- éfiaihww—tfie
. -  ‘5

(\,

 

 

 

 

 

s 2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLYBY BEADLE AND ADAMS, rice,
VOL.  a Year. No.98 William Street. New York. Five Cents- N O- 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

s '1

A   . anything like it! Such a sight; makes Herod ap~ _;
, war a, greater monster than ever. Is 1t not so, 3

1‘. Herbert?”

01‘ A The s eaker was a tall handsome woman of
. ’ B I T T E R v E N G E A N c E ' about (fight—and twenty: who, With Herb’ert

 

 

BY RA OHEL BERNHARDT. Cunningham, stood on phe broad terrace of Cun-
ningbam Castle, lookmg upon a scene well
CHAPTER I. worthy encomium.

“RE PLo'rs_ AND PLOTTERS. The grounds2 as _the Casyle, were of feudal
~ ALLY, th1s IS chm ning! I never beheld 1 date, and remamed m all then‘ anCIent grandeur,‘

V n <
in
fikfi.‘,hv V . .e..,. .

       
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
     
    
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
    
   
  
    
   
 
    
 
  
   
  
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
     
    
     
    
         
     

' masses of staring color .and , ribbon filo ever-beds.
 There were sweeps of velvety la-Wns, where
 theisunlight loved to linger,’merging intr half-
Iljglhts‘ and cool shades as some ancient oal‘c or
.«beéch'ispread Wide its th‘ickly~(oliuged branches.
where were avpnueebt chestnuts, and “pleasant
“alleys, still and hushed, like academic groves.
Itf’Was' a, silent, dream-like place, .where one,
leaning on the terrace,.might, were he or she
igja’giuative, fancy each past generation wan-
dering imits‘ time—each costume not incongru-
us; but in excellent harmonyvfrom Richard
Lion Heart to the Regency; glittering, making

 
 

=~overtbrcw of nations or party.

~_,Flizftatidn, lovemaking, plotting, were yet
rampantde they ever diet—though, appar-
fniiy, the scene was a most modern and inno-
y tone; namely arfete given by Sir Hereward
filmingh'am to the children of." the parish
. {The ’ soc summer air rung with children’s
"laughter. Bright marquees were erected on the
Wywhere the" mall guests might eat cake
 drink tea to repletion, waited upon by
ans in elegantpsummer costumes, and with
ands white, soft, and much unusad to all this
kind; of thing; , yet, on i the whole, rather
amused at the novelty.

 was ' the; scene that Mrs. Howard
 her graceful figure attired in the latest
andth becoming of 'Worth’s tOilettes, looked
upeirxtrom the terrace, backed by the gray
'tonevtOWers, battle’ments; and deep—mullioned,
segmented windows of the Castle.

 

 

 

,esteW-gthe'gods" apple upon‘tbe fairest woman
, n'rereiji‘bourne, most surely in justice, without
“hesitation, he would have handed it to Mrs.
WWW-Deveril» '
Y 

stressing complexion milk and- pmk, and

“teammf seductive; lashes that. were silken
"fringes, and red golden-bronze hair, completed
headernment of a. countenance that was per-
 Whht‘ wonder that, while its ownerregarded
the children, Herbert Cunningham—a couple of
 her "senior, and tall, broad-shouldered,
anathands'ome, tomnregaihed her. .
I happy the darlings are! How thank-
, “‘But, though late, I must not
"idle. I must help. He, hal that was the
nditionupon which we adults Were asked,
smalls” . f. ‘ » 3 . »
"Id "bronze lasheswereJaised to let the
3? eyes rest upon her companion.
I believe,“the Condition in most
the answer; while the speaker’s

ehegproceeded.

  

 
 

-' *K  ~33. ,  V“ r, .l  r; y', I ~15,- ...' _ .
disfigured by no hideous model-usinnovation'oi

. seeming or right earnest love, or plotting the '

ad “any modernfikris been called upon to-

delicate, wellscut features; mobile:

 a sunrwarmed peach; eyes full,.

 must be to generous Sir Herewardl” ,

" washout nearer. “But all

         
  

(r 3  ,V.    1: -, vl-  4;. ,
s rules have 'éirc'entibns- and. you; dearly  N»
l, Deveril, are the exceptionvherg. Wafeel’ j
fice'ntly gratefulfor your honofing this  of . ,
a the innocents by your presence alone?   ' . .
l “That’s flattery, nothing less, and ‘L‘will net  ’
4 listen touit,” laughed the lady,yther,eby die ,~
closing two rows of exquisitely pearly teethfljgl
[ “Iintend to make up for lost time, and  
3; Very busy. Only,” with a suspicion of plain-
yg tiVeness; “' will you—~dare I ask yourto keep 
, by me awhile, just to show me the way? Uni ,\ * '
" fortunately, I know ”—t-‘-a sigh, andgdroop ofthe '
1 long lashese—“so little about children. Dare 1‘
‘ confess it, at one time it made me angry to ‘
look upon them; their laughter drove me -, ‘ '
mad”. . I ' a,

Mrs. HoWard Deveril had a sad, and some- '
f thing of. a. romantic past.» She had married .
,for love, and eighteen months of unalloyed ,
happiness had ensued. For economy’s sake,
however, Mr. Deveril had resided in the ,
south of France; and one afternoon, while '
boating on the Mediterranean, his boat was
capsized by a sudden squall, and he drowned,“ ,
not only in sight of land, but in sight of‘his‘ ‘
’wiie, who was on the beach awaiting his  “
return. 3 ‘ . " ‘ ; '

The shock produced brain fever, during
which an infant was born. It lived long
enough for the mother to look upon it, tolknow ,.
it, and then faded away. ’ 1 ‘ '

The bereaved wife and widow Was for along
time inconsolable; her enemies declaring that  ;
her, grief wasmuch added‘to bythe fact of v 
the straitened circumstances in which her hus-
band had left her. ' r . ‘

His relatives, however,vtogether allowed her '
an'income while she remained unwédded; and ‘
certainly, she, recovered rapidly after this; and ‘ '
directly the prescribed period of “mourning
had elapsed, reantsre’d' society: _~ keeping her
widowbood and \childlessness t wuss on? occa~
: sions, as above, for little "-efifective ‘t'ouchés v
only, it being no part of her desireto remain 
single. ’ .  * a l 4'
V Fate had brought her to Weirbourne’, and, 
Fate had ‘brought her acquainted with Sir 3‘  *
Hereward Cunningham, a widower with an
only son. ‘* . 

Fate did more than this. It speedily showed ,
her that she had won the admiration of both
father and son. ‘ w _, , 

“ Which shall I take?” she reflected. “ Bah l” i"
(with a little joyous laugh) “Sir Herewar-d’ .
is sixty. Who would wed Decemberfwhenq
they could have May? Besides, wedding the .
father, when he dies Ishall be put wide as
Dowager Lady Cunningham; while; it I' well
i Herbert, when once Lady CunninghamL-I shall .V
,remain in power all my,days,or give-place

   

  

 

 

\, ,

 

 

 

 

only to my own children.” ' ' v v . _ _
So the glances shot from the beautiful Mrs;
DeVeril’s eye's of gray into hisofyblu'e” had a":

   

meaning in them ‘
firspohdedto. _. 4 ,  .
1A,  “If the 'sight of children gives: you pain-—
 it their, laughter distreSses you,” he said,
‘ earnestly, as she lightly placed her gloved
i hand on the arm he had extended, “ why sub-
ject . yourself to it? Let us, Dear Ms.
Deveril, go in another direction. Their feast?
ing is nearly over.” .
, a "‘No, no!” she interrupted, her hand Spas-
.modically, as it seemed, tightening on his arm
 "a second. “You are very kind. But I am
: foolish! I must—I will get over it! Don’t be

i;
s

  
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
    
  
 
  
 

.not make a scene—I am better than I used
to be!”

' crossed the lawn to the largest marquee.
‘1 People, observing these two, the down-dropped
lashes of the lady, the bent, earnest head of
V the gentleman, would have certainly put it
, down as a “ case.” Yet Herbert Cunningham
‘ said‘little; but tothe widow the shine of his
eyes was sufficiently eloquent.
, Still, in trials of broken promises .thewmute
' language of the eyes has. never been heldrbind-
ingproof. ‘ r g ‘ 4 ' g
‘ “Surely,” reflected Min. Deveril, “he will
t speak to-day. I see a proposal on his lips.”

. Y 1 children were still busy with cake and tea,
 While aristOcratic, well-born attendants flitted
r “about them, growing somewhat weary.

k'nocent enjoyment!” again remarked Mrs. Dev-
‘ fail, as, standing just within the canvas open-
ing, her head inclined toward her companion,
~ She looked on the bustle, “quite a picture.”
, p.  Their entrance had been. observed, by two
"_ Persons—Sir Hereward and pretty May Rivers,
‘thé'curate’s daughter. The countenance of the
former flushed\and contracted with a frown;
' . Ithat‘of the latter grew suddenly pallid, even
_  the lips, before she stooped over the child
, "Peirest to her to conceal her agitation.
» y ' 1 Now,” proceeded Mrs. Deveril, with a win—
vy'gmg glance up at her cavalier, not unmarked
~ 43’ the baronet, too far. off and too occupied at
$959313 to approach, ‘f-help me—tell me what
. ought to do;

“3,, lunch as they likei Heavens, in what Ire.

   
   
  
   
 
  
  
  

,  Cunningham appeared not to have
kgfitfeast intention of leaving her. Loyally he

idlrhaftffingi apparently having no eyes but, for

.4 “mainly not ‘for May Rivers, norpthe’

;: a latices glances of Sir Hex-award.“ ‘ '

' fights baronetlov'ed Mrs. Deveril‘ with all

k

 

frightened!” (with a winning laugh); “ I shall.

$31.33,, we é—lmight say warmth of 

    

. _ palette; undesiraiaaeriyfmiis assists...   ._ 

~Mrs. Deveril proving resolute, togetherthey \

, mocking pity.

, ,_ breviation‘sl ‘
On entering the canvas-striped marquee the ‘

I Hereward whispered iii/her ear. ' ,-
“A charming,’ a most exquisite scene of in- ,

, than ever impressive.

Bend the cake?" Let them eat 

gash-the parish dootor‘Will be to-morrowl— ‘
‘i- m295’please don’t leave me until I- am fairly :-

 -hY-'the widow’s side, aiding her,’laughing,'

and approached the widow. '

enema. -Bert, Miss, Ada Campbell has 
inquiring for you. She wants your help. ., You

‘ that gray hairs can compete with brown)? j ;
him be content with being. my father-inelaw-«a

the child insatiable to cake, and smiling,

least, the child insatiable, whether for 

rapper: , ‘

- Campbell! That is a comfort!” 1,

praise to, their host, take their, d
. fact 'thatgnec’essitatedthe presence ‘0;

    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
   

 

, Before a‘quarter or an hour he  I
all obstacles arising from his position; ashcst,

I, "‘A thousand, thousand welcomesl”hegex¥
claimed, bowing in courtly fashion over her
white, sOft hand. “How forthe: last quarter
of an hour‘ have I been envying Bertie monepg
olizing the Queen of Beauty! Lucky dogl/ 
every dog must have his day, and mine: V

know she believes—ha, hal-ethat yen candd
everything. I said I would send you—she 012,! '
I will take the honor, the pleasure of attending
upon Mrs. Deveril myself.” - '» _   
Mrs. Howard Deveril‘controlled her" annoys,
ance to a move . or ‘her pretty-lips, while ' ‘
eyes rested lingeringly on the young man»
fore he turned away. ' ’ V   
“ Poor Ada Campbelll” she thought, With
“ And poor Sir Hereward’l
Can any man be so stupidly vain as‘to imagi‘ ‘f

a preper position. Still,‘ he, is Herbert’s
ther, so- I must be kind. Herberme
Bert! ' Whats. pretty namel‘ . What fond ah:

So mused the widow, mechanically 

though only",le hearing the fiatteries 333'
Finally, the child insatiable became satiatédw
and a general stampede was made to ‘_
swings and the IaWns, where the elders 
organizing numerous games. ' ' ,- ’ 
. Mrs. Deveril sighed with relief. To say 

play, was decidedly a here. In the.  ”
of leaving tents the widow would have
away from her companion, but Sir 
wasnotto bequitted. I  ’ 

His manner, his compliments, Wereinore
They frequently‘M‘
veyed a meaning which Mrs. Deveril'couid'nnt
fail to understand, though. she pretended-«net
to, but' threw up word-barriers like a airmail

Meanwhile, her eyes Sought Herbert. lie
was everywhere, the mirth and sculpt  ‘
that group of children. ' ‘  " 

“But,” with a sigh, “he is not  

Finally, the shades of eveninge'hegan’ to
darken beneath the old oaks.“ , a , - - _

The happy, wearyetooted “‘liltle  were
to form. in procession, and chantingfiaf ‘

oven. .
f.“ New

 

 Hen: be as 

 

   

 

 

 

 

   
  

 airs; magma assistafwno, '

,tp, E'avoid‘ «falling; again. into the 'Baronet’s
‘elntches, had' slipped into a shadowy alley.-
“wonderith Sir Hereward will think
when! he. knows I haVe accepted Herbert?
pear Bertie!” thus ran her meditations.
“He’ll be awfully'furious at first. Why,-he
than as good as proposed a dozen times 'himselt
may! Perhaps he’ll refuse to keep Bertie,
 can’t disinherit him, for, of course, the
place- is entailed. ~ Bertie and Ivmust get on as
Welles we can until Sir Hereward’s time has
home to quit this mundane sphere, then Lady
Cnhningham shall enter into her estate.
Really; jG-wen, you are a clever woman!”
laughing, low‘ and musically. “When you
*3: hemehere, you went in for the son or the fa-
rtheu'éwould have been glad of either—and
ay' now take your choice. Both are at your
éetll’. ' ’ ‘ ' ,
jiAaigthe last words were uttered
ei‘li halted abruptly. 4
There were some people talking at the other
_ its on the hawthorn hedge.
' ,jWho Could it'  She fancieth but her
hamgone tofthe terrace to see the march-past
dithe. infantry. She had better retreat noise-
“le§sly,lnot being desirOus for company; and,
,nn'doubt the persons, probably a pair of lov-
 z'equally wished to remain undisturbed,
uéathering her soft muslin skirts about her,
Levhad already taken a step in retreat, when
no Of'the-Voices exclaimed, “ Nay, you should
iii-even by a look, mistrust me. You know
Amaheart must ever be faithful to you; and
" ‘ d-‘are aWare of thereason‘ I_ pay this seeming

    
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
 
   
    
    
 
  
           
 
 
   
    

 

,' Mrs. Dev-
/

 

 

\.

V Deverilfs/ countenance flushed, then
 eyes dilated, her lips trembled.
'llheit,‘swiftly ,mOvin‘g toward, .she strove to
f erv'thrcugh the hedge. r ,
1131123 was successful, and saw that hei‘ ears
{if not" deceived her.' The speaker was Her-
hestcflunningham, and it wasMay Riyers, the
' fih’swdtiughter, to whom he was ‘speaking. ‘

 

 

 

i M

    

 

,.

\ CHAPTER II.

fig. rnorosaL-Tnn wmow rnmnrns.
WHEN Mrs.",Deveril recognized the two, her
‘ finds clenched, her lips tightened, a dangerous
htsprung into her eyes. I _  s
 «he pair stood together in the twilight shad-
we of a widespread beech. Herbert Cun ning-
ham’s‘arm was about May’s slender waist; her
ands rested one on each of his broad shoul-
‘der'sf’herfair, sweet face was lifted; her eyes,

  
  
 

 

  
 

hisgfiwhichlme’t't‘hem with awe: passion.
 _ers_,l_indeed!_ ,Were they Only» lovers? 
 oar. ‘cur‘ate’s daughter; he, Sir

     

   
    
   
  
  

5» .P
 ‘ '    muldiwéfieilfll '

     
 

   

’ I am right.”

. and jealous of me.

Elmo’s own sunshine in them, were raised ‘

dropping. r - . I, .  v *' r - -
_ “‘Of course, Bertie, I ‘ know the reason,”
said May.

think my heart Would break! The cause may

be a just one; still I do not like it!- Not only

does it pain ,me—foolishlypain me, Bertie, if
you will—to see you by her side, receiving and

answering her smiles; but the part you your-1 . ‘1
self, play does not seem honorable to you‘nor; , 
just to her., Imagine, if”—-—and the clear eyes 9

expanded with fond, affection-e“ she really

loves youi Why not? I could easily imagine ‘

itl” ,

“ Yen are a dear, silly little pet!” responded
the young man, clasping her to him, and look-
ing fondly down upon her before be pressed on
her lips akiss thatwent like a. dagger. to. the
watcher’s heart.
.not know it; with her it goes by. the name'of
self-interest. I tell you, May, I read her char-
acter directly ill fate threw her across our
path. Cunningham [was a fine place, supported
easily by a fine income. ‘
beautiful, so laid her nets accordingly for
either the father or the son. The younger
man best suited her;
would servel” r,  .

“Oh, Bertie!” " 7 '

Mrs. Deveril’s filbert nails pierced

in her hearts—the more fiercely because Her
Cunningham’s werds were true. 7,
It is no pleasant thing to find our cleverly

plotted schemes have been unmasked. - > v "

“ You look horrified, Mays But be certain
“But how long .do you intend—how long
will it be necessary to make love to her?” .

“ I do not make love to her. . I only looklit.‘

.Well,‘ as to its duration, 1, can’t say; but I fanCy
theend must be nearJ’v ' - ’ ~

“ Far nearer than you think!” muttered Mrs. 7 

Deveril. ' -

.“ My foolish father is infatuated with her, i V
If I can only provéto him.

 Ream“? - fiéibéfi  assesses mating ' 1,
319411065, Mrs;.vDeveri1‘feltiant ‘Iabolv‘eyeaVesf'lx -’

“Did I.not.—-oh, my darling, I?

“Love! Mrs. Deveril’ does, /

She was fascinating, ~:' 51'»
but he failing, the elder ’ '

her delis ' "
cate pink palms as 'she listened. ‘Rageboiked 
be t

what is her plot, however, the possession of” .’ , :

Cunningham by any meansg-he has enough .
wisdom left not to be duped. 'At'least'I hope .

he has, or Heaven knows what would r become

of us! That woman as an enemy Would be 7 f

dangerous, pitiless-l” , _

A smile of satisfaction, as it the words'con-

veyed a compliment, passed over the widow’s, / j“
features, and, in“ the fast-waning light, she“; g

nodded her head significantly.

murmured May.
it makes me sad. I do not like it.” " '

a‘,‘ How could you, poor love?” And tenderly, 
’ he drew; her soaclose that her head sunk. on'his

0'qu

  

brew as its. fishnet! its. legitimate pill

i>(

 

 

‘ “All seems very wretched, very‘miserable,’3- _' 
“ Bertie, 'I cannot help  r g

 

  

 

, 1

    

dam-3301',  Ifiould,   ’. » Devexihiqaitfihgljthle 

 fine, hayeiowned ourmarriage  my father igraoefnlly,y-slotVly aoross the lemma gentlem

 dong before‘this; feeling emerge that, as his only ,"aegcenditlg the st
1 ‘ .‘Vson, the only being he then loved, ,I might to meet he‘f,

easily have won  pardon.“ But now it would",

eps of the terraceoame‘quio

 

' A cold” pleased smile’shonein the  ,L r‘

C A be to cast him into the arms ; of this designing . eyes as she recognized Sir Hex-award. ‘ _ '

' "widow, Thenhsweet wife, what would become '

-In youth he must have been rem

, 0! us?” ‘,’ r l [ handsome, for the aristocratic features ,werefeo
“His wife!” gasped the listener. “ .A secret yet, though the hair was iron-gray,’andI-'?Tinie
marriage! Oh, this is a lucky hearing for me»! had' drawn his mark about the cornele of "thy
 P001“ £0013; how completely are they in my mouthand‘ eyes; yet in the latter heamedei"~

T I ~ poWerl” ' fl, _ they rested upon Mrs. Deverilya fire to whic
l; , “Oh, darlinglhoh, lovel—have I thus so love gave almost ayout‘nful ardor. ‘

' nearly mined you?” cried the girl, passionately

“At last, then, I have found youl '
‘fI have. been seeking you 

 }' throwing her arms round his neck, and cling- “maimed,

4 ‘ ing to him. ' “Oh, Bertie, if harm should come where_
'30 you—poverty, disjnheritance through 1116- Wearied you, and that you had founda pairio
never could I forgive myself!” ' angel wings to fly honieward.”  n» ‘

“You, darling! You bring other than hap-

I feared that perhaps-the chanted 

“That is not a compliment,«Sir H

 ,y ,piness? Nonsense; May! It the worst were to smiled the lady; accepting. the Progeer 
 corme,lshould hold myself rich beyond measure and leaning rather upon it; “for  
in possessing you. But these are idle fears. wicked would fly from Paradise.” ‘

{I We have only to keep our union secret."

r' “Paradise!”-’-—looking, or tryi‘ng‘to'

, “But, ob,’ my love, in a few months that her eyes.
: I will be impossible; or—-or I must leave home!” ham in that light?”

The trembling, whispered! words, the blush-

truth. , \ I  _
g.‘ . “Good HeaVensl islit so?” cried Herbert
, \Cunningham. , " ‘

I Then the whole heart of the strong man went
 " out to the weak woman, and he clasped her to
v [his breast with a new love, a new affection
Q. ;'~’ throbbing in his veins.
' In all their lives, this moment—the inter-
I View altogether—stood‘out clear and happy in
their recollection. They did Well toremember
it, ‘for it was the beginning of the end. They
might have taken the ebon night falling about
’ “them as symbolic. "
At this moment Voices were heard, merely.

} clearing the marquees; but even by those

 

“  to be detected.

_ h  1 Emerging from the beech-shade, they walked
’ ,Tapi‘dly over the lawn, and disappeared. Then,

  
  

 

‘ N'QOWeV dominated all else-4revenger She had

  
  

mlitlplis‘h it. 'He, Herbert; should find how
and pith she'could be.

   
   
 
  

 

{Egyptian through. her whole frame; “I could

   

But-the entail—Ana: miserable entaiiil’f 1'

  

, then, considergQunnt

. , _ p 4 “In what othercould I? Th 1
 1118 face aver.th on ms b°§°m7 revealed] the ,a gem in itself. To me it is a casket of
vels. ' It carries a medieeval history onits'grgy .
roceeded Mrs. D‘everil, in mgvficed'~
musical enthusiasm. . ‘ “ ‘  \
' “ Old, indeed,” laughed the baron ,
gee—“secret ones, or 
age, they say-  was
have them renovated, but [I am told.it"w0fld
ruin'the appearance of. the other portionsjé' '
“And I’m sure youvwould not, be G, j
enough for that, Sir, Hereward. . 'Icanixnagifl
how proud. you must be of the ancient place,
and slumberous grounds. , I should ' be, Eli-+41
Very faint sigh—“ they were mine. Evereeuf
, . . , never have erred if her Paradise had  '
servants’ veices, 8.8411181? owners lwere busy than

are stairs and pas a
—-—crumbling wit ‘

 

n‘t if db the 
, . Peeple the heir and his young wife desired not ba'mmt didrggtlpzssoog: y ‘ 89 V  *
~ V 11' h ‘ i h l'ttl one restin  .
 . “Let us return, love,” ’whispered Herbert, 8f“, aiigz‘fi: amid I meld, remarks?“
f  ,“We shall be missed, and just at this time Mrs: Devan, will, ygu make it yoursz‘
“C'mustnot create suspicion. I have 313° Pmm" the same time make me the.happie§t,’
 7 ited, to escort Mrs. Deverilhome.” ‘ be ,enviea' man on! earth} ‘ in you; 
. . ' h hnll' th '1: he '“ ‘
 jinnt until then, the listener, moved, and made tmfig’ghthgbetnvgfigwfif 31:3”: ‘ I:.*m%de1 
 3;,3391' way, With slow step and bowed head, but accents: naturally ‘tremubus _ as _8h ‘
 busybram, back to the Castle, 1 ' . mured “Oh, ‘Sirlfieréwu/
: .xJQalke a big, ugly blot on}? fair page, one re- flexpe’ctedmi‘sln
F ' l h‘ t v ‘
.Npiwed it, and, better still, knew she could. ac- his 333231.21; iggfiioggff,

f‘ Have I offended you?"
, « , , ‘ ' v know ' ld rth ’ —-,'ld enou 
' :“Ohl’? she»cried,hwitha shiver in her tones you’r £311: i£m§n0¥,°;qug husbagg; _
. . , , ‘ l‘ve‘  shallfl d'as sincere—n" 'a' "  "
ml At least, I’ll ruin him as far 35 1am, 33% grudge; tbmauyaun'ger mugs; ’, 1 ‘7

«I 
é,‘hehégid,'ml

   
 

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égtiaaagaa newsman? fooling» a" grips '

the heart as the ivy the forest oak”, 7 _
, ' “'Qh,.’Sir Hereward,‘ arthheseiapologies ne-
ucessar'y? ‘Islove to be geilged by years, morn
 the siren. “*Ofifen'dedl How could Ii
‘ Bel? I am overwhelmed by the honor, you,
would do me.” . , - . -
' 1 f‘Honor! ."I‘is I who am honored. I place
mySelf, and all that is mine, at your feet.
’DnlyLmnly say that you care for me.” I
 '.His voice shook, also his frame, as he leaned
gustoward her. She stood with bowed head and
Swelling bosom before him, silent. ,Then,
abruptly, as with a little shivering cry, “ 0h,
[is-it true, Sir Hereward, is it true? Am I
«'fawaliet Is it a dream?” , v ,
.. "‘7‘ It is serious truth to me. At my age re-
jection would be difficult to support,” he re- ‘
joined, agitatedly. “Can you care for me;
sutficient toe-to be mine?” . ‘
‘L A _‘ pause; then two ,white hands were
“tremblineg extended, a pair of large gray
eyes shining *timidly were raised, and like a
Whisper came the answer, “ 011, Sir Hereward,
. have you not seen. that which, try as I would,
; :i’ could not altogether hidemthat. I—I—«love i
“you? I  ' '
 The accents died musically away as the
‘baronet, taking the extended hands in a rap-
f_’ture,0f joy, drew their owner to his bosom.
 iFGwendolinee—my wife!” a »
VTeu minuteslater they stood at the foot of
hevterrace,‘ preparing to Qscend. The castle
,A wasfull at light, (but its rays hardly reached
.6 It is a grand old place, remarked the bar-
‘: oust, with justifiable pride. “ You are proud
bf'fifi‘ifioo, now, Gwendoline, for it is yours.”
-,jffI am, prouder 01 you, for you will be
{envoys mine.” - ' ‘  ,
'{f’itAnd so will Cunningham. It shall never
have another mistress, dear love.”
$9021,» yes,” she laughed, gayly. ” “ Dear
, .eritie’willimarry, and in time, as of course it
shouldibe, set up his Lares and Penates here,
While-I, the Dowager, and mine, like aliens,
familialan our tents and silently steal away.
 ‘That is the result of entail.” '
 ‘,‘Aliensl” broke in Sir Hereward, with as-
”‘nenity, recollecting his jealousy. “Master
[Bertie must look to himself, if he has thus re-‘
I Sflri‘aed'yon and yours, dear Gwendolme. But
 [hat‘ is,an absurity. As to the entail, you
" mistake; Cunningham is not entailed." .
[a .‘f'Notl" ejaculated Mrs. Deveril, in quick

 

 

 

,' , 89. v '

i “No; It was up to the coming over of tbs
:3 , Orange. The then baronet. a‘ loyal
‘f’Protestant, was, ,heart and soul for William, as

 

r  younger son. Unfortunately, hOWever,
his-folder was a stench supporter of James.
 a grievous i quarrel between the

    
 
 

x

 

confirmatory evidence soon renewed: ; ”'
    a] hard, stem ?

 

 

 

white: :5; 'a' lag...   cage 1...; :;
nuance-got the entaildestrOyed, since when the 

ruling Cunningham has matte power to will 

it'to whom” he pleased.” ' v 

1 “How strangelf’ laughed the Widow; lightly, ':

“Then, if ydu liked—as the saying gees—_

secrett—jl {felt very much
this evening.” ’ I
“ This evening!” ‘ ' ‘

,“ When I saw him by your‘lside-s—when I ‘5,

was jealous Of him." I
“ Surely, you were never that! Did you not

‘ you could cut dear Herbert ofl? witha-shillingi”, 
' “Yes, exactly; and—shall I let you into a-
inclined to do- so '

read me better than that? I like him, 01:1,)

course, for is he not your son?”

“I see I was blind, thank Heaven! But the

,. present joy more than equals the past misery,” _‘
laughed Sir Hereward, as they ascended the

steps, while Mrs. Deveril was thinking:

“ Not entail!

As they stepped through the French windows
into the drawing-room, they came upon Her—
bert. Perhapsrit was a sense of pride to show
how age had triumphed overyouththat urged
the Baronet so quickly to announce the fact,

but he said, “ Bertie, the last halt-hour has '
made me the most to be envied manon earth. »

Let me introduce to you

, your future stepm
mother and my Wife.” ' /

Mrs. Deveril made a little deprecating, basin. ‘
ful movement, and inclined her head. [But

once the future mother and son’s eyes met. It
seemed a revelation. Herbert had gone pale.
He hit his lip under his ,mustache.’ Neverthe-

What an escape I have had!” - .

less, he managed to bow, saying in a tone the 

dryness of ' which: the Baronet imagined he,
could account foreasily, “I congratulate you,

sir.” Then, turning on his-heel, he added, r
mentally, “Ruined! Poor May! A She "hates -‘

me—I saw it in her eye. Could this have dis-

covered anything? It so, asI have said, she a Q

will prove hard and
He was, right. ‘ ‘

CHAPTER III. ~

ran ANONYMOUS mrrnn—nxsmnnmnn, '3 «
The society of which Cunningham Castleé A

was the ruling center very speedlly’ was'

startled by two equally amazing pieces of

news, one following rapidly on the heels of the
other, as thunder succeeds lightning. ‘ ’

The first was that Sir Hereward, on the A
evening of the children’s fete, had prfoposedri’,

to and been accepted by Mrs. Howard,
Deveril. , ‘ '
The other,

been banished the castle. , i _,
Rumor, many-tongued, whispered it; but

Itgwas stated that aterrible scene had "

that Herbert Cunningham had, .
been; secretly wedded to May Rivers, the",
curate’s' daughter, and had, in consequence”?

pitiless, eventunto death!” " ‘

l
i

t
E
V

    
  
  
 
 

a

 ‘placeif esteem" the tracker-lend son, Vase : this i

 finally the lattei‘ had g.quitted the paternal *
 roof, enraged, indignant, banished, though
"Mrs. Deveril had gone on her knees to- entreat
f forgiveness for him. . I ,
'uflh‘orr a wonder, rumor told the tale with
triith, devoid of. exaggeration. Even it was
4 net wrong in saying that SirxHereward’s pas-
sion had been augmented by jealousy, for all
had Seen the serio-comedy which had been
taking place—a comedy‘that now promised to
have a. tragic ending. _ . ' I

, 'Late on‘the afternoon succeeding the fete.
' an anonymous letter had reached the Baronet.
,V The envelope was poor and smirched, the
,.caligraphy that of an uneducated servant—
'maid.’ The contents, in grammar equally

7 bad as the spelling, informed him of his son’s
secret union with May Rivers. " ,

‘ The Baronet had read, confounded. He
would not believe it—he could not. Had not
"minim before his very eyes made love to Mrs.
Deve‘rili. Never would he have done that as
" , May Rivers’s hquand. He never would have ’
“ dared so to insult her, the widow, so soon to
be his, Sir HereWard’s wife.
Yes, that was it. Now, her honor was his;
an insult to her was an insult to him,

 ‘And May Rivers, tool To,w’ed her, if he
’ really had, the child of a half-starved parson,
'a Sunday-school teacher and parish drudge—'-
 he, Herbert Cunningham, his heir! Heir!
“No; that must be seen to. The thing was
preposterous—unheard of. When Herbert re-

father, would force the truth from him.
NeVer had the Baronet been so angry—never

l ' in a state «to'be more easily worked hpon.

The matter so absorbed him, that he forgot
~ fithe appointment he had made with Mrs. Deveril
,. t6 showher over the Castle, and was only re-
‘%’_,f_m’inded of it v by a footman announcing her
' - presence in the drawing—room. '
A  , Sir Hereward felt he would need a grave ex-
 gcuse for, so unloverlike a proceeding; and
 , flogght rightly none could be graver than the
. u , _

   
   
   
   
 
    
  
  
  

 Smoothing his ’rufl'led countenance, he hast-
‘jiened to her._ She met him with a reproving
“Smile. , '
~ '- “What a squire of demos!” she laughed.
51 waited for you teammates, then came on
alone! I had half a. mind to go back.”
'V‘V‘Thank Heaven, dearest, you did not!” he
imastered, first kissing her hand, then her
cheek. “How can” I best sue for forgiveness?
. Will, it you wish it, do so at your feet, or
" g"iflfn‘nn any penance you may command,
 ugh whenyou hear the cause Haney you
 3-,:pardonime'. The truth is, I have today
its; somele news; ,but no, I cannot

 

. looking timidly into his face, she added, fondly“?
, “May I know, Hereward? True, I am, 
: your wife yet; but my heart is as much yours;

, if my'anony‘mous informant has spokentruth

I

‘ tumedé—he had been absent [all day—he, his i

 met sorry! , Pray do not. think gt.-

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  

my idle waits»: shee'xcl'aifm‘ed, in tanning 
cents, Ahenlarg'e, gray eyesfull of compassion
ate sympathy. “Then, taking a step, 
resting one hand hesitatingly on his shoulder,

 

as if. I were. as I am sure you Would wish
me to share your joys; may I» not share you
griefs? Oh, you lock worried! Would,\dear.
est love, besides hearing, I might aid you!,’" j, 9
Such pretty words would thrill a young-
lover’s‘heart. How much more so one .01? 
sixtyl, The Baronet clasped her in his
and passionately looking down on the silken?
fringes now vaiiing the eyes, thought, “And 
that villain, a married man, dared insult~ her
with his love!” ~ Then he added, “My darling};

then it is out 'of . anybody’s power toaid. 
us be seated, Gwendoline, and I will tell you?”
Mrs. Deveril listened With semblance
deepest interest and in silence until theIBaron'e 
spoke of the union; then, startingback in well
acted horror, “ Married!” she ejaculated, seem
ing greatly shocked. “Oh, Sir Hereward‘,£
will not believe it! Herbert is your semen
hence a gentleman. He cannot have, 
basely'; he“ would not have dared!” » ' :
,Then she stopped in ' seeming con
averting her face. i p ;.
“Dared what, GWendo 'ne?” » . I , 

- “No, no; take no heed, pray,” she, mar
mured. “I knew not what I said.” ’ _ ’_
“Darling, I cannot be silent. , vSpeakI”‘urge"
the Baronet, holding her hand. “Yet whys
; pain you? I know what you would say.
; bert led you to believe he loved you??? “gif, ‘
3 “He did, though he never absolutely 
fessed; yet his looks, his tones, spoke his pas
sion. 0h, Sir Herewardiif my heart had/hot
6 been otherwise, engaged; what a wretched 
iman I might have been now! I might-hays
\ given him my aflection. "‘But_,;oh,xno,” north
cannot be!” she proceeded, bursting into 

_ “Yet, it it were, can you wonder, though '
3 your son, that I feel grieved—insulted!”  j
g , “Gwendoline,he shall pay dearly, tor’dt'
trust me 1’? exclaimed the infatuated Baronet;
“Not on myaccount, I entreatjou, dear
t!”’she interrupted, placing her hand on}: ,
arm. _“ Rather let me, soon to be his mother;
as he‘will be my son-—4my dear sent-plead? 
him. I can—I will forgive. / HereWMd‘Ip-wfli
lovevhim for your sake}? f , I ~ 4' '_  w ’I 7
Mrs. Deveril knew perfectly how to 
on fire. ' - f" , , ' 
The Baronet was not blindto’ his sixty years;
nor fl“; tact that in everybOdy’s e es of union;
tv",«vee'n this lovelywmnan, who, ooked youm‘
661" than she'was,‘ and his handsomo‘boy would;
have been far .mpre. natural. 'r‘ I   ’ “ "
, The misnomer loving Herbert as a 

we

 

   

 

 not'an agreeable’idea to the" young inane rel-
derly and jealous‘fatheru ‘ _ . -
’ Mrs. Deveril knew it, and went on: “But

 .’ how selfish I am to think of myself! It is you,

 Hereward, who need all the sympathy. «To be
' «. ['sooruelly, so unfilially treated! Herbert, just
 for the sake of a pretty face, to marry a girl
‘ like that! He, your heir!” a
,» 7 “By Heaven, he is not my heiri”‘cried the
7  Baronet, starting up in his wrath. “For this
x ‘ I disinherit himi Let him keep himself, or let
i 3 ‘ the" curate keep him. But it may not be true.
"  {hate anonymous letters. Hark!” as a quick,
‘ firm Step sounded in the hall; “here he comes.
.Thank goodness, we. shall have the truth, at
any-rate.”
, ; Mrs. Deveril rose, with a little cry of alarm.
77  “Oh, Sir Hereward! I cannot be present.
~ iItwould not be right; we will meet later.”
. » ‘Swiftly she crossed the drawing-room, and
, -r disappeared behind a satin curtain, which cov-
. cred a door, as Herbert Cunningham entered.
 Did he notice the shaking of that curtain?
_. ,His eyes were in that direction. Did he sus-
 ' ' poet who, had passed through?
 “You have come most opportunely, Her-
bert,”fremarked the father, with effort con-
‘ trolling his excitement. “I desire‘ to speak to
" you on a subject which has caused me consid-
 erable uneasiness.” ‘
 The son looked curiously at the other. The
Ia'eflex Of the storm yet was on his features.
 ‘ “It has come too soon,” thought Herbert.
v Then, aloud, deferentially, “ My time is yours,
’ “father. I perceive something has troubled you.
 (Whatis it?”
 : “This”, And with one hand Sir Hereward
indicated the letter in the other. “ Herbert, I
 put no trust in anonymous communications, so
 shall accept your word if you, deny the truth of
. this. “ISL—his eyes fixed steadily on, the
:fyoungafello‘w—“ what this letter states true or
' Liaise?” '

 With deep ‘misgiving, Herbert Cunningham, ‘
'  taking'the paper, read it. As he did so, he

, ' L started violently. Then his brow contracted,

 his teeth hit his lips, all Color left his face.

i ' With rising wrath the Baronet watched.
“Well?” he demanded, when he saw his son

turn the page. “There is no more. Is it true

~ or false?” ,_ _

‘Herbert Cunningham raised his head. He

l, . was very. pale, but calm. His glance met Sir .
’ | tion, for be had already pronounced the ver- '3

 Hereward’s steadily.

 “It is true,” he answered, clearly. “ May
I is my wife. It is a pity the information

' should have reached you through such a source.

‘ ‘ I Would rather my own lips had told you.”

’ . »“S.011rcei” ejaculated the Baronet, with difll- Bertie. 1“ I went to college for my lastrternnv, ,V
, eulty keeping his fury incurb.

.. “ You mean
you know the ,wfiter of this?” x

 ‘ “I do; though how the. knowledge has
an?" 1‘1?“ 4', U",  '

5 

 

.. : . If‘." . 1(4‘.  '  ty-W‘W‘e'm

 

 

reached 1‘... I cannot imagine. I T firs! fibwafii’ 7

iDeve‘ril wrote this létterilf- ' »

“ Mrs. Howard Deveril l” cried-Sir Here ward,
the blood rushing to his forehead. “It is false!
She was in ignorance of your folly till I in-
formed her of it." " a ,

“ It is true, sir; for no other" thanshe exists
who “would have sought to do me this injury.”

‘f Have a care, siri Do not malign a woman
you have already so baser insulted. .What' ’
interest, could your low amour: have to her!” " 

“That, sir, of revenge.” ,

“ Revenge?” . .

“ No less. Listen to' me, father.. I may
have done Wrong—I have, I confess it; but,
partly, it was for your sake. .,At any rate, in
common justice, you will hear my 'extenua-.
tion?” exclaimed Herbert, with sudden earnest—
ness and force. ,  , ‘

“Speak, sir; I do not refuse you that. \ At
least one thing you cannot deny—Maijivers
is your wife?” 7 ' '

“She is, father. For all Cunningham I 
would not deny it.” , W‘

“ It iswell," interrupted the Baronet, halting
in his angry pacing: “ for that, sir, is the price
you will pay for your mad infatuation for a 4
pretty face.”

“Did dear May only possoss that, then. Would I
the price he too much; but she is as good and
true as she is beautiful?” exclaimed the young
husband, with enthusiasm. “ If you did but
know her, as one day Idtrust you will.”

“ Never!" - .

“ You are angry now—justlyfangry, owing,
to the source from which you have learned the ‘

,truth; yet I will hope, knowing thatiyour

heart is not so stern and pitiless as you believe.
That my secret marriage was a grave error'I ,
confess. Nay, hear me! It took place before
I left last for college. May had many suitors, ‘
two of which her father strongly favored. "
With the fear of lovers, I could not rest until
I had put a barrier to hervunion with another, .
which nothing but my death. could destroy. L»
The time was too short to obtain your consent. ’
I knew, until you were better acquainted with
May, you would never consent.” _ '
“Never!” interpolated the Baronet. ,
Hevwas again pacing the room, his hands “T
behind his back, his fingers twitching con.-
vulsively. He had given Herbert permission _
to speak. He listened with little ' interrup- J

dict, and had his son spoken until doomsday
he could not then have altered “ it. As it hap- "
pened, he made matters worse. , .  f ‘

“We were married privately,” proceeded ’3

    
    
  
 

Eagerly I looked forward to its conclusion: deg:
termining when we again met to telly‘fiu 
But, toi commemorate my return, yod."iave,Ԥx"

large party, add , among theguests, was a
 stranger—Mrs, Howard Deveril.” . ’
 fi‘Whatl” broke“in Sir Hereward, wheeling
 short, around; “have you the audacity to
 mention her‘-,—her‘ to whom you, a married

. man, dared to make love? You see, sir, I am

acquainted with all.” 7 , a» ,

“ No doubt from Mrs. Deveril’s own lips.”
“As my future wife, I forbid you to men-
‘ lion her name.” ’
‘- ‘51 must; for of all this wretched misery
' she is the willful cause. Stay !”——as the Baro-
net was about to speak——-‘,‘ you have promised
to hear me.” ’ .

“I ’have—proceedl” s'aid Sir Hereward,
clenching his teeth, and throwing himself gon a
chair. '

- “ The evening had not elapsed before I read
’7 Mrs. Deveril thoroughly, and the plan she had
in her mind.” ,
Herbert paused; but the Baronet looked at
him with a smile and an air of complacency
which his son knew boded more danger than
his wrath. ‘He continued:

“ This plan was toibecome mistress of Gun-
ningham, by wedding either the father or the
_ ' son. Love was no consideration to her, for she
{,Kwould have wedded either. - She is beautiful,
 fascinating; hence was powerful. I saw even
‘i‘ ,then you were not indiflerent to her attrac-
d’tions. Father, had she been worthy of your
fratfection,” proceeded the son, fervently, “ I
g swear, by‘Heaven I would not have acted as I
9‘ ', did; but I accepted the attentions she speedily,
r as you know, lavished on me. I seemed to re-
1 turn’them_ for your sake—40 save you from
4 becoming the prey of a beautiful but design-
ing woman.”

Sir Hereward’s lip contracted sharply, but
he remained silent. ‘“ Though Cunningham,
he was aware, was in the balance, Herbert
.Was .now determined to tell all. At least, he
,Would try to open his father’s eyes.

; “I am telling you no new thing when I say
, ,soon ‘ found favor with her. Inwardly I
bhushed at the part I was- playing, but cunning
can only be met by cunning; and I wished to
.thow to you what this woman’s. love was
l~'W0rth. ' I hoped to devise some innocent
 Means of disclosing it to you; forI knew I
a , but to propose to be accepted. It sounds
: 11k" egotism; it is truth. Yesterday, by word
mid look, she gave me fifty opportunities of

  
   

if
..
,

 

2.;

.k I.

“Th

e fete kept us apart after that. When the
lldren left, I had a conversation with my
7 K830i!!! the grounds. That conversation, I be-
}.Ve, ‘ now, Mrs. Deveril overheard. . She
3, ailmed that I, even as she, had been plotting;

, \‘Flfigif‘unfgrtunately, the ball was in her hands.

, 5 {lfinutes later you must have met her
ROM and been accepted. The sequel, sir:

 
  
 

 

 ,

doing so before you sent me to Ada Campbell-

‘   Every line iseloquent of a ,

 

,. ;

malignant woman. ’ This is her revenge, and

jto the grave she Will be relentless. Would to g 
could read her as well as. - . .

Heaven, father, you
I have read her!” « ‘ , , ' . “ - '
“ Have you finished?” inquired the Baronet, ‘ .
in a firm but hard voice. ' " '

truth,” said the. young man, with emotion. 
“Father, your face tells me ‘to what little
effect I have spoken. But, I entreat you,
pause! Reflect before you utter the words yen
are impatient to speak. I am your only son,
your only child, and have been a dutiful one

of afliection which have united us until now.

think, sir, of my mother!” I,
The Baronet had risen slowly from his chair
not a muscle of his face moved.
“ Not one-it is two women who part
ever,” he said.

.
y.

shall you again put foo

rest upon you!”
Almost automatically raising his

pointed to the door. ‘

tinit,ormycursewillf

dashed aside, and Mrs. Deveril, radiantly beau- .
titul and in tears, rushing in, threw herself at g 
Sir‘Hereward’s feet. , ‘ V‘ '
lifting her wet eyes; “not banishment! ' I  ;
cannot hear it. Let not me be the cause. For i 7
my sake, forgive—pardon him. He has sinned, '
but is repentant.
ward, and I am merely—o”
“My wife!” exclaimed the
his hand féndl y on her head.
“Rise, madam!" broke in Herbert,

Baronet, resting, 
\ y‘ 

indignation and scorn. “At least, you and :I ' Hf
understand each other. Your hypocrisy and ‘ 
eavesdropping have gained you the viCtory;' be  1
content: Father, farewell! Iobey yogprayixig,
a time may speedily arrive when you and 
father and son—may be again united. “It is 
not Cunningham, so much as your love, Irre- :
gret. My love you still pomess,’ and ”—.-—wi-th a '

Then he sWung round, and, without
word, quitted the apartment. _ - , w
“ 0h, Hereward, dearest,” sobde Mrs. ,Dev- ' V
eril, piteously, plaintively, “ do I deserve this?” ’  "g
He raised her, pressing her to his breast, 
kissing her lips. '  p -
“ My darling, he answered, “some men, for
their own purposes, would. malign angels.
Henceforth I have no son.

 

‘3 a M “1° needlessly delays important m,  '
tors, even for a, smegma .   .,

‘

 

“‘I have; and what I have said I'swe'ar is I V

save in a single case. Think of the strong ties ',  

Oh, shall a woman part us forever! No, no; ’

us forl ' ’ '
“Mark me, forever! You,
have made your choice; follow it. Go! leave  "
this house at once; and never, while 'I live, 



At the same moment the satin curtain  i;  
“No, 1101” she cried, clasping his knees  1'“

He is your son; dear Here; i 

able—indeed, scarcely trying-to modify, his 

glance at the still kneeling widow—“pity.” ’ .   
_ another

In all the world"! ; I
have but» you to care for and love. ' Waitl "He. ~

 

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 

l" ,v -.

hurriedly, sealed ia‘then'rungthefbell,‘ ' 1
i  widow watched, him :
anxiously- ‘- v '

v':\."‘See that this. letter. :is‘delive‘red at Once,”

rendering you, dearest, safe.”~
 “th, Herewardl”
., Andth’e widow V
cambric handkerchief, ,, to hide» the smile of
triumphthat passed over it. Hers had been
thefvictory, indeed.

, That night, Herbert Cunningham started

boughxthe fact would not have surprised him

apt

ell-that at the same minute the will was being
signed which‘disinherited him, and made Mrs.
Deveril sole inheritrix. '
‘7?’A”-'rnonth later wedding-bells rung, their
 heal, and the widow, leaning ‘on her
elderly. bridegroom’s arm, entered’the castle as
MdyCunningham. ‘ - '
 _CHAPTERIV.'
{ em: ruivs’mro LADY ewannonmn’s HANDS.
-‘0ur story demands that the reader should
‘-  "ever a space of five years.
_;:;Summer has gone; autumn has placed her
, artistic hand upon" the ancient Cunningham
WQOdSyrmaking them, Vredden and glow like
;,j~fi‘r‘s beneath her‘touch.
_ , Decayis within the» castle, as Without. The
Vyea‘r'isvdying, and Sir Hereward is stretched
upon the bed from which he will never rise
,elixzsgv; .r ~ ~ 
«now those five. years have passed with him
 ;re._»;"is. not space minutely ‘ to: inquire.
Wile her that Secondweddedlife had not an-
swer 'd’quite the expectations he had Jormed;
Whether-there had been moments when, de-
' spite all efloi‘ts, the truth had forced itself in
appallJim that his son had been right, and he
stung, there is no ’need to speculate. If there
had-Sheen regrets, he kept them, as proud men
tiillfito himselr. _ ’
But\céi'tain it is, perhaps because aware
that his health was failing, his heart had long
been yearning for-his son—yearning in secret,
for he had not ventured to make known this
' ielding to: Lady‘Gwendoline.‘ ‘
:  usual, in the union of June and Decem-
ber,2it;was the strong, healthful, self reliant
flunefthat ruled. . Not one in all Cunningham
shciety’would have said Sir Hereward’s will
Filed;th be thatlof his beautiful wife; The men
him aldcky old fell'uw; the ladies,
 ’ no husband ‘ could 'Vha'Ve so attentive ’ and
msiflemegafihelpmate. ' . , ,
Yet the B'arenét knew otherwise, Whether

\ s

 

 

subsistence that; imminent con-

sent, a assesses; me its. 9 

y
r
J

dropped her face in her «-

fer'~;LOndon with his ' young wife, ignorant—b ,

l
l

v

1

l

l

l
i

 

 

V“ you know‘not how you pain

1 I forgot ’.’—-and a perplexed,,anxiouS expression
1 came into her eyes—“ his address.

, thing‘seemed to whisper me that a ti

 

, 0r  authority with {so-Often ‘acjoa . .
panics failing vital power, certain it  that? 

carioufilY: LadyGWendoline. hadlonglgeve'rned. ”,,Indeed,’ I”

though he ‘ hardly could explain it, he " i;
rather frightened of her, especially on the sub 

,. hemide thfipfootman aPPGanng; adding» 118 ject ’of "Bertie. Thus he kept his longings to r 
the man l9“: .“IF 13 to summon .my “Wye?- himself, waiting a favorable opportunity; to”, T 
:“vaendohne, I will not, Sleep until my W111) 18 speak; for see his son he felt he must; Oncelfi i
amade. disinhentingfmy ungrateful son, and he had hinted his desire, and had been-readily  '\

answered. I r , 
v “0: course, Hereward, it must be as-ryéurffi?
please. No doubt I fall far (short of} what  ii ’
can be to you. Have him here, by all means} 'i
Only, considering the flattering opinion be en}: 
tertains of me, while he is inthe Castle yeti  
will excuse my leaving it.” , _.  , 
“You, Gwendolinel As it: I could permit
that! Well, well, say no more about it now. . 
In time, I hope, you will pardon hiin.”, ' ' 9‘
“As he has already!” reflected Lady Guns
ningham, furiotmly. -, . ' l ’  p  ‘
The conversation had dropped there, but its V
subject ever haunted Gwendoline’s mind. ' - ~‘
' The Baronet had no need to speak. She '.r
knew perfectly well he had pardoned Bertie—‘1' 
that he was hungeringto summon him back. - 
In that case, how long would that Will, which "
made her mistress of everything, last? . How '
long before it would it be annulled by another, 4 ~.,
reinstating Herbert in his rights? . , ' v ' /
“ He shall neVer return here if I can help it,” '7,
she reflected, “ and no other will than that shall
ever be made.” * r . 
To prevent this, her aflectionate care so in— 1
creased that shescarcely permitted Sir Here:
ward to be ten minutes alone. ' v -: '
Six months later, two fits following rapidly
:23 on the ether, laid the Baronet on his death's
. “Gwendoline.” he, said one morning, after
the-doctor’s visit, “ it is no use ei her you er he
trying to hide it from me. I nowthat my‘
end is near. I must see Herbertwdear Bertie!
Surely you will suffer that I may say farewell - 5
tomysoni”-‘ ' - . ‘ f  ‘ ' _
“ 1! 'Oh, dearet,” in tones of fond reproach,-  7
me! Iwillsend 
for him this instant!” ‘ . ' I I 
- “Thank you—thank you! Heavenblessyou,» 
Gwendolmel” And, tears of gratitude iurhis'
eyes and voice, he pressed her hand, “Dar-'-
ling, you cannot tell how I crave to see‘my
boy I” y , '  ' I V
“You shall. I will telegraph atvonceg B
will be here, no doubt, before ,tocmorrew. " But._

 

 

  

 

  
   
   
  
    
     
    
      
   
  
  
  
    
 
   
     
  

.s‘

 

,We do not.
know it. How, then,,send?” v ' '  
A conscious blush passed over the. dying
man’s countenance, “ - ”  :i' 
' “:I have it, Gwendolin‘e,” he said. ‘, “391ml?

. . ,  nfislit

some likethis. and Iwi‘shed to begpr 

 

 

 

mil

a, , time newleaseogjfaaeae.

7')":
.L

  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 Lady Cunningham’s lips and temples, "but she 5

..said, smiling, “I perceive. ',You wanted to

“"x'send‘him money without my knowing.” Then,

 :ll'in'as‘udden burst ofgrief, {bowing her head
 , wen herfhusband’s bosom, “ 0h, Herewardl you

" bould not have loved me—no, no+to have

."fieared me thus!” , y '

"  Not love you, Gwen? You have been all

 all-to me, dearest; But I wanted no one to

r” knows—«not even Bertie. I sent it anony-

C'mousl'y, and had it posted in London.”

 A .f‘Fergive me, Hereward,” she ansvvered,
rising. “It you hid it from‘rne it was my
own fault, for I rfiade you think I was pitiless

v, against poor Bertie. By sending this telegram
. myself, summoning him here, I shall prove '
otherwise.” ; ' r

I . \ Swiftly she crossed to the escritoire.

_ e'. 3 As she” drew forth the envelope bearing

' Herbert’s address, she saw another paper in it,

‘ nonwhich were-written about halt a dozen

_ I, ‘ dates, with sums of money after each.

It was'the Baronet’s memorandum of wha
he had sent. r 

Lady'Cunningham c z ' had it in her hand tor
later perusal; and, sitting? down, filled in Va

. telegram paper. It ran:—-—‘ V

' ‘fDEAn Riemann—'-

“ I grieve to say your
to see you. Pray come at once.

l
‘

‘ .smcerely as do he and I. Come 1’

- “Thank you, Gwen,” said the Baronet.
'. “You cannot tell,
- “madame!” ,, ,
* ,“And mys If,” she ' smiled, going back to;
 write the ad ress; but it could not have been I
hurrynor carelessness that caused her so to '
change it that no telegraph-ofioe in all Lon: >
don could possibly have hit upon the right
70118.. -. r 
I _ .“I will take it myself,” she said. "(It is
[La fine eveningythe walk Will do *megood;
S findthen, dearest, we shall know that there is
,‘no me eke.” . _ 4 .
gngSir' e‘reward readily agreeing, her ladyship ‘
rial/Sutnmoned the nurse, put on her bonnet and,
' Shawl, and, refusing any attendannnset out for
tbatman. r ,
::::.The sun "had’set before she returned. The
"$91193. of cedars on the crest of the hill—to
‘V'Whichfthey gave the names-stood out 'ininky
1168» against the red background;
'  4 Cunningham had been unavoidath
flayed; so; to gain time, turning from the
mlW41belowreaching the lodge, she took a path
a$631111.ting;through a wooded, retired portion of
 “aceLWas rapid; but her thoughts still

 

 

 

father is not well. He longs ,
’Forget the past as

   
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  

l

 

,.

3’
amthe saute string-e—the telegram. _
Ml?  My it was WW 

e .

  

‘ i A7 blue”,’“tinge,~unpleasant: to  r touched ,3

not us balked. ~ [Herbert Gunninghamieshjall

' as frigid, as cold as ice.

. came, Herbert. Oh, how I have wished/lit V,
. prayed for it! Shrer Providence has 

dearthow‘happy you have ‘.

=. thought you should behere.”

   
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 

sible ‘- that seem ~' and; nive; ~>fertyweigh .
' home.  Then care must be. taken? to 
mind composed "Before'vtheteforatbetjafl‘ ’
of the telegram is discovered—nit it ever be
he 'will be pastrectifying it. My revenge 
never place foot here.”
4 She stoppedabruptl
tread of a man crushing the rustling
few yards in front of her. _ _
Pausing, she listened. The sound was ‘re‘
treating from her. Who, could it, be? » Que hf
the gardenersil ‘   .    .i
To ascertain, she hurried forward, 
thro'ughthe tree;trunks, for under *the'ma'sses "
of foliage twilight‘already reigned. Somalia 1
ever, she halted once more, a. startled cry‘o
herlip, her color ,fied. ' --  . to. '.   ,
The man had‘his back to her, but she 
nized him instantly. It was Herbert Cunning
ham himself. .,  g   i V
One moment she stood confounded, speech
less, at this failure en her plans. . What sh‘ '
she do? _ ‘ » ' 
' In a second she had decided, , ; :.  '_
Clothing her features in a timid, anxihu‘s’h
pression, quickening her ste’ps, she called, 
rvously, “Herbert!” '  ‘   
At the sound he turned hastily round, 1..
'As'his glance rested on the speaker, 

, “You; ha

y, arrested by the bear '
leaves a;

Not waiting for him, she said

0,

But this hour I have sent a telegram SW,
ing you.” ‘ > :4" t T '
“You?” he could not help ejaculating,
crediting. " ‘ * v '»  v

“Ii ' Oh, Herbert,” almost humb y,"‘y ’
have been cruel to me~have misunderstood
and wronged me! In pity, do. 11,017,313 gush
time, continueto do so!” _   
The young manxregarded herdistrustfully. x
“My father is ill—I have heard so,” he said
coldly. “ He has sent a telegram? lie
to see me? Good Heaven! what doryou 
he added, as Lady Clmningham, “slightlyi'shak
ing her head, avertedher face. , ;   ,
“ He has not sent. He expresses no'wish 
see you, Herbert. ' It is I who have 

 

“Not see me!—~and’ he so? ill? 7‘  
ningham, I will/see himl N0” o'neshall

'nie!”he cried. ;  I  .,  
“Gof‘Try’!” she’rejoine'd. 'f‘,‘I,  
not hinder you. The path to the Castle is ope
to you as to me. Only,;it youwouid savesyour»?
self from failure, insult, and ; humiliation, 
treat you Wheat me'first.”  :    :‘
;,She had drawn back‘trom hint, and. 
quietly: in the path.,_  . I.  _ I p :f ‘3' ‘ “
“7"Amezed, halting; harnessed the! Meter
- “What-down meantime  ~°

 

   

I

 

- , 1 << 1-K» .s,

I .

 

   
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
    
   
 

 5a Should aaeassnuy‘at' last:
. hat“ you should know me as your friend, not

new.” ._
p “You?” he exclaimed,'with astart and flush.
_ _7_:,“,:Y\es;' but of that hereafter. Now I have
x'Sins"enough on my own shoulders, I do not
j_ doubt, ‘wlthout having to bear the unjust one
if separating a father from his son. ' '
:‘Lé-Apd'can you say that this sin is not yours,
“Lindy Cunningham?” he demanded, stern'ly.
, f3“. Yes,” came the unshaken reply, “ and will
.prpy'e it; . Ah,-you shall hear Sir Hereward
.;Bimself declare it when you meet-Jar I have
‘iNfGVWéd that you should meet.”
, ,, "g‘fYou! , Pardon me, this appears a mys-
 riddle I cannot read. ”
 new me do so for you. Listen! When
 married Hereward, my anger was great
againstyou.
 ' when time went on, and no “children
\ our union, the fact of your banishment
began to weigh upon me,, I looked around at

 

 

é comparative poverty.

~,;tip’il‘ailhble opportunity, I began to plead your

 on, myself. He was obdurate. My

“mention of your name seemed only‘to make
 , more so. Therefore—therefore ”——her

 fell, her head drooped—“I did the best

in secret.” I v

,_ 1‘ you mean,” he asked, striding toward

,her, with emotion, “yOu anonymously sent

aid?”

"  was silent.

~- “I cannot believe, it!” ~

f 5‘“ .Your'disbelief, Herbert—my desire that you

 read me now aright—forces’me toa con-
assionl would willingly have avoided. You

-_reeeived_lan anonymous inclosur, on the 19th

viflgoh, the/20th September, the let of De-’

camber.” ~ “ .

'“Hetyensx” he ejaculated. ' “It is true!

 

on were. generous.”

{“With what was your Own,” she laughed,
slightly. “But I must hasten on. Your'last
 sacs "
I {on} this illness came upon your father, I

 

      
   
 

gem urged reconciliation. V
3*repe‘ated'my entreaties daily. It seemed too

 
 
    
 

l’hvith you, his only son.”

 

    
 

quiverjln his voice,
@931 grieve tasty, yes.
71mm: The hector. fears he cannot survive

  dramas.” ,  ,

  
  
 
 

    

    

   

 

""ynur foe. ‘I have substantially provod it before , “I see. him,»

You may own that I had cause. ,

 

thefwealth of: Cunningham, and knew—for I,
.discotered your address—that you were in,:
I heard, from Sir Here~ ;
wardthat hewould never receive you back;.
yet'I felt it ’Was cruel, unnatural you should
uttsbe at least friends; therefore, at every:

causal The result was to bring your father’s

. has «risen, come to the postern.

 

iii'er‘igiveriiie, for I have maligned you indeed!;

Herbert, {give me greater courage:
Though repulsed, .
aerial a, thing that he 'shOuld die at enmity i
“Is he solbad as thatvasked the young man, 
‘ Herbert, bear it like 1

' ’ “ my ass. attest acidified? the Leap; 
ping his face, withxa sob;  his hands. ‘ (4,01), 

f‘ You shall! _
that, I devised a plan, and telegraphed for'you ,. K
at, once to come.”, A ' "’4

“ And the plan?” ‘

' “To introduce you, notwithstanding
prohibitiOn, secretly into his presence. I say,
Secretly, for the servants—all strangers since ,
you were here—have received imperative ,or- n ~
ders not to allow you to enter, though they I 
use force.” I - .  
' “ Great Heaven!" and the young man began"
with deep agitation to pace the path. “ That
such a love as once he bore me could turn to

' such a hate!"

“ ’Tis but for a few hours now, I am sure, if
you will consent to my proposal,” said Lady
Cunningham, watching her companion. as he
paced to and fro in the gloom; both too occu-
pied to observe the figure of a woman passing

among the trees some little way oflf, who halted, ' '1

looked toward them, then disappeared. I
“I will agree to anything, so that I may See ’
him, at least, once.”

“You shall, but he must not know your in- ‘ 

tent, or he would refuse. Did you force your
way into his presence, the scene—the shock
would kill him; and, Herbert, I would not

‘have his death on your hands.”

' “Good heavens, no!” r a , 4 _ ' ' »
, “My plan, therefore, is this. Of course you . '
know the old postern at the foot of the west. ‘
wing?” ‘ " V
‘ ‘ Perfectly.”
“Well, when evening closes in I am always
alone with Sir Hereward, relieving the nurse.
until night. \To-morrow, soon after the moon .‘
It is never
used; but I will take care it shall be opened
ready for you.
is dark-” - .
,“That matters’little,” broke in the 'young
man. “ As a lad, I could traverse itblind- 'r
fold. It leads, by a flight of stairs and a pri-
vate passage, to a sliding panel in my father’s
room.”  ' ‘ ~
. “Exactly!” cried Lady Cunningham, ,des
lighted. “ I see you have caught my idea.
Ascend. to the panelwtap at it—-—I will be ready
to admit you——and success is assured; for Sir .

Hereward says you resemble yourmother—‘w. 
'hen‘oe he has but to look upon you to forgive.” .. .- .
 A thousand, thousand thanks!” ejaculated ‘ :7‘

the young man, clasping»*her. hand.

Lady Cunningham,

meter” - . 
y forgetting it,” she answered .om‘ tl ., '

“It will be kinder to us both.” A ” pr : p 

5‘ But. why should ,I not see'my father to-
night?" i. . >- 4 ' _

“ Because Sir Herewarcl is.now.,uuder 

“ How,

l

Trust: in, me. ‘ When/1 heard.  3

 V .1,

The old passage it’gives, into , f s"

 are; 1 .‘ ’1

can I-win your pardon for 7'“ 

,  _ -

 

 

.1

influence of -a-soporific,ffrem=which it would be;

“persons to arouse him, audiwmch may cause»

V 4  him to sléep till daWn, or. you wvould‘not have a

 1 found me here. The doctor expects. it Will

-make him stronger. 'Excuse me; are you

i -- alone at Weirbbumel—your wife-have‘you

 

~

 

’ row night.

 
 
 
 

' * Never 1’“

’ ‘ hilt Would be better not.

i ran, “ What a- fortunate meeting!

A ‘ children?”

“ I am a widower. My May died eighteen

 ‘months ago on giving birth to her second child 7
f7» f-emy Only one, for death robbed me of the
. first.” I

3 “Where will you stay until tomorrow?”

‘7‘ At the’inn.” '

“Will you, do .you think,, be recognized?
Should your presence
become know: to your father, he might, con-
ceiving it a plot to take advantage of his fail-
ing health, give such orders that even I would

~' would have to obey them. Illness makes him
“ . So irritable.” "

. “That is true. Be assured that none shall
recognizame.”

“Then farewell, until to-morrow. I need

‘ not say be punctual,” shegrema'rked, extending

her hand. “ I must stop no longer. Never
,since’Sir Hereward’s illness have I left him so
long.’ ~ , 1

Herbert Cunningham pressed‘akiss on her
white fingers. It' sent a thrill through her, for
it recalled that past she never could forget nor
forgive. .

Again he would have thanked her, but she.
checked him, and hurried of! among the trees.

“ That those anonymous sums so required

’ should have come - from her!” thought the

'young man, as he watched the twilight shad-
ows close round the graceful, stately figure.
“How I have wronged her, or how sheghas
changed!” .. .

At the same time her ladyship’s thoughts
I must not
be idle, for there is much to do before to-mor-

the quick! Can time ever wipe out that?

Since that meeting-l in the grounds, twenty:

‘ four hours had gone by. To his nurses it was

r ' l apparent Sir Hereward was sinking fast.

 
 
 
 
 

The feverish restlessness upon him was but
hastening the end. ,  g , x
1A lamp burned on the table of the oak bed-

. chamber, the heavy curtains of the bed‘were

  Ldrawa back, and the Baronet, supported by

   
  
     
  

>_ “pillows, ever turned his haggard eyes from the
door to: his wife, who stood in‘the recess of,
j the easement window gazing intently down .  _.
 the grounds, upon, which the moon, ever; : He stopped, breathlesaworking signage -'
and'anon sailingfrom some messy, pile of 'with'p’iteous feebleness. He seemed’toWsit‘ i
Wank, shone with a fittul light before it was her tospeak, but did not, look at her, ' 

hidden.’ , _ ,  V
“Gwendoline,” called-thewBai-onet, usually,

, Oh, idiot! to trust a woman he,
-_ has deceived, whose vanity he has wounded to,

“anyhour'must surely have elapsed sincengu

' Castle.

 

were blue lines aboutthe .mouthanduofi‘fi

    
     
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 

last inquired. ' Ask again if no news, no; sale;
gram has arri'vedl’ , r   _  -- 1   5}"
‘ “It Would be useless, Hereward. From he __
Iv'commandra free view of the .y 
one has approached. Be certain I am right;
He has, not waited to telegraph, even, butVin
person is hastening hither. ' -  , J
“In that case, the journey at .the mest‘i’e
but nine hours. He would have arrived 
this,” responded the Baronet, testily.’ 7
“Then—1’ she stopped abruptl .' - '  " 
“Then what? Why do you hesitate,leen!”
he demanded, with the irritability. of sicknefi-
while his thin fingers clutched at the coverEt.‘
“ Out of fear of , paining you, Hereward. I
would have saidh‘e is not as forgiving us,
But’ that I will not believe.” ’  ‘31 '
“Could he be so cruel, sot/unnatural?- 
no; impossiblel I had the most to : pardf
There, as you say, that is not to be believed,
for mercenary motives alone, even it, alleged
tion were dead, would bring him. Does he i '
believe that he is disinherited?’_’ ..  V 7‘
_Be1ieve! ‘ , ' l ’ ’ z ‘
Was it that word which made her
start and pale so? Had it beenuttered 
sciously? . Was there meaning in ite-emeaning.
threatening to balkthat end for whichrsheshad
toiled? . ' r ‘ "’~
Leaning by the easement. she 
iously into the darkness her hand pressed 
her heart; then swiftly she glided back tithe,
bed. - ' v a '   .2 
“ He believes,” she repeated. ’ “Of 
Hereward, he would so believe; I had forgotten
that. Ah, did he Only know what heglosefi'ha
would not travel with such feet of lead.” 3
I The Baronet moved his hands and? eyes»
vously, and, finally, fixed the latter _. 
Wife’s face. -
It was ; not easy to see,,ior his 
failing fast, and her back was to the ligh
“Gwen,” he said, hurriedly, yethe‘sita ?
reaching the confession, “blood is thicker  "
water, None feel that more than 
dying.” '  1
He did not meet her eyes new;  he,
would have been a revelation. . r   "
‘ ‘Herbert has been cruel, disobedient;
he is mybnly son. Not a child  
union, so there will be more than sunlight! ,
both. Youshall always live as mistress 
I have made that, certain, 1 f ,  I,
less you marry again. 0: course’,I shoal, inst,
after all, like the old placate go out etthe
ily-v—to go to strangers.” .' ‘ ' " k

c}
5
H

Lady Cunningham was pulses death. 

   

 

 

  

 

 
  

 

as;  9. Severe. ’ inust Contraction. ‘

’jWith a. dangerous light.

     
      

am, will, Hereward?” ‘

  

, is so uncertain—‘I—I have felt ill so long, that
“ (I did not Wait until the eleventh hour. 17—have,
~1 madeit already.” " ’ ‘ .
.L‘iiWhat!" 4 .‘
' Thé Word was simple enough, but thetone in
, hich it was uttered brought his eyes quickly
iron” .herz .
.szor-a space avail seemed lifted, and he saw,
learly. ' , ‘
‘3' p‘reatereaven, Gwen l” he cried; “don’t
ooklike that i“ What would you do?” ’
l, .‘r What should I do?”. she rejoined. “What
hive I. not arightto do? This is how my love

 
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
     
   
   
  
   
 
     
     
  
    
 
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
   
     
      
    
   
   
     
  

 

 

.seex‘ecy,‘ingratitudel ' Where is the will? Who
Main"; ‘ ,  , ' ‘
*I‘v‘ What would you do with it? Gwendoline, ‘
member he, is .my only child—my son.
ave left you, rich—rich!” ,
935130751» sayotherwisei You have deceived
,fihiesmistrusted me. "Where is the will? Her-
‘hert-shall’inever enter this reom until I know.
" he has it?” ; * . ‘ .
“‘No‘one.”
‘5Ynu have hidden it. Where?”
I Hemade a feeble attempt to lift his arm,
inatv'df-opped helpless on the pillow. ~ .
13“ Gwen, fetch the nurse; I—Iam worsel”
hef‘igaSpe'd.’ . V _ V
fihe saw it, and had' no wish he should die
 tililshe“ had learned where was that will
,iflh' diSinherited her. , -

fl

éway,gand',invOluhtarily looked back with
deystartled eyes. ' .r ‘,
,Alisudd‘en, muifl d cry had seemed to ring
through the roam. It had. not come from the
 _, but from behind the paneling. ‘
 use h‘éheardgit? . . _  _
gQuflckly she stepped to Sir Hereward. 318
Yes Were open, the muscles of the face relaxed;
 Utteriné a shriek, Lady Cunningham rushed
Mtg‘th‘e door. She found the nurse in thecor-
Men ‘  ' ‘

were is much Worse.”

o

lug, solemnly, “Your la
e r‘bba'r it-L-he is dead 1”

 7  , ‘CHAPTERV. '  i
,  cwnnnomnn’s PROTEGEE-j-K CHAMPION;

yship, bear it—gpray,

 

 liwho‘ had known Sir Hereward personally

i. __ 
sgray’ eyes ,throhbed, contracted, and ‘Idilated' I

fawen ”-he re'Oined in a low tone, “‘ death ‘
. ) ,3 .

fiwiftly’she moved to the door, but, halted,

iCo'mescomel? she cried; ‘f I fear ’Sir Hares

. The woman hurried in, and looked upon the."
’mfiefi“? Then shé ‘dropsed the curtain, say-

A‘l‘ of this. present chapter, pe_o-'
 as "therwlse, spake-b: ‘fhisdeath ,ereenrygmx

  

 Commanding ‘her voice, she said, quietly, I
You" are angioue forrHerbert’s return tomake ,.

' Every train was watched for
I rival, yet in vain. - -

|

,| announce his father’s death, and bring

and nursing haVe».been returned—by deceit, ,

ago,” for! gust  elapsed. _

I, a fewguesta- Then she went abroad, people

1 she returned to the Castle slightly more aged,

’being penniless, she had taken out of charity; ‘

 

tractr—for' it. certainly“ was attractive I, to the

    
   
 

however, didspealg. of ‘it;f_._th‘0ugh, authe time;
‘it‘ had caused much» curiosity, speculationfin‘n
terest, surmise, and wonderment. ' K  I -. :“
Would Sir-Herbert attend the funeral? Ha
he been forgiven? Was he the heir? Would
he and his wife instantly take possession of 
Castle, ousting her ladyship? Whatwas' 1:
nature of the Baronet’s will? , ' i 
~~These queries for eight days kept the 
neighborhood in a constant state of excitement ,»
Sir Herbert’s”: age; 9;, 

   
  
 

   
   
 
 
  

 

   

It got rumored that Lady Cunningham‘hald‘i; 
dispatched a special messenger to London‘to : ’-
ehim . ‘ 

 

back. . - 
This, too, was a failure. Herbert’s landlady» 
had stated her lodger had left the'house stew ?
days before, without saying, where he Was
going, and had never returned. ‘ Surely, he ' .
would appear on the day of the funeral, it only 7 '
to hear the will read. , , __ ..
But,’ no"; Sir Herbert Cunningham put in no V7
appearance. The remains of the late Baronet.
were consigned to the, family vault without‘a“
son’s bellowing tear, at which nOne showed 
more amazement, more distress thansher lady-  '
ship. . . . - - ‘ > ‘ ,
But wonderment was yet added on the read?!» 7
ing of the will, made on the day when Herbert * _ i
had been banished and the lawyer had “been ‘
summoned. {13; I ' ,~ _. ~
Herbert’sname- was not mentioned. _ , 
After bequests to friends and servants, it «i
left everything" to Lady Cunningham. Only ‘
in the eVent of her not marrying again (that
was the strangest part of it); wasit to pass back" 
to his nearest of " kin. ' In’that- the son,‘no:- Jf:
doubt, was implied, but not named. 'Itseemed’z‘ 4%
little to signify, for he put in no claim nor: ef— \ '
fort to contest the will. *r ' .   _‘
For two years Lady Cunningham remained f
at the castle, leading a widowed life, receiving .‘ '

slat

said, to get married—to make Cunningham I
hers and her descendants’ forever. ’
.But it proved otherwise. In twelve months

was. if)   _ , a} 

but yet fascinating and beautiful; while it wasx‘
soon apparent “it was no recluse’s life she in— ,
tended to lead. With her she brought a lovely ~ '
girl as half companihm‘half attendant.» Lady
Cunningham mentioned her as-kthe Orphan”,
daughter of a. cousin of her late husband,” who, 

 
   
   
 
 

Hilda Home was not much over seventeen;
her figure was slight, her eratures refined'and -
delicate, her expression sweet and gentle, her
eyes beautiful as dew-steeped violets, but with;
a timid, shrinking: look in them, which soni ’
said was natural,flb,thefs a feminine, art, taint.

 

 

           
 

 

. 1“. .

   

“shearismmlné-éwmesgeggag,

  

behind the scenes as in'Qsoc‘iety. It went fur-

   

iilhnningham was awful, terrifying all,“Who.r
approached her, when her wrath would usually I,
 neon Hilda. ' ‘ i
- 9 “(After these outbreaks, her ladyship generally ;
 had night, and could be heard pacing, ‘
{ pacing the oaken bedchamber, talking at times
Massif-some one boreher company.
«  There was only one person who came in her,
'Ipr'aence at such times with whom she never:
 ffquarreled. This was Jane Derner, a. sallow~§
( 7 laced, dark-haired, silent woman, witha hair
lip and a halt in her gait. She had been Gwen-
‘do‘line’s servant before her marriage, and
though age had overtaken her, Lady Cunning'
ham did not pension her ofif. ,
She remained at the Castle, keeping in her
, proper place, though the other domestics de-
 7 clar d she lived like a. lady. I x l
' I 7y Cunningham’s passion always subsided
I when Jane ,Derner appeared; while Hilda. had
" _ even known the servant to enter and check
those restless midnight vigils. ' 7
g " Among those who attributed Hilda’s timid,
E . shrinking expression to the thirdstatedreason,

    
   
       
    
     
      
  
   
   
     
   
  
    
       
   
 
   
  
   
  
   
     
     
  
 
 
   
  
    
 
 
  
    
  
   
     
   

   

  

 

and decidedly not to the second, was» Jack
; ' > Bramber, son of old Lord Bramber, who had
 ». lately rented The Lodge.
 During the first large ball given by Lady
' Gunningham, he had come upon the girl simply
attired in plainest white, standing nervously
behind thecurtains of a window recess.

' Hardly knowing who she was, but pitying
her‘ isolation in a scone of so much gayety; not—
withstanding she received his advances in a

' scared manner, he entered into conversation.
, ' He started it first from compassion; but as

 

v: "v «~1va m: wow

her confidence, drew her out, he continued it ‘
from interest,
4  The small lips more than once smiled; the
‘  deep violet eyes met his as brightly as his own;
«and Jack ,Bramber, in less than ten minutes,
( came to the conclusion he had never before
‘_ iseenasosWeetlypi-etty a‘rcountenance nor so
lovable agirL. v _.  1
,; 'I Love gives no warning when it sows its
 ' A. quarter of an hour ago, Jack had
been heart-whole; and now aseed had fallen
on it that was tobear rapid leaf and flower.
. -_Suddenly the band struck up a lively waltz,
whereupon- Jack Bramber asked Hilda to be
his partner. -' , I L . C
i- an» ejaculated the girl, amazed, and, re-
treating into her'timiditydike a snail into its
shell. ,“_‘ You are very kind. But, oh,"no,
'thank'you! .Iam not one of the guests, you,
newme 

 

   
 
 
 
     
  
   

 

_  _ I , _ I  “illegal-rut you arsenal)! family,
itwas owing to her, ladyship’s temper, which: '
’dr ,afirm‘ed was anything but as amiable ,
_ . . . _ i ,“,Then itvwould F
 it stated there were tunes when Lady-when smiled, sadly, drawing back. 

I “But you like it?" ,

Aren’t you her relation?” *

"cousin to» her ladyship’s first husbanmin'fléi...

7 his genial nature and. merry blue eyes, giving ; -

earning my own living.

I marked Jack.
“‘ here she comes! Pray don’t let her 
talking to me,

' again!”

5 [dark grounds; _ ;

 
   

  

 

 

ii - .

'M

  
       
        
    

tortedeack; ,» f‘And I sin-sure yo.u.can,danee-
like a fairy.” .    5“  '  V
be only from seeing othergfi'
‘I’ have:
never learned.” .,  .3

      

“Oh, yes}? came the instant response:  '

f‘ Then we will try together, and Iwfil 
you.” ' ’ ' -' ' 

1 Before she was aware, his strong “arm was
around her slender waist, and inanother 
and he would have Whirled her out among
dancers, had his gaze not rested, on 
countenance.  , “ ~ . - 2
.Its pale terror frightened him. _,
“Good heavensl” he ejaculated. (, - , .’ a 
V “0h, don’t—~p1ease,’don’tl” gasped the 
“Her ladyship would never pardon me; ,1 I
know you mean’it kindly, but it would blefi "
jurious to me. And I’m sure yen Would 
wish to do me harm.” ;  :"k
“ Harm-—Il Not for worlds!” exclaimx
the young man, slackening his hold, batlnoti
altogether releasing it; v for his 
seemed really in need of some support, “N, 
in Heaven’s name, should her lady ship '0 ‘ x
i _ *

  

  

“Yes—or, rather, no. a My' father

penniless, {without a friend.  Cunn ,,
ham says he is not dead; that he ranj’a' ‘
and deserted me. But I am sure thatisn
true; ,forI remember him the kindest, deal-wit]
father. Still, her ladysbip took me out of char
my.”  » 3 “If .
 “ Charity!” repeated Jack, cp’ntemptueasly
“ It is not always easy to bear, is 
Hilda, raising her violet eyes, within 7 ’
naive confidence, to her’ new friend. f,': ‘ .
“ Easyi”~—it must be one of the most"
cult things poSsible.” ' I l '  
“Yes. I have been taught,  have
secret learned 'myself. agood deal; for}. "
like to ‘go ‘awayand ’be 'a g0verness,some’wm
But her-lady..-
will not hear of it. 'She‘ hardly lets  ‘
i161? sight”, ’ ' . V  ‘ ‘
“Doss shew—love youl”: ‘ r u N  v;
“ I don’t think she cares for me at;ai.’d,’;I _
“ I was going to 'say she has a content! .
strange way of shewing her afleetien

“ Oh x” cried Hilda, with a trembling}:

with me! ,Please do not. say you have
or she’iwill never let "you: do

 

As she spoke, she raised her.  
window-catch, preparatory to; flight; '~

 

‘I ‘ »- :‘capital friends!”

 

 

 

 

, He put his hand on hers. '
“ But I will 'speak to youl” hesaid, firmly.
“ Her ladyship shall not prevent me.” >
“‘But she will prevent me,” said Hilda.
-' h - “Then I will keep our secret, by: all means.
‘ ..But, ; Miss Horne, you will let me see you
‘r again? 'I must! I am sure we might be

"‘ Oh, pray let me go 1” she pleaded.
“Not until you have told me where I may

I _“ see you to-morrow, and apologize for my rude-
' ness. Yet I don’t mean it as rudeness. I only

' want to see you.”

“,I‘ shall be among the trees on the east side
of the grounds to-morrow at eight. I always
walk there,” answered Hilda, turning a scared
 glance toward her ladyship, who had been
* detained by one of her guests.

9 t ' ‘ 7“ Thank you! I want—I would so much like
 tofbe your friend!” said Jacg with earnest

‘ chivalry, while he opened the indow himself.

  2 Hilda turned uponhim a grateful look as

,' ' shedarted through.) \
“Confound it all!” muttered Jack, watchv

 ping the slim, white figure vanish in the dark-
.f.n.ess; “(to take such a beautiful girl as that

‘ “ out of. charity,’ and treat her so shamefully!

Flier ladyship must have a heart of stone! l’ll

“ just try if I can’t alter matters 1”

I. I It sometimes happens in endeavoring to set

. things right we create greater wrong.

 " ‘I It was quite possible that Jack Bramber was
‘ about to experience that,

,  “Playing laggard, Mr. Bramberi” remarked

"v-‘a‘lo'w, musical voice behind him, while a fan

9 tapped his arm. “Can so dark 9. night have

« -, greater charms for you than the entertainment

' XI have provided for your pleasure?”

I" , ~ ,“ That woul impossible!” answered Jack,

inclining his h some head. “ But the fact

is, ,I was attracted by the beauty of a star. I

4211ka it must have been the twin sister of

,Venus. Certainly I never saw one that so

 struck me.”

7  "I? Really you are enthusiastic!” laughed her
Jf ,ladyship. “I fancy your star must have ac-
quired splendor ‘from contrast with the dark.-
ness around it.”
. “ That is very probable,” was the quiet re-
-1 spouse. .
r' 7 ,“May I See yOur star?” '
 , g“ I fear it. has gone now. An unkind cloud
accredit. But your lad‘yship, no doubt, will
" soon shave-another opportunity.” , "
" “Not worth troubling about!” she retorted,

“smiling, raising her lovely shoulders, maln‘ng ‘

 the diamond necklet she wore flash forth fifty
» hues. / “ Are you not going to join the dame?

.r ' kit is a square one next: ,Or, perhaps, you have

 .torsworn Terpsichorei’"
" a   it yTOur ladyship will
nom'my. earthen”. ,  ..  ' 

,\’

honor me by Ibe-

.\v

' ? ‘V  i I  wmowiswwxnnsf  ‘

gentleman—a “beau” in dress and

 

 
   

“ I am sorry, butyo’ur nncle‘ has already get; -:
my promise.” ’ , q a , 
“My-uncle!” ejaculated Jack, in a surprise}?
he could not quite check. “ I did not think.  g '
still danced.”    ‘  '
f‘Then he will aetonish you. I can answer I
that he dances much better than many youné "
or men.” ' a . ' K Y
~ “Really, then,”—-and he looked meaningly‘
at his, companion—r“ it must be from ‘mspiragti,
tion. . ' " 
“ Perhaps it is,” laughed Lady Cunningham; 
“ I will say I hope it is. I think LordBraniber . 
most charming!” ' ' ‘ j ‘3 "
Jack would have liked to have made the long
face he felt; but he said, inste “ So do I this
old Castle] outside and in, I t ink it is quite
a picture.” ' ,v .
“Pray is that meant to refer to your uncle’s ,.
age?” questioned Lady Cunningham, tapping
her jeweled fan on her glove; “Men should ,
not be judged by years, but by their nature. ',
Some are Old—worn out air thirty.” , ~ '
“ That is true; but really I intended no ref-
erence to my uncle, I assure you.’ I, thought/.-
but of the Castle. It is very, very ancient, is
it not? Played its part, and held its own, in
the Civil Wars, no doubt! Possibly—though
that is not a pleasant idea—has had murders ,
committed in it! In that case, of course,” he
laughed, lightly, “in some stated corridor or,
room the spirits still perambulate. Alas, poor
ghost!” V, I
Did her ladyship’s cheek grow paler despite
the suspicion of rouge tinging it? V
Certainly her gray eyes, from under their /
long lashes, cast a ra'pid, keen/glance at the ‘
speaker. _ .v ', k ,, 
However, she anwered in a tone as light as
his, “ I believe no ancient house or race is con— ‘
sidered quite perfect without a ghost, so Ihave ‘
no doubt Cunningham has one—at least, I shall
maintain so! Exouse me, Mr. Bramber, but I’ :
will now release you from your escort” (they /
had been moving through the vast ball-room).
“Here is your uncle,” she added, dismissing
Jack with a bow, as a tall, well-looking, elderly '2

appearance 
——came toward them. '

Jack, by no means loth to be free (for within; I.
the last hour he had takena great dislike to his
hostess), lounged through the ball and other
rooms in quest of Hilda Horne. 

He thought it quite probable that shewould

. have stolen in by another window.

2 been so, happy. \
would have burned lewasthe cause. ,' .

So she had, but only to creep away up to ‘
her own little room on the second story, throw
herself on her bed, and weep ‘tears that, could ’,
Jack have seen them, would have made 
honest heart ache with pity and indignation. ,

Yet for many, many years Hilda had never""
And'Jack"-h0w his cheeks

..‘\

 
  
   
     

 x.‘

 

  

 

“n "(27%: are? new

  
   
   
   
  

 

“we.

4 the hall  yet,‘progréssit;s sewn-Jul:

, '  :Bramber was moving about, smiling outwardly,
 but withhrodding annoyance in his’breast,
and LadyCunningham was still, listening to

f Lord Bramber’s whispered compliments, when

 ‘ Hilda Horne finallyfell asleep, these words on
 her lips—“ I shall see him again to-morrow.”

 

’ CHAPTER VI.

: ,,§j_.:AIN' umnasanr mouncnmm—OLD Janus

STONE.

, . , . I,
, ‘  . TEE gilt French clock on the mantle-piece of
,Qa-‘The Lodge morning-room had just struck
‘ eleven. ‘ ~. " x ‘ =
i The doorowindows were open; breakfast was I

on the table; but, as yet, the only occupant of
I the apartment was Jack Bramber. Dressed in
a. light gray suit, he walked the floor, his head
bent, and whistling thoughtfully.

It need scarcely be said that the interview
among the trees with Hilda had taken place,

‘ and the. result had thrown him into a state of ‘

perplexity. ,
Two things he found difficult to answer.
Why did Lady Cunningham treat her husband’s
relation so unnaturallyi—had the father really
run away, a black sheep'altogether, and did he
(J ack) love Hilda Home? It not, he. was be-
' having most dishonorably; for he had got her
promise to see him again.
“But I do love her,” he ejaculated, halting,
_ and sternly regarding a portrait of his paternal
uncle. “What’s the good. of beating about the
. bush? As pity is akin to love, so is love akin
.to pity. If I didn’t love Hilda Horne, why
should the treatment she receives make me so
indignant? ‘lt‘s a. first sight aflfair,that’s cer-
tain. But‘ it’s awkward about ,the father.
Suppose he should crop up again? Besides,
,rthere’s my uncle. I’m his heir, certainly; as
far as the title? But his money? He’s such a
stickler about birth and position.” ’ '
A'step in the hall caused him to break of! his
eflections. [Jack had breakfasted long before,

by t he always bore Lord Bramher company at '

his more substantial repast, and had been wait-
ing for him.
uncle entered.
Lord Bramber, when young, had been one of
the handsomest and most gentlemanly men of
his time, and he could. not fgrget it. ' He never
would. , .
A beautat twenty, be practiced the beau at
V sixty.seven, and would if he should live to be a
_ hundred. ’ . ‘
his complexion smoothsandjree from sallow-
* ness, but rendered it a dead white, scarcely

 improved by the slight, delicate color on the

cheek. His hair and mustache Were dyed,

:* and J ack fully belieVed,‘though not quite oer-J
‘ «lain, that'his uncle wore stays. a " “‘ p ,
Attired ma rich cashmere dressihgfgown,

   , 1       A

. tones.

' not to be so in my time. We, as‘Sheridan‘ di 5

. a,“ Sheis .very beautiful,” he 9.

Now the door opened, and his
" her ladyship and Hilda Horne Would-1,23% V

Skim”? applied'°°9méti¢5 and fifigflnta kept ' i that point. I But, is it, possible—do, yen _

 

 mhu,’especially :a’ widower; jigsaw,
I need of a companion“  

   

.‘V‘

   

and: holding a. scented.carnhrieihandlierchief:

his white hand, Lord Bramher dropped 
fullyinto his chair by the table. ‘  v   .
“ Good-morning, VJ ack,” he remarked, in i ' n _
“ Fear I’ve kept you waiting,je’h‘?;‘» 
youngsters are up at dawn, I believéi. Itused

  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

“liked the day to be well aired. first.’ . Wren";
what do you think of our charming neighbor‘i.
Those sardines, please.” ‘ - V ' - 
Jack shot a scrutinizing glance athis  V
before he replied. Finally, he evaded a 
cided response. ‘, " '  "  
" Beautiful? .Gad, Jack, , shells,” "lovely-é:
divine!” ejaculated my‘lord, ,warminginto ’,
thusiasm, and delicately kissing his scentedjfiuz-
ger-tips. “TheDuchess of Athone, anold  “
of mine, couldn’t have held a candle  her: in
her bestnseason. She is exquisiteésueh {om
such intellect, such vivacityl But’shelsi
here—absolutely lostl” * ‘ , a   T 
“Why doesn’t she go to Londonfithn
uncle?” said ‘Jack, dryly,‘ not " relishing ,q’ g
this praise. ' ‘ V n 
“ Why not?” assented Lord Bramber, leani‘.
back, and reflectiver tapping the » f Y Q
cofl’ee-cup with his Spoon; ‘é Ah,‘ I want-nae:
but the opportunity of introducingihferl' 
my age, Jacks—ha, hex—~12 would beiconte ..
shine with a borrowed light.” ' I Y 3 : “.21: 
“You take her to London, my lord?" 7
claimed his nephew, throwing up  ‘
his blue eyes wide withlsurprisa, ‘ r
“I said I wished, mydear‘ bcy,”/}ian
his lordship, lightly brushing the", tips" or
fingers with his handkerchief. “No,.?'gad,f
hal—I may not have aged sis-other": 
still I have passed the time when ta 
to see was toconquerfl ,  , "   .
Jack Bramber was, silent from 
decidedly, was a threatened cempl  ‘
matters. Did his uncle really mean 
was smitten by Lady Cunningham;  "
ed to enter the lists as her wooeri, : _
In that case, any. remarks or his“ 
Jack might have intended ‘to make "

 

be thrown away, but do more 
“In a brown study, Jack?” remakes}
Bramber, darting a keengglance'i
table. “I trust we are not to be 
She is lovely, but too old for you.” ' . '

“Indeed, uncle, you need have.  tem'

mean. that you contemplatee" ,,

“Marrying again—cor, rather, wedding“. , .
Cunningham?” broke in his lordship, senses.-
l'ng the sentence. “Well, why notfgs’fankj': 
have, been thinking it ever; duringighg » 

xi

  
    

 

, .. 1
J.

 little .t6 tan ,
dried, .rapidly,..‘.‘ I do not',_intendj it should

7, e any difleren‘ce in your: prospects, Jack;
represent income, you Would ‘still inherit.
 any family bless’our union, poi course,

hegflastle,’ their mother’s property, would be
Jack Bramber bit his lip.) He was astonished,
‘diedfannoyed. His uncle had every right to

   
  

  
  
   
  

zthetime he even forget Hilda Horne,

, 156 you not see it in, that light, Jack?”

“I  uncle, you have aright to marry
,1 ,il': you. please." \He had, wished to say,
 but wisely

 
 

        
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
     
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 

perpetrate {an idiotic folly,”
curbed his tongue. ‘ .
‘fi-‘Thank ' you—«thank you, Jack. Take my
d, you should notlose by it. If there were
 'hmfly, the Castle would still come to me—
haveascertained that; and; in time, my dear
as my heir, it would become yours. It’s
 place—a Very fine place!" ,
Hui. you at. all hinted the state off—0t
} 7.1feelings‘to her ladyship’?” queried Jack,
 his voice. 3 ‘ ‘
' Noimore than thelanguage of the eyes
Ri-“remarked the old beau, shrugging his
)3 shoulders. “Even in affections of the
’ Jack, ’I never leap in the dark. But
fifilfif—‘Fhat is your-opinion of my success?”
:AjThe" nephew pauscd, recalling Lady Cun-
;'_”‘ham?s looks and words tregarding Lord
Luther the preceding evening; then an-
ér'étg-irankly, .“ IbelieVe, my lord, you will
‘. ;  s1: silos-"thank you-
‘lvamggtérygn -  = , . .
“Nor-in. right down sober earnest,” re-
_ the, young man; adding, mentally, “I
toHeaven I did notl” I 
7 Then thank yen again. You shall not
. gre’poat, by'taking it in this spirit.” '
In what spirit did you expect me to take
 the reply,‘as the speaker took the
' in extended hand. “Surely you are
 v , to act as you please?” I
._Yes,§yes; and “my income will be yours,
._,y,”~—:heSitating—;—“ you see, Jack—of that
momma-it there should be any children,—-
njlhelrfthetitle must pass to him.” , '
V, ' Very well, uncle; then I shall haveto go to
‘H grave with plain esquire tadked to my

 

 

You don’t mean,

 

 

 

“as harass from the table. “ Will you

{glutme and I see Clegg has brought my
Thatfstatement about an appointment was
Woelyttruet But aclr always rode after

they”, and think over what he had heard.
tithe possibility'ef .  uncle wedding 

 

I    Of »—course,5?ihe"

guinrry‘again it he chose“; yet it was hard. For,

X.
 answered Jack Bramber, with a short I

xcuseme‘it I‘leave you, but I have an ap—] , ‘
‘ saw the, old fellow approach to the lines, and _  "

*‘Jsreaklast,fand wanted, as quickly as he could,

Cunningham the, for treatment; stunned
him. ~ enest,‘frank,1;and not“ an atom ‘se lfish‘,

‘v be had owned Lerdv”‘l3ramber’sj rightto do 
he chose. , Yet, as he 'rode_,slow1y along the,»

country. road, he saw it might prove very peril-l
yous to his future. / ‘ » _. V  -x’
His interviews with Hilda had given him a

better insight into‘her ladyship’s dispoSition‘f
than his uncle had. By her‘years of juniority,; 
and her dangerous fascination, Lord Brambér-v"

would prove but soft clay inkher hand. Did

children chance to appear, her : «ladySIaip might 
net care to have their father’s property willed;

        
      
     
     
       
   
    
   

away to a nephew. "Besides, Jack had come  ,‘

across one or two “ old inhabitants” who,,.had.i . ?
known her when plain Mrs. Howard Deveril, '_- ‘ 
and who had told him of her marriage with the ‘ 

Baronet, the banishment of the son Herbert,

 

and his singular disappearance out of. every;- « ' " :

body’s ken.

“Who knows but her ladyship may have

' had a finger in/that pie,” meditatedJack.  "

“No one ever heard a stranger will than Six“
,Hereward’s, I’m sure.
' never mentioned. Her doing, I swear. Well,

then, supposing I married Hilda—and Ihave
never seenany one I cared for so much-é—and
that were to offend my lady, she might get me-

kicked out, and cut off with a shilling, too.” , r

i Certainly the prospect was not encouraging.”

Jack’s reverie was broken by a faint railway
1 whistle. ' , - :‘ , ' a ,
' Raising his head, he perceived the smokeg'in
.white wreaths rising through a clump” of

l beeches, from which the train, small at present

‘ as a toy afiair, speedily issued.
The. rails passed across the road that‘he was
traversing; and, as it was easy to see along

was placed. .. ‘

he thought. "‘ When a man’s time is his own,
sides, it’s express.” . , > - V I

He came to this conclusion as‘he reached the
crest of a rise in the road leading to the rails.

ing there as anywhere.

Aeoat, some twenty pacesin advance, proceeding
‘in the direction, of the rails. His‘gait was un-
‘ steady, as of one much enfeebled; and, having
{ nothing better to do, J ack, watched him. ’

“ The confounded idiot l” he muttered, as he

 

1 heard the swift rush of the train. “ Why does
he go so close? {The velocity with which it

i will pass will be enough to knock him down.’ I w . n
 Good Heavenl?’ he added, with a cry and a *  '
shiver; “he’sgoing‘over! He’ll be smashedh
Is he mad? By Heaven, I see it l—-he is drunk!” j: f, x.

They say the son was 

distance down every way, no gate or guardian, y’  t
“ Shall I beable to get-over before it comes?” ' 7

why need he hurry to save a fewseconds? Be: ,7

, He might as well draw rein, and wait its pass; ' '~ “

I As he did so, he became conscious of an old   ‘
man in leathern gaiters, straw hat, and a blue

A Tait/1.x an lair-x .. J.

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

monster, rushing- upon him. ~ ; v

.rxheT shamed to become‘aWare of? the pitiless

  

11 The sight to‘ok allpower of motionjaway,
“save from the hands. These he rese,'with a

 " engine, as pleading for mercy. l .
 .’ ‘ ’ To'g’et out of the way he did not try.
  He was paralyzed with terror, and if drunk
 ' » previously, was now sobered sufficiently to see
'  his awful danger. V ,
g "‘ Great Heaven!” cried Jack, as he beheld
 the shaking knees, " the poor, extended, trem-
Fhling hands, and white hair blowing on the
:5 wind; “I can’t stand this. If it’s to crush us
» ' both, I must risk it.” ‘ ‘
Already he had put his horse at full speed.
He knew it was a'race between him and the
express. One, perhaps two, lives depended on
a second lost or gained—on the strength of
‘ I wrist and steadiness of eye!
In imagination he saw the train hurl the
Wretched old man yards forward, then crush
, and tear him as it rushed on; and the idea sick-
ened but did not deter him. He thought not
~ at that supreme moment of peril to himself.
\- ‘ 7 It appeared an ago before he reached the

/ rails; yet it was but a few seconds. I

The thud of the train seemed to beat like
thunder in his brain. He saw, the monster
close ti'pon him. He seemed to feel the heat of
the furnace.

_ ' But all he was really conscious of was dash-

;' > V ing across the rails behind the old man, seizing
; the latter by the coat collar with a grip of
l iron‘, dragging him' after him, then swervingv
' V his horse round; for so close had been the en—'
" counter, that otherwise its hind quarters might
[have been struck. Then all three—the fright-
‘ened,'snorting beast, the preserved and pre-

server—sunk down in a hen p together, as with

, an awful noise the train flew on, with eager,

‘. frightened, inquiring heads gazing out at them

I from the Windows.

7 Jack, in a few moments, staggered to his
‘ , feet, secured his horse, that was palpitating and
. trembling with terror, its large eye's dilated
,4 :_ ~ » and nostrils blue, then pulled up the shaking
“  object who had been the cause of all. "

“You old idiot!” hesaid; “what made you

' place yourself in such danger?”

 

  
 
    
    
  
  
  

state even to be angry with. As pale as death,
hisreyes starting, every nerve trembling, he
; could but clutch his preserver’s arm, and mut-
‘ iter unintelligible sentences. '
' “ The. fright has utterly turned his brain, or
he isn’t yet sober,” thought Jack Bramber.‘
it! can’t leave him, or he’ll be getting into
hfeshtrouble. Where do you live?- Down in
the Village,- mani” ‘ L '
' , But the words, or their significance, failedto
 the old inehriate.‘ ' , ,

The on saw-in. asses its: star} was. 

 “pigeons “gcream, toward the smoke—belching

' But the “01d idiot” was 'in'too pitiable a.

 
 

 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   

r .‘S'Savedfiavedl 011,3! I hadjdied-é-diedISI—e
I couldn’t—I " mustn’t-+th yet-not fyet‘ilf-ha
mumbled; andltears began to trickle aean
‘cheeks... ‘_‘ I ain’t fitto die. I‘ain’tl’.’ 5 "  

“You’re not fit to litre, you old sinnerf’vsaid
Jack, headless that bespoke above his breath. ,,
“.Yes, yes; sinner—sinnerl”,   i 
And the tears fell faster. v . ,   

“Good Heavens, what a pitiable, sight V
thought Jack Bramber, with a shudder. , ‘f 
lirium tremens, I suppose. Well, I’ll get hiqfi
on to the village. Perhaps Ivmay meet
one who knows the old drunkard.’-’ ,. " ' 
Putting one hand on the horse’s‘ rein;:and
with the other grasping the arm of segments
proceeded in the direction. Within hall a
he overtook afield-laborer.  I '   
,“I say, my man,” he called, “canyon” 
me who this old fellow is, and' whereghelives‘ii
“Thot, zur,” said the laborer, with litmus
fingers irritating his shock head—J‘thot‘ibeioid
Jammy Stone; her ladyship’s pet's.
we calls ’un’. Be hedrunki What he 
ter, zur?” ' . _' ‘  1
Jack briefly explained. . ‘ = ,, ,
“An’ you risked your loife to save’un? f; , _,
wouldn’t ha’ risked moy horse’s, even,, the
drunken old reprobatel 'He’s allisstdronl: ”
reckon moy “lady would he) been '
pleased ifyou’d let he go. She haijiks‘f
these fifteen years.” f ” ' ‘ -» ‘r  _, 
h g’Why, was be disabled for werk}_Whe'jwas
e - ~ g ,  K-
“ Just a servant oop at t’ Castle. Disath
-—not as I ever heerdon. She’d pay himdo‘ul
ble, I’ve heerd, if he’d leave the plOic'e.” 
“I won’t leave, I won’t,” abruptly broke
James Stone, with senile passion, clenching :lsi
trembling hands. “‘1 waS'born,here,'-*aa§fim
won’t go for her ladyShip, ‘nor any one. *  
her ladyship trust me?” 7, r 
He gazed, with his weak, watery eyes; ‘
one to the other; then, apparently tor;
the cause of his wrath, relapsed into 
“ Do you mind. taking him" home?”
Jack, accompanying the request with-a m A.
fe/red shilling. f‘I’ll call and see howhe is“,
to-morrow. The shock may prove lure 
he can' battle against, after all.” ‘ f  " -
The .man, readily consentingp.» led
Stone 011’, and Jack Bramber, mounting 
horse, rode away in an” opposite directing-,2 -’
norant to what important results  g
risked his life inthis actor charity, waste?

‘ V I CHAPTER .VII. » "  1:2 .
TWO morosins or TMARRIAGHAGK’S  "
' ’mmsusrloion. 7   "

, Tainan-weeks. had  since the rescuers
old Stone, and} Jack number had been . 
'lionized for his bmifery. v, The universalyhpm
,ion, however, was, [especially int-he 
; that he would have shine a   so

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

i'sooietyrhad he'left'the old- fellow on the ; rails.
JamesStone. indeed, being always drunk, ‘was
an unmitigated nuisance, and why her lad yship
gshowm such favor to him, above others, ’w as a
surprise to all. In fact; others hinted, as had

have been better pleased had the express been
left’to remove James Stone out of her path.
 " From her‘ladyship herself Jack would never
have drawn» that conclusion.
we beenvmore profuse in her thanks and praise.
 in“ My late husband, Sir Hereward, was much
,‘attached to James Stone,” she said. “Trusted
him» quite like a confidential servant, and Stone
1 [wasa faithful creature. Unhappily, after the
"Baronet’s death he took to drinking. So, as I
could not keep him at the Castle, and could not
lethim starve, I thought, out of reSpect to Sir
.Hereward’s memory, it would be best to pension
"Thim' ofif. ,I am indebted to you much, Mr.
,Bramber. It would have deeply grieved me
had'the poor old man met“ so awful a death.
~Igshall drive over and see. him.” " r
, '_ Which promise her ladyship fulfilled; surpris-
ins;
dondescension. ~ 7
' " Had she been five minutes earliershe would
have ‘met Jack Bramber. Indeed, be frequently
decked in upon James Stone. Perhaps, as he
"saved his life, he felt it right he should
stakean interest in it.
‘sThe shock p‘roduCed upon the drink-sodden
old man Was never to be overcome. He sat in
his chair by the hearth, shaking like an aged
Mytid ‘ Even his craving for stimulants had
 :‘The only thing that arous d him was
the-entrance of ’Jack.’ His .dull gyes would
jbrighten, “and he always uttered the same
" _ -‘-_“,A you saved .me! Heaven bless
chair}: I‘ain’t fit to die! I sha’n’t die yet,
though Amos Peggin. sed my lady would be

line the poorlittle bit of money, than! Humphl
Il‘wondernif‘she’ll be glad when I’m really
dead? Ah,” catching Jack’s arm, “ but you
{won’t let me die? .You saved me once4-you
yam again; eh?”

“And so he would ramble on till Jack with~
drew—«mot, however, before James Stone had
made him promise to come again. ,
The: sweetest reward. the young man re-‘
 fired tor his prowess was the expression—s
-  pride in him, half fear for him—of Hilda
; Hume’s face when next they met. Her‘hand
trembled as he took it, and she murmured,
plaintiyely, “You were very brave—a hero!
But ill-you hadbeen killed, Mr, Bramber, oh,
Whatshould ‘I have done?” ,

 

    

        
        
    

smiling. down upon her.

.34 Mi'sééd, you! How eculd I have done other-
wiseli'nll‘d one has‘ever spoken so kindly to me

  

  

     

’enpd my. whoié’iiféir "You legend $551131in

1 find out that I come here!
I I , let me do-‘so‘ again!” ,
~‘the laborer, that Lady Cunningham would ‘

No one could .

the whole village by her unprecedented,

 Ha, ha! Would Shel: t She begrudges ,

 

I I p , ’ aloud. «
  you go have. missed me?” he asked, J
’ frightened, tender voice.

[you esteem: ~ You; seem to have bright

     
  
  
  
   
    
   
   
 
 
   
 
    
     
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
   
  
    
    
  
    
   
  
   
  
     
           
     
  

wretched that life has been—=4'so dun, so dream, T; 
And I tremble lest Lady Cunningham shouldg, .,
She: never would 5; 

“Poor child!” said Jack, in compassionate-fie
tones, gazing' at the lovely countenance-raised-‘T;
so trustfully to his. . “ Her ladyship appears-to. 
have only one person dependent upon her that’ii» a
she cares to be kind teethat drunken old fel-" ,.
low, James Stonei” « ' ‘ ' ' ‘1; g .g

“Yes/“smiledHilda, as, side byside,’ they- ‘_
sauntered under the trees in the early morn: 
ing, brushing with their feet the dew from the" ' '
grass and ferns; “is it not singular? She] 
treats him as she treats none other of her line I,
riors. Sometimes, but not often, he comes
half tipsy to the Castle, but she always re-‘
ceives him. It is strange!” '  - ‘ r

«“ Very,” said Jack, dryly, his hands clasped»
behind his back, his eyes on his boots’.’ “ Miss :. _
Horne, have you ever heard Lady Cunningham '
speak of her late husband’s son?” / J '

“Never more than that he oflfended his? ,
father by marrying beneath him, was disin- I
herited, and sent from the Castle, and was
never heard of ,again.” '

“ But' he did’marry the curate?s daughter?”

“Oh, yes; he had married her in secret
long before it was discovered.” . 7

“Do you think he did wrong?” ’

V“ In marrying the girl he loved, and Who ‘
loved him? No!” was the instant reply.

“Neither do I.” ’ ‘

“Only it was wrongtperhaps, to do it in
secret,” put in Hilda, like a rider. r

“ Ah! but I have heard that the Baronet
might have Overlooked. that after a» time, but
for her ladyship.” ‘ r”

a “That is possible.
and revengeful.” ' . ‘

“Did you 'ever hear whether Sir Herbert—4-  

 

She seems very jealous. ’ i

.for of course the title became his—~had any

children?” proceeded Jack, turning to get a
glimpseof the sweet face beside him. I r '
,“ No,” with a shake of the head; ‘ “ her lady--
ship never speaks of his affairs.” -  .

“All! and Mr. Rivers, the curate?” '
“Got an ezchange after his daughter lefty," 
and died, I think, a year or so later.” . ' r f;
Jack was silent, falling into meditation. A 3
He was a. robust, muscular young Christian, , 5,
yet had an imaginative brain for all that, and
sometimes the strangest crétchets Would “get 
into his head. ‘Now, abruptly, he threw up 
that member, and burst out laughing. . I 
“Why not?” he queried,, unconsciously, -

r I
l

l
a

“ Oh, please do not. for my sakel?! pleaded a
Looking, Jack 'beueld Hilda Home, peering:
anxiously among the trees. ’   = ' r  ' '

“I Would do anything "for yoursakefl; .

  

   

3

 

 

exclaimed/perplexed; “ But what,'>MissHome,
 am‘l'partiéularly not todo?” 1  v ‘ ~ :
‘ . “Laugh so loud, Mr. Bramberu Itsmight“

attract somebody’s. notiCe, and them-3’

' ' “.Then you would sufifer,” said‘Jack, as the

girl, stopping, drOOped her head. “Confound

u  it all,-that you should be in such a state of

 homage?! ~ ' ‘ s ,,

" j' f"Ahl”—and she looked up with a timid
,7 smile-e“ I shall run away one day, and try to

. work ‘for freedom and independence as agover-

:_ fne‘s’s'.” _ '

"  ,“ Freedom and independence as a governess,
Without capital. . Youl poor child!” said Jack,
gazing. still down at her as in a. brown study,

i, but as if he hardly saw her.

i» ' A flush cameto Hilda’s cheek. She had a

I ’ ' dim sense that she oughtto be indignant. But

._ how could she be with this handsome young

man, who spoke so kindly as, since that vague
recollection of her father, none had ever done.
Nevertheless, she said, “I think I must go now,

a . Mr. Bramber.” _ ‘

He still seemed wrapt in the brown study.

f‘ If I stay longer, I_ shallbe missed. “ Good-
morning!” . .
, She had taken a step away before be reused
himselt.— ; ‘ i .

Following, taking her hands into his, gazing
’ with earnest passion into her violet eyes, he

‘ said, in a low, quick, clear tone, “ Miss Horne-—

Hilda, do you know what love is? Can you,

do you think, ever love me? I loye you with

r all my souL Will you be my Wife?”

She turned red, then terribly pale, as, shrink—

ing bask, she gasped, “Your wife?” ', *
, 4 .But Jack could see the shrinking was not
a pain: he had onl startled her.

' , “\é‘, Miss Horne, confess to thinking there is a

mystery about you. Will you give me the

-, v right, as your lover and future husband, to un-

’ rave] it?” ' «

She had plucked her. hands away to cover
her face, and stood trembling before him. Was
it icy or sorrow that made her heart heat so
fas ? .  ' '

_ j “I will not ask your' answar now,” Jack

 «proceeded, gently. “My abruptness, I per-
" * ceive, has startled you. Take time to think

over it; and will yen meet members again to-

morrow, to let me know your decision? If-if
you can say yes, Hilda, you will make me the

* happiest man on earth.” _ ,. r

, _ " She lifted her head, tears were infher‘eyes,

; but they shone like stars. , Impulsivelyshe ex-

tended her‘fhands. ‘ I _

1“ 0h, Mr. Bramber, you can‘ylyour pity too

 farm-you are too good!” a / ‘ .

“My pityl—it is my love, Hilda,” he ex-

aclaimed, clasping her hands, and drawing her

site him. Canyon love moi”, . ~ 1

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 

aired not. some one among the trees. 

4,

r away.

    
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   

scared. ."girl, instantly taking alarm, 
' g-Jack had but tithe to whispers .
marrow, ” when,”nt "back, at  
gone. ’. '” ' ' . " c a ' 
“ Well,” repeated the young fellow, as
strode to the gate giving onto the road, 2‘“, I"
glad I’ve done it. v- Whatever may happe‘ in
the future, no stain shall be cast on my aired.
tion; she, at least, will know it was sincefd'k,
.He proceeded with quick .strides to 
Lodge, the fingers of’ one hand in his trowmfi
pocket, those, of the other pulling his 
tache. ‘ v ’ »:'  
“It’s a confoundedly queer crotchetfl ‘-
muttered. “How the deuce it popped intend}
head I don’t know. As the world is made up
of atoms, p’raps this idea, is~the atomskog
words, circumstances, molded" into form by
imagination, Ha, ha! One thing is certain ‘
it’s there, and will not be dislodged; and;
think there’s foundation for its tenacity. There
is another thing positiva: I’m‘ bound to Hilda”
Horne, and ”———1ifting his hat, as be bent 7
sparkling love-lit eyes on the blue ,sky-z—J‘idefi
Heaven for it!” 7 - ' ;, H L  :2 .
But these events, with "Hilda’s:whispered‘,"
happy confession of a reciprocal love, were 
the only ones that occurred‘during the.
weeks. 4  
One morning, Lord Bramber,,lt>oking 
ger than ever, having been longer than natal
over his toilet, which, save, to his washes.
mystery of mysteries, took his seat at, an;
breakfast-table with an air of gayety, and s?
claimed, as he waved the delicate... “ :rfum’en
from his handkerchief, “My dear Jack, 
gratulate' me. Yes, egad! ‘you are such
decidedly unselfish, right-minded, rightzseeiia
young fellow, that I ban really ask 19‘: your
congratulation.” -‘  ‘ ;  ’
.“I am ready to bestow it, I’
uncle, if it be for your happiness.” ‘   . '
“ My happiness? Gadl’? kissing hiszifin
tips. “ What Goth could doubt it? ’ Were;
really ever in love, my dear boy?” ' ,’ .
Jack evaded the question by saying; ,
suppose, uncle, in your case,'love and'Lad
Cunningham are synonymous? I draw 
your words that she has accepted you?’ - » i f":
“She has, Jack; I am the happiest menu
the world. Gad! I feel twenty years young ‘
And she isas amiable as beautiful. ' 1m  '
she made not the slightest demur.  g
approved of your remaining my heir as: 
the income. In fact, sheepokemost ._ 
of you, and of the» excellenti'ma 
a. fellow as you with your: appearanceis, ,
tainto make.”  '  I ,. -r   1"
“1am really much obliged to hen‘ladyshig
for taking an interest in my afliairs,” saldt‘Jack’
“Not malaise, 8116,03! course, reels‘é ‘

 

 

 

 

 

Before she could reply, therewas a ,distant,’

 

one of the .mmily.  highsounding
that ‘hai‘f laughed his"-;grdship,airsy- “Y”

  
 

 

  

 

Y0. 1" lovelyéteP-motherand 7 {shall y‘aixlSEiii-{ifi ; l
' Remember;that,lJ‘aok; We shallgei-

    

. 55!,“ ’ll not ferget,” responded Jack, ofi-handly,
“muttering, however, beneath his breath,
Confhund her l———does she suspect?” ‘ _
_ Breakfastover, Jack set ofl.’ to the village. «
tie bade. ball to make, and it was upon James

3300mm: ,x » l .
 ,aThat awful shock he had recaived was never
  got'pver bylthe wretched inebriate. He
was~,,rapid1y, sinking. No greater proof was
needed than the loathing he had taken for the ,

 

 

sunny he would sit in his chair in a state
‘ (apparent; stupor. Only Jack knew that I
here‘was vitality enough in him to throw'this
l! ifih'e chose

i“:  Cunningham carried her sympathy so
tar that she would have sent Jane Der'ner to |
firsehim; but’James Stone had'refused in, a
ashlonthat her lady‘ship had not deemed it 3
yisabieto’argue against. He only allowed
:ygwifeot aneighbor to come in as she had
a1 ' aye done for a weekly sum, to “tidy up,”

 Jack Bramber. . , ,
__ jflYo’u i saved my life at the risk of your
 1 said; “And I can trust you. , You
nit ant a poor old chap dead.”
 Cunningham, toward the close {of
 three weeks,,had jested her future step—
enn upon turning nurse. He had answered,
Weles‘sly, ‘fIam no nurse. But it seems the
htgfth‘ing for e to take an interest in his
fetched life. 5710, as an idle man, I drop in
say! How are you?’—-that is all!” r . .
Yougthink him nu” . , a 
‘ ', ' ’ The stupor increases. I shouldn’t
the-Jenni: surprised. to find one day that he
died-peacefully in his chair. ” y '
, " 'rJacksBramber been looking at Lady
fininghain instead of'covertly into the con-
_ ‘ Eat”  ,jwhere Hilda had been: sent to gather
, " “table flotsam, he might have been startled
"ff-gthe‘eingnlar light that appeared in her?
 rallies 6Y9“? . r
 [he Entered James Stone’s cottage, he
 the old man not in his usual placeby the
‘ _’W,L,h§1t‘seated in the corner near the fire-
‘graM‘ He was in a state of evident agita-

 

 
 
    
   
     
  
 
    
     
  
     

‘Whatlisllfiematterl” asked Jack. “ Aren’t

fifi‘efilfit’e‘ my opinion, sir, I’ll never be
that,” moaned the old‘ fellow. “I’m going to ,
" “f‘d‘he surest way not to recover is to give up
KL .3.  gg';.$tone,” said Jack, akindly. “ Though
"very-,onettheuldtry to, he prepared for death
~,henit.flighlies'.r For it must‘come one‘day-to
Wallflfi    " 7 , , '

 lite-that’s it! Prepared! "I might.
as  might live tor years—ehimfi, -1,

 
  

 

  

   
 
  

   
   

  

‘ out.

' _ “Mrs. Mather—she’s tidyin’ up

   

Jack, not truthfully, ‘but-encouragingly. ,‘ “  g
' “Well, that’s cheering; If you don’t mind, ,  .. ‘7
would you sit down-i I’d like to‘chat a.bit.’?, ' ' s r
Jack Bramber was One of the best fellows f .; 

 
 
   
    
  
    
   
    
    
   
   
  
    
      
    
 
   
    
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 

. Drawing forward a chair, .he sat down. ‘
" Half an hour later he made an inquiry. , v _  '

“Is there any one in the cottage besides our 7 -: ‘ '

selves?” ' , . ‘ .' :V

; and a furi-j

one row She makes, bother her!” , : 7  .
“She’ll do. *I’ll fetch her. \You’d better  ‘ ‘

have some beef tea, too, I think.”  j ' , 1
Jack went in search of Mrs. Mather, whom; 5 ’

he found banging old Stone’s feather bed, as if-

; it had been her mortal enemy. After a brief,

but rapid conversation, he led her into the
parlor; » ‘ A
A quarter of an hour later than that he left- I

the cottage, a strange elation on his handsome;

countenance.  . - ~ _
“If—if-e—lf!” he kept half singing to him- _ 4,
self; but it What, he did not state. ' ' ‘
That evening he told his uncle that'he thought
he’d run up to London for a few days 'for a . a
change. > ' e/ ,
“That’s right, Jack; by all means!” re— '
marked Lord Bramber. x “I have some com- ‘ ‘
missions, if you will take the trouble? 1‘ I 
So Jack prepared to start next morning, As v
he was in the pact of mounting the (logic-art to
drive to the station, a man came hurrying up
from thevillage.
“What is it?” inquired Jack. _ ‘ A a
“ Please, zur, I wor told to coom and tell ’ee  ,.
as ole‘ JemmyVStone Wor found dead in his ‘ ,
cheer this marning.” ‘ 
“In his chair? Then he had never been in
bed? Who saw the poor fellow last?”
“It mun7’a’ been Lady Cunningham. ' She ‘
called to ask how he wor yester noight.”
~ “Good Heaven!” gasped Jack beneath his _
breath, for an 11eg thought had’ sprung into
his brain. ' l , r‘ a.
James Stone’s death, however, did not. pre-
vent his going to London. I v ’  .

 

\CHAPTER VIII.   *  ~ ,3

AN mam menr~rnn BOOM IN' ran Was?  ‘
~ rowan. ' ,   _ -

ON the'night of James Stone’s death, Lady 

Cunningham,‘returning from her visit to him,, r' l

5 had proceeded at once to her bed-chamber.  if:

Here throwing of)? her outdoor, attire, she (die-
closed a face pale with indignation and passion.
Her very beauty made the expression of rage
the more awful. v . , , ’ I: .
Her bed-chamber was the large, dark 
paneled one in which,[Sir Hereward had died. ,4
She had always disliked it {or its 3109111,. buli-
11, _ 7» t  1y 4 {I 

. 5,.

 

   

 

 

 

then-L l. "was in  power’toiquitflthe "

Kg” ,_ r apartm nt, stealing, a fear‘kept her there;, _ p
""  ,l ’ I” They/Were the oak panels which had 
., _ those midnight pacings; and now her ladyship

.3  beganwalking to and fro, her fingers twitching

 ' convulsively, and a thin line of froth lying

h upon her lips. ‘

. I“ No sooner do I remove one obstacle from
my path than another springs up in it,” she
muttered. “But I’m not to be balkedmbalked
by her! I have vowed to 'set all beneath my

,- foot, and I will. 'Beggars I made them, beg-
:  gars they shall remain! Oh,” and her “eyes
wandered round the darkling room, “if only—
it only I had succeeded in that, I need have

‘ had-no fear—nonela, Now any accident, or any
day— But that iswnot the most important

 . subject at this moment," she interrupted. “It

  is this girl. So there are clandestine meetings

between her and Jack Bramberl I Wonder for

 

>35,

 

cunning has miss been! But she shall find I
can outwit her! , Does she——can he' mean hon-
' orable love? Impossible, in his position! Still,
men have been known to sacrifice everything
, tor- a pretty face-witness Herbert Cunning-
9 ham! Then, if I die childless, the Castle would
go by'right tohim and her. Never!”
The voice alone could describe the deep sig.
. nificance there was in that last word. , '
' “I; must discover—I must ascertain, the

I  ' trut ” proceeded Lady Cunningham, as, cros.

ing to the bell, she rung it three distinct times. 1

Then she sat. down, her lips compressed, her-
fa'e-e gleaming strangely white from the dark,
high-backed chair, and waited.
In a; briefspace the door opened, and Hilda’s
‘. slight, fair figure appeared on the threshold.
, , . “ Your-ladyship rung for me?” questioned the
' low, sweet voice.
’ V “I did. , Come in, close the door, and coins
Hilda obeyed, with a shiver, for the expres-
‘sion on the features of her patroness startled
her. The cold, hard, clear gray eyes seemed
to pierce her. : V,

a

 

   
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  

‘ mons, Miss Home,” began my lady, in chill,
 sneezing tones, as the young girl timidly

halted in front of her, with drooped, clasped
hands, and bent head” “I feared you might
not have returned. from younassignatlon with
your lover.” , ‘  v

A wave of brilliant red rushed over Hilda’s
(fair skin at the idea that her seeret had been
discovered. '

as she gasped, “Your ladyehipl”  ,

“What well-acted mazementl” broke in
 Lady Cunningham, with a short laugh. f‘IOr
‘ is your alarm created by finding; Miss Home,
,you’are detected? I suppose you do not mean
' to deny,

n"

how long this has been going on? Oh, how i

" “ I, scarcely expected you’ to answer my sum-T

Involuntarin she raised her frightened eyes.)

  "MGM twilight» his

 réhmi yourwe;“hislipspteésed’tfiml‘ '7'

t that Mr, Bramber is your lover?“ '.  "   

i f‘Yourwitnfissw, youriadyehie‘?” saves a
poor girl, overwhelmed with terror/slid

.fnsion., ' ' lb ‘

1
'i

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  

‘~‘ I witnessed. Returning from dry visit“
that 'Wretched old James Stone, Icame'throug
the trees, and saw your parting, I suppose, 
you have so soon followed, from your lover,
Mr. Bramber. Answer me, girl,” her
breaking into anger, and bringing 
fingers sharply down on the oak arms of (the
chair, “is he not your loveri?’ ' ‘ ' " 

onin Hi1

A violent struggle seemed going I .
slight frame. Then, rendered boldfby,’ ;.the
knowledge of J ack’sr affection, 1she ' said, ’- low;
but firm, while her glance calmly met 
other’s, “Yes, your ladyship,  Brambe‘r:
loves me.” ‘  ’/ ‘~ V V = "   ~‘

“How?” i " v  

“How?” and» the girl’s pure eyes opened»,
‘ muter interrogative. \ f v  

, “‘Yés, how? Hea gentleman;:you a'begg‘a
, a pauper dependent for your deilybreladl, Db;
’ you think he would marry such’as youl”;  s.

, Again that wave of color. Then, Withsnd»
denly ,erect, proud head and flashing. 5e"

l~Hilda replied, “Lady Cunningham,  “

 her is a gentleman; and is t00~noble, 

g est, to address me save as a lady; f Mgr-five!
helpless, penniless, dependen‘" Would in his 9‘

i be my Shield from insult.“ ' " ' ‘  ' 

Her lady ship. had dropped rather back in}; ‘ ‘
; chair, her lips more set, her gaze rivetedionf
1 girl. She was evidently taken by 
 this new spirit in the worm which uni-sister
1 she had held so easily beneath her hoel. 
' When she spoke again she no longer  so:
passion; she had‘measured her antagonM
l child, y ung, yet suddenly solresoluteejandm
. its uselessness. , - “.1 , .‘ . ' ‘  ’“ "
“Well,” she said, coldly
l honorably.” r I V 
1 “He has asked-me to be his wltefl: j,
cvc’And you?”  = K 1' - ,.  v:
I ~ "‘ Have ”¢-—with aqig‘ek- radiance of e:-
sionw“ consented.” ' l . ' ,  ' 
“A good thing for you. 'But haVe‘ydu,
l your wonderful ,amection, thought of him!”
I “I do not understand your ,ladyship,_”,: ,
, ‘l‘ The probable miseryrand trouble 
Yentail upon him byrletting him, out of a  I
l of chivalry, weda poor, penniless 
E .“ Why am Idependent,,Lady"(§uuningham
broke in Hilda 'AHorne. 1‘“ Not by; 
3 wish, but by your'will. avelnotentreatad
to go forth into the world, to workflcaredi v
5 how hardly, that 1} might winindepeedencé
and make my own future, instead 01! 
the bondage- II undergo ,yneath-Mthig‘  £3
,Why would you not permit meg?~   g
‘ Lady 'ECunninghani rose, stingy/“fared;
teen was 18813,“, but threatening; 

; “‘ he, loves g

l
l

 

  

 

  
     
    
   
    
   
   
  
   
    
  
     
    
    
   
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
    
    
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
       

 the future of» another as'you would
 Mr. Bramber’s. That you should not

self, as yourxfather’s daughter—a forger, a——”
. ‘, Stepl”_ ' And the girl,'looking straight into
‘fmy’lady’s eyes, said steadily, “Lady Cunning-
ham, who was my father?” ‘
A. shad0w, swift and fleeting swept over her
-’ f yship’s countenance; her‘ lips turned paler;
he stepped back. _
, Why do, you ask?” she demanded. “You
.22 \ r 4 . -

.. "Manythings. That he was, according to
:younaccount, your first husband’s cousin. In
 “case, why am I not permitted to see my
bar’s own'kin? Why
“agar to them?” ‘ ,
. ‘Your father disgraced them. They would
no awn you. They cast you on.”

am I kept here a

{it small hand. ( “ I said I knew many things.
{I 9w this: Yourrflrst husband had neither
:n lei ‘n‘or e aunt; there ore, he could have no
 You must hav told me wrongly.”
er} lady'ship never moved. . She only looked
her antagonist; yet there was a red, shifting
 t; in the eyes beneath { the half-drooped
shes, and a quiver of the mouth-muscles,‘ that

my not to expose her hand to her enemy,
“thecontest was not equal. '

utt’hraye in the assurance of Jack Bram-
leve, she no longer could, nor cared to,
K [I the new spirit within her. She had
 d-tobe friendless and alone, and the bonds
' 'ladyship ouce’revolted against, she desired

igshowin’g'h’er knoWledge to terrify the
/ confession.
, “u-Cunningham, after a space, slowly re-
» ed her seat, a smile partling her lips.
 this is wondertul,” she said. “ Then,
teEdm’und Home’s daughter, who do you
i you are?”, ~ 7 \ g V
‘  not know; I only have my suspicion.”
 ' "I permitted to learn what that points
 ~ on think you areirv?’ ‘ ~
hink yery possibly I‘am,”"said Hilda,
’ Sir Herbert Cunningham’s daugh-

‘ her Iadyship expected that answer.
' . ly‘idirectly it was given she burst into,
an a loud, derisive laugh. 
3'le  Herbert‘ Cunningham’s daughter!
tipfierbert, the mysterious!” she exclaimed.
‘ ' this'would add to the mystery and
fiertainly. Girl]: she added, sharply,
hisabsurity into your head?” ' I
,yu‘fgjresponded Hilda. “If it be an
, «tr. _, aLady Cunningham, I am just
felwa'sbefreiffl  " - '

a, 'i w > 1
vs,»

  
 

 

fl  you.  ~

r’ ngthe disgrace on others that rests on yonrr

“Stay, Lady Cunningham!” and Hilda raised,

 Hilda Horne have perceived might have!
her to keep her knowledge to herself— .

them entirely. In her ignorance, she '

 

raginings, never Would I have had anything to do, ’

with you, nor shown you charity.- But I’ must ‘ I
r The other can , ‘ 
wait until you can prove Sir Herbert had/a; ' "

pass to more serious matters.

daughter. You are aware that I am
to wed Lord Bramber?”

“I am,” - ’

“Then neither he nor I would countenance
such a misalliance as his nephew, according to
you, contemplates. I have agreed that Mr.
Bramber shall yet remain his uncle’s heir, but
if he wed you he will be disinherited—cast
adrift on the world, even as was Sir Herbert. .
Reflect. You say you love him. Will you
marry and cause his ruin, or will you sacrifice
yourself, and save him?”

Hilda paused, and then replied, “I must see
Mr. Bramber before I decide.” '

engaged "

“Impossible! You may write. There—K,
write! Give him up, and you shall have your ,

wish. You shall go abroad, and I will start,
you to win your independence.” ; v r
/“ Your ladyship, what you have ’said Ebout
my ruining Mr. Bramber may be true. If so,
be sure I should hesitate before doing that.
Yet, I must see him again. I Can. consent to 
nothing until I have. There'are circumstances 1,
which make it absolutely necessary.” ‘
Lady Cunningham looked at the girl through

,her long, drooping lashes, and-her lips began

to tighten with rage as she noted, her calm,
resolute demeanor. Then something like a
sensation of fear stole over her. ‘ ' '

What ' did she mean by “ circumstances?”
What wasztheir nature? ‘ w r

“Do you intend to say that nothing will 7 ‘
make you alter your-mind?” she asked. quietly, I
aftera pause of reflection. “ That nothing will
change you? That you will subject yourself
~and him to the pain of an interview?” I

“Nothing.” ‘ I ' .. -. .

“Then the matter is ended,” remarked her
ladyship, .if abandoning the subject. “John
Bramber’s uin rests With you, so look to it.‘ '
Only know this, and tell him, neither his uncle
nor I will be disgraced by such a union. There!
pass me my desk and stay here. I may want
you.” I , .
‘ Hilda, relieved at the cessation of the topic, ,
readily obeyed. Lady Cunningham, for a
quarter of an hour, occupied herself in sorting

_ and docketing letters, as if. preparatory forher ..
marriage, which was to take place in about
three weeks. One packet she .tied with red

tape, and put apart from the rest. ‘

. Her manner was composed; Had that.
thought of Jack 'Bramber’a; on hearing of
James Stone’s death, any foundation? It so, "

this was a wonderful woman, indeed. Suddenly;  ‘ 
'isherose. ’7 j ‘  p '

 

  

«a... ma y... will his...  n...“   "  " "
i was the answer, with a scorntulshrugn  ,  _’
I known you would have flown at'such high im- ' '

 
 

 
 

.,

    

 

    

’ pg, usual toneai'
r letters.” a -_ - » v . v

> The girl took the lamp, and'fhllowed. They

‘ ascended the broad staircase, their blending
‘ , shadows nodding and waving like warning

gnomes on the oak wainscot of the walls as they -

I .

went.

; Passing the next corridor, they ascended to

' . “the heart, which, like the former, had. but dis-
used rooms giving on to them, for they were
guest-chambers. Proceeding along the last,

Lady Cunningham unlocked the door or what

I, used to be called thfe west tower room, being
situated in one of the towers. On rare emer-
gencies, the servant of a guest would be put
there, so there were the usual bedchamber re-
quisites. Yet, the'place being round, and with
the merest slit for a. window, it had a prison-
like' aspect, especially as the door} was furnished

-, with a movable wicket or slide.

. ' _ Lady Cunningham, going to achest of draw-
ers, unlocked one, and put some papers in it,
then began to turn over some loose articles.
Abruptly, she said, “ I think I will put those
other letters here, too—those tied with tape.
Fetch them,,Hilda; you can. take the light. I
am not‘afraid of the dark.” ' _

‘ The girl took the lamp, and went. It was
.nearly ten minutes before she returned. She
entered unsuspectingly, approached the table,
and placed the packet down. '

“Here it. is, Lady Cunningham,” she- said.
Then, with a start, looked round, for she heard
the door close, and the lock turn!

She was alone, and a prisoner.

The next moment, the little wooden door slid
b??? and Lady Cunningham’s face appeared
a ,

1 “What do you mean by this, your lady~
ship?” cried Hilda, half-terrified, hall-11101?
nant. “ Is it a jest?”

“ Far from it. It is a method, Hilda Home,
to cure romantic, refractory children. If you
will not listen to reason, you must be made to
submit to force. Do not {care-you are safe.

~ Here you will have time for quiet reflection.

 Bramber, and I as his future wife, cannot
be disgraced. Directly youpromise to give up

 

John Bramber, and never ,see‘ihim again, you,
Until you do, you remain here!” ‘

shall be free.
‘ “This is shameful! It is “terrible!” cried
.- Hilda. “0h, helPl—helpl Is there no one to
' a free, to help me?” . ‘ ,

“None. As you are aware, directly this
door is closed, your cries, be they ever so loud,
cannot through this oak be heard, even down
in the next corridor. As to the window, it
runs slanting upward, 80 your cries could
never reach any one in the grounds. Now, for
the last time, will you go abroad, and give up
. JohnBramberi” .. z‘

x l.\ ‘ [a

 

   

   
  
      

' ,_"""V‘Bring"f5the' light, she‘said, in her 
‘ “SI ‘have_agot»~to_,look tor some‘ V _  a ,V r A
L ' l I, ' “I shall have asked the Question s1 «
day‘ for two months,” said

 

h, Gavan at the Castle”, '

     
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
    
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
       
  
  
    
   
 
    
  
  
   
    
         
    
    
          
     

'  new)” repliedythze'
“thoughIdiel”  

gm; its: "

, her glady'sltfi.
“ Then, if you still remain obstinate—J?
, 44 Then?» - r, I .. -/  :
The gray eyes glittered like a cat’s; the voice
came tense, clear.  ‘ ' ‘  '
“Then—I will kill you! Farewell!” r '  ,’
{And without another word, Lady Cunning;
ham secured the slide, and groped her way
back to her. bedroom, where, sinking into‘the
high-back chair, she murmured with“satisfaea
tion, “ That is accomplished. «It was: well
thought of; What could have made hérfhit upon
that idea. of being Sir Herbert’sdfiughter! 
is singular. For her, it is dangerous. W 
to cross the panther’s path than minel" T  ‘
Her beautiful brows contracted. She drains “'
med her fingers thoughtfully on the tableythe’
runs; for Jane. , I   ’

. fv
“i.—

CHAPTER IX. ,
m LAWYER’S Lama—nnsrnnnnom‘

vFOR a week matters went on pretty much 
usual at Weirbourne—that is, as far as’a‘ppeaa}
ances went. James Stone had been bane
much to the village’s relief, and the “preps 1
tions for Lord Bramber and Lady Gwmdolifie’
marriage were progressing rapidly. i,‘ 3 "
Large packages from West End .tradespeop’le‘
were incessantly arriving at the Castle or 
Lodge. ' '  1 f
. His lordship fell in a beautiful ,dmamnfifi
all the time he was not with his future 
was busy with selections of bones, 
upholsterers, tailors, and others. v, _ 
The village caught the ‘ infectiougan‘d,’ in
pectancy'of gay doings, began to prepare
.the day, too. 1 ' , ; ‘ _
In the midst of the bustle Ja k Bram ‘
came back, looking decidedly be ter jar: K
trip, though at times his manner was 
byra restless excitement that Was not  '
to him. 3 v j ,' I
'When he' saw his uncle’s arrangements
the soon-coming ceremony, his counan
changed someme A certain regret  ’
about his heart. v " * . ,1
“ Confound it all r» he,muttered. “Yet 5 “ I,
can a tellowxlo?” ~ _ - -, if
It appeared not easy to decide, especially
Lord Bramber was full of talk, being inexceh-
lent spirits, as’ they sat. at the‘llate dinner,- "
timeror which-Tack had arrived. ’ ' ’ 
“Are you engagede this evening, V
asked the nephew, abruptly. ' {Ti  , ¢ .
“1am, Jacks You see I  _ 
your return. I shall leave, yoa‘tog‘nk, ,
wine alone, my boy. I’midue  “ '

     
   

   

       

    

 

  

shortness the .mtfiftjag-i

.},2 , g .n
, fitting; , I I
or, that kindotthing's"? 

demerits

   
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
    
   
    
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
    
  
  
  
   
  
    
   
  
  
   
   
   

the. day after-tomorrow.” , '

l

g  r, “ Ah,” said Jack, thoughtfully, then. “ Wei
 whatlhave to speak to you about

 as well at breakfast time as now.?’ ‘

’ "Not,,,caught ‘inj Hymen’e net yourself, eh,
' .‘,‘I don’t know,”—-4with a careless laugh.
i ‘3th as to the Castle, I suppose things are go-
" ing on just as when I left? No influx of vis-
itor's?! «.r '  ' '

i ffNo; those that are invited, are to arrive
only‘within a few days of the ceremony. , All
, siiyet the same; except, by the way, that

pretty “girl, Gwcndoline’s protegee, Hilda

s Heme—J ‘ j ’

 -“ What'of heri” inquired Jack, quickly.
-~_g“Has left the Castle, to visit some of her
"ladyship’s friends.” , r , ‘
iii/{Left the Castle?” repeated Jack Bramber,
aingigerceptible fall in his tones“ ,

w‘fi‘L; ent away, I Was told, the very day you
did.” ,I don’t know Whether she is to return for
 or not. Now, myboy, I must ask
a you to’; ex’cus'e me,”——and his lordship rose.
‘fi‘It, Would hardly be (,the right thing, you
new, fora lover to keep his mistress waiting;
at}, suchfa: mistressl”—'-kissing his fingertips.
'7 heats divine; as lovely as she is good.”
Does he really, sincerely love heri”.1'efiect-
,.;sdj.Iack, watching theantiquatedbeau’s jaunty
1’ exit from the room. A .

, Then-dropping back on his chair, his counte-
nce’grave, he muttered, “Hilda. left the
ahead 0 Suddenly! She knew nothing of
twentyezhet that night,v1’,d swear, or she
Wouldhayze tbld me. Can there be anything

 

 

Verb. :.Well, but it is a game, two can play
. :I, must find out. Hilda will surely ha e
 to leave some communication.” .,
2 Finishin his winehurriedly, Jack Bramber
‘9, took is‘hat, and sates: for the old ren-

 

 

 

 g‘rounds." Of course he did not expect to
 I'Hixldag'hut he did a notice from her, as to
w [and where she had' gone. ,
5, , , alkingstraight to an old oak, whose fibrous,
:hnctty'base was ‘ covered with fern, he drew
’ Winner aside, and put his hand into a small
a, till  concealed, in the trunk. Natur-
11y, he found it empty; , t I
7" Sfjt’s strange,” he muttered. “ She couldn’t
'  1;! "d an opportunity to come. And I’ve
  , ong suspicion if I were to ask Lady Cun-
hingham where she, is-gOne, she would not tell
mal'vwlshould-‘iear for-my darling’s safety if I
 inedifier }ladyship~eould,, at all have sus-

 
  
 
  
    
        

     
   
   
   

   

 a

‘ , men. 7 ». 4

    

" nypriegangtengand worked .in‘se'cret like

I V _ v ,t'TLgrOnnds. ‘ g V _ ‘
“ND, not: yet? that maid“, i8. Yin-take, 151m  even when 'it’oocurréd that-in a week’s time 

knit? J‘He who does will yet dare,’ says the .

ehyomwfor old 1t :was now—4n the Cunning»

  Blit'that’s {expressible 1’V°ia“en‘°° ‘

 

 

   

   

‘ nuringiiasss’aneeaasg . aerating; ,
1139' was annoyed, but notvfiiineasy, :

l,

 

 

l Hilda might'hav‘e 'writt'en. Fear-.0! her letter 
‘ falling, into’ other hands would have prevented l
i that, as she did not know his London address, , ~ ,

i : and was uncertain about the time of his return - p, 4"

:to Weirbourne. '80, as he strode along the j -.
g high road, he turned his ‘eyes with very difler-. 

5 ent feelings upon the Castle than he would have i
_‘ done had he known that his beloved lay pining 2 
‘ a prisoner in yonder high, gray tower, rearing 

;’ itself up into the slate-blue, gloomy sky, and

how frequently her piteous cries issued from .V v
the loop-hole to beat themselves against the' r '
j vault of heaven, but never reaching earth, fromf "
1 whence help might come. ’ ’ i ' '

Ignorant of this, Jack Bramber retired early,

, fatigued by his journey; but mental excitement-
: overcame physical Weariness, and, broad
I awake, for long he tossed, thinking about that
:conversation with his uncle on the menus?

which was to be n‘o'pleasant one, and for ,whicu
f Lord Bramber might blame him and feel exces-
‘ sive anger; also'of the communication which
I he knew was to arrive ,for Lady Cunningham
', by the earliest post. '

In fact, he knew the next day would be an
eventful one. He was right. But it was to
exceeg even his expectations. -. _ T  '.

As eriladyship, aw'akin'g’to it, pushed back”  I
the heavy curtain,vshe saw the morning ~was
bright and beautiful. . . _ ' - 

“How oppressive has been the night, Der.“

ner 1’ she said to the servant ho had entered I

“,And so still, my lady!” as the.c'urt re~
, spouse. ” If.there?s any more such nights, th , ‘
girl up there may make herself heard. I ' 1‘
sure I’ heard her once lastnight.” ‘a , _ -

“Never!” cried her ladyship, "starting, up.
“It so, I must see to it.” 4 ' .

J ans Derner, facing round, looked fixedly .at'
her; then, raising her finger, Said, in sentences,
that were not vague to the (bearer, “Not in ' ‘ ‘
that way, my lady! Recollect that.~ There’s. i,
been enough of it already.” , I ' a

Lady Cunningham’s fine-shaped lips coma 
pressed viciously; but she rejoined, with 'a. TV 
mocking laugh," “As if there were no way of”
keeping the child quiet but onel’f .

. “Humphl you can laugh; I can’t. As I’ve ~
said over and over again, it isn’t fair." But 
there! ill seeds once sown canlt' be'pieked up
1 again.” ‘ ‘ ‘ ’
'3 “ You are right;

and cease maundering.’ ,  \
‘ Elegantly attired tn a tasteful‘morning toia, -'
lette, Lady Cunningham descended to the , 
lint-ight little apartment where she always break-j ‘ ‘ *1
asted; . a ‘ " _ fl '  

A heap of letters awaited her, and those in
blue envelopespredominated; ‘ , ‘ '_  ’ 
They were? from. those West End. trades; ' '

1L

 

so help me to drks,’Derner,  L

)

    

 

 
 

 

 

» install he bitter!

 

- theman,’ now on horseback, paSsed .her‘ on.

 road, and every now and then kept turning";

:up in her path. I ; r _
 ’ Li‘JI‘couldn’t escape it I would l”,she muttered.

' “(That man has a warrant for my arrest in his

pocket! I know it! It I attempted. to fly, he
 serve it! Affairs are desperate! Well,
‘i‘so’ am I! Before all things. my revenge; and
They shall seel”. ’

 

,  , CHAPTERX.
,. ., PHILESS .UNTO DEATH—SUNSHINE.
" :A~GWOM. hung over the Lodge. Jack had
may at, last, but after much nervous de-
day; As the morning dawned, the difficulties
“ioff‘his part' seemed considerably to increase,
lend greater caution to be requisite. '
 Supposing'his uncle wastso infatuated. as not
ito'believe? Supposing, flying into a passion,
' eweu‘t‘over. to Cunningham, and put her lady-
ship on her guard? There was nothing more
kiily', and nothing Jack would so much avoid.
,What was to be done‘! Better to defer his
Wintelligence until after the arrival ofrthe lawyer,
’ mew» that idea was rather too late. Lord
'Bra‘ihher, whose memory .had even, like him«
inelfiiehemed to grow younger, would surely in-
Wfltf that news was which Jack had
 oconimunicate. .
ffiSuppose I go Out, and don’t see himi’fre-
Jack, ruffling his silky, hair’into a per-
ttéettangleiinuhis perplexity. “Not until the
stag, that is? It is but justice, it is but
ndness, that, he should have the news first
on: me. I fear he'll be awfully cut.
;::Be£dre he, could decide, Lord Bramber en-
" ed the breakfast-room, and, to, cover his
HtetionrJackseized one of the morning pa~
 v The first thing his eyes rested upon was

 
 

 

r:Tl':ie"seized upon it as a drowning man seizes a ,

trim but it rendered him truer service. Lord
.gramber growinterested, and Jack, metimes
” ot‘knowing'the w0rds he was uttering, read

, on, until Ciegg appeared with his horse, and he

“Fora timevonly. He returned during the

itemoon, meaning, however, again to take
‘fiigihwbut-it Wasnot to be. _

Ashe was passing through the hall, Lord

mother, o'peningthe study door, called him in.

{3‘13}! the way, Jack,” he said, kindly, “you
 something to speak tome about. *At least,
oui'said so last evening. It was very careless
x F!  to forget, my dear boy. You should
'havbl.rreminded me. But I suspect that horri-
lbie‘rmurd'erput it out of 0th our heads, Mur-
‘dh'ri ‘Thevrnere word"m as one. shudder. I
 conceive many things, Jack, but I cannot
that“ One being taking methods life. In my

avg. no

  

   

V  V, (W: i, I . ’ I  .1, w‘::_.‘   '1,“  
 was made sure of'it Before Shewetmed‘” ' Buc'there‘

murder that was for a long time to excite!

 

  

 «mutate  died. '



I’fdon’t helieve  ;

   

the murders5thege' are if. théy"wére n.0,, ymmny

and talked about so much. Let/115,2“; least, 
change theasuhjec't.’ You. Want ’to speak to ’
rue-J to you—eandmope' both subjects will be i

of a pleasanter nature.”

Never had Jack Bramber felt more wretch- I

edly uncomfortable. All had seemed to be such ;
plain sailing until new. * 7 .-

INM

“You wish to speak to me, uncle?” he said?

seeking yet to gain a few minutes’ respite. ’
“Yes; I wish, my boy, to arrange about

your/futurth settle a larger income on you, - A

made’his statement of James Stone’s confession,
his suspicions that Hilda was really Sir Her-

_ you know,vfor you will not care, of' course,rto ,-
be tied :down to Cunningham. But your afiair ‘
first—yours first.” ' Iv

' Then Jack, taking his courage in both hands,

f.

bert’s daughter, and how he had placed the ‘

matter in the hands of Messrs. Granite, Hard«
were 85 Son. ' . , ”
Lord Bramber was at first surprised, then
frightened, then angry. Why had Jack dared
to act thus, on his own responsibility, without
consulting him? ~ ' ‘

“ To save you, out of very deep Consideration ‘ ‘

to you, my lord,” replied Jack.

“I knew that

the chivalric sentiments you hold toward the:
sex would have moved your heart, too genera ,f

ously, to sacrifice yourself for them. ' Also,
aware of your affection for Lady‘Cunningham,

I wished to keep your name "from the unpleas-  l

antness of being mixed up in thisunhappyr

matter; though, love her as you may, I do not .

think you would care to wed a woman Who, I
fear” has committed worse than robbery—even
murder 1” ’ ‘ '
“ I don’t believe it. I will not; at least, «sir,
without further proof.” ' V ' ..
, So es‘trangement grew between the uncle and
nephew. They met at dinner without speak-

ing, until, testily, Lord Bramber said, as they»

sat, silently over their wine,“" How insuflerably.
close it is! Can’t you draw back the curtains?
What induced Clarke to close them?”

As Jack complied, he uttered a loud excla—’
nation;

“The Castle is on fire!” ' '

“What’s the matter?’? demanded my lord. ' I I

“ Fire!” repeated his lordship, springing up.

“Yes, uncle. "By Heaven, she has set fire

to it to destroy the will and: proofs of her 

guilt!” -

“Jack Bramber!” cried; my lord, though he ‘

had turned white; “how dare you?”

But Jack had rushed into the hall, seized‘his ,

hat, and was oil? to Cunningham. He had not .

beendeceived. The West tower was in flames.

He hadiseen the glare on the windows, and the ~
rolling volumes of’smoke, When he pulled

the curtain. IBefore he had gone tar,3he met

    

crowds of excited villagers running

.H‘K

nae-am ,

   
  

  
 
  

     

, W5" ” '

   
 

    

 

 

 ,,*with the word “Fire!” ., y _ , , I
. > '1 The engines had been sent for; every bucket
 and every hand was in requisition. r .

‘ [ A's Jack rushed With the crowd. through th

_; detective accosted him.

 

sir?” " \
 “I fear 80.” r , ,
“ She’s a determined one, she is!”
‘ , “I suppose the flames can be got under?”

, L .“ Not the west tower. . Rat’s done fer; and
there, a’ course, the Will’s hid that nobody
could-find.” ,

. 0n reaching the front, the detective’s words
,. ' proved true. The rooms. of the west tower
n V were'chiefly of oak panel, and burned furiously.
The place was doomed. " »
yWhen the firemen arrived, they confirmed
this, and directed. their efforts; to prevent the
'spi‘ead'ot theflames; while a band was organ-
ized to. carry out and guard any valuable fur-
niture, pictures, and plate.
“ Where is Lady Cunningham?” inquired

 

 

confusion.

“Safe, sir.
are to be removed. [No one is in the west tower
now.” .

“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Jack; then
~ ,, turned,_ior, as the man had sped on, a hand
was laid on his arm. Looking down, he be-
held the scared, pale, terrified face of Jane
Derner. ' *

“Its false,” she whispered, excitedly. “ He
doesn’t know. I’ve gone far, and done much
with my lady, but I can’t do this. There is
‘ some one in the tower, and she can’t getput, for
g ' she’s locked in. Oh, horror! I fancy I hear the
‘ ‘ screams above this hubbub; butit can’t bel”
,And she wrung her, hands. “0h, save her!
save her! Here is the key 2”

      
    
     
    
  

'; in, woman? Whom?” ~ _
 r  “MiSS Hilda Horne-0r Hilda Cunningham,
:7 Q for. that’s what she isl—that’s What she isl” 7,

’ , I, With a loudcry, Jack seized the speaker.
‘1...;‘.‘ Womanfi’he ejaculated, “you speak not
I "truly! Who dared look her there? If it’s

- "true, I’ll kill you.” . ,

 “It was Lady Cunningham, I'tell you. It
(you stop to kill me you’ll never save her. , Are
,you mad? On, on; the smokeniay already
1 51love overpowered her,” oried’jhe woman, ex-
  “And, mark me, should you meet
my lady on yourway, she will not allow you

 r” .. I 1‘ . '7.
By: this time, Jack had recovered himself.
283w the necessity oi being cool, and acting
; ,Pflyi. Even now; ohifieavenl he might

   
  

 
      

  
     
    
    
  
     
   
  
 

   
  
  
 
 

,' d' ire: a;ngdahimself,:whfletllérflfi,fiagivwmflhg ‘

gates, the man whom my lady had declared a. had been pretty Well separated from the. rest

of the building, but ethere the ham es” g'rraged,
“ Do you fancy you can account for this fire, '

{ Jacket afservant he managed to stop in the ‘

'1 She is directing what articles

{closed fast round him. .

Jack seized it, as" he cnied, “ Some one looked.

_ Heaven, should he find her sufiocetedfidesdl

 had been her preservation. It

 

abattier tothe smoke. V  v   
'rushedjin,  

  

accompanied i hiiii, as far as  dared”? then;
gave, him directions too clear *tdbe‘ misunde
stood. ‘  ‘ i " ’4  "  v 

By the energetic efforts of the firemen, and 
the copious supply of water,‘the west towel". "

  
   
  
    
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
    
    
 
  
  
  
  
 
      
      
       

fiercely, with fiery tongues runningover and
clutching relentlessly the old oak panels, while
volumes of smoke, thick and stifling, roiled
through the corridors and up the staircasos, 
if on guard. . ' , "
But Jack Bramber,-rage and terror in his,
heart, was not to be driven back by‘h‘eatvor‘
smoke."  ‘ l' ':
Swiftly be mounted to the first  "
then started back amazed, for abruptly,  'o _.
the dense , smoke, came Lady Cunningham. ”
Her eyes flashed with hate as she beheld him. «9"
» “ How dare you enter here?” she exclaimed;
“What want you?” i ' ' Ix  .
“ To freeMiss Cunningham, wnorn you have
here a prisoner,” he answered, passionately, .
‘ ‘It is falso! Who told you that?” ‘
“That matters not. Stand asidel” he,
authoritatively; for, as the smoke grew‘hotter;
and more stifling, he knew how preciduswas.
every mement. . . ' a u 
“I shall not!" she retorted, barring hispwey

   

“ I tell you there is no one there”, 4  ~
It was no time for ceremony.’ Jack'caught'
her by the shoulder, but like a vise « her smug
“You shall not gol’? she hissed throughj_.he
teeth. “You. have thwarted me~once, Jehnx“
Bramber; you shall not again. We’ll diedvteé,
gather, rather!” , , ' .3 “
“Woman! fiend I” cried Jack;r~strurggling;’
free himself; “is not your list of crimes In.
enough but that yen would [yet add: to it?!
Know that 'James Stone’s body is toffbe' ’
burned, and if poison be found in it, yoa‘ g
be charged ashis destroyer!” . ‘ w ‘ ‘
“Ah!” 0 ‘ :  a. 
Lady Cunningham could not controlfth
guilty start- Jack seized his advantage,iaud
flung her violently from him. She reel”.
staggered back, and disappeared into they I
of smoke. ,, I, j ’  r‘ ‘ I s a); ‘
He heard her fall; but it was not to 
posed he would risk Hilda’s safety by attendih 7
to her cruel enemy flrétl Choking ,'.withi_the
stifling smokaahis veins swelling, his breat fl,
labored, he sprung Jon, stumbling atwtifiiea,‘
fearful ever that he should be too late. Oh,

 

  

    
 
     
     
    
    
     
    

  
  
  

  

  

 

  
  

The [door was reached at last, the Iihyin
started; the next instant Jack was in the room,
, That strong door; Which had: Smotheredfier.

  

       

 
  

 ii. ,

  
  

 

Khaki-£1,031,“ dean“ brave I Jacki—4th; , 
yet? she enclaimed,» in tears of hysterical joy.
“Saved, ,savedl” ,. v , ‘ .' r  I ,
, Que long, passionate embrace, taken, as it
were,;in the very jaws of death; then, with a
fewhurried‘word‘s‘of explanation, and an ené
insaty'that she would trust in him, which she
 to- by a fond hand-presenre, be, half-
Ieading,ha1£-supporting her, and finally carry-
‘ing,,fou‘ght.his way back through the smoke,
,hich, to his alarm, was'ra‘pidly becoming of a
reddish hue. -; v. a i 1' ' '
3,, 31mins anxiety for his beloved charge, be for-
»ghtLa-dy Cunningham. But on reaching the
, arridorgno one attempted to'bar their progress.
The? place seemed deserted. Had Jack recol~
(flied her, he would have imagined she had
wiselyprovided’ for her own safety. '
-“,"With .much difficulty, finally, staggering and
M11343 as one drunk with wine, Jack Bramber
at  reached the ground floor with Hilda.
  sawiftly'they made, their ,way to the un-
touched portion of the Castle. they met others,
assesses had but time to give Hilda to their
re before'he fell insensible.
, fAiiifthe same, instant, there was a fearful
 Those without beheld an instant’s dark-
est, Quickly followed by a mighty cloud of
iiiliantgsparks,followed by an upward rush
'négreatspiral flame. r
“The-«lower portion of the west tower had
Len-in, bringing much of the upper with it.
.Inijfa’lling, Lady Cunningham’s temple had
; .efir‘inisuch violent contact with a projection
:ef the cornicejoi the wainscot as to cause in-
bitity, and there she still was lying uncon-
when Jack Bramber hurried by with

  
   
     
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
   

 

 

finally, however, had they passed, than her
, sesjbsganto return in a dazed fashion.
 by the blow,.stifled by’smokerrher
 fiwas‘ not clear; enough for reason, er
weéptfienljothé‘r imminent danger. All she
enlisted distinctly Was that Jack Bramber
dd gonerescue' Hilda, and her._resolve to
339-1311113- '  ‘ . , . ;'
She'li'groped her way to the stairs, and as-
lided ,them, reiterating like a madwOman,
“at at 'the‘moment She was, “he can’t save
fiérfihecan’twhe can’t! He hasn‘t the key—-
“fifehasn’tthe key! They’ll both go~bothl My
revengewm be complete!”- , I
When, hawever, she *found the dooropen,
widths room empty,with a. scream of rage,
ghesrushed out and down’the’ stairs.
‘ ~Biinded,f‘giddy, dazed, her hands burnt, on
ohing the first corridOr she missed her foot.-

 

 

  
     

“have beenltruei-fthat newsma-  V

. ningham?

 

fell before She could recover herself.

* 1: came, the wall and staircase were
ca “ j way, and Lady Cunningham was car-
fledewith them, never toopen “her eyes in this ‘
id'again;  Sir Herbert’s words to ‘

 
  

   
  

  

   
 
 

     

'nnto death.  I ,  

Had it been Lady Cunningham’s intention,‘ " ‘

as no doubt it was,vto destroy the will and
Hilda, the only heir to Sir Herbert, in partnshe
had succeeded. V, _ " _ ‘

The willvwas never found!

,That it‘had existed was put beyond dispute “ ‘
by Jack  r

by James Stone’s confession, signed

and the neighbor’s wife, Mrs. Mather.

That had stated that he, James Stone, and '

 Sir Herewand’s valet had been summoned into '

the Baronet’s presence during the absence of
herladyship, and required to witness their
master sign a paper. They were paid to‘ hold
their tongues, and given to understand it was

a will, reinstating Mr. Herbert, and most hand-. , .

somely providing for Lady Cunningham. ,
He dismissed them with the entreaty that,
should he die suddenly, they would make the
existence of this will known, if he had not don
so previously. " I r

The Baronet dead, the valet had believed I‘
that he was doing right in telling her ladysb’ip, .
' of the will. Whereupon, not without muchjdiflL 

culty in either case, she had with a. large sum

. purchased the witnesses’ silence, James Stone,

consenting to take less if he were kept ’ in idle-
ness all his days. . ' ' , ‘ ,

In regard to Hilda, her identity Was aqua, : 
placed beyond dispute, for Jane Derner also it

confessed everything. "Lady Cunningham ha i
sent her the very day after the 'Baronet’s death "
lac-London, to remove Herbert’s child, as if to'

might be owingin Herbert’s name.
The little thing was at once put to

teen, when she was taken to, Lady Cunning-
ham, who was then abroad.,j ' < '

There was one mystery yet that: needed elu- I  i
become otgHerbert Gun» , ‘

cidating—what had

" Here Jane

only obtained by chanCe. -.

Having been down to the village on-the night I '

previous to the Baronet’s death, in taking a

short cut through the trees she had come upon , 
One she knew to be mylady; - _,T
imagined was Herbert Cun-

two persons.
the other she had
ningham. '

She Could not get near enohgh to hear what" ,v

was being said, but the two seemed on friendly,
terms. 7 . . p ‘ ” '

Before they, parted they had come closer, and
J ans Derner heard Lady Cunningham distinctly
say these words: “Farewell until to-mOrrow.
,I need not sa‘ be punctdai.” ‘ -» ' ‘

The next, ay, entering the oaklbedhchamb‘er'

     

F

take it to its father,_and to pay any debts that, .,

n ,. . when as “
Hilda Horne, and there sherreinained until tour- ,

Demer could give a little, but. i;
very little, help, and, that, she averred, was

   
 
 
  
 

 

 

  

   

 

 
   
  

:WfléiliififBairénet has under, theihfluezicezoze 
ectoi'ite she hed"‘fiekh my lefimominsfthmngh?
the ‘sebi‘et panel into the more. Jane-Denier;
hed‘ noiselessly withdrawn, :mnperceived; 5but

the passage herself,‘pbut (found nothing, save”
that the’boards were very unsafe, and at one
1/ part had, as it appeared, to her, recently- broken,
' :iOr been broken away, exposing a dark, yawn—
r‘ifi , chasm-below. ‘ I
' " hether Jane Demer’s recital was true, or
eh'eqha‘d reconstructed it to shield herself from
’ *th'e'punishment of complicity, could not be de-
cided,‘but the connecting link of her story and
Sir Herbert’s singular disappearance was ar-
-« rived at when the workmen, removing the
_. ruins of the west, wing, came upon a skeleton,
‘ . which the letters and remnants of clothes
,‘,.,_found near, proved to have dncehgaen'Herbéai’t"
{Cunningham at a spot that must have been
immediately. beneath the secret passage. ‘
7 Lady Cunningham had lured the unhappy
wan to his ruin,and he had fallen into the trap.

 

  

  
  

 

 

:1
l p
’1
s
1

Little remains to be told. Though the sec-
; end will was never discovered, Hilda, by the'
 first, canals, into her right, as Lady Cunningham
 had‘diéd unmarried, , , - ' _ . p ,
 Being so friendless, she‘readily'eonéwntm to
_ : 'agui‘et' union with J 2101:, when they "started for
;  the Continent, to which Lord Bramber, rather
:, {tier-estfallen, but thankful for his escape, had
 ,\ already flown. ‘
 I '_It"flwas three years before Mr. and Mrs.
éf .Br‘amber returned to Cunningham, which soon
put ‘on quite “a gay and festive appearance.
 Happiness, as unalloyed as earthly happiness
 can be, took up its perpetual abode there.’ The
' "ancient Walls, and the dim, soft shadOWs among
., ‘the‘old trees, were made musical by children’s
,j laughter. But to their dying day, a cold, chill
 shudder would pass through Jack, and Hilda,
’ .f‘e van in their suprem‘est moments of happiness,
,  when they thought of beautiful Lady Gwendo’
:- dine and 'her better vengé'hnce. ' ’ '
" END.

   
  
   
 

 

, «a?!
’ k

if;  Dime Dialogues ‘ Neu- . 32-! a

,’

 

f‘v'Containing eighteen Minor Dramas, Ehtravaganzas,
Bur-leagues, Forces. Dress andHu‘morous Pieces, for
fhéelureteur Stage", .l’arlors,~ Schools and Exhibitions,"
All. original ‘a‘ng by mom ’Tautho'rs, professors.
and amateurs. ' V r 7 '

Fist 'shléby all newsdealers, or sent, pestpaid, on
momenta—en bests» '- ' ' '
s: when}: AND news, rearranges, .

  

  

 

  

 

 

'  whenvher time came to Watch, she had entered .

‘  eelpt of Six  perninnber.  jg. *

    
    
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
   
    
 
  
   
  
     
   
    
 
  
   
    
   
  
   
  
    
   
 

 

 

“  "  ‘ I," “1  i.  .    I," _, ' 5: ’ .
,Heli-lltmeSingersh 
, 1 who'll, Emu! and 59 other songs.- ‘ ‘
tenants Cm and 57- other Songs; . N; , _'
:8. THE 'GAiNssorw‘ Her and fizvother songs. 
4 J 03m Monem‘ and 60 other Songs; - V‘ g,
5-PLL,STRJKE You WITH A  
6 Gnome THE Cams and 56 other Se'nge.’
V 7 THE BELLE or Rocket”! and 52 other Songs ‘
8 YOUNG Fem. YOU'RE Too Fens}! andfio others
9 Sm: YoUNG .GIRL and 65yother. Songs. 7   
10 PM THE Govnmon’s ONLY Scream 58 other
11 MY  Wand 65 other Songs. I ‘ I :1 ’ 
‘12 COMIN’ T5110" THE RYE and .55 other 
13 THE Romcximé 131mm 5mm 
14 OLD Doe TRAY and 62 other Songs; , ‘
15» Wnos. CHARLIE and 59 other Songs; '   
16 IN mt WHEAT BY AND Br and, 62 other
17 New! Lies and 58 other Songs; V e , l i .2;
18 I’M mm Box THAT’S 133m TOVVBLAZE and 5,7912%
19 Ten Two Owens and 59 other Songs. ‘ 5 " 
20 Wail-r 41m THE' WILD ' WAVES Sume,‘ 
and 59pt11er Songs; , ~ . 5K
21 Ixmemur £01m Woo and 59 other song;
22-'1‘nn OLD ARMvCHAIR and 58 other Songs," 7"
23  Comer ISLAND BEACH and 58013161" songs.
‘24 OLD Smog, run HOT-CORN MAN end Mothers. 
25PM IN Love and 56 other Songs.  '
26 PARADE or TBE Guess end 56 other Songs;
27 Yo, Hmvn, Ho! and 60 other Songs; I, I,
9.8 "1‘me Nnvna no TO. Gm IT 131’ so and 
29 BLUE Bowers OVER THE Bonner:  o "
30 THE MERRY Lnuenme‘MAN and‘56 other 
y 31 Swnnr Fender-nmNo'r and, 55 other Songs,”
32 Lem BABY Mum and 53 other  R 3
33 De: BANJO em on INSTRUMENT me Mr: 
34 Term andv50 other-Songs.  V _ H  *  L
7 35 JUST ro PLEASE Ten-Bore and 52 other Engage
36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others
. 87 Kenoan KRANKS and 5.9, other Songs.-  7 ‘ w
38 NIL DnsrmuNDUMnnd 53 other songs. ’ p ‘
39 THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME and 50  {ion
40 "Trees!" A Lmrrm‘ann menn and-{Epiothe
L41,PRETTY WmmmmmA and mother Songs, .‘T 1
42 Dmomo IN The BARN and 63 other 
43 H. M. S. Plumes. eonrmm.and_ 17 other 

. >1

 

 

    
   

 
     
  
     
 

   

    
    
 

Sold ererywhere by Newsdeabrs, atjtl’v‘e 
per'copy. or sent post-Mid, tofieny. address“

     
 
  

    
    

r ram“  “

 

 

aswesmm $.er g1"

  

  
 

  '

 

 

 

i

 

 

  ‘

 

Libi'ary. 

THIRTY-TWO OCT-AVG PAGES.

(1 ofann '
 Angg. 98 'Mnry ieéd Crowalr.
7% Thefllrl {Vlfeston'l‘he True and the False. By
‘ n ' Bgirtllnyr’l‘.Campbell.
I3  It Love! 0!, Coilsginns and Sweethearts. By
C  ' Wm.‘annTur1mr,i g
‘ 4

Married in Mute; or,
Bv Rm Winwouil. '
"‘5 Will‘SheflMurry Him? or, The Masked Bride.
., \ By Mrs. Mary KIWI Crows”.
. 6 ‘

"is Lawful-l “’lfe; or. 1V1ym,the Child oi Adop-fl
‘ ting, Bv,Mrs. Aim S. Stephens. '
re Armrrnee; ennui in the World. By Bariluy'T.
Cwnphell ' ' '

 A Madfiiinrrlaue‘; m, The Iron Will. By Mary

 battfiht'e fill-3‘96} at, Bliiided by (Love. By
« x  Mrs. may dzcmvyc .
10V ‘ _. [so
gimme.

A Young Girl’s Temptatian

_‘ l; or,'L‘ove vmuj'flnte.
pr, Driven" from Home.
".l’ilnrld,” em, eté.
’ ‘ The Euiemld Necklace.
may Kent: ('1; / , ‘- ' ',
put a “can; pt,‘ Walking on] the Brink. By
‘E’réntifishmmham; ‘ x ' ., > - ,
’ " i‘Yurld; hr. Th0 Ymmq Man’s Wnrd."
qt“ The Brideni‘ un Muir,” elf... etc.
"F rm ’3 cheiiw'iiri. By Chi.

[ig- ;’ oi,-A Duchwin spite of
x 911.. ,.
; or, The Rivalry pf Hearts.
fly'We'lL _ ; V V
I ,' Fizir' Phyllig’s ‘Lnye. _‘ By
 limit Last. By Mia. MuV.’
v» u: , . j  _ 
voilifiang «sworQAlegegoua Gnmg: Bx'_HénTi3te5
 'VGmubhr’s Wits. By Mrs.

‘; Last hf film firlmnpefligt
cumin}:
3' [Oi-luxuriuéydy. , I H ,

_ ’l‘hg Ill-Sim“ Marrisge. v By M138.

0 e ., -‘  i -
,oi-{A ,Yimi’i Girl’s 6006
my next (Rulvhgm‘fllls, ‘ - , .
ever; or; why Dig: Sh; Murry mum
chewy. V ‘ '

Kama. By

- M40 aw Git}; o‘r, fill; 150‘» he».

rlétte Temple =3ygé... mm... ' >

Attila Hallie 0570‘de a Cloud. By
A. l)unjapn. ‘ . ,

M...

.2331“, IV  01',';J(eaiwt£8’syRepm-ntioxh

 . By“. '11.. Sherwood. ‘2 ' ‘

14.1!” mg» Was nu Foan B). Em"
' Blame.- "  3 ~ .-

we‘ymmmy is for sale
Janellpvof‘six cents each.

"(1nd Adams; 

- r  tin???

'54 Pied

(infill! is not. Guiwthat ‘

Lonwwsmi’mponed. BySamClnx- ~«

 

or, The \Llystery of Winifred ’ 85 The Cuban Relies” or The Prisonér of‘Ln Vii-{4

trgsse. By Mrs.zMury_A. enmon. ‘
86 Only a Schoolmlntr~ u U :1 ‘s ’ :-
By Arabella SanihworifiSM or, er n 0 d our“ '
3’? The Win ed Mew-en er- R' k' All f
Heart. ByMros. Mary Reid driyajell.” mg, or, a. 7 i
88 Was She a Coquette? or, A Sinmgo Courtship.
I By Henrlenn Thackeray. F
39 One Woman’s Heart
By eorgp S.’_Kiaime.
’40 Love-Mad; oi‘; Retroihed,
By Win.an Turner, M. D. i > ,V « >
41; router Dear Sak’o‘; 26:, Saved From Himflf- By
< Snmvclaxtmi. ,. '  ‘ ‘ .  *
42 [The «Minguin Giff?" _or, A Million of Mendy. B)? /
- Agilangnna. 15,-. g  . » ,‘
43 Mai-1:11», the Prima. Donna: Jiy Arabians: Sent!» .»
' _ mm . A . , 7 v ' .1 ._
 The Eton Mdsk; or, e Mystgrious :Giiaidiati., "
: liy l‘rlrs. Mary Regd Crowel).  'v .  W
45 Lucy Temple. Daughterfihf Churlnne.

; or, Saved frbmfiio

Street.

Married, Piloiced laid—i ;

46 Tl‘le Three Sliders; or, Thin Mystery 9! Lord

Cimlfoui. By Alice Fleming. » I

’ l’efrya- I' ylil’irx.‘g‘n_na (Porter; / >
48 . A Marringg 'Wfinvenienee ._ By Sign Citation. >
49 The Wife’fl; rat; 9:, ’Txyy‘ixtb‘up’amifiLipg,Ey V I
ColJunnfha,‘   _ -‘
50 Sh- Ath 'n' Bride {josTheQueeny-df flourh.
I By Arub‘éim .~$<»iithW()rsii,. -' ‘y" V = '  r ‘ _
51 La: Astr§y§5 By Ociiwe Feulileh » «I.

4? The angle 5mm... or, Tim’pixstgry or, my. '

52 llohlelehu or, Two Gr’pfimGh-la in New York. ‘ By
Aliicri,\V.Aikeix. " v— 1, _ r I. I >’
58 The Maniac Bride: rm'l‘he Dead Secret onions»: a
Ash Hull. iiv Margurgi, Blo‘unjtp5s __  ‘7 3 ‘
d to Mal-'1'};er It'i'iii'ove’s Blinds.  L' ' '
, Sm ‘luxloii. * -' , .\ ’ r .  ‘ - _.
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