lips. Mrs. Evelin's

hand, turning cold at the same moment in her hand, warned her to look round. The face of the woman more

The wife's first words, when she recovered herself, were addressed to them both.

The firmness of his tone irritated her. "I will judge of that for myself," she said. "Go back to the next room,"

The companion, whose duty it was to obeywhose modesty and gentleness had won her mistress's

"No," she said; "I have been deceived too. I have my right to hear what Lord Howel has to say for himself."

Beaucourt attempted to support the claim that she had advanced. His wife sternly signed to him to be silent.

"I mean this. The person whom you speak of as a nobleman was presented to me as 'Mr. Vincent, an artist.'

"Is this true, my lord?" Lady Howel asked, with a contemptuous emphasis on the title of nobility.

"Quite true," her husband answered. "I thought it possible that my rank might prove an obstacle in the way of

my hopes. The blame rests on me, and on me alone. I ask Mrs. Evelin to pardon me for an act of deception

Lady Howel was a just woman. Under other circumstances she might have shown herself to be a generous

woman. That brighter side of her character was incapable of revealing itself in the presence of Mrs. Evelin,

young and beautiful, and in possession of her husband's heart. She could say, "I beg your pardon, madam; I

have not treated you justly." But no selfcontrol was strong enough to restrain the next bitter words from

passing her lips. "At my age," she said, "Lord Howel will soon be free; you will not have long to wait for

For a moment her eyes rested on Beaucourt, dim with rising tears. She left the roomand left the house.

There was silence between the husband and wife. Beaucourt was the first to speak again.

"After what you have just heard, do you persist in your jealousy of that lady, and your jealousy of me?" he

"I have behaved cruelly to her and to you. I am ashamed of myself," was all she said in reply. That expression

of sorrow, so simple and so true, did not appeal in vain to the gentler side of Beaucourt's nature. He kissed his

"You may forgive me," she answered. "I cannot forgive myself. That poor lady's last words have made my

heart ache. What I said to her in anger I ought to have said generously. Why should she not wait for you?

After your life with mea life of kindness, a life of selfsacrificeyou deserve your reward. Promise me

"You distress me, and needlessly distress me," he said. "What you are thinking of, my dear, can never

She looked toward the next room. "Go in, Howel, and bring Mrs. Evelin back; I have something to say to

The discovery that she had left the house caused no fear that she had taken to flight with the purpose of

concealing herself. There was a prospect before the poor lonely woman which might be trusted to preserve

During her brief residence in Beaucourt's house she had shown to Lady Howel a letter received from a

relation, who had emigrated to New Zealand with her husband and her infant children some years since. They

had steadily prospered; they were living in comfort, and they wanted for nothing but a trustworthy governess

to teach their children. The mother had accordingly written, asking if her relative in England could

recommend a competent person, and offering a liberal salary. In showing the letter to Lady Howel, Mrs.

Evelin had said: "If I had not been so happy as to attract your notice, I might have offered to be the governess

Assuming that it had now occurred to her to act on this idea, Lady Howel felt assured that she would apply

for advice either to the publishers who had recommended her, or to Lord Howel's old friend.

Beaucourt at once offered to make th e inquiries which might satisfy his wife that she had not been mistaken.

Readily accepting his proposal, she asked at the same time for a few minutes of delay.

"I want to say to you," she explained, "what I had in my mind to say to Mrs. Evelin. Do you object to tell me

"You would have done it, my dear, as I think, if her misfortune had been your misfortune." With those

Lady Howel's sympathies, strongly excited, appeared to have led her to a conclusion which she was not

willing to communicate to her husband. She asked him, rather abruptly, if he would leave it to her to find

Mrs. Evelin. "I promise," she added, "to tell you what I am thinking of, when I come back."

AFTER a long absence Lady Howel returned, accompanied by Dick. His face and manner betrayed unusual

"I may well be excited," Dick declared, "after what I have heard, and after what we have done. Lady Howel,

But my lady preferred waiting for Dick. He consented to speak first, for the thoroughly characteristic reason

"I shall try the old division," he said, "into First, Second, and Third. Don't be afraid; I am not going to

preachquite the contrary; I am going to be quick about it. First, then, Mrs. Evelin has decided, under sound

advice, to go to New Zealand. Second, I have telegraphed to her relations at the other end of the world to tell

them that she is coming. Third, and last, Farleigh Halford have sent to the office, and secured a berth for her

in the next ship that sailsdate the day after tomorrow. Done in half a minute. Now, Lady Howel!"

"I will begin and end in half a minute too," she said, "if I can. First," she continued, turning to her husband, "I

found Mrs. Evelin at your friend's house. She kindly let me say all that I could say for the relief of my poor

"I can't do it, Howel," she confessed; "I speak to you as usual, or I can never get on. Saying many things in

few wordsif the ladies who assert our rights will forgive me for confessing itis an accomplishment in

which we are completely beaten by the men. You must have thought me rude, my dear, for leaving you very

abruptly, without a word of explanation. The truth is, I had an idea in my head, and I kept it to myself (old

people are proverbially cautious, you know) till I had first found out whether it was worth mentioning. When

you were speaking of the wretched creature who had claimed Mrs. Evelin's husband as her own, you said she

was an inveterate drunkard. A woman in that state of degradation is capable, as I persist in thinking, of any

wickedness. I suppose this put it into my head to doubt herno; I mean, to wonder whether Mr. Evelindo

you know that she keeps her husband's name by his own entreaty addressed to her on his deathbed?oh, I

am losing myself in a crowd of words of my own collecting! Say the rest of it for me, Sir Richard!"

"Thank you, my lady. Now we had better remember that your husband is present." He turned to Beaucourt.

"Lady Howel had the idea," he proceeded, "which ought to have presented itself to you and to me. It was a

serious misfortune (as she thought) that Mr. Evelin's sufferings in his last illness, and his wife's anxiety while

she was nursing him, had left them unfit to act in their own defense. They might otherwise not have

submitted to the drunken wretch's claim, without first making sure that she had a right to advance it. Taking

her character into due consideration, are we quite certain that she was herself free to marry, when Mr. Evelin

unfortunately made her his wife? To that serious question we now mean to find an answer. With Mrs.

Evelin's knowledge of the affair to help us, we have discovered the woman's address, to begin with. She

keeps a small tobacconist's shop at the town of Grailey in the north of England. The rest is in the hands of my

lawyer. If we make the discovery that we all hope for, we have your wife to thank for it." He paused, and

looked at his watch. "I've got an appointment at the club. The committee will blackball the best fellow that

The last day of Mrs. Evelin's sojourn in England was memorable in more ways than one.

On the first occasion in Beaucourt's experience of his married life, his wife wrote to him instead of speaking

to him, although they were both in the house at the time. It was a little note only containing these words: "I

thought you would like to say goodby to Mrs. Evelin. I have told her to expect you in the library, and I will

Waiting at the window of her sittingroom, on the upper floor, Lady Howel perceived that the delicate

generosity of her conduct had been gratefully felt. The interview in the library barely lasted for five minutes.

She saw Mrs. Evelin leave the house with her veil down. Immediately afterward, Beaucourt ascended to his

wife's room to thank her. Carefully as he had endeavored to hide them, the traces of tears in his eyes told her

how cruelly the parting scene had tried him. It was a bitter moment for his admirable wife. "Do you wish me

dead?" she asked with sad selfpossession. "Live," he said, "and live happily, if you wish to make me happy

FURNISHED with elaborate instructions to guide him, which included golden materials for bribery, a young

Jew holding the place of third clerk in the office of Dick's lawyer was sent to the town of Grailey to make

discoveries. In the matter of successfully instituting private inquiries, he was justly considered to be a match

for any two Christians who might try to put obstacles in his way. His name was Moses Jackling.

Entering the cigarshop, the Jew discovered that he had presented himself at a critical moment.

A girl and a man were standing behind the counter. The girl looked like a maidofallwork: she was

rubbing the tears out of her eyes with a big red fist. The man, smart in manner and shabby in dress, received

the stranger with a peremptory eagerness to do business. "Now, then! what for you?" Jackling bought the

worst cigar he had ever smoked, in the course of an enormous experience of bad tobacco, and tried a few

questions with this result. The girl had lost her place; the man was in "possession"; and the stock and

furniture had been seized for debt. Jackling thereupon assumed the character of a creditor, and ask to speak

"Tell the truth, you fool," cried the man in possession. He led the way to a door with a glass in the upper part

of it, which opened into a parlor behind the shop. As soon as his back was turned, Jackling whispered to the

maid, "When I go, slip out after me; I've got something for you." The man lifted the curtain over the glass.

Jackling discovered the mistress flat on her back on the floor, helplessly drunk. That was enough for the

clerkso far. He took leave of the man in possession, with the one joke which never wears out in the

estimation of Englishmen; the joke that foresees the drinker's headache in the morning. In a minute or two

more the girl showed herself, carrying an empty jug. She had been sent for the man's beer, and she was

expected back directly. Jackling, having first overwhelmed her by a present of five shillings, proposed

another appointment in the evening. The maid promised to be at the place of meeting; and in memory of the

"Say what you like, my dear, so long as you listen to me. I want to know everything that your mistress says

and doesfirst when she's drunk, and then when she's sober. Wait a bit; I haven't done yet. If you tell me

Madly excited by this golden prospect, the victim of domestic service answered inarticulately with a scream.

Jackling's right hand and left hand entered his pockets, and appeared again holding two sovereigns separately

between two fingers and thumbs. From that moment, he was at liberty to empty the maidofallwork's

The sober moments of the mistress yielded little or nothing to investigation. The report of her drunken

moments produced something worth hearing. There were two men whom it was her habit to revile bitterly in

her cups. One of them was Mr. Evelin, whom she abusedsometimes for the small allowance that he made

to her; sometimes for dying before she could prosecute him for bigamy. Her drunken remembrances of the

other man were associated with two names. She called him "Septimus"; she called him "Darts"; and she

despised him occasionally for being a "common sailor." It was clearly demonstrated that he was one man, and

not two. Whether he was "Septimus," or whether he was "Darts," he had always committed the same

atrocities. He had taken her money away from her; he had called her by an atrocious name; and he had

knocked her down on more than one occasion. Provided with this information, Jackling rewarded the girl, and

The miserable woman was exactly in the state of nervous prostration (after the excess of the previous

evening) which offered to the clerk his best chance of gaining his end. He presented himself as the

representative of friends, bent on helping her, whose modest benevolence had positively forbidden him to

"What sum of money must you pay," he asked, "to get rid of the man in possession?"

Too completely bewildered to speak, her trembling hand offered to him a slip of paper on which the amount

With some difficulty the Jew preserved his gravity. "Very well," he resumed. "I will make it up to sixty

She suddenly recovered her power of speech. "Give me the money!" she cried, with greedy impatience of

"First condition," he continued, without noticing the interruption: "you are not to suffer, either in purse or

"Second condition," he went on as impenetrably as ever; "you take me to the place where I can find the

Her eyes glared at him like the eyes of a wild animal. Furies, hysterics, faintings, denials, threatsJackling

endured them all by turns. It was enough for him that his desperate guess of the evening before, had hit the

mark on the morning after. When she had completely exhausted herself he returned to the experiment which

he had already tried with the maid. Well aware of the advantage of exhibiting gold instead of notes, when the

object is to tempt poverty, he produced the promised bribe in sovereigns, pouring them playfully backward

The temptation was more than the woman could resist. In another halfhour the two were traveling together

It also appeared that one of the witnesses to the marriage was still living. His name and address were duly

noted in the clerk's pocketbook. Subsequent inquiry, at the office of the Customs Comptroller, discovered the

name of Septimus Darts on the captain's official list of the crew of an outward bound merchant vessel. With

this information, and with a photographic portrait to complete it, the man was discovered, alive and hearty, on

His wife's explanation of her conduct included the customary excuse that she had every reason to believe her

husband to be dead, and was followed by a bold assertion that she had married Mr. Evelin for love. In Moses

Jackling's opinion she lied when she said this, and lied again when she threatened to prosecute Mr. Evelin for

bigamy. "Take my word for it," said this new representative of the unbelieving Jew, "she would have extorted

money from him if he had lived." Delirium tremens left this question unsettled, and closed the cigar shop

The good news, telegraphed to New Zealand, was followed by a letter containing details.

At a later date, a telegram arrived from Mrs. Evelin. She had reached her destination, and had received the

dispatch which told her that she had been lawfully married. A letter to Lady Howel was promised by the next

While the necessary term of delay was still unexpired, the newspapers received the intelligence of a volcanic

eruption in the northern island of the New Zealand group. Later particulars, announcing a terrible destruction

of life and property, included the homestead in which Mrs. Evelin was living. The farm had been

"I really regret that you should have thought it necessary to apologize for troubling me. Your past kindness to

the unhappy Mrs. Evelin gives you a friendly claim on me which I gladly recognizeas you shall soon see.

" 'The extraordinary story,' as you very naturally call it, is nevertheless true. I am the only person now at your

"In the first place I must tell you that the dreadful intelligence, received from New Zealand, had an effect on

Lord Howel Beaucourt which shocked his friends and inexpressibly distressed his admirable wife. I can only

"Lady Howel was unremitting in her efforts to console him. He was thankful and gentle. It was true that no

complaint could be made of him. It was equally true that no change for the better rewarded the devotion of

"The state of feeling which this implied imbittered the disappointment that Lady Howel naturally felt. As

some relief to her overburdened mind, she associated herself with the work of mercy, carried on under the

superintendence of the rector of the parish. I thought he was wrong in permitting a woman, at her advanced

time of life, to run the risk encountered in visiting the sick and suffering poor at their own dwellingplaces.

Circumstances, however, failed to justify my dread of the perilous influences of infection and foul air. The

one untoward event that happened, seemed to be too trifling to afford any cause for anxiety. Lady Howel

"Unhappily, she treated that apparently trivial accident with indifference. Her husband tried in vain to

persuade her to remain at home. On one of her charitable visits she was overtaken by a heavy fall of rain; and

a shivering fit seized her on returning to the house. At her age the results were serious. A bronchial attack

followed. In a week more, the dearest and best of women had left us nothing to love but the memory of the

"Her last words were faintly whispered to me in her husband's presence: 'Take care of him,' the dying woman

"No effort of mine to be worthy of that sacred trust was left untried. How could I hope to succeed where

she had failed? My house in London and my house in the country were both open to Beaucourt; I entreated

him to live with me, or (if he preferred it) to be my guest for a short time only, or (if he wished to be alone) to

choose the place of abode which he liked best for his solitary retreat. With sincere expressions of gratitude,

"In one of the ancient 'Inns,' built centuries since for the legal societies of London, he secluded himself from

friends and acquaintances alike. One by one, they were driven from his dreary chambers by a reception which

admitted them with patient resignation and held out little encouragement to return. After an interval of no

"Poor Lady Howel's will (excepting some special legacies) had left her fortune to me in trust, on certain

conditions with which it is needless to trouble you. Beaucourt's resolution not to touch a farthing of his dead

wife's money laid a heavy responsibility on my shoulders; the burden being ere long increased by forebodings

"He devoted himself to the reading of old books, treating (as I was told) of that branch of useless knowledge

generally described as 'occult science.' These unwholesome studies so absorbed him, that he remained shut up

in his badly ventilated chambers for weeks together, without once breathing the outer air even for a few

minutes. Such defiance of the ordinary laws of nature as this could end but in one way; his health steadily

declined and feverish symptoms showed themselves. The doctor said plainly, 'There is no chance for him if

"Once more he refused to be removed to my London house. The development of the fever, he reminded me,

might lead to consequences dangerous to me and to my household. He had heard of one of the great London

hospitals, which reserved certain rooms for the occupation of persons capable of paying for the medical care

bestowed on them. If he were to be removed at all, to that hospital he would go. Many advantages, and no

objections of importance, were presented by this course of proceeding. We conveyed him to the hospital

"When I think of the dreadful illness that followed, and when I recall the days of unrelieved suspense passed

at the bedside, I have not courage enough to dwell on this part of my story. Besides, you know already that

Beaucourt recoveredor, as I might more correctly describe it, that he was snatched back to life when the

grasp of death was on him. Of this happier period of his illness I have something to say which may surprise

"On one of the earlier days of his convalescence my visit to him was paid later than usual. A matter of

importance, neglected while he was in danger, had obliged me to leave town for a few days, after there was

nothing to be feared. Returning, I had missed the train which would have brought me to London in better

"My appearance evidently produced in Beaucourt a keen feeling of relief. He requested the day nurse, waiting

" 'I was afraid you might not have come to me today,' he said. 'My last moments would have been

" 'Are you anticipating your death,' I asked, 'at the very time when the doctors answer for your life?'

" 'Of my lost angel, who perished miserably in New Zealand. Twice her spirit has appeared to me. I shall see

"Had the delirium of the worst time of the fever taken possession of him again? In unutterable dread of a

relapse, I took his hand. The skin was cool. I laid my fingers on his pulse. It was beating calmly.

" 'You think I am wandering in my mind,' he broke out. 'Stay here tonightI command you, stay!and see

"I quieted him by promising to do what he had asked of me. He had still one more condition to insist on.

" 'I won't be laughed at,' he said. 'Promise that you will not repeat to any living creature what I have just told

"My promise satisfied him. He wearily closed his eyes. In a few minutes more his poor weak body was in

"The daynurse returned, and remained with us later than usual. Twilight melted into darkness. The room

was obscurely lit by a shaded lamp, placed behind a screen that kept the sun out of the sick man's eyes in the

"As he said those words the door slowly opened. In the dim light I could only discern at first the figure of a

woman. She slowly advanced toward me. I saw the familiar face in shadow; the eyes were large and faintly

"The wild words spoken to me by Beaucourt, the stillness and the obscurity in the room, had their effect, I

suppose, on my imagination. You will think me a poor creature when I confess it. For the moment I did

"My delusion was dispelled by a change in her face. Its natural expression of surprise, when she saw me, set

my mind free to feel the delight inspired by the discovery that she was a living woman. I should have spoken

"Beaucourt's voice broke the silence. 'Ministering Spirit!' he said, 'free me from the life of earth. Take me

"She made no attempt to enlighten him. 'Wait,' she answered calmly, 'wait and rest.'

"Silently obeying her, he turned his head on the pillow; we saw his face no more.

"I have related the circumstances exactly as they happened: the ghost story which report has carried to your

"Mrs. Evelin led the way to that further end of the room in which the screen stood. Placing ourselves behind

it, we could converse in whispers without being heard. Her first words told me that she had been warned by

one of the hospital doctors to respect my friend's delusion for the present. His mind partook in some degree of

the weakness of his body, and he was not strong enough yet to bear the shock of discovering the truth.

"Released (in a state of insensibility) from the ruins of the house, she had been laid with her dead relatives

awaiting burial. Happily for her, an English traveler visiting the island was among the first men who

volunteered to render help. He had been in practice as a medical man, and he saved her from being buried

alive. Nearly a month passed before she was strong enough to bear removal to Wellington (the capital city)

" 'When I was strong enough to write,' she said, 'I was strong enough to bear the seavoyage to England. The

expenses so nearly exhausted my small savings that I had no money to spare for the telegraph.'

"On her arrival in London, only a few days since, she had called on me at the time when I had left home on

the business which I have already mentioned. She had not heard of Lady Howel's death, and had written

ignorantly to prepare that good friend for seeing her. The messenger sent with the letter had found the house

in the occupation of strangers, and had been referred to the agent employed in letting it. She went herself to

this person, and so heard that Lord Howel Beaucourt had lost his wife, and was reported to be dying in one of

" 'If he had been in his usual state of health,' she said, 'it would have been indelicate on my partI mean it

would have seemed like taking a selfish advantage of the poor lady's deathto have let him know that my

life had been saved, in any other way than by writing to him. But when I heard he was dying, I forgot all

customary considerations. His name was so wellknown in London that I easily discovered at what hospital

he had been received. There I heard that the report was false and that he was out of danger. I ought to hav e

been satisfied with thatbut oh, how could I be so near him and not long to see him? The old doctor with

whom I had been speaking discovered, I suppose, that I was in trouble about something. He was so kind and

fatherly, and he seemed to take such interest in me, that I confessed everything to him. After he had made me

promise to be careful, he told the nightnurse to let me take her place for a little while, when the dim light in

the room would not permit his patient to see me too plainly. He waited at the door when we tried the

experiment. Neither he nor I foresaw that Lord Howel would put such a strange interpretation on my

presence. The nurse doesn't approve of my coming backeven for a little while onlyand taking her place

again tonight. She is right. I have had my little glimpse of happiness, and with that little I must be content.'

"What I said in answer to this, and what I did as time advanced, it is surely needless to tell you. You have

read the newspapers which announce their marriage, and their departure for Italy. What else is there left for

"Obstinate Lord Howel persisted in refusing to take the fortune that was waiting for him. In this difficulty, the

conditions under which I was acting permitted me to appeal to the bride. When she too said No, I was not to

be trifled with. I showed her poor Lady's Howel's will. After reading the terms in which my dear old friend

alluded to her she burst out crying. I interpreted those grateful tears as an expression of repentance for the

illconsidered reply which I had just received. As yet, I have not been told that I was wrong."

BEFORE the doctor left me one evening, I asked him how much longer I was likely to live. He answered:

"It's not easy to say; you may die before I can get back to you in the morning, or you may live to the end of

I was alive enough on the next morning to think of the needs of my soul, and (being a member of the Roman

The history of my sins, related in confession, included blameworthy neglect of a duty which I owed to the

laws of my country. In the priest's opinionand I agreed with himI was bound to make public

acknowledgment of my fault, as an act of penance becoming to a Catholic Englishman. We concluded,

thereupon, to try a division of labor. I related the circumstances, while his reverence took the pen and put the

WHEN I was a young man of fiveandtwenty, I became a member of the London police force. After nearly

two years' ordinary experience of the responsible and illpaid duties of that vocation, I found myself

employed on my first serious and terrible case of official inquiryrelating to nothing less than the crime of

I was then attached to a station in the northern district of Londonwhich I beg permission not to mention

more particularly. On a certain Monday in the week, I took my turn of night duty. Up to four in the morning,

nothing occurred at the stationhouse out of the ordinary way. It was then springtime, and, between the gas

and the fire, the room became rather hot. I went to the door to get a breath of fresh airmuch to the surprise

of our Inspector on duty, who was constitutionally a chilly man. There was a fine rain falling; and a nasty

damp in the air sent me back to the fireside. I don't suppose I had sat down for more than a minute when the

swingingdoor was violently pushed open. A frantic woman ran in with a scream, and said: "Is this the

Our Inspector (otherwise an excellent officer) had, by some perversity of nature, a hot temper in his chilly

constitution. "Why, bless the woman, can't you see it is?" he says. "What's the matter now?"

"Murder's the matter!" she burst out. "For God's sake, come back with me. It's at Mrs. Crosscapel's

lodginghouse, number 14 Lehigh Street. A young woman has murdered her husband in the night! With a

I confess I was startled by this; and the third man on duty (a sergeant) seemed to feel it too. She was a

nicelooking young woman, even in her terrified condition, just out of bed, with her clothes huddled on

anyhow. I was partial in those days to a tall figureand she was, as they say, my style. I put a chair for her;

and the sergeant poked the fire. As for the Inspector, nothing ever upset him. He questioned her as coolly as if

"Yes, sir. He's frightened out of his wits. And the housemaid's gone for the doctor. It all falls on the poor

The poor soul burst out crying, and shivered from head to foot. The Inspector made a note of her statement,

and then asked her to read it, and sign it with her name. The object of this proceeding was to get her to come

near enough to give him the opportunity of smelling her breath. "When people make extraordinary

statements," he afterward said to me, "it sometimes saves trouble to satisfy yourself that they are not drunk.

I've known them to be madbut not often. You will generally find that in their eyes."

She roused herself and signed her name"Priscilla Thurlby." The Inspector's own test proved her to be

sober; and her eyesa nice light blue color, mild and pleasant, no doubt, when they were not staring with

fear, and red with cryingsatisfied him (as I supposed) that she was not mad. He turned the case over to me,

"Go back with her to the house," he says. "This may be a stupid hoax, or a quarrel exaggerated. See to it

yourself, and hear what the doctor says. If it is serious, send word back here directly, and let nobody enter the

place or leave it till we come. Stop! You know the form if any statement is volunteered?"

"Yes, sir. I am to caution the persons that whatever they say will be taken down, and may be used against

"Quite right. You'll be an Inspector yourself one of these days. Now, miss!" With that he dismissed her, under

Lehigh Street was not very far offabout twenty minutes' walk from the station. I confess I thought the

Inspector had been rather hard on Priscilla. She was herself naturally angry with him. "What does he mean,"

she says, "by talking of a hoax? I wish he was as frightened as I am. This is the first time I have been out at

I said very little to herfeeling, if the truth must be told, rather anxious about the duty committed to me. On

reaching the house the door was opened from within, before I could knock. A gentleman stepped out, who

"You must be careful, policeman," he says. "I found the man lying on his back, in bed, deadwith the knife

Hearing this, I felt the necessity of sending at once to the station. Where could I find a trustworthy

messenger? I took the liberty of asking the doctor if he would repeat to the police what he had already said to

The landlady (Mrs. Crosscapel) joined us while we were talking. She was still a young woman; not easily

frightened, as far as I could see, even by a murder in the house. Her husband was in the passage behind her.

He looked old enough to be her father; and he so trembled with terror that some people might have taken him

for the guilty person. I removed the key from the street door, after locking it; and I said to the landlady:

"Nobody must leave the house, or enter the house, till the Inspector comes. I must examine the premises to

"There is the key of the area gate," she said, in answer to me. "It's always kept locked. Come downstairs and

see for yourself." Priscilla went with us. Her mistress set her to work to light the kitchen fire. "Some of us,"

says Mrs. Crosscapel, "may be the better for a cup of tea." I remarked that she took things easy, under the

circumstances. She answered that the landlady of a London lodginghouse could not afford to lose her wits,

I found the gate locked, and the shutters of the kitchen window fastened. The back kitchen and back door

were secured in the same way. No person was concealed anywhere. Returning upstairs, I examined the front

parlor window. There, again, the barred shutters answered for the security of that room. A cracked voice

spoke through the door of the back parlor. "The policeman can come in," it said, "if he will promise not to

look at me." I turned to the landlady for information. "It's my parlor lodger, Miss Mybus," she said, "a most

respectable lady." Going into the room, I saw something rolled up perpendicularly in the bed curtains. Miss

Mybus had made herself modestly invisible in that way. Having now satisfied my mind about the security of

the lower part of the house, and having the keys safe in my pocket, I was ready to go upstairs.

On our way to the upper regions I asked if there had been any visitors on the previous day. There had been

only two visitors, friends of the lodgersand Mrs. Crosscapel herself had let them both out. My next inquiry

related to the lodgers themselves. On the ground floor there was Miss Mybus. On the first floor (occupying

both rooms) Mr. Barfield, an old bachelor, employed in a merchant's office. On the second floor, in the front

room, Mr. John Zebedee, the murdered man, and his wife. In the back room, Mr. Deluc; described as a cigar

agent, and supposed to be a Creole gentleman from Martinique. In the front garret, Mr. and Mrs. Crosscapel.

In the back garret, the cook and the housemaid. These were the inhabitants, regularly accounted for. I asked

about the servants. "Both excellent characters," says the landlady, "or they would not be in my service."

We reached the second floor, and found the housemaid on the watch outside the door of the front room. Not

as nice a woman, personally, as the cook, and sadly frightened of course. Her mistress had posted her, to give

the alarm in the case of an outbreak on the part of Mrs. Zebedee, kept locked up in the room. My arrival

relieved the housemaid of further responsibility. She ran downstairs to her fellowservant in the kitchen.

"Soon after three this morning," says she, "I was woke by the screams of Mrs. Zebedee. I found her out here

on the landing, and Mr. Deluc, in great alarm, trying to quiet her. Sleeping in the next room he had only to

open his door, when her screams woke him. 'My dear John's murdered! I am the miserable wretchI did it in

my sleep!' She repeated these frantic words over and over again, until she dropped in a swoon. Mr. Deluc and

I carried her back into the bedroom. We both thought the poor creature had been driven distracted by some

dreadful dream. But when we got to the bedsidedon't ask me what we saw; the doctor has told you about it

already. I was once a nurse in a hospital, and accustomed, as such, to horrid sights. It turned me cold and

giddy, notwithstanding. As for Mr. Deluc, I thought he would have had a fainting fit next."

Hearing this, I inquired if Mrs. Zebedee had said or done any strange things since she had been Mrs.

"You think she's mad?" says the landlady. "And anybody would be of your mind, when a woman accuses

herself of murdering her husband in her sleep. All I can say is that, up to this morning, a more quiet, sensible,

wellbehaved little person than Mrs. Zebedee I never met with. Only just married, mind, and as fond of her

unfortunate husband as a woman could be. I should have called them a pattern couple, in their own line of

There was no more to be said on the landing. We unlocked the door and went into the room.

HE lay in bed on his back as the doctor had described him. On the left side of his nightgown, just over his

heart, the blood on the linen told its terrible tale. As well as one could judge, looking unwillingly at a dead

face, he must have been a handsome young man in his lifetime. It was a sight to sadden anybodybut I think

She was down on the floor, crouched up in a cornera dark little woman, smartly dressed in gay colors. Her

black hair and her big brown eyes made the horrid paleness of her face look even more deadly white than

perhaps it really was. She stared straight at us without appearing to see us. We spoke to her, and she never

answered a word. She might have been deadlike her husbandexcept that she perpetually picked at her

fingers, and shuddered every now and then as if she was cold. I went to her and tried to lift her up. She shrank

back with a cry that wellnigh frightened menot because it was loud, but because it was more like the cry

of some animal than of a human being. However quietly she might have behaved in the landlady's previous

experience of her, she was beside herself now. I might have been moved by a natural pity for her, or I might

have been completely upset in my mindI only know this, I could not persuade myself that she was guilty. I

While I spoke there was a knock at the door. I went downstairs at once, and admitted (to my great relief) the

He waited downstairs to hear my report, and he approved of what I had done. "It looks as if the murder had

been committed by somebody in the house." Saying this, he left the man below, and went up with me to the

Before he had been a minute in the room, he discovered an object which had escaped my observation.

The doctor had found it left in the bodyhad withdrawn it to probe the woundand had laid it on the

bedside table. It was one of those useful knives which contain a saw, a corkscrew, and other like implements.

The big blade fastened back, when open, with a spring. Except where the blood was on it, it was as bright as

when it had been purchased. A small metal plate was fastened to the horn handle, containing an inscription,

only partly engraved, which ran thus: "To John Zebedee, from" There it stopped, strangely enough.

Who or what had interrupted the engraver's work? It was impossible even to guess. Nevertheless, the

"This ought to help us," he saidand then he gave an attentive ear (looking all the while at the poor creature

The landlady having done, he said he must now see the lodger who slept in the next bedchamber.

Mr. Deluc made his appearance, standing at the door of the room, and turning away his head with horror from

He was wrapped in a splendid blue dressinggown, with a golden girdle and trimmings. His scanty brownish

hair curled (whether artificially or not, I am unable to say) in little ringlets. His complexion was yellow; his

greenishbrown eyes were of the sort called "goggle"they looked as if they might drop out of his face, if

you held a spoon under them. His mustache and goat's beard were beautifully oiled; and, to complete his

"It isn't insensibility to this terrible tragedy," he explained. "My nerves have been shattered, Mr. Policeman,

and I can only repair the mischief in this way. Be pleased to excuse and feel for me."

The Inspector questioned this witness sharply and closely. He was not a man to be misled by appearances; but

I could see that he was far from liking, or even trusting, Mr. Deluc. Nothing came of the examination, except

what Mrs. Crosscapel had in substance already mentioned to me. Mr. Deluc returned to his room.

"How long has he been lodging with you?" the Inspector asked, as soon as his back was turned.

"As good a reference as I could wish for." Thereupon, she mentioned the names of a wellknown firm of

cigar merchants in the city. The Inspector noted the information in his pocketbook.

I would rather not relate in detail what happened next: it is too distressing to be dwelt on. Let me only say

that the poor demented woman was taken away in a cab to the stationhouse. The Inspector possessed

himself of the knife, and of a book found on the floor, called "The World of Sleep." The portmanteau

containing the luggage was lockedand then the door of the room was secured, the keys in both cases being

left in my charge. My instructions were to remain in the house, and allow nobody to leave it, until I heard

THE coroner's inquest was adjourned; and the examination before the magistrate ended in a remandMrs.

Zebedee being in no condition to understand the proceedings in either case. The surgeon reported her to be

completely prostrated by a terrible nervous shock. When he was asked if he considered her to have been a

sane woman before the murder took place, he refused to answer positively at that time.

A week passed. The murdered man was buried; his old father attending the funeral. I occasionally saw Mrs.

Crosscapel, and the two servants, for the purpose of getting such further information as was thought

desirable. Both the cook and the housemaid had given their month's notice to quit; declining, in the interest of

their characters, to remain in a house which had been the scene of a murder. Mr. Deluc's nerves led also to his

removal; his rest was now disturbed by frightful dreams. He paid the necessary forfeitmoney, and left

without notice. The firstfloor lodger, Mr. Barfield, kept his rooms, but obtained leave of absence from his

employers, and took refuge with some friends in the country. Miss Mybus alone remained in the parlors.

"When I am comfortable," the old lady said, "nothing moves me, at my age. A murder up two pairs of stairs

is nearly the same thing as a murder in the next house. Distance, you see, makes all the difference."

It mattered little to the police what the lodgers did. We had men in plain clothes watching the house night and

day. Everybody who went away was privately followed; and the police in the district to which they retired

were warned to keep an eye on them, after that. As long as we failed to put Mrs. Zebedee's extraordinary

statement to any sort of testto say nothing of having proved unsuccessful, thus far, in tracing the knife to

its purchaserwe were bound to let no person living under Mr. Crosscapel's roof, on the night of the murder,

IN a fortnight more, Mrs. Zebedee had sufficiently recovered to make the necessary statementafter the

preliminary caution addressed to persons in such cases. The surgeon had no hesitation, now, in reporting her

Her station in life had been domestic service. She had lived for four years in her last place as lady'smaid,

with a family residing in Dorsetshire. The one objection to her had been the occasional infirmity of

sleepwalking, which made it necessary that one of the other female servants should sleep in the same room,

with the door locked and the key under her pillow. In all other respects the lady'smaid was described by her

In the last six months of her service, a young man named John Zebedee entered the house (with a written

character) as a footman. He soon fell in love with the nice little lady'smaid, and she heartily returned the

feeling. They might have waited for years before they were in a pecuniary position to marry, but for the death

of Zebedee's uncle, who left him a little fortune of two thousand pounds. They were now, for persons in their

station, rich enough to please themselves; and they were married from the house in which they had served

together, the little daughters of the family showing their affection for Mrs. Zebedee by acting as her

The young husband was a careful man. He decided to employ his small capital to the best advantage, by

sheepfarming in Australia. His wife made no objection; she was ready to go wherever John went.

Accordingly they spent their short honeymoon in London, so as to see for themselves the vessel in which

their passage was to be taken. They went to Mrs. Crosscapel's lodginghouse because Zebedee's uncle had

always stayed there when in London. Ten days were to pass before the day of embarkation arrived. This gave

the young couple a welcome holiday, and a prospect of amusing themselves to their heart's content among the

On their first evening in London they went to the theater. They were both accustomed to the fresh air of the

country, and they felt half stifled by the heat and the gas. However, they were so pleased with an amusement

which was new to them that they went to another theater on the next evening. On this second occasion, John

Zebedee found the heat unendurable. They left the theater, and got back to their lodgings toward ten o'clock.

"We sat talking for a little while in our room, and John's headache got worse and worse. I persuaded him to

go to bed, and I put out the candle (the fire giving sufficient light to undress by), so that he might the sooner

fall asleep. But he was too restless to sleep. He asked me to read him something. Books always made him

"I had not myself begun to undress. So I lit the candle again, and I opened the only book I had. John had

noticed it at the railway bookstall by the name of 'The World of Sleep.' He used to joke with me about my

being a sleepwalker; and he said, 'Here's something that's sure to interest you'and he made me a present of

"Before I had read to him for more than half an hour he was fast asleep. Not feeling that way inclined, I went

"The book did indeed interest me. There was one terrible story which took a hold on my mindthe story of a

man who stabbed his own wife in a sleepwalking dream. I thought of putting down my book after that, and

then changed my mind again and went on. The next chapters were not so interesting; they were full of learned

accounts of why we fall asleep, and what our brains do in that state, and such like. It ended in my falling

"I don't know what o'clock it was when I went to sleep. I don't know how long I slept, or whether I dreamed

or not. The candle and the fire had both burned out, and it was pitch dark when I woke. I can't even say why I

"There was a spare candle on the chimney piece. I found the matchbox, and got a light. Then for the first

She had seen the dead body of her husband, murdered while she was unconsciously at his sideand she

The proceedings were adjourned. She received every possible care and attention; the chaplain looking after

I have said nothing of the evidence of the landlady and servants. It was taken as a mere formality. What little

they knew proved nothing against Mrs. Zebedee. The police made no discoveries that supported her first

frantic accusation of herself. Her master and mistress, where she had been last in service, spoke of her in the

It had been thought best not to surprise Mr. Deluc, as yet, by citing him as a witness. The action of the law

was, however, hurried in this case by a private communication received from the chaplain.

After twice seeing, and speaking with, Mrs. Zebedee, the reverend gentleman was persuaded that she had no

more to do than himself with the murder of her husband. He did not consider that he was ju stified in

repeating a confidential communicationhe would only recommend that Mr. Deluc should be summoned to

The police had no evidence against Mrs. Zebedee when the inquiry was resumed. To assist the ends of justice

she was now put into the witnessbox. The discovery of her murdered husband, when she woke in the small

hours of the morning, was passed over as rapidly as possible. Only three questions of importance were put to

First, the knife was produced. Had she ever seen it in her husband's possession? Never. Did she know

Secondly: Did she, or did her husband, lock the bedroom door when they returned from the theater? No. Did

Thirdly: Had she any sort of reason to give for supposing that she had murdered her husband in a

sleepwalking dream? No reason, except that she was beside herself at the time, and the book put the thought

After this the other witnesses were sent out of court The motive for the chaplain's communication now

appeared. Mrs. Zebedee was asked if anything unpleasant had occurred between Mr. Deluc and herself.

Yes. He had caught her alone on the stairs at the lodginghouse; had presumed to make love to her; and had

carried the insult still farther by attempting to kiss her. She had slapped his face, and had declared that her

husband should know of it, if his misconduct was repeated. He was in a furious rage at having his face

After consultation, and at the request of our Inspector, it was decided to keep Mr. Deluc in ignorance of Mrs.

Zebedee's statement for the present. When the witnesses were recalled, he gave the same evidence which he

had already given to the Inspectorand he was then asked if he knew anything of the knife. He looked at it

without any guilty signs in his face, and swore that he had never seen it until that moment. The resumed

But we kept an eye on Mr. Deluc. Our next effort was to try if we could associate him with the purchase of

Here again (there really did seem to be a sort of fatality in this case) we reached no useful result. It was easy

enough to find out the wholesale cutlers, who had manufactured the knife at Sheffield, by the mark on the

blade. But they made tens of thousands of such knives, and disposed of them to retail dealers all over Great

Britainto say nothing of foreign parts. As to finding out the person who had engraved the imperfect

inscription (without knowing where, or by whom, the knife had been purchased) we might as well have

looked for the proverbial needle in the bundle of hay. Our last resource was to have the knife photographed,

with the inscribed side uppermost, and to send copies to every policestation in the kingdom.

At the same time we reckoned up Mr. DelucI mean that we made investigations into his past lifeon the

chance that he and the murdered man might have known each other, and might have had a quarrel, or a

We found Deluc to have led a dissipated life, and to have mixed with very bad company. But he had kept out

of reach of the law. A man may be a profligate vagabond; may insult a lady; may say threatening things to

her, in the first stinging sensation of having his face slappedbut it doesn't follow from these blots on his

Once more, then, when we were called upon to report ourselves, we had no evidence to produce. The

photographs failed to discover the owner of the knife, and to explain its interrupted inscription. Poor Mrs.

Zebedee was allowed to go back to her friends, on entering into her own recognizance to appear again if

called upon. Articles in the newspapers began to inquire how many more murderers would succeed in

baffling the police. The authorities at the Treasury offered a reward of a hundred pounds for the necessary

Our Inspector was not a man to be easily beaten. More inquiries and examinations followed. It is needless to

say anything about them. We were defeatedand there, so far as the police and the public were concerned,

The assassination of the poor young husband soon passed out of notice, like other undiscovered murders. One

obscure person only was foolish enough, in his leisure hours, to persist in trying to solve the problem of Who

Killed Zebedee? He felt that he might rise to the highest position in the police force if he succeeded where his

elders and betters had failedand he held to his own little ambition, though everybody laughed at him. In

There were two persons who saw nothing ridiculous in my resolution to continue the investigation,

singlehanded. One of them was Miss Mybus; and the other was the cook, Priscilla Thurlby.

Mentioning the lady first, Miss Mybus was indignant at the resigned manner in which the police accepted

their defeat. She was a little brighteyed wiry woman; and she spoke her mind freely.

"This comes home to me," she said. "Just look back for a year or two. I can call to mind two cases of persons

found murdered in Londonand the assassins have never been traced. I am a person, too; and I ask myself if

my turn is not coming next. You're a nicelooking fellow and I like your pluck and perseverance. Come here

as often as you think right; and say you are my visitor, if they make any difficulty about letting you in. One

thing more! I have nothing particular to do, and I am no fool. Here, in the parlors, I see everybody who comes

into the house or goes out of the house. Leave me your addressI may get some information for you yet."

With the best intentions, Miss Mybus found no opportunity of helping me. Of the two, Priscilla Thurlby

In the first place, she was sharp and active, and (not having succeeded in getting another situation as yet) was

In the second place, she was a woman I could trust. Before she left home to try domestic service in London,

the parson of her native parish gave her a written testimonial, of which I append a copy. Thus it ran:

"I gladly recommend Priscilla Thurlby for any respectable employment which she may be competent to

undertake. Her father and mother are infirm old people, who have lately suffered a diminution of their

income; and they have a younger daughter to maintain. Rather than be a burden on her parents, Priscilla goes

to London to find domestic employment, and to devote her earnings to the assistance of her father and

mother. This circumstance speaks for itself. I have known the family many years; and I only regret that I have

After reading those words, I could safely ask Priscilla to help me in reopening the mysterious murder case to

My notion was that the proceedings of the persons in Mrs. Crosscapel's house had not been closely enough

inquired into yet. By way of continuing the investigation, I asked Priscilla if she could tell me anything which

associated the housemaid with Mr. Deluc. She was unwilling to answer. "I may be casting suspicion on an

innocent person," she said. "Besides, I was for so short a time the housemaid's fellow servant"

"You slept in the same room with her," I remarked; "and you had opportunities of observing her conduct

toward the lodgers. If they had asked you, at the examination, what I now ask, you would have answered as

To this argument she yielded. I heard from her certain particulars, which threw a new light on Mr. Deluc, and

on the case generally. On that information I acted. It was slow work, owing to the claims on me of my regular

duties; but with Priscilla's help, I steadily advanced toward the end I had in view.

Besides this, I owed another obligation to Mrs. Crosscapel's nicelooking cook. The confession must be

made sooner or laterand I may as well make it now. I first knew what love was, thanks to Priscilla. I had

delicious kisses, thanks to Priscilla. And, when I asked if she would marry me, she didn't say No. She looked,

I must own, a little sadly, and she said: "How can two such poor people as we are ever hope to marry?" To

this I answered: "It won't be long before I lay my hand on the clew which my Inspector has failed to find. I

At our next meeting we spoke of her parents. I was now her promised husband. Judging by what I had heard

of the proceedings of other people in my position, it seemed to be only right that I should be made known to

her father and mother. She entirely agreed with me; and she wrote home that day to tell them to expect us at

I took my turn of nightduty, and so gained my liberty for the greater part of the next day. I dressed myself in

plain clothes, and we took our tickets on the railway for Yateland, being the nearest station to the village in

THE train stopped, as usual, at the big town of Waterbank. Supporting herself by her needle, while she was

still unprovided with a situation, Priscilla had been at work late in the nightshe was tired and thirsty. I left

the carriage to get her some sodawater. The stupid girl in the refreshment room failed to pull the cork out of

the bottle, and refused to let me help her. She took a corkscrew, and used it crookedly. I lost all patience, and

snatched the bottle out of her hand. Just as I drew the cork, the bell rang on the platform. I only waited to

pour the sodawater into a glassbut the train was moving as I left the refreshment room. The porters

stopped me when I tried to jump on to the step of the carriage. I was left behind.

As soon as I had recovered my temper, I looked at the timetable. We had reached Waterbank at five minutes

past one. By good luck, the next train was due at fortyfour minutes past one, and arrived at Yateland (the

next station) ten minutes afterward. I could only hope that Priscilla would look at the timetable too, and wait

for me. If I had attempted to walk the distance between the two places, I should have lost time instead of

saving it. The interval before me was not very long; I occupied it in looking over the town.

Speaking with all due respect to the inhabitants, Waterbank (to other people) is a dull place. I went up one

street and down anotherand stopped to look at a shop which struck me; not from anything in itself, but

A bill was posted on the shutters, announcing that the place was to let. The outgoing tradesman's name and

business, announced in the customary painted letters, ran thus: James Wycomb, Cutler, etc.

For the first time, it occurred to me that we had forgotten an obstacle in our way, when we distributed our

photographs of the knife. We had none of us remembered that a certain proportion of cutlers might be placed,

by circumstances, out of our reacheither by retiring from business or by becoming bankrupt. I always

carried a copy of the photograph about me; and I thought to myself, "Here is the ghost of a chance of tracing

The shop door was opened, after I had twice rung the bell, by an old man, very dirty and very deaf. He said

"Brotherinlaw to Mr. Wycomb. Mr. Wycomb's dead. If you want to buy the business apply to Mr.

Receiving that reply, I went upstairs, and found Mr. Scorrier engaged in engraving a brass doorplate. He

was a middleaged man, with a cadaverous face and dim eyes After the necessary apologies, I produced my

"May I ask, sir, if you know anything of the inscription on that knife?" I said.

"This is curious," he remarked quietly. "I remember the queer nameZebedee. Yes, sir; I did the engraving,

The name of Zebedee, and the unfinished inscription on the knife, had appeared in every English newspaper.

He took the matter so coolly that I was doubtful how to interpret his answer. Was it possible that he had not

seen the account of the murder? Or was he an accomplice with prodigious powers of selfcontrol?

"Never! My eyesight is failing me. I abstain from reading, in the interests of my occupation."

"Have you not heard the name of Zebedee mentionedparticularly by people who do read the newspapers?"

"Very likely; but I didn't attend to it. When the day's work is done, I take my walk. Then I have my supper,

my drop of grog, and my pipe. Then I go to bed. A dull existence you think, I daresay! I had a miserable life,

sir, when I was young. A bare subsistence, and a little rest, before the last perfect rest in the gravethat is all

The poor man spoke honestly. I was ashamed of having doubted him. I returned to the subject of the knife.

"My memory is not so good as it was," he said; "but I have got something by me that helps it."

He took from a cupboard a dirty old scrapbook. Strips of paper, with writing on them, were pasted on the

pages, as well as I could see. He turned to an index, or table of contents, and opened a page. Something like a

"Ha! now I remember," he said. "The knife was bought of my late brotherinlaw, in the shop downstairs. It

all comes back to me, sir. A person in a state of frenzy burst into this very room, and snatched the knife away

I felt that I was now close on discovery. "May I see what it is that has assisted your memory?" I asked.

"Oh yes. You must know, sir, I live by engraving inscriptions and addresses, and I paste in this book the

manuscript instructions which I receive, with marks of my own on the margin. For one thing, they serve as a

reference to new customers. And for another thing, they do certainly help my memory."

He turned the book toward me, and pointed to a slip of paper which occupied the lower half of a page.

I read the complete inscription, intended for the knife that killed Zebedee, and written as follows:

I DECLARE that it is impossible for me to describe what I felt when Priscilla's name confronted me like a

written confession of guilt. How long it was before I recovered myself in some degree, I cannot say. The only

My first desire was to get possession of the manuscript inscription. I told him I was a policeman, and

summoned him to assist me in the discovery of a crime. I even offered him money. He drew back from my

hand. "You shall have it for nothing," he said, "if you will only go away and never come here again." He tried

to cut it out of the pagebut his trembling hands were helpless. I cut it out myself, and attempted to thank

It may be here objected that I ought not to have felt so sure as I did of the woman's guilt, until I had got more

evidence against her. The knife might have been stolen from her, supposing she was the person who had

snatched it out of the engraver's hands, and might have been afterward used by the thief to commit the

murder. All very true. But I never had a moment's doubt in my own mind, from the time when I read the

I went back to the railway without any plan in my head. The train by which I had proposed to follow her had

left Waterbank. The next train that arrived was for London. I took my place in itstill without any plan in

At Charing Cross a friend met me. He said, "You're looking miserably ill. Come and have a drink."

I went with him. The liquor was what I really wanted; it strung me up, and cleared my head. He went his

In the first place, I decided to resign my situation in the police, from a motive which will presently appear. In

the second place, I took a bed at a publichouse. She would no doubt return to London, and she would go to

my lodgings to find out why I had broken my appointment. To bring to justice the one woman whom I had

dearly loved was too cruel a duty for a poor creature like me. I preferred leaving the police force. On the

other hand, if she and I met before time had helped me to control myself, I had a horrid fear that I might turn

murderer next, and kill her then and there. The wretch had not only all but misled me into marrying her, but

The same night I hit on a way of clearing up such doubts as still harassed my mind. I wrote to the rector of

Roth, informing him that I was engaged to marry her, and asking if he would tell me (in consideration of my

position) what her former relations might have been with the person named John Zebedee.

"SIRUnder the circumstances, I think I am bound to tell you confidentially what the friends and

"Zebedee was in service in this neighborhood. I am sorry to say it, of a man who has come to such a

miserable endbut his behavior to Priscilla proves him to have been a vicious and heartless wretch. They

were engagedand, I add with indignation, he tried to seduce her under a promise of marriage. Her virtue

resisted him, and he pretended to be ashamed of himself. The banns were published in my church. On the

next day Zebedee disappeared, and cruelly deserted her. He was a capable servant; and I believe he got

another place. I leave you to imagine what the poor girl suffered under the outrage inflicted on her. Going to

London, with my recommendation, she answered the first advertisement that she saw, and was unfortunate

enough to begin her career in domestic service in the very lodginghouse to which (as I gather from the

newspaper report of the murder) the man Zebedee took the person whom he married, after deserting Priscilla.

Be assured that you are about to unite yourself to an excellent girl, and accept my best wishes for your

It was plain from this that neither the rector nor the parents and friends knew anything of the purchase of the

knife. The one miserable man who knew the truth was the man who had asked her to be his wife.

I owed it to myselfat least so it seemed to menot to let it be supposed that I, too, had meanly deserted

her. Dreadful as the prospect was, I felt that I must see her once more, and for the last time.

She was at work when I went into her room. As I opened the door she started to her feet. Her cheeks

reddened, and her eyes flashed with anger. I stepped forwardand she saw my face. My face silenced her.

"I have been to the cutler's shop at Waterbank," I said. "There is the unfinished inscription on the knife,

complete in your handwriting. I could hang you by a word. God forgive meI can't say the word."

Her bright complexion turned to a dreadful claycolor. Her eyes were fixed and staring, like the eyes of a

person in a fit. She stood before me, still and silent. Without saying more, I dropped the inscription into the

BUT I heard from her a few days later. The letter has long since been burned. I wish I could have forgotten it

as well. It sticks to my memory. If I die with my senses about me, Priscilla's letter will be my last recollection

In substance it repeated what the rector had already told me. Further, it informed me that she had bought the

knife as a keepsake for Zebedee, in place of a similar knife which he had lost. On the Saturday, she made the

purchase, and left it to be engraved. On the Sunday, the banns were put up. On the Monday, she was deserted;

She only knew that Zebedee had added a new sting to the insult inflicted on her when he arrived at the

lodgings with his wife. Her duties as cook kept her in the kitchenand Zebedee never discovered that she

"The devil entered into me when I tried their door, on my way up to bed, and found it unlocked, and listened

a while, and peeped in. I saw them by the dying light of the candleone asleep on the bed, the other asleep

by the fireside. I had the knife in my hand, and the thought came to me to do it, so that they might hang

her for the murder. I couldn't take the knife out again, when I had done it. Mind this! I did really like youI

didn't say Yes, because you could hardly hang your own wife, if you found out who killed Zebedee."

Since the past time I have never heard again of Priscilla Thurlby; I don't know whether she is living or dead.

Many people may think I deserve to be hanged myself for not having given her up to the gallows. They may,

perhaps, be disappointed when they see this confession, and hear that I have died decently in my bed. I don't

blame them. I am a penitent sinner. I wish all merciful Christians goodby forever.