$5.00 a Year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y.,at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyrighted 1881, by BrapLE AND, ADAMS, Published Every Week, Vol. IX. BEADLE AND. ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, No, 98 Wmu1smM, Srreer, New York. “mbrce tn cas NO. 110 p= Se ANE A CA Bea MURPHYS MASTER. ~ BB ¥7 SAM HS: PA YN. Author of “ Carlyon’s Year,’ ‘‘Won—Not Wooed,” ‘' Found Dead,’ “ One Of The Family,” ete., ete. ( ‘ CHAPTER I PURSUED. Ir was a boisterous winter’s night; and although the long, straight road which I have in my mind (for to the first scene of this strange story my own eyes were witness) was many a mile distant from the coast, you might have: thought, from the roaring from the trees that lined one side of it for miles; that it skirted the very shore... Now and then, for a brief space, there was a lull, but only that the Prince of the Powers of the ‘Air might collect’ his forces for a more strenuous effort; as though to sweep ‘the earth of all that cumbered it which man had made. The young moon had hidden herself, as though in terror, and it was but sel- dom that the clouds permitted a single star to peer through their hurrying ranks as they fled like a beaten army’ across the sky. A white toll-house and a white gate that stretched across the road could, however, be just made out, gleaming through the stormful gloom; but even these, from their color, looked weird and ghost-like, and by no means re- lieved the loneliness and desolation of the scene. Oppo- site the toll-house was an inn; and being built of darker material, it was not visible: not a light shone from its many windows, for the hour was three o’clock, and all its inmates, save one, were abed and slept—rocked to ‘slumber by the storm. Suddenly, after an outburst of elemental violence that outdid all that had preceded it, and which was dying away like the passionate cry of some disappointed beast of prey, there was heard a human voice: ‘‘Gate! gate!” It must have proceeded from powerful lungs in- deed, since it was repeated before the galloping of horses’ hoofs and the noise of wheels could be heard which pro- claimed the approach of the vehicle which carried him who uttered this eeesons summons. **Gate! gate!” “Curse the fellow, he’s asleep!” exclaimed another voice. “Get out, Dick, and lift it off its hinges. Here; take a lamp.” As the speaker leans > aro 4 forward to take one of the dog-cart lamps from its place, the light is thrown full upon him. A tall, black-bearded man, very handsome, though long past his youth; his stooping panes brings the blood into his face a little, else it would be very pale; his eyes are fiery and blood-shot. You would say he was a drunkard but for the steadiness of hand with which he disengages the lamp, and handsit to his fellow, notwithstanding the fury of the wind, which is once more up and roaring, and the impatient pawing of the mare he holds in his iron gripe. She is bay, but, flecked with her own foam, she looks in the darkness black and white. His lower lip is bleeding, bitten through, perhaps, in his irritation and impatience; and on his shirt-front, among its coral studs, there is a red spot which is not coral, but blood... He is in, evening dress, and notwithstanding the wild inelemency of the night, has no great-coat or wrap- per of any kind., By his face and dress you would take him fora gentleman; no one with brains could possibly take him for a vulgar person; but if a gentleman, he is plainly not one of the conventional type, who never hurries himself, nor gets in a passion. His eyes are flaming with rage; and he pours upon the turnpike gate anathemas so choice, and yet various, that it seems quite a pity to waste them onaninanimate object. If the turnpike man would but put his head out of window! But that neglectful official, who has ason at sea, is dreaming of a great tempest in the tropics, which Jack described to him in his last letter (six months old); and though he dimly hears that familiar cry of ‘‘Gate! gate!” confuses it with the captain’s orders, howled through the speaking-trumpet. “Quiet, quiet! you devil !’—this to the mare; and the tall man (you can now see he is very tall) stands up in the dog-cart, and peers back upon the road he has come, and listens; nothing is to be seen but a wall of darkness, and nothing to be heard but the roaring wind. Somewhat ap- peased, as it seems, by this negative result, he then ad- dresses his companion (to whose tardiness in opening the gate he has never once alluded, notwithstanding his im- patience with the obstacle itself): ‘‘Shall I come and hel you, Dick, or shall I break this scoundrel’s windows wit my whip-handle?” “‘ No, no, Masther Frank,” returned the. other, straining and striving at the hinges; ‘‘ I’ll have it up in a minute. It is just. as well not to be seen ny more people than we can help, One—two; there it is, off at last.” He crossed the road with his burden, to let the vehicle pass through, and then placed the gate half open, and fast- ened it in that position with a huge stone. There, now; they’ll think the way is clear,” observed he, grimly; ‘‘and if it’s wheels that is afther us, I pity the next comer.” “They'll ride, Dick; you, may take your oath of that.” ‘ . cont6That’s well thought of. But they lows, and you must be quick about it.” p71 veg $£We shave five, good: minutes; Masther Frank.’ * This __ tearin’ wind is with them, and brings up the sound——” ride faab;i those fel- | should have “Stop! Hi! Stop!” pee The cry arose right in front of them; and the flari Bs lamps, one of which Murphy was in the act to remove, ee full upon a gesticulating figure standing in the midst of the dark road. It was that of a very young man, attired © in homely garments, and bearmg the homeliest lug; pf 7 the wayfarer—a hedge stick across his shoulder, at the end of which depended a small bundle. “* Clear the way!” cried Kavanagh, stung to reckless fnry. 227 by the imminence of the peril behind him, ‘‘or, by Heaven, Pll drive over you.” But the boy, throwing down his bundle, cast himself upon the bridle of the mare, and clung to it fast, though in her fierce career she carried him along with her, and never ceased. his cry of ‘Stop, stop, stop!” j “Tl ‘stop’ you, young fellow,” muttered Murphy, be- tween — as he clambered back over the dog-cart for __ a pistol. ; i veThe tree—the fallen tree!’ screamed the boy. ‘‘ Keep to the right, or you are both dead men.” : ; At that piercing cry Kayanagh mechanically pulled his. — right rein, and the vehicle sprang into the air, once, twice, thrice, and then came to a full stop. To leap out was with the twomen the work of an instant. ‘Hold the mare, boy. Help me -here, Dick, to pull the i piel across—so. don’t hear the horses now—how’s that?” A * ‘*We must have — the turnin’, and they are stoppin’ © there in doubt of which road to take.” te “Just so. Boy, you haye; done us a good, turn,’ said Kavanagh, kindly. ‘Another foot to the left, and we — one to the devil; whereas, as it is, we haye but got a shaking over the branches. - What can we do for you 2?” ii. “If you’d give me a lift, sir, toward town, I’d be very grateful,” said the lad. He was a wholesome, comely face, flushed with his late exertions, and a bright, eager air. ** You shall have it, lad. Go fetch your bundle,” — ‘< Nay, Masther Frank,” remonstrated Murphy, as the young fellow obeyed, ‘‘that is surely most imprudent— ee and there—see! he has noticed how the tree lies.” = The boy, whose attention had been hitherto absorbed in holding the mare, was now, indeed, observing with sur- prise that that which had been before an obstacle difficult to avoid was now become an effectual barricade. | ‘Begging your pardon, sir,” said he, ingenuously, “I fear you have made things worse for the next comers in- stead of better.” 7 ‘What the blazes is that to you, sir?” cried Murphy, _ abgily- , “vibra “Hush! hush! The lad is an honest lad,” said Kava- nagh, ‘and wants to do right, to everybody... Iwas like — that myself at one time—God help me! . Look here, boy; — if you were followed by persons who wished to punish you ~ for what taey’ deemed a crime, but a your con- — science held» you innocent, would you not do your best to balk them?» $ ; i as “Yes, indeed, sir,” exclaimed the boy, warmly. ‘ More- over, that is just what might be happening to myself now.” ** What! have you been transgressing the laws already? — Why, this must be a countryman of our own, Dick.” search having thus proved fruitless, the inspector and his myrmi- 18 MURPHY’S MASTER. dons took their leave, and the vessel, which had slackened sail in obedience to his orders, resumed her course. Though cold the weather was clear and bright, and the sea-air and sunshine rapidly restored Robert Chesney’s spir- its. He had the utmost confidence in Lizay’s fidelity to himself; and since all had been done in putting her on her guard that could be done, what use was there in dwelling on what might after all be an imaginary trouble? So Youth, with its practical good sense, can reason, while Age, bowed by sad experience, carries the burden in anticipation. He had an exemption, too, from another sort of trouble, from which: outa has by no means a universal immunity: he never felt seasick, except when his duties called him to visit his charges in the steerage, which offered a scene that y is, very literally, better imagined than described. _ Irishmen make good soldiers, but they are not good sail- ors—at least to begin with. Their wit died out of them; _ their sentimental regrets vanished; their pigs, their pota- toes, their potheen, nay, patriotism itself, were all forgotten in the wretched excitement of that game of pitch-and-toss, in which their all, or what seemed their all, was lost twenty _ times a day. Even the absence of the young masther was for the time no longer commented upon by his unhappy adherents. On the other hand, it began to disturb Robert very much. ‘To them the assurance that Mr. Kavanagh would join them on the cles had been perfectly satisfac- tory: there were doubtless a dozen ports between Liverpool and Australia, at any one of which they might touch, and _ behold him on the quay. But to one whose geographical knowledge was more accurate, matters began to look very suspicious. If the recent visit of the officers of justice had heen foreseen, it was easy to understand why Mr. Kavanagh aad not put in an appearance; and Robert had judged it). probable that he had embarked on some fishing smack, or _ other vessel, for the purpose of being picked up when the Star of Hrin (as their own ship was named) had got some few miles down the channel. But as time went ‘on, and _ they began to near the open sea, this expectation grew less and less, till it faded altogether. vdec He would have insisted upon an explanation from Mr. Denton, but that that gen- tleman was reported to be mortally ill, and none but Murphy ’ (out of whom he could get nothing but evasive replies) was | admitted to his cabin. here was nothing for it, therefore, but to await as patiently as he could the course of events. He would certainly not have embarked on board the Star of Erin had he not believed that Mr. Kavanagh was to have accompanied him; but, after all, he had his passage paid -uproarious laughter. | but it seemed strange that even Murphy should indulge in ce Pp a at the bedside of one supposed to be danger- ously ill. _ but the cabin door opened just as he was about to pass it, _ and out came both _ dently in the highest spirits, the latter cold and quiet-look- ing as usual. — re Tam glad Mr. Denton is better,” observed Robert, sig-, “nificantly. ia cae = | to the New World, and was even in receipt of a small salary _ as general manager for his patron’s clients. ity indeed, he enjoyed a considerable consideration, not _ only with the emigrants, but even with the captain himself, ‘They had been at sea nearly a week, and were out of sight of land, when that gentleman, being engaged on deck one _ evening, happened to reauest Robert to fetch for him some! ¥ article out of his cabin. ; ary to pass the door of Mr. Denton’s berth, and as he did|¥ so he In this capac- To obey this request it was neces- was surprised to hear from within it the sound of It was Murphy’s laugh, to be sure, n his return, not only was the sound renewed, urphy and Maguire, the former evi- *T hope there is now no reason why I shou Se denied admittance to him?” " | “ He’s ill—he’s very ill still,” began Murphy, becoming - suddenly sedate and sad. vane _. Stuff and nonsense!” said Maguire, contemptuously. ‘Why keep up this farce, Dick, before Mr. Chesney, who, after all, is one of ourselves)p—Mr. Denton can hardly be seen to-night, sir, being in point of fact——” ‘Under the influence of a sleeping-draught,” inter- rupted Murphy, gravely. «Just so,” continued Maguire; ‘‘ but if you require a plain answer toa plain question or two, I shall be happy to tell you all you want to know over a pipe on the foksale.” Robert thought it strange enough that he should be thus referred to ‘‘Mister Maguire” for an explanation of such importance, but he was too desirous of obtaining it to do aught than close with the offer. In afew minutes the two were seated under shelter from the freshening breeze, each with a pipe in his mouth; they were quite alone, except for the watch—the emigrants being all in their bunks even at that comparatively early hour; a thousand stars were shin- ing overhead; the breeze rang in the shrouds, but there was no other sound, save when a wave larger than common struck the vessel on her quarter, and m stem to stern. ‘Now what is it you want to know, young man?” in- quired Maguire. “<1 want to know several things,” replied Robert, piqued by his companion’s tone, and also, eens by the reflection that a confidence had been reposed in him which had been denied to himself. ‘‘ Firstly, why have I been told by Mr. Denton that Mr. Kavanagh, my employer, was to join us on our voyage, when that was not the case?” ‘* Let us confine ourselves to facts,” replied the other, puffing slowly at his pipe. ‘* Leave out ‘when that was not the case,’ and the answer is easy; Mr. Kavanagh is on board the ship at this present moment.” : CHAPTER IX. THE CABIN PASSENGERS. ‘‘Mr. KavaANaGH on board! That is incredible,” ex- claimed Robert. “«T can’t help that,” returned Maguire; “I can only re-: eat that it is the fact. I saw him with my own eyes to- ay. I think I may even promise that you shall see him with yours to-morrow.” “But the police-—” commenced Chesney. ; ** Oh! you believe in the police, do you?” interrupted the other, contemptuously, ‘‘and yet talk of things being ‘ in- credible.’ For my part, I have been in a ship before in which there was ‘one too many’ on board, and that was ‘the devil’ himself. The present incident, therefore, sinks into insignificance.” It was certain that Mr. Maguire was not joking; he never did joke, after the fashion of his compatriots, but used a certain staidness of speech and manner, sometimes, as in the case of the police galley, diversified by ferocity. «You are wondering who I am, young fellow,” continued he, ‘‘and since I have promised to satisfy a reasonable cu- riosity, I will tell you. I would not tell everybody, mind ou, (nor even you, for that matter, if we were not well out in the blue water); but you are a lad of spirit, and I like ou. With your.wits and pluck, you would make a figure in the world, if it was not for your slavish respect for peo- ple in high places.” : «*T was not aware that I entertained a slavish respect for any man,” answered Robert, somewhat haughtily, for his youthful pride was touched. ; ‘Nevertheless, it is so,” continued Maguire, coolly. ‘‘ You are frightened at the very shadow of so-called au- thority; any Jack-in-office has only to cry out, ‘In the king’s name,’ and you dare not lift tee voice against him, far less your finger.. Yet kings, and such-like, would have no existence but for the dullness of mankind. It pleases the great mass of the world to make believe to worship stupidity, and to exalt it above independence and energy; for then, let the clever fellows do their best, they can never get to the top of the tree.” [think I see what you mean,’ said Robert, thought- fully, ‘‘yet what is the feeling toward the young master, as. they call him, by which our friends down yonder”—he pointed to the deck below—‘‘ are actuated, but this same e her shiver from | MURPHY’S MASTER. 18 iacnsitemas worship of an accidental distinction? What is the pos- session of ‘the old blood’ but an accident of birth?” ‘Quite true, my young friend. You might have even added (had you known it), ‘ How is it that you yourself are called. “‘ Mister Maguire,” when there is no difference of present fortune between yourself and the poorest of your companions, but only that once upon a time your father i held-a bit of the land which he inherited by no merit of his i own? Well, the explanation of it is easy: these poor fel- j lows are a parcel of fools.” “ Perhaps,” observed Robert, shrugging his shoulders; | “still, there must be something in it. Rurphy, for in- ' stance, would Jay down his life for the young master.” ‘« Very true; but that is because Murphy is the greatest fool of them all. Now JZ like ‘the young masther,’ as they call him, too, and would go as far to serve him, perhaps, as any of his poor besotted idolaters; but then I like him for his own sake. He isa fine fellow, and might have gone I far even in his own country at one time, only luck was against him. Now Murphy would admire him just the same if he were a miser or a coward, such as Louis was. By-the-bye ”—here the speaker looked at his companion with great significance—‘‘ do you know about Louis?” **T think [have heard it said that he was dead,” said Robert; “ that is all.” “Ah, well; then that is enough. We are already getting a out of our reckoning. I promised to tell you something of i my own life, which has nothing to do with Mr, Louis Kavanagh’s death, poor devil. My father was a squireen in Tipperary, as his fathers had been before him for many i) a generation. = 7‘ “Tt was very creditable of them to go on succeeding ? their ancestors so regularly, and getting arhink in the same parlor with such assiduity; but life of that sort was too re- spectable for me, and on the occasion of a certain domes- tic difficulty (we were both wrong, and very drunk), I cut the paternal cable, and ran away to sea. You ran away from home yourself, young fellow, did you not?” “*T did,” said Robert, gravely; ‘‘but it was to avoid my step-father’s ill treatment.” | *“No apology is requisite to me, my lad,” said Maguire, frankly. ‘‘I like a lad that runs away from home. What are ease and comfort at that age compared to independ- | ence?” se, “* Nay, pray do not imagine that I left them when I left my home,” explained Robert. ‘‘It was but a cottage, and my step-father but a gamekeeper.” “Then where did you learn your fine words and your good figuring?” “* At the village school. It seemed to me that learning was the only thing that could get me out of a condition that was very unpleasant, and so I worked hard at my books,” “‘Ah, that’s bad,” observed Mister Maguire, deprecatingly. *‘T don’t mind a young fellow’s learning to read and write and even a little arithmetic, which I have myself found useful at a pinch—but I am dead against books. They disincline you to action. At this moment, instead of say- ing to yourself, ‘Here is a man of spirit and experience, whose views must needs be worth something, and I’ll fol- low his lead,’ you are wasting time in thinking about it. ‘Will it be prudent to do so?’ is the idea that occurs to you, or even (if they taught you out of good books), ‘ Will it be right?” Now itis one excellent point in the charac- ter of our good friends below here that they never think,” Not a muscle of Mr. Maguire’s countenance moved, save those employed in the suction of his pipe. It was impossi- ble to tell by the expression of his face whether he was in jest or in earnest. ‘*‘ However, let. me go on with my enim a en %,| story,” he continued. ‘‘I went to sea asa cabin-boy, and in twelve years’ time—when I was seven-and-twenty—I found myself the captain of a ship. It was but a small one, indeed—a sloop called the Mermaid, with but very few hands on board, but I was proud enough of being her skip- per. She was laden with oil from Barbadoes, and we had not long left the place when we fell in with a strange sail, She showed no colors; and as she drew nearer, I made her out to bé a schooner, full of hands all in white shirts, and with a whole tier of great guns. ae ‘* Where does this sloop belong to? hailed she. «© «To London,’ said I; ‘from Barbadoes.’ “<¢We know that,’ was the answer. ‘Send your master on board.’ ; : ‘* And a black flag flew up to her mast-head. That was thirty years ago, and yet I remember that moment as - clearly as though it happened yesterday. One doesn’t fall into the hands of otwithstanding my irates every day. alarm I felt it hard to keep my temper (which was oe short) when the captain called out, as we were making th best haste we could in our little boat toward his ship, ‘Pull faster, you speckle-shirted dogs’ (as though we would not have worn white ones, if we had known of his prefer- ence for them), ‘or I will drub you within an inch of your lives, and that inch too.’ But I knew better than to answer; for when your hand is in the lion’s mouth, ets the proverb, get it out as easy as you can. Only I made up my mind that if the worst came to the worst, I would take that gentleman around the waist and jump into the sea with him, at any rate. . ‘<¢And who are we, think you?’ said he, when I got upon the deck. ‘“¢ Sir” said I, ‘I believe you are gentlemen of fortune belonging to the sea.’ : ‘** Nay, there you lie,’ said he, ‘for, by ——, we are pirates.’ — “For though, like most people in authority, he was in- clined to give himself airs, this gentleman was very plain spoken. me at the same time that a lie would cost me my life—an was very dissatisfied when Itold him. It seemed to me, in- ; deed, that the time had almost come for his taking that leap with me into thesea, the satisfaction of which I was fully resolved not to deny myself; but, fortunately for us e asked what I had on board my Pea nae both, it seemed he had not the absolute disposal of life and — death in his own hands, but must needs consult the ship’s company. A “in the mean time I was sent down to his cabin to await the result of their deliberations. While there, one of his men came in, and with a friendly countenance, said, ‘So you don’t know me, Mr, Maguire? , ‘**No,’ said I, ‘I have not that pleasure.’ “‘Then he reminded me that he had served in the same ship with me five years ago, as likewise two others of his companions had. ate ** We three wish you well,’ said he, ‘but it is unfortu- nate that the Mermaid has so little in her, which makes the others bitter against you. Now, what we shall propose— since they are for shooting you—is to make you one of our- selves; for there is not aman on board of us who can keep accounts, which we know you can do. So I have come down to bid you have no hesitation, in case you get the chance of such an. offer—not without risk to myself, let me tell you; but one should stand by an old shipmate.” “‘T thanked him heartily, and said what was very true, though piracy was not to my taste, a bullet through my head was much Jess so; and in the end it turned out as he had given me to hope. Iwas made purser of the Mother Carey, as their vessel was called, that very night, and shook hands with the captain upon.it (instead of kissing them, as _ when the king gives you an thing), and with all the crew. — owl, made of solid silver, — Moreover they brought in a huge : 1 yer, which held eight quarts of punch, and drank until sunrise to my new appointment—a most undesirable, one, you are doubtless thinking, m : lat time. With the exception of the three men that had sayed my life, [had no desire to see any one of my present com- panions again, unless it should be at some place of execu- tion; but one’s opinion chan ny things in this world, and I have been on with worse crews than that of the Mother Carey.” friend, and so thought I at that % es +o ma oard worse ships, and mated _. more as some marine monster, so rare that it is more an a all over the ship, as many lads of his age would have has- himself. The greeting t morning was more brief and commonplace even than usual, 20 MURPHY’S MASTER. 2 * “But -how-long were you on board of her, before you had an. opportunity of escape?” . _ Well, really,” said Maguire, sucking slowly at his pipe, and_regarding Robert with a sort of comical grimness, ‘1 can’t quite say as to the opportunity of escape, but I was with the Mother. Carey, or at all events, with her chickens —for she went to the bottom the next cruise—for about twenty years.. But, there! it’s getting late, lad, and time to turn in, so I'll finish my yarn another time.” And with that he rose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and with a nod at his petrified young companion, descended gravely into the steerage. Twenty years the companion of pirates! It was clear, eyen to the inexperience of Robert Chesney, that no man could be among such persons for such a length of time, and yet not of them, ‘‘ Misther Maguire,” then, who en- joyed such respect below stairs and with Murphy, and who eyen associated on familiar terms with Mr. Denton himself, had been in his time ‘‘a gentleman of fortune,” as he had delicately put it, ‘‘belonging to the sea!” This was suffi- ciently astounding, of course, but it was not absolutely’ shocking to the feelings; for, in the first place, the whole story might be untrue—‘‘only a yarn,’ as the narrator himself had termed it, spun to, beguile an idle hour, or to impose upon his own (Robert’s) credulity; and secondly, if it was true (and indeed he believed it to be so), the cir- cumstance had happened so long ago, and was so much out of the pale of ordinary experience, that it was robbed of _ its more offensive features. _ Piracy, as Robert understood, was a thing of the past; and.this strange fellow-passenger _ of hig must have been‘one of the very last of that now legendary race, whose hand was against every man, and every man’s hand against them. This Maguire (Who: more- over, had some good points about him, or, at all events, points that were attractive) was, after all, to be regarded object of curiosity than of loathing or alarm; or as some antediluvian animal, supposed to be extinct, whom nobody would now wish to destroy, even if it still was a little dangerous, but would rather preserve and make much of, as a solitary specimen of what had once existed. What doubtless strengthened these liberal views in Rob- ert, who was certainly not. without good principles, was the wwerful interest that the relation thus suddenly broken off had excited in him; he wanted, it must be confessed, to. hear the conclusion of the matter. Moreover, the confi- dence that had thus been reposed in him—for it was rea- sonable to suppose that Maguire did not show everybody | this strange leaf of his own history—was a compliment to his good sense as well as his sense of honor. It was evi- dently not expected that he should tell this wonderful story tened todo, He did not see that what was a compliment to his prudence was paid at the expense of his sensitiveness to the claims of justice and authority; that it must also have not been expected that he would be so shocked at the revelation as to denounce the author ofit. He lay awake half the night thinking of the Mother Carey, and dreamed of a ‘spec led-shirted dog,” who was, however, in his dream but a retriever; and not until the morning—so whol- ly had the greater. wonder absorbed the lesser—did he re- member what Maguire had told him of Kavanagh’s pres- ence on board the Star of rin. If that was true, it was only a few steps more of improbability to be surmounted to believe the strange Pe his companion had told about at Maguire gave him the next _ being confined to a careless nod, so that at first Robert was inclined to think that the other -had repented of his confi- nce of the previous evening. When noon had arrived without his receiving any communication, he got very im- Papent, and even irritable, for it struck him that he had sen made the victim of a practical joke; but after dinner Murphy came to him with the information that Mr. Den- “‘Heis better, then?” observed Robert, careful not to ex- hibit his own state of expectation—for though it was cer- tain that Murphy must know any secret connected with his master that Maguire knew, he thought it well to show him- self worthy of the latter’s confidence.» a “Yes, he’s better, but still. in his berth; and the light hurts his eyes, so you must talk through the curtain.” When Robert knocked at the cabin door it was certainly a stronger and more healthy voice that bade him ‘‘ come in” than he had expected to hear; and he found Mr. Den- ton, though still confined to bed, very different in appear- ance from what he had expected. Not only was he far from looking like a sick man but lately in extremis, but even better than when he had seen him in Herne street. « “Sit down there, Robert,” said he, pointing to a seat be- side his pillow, but separated from it by the curtain which was drawn round him, ‘and tell me about the boys.” Robert made his report; to which the other seemed to listen attentively, and then expressed his high approval of what he had done. “With Mr. Kavanagh away, and myself ill,” said he, frankly, ‘‘I don’t know how we should have got on with- out you. I hope you find your own position comfortable on board, as I am sure it deserves to be?” y “Yes, thank you, sir.” : It scemed ungrateful to say to this kind old invalid, ** But the promise that you made to me has not been kept with respect to one thing—that Mr. Frank was to come with us.” “And did you write home, as I told you, and bid your pretty sweetheart reply to you at’ Liverpool?” “7 wrote home, sir, and got an answer,” replied Robert, a little stiffly. Mr. Denton was not his patron, and this’ light allusion to his Lizzie seemed unjustifiable. Moreover, there was a movement of the curtain which suggested that his companion might be laughing at him—rather heartily for a sick man. ‘* And what did the young woman say, Robert?” “¢ Well—she sent me but ill news, sir; but such as it was, it only concerns myself and her.’ If Mr. Kavanagh had asked me, it would be different, but you must excuse——” There was a chuckle from the bed; the curtain was drawn suddenly back, and, to Robert’s intense astonishment, re- vealed Mr. Frank Kavanagh himself, just as he had seen him on the morning after their adventure, except that he had a smoking-cap on his head, which he wore, perhaps, by vey. of night-cap! «There goes my scalp,” cried he, flinging the gray wig, which had so long concealed his own curling locks, against: the cabin wall, ‘‘and Mr. Denton with it, though, you see, he has kept his word with you, after all.” Robert took the hand that was extended to him in all sincerity; he was delighted to find himself once more face to face with his friendly patron; but his gets idea was still that of astonishment at the means that had secured this incognito. “‘So you were Mr. Denton, were you, all along, sir, and Mr. Wilson as well?” ; “Yes,” returried Kavanagh, gravely; the gay tone and the smiling look both yanished—swept away, as Robert judged, by the tender memory which the latter alias had evoked—‘‘ yes. ‘There were reasons—political ones—why I lived in Herne street under a feigned name.” “And when the police came on board, they never found you out neither! You should have seen them on deck, sir, scrutinizing us all, and feeling the hair of our heads, though why they did that I cannot imagine.” } “Nor anyone else, I should think,” said Kavanagh, forc- ing a laugh; “they were not very sagacious, truly, but they were very civil. The inspector be cer for disturbing so confirmed an invalid as myself. But enough of that. I wish to know of your own affairs, Robert. sweetheart, and her ill news? Oan she not reconcile her- self to your leaving her, and taking so long a journey? ton wished to see him on a matter of importance. Well, that is only to be expected.” at of your | a t x e — “2 MURPHY’S MASTER. 21 A sigh followed Kayanagh’s words. Robert felt even more certain than before that what had so suddenly turned his impulsive patron’s mirth to melancholy was the remem- -brance of pretty ‘‘ Miss Mary.” ‘*No, sir; it was worse ‘than that;” and he told him of the troubles which Lizzie’s letter had disclosed to him. _ Well, well,” said Kavanagh, cheerfully, ‘‘ we need not be afraid that a good-looking fad like you will be cut out by foe step-father; but the poverty and the poaching are real misfortunes. What a pity we could not have brought the whole family out with us!” “Yes, indeed, sir; that is what I had in my mind when "we were at Liverpool,” answered Robert. “If I had known _ who you were, I think I should have plucked up Son SR l- to ask you that great favor, notwithstanding all the ob tions-—— : “Tush, tush!” interrupted the other kindly; ‘‘ don’t talk of them. Withouta treasurer and comptroller such as you have proved yourself to be, we could never got on as we have. Even Murphy allows that. No, no; the debt is gui en the other side.. As for your friends trying their uck in the New World, they can do that still; and it is much better that they should follow you, when you have got settled somewhere, than help to swell the number of our incapables. If money is wanting for their passage, I will let you have it—advance it out of your salary, if you are too proud to take it as a gift. here, there; that is settled, sono more words about it.” It was. no longer a wonder to Robert that ‘‘the boys” should have such reverence for their ‘‘ young masther,” for he felt himself as though he could have laid down his life for his sake. It was not only gratitude which affected him; there was an indescribable charm in Kayanagh’s tone and manner that was wholly removed from the lad’s expe- rience, and almost seemed to him to belong to a superior being; it was not patronage, and it was not friendship, but it had the grace of the one and the tenderness of the other. ; ; “« Indeed, sir, you overwhelm me with kindness,” was all he could answer; ‘“‘and I only hope I may show my- self—” ‘ “* Yes, yes; we shall always be good friends, Robert,” in- ‘terrupted the other; ‘‘I am sure of that. And now about the boys—I mean my boys. Are they under the belief that I have forsaken them, or have they more faith than some people I could mention?” ‘* Well, sir,” replied Robert, apologetically, ‘‘ they are still too sick to be very urgent about anything else, and besides, they don’t see why you should not step on board any day from some island or continent.” _ Kavanagh laughed, but there was a touch of pity in the tone in which he replied, ‘‘ Ah, yes, that is likely enough. They know nothing but what the priest tells them, poor fellows!” then added, still more gravely, ‘‘and perhaps the greatest proof of their simplicity is their belief in my- self.” Here, somewhat to Robert’s relief—for Kavanagh’s voice had sunk so low that his companion scarcely knew whether this last observation was intended for hisear or not—there was a knock.at the cabin door, and Murphy entered, which ‘put an end to further confidential talk, « CHAPTER X. THE CLOUDS GATHER. THE next time Maguire met Robert his quick eye detect- d a difference in the lad’s expression. “* Ah!” said he, ‘‘ you have seen him, I perceive. Did I not tell you the truth?” “« Yes, indeed,” answered Robert. ‘‘ But you must allow there was some cause for incredulity. Surely nothing could -be more unlikely than the whole affair.” “To you, pees not,” answered Maguire. ‘“‘ But as for me, I am too old to be astonished at anything. Be- sides, I have seen a much stranger thing in the way of : Seeuing quiet’ on board ship.” __ ** Then that must have been on board the Mother Carey,” said Robert, smiling. | ai ‘ : ** Well, lad, it was so.” He too smiled good-naturedly enough, for he saw that the lad was greedy to hear more of that adventure; and lighting his pipe, and sitting down under the bulwarks as before, proceeded to gratify him. “The story of my life would weary you, and, besides, some of its incidents might prove a trifle too strong for your stomach. But what we have just been saying reminds me — of a curious circumstance. While I was perforce a member of the pirate crew they met with some hard knocks, for it is not every ship that gives up to the black flag without a tussle; and next to Captain Grim himself, as he was termed (for neither he nor his men were particular about presery- ing their real names), the greatest fire-eater among them was a good-looking young fellow called Galley. He was not a general favorite, because he kept himself to himself, and did not drink much; but his bravery made him r I well remember his resenting some innuendoes of the mate with respect to his sparing the punch in order that bee win at cards, one night, by throwing the whole bowl of liquor over him, and the duel that took place in conse- quence. When any of the crew quarreled it was not per- mitted to fight on board, but they were put out on the first land we came to, and there settled the matter with sword or pistol. The way in which young Galley polished off the mate — with the sharp steel in half a dozen cuts was a very pre sight, nor haye-I ever seen a man of his age so dextrous wit that weapon. Whenever we met a bigger ship than we liked the look of, and it was a question of flight or fight, he was always for fighting; and sometimes when we have been chatting together, just as you and I are now, he would express himself with respect to his own trade in the most truculent manner. “* Being only a sort of amateur myself, I was allowed to have my own opinion about piracy, and I ventured to’ tell him that it seemed.to me to be an unsatisfactory sort of life, especially as it had for the most part a noose of ro at the end of it. ‘And quite right too,’ said he: ‘if it were not for hanging us pretty fellows, every cowardly scoundrel would turn pirate, and so infest the seas that men of courage would starve. The ocean would be crowd-' ed with rogues, like the land, and no merchant would dare venture out, so that our trade would no longer be ~ worth the following.’ | Well, when the Mother Carey came to grief, and her chickens were lodged in jail, previously to having their necks wrung, an appeal was made to the court — on behalf of Galley such as astonished me more than if the honest fellow had played booty, and turned king’s evidence, his defense was that he was a young woman. And as one of the gentler sex, supposed to be incapable of piratical con- duct—and also being very good-looking—the judges ac- quitted her on that plea. And now you will easily under- stand, my friend, how the fact of Mr. Denton’s turning out to be Mr. Kavanagh does not appear to me so very ex- traordinary. You may think that one of us, at all events, was cognizant of Galley’s sex, for whose sake, a t she might even have assumed the masculine garb; but thi was certainly not so; and, indeed, the sixth article of our regulations (which were common, I believe, to all the fra- ternity) ran as follows: ‘If any man is found carrying a woman to sea disguised, or even conniving at such an act, he shall suffer death.’ ” ‘You had laws, then, it seems, like honest people?” ob- served Robert. : “Most certainly. We had Articles of War, some of which, at least, were as strictly observed as on board of a king’s ship, and to which every man had to subscribe; and I did so myself—though of course under compulsion. There were ten (if I remember right) in all. Number one established universal suffrage. Every man had an equal — vote in affairs of moment; an equal share of the fresh pro- visions and strong liquors, at any time seized, and might 22 MURPHY’S MASTER. z= use them at pleasure, unless a scarcity (no uncommon hing with us) made it. necessary to vote a retrenchment. umber two referred to public property, in which, if any man defrauded his companions, if it was but the worth of | a dollar, he was marooned (that is, set on the first desolate | island we might come to, with.a gun and a few charges of powder and shot, and a bottle of water, to perish of star- vation). If the robbery was only between one another, the offender had his ears and nose split, but was not marooned. he third article was directed against gam- bling, and was by no means scrupulously observed. The fourth commanded lights and candles to be extinguished at eight o’clock; and if any of the crew after that hour were still inclined for drinking, they were to drink on the open deck. ae _ “The fifth related to keeping the cutlasses and pistols clean and fit for service, and was the most popular of all. The men were extravagantly nice in beauty and richness of their weapons, and would give sometimes at an auction (at the mast) as much as forty pounds a pair for pistols, which they - wore in time of. service slung over their shoulders, and dorned. with ribbons. The sixth article I have already uoted. The seventh decreed death to any man who should aac the ship or his quarters in battle. The eighth was to arrange quarrels. There was to be no striking on_ board, but (as I have said) at the nearest convenient spot the dis- putants were landed, and placed. back to back at twenty paces, _At the word of command they turned and fired im- mediately, or else the piece was knocked out of their hands. Then, if both missed, they came to their cutlasses, and who drew first blood was held the victor. The ninth enacted that no man should talk of breaking up their way of living - until each had. cleared a thousand pounds. But if any man should lose a limb or become a cripple in the public service, he was to have eight hundred dollars out of the common ee’ oan for lesser hurts proportionally. The tenth and last article provided the captain and quartermaster should receive two shares of a prize, the master, boatswain, and gunner one share and a half, and other officers one and a quarter.” _ ‘Then there were pean in authority as well as laws among you?” remarked Robert, not forgetful of Mr. Maguire gs anarchical opinions of the previous night. “Yes, there were; nor do I deny that such institutions are necessary. Nevertheless, so far as government was con- cerned, the Mother Carey was, I contend, a model vessel; nay, there is no doubt, looking at the matter as a com- mercial merulaticn, that, with ordinary prudence, any man on boar might have made his thousand pounds twice over! The law against drunkenness, however, and gambling was {most a a letter; and the captain, as you may judge from my own case, was unnecessarily brutal,” Bar __ ‘Was he cruel to others as well as yourself, then?” in- quired Robert. a j _ ** Yes, indeed. I have known him make a poor skipper, in whose cargo he was disappointed, eat his own ears with Pepper and salt! He had not the head-piece for a captain; ind that is what I complain of in other societies, that men who are,altogether unfit for it are trusted with authority.” _ Robert was too horrified with the incident of the skip- r’s ears to pay much attention to this philosophical observation; but it did not escape him that Mr. Maguire __ was very charitable in his views with respect to piracy, and seemed inexplicably desirous to make his listener a conyert tothem. At that time, however, he did not think yery seriously of the matter. Mr. Maguire still appeared to him in the hght of a lusus natwre—a being to excite wonder rather than apprehension. He did not reflect: that representations of exciting ad- _ yentures and wealth easily come by although they had no influence upon himself, might have their weight with more é ignorant and impulsive hearers; that the spark which falls innocuous on the hearth-rug will set a heap of shavings in a blaze, _**You think, then, that if you had had a wise man in- tes his conscienee to partake of such ill-got spoils. stead of a brute for captain, you would have made an ex- cellent speculation of the Mother Carey,” observed Robert, dryly, ‘‘and that each of the crew might have retired from business upon a handsome fortune?” We “Yes, I do,” said Maguire, boldly. . ‘If I had not been an ass at that time, I might now myself be a rich man, for that matter.” “They gave you a share of their gains, then, though you. were but an amateur.” ; Me “Of course they did: why the deuce should they not?” answered the other, so naively, and eyen indignantly, that ‘Robert refrained from putting the inquiry that had sug- gested itself, as to how Mr. Maguiré had reconciled it to ees, L could have made my fortune,” continued he, “ had I had the head on my shoulders which I carry now; while Cap- tain Grim, drunkard and gambler as he was, used to boast of his twenty thousand pounds laid up in some place, which he was wont to say ‘only himself and the devil knew of; and the longest liver should take all.’ His weakness was drink,” continued Mr. Maguire, in a deprecating tone, ‘under the influence of which he became just what all men in authority become.who have no right to their high places—tyrannical. I shall never forget his firing a brace of pistols right and left under the dinner-table one night among us all, ‘in order,’as he explained, ‘that we should not forget who he was.’ We fined him eight hundred dol- lars, however, for breaking the mate’s leg with one of the bullets, so that it was an expensive shot.” se S “Then it must have been rather dangerous work to be even purser on board the Mother Carey?” remarked. Robert. “‘ Oh, that was nothing,” answered Maguire, coolly. ‘I’ve —that is, Ihave known a man on board that ship to stand. in the powder-magazine during an action in which we were likely to get the worst of it, torch in hand, with orders from the captain to send all to blazes in case things went the wrong way. But here’s one of your sheep from the steer- age in search of his shepherd.” And leaving Robert with one of his many charges, who happened to come up at that moment to make some complaint respecting rations—he had forgotten for the tenth time to bring his pannikin and other utensils on deck to receive them, and the steward had. poured rice, oatmeal, and flour, pease, sugar, and tea, into one pee bag, ina rage—Myr. Maguire sauntered away. It struck Robert that he was glad to do so; that he had spoken. rather more freely than he had intended to do respecting his own share in the proceedings of the crew of the Mother Carey, and this idea was strengthened by the fact that he made no further allusion to that vessel of his own accord, and ti chary of doing so even when interrogated concern- ing her. ‘rhe Star of Brin pursued her voyage, upon the whole, most favorably; there were storms and calms, of course, but for the most part she had fine weather, and there was little to complain of save the tediousness inseparable from life on shipboard. Notwithstanding what has been sung of it, this is a very prosaic state of existence; on sea one day is more like another than it can poe be: on shore even in the most unvarying of ‘households. The smalle details assume a gigantic importance. The sight of a shoal of porpoises, the catching of a shark, the speaking with another ship, are events to be remembered, because they are the only ones. ‘The sunsets of the tropics are gorgeous, but there are times when the sun is not setting, and to say the truth, ‘‘the boys” did not, as a general rule, appre- ciate it even when it did. Some of the women made them- selves useful in cooking, and mending and washing clothes; but the men did nothing; when they were not listening to Mr. Maguire’s yarns, of which they were very greedy, they lay ondeck and slept all day, then went. below and slept again—a mode of existence which suited them very well. Robert had his duties, such as they were, to vige him; he borrowed a few books from the captain, of whom he was a great favorite, and devoured them word by word; oy © 1 MURPHY’S MASTER. 28 and had always by hima letter for Lizzie, ready for any homeward-bound vessel that might volunteer to be their ocean postman. But the time hung heavily on his hands. ‘How Fee it have passed (thought he) if he could have had Lizzie for a fellow passenger! how differ- ently it would pass when she had once joined him in the under-world! His letters were full of that bright pros- pect, we niay be sure. : When they had been about two months at sea an incident; happened to vary the monotony of their existence. Mr. ce emerged from his cabin in his own private char- acter. The enthusiasm among the tenants of the steer- age was immense, yet not so great as it would have been had his presence on board been coidere ; one by one “‘the boys ”—that is, his own Tipperary boys—had been of late admitted into the secret; and these had told the rest. But, even as it was, the turmoil and excitement were something startling. There was not only joy that the young master was among them; there was also triumph because a victory had been obtained over the law. “The crew, indeed, were comparatively indifferent about the matter, but they formed but a small portion. of the population of the Star of Hrin. The captain, as Robert. could not but remark, not only did not share in these manifestations of delight, but showed some signs of displeasure. This might be accounted for by the fact that he had been imposed upon—used as a cat’s w by Kavanagh—for it seemed he had himself been ignorant hitherto of the identity of that gentleman with enton; but, at all events, so it was. The steerage passengers were exceedingly uproarious that night, having had liquor supplied them by Murphy; and Robert remained on deck until a late hour, in case bis services might be required among them. While thus keep- ing voluntary watch, the captain came up.and spoke with him on the matter, and his manner seemed uneasy; they both agreed that to give liquor in such abundance to so ex- citable a throng was most injudicious; it might have been fancy, but, in the moonlight, Robert caught sight of some- thing gleaming in the captain’s breast pocket which looked very like the butt of a revolver. CHAPTER XI. PROMOTION. TowaRD eertye and when the sounds of disorder from beneath had at last ceased, Robert was about to retire to his berth, when Bat he heard a cry of ‘‘ Help, help!” from the direction of the captain’s cabin. Apprehensive, he scarcely knew of what, he rushed toward it, when on his way he was arrested by a repetition of the cry, not from where he had expected, but from the cabin occupied by his patron. It was uttered in muffled, half-suffocated tones; and finding the door locked, Robert flung himself without a moment’s hesitation against it, and forced it open. Mr. Kavanagh was alone, sitting up in his berth, with the skull- cap on that he now wore night and day, and pointing with shaking finger to some object—an imaginary ‘one, as it turned out—in the center of the cabin. The moonlight which streamed in on him at the little window showed his staring eyes, his eee lips, his features. palsied as if with excess of terror. ‘‘ Help, help!” he continued to ery, in a hoarse whisper. ‘‘ Keep him off! keep him off! I say. He struck me first; I swear it.” . © Who struck you, Mr. Kavanagh? here,” said Robert, soothingly. ““There is, there 7s—there, there, with his strangled face!’ and tae bare stretched-out arm pointed quiveringly where nothing was to be seen. ‘‘ Help, Murphy, help!” There is no one * 7 to do with the matter. _ He had been very kind to Robert during the early portion ofthe voyage out; not only lending him ‘books, as has been said, but taking some pains to teach him to box the com- pass, and even a little seamanship: but of late his distrust and dislike of Maguire and his associates had seemed to ex- Le - scant courtesy as a little good advice. * tend in a less degree to Robert himself. biti . Still it did seem strange that he should refuse even such However, so it was. _ **Thave done Mr. Kavanagh’s bidding,” said he, ‘‘in help- ‘ing him and his friends out of my ship, and I did it ver gladly; but they and I have shaken hands, and _ shouldn’t fret if we never came across one another any more. __No, sir; Ishould be very glad to do you a personal service, but TV’ neither meddle nor make with their affairs; and since yon are a friend of his, and his right-hand man, you had better not inquire what has made me come to that con- _ .. clusion.” _ Robert was loyal to his patron, and felt the affront as though it had been put upon himself. His own explana- es - tion of the captain’s ire was, first, that he had never for- ey Lt m the fugitive for having come on board the Star under hy Tides pretenses, notwithstanding that two saloon fares had been paid for instead of one; and secondly, that Kavanagh’s influence had not been exerted to the extent it might have been in quelling that disorder among his followers which , - Whad, without doubt, at one time caused him (the captain) Pet considerable anxiety. Robert was not inclined, however, _ to inquire if this was so, but kept much to the cabin, which Kavanagh had transferred to him, during the brief voyage, and employed himself in composing a long budget to Lizzy, ate ry wherein he told her of all that had of late so strangely hap- He greatly pressed the immediate emi- cee and oeakger the new prospect of their future in the rightest colors. . gration of the whole family by the next steamer, and in- closed—thanks to his patron’s generosity—such a sum as would easily pay their passage to Murphy’s Island by either of the two routes suggested. He was.so fortunate as to arrive in Melbourne on the very day on which the English mail started, and his letter went off by it accordingly. ‘To know that the missive that was to bring his Lizzy to his arms was already on its way, and that every day would speed it, was an inexpressible comfort to him, while the duties that pressed upon his at- tention prevented the time of sweet expectancy from lag- ging. Moreover, the discovery of Murphy’s Island—it was in 40 degrees 21 minutes south latitude, 123 degrees 4 min- utes east longitude—excited not a little interest, which naturally concentrated itself upon the person intrusted with the victualing of the new colony; so that curiosity and self-interest together procured for him more than enough of society. Working, in short, as diligently as he could, and sparing no expense to insure expedition, it was nevertheless fully six weeks before he found himself in: possession of all that he had been commissioned to procure, and got it embarked on board the sloop which he had hired for that purpose. It was a ship that had already an interest for him, for he had been informed, on application at the office of the mail steamer, that passengers from England could not be taken to the island direct, and this very sloop would probably bring his Lizzy out from Melbourne, as it was now conveying himself. Its crew con- sisted of some half a dozen men besides the skipper, and one of them, as it happened, had belonged to the Star of Erin, which had sailed for England while he had been delayed (or so his story ran) by illness up the country. With this man Robert was naturally more familiar than with the rest; and on the day they started for their desti- nation, and during some conversation about the stores, the former observed, ‘‘ Well, whatever we shall find them short of when we reach the island, it won’t be liquor.” The sailor’s tone was so significant that Robert was- tempted to question him; when he learned that the Star had beén Jaden with an unusual quantity of spirits, and that almost all of it had been purchased by Kavanagh for the use of the colony. ““But.it seems only right,” observed Chesney, ‘‘ since the ship could be resupplied at Melbourne, that as much as possible should have been left in store on the island.” “*No doubt, sir,” answered the man, grinning, ‘‘if so be as it Aas been left in store, though, from what I have seen of our late oe they are not the ones to let good liquor spoil in the cellar.” This reply would not have caused Robert uneasiness but that it had seemed to him that the amount of spirits which he had been commissioned to purchase, and which he was now bringing with him, was very large, while, if it was really true that the store was already sufficient for the colonists in that respect, it would be immensely in excess of their needs. ‘© Well, well,” returned he, with an air of somewhat as- sumed indifference, ‘‘the cellar key will of course be taken care of, and the liquor only given out under proper restric- tions.” «* By the master, sir, or the butler?” inquired the other, with a most significant action of the left on “‘What the deuce do you mean, man?” asked Robert, angrily. A Well, sir, I mean no offense,” returned the other, apol- ogetically. ‘Only that’s what we—I mean we of the crew —used to call Mr. Kavanagh and his man, ‘ master and butler,’ because they were such Lushingtons. I’ve known three bottles of whisky go into Mr. Kayanagh’s cabin of a morning, and ‘come out empty before night. I dare say Murphy helped him, and Maguire too, for that matter; but to have D. 'T. for the second time during one voyage, well, that’s going it a leetle too fast. Of course I thought you had known, sir, or I would not have mentioned it.” Robert was not so simple but that he had heard of delir- enact Di a Sa 5 OPS Tits rs i MURPHY’S MASTER. 29 cw tum tremens, but until that moment he had been totally _ unaware that he had himself been a, witness to a sufferer from that complaint. This, then, was the explanation of Kavanagh’s cries for ‘‘ Help!” and spectre-haunted gestures, and also of the dis- inclination of Murphy to admit him on such occasions to his master’s cabin. A shadow seemed to fall upon his heart with the revela- tion; for how unstable, he reflected, must those fortunes be, that but.a while ago had looked :so fair, which. rested on the caprice of a habitual drunkard! silo The vague but solemn warning of ‘‘ Miss Mary,” the fore- boding farewell of Mistress Mulvaney, recurred to him now with noyel force, and found at least their partial interpre- tations. . Qne thing, however, was certain, he had thrown in his lot with Kavanagh, and it was far too late—and indeed for the present impossible—to dissociate their fortunes. CHAPTER XIV. WHAT KAVANAGH HAD DONE. On the fifth day the sloop made the island; and its ar- rival was welcomed in the little harbor with evident satis- faction, yet, as it seemed to Robert, without the enthusiasm that might have been expected. There was an air of con- straint about these usually frank and light-hearted people, which, under the circumstances, was quite unaccounta- ble. : Robert’s first act would have been to go to Government House—as the only wooden erection of which the harbor boasted was facetiously termed, and from whose roof floated a huge green flag—to report himself to Kavanagh. ‘‘'The Governor,” however, he was informed, was not within; he had, it seemed, started with Murphy a few hours ago for another spot in his dominions upon the other side of the hill, and there was nothing for it but to proceed with the disembarkation of the stores. é The liye stock, which included sheep, goats, pigs, poul- try, and even a few cows, excited such admiration as no olden medalist of a metropolitan cattle-show ever extorted; for these poor folks had been living on salt junk for the last three months, and milk had been an unknown com- modity even to the little children. It was no little disappointment to Robert, who was secret- ly conscious of having acquitted himself well as purveyor to the little commonwealth, that Mr. Kayanagh was not present during these proceedings; and when they were con- cluded, and such things as might suffer damage from ex- posure placed safely under cover, he was naturally impa- tient to see his patron, to whom Maguire offered to conduct him, The colony had been divided, it seemed, into two parts, in consequence of a “‘ faction fight” that had already taken lace between his ‘Tipperary boys” and the other mem- rs of the community; and the latter were-located on the south side of the island in a settlement of their own, to which “the Governor ” was now paying a visit, just as in dis- turbed districts ‘‘ a royal progress” is'sometimes made for the purpose of conciliation. On the way Robert noticed with pleasure that some at- tempts at cultivation had been made, and not without suc- cess, for though the agricultural knowledge of the commu- nity was for the most part confined to planting potatoes or the sowing of mustard and cress, the soil was so fertile that ou had but to “tickle it with a hoe and it straightway aughed in harvest.” In a few years it was plain that, with very moderate in- dustry, Murphy’s Island might be changed from a compa- rative desert to a spot not only self-supporting, but teeming with plenty. They were not long before they came in sight of New Town, as it was called—a little cluster of tents with one “That is the.sign-of your vice-sovereignty,”’ observed. Maguire, in answer to Robert’s inquiry. ‘‘I ought to haye told you that it has been arranged that you are to live here. The New Town folks, you see, will have no objection to you, since you are not connected with our Tipperary lot, while, on the other hand, it would never have done to leave them without some representative of authority.” ; There was a cynicism in Maguire’s tone which would not. have escaped his companion had his thoughts not been. otherwise occupied. ‘I'he news he had just heard was dis- pleasin to him for a reason which, however, he would have een ashamed to mention. He had pictured himself, as the time drew near for his Lizzy’s arrival, rising every morning and sweeping the sea. with his glass, to catch the first glimpse of the ship that. was to bring her, and from New Town no such view could be obtained, since the hill in the center of the island — obstructed it. wa “Tt is immaterial where I live,” observed Robert, ‘‘ and, as you say, these good folks owe me no ill-will. But I hope Mr. Kavanagh has come tono harm by venturing hither; | it is but an hour’s walk from the harbor, and I can’t under- — stand what has detained him.” “Oh, the Governor is safe enough,” answered Maguire, - carelessly; “‘it is quite likely he has gone back the other way, which is a good long round.” ; “‘Then he must be in much better health than whenI — left him!” exclaimed Robert. Maguire returned no answer. They had come in sight of a knot of men lounging and loafing in the sunshine at the entrance of the village, look- ing certainly idle enough, but not so happy as idleness was wont to make them. Perhaps they had been to blame in the late disturbance, and regretted the part they had taken in it; but, at all events, Robert observed the same subdued air, though in a some- , — what mitigated degree, that he had noticed in the people at the harbor. ‘At the sight of Chesney they rose and ran to meet him, From the southerly position of their settlement, they had been unable, as he had foreseen, to perceive the approach of the sloop, and its arrival was unknown to them. oe Having answered their questions, Robert inquired, in his turn, whether ‘‘ the Governor,” as Kavanagh was gravely termed, was in the village. “No, indeed,” said they. ‘‘Why, he has been ill for — weeks.” : ligne 3 Robert turned to Maguire in blank astonishment. “That’s so,” said the latter, coolly; ‘I'll tell you all about it when we get within doors.” The wooden house which had been set apart for Robert’s residence was the aay one in New Town to which that phrase “‘within-doors ” cou the people as had not at once started for the harbor on the news of the sloop’s arrival were now crowding about him and his companion, they hastened to take advantage of the privacy it afforded. 4 Se It was but a two-roomed cabin, yet it was very neatly and even comfortably furnished in sea fashion, thanks to __ Kavanagh’s long purse and the acquiescence of the captain. of the Star; but, for the moment, Robert was far too in- — dignant to observe this evidence of his patron’s kindness, _ and could think only of the deception that had been prac- _ ticed on himself. : “« And, now we are alone, Mr. Maguire,” exclaimed he, impatiently, ‘“‘be so good as to explain to me for what rea-_ son I have thus been made a fool of; or is it for the mere pleasure that you may chance to take in telling a lie?” | 4 «Sit down, my good sir,” said Maguire, quietly, himself’ __ taking a-chair, “‘for to tell you all will be along story. I | have told you a lie, no doubt; but that is because, from the : 7 experience I have had of you, I did not think you strong enough to bear the truth. I have sounded you during our d have been applied; and since such of __ wooden house, from the roof of which a green flag was fly-| late voyage together a dozen times, and though you have | ! ing, similar to that which adorned-the harbor, doubtless done credit to your teaching (against which IT soem - 30 MURPHY’S MASTER. have nothing to say, except that it don’t suit my views), f the result has been in every case disappointment. You have no ambition, you have no sense of independence, and you ean only thinkin a groove. Yes, lad; you have sense and spirit, and had ie shown a disposition to back me in a matter to which there is now no need to allude, we might all, instead of ending our days on this beggarly island, have had all this side of the world to choose Froth’ and a good - ship of our own to take us whither we would.” «You rascal, I believe you would have had us all turn praia exclaimed Robert, striking the table with his and. ‘* Perhaps,” answered Maguire, coolly. ‘‘ But wishes unfulfilled are not crimes, I believe, at least in this life, though some good folks have affixed a penalty to them in the next. You are, I see, recalling to your mind the deli- cate hints that I used to drop upon this subject, my en- deavors to make myself agreeable to the poor fools below _ stairs, the disfayor with which the gallant captain of late regarded me, and other little matters. But let us not waste time either on regrets or self-congratulations. The point is that here we are, and we are not pirates,” ‘‘Nay,” answered Robert, firmly, ‘“‘the point is rather that however you might have succeeded in imposing upon “your own or ignorant people, you would not have gained a man with a head on his shoulders or a heart in his breast to join in so mad and atrociousa scheme. Not oneof them, in the first place, would have moved a finger without their - Inaster’s iading: and you will never persuade me that a gentleman, like Mr. Kayanagh, however imprudent, and misguided, would have consented to become a thief and a murderer——’’ » __ One moment,” interposed Maguire, laying his finger on 4 Robert’s arm; ‘‘ by a most singular and unusual accident \ to have occurred during a flight of virtuous eloquence, you ~ have chanced to hit the nail on the head with your sledge- hammer, What would you say if I was to let you know that Mr. Kavanagh is a murderer already ?” “‘T should say that you are a liar, and in point of fact I do say it,” answered Robert, hotly. “Very good; that shows your spirit. There have indeed been days+-and notso long ago—when I would have shot a man dead for saying less; but let that pass. . “‘T want to come to an understanding with you, my lad, and not to quarrel; and, besides, it is your very pluck that makes me wish, I don’t say for your friendship, lest it should offend you, but your alliance. » “T must still request you to listen to me, even though i “you may disbelieve my assertions; but the proofs of what I say shall be forth-coming before you leave this room. _ “Mr. Frank Kavanagh had, as you know, a younger brother, Louis; they were born of the same mother, but un- _ der circumstances that made the younger the heir and the elder penniless. “Mr. Kavanagh senior did not marry his wife until after i Frank’s birth, whereby the boy was rendered illegitimate, _ though only a few persons were aware of the fact, either at that time or afterward. “The old man liked Frank best, as indeed did everybody; though wild and impulsive, he was generous and warm- _ hearted; and eyen the political ga be he got into (which --were very serious) seemed in his father’s eyes, who sympa- _ thised with their objects, but the result of youthful enthu- * mas”, To the tenants of the estate they endeared him, and _ even from Louis they never received any direct discourage- ment (although he held aloof from them) until after the old man’s death. — 7 ; “Té was not till long after Frank had grown up that his _ father revealed to him the fact of his Mea day; and I dare say the revelation did not help to sober him, or to heal the disagreements which existed between his better-for- tuned brother and himself. we ‘* Of these latter, however, the old man was not very cog- nizant, or at all events, attached to them less importance than they deserved. “* However his sons might differ im politics, he thought they would be loyal to one another; and especially that Louis, who was always full of professions of duty and prin- ciple, would take care to see his wishes carried out with re- spect to Frank after his own death, just as if they had the force of law. ' ‘He could, indeed, have left his eldest son provided for in his will, but not without the exposure of the shame of his dead mother; so in the presence of both his sons, and with Frank’s full consent, he stated how he desired them to share his property. “ His English estate of Falston, which was much larger than that he possessed in Ireland, he gave to Louis, who disliked the latter country, to which, on the other hand, his brother was devoted. “*To make up for this unequal distribution, and also be- cause he foresaw Frank’s revolutionary tendencies might one day cause him to need ready money wherewith to make himself a home in the New World, he left him a large sum (which he always aa by him in notes at Falston for the yery purpose to which it was afterwards applied), as well as the estate in Tipperary. ‘‘ Louis promised solemnly that this arrangement should hold good after his father’s death. just as if it had been so devised by will; and so the brothers parted company, never, I believe, to meet again but once: Frank to recommence his desultory existence, made up of attempts at art, at- tempts at politics—assisted in the latter by the devotion of such poor tools as you see here. ‘Frank Kavanagh was honest; his people were faithful, but they could not discover the way to the moon. More- over, there were some people who objected even to the ex- periment being tried. His plots, harmless to the govern- ment against which they were directed, were dangerous to himself: he had to use disguises, aliases, and houses that {had back doors to them, while Louis lived with his father at Falston Hall, a model son, with an eye to the county magistracy. ‘When the old man died Frank was in hiding, and, as Louis pretended, could not, therefore, be communicated with; but, at all events, the first hint he received of the fact was from the stoppage of his own allowance, followed by the information that his brother had taken possession ot the whole paternal estate, as he had undoubtedly a legal right to do. **On the same evening Frank Kavanagh, with Murphy, rode down from town to Falston Hall. What happened there I can pretty-well guess; but if you like to see the account of it as written by the penny-a-liners, here it is.” Maguire drew a newspaper from his breast pocket, and threw it across the table. ‘°* The murder at Falston Hal? is what they call it, you see.” “‘T see,” gasped Robert, looking from that ghastly head- ing to the date of the newspaper, which was the same as that on which he had visited Herne street. Oh, why, when Denton had offered it to him ¢hen, had he declined to read it? fo bay qu ‘*How you could be ignorent of what had taken place,” continued Maguire, ‘‘ was always a marvel to me; for if you had missed the papers, yet, being in town, how could you have helped reading ¢his, which was on every blank wall in London?” From the same pocket he took out a handbill, and — spread it out upon the table: “TWO HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD.—The above reward will be paid for the apprehension of Frank Kavanagh, charged with the Willful Murder of his brother, Louis Kavanagh, of Falston Hall, Es- quire.” waten 3 It was the same notice which had been pasted soe Robert’s window at Mulvaney’s, but of which he had only read the first two words when it was torn down by Murphy. Now the whole truth flashed upon him.. The broad-sheet seller of the previous night had proclaimed the full partic- / or « “ 2 MURPHY’S MASTER. ulars, though the widow and he in the smoke-room had caught them but indistinctly: he had missed the name, and had taken for suicide what without doubt had been fratricide. Murphy had prevented his going out to buy the broad-sheet, and had invented an excuse for not ob-} taining it himself, in order to conceal the terrible truth. With Robert, who had had the encounter with the patrol in his mind, and had no suspicion of any other catastrophe, he had succeeded, even after the former had seen the hand- bill, since he set that down to the same account; but the widow he had been unable to deceive, and hence their quarrel respecting Kavanagh. She had been blind to his failings, tender to his faults, but she could not, like his faithful henchman, excuse his crimes. “J don’t wish to see him, Murphy,” she had said, when he had spoken of the young: master’s wishing her farewell, ‘‘either here or elsewhere, but least of all under my own roof.” : And the reason was now only too evident—she had shrunk from taking his blood-stained hand in hers. From the moment she knew that he‘had taken his broth- er’s life all regard for-him had died out in her, or only just so much remained as prevented her from proclaiming his crime. To Robert: she had maintained an icy silence, the cold- ness of which had not escaped his notice, though he had never guessed its cause. CHAPTER XV. MAGUIRE’S ULTIMATUM. Tur revelation of this view of his patron was to Robert in itself sufficiently overwhelming, but what was still more terrible was the reflection, ‘‘ And with this man I have cast in my lot, and not only mine, but Lizzy’s!” In the bitterness of his heart he groaned and bowed his face be- tween his hands. «* Come, come, look up,” cried Maguire, encouragingly. «‘Tt is no use hiding one’s head like an ostrich, to escape from an inevitable position. You called me a liar, you know, and that perhaps made me acquaint you with these little particulars more abruptly than was judicious. You believe me now, I suppose, or will do so when you have read that newspaper?” “Take it away!” ejaculated Robert, with a gesture of - loathing; ‘‘I am convinced enough.” ‘‘Now that is what I call a proof of sense,’” observed Maguire, in a congratulatory tone. “The object of a newspaper writer is, of course, to har- row: the feelings; and therefore, when you want any dra- matic incident communicated to you in a delicate way, it is better to trust to a friend. What happened at Falston, stripped vf cant ‘and sensation, was as I understand, some- thing of this kind: the brothers had a private interview, in shih Frank talked of his mother’s memory and his father’s dying wishes, and Louis listened, not with very particular attention, his thoughts being probably entirely engrossed by his own affairs; but when the question was directly put to him ‘Are you going: to fulfil the promise that you gave our father in my presence with regard to the distribution of his property, or do you intend to take the whole, since the law awards it to you?’ I have not the least doubt that he replied, with great distinctness, ‘I mean to take the whole.’ Perhaps he added (for he was a con- summate hypocrite) that, painful as it was to him to arrive at this determination, he had done so no less on public grounds than private, inasmuch as he should deem it dan- _ gerous to the state to intrust.a man of ‘dear Frank’s’ rev-| olutionary sentiments with the means to carry them into ‘practical effect. At all events, whatever he said, he said too much, Frank’s head had long been ‘going; from a child he was subject to paroxysms of passion, which, com- pared with what people call ‘temper,’ were as a tornado to a capful of wind, and of late years they had been growing 31° worse and worse. He had begun to drink, too, though not to the extent that he drinks now. You must forgive him that, since it is done, I fancy, to drown the remembrance of the event which I am now about to relate, and for which he is so foolish as to entertain remorse. Well, being in this hot-headed state, and excessively exasperated, while the other was contemptuous and arrogant, there is no wonder that there were high words; then—I don’t know who struck them first; that isa nice question for the lawyers—then blows. In the end ensued a dreadful rough-and-tumble, out of which Louis never came at all, for he was left dead on the hearth-rug, with the front lock of his brother’s hair in his hand, which he had torn up by the roots. The reason Frank always wears a skull-cap is to conceal that wound; and now you know why the officer at Liverpool was so care- ' ful to pass his hand over everybody’s head who at all re- sembled Kavanagh. The disguise he had assumed as Den- ton, however, pulled him safely through that ordeal, which was fortunate for the inspector also, who would, without doubt, have shown his sagacity at the expense of his life. After the trouble and pains that Murphy and the rest of us had been at to get the young master safely on board the Star, and surrounded by his own friends, it is not. likely that. we would have let him be snatched from their hands at the moment of escape.” “ But he is not safe now,” ejaculated Robert: “ directly he disclosed who he was he.surely became liable to appre- hension, even on board the Star /” “‘No doubt,” observed Maguire, grimly, ‘‘if there had been anybody fool enough to apprehend him. It is more than likely, however, that the captain was himself igno- rant of the serous character of Kavanagh’s crime; and, at all events, he knew that he had become irresponsible for ite? 2% ‘‘Trresponsible for it! How could that be?” “< Because,” answered Maguire, leaning across the table, and speaking in hushed tones, ‘‘the man is mad, mad as a March hare five days out of every six; and, when drunk, always mad. You saw him once yourself in the latter state, and thought it was D. T., I suppose. Well, so it was; but it was something else besides. He was going through the | whole performance that took place. at Falston, as he often does. ‘There, there he stands, with his strangled face!’ he cries. ‘He struck me first; I’ll swear it.’. And then, ‘Help, help! the echo of the cry his brother gave, or per- haps his own terrified call to Murphy when the knowledge of what he had done first forced itself upon him.” — ‘< Poor, miserable man!” exclaimed Robert, pityingly. ‘Well, no, not poor,” answered Maguire, coolly. ‘ The one sensible thing that Frank Kavanagh ever did, or rather which (as 1 shrewdly guess) Murphy did for him, was to carry off from Falston Hall that parcel of bank- notes which his father had designed. for him, and always kept in his desk ready for an emergency—though he little guessed of what sort the emergency would be. I believe this amounted to many thousand pounds, from which we on Murphy’s, Island have already reaped the benefit.” “You think, then, that Mr. Frank was mad, or nearly so, before the aggravation of his brother’s meanness made him lose all command over himself and commit this terri- ble deed?” observed Robert, shocked by the revelation of his patron’s crime, and genuinely anxious to believe him guiltless of it. Let “I believe he was always crack-brained,” answered Maguire, coolly—“ though his friends used to call it enthu- siasm—and that the fissure has been growing wider and — wider.” «And yet,” urged Robert, ‘on all occasions on which I have seen him, save one, he has appeared sane enough.” — “*You have seen him in lucid intervals, and, panics, the voyage itself greatly benefited him for the time; but since he has been ashore here matters have been infinitely worse; remorse and drink together have undermined the remainder of his wits, and. they have fallen in, higgledy- piggledy.” ede 32 re «Then, if he was to be sent for from England, and taken isoner, you don’t think he could—” Robert hesitated, for e did not forget that Kavanagh had been uniformly kind to him, and had trusted to his bare word in the weightiest. matters. “Don’t think he could be hanged? you were going to ‘say, man. No, he could not be hanged, if that is any sort of satisfaction to you. But what interests me greatly more than that far-off contingency is, how his madness is likely ‘to affect usin the mean time. There is no lunatic asylum on Murphy’s Island ; and if there were, it would be as much as our lives were worth to attempt to shut him up in it. For Murphy will never believe, even when he sees him raving, that his master is anything more thaw a little eccen- tric, and would obey his wildest, mandate rather than the advice of the sagest of men; while as for the tag-rag and bobtail over at the harbor yonder, they will believe any- thing that’ Murphy tells them. For all we know, when the fit is on him, Kavanagh may give orders for our imme- diate execution, as, indeed, has happened to one poor wretch already.” ERE “You don’t mean to say that he put a man to death?’ exclaimed Robert, in horrified accents. ‘Indeed I do, though. He. was tried by a sort of a court-martial for trying to make off with the ‘gig ’—it is now made a capital offense, by-the-bye, to leave the island _ without Kavanagh’s permission—and they strung him up in front of Government House. As it happened, it was only a Tipperary boy, but it might have been you or me. Well, all this brings me round to the matter which I had in my mind when I brought you over to New Town. The a. here are not quite such fools as they are at the arbor; there the boys are so entirely under Murphy’s thumb that they did not dare to whisper to you that the Governor was ill, whereas /ere you are informed of it, as you remember, readily enough; and moreover, I am glad to say, they have had a disagreement with one another. Now, ‘ When fools quarrel, wise men come by their own,’ says the proverb, or something to that effect. ‘And now perhaps you see at what I have been driving?” “Not exactly—no, I confess I don’t,” said Robert, sus- piciously. His former interest in and even regard for Ma- - guire was indeed swept away. ‘The circumstances in which they were now placed no longer admitted of his lookin n that personage as a harmless err the calm an most soeins. manner in which he had narrated this story of - What he had taken for candor in the man he now perceived to be an unblushing recklessness; he feared his sanity almost as much as Kavanagh’s madness. 2 “You are duller than you are wont to be, Master Ches- ney,” observed Maguire. ‘‘ Why, is it not clear that you and T are the only two men on this island with brains in their head, save one who has them muddled? If this madman and his man were out of the way, the rest, look you, would be our subjects.” 5 ‘Granting that,” answered Robert, quietly, ‘for the sake of the argument: how do you erhet to persuade Mr. Kavanagh and Murphy to leave the island?” ~ “T think I cowld persuade them,” answered Maguire, with acold smile. ‘At all events, you may leave that - matter to me. Ihave influence with both factions, and you are not disliked by either; moreover, you will have the advantage of such authority as Kavanagh may leave behind him. hy should we not make alliance and reign together peaceably over this little territory? I don’t pretend to conceal from you that if you had more spirit, or had not _ been spoiled by a mawkish ee up, that I should have oe a bolder game—such as I very nearly persuaded avanagn to play. ; “You would have revived the days you spent on board the Mother Carey, on shore, I presume?” said Robert, in as indiffent a tone as he could compass. TY would, by Heaven!’ answered Maguire, roundly. _ *€ We could have had our own ship in yonder harbor, and ain and Abel had shocked the lad to the core. | : MURPHY’S MASTER. |done a good trade, of which no one would have suspected. us; and when folks in little vessels dropped in upon us by accident, we should have welcomed aioan so warmly that they should never have gone away. But you are not. fit for such bold strokes, so I-think of them no longer. We must be content to call this isle our own, and to have no masters, which -is no small thing in these days. . You, I hear, are expecting your sweetheart from England.” In spite of himself, here Robert could not repress a. shudder. i How terrible had the bare idea become of bringing his. Lizzy to such a spot! too horrible even to think of, but that. he had already formed a plan in his own mind by which such a catastrophe should be averted. “Well, I have also.fixed my affections upon a young lass, from King’s County,” continued Maguire. ‘‘'To be sure, they are not at present returned, but no doubt they will be when I can call myself co-governor. Altogether, the pros- pect seems to me very fair and promising for us both, but: especially for yourself, who are far the younger man, and will have the sole command when I am under-ground or feeding the fishes. So stands my offer, lad, in return for your alliance. Iregret to add—but then it is so much bet- ter to be explicit—that if you should decline it, there is an unpleasant reverse to the picture. I have still the ear of the Governor, when, at least, he can be got to listen to. anybody, and also the confidence of Murphy; and I have. only to whisper that this ambitious scheme has sprung from your own head instead of mine to make you dance in the air in front of the Government House. Just think over the whole matter, lad, and then answer me ‘ Yes’ or ‘ No. 999 Here Maguire lit his pipe, leaned back in his chair, and began to occupy himself with the newspaper, so as not to: interfere with his young friend’s deliberations. | Robert had already made-up his mind as to his future course of conduct, but he thought it better to appear unde- cided, and to temporize as much as possible. ’ “Indeed, Mr. Maguire,” returned he, after a considerable. pause, ‘‘all that you have told me is so strange and un- looked for that I must be forgiven for saying that. Ican promise nothing until I have satisfied myself of the facts you have narrated with my own eyes and ears. Until I have convinced myself that Mr. Kavanagh is mad, I don’t see how you can reasonably expect me to deny him my allegiance.” “«That would be well enough in a believer in the Divine: — Right of kings,” observed Maguire, carelessly; ‘but in a person of such delicate moral scruples as yourself the fact: of his having committed a double murder ought to weigh somewhat, I should have thought, against his authority. However, there is no hurry about anything in Murphy’s Island, and you have only to see its Governor to be con- vinced of what I have told you about him. Preserve your decision until to-morrow, or the next day, for that matter, und then tell me whether we are to be friends or enemies.” The tone of the speaker was still one of conciliation: but: he spoke with knitted brows, and with the air of one who is putting a strong restraint upon himself. Moreover, there was a suspicious, searching glance in his keen gray eyes that bespoke but little confidence in the de- cision which he had requested proving favorable to his. views. “* Well,” said he, rising, ‘‘I shall now leave you to make yourself at home in your new house. You will be over at. the harbor before mght, I dare say, and in the meantime good-bye to you.” ' CHAPTER XVI. THE CONSTITUTION, Yes, Robert certainly intended to be over at the harbor before night. It was his fixed resolve to seek an interview with Kavanagh as soon as might be, and whether he found. him in the condition Maguire had described or not, to take 3 aid 7 oo he 0’ Rn) Sates fee he 88 @ oe weawmm me ny. Oa x MURPHY’S MASTER. 33 passage to Melbourne the next morning by the ship that ad brought him thence. With a murderer, whether sane or mad, he would have no part or lot, and, above all, he would take care that Liz- zy should never set foot upon that perilous shore. The only doubt now left in his mind as to his future con- duct was whether he should acquaint the authorities in Australia with the state of affairs on Murphy’s Island. . Sot greene to. its colonists, now subject to the caprices of a despot, and fated in all probability to become the prey of an unscrupulous schemer, it was clearly his dut so to. do; and yet he shrank from the ingratitude that suc an act would involve, for how could he describe what had occurred without denouncing his benefactor and patron? As to acceding to the infamous proposition of Maguire, his nature revolted at it. He believed that the man’s hint of being able to ‘per- suade” Kavanagh and his faithful follower to quit the is- land meant nothing less than that they were to be put. to death; and even if he could be so base and vile a traitor, he had little doubt that he himself, having served his con- federate’s selfish ends, would in turn bécome his victim. In order to give his late companion ample time to pre- cede him tothe harbor, rather than with any interest in the investigation itself, he went over his little home, and was both surprised and touched to find in it many indica- tions both of the good-will and generosity of Kavanagh. The furniture, and even the decorations of the saloon cabins of the Star, had evidently been laid under lavish contribution to supply his needs; and if Government House should prove to be equipped proportionally to the residence of the second in command, its interior at least would not greatly belie its ambitious designation. ' For his own part, however, he was to reap no advantage from this splendor, which also filled him with remorseful tenderness toward him by whose forethought he had been ' provided. ' With a heavy heart he left the house, and was at once surrounded by such of the population of New 'Town—most- ly women and children—as the news of the arriyal of the stores had not attracted to the other settlement. Among the former he noticed the black-eyed, gypsy-faced youn girl from King’s County upon whom Maguire had deigne to bestow his to-be-one-day enviable affections. Robert had noticed her himself on board the Star—not only from her beauty, but because of the likeness to the **Miss Mary” of Herne street, whom (although she was much younger) in her general appearance she greatly re- P sembled. Her age could not have much exceeded sixteen, and she had still about her all the glow and radiance of childhood. His heart sunk within him as he heard her merry laugh, and listened to her thoughtless words, for the reflection forced itself upon him: ‘If I should spare Kavanagh, will it not be eventually at the sacrifice of this bright and innocent girl?” Escaping from the questions and welcomings of. the throng as soon as he could, he breasted the central hill, re- solving to take that way to the harbor im preference to the shorter and easier road by which he had come, inorder to avoid the possibility of overtaking Maguire, whose com- panionship he now felt to be intolerable. — At the summit he paused—not for breath, for the eleva- tion, to his young limbs and lungs, was insignificant enough, but to survey the ocean, which had of late acquired an interest for him which it had lacked before. ‘‘ In three - months’ time,” thought he, ‘‘ or four at furthest, the ship that brings my darling to the home I trust I shall by that time have made for her will be speeding yonder on her course.” ‘And even while he looked his heart bounded within him, for there, in truth, but a few miles ‘off, there was a ship, and steering, so far as he could judge, for Melbourne. e next moment he blushed at his own folly, for how | gould it be the ship in question, since even that which car- omen ried his summons to the Alstons had not yet arrived in a However, taking out a pocket-glass with which he had provided himself in Melbourne, he scanned the vessel with some interest, which increased as he gazed to in- | tense excitement. He was not much versed in seamanship, but surely, surely that was the very sloop in which he had himself ar- rived but a few hours ago. The harbor was concealed under the hill, but he ran forward quickly until he could command it, and then his worst suspicions were confirmed; the sloop which it had been definitely arranged was to have waited until the. morrow was alread 3. go It was for this, perhaps, that he been enticed to visit New Town! His idea of taking passage at once to Mel- — bourne had been anticipated, whether by Maguire or others, and thus forestalled. If it was so, the misfor- tune was indeed overwhelming, for how could he warn Lizzy of her danger in coming to the island? Had it been arranged that the mail was to bring her, he could have carried her on to Melbourne in it, despite all se a opposition; but the crew of this little sloop could not con- — trol the force that the islanders could bring a; them, and being in the pay of Kavanagh, were of course subject to his orders. : Indeed, it must be in obedience to them that they had now altered their intention of remaining the night, and set sail for home. The pinnace, it is true, and the gig still lay in harbor; but the former needed at least three men to navigate her, and the latter was a mere cockle-shell, quite unfit. to face the open sea. Moreover, had it not been enacted that it was death embark in either of them without Kavanagh’s ane mission—a penalty which, unless Maguire had told a false- ‘hood capable of immediate refutation, had been already carried out to its extremity ? Hae His position, under every aspect, was in growing loomy and serious, and it’ was with a heavy heart that Rect resumed his way toward the harbor. - For the pres- ent he was alone in his peril; how much more terrible would the situation be if Lizzy should arrive to share his fate— — perchance his doom! “Government House,” though a structure of absurdly insignificant size to have so grand a title, was.a well-built and compact edifice; it was two stories high, and contained © eight rooms, yet every piece of timber of which it was com- its neighbor piece like the joints of a child’s puzzle. — In Australia, though house-room might be dear and diffi- cult to obtain, this costly toy--which was painted and fitted up with infinite elaborateness—would have been out of place, if not superfluous, and only have ministered to its possessor’s vanity; but on Murphy’s Island, by a singular chance, it had found its proper function. _ ye aes Contrasted with the tents around it, and with the more ies 0.4 rr osed had a number and place of its own, and fitted into humble dwellings which were ete already erected at the _ harbor out of the timber which Robert had brought over — with him from Melbourne, and with the gay banner float- _ ing from the flag-staff, it had a lordly if not a sovereign air. Moreover, as though in mimicry of royal state, one of the Tipperary “‘ boys,” pike in hand, was strutting sentrywise to and fro in front of the door. eat ‘Tg the master within, Tim?’ asked Robert of this con- sequential personage, with whom, of course, he was well acquainted. “He’s in sir; yes. But Murphy says that he can be seen by none of his people.” “‘ But that does not include me, I suppose?” said Robert, — persuasively. ‘ t transact with him, Tim.” : ee Tim lowered his pike, scratched his head with the point of it, and deliberated gravely within himself. He had his ‘Besides, I have important matters to — , orders, but were they to be put in effect with respect to — the master’s own lieutenant? 7 { MURPHY’S MASTER. 4. & Well; you can just step in, Mr. Chesney, and ask him yourself whether-he wishes you to be admitted or not.” _— Without stopping to question Tim’s logic, Robert open- _ ed the door and stepped within. The atmosphere, charged with tobacco-smoke and tinctured with the smell of spirits, -_- reminded him of the little room at Mulvaney’s; it; didn’t smell like a new house at all; though everything to the eye was. spick and span. .. _ © $©Who’s ‘that?’ inquired a harsh voice. from above stairs: “Then Murphy’s shock: head appeared over. the balusters. »‘‘Oh, it’s you, Mr. Chesney,” added he, in a _ hoarse whisper. . ‘The master is ill, sir, and can’t be 5 oe ' mares - - £€Come up!” roared another voice from an upper room, _ in such excited tones'that Robert could hardly have recog- nized them as belonging to Kavanagh. ‘‘Come up, and _ bring another bottle of whisky, Robert, for we are half through this one already.” __ Murphy, as usual, at.once withdrew his opposition, to his master’s wishes, and only held up his forefinger in _ warning of Robert knew not what, as the latter obeyed the summons. , , _ In a front-room, handsomely furnished, and close to a round table on which were glasses and a bottle, sat Frank _ Kayanagh, looking, years older than when Chesney had - seen him last, oe with that blotched, unhealthy flush up- ~ onhis fave which, unlike that resulting from fresh air and exercise, suggests a preteated and deep debauch. His eyes were blood-shot, and regarded the new-comer without - disfavor, indeed, but without a particle of the interest that under the circumstances might have been expected; and his disheveled hair, no longer covered by a skull-cap, dis- _ played above the forehead a bald scar, the sight of which és: ams shudder through Robert’s frame; for was it not the mark of Cain! . - “Sit down, lad. Dick, bring a fresh glass,” exclaimed here we are all alone once more in our own little island!” _ Then, breaking out into a song: “«¢ Oh, it’s a bright little island— A right little, tight little island! Search the globe round, none can be found ‘So happy as this little island!’”’ _ “I hope it may be a happy one, sir,” observed Robert, ietly. » | pth ag Hope, lad! I say it is, and I’m master here, I believe. Isn’t that so, Dick?’ True for you,” answered Murphy, gravely; ‘‘you’re the king of us all, sure.” x oot _ ‘Then why does this mealy-mouthed gentleman talk about his hopes?” resumed the other, with irritation, “If my people are not happy here, I'll know the reason why. And, look you, happy or not, they shall go, nowhere ¢lse” —he brought his fist down on the table with an emphasis that made the glasses ring again—‘‘ nowhere else, so help me Heaven, save to the dickens. Fishing? No, they rail eat so much as fish, unless I give them my royal per- - mission so to do. That was why I hanged Pat Doolan: to encourage the others not to go. fishing in the gig without my leave. And as for the pinnace, it is never to be used without my written order, my imperial ukase. You’re my second in command, sir, so look to that.” . ‘The tragic air and stilted manner of the speaker were such as would have fitted the mock-sovereign of a bur- esque, or some self-satisfied inmate of the walls of Bedlam; but there was a certain significance in his words, too, that jarred upon his hearer worse than their mere jangling wild- ness. This tirade about the boats, as it struck Robert, was intended to apply to his own case, and serve as a personal warming, 7); WR ORE eae td shall obey your directions, sir, of course,” answered he, respectfully. “‘ But as to quitting the island, as I sup- pose you hint at, that would not be very practicable in the gig, at’all events; and to hang a man for going out to fish seems to me to be hard measure.” é = Kavanagh. ‘‘ Well, thank Heaven, that sloop’s gone, and’ _ Seems to you?” answered Kavanagh, menacingly. “And what is that to me? When I ask my minister’s opinion, he may give it, but. not unasked.. The power of life and death is the king’s prerogative. _ Murphy and I are drawing up the statues of the island, and that is the first article of our constitution.. To speak against. the king or to. discuss his-acts with strangers has been also made a cap- ital offense.. We put them im after Pat’s death, lest the crew of the sloop should come to hear of it, and that exer- cise of my undoubted authority be subsequently questioned elsewhere. It is. a great power, look you, lad, and makes one draw a proud breath to be able to say, ‘Death’ to any man who doesn’t suit one’s fancy. » To open to him, as it were, by 4 word, the gates of Eternity. Yes, yés. «The mischief is; however,” added the speaker, with a puzzled air, “that one can’t get the fellow back again when one wishes it. And one ie wish it sometimes—oh, one does.” His head drooped gently on his hand, his tones became soft and tender, and his feverish eyes filled with tears. ‘‘I had a brother once, lad; we were boystogether; Lcan remember saying my prayers with him at our mother’s knee. But he would take out the boat and fish contrary to our express in- junction, and—the king must administer justice quite in- differently, you know—and poor Louis paid for it with his life. .Didn’t he, Dick?” ae The tone of his appeal was very sad and touching, but not more so than the expression ‘of, Murphy’s - answering look. It seemed to sa ' “Oh, what wild words make me tremble to hear them, and never, never, never think him mad!” ‘* Don’t talk of that, Mr. Frank,” answered the cheerfully. ‘‘ Let us speak of other things. You have never said a word to Mr. Chesney, you know, respecting his stay in Melbourne, and. the cargo he brought over with im. has happened to my beloved master? His money intrusted to me. of it, but I hope in such a manner as you will approve.” “Yes, yes; I have seen it all, and 7 do approve. There is whisky enough to supply our royal cellar for-—well, one week at least. That is why the man keeps guard ever us with a pike—to keep off thieves, and to knock in | the head of a cask whenever it is wanted. Isn’t that so, Dick?” ; a 6 Murphy muttered some inarticulate reply, which, by the cheerful nod that accompanied, it, would seem to be in the affirmative; but that devoted follower was evidently in sad. straits. Hi ‘« By-the-bye, Robert, continued Kavanagh, his change- ful manner, which had been fierce, pathetic, and humor- ously cynical by turns, becoming suddenly delicately courte- — ff te have spoken of the cargo, but not of the passen-_ ous, ers. id ou have not said one word about your Lizzy. Why ou not bring her here to see me?’ I wish above all things to welcome my friend’s wife to eae ts Island, and especially to introduce her to: Mary. . Governor’s wife, you know, must call upon the Deputy- Governor’s, that is a constitutional necessity. She will go in state, upon a white elephant, if the animal is procur- able. But in the meantime the young women should be friends. You have seen my Mary, of course??: = “Yes,” replied Robert, hesitating; ‘‘but I did not know”—he was going to add, ‘“‘that she was on the island,” when Kavanagh broke in triumphantly: ~ yet I will others; ‘* Yes, indeed, sir,” observed Robert, ‘‘ I should wish to account to you, as soon as you: have the leisure, for the Ihave expended nearly the whole «¢ There! he has seen her, Murphy, with his own eyes; and. . yet you ty to persuade me that she is not at New Town. — Go away, Dick, go away, and leave me with Mr. Ches- néy, to arrange our pecuniary accounts, about which your poor stupid head can understand re The poor fellow is losing what little wits he has, Chesney, and positively tries to persuade me that my own Mary, who has followed me here so faithfully from girl from King’s County. A pretty thing, indeed, that a mgland, isa — wap AOR aA iTS NP cn voc = is ? | rtenss ee sip emi AB LE ee aa ie sare < with which you intrusted me on board the Star.” MURPHY’S MASTER. man should not know his “own sweetheart) And there} “Yes, yes} quite right—you must keep that. Iam bet- - were others, too—that fellow Maguire, for one—who were r in the same tale. But yours is independent testimony. Hush? not a word. I thank you for it. Empty titles are not to be created under my dynasty; but I give you in reward a solid privilege. ou shall go fishing in the gig within the circuit of half a mile, to which our jurisdiction extends. Put that down, Murphy; it shallform the seven- teenth article of the constitution. But there, you cannot write. Give me the parchment. ‘Given at the Government House’—that is our royal style—‘etc., etc.’ There, “you are’ free to take the boat and fish, provided only that if’ you should catch sturgeon, it must be reserved for our own table.” ‘I During’ all this rodomontade Robert maintained a re- spectful silence. He had endeavored to explain the mistake into which Kavanagh had fallen with respect to ‘Miss Mary,” but theformer had refused to listen to it; and was it now worth while ee if it was'possible) to set this poor madman right in so absurd a’ matter, especially too, as the under- standing had brought forth such welcome fruit? For in the gig could he not go forth and meet the sloop, and thereby avert all danger from ‘her it should bring—since on his report it would, of course, put back to Melbourne, whence help could then be sent, if necessary, to the dis- tracted island? ‘ On the other hand, Robert perceived that he had deeply offended Murphy. Not only had he brought upon him— itself an unforgiveable injury—his master’s wrath, but in- stead of doing his best to mitigate Kavanagh’s hallucina- tions, he had pretended to acquiesce in them—or at least in one of them—in order to reap what must have seemed a very trifling advantage. he pair had never been good friends, but up to this time the contempt had always been on Chesney’s side, while the other monopolized the hate. But now Murphy’s scowling face exhibited not only the most furious hostility, but the bitterest scorn. ' iH “‘You vile young viper!” cried he, “to bite’the hand that has fed you. [Ul ” eis “Silence!” roared Kavanagh—‘‘how dare you use such words to the Deputy-Governor! Have I not placed him over you, you dog, you cur?’—and as though poor Dick had been indeed the creature by whose name he was thus addressed, he winced and shrank from every word as from a lash—‘‘and is this the reverence you pay to an officer of my choosing? Be off—be off, I say, or I will set it down in the constitution that to call the Deputy-Governor ‘a vile ee i young viper’ is to have earned death. With a subdued though still sullen air Murphy raised his hand to his head—a form of respect enjoined, as Robert rightly guessed, by the new constitution to its founder— and slowly left the room. } ‘Discipline must be maintained,” sighed Kavanagh, regretfully; ‘but it would cause me intense regret to be compelled to hang Dick Murphy. I tell you what ”—and here his look became intensely cunning—‘‘we’ll make ‘a statute that the Governor’s wife shall always possess the right of pardon, and then, thanks to Mary, we shall be ex- tricated out of all these little embarrassments. Iamso glad you recognized her, my dear lad; for not to be recognized is, in society, avery seriousannoyance. And now about these - accounts—fill your glass—well, then J will; and, sparing us the details (which aré always tedious), tell us what is the gross surplus.” ‘There is about eighty pounds remaining, sir. But here are the papers, with every item ——” ‘Very good; an auditor” (with a wave of his hand) “shall look into them in due time, and I have no doubt will find them correct, As for the eighty pounds, I shall ive them to Murphy, whose feelings I could see, were) Urb. “You will remember, sir,” urged Robert, ‘that I have still in my possession untouched the three thousand pounds insular domain (except what was hidden by the hill itself, pes \told him that much. ter, much better now in health; but the necessity may still arise for expending it in the manner suggested. The = cares of my high office may be too much for me. Do you < ” know, lad” (he laid his hand in his old familiar manner | on Robert’s arm, and sunk his voice to a whisper), “I sometimes think my brain is failing me? Suppose the Governor was to go mad like George III.! Don't you think that should be provided for in the constitution?” Robert bent his head: he knew not what to say. He was ashamed of his own hypocrisy, and yet what could he ~ do but temporize and affect acquiescence? It was clear _ that Maguire had not exaggerated Kavanagh’s conditions» — which, moreover, was probably much worse than when he had last appeared in public; nothing, indeed, but the slay- ~ ish affection of Murphy could be proof against: the convic~ '. tion that his master was a madman. je And yet in this man’s hands were intrusted the desti-— nies, even to life and death, of all upon the island! These reflections were of a nature to make Robert in no mood for speech, and Kayanagh ran on with his wild words, not only without contradiction; but without interruption. “Ine case anything should ha ee tome, Mary, itistrue, might be regent; but it is so difficult for a woman to maintam order when there are revolutionary elements at work;and = between ourselves) they ave at work even now. No; you, obert will be the interim governor, and will also succeed. me, in case of my dying without issue. This is veryim- portant, and must be entered in the constitution before a witness.” ‘The speaker opened the door, and called for Murphy, who rose from the rug outside, on which he had been disconsolately lying, to execute this pressing duty. The whole interview would have been most distressing to Robert, were it not that pity for his patron was over- borne by the gravest. considerations for the future both for himself and others. When it was over—that is, so soon as _ he could decently make his esca he once more ascended. the cone-shaped hill, which, with the exception of his own — vice-regal two-roomed residence, was the only spot on the — whole island: where he could ebtain even comparative — privacy. ieee The submit was a level flat of a few feet square, and — lying down on this, with the sky above him, the sea around — him, he could fancy himself alone in the world. Standing up, on the other hand, he could not only suryey all that which on the harbor side was somewhat precipitous), but could himself be seen from every part of it. ope Not a tree, not a bush was. there to intercept the view: nothing higher than a blade, save the few vege . that already rewarded the industry of the colonists, ap-. peared above the soil of Murphy’s Island. Even now the. home of madness and treachery, and fated, perhaps, to witness as dark deeds as any spot beneath the sun, the . place was already become abhorrent tohim... = He swept the horizon in hopes to see a sail ie cared not. what nor whence it came) with the feverish longing of a shipwrecked man whose scanty store is lessening fasts but, as his heart foreboded, he looked in yain. ae The Star had been blown much out of her course, orshe — would never have chanced upon the island, which lay too» far to the southeast to be in the track .of the Australian traders; the little chart which he spread out before him — ew Fare His only hope lay in the comparatively small direct Tas- _ manian traffic, the ships engaged in which, however, could be seen, if at all, from New Town. He would watch for © them ‘night and day, and if seen, do his best to attract. their notice. : aid To-morrow, he would propose to Kavanagh that a flag- staff should be placed upon the hill, with a banner flying to proclaim his ebony 8 hile pondering in his mi Ei tag is mind upon these things, he was suddenly startled by a low and sullen roar, followed by. sf ae MURPHY’S MASTER. ee oe movement of the air, which seemed to be that the earth itself. He had heard a royal salute from Windsor Castle, so that he recognized this at once for the report of a heavy gun. _ Leaping to his feet, he once more looked eagerly around— i for the sound had seemed to come from no particular quar- _-_ ter—-expecting to descry the smoke. But there was no | smoke to be seen. Ces He saw the New Town ” le running along the shore, | and presently others from the harbor meeting them, each Be party, as he rightly rested, believing that the report came Ree the opposite side of the island to that on which they ‘were. : t : _ The whole population, of late so depressed and sluggish, seemed to have wakened: into life, clustering together in _ dark masses, and with a murmurous hum, like bees. _ They too, perhaps, would have gladly hailed the arrival _ ofastranger strong enough to overbear the authority of _ Kavanagh, whose severity in the case of Doolan had alarmed It was a proof. of their simplicity that only one of them _ thought of ascending the hill, from which their curiosity, _ if at all, could have been satisfied at once. _ Robert did not need his glass to be convinced that this - ‘person was Maguire. ee a CHAPTER XVII. ARRESTED. $0 you are on the look-out, Mr. Chesney, with your _ ‘Map and your glass,” said Maguire, when he had come up é bert’s side, ‘‘in hopes to see a friendly sail?” He spoke in a dry, cynical tone that was habitual to him, but the expression of his face was less grim than usual, ao not more genial; it was grave, set, and determined. — *€T am looking, like other people,” answered Robert, earelessly, “for the ship that fired that gun.” _ Yes,” answered the other, contemptuously, ‘and you were also wishing that you had a white table-cloth to wave, Re SOY. a pile of wood to fire, in order to attract her atten- _ tion. “Why not?” inquired Robert, coolly: ‘‘all sails are friendly to us here, I suppose.” __ To you, perhaps, they may be; but not to him who rules _ this island for the nonce, nor to him ”—and he struck his own broad breast with his hand—‘“ who is about to rule it. No ship shall land here with my leave; be sure of that; and woe be to the man who brings one hither.” _ “JT did not know that the island was provided with such vy batteries, and that you had the command of them,” observed Robert, with Papel color. ‘As to your menace—if you intend it to be a personal one—it is thrown away upon me.” ‘ _ _ ** Ho, ho! so you have already made - your mind upon _ the subject we discussed a while ago. We are to be enemies, are we, Robert Chesney?” _ We are not to be friends, Maguire, if at least you are go free with threats,” answered Robert, boldly. ‘‘ You may kill me—and you look this moment as if you would like to do it—but be stire of this, you shall never bully me. If I had a here, I would wave it, if I had a bonfire here, I would light it, though it were to be the last movement of my hand.” What a pity that I shall some day have to kill you, Chesney, if you let your courage so far outstrip your wits,” said Maguire, not without some admiring pity. “It is lucky for you that both you and those poor fools yonder are _ alike in error respecting the sound you have just heard. - That was no ship’s gun, my lad, as you imagine, but an earthquake shock. In the China seas I have heard such more than once, though never in these latitudes. You doubt me? Well, if it be a ship, then, you may signal her, - and may I swing at her yard-arm.” ‘was to panpen, ‘« An earthquake shock!” answered Robert, wonderingly. ‘Well, itis true I thought I felt the tremble.” ‘‘ And you were right, lad. I have told you the explana- tion of that; now why not be taught by me in other mat- ters? Did I deceive you as to the condition of Kavanagh? Is he not stark, staring mad? Are not our lives hanging ona mere thread while we submit ourselves to his tyrannical caprices?” * All that is true,” said Robert, firmly. ‘‘ But I will not have him harmed—that is, as yow would harm him.” «‘ You would rather let him kill you than kill Aim, per- haps?” observed Maguire, significantly. ‘‘ And yet,” added he, when the other made no answer, ‘‘I haye heard it said you once drew a knife upon a man yourself.” “‘On Murphy; yes. But I had no other means whereby to defend my life.” ‘Oh! that was it,” said Maguire, carelessly. ‘‘I thought you had aslighter reason. ell, our intelligent friends onder have hit, I see, at last upon the idea of using the ill as a look-out: and as I don’t want to haye to explain to them the phenomena of earthquakes, I shall be off; so good-evening.” He nodded and moved slowly off toward the harbor. Un- concerned as he strove to appear, Robert knew that Maguire _ felt baffled, angry, and evilly disposed toward himself; that _ he had made his last effort to win him over to his views, _|and was now resolved to act without him—perhaps against him. Full of serious thoughts and apprehensions, Robert felt as little inclined to chatter as his late companion, and went down the hill to his own house. ' Instigated by some presentiment of danger to those pre- cious treasures, he dug up the flooring of his bedroom, and hid beneath it his map, his telescope, and also a little pocket-compass he had purchased in Melbourne; then feeling that he had taken all the poor precautions that were within his power, he lit his pipe to think and ponder once again. : ; Before it was smoked out there came a knock at the door, and Tim appeared at it, pike in hand.. ** You’re wanted,” seid he, *‘ at the harbor.” The curtness of the man’s manner, and the absence of the man’s ‘‘sir,” which he had used but a few hours ago, would have suggested to Robert that there was something amiss, even had there not been at. Tim’s back two other men, also, with pikes, presenting on the whole a far from friendly- looking embassy. FF ‘‘ Why, what’s the .matter, Tim?” inquired Robert, good-naturedly. . “That you must answer to the master—I mean the Gov- ernor,” was the gruff reply. ‘‘I’m to bring you to him, and these are to stay here and search about.” ee When Tim and his prisoner were on their way together to the Government House, however, the former relaxed his sternness, and became more communicative, Maguire, it aperanec had impeached Robert to Kavanagh, accusing him of a design to attract sirengcte to the island, for the pur- pose of destroying his authority; and the poor mad Goy- ernor was more-beside himself than ever with fury. ** Bedad, if it’s proved against you, he’ll string you up, just as he did Pat Doolan,” was Tim’s fixed opinion, in which Robert himself was obliged to concur: and if that what would then become of Lizzy, left on WeaEP ’s Island without even the protection of his slender arm! seemed to nerve him with courage, and if if did not sharpen his wits, determined him to execute them without scruple. He had an arrow in his mental quiver which, if the worst came to the worst, he would let fly at Maguire’s own breast, be the issue to that traitor what it might. . In front of Government House there was a little crowd assembled, that made way for him witha pitying murmur; and what was far more ominous, there etaeed of its front windows a stout pole, from the end of which a his reflection, howeyer, instead of paralyzing him, ; from one © pig tn Seigaeanine s+ mosis aR _ Robert had ship _ fense. _ nagh, hastily. ~ notice of these little matters. MURPHY’S MASTER. 3? rope was already dangling, the same, no doubt, which had cut short poor Doolan’s mortal: coil. m CHAPTER XVIII. HIGH TREASON, Rogert was ushered by Tim into the same room wherein he had been before admitted, but which now presented a somewhat different ap arance. Upon the round tabie, on. which bottle and glasses were still standing, had been hoisted an arm-chair, and in this elevated seat was Kavanagh, holding in his hand, by way of symbol of sovereignty, a wooden ‘ruler, which he waved, as bert entered, with a majestic air. By his side stood Murphy, with adrawn sword; and in a corner of the room, in an empty tea-chest, which came up to his hips, and supplied the place of a witness-box, stood Maguire—both with the gravest faces, as of persons im- pressed with a due reverence for judicial ceremonial. Perilous as he felt his position to be, Robert could hardly maintain his gravity at this ludicrous spectacle; though the black beam projecting from the window, and the murmur of hushed expectancy that came up from the crowd below, might well have quenched the mirth of a braver man. “¢ Robert Chesney,” observed the Governor, in a solemn accused of endeayoring to bring upon us a foreign power, thereby to subvert our authority—an offense contrary to the constitution, and which by it is punishable with death. It is my hope, dearly beloved cousin, and second only to ourselves, as you are, within this realm, that you may clear yourself of this hateful charge. But if otherwise, you shall pay the penalty, like the: meanest. There stands your accuser!” And Kavanagh pointed to the tea-chest with his ruler, and drained a glass of whisky to the dregs. Then Maguire repeated so much of the conversation eld with him on the hill as referred to the erroneously expected, adding certain expressions of aspiration to which the young fellow had never given utter- ance, but that really gave a certain treasonous aspect to what had been said, well fitted to inflame a tyrant’s suspi- cions. The very repetition of his story, in fact, evidently aroused Kayanagh’s jealousy and alarm, and at its conclusion it was with an impatient gesture that he motioned to the accused, and bade him say what he had to say in: his de- “Much of that which Maguire had stated, sir,” said - Robert, firmly, ‘fis a malicious lie; but as to my saying that I intended to hail the ship, if such it had proved to _ be, I did say so; nor did I know—nor do I—that I should | have done wrong in so doing.” “Death, by article of the constitution,” observed Kava- << Get ready the rope there.” . “To be punished, sir,” pleaded the unhappy lad, ‘for _ transgressing a law of which I was wholly ignorant——” “It’s the same in the British constitution, my good fel- low,” observed Kavanagh, cheerfully. «That may be, sir; but the one that you have so wise- framed upen its model should not copy its faults. 1 ' Doubtless all the rest of your subjects have been made ac- _ quainted with this admirable document, whereas I alone when it was proclaimed was absent from the island upon business of your own and of the state.” Kavanagh shook his head. “<< De minimis non curat lew,” said he: “we can’t take Are you acquainted with Have any just cause or impediment—no, that’s not it. ,. you any reason to offer”—and here he put on his black skull-cap, like a judge who is about to award the last pen- _ alty of the law—‘‘why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?” “« Yes,” answered Robert, boldly, ‘‘ I have a state secret, | the revelation of which may well earn for me my life at ya voice, marred, however, by an occasional hiccup, ‘you are) p jand looking at his own fingers. _ your. hands, and which I pray you to let me whisper in your ear.’ : i ‘‘Whisper in. my ear?—How the deuce can he do that, Murphy? V’m too high up. This has not been provided for in the constitution.” j A stool; however, was brought, and Robert, ascending it, spoke a few words earnestly to Kavanagh in a low tone. They seemed to affect him in an extreme degree. i “Tim!” cried he to the sentinel, excitedly, ‘‘ go to New Town, and fetch our royal consort, Mary Becher.” Tim scratched his head; the mandate being: unintelligi- ble to him, as it well might be. ifth ‘‘Tt’s Mary Beamish that the governor means,” whisper- ed Dick, in explanation. “It’s not!” roared Kavanagh, in a transport of fury. ‘‘What do you say, Robert?, Yow know it’s Mary Becher, don’t you?” We Robert assented eagerly: he would have ges her | with equal facility as Mary de’ Medici, Mary of Burgundy, — or Mary Queen of Scots. ae «« Now I know who are- traitors!” exclaimed Kavanagh, looking reproachfully at Murphy, and then casting an an- gry glance upon Maguire, who, indeed, if to grow pale and red by turns is to be of doubtful loyalty, exhibited very traitorous symptoms. ‘‘ But nevertheless let the crime be roved.” Here the door opened and admitted Mary Beamish, whom Tim had found in the crowd without, all the inhabi- tants of New Town having by this time congregated thither at the news of Robert’s impeachment. She was a peetty brunette enough, and the slight paleness caused by er alarm at this unexpected summons mitigated her some- what. too rosy charms. \ ‘“We sent for you, Mary,” explained Kavanagh, with elaborate courtesy, ‘‘to know from your own lips whether that man yonder’”—pointing to Maguire—‘‘ has ever ven-~ tured to abuse your ear by protestations of affection. Speak the truth, and fear not.’ E Mary hung her head and blushed. ‘‘Mr. Maguire has courted me,” faltered she; ‘‘ but——” . Ah! you concealed the matter that the wretch might keep his life,” interrupted Kavanagh. «Well, sir,” continued the puzzled girl, ‘‘I thought him too old and too ugly.” ‘‘Most faithful of women!” ejaculated Kavanagh, ad- miringly, ‘‘ you have said gang . Tim, remove our con- — sort. What ho! without there! get the rope ready! Ma- guire shall swing. Executioner, do your duty.” — Maguire turned deadly pale, and thrust his hand into his breast; but the weapon that he looked for was not there. He had come unarmed to a council where affairs, as he . thought, could never have taken a turn so perilous to him- self. Murphy was advancing toward him with a rope to pinion his wrists, when Robert suddenly interposed. He certainly owed this man no favor, but the idea of — es being put to death at his instigation was abhorrent to im. “‘T humbly beg, sir, that you will spare Maguire’s life,” cried he. toes “Why so?” asked Kavanagh, testily. . ‘‘He is your own. GPs enemy. : ‘f Tinos it, sir; and for that very reason would not have his ae taee my ee ae ‘ 4 bs «Blood upon my hands?’ repea ava: ercely, oa “What is that to you? 7 Have you not just heard that he has committed high? treason? You call yourself my love subject, and yet you would have me pardon him. ‘Yon ask his life—well, take it, then. : not one, not one—but you, Dick.” e ‘Murphy had run to his master and was now helping _ him to descend from his chair of state with affectionate — solicitude. “ ; ; “ Blood on my hands, Dick! Didyou hear him? I will The man is free; and now I have nota friend, — ee Ba MOURPHY’S MASTER. + 38 never forgive him that. Send them away, send them away!” | As Maguire and Robert went down the stairs together i from the hall of audience, the former grasped the lat- ter’s arm. «You turned the tables on me well,” he whispered, in . harsh, grating tones. ‘‘ Where you erred was in not push- ing your advantage;” and he pointed to the noose that » still swung menacingly above their heads. The next moment he was lost in the throng that crowded - about Chesney, noisily congratulating him on his acquittal, and overwhelming him with questions; but his wor ~ long in Robert’s ears. _ It had been indeed imprudent in him to offend Kavanagh, . as he had manifestly done, by pleading for this man’s life, “who, without provocation, would have taken his own; and __ now, as impervious to gratitude as to mercy, it was plain he _ . would never rest till he had destroyed him. _ With Murphy, Maguire had still great influence, so long as it was not used against his master; and there was noth- - ing, Robert felt, but Kavanagh’s waning favor to preserve _- him from the fate that he had for then once escaped but by ~'@ hair-breadth. _ ‘These forebodings were in some measure corroborated b - finding himself on the succeeding day denied to Kavanagh —with whom he had wished to confer respecting the house- _ building at New Town, which was proceeding with more dispatch than care+and also by the establishment of a _ sentry on the hill-top, who had orders to prevent any person ascending the same. . _ This latter arrangement, as Robert only too well under- - stood, being to give Kavanagh early and exclusive notice of a ship’s approach. ‘On the other hand, Chesney was not personally inter- f yea with; his authority, both at New Town and else- . 4 where, seemed to be acknowledged as usual, and indeed he was thought to be in especial high favor with the Govern- or, since . was erect to use the little boat. In this he paddled about for hours daily, not for pleas- ure, but’ in order to make it an accustomed sight, so that, should the opportunity arise of going out to meet the sloop, his doing so ahaaie not excite comment. ~ Noopposition was even offered when he tried the experi- ment of beaching the gig at New Town, instead of leaving it ~ in the harbor, though he had reason to suspect that a messen- oi had. been dispatched trom the latter place to learn _- whether he had returned to the island. | To Maguire, and probably to Murphy, the news that he had not done so would have been welcome, for it was not likely, if once carried out to sea in sucha tiny craft, he - would ever have seen land again. There was much to do in the way of superintendence of affairs, for little as he knew about agricultural matters, he knew more than his brother colonists, while in the: matter of architecture, since it was almost wholly confined to - earpentering, his advice and help were always in quest. 4 tt was fortunate that it was so, for if he had had less to _ occupy him, he would have been consumed with anxieties ‘and apprehensions upon Lizzy’s account, the time for whose arrival, as he calculated, was now drawing very near. — He had no doubt that the Alstons yould at once embrace the opportunity that had been offered them, and leave Eng- - “Tand iy the next mail; and bitterly indeed he now regret- ted the haste he had urged them to use. bio! _ His hope was that they had found themselves unable to so immediately obey his summons and that before ahother - looked-for quarter. } _ © If not, and especially if anything should ee to __. Kavanagh, who was understood to be in very ill health—or at least that was the reason given for the denial he always ~ met with at Government House—he might expect the worst “indeed. — | In the meantime he seemed to be growing more and more rang } days. He had that slouching, defiant look which is acquired two months had passed help might arrive from some un-|) CO) ae ee through Murphy, that he was to confine himself to his own district of New Town, and not presume to come over to the harbor without permission—an edict which, as he guessed, had a similar intention with that of the appoint- ment of the hill sentry; other persons had made the same calculations as himself respecting the probable arrival of the’ sloop. Hn One morning early there came a timid knock at his door, and rising in haste, though nearly dressed—for he held himself day and night in readiness to take to the boat ata “\ moment’s notice—he found Mary Beamish. This girk was very grateful to him for having delivered — her from the persecutions of Maguire, who, since the day that had so nearly proved fatal to him, had not ventured to molest her, and was well aware of his anxiety on Lizzy’s account, with which (in spite of a little tenderness she felt for Robert herself) she warmly sympathized. ‘What is it, Mary?” inquired he, eagerly. “Come to our cottage, sir, and I’ll tell. you,” said she, cautiously. ‘‘I cannot tell you in the street.” : ** But isthesloopcome? For Heaven’s sake tell me that.” ‘* Yes, it arrived not an hour ago; and has sailed away again. I could not get to tell you sooner.” “But Lizzy? Is she at the harbor?” ; ‘No, indeed, sir; you must not go to the harbor. Mr. Maguire, bad cess to him! would only be too glad to see ou disobeying orders. Well, stop one moment;” and as obert was about to start madly off at the top of his speed, she lifted the latch of the cottage door, and added, with a sly smile, ‘‘she’s here, sir.” The next instant he was clasped in Lizzy’s arms. CHAPTER XIX. re THE EMBARKATION. I “Tm here!” observed a dogged voice, presently; not asa \) eS there was a spectator of the fond pair’s rap- ture (which, indeed, they already had in Mary), but as a hint that he had been avielocite “*Oh, Jim, of course,” said Robert, a little awkwardly, but shaking him all the more warmly by the hand, to make up for the neglect. a Jim was not improved in appearance since the old forest | from habitual conflict with the law, and he looked dissatis- | fied besides. j ; “This ain’t much of a place,” said he, “‘to come to, | — across the world, considering how you’ve cracked it up. | There is not a tree as I can see, and where the game’s to | — come from——” he “Oh, Jim! how can you,” broke in Lizzy, tearfully, | ‘after what your mother said!” 5. She was not easily moved to tears, as Robert knew, but he had perceived that she was in deep mourning, and | — guessed the cause, which had prevented him from asking | _ after her mother. - , i **Oh, yes,” continued Jim, ‘it’s all very fine for you, — who have your young man here, which is all you want. But what J want to know is, Why we’re here? Why didn’t) we ra Melbourne, where we should have been right : enough, and Robert have joined us there, instead o 2? *T could not ane you there,” interposed Robert, gravely. ‘J wish I could have done so. It is a long, story. This place is all you think of it, James, and much, much worse——”’ vost ue Lis ‘* Hush; hush!” interposed Mary, warningly, and point-| ing to the door of the other room that made up the cottage, | — aud in which the rest of the Beamish family were asleep. , _ **Tell him all that another time—not here; it. is not bate p e Take them both over to your house to breakfast.” ba ** You have sense in your head, young woman,” observed. Jim, spr ubs ly. e Pay | _ atof favor with the Governor, who had sent him orders, ‘« And kindness in her heart, I am sure;” added’ Lizzy, gratefully... ‘‘She has been so kind to me, Robert!” q eK ee a eS ‘€*looked up to -her presence, -be indeed his ill-starred fortune. _cumbed to the illness of which she had written to him - beauty sent a chill to his heart. § MURPHY’S MASTER. ‘* Don’t speak of that, miss,” said Mary. ‘‘It was onl _ fortunate that I happened to have been asked to stay wit some friends at the harbor for a few days, and so chanced to be there this morning when you arrived. I knew that my mother’s roof, such as it is, would give you welcome, and Ialso knew that Mr. Chesney here would have gone mad if you did not come to New Town. Both Maguire _ and Murphy, sir” (turning to Robert), ‘looked very black ut me, but, thanks to you, I have my own way with every- body now.” . And so it was. The Governor in no way molested her, but his craze of imagining her to be his consort made her much ’ by the colony in general, while, after the — had received, he scrupulously avoided though, without doubt, awaiting his own day lesson that of recompense. A few hours put Robert in possession of all that had hap- ened to Lizzy since he sailed to seek what he now felt to f Her mother had suc- while at Liverpool, and that loss to the orphaned girl had been more deplorable, since it rendered her more subject to the hateful solicitations of John Rowland. Her brother, indeed, remained to her, but it was easy to see, though Lizzy strove to disguise it, that he had not layed the part of guardian as he should have done. Per- haps he was too much in Rowland’s power to do so; perhaps he was not unwilling to become allied by marriage with one who could not only screen his offenses, but offer him great opportunities for indulging in his favorite pursuit. At all events, it was plain that poor Lizzy had been greatly persecuted. Love alone could scarcely have ac- counted for the rapture which she now evinced in having found a home which, humble though it was, was subject to - no intrusion,.or for the happy confidence she showed in Robert’s protecting arm, He had not the heart to fully disclose to her how weak that arm really was; and indeed it would have been hard to conyince his hearers, fresh from the well-ordered glades of Windsor, of the abnormal and anarchic condition of things on Murphy's Island, and of the perils from a mad despot - in the one case, from a revengeful traitor in the other, in which they stood. What he told them did but make Jim more than ever curse his fate in having quitted, first England, and then Melbourne, for “‘ this cussed island ”—a very natural, but at the same time an ungenerous expression of feeling, whereat Robert winced; while, on the other hand, it made Lizzy nestle in his arms the closer, whose dear embrace filled him with trembling fears. When he bethought him now that for his sake, and at his invitation, she had come to such a nae spot, her very e was more beautiful even than when he had seen her last, and as he had so often pictured her while absent. She was no longer the tall and slender girl that had hung upon his neck in passionate. farewell but six months ago, but a graceful woman. Her simple a dress became her admirably; the one black |’ ribbon that confined her plentiful soft brown hair was, in his eyes at least, more attractive than a circlet of pearls; the small white collar about her shapely throat embellished it better than a diamond necklace, save that the latter would have less concealed its charms. Her pearls and diamonds were in her eyes, in which the happy tears would gather at his words of love and comfort, to be kissed away Wy his long-stinted lips. - And yet one of that reunited pair, at least, was well ’ aware that it was no time for courtship and love passages; and how to escape from Murphy’s Island was the one - thought that occupied him whenever he dared to think. Notwithstanding that when she was out of his sight he always trembled for nt safety, he did not omit once a day to'put to sea as usual in his little boat, and coast round to the opposite side of the island, wherealone he could hope to catch sight of some passing sail. "He would have taken Lizzy with him had he dared, but fraught with danger as his position was in any case, to have eo Kavanagh’s edict would, he felt, draw down on him—or, up vengeance of Maguire. over by the latter, was, at all events, growing more and more unfavorable toward himself, was only too plain; not €, only was he still forbidden to approach the harbor, but the 39 permission he had applied for to give up his own residence _ to Lizzy and her brother, had been coldly—perhaps. eynic- ally—denied to him, as being derogatory to Robert’s posi- tion as Lieutenant-Governor. Under pretense of being his servant, however, Jim was — allowed to have a lodging under his roof, a privilege only granted add to his domestic comfort. James Alston indeed had shown himself little lessthanan He spoke ill of him, or, at all events, © enemy of Robert’s. in dissatisfied and grumbling terms, throughout the island; and was in consequence received into open favor with Mur- phy, and, as was whispered, by Maguire himself. Another, though less ‘taken up with,” by the drink, which, although always manifest in him, had be- come on the island, where strong liquor was only too easily procurable, very pronounced indeed. He would come home from the harbor drunk to the Lieutenant-Governor's residence, and behave not only with disrespect, but in the most offensive manner, to Lizzy’s in- expressible concern: at last, coming home one evening — more intoxicated than usual, when his sister and Robert chanced to be taking a walk together, and finding the boat as usual drawn up upon the beach, he launched it and pad- dled out to sea. - Robert:saw him from the shore, and hurried home, not daring to communicate to Lizzy the apprehensions. that ¢ audacious act inspired within him; but the mischief had — been done: Even if the fact of this contravention of the law could have — been concealed through the good-nature of those who wit- nessed it—which was more than doubtful, since Jim had rendered himself far from popular in New Town—the cul- prit would have thrown away that chance, for he boasted openly of the deed, affirming in one breath that he was an _ Englishman, who owed no allegiance to. Kavanagh nor an other ‘‘Irish body,” and in the next that Murphy an Maguire were hand and glove with him, and would see he - : did not come to harm. The next morning he was seized under Chesney’s roof, a and carried off to the harbor, where the latter dared not _ follow him: the arrest itself might have been made, and very likely wasso, with the very intention of thus getting the Lieutenant-Governor into the net of despotic law; and though he would have run the risk had he himself only stood in peril, he dared not do so with Lizzy dependent en him. oreover, he did not anticipate any severe sentence upon Alston, from the fact of his connection with Murphy. Lizzy, however, was beyond measure alarmed and solici with Mar With Maguire coolly informed her that if her brother’s life was spared, it would be so, as Robert’s had been, on the condi- tion that he should make a disclosure of certain state secrets, — and in the meantime he was to remain in prison. To Lizzy this was inexplicable, but Robert understood — but too well what it meant: James Alston was to be kept in confinement, with the fear of death hanging over him, — until’he should confess to some treasonable words spoken by the Lieutenant-Goyernor; and, indeed, when in com- | pany with his sister, he had heard Robert pee frankly — enough, and needed no imagination to invent t Whether he should have the baséness to betray them was — at present doubtful; but the one thing certain, whether as — regarded the prisoner’s fate or his own, was that not a mo- | \ erhaps because it was known that it would not — | capnagsta reason for his being s ormer at least, was his love for — irs a so icit- es ous upon her brother’s account, and at once hastened over — Beamish to Government House. HS avanagh she was sternly denied an interview; but ‘ e at once to what was worse, on her—the pent- _ That Kavanagh, if not won — 40 MURPHY’S MASTER. ment was to be lost in leaving the island. The state of af- _ fairs had become intolerable, and must be put an end to at all risks. He could now handle the little boat with ease, whether with sail or oar, and, small as she was, had acquired great confidence in her. ' So long as the sea was tolerably smooth—and it was now fair weather—he felt that she would float well enough; though anything like a gale would without doubt sink her. -’ He knew his course to Melbourne, and made up his mind to tempt the dangers of the deep, though it was but in a _cockle-shell, rather than trust’ any longer to the caprice of --@ madman or the mercy of a. villain. _. He had small hope, indeed, of reaching the main-land in such a craft; but it was not impossible, could he keep her above water, that he might fall in with some passing vessel; in that case, no matter what she was, nor whither she was bound, help for Lizzy would surely be obtained, a had he not about him the money wherewith to purchase it f At any moment he might. be himself arrested, or the permission to enter the boat withdrawn from him, and even this last desperate plan be thereby entirely frustrated; so he set about his arrangements at once. His glass, his compass, and his map he disinterred from their hiding-place, and concealed them in the gig; he also stored an abundance of water and provisions ready to place on board of it at the last moment. _ But he could not go—he had not the heart to do so— without acquainting Lizzy with his intention. - “Tt is a wild: and desperate hazard, darling,” said he, haying set before her both the perils that he was about to - flee from, and those which he must needs incur; ‘‘ but itis the last chance left to me, and I must take it.” > _ Upon po “Take it,” cried she, ‘and may Heaven prosper it; if you love me, Robert, grant me one thing: take me with ‘7 you.” ; At this proposition Chesney was greatly alarmed and dis- tressed. He had expected arguments against his own de- _- parture, but this sympathetic compliance with it embar- rassed him far more than opposition could have done. pe sterous. To dare the ocean he The idea was hopeless, t new to be perilous in excess; in so frail a bark himself but to permit one so delicate and precious to share that peril was not to be thought of. And yet she pleaded hard, and not without some show of argument and good sense. “T could say, Robert, that without you, and knowing the dangers to which you were exposed, life would be here in- tolerable to me; I could say that, left without your protec- tion, I would rather die than trust myself to the tender mercies of such menas Maguire and Murphy, who would at once guess that you had taken flight, and take vengeance or me, who would alone be within their power; but you have thought of these things yourself, I know, though you have been silent on them for mysake. Letme remind you rather of what you have forgotten: how useful my poor help may be to you. I know nothing of the sea, it is true, but on the river, remember, I have learned to manage both sail and tiller; the little boat will trim no worse, but the better, for my weight, and even for the greater quantity of _ provisions that my open may make necessary. If you erish, let me perish with you, which would be more mer- ciful to me than to bid me live on; and if, through Heay- _ en’s mercy, we escape, let us escape together.” Such were in brief, her arguments, which, backed by tears and kisses, in the end prevailed on her lover to carry her with him. ; _ As Robert had access to the provision store, the prelimi- _- nary arrangements were soon completed, and the very next evening was fixed upon for the adventure. It was neces- sary to delay till after dusk, in order that they should elude the pinnace, which, without doubt, would instantly be sent after them. But with eight hours or so of clear start, Robert hoped that he would elude pursuit; once out of sight of the island, he would be safe: not even Maguire was capable of shaping his course to Melbourne without the aid of a compass, and, fortunately enough, there was none such on the island save that which Robert possessed. » The date of the fugitive’s escape was delayed by acurious circumstance. Robert, who had purposely avoided Lizzy’s company for some hours, in order to avoid ‘suspicion, was alone in his house, making a few final preparations, when suddenly a violent report shook the frail tenement, so that the glass fell from the windows, and everything on the shelves was thrown to the ground. The whole population of the village were in the street in. an instant to seek the explanation of the phenomenon, which they deemed as before to proceed from the explosion ° of some gigantic piece of ordnance; for the sky was without a cloud, and no indication of thunder was to be felt in the atmosphere, which was serene and cool. Lizzy herself, accompanied by Mary Beamish, ran across to Robert’s house, and, with joyful cries, averred that some ship of war was nearing the harbor. He met them at the door, with an excited but unjoyful face. “The sentry is still on the hill-top,” said he, ‘‘ which shows that he has seen no ship. My belief is that it is —’” Before he could say “‘an earthquake” another shock took place, even more violent than before, and accompanied by a strange appearance in the sea; the waves were rising ae roaring upon the shore like water that is about to oil. “The boat, the boat!” he cried, and rished down to the spot where it was beached, a little remote from the village, followed by the two young women. With their assistance he was able to drag it up far higher on the shore; but they were only just in time. The waves, gathering strength and volume every moment, swept over the very place where it had lain in afew min- utes, and one even, the sixth and largest, caught them- selves as they fled up the hill before it; they escaped, how- ever, with a thorough eine, and the boat. being laden, was too heavy to be dragged down by its recoil. After the sixth wave the sea went back again to its usual limits, but continued greatly disturbed. \ The houses in New Town were all more or less damaged, and one or two swept away: though there were no lives lost, the people were in a great state of perplexity and alarm, which Robert in vain attempted to allay by assuring them that the earthquake was over. He could convince none except Lizzy and Mary, who had been greatly impressed by his sagacity in respect to the danger that menaced the boat; although he was solely in- debted for his knowledge to a narrative he had somewhere read of the great earthquake at Lisbon, where the waves had risen and swallowed up the land. een Now was the time, when men’s minds were occupie with vague terrors, and disinclined to concern themselyes with the affairs of others, for the fugitives to put their ong into execution; at night-fall, accordingly, by which our the sea had resumed its former calm, Robert and Lizzy stole out to where they had left the boat, and pro- ceeded to push it down the hill. As they Robert’s arm, and his blood ran cold within him. To be served with a writ of ne exeat regno at such a momentous crisis would have gone nigh to kill him, and he expected no less than to see Maguire or Murphy, with help to back them, come to forbid his departure. To his immense relief, however, his eyes only met Mary’s / pretty face, with a sad sweet smile upon it. ’ ‘So you are going away—you, two—without even a good- bye to me,” sighed she. ; “We are, dear Mary,” answered Lizzy; ‘‘we did not. tell you of our intention only in order that you might be in ignorance when taxed with the knowledge of it b others. Besides, in a few weeks at farthest, with Heayen’s \ aan were thus employed a hand was laid upon Me Py peed joe mk "HOS 66 ws nm o~ ou 5 ' MURPHY’S MASTER, 41 aid, we hope to be back again with help for my poor . brother and for all of you.” — revise | «7 knew Mr. Chesney was going,’ said Mary, softly. “ presently, and fingering the butt of his revolver. 29 ‘ end, . ““T never thought Dick would overlive his masther,” was the widow’s quiet comment when she had recoyered her- self. ‘*Do youremember what you wrote about him to your pretty sweetheart here, comparing his fidelity to that of adog? He got hold of that letter, and made me read. *“You went away from my house, lad, in ae cs for'me: - eyening to wear at Mrs. Dane’s.” MAY’S STRATAGEM, it to him in this very room; and when I got to that part of it, the poor fellow only said, ‘ Well, that’s true enough,” as though he was proud of it.” With his remaining two thousand ponnds or so Robert purchased a little business in the cabinet-making line, for which he had always hada taste; and being not only dili- gent himself, but having a diligent wife, which always doubles a poor man’s gains—he soon became prosperous enough. : The first article of any elaboration that he turned out with his own hands was a tea-caddy, which now forms the} admiration of the patrons of Mrs. Mulyaney. The outside has succumbed to the all-pervading influ- ence of the place, but the inside—and this Mrs. Mul- vaney persists in ascribing to its excellent workmanship rather than to its contents—has up to this time suecess- fully resisted the flayor of onions. - , Robert had one son, named after himself. He would have called him ‘‘ Frank,” after his benefactor, but Lizz opposed it, ‘*Mr. Kavanagh was very good to us,” plead- od she, ‘I own; but I do not wish-my boy to remind me in any way, even in name, of a mur—I mean, of Murphy’s master.” In graceful return for this compliance, when a little girlarrived to make their home complete in its domestic furniture, her mother named her Mary. As for the other Mary—Mary Becher—so strangely and unwittingly mingled with their fortunes, nothing could be heard of ‘her, though Robert did his best to find her out. He felt that the least they could do was to share with her, should she need it, the abundance with which they had been dowered by him she had known and loved as Wilson. It is probable, however, that he had amply provided for her before he quitted England. The Chesneys lead a happy, quiet life, and they desire no other. The love of adyenture with which Robert was once possessed has been fully satisfied, and he is very reti- cent concerning his past experience. Asa customer of his of some standing and admitted in some sort tohis familiarity, as being an amateur cabinet- maker who has a as of his own, I gained pos- session of the foregoing facts; but I should not have done so had I not, in addition to those pretensions, happen- ed to disclose the circumstance that I had been witness to a certain scene at a turnpike gate near Windsor Forest on one stormy winter night, which was, as it turned out, the prologue to his own eventful history. I, too, although but for a few moments, had seen both Murphy and Murphy’s master, and ‘therefore seemed entitled to be told their ae - To assert its truth would seem to be to protest too much; but as a satisfaction to that considerable class of the community who ‘‘only believe what they read in the newspapers,” I may add that its most singular feature—the _ isinking of a populated island—was recorded in the columns of the Times within the last three years, [THE END. | MAY’S STRATAGEM. «May, are you busy this morning?” “‘No; what do you want me to do?” -€*Nothing very serious, dear; but I have broken the clasp of my bracelet, and I want you to try and get it mended Any jeweler would do it; but I must have it this The speaker is my cousin Lili. She is trying on her hat before the fooking-glass of our pleasant sitting-room. Iam on my knees at the side-board cupboard, putting away the butter and sugar and marmalade that we have been using for breakfast. } “All right,” I replied gaily, sweeping the crumbs off the one small shelf into my lap, ‘Hurrah, Lil—here is a tin ‘}me; ‘I’ve nothin of oysters! Suppose we have them for breakfast to-mor- row morning?” ~~ * € You'd better not suggest anything so extravagant to Aunt Mary,” says Lili, laughing; “and that reminds me— ‘ when is she coming home?” ” “This evening, I believe. Fanny is much better, and — auntie hopes to be able to leave by the four-o’clock train.” “That means she will be here by six at latest. We'd aise better have some cutlets for tea; don’t you think so?” — : “Yes; Dll see to them,” I answer, locking the cupboard _ and rising with difficulty to my feet; ‘‘ and, if I have time, — I will go to Piccadilly and get some American tomatoes.” “Good girl!’ says Lili tenderly, ‘‘And here is the =| bracelet. If you were to go to Leigh, he would tell you at _ once where to take it.” Ee “TI shall have no occasion to trouble Leigh,” I reply, shaking my linen apron in the fender; ‘‘I have seen a — working jeweler’s shop not very far away, and I willtake Y | it there first.” Se Lili makes her books and music into one. Cal, sd gathers her long black dress into its fastener, and, kiss __ ing _me affectionately, hurries away. She is a dear little hard-working governess, also a very fine musician, and, be- _ tween the two, she earns a very comfortable livelihood. _ She shares a charming suite of apartments with a widowed aunt, who is very much attached to her, and who, in my opinion, is the very model of chaperons. Mrs. Leslie, or Aunt Mary, as we call her, has been away for some days vis— iting a a. friend in the country. Lili is engaged to be married to Charlie Dane, the son of a near neighbor ofours at home; and. to-night he and Lili are going toa party = given in their honor by the uncle who has brought Ghani. : up. I have been invited too; but, alas, I have no costume gorgpons enough to appear in as Lili’s friend, so I do not. oO! ‘ F Charlie is a handsome, clever fellow, and is fast rising in , _ his profession as an architect; but I do not like him, and Lili’s devoted love for him has alwaysbeen a matter of as- tonishment to me. She is so pure and good and lovely; A and, if Charlie lives to be a hundred years old, he willney- er be worthy of her. However, Lili has chosen to marry him, and perhaps there is more good in him than [ — imagine. pee Having tidied HR our small parlor and watered the flow- ers, I array myself for taking Lili’s bracelet to be mended;. and, after five minutes’ chat with our amiable landlady, in _ which I inform her of the time of my aunt’s arrival, and. re ee what we shall want for tea, I let myself out into the warm spring sun-light, and saunter delightedly down the street. _ Suddenly some one touches me lightly upon the shoulder, and a voice inquires breathlessly whither 1 am going. The — 4 hand and voice are Charlie’s. 4 a3 I tell him I am going on an errand for Lili, and bid him good-bye at least half a dozen times, while he coolly walks. on by my side. crt Esitaret ** Don’t be angry,” he says, trying to get into step with — g particular to do. this. morning, and I~ want to have a talk with you.. I suppose I can go on Lili’s, © errand too?” sO fied “No, you cannot,” I reply, erossly. ‘‘I:do not want — you with me.” dest 5k «“You never do, May; you ayoid me as though I had the © lague.” y ‘ Ot “I do nothing so flattering; I am perfectly indifferent — about your movements generally, but this morning I prefer — ‘my own company to anybody else’s.” *< You won’t let me accompany you?” ““No; I will not.” I have come to a dead stop, but — Charlie does not seem to notice it. eae “Let me accompany you this once, May, and IJ’ll never bother you again.” — sar ‘No; you shall not,” I cry in rage. and I won’t have’ you—there!”’ ‘* Indeed,” answers Charlie. “T don’t want you, — * But having made up my 5 om MAY’S STRATAGEM. ‘ mind to keep with you, I don’t see how you can prevent me.” ; } “Don’t you? Very well, then—I will show you,” and, -* running up the steps of a large house we have just passed, _ I violently ring the bell, and Charlie is left alone. Leigh Morton, at whose house I have taken refuge, is my cousin. He is an artist, and very poor, but he is clever, and he works hard; so, some day, if health and fortune do not forsake him, he may be rich and famous. It is many weeks since I have been in Leigh’s studio, and he may not beat home. My heart throbs so loudly that I think some one must hear its beating, while I wait for an answer to m - gummons. Then the door opens, I step into the cool dar hall, and Leigh himself is coming down the grand though dilapidated stairway to meet me. i Why, what a surprise!” he cries with a genuine tone of welcome in his voice. ‘And all alone tog! Come into my room and let us have a nice quiet chat.” , \ _Leigh’s room is large and bare; there are no rich draper- ies or old armor or antique cabinets to give an air of culture and mystery to the pictures he labors over so faithfully. He is no dilettante, painting for pastime, but a man of in- tense thought and feeling, who has something to express _ by his art, and, in following after his highest ideal, he for- gets at times the need for wealth and leisure to ensure him success for his mighty efforts. _ Then, again, his health is very delicate, and he has no one to look after him and see that he does not kill himself __ by overwork and lack of the commonest comforts of life— “no one indeed but the little Frenchman, M. Rolfe, who shares his studio, and engraves for a living the pictures of - more successful men than his friend. _ M. Rolfe comes forward and chatters to me in his funny broken English; and then I sit down by Leigh’s easel, and ‘tell him about the bracelet, He examines it carefully, and carries it away for a few minutes, then returns with the welcome intelligence that he can get it mended for me by six o’clock. : _ “Twill bring it along myself,” he says kindly, ‘and pa my respects to Aunt Mary at the same time. And now tell me all about the country, May, and what it was like when you last saw it.” Leigh adores the country, and knows every inch of Glenthorn better than even I do; yet I describe the lanes and woods and fields to him as though he had never seen /them in his life, and answer all his questions about the people and the place until I think itis time to go. —“Oome early, Leigh,” I say at parting. ‘‘ Aunt Mary will be so glad to see you. Lili and Charlie are going to a party to-night, and we can have such a good talk; and I will play to you, if you like, all your favorite airs from Faust.” _ Thanks, May; I willccome—never fear.” My heart seems overflowing with joy as Leigh takes my and upon the threshold of the room and escorts me down the stately stairs to open the hall door for me; and, with many injunctions to him to remember the bracelet and to come early, I pass out again into the brilliant light of the streets. _ Having nothing particular to do, I decide to go home, ta basket, and invest in various small luxuries from the nerican store. y ; «What ashame,” I think to myself, ‘‘ that Leigh should ve to work so hard! How pale he looks, how thin he is, ind how frightfully he stoops, while Charlie a But, with Charlie’s name upon my lips, I run against Charlie himself at the corner of the street. He is anxiously Vexamining the contents of a bric-a-brac shop-window ntil I pass him, then he hurries after me. _ “May, why are you so unreasonable?” he says deter- minedly. ‘‘I know you went into Morton’s only to escape me; . waitedfor you. Ihave made up my mind to speak to you alone to-day, therefore you might as well listen quietly.” — _ ‘Teannot hear a word you say,” I shout, -as a deafening | little, railway-van thunders along the street. ‘‘What do you want to talk to me about that you must see me alone?” **Can you not guess?” **No more than Adam,”I reply, with forced hilarity. ‘* But, if we are to talk, let us get into some quieter place; I can hardly hear my own voice in this hubbub.” ‘Shall I call a hansom, and drive to the park?” ** Certainly not, when an omnibus will take us there in five minutes. But I cannot waste my time in the park to- day; Ihave to go into Piccadilly to get some things for Aunt Mary.” “All right,” says Charlie, firmly; ‘‘ then. we will go to Piccadilly; but the park will be delicious this morning. Never mind your errands for, once, there’s a dear girl. Come with me into the park now, just for ten minutes.” So we go into the park, and walk away from the beaten track, over the green spring grass, in sight of the blue sky and freshly-leaved trees; and so soft and balmy-is the gentle breeze that one might well imagine the great expanse of flickering greensward to be a hundred miles from the dust and noise and heat of the metropolis.’ At last we seat ourselves under a fine old elm, and there I listen to. Charlie’s story. At first Iam too much aston- ished to say anything; I sit quite still, my eyes fixed upon the dancing sunlight on the waters of the lake, while the carriages flash past like phantoms in a dream, and Charlie’s words re-echo themselves dully in my brain, Then sud- denly I seem to understand clearly what he is saying, what he means, and great pain. and terror aaeee the quietness. He tells me that it is I, and not Lili, whom he loves—that much as he admires and esteems his betrothed, he has lately lost his heart entirely to me—that he was really in love with Lili in the old. days when they were children together, and that afterwards when they were first engaged, he seemed to love her very much; but that was before he saw me; then I came to visit her, and he loved me from the first moment he saw me, and, having struggled against his love for long enough, he had at last determined to make an effort to free himself and win me for a wife. This is the substance of Charlie’s communication—I am bound to believe that it is true, so earnestly and passionately does he speak, he declares that he will confess all to Lil, and trust to her pride and generosity to release him from his engagement to her. «You are mad,” I ery at last, strugging to speak quietly and calmly—‘ simply mad! I do not love you, and wouldn’t marry you were you free fifty thousand times! Is it to hear this stupid nonsense that you persuaded me to come hither with you to-day? I wish I had never seen you, nor Lili either!” confusing my meaning in my distress. ‘‘ How dure you talk so wickedly to me—Lili’s friend—who has never done you any harm in her life? If it were not for Lili, I mat never speak to you again.” I turn away from Charlie and beat my foot angrily upon the soft and spongy grass. The sunlight dances and shim- mers through the leafy boughs under which we sit; a black- bird begins to utter one or two melodious notes from a small plantation just before us. Never, so faras I can trace back, have I given Charlie the slightest ground for belief that I would marry himif he werefree. I would not marry himif he were the only man in the world. I shoul always have thoroughly disliked him had he not been Lili’s lover. must then be something good in him, or he could not have gained Lili’s love so completely. This is simply a tem- porary fit of lunacy. He has taken my hand, and I feel that he has put something on one of the fingers. diamond ring; I see the sudden wonderful flashing of the stone’s rays; andthen Charlie pleads again, pale and trem- bling with excess of emotion. ‘May, darling, do not beangry with me for loving you better than life or honor. I cannot help it. It is my fate. Turn your face to me once more, and tell me you love me a Ah, I know you would listen to me were it not for Lili loves him—indeed trusts him, honors him; there. It isa} MAY’S STRATAGEM. | 45 Lili! I know I could make you love me if you would but letme. My dearest, donot shake your head; i do not believe that you do not love me. And I will never give you up— never, never—I swear it, darling—while you remain free for »me to love and win!” I-wrench my hand from Charlie, and the ring drops at his feet. In my desperation a wild idea flashes into my mind, and T avail:myself of it unhesitatingly. ©” 8 “But I am not free,” I gasp, hardly knowing what I am saying; ‘‘and if you were'so this minute, it could make no difference to me, ‘because I am already engaged.” ; Charlie steps back some paces, and looks at me critically. “You are not speaking the truth, May. I don’t believe a word of it.” Ms I drop my head on the arm of the seat I am leaning over, and almost. cry with anger and vexation. If I were sure Lili would not mourn too much for the loss ot her lover, I would defy Charlie and rush home to her at once. But I know Lili could not love anyone lightly; and, after all, I have a little faith in Charlie’s goodness of heart; and if I play my part well, he may in the future love Lili better than he he yet done. “Who is the happy man who has gained your love?” says Charlie, after waiting for me to speak. ‘‘ Tell me his name, or I will not believe you.” I shake my head, and mentally run over the list of my acquaintances who have at various times paid me some slight attention; but I do not succeed in fixing upon one in particular. : “Tt is not Leigh, surely?” asks Charlie, in a tone of amazement. ‘‘It cannot be Leigh—Leigh Morton; yet there is no one else. May, it is Leigh?” Inod my head affirmatively, and breathe freely again. Leigh will do, I think to myself, better than anyone I. could have mentioned, for he is slightly related to me; but my face turns a brilliant crimson as I watch Charlie’s chagrin. “Leigh Morton, a penniless, sickly artist, who will never be able to marry you until you are an old woman—ifhe can then—oh, May, it is preposterous! What are your friends about that they do not interfere and prevent such an-absurd engagement?” ‘Don’t abuse my property!” I answer proudly. <‘‘ And let us keep this morning’s talk a secret from everybody. I shall not tray you; and Lili is still your betrothed, you know. I shall go away to-morrow, and you will soon for- get me. Very likely we shall never meet again, especially ” -—with a great gulp, and feeling very guilty—‘‘if Leigh should go to Italy, as he talks of doing; we might be mid- dle-aged people before we returned to England.” “‘T don’t know about Lili,” says Charlie, sadly; “she ought not to marry me without knowing of my love for you.” “Rubbish!” I cry inalarm. ‘You don’t love me a bit like you do Lili. It is the merest fancy of the hour. Lili has been your sweetheart for years, and 1s one of the sweet- est, truest girls in the world.. When I am gone, you will ‘wonder how for one moment you could have been false to her.” “You are very good, May; and I suppose you are right. Heaven knows I would atone to Lili if I could; and per- haps if Itold her——” “You would kill her, Charlie—indeed you would. Lili would never forget it. The whole thing is over and done with. Put it entirely out of your thoughts forevér; promise me you will before I go. You must—you shall promise me.” - “JT will promise you, May,” says Charlie, resolutely; “Cand, what is more, I will be worthy of Lili’s love for your sake.” “No, no,” I answer, laughingly, “not for my sake, but for her own.” / Then, according to my wish, Charlie calls a hansom, and I am driven home alone in a state of mind better imagined than described; for in getting out of one difficulty I have but got into another. — I aeons to tell Charlie that my engagement is a profound i secret, and he will, of course, ask Lili about itwhen hesees — her to-night, and Lili will question me, and what shall I say? The more I think of my position the worse it appears; and, as the day wears on, my distress of mind becomes un-— endurable. a At six o’clock Aunt Mary arrives, and is soon disrobing in her own room; at a quarter-past I make the tea, and set the tea-things ready on the table. The cutlets are simmer- ing in the fender, and the tomatoes are boiling in the dish beside them. I have opened the tin of oysters, and lit’ the: little spirit-lamp to warm them when wanted. Our meals: are generally taken in a somewhat primitive manner; but they are none the less enjoyable on that account. Irushto the window every few moments, and look anxiously across — the square. If Awat Mary should come down before Leigh _ arrives, how am I to tell him of the liberty have taken with his name? = Presently a knock comes at the door. Itis Leigh with — the bracelet, : My face reddens painfully as I meet him; and, taking” the little case from him, in my confusion I lay it down on the top of the oysters, and rush madly into my subject. “Leigh,” I begin gaily, as though I were repeating a — joke, ‘‘ what do you think I said for fun this morning, be- — cause Charlie Dane was teasing me? I said I was engaged — to you, and he believes it’s true; and I want you”—in my most coaxing manner—‘“ to pretend that it is so this after- noon.” Leigh looks at me with an intense expression of amuse- ment, and comes closer to me. / : - May I, in that case, have the privileges of a lover?” he _ asks. : “IT don’t know what they are,” I answer, laughing; huts don’t do anything more absurd than you can help.’ ae “You see I might have known what was expected of — me,” he replies gaily; ‘‘for I purchased these for you on _ my way here. A true lover’s gift, are they not?” He takes a little bunch of white violets from his pocket, ~ and presents them to me. age “They are delicious, Leigh. Iam so much obliged to you. Really you are too kind.” ore ‘‘Not for our new relationship, darling,” says Leigh — grandly. ieee ‘Don’t call names, if you please,” I reply, burning my- — self with the handle of the tea-pot; ‘“‘and remember that. _ we se only playing at being engaged! Here is Liliat — last!” : Ces Poa Lili comes in very wearied with her day’s work, and Aunt Mary joins us almost directly. We wait some time for Charlie, and then begin our tea. I am nearly wild think- ing Charlie will not come at all; but he arrives: when we have half finished our meal, and complains of haying a violent headache. Lili gives him her easy-chair, Aunt Mary finds him her strongest salts, and I pour him out my ~ best, last cup of tea. But I hardly speak a word to him; — I devote myself entirely to Leigh. hee Leigh is not at all like himself to-day; he looks younger — and brighter and handsomer than I have seen him; and I find myself positively blushing once under the spell of his: dark, earnest eyes. a Lili and Charlie depart together for their party; and, having seen them safely driven away from the door, I re- turn to Aunt Mary and Leigh. But the latter meets me in the passage, and suddenly, without a word, he takes me in his arms and closes my lips with one long passionate kiss. I break away from him, angry and indignant, and vanish for the remainder of the evening. oti Lili comes back very late, or rather early in the morn- ing, with a splendid ring shining on her hand. She is: jntlbaast with her love and happiness. She throws herself in her soft white loveliness by the side of the little bed on which I am lying in my dressing-gown, and wakens me from my first sleep to hear her happy news. stk Nn Charlie has made her promise to marry him in a month. They are to go to Rome and Paris, Charlie is so noble, so MAY’S STRATAGEM. we generous—in fact, Charlie is a hero, and her cup of hap- osc poe is filled to the brim, and running over. I sit up in Soe ed and listen dreamily to her excited, eager talk, and then __ I fall asleep again, remembering only Leigh, his kind eyes, his tender smile, .and the one passionate kiss that had sealed my lips in the door-way. _. Two months after this, Lili and Charlie are married, and I am at home again with my mother, and devoting myself to the manifold duties of leas school teaching. It is a very quiet life I lead, and it is rather dull.after my exciting visit to town; but Leigh writes to me sometimes, and I re- joice to know of Lili’s happiness. One evening, when I return home after my day’s work, I find a stranger in our little parlor, lagsly lying at full length upon the old-fashioned sofa, and blowing clouds of tobacco- smoke through our rose-garlanded window. My mother is in the kitchen, with her best. Sunday dress on, and the snowiest of tables holds a sumptuous repast ready to be con- sumed at a moment’s notice. Flowers and fruits grace the More substantial dishes, and mother has positively got our occasional maid, Berry, to help her todo honor to our unex- pected guest, “Run, May, and get dressed,” she says, tenderly, push- ing me out of the kitchen—‘‘ never mind who is in the parlor—for you are not fit to be seen.” _. But the stranger in the parlor thinks otherwise; and at the sound of my voice he comes through the door into the _ kitchen, stooping to ayoid knocking his head against the Jow rafters. It is Leigh Morton. My dress is a flowered print of the commonest kind, and amy straw hat, which has done duty for two summers, cost originally thirteen pence-half-penny. Picture this costume, embellished with fragments of hay and various bunches of poppies, which the children have adorned me with in our og walk home through the hay-fields, and you have me exactly Ni I stand when Leigh comes in. peat: _ But, stead of shaking me quietly by the hand in his - usual sober way, he looks at me with eyes overflowing with Joye and admiration, and puts his arm round me and: kisses me. ‘‘Don’t be frightened, darling,” he says, smiling at my astonishment. ‘‘ It wouldn’t do to keep our engagement a _ secret any longer, for Icould not live without a sight of you again; so I have told the mother all about it; and she is quite willing you should wait for me and be properly en- gaged, although I expect you'll get a scolding for leaving me to enlighten her upon the subject. Is it not so, mother?” _ For a moment only my astonishment keeps me passive _and silent; then I turn away from the two smiling, loving _ faces that are so enjoying my mystification, and rush head- oe ak qe from the house. ‘‘ Angry” and “indignant” are mild words to express my state of mind in those first few _ moments. _ Leigh hurries after me, and joins me at the orchard stile. “Tt was cruel, ungenerous, unmanly,.of you,” I ery ex- _ citedly, beeping: my face well away from him; “you knew . from the first that it was. only in fun!” ) _. You must speak for yourself, May,” Leigh answers _ grayely, taking my reluctant hand and holding it fast in his own two large ones. earnest; that’s the only difference between us; but, before I . can be quite sure that you were only in fun, and that you wish me still to think so, turn your face to me, so. as there not a little love left for me, darling, after the fun was a thing of the past?” . ar? enn sd _ For reply I drop my head upon his arm, and his pas- \ sionate words and tender kisses steal all my heart away.’ _} Forgetful of the meal waiting for us, we remain in hap- ' py talk. at the mossy foot-of an ancient apple-tree; and it 10 29 i (THE ‘*You were in fun and I was in) is not until my mother comes out into the garden, looking anxiously all around, that I remember exactly what drove me from the house before my toilet was made. When the twilight falls, Leigh and I pass into the soft still air of the garden, and live the ‘happiest hours that have ever yet come to us in life. I learn how long he has loved me, how despairingly, how hopelessly, until that sweet spring evening when my playful declaration sudden- ly gave him the courage and determination to keep me his wn forever. The stars come out, and the golden moon shines over the tall elms that whisper lovingly above our little red-roofed cottage. The garden paths are dim and gray, and the lupins stand up in the faint light like sen- tinels about the fragrant porch door. Beautiful as my home is, and sweet as is my life, they both seem’ hateful to me when Leigh tells me we must part. For poverty is hard to bear, and success has not yet crowned his ef- forts, and he is too proud to ask me to share his cares and loneliness. «Leigh, why don’t you let me go back with you now?” I say at last, after a severe struggle to keep my proposi- tion to myself. ‘It is so wretched to part with you, to live so long, so very long without you. Leigh, why do you not ask me to come? Why do you let me say all this?” A sudden splendid light flashes into his dark face, and he holds me fast in his arms. ** May, my darling, would you really come?” “Try me,” I say, thankful that he cannot see my blushes in the moonlight. ; “Dearest, the life is very hard, and full of troubles and crosses; but, with you, it would be a paradise to me. Do you really mean that you would come to my rooms, live the life I live? May, speak—my wife, will you come?” T lift my face, and meet his earnest thrilling eyes, and answer ‘‘ Yes.” I am only a little simple country girl—poor indeed, but with a name and reputation among my simple kinsfolk. No one will ope my wish and determination to share my betrothed’s life end labor—my mother, who adores him, least of all. Before he leaves us this night, everything issettled. M. Rolfe will have to find another studio, and Leigh will save no end of money in models. I shall keep the rooms, cook the dinner, do all the marketing, and sit to Leigh for all the pictures he paints. a Mother has proposed that we spend our honeymoon with her; for Leigh needs a long rest in the fresh fair country he has been absent from so long; and Leigh has assented joyfully. tne ee he has gone back to town to make afew other > arrangements, and to work and wait fora monthuntilhe returns to me to claim me for his wife. The month is over at last. I have said farewell to all my school-children, and, upon this last evening, am put-— ting the finishing touches to my sweet white bridal dress. LT have made it myself, and haye embroidered it with ee leaves and snowy violets, in memory of the flowers Leigh first gave to me. And the little house, in its nest of green- ery, 1s bright and. beautiful as loving hands can make it. Not a cloud is in the sky. The air is heavy with the scent of flowers, for the full rich summer is overall the land. And that is Leigh’s voice in the hall, Leigh’s step at the door. ITturn) — with my precious robe in my hands, and am caught and ~ lanes to his heart, half smothered in the folds of mylove- ly work. a : What memories this bridal-dress will have—for to‘morrow is our wedding-day! “aw tot END. = \ REY. JOS. COOK, ) CARLYLE, | SHAKSPEARE, nae ———— BRET HARTE, . CARL PRETZEL, JOHN HAY, BILLINGS, BRYANT, | STREET, WALLACE, HOLMES, HAMILTON, RANDOLPH, MADISON, WINTHROP, CUYLER, DURYEA, WAYLAND, MAX ADELER, - MARK TWAIN, OOFTY GOOFT, DOESTICKS, MACAULAY, PHT, _ “MILTON, "BYRON, sae Diag SPEAKERS # DIALOGUES. . 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