$5.00 a Year.

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Entered at the Post Office at New York, N.Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. |

ah Pu

e Copyrighted 1881, by BEADLE AND ADAMS.

 

 

August 18, 1881,

 

 

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

 

Three Feathers.

BY WILLIAM BLACK.

PART I.—CHAPTER I,
MASTER HARRY.

“You are a wicked boy, Harry,” said a delightful

old lady of seventy, wit = cheeks, silver hair,
and bright eyes, to a tall and handsome lad of
twenty; ‘and you will break your mother’s heart,
But it’s the way of all you Trelyons.
Good looks, bad temper, plenty of
money, and the maddest fashion
of spending it—there you are, the
whole of you. Why won’t you go
into the house?”

“Tt’s a nice house to go into,
ain’t it?” said the boy, with a rude
laugh. “Look at it.”

It was indeed a nice house—a
quaint, old-fashioned,  strongly-
built place, that had withstood the
western gales for some three or four
centuries. And it was set amid
beautiful trees, and it overlooked
a@ picturesque little valley, and
from this garden-terrace in front
of it you would catch glimpses of a
tiny ‘bor on the Cornish coast,
with its line of blue water passing
out through the black rocks to the
sea beyond.

‘And why shouldn’t the blinds
be down?”? said the old lady. ‘It’s
- anniversary of your father’s

“It’s always the a of
somebody’s death,” her ndson
said, irapatiently flicking at a stan-
dard rose with his riding-switch;
“and it’s nothing but snivel, snivel
from morning till night, and the
droning of the organ in the chapel,
andthe burning of incense all about
the place, and everybody and
everything dressed in black, and
the whole house haunted by par-
sons, The parsons about the neigh-
borhood ain’t enough; they must
come from all parts of the country;
and you run against ’em in the hall,
and you knock them over when
you're riding out at the gate, and
just when you expect to get a
heasant or two at the place you
ow, out jumps a brace of parsons
Ls shave been picking bram-
es.”
“Harry, Harry, where do you
t to go to if you hate the par-
sons so?” the old lady said, but
there was scarcely that earnestness
of reproof in her tone that ought to
have been there. “And yet it’s
the way of you Trelyons. Did I
ever tell you how your grandfather
hunted poor Mr. Pascoe that winter
night? r! dear! what a jealous
man your grandfather was at that
x y &
time, to be sure! And when I told
him that John Pascoe had been
carrying stories to my father, and
how that he (your grandfather) was
to be forbidden the house, dear me!
what a passion he was in! He wouldn't come near
the house after that; but one night,as Mr. Pascoe
was pains, beans, your grandfather rode after him
and overtook him, and called out, ‘Look here, sir!
you have been telling lies about me. I respect your
¢loth, and I won’t lay a hand on you, but, by the
Lord! 1 will hunt you till there isn’t a rag on your
back.’ And sure enough he did; and when poor
~T. Pascoe understood what he meant he was near-
ly out of his wits, and off he went over the fields and
over the walls and across the ditches, with your
grandfather after him, driving his horse at him
when he stopped, and only shouting with laughter
in answer to his cries and prayers. Dear! dear!
what a to-do there was all over the country side

LZ

ZL

7H
CHV TTT Te
AE TTT

No. 98 WiiL1AM STREET, New York,

after that! and your grandfather durstn’t come near
the house, or he was too proud to come; but we got
married for all that.”

The old lady laughed in her quiet way.

“You were too good for a parson, grandmother,
Tll be bound,” said Master Trelyon. ‘You
are one of the right sort, you are. If I could find any
girl now like what you were then, see if I wouldn't
wry to get her for a wife.”

‘Oh, yes;’’ said the old lady, vastly pleased, and
smiling a little, ‘there were two or three of your |
opinion at one time, Harry.

Many a time I feared |

No. 108

Complete in this Number,
Price, Ten Cents,

they know that your grandfather was out in the
garden and asking nothing less than that I should
run away with him there and then to Gretna? Why,
the men of that time had some spirit, lad, and the
girls, too, I can tell you; and I couldn't say no to

im; and away we went just before daylight, and I
in my ball-dress, sure enough, and we never stopped
till we got to Exeter. And then the fight for fresh
horses, and off again; and your. grandfather
had such a way with him, Harry, that the silliest
of girls would have plucked up her spirits. And
oh, the money he scattered to get the best of the

they would be the death of each other. And Ij horses at the one for of course we

WENNA WENT FORWARD AND OFFERED HIM HER HAND,

never could have made up my mind, I do believe, if
your grandfather hadn’t come in among them to
settle the question. It was all over with me, then.
It’s the way of hed Trelyons—you never give a poor
girl achance. It isn’t ask and have—it’s come and
e; and so a girl becomes a Trelyon before she
knows where she is. Dear! dear! what a fine man
your grandfather was, to be sure; and such a pleas-
ant, frank, good-natured way as he had with him.
The girls were all wild about him; and the story
there was about our marriage! Yes, indeed, I was |
mad about him, too, only that he was just as mad |
about me; and that night of the ball, when my father
was angry because I would not dance, and when all
the young men could not understand it; for how did |

new that my father was close
after us, and if he overtook us,
then a convent in France for me,

and poothen to George Trelyon.”
“Well, grandmother, don’t stop,”
cried the lad before her; he had
heard the story a hundred times,
but he could have heard it another
hundred times, merely to see the

light that lit up her old face.

“We didn’t stop, you booby!”

she said, mistaking his remark,
“Stopping wasn’t for George Trel-
yon. And oh, that morning as we
drove into Carlisle, and we looked
back, and there, sure.enough was
my father’s carriage, a long way
off! Your grandfather swore, Har-
ry—yes, he did; and well it might
make a man swear. For our horses
were dead beat, and before we
should have time to change my
father would be up to claim me.
But there! it was theluckiest thing
that ever happened to me, for_who
could have expected: to find Lady
MacGorman at the door of the
hotel, just getting into her carriage?

And when she: saw me she stared.

and I was in such a fright I couldn’
speak, and she called out, *Good
heavens, child! why did you run
away in your ball dress? And who’s
the man? ‘His name, madam,’
said I, ‘is George Trelyon.’ For by
this time he was in the yard, raging
about horses. ‘A nephew of the
admiral, isn’t he? she says, and I
told her he was; ‘and then quick as
lightning, what does she do but
whip round into the yard, get hold
of your grandfather, my dear, and
bundle both of us into her own
carriage. Harry, my father’s car-
me was at the end of the street,
as lam a living woman. And just
as we drove off, we heard the dear,
good, kind old creature call out to
the people around, ‘Five ineas
apiece if you keep back the old
gentleman’s carriage for an hour!’
and such a laughing as your grand-
father had as we drove down the
streets and over the bridge and up
the hill and out the level lanes}
Dear! dear! I can see the country
now. I can remember every hedge
and the rivers we crossed, and the
hills up in the North; and all the
time your grenctaaher kept up the
laugh, for he saw I was frightened.
And there we were wedded, sure
enough and all in good time,for Lady
rman’s guineas had saved us,
so that we were actually driving back again when
we saw my father’s carriage coming along the road
—at no great , to be sure, for one of the horses
was lame and the other had cast a choe; all the re-
sult of that good old creature’s money. And then
I said to your grandfather, ‘What shall we do
George?’ ‘We shall have to stand and deliver, Sue,
says he; and with that he had the horses pulled up,
and we got out. And when my father came up, He
got out, too, and George took me by the hand—there
was no more laughing now,I can tell you, for it
was but natural that I should cry a bit—and he took
off his hat and led me forward to my father.
I don’t know what he said, I was in
such a fright, but I know that my father looked

 
 

ae

THREG FEATHERS.

 

 

at him fer a minute—and George was standing rather
abashad, peyhaps, but then so handsome he looked and
80 good-natured !—and then my father burst into a roar
of laughter, and came forward and shook him by the
hand; and ali that he would say then, or at any other
time to the day of his death, was only this: ‘By
Jupiter, sir, that was a devilish good pair that took you
straight on end to Exeter!’ ”’

“IT scarcely remember my grandfather,’ the boy said,
“but he couldn’t have been a handsomer man than my
father, nora better man either.”

“ITden’t say that,” the old lady observed candidly.
“ Your father was just such another. ‘Like father, like
son,’ they used to say when he was a boy. But then;
you see, your father would go and choose a wife for
himself in spite of everybody, just like all you. Tre-
lyons, and so’’——

But she remembered, and checked herself. She began
to tell the ladin how far he resembled his grandfather
in appearance, and he accepted these descriptions of his
features and figure in a heedless manner as one who
had grown too familiar with the fact of his being hand-
some to care about it. Had not everyone paid him com-
pliments, more or less indirect, from his cradle upward ?
He was indeed all that. the old lady would have desired
to see in a Trelyon—tall, square-shouldered, clean-
limbed, with dark gray eyes set under black eyelashes, a
somewhat aquiline nose, proud and well-cut lips, and
handsome forehead, and a complexion which might have
been pale but for its having been bronzed by constant
exposure to sun and weather. - There was some-
thing very winning about his face when he
chose to be winning, and when he laughed the
laughter, being quite honest and careless and musical,
was delightful to hear. With these personal advantages,

joined to a fairly quick intelligence and a ready sym-~
pathy, Master Harry Trelyon ought to have beena
universal favorite. So far from that being the case, a
section of the persons whom he met, and whom he
shocked by his rudeness, quickly dismissed him as an
irreclaimable cub; another section, with whom he was
on better terms, considered him a *bad tempered lad,
shook their heads in a humorous fashion over his
mother’s trials, and were inclined to keep out of his
way; while the best of his friends endeavored to throw
the blame of his faults on his bringing up, and main-
tained that he had many good qualities if only they
had been properly developed. The only thing certain
about these various criticisms was that they did not
concern very much the subject of them.

“And if I am like my grandfather,” he said good-
maturedly to the old lady, who was seated in a garden-
chair, “why don’t you get me a wife such as he had?”

“You! <A wife?” she repeated indignantly, re-
membering that, after all, to praise the good looks and
excuse the hot-headedness of the Trelyons was not pre-
cisély the teaching this young man needed. “‘ You take
a wife! Why, what girl would have you? You area
mere booby. Youcanscarcely write yourname, George
Trelyon was a gentleman, sir. He could converse in six
languages ’’——

“Swear considerably in one, I’ve heard,” the lad said
with an impertinent laugh.

“You take a-wife! I believe the stable-boys are better
educated than you are in manners, as well as in learn-
ing. All you are fit for is to become a horse-breaker to
a cavalry regiment or a gamekeeper; and I do believe it
is that old wretch, Pentecost Luke, who has ruined you.
Oh, I heard how Master Harry used to defy his governess,
and would say néthing to her for days together but

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met fifty old wives.

Then, old Luke had to be brought in, and Luke’s cure
for stubbornness was to give the brat a gun and teach
him to shoot starlings. Oh, I know the whole story,
my son, though I wasn’t in Cornwall at the time. And
then Master must be sent to school, but two days
afterward Master Harry is discovered at the edgeof a
wood, coolly seated with a gun in his hand wai for
his ferrets to drive out the rabbits. Then Master
is furnished with a private tutor, but aparcél of gun-
powder is found below the gentleman’s chair, with the
heads of several lucifer matches lying about. So Master
Harry is allowed to have his own way; and his master
and preceptor is a lying old gamekeeper, and Master
can’t read a page out of a book, but he can snare
birds and stuff fish and catch butterflies, and go cliff-
hunting on a horse that is bound to break his neck
some day. Why, sir, what do you think a girl would
have to say to youif you married her? She would ex-
pect you to take her into society: she would expect
you to be agreeable in your manners, and be able to
talk to people. Do you think she would care about
your cunning ways of catching birds, as if you were a
cat or a sparrowhawk ?”

He only flicked at the rose and laughed : lecturing
had but little effect on him. ’

“Do you think a girl would come to a house like
this—one half of it filled with dogs and birds and
squirrels and what not, the other furnished, like 4
chapel in a cemetery? A combination of a church and
a@ menagerie, that’s what I call it.”

“Grandmother.” he said, “these parsons have been
stuffing your head full of nonsense about me.”

“ Have they?” said the old lady sharply, and eyeing
him keenly. “Are you sure it is all nonsense? You
talk of marrying, and you know that nogirl of your own
station in life would look at you. What about that
public-house in the village, and the two girls there, and
your constant visits?”

He turned round with a quick look of anger in his
face: “ Who told you such infamous stories? I sup-
pose it was one of those cringing, sneaking, white-
livered——_ Bah!” :

He switched the *head off the rose and strode away,
saying as he went, “Grandmother, you mustn’t stay
here long. The air of the place affectaeven you. An-

other week of it, and you’ll be as mean as the rest of
them.”

But he was in a very bad temper, despite his careless
gait. There was a scowl on the handsome and boyish
tace that was not pleasant to see. He walked round to
the, stables, kicked about the yard while his horse was
being saddled, and then rode out of the grounds and
along the highway, until he went clattering down the
steep and stony main street of Eglosilyan.

The children knew well this black horse: they had a
superstitious fear of him, and they used to scurry into
the cottages when his wild rider, who seldom tightened
rein, rode down the precipitous thoroughfare.

But just at this moment. when young Trelyon was
paying little heed as to where he was going, a small
white-haired bundle of humanity came running out of
a doorway, and stumbled and fell right in the way of the
horse. The lad was a good rider, but all the pulling up
in the world could not prevent the fore feet of the horse,
as they were shot out into the stones, from rolling over
that round bundle of clothes. Trelyon leapt to the
ground and caught up the child, who stared at him with
big, blue frightened eyes.

“Tt’s you, young Pentecost, is it? And what the
dickens do you mean by trying to knock over my
horse, eh ?”’

The small boy was terrified, but quite obviously not
hurt a bit; and his captor, leading the horse with one
hand and affixing the bridle to the door, carried him
into the cottage.

“Well, Mother Luke,” said young Trelyon, “I know
you’ve got too many children, but do you expect that
I’m going to put them out of the way for you!”

She muttered a little scream and caught at the boy.

“Oh, there’s no harm done, but I suppose I must
give him a couple of sovereigns because he nearly
frightened me out of my wits. Poorlittle kid! it’s hard
on him that you should have given him such a name,
TI suppose you thought it was Cornish because it begins
with Pen.”

“You knaw ‘twere his vather’s name, Master Harry,”
said Mrs. Luke, smiling as_she saw that the child’s
chubby fingers were being closed over two bright gold-
pieces.

Just at that moment Master Harry, his eyes having
got accustomed to the twilight of the kitchen, perceiv-
ed that among the little crowd of children at the fire-
side end a young lady was sitting. She was a insignifi-
cant little person, with dark eyes; she had a slate in
her hand; the children were round her in a circle.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Wenna,” the young
man said, removing his hat quickly and blushing all
over his handsome face. “I did not see youin the dark.
Is your father at the inn ?—I was going to see him. I
hope I hayen’t frightened you ?”’

“Yes, my father has come back from Plymouth,” said
the zosne lady, quietly and without rising. “AndTI
think you might be a little more careful in riding
through the village, Mr. Trelyon.” :

“Good morning,” he said. ‘‘ Take better care of Mast-
er Pentecost, Mother Luke.” And with that he went
out and got into the saddle again, and set off to ride
down to the inn, not quite so recklessly as heretofore. —

 

CHAPTER I.
JIM CROW.

Wen Miss Wenna—or Morwenna, as her mother in
a freak of romanticism had called her—had finished her
teaching, and had inspected some fashioning of gar-
ments in which Mrs. Luke was engaged, she put on
her light shawl and her hat and went out into the fresh
air. She was now standing in the main street of Eglo-
Silyan, and there were houses right down below her,
and houses far above her, but a stranger would have
been puzzled to say where this.odd little village began
and ended. For it was built in a straggling fashion on
the sides of two little ravines, and the small
stone cottages were so curiously intermingled
with the trees, and the plots of garden were so curi-
ously banked up with walls that were smothered in
wild-flowers, that you could only decide which was the
main thoroughfare by the presence there of two gray-
stone chapels—one the Wesleyans’ Ebenezer, the other
the Bible Christians’. The churches were far away on
the uplands, where they were seen like towers along the
bleak cliffs by the passing sailors. But perhaps Eglosil-
i proper ought to be considered as lying down in the

ollow, where the two ravines converged. For here was
the chief inn, and here was the overshot flourmill, and
here was the strange little harbor, tortuous, narrow
and deep, into which one or two heavy coasters came
for slate, brin with them timber and coal. ae
‘an is certainly a picturesque piace, but one’s difficulty
to get anything like a proper view of it. The black
and mighty cliffs at the mouth of the harbor, where the
Atlantic seethes and boils in the calmest weather, the
beautiful blue-green water under the rocks and along
the stone quays, the quaint bridge and the mill, are
pleasant to look at; but where is Egtnsilyan? Then
if you go up one of the-ravines, and get among the old
houses, with their tree-fuchsins and hydrangeas and
marigolds and lumps of white quartz in the quaint
little gardens, you find Pacis looking down ‘the
chimneys of one portion of Eglosilyan, and ‘ooking up
to the doorsteps of another—everywhere a confusion of
hewn rock and natural terrace and stone walls and
bushes and hart’s-tongue fern. Some thought that the
“Trelyon Arms” should be consitlered the natural
center of Eglosilyan, but you could not see half a dozen
houses from any of its windows. Others would have
given the post Of honor to the National School, which
had been there since 1843, but it was up in a by-streat,
and could only be approached by a flight of steps cut in
the slate wall that banked up the en in front of it.
Others, for reasons which need pa | be mentioned, held
that the most important part of Eglosilyan was the

 

Napoleon Hotel, a humble little pot-house frequented

 

by the workers in the slate-quarries, who canse there tc
discuss the affairs ef the nation and hear the news.
Anyhow, Eglosilyan was a green, bright, rugged and
picturesque little place, oftentimes wet with the west-
ern rains, and at all times fresh and sweet with the
moist breezes from the Atlantic.

Miss Wenna went neither down the street nor up the
street, but took a rough and narrow little path leading
by some of the cottages to the cliffs overlooking the
sea. There was asound of music in the air, and by and
by. she came in sight of an elderly man, who, standing
in an odd little donkey-cart and holding the reins in one
hand, held with the other acornopean, which he played
with great skill, Noone in Eglosilyan could tell pre-
cisely whether Michael Jago had been bugler to some
regiment or had acquired his knowledge of. the corno-
pean in a traveling show ; but everybody liked to hear
the cheerful sound, and came out by the cottage-door
to welcome him, as he went from village to village with
his cart, whether they wanted to buy suet or not. And
now, as Miss Wenna saw him approach, he was playing
“The Girl I left Behind Me,” and as there was no one
about to listen to him, the pathos of certain parts. and
the florid and skillful execution of others showed that
Mr. Jago had a true love for music, and did not merely
use it to advertise his wares.

“ Good-morning to you, Mr. Jago,” said Miss Wenna,
as he came up.

“Marnin’, Miss Rosewarne,” he said, taking down
his cornopean.

“This is a narrow road for your cart.”

“’Tain’t a very good way; but, bless you! me and my
donkey we're used to.any zart.of a road, I du. believe
een go-down to the bache, down the face of Black

iff.” 7

“Mr. Jago, I want tosay something to you. If you
are dealing with old Mother Keam to-day, you’ll give
her a good extra bit, won’t you? And so with Mrs.
Geswetherick, tor she has had no letter from her son
now for three months. And this will pay you, and
you'll say nothing about it, you know.”

She put the coin in his hand; it was an arrangement
of old standing between the two. ;

“Well, yu be a good young lady—yaas, yu be,”’ he
said as he drove on; and then she heard him announc-
ing his arrival to the people of Eglosilyan by playing,
in a very elaborate manner, “‘ Love’s Young Dream.”

The solitary young person who was taking her morn-
ing walk now left this rugged road, and found herself
on the bleak and high uplands of the coast. Over there
was the sea—a fair summer sea—and down into the
south-west stretched a tall line of cliff, black, precipi-
tous and jagged, around the base of which even this
blue sea was churned into seething masses of white.
Close by was a church; and the grave-stones were prop-
ped up, so that they should withstand the force of the
gales that sweep over those windy heights.

She went across. the uplands, and passed down to a
narrow neck of rock which connected with the main-
land a huge projecting promontory, on the summit of
which a square and strongly-built tower. On both
sides of this ledge of rock the sea from below passed in-
to Narrow channels and roared into gigantic caves; but
when once you had ascended again to the summit of
the tall projecting cliff, the distance softened the sound
into a low continuous murmur, and the motion of the
‘wayes beneath you was only visible in the presence of
the white foam where the black cliffs met the blue sea.

She went out pretty nearly to the verge of the cliff,
where the-close, short, wind-swept sea-grass gave way
to immense and ragged masses of rock, descendin;
sheer into the waves below, and here she sat down an
took out a book, and began to read. But her thoughts
were busier than her eyes, Her attention would stray
away from the page before her to the empty blue sea,
where scarcely a sail was to be seen, and to the far
headlands lying under the white of the summer sky.
One of these headlands was Tintagel; and close by were
the ruins of the great castle where Uther Pendragon
kept his state, where the mystic Arthur was born,
where the braye Sir Tristram went to see his true love,
La Belle Isoulde. All that world had vanished andgone
into silence; could anything be more mute and still
than those bare uplands out at the end of the world,
‘those voiceless cliffs and the empty circle of the sea?
The sun was hot on the rocks beneath her, where the
pink quartz lay encrusted among theslate, but there
was scarcely the hum of an insect to break the still-
ness, and the only sign of life about was the circling of
one or two sea-birds; so far below her that their cries
could not be heard.

“Yes, it was along time ago,” the girl was thinking
as the book lay unheeded on her knea “A sort of mist
covers it now, and the knights seem gremt and tall men
as you think of them riding through the fog almost in
silence, But then there were the brighten days, when
the tournaments were held, and the sun came out, and
the noble ladies wore rich colors, and every one came
to see how beautiful they were. And how fineit must
have been to havesat there and have all the knights
ready to fight for you, and glad when you gave them 4
bit of a ribbon or a4 smile!, And in these days, too, it
must be a fine thing to be a noble lady, and beautiful and
tall like a princess, andto go among the poor people
putting everything to rights, because you havelots of
money, and because the roughest of the men look up to
you and think you a queen, and will do anything for

ou. What a happy life a grand and beautiful lady must

ave when she is tall and fair-haired and sweet in her
manner, and every one around her is pleased to serve
her, and she can i. a kindness by merely saying a word
the people! But it you are only Jim Crow?

"3 ab , Now, she is everybody’s favorite because

she is so pretty ; and whatever she does, that is always
beautiful and ful becauseshe is 90. Father never
calls her Jim Crow. And Tought to be jeatous of her,
for every one praises her, and mere strangers ask for her

hi h : and Mr. Roscorla always writes to her,
ste dyon stuffed those squirrela for ‘ner,

Pp
and Mr.

 

 

:

~~

 
 

 

4
;
7
:

is
+
be

 

THREE FEATHERS.

———————————————

e

 

though he never offered to stuff squirrels for me. But
Icannot be jealous of Mabyn—I cannot even try. She
looks at you with her blue soft eyes, and you fall in
love with her; and that is the advantage of being hand-
@some and beautiful, for you can please every one, and
make every one like you, and confer fayors on people
all day long. But if you are small and plain and dark—
if your father calls you Jim Crow—what can you do?”
These despondent fancies did not seem to depress her
much. The gloom of them was certainly not visible on
her face, nor yet in the dark eyes, which had a strange
and winning earnestness in them. She pulled a bit of
tormentil from among the close warm grass on the
rocks, and she hummed a line or two of “ Wapping Old
Stairs.” Then she turned to her book, but by and by
her eyes wandered away again, and she fell to thinking.
“Tf you were’a man, now,” she was silently saying to
herself, “that would be quite different. It would not
matter how ugly you were, for you could try to be
brave or cleyer, or a splendid rider, or something of
that kind, and nobody would mind how ugly you were.
But it’s very hard to be a woman and to be plain: you
feel as if you were good for nothing, and had no busi-
ness to live. They say that you should cultivate the
graces of the mind, but it’s only old people who say that:
and perhaps you mayn’t have any mind to cultivate.
How much better it would be to be pretty while you
are young, and leave the cultivation of the mind for af-
ter years! and that is why I haye to prevent mother
from scolding Mabyn for never reading a book. If I
were like Mabyn I should be so occupied in giving to
people the pleasure of looking at me and talking to me
that I should have no time for books, Mabyn is like a
princess. And if she were agrand lady, instead of being
only an innkeeper’s daughter, what a lot of things she
could do about Eglosilyan! She could go and per-
suade Mr. Roscorla, by the mere sweetness of her man-
ner, to be less suspicious of people and less bitter in
talking; she could go up to Mrs; Trelyon and bring her
out more among her neighbors, and make the house
pleasanter for her son; she could go to my father and
beg him to be a little more considerate to mother when
she is angry; she might get some influence over Mr.
‘Trelyon himself, and make him less of a petulant boy.
Perhaps Mabyn may do some of these things when she
gets a little older. It ought to please her to try at all
events; and who can withstand her when she likes to
be affectionate and winning? NotJim Crow, any way.”
She heaved a sigh, not a very dismal, one, and got up
and prepared to gohome. She was humming carelessly
to herselt—

Your Polly has never been false, she declares,
Since last time we parted at Wapping old stairs,

She had got that length when she was startled into si-
lence by the sound.of a horse’s feet, and turning quickly
round found Harry Trelyon galloping up. the steep

( slope that stretches across to the mainland. It was no
pleasant place to ride across, for astumble of the ani-
mal’s feet would have sent horse and rider down into
the gulfs below, where, the blue-green sea was surging
in among the black rocks.

“Oh how could you be so foolish as to do that?’ she
cried. “‘I beg of you to come down, Mr. Trelyon. I
cannot.”’——

“Why, Dick is as sure-footed as I am,” said the lad,
his handsome face flushing with the ride up from

losilyan, “I thought I should find you here.

ere’s no end of a row going on at the inn, Miss Wen-
na, and that’s a fact. I fancied I’d better come and tell
you, for there’s no onecan put things straight like you,
you know.”’ :
| .A quarrel between her father and her mother—it was
of no rare occurrence, and she was not much surprised,
|. “Thank you, Mr. Trelyon,” she said. “It is very
aa of you to have taken the trouble. I will go down
at once.”
| But she was looking rather anxiously at him as he
turned round his horse. ‘Mr. Trelyon,” she said
quickly, “would you oblige me by getting down and
leading your horse across until you reach the path ?’’

Ho was out of the saddle in a moment. “I will walk
down with you to Eglosilyan, if you like,” he said care-
lessly. ‘You often come up here, don’t you ?”’

|. “Nearly every day ; I always takea walk in the fore-
noon.”

“Does Mabyn ever come with you?” His companion
noticed that he always addressed her as Miss Wenna,
whereas her sister was simply Mabyn.

t “Not often.”
' “T wonder she dosn’t ride ; Iam sure she would look
well on horseback—don’t you think so?”

““Mabyn would look well anywhere,” said the eldest
sister with a smile.

“Ifshe would like to try a lady’s saddle on your
father’s cob, I would send you one down from the hall,”
thejlad said. ‘‘ My mother neverrides now. But perhaps
I'd better speak to your father about it. Oh, by the
way, he told mea capital story this morning that he
heardin coming from Plymouth to Launceston in the
train. Two farmers belonging to Launceston had got
intoa carriage the day before, and found in it a parson,
against whom they. had a grudge. He didn’t know
either of them by sight, and so they pretended to be
strangers, and sat down opposite each other One of
them put up the window ; the other put it down with
abang. The first drew it upagain and said, ‘I desire

+ you to leaye the window alone, sir.’ The other said, «I
mean to have that window down, and if you touch it
again, I willthrow you outof it.” Meanwhile the par-
son at the other end of the carriage, who was a little
fellow and rather timid, had gotinto an agony of fright;
and atlast, whep the two men seemed about to seize
each other by fie “throat, he called out, ‘For heayen’s
sake, gentlemen, do not quarrel. Sir, I beg of you, I
implore you, as a clergyman I entreat you, to putup
that Knife.” And then, of course, they both turned upon
him like tigers, and slanged him, and declared they

would break his back over this same window. Fancy
the fright he was in.”

The boy laughed merrily,

“Do you think that was a good joke?” the girl be-
side him asked quietly.

He seemed a little embarrassed.

Then there was a sort of conference of relatives held in
the house whick she still inhabited. The result of all
this, so far as the Rosewarnes were concerned, was
simply that the relatives of the woman, to hush the
matter up and prevent further scandal, offered to pur-
chase for George Rosewarne the “Trelyon Arms” at

 

 

“Do you think it was a very manly and courageous | Eglosilyan, on condition that he should immediately,
thing for two big farmers to frighten a small and timid | with his family, betake himself to that remote corner
clergyman? I think it was rather mean and cowardly. | of the world, and undertake to hold no further commu-
I gee no joke in it at all,” nication of any sort with the woman, who still swore

His face grew more and more red, and then he frown- | that she would follow him to the end of the earth.
ed with yexation. “Idon’t suppose they meant any | George Rosewarne was pleased with the offer, and ac-
harm,” he said curtly, “ but you know we can’t all bo | cepted it, He might have found some difficulty in-dis-
Squaring every word and look by the prayer-book. And | covering another stewardship after the events that had
I suppose the parson himself, if he had known, would | just occurred. On the other hand, the Trelyon Arms”
not have beén so fearfully serious but that he could | at Eglosilyan was not a mere public house. It was an
have taken a joke like any one else. By the way, this | old-fashioned, quaint and comfortable inn, practically
is the nearest road to Trevenna, isn’t it? Ihave got to| shut up during the winter, and in the summer made

ride over there before the afternoon, Miss Rosewarne :
so I shall bid you good-day.”’

He got on horseback again, and took off his cap to her
and rode away.

“ Good-day, Mr. Trelyon,’’ she said, meekly.

And so she walked down to the inn by herself, and
was inclined to reproach herself for being so very seri-
ous, and for being unable to understand a joke like any
one else. Yet she was not unhappy about it. It was a
pity if Mr. Trelyon were annoyed with her, but then
she had long ago taught herself to believe that she
could not easily please people, like her sister Mabyn ;
and she cheerfully accepted the fact.
true, she indulged in idle dreams of what she might do
if she were beautiful and rich and noble ; but she soon

Sometimes, it is |

the headquarters of a few families who had discovered
it, and who went there as regularly as the warm
| weather came round. A few antiquarian folks, too,
and a stray geologist or so, generally made up the fam-
ily party that sat down to dinner every evening in the
| big dining-room ; and who that ever made one of that
odd circle meeting in this strange and out-of-the-way
| place ever failed to return to it when the winter had
| finally cleared away and the Atlantic got blue again?
George Rosewarne went down to see about it. He
| found in the inn an efficient housékeeper, who was
| thorough mistress of her duties and of the servants,
so that he should have no great trouble about it, even
| though his wife were too ill to help. And so the Rose-
| Warnes were drafted down to the Cornish coast, and as

laughed herself out of these foolish fancies, and they | Mrs. Rosewarne was of Cornish birth, and as she had
left no sting of regret behind them. At this: moment, | given both her daughters Cornish names, they gradually
as she walked down to Eglosilyan, with the tune of | ceased to be regarded as strangers, They made many
“Wapping Old Stairs’’ rocking itself to sleep in her | acquaintances and friends. Mrs. Rosewarne was.
head, and with her face brightened by her brisk walk, } bright, rapid, playful talker, a woman of considerable
there was neither disappointment nor envy nor am- | reading and intelligence, and a sympathetic: listener.
bition in her mind. Not for her, indeed, were any of | Her husband knew all about horses and dogs and farm-
those furious passions that shake and set afire the Jives | ing and what not, so that Master Harry Trelyon, for
of men and woman ; her lot was the calm and placid lot | example, was in the habit of consulting him almost

 

of the unregarded, and with it she was well content.

 

CHAPTER III.
RES ANGUSTS DOMI.

WHEN George Rosewarne, the father of this Miss
Wenna, lived in Eastern Devonshire, many folks
thought him a fortunate man. He was the land-stew-
ard ofa large estate, the owner of which lived in Paris,
so that Rosewarne was practically his own master ; he
had a young and pretty wife, desperately fond of him ;
he had acouple of children and a comfortable home.
As for himself, he was a tall, reddish-bearded, manly-
looking fellow : the country-folks called him Handsome
George as they saw him riding his rounds of amorning,
and they thought it a pity Mrs. Rosewarne was so often
poorly, for she and her husband looked well together
when they were walking to church.

Handsome George did not seem much troubled by
his wife’s various ailments; he would only give the
curtest answers when asked about her health. Yet he
was notin any distinct way a bad husband.’ He was a
man vaguely. unwilling to act wrongly, but weak in
staving off temptation: there was a sort of indolent
selfishness about him of which he was scarcely aware,
and to indulge this selfishness he was capable of a good
deal of petty deceit, and even treachery of a sort. It
was not these failings, however, that made the relations
of husband and wife not very satisfactory. Mrs. Rose-
warne was passionately fond of her husband, and
proportionately jealous of him. She was a woman of
impulsive imagination and of sympathetic nature,
clever, bright and fanciful, well read and well taught,
and altogether made of finer stuff than Handsome
George. But this passion of jealousy overmastered her
reason. When she did try to convince herself that she
was in the wrong, the result was merely that she
resolved to keep silence; but this forcible repression
of her suspicions was worse in its effects than the open
avowal of them. When the explosion came, George
Rosewarne was mostly anxious to avoid it. Hedid not
seek to set matters straight. He would get into a
peevish temper for a few minutes, and tell her she was
a fool: then he would go out for the rest of the day,
and come home sulky in the évening. By this time she
was generally in a penitent mood ; and there is nothin;
an indolent, sulky person likes s0 much as to be coaxe:
and caressed, with tears of repentance and affectionate
promises, into a good temper again. There were too
many of such scenes in George Rosewarne’s home.

Mrs. Rosewarne may have been wrong, but people
began to talk. For there had come to live at the hall
a certain Mrs. Shirley, who had lately returned from
India, and was the sister-in-law, or some such relation,
of George Rosewarne’s master. She was a good-looking
woman of forty, fresh-colored and free-spoken, a little
too fond of brandy-and-water, folks said, and a good
deal too fond of the handsome steward, who now spent
most of his time up at the big house. They said she
was a grass widow. They said there were reasons why
her relations wished her to be buried down there inthe
country, where shé received no company and made no
efforts to get acquainted with the people who had called
on her and left their cards. And amid all this gossip
the name of George Rosewarne too frequently turned
up; and there were nods and winks when Mrs. Shirley
and the steward were; seen to be riding about the
country from day to day, presumably not always con-
versing about the property.

The blow fell at last, and that ina fashion that need
not be described here. There was a wild scene between
two angry women. A few days after a sallow-complex-
ioned, white-haired old gentleman arrived from Paris,
and was confronted by a red-faced fury, who gloried in
her infatuation and disgrace, and dared him to interfere.

| daily.

| They had alittle parlor abutting on. what/once had
been a bar, and here their friends sometimes) dropped
in to have a chat. There was a bar no longer. The
business of the inn was conducted overhead, and was
exclusively of the nature described above. The pot
house of Eglosilyan was the Napoleon Hotel, a dilapida-
ted place half way up one of the steep streets.

But in leaving Devonshire for Cornwall the Rose-
warnes had carried with them a fatal inheritance. ‘They
could not leave behind them the memory of the circum-
stances that had caused their flight; and ever and anon,
as something occurred to provoke their suspicions, Mrs,
Rosewarne would break out again into a passion of jeal-
ousy, and demand explanations and reassuratices, which
her husband half-indolently and half-sulkily refused.
There was but one hand then, one voice that could still
the raging waters. Morwenna Rosewarné knew nothing
of that Devonshire story, any more than her sister or
the neighbors did, but she saw that her'mother had de-
fects of temper, that she was irritable, unreasonable and
suspicious, and she saw that her father was inconsider-
ately indifferent and harsh, It was a hard task to recon-
cile these two, but the girl had all the patience of a born
peacemaker; and patience is the more necessary to the
settlement of such a dispute, in that it is generally im-
possible for any human being, outside of the two who
are quarreling, to discover any ground for the quarrel.

“Why, what’s the matter, mother?” she said on this
occasion, taking off her hat and shawl as if she had
heard nothing about it. “I do think you have been
crying.”

The pretty pale woman, with the large black eyes and.
smoothly-brushed dark hair, threw a book on to the

“How stupid it is, Wenna, to cry over the misfor-
tunes of peoplein books! isn’t it? Do you remem-
ber when old Pentecost Luke got the figure-head of
Bernadotte of Sweden and stuck it in his kitchen
garden, how fierce the whole place looked? ‘And then
Harry Trelyon got a knife, and altered the scowl into
a grin, and painted it a bit, and then you .couldn’t
go into the garden without laughing. And when a
man _ twists the corners of his heroine’s mouth down-
ward, or when it pleases him to twist them upward,
why should one either cry or laugh? Well, well! she
was a good sort of girl, and deserved a better fate. I
will dry my eyesand think no more about her.” '

The forced dragging-in of the Bernadotte of Sweden,
and the incoherent speech that followed, would not
have deceived Miss Wenna in any case, but now she was
to receive other testimony to the truth of Mr, Trel-
yon’s report. There was seated at the window of the
room a tall and strikingly handsome young girl of six-
teen, whose almost perfect profile was clearly seen
against the light, Just at this moment she roseand
stepped across the room to the door, and as she went
by she said, with just a trace of contemptuous indif-
ference on the proud and beautiful face, “It is only
another quarrel, Wenna.”

“‘Mother,” said the girl, when her sister had gone,
“tell me. what it is about. What have you said to
father? Where is he?’

There was an air of quiet decision about her that did
not detract from the sympathy visible in her face.
Mrs. Rosewarne began to cry again. .Thenshe took her
daughter’s hand and made her sit down by her, and
told her all her troubles. What. was the girl. to: make
of it? It was the old story of suspicion and: challeng-
ing and, sulky denial, and then hot words and anger-
She could make out at least, that her: mother had
been made anxious about something he-had inadvert-
ently said about his visit to Plymouth .on the previous

two days.’ In reply to her questions he had grown
peevishly vague, and had then spoken: in brayado of
the pleasant evening he had spent. at the, theater.
Wenna reasoned with her mother, and pleaded: with!

 

table, and said, with a sort of half-hysterical laugh :,
  

w+

 

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

her, and at last exercised a little authority over her, at
the end of which she agreed that if her husband would
tell her with whom he had been to theater she would
be satisfied, would speak no more on the subject, and
would even formally beg his forgiveness.

** Because, mother, I have something to tell you,” the
Saughter said, “ when you are all quite reconciled,”

“ Was it in the letter you read just now?”

“‘ Yes, mother.”

The girl still held the letter in her hand. It was ly-
ing on the table when she came in, but she had not
opened it, and glanced over the contents until she saw
that her mother was yielding to her prayers.

“Tt is from Mr. Roscorla, Wenna,” the mother said ;
and now she saw, as she might have seen before, that
her daughter was a little paler than usual, and some-
what agitated.

* Yes, mother.”

“I mustsettle this matter first,” said the girl calmly;
and then she folded up the letter, and, still holding it
in her hand, went off to find her father.

George Rosewarne, seeking calm after the storm, was
seated on a large and curiously-carved bench of Spanish
oak, placed by the door of the inn. He was smoking
his pipe, and lazily looking at some pigeons that were
fiying about the mill and occasionally alighting on the
roof. In the calm of the midsummer’s day there was
no sound but the incessant throbbing of the big wheel
over there and the plash of the water.

“Now, don’t bother me, Wenna,” he said the moment
he saw her approach. “I know you’ve come to make a
fuss. You mind your own business.”

“ Mother is very sorry ’’—— the girl was beginning in
a@ meek way, when he interrupted her rudely.

“TI tell you to mind your own business. I must have
= end of this; I have stood it long enough. Do you

ear?”

But she did not go away. She stood there, with her
quiet, patient face, not heeding his angry looks:
“Father, don’t be hard on her. She is very sorry. She
is willing to beg your pardon if you will only tell her
who went to the theater with you in Plymouth, and re-
lieve her from this anxiety. That is all. Father, who
went to the theater with you?”

“Oh, go away,” he said, relapsing into a sulky condi-
tion. “You're growing up to be just such another as
your mother.”

“ I cannot wish for any better,” the girl said, mildly.
“ She is a good woman, and she loves you dearly.”

“Why,” he said, turning suddenly upon her, and
speaking in an injured way, ‘‘no one went with me to
the theater at Plymouth. Did I say that anybody did?
Surely a man must do something to spend the evening
if he is by himself in a strange town.”

‘Wenna put her hand on her father’s shoulder and said :
“Pa, why didn’t you take me to Plymouth ?”

“Well, I willnext time. You’re a good lass,”’ he said,
atill in the same sulky way.

“Now come and make it up with mother.
ious to make it up.”

He looked at his pipe; “In a few minutes, Wenna—
when I finish my pipe.”

“She is waiting now,” said the girl, quietly; and with
that her father burst into a loud laugh, and got up and
shrugged his shoulders, and then, taking his daughter
by the ear, and saying that she was a sly little cat, he
walked into the house and into the room where his wife
awaited him.

Meanwhile, Wenna Rosewarne had stolen off to her
own little room, and there she sat down at the window
and with trembling fingers took out a letter and began
toread it. It was certainly a document of some length,
consisting, indeed of four large pages of blue paper,
covered with a small, neat and precise handwriting.
She had not got on very far with it when the door of the
reom was opened and Mrs. Rosewarne appeared, the
pale face and large dark eyes being now filled with a ra-
diant pleasure. Her husband had said mec ree
friendly to her, and the quick, imaginative nature h
leaped to the conclusion that all was right again, and
there were to be no more needless quarrels.

“ And now, Wenna,” she said, sitting down by the

rl, “ what is it all about? and why did you look so

ightened a few minutes ago?”

“Oh, mother,” the girl said, “this is a letter from Mr.
Roscorla, and he wants me to marry him.”

“Mr. Roscorla!”’ cried the mother, in blank astonish-
ment. ‘‘ Who ever dreamed of such a thing? And what
do you say, Wenna? What do you think? What an-
awer will you send him? Dear me! to think of Mr.
Roscorla taking a wife, and wanting our Wenna, too!’

She began to tell her mother something of the letter,
reading it carefully to herself, and then repeating aloud
some brief suggestion of what she had read, to let her
mother know what were the arguments that Mr. Ros-
corla employed. And it was, on the whole, an argu-
mentative letter, and much more calm and lucid and
reasonable than most letters are which contain offers of
marriage. Mr. Roscorla wrote thus:

“ Basser CorraGE, EGLOSILYAN, July 18, 18—,

“My DEAR Miss Wenwa: I fear that this letter may
surprise you, but I hope you will read it through with-
out alarm or indignation, and deal fairly and kindly
with what ithastosay, Perhaps you will think, when
you have read it, that I ought to have come to you and
said the things that it says. But I wish to put these
things before you in as simple a manner as I can, which

‘is best done by writing; anda letter will have this ad-
vantage, that you can recur to it at any moment if there
is some point on which you are in doubt.

“The object, then, of this letter isto ask you to be-
come my wife, and to put before you a few consider-
ations which L hope will have some little influence in
determining your answer. You will be surprised, no
doubt, for though you must be well aware that I could

‘ ive the of your character—the gentleness
and charity of heart and modesty ot demeanor that have
endesred you to the whole of the people among whom

She is anx-

 

you live—you may fairly say that I have never betrayed
my admiration of you in word or deed; and that is true.
I cannot precisely tell you why I should be more distant
in manner toward her whom I preferred to all the
world than to her immediate friends and associates, for
whom I cared much less ; but such is the fact. I could
talk and joke and spend a pleasant afternoon in the so-
ciety of your sister Mabyn, for example; I could ask
her to accept a present from me; I could write letters
to her when when I was in London; but with you all
that was different. Perhaps it is because you are so
fine and shy, because there is, so much sensitiveness in
your look, that Ihave almostt been afraid to go near
you, lest you should shrink from some rude intimation
ef that which I now endeavor to break to you gently—
my wish and earnest hope that you may become my
wife. I trust I have so far explained what perhaps you
may have considered coldness on my part.

“Tam a good deal older than you are, and I cannot
pretend to offer you that fervid passion which, to the
imagination of the young, seems the only thing worth
living for, and one of the necessary conditions of mar-
riage. On the other hand,I cannot expect the mani-
festations of any such passion on your side, even if I
had any wish forit. But on this point I should like to
make a few observations which I hope will convince
you that my proposal is not so unreasonable as it may
have seemed at first. sight. When I look over the list
of all my friends who have married, whom doI find to
be living the happiest life? Not they who as boy and
girl were carried away by a romantic idealism which
seldom lasts beyond a few weeks after marriage, but
those who had wisely chosen partners fitted to become
their constant and affectionate friends. It is this possi-
bility of friendship, indeed, which is the very basis of a
happy marriage. The romance and passion ot love
soon depart: then the man and woman find themselves
living in the same house, dependent on each other’s
character, intelligence and disposition, and bound by
inexorable ties. If in these circumstances they can be
good friends, it is well with them. Ifthey admire each
other’s thoughts and feelings, if they are generously
considerate toward each other’s weaknesses, if they
have pleasure in each other’s society—if, in short, they
find themselves bound to each other by the ties of a
true and disinterested friendship—the world has been
good to them. I say nothing against that period of
passion which in some rare and fortunate instances pre-
cedes this. infinitely longer period of friendship, You
would accuse me of the envy of an elderly man if I
denied that it has its romantic aspects. But how very
temporary these are! How dangerous they are, too!
for during this term ef hot-headed idealism the young
people have their eyes bewildered, and too often make
the most grievous mistake in choosing a partner for life.
The passion of a young man, as I have seen it displayed
in a thousand instances, is not a thing to be desired. It
is cruel in its jealousy, exacting in its demands, heed-
less in its impetuosity ; and when it has burned itself
out—when nothing remains but ashes and an empty
fireplace—who is to say that the capacity for a firm and
lasting friendship will survive? But perhaps you
fancy that this passionats love may last forever. Will
you forgive me, dear Miss Wenna, if I say that thatis
the dream of a girl? In such rare cases as I have seen
this perpetual ardor of love was anything but happi-
ness to those concerned. The freaks of jealousy on the
part of a boy and girl who think of getting married are
but occasions for the making of quarrels and the de-
light of reconciliation ; but a lifelong jealousy involves a
torture to both husband and wife to which death would
be preferable.”

At this point Morwenna’s cheeks burned -red ; she
was silent for a time, and her mother wondered why
she skipped so long a passage without saying a word.

“T have used all the opportunities within my reach,”
the letter continued, “to form a judgment of your
character, I know something of my own. and I sincerely
believe that we could live a happy and pleasant life
together. It is a great sacrifice I ask of you, I own, but
you would not find me slow to repay you in gratitude.
I am almost alone in the world; the few relatives I
have I never see; I have scarcely a friend or acquain-
tance except those I meet under your father’s hos-
pitable roof. I cannot conceal from myself that I
should be by far the greater gainer by such amar-
riage. I should secure for mysel a pleasant, intel-
ligent and amiable companion, who would brighten my
home, and in time, I doubt not, soften and sweeten
those views of the world that are naturally formed by a
middle-aged man living alone and in privacy. What can
I offer you in return? Not much, except the oppor-
tunity of adding one more to the many good deeds that
seem to be the chief occupation of your life. And I
should be glad if you would let me help you in that
way,and give you the aid of advice which might per-
haps temper ‘your generosity and apply it to its best
uses. You are aware that I have no occupation, and
scarcely a hobby: I should make it my occupation, my
constant endeavor and pleasure, to win and secure your
affection, to make the ordinary little cares and duties of
life, in which you take so great an interest, smooth and
pleasant to you. In short, I should try to make you
happy; not in any frantic and wild way, but by the ex-
ercise of a care and affection and guardianship by which
I hope we.should both profit. May I point out also
that, as a married women, you would have much more
influence with the poorer families in the village who
take up so much of your attention? And you would be
removed, too, if I may mention such a thing, from cer-
tain unhappy circumstances which I fear trouble you
greatly at times. But perhaps I should not have refer-
red to this; I would rather seek to press my claim on
the ground of the happiness you would thereby confer
on others, which I know to be your chief object in life.

“I have not said half what I intended to say, but I
must not fatigueyou. Perhaps you will give me an op
portunity of telling you personally what I think of your
self, for I cannot bring myself to write it in bald words

 

and if you. should be in doubt, give me the benefit o-
the doubt and let me explain. Ido not ask you for 1
hurried answer, but I should be glad if, out of the
kindness of all your ways, you would send me one line
soon, merely to say that I have not offended you.

“Tam, my dear Miss Rosewarne, yours most sincerely,
RiIcHaRD ROscoRLa.”

“Oh, what must I do, mother?’ the girl cried. “Ig
it all true that he says?

“My dear child, there is a great deal of common sense
in the letter,’ the mother replied calmly, “but you
needn’t decide all at once. Take plenty of time. I sup-
pose you don’t dislike Mr. Roscorla?”
die not at all—not at all! But then, to marry

im!”

“If you don’t wish to marry him, no harm is done,’””
Mrs. Rosewarne said. “I cannot advise you, Wenna.
Your own feelings must settle the question. But you
ought to be very proud of the offer, anyway; and you
must thank him properly, for Mr. Roscorla is a gentle-
man, although he is not as rich as his relations, and it
is a-great honor he has done you. Dear me! but I
musn’t advise. Ofcourse, Wenna, if you were in love
with anyone—if there was any young man about here
whom you would like to marry—there would be no
need for you to be frightened about what Mr. Roscorla
says of young folks being in love. Itisa trying time,
to be sure: it has many troubles. Perhaps, after all, a
quiet and peaceful life is better, especially for you, Wen-
na, for you are always quiet and peaceful, and if any
trouble came over youit would break your heart. I
think it would be better for you if you were never tried.
in that way, Wenna.”

The girl rose with a sigh.

“ Not that itis my advice, Wenna,” said the mother.
“But you are of that nature, you see. If you were in
love with a young man, you would be his slave. If he
ceased to care for you, or were cruel to you, it would
kill you, my dear. Well, you see, here isa man who
would be able to take care of you, and of your sister
Mabyn, too, if anything happened to your father or me:
and he would make much of you, I have no doubt, and
be very kindto you. You are not like other girls,
Wenna.”’

“TI know that, mother,’’ said the girl with a strange
sort of smile that just trembled on the verge of tears.
“They can’t all be as plain as I am.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that, You make 4 great mistake if
you think that men only care for doll-faces. As Mr.
Roscorla says, that fancy does not last long after mar-
riage, and then men begin to ask whether their wives
are clever and amusing and well-informed, and so on.
What I meant was, that most girls could run the gaunt-
let of that sort of love that Mr. Roscorla describes, and
suffer little if they made a mistake. But there’s no
shell about you, Wenna. You are quite undefended,
sensitive and timid. People are deceived by your quick
wit and your cheerfulness and your singing. I know
better. I know thata careless word may cut you deep-
ly. And dear, dear me! what a terrible time that is
when all your life seems to hang on thé way a word is
spoken !’””

The girl crossed over to a small side-table on which
there was a writing-desk.

“But mind, Wenna,” said her mother with a return of
anxiety— mind, I don’t say that to influence your deci-
sion. Don’t be influenced by me: consult your own
feelings, dear. You knowl think sometimes you under-
value yourself, and think that no one cares about you,
and that you have no claim to be thought much of,
Well, that is a great mistake, Wenna. You must not
throw yourself away through that notion. I wish all
the girls about were as clever and good-natured as you.

| But at the same time, you know, there are few girls I

know, and certainly none about here; who would con-
7 it throwing themselves away to marry Mr. Ros-
corla.”

“ Marry Mr. Roscorla!” a third voice exclaimed, and
at the same moment Mabyn Rosewarne entered the
room.

She looked at her mother and sister with astonish-
ment. She saw that Wenna was Te and that she
was very pale. She sawa blue-colored letter lying be-
side her. Then the proud young beauty understood
the situation, and with her to perceive a thing was to
act on its suggestion there and then: “Our Wenna
marry that old man! Oh, mother, how can you let her
do such a thing?”

She walked right over to the small table with a glow
of indignation in her face, and with her lips set firm and
her eyes full of fire,and then she caught up the letter,
that had scarcely been begun, and tore it in a thousand
pieces and flung the pieces on the floor.

“Oh, mother, how could you let her doit? Mr. Ros-
corla marry our Wenna!”

She took two or three steps up and down the room in
a pretty passion of indignation, and yet trying to keep
her proud eyes free from tears.

“Mother, if you do I'll go into a convent. I'll goto
sea, and never come back again. I won’t stop in the
house, not one minute, if Wenna goes away.”

“My dear child,” said the mother patiently, “it is not
my doing. You must not be sorash. Mr. Roscorla is
not an old man—nothing of the sort; and if he does
offer to marry Wenna, it f a great honor done to her, I
think. She ought to be very grateful, as I hope you
will be, Mabyn, when any one offers to marry you.”

: Miss Mabyn drew herself up, and her pretty mouth
ost none of its scorn.

“And as for Wenna,” the mother said, “she must
judge for herself.”

“Oh, but she’s not fit to judge for herself,” broke in
the younger sister impetuously. “She will do anything
that anybody wants. She would make herself the slave
of anybody. She is always being imposed on, Just
wait a moment, and J will answer Mr. Ros-orla’s
letter.”

She walked over to the table again, twisted round the

 
 

 

PHREE FEATHERS.

 

 

wrvjng-desk and quickly pulled in a chair. You would
have deonghe that the pale, dark-eyed little girl qn the
other side of the table had no will of her own—that she
was in the habit of obeying this beautiful young ter-
magant of a sister of hers; but Miss Mabyn’s bursts of
impetuosity were no match for the gentle patience and
decision that were invariably opposed to them. In this
instance Mr. Roscorla was not to be the recipient of a
letter which doubtless would have astonished him.

“Mabyn,” said her sister Wenna quietly, “ don’t be
foolish. I must write to Mr. Roscorla, but only to téll
him that I have received his letter. Give me the pen.
And will you go and ask Mrs. Borlase if she can spare
me Jennifer for a quarter of an hour to go up to Bas-
set Cottage ?’’ ,

Maybn rose silent, disappointed and obedient, but
not subdued. She went off to execute the errand, but
as she went she said to herself, with her head very erect,
** Before Mr. Roscorla marries our Wenna, I will have a
word to say to him.” .

Meanwhile, Wenna Rosewarne, apparently quite calm,
but with her hand trembling so that she could hardly
hold the pen, wrote her first love-letter. And it ran
thus:

“‘TRELYON ARMS, Tuesday afternoon.

‘Dear Mr. Roscornta: I have received your letter,
and you must not think me offended. I will try to send
‘you an answer to-morrow, or perhaps the day after—or
perhaps on Friday I will try to send you an answer to
‘your letter,

“TI am yours sincerely,

“MORWENNA ROSEWARNE.”

She took it timidly to her mother, who smiled and
aaid it was a little incoherent.

“But I cannot write it again, mother,” the girl said.
“ Will you give it to Jennifer when she comes?”

Little did Miss Wenna notice of the beautiful golden
afternoon that was shining over Eglosilyan as she left
the inn and stole away out to the rock at the mouth of
the little harbor. She spoke to her many acquaintances
as she passed, and could not have told a minute there-
after that she had seen them. Shesaid a word or twoto
the coast-guardsman out at the voint—an old friend of
hers—and then she went round to the seaward side of
the rocks, and sat down to think the whole matter over,
The sea was still as asea in a dream. There was but
one ship visible, away down in the south, a brown
speck in a flood of golden haze.

When the first startled feeling was over, when she had
recovered from the absolute fright that so sudden a
proposal had caused her, there was something
of pride and pleasure crept into her heart
to know that she was not quite the insignificant person
she had fancied herself to be. Was it true, then, what
he had said about her being of some use to the people
around her? Did they really care for her? Had she
really won the respect and approval of a man who had
hitherto seemed to her suspicious and censorious ?

There flashed upon her some faint picture of herself
48 a matron, and she found herself blushing and smiling
at the same time to think of herself going round the
cottages as Mrs. Roscorla, and acting the part of a little
married woman. If marriage meant no more than that,
she was not afraid of it; on the contrary, the prospect
rather pleased her. Those were duties she could under-
stand. Marriage in those idle day-dreams of hers had
seemed to her some vague and distant and awful thing,
all the romance and worship and noble self-surrender
of it being far away from a poor little plain person, not
capable of inspiring idealism in anybody. But this, on
the other hand, seemed easily within her reach. She
became rather amused with the picture of herself which
ahe drew as Mrs. Roscorla. Her quick fancy put in lit-
tle humorous touches here and there, until she found
herself pretty’ nearly laughing at herself as a small
married woman. For what did the frank-spoken
heroine of that sailor-ballad say to her lover? If he
would be faithful and kind.

Nor your Molly forsake,
Still your trousers I'll wash, and your grog too I'll make.

Mr. Roscorla did wear certain white garments occasion:
ally in summer-time, and very smart he looked in them,
As for his grog, would she mix the proper quantities as
they sat together of an evening by themselves in that
little parlor up at Basset Cottage? And would she have
to take his arm as they walked of a Sunday morning to
church up the main street of Eglosilyan, where her old
friends, the children, would be looking at her? And
would she some day, with all the airs and
counsels of a married woman, have to take Mabyn to
her arms and bid the younger sister have confidence
and tell her all the story of her wonder, and delight
the new and strange love that had come into her heart ?
And would she ask Mabyn to describe her lover, and
would she act the part of an experienced adviser, and
bid her be cautious, and ask her to wait until the youn,
man had made a position in the world, and had prove
himself prudent and sensible. and of a steady mind?
Or would she not rather fling her arms round her sis-
ter’s neck, and bid her go down on her knees and
thank God for having made her so beautiful, and
bid her cherish as the one good thing in all the world
the strong and yearning love and admiration and wor-
ship of a young and wondering soul ?

Wenna Rosewarne had been amusing herself with
Pictures of herself as a married woman, but she was
crying all the same; and becoming a little impatient
with herself, and perhaps a little hysterical, she rose
from the rocks and thought she would go home again.
She had scarcely turned, however, when she met Mr.

Boscorla himself, who had seen her at a distance and fol-
lowed her.

 

CHAPTER IV.

THE LAST LOOK BACK.

Mr. RoscortA may be recommended to ladies gen-
erally, and to married men who are haunted by certain
vague and vain regrets, as an excellent example of the
evils and vanity of club-life. He was now a man ap-
proaching fifty, careful in dress and manner, method-
ical in habit and grave of aspect, living out a not over-
enjoyable life in a solitary little cottage, and content to
go for his society to the good folks of the village inn.
But five-and-twenty years before he had been a gay

young fellow about town, a pretty general favorite,

clever in his way, free with his money, and possessed of
excellent spirits. He was not very wealthy, to be sure
—his father had left him certain shares in some sugar-
plantations in Jamaica—but the returns periodically
forwarded to him by his agents were sufficient for his
immediate wants. He had few cares, and he seemed on
the whole to have a pleasant time of it. On disengaged
evenings he lounged about his club and dined with one
or other of the men he knew, and then he played bil-
liards till bed-time. Or he would havo nice little dinner
parties at his rooms, and after the men had changed
their coats would havea few games at whist, perhaps
finishing up with a littlespurt of unlimitedloo. In
the season he went to balls and dinners and parties of
all sorts, singling out a few families with pretty daugh-
ters for his special attentions, but careful never to com-
mit himself. When every one went from town, he went
too, and in the autumn and winter months he had a fair
amount of shooting and hunting, guns and horses alike
and willingly furnished by his friends.

Once, indeed, he had taken a fancy that he ought to
do sometiing, and he went and read law a bit and ate
some dinners, and got called tothe bar. He even went
the length of going on circuit; but either he traveled
by coach, or fraternized with a solicitor, or did some-
thing objectionable; at all events, his circuit mess fined
him. He refused to pay the fine, threw the whole thing
up, and returned to his club, its carefully-ordered din-
ners and its friendly game of six-penny and eighteen-
penny pool.

Of course he dressed and acted and spoke just as his
fellows did; and gradually from tho common talk of
smoking-rooms imbibed a vast amount of nonsense. He
knew that such and such a statesman professed particu-
lar opinions only to keep in place and enjoy the loaves
and fishes. He could tell you tothe penny the bribe
given to the editor of the Times by a foreign govern-
ment for a certain series of articles. As for the stories
he heard and repeated of all manner of noble families,
they were many of them doubtless true, and they were
nearly all unpleasant; but then the tale that would
have been regarded with indifference if told about an
ordinary person, grew lambent with interest when it
was told about a commonplace woman possessed of a
shire and a gaby crowned with a coronet. There was no
malice in these stories; only the young men were sup-
posed to know everything about the private affairs of a
certain number of families no more nearly related to
them than their washerwoman,

He was unfortunate, too, in a few personal experi-
ences. He was a fairly well-intentioned young man,
and, going home one night, was moved to pity by the
sobbing and exclamations of a little girl of twelve,
whose mother was drunk and tumbling about the pave-
ment. The child could not get her mother to go home,
and it was now past midnight. Richard Roscorla
thought he would interfere, and went over the way and
helped the woman to her feet. He had scarcely done
so when the virago turned on him, shouting for help,
accused him of assaulting her, and finally hit him
straight between the eyes, nearly blinding him, and
causing him to keep his chamber for three weeks. After
that he gave up the lower classes.

Then a gentleman who had been his bosom friend at
Eton, and who had carried away with him so little of
the et of that institution that he by and by
abandoned himself to trade, renewed his acquaintance
with Mr. Roscorla, and ae him to join him in a
little business transaction. He only wanted a few
thousand 1 to secure the success of a venture
that would make both their fortunes. But young Ros-
corla hesitated. Then his friend sent his wife, an ex-
ceedingly pretty woman, and she pleaded with such
Sweetness and pathos that she actually carried away a
cheque for the amount in her beautiful little purse. A
couple of days after Mr. Roscorla discovered that his
friend had suddenly left the country, that he had in-
duced ‘a good many people to lend him money to start
his new enterprise, and that the beautiful lady whom
he had sent to plead his cause was a wife certainly, but
not his wife. She was, in fact, the wife of one of the
swindled creditors, who bore her loss with greater
equanimity than he showed in speaking of his departed
money. Young Roscorla laughed, and said to himself
that a man who wished to have any knowledge of the
world must be prepared tovpay for it.

The loss of the money, though it pressed him hardly
for a few years, and gave a fright to his father’s execu-
tors, did not trouble him much ; for, in company with
a good many of the young fellows about, he had given
himself up to one of the most pleasing delusions which
even club-life has fostered. It was the belief of those
young men that in England there are a vast number of
young ladies of fortune who are so exceedingly anxious
to get married that any decent young fellow of fair ap-
pearance and good manners has only to bide his time in
order to be provided for for life. Accordingly, Mr. Ros-
corla and others of his particular set were in no hu
to take a-wife. They waited to see who would bid most
for them. They were not in want; they could have
maintained a wife ina certain fashion; but that was
not the fashion in which they hoped to spend the rest
of their days when they consented to relinquish the
joys and’ freedom of bachelorhood. Most of them, in-
deed, had so thoroughly settled in their own mind the

 

sort of existence to which they were entitled—the
house and horses and shooting necessary to theom—that
it was impossible for them to consider any lesser offer ;
and so they waited from year to year, guarding them-
selves against temptation, cultivating an excellent
taste in various sorts of luxuries, and reserving them-
selyes for the grand coup which was to make their for-
tune. In many cases they looked upon themselves ag
the victims of the world. They had been deceived by
this or the other woman, but now they had done with
the fatal passion of love, its dangerous perplexities and
insincere romance, and were resolved to to take asound
common-sense view of life. So they waited carelessly,
and enjoyed their time, growing in wisdom of a certain
sort. They were gentlemanly young fellows enough ;
they would not have done a dishonorable action
for the world; they were well-bred, and would
have said no discourteous thing to the
woman they married even though they hated
her; they had their cold bath every morning ;
they lived soberly, if mot very righteously ;
and would not have asked ten points at billiards if they
fairly thought they could have played even. The only
a that they had changed their sex. They were
not Perseus, but Andromeda; and while this poor
masculine Andromeda remained chained to the rock of
an imaginary poverty, the feminine Perseus who was to
come in a blaze of jewels and gold to the rescue still
remained afar off, until Andromeda got a little tired.

And so it'was with Mr. Richard Roscorla. He lounged
about his club, and had nice little dinners; he went to
other people’s houses, and dined there; with his
crushed-hat under his arm he went to many a dance,
and made such acquaintances as he might; but some-
how that one supreme chance invariably missed. He
did not notice it, any more then his fellows. If you
had asked any of them, they would still have given you
those devil-may-care opinions about women, and those
shrewd estimates of what was worth living for in the
world. They did not seem to be aware that year after
year was going by, and that a new race of younger men
were coming to the front, eager for all sorts of pastimes,
ready to dance till daybreak, and defying with their
splendid constitutions the worst champagne a confec-
tioner every brewed. .A man who takes good care of
himself is slow to believe that he is growing middle-
aged. If the sitting up all night to play.loo does him
an injury such as he would not have experienced a few
years before, he lays the blame of it on the brandy-and-
soda. When two or three hours over wet turnips make
his knees feel queer, he vows that he isin a bad condition,
but that a few days’ exercise will set him right. It
was along time betore Mr. Richard Roscorla would ad-
mit to himself that his hair was growing gray. By this
time many of his old friends and associates had left the
club. Some had died; some had made the best of a bad
bargain and married a plain country cousin ; none, to
tell the truth, had been rescued by the beautiful heir-
ess for whom they had all been previously waiting.
And while these men went away, and while new men
came into the club—young fellows with fresh com-
plexions, abundant spirits, a lavish disregard of money
and an amazing enjoyment in drinking any sort of wine
—another set of circumstances came into play which
rendered it more and more necessary for Mr. Roscorla
to change his way of life.

He was now over forty, his hair was gray, his com-
panions were mostly older men than himself, and he
began to be rather pressed for money. The merchants
in London who sold for his agents in Jamaica those
consignments of sugar and rum sent him every few
months statements which showed that éither the
estates were yielding less, or the markets had fallen, or
labor had risen: whatever it mt be, his annual in-
come was very seriously impaired. He could no longer
afford to play half-crown points at whist, even six-
penny pool was dangerous: and those boxes and stalls
which it was once his privilege to take for dowagers gifted
with daughters were altogether out of the question.
The rent of his rooms in Jermyn street was & serious
matter ; all his little economies at the club were of lit-
tle avail; at last he resolved to leave London. And
then it was that he bethought him of living permanent-
ly at thisteottage at Eglosilyan, which had Paldhgett to
his grandfather, and which he had visited from time to
time during the summer months. He would continue
his club-subscriptions ; he would still correspond with
certain of his friends ; he would occasionally pay a fly-
ing visit to London; and down hero by the Cornish
oo he would live a healthy, economical, contented

e.

Sohe came to Eglosilyan, and took up his abode in
the plain white cottage placed amid birch trees on the
side of the hill, and set about providing himself with
amusement. He had a good many books, and he read
at night over his final pipe ; he made friends with the
fishermen, and often went out with them; he took a
little interest in wild plants, and he rode a sturdy
little pony by way of exercise. He was known
to the Trelyons, to the clergymen of the neighbor-
hood, and to one or two families living farther off ; but
he did not dine out much, for he could mot well invite
his host to dinnerin return. His chief friends indeed,
were the Rosewarnes, and scarcely a day passed that he
did not call at the inn and have a chat with George
Rosewarne or with his wife and daughters. For tho
rest, Mr. Roscorla was a small man, sparely built, with
somewhat fresh complexion, close-cropped gray hair
and iron-gray whiskers. Ho dressed very neatly and
methodically, he was fairly light and active in his walk,
and he had 4 graye, good-natured smile. He was much
improved in constitution, indeed, since he came’ to
Eglosilyan, for that was not a place to let aly one die
of languor or to encourage complexions of the color of
apple-pudding. Mr. Roscorla, indeed, had thé appear-
ance of & pleasant little country lawyer, somewhat fin-
ical in dress and grave in manner, and occasionally just
a trifle supercilious and cutting in his speech.

He had received Wenna sewarne’s brief and.
THREE FEATHERS,

 

hurriedly-written note, and if accident had not thrown
her in his. way, he would. doubtless have granted her
that. time for reflection which she demamded, Buthap-
pening to be out, he saw her go down toward the
rocks beyondthe harbor. She. had a pretty figure, and
she walked gracefully ; when he saw her at a distance
some little flutter of anxiety disturbed his heart. That
glimpse of her—the possibility of securing as his

constant companion a girl who'walked so daintily and |
dressed s. neatly—added some little warmth of feeling |

to the wish he had carefully reasoned out and express-
ed. For the offer he had. sent to Miss Wenna was the
result of much calculation. He was half aware that he
had let his youthslip by and idled away his opportuni-
ties; there was now no chance of his engaging in any
pursuit ; there was little chance of his bettering his
condition by a rich, marriage.

ed of fortune, such as he had often looked out
for, in. return. for herself and her money?
Not his gray hairs and his asthmatic evenings
in winter, and the fixed and narrow and oftentimes
selfish habits and opinions begotten of a solitary life.
Here, on the other hand, was a young lady of pleasing
manners and honest nature, and of humble wishes as
became her station, whom he might induce to marry
him. She had scarcely ever moved out of the small
circle around her, and in it were no possible lovers for
her. If he did not marry her, she might drift into as
hopeless a position as his own. If she consented to
marry him, would they not be able to live in a friendly
way together, gradually winning each other’s sympa-
thy, and making the world alittle more sociable and
comfortable for both? There was no chance of his
going back to the brilliant society in which he had once
moved, for there was no one whom he could expect. to
die and leave him any money. When he went up to
town and spent an evening or two at his club, he found
himself among strangers, and, he could not get that
satisfaction out of a solitary dinner that once was his.
He returned to his cottage at Eglosilyan with some
degree of resignation, and fancied he could live well
enough there if Wenna Rosewarne would only come to
relieve him from its frightful loneliness.

He blushed when he went forward to her on these
rocks, and was exceedingly embarrassed and could
scarcely look her in the face as*he begged her pardon
for intruding on her and hoped she would resume her
seat. She was a little pale, and would have liked to
get away, but was probably so frightened that she did
not know how to take the step. Without a word she
sat down again, her heart beating as though it would
suffocate her. Then there was a terrible pause.

Mr. Roscorla discovered at this moment—and the
shock almost bewildered him—that he would have to
play the part of alover. He had left that out of the
question. He had found it easy to dissociate love from
marriage in writing a letter—in fact, he had written it
mainly to get over the necessity of shamming senti-
ment—but here was a young and sensitive girl, probably
with a good deal of romantic nonsense in her head, and
he was going to ask her to marry him. And just at this
moment, also, a terrible recollection flashed in on his
mind of Wenna Rosewarne’s liking for humor, and of the
merry light he had often seen in her eyes, however de-
mure her manner might be; and then it occurred to him
that if hedid play the lover, she would know that he
knew hé was making a fool of himself, and laugh at him
in the safe concealment of her own room.

“Of course,” he said, making a sudden plunge, fol-
lowed by a gasp or two—‘ Of course, Miss Wenna—of
course you were surprised to get my letter—a letter
containing an offer of marriage, and almost nothing
about affection in it, Well, there are some things one
can neither write nor say: they haye so often been the
subject. of good-natured ridicule that—that ’’——

“TI think one forgets that,’ Wenna said timidly, “if
one is in earnest about anything.”

“ Oh, I know it is no laughing matter,” he said hastily,
and conscious that he was becoming more and more
commonplace. Oh, for one happy inspiration from some
half-remembered drama, a mere line of poetry even!
He felt as if he were in court opening a dreary case, un-
certain as to the points of his brief, and fearing that the
judge was beginning to show impatience.

‘Miss Wenna,” he said, “you know I find it very diffi-
cult to say what Ishould like to say. That letter did
not tell you half: probably you thought it too dry and
business-like. But at all events you were not offended?”

“Oh, no,” she said, wondering how she could get
away, and whether a precipitate plunge into the sea
flow her would not be the simplest plan. Her head, she
felt, was growing giddy, and she began to hear snatches
of “Wapping Old Stairs” in the roar of the waves
around her.

“ And of course you will think me unfair and precipi-
tate in not giving you more time if I ask you just now
whether I may hope that your answer may be favorable,
You must put it down to my anxiety; and although you
may be inclined to laugh at that ”——

“Oh, no, Mr, Roscorla,” she said, with her eyes still
loo down.

“ Well, at all events, you won’t think that I was say-
ing anything I didn’t believe, merely to back up a own
case in that letter. I do believe it—I wish I could con-
vince you as I certainly know time would convince you.
I have seen @ great deal of that wild passion which
romance-writers talk about as a fine thing: I have seen
a great deal of it in circles where it got full play, because
the ree were not restrained by the hard exigencies of
life, and had little else to think about than falling in
love and getting out of it again. I would not sadden
you by ig you what I have seen as the general and
principal results. The tragedies I have witnessed of the
young fellows whose lives have been ruined, the women

who have been and turned out into the world
broken-hearted,—why, I dare not sully your
tion with such stories; but any one who has ex-

What could he |

now offer to a beautiful young creature possess- |
| and Iam anxious to be converted. No,no: don’t imag-

|

 

perience of men and women, and known intimately the.
histories of a few families, would corroborate me.”

He spoke earnestly: he really believed what he said.
But he did not explain to her that his knowledge of life
was chiefly derived from the confidences of a few young
men of indifferent morals, small brains and abundant
money, He had himself, by the way, been hit. For one
brief year of madness he had given himself up to an
infatuation for somebody or other, until his eyes were
opened to his folly, and he awoke to find himself a suf-
ferer in health and purse and the object of the laughter
of his friends. But all that was an addition to his stock
of knowledge of the world. He grew more and more
Wise, and was content to have paid for his wisdom.

“My knowledge of these things may have made me
suspicious,” he continued, ‘and very often I have seen
that you considered me unjust to people whom you
knew. Well; you like missionary-work, Miss Wenna,

ine I press you for an answer just now: Iam merely
adding a little to my letter.”

“But you know, Mr. Roscorla,” the girl said, with a
meekness that seemed to have no sarcasm in it— You
know you have often remonstrated with me about my
missionary-work. You have tried to make me believe
that I was doing wrongly in giving away little charities
that I could afford. Also, that I had a superstition
about self-sacrifice, although I am sure I don’t consider
myself sacrificed.”

He wasa little embarrassed, but he said in an off-
hand way, “Well, speaking generally, that is what I
think. I think you should consider yourself a little
bit. Your health and comfort are of as. great import-
ance as anybody’s in Eglosilyan ; and all that Seen g
and nursing, why don’t the people do it for themselves ?
But then, don’t you see, Miss Wenna, Iam willing to be
converted on all these points ?”’

It occurred to Wenna Rosewarne at this moment that
a harsh person might think that Mr. Roscorla only
wanted her to give up sacrificing herself to the people
of Eglosilyan that she might sacrifice herself to him.
And somehow there floated into her mind a suggestion
of Molly’s duties—of. the washing of clothes and the
mixing of grog—and for the life of her she could not
repress a smile. And. then. she grew mightily embar-
rassed, for Mr. Roscorla had perceived that smile, and
she fancied. he might be hurt; and with that she
proceeded to assure him with much earnestness, that
doing good to others, in as far as she could, was in her
case really and truly the blackest form of selfishness ;
that she did it only to please herself; and that the
praises in his letter to her, and his notions as to what
the people thought of her, were altogether uncalled-for
and wrong.

But here Mr.-‘Roscorla got an opening, and made use
of it dexterously. For Miss Wenna’s weak side was a
great distrust of herself, and alonging to be assured
that she was cared for by anybody, and of some little
account in the world. To tell her that the people of
Eglosilyan were without exception fond.of her, and
ready at all. moments to say kind .things of her,
was the sweetest flattery to her ears. Mr. Roscorla
easily perceived this, and made excellent use of
his discovery. If she did not quite believe all that
she heard, she was secretly delighted to hear it, It
hinted at the possible realization of all her dreams,
even though she could never be beautiful, rich, and of
noble presence. Wenna’s heart rather inclined to her
companion just then. He seemed to her to be a con-
necting link between her and her manifold friends in
Eglosilyan ; for how had he heard those things, which
she had not heard, if he were notin general communi-
cation with them ? He seemed to her, too, a friendly
counselor on whom she could rely ; he was the very
first, indeed, who had ever offered to help her in her
work,

Mr. Roscorla, glad to see that he was getting on so
well, grew reckless somewhat,,and fell into a grievous
blunder. He fancied that asubtle sort of flattery to her
would be conveyed by some hinted depreciation of her
sister Mabyn. Alas! at the first suggestion of it all the
pleased friendliness of her face instantly vanished, and
she looked at him only with a stare ofsurprise. Hesaw
his error, he retreated from that dangerous geonne pre-
cipitately, but it needed a good deal of assiduous labor.
before he had talked her into a good humor again.

He did not urge his suit in direct terms. But surely,
he said to himself, it means much if a girl allows you
to talk in the most roundabout way of a prop of
maartiog? which you have made to her, without sending

u off point-blank. Surely she was at least willing to

convinced or persuaded. Certainly, Miss Wenna,
could not very well get away without appearing to be
rude, but at the same time she showed no wish to get
away. On the contrary, she talked with him in a desul-
tory and timid fashion, her eyes cast down and her
fingers twisting bits of sea-pink, and she listened with
much attention to all his descriptions of the happy life
led by the people who knew how to be good friends,

“It is far more a matter of intention than of temper,”
he said. “ When once two people find out the good qual-
ities in each other, they should fix their faith on
those, and let the others be overlooked as much as pos-
sible. With a little consideration the worst of tempers
can be managed; but to meet temper with temper !—
And then each of them should remember, supposing
that the other is manifestly wrong at this particular
moment, that he or she is likely to be wrong at some
other time. ButIdon’t think there is much to be fear-
ed from your temper, Miss Wenna; and as for mine, I
suppose I get vexed sometimes, like other people, but I
don’t think I am bad-tempered, and Iam sure I should
never be bad-tempered to you. I don’t think I should
readil Sates what I owed you for taking pity ona soli-

old feblow like myself, if Ican only persuade you
to do that, and for being content to live a humdrum life
up in that small cottage. Bythe way,do you like
riding, Wenna? Has your father got a lady’s saddle?’

The question startled her so that the blood rushed to

 

her face in a moment, and she could not answer.” Wag
it not that very morning that she had been asked almost
the same question by Mr. Trelyon? And while she was
dreamily looking at an imaginative picture of her future
life, calm and placid and commonplace, the sudden
introduction into it of Harry Trelyon almost frightened
her. The mere recalling of his name, indeed, shattered
that magic-lantern slide, and took her back to their
parting of the forenoon, when he left her in something
of an angry fashion ; or rather it took her still farther
back—to one bright summer morning on which she had
met young Trelyon riding over the downs to St. Dennis.
We all of us know how apt the mindis to retain one
particular impression of a friend’s appearance, some-
times even in the matter of dress and occupation.'
When we recall such and such a person, we think of a
particular smile, a particularlook—perhaps one parti-
cular incident of his or her life. Whenever -Wenna
Rosewarne thought of Mr. Trelyon, she thought of him
as she saw him on that one morning. She was coming
along the rough path that crosses the bare uplands by’
the sea: he was riding by another path some little dis-
tance off, and did not notice her. The boy was riding
hard—the sunlight was on his face. He was singing
aloud some song about the Cavaliers and King Charles,
Two or three years had come and gone since then,
She had seen Master Harry in‘ many a mood, and not’
unfrequently ill-tempered and sulky, but whenever she
thought of him suddenly her memory presented her
with that picture; and it was apicture of a handsome
English lad riding by on a summer morning, singing a
brave song, and with all the light of youth and hope
and courage shining on his face.

She rose quickly and with a sigh, as if she had been
dreaming for a time and forgetting for a moment the
sadness of the world.

“Oh, you asked about a saddle,” she said in a matter-

of-fact way. .‘‘ Yes, I think my father has one. I think
I must be going home now, Mr. Roscorla.’’
“No, not yet,” hesaid in a pleading way. “Give me

a few more minutes. I mayn’t have another. chance
before you make up your mind; and then when that is
done I suppose it is all over, so far as persuasion goes.
What I am most anxious about is that. you should. be-
lieve there is more affection in my offer. than I haye
actually conveyed in words. Don’t imagine it is merely
a@ commonplace bargain I want you to enter into. I
hope, indeed, that in time I shall win from you some-
thing warmer than affection, if only you give me the
chance. Now, Wenna, won’t you give me some word
of assurance—some hint that it may come all right?’

She stood before him with her eyes cast down, and re-
mained silent for what seemedto him a strangely long
time. Was she bidding good-bye to all the romantic
dreams of her youth—to that craving ina girl’s heart
for some firm and sure ideal of manly love and courage
anddeyotion to which she can cling through good
report and bad report? Wasshe reconciling herself to
the plain and common ways of the married life placed
before her ?

She said at length, in a low voice, “ You won’t ask me
to leave Eglosilyan ?””

“Certainly not,” he said, eagerly. ‘And you will see
how I will try to join you in all your work there, and
how much easier and pleasanter it will be for you, and
how much more satisfactory for all the people around
you.”
is She put out her hand timidly, her eyes still cast

own,

“You will be my wife, Wenna?’’

“ Yes,”’ she said.

Mr, Roscorla was conscious that he ought at this
supreme moment in a man’s life to experience a strange
thrill of happiness. He almost waited for it, but he felt:
instead a very distinct. sense of embarrassment in not
knowing what to do or say next. He supposed that he
ought to kiss her, but he dared not. . As he himself had
said, Wenna Rosewarne was so fine and shy that he
shrank from wounding her extreme sensitiveness, and
to step forward and kiss this small and gentle creature,
who stood there with her pale face =a flushed and
her eyes averted, why, it was impossible. He had
heard of girls, in wild moments of pleasure and persua~
sion, suddenly raising their tear-filled eyes to their
lover’s face, and signing away their whole existence with
one full, ionate and yearning kiss. But to steal a
kiss from this calm little girl! He felt he should be
acting the part of a jocular plough-boy.

«“Wenna,” he said, at length, “you have made me
very happy. Iam sure you will never repent your de-
cision; at least, I shall do my best to make you think
you have done right. And, Wenna, I have to dine with
the Trelyons on Friday evening. Would you allow
me to tell them something of what has happened. ?”
ba The Trelyons ?”’ she repeated. looking up in a start-

way.

It was of evil omen for this man’s happiness that the
mere mention of that word turned this girl, who-had
just been yielding up her life to him, into a woman a#
obdurate and unimpressionable as a piece of marble.

“Mr. Roscorla,” she said, with a certain hard decision
of voice, ‘‘I must ask you to give me back that promise
Imade. I forgot—it was too hurried; why would you
not wait ?”’

He was fairly stupefied.

“Mr. Roscorla,” she said, with almost something of
petulant impatience in her voice, ‘‘ you must let me go
now; I nee tired out. I will write to you to-mor-
row or next day, as I promised.”

She passed him and went on, leaving him unable to
utter a word of protest. But she had only gone afew
steps when she returned and held out her hand and
said, “ I hope I haye not offended you. It seems that T
muet offend everybody, now; butI am a little tired, Mr.
Roscorla.””

There was just the least quiver about her lips; andas
all this was a profound mys' » he fancied he
must have tired her out, and be inwardly called him-
self a brute,

oe

SF,
 

*HREE. FEATHERS.

 

 

 

“‘ My dear Wenna,” he ssid, “you have not offended
me~you have not, really. It is I who must apologize to
you. Iamsosorry Ishould have worried you! It was
very inconsiderate. Pray take your own time about
that letter.”

So she went away, and passed round to the other side
ofthe rocks, and came in view of the small winding
harbor, and the mill, and the inn. Far away up there,
over the cliffs, were the downs on which she had met
Harry Trelyon that summer morning as he rode by,
singing in the mere joyousness of youth, and happy and
pleased with all the world. She could hear the song he
was ea she could see the sunlight that was
shining on his face. It appeared to her to be long ago.
This girl was but eighteen years of age, and yet, as she
walked down toward Eglosilyan, there was a weight on
her heart that seemed to tell her she was growing old.

And now the western sky was red with the sunset,
and the rich light burned along the crests of the hills,
on the golden furze, the purple heather, and the deep-
colored rocks. The world seemed all ablaze up there,
but down here, as she went by the harbor, and crossed
over the bridge by the mill, Eglosilyan lay pale and
gray in the hollow, and even the great black wheel was
silent,

PART II.—CHAPTER V.
THROWING A FLY.

Harry TRELYON had a cousin named Juliott Penaluna,
who lived at Penzance with her father, an irascible old
clergyman, who while yet a poor curate had the good
fortune to marry Mrs. Trelyon’s sister. Miss Juliott
was a handsome, healthy, English-looking girl, with blue
eyes and brown hair, frank enough in her ways, fairly
well-read, fond of riding and driving, and very specially
fond of her cousin. There had never been any conceal-
ment about that. Master Harry, too, liked his cousin
in a way, as he showed by his rudeness 'to her; but he
used plainly to tell her that he would not marry her;
whereupon she would be angry with him for his im-
pertinence, and end by begging him to be good friends
again. At last she went, as her mother had done before
her, and encouraged the attentions of a fair, blue-eyed,
pensive young curate, who was full of beautiful en-
thusiasms and idealisms, in which he sought to inter-
est the mind of this exceedingly practical young wo-
man, who liked cliff-hunting, and had taught herself to
swim in the sea. Just before she pledged her future to
him she wrote to Harry Trelyon, plainly warning him
of what was going to happen. Ina fashion she asked
forhis advice. It was a timid letter for her to write,
and she even showed some sentiment in it. The reply,
written in a coarse, sprawling, school-boy hand, was as
follows.

“TRELYON Hau, Monday afternoon.

“Dear Jue: All right! You’rea fool to marry a par-
son. What would you like for a wedding-present ?
“ Affectionately yours,

“Harry TRELYON.”

Posts don’t go very fast in Cornwall; but just as soon
as a letter from Penzance could reach him Master Harry
had his answer. And it was this:

“Tue Houiies, Penzance, Wednesday.

“Dean Harry: Iam glad to receive aletter from
you in which there is no ill-spelling. There is See J
of ill-temper, however, as}usual. You may send your
wedding-presents to those who care forthem : I don’t.

“ JULIOTT PENALUNA.”

Master Harry burst intoa roar of laughter when he
received that letter, but, all the same, he could not get
his cousin to write him aline for months thereafter.
Now, however, she had come to visit some friends at
Wadebridge, and she agreed to drive over and join Mrs.
Trelyon’s little dinner-party, to which Mr. Roscorla had
also been invited. Accordingly, in the afternoon, when
Harry Trelyon was seated on the stone steps outside the
hall door, engaged in making artificial flies, Miss Pena-
luna drove up ina tiny chariot drawn by a beautiful
little pair of ponies; and when the boy had jumped
down and gone to the ponies’ heads, and when she had
descended from the carriage, Master Harry thought it
was time for him to lay aside his silk, rosin, feathers and
what not, and go forward to meet her.

‘How are you, Jue?” he said, offering to kiss her, as
was his custom; “and where is your young man ?”

She drew back offended, and then she looked at him
and shrugged her shoulders, and gave him her cheek to
kiss. He was only a boy, after all.

“ Well, Harry, lam not going to quarrel with you,”
she said, with @ good-natured smile, “ although I sup-
pose Ishall have plenty of cause beforeI go. Are you
as rude as ever? Do you talkas much slang as ever ?”

“Tlike to hear vow talk of slang!” he said. ‘“ Who
calls their ponies Brandy and Soda? Weren't you wild,
Jue, when Captain Tulliver came up and said, ‘ Miss
Penaluna, how are your dear Almonds and Raisins.’ ”

“If I-had given him a cut with my whip I should
have made him dance,” said Miss Juliott, frankly;
“then he would have forgotten to turn out his toes.
Harry, go and see if that boy has taken in my things.”

“I won’t. There’s plenty of time, and I want to talk
to you. Isay, Jue, what made you go and get engaged
down in Penzance? Why didn’t you cast your eyes in
this direction ?”

“Well, of all the impertinent —- that I ever
heard!” said Miss Juliott, very much inclined to box his
ears. “Do you think I ever thought of marrying
you?”

“Yes, I do,” he said coolly; “and you would throw
over #hat parson in a minute if I asked you: you know
you would, Jue. But Iam not good enough for you.”

“Indeed, you are not,”’ she said with a toss of the
head. “I would take you for a gamekeeper, but not
fora husband.”

“Much need you'll have of a gamekeeper when you
become Mrs. Tressider!’”’ said he with a rude laugh.
‘But I didn’t mean myself, Jue, I meant that if you
were going tomarry a parson, you might come here and
had achoice. Wecan show you all sorts at this house
—fat and lean, steeples and beer-barrels, bandy-legged
and knock-kneed, whichever you like; you’ll always
find an ample assortment on these elegant premises.
The stock is ratherlow just now—I think we’ve only
two or three; but you're supplied already, ain’t you,
Jue? Well, I never expected it of you. You were a
good sort of chap at one time, but I.suppose you can’t
climb trees any more now. There I'll let you go into
the house: all the servants are waitingfor you. If you
see my grandmother, tell her she must sit next me at
dinner: if a parson sits next me I’ll kill him.”

Just as Miss Juliott passed into the Hall,’ a tall, fair-
haired, gentle-faced woman, dressed wholly in white
and stepping very softly and silently came
down ‘the staircase, so that in the twilight she
almost appeared to be some angel descending from
heaven. She came forward to her visitor with a smile
on the pale and wistful face, and took her hand and
kissed her on the forehead; after which and afew words
of inquiry Miss Penaluna was handed over to the charge
ofa maid. The tall, fair woman passed noiselessly on,
and went into a chamber at the farther end of the hall
and shut the door; and presently the low, soft tones ot
a harmonium were heard, appearing to come from some
considerable distance, and yet filling the house with a
melancholy and slumberous music.

Surely it could not be this gentle music which brought

| to Master Harry’s face a most unchristian scowl ? What

harm could there be in a solitary widow wrapping her-
self up in her imaginative sorrow, and saturating the
whole of her feeble, impressionable and withal kindly
nature with a half-religious,’ half-poetic sentiment ?
What although those days which she devoted to services
in memory of her relatives who were dead—and, most
of all, in memory of her husband, whom she had really
loved—resembled, in some respects, ‘the periods in
which an opium-eater resolves to give himself up to the
strange and beautiful sensations beyond which he can
imagine no form of happiness? Mrs. Trelyon was no-
thing of a zealot or devotee. She held no particular
doctrines; she did not even countenance High Church
usages, except in so far as music and painting and dim
religious lights aided her endeavors to produce a species
of exalted intoxication. She did not believe herself to
be a wicked sinner, and she could not understand the
earnest convictions and pronounced theology of the dis-
senters around her. But she drank of religious senti-
ment as other persons drink in beautiful music, and all
the aids she could bring to bear in producing this feel-
ing of blind ‘ecstasy she had collected together in’ the
private chapel attached to Trelyon Hall. At this very
moment she was seated there alone. The last rays of
the sun shone through narrow windows of painted
gece, and carried beautiful colors with them into the

usk of the curiously furnished little building. She
herself sat before a large harmonium, and there was a
stain of rose-color and of violet on the white silk cos-
tume that she wore. It was one of her notions that,
though black might well represent the grief immediate-
ly following the funeral of one’s friends, pure white
was the more appropriate mourning when one had be-
come accustomed to their loss and had turned one’s
eyes to the shining realms which they inhabit. Mrs.
Trelyon never went out of mourning for her husband,
who had been dead over a dozen years; but the mourn-
ing was of pure white, so that she wandered through
the large and empty rooms of Trelyon Hall, or about
the grounds outside, like a ghost; and, like a ghost, she
was ordinarily silent and shy and light-footed. She
was not much of a companion for the rude, impetuous,
self-willed boy whose education she had handed over to
grooms and gamekeepers and to his own véry pro-
nounced instincts,

The frown that came over the lad’s handsome face as
he sat on the: doorstep, resuming his task of making
trout-flies, was caused by the appearance ofa clergy-
man who came walking forward from one of the hidden
paths in the garden. There was nothing really distress-
ing or repulsive about the look of this gentleman, al-
though, on the other hand, there was nothing very
attractive. He was of middle age and middle height ;
he wore a rough brown beard and mustache; his face
was gray and full of lines; his forehead was rather nar-
row, and his eyes were shrewd and watchful. But for
that occasional glance of the eyes you would have taken
him for a very ordinary, respectable, commonplace
person, not deserving of notice except for the length of
his coat. When Master Harry saw bim approach, how-
ever, a diabolical notion leaped into the young gentle-
man’s head. He had been practicing the throwing of
flies against the wind, and on the lawn were the several
pieces of paper, at different distances, at which he had
aimed, while the slender trout-rod, with a bit of line
and 2 fly at the end of it still dangling, was close by his
hand.

Instantaneously he put the rod against the wall, so
that the hook was floating in front of the door just
about the height of a man’s head. Would the Rev. Mr.
Barnes look at the doorsteps, rather than in front of
him, in passing into the house, and so find an artificial
fly fastened in his nose? Mr. Barnes wasno such fool.

“It is apleasant afternoon, Mr. Trelyon,” he said in
grave and measured accents as he came up.

Harry Trelyon nodded as he smoothed out a bit of red
silk thread. Then Mr. Barnes went forward, carefully
put aside the dangling fly, and went into the house.

“The fish won't rise to-night,” said Master Harry to’

himself on ae on his face, “But parsons don’t
take the fly Y: you’ve got to catch them with bait,
and the bait they like best is a widow’s mite. And
now, I suppose, I must go and dress for dinner; and
don’t I wish I was going down to Mrs. Rosewarne’s

 

parlor instead ?’”

But another had secured a better right to go into Mra
Rosewarne’s parlor.

CHAPTER VI.
THE—— AMONG THE TAILORS,

Tus other gentleman was also dressing for Mre,
Trelyon’s dinner-party, and he was in a pleased frame
of mind. Never before, indeed, had’Mr. Roséorla been
80 distinctly and consciously happy. That forenoon,
when his anxiety had become almost distressing—partly
because he honestly liked Wenna Rosewarne and wanted
to marry her, and partly because he feared the morti-
fication of a refusal—her letter had come; and as he
read the trembling, ingenuous and not very well com-
posed lines andsentences, a great feeling of satisfaction
stole oyer him, and he thanked her a thousand times in
his heart for having given him this relief. And he was
the more pleased that it was so easy to deal with a writ-
ten consent. He was under no embarrassment as to
how _he should express his gratitude or as to whether he
ought to kiss her. He could manage correspondence bet-!
ter than a personal interview. He sat down and wrote her
a very kind and eyen affectionate letter, telling her that.
he would not intrude himself too soon upon her, espe-
cially as he had to go up to Trelyon Hall that evening;
and saying, too, that. in any case he could never expect
to tell her how thankful ‘he was to her. \ That she
would find out from his conduct to’ her during their
married life.

But, to his great surprise, Mr. Roscorla found that
the writing anf Yaiding off of that letter did not allay
the extraordinary nervous excitement that had laid’
hold of him. He could not rest. He called in his
housekeeper, and rather astonished that elderly person!
by saying he was much pleased with her services, and
thereupon he presented her witha sovereign to buy a
gown.

Then he went into the garden, and meant to occupy
himself with his flowers, but he found himself staring
at them without seeing them: Then he went back to
his parlor and took a glass of sherry to steady his
nerves, but in‘vain. Then he thought he would go
down to the inn and ask to see Wenna; but again he
changed his mind, for how was he to meet the rest of
the family without being prepared for the interview?
Probably he never knew how he passed these two or
three hours; but at length the time came for him to
dress for dinner. ]

And as he did so, the problem that occupied his mind
was to discover the probable reasons that had induced
Wenna Rosewarne to promise to be his wife. Had her
parents advised hér to marry a man who could at least
render her future safe? Or had she taken pity on his
loneliness, and been moved by some hope of reforming
his ways and habits of thinking? Or had she beén won
over by his pictures of her increased influence among
the people around her?

He could not tell. Perhaps, he said to himself, she
said yes because she had not the courage’ to say no.
Perhaps she had been convinced by his arguments that
the wild passion of love, for which youth is supposed
to long, is a dangerous thing; and was there not coustant-
ly before her eyes an example of the jealousy and
quarreling and misery that may follow that fatal delir-
ium? Or it might be—and here Mr. Roscorla more
nearly approached the truth—that this shy, sensitive,
self-distrustful girl had been so surprised to find her~
self of any importance to any one, and so grateful to
him for his praise of her and for this highest mark of
appreciation that a man can bestow, that her sudden
gratitude softened her heart and disposed her to yield
to his prayer. And who could tell but that this pre-
sent feeling might lead to a still warmer feeling under
the generous influence of a constant kindness and ap-
preciation? It was with something of wonder and al-
most of dismay, and with a wholly new sense of his
Own unworthiness, that Mr. Roscorla found himself
regarding the possibility of his winning a young girl's
first love,

Never before in his life—not even in his younger days
when he had got a stray hint that he-would probably
meet a duchess and her three daughters ata particular
party—had he dressed with s0 much care. \ He was, on
the whole, well pleased with himself. He had to ad-
mit that his gray hair was changing to white, but many
people considered white hair with a hale complexion
rather an ornament than otherwise. For the rest, he
resolyed that he would never dress again to go to any
party to which Miss Wenna Rosewarne was not also in-
vited. He would not decorate himself for mere stran-
gers and acquaintances,

He put on a light top-coat and went out into the
quiet summer evening. There was a scent of roses in
the air and the great Atlantic was beautiful and still :
it was a time for lovers to be walking through twilit
woods or in honeysuckle lanes, rather than for a num-~
ber of people, indifferent to each other, to sit down to
the vulgar pleasures of the table. He wished that
Wenna Rosewarne had been of that party.

There were two or three children at his gaten tangas
cheeked, clean, and well-clad, as all the Eglosilyan chil-
dren are—and when they saw him come out they ran
away. He was ashamed of this, for if Wenna had seen
it she would have been grieved. He called on them to
come back: they stood in the road, not sure of him.
At length a little woman of six came timidly along to
him, looked at him with her big, wondering blue eyes.
He patted her head and asked her name, and then he
put his hand in his pocket. The others, finding that
their ambassador had not been beheaded on the spot,
a eo and formed a little circle a cautious yard
or two off.

“Look here,” he said to the eldest, “here is # shil-
ling, and you go and buy sweetmeste and divide them
equally ataong you. Or wait a bit; come hee
me, the whole of you, and we'll see whetbar Mxs. e
has got any cake for you,”

 
 

 

SSE

See

   

 
 
  
 
  
  

 

=e

|
i

i

HI

v

e

   

“bit of the valley, and then up one of the
“lying behind Eglosilyan. He had avoided the road that

“Rosewarnes just then.
“was not to save time, for he had plenty of that, put to

8
f

FHREE FEATHERS.

 

 

* M ot nt :

He drove the flock of them into that lady’s kitchen,
much to her consternation, and there he left them. But
he had not got halfway through the little garden again
when he turned back and went to the door, and called
in to the children, “ Mind, you can swing on the gate
whenever you like, so long a8 you take care'and don’t
hurt. yourselves.”

And so he hurried away again; and he hoped that
some day, when he and Wenna Rosewarne were passing,
she would see the children swinging on his gate, and
she would be pleased that they did not run away.

Your Polly has never been false, she declares,

He tried to hum the air, as he had often heard Wenna

‘hum it, as he walked rapidly down the hill and along a
reat gorges

went by the inn: he did not wish to see any of the
Moreover, his rapid walking

give himself the proud assurance that he was still in
-wind. Miss Wenna must not imagine that she was
oe an oldman. Give him but as good a horse as
Harry Trelyon’s famous Dick, and he would ride that
dare-devil young gentleman for a wager to Launceston
and back. Why, he had only arrived at that period
when a sound constitution reaches its maturity. Old?
or eyen elderly? He switched at weeds with his cane,
and was conscious that he was in the prime of life.

At the same time, he did not like the notion of young-
er men than himself lounging about Mrs. Rosewarne’s
parlor; and he thought he might just as well give Har-
ray Trelyon a hint that Wenna Rosewarne was engaged.
‘An excellent opportunity was offered him at this mo-
ment, for as he went up through the grounds to the
front of the Hall he found Master Harry industriously
throwing a fly at certain bits of paper on the lawn.
He had resumed this eccupation, after having gone in-
side and dr as a handy method of passing the
time until his cousin Juliott should appear. :

“How do you do, Trelyon,” said Mr. Roscorla, in a
friendly way; and Harry nodded. “I wish I could

- throw a fly like you. Bye the bye, I haye a littlé bit of

Wi
time

ews for you—for yourself alone, mind.”
2 ww All right! fire ae said Master Harry, still mak-
ing the fine line of the trout-rod whistle through the

air.

“ Well, it is rather a delicate matter, you know. I
don’t want it talked about, but the factis, I am going
to marry Miss Rosewarne.”

There was no more aiming at those bits of paper.
The tall and handsome lad turned and stared at his
companion as if the latter had been a maniac; and then
he said, ‘‘ Miss Rosewarne—Wenna Rosewarne ?”

“ Yes,” said Mr. Roscorla, distinctly conscious that
Harry Trelyon was regarding his white hair and gen-
eral appearance.

ie Socnger man gaid nothing more, but began to
whistle in an absent way; and then, just as if Mr. Ros-
corla had no existence whatever, he proceeded to reel in
the line of his rod: he fastened the fly to one of the
rings, and then walked off.

“You'll find my mother inside,” he said; and so Mr.
Roscorla went into the Hall, and was soon in Mrs. Trel-

‘on’s dra -room among her six or eight guests.
2 Harry oon did . not os until dinner
as announced, and then e was just in

to take his grandmother in. H6é took care
also to have his cousin Juliott on his other side; and to
both of these ladies it was soon apparent that some-
t had occurred to put Master Harry into ono of his
insolent and rebellious moods. :
“Harry?” said his mother from the other end of the
table, as. an intimation that he should say grace.
was no response, despite Miss Juliott’s appeal-
look; and so Mrs. Trelyon had to turn for assistance

seme of the clergymen near her, who went through

the enon form.

“Isn't it shocking?’ said Miss Penaluna across the
table to Harry’s grandmother, who was not nearly so
severe on him for such conduct as she ought to have

been.

‘ “Grace before meat takes too much for granted,” said
the young man with acool impudence. ‘“ How can you
tell whether you are thankful until you see what sort

of a dinner it is? And what’s the use of feeding a dog

and barking yourself,? Ain’t there three parsons down
thi

ere 2” ‘
| Miss Juliott, being engaged to a clergyman, very
natu - resented vie nae an ie es: cae oe
had rather a stormy , atthe end of whic aster
‘Harry turned to his grandmother and declared she was
the woman of common sense h: ‘had ever known.
& it runs in the blood, Harry,” said the old lady,
“that dislike to clergymen; and I never could find out
any reason for it except when your mdfather hunted

_ poor Mr. Pascoe that night. Dear! dear! what a jealous

——

SR eRe os

any in England;

man your dfather was, to besure! and the way he
used to £ me when I told him Inever saw the man
T'd look Pater seeing him! Dear! dear! and the day
he sold those two manors to the company, you know,
he came back at night and said I was as good a wife as
; did indeed; and the bracelet he
me then, that shall go to your wife on your wed-
-day, Harry, I promise you, and you won't find its
about part of the country, I can tell you.

But don’t you go and sell the lordship of Trelyon,
a YOUR: ther was asked to sellit, and
he did well by selling the other two; but Trelyon he
would never ech we your father, and I hope you won't
either; Harry., Let. them work the quarries for you—
that is fair enough—and give you your royalty; but
don't part with Trelyon, Harry, for you might as well

can’t renee you know; but I am
-in_want of a big lump of money, all the same.”
e's z ‘what-do want with a lot of money?
You're not going to to gambling or horse racing,
are you?” > : 1

.“*IT can’t tell you what I want it for—not at present,
any way,” said the lad, looking rather gloomy; and with
that the subject dropped and a brief silence ensued at
the end of the table.

Mr. Tressider, however, the mild and amiable young
curate to whom Miss Juliott was engaged, having been
rather left out in the cold, struck in at this moment,
blushing slightly:

“ Theard you say something about the lordships of
manors,” he observed, addressing himself rather to
Trelyon’s grandmother. ‘Did it ever occur to you
what a powerful thing a word from William the Con-
queror must have been when it could give to a par-
ticular person and his descendants absolute possession
ofa piece of the globe?”

Mrs. Trelyon stared at the young man. Had a rela-
tive of hers gone and engaged herself to a dangerous re-
volutionary, who in the guise of a priest dare to trifle
with the tenure of land ? . Tressider was as innocent
of any such intention as the babe unborn, but he was
confused by her look of astonishment : he blushed more
violently than before, and only escaped from his em-
barrassment by the good services of Miss Penaluna, who
turned the whole matter into ridicule, and asked what
William the Conqueror was about when he let a piece of
the world come into the hands of Harry Trelyon.

« And how deep down have you a hold on it, Harry ?””
she said. “How far does your right over the minerals
of the earth extend? From the surface right down to
the center?”

Mr. Tressider was smiling vaguely when Master
Harry’s eye fell upon him. What harm had the young
clergyman present done him that he should have felt a
sudden dislike to that ingenuous smile?

“ Oh, no,” said Trelyon with a careless impertinence,
and loud enough for two or three to hear. “ William
the Conqueror didn’t allow the rights of the lord of the
manor to extend right down to the middle of the earth.
There were a good many clergymen about him, and they
reserved that district for their own purposes.”

“ Harry,” said his cousin to him in a low voice, “is it
your wish toinsult me? If so, I will leave the room.”

“Insult you!” he said with a laugh. “Why, Jue,
you must be out of your senses? What concerns have
you in that warmish region ?”

“JT don’t appreciate jokes on such subjects. My
father is a clergyman, my husband will be a clergy-
tien?

“The greater fool you,” he observed frankly, but so
that no one could hear. .

“Harry,” she said, “what do you mean by your dis-
like to clergymen ?””

“Ts that a conundrum?” said the unregenerate
youth.

For a moment Miss Penaluna seemed really vexed and
angry, but she prppencd to look ‘at Master Harry, and
somehow her displeasure subsided into a look of good-
natured resignation. There was the least little shrug
of the shoulders, and then she turned to her neighbor
on the right and began to talk about ponies. ‘

It was certainly not a pleasant dinner party for those
who sat near this young gentleman, who was moro
outrageously rude and es ait than ever, except
when addressing his grandmother, to whom he was
always courteous and eyen affectionate. That old lady
eyed him narrowly, and could not quite make out what
was the matter. Had he been privately engaged in some
betting transaction that he should want this money ?

When the ladies left the room, Treylon asked Mr.
Roseorla to take his place for a few minutes, and send
round the wine, and then he went out and called his
mother aside into the study, ;

“Mother,” he said, “ Mr. Roscorlais going to marry
Wenna Rosewarne.”

The tall, fair, pale lady did not seem much startled by
the news. She had very little acquaintance with the
affairs of the village, but she knew at least that the
Rosewarnes kept the inn, and she had every Sunday
morning seen Mrs. Rosewarne and her two daughters
come into church.

“That is the elder one, is it not, who sings in the
choir?’ .

“It’s the elder one,” said Master Harry, who knew
less about the choir.

“Tt is a strange choice for Mr. Roscorla to make.’ she
observed. “I have always considered him very fastidi-
ous and rather proud of his family. But some men
take strange fancies in choosing a wife.”

“Yes, and some women take precious strange fancies
in choosing a husband,” replied the young man rather
warmly. “ Why, she’s worth twenty dozen of him. I
don’t know what the dickens made her listen to the old
fool. It is a monstrous shame, that’s what I callit. I
suppose he’s frightened the girl into it, or bought over
her father, or made himself a hypocrite and got some
parson to intercede and scheme and tell lies for him.”

“Harry,” said his mother, “I don’t understand why
you should interest yourself in the matter.”

“Oh, don’t you? Well, it’s only this—that I consider
that girl the best sort of woman I’ve met yet, that’s all;
and I’ tell you what I mean to do, mother: I mean to
give her five thousand pounds, so that she sha’n’t come
to that fellow in a dependent way, and let him give
himself airs over her because he’s been born a gentle-
man.” :

“Fivethousand pounds!” Mrs. Trelyon repeated,
wondering whether her son had drank too much wine.
at dinner. :

“Well, but look here, mother,” he said, quite pre-
pared for her astonishment. “You know I’ve spent
very little—I’ve never spent anything like what I’m
entitled to, and next year shall be of age:

and all I want now is for you to held me to get a re-
lease, you know; and I am sure I shall be able to per-
suade old Colonel Ransome to it, for he’ll see it is not
any bit of extravagance on my ‘part—speculation or
anythin of that sort, you know.”

“My dear child,” said Mrs. Trelyon, startled for once

 

into earnestness, “ you will make people believe you

 

‘are mac. To give five thousand pounds to the daughter

of an innkeeper, a perfect stranger, as a m 2.
dowry! Why, Harry, what do you think people would
say of such a thing?) What would they say of her?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, as though he did not;
understand her. It was but far a moment. “If you
mean what one of those parsons. would say of her;” he
said impetuously, while a sudden flash of anger spran,
to his face, “I don’t care; but my answer to it woul
be to kick him round the grounds:and out. at the om
Do you'think I’d care a brass farthing for anything
these cringing sneaks might say of her or of me or of
anybody? And would they dare to say it if you asked
her here and made a friend of her:?’’

“Make a friend of her!’ repeated’ Mrs. Trelyon al-
most mechanically. She did not know what length this
terrible son of hers:might go.

om she is going to marry as. friend of yours, why
not?”

“Harry, you are most unreasonable; if you will think
it over for a moment you will see how this is impossi-
ble. If Mr. Roscorla marries this: girl, that is. his own
affair: he will have society enough at home: without
wishing to go out and dine. He is doing it with his
eyes open, you may be sure: he has far more knowleégoe
of such affairs than you can have.. How could I single
out this girl from her family to make hera friend? I
should have to ask her parents and her sister to come
here also, unless you wish her to come on sufferance
and throw a reflection on them.”

She spoke quite calmly, but he would
not listen to her. He chafed and _ fidget-
ed, and said as soon as: she had finished,

“You could do it very well if you liked. When a
woman is willing she cam always smooth matters
down; and you might have that girl as a companion.
for you, and amuch better companion than a lot of
long-coated sneaks of parsons.” .

Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly, and said with clear
emphasis, “I presume that I am best fitted to say what
society I shall keep; and I shall have no acquaintance
thrust upon me whom I would rather not ize.”

“Oh, very well,” said the lad, with the proud lips
giving evidence of some sudden decision. “And you
won’t help me to get that five thousand pounds ?’’

“Twill not. I will not countenance any such folly.”

“Then I shall have to raise the money myself.”

He rang a bell, and a servant appeared,
to saddle Dick and bring him round directly.”

His mother let him haye his own wav without word |

or question, for she was deeply offended, and her feeble
and sensitlve nature had risen to protest against his
tyranny. He went off to put on a pairof riding-boots
and a top-coat, and by-and-by he came down into the
hall again and went to the door. The night was dark,
but clear; there was a blaze of stars overhead; all the
world seemed to be quivering with those white throbs
of fire. The horse and groom stood at the door, their

dusky figures being scarcely blacker than the trees —

and bushes around. Harry Trelyon buttoned up the
collar of his light top-coat, took his switch in his hand
and sprang into the saddle. At the same moment the
white figure of a lady suddenly appeared at the door,
and came down a step or two and said, “Harry, where
are you going?” t
“To Plymouth first,” the young man answered as he .

rode off; ‘to London afterward, and then to the devil.”

—_——

CHAPTER VII.
SOME NEW EXPERIENCES,
. Wuen the first shock of fear and anxiety was over,

Wenna Rosewarne discovered to her pant delight that ~
thi

her engagment was a very pleasant thing. ‘The omin-
ous doubts and regrets that had beset her mind when
she was asked to become Mr. Roscorla’s wife seemed to
disappear like clouds trom a morning sky, and then
followed a fair and happy day, full of abundant satis-
faction and calm. With much inward ridicule of her
own vanity, she found herself nursing a notion of her
self-importance, and giving herself airs as if she wero
already a married woman. Although the engagement
was kept a profound secret, the mere consciousness
that she had attained to this position in the world lent
a new assurance to her as she went about the village.
She was gifted with a new authority over despondent
mothers and fractious children and selfish fathers as
she went her daily rounds; and even in her own home
Wenna had more attention paid to her, now that she
was going to marry Mr. Roscorla. :

There was but one dissentient, and that was Mabyn
Rosewarne, who fumed and fretted about the match,
and sometimes was like to cry over it, and would haye
liked to have gone and given Mr. Roscorlaa bit of her
mind, She pitied her poor weak sister for having been
coaxed into an engagement by this designing old man;
and the poor weak sister was vastly amused by her
compassion, and was too good-natured to laugh at the

valiant protection which this courageous young crea- ,

ture of sixteen offered her. Wenna let her sister say
what she pleased about herself or her future, and used
no other argument to stop angry words than a kiss so
long as: Mabyn spoke respecttully of Mr. Rescorla,
But this was precisely what Miss Mabyn was disin-

| clined to do, and the consequence was that their inter-

views were generally ended ot becoming indig-
nant, drawing herse and leaving the room. Then
Mabyn would follow and make up the quarrel, and prom-
ise never to offend again; but all thesame she cherished
a deadly animosity toward Mr. Roscorla in her heart, and
when her sister was not present she amtsed her father
and shocked her mother by giving a series of imitations
of Mr. Roscorla’s manner which that gentleman would
— like sonnet eat

oun, y, however,
considered : far more effectuak means of revenging her-
self on Mr. Roscorla, She never left Wenna’s side. No
sooner did the elder sister prepare to go out than Misa

“Tell Jakes .

soon invented what she ;

 

 

———

 
THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

 

Mabyn discovered that she too would like ‘a walk; and
she so persistently did this that Wenna soon took it tor
gfanted that her sister would go with her wherever
she went, and invariably waited for her. Accordingly,
Mr. Roscorla never by any chance went walking with
Wenna Rosewarne alone; and the younger sister, herself
too sulky to enter into conversation with him, used to
enjoy the malicious pleasure of watching him shape his
talk to suit the presence of a third person. For of
course Miss Mabyn had read in books of the beautiful
manner in which lovers [speak to each other, and of
their tender confidences as they sit by the sea or go
rambling through the summer woods. Was not the
time opportune for these idyllic ways? All the uplands
were yellowed with tall standing corn; the sea was as
blue and as still as the sky overhead; the gardens of

Eglosilyan were sweet with honeysuckle and moss- | p

roses, and in the evenings a pale pink mist hung around
the horizon, while the silver sickle of the moon came
up into the violet sky and the first pale stars appeared
in the east.

“Tf our Wenna had a proper sort of lover,” Miss
Mabyn used to say to herself bitterly, “wouldn’t I
scheme to have them left alone! I would watch for
them like a watch-dog, that no one should come near
them, and I should be as proud of him as Wenna her-
self ; and how happy she would be in talking {to me
about him! But this horrid old wretch! I wish he
would fall over Black Cliff some day.”

She was not aware that in becoming the constant
companion of her sister she was affording this dire
enemy of hers a vast amount of relief. Mr. Roscorla
was in every way satisfied with his engage-
ment: the more he saw of Wenna Rosewarne the more
he admired her utter self-forgetfulness, and liked a
quaint and shy touch of humor that interfused her
talk and her ways; but he greatly preferred not to be
alone with her. He was then beset by some vague im-
pression that certain things were demanded of him in
the role of a lover which were exceedingly embarrass-
ing, and which, if he did not act the part well, might
awaken her ridicule. On the other hand, if he omitted
all those things might she not be surprised_by his lack
of affection, begin to suspect him, and end by disliking
him? Yet he knew that not for ten thousand worlds
could he muster up courage to repeat one line of senti-
mental poetry to her.

He had never even had the conrage to kiss her. He
knew that this was wrong, In his own house he re-
fiected that a man engaged to a woman ought surely to
give her some such mark of his affection—say, in bid-
ding her good night; and thereupon Mr. Roscorla
would resolve that ashe left the inn that evening he
would endeavor to kiss his future bride. He never suc-
ceeded. Somehow, Wenna always parted from him ina
metry mood, Those were pleasant evenings in Mrs.
Rosewarne’s parlor: there was a good deal of quiet fun
going on; and if Wenna did come along the passage to
the door with him, she was generally talking and laugh-
ing all the way, Of course he was not going to kiss her
in that mood—as if, to use his own expression, he had
been a jocular plough-boy. ‘‘Good-night, dear,’’ he
managed tosay to heron one occasion, and for ten
minutes thereafter, as he walked home-through the
darkness, he felt that his face was burning.

He had kissed her hand once. That was on his first
meeting her after she had written the letter in which
she promised to be his wife, and Mrs. Rosewarne had
sent him into the) room where she knew
her daughter was. alone, Wenna rose up to
meet him, pale, frightened, with her eyes downcast.
He took her hand and kissed it, and then, after a
pause; he’ said,‘‘I hope I shall make you happy.’
She could not answer. She began to tremble violently.
He asked her to sit down, and begged of her not to be
disturbed. She-was recalled to herself by the accidental
approach of her sister Mabyn, who came along the, pas-
sage singing, “Oh, the men of merry, merry England |!”
in excellent imitation of the way in which Harry Trel-
yon used:to sing that once famous song ashe rode his
black horse along the highways. Mabyn came into the
room, stared, and would have gone out but that her
sister called to her‘ and asked her to come and hold
down’ a pattern while she cut some cloth. Mabyn
wondered that her sister should be so diligent when a
visitor was present. She saw, too, that Wenna’s fingers
trembled. Then she remained in the room until Mr.
Roscorla went, sitting by a window and not overhear-
ing their conversation, but very much inclined to break
in upon it by asking him how he dared to come there
and propose to marry her sister Wenna.

Oh, Wenna,” she said one evening some time after,
when the two sisters were sitting out on the rocks at
the end of the harbor watching the sun go down behind
the sea, ‘I cannot bear him coming to take you away
like that. I shouldn’t mind if he were like a sweetheart
to you; but he’s a multiplication-table sort of sweetheart
—everything so regular and accurate and proper. I
hate a man who always thinks of what he’s going to
say, and always has neat sentences; and he watches you
and is so self-satisfied, and his: information is always
so correct. Oh, Wenna, I wish you had a young and
beautiful lover, like a prince.”

“ My dear child,’ said. the elder sister: with. a, smile,
“young and beautiful lovers are for young and beauti-
ful girls like you.” .

“Oh, Wenna, how can you talk like that 2?” said. the
younger sister: ‘why will. you always believe that you
are less pretty than other people,when every one knows
that you have the most beautiful eyes in all the world?
You have! There’s not anybody in all the world hag
such. beautiful and softeyes as you; you ask pny d
and they will tell you, if you don’t believe me. But.
have no doubt—I have no doubt whatever—that Mr,
ee will try to make you believe you are very
2 Sree that you mayn’t think_you’ve thrown yourself

2 Mabyn looked very indignant, and very’ much
inclined rete at the same time, but the gentle sister

 

put her hands on hers and said, “ You will make me
quarrel with you some day, Mabyn, if you are so unjust
to Mr. Roscorls. You are continually accusing him of
things of which he never dreams. Now, he never gets
a chance that he does not try to praise me in every way,
and if there were no ee in the world I have
no doubt he would make me believe I was quite lovely;
and you shouldn’t say those things of him, Mabyn: it
isn’t fair. He always speaks kindly of you. He thinks
you are very pretty, and that'you will grow up to be
very beautiful when you becomes woman.”

Mabyn was not to be pacified by this ingenuous
piece of flattery. ‘You are such asimpleton, Wenna,”
she said, “he can make you believe anything.”

“He does not try to make me believe anything I
don’t know already,”’ said the elder sister with some as-
erity.’’

“ He tries to make you believe he is inlove with you,”
said Mabyn bluntly.

Wenna Rosewarne colored up, and was silent fora
minute. How was she to explain to this sister of hers
all those theories which Mr. Roscorla had described to
her in his first’two or three letters? She felt that she
had not the same gift of expression that he had, ‘You
don’t understand—you don’t understand at all, Mabyn
—what you talk of as love. I suppose you mean the
sort of wild madness you read of in books: well, I don’t
want that kind oflove at all. There is quite a different
sort of love, that comes of respect and affection and an
agreement of wishes, and that is far more yaluable and
likely to be lasting. I don’t want a lover who would do
wild things, and make one wonder at his heroism, for
that is the lover you get in books; but if you want to live
a happy life, and please those around you, and be of ser-
vice to them, you must have a very different sort of
sweetheart—a man who will think of something else
than a merely selfish passion, who will help you to be
kind to other people, and whose affection will last
through years and years.”

“You have learnt your lesson very well,” said Miss
Mabyn, with a toss of her head. ‘He has spent some
time in teaching you.. But as for all that, Wenna, it’s
nothing but fudge. What a girl wants is to be really
loved by aman, and then she can do without all those
fine sentiments. As for Mr. Roscorla’’—~

“TI do not think we are likely to agree on this matter,
dear,”’ said Wenna, calmly, as she rose, “ and so we had
better say nothing about it.”

“Oh,I am not going to quarrel with you, Wenna,”
said the younger sister promptly. “You and I will al-
ways agree very well. Itis Mr. Roscorla and I who are
not likely to agree very well—not at all likely, I can
assure you.”

They were walking back to Eglosilyan under the clear
evening skies. when whom should they see coming out
to meet them but Mr. Roscorla himself. It was a
pleasant time and place. for lovers to come together.
The warm light left by the sunset still shone across
the hills ; the clear blue-green water in the tiny har-
bor lay perfectly still ; Eglosilyan had got! its day’s
work over, and was either chatting in the cottage gar-
dens or strolling down to haye a look at the couple of
coasters moored behind the small but powerful break-
water. But Mr. Roscorla had had-no hope ‘of discover-
ing Wenna alone; he was quite as well content to find
Mabyn with her, though that young lady as he came up
looked particularly fierce, and did not smile atall when
she shook hands with him. Was it the red glow-in the
west that gave an extra tinge of color to Mr. Roscorla’s
face? Wenna felt that she was better satisfied with
her engagement when her lover was not present, but
she put that. down to a natural shyness and modesty
which she considered was probably common to all
girls in these strange circumstances.

Mr. Roscorla wished to convey the two young ladies
back to the inn, and evidently meant to spend the even-
ing. there. But Miss Wenna ill requited his gallantry
by informing him that she had intended to make one or
two calls in the evening which would occupy some
time: in particular, she had undertaken to do some-
thing for Mrs. Luke’s eldest girl ; and she had also pro-
mised to go in and read for/half\ an hour to Nicholas
Keam, the brother of the wife of the owner of the Na-
poleon Hotel, who was very ill indeed, and far too’ lan-
guid to read for himself.

“But -youw know, Mr. Roscorla,” said) Mabyn with a
bitter malice, “if you would go into the Napoleon and
read to Mr: Keam, Wenna and I could go up to Mother
Luke’s, and so we should save all that time ; and Lam
sure Wenna is very tired to-day. Them you would ‘be
80 much better able to pick out the things in the papers
that Mr Keam wants, for Wenna never knows what is
old and new, and Mr. Keam is anxious to learn what is
going on in politics, and the Irish Church, and that kind
of thing.”

Could he refuse? Surely aman who has just got a
girl to say she will marry him ought not to think twice
about sacrificing half an hour to helping her in her oc-
cupations, especially if she be tired. Wenna could not
have made the request herself, but she was anxious
that he should say yes, now that it had been made, for
it was in a manner a test of his devotion toher; and
she was overjoyed and most grateful to him when he
consented. What Mabyn thought of the matter was not
visible on her face,

 

CHAPTER VIII.
WENNA’S FIRCT TRIUMPH. :

THE two gem ag they went up the main street of
Eglosilyan (it was sweet with the scent of flowers on
this beautiful evening), left Mr, Roscorla in front of
the obscure ‘little ‘public-house he had wunder-
taken to visit; and it is probable’ that in the
whole of England at that moment there was not a
more miserable man. He knéw this Nicholas Keam and
his sister and hié brother-in-law, so far as their names
went, and they knew him by sight, but he had never

 

said more than ered monuing to any one of them, and
he had certainly never entered this pot-house, w *
sort of debat society was nightly held by the
habditues. But, all the same, he would do what he had
undertaken to do, for Wenna Rosewarne’s sake; and it
with some sensation of a despairing heroism that
he went up the steps of slate and crossed the
threshold,

He looked into the place from the passage. He found
before him what was really a large kitchen, with a
spacious fire-place and heavy rafters across the roof; but
all round the walls there was a sort of bench with a
high wooden back to it, and on this seat sat s number
of men—one or two laborers, the rest slate-workers—
who in the dusk were idly smoking and looking at the
beer on the narrow tables before them. Was this the sort
of place that his future wife had been in the habit of visit-
ing. There was a sort of gloomy picturesqueness about
the chamber, to be sure; for, warm as the evening was,
a fire burned flickeringly in the grate; there was enough
light to show the tin and copper vessels shining over
the mantel-piece: and a couple of fair-haired children
were playing about the middle of the floor, little heed--
ing the row of dusky figures around the tables whose
heads were half-hidden by tobacco-smoke.

A tall, thin, fresh-colored woman came along the pas-
sage, and Mr. Roscorla was glad that he had not togoin
among these laborers to make his business known. It
was bad enough to have to speak to Mrs, Haigh, the
landlady of the Napoleon.

“ Good-evening, Mrs. Haigh,” said he, with au appear-
ance of cheerfulness.

“ Good-evenin’, zor,” said she, staring at him with
with those cruelly shrewd and clear eyes that the Corn-
ish pees have.

“T called in to see Mr. Keam,”’ said he,
better ?’””

A thousand wild suggestions flashed upon his mind,
She might not recognize him. She would take him for
a Scripture-reader come to hasten the poor man’s death,
or for the agent of some funeral company... He could
not smile, as he was asking about a sick man; he could
not. sigh, for he had come to administer cheerfulness;
and all the while, as Mrs. Haigh seemed to be regarding
him, he grew more and more vexed, and vowed that
never again would he place himself in such a posi-
tion. ,

“Tf yu’d like vor to see’n, sor,” said she, rather
slowly, asif waiting for further explanation, “ yu’ll vind
‘nin the rum,” and with that she opened the door of
& room on the other side of the passage. It was db-
viously the private parlor of the household—an odd
little chamber with plenty of colored. lithographs on
the walls and china and photographs on the mantel-
piece; the floor of large blocks of slate ornamented with
various devices in chalk; in the corner a cupboard filled
with old cut crystal, brass candlesticks and other ar-
ticles of luxury. The room had one occupant—a tall
man who gat ina big wooden chair by the window, his
head hanging forward between his high shoulders, and
his thin white hands on the arms of the chair. The
sunken cheeks, the sallow-white complexion, the listless
airand an occasional sigh of resignation told.a suffi-
ciently plain story, although Mrs, Haigh, in regarding
her brother and speaking to him in a loud voice, as if to
arouse his attention, wore an air of brisk cheerful-
ness strangely in contrast, with the worn look of his
face.

“Don’t yu knaw Mr. Roscorla, Brother Nicholas ?’”
said his sister. ‘‘ Don’t yu look mazed when, he’s come
vor to zee if yu’re better. And yu be much better to-
day, Brother Nicholas ?’’

“Yes, I think,” said. the sick man, agreeing with his
sister out of mere listlessness,

Oh, yes, I think you look. much better,” said Mr.
Roscorla, hastily and nervously, for he feared that both.
these people would see in his face what he thought of
this. unhappy man’s chances of living. . But Nicholas.
Keam mostly kept his eyes turned toward the floor, ex-
cept when the brisk, loud voice of his sister roused him
and caused him to look up.

A most awkward pause ensued. Mr. Roscorla, felt
convinced they would think he was mad if he offered to
sit down inthis parlor and read the newspapers to the
inyalid: he forgot that they did not know him as well
as he did himself, On the other hand; would they not
consider him a silly person if, he admitted that he
only made the offer in order to pleasea girl ?,. Besides,
he could see no newspapers in the room. , Fortunately,
at this moment Mr. Keam_ himself came.to the rescue
by saying in a slow and languid way, “ I did expect vor,
to zee. Miss Rosewarne this evenin’—yaas, I did; and
she were to read me the news; but I suppose now” ——.

“ Oh,” said Mr. Roscorla, quickly, “I have just seen
Miss Rosewarne: she told. me she expected to see you,
but was a little tired. Now, if you, like, I will read the
newspapers to you as long.as.the light lasts, .

“Why don’t yu thank the gentleman, Brother Nicho-
las?” said Mrs. Haigh, who was apparently most anx-
ious to get. away to her duties. ‘‘ That be very kind of
yu, zor. "Tiss great comfort to ’n to hear the news ;;
and I’ll send you in the papers to once, Yu come away,
with me, Rosana, and)yu can come.agwain and bring
the gentleman the newspapers.”

She dragged.off with her w small girl who had wan-
dered in, and Mr. Roscorla was left alone with the sick
man, The feelings in his heart were not those which
Wenna would have expected to firid theré’ as the result
of the exercise of charity,

The small girl came back and gave him ‘the news-

» _Hebegan to read; she sat down. before him
—_ stared: up into his face,. Then a brother of hera
came in, and he too sat down and. p’ to
Mr. Roscorla. inwardl: hogan to draw pictures of
astonishment of of his old acquaintances if they
had suddenly. opened that amall. door and found him
in the parlor of an: ale-house reading stale tical.
articles to an apparently uninteres'
couple of cottage children.

“Te he much

ee.

>

jmvalid and a
   

16

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

He was thankful that thé light was rapidly déclining;
ahd long before he had reached his half hour ie niade
that his excuse for going.” The next time’ Icome, Mry
Keam,” said ho cheerfully ad he tose and. ‘took His hut,
“I shall conte earlier.” ’ ‘. ‘

“T did expect vor to zee Miss Roséwarte thivevenin’)”

“said Nichols Keam; ungrateftlly paying no ‘héed to"thé
hypocritical offer, “ vor she were here yesterday mari+
in’, and’she told ‘me that’MrTrelyon had ‘zeen- my
brother in London streéts) and I want vor to ktiow
mower about ‘nh, I du.”

“She told you?” Mr: Roscorla said with a sudden
and wild suspicion’ filling his*mind. “How did she
know that Mr. Trelyon was in“London?”’

“How did she knaw ?” repeated the’ sick man indo-
lently. “Why, he zaid zo in the letter?”

“So Mr. Trelyon, whose whereabouts were not even
known to his own family, was'in corréspondence with
Miss Rosewarne, and she had carefully concealed the
fact from the man shé was going to marry! Mr. Ros-
corla rather absently took his leave. When he went out-
sidé a clear twilight was shining over Eglosilyanjand
the first of the yellow stars wére palely visible*in the
gray. “He walked slowly down toward the inn.

If Mr. Roscorla had any conviction on any subject

whatever, it was this—that no human. being evér
thoroughly and without resérve: revealed. himself ‘or
herself to any other himan being. Of course he did not
bring that as @ ‘charge-against ‘the human race, ‘or
against that member of it from-whose- individual ex-
periencé hé had derived his théory—himself: he mere-
ly accepted this thing as one of the -facts of life. Peo-
ple, éonsidered, might be fairly honest, well-intentioned
and moral, but inside the cirele of their actions and sen-
timents that were openly declared there was another
circle only known to themselves; and to this region
the foul bird of suspicion, as soon as it was born, im-
mediately fled on silent wings.’ Not that, after a min-
ute’s consideration, he suspected anything very terri-
ble in thé present case. He was more vexed than
alarmed. And yet at times, as-he slowly walked down
the steep street, he grew a little angry, and wondered
how this apparently ingenuous creature should have
concealed from him her correspondence with Harry
Trelyon, and resolved that he would have a speedy ex-
planation of the whole matter. He was too shrewd a
man of the world to be tricked by a girl or trifled with
by an impertinent lad.
*, He was overtaken by the two girls, and they walked
together the rest of the way. Wenna was in excellent
spirits, and was very kind and grateful tohim. Some-
how, when he heard her low and sweet laughter and
saw the frank kindness of her dark eyes, he abandoned
the gloomy suspicions that had crossed his mind ; but
hes considered that he had been injured, and that
injury was all the greater in that he had just been per-
suaded into making a fool of himself for Wenna Rose-
warne’s sake.

He said nothing to her then, of course, and as the
evening passed cheerfully enough in Mrs. Rosewarne’s
parlor, he resolved he would postpone inquiry into this
matter. He had never séen Wenna so pleased herself,
and so determinately bent on pleasing others. She

etted her mother, and sai‘! slyly sarcastic things of

er father until George Rosewarne roared with laugh-
ter; she listened with respectful eyes and attentive
ears when Mr. Roscorla pronounced an opinion on the
affairs of the day; and she dexterously cut rolls of

aper and dressed up her sister Mabyn to represent a
lady of the time of Elizabeth, to the admiration of
6verybody. “Mr. Roscorla had inwardly to confess
that be had secured for himself 4 most charming and
delightful wife, who would make a wonderful difference
in those dull evenings up at Bassett Cottage.

He only half ae the origin of Miss Wenna’s great
and obvious satisfaction. It was really this—that she
had that evening oe the first welcome fruits of her
new relations in finding Mr. Roscorla ready to go and
perform acts of charity. But forher engagement that
would certainly not have happened; and this, she
believed, was but the auspicious beginning. Of course,
Mr. Roscorla would have laughed if she had informed
him of her belief that the regeneration of the whole
little world of Eglosilyan--something like the millen-
nium, indeed—was tocome about merely because an
innkeeper’s daughter was about to be made a married
woman. Wenna Rosewarne, however, did not formu-
late any such belief, but she was none the less proud of
the great results that had been already secured by—by
what? By her sacrifice of herself? She did not pursue
the subjects so far.

Her delight was infectious. Mr. Roscorla, as he walked
home that night—under the throbbling starlight,
with the sound of the Atlantic murmuring through
the darkness—was, on the whole, rather pleased that
Ke had been vexed on hearing of that letter from Harry
Trelyon. He would continue to be vexed. He would
endeavor "to be jealous without measure; for how can

ealousy exist if an anxious love isnot also present? and
im fact should not a man who is really fond of a woman
be quick to resent the approach of any one who. seems
to interfere with his right of property in her affections?
By the time he reached’ Bassett Cottage, Mr. Roscorla
had very nearly persuaded himself into the belief that
he was really in love with Wenna Rosewarne.

PART INL.—CHAPTER IX.
THE RING OF EVI OMEN.
Oxx of Wenna’s many friends outside the village in

which shé lived was a strange, misshapen creature who,
earned his living by carrying sandfrom one of the bays |
on the coast to the farmers on the uplands above. This.

he did by means of a — of donkeys—small, rough,
light-haired and large-eyed animals—that struggled up
the rude and steep path on the face of the cliff, with the
‘bags on their backs he had laboriously filled below.

It was a sufficiently cheerless occupation for this unfor-

 

tunate “hunchback, ‘and nota svery: profitable: one:
The money ‘he got:from the farmers did not much’ more
than-cover thé keep of the donkeys., He seldom spoke
to any human being, for. who was going to descend that
rough and narrow path down'to theshore, where he and
his’ donkeys appeared tobe no bigger than mice, with
the knowledge that there was no. path round: the: pre-
cipitous coast, and that nothing would -remaim but the
long climb-up.again? :

Wenna’ Rosewarne thad some: pity for this vsolitary
wretch, who toiledat his task with the melancholy At-
lantie before him, and behind him a great: andlonely
wall of crumbling slate; and whenever .she had time
she used to.walk with her sister across from Eglosilyan
by the-high-lying downs until they reached: this little
indentation in’the coast where .a curve of: yellow sand
was visible far below. If this poor fellow and his don-
keys were to bé seen from ‘the summit, the two girls
had little fear of the fatigue of descending: the path
down the side of the steep cliff, and the object’ oftheir
visit used to be highly pleased and flattered’ by their
coming to chat with him .for.a few minutes, He
would hasten the filling of his ‘bags so as to ascend
again ‘with them, and ina strange tongne that
even the two Cornish-born: girls could not always un-
derstand he! would talk to them of the merits of his
favorite donkeys, of their willingness and strength, and
docility. Théy’never'took him any tracts, they never
uttered'a‘word of condolence or sympathy. Their visit
was merely of the nature of a friendly call, but it was a
mark of attention and kindliness that gave the man
something pleasant to think of for days thereafter.

Now, on one ofthese occasions, Mr. Roscorla went
with Wennaand her sister; and although he did not at
all see the use of going down this precipitous cliff for the
mere purpose of toiling wp again, he was not going to
confess that he dreaded the fatigue of it. Moreover,
this was another mission of clarity; and although he
had not called again on Mr. Keam—although, in fact,
he had inwardly vowed that the prayers of a thousand
angels would not induce him again to visit Mr. Keam—
he was anxious that Wenna should believe that he still
remained her pupil. So, with a good grace, he went
down the tortuous pathway to the desolate little bay
where the sand-carrier was. at work. He stood and
looked at the sea while Wenna chatted with her ac-
quaintance; he studied the rigging of the distant ships;
he watched the choughs and daws flying about the face
of the rocks;;he drew figures on the sand with the
point of his cane, and wondered ;whether he would be
back in good time for luncheon if this garrulous hunch-
back jabbered in this guttural way. for another hour.
Then he had the pleasure of climbing up the cliff again,
with a whole troop of donkeys going before him in In-
dian file up the narrow and zigzag path, and at last he
reached the summit. His second effort in the way of
charity had been accomplished.

He proposed that the young ladies should sit down to
rest for a few minutes after the donkeys and their
driver had departed; and, accordingly, the three
strangers chose a block of slate for a seat, with the
warm grass for a footstool, and al] around them the
beauty of an August morning. ‘The sea was ruffled
into @ dark-blue where it neared the horizon, but closer
at hand it was paleand still. The sun was hot on the
bleak pasture land. There was a scent of fern and wild
thyme in the air.

“ By the way, Wenna,”’ said Mr. Roscorla, “I wonder
you have never asked me why I have not yet got you
an engaged ring ?’’

“Wenna does not want an engaged ring,’’ said Miss
Mabyn, sharply. ‘They are not worn now.”

This audacious perversion of fact on the part of the
self-willed young beauty was in reality a sort of cry of
despair. If Mr. Roscoria had not yet spoken ofa ring
to Wenna, Mabyn had, and Mabyn had besought of her
sister not to accept this symbol of hopeless captivity.

“ Oh, Wenna,”’ she had said, “if you take a ring from
him I shall look on you as carried away from us for-
ever.”

«* Nonsense, Mabyn!”’ the eldest sister had said. “The
ring is ofno importance: it is the word you havespoken
that is.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” Mabyn said, earnestly. “As long
as you don’t wear aring, Wenna, I still fancy I shall get
you back from him; and you may say what you like,
but you are far too good for him.”

“ Mabyn, you are a disobedient child,” the eldest sis-
ter said, stopping the argument with a kiss, and not
caring to raise a quarrel,

Well, when Mr. Roscorla was suddenly confronted by
this statement, he was startled, but he inwardly re-
solved that as soon as he and Wenna were married he
would soon bring Miss Mabyn’s interference in their
affairs toanend. At present he merely said, mildly;

“I was not aware that engaged rings were no longer
worn. However, if that be so, it isno reason why we
should discontinue a good old custom; and I have put
off getting you one, Wenna, because I knew I had to go
to London soon. .I find now I must goon Monday next,
and so I want you to tell me: what sort of stones you
like best in a ring.” ;

“Tam sure I don’t know,’’ Wenna said, humbly an
dutifully. ‘‘Iam sure to like whatever you choose.”

“ But what do you prefer yourself?” he again said.

Wenna hesitated, but Miss Mabyn did not. She was
prepared for the crisis. She had foreseen it.

“Oh, Mr. Roscorla,’” she said(and you would not have
fancied there was any guile or malice in that young and
pretty face, with its tender blue eyes and its proud and
ae mouth), “don’t -you know that.Wenna likes eme-

ds:"” 4

Mr. Roscorla was very near telling the younger sister
tomind her own business, but he was afraid. He only
said in a stiffway to his betrothed ;

*“Do yowlike emeralds,?’’

“I think they are very pretty,” Wenna replied, meek,,

ly: I am sure [shall like-any ring you choose.”
v..Oh, very well,” said he, rather Giscontented thatshe

 

would show no preference, ‘I shall. get you an emerald
ring.”

When she heard this decision, the heart of Mabyn
Rosewarne was filled with an unholy joy. This wasthe
rhyme that was running through her head:

“ Oh, green’s forsaken,
And yellow’s forsworn ;
And blue’s the sweetest
Color.that’s worn.’’

Wenna was saved to her now. ‘How could any two
people marry who had engaged themselves with an em-
erald ring? There was at‘ deal of what might be
called natural religion inthis young lady; to distinguish
it from that which she had been taught on Sunday
forenoons and at: her mother’s knee—a’ belief in occult
influences ruling the earth, unnamable, undefinable, but
ever present and ever active. If fairly challenged, sho
might have scrupled to say that she.believed'in Brown-
eys or the Small People, or in any one of the thousand
superstitions of the Cornish peasantry. But she faith-
fully observed these superstitions. If her less heed-
ful sister put @ eut loaf upside down on’ the plate,
Mabyn would instantly right it and say, “Oh, Wenna!”
asif her sister had forgotten that that simple act meant
that some ship was’ in sore distress.. If Wenna laughed
at any of these fancies, Mabyn said nothing, but all the
same she was convinced in her:own mid that things
happened to people in a strange fashion, and in accord-
ance with omens that might have been remarked. She
knew that if Mr. Roscorla ‘gave Wenna a ring of emer-
alds, Mr. Roscorla would never marry her.

One thing puzzled ‘her, however. Which of the two
was to be the forsaken? Was it Wenna or Mr. Roscorla
who would break this engagement that the younger
sister had set her heart against? Well; she would not
have been sorry if Mr. Roscorla were the guilty party,
except in so far as some humiliation might thereby fall
on Wenna. But the more she thought of the matter,
the more she was convinced that Mr. Roscorla was aware
he had the best of the bargain, and was not at all likely
to seek to escape from it. It was he who must be for.
saken: and she had no pity for him. What:right had
an old man to come and try to carry off her sister—her
sister whose lover ought to be “young and beautifui
like a prince ?’”’” Mabyn kept repeating the lines to her-
self all the time they walked homeward ; and if Wenna
had asked her a question just then, the chances are she
would have answered:

“Oh, green’s forsaken,
And yellow’s forsworn ;
And blue’s the sweetest
Color that’s worn!”
But Wenna was otherwise engaged during this home-
ward walk. Mr. Roscorla, having resolved to go to
London, thought he might as well have that little mat-
ter about Harry Trelyon cleared up before he went. He
had got all the good out of it possible by nursing what-
ever unquiet suspicions it provoked, and by trying to
persuade himself that as he was in some measure jeal-
ous he must in some measure bein love. But he had
not the courage to take these suspicions with him to
London : they were not pleasant traveling companions.

“I ‘wonder,’ he said, in rather a nervous way,
“whether I shall see young Trelyon in London ?”

Wenna was not at all disturbed by the mention of the
name. She only said with a smile, ‘It is a big place to
seek anyone in.”

“ You know he is there ?”

“Oh yes,” she answered directly.

“It is odd that you should know, for he has not told
anyone up at Trelyon Hall; in fact, no. one appears to
have heard anything about him but yourself.”

“How very silly of him,” Wenna said,“to be so
thoughtless! Doesn’t his mother know? Do you
think she would like to know ?””

“Well,” said he with marked coldness, “ doubtless
she would be surprised at his having communicated
with you in preference to anyone else.’

Wenna’s soft dark eyes were turned up to his face
with a sudden look of astonishment. He had never
spoken to her in this way before. She could not under-
stand. And then she said, very quickly and with a sud-
den flush of color to her pale face, ‘Oh, but this letter
is only about the dog. I will show itto you: I have it
in my pocket.”

She took out the letter and handed it to him, and he
might have seen that her hand trembled. She was
very much perturbed—she scarcely knew why. But
there was semething in his manner that had almost
frightened her—something distant and harsh and sus-
picious ; and surely she had done no wrong ?

He smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper, and s
contemptuous smile passed over his face: “He writes
with more care to you than to other people, but I can’t
say much for his handwriting at the best.”

Wenna colored and said nothing, but Mabyn'remarked,
rather warmly, “I don’t think a man need try to write
like a dancing-master if he means what he says, and can
tell you that frankly.”

Mr. Roscorla did not heed this remarkably incoherent
speech, for he was reading the letter, which ran as fol_
lows : ,

“NOLAN’s Hote, Lonpon, July 30, 18—,’?

“Dear Miss Rosewarne: I know you would like to
have Rock, and he’s no at all as @ retriever, and
I’ve written to Luke to take him down to you at the
inn, and I shall be very pleased if you will accept him
as a present from me. Either Luke or your father will
tell you how to feed him; and I am sure you will be
kind to him, and not chain him up, and give him plenty
of exercise. Thope you are all well atthe inn, and that
Mabyn’s pigeons have ee a away. Tell her not to
forget t of loo! “glass.

; eee Yours faithfully,
, oso) Harry Tretyor,
ite by accident yester-

“p, §.=T met Joshua Keam
aed ndly. His leg has been

day. He asked for you most
amputated at last,’

 

As

 
As

 

THREE FEATHERS.

it

 

 

Here was nothing at which a jealous lover might
grumble. -Mr.»Roscorla handed ‘back the letter with
searcely a word, leaving Wenna to puzzle over what had

\appened to make him look at her in that strange way.
.s for Miss:Mabyn, that young lady would say nothing
:o hurt her sister’s feelings, but she said many’a bitter
thing to herself about the character of a gentleman who
would read. another ‘gentleman’s letter, particularly
when the former was an elderly gentleman and the lat-
ter a young one, and most of all when the young gentle-
man had been writing to a girl, ‘andrthaf girl her sister
Wenna.» ‘ But green’sforsaken,’’ Mabyn said to herself,
as if there was great comfort in that reflection—“ green’s
forsaken, and yellow’s forsworn.”

And So Mr. Roscorla was going away from Eglosilyan
for a time, abd Wenna would be left alone. As almost
every day now brought her a new and strange experi-
ence, she was not surprised that this change of circum-
stances should set her thinking afresh. She would
have'to write to him, and the letters of people engaged
to each other ought to be affectionate. Hitherto,
Wenna’s letters to her lover had been of a remarkably
simple and’ business-like character, chiefly answering
questions of his as to the hour at which he might come
down to the’inn, She did not quite like the idea of
haying to write long letters to him at a distance.

Would their parting be very painful? Ought she to
feel grieved, when he went away? She hoped that
other people would be present, and that Mr. Roscorla
would treat his going away as a mere matter of course.

Certainly, if this brief separation promised to afflict
her grievously, it had not that effect in the meantime ;
for.once she had gone over the matter in her mind and
sketched out, as was her wont, all that she ought to do,
she quickly recovered her cheerfulness, and was in
very good spirits indeed when the small party reached
Eglosilyan. And here was a small and‘sunburnt boy—
Master Penticost Luke, in fact—waiting for her right in
the middle of the road in front of the inn, whom she
caught upand kissed: and scolded .all at once : “‘ What-
ever are you doing down here, sir, ill by yourself?’’

“T have tum to see you,” the small boy said, in no
way frightened or abashed by her rough usage of him,

« And so you want Mr. Trelyon to ride over you again,
do you? Haven't I told you never tocome here without
some of your brothers and sisters? Well, say ‘How do

‘ou do? to the gentleman. Don’t you know Penny
uke, Mr. Roscorla ?”’

“T believe I have that honor,” said Mr. Roscorla with
a smile, but not at all pleased to be kept in the middle
of the road chattering to a cottager’s child.

Miss Wenna presently showed that she was a well-
built and active young woman by swinging Master
Penny up and perching him on her shoulder, in which
fashion she carried him into the inn.

“Penny isa great friend of mine,” she said to Mr.
Roscorla, who would not himself have attempted
that feat of skill and dexterity, ‘and you must make
his acquaintance. He is a very good boy on
the whole, but sometimes he goes near to break-
ing my heart. I shall have to give him up and
take another sweetheart if he doesn’t mind. He
will eat things with his fingers, and he will run
out and get among horses’ feet; and as for the way he
conducts himself when his face is being washed and he
is being made like a gentleman, I never saw the like of
it. And then the impudence of him! Why, the other
night, when he was repeating his prayers, what must
he do but stop half , and say, ‘God knows the rest,
and Penny’s very tired.’”

Mr. Roscorla laughed, and Mabyn hated him for laugh-
ing. But what could she expect? Here was her own |
sister telling the story in a jocular way; and she re-
membered bitterly that when Wenna first told it to her
two great tears sprang toher eyes, and the end of the
narrative was rather confused. Now it was only a joke.
There could be no doubt, the younger sister said to her-
self with a great anger at her heart, that Wenna’s sweet
and tender nature was being perverted and destroyed
by the influence of this horrid old wretch of 4 lover of
hers, and the sooner he went in quest of that deadly
emerald ring the better. ,

Mabyn said her prayers that night in the ordinary and
formal fashion. She prayed for her father and mother
and for her sister Wenna, asshe had been taught; and
she added in the Princess of Wales on her own account,
because she liked her pretty face. She also prayed that
she herselfshould be made humble and good, desirous
of serving her fellow-creatures, and charitable to every-
one. All this was done in due order.

But in point of fact her heart was at that moment far
from being meek and charitable ; it was, on the con-
trary, filled with bitterness and indignation, And the
real cry of her soul, unknown to herself, went out to
all the vague, imaginative powers of magic and witch-
craft—to the mysterious influences of the stars and the
strange controllers of chance ; and it was to these that
she looked for the rescue of her sister from the doom
that threatened her, and to them that she appealed with
a yearning far too great for words, or even for tears.
When she was but 4 child playing among the
rocks she had stumbled on the dead body. of a
sailor that had been washed ashore, and she
had run, white and trembling, into the Village with the
news. Afterward she was told that on the hand of the
corpse a ring with'a green stone in it was found; and
then'she heard for the first time the rhyme that had
never since left her memory. She certainly did not
wish that Mr. Roscorla should die, but she as certainly
wished that her sister Wenna should be saved from
becoming ‘his wife; ‘and she reflected with a. fierce
satisfaction that it ‘was she who had driven him to
Promise that Wenna’s engaged ring should be composed
of those fatal stones. 63 ’

SIW #it Ls 2 es

 

CHAPTER X.

THE SNARES OF LONDON.

Iv Mr. Harry Trelyon was bent on going to the devil,
to use his own phrase, he went a quiet way about. it,
On the warm and close evening of,a summer’s day he
arrived in London. .A redsmoke hung about the west-
ern sky. over the tops of the houses ; the thoroughfares
that were in shadow were filled with apale blue mist;
the air was still and_stifling—very. different from that
which came in at night from the sea to the gardensand
cottages of Eglosilyan,. He drove down through these
hot.and crowded streets.to a hotel near. Charing Cross
—an old-fashioned little. place much frequented. by
west country people, who sometimes. took rooms there
and brought their daughters up for 4 month or so of
the season, at which time no other, guests could, obtain
admission. At ordinary.times, howeyer, the place was
chiefly tenanted by a few country gentlemen and.a
clergyman. or two, who had small sitting-rooms, in
which they dined with their families, and in which they
drank a glass of something hot before going to bed at
night after coming home from the theater.

Harry Trelyon.was familiar with the place and its
ways, and the traditions of his father and grandfather
having invariably come to it; and, following in their
footsteps, he too obtained a private sitting-room as well
as a bed-room, and then he ordered dinner. It was not
much in the way ofa banquet. for a young gentleman
who was determined to go to the deyil. It consisted of
a beefsteak and a pint of claret, and it was served in a
fairly-sized, old-fashioned, dimly-lit room, the furniture
of which was of that very substantial. sort that is war-
ranted to look dingy*for a couple of generations. He
was attended by a very old and shrunken waiter, whose
white whiskers were more respectable than his shabby
clothes. On. his first entrance.into the room he had
looked at the young man who, in arough shooting suit,
was stretched out at full length in am easy chair; and
in answering a question he had addressed him by his
name.

“How do you know my name?” the lad said.

“ Ah, sir, there’s no mistaking one o’ your family. I
can remember your grandfather, and your uncle, and
your father. Did you never hear, sir, that I was a wit-
ness for your father at the police-court ?””

“ What row was that?” the young gentleman asked,
showing his familiarity with the tact that the annals of
the Trelyons were of a rather stormy character.

“Why, sir,” the old man said, warming up into little
excitement, and unconsciously fallin, to something
like the provincial accent of his youth, “I believe you
was in the hotel at the time—yes, as well as I can
recollect i was a little chap then, and had gone to
bed. Well, maybe I’m wrong—’tis a good few years
agone, But anybom, your father and that good lady,
your mother, they were a-coming home from a theater ;
and there was two or three young fellers on the pave-
ment—I was the porter then, sir—and I think that one
of ’em called out to the other, ‘ Well, here’s a country
beauty,’ orsome such cheek. Butanyhow, your father,
sir, he knocks him aside, and takes his good lady into the
door of the hotel, and then they was for follerin’ of him,
but as soon as she was inside then he turns, and there
was a word or two, and one of’em he ups with a stick,
and says I to myself, ‘I can’t, stand a-by and see three
or four set on one gentleman ;’ but lor! sir— Well,
you wouldn’t believe it, but before I could make a step
there was two of ’em lyin’ on the payement—clean,
straight down, sir, with their hats running into the
stree d the other two making off as fast as they
could bolt across the square. Oh, lor, sir, wa’n’t it
beautiful! And the way as your father turned and says
he to me, with a laugh like, ‘Tomlins,’ says he, ‘you
can give them eons aglass of brandy and water
when they ask forit! And the magistrate, sir, he was
8 real sensible gentleman, and he gave it hot to these
fellers, for they began the row, sir, and no mistake ; but
eae way they went down—lor, sir, you can’t be-

eve it!”
#3 Oh, can’t I, though?’ Master Harry said with a
roar of eee “Don’t you make any mistake, I
say, what did you say your name was ?”

“My name, sir,” said the old man, suddenly sinking
from the epic heights, which had lent a sort of inspira-
tion to his face, down to the ordinary chasténed and re-
spectful bearing of a waiter—‘‘my name, sir, in the ho-
tel is Charles, but your good father, sir, he knowed my
name, which is Tomlins, sir.”

“Well, look here, Tomlins,” the boy said, “you go
and ask the landlady to give you a holiday this evening,
and come in and smoke a pipe with me.”’

“Oh, lor, sir,” the old waiter said, aghast at the very
notion, “I couldn’t do that! It would be as much as
my place is worth.”

“Oh, never mind your place—I’ll get you a better
one,” the lad said, with a sort of royal carelessness.
“Tll get a place down in Cornwall. You come and
help our butler; he’s a horrid old fool. When I come
of age I mean to build a house there for myself. No, I
think I shall have rooms in London ; anyhow, I'll give
you one hundred pounds a year.”

The old man shook his head: “No, sir—thank you
very much, sir. 1’m too old to begin again. You want
a younger man then me. Beg your pardon, sir, hut
they’re ringing for me.”

“ Poor ol beggar !” said Trelyon ;o himself when the
waiter had left the room: “I wonder if he’s married,
and if he’s got any kids that one could help? And so he
re witness for my father? Well, he shan’t suffer for

hat.”

Master Harry finished his steak and his pint of claret:
then he lit a cigar, got into a hansom and drove up to a
streetin Seven Dials, where he at length discovered
acertain shop. The shutters were on the. windows,
and a stout old lady was taking in from the door the
last of the rabbit-hutches and cages that had been. ont
there during the evening.

“You're Mrs. Finch, ain’t you?” Trelyon said, mak-

 

ing his way into the shop, which, was lit insideby a
solitary jet of gas.

“Yes, sir,” said the woman; looking up) at the tall
young man in the ‘rough shooting costume and brown
wideawake.

“Well, my name’s Trelyon, and I’m come to blow you
up. Apretty mess youmade of that flamingo for me ;
why, bishop in lawn sleeves -could’t have stuffed it
worse. Where didyou ever see a bird with a neck like
acorkscrew? And-whem I, opened it-to put it. straight,
then I found outall your tricks, Mrs: Fineh.’’

“But you know, sit,” said Mrs. Finch, smiling bland-
ly, “it.ain't ourline.of business.” :

“Well, I'd advise you to get somebody. else’ next time
to stuff foryou., However, I bear you no malice. You
show me what. you've got in the way of live-stock. and
if you take fifty per cent. off your usual. prices, \I'll let
the corkscrew flaming go.”’

A minute thereafter he was being conducted down
some very. dark steps into a subterranean cellar by this
stout old woman, who carried a vandle in front of him.
Their entrance into this large, dismal and strangely-filled
place—at the farther end of which was.a grating looking
up.to the street—awoke a profound commotion among
the animals around. | Cocks began to crow, suddenly
awakened birds fluttered up, and. down, their cages.
parroquets and cockatoos opened their sleepy eye, and
mechanically repeated. ‘Pretty, Poll!’’ and,‘ Good-
night! good-night!” Even the rabbits stared solemnly
from behind)the bars:

“What have you got there?’ said, Trelyon to his
guide, pointing toa railway milk-can which stood in the
corner nearly filled with earth.

“A mole, sir,” said Mrs, Finch; “ it is a plaything of
one of my boys, but I could let you have it, sir, if you
have any curiosity that way.”

“Why, bless you, I’ve had ’em by the dozen, , I don’t
know how many I’ve let escape into our kitchen-garden,
all with a string tied to their leg. Don’t they go down
a cracker if you let ’°em loose for a second | should
say that fellow in there was rather disgusted when he
came to the tin, don’t you think? Got any cardinals,
Mrs. Finch? Llost every one o’ them you sent me.”

“Dear? dear me!’’ said Mrs. Finch, showing very
great concern.

“ Ay, you may well say that... Every one o’ them, and
aboutforty more birds besides before 1 found out what it
was—an infernal weasel that had made its way into the
rock-work of my aviary, and there he lived at his ease
for nearly a fortnight, just killing whatever he, chose;
and the beggar seemed to have a fancy for the prettiest
birds. _I had to pull the whole place:to pieces before I
found. him out; and there he. was, grinning and snarl-
ing in acorner. By Jove! dida’t I hit him a whack
with a stick I had! There were no more birds for him
in this world.’’

At this moment Mrs. Finch’s husband and two of her
small boys came down stairs; and very soon the conyers
sation on natural history became general, each one anx-
ious to give his experience of the wonderful things he
had observed, even if his travels had carried him no far-
ther than Battersea Reaches. Master Harry forgot that
he had left a hansom at the door. There was scarcely
an animal in this dungeon that he did not examine; and
when he suddenly discovered that it was considerably
past eleven o’clock, he found himself the owner of about
as much property as would have filled two cabs. He
went up stairs, dismissed the hansom and got a four-
wheeler, in which he deposited the various cages, fish-

lobes and what not that he had bought; and then he

ve off to his hotel, getting all the waiters in the place
to assist in cmnerine these various objects tenderly up
stairs. Thus ended his first evening in London, the
cheap result of which was that his sitting-room had as-
sumed the appearance of a bird-catcher’s window,

Next forenoon he walked up into Hyde Park to have a
look at the horses. Among the riders he recognized
several people whom he knew—some of them, indeed.
zeuet to him—but he was careful to take no notice of

em.

“ These women,” he said to himself in a sensible man-
ner, “ don’t want to recognize a fellow who has a wide-
awake on. They would do it, though, if you presented.
yourself; and they would ask you to lunch or tea in the
afternoon. Then you'd find yourself among a lot ot
girls, all with their young men about them; and the
young men would wonder how the dickens you camé to
be in a shooting-coat in London.” ‘

So he pursued his way, and at length found himself
in the Zoological Gardens. He sat for nearly an hour
staring at the lions and tigers, imagining all sorts of in-
cidents as he looked at their sleepy and cruel eyes, and
wondering what‘one splendid fellow would do if he went
down and stroked his nose. He had the satifaction also
of seeing the animals fed, and he went round with the
man, and he had an interesting conversation with him.

Thenhe went and had some luncheon himself, and
got into talk with the amiable young lady who waited
on him, who expressed in generous terms, with a few
superfluous 2’s, the pleasure which she derived from
going to the theater.

“ Oh, do you like it?” he said carelessly. “I never
go. I always fall asleep—country habits, you know.
But you get somebody to go with you, and I'll send you.
a couple of places for to-morrow night, if you like.”

“ I think I could get some one to take me," said the
young lady with a pretty little simper.

« Yes, Ishould think you could,” he said bluntly.
“ What’s your name?” ‘

He,.wrote it down on one of his own cards} and went
his way.

The next place of entertainment he: visited wae an
American bowling-alley in the neighborhood of Covent
Garden, 3 highly respectable place to which gentlemen
resorted for the purpose of playing's refined sort of skit-
tles. Master Harry merely wanted to practice, and also
stretch his arms and Jegs. He hadjust: begun, how *
ever, to send the big balls. crashing: into the pins at th.’
farther end of the long alley, when the only visitor in
 

12

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

¥
the place—a ssailor-looking person with a red face, who
was smoking s very elaborate meerschaum—offered to
play agame with him.

“All right!” said Trelyon.

“For 4 couple of bob?” says the stranger.

“Do you mean two shillings?” asks the young man,
calmly looking down upon the person with the red
face ; for of course Harry Trelyon never used slang.

“ Yes,”’ said the other with much indifference, as he
selected one of the balls.

They played a game, and Trelyon won easily. They
played another and again hewon. They played a third,
still he won.

“Oh, let’s play for a sovereign,” said the stranger.

“No,” said the young man, “I’m going.”

Well, this did not{seem at‘allto suit his opponent, who
became rather demonstrative in manner. He didnot
like gentlemen coming in to win money without giving
a fellow a chance of winning it back. At this Trelyon
turned suddenly—he had not ed put on his coat—and
said, “What do you mean? won’t play any more,
but I’ll knock the head off you in two minutes if that’ll
suit you better.”

The gentleman with the red face paused for a minute.
He was evidently in a nasty temper. He looked at
the build of the young man ; he also observed that one
of the assistants was drawing near; and still he said
nothing. Whereupon. Master Harry quietly put on his
coat, lit a cigar, gave a friendly nod to his late oppo-
nent and walked out.

In this wise he lounged about London for a day or
two, looking in at Tattersall’s, examining new breech-
loaders in shops in St. James’s Street, purchasing
ingenuities in fishing-tackle, and very frequently feed-
ing the ducks’ in thé Serpentine with bread bought of
the hoys. standing round. It was not a very lively sort
of existence, he found. Colonel Ransome had left for
Scotland on'the very day before his arrival in London, so
that peaceable and orderly means of getting that dowry
for Wenna Rosewarne were not at hand; and Master
Harry, though he was enough of a devil-may-care, had
no intention of going to the Jews for the money until
he was ‘driven to that. Colonel Ransome, moreover,
had left his constituents unrepresented in the House
during the last few days-of the session, and had quietly
gone off to Scotland for the Twelfth, so that it was im-
possible to say when he might return. Meanwhile,
young ‘Irelyon made the acquaintance of whatever
birds, beasts and fishes he could find in London, until
he got'a little tired.

All of a sudden it struck him one evening, as a happy
relief, that hé would sit down and write to Winna Rose-
warne, He ordered'in pens, ink and paper with much
solemnity; and then he said to the old waiter, “ Tom-
lins, how'do you spell ‘ retriever?’ ”

“T ain’t quite sure, sir,” Tomlins said.

Whereupon Master Harry had to begin and compose
that letter which we have already read, but which cost
him amamount of labor not visiblé in the lines as they
stand. He threw away a dozen sheets of paper before
he even mastered a beginning: and it was certainly an
hour and #half before he had produced a copy which
more or less ‘satisfied him. ‘Mr. Roscorla noticed at
once the’pains ‘he had taken with the writing.

Then in due course came the answer; and Master
Harry paused with much satisfaction to look at the
pretty handwriting on the envelope: he did ‘not often
get letters from young ladies. The contents, howeyer,
did not please him quite so much, They were these :

‘ EGLosILYan, a 3, 18—,

DraR. MR, TRELYON: Thank you very much for giving
me your beautiful dog. I shall take great care of him,
and) if,you want him for the shooting you can: have him
ai,any, time... But Lam ‘surprised you should write to
me when I hear.that you have not written to: your own

relatives, and, that they do not éven. krow*where you |

are.) Leannot nuderstand: how you shouldbe: so! <are-
less of the feelings, of others. I-amsure’ it is thought:
lessness rather.than selfishness on your part; but Dhope
you will write to them at once,
called, and L haye given him your address: r
Iam yours sincerely; :
“ Wrxwa RosiwARNE.”*

Harry Trelyon was at once vexed and pléased by this
letter—-probably more vexed than pleased, for’hée threw
it impatiently-on the table, and said to himself: “‘She’s
always reading lectures to people, and always making @
fuss of nothing., She was meant for a Puritan: she
should have gone out.in the Mayjlyto America,’

Mayfly for Mayflower was perhaps a natural mistake
fora tronut-fisher to make, but Master Harry was un-
aware of it. He passed on to more gloomy fancies.
What was this parson about that he should come inquir-
ing for his address of Wenna Rosewarne? How had he
found out that she knew it ?

“Come,” said he to himself, “this won’t do. I must
go down to Cornwall. And if there are any spies push-
ng their noses into my affairs, let em look out fora
tweak, that’s all!’

a

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE TWO PICTURES.

“ On, Mabyn,” Wenna called out in despair, “you
wh _ all my hair down. “Haye you gone quite
mi

Kes, yoy the younger sister said with a wild en-
joyment her eyes. “Oh, Wenna, he’s’ gone, he’s
gone! and he’s gone toget you an emerald ring! Don’t
you know, you poor y thing, that green’s forsaken,
and yellow’s forsworn ?’ »

“Well, Mabyn,” the elder sister said, laughing in
spite of sherself, “You ave the wickedest girl I ever
heard of, and I wonder I am not angry with you.”

At this moment they were returning are,
along the highway; and far away behind
them, on the road that crosses the bleak and lofty

Mr. Barnes has.just.

 

moors, the dog-cart was faintly visible which was taking
Mr. Roscorla on his first stage toward London. He had
driven the two sisters out for about a mile, and now
they were going back; and Mabyn was almost beside
herself with delight jthat he was gone, and that her
sister had shown no great grief at his going. Their
parting, indeed, had been of a most unromantic kind,
much to the relief of both. Mr. Roscorla was rather
late, and Wenna devoted her last words to impressing
on him that he must have something to eat in Launces-
ton before going down to the Plymouth train. Then
she bade him make haste, and said good-bye with a
kindly smlle on her face, and away he went.

“Mabyn,” she said in a mysterious voice, which
stopped her sister’s pulling her about, “ do you think—
te! do you really think—Mr. Pavy would lend us his

$2’

“Oh, Wenna,” the other one cried, “do let us have
the boat out! Do you know that the whole air seems
clearand light since Mr. Roscorla has gone? Ishould
like to thank everybody in the world {for being so kind
as to take him away. Wenna, I’lljrun you to Basset Cot-
tage for half a crown!”

“You |’ said the elder sister, with great contempt.
“Tl apn you to the mill fora hundred thousand
pounds.”

“No, Wenna—Basset Cottage, if you like,” said Mabyn
sturdily; and with that both the girls set out, with
their heads down, in'a business-like fashion that showed
there"was very little the matter with their lungs.

** Oh, Mabyn‘l” said Wenna "suddenly; and then both
of them found that they had very nearly run into the
arms of a clergyman—an elderly, white-haired, amiable-
looking gentleman, who was rather slowly toiling up
the hill. Mabyn looked frightened, and then laughed:
but Wenna, with her cheeks very, red, went forward and
shook hands with him.

* Well, girls,’ he said, “you needn’t stop running for
me—a capital exercise, a capital exercise, that young
ladies in towns don’t have much of. And as for you,
Wenna, you’ve plenty of work of a sedentary nature,
eee better than a good race, nothing

etter.” -

“ And how’'is your little granddaughter this morning,
Mr. Trewhella?” said’ Wenna, gently, with her cheeks
still flushed with the running. :

«“ Ah well, poor child! she is much ‘about the same;
but the “pin-cushion is néarly finished now, and your
name ison it in silver beads; and you are to come and
have tea with her as soon as you ‘can, that she may
give it to you. Dear! dear! she was asking her mother
yesterday whether ‘the beads would carry all her love
to you, for'she did not think it possible herself. ‘Well,
good-bye, girls; don’t you be ashamed of having a race
together; “with which ‘the kindly-faced clergyman
resumed his task of ascending ‘the ‘hill, and the two
girls, abandoning their racing, walked quickly down to
the harbor to sée if they could persuade the silént, and
surly Mr. Pavy to let them have his boat.

Meanwhile, Mr. Roscorla drove along the silent high-
way in George Rosewarne’s dog-cart, and in due time he
reached Launceston, and took the train for Plymouth.
Hestayed in Plymouth that night, having some busi-
ness to do there ; and néxt morning he found himself
in'the “Flying Dutchman,” tearing along the iron rails
toward London.

Now it was a fixed habit of Mr. Roscorla to try to get
as near as possible to a clear and definite understand-
ing of his relations with the people and things around
him. He did not wish to have anything left vague and
nebulous, even as regarded a miere sentiment ; and as
this was the ‘first’ time he had got cléar away from
Eglosilyan and the lifé there since the beginning of his
engagement, hé calmly set about defining the position
in which he stood ‘with regard to Wena Rosewarne,

There were a few unsatisfactory matters to dispose
of? In thé first placé/he ‘was conscious of @ little -hy-
pocrisy in his bearing: toward’ lier; and he would*not
have minded the hypocrisy—for he did ‘not believe that
anybody ‘was quite honest—but' that the necessity for
it made him impatient. Besides, might she not re-

proachvhim'afterward“when- she‘ found it'out, and con-.

sider herself aggtidved;'and grow sulky ? :
But the chief matter’ for Giscontént that he had

was the: probable’wonder of ‘the world over the: fact.

that hé‘intended" to’ marry an’ innkeeper’s daughter.
All thé*world could not’ know the sufficient reasons ‘he
had advanced to himself for that stép;’ nor could they
know. ofthe very gradual way in ‘which ‘he had ap-
proached it. Every one would consider it as an abrupt
and ‘luditrous ‘act of folly: his very’ kindest, friends
would call it. an odd freak of romance. Now, Mr. Ros-
corla felt that at his time of life to be accused of ro-
mance was to be accused of silliness; and he resolved
that whenever he had a chance he,wonld let people
know that his choice of Wenna Rosewarne was dictated
by the most ‘simple and commonplace arguments of
prudence, such as would govern the conduct of any
sane man.

He resolved, too, that he would clearly impress on
Harry Trelyon—whom he expected to see at Nolan’s—
that this project of marriage with Miss Rosewarne was
precisely what a man of the world placed in his position
would entertain. - He did not wholly like Master Harry.
There was an ostentatious air of youth about the young
man, .There was a bluntness in his speech, too, that
transgressed the limits of courtesy, Nor did he quite
admire the off-handed’ fashion in which Harry Trelyon
talked to the Rosewarnes, and more especially to the

ls: he wished Miss Wenna Rosewarne, at least, to

treated with a little more formality and respect.

At the same time he would endeavor to remain good

friends with this ill-mannered boy, for reasons to be
ie apparent. a ‘

When he arrived at Noian’s notei he took a bed-
room there; and then sent in a card to Harry Tre-
lyon. ° He found that young gentleman up on s, chair
trying’ to catch a ‘V) an nightingale that, had
escaped from one of the cages; and he nearly stumbled

 

over a tame hedgehog that ran pattering over the car-
pet, because his attention was drawn to a couple of very

ong-eared rabbite sitting on an easy-chair. Master
Harry paid no attention to him until the bird was
caught; then he came down, shook hands with him
carelessly, and said: ‘How odd you should stumble in
here! Or did Wenna Rosewarne tell you I was at
Nolan’s ?”

“Yes, Miss Rosewarne did,” said Mr. Roscorle. “You
have quite a menagerie here. Do you dine here or
down stairs ?’”’

“Oh ! here, of course.”’

“Ithought you might come and dine with me this
evening at my club. Five minutes’ walk from here,
you know. Will you ?”

“ Yes, I will, if you don’t mind this elegant costume.

Mr. Roscorla was precisely the person tomind the
dress of aman whom he was taking to his club; but he
was very well aware that whatever dress young Trelyon
wore no one could mistake him for anything than a
gentleman. He was not at all averse to being seen with
Master Harry in this rough costume: he merely sug-
gested, with a smile, that a few feathers and bits of
thread might be removed; and then in the quiet sum-
mer evening they went outside and walked westward.

“Now this is the time,”’ Mr. Roscorla said, “when
Pall Mall looks interesting tome. ‘There is a sort of
quiet and strong excitement aboutit. All that smoke
there over the club chimneys tells of the cooking going
forward: and you will find old boys having a iy iook in
at the dining-room to see that their tables are all right;
and then friends come in and smooth out their white
ties, and have a drop of sherry. and Angostura bitters
while they wait. All this district is full of » silent
satisfaction and hope just now. ButI can’t get yous
good dinner, Trelyon: you'll have to take your chance,
you know. I have got out of the ways of the club now:
I don’t know what they can do.”

“ Well, I’m not nasty partickler,” Trelyon said, which
re ane “But what has brought you up to Lon-

on.?’?

“ Well, I’ll tellyou. | It’s rather an awkward business
one way. Tare got ashare in some coffee and sugar
plantations in Jamaica—I think you know that—and
you are aware that the emancipation of the niggers
simply cut the throat of the estate there. The beggars
won't work; and lots of the plantations have been going
down ‘and down, or rather back and back, into the
original wilderness. Well, my partners here see no way
out of it but one—to import labor, have the plantations
thoroughly overhauled and set in good working order.
But that. wants) money.» They have got money—I
haven’t; and so, to tell you the truth, I am at my wits’
end as to how to raise a few thousands to join them in
the undertaking.”

This piece of intelligence rather startled Harry Tre-
lyon. He instantly. recalled the project which had
brought himself to London; and'asked himself whether
he was prepared to give asum of five thousand pounds to
Wenna Rosewarne merely that it should be transferred
by her to her husband, who would forthwith embarkin
speculation with it. §Well, he was not prepared to do
that off-hand,

They went into the'club, which was near the corner of
St. James’s Street, and Mr. Roscorla ordered a quiet
little dinner, the menu of which was constructed with
a neatness and skill altogether thrown away. on his
guest. In due time Master Harry_sat down at the small
table, and accepted with much indifference the delica-
cies which his companion had prepared for him. But
all the same he enjoyed his dinner—particularly a
draught of ale he had with his cheese; after which the
two strangers went up toa quiet corner.in the. smok-
ing-room, lay down on a couple of big easy-chairs and
lit‘theircigars. «During dinner their talk had mostly
beem aboutishooting, varied ‘with anecdotes which Mr.
Roscorla told of men about town.

“Now, however, Mr.'‘Roscotla became more communi-

cative about his own affairs; and’ it’ seemed to Trelyon _

that these-wererather in-a bad way. And it also’ oc-
curred’ to him ‘that there’ was perhaps a little mean-
ness in’ his réadiness ‘to give five thousand pounds
direct to Wenna Rosewarne, and in his disinclination to
jend the'same sum “to her future husband, whose in-
texvésts of course would be hers. ‘

“Look here,” Roscorla, he said’ “Honor bright, do
you.think you. can make anything ont of this scheme?
or is the place. like one, of those beastly old mines in
which you throw good money after bad?”

Roscorla, answered, honestly enough—but with per-
haps a trifle. unnecessary emphasis when he saw that
the young man was inclined to. accept the hint—that
he. believed the. project to bé a sound one; that his
partners were putting far more money into it than he
would; that the merchants who were his agents in
London knew the property and approved of the scheme;
and ‘that if he could raise the money he would himself
go Pay in a few months’ time to see the thing properly
sta: a

He did not press the matter further than that for the
present; and so their talk drifted away into other chan-
nels, until it found its way back to eecniyer. to the
Rosewarnes and to Wenna. That is to say, Mr. Ros-
corla spoke of Wenna: Trélyon was generally silent on
that one point.

“You must not imagine,” Mr. Roscorla said with a
——_ “that I took this. step without much delibera-
tion,” oe
“So did she, I suppose,” Trelyon said, rather coldly.

“Well, yes—doubtless,” Roscorla “But I
daresa; Hunt Saoia will think it rather e that I
should marry an innkeeper’s paneer: they think
I have been struck with asudden fit of idiotic ro ce,”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” the lad. said, with ni
visible in his face to tell whether he was guilty of a
mere blunder or of intentional impertinence, ‘Many
elderly gentlemen marry their, housekeepers, and in
most cases wisely as far as I have seen.”

“ Oh, but that is another thing,” said Roseorla, with

nats
 

nats

 

THREE FEATHERS.

8

 

 

his face flushing slightly, and, inclined to be ill-tem-
pered., ‘ There isa great difference: I am not old
enough to want.a nurse yet. I have chosen Miss Rose-
warne because she is possessed of certain qualities cal-
culated to make her an agreeable companion for a man
like myself. I have done it quite deliberately and with
my eyes open. I am not blinded by the vanity that
makes a boy insist on having a particular girl become
hia wife because she has a pretty face and he wants to
show her to his friends.”

«“ And yet there isnot much the matter with Wenna
Rosewarne’s face,” said Trelyon, with the least sngges-
tion of sarcasm.

“Oh, as for that,’’ Roscorla said, “that does not con-
cern aman who looks at life from my point of view.
Certainly, there are plainer faces than Miss Rose-
warne’s. She has good eyes and teeth, and besides that
she has a good figure, you know.”

Both these men, as they lay idling in this smoking.
room, were now thinking of Wenna Rosewarne, and in-
dolently and inadvertently forming some picture of her
in their minds. Of the two, that of Mr. Roscorla was
by far the more accurate.

He could have described every lineament of her face
and every article of her dress as she appeared to him on
bidding him good-bye the day before on the Laun-
ceston highway.

The dress was a soft light brown, touched here and.

there with deep and rich cherry color, Her face was
turned sideways to him, and looking up; the lips
partly open with a friendly smile, and showing
beautiful teeth; the earnest dark eyes filled with a
kindly regard; the eyebrows. high, so that they gavea
timid and wondering look to the face; the forehead low
and sweet, with some loose brown hair about it that the
wind stirred. He knew every feature of that face and
eyery varying look of the eyes, whether they were
pleased and grateful, or sad and distant, or overbrimming
with a humorous and malicious fun. He knew the
shape of her hands, the graceful poise of her waist and
neck, the very way she put down her foot in a
Hoe was thoroughly well aware of the appearance whic
the girl he meant to marry presented to the unbiased
eyes of the world.

Harry Trelyon’s mental picture of her was far more
vague and unsatisfactory. Driven into a corner, he
would have admftted to you that Wenna Rosewarne
was not very good-looking, but that would not have af-
fected his fixed and private belief that he knew no wo-
man who had so beautiful and tender a face. For,
somehow, when he thought of her, he seemed to see
her, as he had often seen her, go by him on a summer
morning on her way to church; and as the sweet small
Puritan would turn to him and say in her gentle way,
«Good-morning Mr. Trelyon,”’ he would feel vexed and
ashamed that he had been found with a gun in his
hand, and be inclined to heave it into the nearest
ditch. Then she would go on. her way, along between
the green hedges, in the summer light; and the look of
her face that remained in his memory was as the look
of’an angel, calm and sweot, and never to be for-
gotten.

“ Of course,” said Mr. Roscorla in this smoking-room,
“if Igo to Jamaica I must get married before I start.”

 

PART IV.—CHAPTER XII.
THE CHAIN TIGHTENS,

Onoz, and once only, Wenna broke down. She had
gone out into the night all by herself, with some vague
notion that the cold, dank sea-air—sweet with the scent
of the roses in the cottage gardens—would be eeehy
cool as it came around her face. The day had been
stormy, and the sea was high—she could hear the
waves dashing in on the rocks at the mouth of the har-
bor—but the heavens were now clear, and over the
dark earth the great vault of stars throbbed and burned
in silence. She was alone, for Mr. Roscorla had not re-
turned from London, and Mabyn had not noticed her
slipping out. And here, in the cool sweet darkness, the
waves seemed to call on her in a low and melancholy
voice, A great longing and trouble came somehow into
her heart, and drove her’ to wander onward as if she
should find,rest in the mere loneliness of the night, un-
til at length there was nothing around her but the dark
jand and the sea and the white stars.

She could not tell what wild and sad feeling this
was that had taken possession of her: but she knew
that she had suddenly fallen away from the calm con-
tent of the wife that was to be, with all the pleasant
sensation of gratitude toward him who had honored
her, and the noless pleasant consciousness that her im-
portance in the world and her power of helping the
pois around her were indefinitely increased. She

ad become again the plain Jim’ Orow of former days,
longing to be able to do some indefinitely noble and
unselfish thing—ready, indeed, to lay her life down,
so that she might earn some moasure of kindly re-
gard by ‘the sacrifice. And once more she reflected
that she had no-great influence in the world, that she
was_of no account to anybody, that she was plain
and small and insignificant; and the great desire in her
heart of being of distinct and beautiful service to the
many people whom she loved, seemed to break itself
against these narrow bars, until the cry of the sea
around her was a cry of pain, and the stars looked cold-
ly down on‘hér, and eyen God himself seeméd far away
and indifferent.

“Tf Icould only tell some one! if T could only tell
#ome ‘one!” she was saying to herself wildly a3 ‘she
walked rapidly onward, not peeing yery well where she
‘was going, for her eyes were full of tears. “But if I
tell Mabyn, she will ‘say that I fear this marriage, and
go straight to Mr, Roscorla; and if I tell my mother,

she will think me ungrateful to him and to every one:

around me. And how can I explain to them what'l
cannot explain to myself? And if I cannot explain it to
‘myself, is it-not mere folly to yield to such # feeling ?”

 

The.question was easily asked and easily answered,
and with much show of bravery she proceeded to ask
herself other questions, less easily answered.

She began to reproach herself with ingratitude, with
vanity, with a thousand errors and evil qualities; she
would teach herself humility; she would endeavor to
be contented and satisfied in the position in which she
found herself; she would reflect on the thousands of
miserable people who. had real reason to complain, and
yet. bore their sufferings with fortitude; and she would
now—straightway and at once—return to her own room,
get out.the first letter Mr. Roscorla had written her,
and convince herself once more that she ought to be
happy.

The climax was a strange one. She had been persuad-
ing herself that there was no real cause for this sudden
fit of doubt and wretchedness. She had been anticipat-
ing her sister’s probable explanation, and dismissing it.
And yet, as she turned and walked back along the. nar-
row path leading down to the bridge, she comforted
herself with the notion that Mr. Roscorla’s letter
would reassure her and banish these imaginary sorrows.
She had frequently read over that letter, and she knev
that its arguments were incontrovertible. 4

“Oh, Wenna!’’ Mabyn cried, “what has been trou-
bling you? Do you know that your face is quite white?
Have you been out all by yourself?”

Wenna, on getting home, had gone into the little
snuggery which was once a bar, and which was now
George Rosewarne’s smoking-room. Mabyn and her
father had been playing chess—the board and pieces
were still on the table.

Wenna sat down, apparently a little tired. “Yes, I
have been out fora walk,” she said.

“«Wenna, tell me what is the matter with you,” the
younger sister said imperatively.

“There is nothing the matter. Well, I suppose you
will tease me until I tell you something. I have hada
fit of despondency, Mabyn, and that’s all—despondency
over nothing; and now Iam -quite cured, and do you
think Jennifer could get me a cup of tea? Well, why
do you stare? Is there anything wonderful in it? [
suppose every girl must get frightened a little bit when
she thinks of all that may happen to her—especially
when she is alone ; and of course it is very ungrateful
of her to have any such doubts, though they mean no-
thing, and she ought to be ashamed” ——

She stopped suddenly. To her dismay she found that
she was admitting to Mabyn the very reasons which she
expected to have to combat, She saw what she had
done in the éxpression of Mabyn’s face—in the proud,
indignant mouth and the half-concealed anger of the
eyes.

The younger sister was silent for a minute, and then
she said passionately, “If there’s anyone to be ashamed,
it isn’t you, Wenna. I knowwho it is. As for you,I
don’t know what has come over you of late, You aretry-
ing to be meeker and meeker, and more humble and
more grateful ; and all for what? What have you to be
grateful for? And you are losing all your fun and your
good spirits ; and you are-getting to be just like the
children in story-books, that repeat texts and get good-
er and gooder every day until they are only fit for
heaven ; and I'am sure I am always glad when the little
beasts die. Oh, Wenna! I would rather see you do the
wickedest thing in all the world if it would only bring
you back to your old self.”

“Why, you foolish girl, I am my old self,” the elder
sister said, quietly taking off her bonnet and laying it
on the, table, “Is Jennifer up stairs? Who is in the
parlor?’
~ “Oh, your sweetheart is in the parlor,’ said Mabyn
with badly-concealed contempt. “He is just arrived
from London. I suppose he is telling mother about his
rheumatism.”

“ He hasn’t got any rheumatism—any more than you
have,” Wenna said with some asperity.

«Oh, yes, he has,”’ the younger sister said, inventing
a diabolical story for the mere purpose of getting Wen-
na into a rage; she would rather have her in a succes-
sion of tempers than the victim of this chastened méek-
ness. “And gout too—I can see by the color of his
nails. Of course he hasn’t told you, for you’re such a
simpleton he takes advantage of you. And he is very
near-sighted, but he pretends he doesn’t need specta-
cles. I am. told he has fearful debts hanging oyer
his head in London, and that he only came hereto hide;
and if you marry him you'll.see what will come to
you.

Mabyn was not very successful in making her sister
angry. Wenna only laughed in her gentle fashion, and
put her light shawl beside her bonnet;.and then went
along the passage to the parlor, in which Mr, Roscorla
and her mother were talking.

The meeting of the lovers after their temporary sep-
aration was not an impassioned one. They shook hands;
Wenna hoped he was not fatigued by the long journey ;
and then, he resumed his task of describing to, Mrs.
Rosewarne the extraordinary appearance of Strelyon 3
sitting-room in Nolan’s hotel after the young gentleman
had filled it it with birds and beasts. Presently, how-
eyer,.Wenna’s mother made some pretence for getting
out of the room, and Mr. Roscorla and.his betrothed
were.left alone. He rarely got such an opportunity.

“ Wenna, I have brought you the ring,” said he; and
with a ne oe a Brest case from his pocket and
opened it, and produced a very prett sy ring stud-
aed with emeralds, PSSA RES 6 ;

Now, on the journey down from London he had defi-
nitely resolved that he would put an end to that embar-
rassment or shamefacedness which had hitherto pre-
vented his offering to kiss the girl whom he expected to
marry. He was aware that there was something ridicu-
Jous‘in his not having done so. He reflected that scarce-
ly. any human being would believe that he could have
been such a fool. Andit occurred to him ‘in the train
that the occasion of his giving Wenna her engaged ring
would be an excellent opportunity for breaking in upon
this absurd delicacy.

 

He went across the room to her. She sat still, per
haps 4 little paler than usual. Hoe took her hand, and
put the ring on, and then—— Thon it suddenly occurred
to him that there was something devilish in the potion
of his purchasing the right to kiss her by giving, hers
trinket. Not that any such scruple would have affected
him, but he was nervously sensitive as to what she
might think of him ; and doubtless she was familiar
with the story of Margaret and Faust’s casket of jew-
els. Soshe suddenly said, with an air of carelessnes#,
“‘Well, do you like it? You can’t quite tell the color of
the stones by lamplight, you know.”

Wenna was not thinking of the color of the stones.
Her hand trembled, her heart beat quickly: when she
did manage to answer him it was merely to say, in a
confused fashion, that she thought the ring very beau-
tiful indeed.

“You know,” he said with a laugh, “ I'don’t think men
like engaged rings quite as well as girls do. A girl gen-
erally seems to take such a fancy for an engaged ring
that she won’t change it for any other. I hope that
won’t be in your case, Wenna ; and, indeed, I wanted to
talk to you about it.”

He brought a chair close to her, and sat down beside
her and took her hand, Now, ordinarily, Wenna’s small,
white, plump hands were so warm that her sister used
to say that they tingled to the very tips of her fingers
with kindness, and were always wanting to give away
something. The hand which Mr. Roscorla held was as
cold and as impassive asice. He did notnotite: he was
engaged in preparing sentences,

“You know, Wenna,” said he, “that Iam not a rich
man. When I might have taught myself to work I had
just sufficient income to keep me idle; and now that
this income is growing less, and when I have greater
claims on it, [must try something. Well, my partners
and myself have thought of a scheme which I imagine
will turn out allright. They propose to wake up those
estates in Jamaica, and see if they can’t be made to pro-
duce something like what they used to produce. That
wants money. They have it: I haye not. It is true I
haye been offered the loan of a few thousand pounds,
but even if I accept it—and I suppose I must—that
would not put me on an equal footing with the other
men who are going into the affair. This, however, If
could do: I could go out there and do all in my power
to look after theirinterests and my own—see, in fact,
that the money was being properly expended before it
be too late. Now, I might be there a very long

me”——

“Yes,’’ said Wenna in a low voice, and rather inappro-
priately,

“Now, don’t let me alarm you, but do you think—
do you not think, in view of what might Ine rather a
Tong separation, that we ought to get married before T

ov
She suddenly and inadvertently withdrew her hend:
“Ohno! no! no!” she said, in a low and frightened
voice, “Oh, do not ask me to do that.” She was trem-
bling more than eyer, She could not understand.

“But don’t make any mistake. Wenna,” he said: “I
did not propose you should go with me. That would
bé asking toomuch. I don’t wish to take you to the
West Indies, because I might be there only for a few
months. All I wish is to have the bond that unites us
already made fast before I go, merely as a comfortable
thing to think of, don’t you know ?”

“Oh, it is too hasty, I am afraid; why should we be
in such a hurry?’ the girl said, still with her heart
beating so that she could scarcely speak.

“No,” he argued, “ you must not make another mis:
take, Before this scheme can be matured months must
elapse. I may not have to go out before the beginnin
of next year. Now, surely other six months want
make a sufficiently long engagement.”

“Oh, but the pledge is so terrible,” she said, and
scarcely knowing what she said.

Mr, Roscorla was at once astonished and vexed. That
was certainly not the mood in which a girl ought to
look forward to her marridge. He could not understand
this dread on her part. He began to ask himself
whether she would like to enjoy the self-importance
that her engagement had bestowed on her—the atten-
tions he paid her, the assistance he gave her in her
charitable labors, and the sort of Sey ata, over &
man which a girl enjoys during the betrothal period—
for an indefinite time, or perhaps with the hope that
the sudden destruction of all these things by marria,
might never arrive at all, Then he began to get a little
angry, and got up from the chair, and walked once or
twice up and down the room.

“Well,” said he, “I don’t understand you, T confess.
Except in this way, that our relations with each other
have not been so openly affectionate as they ‘might have
been, That Iadmit, Perhaps it was my fault. Paup- ©
pose, for example, you have been surprised that I hever
Offered to kiss you.”

There was something almost of « threat in the last few
words, and Wenna, with her cheeks suddenly burning
red, anxiously hastened to say, “Oh, not at all. It was
my fault. Iam sure if there was too great reserve it
was my fault; but I do not think there has been. It is
not that‘at all, but your wish seems so sudden ‘and so
unuecessary,”

“Don’t you see,” he said, interrupting her, “that if
our relations at Pia are not sufficiently frank and
confidential, nothing will mend that ‘so. sasily’as our
marriage? ‘And this that I ask of you ought to be as

agreeable to you as to me ; that is to say”’-——

He stopped, with alook of impatience on his face.
There was Some one coming: along’ the “passage. Ho
knew who it ‘was, too, for a young girl's yoice was doing

its best to imitate ina burlésque fashion a young man’s
voice, and Mr. Roscorla had already heard Harry Tre-
lyon, as he rode or drove. carelessly along, bawling to
himself, “Oh, the men of merry, merry England!" He
knew that his old enemy Mabyn was at hand.

That very clever imitation of Harry Trelyon was all
the warning that the young lady in question condos
    

4

ws ne einen Eemaneney

THREE _ FEATHERS,

 

 

 

cended to give of her approach. She opened the door
without ceremony, marched into the middle of the
room, and placed a bird-cage on the table.

“There!” said she, “can either of you tell me what
that bird is?” . a Y .

“Of course I can,” said Wenna, rising with a sensation
of great relief. : ;

“No you can’t,’ her pretty sister said. “It is sent
to you with Mr. Harry Trelyon’s compliments; and it
is something very wonderful indeed. What is it,
ladies and gentlemen? Don’t answer all at once.”

“Why, it is only ”’—— te

a aiping bullfinch—that’s what it is,’ said Mabyn
triumphantly.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
AN UNEXPECTED CONVERT.

Nexr morning was Sunday morning, and Wenna,
heying many things to think over by herself, started off
alone to church some little time before the others, and
chose a circuitous route to the small building which
stood on the high uplands over the sea. It was a beau-
tiful morning, still and peaceful, with the warmth of
the sunlight cooled by a refreshing western breeze ;°
and as she went along and up the valley her heart

radually forgot its cares, forshe was listening to the
firde singing, and picking up an occasional wild flower
or watching the slow white clouds cross the blue sky.
And as she walked quietly along in this way, finding
her life the sweeter for the sweet.air and the abundant
color and brightness of all the things around her, it
chanced that she saw Harry Trelyon coming across one
of the meadows, evidently with the intention of bid-
ding her good-morning, and she thought she would
stop and thank him for having sent her the bullfinch.
This she did yery prettily when he came up; and he,
with something of a blush on his handsome face, said,
“I thought you wouldn’t be offended. One can use
more freedom with you now that you are as good as
married, you know.” ‘

She quickly got away from that subject by askin,
him whether he was coming to church; and to. thai
question he replied by a rather scornful laugh, and by.
asking what the parsons would sayif he took a.gun
into the family pew. In fact, he had brought out an
air-cane to test.itscarrying powers, and he now bore it
over his shoulder.

“J think you might have left the gun at home on a
Sunday morning,” Miss Wenna said in rather a precise
fashion. “And, do you know, Mr. Trelyon, I can’t un-
derstand why you should speak in that manner about
clergymen, when you say yourself that you. always
avoid them,and don’t know anything about them. It
reminds me of a stable-boy we once had who used to
amuse the other lads by being impertinent, to. every
stranger who might pass, simply because the stranger
was. a stranger.”

This, was a deadly thrust, and the tall. young gentle-
man fiushed, and was obviously a trifle angry. Did she
mean to convey that he had acquired his manners from
stable-boys?. “Parsons and churches are too good. for
the likes.o’ me,” he said contemptuously. “ ‘Morning,
Miss Rosewarne ;” and with that he walked off.

But about three minutes, thereafter, when ‘she was
peacefully continuing her way, he overtook her again,
and said to her,in rather a shamefaced fashion, “I
hope you don’t think I meant to be rude to you, Miss
Wenna? I'll go to church with you if I like, I’ve
atuck my air-cane in a safe place.” ‘

Wenna’s face brightened, ‘I shall be very glad,” she
said, with @ smile far more friendly than any shé had
ever bestowed on him. ‘And I am sure if yon came
often to hear Mr. Trewhella, or if you knew him, you
would think differently about clergymen.”

“Oh, well, Trélyon said, “he’s a good sort of old chap,
IL think, I find no fault with him. But look at sucha
fellow as that Barnes? Why that fellow’s son was with
me at Rugby,and wasn’t he a pretty chip of the old
block ?—a mean, lying little beggar who would do any-
thing to get half a. crown out of you?”

“Oh, were you at Rugby?’ Wenna asked innocently.

“J don’t-wonder at your asking,” her companion said
with a grin. “You think it doesn’t look asif I had ever

‘been to any school? Oh, yes, I was at Rugby ; and my
eareer there, if brief, was not inglorious, I think the
records of all the eight houses might be searched in
vain to find such another ruffian as I was of any one
who managed to get me into the same number of
scrapes in the samé time, The end was dramatic.
They wouldn't let me go to @ ball in the town-hall, I
had yowed I should be there; and I got out of the
house at night, and went. And I hadn’t been in the
place ten minutes when I saw the very master who had
refused me fix his glittering eye on me; so as I knew it
‘was all over, I merely went over to him and asked to
have the pleasure of being introduced to his daughter.
I thought he’d have had a fit. But that little brute
Barnes I was telling you about, he was our champion
bun-eater. At that time, you know, they used to give
you as many buns as ever you liked on Shrove Tuesday ;
and the houses used to eat against each other, and this
fellow Barnes was our champion ; and, oh Lord! the
number he stowed away that morning! When we
went, to chapel afterward he was as green as a leek,”

“But do you dislike clergymen because Master
Barnes ate a great many buns?” Wenna asked with a
gentle . which rather aggrieved the young gentle-
man ie her.

“Do you know,” said he, “I think you are awfully hard
onme? You are always trying to catch me up._ Here
am I walking to church with you like an angel of sub-
mission, and all the thanks I get—Why, there goes my
mother!” .

Just in front of them, and a short distance from the
church, the road they nae Eglocliys Jeane. the a
highway. leading up from osilyan, and along the

_datter Mrs, Trelyon’s brougham was driving past. That

lady was very much astonished to find her son walking
with Miss Wenna Rosewarne on this Sunday morning ;
and still more surprised when, after she was in cniiroh:
she beneld Master Harry walk coolly in and marchup to
the family pew. Here, indeed, was a revolution. Which
of all the people assembled—among whom weré Miss
Mabyn and her mother and Mr. Roscorla—had ever seen
the like of this before? And it was all the greater won-
der that the young gentleman in the rough shooting-
coat found two clergymen in the pew, and nevertheless
entered it and quietly accepted from’ one of them a
couple of books.

Mrs. Trelyon’s gentle and emotional heart warmed
toward the girl who had done this thing.

That forenoon, just before luncheon, Mrs. Trelyon
found her son in the library, and said to him, with an
unusual kindliness of manner, “That was Miss Rose-
warne, Harry, wasn’t it, whom I saw this morning ?”’

“Yes,” he said sulkily : he half expected that one or
other of his friends the parsons had been saying some-
thing about her to his mother.

“She isa very quiet, nice-looking girl; Iam sure Mr.
Roscorla has acted wisely after all. And I have been
thinking, Harry, that since she is a friend of yours we
might do something like what you proposed, only not
in a way to make people talk.” \

“Oh,’’ said he, bluntly, “I have done it already; I
haye promised to lend Roscorla five thousand pounds
to help him to work his Jamaica estate. If you don’t
like to sanction the affair, I can get the money from the
Jews. Ihave written to Colonel Ransome to tell him
80.”

“Now, why should you treat me so, Harry ?’’ his
mother said, in an injured tone.

“TIT took you at. your word—that’s all.. I suppose now
you are better disposed to the girl merely because she,
got.me to gotochurch this morning. If there were
more people like her. about churches—in the pulpits.
and out of them—I’d go oftener.”

“T was not quite sure who she. was,” Mrs, Trelyon
said, with a feeble air of apology. “I like her appear-
ance very much, and I wish she or anybody elsé would
induce you to go tochurch. Well, now, Harry, I will
myself lend you the five thousand pounds till you come
ofage. Surely that will be much better, and, if you
like, I will make Miss Rosewarne’s acquaintance.. You
might ask her to dinner the first time Mr. Roscorla is
coming, and he could bring her.”

Master Harry was at last pacified, and his face light-
ened considerably.

“Make it Thursday,’ said he, “and you must write
to her. . I will take down the letter and persuade her ;
butifshe comes she shan’t come under the wing of
Mr. Roscorla,.as if he were the means of introducin;
her. I shall go down for her with the brougham, an
fetch her myself.”

“ But what will Mr. Roscorla say to that?’ his mother
asked, with a smile.

“Mr. Roscorla may say whatever he particularly
pleases,’” responded Master Harry,

 

CHAPTER XIV.
‘*sIE BAT 80 SANFT, 80 LIEBLICH.”’

“To dine at Trelyon Hall?” said George Rosewarne to
his eldest daughter when she in a manner asked his
consent., ‘Why not? But you must get a new dress;
ee We can’t have you go among grand folks as Jim

row.” .

“ But there is a story about the crow that went out
with, peacock’s feathers,” his. daughter said to him.
Mary besides, how could I get a new dress by Thurs-

yi

“How could you get a new dress by Thursday ?”” her
father repeated, mechanically, for he was watching one
of his pet pigeons on the roof of the mill. “How can
I tell you? Go ask your mother: don’t bother me!’’

It is quite certain that Wenna would not have availed
herself of this gracious permission—for her mother was
not very well, and she did not wish to increase that
tender anxiety which Mrs. Rosewarne already showed
about her daughter's going among these strangers—but
that this conversation had been overheard by Mabyn,
and that young lady, as was her habit, plunged head-
long into the matter,

“ You can have the dress quite well, Wenna,” she said,
coming out of the door of the inn, and calling on her
mother to come too. “Now look here, mother: I give
you warning that I never, never, never will speak an-
other word to Wenna if she doesn’t take the silk that is
lying by for me, and have it made up directly—never a
single word, if I live in Eglosilyan for a hundred and
fifty-five years.”

“ Mabyn, I don’t want a new dress,” Wenna expostu-
lated. “I don’t need one. Why do you rush at little
things as if you were a squadron of cavalry ?”

“J don't care whether you want it or whether you
don’t want it, but you’ve got to have it—hasn’t she,
mother? Or else, it’s what I tell you—not a word—not
a word if you were to go down before me on your bended
knees.”

“I think you had better let Mabyn have her own
way, Wenna,” the mother said, gently. a

“Tlet her?’ Wenna answered, pretending not to no-
tice Mabyn’s look of defiance and triumph. “She al-
ways has her own way—tom-boys always have.”

“Don’t call names, Wenna,” her sister said severely ;
“especially as I have just given you a dress. You'll
have to get Miss Keane down directly, or else I'll go
and cut it myself, and then you’ll have Harry you
laughing at you, for he always laughs at peopl? who
don’t know how to keep him in his proper place.”

“Meaning yourself, Mabyn,” the mother said, but
Mabyn was not to be crushed by any sarcasm.

Certainly, Harry Trelyon was in no laughing. or spite-
ful mood when he drove down on that Thursday even-

 

ing to take Wenna Rosewarne up to the hall. He was
as Pleased jand proud as he well could be, and when he

went into the inn made no secret of his satisfaction and
of his gratitude to her for having been good enough to
accept his mother’s invitation. Moreover, understand-
ing that Mrs. Rosewarne was still: rather ailing, he had
brought down for her a brace of grouse from a hamper
that had reached the hall trom Yorkshire that morn-
ing; and he was even friendly and good-natured to
Muabyn, instead of being ceremoniously impertinent to-
ward her.

“Don’t you think, Mr. Trelyon,’’said Wenna, in a
timid way, as she was getting into the brougham—
“don’t you think we should @rive round for Mr. Ros-
corla?”’

“ Oh, certainly not,” said Mabyn, with promptitude,
“He always prefers a walk’ before dinner: I know he
does—he told meso. He must have started long ago.
Don’t you mind hér, Mr. Trelyon:”

Mr. Trelyon was grinning as he and Werna drove
away. “She’s athorough good sort of a girl, that sis-
ter of yours,” he said ; “but when she marries won't
she lead her husband a pretty dance |”

“Oh, nothing of the sort, I can assure you,” Wenna
said earnestly. ‘She is as. gentle as any one can well
be. If she is impetuous, it is always in thinking of
other’ people.. There is nothing she wouldn't do to
serve those whom she really cares for.”

“Well,” said he, with a laugh, “I never knew two
girls stick up so for one anogher. Don’t imagine
I was ‘such a fool as to say anything against her.
But sisters ain’t often like that. My cousin Jue has a
sister at school, and when’ she’s at home the bullying
that goes on is something awful; or rather it’s nagging
and scratching, for girls never go in for a fair stand-up
fight. And yet when you meet these two separately
you find each of them as good-natured and good-tem-
pered as you could wish. But if there’s'anything said
about you anywhere that isn’t positive worship, why,
Mabyn comes down on the people like a cartload of*
bricks; and she can do it, mind you, when she likes.”

It suddenly occurred to Mr. Trelyon that he had made
a blunder; and whereas a more diplomatic young gen-
tleman would have ‘hastened away from the subject,
hoping that she had not noticed it, he must needs hark
back in a confused and embarrassed fashion. “ Of
course,” said he, with a laugh, “I didn’t mean that any
one eyer said anything really against you; that is im-
possible—that is quite impossible; and especially no
one would say such a thing to me; at least, they
would’t say it twice, Ican answer for that: you under-
stand, I did not mean anything of that sort.”

“Oh yes,” Wenna said quietly. “What a brilliant
red those campions seem to have at this time of the
evening, when the green around them gets dark !’””

“Mind,”’ he said, after a word or two, ‘“‘I mean to take.
you in to dinner. It is just possible my mother may
ask Mr. Roscorla to take you in, as a compliment to
him; but don’t you go.”

“JT must do what Iam told,” Wenna answered meekly. |

“Ob no, you mustn’t,’’ he said.
girl’s notion of what is proper. You are a woman now:
you can do what you like. Don’t you know how your
position is changed since you became engaged ?”

“Yer, it is changed,’’ she said; and she added quickly,
“Surely that must be a planet that one can see,
already,’’

“You can be much more independent in your actions
now, and much more friendly with many people, don’t
you know?” said this young man, who did not see
that he was treading on very delicate ground, and that
of all things in the world that.Wenna least liked to hear
rar of, her engagement to Mr. Roscorla was the
chief.

Late that night, when Wenna returned from her first
dinner-party at Trelyon Hall, she found her sister Ma-
byn waiting up for ‘her, and_ having properly scolded
the young lady for so doing, she sat down and consent-
ed to give her an ample and minute description of all
the strange things that had happened. “ Well, you
must know,” said she, folding her hands on her knees
as she had been used to do in telling tales to Mabyn
when they were children together—“‘you must know
that when we drove up through the trees, the house
seemed very big and gray and still, for it was getting
dark and there was no sound about the place. It was
80 ghost-like that it rather frightened me; but in the
halt we passed the door of a large room, and there I got
a glimpse of a very gay and brilliant place, and I heard
some. people talking. Mr. Trelyon was waiting for me
when I came down again, and he;took me into the draw-
ing-room and introduced me to his mother, who was
very kind tome, but did not seem inclined tos
much to any one. There was no other lady in the
room; only those two clergymen who were in church
last Sunday, and also Mr. whella and Mr. Roscorla-
I thought Mr. Roscorla was a little embarrassed when
he came forward to shake hands with me—and that
was natural, for all the people must have known—and
he looked at my dress the moment Ientered the room;
and then, Mabyn, I did thank you in my heart for let-
ting me haveit; for I had forgotten that Mr. Roscorla
would regard me as being on my trial, and I hope he
was not ashamed of me,”

“ Ashamed of you! ” said Mabyn, with a sudden flush
of anger. ‘Do you mean that he was on his trial?”

“Be quiet. Well, you must know that Mr. Trelyon
was-in very high spirits, but I never saw him so good-
natured, and he must needs take me in to dinner, and I
sat on his right hand, Mrs. Trelyon told me it was only
a quiet little family party, and I said I was very glad.
Do you know, Mabyn, that there is something about
her that you can’t help liking—I think it is her voice
and her soft way of lookin at you—but she is so very
gentle, and ordinarily so silent, t.she makes you,feel
as.if you were a very forward and talkative and rude
Dene:

“That. is merely &

“

is sely what you.are, Wenna,”’ Mabyn ob
served in her school-girl sarcasm.

 

“But Mr. Trelyon, he was talking to every one at
oncéesall round the table; I never saw him in guch

~~

ney

 
THREE FEATHERS.

is

 

 

irits; and most of all he was. very kind to Mr. Tre-
hella, and I liked him for that. He told me had asked
Mr. Trewhella because I was coming; and one thing I
noticed was that he was always sending the butler to
to refill Mr. Trewhella’s glass, or to offer him some dif-
ferent wine, while he let the other two clergymen take
their chance. Mr. Roscorla was at the other end of the
table: he took in Mrs. Trelyon. I hope he was not
vexed that I did not have a chance of speaking to him
the whole evening; but how could I help it? He would
not come near me in the drawing-room: perhaps that
was proper, considering that we are engaged; only 1
hope he is not vexed.”

For once Miss Mabyn kept a hold over her tongue,
and did not reveal the thoughts that. were uppermost
in her mind,

“ Well, after dinner Mrs, Trelyon and I went back to
the drawing-room; and it was very brilliant and beau-
tiful; but oh! one felt. so much alone in the big place
that I was glad when she asked me if I would play
something for her. It was something to think about;
but I had no music, and I had to begin and recollect
all sorts of pieces that I had almost forgotten. At first
she was atthe other end of the room, in a low easy-
chair of rose-colored silk, and she looked very beautiful
and sad, and as if she were dreaming. But by and by
she cameover and sat by the piano; and it was as. if
you were playing to a ghost that listened without
spewking. I played one or two of the ‘Songs without
Words’—those I could recollect easily—then ‘Beetho-
ven’s Farewell;’ but while I was playing that I happened
to turn a little bit, and, do you know, she was crying in
a quiet and silent way. Then she put her hand gently
on my arm, and I stopped playing, though I did not
turn toward her, for there was something so strange
and sad in seeing her cry that I was nearly crying my-
self, and I did not know what was troubling her. Then,
do you know, Mabyn, she rose and put her hand on my
head, and said, ‘I hear you area very good girl: I hope
you will come and see me.’ Then I told her I was sorry
that something I had played had troubled her; andas I
saw she was still very distressed, I was very glad when
she asked: me if I would put on a hood and a shawl and
take a turn with her round some of the paths outside.
Itissuch a beautiful night to-night, Mabyn; and up
there, where you seemed to be just under the stars, the
scents of the flowers were so sweet. Sometimes we
walked under the trees, almost in darkness, then we
would come out on the clear space of the lawn, and find
the skies overhead, and then we would go into the rose-
garden; and all the time she was no longer like a ghost,
but talking to meas if she had known me a long time,
And she is such a strange woman, Mabyn: she seems to
live so much apart from other people, and to look at
everything just as it affects herself, Fancy a harp, you
know, never thinking of the music it was making, but
looking all the time at the quivering of its own strings.
Lhope I did not: offend her; for when she was saying
some very friendly things about me—of course Mr.
Trelyon had been telling her a heap of nonsense about
helping people and that—she seemed to think that the
only person to be considered in such cases was yourself,
and not those whom you might try to help. Well, when
she was talking about the beautiful sensations of bein
benevolent, and how it softened your heart and refine
your feelings to be charitable, 1 am afraid I said some-
thing I should not have said, for she immediately turned
and asked me what moreI would have her to do. Well,
Ithought to. myself, if 1 have offended her, it’s done
and can’t be helped; and so I plunged into the very
thing“I. had been. thinking, of all the way in, the
brougham ”——

“The clothing club!’’, said Mabyn; for Wenna had
already spoken of her dark and nefarious scheme to her
sister.

“Yes; once I was in it, I told her of the whole affair,
and what she could do if she liked, She was surprised,
and I think a little afraid.. ‘Ido not know the people,’
she said, ‘as you do. But I should be delighted to give
you all the money you required, if you would under-
take the rest.’-. ‘Oh no, madam,’ said I (afterward she
asked me not to call her so), ‘ that is impossible. I have
many ,things to do at home, especially at present, for
my mother is not well. What little time I can give to
other people has many calls on it., And I could not do
all this by myself.’”’ ¥

“T should think not,” said Mabyn, rising up in great
indignation, and beginning to waik up and down the
room. “Why, Wenna, they’d work your fingers to the
bone, and never say Thank you. You do far too much
already ; and the idea.that you should do that! You
may say what you like about Mrs, Trelyon—she may be
avery gone lady—but I consider it nothing less than
mean—lI consider it disgraceful, mean and abominably
wicked—that she should ask you to do all this work,
and do nothing herself.”

« My dear child,” said Wenna, gently, ‘‘ you are quite
unjust. Mrs. Trelyon is neither mean nor wicked;
but she is in ignorance, and she is timid and unused to
visiting poor people. When I showed her that no one
in Eglosilyan could s0 effectively begin the club as
herself, and that the reckless giving of money that she
seemed inclined to was the worst sort of kindness, and
when I told her of all my plans of getting the materials
wholesale, and of making the husbands subscribe and
the women sew, and all that I have told to you,
she‘ took to the plan with an almost childish
enthusiasm; and now it is yoMe settled, and
the only ~ danger is that .she may destroy
the purpose of it by being over-generous. Don’t you
see, Mabyn, in her first effort in actual and practical
benevyolence—she seems hitherto only to have satisfied
her sense of duty or pleased her feelings by giving
cheques. to public charities—and she is already only a
little too eager and interested init. She doesn’t know
what a slow and wearisome thing itis to give some little
help to your neighbors discreetly.”

Oh, Wenna,” her sister. said,“ what @ manager you
are! Sometimes I think you must be a thousand years

 

of age ; and other times you seem so silly about your
own affairs that I can’t uuderstand you. Did Mr, Ros-
corla bring you home ?””

“No, but. he came in the brougham along with Mr.
Trelyon, There was a great déal of joking about the
conquest—so they said—I had made of Mrs. Trelyon ;
but you see how it all came about, Mabyn. She was so
interested in this scheme”——

“Oh yes, I see howitall came about,’’ said Mabyn,
quite contentedly. ‘‘And now you are very tired, you
poor little thing, andI shan’t ask you any more about
your dinner-party to-night.. Here is your candle.”

Wenna was just going into her own room, when her
sister turned and said, ‘‘ Wenna!’’

“Yes, dear ?”

“Deo you think that His Royal Highness Mr. Roscorla
condescended to be pleased with your appearance and
your manners and your dress ?”’

“Don’t. you ask impertinent questions,” said Wenna,
good-naturedly, as she shut the door,

 

CHAPTER XY.
A LEAVE-TAKING OF LOVERS.

Wenna had indeed made a conquest of the pale and
gentle lady up at the hall which at another time might

ave been attended with important results to the peo-
pie of Eglosilyan. But at this period of the'year the
Trelyons were in the ~habit of leaving Cornwall for a
few months ; Mrs, Trelyon generally going to some con-
tinental watering-place, while her son proceeded to ac-
cept such invitations as he could get to shootin the
English counties. This autumn Harry Trelyon accom-
panied his mother as far as Etretat, where a number of
her friends had made up a small party, From this point
she wrote to Wenna, saying how sorry she was she could
not personally help in founding that clothing club, but
offering to send a handsome subscription. Wenna
answered the letter in a. dutiful spirit, but firmly de-
clined the offer, Then nothing wes heard of the Tre-
lyons for a long time, except that now and then a
hamper of. game would make its appearance at Eglosil-
yan, addressed to Miss Wenna Rosewarnein a sprawling
school-boy’s hand which she easily recognized. Master
Harry was certainly acting on his own theory, that now
she was engaged he could give her presents, or other-
wise be as familiar and friendly with her as he pleased.

It was a dull, slow and dreary winter. Mr. Roscorla
was deeply engaged with his Jamaica projéct, aud was
occasionally up in London for a fortnight at atime, He
had got the money from young Trelyon, and soon hoped
to set out,as he told Wenna, to make his fortune, Be
put no obstacle in his way, nor yet did she encourage
him to go: it was for him to decide, and she would
abide by his decision. For the rest, he never revived
that request of his that they should be married before
he went,

Eglosilyan in winter-time is a very different place
from .the;Kglosilyan ofthe happy summer. months.
The wild coastis sombre and gloomy, the uplands are
windy and bleak and bare. There is no shining plain
of blue lying around the land, but a dark and cheerless
sea, that howls in the night-time as it beats on the
mighty walls of black rock, It is rather a relief indeed
—to break the mournful silence of those projecting cliffs
and untenanted bays—when the heavens are shaken
witha storm, and when the gigantic waves
wash in to the small harbor, so that the coast-
ers seeking shelter there have to be scuttled
and temporarily sunk in order to save them. Then
there are the fierce rains, to quera against which the
seaward-looking houses have been faced with slate;
and the gardens fet dank and wet, and the ways are full
ot mire, and no one dares venture out on the slippery
cliffs. It was a tedious.and a cheerless winter.

Then Mrs. Rosewarne was more or less of an inyalid
the most!of the time, and Wenna was much occupied
by household caress Occasionally, when her duties
indoors and in the cottages of ber humble friends had
been got over, she would climb up the hill on the other
side of the millstream to have alook around her, One
seemed to breathe more freely up there among the
rocks. and furze than in small parlors or kitchens where
ehildren had to be laboriously taught, And yet the
picture was not cheerful—a gray. and leaden sea, a
black line of cliffs standing sharp against it until lost
in the mist of the South, the green slopes over the cliffs
touched here and there with the brown of withered
breckan; then down in’the two valleys the leafless
trees and gardens and cottages of Eglosilyan, the ‘slates
ordinarily aoe wet with the rain. One day Wenna
received a brief little letter from Mrs, Trelyon, who
was at Mentone, and who said something of the balmy
air and the beautiful skies and the blue water around
her; and the girl, looking out on the hard and stern
features of this sombre coast, wondered how such
things could be.

Somehow, there was so much ordinary and common-
place work to do that Wenna almost forgot that she was
engaged; and Mr. Roscorla, continually occupied with
his new project, seldom cared to remind her that they
were on the footing of sweethearts. Their relations
were of an eminently friendly character, but little
more; in view of the forthcoming separation, he scarce-
ly thought it worth his while to have it anything more.
Sometimes he was inclined to apologize to her for the
absence of sentiment and romanticism which
marked their intimacy; but. the more he saw
of her the more he Per that she did
not care for that sort of thing, and was, indeed,
about as anxious to avoid it as he was himself. She
kept their engagement a secret. He once offered her his
arm in sett home from. church; she made some
excuse, and he did not repeat the offer. When he came
in of an evening to have a chat with George Rosewarne,
they talked about the subjects of the day as they had
been accustomed to do long before the engagement; and
Wenna sat and sewed in silence or withdrew to a side-

 

table to make up her account-books. Very rarely, in-
deed—thanks to Miss Mabyn, whose hostilities had never
ceased~had he a chance of seeing his betrothed alone,
and then, somehow, their conversation invariably took
a practical turn. It was not a romantic courtship.

He considered Wenna a very sensible girl. He was
glad that his choice was approved by his reason. Sho
was not beautiful, but she had the qualities that would
last—intelligence, sweetness and a sufficient fund of
gentle humor to keep a man in good spirits. She was
not quite in his own sphere of iife; but then, he argued
with himself,a man ought always to marry a woman
who is below him rather than above him—in social po-
sition or in wealth or in brain, or in all three—for then
she is all the more likely to respect and obey him, and
to be grateful to him. Now, if you do not happen to
have won the deep and fervent love of a woman—a
thing that seldom occurs—gratitude is a very good sub-
stitute. Mr. Roscorla was quite content.

“ Wenna,” said he, one day, after they had got into the
new year, and when one had begun to look forward to
the first indications of spring in that southern county,
“the whole affair is now afloat, and it is time I should
be, too: forgive the profound witticism. Everything
has been done out there, we can do no more here, and
my partners. think I should sail about the fifteenth of
next month,” Was he asking her permission, or ex-
pecting some utterance of régret, that he looked at her
80?

She cast down her eyes, and said, rather timidly : “I
hope you will have a safe. voyage and be successful,”

He was alittle disappointed that she said nothing
more, but he himself immediately proceeded to deal
with the aspects of the case ih a most business-like:
manner, “And then,” said he, “I don’t want to put’
you to the pain of taking a formal and solémn farewell
as the ship sails. One always feels down-hearted in
watching a ship go away, even though there is no
reason. I must go to London in any Case for a few
days before sailing, and so I thought that if you
wouldn’t mind coming as far as Launceston, with your
mother or sister, you could drive back here Without
any bother.”

“Tf you do not think it unkind,” said Wenna in a low
voice, “I should prefer that. ‘For IT could tot take
mamma farther than Launceston, I think.”

“T shall never think anything you do unkind,” said
he. “Ido not think you are capable of uikindness.”

He wished at this moment to add something about
her engaged ring, but could’ not My muster up
courage. He paused fora minute and became embar-
rassed, and then told her what @ first-class cabin to
Jamaica would cost. ’

And at length the day came round. The weather had
been bitterly cold and raw for the previous two or
three weeks ; though it was March, the world seemed
still frozen in the grasp of winter. Early on this bleak
and. gray forenoon Mr. Roscorla walked down to the
inn, and found the wagonette at the door. His luggage
had been sent on to Southampton somé days before ;
he was ready to start at once.

Wenna was a little pale and nervous when she ¢ame
out and got into the wagonette, but she busiéd herself
in wrapping abundant rugs and shawls round her
mother, who protested against being buried alive. ,

“Good-bye,” said her father, shaking hands with Mr,’
Roscorla carelessly : “I hope you'll have a@ fine passage.
Wenna, don’t forget to ask for those cartridge-cases av
you drive back from the station.”

But Miss Mabyn’s method of bidding” him “farewell
was far more singular. With an affectation of playful-
ness she offeréd him both her hands, and so, making’
quite sure that she had a grip on the left Hand of that
emerald ring that had afforded her much consolation,
she said, ‘Good-bye: I hope you will get safely out to
Jamaica,”

“and back again?” said he with a laugh. ;

Mabyn said nothing, turned away, and pretended to
be examining the outlines of the wagonette. Nor did
she speak to anyone until the small party drove away 2
and then, when they had got over the bridge and along
the valley, and up and over the hill, she suddenly ran
to her father, lung her arms round ‘his neck, Kissed
him and cried out, “Hurrah! the ‘horrid creature ia
gone, and he’ll ever come back—never !”" :

‘‘Mabyn,” said her father in a peevish ill-temper a8
he stooped to pick up the broken pipe which she had
Tent him to let fall; “I wish you wouldn't be such
a fool.”

But Mabyn was not to be crushed.’ She said, “ Poor
daddy! has it broken its pipe?’ and’ then she walked
off, with her head very erect anda very happy light on
her face, while she sang to herself, after the manner of
an acquaintance of hers, ‘Oh, the men of merry, merry
England |”

There was less cheerfulness in that wagonette that
was making its way across the bleak uplands, a black
speck in the gray and wintry landscape, Wenna waa
really sorry that this long voyage and all its cares and
anxieties should lie before oné who had been so kind to
her: it made ‘her miserable to think of his going away
into strange lands all by himself, with tle of the
buoyancy and restlessness and ambition of youth to
bear him up. As for him, he was chiefly occupied
during this silent drive across to Launceston in nurs-
ing the fancy that he was going out to fight the world
for her sake—as a younger man might have done—and
that if he returned successful her gratitude would be
added to the substantial results of ‘his trip. It rather
pleased him to imagine himself in this position.
all, he was not so very elderly, and he was in very good

reservation for his years. He was more than a match,
physique, in hopefulness and in a knowledge of the
world that ought to stand him in’ good ‘stead, for many
a younger man who, with’ far less chances oF success,
was bent on making a fortune for the sake of some
particular girl. .

He was not diapleased to'see that she was coun

his goingaway. She would soon get over that. He had

f

it

‘

 
'
i

16

THREE FRATHERS.

 

 

no wish that she should continually mope in his ab-

sence ; nor did he, indeed, believe that any sensible girl

would do anything of the sort,

At the same time he had no fear whatever as to herre-
maining, constant to him. A girl altogether out of the
way of meeting marriageable young men would be un-
der no temptation to let her fancies rove. Moreover,
Wenna Rosewarne had something to gain, in social po-
sition, by. her marriagé with him, which she could not
be so blind as to ignore; and had she not, too, the in-
ducement. of waiting to see whether he might not bring
back a fortune to her? But the real cause of his trust
in her was that experience of her uncompromising sin-
eerity and keen sense of honor that he had acquired
during a long and sufficiently intimate friendship. If
the thought of her breaking her promise ever occurred
to him, it was not as a serious possibility, but as an idle
fancy to be idly dismissed.

*You.are very silent,” he said to her.

“Lam sorry you are going away,” she said simply and
honestly; and the admission pleased and flattered him.

“You don’t give me courage,” he said to her. “ You
ought to consider that lam going out into the world,
even at my time of life, to get a lot of money and come
back and make a grand lady of you.”

“Oh,” said she, in sudden alarm—for such a thought
had never entered her head—‘T hope you are not going
away on my account. You know that I wish for noth-
ing of that kind. ,L hope you do not consider me in re-
solving to go to Jamaica.”

“ Well, of course I considered you,” said he, good-na-
turedly; “ but don’t alarm yourself: I should have
gone if I had never seen you., But naturally I have an
additional motive in going when I look at the future,”

That was not a eats thought for Wenna Rose-
warne.. It was not likely to comfort her on stormy
nights, when she ht lay awake and think of a certain
ship at sea.. She had acquiesced in his going, as in one
of those things which men do because they. are men,
and seem bound to satisfy their ambition, with results
which women might consider unnecessary. But that
she should have e~ercised any influence on his decis-
ion—that alarmed her with a new. sense of responsi-
bility, and she began to wish that he could suddenly
drop this project, haye the wagonette turned round,
and drive back to the quiet content and small econo-
mies snd peaceful work of Eglosilyan.

They arrived in good time at Launceston, and went
for a stroll up to the magnificent old castle while lun-
cheon was being got ready at the hotel. Wenna did not
seem to regard that ag a very enticing meal when they
sat down to it. The talk was kept up chiefly by her
mother and. Mr. Roscorla, who, spoke of life on ship-
board and the best means of killing the tedium of it.
Mr. Roscorla said he would keep a journal all the time
he was away, and send installments from time to time
to Wenna.

They, walked from the hotel down to the station. Just
outside the station they saw a landau, drawn by a pair
= beautiful grays, which were being walked up and

Own.

“Tf I am not mistaken, those are Mrs. Trelyon’s
horses,”” Wenna said; and as the carriage, which was
empty, came nearer, the coachman touched his hat.
“ Perhaps she is coming back to the hall to-day.”

The words were uttered carelessly, for she was think-
ing of other things. When they at last stood on the
platform, and Mr. Roscorla had chosen his seat, he could
see that she was paler,than ever. He spoke in a light
and cheerful way, mostly to her mother, until the
guard requested him to get into the carriage, and then

he turned to the girl and took her hand. ‘ Good-bye,
my dear Wenna,” said he. “God bless you! I hope
you, will write to, me often.”

Then he kissed her cheek, shook hands with her again
and 5m into the carriage. She had not spoken a word,
Her, lips were trembling, she could not speak ; and he
waw it.

When tho train went slowly out of the station, Wen-
na stood andlooked after it with something of a mist
before her eyes, until she could see nothing of the hand-
kerchief that was being waved from one of the. carriage
windows. Ske stood quite still until her mother put
her hand on her shoulder, and then she turned and
walked away with her.

They had not gone three yards, when they were met by
& tall young man who had come rushing down the hill
and through the small station-house. “By Jove!”’ said
he, “Lam _just-too late, How do you. do, Mrs. Rose-
warne? How are you, Wenna?” And then he paused,
anda great blush overspread his face, for the girl looked
up at him and took his hand silently, and he could sea
there were tears in her eyes, It occurred to him that
he had no business there ; and yet he had come on an
errand of kindness... So-he said, with some little embar-
rassment, to Mrs. Rosewarne—she. had been quite si:
lent—“ I heard you were coming over to this train, and
I was afraid.you would find the drive back in the wagon-
ette rather cold this evening. I have got onr landau
outsidé—closed, you know—andI thought you might
let me drive you over.”

* warne looked at her daughter, Wenna de-
cided all such things, and the girl said to him in a low
voice, “It is very kind of you.”

= Then just give.me a second, that I. may tell your
man,” Trelyon said, and off he darted.

Was it his respect for Wenna’s trouble, or had it been
his knocking about among ‘strangers for six months,
that seemed to have given to the (at least in Mrs.
Rosewarne’s eyes) & manner somewhat more courteous
and considerate? While the three of them were being
rapidly whirled along the Launceston highway in Mrs
Trelyon’s carriage, Trelyon was evidently bent on
diverting Wenna’s thoughts from her present cares ;
and he told stories and asked questions and related his
‘Tecent adventures in such a fashion that the girl’s face

lightened, and she grew interested and pleased,
,. thought he was much improyed— how, she

seats ask exactly tell.

 

“Come,” said he at last, “you must not be ‘very
downhearted about-a mere holiday trip. You will soon
get letters, you know, telling you all about the strange
places abroad; and then, before you know where’ you
are, you’ll have to drive overto the station, as you did
to-day, to meet Mr. Roscorla coming back.”

“It may bea very long time indeed,” Wenna said ;
“and if he should come to any harm, I shall know that
Iwas the cause ot it, for if it had not been for me I
don’t believe he would have gone.”

“Oh; that is all gammon! Begging your pardon,”
said Master Harry coolly. “Roscorla got a chance of
making some money, and he took it, as any other man
would. You had no more to do with it than I had ; in-
deed, I had something to do with it, but that’s a secret.
No, don’t you make any misfake about that. And he’ll
be precious well off when he’s out there and sees that
everything is going smoothly, especially when he gets
aletter from you with a Cornish primrose or violet in
it. And you'll get that soon now,” he added quickly,
seeing that Wenna blushed. somewhat, “forI fancy
there’s a sort of smell.in the air that means spring-time,
I think the wind has been getting round to the west all
day: before night you will find a difference in the air,
I can tell you.”

“T think it has become very fresh and mild already,”
Wenna said, judging by an occasional breath of wind
that came in at the top of the windows.

“Do you think you could bear the landau open?”
said he eagerly.

When they stopped to try, when they opened the
windows, the predictions of the weather prophet had
already been fulfilled, and a strange genial mildness
and freshness pervaded the air, They were now near
Eglosilyan, on the brow of a hill, and away below them
they could see the sea lying dull and gray under the
cloudy sky. But while they waited for the coachman
to uncover the landau, a soft and yellow light began
to show itself far out in the west, a break appeared in
the clouds, and a vast comb of gold shot shining down
on the plain of water beneath. western skies were
opening up; and what with this new and beautiful
light, and what with the sweet air that awoke a thou-
sand pleasant and pathetic memories, it seemed to
Wenna Rosewarne that the tender spring-time was at
length at hand, with all its wonder of yellow crocuses
and pale snowdrops, and the first faint shimmerings of
green on the hedges and woods, Her eyes filled with
tears—she knew not why. Surely she was not old
enough to know anything of the sadness that comes to
some when the heavens are cleared, and 4 new life stirs
in the trees, and the world awakes to the fairness of
spring. She was only eighteen—she had a lover: and
ahe was as certain of his faithfulness as of her own.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
SPRING-TIME,

Tue spring-time had indeed arrived, rapidly and im-
reeptibly ; and all at once it seemed as if the world
ad grown green and the skies fair and clear, and the
win sweet with a new and delightful sweetness.
Each morning that Wenna went out brought some fur-
ther wonder with it along the budding hedge-rows, in
the colors of the valley, in the fresh warmth of the air
and the white light of the skies. And at last the sea
began to show its deep and resplendent summer blue
when the morning happened to be still and there was a

silvery haze along the coast.
“Mabyn, is your sister at home? And do you think
she could go up to the Hall for a little, for my mother

wants to see her? And do you think she would walk

round by the cliffs—for it is such a capital morning—if
you came with her?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Trelyon,” said Mabyn readily, and with
far more respect and courtesy than she usually showed
to the young gentleman, “ I am quite sure Wenna can
go; and I know she would like to-walk round by the
cliffs—she is always glad to do that ; and I will tell her
to get ready re os But I can’t go with you, Mr.
Trelyon ; I am exceedingly busy this morning.”

“Why, you have been reading a novel ?”

“But I am going to be exceedingly busy,” said
Mabyn petulantly, “You can’t expect people to be al-
yer working; and I tell you I can’t go with you, Mr.

yon.”
~ “Oh, very well,” said he carelessly; “you needn’t
show your temper.’

“My temper!” said Mabyn; but then she recol-
lected herself and smiled derisively, and went away to
fetch her sister.

When Wenna came outside into the sunlight, and
went forward to shake hands with him, with her dark
eyes lit up by a friendly smile, it seemed to him that
not for many a day—not certainly during all the time
of her engagement with Mr. Roscorla—had he seen her
look so pleased, happy and contented. She still bore
that quiet gravity of demeanor which had made him
call her the little Puritan, and there was the same
earnestness in her eyes as they regarded any one; but
there was altogether a brighter aspect about her face
that pleased him’ exceedingly. For he was very well
disposed toward this shy and yet matter-of-fact young
person, and was alternately amused by the quaintness
of her motherly ways in dealing with the people about
her, and startled into admiration by some sudden

limpse of the fine sincerity of her nature. He had
Bce more to please her—he had gone to church several
times, and tried to better his Yentwrifing and resolved
to be more careful in speaking of parsons in her pre-
sence—than he ever thought he could have done to
please any woman, 5

So these two set forth on this bright and cheerful
morning; and one would have said, to see them as they
went, that two happier young folks were not within the
county of Cornwall at that moment. Wenna had a
ae word for every one that passed; and when they

gone by the mill, and reached the narrow path by

_ chastenin:

 

the tiny harbor, where no more neighbors were to be
seen, she appeared to transfer her abounding sympathy
to all the objects around her, and she spoke to
them and laughed to them, so that all the world
seemed to be friendly with her. Her sister used
to say that her fingers tingled to the very tips with
kindness; and at this moment she seemed as though
she could have kissed her hand to all the birds and
animals around, and wished them joy that they had se
fine a morning.

“ Ho, ho! Mr. Porpoise,”” she laughed and said as she
saw far below her a big fish slowly heel over in the blue
water of the harbor, “don’t you come too far up, or
you won’t like the stones'in the stream, I know.”

There was a hawk hovering high in the air over
Blackcliffe: Trelyon was watching it keenly. ‘Oh, go
away, you bad bird!” she oxtal; “and let the poor
little things alone.”” And sure enough, at this moment
the motionless speck up there began to flutter its
wings, and presently it sailed away over the cliff and
was seen no more. '

“ Mother Sheep,” she said to the inattentive custodian
of two very small lambs with very thick legs and un-
certain gait, ‘why don’t you look after your children ?
You’ll have them tumbling down the rocks into the
sea in absut a minute: that’s about what you'll do.”

“Boom!” she said toa great bumblebee that flew
heavily by; and to a white butterfly that went this way
and that over the warm grass on the hillside she called
out, “ My pretty lady, aren’t you glad the summer is
coming?”

She talked to the white and gray gulls that wore
wheeling over the sea, and to the choughs flying hither
and thither about the steep precipices of the cliff. They
did not answer her, but that was no matter. From her
childhood she had believed that she knew them all, and
that they knew her, and that even the cliffs and the sea
and the clouds regarded her and spoke to her ina
strange and silent fashion. Once she had come back
from the mouth of the harbor ona sultry afternoon,
when'as yet the neighbors had heard nothing, of the
low mutterings of the distant and coming storm; and
when her mother asked the child why she was so silent,
she said, “I have been listening to God walking on the
sea.”

Well, they sat down on a seat which fronted the wide
opening in the cliffs and the great plain of the Atlantic
beyond, which was this morning ofa light and sunny sea-
green, with here and there broad purple stains of shadow
as the summer clouds passed rapidly over the
sky from the west. In the warm sunshine the
gorse on the hill behind them and the grass
on the pasture-land sweetened the air. The wind
blew fresh in from the sea, and as the green
waves broke white along tht rocks beneath them the
brisk breeze carried it with a flavor of salt from the fine
clouds of the spray. The spring-time seemed to havo
given life and color to the sea as well as to the land, for
all the world was brilliant with the new brightness of
the skies,

“And isn’t it first-rate,” said Master Harry, wishing
to say something very pleasant to his companion,
“that Mr. Roscorla is having such fine weather on his
way out? Iam sure you would have been very anxious
if there had been any storms about. Ihope he will be
successful ; he’s a good sort of fellow.”

No one who was not acquainted with this young gen-
tleman conld have guessed at the dire effort he had
to make in order to pronounce these few sentences. He
was not accustomed to say formally civil things. He
was very bad at paying compliments, and as for saying
anything friendly of Mr. Roscorla, he had to do it with
a mental grimace. But Wenna was very familiar with
the boy and his ways. At another time she would have
been amused and pleased to observe his endeavors to be
een and now, if she hastened away from the subject,

t was only because she never heard Mr. Roscorla’'s
name mentioned in her presence without feeling an
embarrassment, and showingit. She murmured some-
thing about a hope that Mr. Roscorla would not find
the voyage to Jamaica fatiguing, and then, somewhat
hastily, drew her companion’s attention to another por-
poise which was showing itself from time to time out-
side the rocks. “

“J wish Roscorla had made me your guardian in his
absence,” said this blundering boy, who was deter-
mined to be on his best behavior. “I quite agree with
Mabyn that you overwork yourself in doing for other
people what the lazy beggars ought to do for them-
solves. Oh, I know more than you think. I’'d wake
some of them up if I had the chance. Why, they look
on you as a sort of special Providence bound to
rescue them at any moment. I was told only yester-
day of old Mother Truscott having said to a neighbor,
‘Well, if Miss Wenna won’t help me, then the fora’s
will be done.’ ”’

“ Oh yes, I know,” said his companioa with some im-
patience; “ she is always saying that. I-said to her the
other day, when I got out of temper, ‘Why, of course the
Lord’s will will be done; you don’t suppose He wants
your permission? But if you only look after your own
house, and bestir yourself and keep it smart, your hus-
band wouldn’t go on as he does.’ There’s nothing I
hate worse than that sort of pretended piety. Why,
when Abiathar Annot’s boy died I thought he'd be out
of his senses with grief, and I went up to see if he was
all right. about the Gouge and to say a friendly word to
him; and directly I went into the house he says to me,
quite complacently, ‘ Well, Miss Rosewarne, you know
we must bow to the will of the Lord, and accept his
as mercies.’ ‘Oh, said I, ‘if = take it
that way, I’ve no more to say;’ and I left the place. I
don’t believe in all that sort of ’—— :

She suddenly stopped, recollecting to whom she was
speaking. Were these proper confessions’ to be made to
a young man who had such 4 godless hatred of parsons
and churches and all: good things, and whose conver-
sion to more respectable ways she had many a time
wished to attempt? Shedropped that subject, and Mas-
 

 

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

ter Harry was so resolved to be proper and virtuous that
morning that he took no advantage of what she had said.
He even, in an awkward fashion, observed that all pious
people were not aR ei one had to draw distinc-
tions. Of course there were pious people who were
really sincere. He hoped that Miss Wenna would not
suspect him of hewn? 80 prejudiced as not to know that.
Miss Wenna wasa little inclined to smile, but she con-
trolled her countenance; and Master Harry, having
paid these ingenuous compliments to virtue and reli-
gion, rose with a frank sigh of relief, proposed that they
should continue their walk up the hill, and was soon en-
gaged in telling her—with a much gayer tone in his
voice and with a return to his old impertinent careless-
nese—of some wild adventure in cliff-hunting which he
and his faithful Dick had encountered together,

They seemed to be in no great hurry, these two. It
was a morning that invited to idleness, They chatted
about all sorts of things or were silent with equal and
happy indifference—he watching the sea-birds, she
stooping from time to time to pick up some tiny flower
of pale yellow or purple. In this fashion they made
their way up to the summit of the cliffs, and there be-
fore them lay the great plain of the windy sea, and the
long wall of cae running down into the south-
west, and the high and bleak uplands marked by the
square towers of small and distant churches. They
struck across the fields to one of those churches, that
which Master Harry had been persuaded to visit. The
place was now silent enough: two jackdaws sat on the
slender weathercock, and the sunlight was warm on the
silvery-gray tower, and on the long green grass in the
church-yard, in which the first daisies of the spring had
appeared. Then they went down through some narrow
lanes. towards the higher portion of Eglosilyan, and
under the hedges were masses of pale primroses and the
purple blossoms of the ground-ivy and the golden stars
of the celandine. They drew near some of the cottages,
and in the gardens the flowering currant was in bloom,
and everywhere there was a scent.of wallflower. They
crossed the main thoroughfare of the village; it was
empty, but for the presence of a small boy, who, with a
slate slung on one side and a ae See of carpet slung
on the other, had apparently been sent home from
school for some reason or other. The youthful scholar
most respectfully took off his cap to Wenna as she
gave him a kindly everine in passing.

“They say all that is owing to you,” Trelyon re-
marked. f i;

_ “All what?” | .

“The good manners of the people in this village. The
women bob, you acurtsey as you pass, the girls say
good-morning or good-evening, the boys take off their
caps, even if you are a perfect stranger. But you don’t
suppose | happens in every village in Cornwall?
My mother was speaking about it only this morning.”
Wenna was sufficiently surprised to know that she
had. got the credit of the courtesy shown to strangers
by the Eglosilyan folks, but even more surprised to
learn that Master Harry had deigned to engage in con-
versation with his mother. He also seemed to be taking
his first lessons in civility.

“Oh,” she said, “that boy ought to pay me every
attention tomake up for his bad conduct, He was once
a sweetheart of mine, and he deceived me. Hesold me
for sixpence.” Shesighed. “It is tootrue. He adopted
me as his sweetheart, and every time we met he prom-
ised to marry me when he grew up. But there came a
change ; he avoided'me, and I had to catch him and
ask him why. He confessed: I wasn’t his sweetheart
any more. His elder brother—aged ten, I think—had

also wanted me for a‘swéetheart, and he had a:sixpence; | .

and sixpence was the price of a new: sort of spinning-
top that had just been put into the window at the post-
office ; arid the elder brother proposed to the younger
brother to take the sixpence and buy the top and hand
me over. ‘So yu bain’t my sweetheart anny mower,’
said that young gentleman, forgetting his good. English
in his grief.’ But Ithink he has.a tender recollection of
me even now.” ° os Butoer ‘

. “I'd have'thrashed the little brute for his meanness
if I had been you,” said her companion in his: off-hand
way... ‘ af arre ,

“Oh no,” she answered with a meék sarcasm : “ wasn’t
hé only doing as a child what grown-up gentlemen are
said todo? When there is money on the one hand and
a sweetheart on’ the. other, doesn’t the sweetheart
suffer, as arule?”’ :

"What can you know about it?” he said bluntly.
“Tn any case, you don’t run any danger. Mr. Roscorla
is not likely to be tempted by bags of gold.””

Mr. Roscorla! always Mr. Roscorla! Wenna, jwho
crimsoned deeply at the slightest reference to
the . relations. between- herself and, her absent
lover, began. to be somewhat angry with this
thoughtless lad, who would fcontinually introduce the
name. What was his object in doing so? To show her
that he never failed to remember ler position, and that
that was his excuse for talking very

by speaking of one who fe to be ‘very dear to her?
She was not indebted to him for this blundering effort
of kindness, and on any less cheerful morning might
have visited him with one of those fits of formal polite-
ness or of constrained silence with which young ladies
are accustomed to punish too forward acquaintances.

But Miss Wenna had it not in her heart to be reserved
on this pleasant forenoon; she good-naturedly over-
looked the pertinacious mistakes of her companion,

and talked to him, and to the flowers and birds and’

carelessness until the

trees nd her, with a hay
eas way up to the Hall,

P.
ig hei Seer made the

ust a8 Harry ope d
the Senta and turned to, let her through, he
seemed for the first time to notice her dress. He made

no scruple of ‘stopping her fora moment to look at it.

“Oh, I ga;

get my mother to dress
like Sonnet you could get my

frankly to her, as’
he would have done to a sister? or merely to please her.

the gate at the end of

The burst of admiration wasso genuine that Miss
Wenna, being only a girl, was very much pleased in-
deed, and blushed a little, and would rather have passed
on. There was nothing, indeed, remarkable about her
costume—about the rough light gray dress with its
touches here and there of blue, nor yet about the white
hat with its forget-me-nots and big white daisies—ex-
cept that it seemed to fit well a very pretty figure, and
also that the blue suited the dark and clear complexion
and the dark eyes and hair.

“Tm sick of her stalking about the house in the
guise of a ghost—she all white, everything else black. I
say, Wenna, don’t you think you could get her to dress
like a human being?”

“ But if it is her wish you ought to respect it.”

“ It’s only a craze,” he said impatiently.

“It may seem so to you,” his companion said, “ but
she has her own reasons for it, and they deserve your
sympathy, even though they may not convince you.
And you ought not to speak in that harsh way of one
who so very good and gentle, and who is so con-
siderate towards you.”

“Oh, you always find excuses for people,” he said,
roughly. ‘Everybody should be considered and re-
spected, and have their fine feelings praised and cod-
—- according to you. Everybody is perfect, accord-

g to you.”

“Oh dear! no,” she said with a meek sarcasm. “I
know one or two people whose conduct and habits—and
ee manners too—might be very much improved in-

leed.””

“T suppose you mean me?” he said.

“And if I did?’ she said frankly. ‘Don’t you think,
when you want your mother to be just as you would
have her to be, that she might turn round and say that |
there was a great, deal more in you that she might wish
to have altered? You know her manner of life is not
necessarily wrong merely because you can’t understand
it. As for yours ’?——

“Go ahead,” he cried with a loud and suddenly good-
natured laugh. .‘‘Heap up all my sins on my head.
I’m getting used to be lectured now. Please, Miss
Puritan, would you like to get a surplice and come and
sing hymns in the choir?”

Miss Puritan did not answer. There was no look of
annoyance on her face; only a certain calm reserve
that told her companion that he had somehow wound-
ed the friendly confidence that had sprung up between
them during this pleasant morning ramble. And at
this moment they reached the front of the Hall, where
Mrs. Trelyon came forward to greet her visitor, so that
Master.Harry had no further opportunity just then of
asking her whether he had offended her, and of mak-
ing an apology. He listened for a few minutes to his
mother talking to Wenna about that clothing club. He
became impatient with himself, and vexed, for Wenna
seemed in nowise to recognize his presence, and of
course his. mother did not ask his advice about the
purchase. of flannel. He tossed about the books on the
table, he teased an Angola cat that was lying before the
fire until it)tried to bite him, and then he put its nose
into the water of a flower-vase. With the feather of a
quill dipped in ink he drew a fox on one of the white tiles
of the fireplace, and then he endeayored to remove that
work of art with the edge of a scarlet-and-gold footstool.
These various occupations affording him no relief, he
got. up,, stretched -his legs and said to his mother,
“Mother, you keep her here for lunch ; I shall be back
at two.” : ;

‘Oh, but I'can’t stay so long,” Wenna said suddenly ;
“L know Ishall be wanted at home.” ;

“Oh no, you won’t,” the young gentleman said, ‘cool-
ly. “I know you won’t; Mabyn told me so. Besides,
Tam going down now to tell them you will be back at
four.” -

And so he went away, but his walk down to the inn
was not as pleasant as that roundabout ramble up to
the Hall‘had been.

 

CHAPTER. XVI.
ONLY A BASKET OF PRIMROSES,

“Waar a busy life you must lead |!” said Mrs. Trelyon,
looking with a gentle wonder at the young lady before
her. ’ “‘ You seem to know how to do everything,”

. Miss Wenna blushed a little, and said something
aor having had to help her;mother for many years
past. :

“And such a knowledge of the world as you have !’”’
Mrs. Trelyon continued, unconsciously staring at the
girl as if she were some strange phenomenon. “Where
did you get it?”

“That Lam sure I have not got,” Wenna said; bright-
ening considerably, ‘for the strangers who come to the
inn of course don’t speak to me, excépt one or two of the
very old ladies sometimes, and all they speak about is
the scenery. But Mabyn and I read the remarks in the
visitors’ book, and these are very amusing, suet
the poetry that the young gentlemen write; and indeed,
Mrs, Trelyon, ifone were to judge by that book, one
would think that the world was very silly: The elderly

entlemen generally praise the cooking; the elderly

jadies Saonel say something nice about the cleanli-
ness of the bedrooms and the good attendance; and the
young ladies write about anything, recommending other
visitors to go to particular places, or saying what they
think of the Cornish peasantry. I am/sure they are all
very good-natured to us,and they say very nice things
of the inn; but then it looks so silly. And the young
gentlemen are far the worst, Me ona? the university
young gentlemen, for they write such stupid poetry
and make such bad jokes, ‘I suppose it is that the fresh
air gives them she spirits, and they don’t care
what they say, and they never expect that their friends
will see what they have written, I have noticed,
though, that the walking gentlemen never write such
things when they are leaving, for they are always too
anxious about the number of miles they have to get

 

 

Ww
over on that day, and they are always anxious, too,
about thé heels of their stockings. If you would like

to see that book ”——

Wenna stopped. Mrs. Trelyon had been very good in
extending a sort of acquaintance to her, and now pro-
posed to help her in a way with her work. But she was
going too far in expecting that this reserved and silent
lady should become a visitor at the inn or interest her-
self in its commonplace affairs.

At this moment, indeed, Mrs. Trelyon was so very
much reserved that she did not notice either Wenna’s
tentative invitation or her embarrassment when she cut
itshort. “I wish,’ she said absently, showing what
she had been thinking about—“I wish you could get
Harry to go to one of the universities.”

It was now Wenna’s turn to stare. Did the mother of
that young gentleman seriously think that this stranger-
girl had such an influence over him? ‘‘Oh, Mrs, Trel-
yon,” Wenna said, “how could 1?”

“He would do anything for you,” the gentle lady
said, with much simplicity and honesty. “He pays no
attention to anything Isay to him, but he would do
anything foryou. His whole manner changes when you
are in the house. I think you are the ante person in
the world he is afraid of. And it wasso good of you to
get him to go to church !”

‘moot sure it was not I,” said Wenna, getting rather

“But I know,” said Mrs. Trelyon quite affectionately,
“ for I have seen everybody else try and fail. You see,
my dear, you are in a peculiar position. You are young,
and a pleasant companion for a young man, and, as you
are no relation of his, he is courteous to you. And
then, you see, you being engaged to be married enables
him to speak freely to you and treat you as a friend ;
and I think, besides, you have acquired some means of.
keeping him in check and having authority over him,
and I am sure ho would do more for you than for any-
one I know. As for me, I have never had any control
over him, but he is at least civil to me when you are in
the room.”

Wenna rose. “Mrs. Trelyon,”’ she said, ‘‘don’t you
think it is a pity to stay in-doors.on such a beauti-
fe morning? ‘The air,is quite mild and warm out-
Bide.”

She was glad to get.out. There was something in this
declaration of her responsibility for the young man’s
conduct which considerably startled and frightened her.
It was all very well for her to administer an occasional
sharp reproof to him when he was laughing and Sam
with herself and Mabyn, but to become the recogn:
monitress of so wild a pupil as Master Harry, to have
his own mother appeal to her—that was quite a different
affair. And on this occasion, when Mrs. Trelyon had
put on ashawl and come outside with her guest, all her
talk was about her son and his ways and his prospects.
It was very clear that, with all her lamentations over
his conducé, Mrs. Trelyon was very fond of the young
man, and was quite assured, too, that he had the brains
to do anything he might be induced to undertake.
Wenna listened in a vague way to all these com~-
plaints and speculations and covert phrases: she
did not find: her ‘position so embarrassing in ‘the
open air as in that close drawing-room. They walked
through the leafy alleys of the garden, unconsciously
regarding the beautiful color of the new spring flowers
and listening to the larks singing high up inthe blue.:
From time to time, as they turned; they caught a
glimpse of hills all ablaze “with. gorse, near the
horizon a long line of pale azure with a le white
ship visible in the haze. On the other side of the val-,

Se erence et ee enc ere ter a SS RNAS Ne SERENA

«:

ley a man was harrowing, they’could hear him calling’

to the horses, and the jingling of the chains.. Then:
there was the murmur of the stream far below, where
the sunlight just caught the light green of! the larches.,
These, and the constant singing of the birds around,
them, were the only sounds that accompanied their;
talk as they wandered this way and that by brilliant
garden-plots or through shaded avenues, where the airy
was sweet with the fresh scents of the opening sum-
mer. ’ 7 ;
And at last they came back
Wenna ‘should = to persuade Master Harry to go to
Oxford:or Cambridge. enced ES
“But, Mrs. Trelyon,” the girl said earnestly, “Iam
quite sure you mistake altogether my relations with
your son. I could not presume to give him advice, It
would not be my place to do so even if we were on the;
footing of friends, and that, at present, is out of the.
question. Don’t you see, Mrs. Trelyon, that because
Mr. Trelyon in coming about the inn was good-natured.
enough to make the acquaintance of my father, and.to,
tell to us girls, it would not do for any of us to forget
how we are situated. I don’t, anyway—perhaps
cause Lam proud;; but, at all events, Ishould nat, pre-
sume on: Mr. Trelyon’s good-nature. Don’t you see,

Mrs. Trelyon ?” ce

“I see that you are a very practical and sensible and
plain-spoken youn ae er companion said, regard-
ing her with a kindly look, “but I think you don’t do

my son justice. It is not thoughtlessness that made
him make your acquaintance. don’t think he ever
did a more prudent thing in his life before. And-then,’
dear Miss warne, you must remember—if I. wed
speak of such a thing—that you will soon be the wife.
of one of the very few friends we have about here ; and.
you must excuse us if we claim you as a friend le
and try = on) advantage of your friendship. Now, do
you see’ i [ :
Wenna was not persuaded, but she was, at all events,
much pleased to see that. occasionally Mrs. ‘
could forget her brooding sentimental fancies and be-;
come, Com: ively, bright and talkative... © —
“Now, ra say a word. to him when he comes
home for lunch ?” ‘

to the proposal that. —

“Ohno, I can’t do that, Mrs. ‘Trelyon,” Wenna said: |

“it would be quite rude-of me to do that. Besides, if
you would not be displeased with me, Mrs. Trelyon, for
  

 

 

   

18

THREE FEATHERS. ~ *

‘

 

saying so, I don’t think going to a university would do
him any good. -I don’t think—I ‘hopé you won't be
vexed with me—that he has had _ sufficient schooling.
And isn’t there an examination before you could get in?
Well, I don’t know about that, but Iam quite sure that
if he did get in, he would be too proud to put himself
in competition with the other young men who were
properly prepared for study, and would take to boating
or cricket or some such thing. Now, don’t you think,
Mrs. Trelyon, he would be as well occupied in amusing
himself here, where you might gradually get him to
take an interest in something besides shooting and_ fish-
ing? He knows far more things than most people
fancy: I know that. My father says he is very clever
and can pick up anything you tell him, and. that he
knows more about the management of an estate and
about the slate-quarries, and about. mining too, than
people imagine. And as for me,” added the girl bravely,
“T will say this, that I think him very clever indeed,
and that he will make a straightforward and honorable
man; and I should like'to see him in Parliament, where
he would be able to hold his own, I know.”

“Oh, my dear !” exclaimed Mrs, Trelyon with a joyful
face, ‘IT am so grateful to you! Iam so proud to know
you think so highly of him! And ‘won’t you say a word
tohim? He will do whatever you please.”

But Miss Wenna had somehow been startled into that
confession, and the sudden burst of honesty left her
considerably ashamed and embarrassed. She would not
— to intermeddle in the matter, whatevershe had

induced to say about the future of the young man.
She stooped to pick up a flower to cover her confusion
and then she requested Mrs. Trelyon to be good‘enough
to excuse her staying to lunch.

“Oh no, I dare not do that,” Mrs. Trelyon said:
“Harry would pull the house down when he found I
had let you go. You know we have no visitors at pres-
ent, and it will ‘be such a pleasure to have him lunch
with me; he seldom does, and never at all if there are
visitors. But really; Miss Rosewarne, it is so incon-
siderate of me to talk always of him, as if you ‘were as
much interested as myself. Why, the whole morning
we have not said a’'word about you and all you are look-
ing forward to! Ido hope you will be happy. I am
sure you will be, eet tai — a aa ee — of
regarding things, an is sure to. go well. I must say
that I thought Harry was a little more mad than usual
when he first told me about that money; but now I
know you, Iam very; very glad indeed, and very pleased
that I could be of some little service to Mr. Roscorla for
your sake.’’

The girl. beside her did not understand, and she

looked up with wondering eyes: ‘What money, Mrs.

Trelyon ?’’

“I mean the money that Harry got for Mr. Roscorla—,
the money, you know, for these Jamaica estates. Is it
possible Mr. Roscorla did not tell you before he left ?””

“I don’t know anything about it, Mrs. Trelyon, and I
hope you will tell me at once,”” Wenna said with some
decision in her tone, but with a strange sinking at her
heart.

“ You don’t know, then?” Mrs. Trelyon said, with a
sudden fear that had not been discreet. ‘Oh, it is
» &® mere business arrangement. Of course
don’t care to have these things talked over.
hope you won’t mention it, dear Miss jewarne: I
really thought you might have overheard them speak-
of the matter.”

enna said e~y = The soft dark eyes looked a
Tielyon, full of good spirits sad: noise’ and

came on, of g 8p and noise an
iene, ook he drove his mother and Wenna before him
into the house, and hurried up the servants, and would
the wine himself. His mother checked him for
Whistling ob Yenchoon:; his reply was to toss the leg of

on to the hearth-rug, where a small and oneggy
‘immediately to worry it. He put the

cat on the table to see if it would eat some Corn-

off his plate ate ot to know of his

the house, and came flying about the windows

eon the lawn; he threw up the

a couple of handfuls of crumbs.

Miss Wenna,” said he, “ would you like to see

fox? Iam sure you would. Jane, you cut

the stables and old Luke to bring that fox
‘Oo! Leave the claret this side.”

wish tosee the fox; I particularly dis-.

id Wenna with some asperity; and Jane

grinned to himself; it was the first

he had been able to get her to tohim. From

-_ of a ae ae silent,

vagaries tening to his random talk

; when she spoke it was always in answer to

mother. Very soon after luncheon she begged Mrs.

to excuse her going away; and then she went

and ea on her hat.

i see you down to the'inn,” said Master Harry
when she came out to the hall-door.

“mr it is quite unnecessary,” she said some-

:

peal

3

3
fas
°

Ht HG

conquer you by my extreme politeness.

time emul ten laughed at the no-
tion of this
on his

gentleman complimenting himself
ares + aco as — walked quietly ea the
path gate, very grave, indeed

no notice of his einen
he had shut the gate and re-

“Wenna,” said he ;
joined her, “is it fair to niake such a fuss about a
chance word? I think you are very hard. I did not
miean to offend you.”

“You have not offended me, Mr. Trelyon,’””

“Then why do you look so precious glum ?”

“Now i hete, be feasciiable:> dre: you : vexed. be-
cause Ss oon Wenna? Or is it because I spoke
about singing in the choir?’ é i

“Ob,” said ho, “you may be as nasty as you please, him,

 

“No,’’ she said simply, ‘I was not thinking of any
thing of that kind; and I am not vexed.”

“Then what is the matter ?”” ;

For another second or two she was silent, apparently
from irresolution: then she suddenly stopped in the
middle of the road, and confronted him. “Mr. Trel-
yon,” she said, ‘is it true that you have given Mr.
Roscorla money, and on my account?”

“No, itis not,” he said, considerably startled, by her
tone; “Ilent him some money—the money he wanted
to take to Jamaica.” i

“And what business had you to do anything of the
sort ?”’ she said, with the shame in her heart lending a
strangely unusual sharpness to her voice.

“Well,” said the young man quite humbly, “I
thought it, would bea service both to you and to him,
and that there was no harm in it...If he succeeds he
will pay me back, It was precious silly of him to tell
you anything about it; but still, Miss Wenna—you must
see—now don’t be, unreasonable—what harm could
there be in it ?” 1

She stood before:him, her eyes. cast down,. her. pale
face a trifle flushed and her hands clasped tight.

“How much was it?” she said in a low voice,

“Now, now, now,” he saidin a soothing way, “don’t
you make a fussabout it; it is a business transaction—
men often lend money to each other. What. a fool he
must. have been to haye— I beg your pardon ’—~and
then he stopped frowning at/his own stupidity,

“ How much was it?”

“ Well, if you must know, five thousand pounds.”

“Five thousand pounds!” she repeated absently. “I
am sure my father has not so much money. ButI will
bid you Eero now, Mr. Trelyon,” and she held out
herhand. -

“ Mayn’t I-walk down with you to the village?” said
he, looking rather crestfallen.

“No, thank you,” she said, quietly, and then she went
away.

Well, he stood looking at her for a few seconds. Now
that her back was turned to him and shé was going
away, there was no longer any brightness in the fresh
apring woods nor any color in the clear skies overhead.
She had been hard on him, he felt; and yet there was
no anger or impatience in his heart, only a vague regret
that somehow he had wounded her, and that they were
no longer good friends. He stood so for a minute or
two, and then he suddenly set out to overtake her. She
turned slightly just as he had got up.

“Miss Wenna,” he said, rather shamefacedly, “I for-
got to ask you whether you would mind calling in at
Mrs. Luke’s as you goby. There is a basket of prim-
roses there for you. Iset the children to gather them
about:an hour ago ; I thought you would like them.”

She said she would; and then he raised his cap to her,
looked at her just for one moment, and turned and walk-
ed away. Wenna called for the basket; and avery fine
basket of flowers it was, for Mrs. Luke said that Master
Harry had given the children rex ie apiece to gafher
the finest primroses they could get, and everyone
knows what Cornish primfoses are. Wenna took away
the flowers, not paying any particular attention to
them; and it was only when she got into her own room,
and when she felt very much inclined to sit down and
cry, that she noticed lying among the large and pale
yellow primrosesa bit of another flower which one of
the chiliren had doubtless placed there. It was merely
4 stalk of the small pink-flowered saxifrage, common in
cottager’s gardens, and called in some places London
pride. In other parts of the country they tenderly call
it None-so-pretty.

*

 

CHAPTER XVII.
CONFIDENCES.

MEANWHILE, during the time that Wenna Rosewarne
had been up at Trelyon Hall, her place in the inn had
been occupied by a very handsome, self-willed and gay-
hearted young lady, who had endeayored, after a some-
what wild fashion, to fulfill her sister’s duties. She had
poe singing through the house to seé that the maids

ad Bae the rooms right; she had had a fight with
Jennifer about certain jellies; she had petted her mo-
ther, and teased her father into a gi humor, after
which she went outside in her smart print dress and
bright ribbons and sat down on the bench of black oak
at the door. She formed part of a pretty picture there:
the bright April day was still shining all around—on
the plashing water of the mill, on the pigeons standing
on the roof, and on the hills beyond the harbor, which
were yellow with masses of furze.

“And now,” said this youn, to herself, “the
question is, canI become a villain? IfI could only get
one of the persons out of a story to tell me how they
managed to do it successfully, how fine that would be!
Here is the letter in my pocket: of course it has his
address in it. Iburn the letter: Wenna doesn’t write

burn each one as it comes: then he becomes indignant,
and will write no more, He thinks she hag forsaken
,and he uses naughty words, and pretends to be
well rid of her. Sheis troubled and astonished for a
time; then her pride is touched, and she won’t men-
tion his name. In the end, of course, she marries a
handsome young gentleman who is really in love with
her, and they are so very happy—oh, it is delightful to
think of it !—and then along time after the other one
comes, home, and they all. find out the villain—that’s
me—but they are all quite pleased with the way it has
ended, and the ve me. How clever. they, are in
stories to be able todo that!” . 03
She took a letter out of her pocket and: furtively.
looked at it. It bore a f postmark. She eaeed
that no one 0) and conceal-
editagain: “To burn this

mightn’t always let me his bag; and a single

 

one getting into Wenna’s hands would. spoil the whole

bserved her,
one iseasy. But old ale in

thing. Besides, if Wenna did not write out to Jamaica
he would write home to some of his friends—some of
those nice, cautious, inquiring clergymen, no doubt,
about the Hall—to let him know; and then there would
be a pretty squabble. Inever noticed how the villains in
the stories managed that; I suppose there were no clever
clergymen about, and no ill-tempered old postman like
Malachi Lean, And oh I should like to see what he
says: he will make such beautiful speeches about
absence and trust, and all that he and Will throw himself
on her mercy, and he will remind her of her engaged

ring.”

Mabyn laughed to herself—a quiet, triumphant laugh.
Whenever she was very down-hearted about her sister’s
affairs she used to look at the hoop of emeralds and re-
Peat to herself her fayorite rhyme:

‘Oh, green’s forsaken,
And _ yellow’s forsworn;
And blue is the sweetest

Color that’s worn!”

And on this occasion she réflected that perhaps, after
all, it was scarcely worth while for her to become a
villain in order to secure a result that had already been
ordained by Fate. ;

“Mab,” said her father, coming out to interrupt her
reflections, and speaking in a peevishly indolent voice,
“where is Wenna? I want her to write some letters
and go over to the Annots. Of course your mother’s ill
again and. can’t do anything.”

“ Can’t I write the letters ?’ said Mabyn:

“You? You're only fit to go capering about a danc-
ing-academy. I want Wenna.”

“Well, I think you might let ‘her have one forenoon
to herself,” Mabyn said, with some sharpness : ‘she
doesn’t tdke so very many holidays. She’s always do-
ing other people’s work, and that, too, when they’re
quite able to do it for themselves.”

Mabyn’s father was quite insensible to the sarcasm :
he said in a complaining way, “ Yes, that’s sure enough;
she’s always meddling in other people’s affairs, and they
don’t thank her for it. And a nice thing she’s done with
those Annots? Why, that young Hannabel fellow was
quite content to mind his own bit of farm, like any one
else, until she put it into his head to get that spring-
cart and drive all the way down to Devonport with his
poultry; and now she’s led him on jso that he buys up
the fish and the poultry and eggs and butter and things
from all the folks about him to sell at Devonport; and
of course they’re raising their prices, and they’ll scarce-
ly deal with you except as a favor; they’ve got 80 pre
cious independent. And now he’s come to the Tregear
farm, and if Wenna doesn’t interfere they’ll be contract-
ing with him for the whole of the summer. -There’s
one blessed mercy: when she gets married she’ll have
to stop that sort of thing, and have to mind her own
business.”

“Yes,” said Mabyn, with some promptitude, “and
~) has been left to mind her own business pretty well
of late.”

“What's the matter with you, Mabyn ?” her father
See asked, noticing at length the peculiarity of

er tone. :

“Why,” she said indignantly,““you and mother had
no right to let her go and engage herself to that man;
you ought to have interfered. She’s not fit to act for
herself: she let herself be coaxed over and you'll be
sorry for it some day.’’ E

“Hold your tongue, child,” her father said, “and
don’t talk about you can’tunderstand. A lot of
experience you have had! If Wenna didn’t want to
marry him, she could have said so; if she doesn’t want
to marry him now, she has only to say so. What harm
can there be in that ?”

“Oh, yes, it’s all very simple,” the girl said to her-
self as she rose and went away—“ very simple to say she
can do what she pleases; but she can’t; and she should
never have been allowed to put herself in such a posi-
tion, for she will find it out afterward if she doesn’t
now. It seems tome there is nobody at all who cares
about Wenna except me; and she thinks Iam a child,
and pays no heed to me.”

Wenna came in; Mabyn heard her go up stairs to her
own room, and followed her.

“Oh, Wenna, Mg fa you this beautiful basket of
primroses ?”” she cried, guessing instantly who had
given them. “It is such a pretty present to give to
anyone.”

a Mrs, Luke’s children gathered them,” Wenna said,

coldly.

“ On, indeed ! where did the basket come from ?””

“Mr. Trelyon asked them to gather me the prim-
roses,” Wenna said, impatiently, “I suppose he got
the basket.”

“Then it is his aes ! Mabyn cried. “Oh, how
kind of him! And see, Wenna—don’t you see what he
has put in among the primroses? Look, Wenna—itis a

bit of None-so-pretty. Ob, Wenna, that is a message to”
tohim. He gets angry, and writes again and in. I) yo

a,”
“Mabyn,” her sister said, with a severity that was
seldom in her voice, “ you will make me v! with you
if you talk such nonsense. He would not dare do such
a thing; why, the absurdity of it! And Tam not at all
well toward Mr. Trelyon at this moment.

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” said her sister, hum-
bly, and yet with a little inadvertent toss of the head.

‘2 veryone knows you are pretty ate eine
ére can be no harm in a yow A
He is not a greater fool than anybody else. He has got

eyes. He knows that everyone is in love with you—
everyone that is now in FOE. any way.
very gent] man, He is
; began.to move about the room, as she gener-
all Ota Wks ahs sn ide and indignant and

He is more respectful to you the people in

 

eis &
emanly young i a friend to”
you, I don’t see ony you should treat fas 80.

ed to tears. : .
& e thinks so hi of ashe d
There is no one er dhe oes.

 

 

 

 
 

ee
a eee

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

the world. I think itis very hard and unkind of you.”
“ But, Mabyn, what haye I done?’’ her sister said,
| “You won't believe he sent. you that piece of None-
| so-pretty; you won't take the least notice of his friend-
liness te you; yowsaid you were yexed with him.”
| - Well, I haye reason to be yexed with him,”’ Wenna
said, and would willingly have left the matter there.

4 But her sister.was not to be put off. She coaxed for
afew minutes, then became petulant, and affected to be
deeply hurt; then assumed an air of authority and said
that she insisted on. being told. Then the whole truth

| came out. Mr. Trelyon had been lending to Mr, Ros-
¢ corla a sum of money which he had no business to lend.
Mr. Trelyon had somehow mixed her up with _the mat-
ter, under the ppecetion that he was conferring a ser-
| vice on her. Mr. Trelyon had concealed the whole trans-
} action from her, and of course Mr. Roscorla was silent
also. And on the face of it Mr. Trelyon was responsi-
ble for Mr. Roscorla going away from his native land to
face all manner of perils, discomferta and anxieties, for
without that fatal sum of money he might still have
been living in peace and contentment up at Basset Cot-
tage. ‘ 8
“ Well, Wenna,” said the younger sister, candidly and
with a resigned air, ‘I never knew you so unreasonable
before. All you seem able to do is to invent reasons for
disliking’Mr. Trelyon, andI have no doubt you used
him shamefully when you saw him this forenoon. You
are all love and kindness to people who have no claim
on you—to brats in cottages and old women—but you
are very hard on people who I—who respect you. And
then,’’ added Miss. Mabyn, drawing herself up, “if I
were to tell you how thestory of that money strikes me,
would it surprise you? Who asked Mr. Roscorla
to have the money and to go away,? Not Mr. Trelyon,
Iam sure. Who concealed it?. Whose place.was it to
come and tell you—you who are engaged to him? Ifit
comes to;that, I’ll tell you what I believe, and that is
that Mr. Roscorla went and made use of.the regard
that Harry Trelyon has for you to.get the money,
There!” ~ ;

Mabyn uttered.the last words. with an air which said,
“TI will speak out this time, if I die forit.” But the
effect on her sister was strange. Of course she expected
Wenna to rise up indignantly and protest against her
speaking of Mr. Roscorla in such a way. She was ready
to braye her wrath. She full pombe they were en-
tering on the deadliest quarrel that, had eyer occurred
between them. . 5

But whether it was that Wenna was too much grieved
to care what her sister said, or whether it was that
these frank accusations touched some secret conscious-.
ness in her own heart, the elder sister remained strange-
ly silent, her eyes cast down. Mabyn looked at her,
wondering why she did not get upina rage. Wenna
was stealthily crying. And then of course the younger
sister’s arms were around her ina minute, and there
was a great deal of soothing and tender phrases; and
finally Mabyn not knowing otherwise how to atone for
her indiscretion, pulled out Mr. Roscola’s letter, put it
in Wenna’s hand, and went away.

2

 

CHAPTER XIX.
THE FIRST MESSAGE HOME.

WENNA Wes Fi to have the letter at that moment.
She had been distracted. by all this affair of the money;
she had been troubled and angry—with whom she could
scarcely tell; but here was something that recalled her
to asense of her duty. She opened it, resolved to ac-
cept its counsels and commands with all due meekness.
For such kindness as he might choose to show she
would be grateful, and she would go back to her ordi-
nary work more com) and cheerful, knowing that,
whatever business Mr. Roscorla might transact,
her concern was only to remain loyal to the promises
she had made and the trust which he reposedin her. —

And the letter was in reality a kind and friendly letter,
written with a sort of good humor that did not wholly
conceal a certain pathetic consciousness of distance and
loneliness, It gave her a brief description of the yoy-
age, of the look of the place at which he landed, of his
“mee

which he would have to spend his time while he re-
mained in the island. ;

“My head is rather in a whirl as yet,’ he wrote,
“and I can’t sit down and look at the simple facts
of the case—that every one knows how brief and
‘ oO and commonplace a thing a yoyage from
; En to the West Indies is, and how, looking at
a map, I should consider myself as only perae run
out here for a little trip. At present my memory is full
of the tedious nights and of the early mornings, and of
the immeasurable seas that we were always leaving be-
j hind, so that now I feel as if England were away in some
} other planet altogether that I should never return to.
; It seems years since [left you at Launceston Station:

when I look back to itIlook through long days and

F nights of water, and nothing but water, and it seems as

ifit must be years and years before I could see an En-

glish harbor again—all masts and smoke and hurry,
with posters upon the walls and cabs in the streets,
and somewhere or other 4 railway-station, where you
know you can takes ticket for Cornwall and get into
your old ways again. But Iam not now going to give
way to home-sickness: indeed, my dear Wenna, you
need not fear that, for, from all Ican make out, I
shall haye plenty to look after, and quite ee to
keep me from mooning and dreaming. Of course I can-
not tell you yet how things are likely to turn out,
but the people Ihave seen this morning are hopeful,
] and I am inclined to be hopeful myself—perhaps be-
cause the voyage has agreed with me y well,
and has wonderfully improved my spirits. So I mean
ti ; od earnest, with the assurance
that you are not indifferent to the results of it ; and then
somie day, when we are both enjoying these, you won’t
be sorry that I went away from you fora time. Al

 

ui t sane aeibs

 

 

with his friends, and then of the manner in| Dp

 

ready I have been speculating on all that we might do
if this venture turns out wéll, for of course there is no
necessity that you should be mewed up ,in Eyglosilyan
all your life, instead of feeling the enjoyment of change
of scene'and etinterests. These are castles in the air,
you will say; but they naturally arise in the mind when
you are’in buoyant health and spirits ; and I hope, if I
return te England in the same mood, you will become
infected with my confidence, 4nd add some gayety to
the quiet serenity of your life.”

Wenna rather hurried over this passage; the notion
that she might be enabled to play the part of a fine lady
by means of the money which Harry Trelyon had lent
her betrothed was not grateful to her.

“T wish,” the letter continued, “that you had been
looking less grave when you had your portrait taken.
Many a time, on the voyage out, used to fix my eyes
on your portrait, and try to imagine I was looking at it
in my room at home, and that you were half a mile or
s0 away from me, down at the inn in the yalley. But
these efforts were not successful, I must own ; for there
was not much of the quiet of Eglosilyan around me
when the men were tramping on the deck overhead and
the water hissing outside and the engines throbbing.
And when I used to take out your photograph on deck
in some quite corner, I used to say to myself, ‘Now I
shall see Wenna just as she is to-day, and I shall. know
she has gone in to have achat with the miller’s children,
or she is reading out at the edge of Black Cliff, or she is
contentedly sewing in her little parlor.’ . Well, to tell
you the truth, Wenna, I got vexed with your photo-
graph, I never did think it was very good—now I con-
sider it bad. Why, Ithink of you as I have seen you
runnigg about the cliffs with Mabyn, or romping with
small children at home, and I see your face all lightand
laughter, and your tongue just a little too ready to say
sauey things when an old fogy like myself would have
liked you to take care; but here it*is always the same
face—sad, serious and preoccupied. What were you
thinking of when it was taken? I suppose some of your
proteges in the village had got into mischief.”

“Wenna, are you here?’’ said her father, opening the
door of her room. ‘Why didn’t Mabyn tell me? And
a nice thing you’ve let us in for by getting young An-
not to start that business of going to Devonport! He's
gone to Tregear now.”

“Tknow,’’ Wenna said calmly.

“Tknow? And don’t you know what an inconyeni-
ence it will be to us ?—for of course your mother can’t
Took after these things, and she’ll expect me to go and
buy poultry and eggs for her.”

“Oh, no,” Wenna said, ‘‘all that is arranged, I set-
tled it both withthe Annots and the Tregear folks six
weeks ago. We are to have whatever we want just as
hitherto, and Hannabel Annot, will take the rest.””

“T want you to write some letters,” said Mr, Rose-
warne, disappointed of his grumble.

“Very well,”’ said Wenna ; and she rose and followed
her father. ,

They were met in the passage by Mabyn; “ Where are
you going, Wenna?”

“She is going to write some letters for me,” said her
mee impatient ofinterference. Get out of the way,

‘ab.”” ,

“ Have you read that letter, Wenna? No, you haven’t.
Why, father, don’t you know she’s got a letter from Mr.
Roscorla, and you hayen’t given her time to read it?
She must go back instantly. Your letters can wait, or
I'll write them, Come along, Wenna.”

Wenna laughed and st uncertain. Her father
frowned at first, but thought better of what he was
about to say, and only remarked, as he shrugged his
shoulders and passed on, “Some day or other, my young
lady, I shall haye to cuff your ears. Your temper is
get g to be just a little too much for me; and as for

he man who may marry you, God help him !”"

Mabyn carried her sister back in triumph to her
own room, went inside with her, locked the door and
sat down by the window. “TI shall wait until you have
finished,” she said; and Wenna, who was 4 little sur-
prised that roi should have been so anxious about
the reading ofa letter from Mr. Roscorla, took out the
fascist again, and opened it and continued her
erusal. e
“And now, Wenna,” the letter ran, “I must finish,
for there are two gentlemen coming to call on me di-
Patdey 6 “Somehow I feel as I felt on sending you tho
first letter I ever sent you—that I have said nothing of
what I should like to say. You might think me anxious,
morbid, unreasonable, if I told you all the things that
have occupied Ph mind of late with regard to you; and
yet sometimes a little restlessness creeps in that I can’t
qu ee ridof. It'is through no want of trust in you,

ear Wenna: I know your sincerity and high principle
too well for that. To put the matter bluntly, I know
you will keep faith with me, and that when I get back
to England, in good luck or in ill luck, you will be
there to meet me, and ready to share in whatever fate
Fortune may have brought us both. But sometimes,
to tell you the truth, I bee to think of your isolated
position, and of the possibility of your having doubts
which you can’t express to any one, and which I, bein
so far away from you, cannot attempt to remove.
know how the heart may be troubled in absence, mis-
taking its own sensations, and fancying that what is in
reality a longing to see some one is the oe ace of
some vague dissatisfaction with the relations existing
between you. Think of that, dear Wenna. If you are
troubled or doubtful, put it down to the fact that [am
not with you to give you courage and hope. A girl is,
indeed, to be pitied at such atime: she hesitates to con-
fess to herself that she has doubts, and she is ashamed
to ask counsel from her relatives. Happily, however,

you have multifarious duties which will in great

measure keep you from brooding; and I hope you will
remember your promise to give mé a full, true and par-
ticular account of all that is ha; in Eglosilyan.
You can tell how interesting the merest trifles will be
to me. ‘They will help me to make pictures of you

 

and all your surroundings; and already, at this great
distance, seem to feel the need of some such spur to
the imagination. As I say,I cannot appeal to your por-
trait—there is no life in it; but there is life in my men-
tal portrait of you—life and happiness, and even the
sound of your laughing. Tell me all about Mabyn, who
I think is rather jealous of me—of your mother and fa-
ther, and Jennifer, and everybody. Haye you any peo-
ple staying at the inn yet, or only chance-comers?
Haye the Trelyons returned ? and has that wild school-
boy succeeded yet in riding his horse.over a cliff !’”

ine so, With some few aftectionate phrases, the letter
ended,

“Well ?’” said Mabyn, coming back from the window.

“Yes, he is quite well,” Wenna said with her eyes”
grown distant, as though she were looking at some of
the scenes he had been describing.

“T did not ask if he was well,” Mabyn said. “I asked
what you thought of the letter. Did he say anything
about the borrowing of that money ?”’

“No, he does not.”

“Very well, then,’ Mabyn said sharply. “And yet
you blame Mr. Trelyon for not telling you. *Does a gen-
tleman tell anybody when he lends money? .No; buta
gentleman might have told. you that he had borrowed
money from a friend of yours, who lent it because of
you. But. there’s nothing of that in the letter—of
course not; only appeals to high moral principles, L
suppose, and a sort of going down on his knees to you
that you mayn’t withdraw from a bargain he swindled
you into.”

“Mabyn, I won’t hear another word. This is really
most insolent. You may say of me what you please,
but it is most cruel—it is most unworthy of you Ma-

' byn—to say such things of any one who cannot defend

himself.. And Iwon’t listen to them, Mabyn—let moe
say that once for all.’

“Very well, Wenna,” the younger sister said, with
two big tears rising to her eyes as she rose and went to
the door, “ you can quarrel with me if you.please, but
I’ve told you the truth, and there’s those that love you
too well to see you made unhappy; but I suppose Iam
to say nothing more.”

And she went, and Wenna sab down by the window,
thinking, with asigh, that it seemed her fate to make
everybody miserable. She sat there for a long time
with the letter in her hand, and sometimes she looked
at it, but did not care to read it over again. The
knowledge tliat she had it was something of a relief: _
she would use it as a talisman to dispel doubts and
cares when these came into her mind, but she would
wait until the necessity arose. She had one long and
argumentative letter to which she in secret reso:
whenever she wished to have the assurance that her
acceptance of Mr. Roscorla had been a right thing to
do; here was a letter which would exorcise all ous
surmises as to the future which might creep in upon
her during the wakeful hours of the night. She would
put them both carefully into her drawer, even as she
put a bit of camphor there to keep away moths.

So she rose, with saddened eyes and yet with some-
thing of a lighter heart; and in passing by the side-
table she stopped—perhaps by inadyertence—to look.
at the basket of primroses which Harry Trelyon had
sent her. She seemed surprised. Apparently missing
something, she looked around and on the floor to see
that it had not fallen; and then she said to herself, “I
suppose Mabyn has taken it for her hair.”

a

 

PART VI.—CHAPTER XX,
TINTAGEL'S WALI.

WHat was the matter with marry Trelyon? Wis
mother could not make out; and there never had been ©
much confidence between them, so that she did not
care to ask. But she watched, and she saw that he
had, for the time at least, forsaken his accustomed
haunts and ways and become gloomy, silent and self-
possessed. Dick was left neglected in the stablea: you
no longer heard his rapid clatter along the highway,
with the not over melodious voice of his master sing-
ing “The Men of Merry, Merry England” or “ The
Young Chevalier.” The long and slender fishing-rod
remained on the pegs in the hall, although you could
hear the flop of the small burn-trout of an 6
when the flies were thick over the stream. The d
were deprived of their accustomed runs; the horses
had to be taken out for exercise by the groom; and the
various and innumerable animals about the place
missed their doses of alternate petting and teasing, all
because Master Harry had chosen to shut u
in his study.

The mother of the young man very soon discovered
that her son was not devoting his hours of seclusion in’
that extraordinary museum of natural history to mak-
ing trout-flies, stuffing birds and arranging pinned
butterflies in cases, as was his custom. These were not
the occupations which now kept Master Harry half
the night. When she went in of a morning, before he
was up, she found that he had been covering whole
sheets of paper with careful copying out of passages
taken at random from the volumes beside him. A
Latin grammar was ordinarily on the table—a book
which the young gentleman had brought back from
school free from thumb-marks. Occasionally a fencing-
foil lay among these evidences of study, while the

small aquaria, the cases of stuffed animals with fancy —

backgrounds and the numerous bird-cages had
thrust aside to give fair elbow-room. tn Se ae
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Trelyon to herself with much
satisfaction—“ perhaps, after all, that good little girl
has given hima hint about Parliament,and he is pre-
paring himself.” ;
A few days of this seclusion, however, began to make
os mother ae tit ane 80 ihe moraiiggbe, went nko
room. He hastily turned over the sheet: of paper
on which he had been writing: then he looked up, Dok
too well pleased. : Ro Sah iat

 
   

 

 

 

 

 

BE
B

20

THREE FEATHERS,

 

“Harry, why do you stay in-doors on such a beautiful
morning? It is quite like summer.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “I suppose we shall soon
have a batch of parsons here: summer always brings
= They come out with the hot weather—like but-

ies.”

Mrs. Trelyon was shocked and disappointed: she
thought Wenna Rosewarne had cured him of his insane
dislike to clergymen—indeed, for many a day gone by
he had kept respectfully silent on the subject.

“But we shall not ask them to comeif you’d rather
not,” she said, wishing to do all she could to en-
courage the reformation of his ways. “I think Mr,
Barnes promised to visit us early in May, but he is only

“And one is worse than a dozen. When there’s a lot
tot can leave ’em to fight it out among themselves.
jut one |—to have one stalking about an empty house,
like a ghostdippedinink! Why can’t you askanybody
‘but aclergyman,tmother? There are whole lots of peo-
le would like to run down from London for a fortnight
fore getting into the thick of the season: there’s the
Pomeroy girls as good as offered*to come.”

“ But they can’t come by themselves,” Mrs. Trelyon
said with a feeble protest.

“Oh yes, they can: they’re ugly enough to be safe
anywhere. And why don’t you get Juliott up? She’ll
be glad to get away from that old curmudgeon for a

week. And you ought to ask the Trewhellas, father
and daughter, to dinner ; that old fellow is not half a
bad sort of fellow, although he’s a clergyman.”

“Harry,” said his mother, interrupting him, “T’ll fill
the house if that will please you; and you shall ask
just whomsoever you please.”

“ All right,” said he: the place wants waking up.”

“And then,” said the mother, wishing to be still
more gracious, “ you might ask Miss Rosewarne to dine
with us: she might come well enough, although Mr.
Roscorla is not here.”
| Asort of gloom fell over the young man’s face again :
“I can’t ask her—you may if you like.”
| Mrs. Trelyon stared : “What is the matter, Harry ?
Have you and she quarreled? Why, I was going to ask
you, if you were down in the village to-day, to say that
I should like to see her.”

“And how could I take such a message?” the young
man said, rather warmly. “I don’t see why the girl
should be ordered up to see you asif you were confer-
ring a favor on her by joining in this scheme. She’s
very hard-worked ; you have got plenty of time; you
ought to call on her and study her convenience, instead
of making her trot all the way up here whenever you
want to talk to her.”

The pale and gentle woman flushed a little, but she

‘was anxious not to give way to petulance just then:
“Well, you are right, Harry: it was thoughtless of me.
Er ghocld like to go down and see her this morning; but
Ihave sent Jakes over to the blacksmith’s, and I am
afraid of that new lad.”
. “Oh, I will drive you down to the inn. I suppose
among them they can put the horses to the wagonette,””
tie young man said, not very graciously; and then
Mrs. Trelyon went off to get ready.

It was a beautiful, fresh morning, the far-off line of the
sea still and blue, the sunlight lighting up the wonderful
masses of primroses along the tall banks, the air
sweet with the resinous odor of the gorse. Mrs. Trelyon
looked with a gentle and childlike pleasure on all these
things, and was fairly inclined to be very friendly with
the young gentleman beside her. But he was more than

. ordinarily silent and morose. Mrs. Trelyon knew she

had_done nothing to offend him, and thought it hard
sie should be punished for the sins of anybody else.

‘He spoke scarcely a word to her as the carriage rolled
along the silent highways, He drove rapidly and care-
lessly down’ the steep thoroughfare of Eglosilyan, al-
though there were plenty of loose stones about. Then
he pulled sharply up in front of the inn, and George

6 appeared.

«Mr. Rosewarne, let me-introduce you to my mother.
She wants to see Miss Wenna for a few moments, if she
is not engaged.”

Mr. Rosewarne took off his cap, assisted Mrs. Trelyon
to alight, and then showed her the way into the house.

“Won't you come in, Harry ?” his mother said. °

No.” rs

A man had come out to the horses’ heads.

“You leave ’em alone,” said the young gentleman ;
“TI shan’t get down.”

Mabyn came out, her bright young face full of

pleasure,

“How do you do, Mabyn ?” he said coldly, and with-
out offering to shake hands.

-“Won’t you come in for a minute ?”’ she said, rather

ay No, thank you. Don’t you stay out in the cold:
you've got nothing round your neck.”

Mabyn went away without saying a word, but think-
ing that the coolness of the air was much less apparent
than that of his manner and speech.

“Being at length left to himself, he turned his atten-
tion to the horses before him, and eventually, to pass
the time, took out his pocket-handkerchief and began

)olish the silver on the handle of the whip. He was

&

in this peaceful occupation by 4 very timid’

e, which said, “Mr. Trelyon.” He turned round
that Wenna’s wistful face was looking up at
th a look in it partly of friendly gladness and
r of anxiety and entreaty. “Mr. Trelyon,” she
ee ~ cast down, op think a omat offend-
. very sorry : our forgiveness,”
were fastened up in 3 ae
the road beside her,
look here, Wenna,” he said. “What could you,
treating me so unfairly? Idon’i mean in be-
ed with me, but in shunting me off, as it were,
of having it out at once. I fion't think it was

“I think I was very

B
4

avs

.

i

7

am very sorry,” she seid.

f

ute, and he was

wrong, but you don’t know what a girl feels about such
things. Will you come into the inn ?”’

“And leave my horses? No,” he said, good-natur-
edly. “But as soon as I get that fellow out, I will; so
you go in at once, and I'll follow you directly, And
mind, Wenna, don’t you be so silly again, or you and I
may have a real quarrel ; and I know that would break
your heart.” 2

The old pleased smile lit up her face again as she
turned and went in-doors ; he meanwhile proceeded to
summon a hostler by shouting his name at the pitch of
his voice.

The small party of women assembled in the parlor
were a trifle embarrassed ; it was the first time that the
great lady of the neighborhood had honored the inn
with a visit. She herself was merely quiet, gentle and
pleased, but Mrs. Rosewarne, with her fine eyes and her
sensitive face all lit up with the novel excitement, was
all anxiety to amuse and interest and propitiate her
distinguished guest. Mabyn, too, was rather shy and
embarrassed ; she said things hastily, and then seemed
afraid of her interference. Wenna was scarcely at her
ease, because she saw that her mother and sister were
not; and she was very anxious, moreover, that these
two should think well of Mrs. Trelyon and be disposed
to like her.

The sudden appearance of a man with a man’s rough
ways and loud voice seemed to shake these feminine ele-
ments better together, and to clear the air of timid ap-
prehensions and cautions.
room with quite a marked freshness and good nature on
his face. His mother was surprised; what had com-
pletely;changed his manner in a couple of minutes ?

“ How are you, Mrs. Rosewarne ?”’ he cried in his off-
hand fashion. “You oughtn’t to be in-doors on such a
morning, or we shall never get you well, you know; and
the doctor will be sending you to Penzance or Devon-
port fora change. Well, Mabyn, have you convinced
anybody yet that your farm-laborers with their twelve
shilling® a week are better off than the slate-workers
with their eighteen? You'd better take your sister’s
opinion on that point, and don’t squabble with me.
Mother, what’s the use of sitting here? You bring
Miss Wenna with you into the wagonette, and talk to
her there about all your business-affairs, and I’ll take
you fora drive. Come along. And of course I want
somebody with me: will you come, Mrs. Rosewarne, or
will Mabyn? You can’t ?—then Mabynmust. Goalong,
Mabyn, and put your best hat on, and make yourself
uncommonly smart, and you shall be allowed to sit
next the driver—that’s me.”

And indeed he bundled the whole of them about un-
til they were seated in the sek as just as he had in-
dicated; and away they went from the inn-door.

“And you think you are coming back in half an
hour?’ he said to his companion, who was much
pleased and very proud to occupy such a place. “Oh
no, you’re not. You’re a young and simple thing,

jbyn. These two behind us will go on talking now

| for any time about yards of calico and crochet-needles

and twopenny subscriptions, while you and I, don’t
“sent see, are quietly driving them over to Tin-

eS am ,

“Oh, Mr. Trelyon !’’ said Mabyn.

“You keep quiet. That isn’t the half of what’s
going to befall you. I shall put up the horses at the
inn, and I shall take you all down to the beach for a
scramble to improve your appetite; and at the said inn
you shall have luncheon, with me, if you’re all very
good and behave yourself. Then we shall drive back
just when we particularly please. Do you like the pic-
ture ?””

“Tt is delightful: oh, Iam sure Wenna will enjoy it,”
Mabyn said. “But, don’t you think, Mr. Tréelyon, that
you might ask her to sit here? One sees better here
than sitting sideways in a wagonette.”

“They have their business-affairs to settle.”

“Yes,” said Mabyn petulantly,” that is what every
one says: nobody expects Wenna eyer to have a mo-
ment’s enjoyment to herself. Oh, here is Old Uncle
Cornish—he’s a great friend of Wenna’s: he will be
dreadfully hurt if she passes him without saying a
word!”

“Then we shall pull up and address Uncle Cornish.
I believe he used to be the most thieving old ruffian of
a poacher in this country.” 0

There was a hale old man of seyenty or so seated on
a low wall in front of one of the gardens, his face
shaded from the sunlight by abroad hat, his lean gray
hands employed in buckling up the leathern leggings
that encased his spare calves. got up when the
horses stopped, and looked in rather a dazed fashion at
the carriage, ’

a How do you do this morning, Mr. Cornish ?”’ Wenna
sai

“Why, now, to be sure!”’ the old man said, as if re-
proaching his own imperfect vision. “Tis a fine
marnin’, Miss Wenna, and yu be agwoin’ for a drive.”

“And how is your daughter-in-law, Mr. Cornish?
Has she sold the pig yet ?”

“Naw, she hasn’t sold the peg. If yu be agwoin’
thru Trevalga, Miss Wenna. just yu stop and have a
look at that peg: yu’ll be ’mazedto see en, ’Tis many
@ year agone sence there has been such a peg by me.
And perhaps yu’d take the laste bit o’ refrashment, Miss
Wenna, a8 yu go by: Jane would get yu a coop 0’ tay
to once.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cornish, I’ll look in and see the pig
some other time: to-day we shan’t be going as far as

Trevalga. r

“Oh, won’t you?” said Master Harry in a low voice
ag he droveon. “You'll be in Trevalga before you know
where you are.”

Which was literally the case. Wenna was 80 much
engaged in her talk with Mrs. Trelyon that she did not
nD how far away they were getting from Eglosilyan;

 

but. Mabyn and her companion knew. were now
on the high uplands by the coast, driving between the
beautiful 8, which were starred with primroses

Harry Trelyon came into the | in

 

and stitchwork and red deadnettle and a dozen other
bright and tender-hued firstlings of the year. Thesun was
warm on the hedges and the fields,but scool breeze blew
about these lofty heights, and stirred Mabyn’s splendid
masses of hair as they drove rapidly along. Far over
on their right, beyond the majestic wall of cliff, lay the
great blue plain of the sea; and there stood the bold
brown massés of the Sisters Rocks, with a circle of
white foam round their base. As they looked down
into the south the white light was so fierce that they
could but faintly discern objects through it; but here
and there they caughta glimpse of a square church-
tower or of a few rude cottages clustered on the high
plain, and these seemed to be of a transparent gray in
the blinding glare of the sun.

Then suddenly in front of them they found a deep
chasm, with the white road leading down through its
cool shadows. There was the channel of a stream,
with the rocks looking , purple amid the gray bushes;
and here were rich meadows, with cattle standing deep
in the grass and the daisies; and over there, on the other
side, a strip of forest, with the sunlight shining along
one side of the tall and dark-green pines. As they
drove down into this place, which is called the Rocky
Valley, a magpie rose from one of the fields and, flew up
into the firs.

“ That is sorrow,” said Mabyn.

Another one rose and flew up to the same spot.

“ And that is joy,” she said, with her face brighten-

ge

“Oh, but I saw another as we came to the brow of the
hill, and that means a marriage,” her companion re-
marked to her.

“Ob no,” she said quite eagerly, “Iam sure there
was no third one: Iam certain there were only two. I
am quite positive we only saw two.” {

“But why should you be so anxious ?” Trelyon said.
“You know you ought to be looking forward to a mar-
riage, and that is always a happy thing. Are you envi-
ous, Mabyn?”’

The girl was silent for a moment or two, Then she
said, with asudden bitterness in her tone, “Isn’t it a
fearful thing to have to be civil to people whom you
hate? Isn’t it, when they come and establish a claim
on you through some one you care for? You look at
them—yes, you can look at them—and you’ve got to
see them kiss some one that you love; and you wonder
she doesn’t rush away for a bit of caustic and cauterise
the place, as you do when a mad dog bites you.”

“Mabyn,” said the young man beside her,“ you are a
most unchristian sort of person this morning. Who is
it you hate in such a fashion? Will you take the reine
while I walk up the hill?”

Mabyn’s little burst of passion still burned in her
cheeks and gave a proud and angry look to her mouth,
but she took the reins all the same, and her companion
leapt to the ground. The banks on each side of the
road going up this hill were tall and steep; here and
there great masses of wild flowers werescattered amo:
the grass and the gorse. From time to time he stoo:
to pick up a handful, until, when they had got up to
the high and level country again, he had brought to-
gether a very pretty bouquet of wild blossoms, When
he got into his seat and took the reins again he care-
lessly gave the bouquet to Mabyn.

“Oh, how pretty !” she said; and then she turned
round: “ Wenna, are you very much engaged? Look
at the pretty bouquet Mr. Trelyon has gathered for
you.” ‘ .

‘Wenna’s quiet face flushed with pleasure when she
took the flowers, and Mrs. Trelyon looked pleased and
said they wery very pretty. She evidently
thought that her son was greatly improved in
his manners ‘when he condescended to gath-
er flowers to present to a girl. Nay, was
he not at this moment devoting a whole forenoon of his
precious time to the unaccustomed task of taking ladies
for a drive? Mrs. Trelyon regarded Wenna with a
friendly look, and began to take a greater liking than
ever to that sensitive and expressive face and to the
quiet and earnest eyes.

“But, Mr. Trelyon,” said Wenna, looking round,
“hadn’t we better turn? We shall be at Trevenzia di-
rectly.”

“Yes, you are quite right,” said Master Harry:
“You will be at Trevenna directly, amd you are likely
to be there for some time. For Mabyn and I have re-
solved to have luncheon there, and we are going down
to Tintagel, and we shall most llkely climb to King
Arthur’s Castle. Have you any objections ?

Wenna had none. The drive through the cool and
bright day had braced up her spirits. She was glad to
know that everything looked promising about this
scheme of hers. So she willingly surrendered herself
to the holiday, and in due time they drove into the odd
m4 remote little village and pulled up in front of the

nn, ~

So soon cs the hostler had come to the horses’ heads,
the young gentleman who had been driving jumped
down and assisted his three companions toalight : then
he led the way into the inn. In the doorway stood a
stranger, probably a commercial traveler, who, with his
hands in his pockets, his legs apart and a a in his
mouth, had been visiting those three ladies with a very
hearty stare as they got out of the carriage. Moreover,
when they came to the doorway ho did not budge an
inch nor did he take his cigar from his mouth; and
80, a8 it had never been Mr. Trelyon’s fashion to sidle
past any one, that young gentleman made straight for the
middle of the passage, keeping his shoulders very square.
rae cee ati Ringtone
rson with his han ets was sen’ er-

the wall, while his dropped on the
the devil. to

SA Pay ap
e, 07 ts ve
you are a prudent person. Next time ladies pass you,

you’d better take your cigar out of your mouth, or

 

 

is

 

 
scsi Le

ik

 

 

 

THREE FEATHERS.

a

 

 

Somebody’ll destroy that
for you. Good morning.” >

Then he returned to the little parlor, to which a wait-
ress had been summoned: “ Now, Jinny, pull yourself
together and let’s have something nice for luncheon—
in an hour’s time, sharp. You will, won’t you? And
how about that Sillery with the blue star—not the
stuff with the gold head that some abandoned ruffian
in Plymouth brews in his back garden. Well, can’t
you speak ?”

“ Yes, sir,” said the bewildered maid.

“That’s a good thing—a very good thing,” said he,
pat the shawls together on a sofa. “ Don’t you
forget how to speak until you get married, And don’t
let anybody come into this room. And you can let my
man have his dinner anda pint of beer. Oh, I forgot;
I’m my own man this morning, so you needn’t go ask-
ing for him. Now, will you remember all these
things ?”

“ Yes, sir; but what‘would you like for luncheon ?”’
“My ae girl, we should like a thousand thin
such as Tintagel never saw, but what you’ve got to do
is to give us the nicest things you’ve got: do you see?
z — it entirely in your hands. Come along, young

people.”

And so he bundled his charges out again into the
main street of the village; and somehow it happened
‘that Mabyn addressed a timid remark to Mrs. Trelyon,
and that Mrs. Trelyon, in answering it, stopped for a
Moment, so that Master Harry was sent to Wenna’s
side, and these two led the way down the wide thor-'
oughfare.

There were few people visible in the old-fashioned
place; here and there an aged crone came out to the
door of one of the rude stone cottages to look at the
strangers.

Overhead the sky was veiled over with a thin fleece
of white cloud, but the light was intense for all that,
and indeed the colors of the objecta around seemed all
tthe more clear and marked.”

“Well, Miss Wenna,” said the young man gayly,
“how long are we toremain good friends? What is the
moxt fault you will have to find with me? Or haveyou
discovered something wrong already ?’

“Oh, no,’ she said with a quiet smile, ‘Iam very
good friends with you this morning. You have pleased
=e mother very much by bringing her for this

ve.”

“Oh, nonsense!" he said. “She might have as many
drives as she chose; but presently you'll find a lot of
those parsons back at the house, and she’ll take to her
white gowns again and the playing of the organ all the
day long, and all that sham stuff. I tell you what it is:
she never seems alive, she never seems to take any in-
terest in anything unless you’re with her. Now, you
will see how the novelty of this luncheon party in an
inn will amuse her; but do you think she would care
for it ifshe andI were here alone ?’’

“ Perhaps you never tried ?”’ Miss Wenna said gently.

“ Perhaps I knew she wouldn’t come, However, don’t
let’s have a fight, Wenna: I mean to be very civil to you
to-day—I do, really.”

“Tam so much obliged to you,” she said meekly.
“ But pray don’t give yourseif unnecessary trouble.”

“Oh,” said he, “I'd always be civil to you if you would
treat me decently. But you say far more rude things
than I do—in that soft way, you know, that looks as if it
were all silk and honey. I do think you’ve awfully
little consideration for human failings. If one goes
wrong in the least thing, even in cpe’s spelling, you
say something that sounds as pleasar4 as possible, and
all the same it transfixes one just as you stick a pin
through a beetle. You are very hard, you are—I mean
with those who would like to be friends with you.
When it’s mere strangers and cottagers and ws of
that sort, who don’t care a brass farthin, ut you,
then I believe you're all gentleness and dness; but
to your real friends the edge of a saw is smooth com-
pared to*you.”

“ AmTso very harsh to my friends ?”’ the young lady
Said in a resigned way.

“Oh, well,” he said, with some compunction. “I
don’t quite say that, but you could be much more plea-
gant eon liked, and a little more charitable to their
faults. You know there are some who would give a

deal to win your approval; and perhaps when you

d fault they are so disappointed that they think your
words are ee than you mean; and sometimes they
think Ta: mig: t give them credit for trying to please
you, a -

“And who are these persons?’ Wenna said, with an-

two-pennyworth of tobacco

_ other smile stealing over her face.

* Oh,” said he, rather shamefacedly, “ there’s no need
to explain anything to you: you always see it before
one need put it in words.”

Well, perhaps it was in his manner or in the tone of
his voice that there was something which seemed at
this moment to touch her deeply, for she half turned
and looked up at his face with her honest and earnest
eyes, and said to him kindly: ‘‘ Yes, I do know without
you telling me, and it makes me happy to hear you
talk so; and ifI am unjust to you, you must not think
Ne ae Aud I shall try not to be so in the

ure.””

Mrs. Trelyon was regarding with a kindly look the two
young people walking on in front of he, Whatever
Pp her son pleased her, and she was glad to see him
enjoy himself in so light-hearted a fashion. These two
were chatting to each other in the friendliest manner :
sometimes they stopped to pick up wild flowers; they
were as two children together under the fair and light
Summer skies.

They went down and along 4 narrow valley, until
they suddenly stood in front of the sea, the green waters
of which were hesaking. in upon a small apd lonely
‘Creek. What strange light was this that fell from the
white skies above, rendering all the objects around

hem sharp in outline and iatense in color? The

 

beach before them seemed of a pale lilac, where
the green waves broke in 9 semicircle of white.
On their right some masses of ruddy rock jutted out
into the cold sea, and there were huge black cay-
erns into which the waves dashed and rvared, On
their left and far above them towered a great and iso-
lated rock, its precipitous sides, scored here and there
with twisted lines of red and yellow quartz; and on the
summit of this bold headland, amid the dark green of
the sea-grass, they could see the dusky ruins—the
crumbling walls and doorways and battlements—of the
castle that is named in all the stories of King Arthur
and his knights.

The bridge across to the mainland has, in the course
of centuries, fallen away; but there, on the other side
of the wide chasm, were the ruins of the other por-
tions of the castle, scarcely to be distinguished, in
parts, from the grass-grown rocks.

How long ago was it since Sir Tristram rode out here
to the end of the world, to find the beautiful Isoulde
awaiting him—she whom he had brought from Ireland
as an unwilling bride to the old king Mark? And what
of the joyous company of knights and ladies who once
held high sport in the courtyard there ?

Trélyon, pecking shyly at his companion, could see
that her eyes seemed centuries away from him. She
was quite unconscious of his covertly staring at her,
for she was —— looking at the high and bare preci-

ices, the deserted slopes of dark sea-grass, and the

onely and crumbling ruins.

She was wondering whether the ghosts of those van-
ished people ever came back to this lonely headland,
where they would find the world scarcely altered since
they had left it. Did they come at night, when the
land was dark, and when there was a light over the sea
only coming from the stars? If one were to come at
night alone, and to sit down here by the shore, might
not one see strange things far overhead or hear some
sound other than the falling of the waves ?

“ Miss Wenna,” he said—and she started suddenly—
“ are you bold enough to climb with me up to the cas-
tle? I know my mother would rather stay here.”

She went with him mechanically. She followed him
up the rude steps cut in the steep slopes of slate, hold-
ing his hand where that was possible, but her head was
so full of dreams that she answered him when
he spoke only with a vague yes or no. When they de-
scended again they found that Mabyn had taken Mrs.
Trelyon down to the beach, and had inveigled her into
entering a huge cavern, or rather a natural tunnel, that
went right through underneath the promontory on
which the castle is built. They were in a sort of green-
hued twilight, a scent of seaweed filling the damp air,
wear their voices raising an echo in the great hall of
rock.

“T hope the climbing has. not made you giddy,” Mrs.
Trelyon said in her kind way to Wenna, noticing that
she was very silent and distrait.

“Oh no,” Mabyn said promptly. “She has been see-
ing ghosts. We always know when Wenna has been
— oo : she remains so for hours.”

And, indeed, at this time she was rather more reserved
than usual all during their walk back to luncheon and
while they were in the inn; and yet she was obviously
very happy, and sometimes even amused by the child-
like pleasige which Mrs. Trelyon seemed to obtain from
these unwdnted experiences.

“Come, now, mother,” Master Harry said, “ what are
you going to do forme when I come of age next month ?
Fill the house with guests—yes, you promised that—
with not more than one parson to the dozen? And when
they’re all feasting and gabbling, and missing the tar-

‘ets with their arrows, you'll slip quietly away, and I’ll

rive you and Miss Wenna over here, and you'll go and
get your feet wet again in that cavern, and you'll come
up here again and have an elegant luncheon, just like
this. Won't that do?” .

“I don’t quite know about the! elegance of the lun-
cheon, but I’m sure our little excursion has been very
pleasant. Don’t you think so, Miss Rosewarne ?’’ Mrs.
Trelyon said. :

“Indeed I do,” said Wenna, with her big, earnest eyes
col back from their trance.

“And here is another thing,” remarked young Tre-
lyon. “There’s a picture I’ve seen of the heir coming of
age—he’s a horrid, self-sufficient young cad, but
never mind—and it seems to be a day of general
jollification. Can’t I give a present to somebody?
Well, I’m going to give it toa young lady who never
cares for anything but what she can give away again to
somebody else, and it is—well, it is—why don’t you
guess, nr 2

“I don’t know what you mean to give, Wenna,” said
Mabyn, naturally.

“Why, you silly, I mean to give her a dozen sewing-
machines—a baker’s dozen—thirteen. There! Oh, I
heard you as you came along. It was all ‘Three sew-
cae will cost so much, and four sewing-ma-
chines will cost so much, and five sewing-machines will
cost 80 much. Anda penny a week from s0 many sub-
scribers will be so much, and twopence a week from so
many will be so much;’ and all this, as if my mother
could tell you how much twice two was. My arithme-
tie ain’t very brilliant, but as for hers——and these you
shall have, Miss Wenna—one baker’s dozen of sewing-
machines, as per order, duly delivered, carriage free—
empty casks and bottles to be returned.”

«“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Trelyon,”’ Wenna said,
and all the dreams had gone straight out of her head
so soon as this was mentioned; “but wecan’t possibly
accept them. You know our scheme is to make the
sewing-club quite self-supporting—no charity.”

“Oh, what stuff!’ the young gentleman cried.
“You know you will give all your labor and supervi-
sion for nothing: isn’t that charity? And you know

‘ou will let off all sorts of people owing you subscrip-
‘ions the moment some blessed baby falls ill. And you
know you won't charge interest on all the outlay. But

 

 

if you insist on paying me back for my sewing-machines
out of the overwhelming profits at the end of next
year, then I'll take the money. I’m not proud.”

“Then we will take six sewing-machines from you, if
you please, Mr. Trelyon, on those conditions,” said
Wenna, gravely.

And Master Harry, with a look toward Mabyn, which
was just about as good as a wink, consented.

As they drove quietly back to Eglosilyan, Mabyn
had taken her former place by the driver, and found
him uncommonly thoughtful. Heanswered her ques-
tions, but that was all; and it was so unusual to find
Harry Trelyon in this mood that she said to him:

“Mr, Trelyon have you been seeing ghosts, too?”

He turned to her and said:

“T was thinking about something. Look here,
Mabyn: did you ever know any one, or do you know
any one whose face is a sort of barometer to you?
Suppose that you see her look pale and tired, or sad in
any way, then down go your spirits, and you almost
wish you had never been born. When you see her face
brighten up and get full of healthy color, you feel glad
enough to burst out singing, or go mad: anyhow, you
know that everything’s all right. What the weather is,
what people may say about you, whatever else may
happen to you, that’s at : all you want to see is
just that one person’s face look perfectly bright and
perfectly happy, and nothing can touch you then. Did
you ever know anybody like that?” he added, rather
abruptly.

“ Oh, yes,” said Mabyn, in alow voice: “that is when
you are in love with some one. And there is only one
face in all the world that I look to for all these things;
there is only one person I know who tells you openly
and simply in her face all that effects her, and that is
va Wenna. I suppose you have noticed that, Mr. Tre-

yon ?””

But he did not make any answer.

 

CHAPTER XXI.
CONFESSION.

THE lad lay dreaming in the warm meadows by the
side of a small and rapid brook, the clear waters of
which plashed and bubbled in the sunlight as they hur-
ried past the brown stones. His fishing-rod lay de
him, hidden in the long grass and the daisies. The
sun was hot in the valley—shining on a wall of gray
rock behind him, and throwing purple shadows over
the clefts ; gry on the dark bushes beside the
stream, and on the lush green of the meadows; shining
on the trees beyond, in the shadow of which some
dark-red cattle were Seem

Then away on the other side of the valley rose gently-
sloping woods, gray and green in the haze of the heat,
and over these again was the pale blue sky with scarce-
ly acloud init. It was ahot day to be found in spring
time, but the waters. of the brook seemed c and
pleasant as they gurgled by, and occasionally a breath
of wind blew over from the woods. For the nest, he lay
8o still on this fine, indolent, dreamy morning that the
birds around seemed to take no note of his presence,
and one of the large woodpeckers, with his scarlet head
and con body brilliant in the sun, flew close by him
and disappeared into the bushes opposite like a sudden |
gleam of color shot by a diamond, :

“Next month,” he was thinking to himself as he lay
with his hands behind his head, not caring to shade his
handsome and well-tanned face from the warm sun—
“next month I shall be twenty-one, and most folks will
consider me @ man. Anyhow,I don’t know the man .
whom I wouldn’t fight or run or ride or shoot <<
for any ge he liked. But of all the people who know
anything about me, just that one whose opinion I care
for will not consider me aman at all, but only a boy.
And that.without aaying anything. You can tell, some-
how, bya mere look, what her feelings are; and you
know that what she thinks is true. course it’s true
—I am only a boy. What's the good of me to anybody ?
Icould look aftera farm—that is, I could 100k after
other people doing their work—but I couldn’t do any
work myself. And that seems to me what she is alwa:
looking at : ‘ What’s the good of you, what are you
ing, what are you busy about? It’s all very well for
her to be busy, for she can doa hundred thousand
things, and she is always at them. What can I do?”

Then his wandering day-dreamings took another
turn: “It was an odd thing for Mabyn to say—
‘That is when you are in love with some one.”
But those girls take ee love. They
don’t know how you can admire, almost to wor-
shiping, the goodness of a woman,and how you are
anxious that she should be well and happy,and how
you would do anything in the world to please her,
without fancying straight away that you are in love
with her, and: want to marry her and drive about in the
same carriage with her, I shall be quite as fond of
Wenna Rosewarne when she is married, although I shall
hate that little brute with his rum and his treacle.
The cheek of him, in asking her to marry him, is as-
tonishing. Heisthe most hideous little beast that
could have been picked out to marry any woman, but I
suppose he has appealed to her compassion,and then —
she'll do anything. Butif there was anybody else in
love with her, if she cared the least bit about anybody
else, wouldn’t I go eraign to her and insist on her
shunting that fellow aside? What claim has he on any
other feeling of hers but her compassion? Why, if that
fellow were to come and try to ee: her, and if I
were in the affair, and if she appealed to me even by@
look, then there would be short work with something
orsomebody.”

He got up hastily, with something of a gloomy and
angry look on his face. He did not notice that he had
startled all the birds around from out of the bushes.
He picked up his rod and line in a morose m, not
seeming to care about adding to the half
and red-speckled trout he had in his basket,

 
 

   

_ The new friend of yours—he’s no great

THREE FEATHERS,

 

 

While he was thus irresolutely standing he caught
sight of agirl’s figure coming rapidly along the valley
under the shadow of some ash trees growing by the
stream, It was Wenna Rosewarne herself, and she
seemed to be hurrying toward him. She was carrying
some black object in her arms.

“Oh, Mr. Trelyon,” she said, ‘“‘ what am Ito do with
this little dog? Isaw him Kicking in the road and
foaming at the mouth ; andthen he got up and ran,
and I caught him ’”—— «

Before she had time to say anything more the young
man made a sudden dive at the dog, caught hold of him
and turned and heaved him into the stream, He fellintoa
little pool of clear brown water: he spluttered and pad-
died there for a second, then he got his footing and
scrambled across the stones up to the opposite bank,
where he began shaking the water from his coat among
the long grass.

“Oh, how could you beso disgracefully cruel?’ she
said, with her face(full of indignation,

“And how could you be so imprudent?’ he said
quite as vehemently. ‘Why, whose is the dog?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you catch up some mongrel little cur.in the
middle of the highway——_ He might have been mad.”

“IT knew he wasn’t mad,” she said: “it was only a fit;
ae Por, could you be so cruel as to throw him into the

ver 2”

“Oh,” said the young man, coolly, “a dash of cold
water is the best thing for a dog that has a fit. Besides,
I don’t care what he had or what I did with him, so
jong as you are safe. Your little finger is of more con-
sequence than the necks of all the curs in the country.”

* Oh, it is mean of you to. say that,” she retorted
warmly. “You have no pity for those wretched little
things that are at every one’s mercy. Ifit were a hand-
some and beautiful dog, now, you would care for that,
or if it were a dog that was skilled in getting game for
you, you would care for that.”

“Yes, certainly,” he said: “these are dogs that have
something to recommend them,”

“Yes, and every one is good to them: they are not in
need of your favor. But you don’t think of the wretch-
ed little brutes that have nothing to recommend them,
that only live.on sufferance, that every one, kicks ‘and
c and starves.””

“ Well,” said he with some compunction, “look there!
beauty, you
must confess—is all right now. The bath has cured
him. As soon as he’s done licking his paws he’ll be off
home, wherever that may be. But I’ve always noticed
that about you, Wenna: you’re always on the side of
ee that are ugly and helpless and useless in the
world; and you’re not very just to those who don’t
agree with you. For after all, you know, one wants
time to acquire that notion of yours—that it is only
weak and ill-favored creatures that are worthy of the
least consideration.” :

,, “Yes,” she said rather sadly, “ you want time to learn

He looked at her. Did she mean that her sympathy
with those who were weak and ill-favored arose from
some 8 e consciousness that she herself was both?
His toburnred. He had often heard her
hint something like that, and yet he had never dared to
reason with her orshow her what he thought of her.
Should he do so now?

. “ Wenna,” he said, blushing hotly, “I can’t make you
out sometimes. You speak as if no one cared for you.
Now, ifI were to tell you ”—— :

. “Ob, Tam not so ungrateful,”'she said hastily. “know
that two or three do; and—and, Mr. Trelyon, do you
think you could coax that little dog over the stream
ee You see he has come back again—he can’t find
way home.”’

Mr, elyon called to the dog: it came down to the
iss side, and rue oe Layered $i She pone ce

Jo you ware a brass ug about the little beast ?’
he said to Wenna, ; ;
- “Imust put him on his way home,” she answered,
Thereupon the-young man went straight through the
to the other side, jumping the deeper portions
the channel: he caught up the dog and brought it
‘back to her ; and when she was very angry with him
for this mad performance, he merely kicked some of the
water out of his trousers and laughed, :

Then a smile ke over her face also. “Is that an
example of what people would do for me?” she said
shyly. “Mr. Trelyon, you must keep walking through

_ the warm our feet are dry ; i
S tan, y Yy ; or will you come

along and Ishall get you some shoes and
Sropengs 2 Pray do, and at once. I am rather in a

Paes: ‘o along with you, anyway,” he said, “‘ and put

‘Phi little brute into the highway. ‘But why are you

ina hurry ?”’ :
“Because,” said Wenna, as they set out to walk down

_ othe yalley—“ because my mother and I are going to

Penzance the day after to-morrow, and I have a lot of
re to get ready.”
-, 10 Penzance ?’” said he with a sudden falling of the

“Yes, She has been dreadfully out of sorts lately,
and she hag sunk into a kind of despondent state. The
doctors she must have a change—a holiday, really
Tee away from the cares of the house ”——

“Why, Wenna, it’s you who want the holiday—it’s
you who have the cares of the house,” Trelyon said

Wi oy

_ “And so I have persuaded her to go to Penzance for a
_week or two, and Pg0 with her to 190k after her. Mr,
‘Trelyon, would you be kind enough to keep Rock for
me until we come back? I am afraid of the servants

“You needn’t be afraid of that: he’s not one of the
wored—every one will attend to him,” said Tre-

; and then he added, after a minute or two of
“The fact is, I think Ishall be at Penzance also

 

while you are there. My cousin Juliott is coming here
in about a fortnight to celebrate the important event
of my coming of age, andI promised togovfor her. I
os as well go now.”

She said nothing.

“TI might as well go any time,’ he said’ rather im-
patiently. “I haven’t got anything to do.» Do you
know, before you came along just now, I was thinking
what a very useful person you were in the world, and
what a very useless person I was—about as useless as
this little cur. I think somebody should take me up
and heave me into the river, And I was wondering,
too”—here he became a little more embarrassed and
slow of speech—“I was wondering what: you would
say if I spoke to you and gaye you a hint that some-
times—that sometimes one might wish to cut this lazy
life if one only knew how; and whether so very busy @
person as yourself. mightn’t—don't you see ?—give one
some notion—some sort of hint, in fact”’——

“Oh, but then, Mr. Trelyon,’’ she said quite cheer-
fully, “you would think it very strange if Lasked you
to take any interest in the things that keep me busy.
That is not a man’s work. I wouldn’t accept you as a
pupil.” ’

He burst out laughing. “‘ Why,’ said. he, “ do you
think I offered to mend stockings and set sums on
slates and coddle babies ?’’ f

“As for setting sums on slates,” she remarked with
a quiet impertinence, “ the working of them out might
be of some use to you.”

“Yes, and a serious trouble too,’’ he said candidly.
“No, no—that cottage business ain’t in my line., I like
to-have a joke with the old folksora romp with the
kids, but Ican’t go in for cutting out pinafores. I shall
leave my mother to do my share of that for me; and
hasn’t she come out strong lately, eh? It’s quite a new
amusement for Her, and it’s driven a deal of that organ-
grinding and stuffout of her head; and I’ve anotion
some 0’ those parsons ””——

He stopped short, remembering who his companion
was; and at that moment they came to a gate which
opened out on the highway, through which the small
cur was passed ‘to find his way home. » Now, Miss
Wenna,” said the young man—* By the way, you see
how I remember to address you respectfully ever since
you got sulky with me about it the other day ?”

“Tam sure I did not get sulky with you, and espe-
cially about that,” she remarked with much composure.
“T suppose that you are not aware that you have drop-
ped the ‘ Miss’ several times this morning already ?”

“Did Ireally? Well, then, I’m awful sorry; but then
you are so good-natured you tempt one to forget; and
my mother, she always calls you Wena Rosewarne now
in speaking to me, as if’ you were a little school girl in-
stead of being “the cliief support and pillar of all the
public affairs of Eglosilyan.. And now, Miss Wenna, I
sha’n’t go down the road with you, because my damp
boots and garments would gather the dust; but per-
haps you wouldn’t mind stopping two seconds here, and
I'm going to go a cracker and ask you a question » What
should a fellow in my position try todo? You see, I
haven’t had the least training for any one of the profes-
sions, even if I had any sort of capacity ’’——

“But why should you wish to have a profession ?”’ she
saidsimply, ‘You have more money than is good for
you already.” ¢

“Then you don’t think it ignominious,” he said, with
his face lighting up considerably, “to fish in summer
and shoot in autumn and hunt in winter, and make
that the only business of one’s life ?”’

“T should if it were the only business, but it needn’t
be, and you don’t make itso. My father speaks very
highly of the way ns look after your property; and he
knows what attending to an estateis. And then you
have so many opportunities of being kind and useful to
the people about you that you might domore good that
way than by working night and day at a profession.
Then you owe much to yourself, because if every one
began with himself, and educated himself, and became
satisfied and happy with doing his best, there would be
no bad conduct and wretchedness to call for interfer-
ence. I don’t see why you should be ashamed of shoot-
ing and hunting and all that, and doing them as well as
anybody else, or far better, as I hear people say. I don’t
t aman is bound to have ambition and try to be-
come famous : you might be of much greater use in the
world, even in such a little place as Eglosilyan, than if

ou were in Parliament. I did say to Mrs. Trelyon that

should like to see you in Parliament, because one has
a natural os in any person one admires and likes very
much, and one wishes ”"——_

He saw the quick look of fear that sprang to her eyes
—not a sudden appearance of shy embarrassment, But
absolute fear—and he-was almost as startled by her
blunder as she herself was. He hastily came to her
rescue, He thanked her in a few.rapid and formal
words for her patience and advice, and, as he saw she
was trying to turn away and hide the mortification vis-
ible on her face, he shook hands with her and let he
go. ° ¥ ‘

Then he turned. He had been startled, it is true, and

wed tosee the pain her chance words had caused
er, But nowa great glowof delight rose up within
him, and he could haye called aloud to the blue skies
and the silent woods because of the joy that filled his
heart. They were but chance words, of course. They
were uttered with no deliberate intention ; on the con-
trary, her quick look of pain showed how bitterly she
regretted the blunder. Moreover, he congratulated him-
self on his ae of acting, and assured himself
that she would believe that he had not noticed that.ad-
mission of hers. They were idle words: she would for-
get them. The incident, so far as’ she was concerned,
was gone, pyre

But not so far as he was concerned. ‘For now he knew
that the person whom, above ‘all other persons ‘in the
world, he was most desirous to’ please, whose

and esteem he was most anxious to obtain, had not only | ot

condoned much of his idleness out of the abundant
charity of her heart, but had further, and by chance,
ones to him that she gave him some little share of
that affection which she seemed to shed generously and
indiscriminately on so many folks and things around
her. He, too, was now in the charmed circle. He walk-
ed with a new pride through the warm, green meadows,
his rod over his shoulder : he whistled as he went, or he
sang snatches of the ‘‘ Rose of Allandale.” He met two
small boys out. bird’s-nesting: he gave them a shilling
apiece, and then inconsistently informed them that if
he caught them then or at-any other time with a bird’s
nest in their hands he would cuff their ears. Then he
walked hastily home, put up his fishing-rod, and shut
himself up in his study with half a dozen of those
learned volumes, which he had brought back unsoiled
from school.

CHAPTER XX.
ON WINGS OF HOPE,

WueEn Trelyon arrived late one evening at Penzance,
he was surprised to find his uncle’s coachman awaiting
him at the station: “ What’s the matter, Tobias? Is
the old gentleman going to die? You don’t mean to
say you are here forme?”

“Yaas, zor, 1 be,’ said the little old man with no
great courtesy. t

“Then he is going to die if he sends out his horse
this time o’ night. Look here, Tobias: I'll put my
portmanteau inside and come on the box to have a talk
with you—you’re such a jolly old card, you know—and.
you'll tell tell me all that’s happened since I last en-
joyed my uncle’s bountiful hospitality.”

This the young man did : and then the brown-faced,
wiry and surly little person, having started his. horse,
proceeded to tell his'story in a series of grumbling and
disconnected sentences. He was not nearly so taciturn
as he looked : ‘The maaster he sun to bed to-night:
*twere Miss Juliott sent me to the station, without
tellin’ en. He's gettin worse and worse, that’s sure;
if yu be for giving me half a crown, like, or any one
coming to the house, he finds it out and stops it out o’
my wages ; yes, he does, sir, the old fule !”

you please.”

“Why, zor, you knaw en well enough,” said: the man
in a surly fashion: “And I'll tell yu this, Maaster
Harry, if yu be after dinner with en, and hehas a bottle
0’ poort wine that he puts on the mantelpieee, and he
says to yu to let that aloan, vor ’tis a medicine-zart 0’
wine, don’t you heed en, but have that wine. “Tis the
real old poort wine,zor, that yur vather gied en—the
dahmned old pagan!” © :

The young man burst out eigines instead of repri-
manding Tobias, who maintain
ness of face.

“Why, zor, I be ae now, too: yaas,I be, to
save the wages. And he’s gone clean mazed about that
garden—yaas, I think. Would yu believe this, Maaster
Harry, that he killed every one o’ the blessed straw-
berries last year with a lot o’ wrack from the bache,
because he said it wud be as good for them as for the
’sparagus ?”” .

“Well, but the old chap finds amusement in potter-
ing about the garden ” said Master Harry.

“The old fule!” repeated Tobias, in an under tone,

“And the theory is sound about the seaweed and the
strawberries; just as his old notion of getting a
rose by pouring sulphate of copper in at the root.”

“Yaas, that were another pretty thing, Maaster
Harry, and he had the tin lables all painted out in
French, and he waited and waited, and there bain’t a
fairly gude rose left in the garden. And his. violet glass
for the cucumbers; he burned en.up. to once, althou,
*twere fine to hear’n talk about the sunlight and the
rays and such nonsenses. He bea strange mahn, zor,
and a dahmned close’n with his penny-pieces, Christain
and all as he calls hissen. There’s Miss Juliott, zor,
she’s goin’ to get married, I suppose; and when she

oes no one ’1l dare spake to ’n. yu goins to stop
his time, Maaster rT 7

“Not at the Hollies, Tobias, Ishall go down to the
Queen’s to-morrow: I’ve gotrooms there.”

“So. much the better—so much the better,’ said the
frank but inhospitable retainer: and presently the jog-
trot old animal between the shafts was pulled up in
front of a certain square old-fashioned building of gray
stone which was pesptily surmomnded with trees. They
had arrived at tha Rev. Mr. Penaluna’s house, and there.
was a young lady standing in the light of the hall, she
having opened the door very softly as she heard the
carriage drive up.

“So here you are, Harry; and you’ll stay with us the
whole fortnight, won’t you! Come into the dining-
room—lI have some supper ready for you. Papa’s gone
to bed and he desired me to give you his excuses, and
he hopes wa made youself quite at home, as you al-
ways do, y.” ;

He did make himself quite at home, for, haying
‘Kissed his cousin and fiung his topcoat down in the
hall, he went into the dining-room and took possesion
of the easy-chair.

“Sha’n’t have any ‘supper, Jue, thank you. You
won’t mind my lighting a mebody’s been
smoking here y.. And what’s the least poisonous
claret you’ve got?”

“Well, I are |” she said, but she got him the wine
all the same, and watched him light his cigar: then she
took the easy-chair opposite. ,

“Tell us about your young man,‘Jue,”” he said. “Girle
always like to talk about that.”

“Do they?” she said. “Not to fs

 

“T shall be twenty-one in a fi t, Iam thinking

“Tobias, be alittle more respectful to my uncle, if

his sulky impassive- ©

 

|

 

“:

 

 
 

at

 

 

EN

SS

THREE. FEATHERS.

23

 

 

* So I hear,’’ she remarked quietly.

Now he had been talking nonsense at random, mostly
intent on getting his cigar well lit, but this little ob-
servation rather startled him. ‘‘ What have ou heard?”
he. said abruptly. f

“Oh, nothing—the ordinary stupid gossip,” she said,
though she was watching him rather closely. “Are you
going to stay with us for the next fortnight ?”’

“No, I have got rooms at the Queen’s.”’

“I thought so. One might have expected you, how-
ever, to stay with your relations. when you came to

Penzance.” ’

“Oh, that’s all gammon, Jue,” he said: “you know
vay well your father doesn’t care to have anyone stay
with you—it’s too much bother. You'll have quite
enough of me while I am in Penzance.’

“Shall we have anything of you ?” she said with ap-
parent indifference. “(I understood that Miss Rose-
warne and her mamma had already come here.”

“And what if they have ?’’ he said with unnecessary
fierceness.

“Well, Harry,” she said, “you needn’t get into a
temper ahout it, but people will talk, you know ; and
they say that your attentions to that young lady are
rather. marked, considering that she is engaged to be
married ; and you have induced your mother to make
a pet of her, Shall I go on?”

“No, you needn’t,” he said with a strong effort to
overcome his anger. ‘‘ You’re quite right—people do
talk, but they wouldn’t talk so much if other people
didn’t carry tales. Why, it isn’t like you, Jue! I
thought you were another sort. And about this girl, of
all girls in the world!” 3

He got up and began walking about the room, and
talking with considerable vehemence, but no more in

nger. He would tell her what cause there was for this
silly gossip. He would tell her who the girl was who
had been lightly mentionéd. And in his blunt, frank,
matter-of-fact way, which did not quite conceal his
emotion, he revealed to his cousin all that he thought
of Wenna Rosewarne, and ‘what he hoped for her in the
fnture and what their present relations were, and then
plainly asked her if she"tould condemn him.

Miss Juliott was touched: “Sit down, Harry ; I have
wanted to talk to you, and-I don’t mean to heed any
gossip. Sit down, please—you frighten me by walking
up and down like that. Now, I’m going to talk com-
mon sense to you, for I should like to be your friend ;
and your mother is so easily led away by any sort of
sentiment that she isn’t likely to have seen with my
eyes. Su that this Miss Rosewarne ’’——

“No, hold hard a bit, Jue.” he said imperatively.
“You may talk till the millennium, but just keep off
her, I warn you.”

** Will you hear me.out, you silly boy? Suppose that
Miss Rosewarne is everything that you believe her to be.
I'm going to grant that, because I’m going to ask you a
question, Youcan’t have such an opinion of any girl,
and be constantly in her society, and go following her
about like this, without falling in love with her. Now,
in that case, would you propose to marry her?”

“T marry her!’ he said, his face becoming suddenly
pale fora moment. “Jue, you are mad! Lam not, fit
to marry a girl like that, You don’t know her,

“Let all that alone, Harry: when a man is in love
with a woman he always thinks he’s good enough for
her; and whether he does or not he tries to get her for
a wife. Don’t let us discuss your comparative merits ;
one might even put ina word for you. But suppose
yon drifted into being in love with her—and I consider
that quite probable — and suppose you forgot, as I
know you would forget, the difference in your social

ition, how would you like to go and ask her ,to
reak ae promise to the gentleman to whom she is
engaged ?””

Master Harry laughed aloud in a somewhat nervous
fashion: ‘Him? Look here, Jue; leave me out of it—I
hayen’t the cheek to talk of myself in that connection
—but if there was a decent sort of fellow whom that
a really took a liking to,do you think he would let

hat elderly and elegant swell out in Jamaica stand in
his way? He would be no such fool, I can tell you. He
would consider the girl first of all. He would say to
himself, ‘Imean to make ‘this girl happy: if anyone in-

‘terferes, let him look out!’ Why, Jue, you don’t sup-

pose any man would be frightened by that sort of

ng?’

' Miss Juliott did not seem quite convinced by this
burst of scornful oratory. She continued quietly,
“You ‘forget something, Harry. Your heroic youn,
man might find it easy to do something wild— to figh
with that gentleman in the West Indies, or murder
him, or anything like that, just as you see in a story—
but perhaps Miss Rosewarne might have something to

Bay.
“ I meant if she cared for him,” Trelyon said, looking

wr.

“Granting that also, do you think it likely your _hot-
headed gentleman would be able to get a young lady to
disgrace herself by breaking her plighted word and de-
ceiving 4 man who went away trusting her? You say
she hasa very tender conscience--that she is so anxious to
consult every one’s happiness; before her own, and all
that. Probably it is true. I say nothing against her.
But to bring the matter back to yourself—for I believe
you’re hot-headed enough to do anything—what would

ou think of herif you or anybody else persuaded her

do such a treacherous thing ? as

“She is not capable of treachery,” he said somewhat
stiffly. “If you’ve got no more cheerful ne talk
about, you’d better go to bed, Jue. I shall h my
cigar by myself.” '
' “Very well, then, Harry. You, know your room.
wigs put out the lamp when vou have lit your can-

So she went, ana the young man was teft alone in no
‘very enviable frame of mind.,. Hesat and smoked while

the clock on the mantlepiece swung its gilded boy and

struck the hours. and half hours with unheeded regu-
larity. _He lit a second cigar, and a third; he forgot the
Wine. It seemed to him that he was looking on all the
roads of life that lay before him, and they were lit up
by as strange and new a light as that which was begin-
ning to shine over the world outside. New fancies
seemed to awake with the new dawn, For him-
self to ask Wenna Rosewarne to be his wife!
Could he but win the. tender and shy
regard of her eyes he would fall at her feet and
bathe them with his tears. And if this wonderful thing
were possible—if she could put her hand in his an
trust to him for safety in the coming years they
might live together-—-what man of woman born would
dare to interfere? There was a blue light coming in
through the shutters. He went to the window: the
topmost leaves of the trees were quivering in the cold
air far there in the clearing skies, where the stars
were fading out one by one, and he could hear the
sound of the sea on the distant beach, and he knew that
across the gray plain of waters the dawn was breaking,
and that over the sleeping world another day was rising
that seemed to him the first day of anew and tremu-
lous life, full of joy and cowrage and hope.

 

PART VII.—OHAPTER XXIII,
BOME OLD BSONGB,

“ ARE you dreaming again, child?’ said Mrs. Rose-
warne to her daughter. “You are not a fit companion
for a sick woman, who is herself dull ertough. ‘Why do
you always look so sad when you look at the sea,
Wenna?”

The wan-faced, beautiful-eyed woman lay on a sofa,
a book beside her. She had been chatting in a bright,
rapid, desultory fashion about the book and a dozen
other things—amusing herself really by a continual
stream of playful talk—until she perceived that ‘the
girl’s fancies were far away. Then she stopped sudden-
ly, with this expression of petulant but good-natured
disappointment. :

“Oh, I beg your pardon, mother,” said Wenna, who
was seated at an open window fronting the bay. ‘*What
did you say? Why does the sea make one sad? Idon’t
know. One feels less at home here than out on the
rocks at Eglosilyan: perhaps that is it. Or the place is
S beautiful that it almost makes you cry. Idon’t

now.” ‘

, And indeed Penzance Bay on this still clear morning
was’ beautiful enough to attract wistful eyes and call
up vague and distant fancies. The cloudless sky was

unseen sun was overhead and shining vertically down.
The still plain of water—so clear that the shingle could
be seen through it a long way out—had no decisive col-
or, but the fishing-smacks lying out there were jet-
biack points in the bewildering. glare. The sunlight
did not seem to be in the sky, in the air or on the
sea; but when you turned to the southern arm of
the bay, where the low line of green hills ran out
into the water, there you could see the strong
clear light shining—shining on the green fields
and on the sharp black lines of hedges, on that
bit of gray old town with its cottage-gardens and its
sea-wall, and on the line of dark rock that formed the
point of the promontory, On the other side of the bay
the eye followed the curye of the level shores until it
caught sicht of St. Michael’s Mount rising palely from
the water, ils sunlit grays and purple shadows softened
by tho cool distance. Then beyond that again, on the
verge of the horizon, lay the long and narrow line of the
Lizard, half lost in asilver haze. For the rest, a cool
wind went this way and that through Mrs. Rosewarne's
room, stirring the curtains. There was an odor of the
sea in theair. It wasaday for dreaming, ae but
not for the gloom begotten of languor and an indolent

ulse.

“Oh, mother! oh, mother!’’ Wenna cried suddenly,
with a quick flush of color to her cheeks, “do you know
who is coming along? Can you see? It is Mr. Trelyon,
and he jis looking at all the houses; I know he is look-

ing for us.”

“Child! child!” said the mother. ‘“ How should
Mr. Trelyon know we are here ?”

“Because I told him,” Wenna said, simply and hur-
riedly, “Mother, may I wave a handkerchief to him?
Won’t you come and see him? he seems so much more
manly in this strange place; and how brave and hand-
some he looks!”

“ ‘Wenna !’’ her mother said, severely.

« The x did not wave a handkerchief, it is true, but
‘she knelt down at the open bay-window, so that he
‘must needs see her; and sure enough he did. Off went
his hat in a minute, a bright look of recognition leaped
to his eyes, and he crossed the street.

Then Wenna turned, all in a flutter of delight, and
quite unconscious of the color in her face: “Are
you ‘vexed, mother? Mayn’t I be glad to see him?
Why, when I know that he will brighten up your
spirits better than a dozen doctors? One feels
quite happy and hopeful whenever he comes into the
room. Mother, you won’t have to complain of dulltiess
if Mr. Trelyon comes to see you. And why doesn’t the
girl send him up at once?” *

Wenna was standing at the open door to receive him
when he came up stairs; she had wholly forgotten the
embarrassment of their last parting.

“I thought I should find you out,” he said, when he
came into the room, and it was clear there was little
embarrassment about him; “and I know how your
mother likes to be teased and worried. You’ve got a
nice place here, Mrs. Rosewarne; and what splendid
weather you've brought with you!” ‘

“Yes,” said Wenna, her whole face lit up with a sh

ladness, ‘“‘haven’t we? And did you ever see the bay

looking more beautiful? It is enough to make you
laugh and clap your hands out of mere delight to see
everything so lovely and fresh.”

 

intensely dark in its blue: one had a notion that the

 

“A few minutes ago I thought you were nearly cry-
ing over it,” said the mother with # smile, but Miss
Wenna took no heed of the reproof; She would have
Mr. Trelyon help himself to a tumbler of claret and
water. e fetched out from some mysterious lodging-
house recess an ornamented tin can of biscuits. She
accused herself of being the dullest companion in the
world, and directly hinted that he might have pity on
her mamma and stay to luncheon with them.

“Well, it’s very odd,” he said, telling a lie with great
simplicity of purpose, “ but I had arranged to drive to
the Land’s End for luncheon—to the inn there, you
know. I suppose it wouldn’t—Do you think, Mrs.
Rosewarne—would it be convenient for you tocome for
adrive so far?”

“Oh, it would be the very best thing in the world for
her—nothing could be better,” said Wenna; and them
she added meekly: “ifit is not giving you too much:
trouble, Mr, Trelyon.”

He ‘laughed: “Trouble! I’m glad to be of use to
anybody ; and in this case I shall have all the pleasure:
on my side. Well, I’m off now to see about the horses.
if I come for you in half an hour, will that do ?”

As soon as he had left Mrs. Rosewarne turned to her
daughter and said to her gravely enough, “ Wenna, one:
has seldom to talk to you about the rene but:
really this seems just alittle doubtful. . Lrelyon
may make a friend of you—that is all very well, for you.
are going to marry a friend of his—but you ought not
to expect him to associate with me.” z

“‘ Mother,” said Wenna‘with hot cheeks, “I wonder how
you can suspect him of thinking of such foolish and
wicked things. Why, he is the very last’man in all the’
world to do anything that is mean and unkind, or to
think about it.” Y ’

“My dear child, I suspect him of nothing,” Mrs,
Rosewarne said; “but look at the simple facts of the
case.’ Mr. Trelyon is a very rich gentleman; his family
is an old one, greatly honored about here; and if he is
so recklessly kind as to offer his acquaintanceship to
persons who are altogether in a different sphere of life;
we should take care not to abuse his kindness orto let
people have occasion to wonder at him. Looking at
your marriage an@ future station, it is perhaps more
permissible with you; but as regards myself, I don’t
very much care, Wenna, to havé Mr, Trelyon coming
about the house.” :

« Why, mother, I—I am surprised at you !” Wenna
said warmly. You judge of him by the contemptible
things that other people might say of him. Do yow
think he would care for that? Mr. ‘Trelyon isa man;
and like a man he has the courage to choose such friends
as he likes; and it is no more to him what money they
have or what their position is than the—than the shape
of their pocket-handkerchiéfs is. Perhaps that is hie
folly, recklessness—the recklessness of a young man,
Perhaps it is. Iam not old enough to know how peo-
S alter, but I hope I shall never see Mr. Trelyon alter

in this respect—never, if he were to live for a hundred
years. And—and I am surprised to hear you, of all peo-
ple, mother, suggestsuch things of him. What has h
done that you should think so meanly of him ? .

Wenna was very indignant and hurt. She would
have continued further, but that a tremulous move-
— of her under lip caused her to turn ‘away her

ead. b

“ Well, Wenna, you needn’t cry about it,” her mother
said gently. “ It is of no great consequence. Of course
every one must please himself in ae his friends;
and I quite admit that Mr. Trelyon is not likely to ‘be

hindered by anything that any m may say. Don't
take it so much ‘to heart, chi! eae and get on your
things, and get back some of the cheerfulness you had

while he was here. I will say this for the young man,
ae he has an extraordinary power of raising your spir-

“ You are — mother, after all,” said Wenna, peni-
tently; ‘‘ and if you come and let me dress you prettily,
Is promise not to scold you again—not till the nex!
time you deserve it.” dani? ayad

By the time mae drove awa; m. Penzance the fore-
noon had,softened into more vatiful colors. There
was a paler blue in the sky and on the sea,and millions
of yellow stars twinkled on the ripples. A faint haze
aan ee over the bright green hills lying on thesouth

@ bay. r .aqad

“ Life Yooks worth having on such a day as this,”
Trelyon said; “ doesn’t it, Miss Wenna?” ' *

She certainly seemed parca enough, She drankin
the sweet fresh air; she called attention to the pure
rare colors of the seaand the Res uplands, the cool-
ness of the woods through which they drove, the pro-
fuse abundance of wild flowers along the banks; all
things around her seemed to have conspired to yield her
delight, anda great happiness shone in her eyes, Mr.
Trelyon talked mostly to Mrs. Rosewarne; but his 6:
rarely wandered away for long from Wenna’s 5
and radiant face; and again and again he said -
self, “ And if a simple drive on a spring morning can give
this child so great a delight, itis not the last that she
and I shall together.” mig

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” said he,“ Ithink your daughter
has as much need of a an asanybody. I don’t be-
lieve there’s a woman or girlin the country works as
hard as she does.”

“I don’t know whether she needs it,” said Miss Wenna
of herself, “but I know that she enjoys it,”

“I know what you’d enjoy a good deal better than
merely Se of sight of your own door for a week
or two,” said he. ‘‘ Wouldn’t you like to get clear away
from England for six months, and go wan abou
in all sorts of fine places? Why, I could take such @
trip in that time! I should like to see what you’d say
to some of the old Dutch towns and their ehurches,
all that; then Cologne, you know, and a sail up
Rhine to Mainz ; then you'd go on to Bale and Geneva,
and we’d get you a fine big carriage, with the horses
decorated with foxes’ and Dhedsante tails, to dri
to Chamounix, Then, when you had gone tremulously

oe

FE

3
4

—
 

 

 

tae

’ living to complain

   

24

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

over the Mer de Glace, and kept your wits about you
going down the Mauvais Pas, I don’t think you could do
Detter than go on to the Italian lakes—you never saw
anything like them, I'll be bound—and Naples and
Florence. Would you,come back by the Tyrol, and
haye a turn at Zurich and Lucerne, with a long ramble
through the Black Forest in a trap resembling 4 ram-
shackle landau ?”

“Thank you,” said Wenna, very cheerfully. “The
sketch is delightful, but I am pretty comfortable where
Iam,”

»» “But this can’t last,” said he.
_ And neither can my holidays,” she answered.
“Oh, but they ought to,” he retorted vehemently.
“You have not half enough amusement in your life ;
that’s my opinion. Youslave too much for all those folks
about Eglosilyan and their dozens of children. Why.
you don’t get anything out of life as you ought to.
What have you to,look forward to? Only the same
ceaseless round of working for other people. Don’t
rou think you might let some one else have a turn at
that useful but monotonous occupation ?”’

“But Wenna has something else to look forward. to
now,” her mother reminded him gently ; and after that
the did not speak for some while.

Fair and blue was the sea that shone all around the
land when they got out on the rough moorland
near the coast. ey drove to the solitary little inn
perched over the steep cliffs, and here the horses were
put up and luncheon ordered. Would Mrs. Rosewarne
venture down to the great rocks at the promontory?
No, she would rather stay indoors till the young people
returned ; and so these two went along the grassy path
themselves.

They clambered down theslopes, and went out among
the huge blocks of weather-worn granite, many of
which were brilliant with gray, green and orange
lichens. There was alow and thunderous noise in the
air; far below them, calm and fine as the day was, the
summer sea dashed and roared into gigantic caverns,
while the white foam floated out again on the troubled
waves. Could anything have been more magical than
the colors of the sea—its luminous green, its rich
purples, its brilliant blues, lying in long swaths on the
apparently motionless surface ? It was only the seeth-
ing white beneath their feet and the hoarse thunder
slong the coast that told of the force of this summer-
like sea: and for the rest the picture was light and calm
and beautiful; but there the black rocks basked in the
sunlight, the big skarts standing here and there on their

es, not moving feather. A small steamer was
slowly making for tho island farther out, where a light-
house stood. And far away beyond these, on the remote
horizon; the Scilly Isles lay like a low bank of yellow

under the pale-blue skies.
_ They were very much by themselves out here at the
end of the world, and yet they did not seem inclined to
talk much. Wenna sat down on the warm grass; h
companion perched himself on one of the blocks of

te; they watched the great undulations of the blue

water come rolling on to the black rocks and then fall
backward seething in foam.

“And what are you thinking about ?” said Trelyon
to her gently, so that she should not be startled.

“Of nothing at all ; I am quite happy,” Wenna said

. Then she added, “I suppose the worst of a day’
like is that a long time after you look back
upon it, and it seems so beautiful and far away that it
makes you miserable. You think how happy you were
once. That is the unfortunate side of being happy.”
. “Well,” said he, “Imust say you don’t look for-
ward to the future with any great hopeif you think
-recollection of one bright day will make you

t

He came down from his perch and stood beside her.
“Why, Wenna,”’ said he, “‘do you know what you really
eed? Someone to take you in hand thoroughly, and
, oe you such an abundance of cheerful and pleasant

ys that you would never think of singling out any one
> . idling in bright — have a oe 2 seo

py in weather, such as lots of people
have who don’t deserve them a bit? There’s some-
thing wrong in your position, You want some one to
your master and compel you to make yourself
happy. You won’t of yourself study your own comfort:
some one else ought to make you.’

“And who do you think would care to take so much
trouble about. me?” she said with a smile, for she at-
tached no serious meaning to this random talk.

&

_* Her companion’s face flushed somewhat—not with

embarrassment, but with the courage of what he was
“to say. “I would,” he said boldly. “You will

“it is none of my business, but I tell you I would
ee ‘twenty thousand pounds to-morrow if I were
lowed to—to get you a whole summer of pleasant

_ There was something about the plain-spoken honesty
eT that touched her keenly. Wild and im-
¢ as the suggestion was, it told her at least what

one Peron in the world thought of her. She said to
him, with her eyes cast down, ‘I like to hear you
speak like that—not for my own sake, but I know there

is nothing generous and kindly that you wouldn’t do at

_& mere Moment’s impulse. But I hopesyou don’t think
Ihave been grumbling over my lot on such a day as

this?. Oh no: I see too much of other people’s way of

of my own. Ihave every reason to

-be contented and
too contented and happy,’ said he
an impatient shrug. “You want somebody to
alter all that, and see that you get more to be contented
and happy about. :
__ She rose : he gave her his hand to help her up. But
did not surrender her hand then, for the path up
_the slope was a deep and difficult one, and she could
7 rely on his strength and sureness of foot.
a uu. are not content, Mr. Trelyon,” she said.

: “ey a notice that whenever you get to a dangerous

er | and cheerless farms, until they

 

place, you are never satisfied unless you are putting
your life in peril.
horse down the face of this precipice? or wouldn’t
you like to clamber down blindfold? Why does a
nae generally seem to be anxious to get rid of his
i”
“Perhaps it ain’t of much use to him,”’ he said cool-

y-

“You ought not to say that,” she answered in a low
voice.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t mean to break my neck yet
a while ; but if I did, who would miss me? I suppose
my mother would play half a dozen a day more operas
or oratorios, or stuff of that sort, and there would be
twenty parsons in the house for one there is at present.
And some of the brats about the place would miss an
occasional sixpence, which would be better for their
health. And Dick—I suppose they’d sell him to some
fool of a Londoner, who would pound his knees out in
the Park—he would miss me too.”

“And these are all,’’ she said, “ who would miss you.
You are kind to your friends.”

“Why, would you,” he said with a stare of surprise ;
and then, seeing she would not speak, he continued
with a laugh, “I like the notion of my making an ob-
ject of general compassion of myself. Did the poor
dear tumble off a rock into the sea? And where was its
mother’s apron-string? I’m not going to break my
neck yet a while, Miss Wenna ;.so don’t you think I’m
going to let you off your promise to pay me back for
those sewing-machines.”’

“TI have told you, Mr. Trelyon,’’ she said with some
dignity, “that we shall pay you back every farthing of
the price of them,” ;

He began to whistle in an impertinent manner. Ho
clearly placed no great faith in the financial prospects
of that sewing club.

They had some light luncheon in the remote little
inn, and Mrs. Rosewarne was pleased to see her ordin-
arily demure and preoccupied daughter in such high
and careless spirits. It was not a splendid banquet.
The chamber was not a gorgeous one, for the absence of
ornament and the enormous thickness of the walls told
of the house being shut up in the winter months and
abondoned to the fury of the western gales, when the
wild sea came hurling up the face of these steep cliffs
and blowing over the land. But they paid little atten-
tion to any lack of luxury. There was a beautiful blue
sea shining in the distance. The sunlight was falling
hotly on the green sward of the rocks outside, but all
the same a fresh, cool breeze came blowing in at the
open window. They let the time pass easily, with
pleasant talk and laughter.

Then they drove leisurely back in the afternoon.
They passed along the moorland ways, through rude
little villages built of stone and by the outskirts of level
ot into the beautiful
woods and avenues lying around Penzance. When they
‘came in sight of the broad bay they found that the
world had changed its colors since the morning. The
sea was of a cold purplish gray, but all around it, on
the eastern horizon, there was a band of pale pink in
the sky. Onthe west again, behind Penzance, the warm
hues of the sunset were shining behind the black stems
of the trees. The broad thoroughfare was mostly in
shadow, and the sea was so still that one could hear the
foot- steps and the voices of the people walking up and
down the Parade. ’

“T suppose I must go now,” said the young gentle-
man when he had seen them safely seated in the small

arlor overlooking the bay. But he did not seem anx-

ous to go.

“But why?’ Wenna said, rather timidly. ‘You
have no engagement, Mr. Treylon. Would you care to

stay and have dinner with us—such a dinner as we can |.

give you ?””
“Well, to tell you the truth, I should like it very
much,” he said.

Mrs. Rosewarne, a little surprised, and yet glad to
see Wenna enjoying herself, regarded the whole affair
with a gentle resignation. Wenna had the gas lit and
the blinds let down ; then, as the evening was rather
cool, she had soon a bright fire burning in the grate.
She helped to lay the table. She produced such wines
as they had. She made sundry visits to the kitchen,
and at length the banquet was ready.

What ailed the young man? He seemed beside him-
self with careless and audacious mirth, and he made
Mrs. Rosewarne laugh as she had not laughed for years.
It was in vain that Wenna assumed airs to rebuke his
rudeness. Nothing was sacred from his impertinence—
not even the offended majesty ofher face. Andat last
she gave in too, and could only revenge herself by say-
ing things of him which, the more severe they were,
the more he seemed to eats But after dinner she
went to the small piano, while her mother took a big
easy-chair near the fire, and he sat by the table, looking
over some books. There was no more reckless laughter
then.

In ancient times—that is to say, in the half-forgotten
days ofour youth—a species of song existed which ex-
ists no more. It was not as the mournful ballads of
these days, which seem to record the gloomy utterances
of a strange young woman who has wandered into the
magic scene in Der Freischutz, and who mixes up the
moanings of her —— with descriptions of the sights
and sounds she there finds around her. It was of, quite
another stamp. It dealt with a phraseology of senti-
ment peculiar to itself—a “ Pateer,” as it were. which
came to be universally recognized in drawing-
rooms. It spoke of maidens plighting their
truth, of Phyllis alee her lover with her varied
moods, of marble halls in which true love still remained
the same. Ita hized the shells of ocean; it ten-
derly descri the three great crises of a particular
heroine’s life by mentioning her head-dress; it told of

Wouldn’t you like to ride your black.

how the lover of Pretty Jane would have her meet him
in theevening. Well, all the world was content to ac-
cept this conventional phraseology, and behind the par-
aphernalia of “enchanted moonbeams” and “ fondest
glances” and “ adoring sighs ’’ perceived and loved the
sentiment that could find no simpler utterance. Some
of us, hearing the half-forgotten songs again, suddenly
forget the odd language, and the old pathos springs up
again, as fresh as in the days when our first love had
just come home from her boarding-school; while others,
who have no old-standing acquaintance with these
memorable songs, have somehow got attracted to them
by the mere quaintness of their speech and the sim-
plicity of their airs. Master Harry Trelyon was no
great critic of music. When Wenna Rosewarne sang
that night “She Wore a Wreath of Roses,” he fancied he
had never listened to anything so pathetic. When she
sang me “ Meet me by Moonlight Alone,” he was delight-
ed with the spirit and half-humorous, half-tender grace
of the composition. As she sang “When Other Lips
and Other Hearts,” it seemed to him that there were no
songs like the old-fashioned songs, and that the people
who wrote those ballads were more frank and simple
and touching in their speech than writers now-a-days.
Somehow, he began to think of the drawing-rooms of a
former generation, and of the pictures of herself his
grandmother had drawn for him many a time. Had she
a high waist to that white silk dress in which she ran
away to Gretna? and did she have ostrich feathers on
her head? Anyhow, he entirely believed what she had
told him of the men of that generation. They were ca-
pable of doing daring things for the sake of asweetheart.
Of course his grandfather had done boldly and well in
whirling the girl off to the Scottish borders, for who
could tell what might have befallen her among ill-na-
tured relatives and persecuted suitors?

Wenna Rosewarne was singing “‘We Met, Iwas in a
Crowd, and I Thought He Would Shun Me.” It is the
song of a girl (must one explain so much in these later
days?) who is in love with one man, and is induced to
marry another; she meets the former, and her heart is
filled with shame and anguish and remorse. As Wenna
sang the song it seemed to this young man that there
was an unusual pathos in her voice; and he was so car-
ried away by the earnestness of her singing that his
heart swelled and rose up within him, and he -elt him-
self ready to declare that such should not be her fate.
This man who was coming back to marry her—was
there no one ready to meet him and challenge his atro-
cious claim? Then the song ended, and with a sudden
disappointment Trelyon recollected that he at least had
no business to intertere. What right had he to think of
saving her?

He had been idly turning over some volumes on the
table. At last he came to a prayer-book of considerable
size and elegance of binding. Careless#ly looking at the
fly-leaf, he saw that it was a present to Wenna Rose-
warne, “‘with the very dearest love of her sister Ma-
byn.” -He passed his hand over the leaves, not noticing
what he was doing. Suddenly he saw something which
did effectually startle him into attention.

It was a sheet of paper with two slits cut into it at
top at bottom. In these a carefully-pressed piece of
None-so-pretty had been placed, and just underneath
the flower was written in pencil, “From H. T. to W. B.,
May 2, 18—.” He shut the book quickly, as if his fin-
gers had been burned, and then he sat quite silent,
with his heart soe fast.

So she had kept the flower he had put in the basket
of primroses! It had carried its message, and she still
remained his friend !

 

-CHAPTER XXIV.
THE OUT DIRECT.

“WELL, mother,” Miss Wenna said, deliberately, after
he had gone, “I never did see you so thoroughly enjoy
a whole day.” ~

“T was thinktng the same about you, Wenna,” the
mother answered with an amused look.

“That is true enough, mother,” the girl confessed in
her simple way. ‘He is so good-natured, so full of
spirits and careless, that one gets quite as careless and
happy as himself. It is a great comfort, mother, to be
with anybody who doesn’t watch the meaning of every
expression you use: don’t you think so? And I hope
1 wasn’t rude: do you think 1 was rude?’

i eee peed don’t — you could be rude to a
ox was eating your chickens. You would
to_take a chair and not hurry himself.” —_o

«Well, I must write to Maybn now,” Wenna said
with a business-like air, ‘‘ and thank her for post: mé
this prayer-book. 1 suppose she didn’t know I aeons
small one with me.”

She took up the book, for she was sitting on the chair
that Harry Trelyon had just vacated. She had no soon-
er done so than she caught sight of the sheet of paper
with the dried flower and the inscription in Maybn’'s
handwriting. She stared, with something of a look of
fear on her face. ‘“ Mother,” she said, in quite an alter-
ed voice, “ did you notice if Mr. Trelyon was looking at

this prayer-book ?”
“1 don’t know, I’m sure,” Mrs. Rosewarne said. “1
‘should think he went over every book on the table.””

‘The girl said nothing, butshe took the book in her

» hand*and carried it up to her own room. She stood for
| a moment irresolute : then she took the sheet of paper
| with the flowers on it, and tore it ina hundred pieces
| and threw them into the empty grate.. Then she cried

a little, as a girl must; and finally went ann

and wrote a letter to Maybn which rather ed
that young lady.

 

‘““My DEAR MABYN,” (so the letter ran): “I am erx-
ceedingly angry
capable of

with you.’ I did not think you were
such folly; 1 might call it by a worse nameif

 

 
~~

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

I thought you really meant what you seem to naean.
I have just torn up the worthless scrap of flower you
‘so carefully preserved for me into a thousand pieces;
but you will be — to know that in all [pened
Mr. lyon saw it on the paper, and the initials too
which you put there. I cannot tell you how pained
and angrylam. If he did place that flower inten-
tionally among the primroses, it was most imperti-
nent of him; but he is often impertinent in joking.
What must he think of me thatI should seem to have
taken this seriously, and treasured up that miserable
and horrid piece of weed, and put his initials below
it, and the important date? You put thoughts into
my head that cover me with shame. I should not be
fit to live if I were what you take me tobe. If I
thought there was another human being in the world
who could imagine or suspect what you apparently
desire, I would resolve this moment never to see Mr.
Trelyon again; and much harm that would do either
him or me!

“But Iam too age to think that ar one could
imagine such a thing. Nor did I expect that to come
from my own sister, who ought to know what my
true relations are with regard to Mr. Trelyon. I like
him very much, as I told him to his face two days
before we left Eglosilyan; and that will show you
what our relations are. 1 think he is a very frank.
generous and good young man, and a clever an
cheerful companion; and my mother has to-day to
thank him for about the pleasantest little trip she
hhas eyer enjoyed. But as for your eae, me to
preserve a flower that he sent, or that you think he

sent to me, why, I feel my face burning at the.

thought of what you suggest. And what can I sa:
to him now, supposing he has seen it? Can I tell
‘him that my own sister thought such things of me?
Perhaps, after all, the simplest way to set matters
right will be for me to break off the uaintance
altogether; and that will show him whether I was
likely to have treasured up a scrap of London pride
in my Prayer-book,
“*T am your loving sister,
. ““WENNA ROSEWARNE.””
Meanwhile, Harry Trelyon was =k up and
‘down the almost empty thoroughfare by the side of
the sea, the stars overhead shining clearly in the
dark night, the dimly-seen waves falling monoton-
ousiy on the shelving beach. .
“To keep a flower, that is nothing,” he was saying
to himself. ‘All girls do that, no matter who gives
it to them. I sup she has lots more, all with the
proper initials and date-attached.”
It was not an agreeable reflection; he turned to
other matters: 3
“Tf she were to care for me a little bit, would it be
mean of me to try to carry her off from that man? Is
it possible that he has the same feeling for her that I
have? In that case it would be mean. Now, when I
think of her, the whole world seems filled with her
resence somehow, and everything is Hm sone
hen Ihear the sea in the morning I think of her,
and wonder where she is; when I see a fine day I
hope she is enjoying it somewhere; the whole of
‘Penzance has become magical. It is no longer the
‘same town. Iused tocome to it and never see it in
the old days, when one was busy about stables and
the pilchard fishing and the reports of the quarries.
Now the whole of Penzance has got a sort of charm

at the houses, and wonder if the people inside know

this girl's life was approaching.
‘be retri

in the ho Wenna Rosewarné has come to it. Ilook

any’ fit to compare with her ; and one becomes
grateful: to the good weather for shining round
about her and making her happy. I suppose the
weather knows what she deserves.” :

Then. he began to argue the question as to whether
it would be fair and honorable to seek to take away
from another man the woman who had pledged her-
self to marry him ; and of course an easy and defin-
ite decision is sure to be arrived at when counsel on
both sides and jury and judges sitting in banco are
all one person, who conducts and closes the case as
it suits himself. He began by assuming such facts
as suited his arguments, and énded by selecting and
confirming such arguments as suited himself. en-
na Rosewarne nothing for Mr. Roscorla. She
would be miserable if she married him ; her own
sister was continually hinting as much.

Mr. Roscorla cared nothing for her except in so far
as she might prove a Pract housewife for him. The
selfishness that would sacrifice for its purposes &
girl’s een ofta peculiarly despicable sort
which ought to be combated, and deserved no mercy.
‘Therefore, and because of all these things, Harry
Trelyon was justified in trying to win Wenna Rose-
warne’s love.

One by one the people who had been strolling up
and down the dark thoroughfare left it; he was
almost alone now. He walked along to the house in
which the Rosewarnes were. There was no light in
any of the windows. But might she not be sitting
up there by herself, looking out on the starlight
heavens and listening to the waves? He wished to
be able to say good-night to her once more.

How soon might she be up and out on the mor-
row? Early in the morning, when the young day
‘was rising over the grey sea, and the sea-winds com-
ing freshly in as if they were returning from the

id night ?

If he could but see her at daybreak, with all the
world asleep around them, and with only themselves
to watch the growing wonders of the dawn, might
not he say something to her then that she would not
‘be vexed to hear, and persuade her that a new sort
of life lay before her if she would only enter it along
with him? That was the notion that he commonly
dwelt on for self-justification when he happened to
take’ the trouble to justify himself. The crisis of

Other errors might
jeved—that one, once committed,-never. If
he could only sev her now, this is what he would say:

 

‘We can only live but once, Wenna; and this for us
two would be life—our only chance of it. Whatever
else pre Pg that is no matter; let us make
sure of this one chance, and face the future together
—you full of sweetness and trust, I having plenty of
courage for both. We will treat objectors and ob-
jections as they may arise—afterward: perhaps
they will be prudent and keep out of our way.” And
indeed, be convinced himself that this, and this only,
was Wenna Rosewarne’s chance of securing happi-
ness for her life, assuming, in a way, that he tha
love as well as courage sufficient for both.

He was early up next morning and down on the
ooo but the day was not likely to tempt

enna to come out just then. A grey fog hung over
land and sea, the sea itself being a dull, leaden plain.
Trelyon walked about, however, talking to every-
body; as was his custom; and everybody said the
fog would clear and a fine day follow. This, in fact,
happened, and still Wenna did not make her appear-
ance. The fog over the sea seemed to separate itself
into clouds; there was a dim, yellow light in the
breaks. These breaks widened: there was a glimmer
of blue. Then on the leaden plain a glare of white
light fell, twinkling in innumerable stars on the
water. Everything promised a clear, bright day.

As a last resource he thought he would go and get
Juliott Penaluna, and persuade that young lady to
come and be introdu to the Rosewarnes, At first
Miss Penaluna refused point-blank. She asked him
how he could expect her to do such athing. But
then her cousin Harry happened to be civil, and in-
deed kind, in his manner to her, and when he was in
one of those moods there was nothing she could re-
fuse him. She went and got ready with an air of
eae on her comely face.

‘Mind, Harry, I am not responsible,” she said
when she came back. “Iam afraid I shall get into
awful trouble about it.”’

“ And who will interfere?” said the young man,
just as if he were looking about for some one
anxious to be thrown from the top of the tower on
St, Michael’s Mount. “

*“*T shall be accused of conniving with you, you
know; and I think I am very guod-natured to do so
much for you, Harry.’’

“T think you are, Jue: you are a thoroughly good
sort of girl when you like to be—that’s a fact. And
now you will see whether what I have said about
Miss ywarne is all gammon or not.”

“*My poor boy, I wouldn’t say a word against her
for the world. Do I want my head wrenched off?
But if any one says anything to me about what Imay
do to-day, I shall have to tell the truth; and do you
know what that is, Harry? I do really believe you
are in love with that girl, t all argument; and
there never was one of your family who would listen
toreason. I know quite well what you willdo. If
she cares ever so little for you, you will marry her in
spite of everybody, and probably against her own
wish; if she doesn’t care for you, you will revenge
tee on the happy man of her choice, and pro-

bly murder him. ell, it isn’t my fault. I know
what your mother will say.””

* Ah, you don’t know, Jue, what my mother thinks
of her,” he said, confidently.

“Oh, yes, mothers think very well of a girl until
they discover that she is going to marry their son.”’

*“Oh, stuff! why, the inconsistency-——”

“It is the privilege of women to be inconsistent,
Harry. Your mother will detest that girl if you try
to marry her.”’

“T don’t care.”

“Of course not. No man of a family cares for
anything that interferes with his own wishes. I sup-
pose there’s no use in my trying to show you what
a fearful amount of annoyance ani trouble you are
preparing for yourself?”

“None. I'll take it as it comes; I’m not afraid.”

They got down to the promenade; the forenoon
was now bright and cheerful; a good many folks had
come out to enjoy the sunlight and the cool sea-
breeze. Miss Juliott was not at all disinclined to
walk there with her handsome cousin, though he had
forgotten his gloves and was clearly not paying her
very special attention.

“Jue,” he said, suddenly, ‘I can see Miss Rose-
warne right at the end of this road; can’t you?”

“Thaven’t got the eyes of a hawk, you stupid boy!”’
his 2ousin said.

“Oh, but I can recognize her dress a dozen times
as faraway. These are her pet colors at present—a
soft cream-color with black, with bits of dark red.
Can you see now?”

“T never saw you pay the least attention before to
a lady’s dress.”

» ause you don’t know how she dresses,’’ he
said, proudly.

She was coming along the Parade all alone.

“ Well, it isa a ress,’’ Miss Juliott said, ‘‘ and
I like the look of her face, Harry. You can’t expect
one girl 7 Say any more than that of another girl,
can you

“This is a very nice way of being able to introduce
you,” he said. ‘‘ suppose you will be able to chap-
eron each other afterward, when her mother isn’t
able to go out?”

Wenna was coming quietly along, apparently rath-
er preoccupied. Sometimes she looked out, with her
dark, earnest and yet wistful eyes, at the great plain
of water quivering in the sunshine; she paid little
heed to the people who went by. When at length
she did see Harry Trelyon she was quite near him,
and she had just time to glance for a moment at his
companion.

The next moment—he could not tell how it all hap-
pone ne passed him with a slight bow of recogni-

ion, courteous enough, but not more. There
was no especial look of friendliness in her eyes.

He stood there rather bewildered.

 

“That is about as good as the cut direct, Harry,”
his cousin said. ‘Come along; don’t stand there.”

“Oh, but there’s some mistake, Jue," he said. ‘

“A girl never does a thing of that sort by mistake.
Either she is vexed with you for walking with me—
and that is improbable, for I doubt whether she saw
me—or she thinks the ardor of your acquaintance
should be moderated; and there I agree with her.
see seem so vexed as one might have expect-
ed, Harry.”

“Vexed!” he said. ‘Why, can't you tell by that
girl’s face that she could do nothing capricious or
ano Of course, she has a reason; and I will find
it out.’

CHAPTER XXV.
NOT THE LAST WORD.

Assoonas he could decently leave his cousin at
home, he did; and then he walked hastily down to
the house in which Mrs. Rosewarne had taken rooms.
Miss Rosewarne was not at home, thesmall maid-ser-
— said. Was Mrs. Rosewarne? Yes; so he would
see her.

He went up-stairs, never thinking how his ——-
trouble about so insignificant an incident woul
strike a third persona. i

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said, right.out, ‘ I want you
to tell me if Wenna wishes our acquaintance to end.
Has she been speaking to you? Just now she passed
me in the street as if she did not wish to see me
again.”

** Probably,” said Mrs. Rosewarne, amused as well
as surprised by the young man’s impetuosity, “she
did not see you then. Wenna often passes people so.
Most likely she was thinking about other things, for
she had another letter from Jamaica just before she
went out.”

**Oh, she has had another letterfrom Jamaica this
morning?” Trelyon said, with an angry light appear-
ing in hiseyes. ‘That is it, is it?”

I don’t understand you,”’ Mrs. Rosewarne was
saying, when both of them heard Wenna enter be-
ow.

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said, with asudden entreaty
in his voice, *‘ would you mind letting me see Wenna
alone for a couple of minutes? I want to ask her if
she is offended with me; you won’t mind, will you?”

** Not inthe least,’’ she said, good-raturedly; and
then she added at the door, ** Mind, Mr. Treylon,
Wenna is easily hurt. You must speak gently to

~her.’
About a minute afterward Wenna, having laid her |

hat and shawl aside, came into the room. hen she
found Treylon there alone, she almost shrank back,
and her face paled somewhat; then she forced her-
self to go forward and shake hands with him, though
mate still wore a frightened and constrained
ook. ,

‘*Wenna,” he said, “don’t go away; I want to
speak to you fora minute. You are offended with

me about something, and I want you to tell me why. »

If you wish our friendship to cease, say so, and I w:
obey you; but you must tell me why first.

“y am not offended with you, Mr. Trelyon,” she
said, in a low and nervous voice. ‘Do not
that. But—butI think it will be better if you wi
let our friendship cease, as you say.”’

“Oh, no,” he said, “I will notin this fashion.
You've got to tell me what is the matter first. Now,
remember Not very long ago you chose to
quarrel with me about nothing—absolutely about
oe - You know quite well that I meant no harm
to you by lending Mr. Roscorla that money, yet you
must needs flare up and give it meas hot as you
could, all for nothing.. What couldI do? Why, only
wait until you saw what a mistake you had made.”

“It was very wrong of me,” she said; ‘I ask your
forgiveness. But now it is quite different; I am not
angry with you atall. Ishould like to remain your
friend, and yet I think it better not. I—I cannot ex-
plain to you, Mr. Trelyon, and I am sure you won't
ask me when I say so.”’

He looked at her for a moment, and then he said,

ently and yet firmly, ** Look here, Wenna. You
think lam only a boy—that may or may not be—but I
am going to talk reasonably to you for once. Come
over to this chair by the window and sit down.”

She followed him in
the one chair, he had the other.

“Perhaps [am only a boy,” he said, ‘‘ but Ihave
knocked about a good deal, and I have kept my eyes
as wide open as most folks. I suppose ill-natured

ple might say that as I had nothing todo at
Belosilyans I wanted to have a flirtation with the
only ga who was handy. I know better. Year after
year | saw more and more of you, bit by bit, and
that after I had been abroad or living in other places
in England from time to time. I got to believe that
I had never seen anywhere any girl or woman who
was so honest as_you are, and good in a dozen secret
ways that needed a deal of discovering.

“TI found out far more about you than youi ined.
T heard of youin co’ es that you never mew was
in; and everyehing 4 eard made me respect you
more and more. Mind this, too. Ihadno sort of

rsonal liking for the sort of thing you. were doing.
PGon't admire beastly little rooms and pov and
sick people as appealing to a fine sentiment.
never was anything of the parson or the benevolent
- lad: oats oa ao give half a crown

an im ent little who just mend
another boy bigger than h on nae a half-
penny tract toasickly child in its mother’s arms;
that’s original sin ‘in me, 1 suppose. Butall that
squalid sort of work you were in only made the
jewel shine the more. fased to think. I should like
to marry a very good woman, who could be present-

ive obedience. She took

!

    

i
1

 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE FEATHERS,

 

 

ed at court without a tremor, who would come into a
drawing-room as if she was conferring a favor on
the world at large; and I certainly never thought I
should find the bestand finest womanI had ever
seen in back kitchens sewing pinafores for children,

‘And then when I found her there, wasn’t it natur-
all should put some store by her friendship? I sup-
=~ you didn’t know what I shoughit of you, Wenna,

use I kept chaffing you and Mabyn? I have
told you something of it now; and now I want you to
say whether you have aright to shut me off like this,
without a word of explanation.”

She sat still, silent and nervous. The rude andim-
J eonied eloquence of his speech, broken by many a

esitating stammer, had touched her. here was
more thoughtfulness and tenderness in this wild lad
than she had supposed.

“ How can I explain?’ she burst out, suddenly. ‘I
should cover myself with shame!”

**And what have you to be ashamed of?”’ he said,
with a stare. The distress she was obviously suffer-
ing was so great, that he had almost a mind to take
her ather word and leave the house without further

0,

Just at this moment when he was considering what
would be'the most generous thing to do, she seemed
to nerve herself to speak to him, and in a low and
measured voice she said: .

“Yes, I will tell you. I have had a letter this
morning from Mr. Roscorla. He asks me if it is true
that you are paying me such attention that people
notice it; and he asks me if that is howI keep my
promise to him.”

Something like a quiver of rage passed through the

oung man at this moment, but his teeth were kept

Lv ther. She did not look up to his face,

* That is not all. I must tell you that I was deeply
shocked and grieved by this letter; but on looking
back over the past six weeks I think a suspicious

i person might have been justified in complaining

Mr. Roscorla. And—and—and, Mr. Trelyon, did
ope “— that dead flower in my prayer-book last
hf)? >

er resolution was fast ebbing away; he could see
that her hands were clasped piteously together, ~

“Yes, I did,’ he said, boldly.

“And oh, what could you have thought of me?”
she cried,in her distress, ‘Indeed, Mr, Trelyon, it
was all a mistake. I did not keep the flower—I did
not, indeed. And whenI thought you had seen it I

have died for shame.”
| “And why?” he said, in a way that made ‘her lift
up her startled eyes to his face. There was astrange
look there, as of a man who had suddenly resolved
to dare his fate, and yet was imploringly anxious as
to the result. *‘ For you have been frank with me,
and.so willl be with you. Why should you not have
kept that flower? Yes, I sent it to you, and with all
the purpose that such a thing could carry. Yes,
you may be asangry as you please; only listen, Wen-
na. You don’t love that man whom youare engaged
to marry; you know in your heart that you do not
believe in his love for ‘ou; and are you surprised that

people should wish to have you break off an engage-
ment that will only bring you misery?”
“Mr. Trelyon!’’

_“ Wenna, one minute; youmust hearme. Dowith
my offer what you like—only here it is; give me the
power to break off this engagement, and I will.

* Give me the right to do that. Don’t mind me in

the matter. It is true I love a ae I will say it

; there is nothing I think of from morning till

ht but my love for you—and if you would say‘that

some time I ht ask you to be my wife, you would

ce me more happiness ear could dream of.

tI don’t wish that now. I will remain your friend

if Wenna: only let me do this thing for you,
and when you are free you can then say yes or no.”

She arose, not proud and indignant, but weeping

“*T have deserved this,” she said, apparently over-

_ whelmed with mortification and self reproach. ‘I

have earned this shame and I must bear it. I do not
blame you, Mr. Trelyon, it isI who have done this.
ince the man left England to

whom I eee to be faithful? and already——.

can do, Mr. Trelyon, I will bid you good-b; ;
now, and I will never see you again.” ss i 7
Her face was quite pale. She held out her hand.
“No,” he said, firmly. ‘* We don’t. part like that,
Wenna. let_me say that you have nothing to
accuse yourself of. You have done nothing and
said nothing of which ce man, however mean and
could complain. Perhaps Iwas too hasty
in ae of - love for you. Inthat case I’ve got
to ‘or ‘olly.””
Pand its folly Mr. Trelyon,” she said, passion-
§ ,» and yet ith nothing but tenderness in her
. How could you have thought of marryin;
me? Why, the future that ought tolie before you
far more than you can imagine yet; and you would
and cee it by marrying an innkeeper’s daugh-
!. It is folly in , and you will see that ve
soon. it I am very soir all this has occ’ ;
it is another grief to me that [ have troubled you. i
— was born to as rief — m et i
was anxiously de w! e sho’ jo; an
he needed all his wits at that moment, for his own
feelings were strong within him, and clamoring for
. Should he insist? Should he bear down
all nm? Happily, quieter counsels prevailed,
for there was no ke as to the absolute truthful-
ness of what the girl had said.
only to vansiats oui friend. ~ ees goes le?
r nd. le
Will you forgive all at make = a
promise peat never again to mention
engagement to Mr. Roscorla?”’

é

ee ust now ”, he | slow-
oe are ang te seme abeeld low | laine dom

 

fora moment, and there was agreat sadness in her
eyes, “Itisa hard thing to part. Perhaps it, will
not be necessary that you should never come to see
me. . But we must. not be friends as we have been,
for I have my duty to do toward him.”’

“Then I may come to. see you sometimes?”

She hesitated: ‘‘ Yon may come to see my moth-
ersometimes, And I will always think ofyou as a
dear friend, whether I see you or not.”’

He went outside, and drew a long breath. “I had
to keep a tight grip on the reins that time,’ he was
opens: to himself—‘‘a precious tight grip; but I

id it.”

He thought of the look there was in her eyes when
she finally bid him good-bye. His face grew the
happier as he thoughtof it. He was clearly not at
all down-hearted about his rejection; on the con-
trary, he went and told his cousin Juliott that the lit-
tle affair of the morning had been quite satisfactori-
ly arraged, that Miss Winna and he were very good

riends again, and that it was quite a mjstake to im-
agine that she was already married to Mr. Roscorla.

‘Harry,’ said his cousin, ‘‘I strictly forbidyou to
mention that gentleman’s name.”’ ‘

“Why, Jue?” he said.

‘“* Because I will not listen to the bad language you
invariably use whenever you speak of him; and you
ought to remember that you are in a clergyman’s
house. I wonder Miss Rosewarne is not ashamed to
have your acquaintance, but I daresay you amend
youn ways when .you are in her presence. She’ll
pare plenty to reform if evershe takes you for a hus-

ani

“That’s true enough, Jue,” the young man said,
penitently. ‘I believe I’m a bad lot, but then look
at the brilliant contrast which the future will present.
You know that my old grandmother is always saying
tome, ‘Harry, you were born with as many manners
as most folks, and yon’ve used none; so you'll have
a rare stock to come and go on when you begin.”

 

PART VIII.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A PERILOUS TRUCE,

THE very stars in their courses seemed to fight. for
this young man.

No sooner had Wenna Rosewarne fled to her own
room, there to think over in a wild and bewildered
way all that had just happened, than her heart
smote her sorely. She had notacted prudently; she

ad forgotten her self-respect; she ought to have

orbidden him to come near her again—at least until
such a time as this foolish fancy of his should have
passed away and been forgotten.

How could she have parted from him so calmly,
and led him to suppose that, their former relations
were unaltered? ‘

She looked back on the forced quietude of her man-
ner, and was herself astonished. _ Now her heart was
beating rapidly; her trembling fingers were uncon-
sciously twisting and untwisting a bit of ribbon; her
head seemed giddy with the recollection of that
brief and strange interview,

Then, somehow, she thought of the look on his
face when she told him. that henceforth they must
meet as strangers to each other. It seemed hard
that he should be badly used for what was, perhaps,
no intentional fault. anybody had_ been in fault,
it was herself in being blind to a possibility to which
even her own sister had drawn her attention; and so
the punishment ought to fall on her. {

She would humble herself before Mr. Roscorla. She
would force herself to be affectionate toward him in
her letters. She would even write to Mabyn, and
= of her to take no notice of that angry remons-

rance,

Then Wenna thought of her mother, and how she
ought to tell her of all these things. But how could
she? During the past day or two Mrs. Rosewarne
had been at times singularly fretful and anxious. No
letter had come from her husband. In vain did
Wenna remind her that men were more careless of
such small matters than women, and that it was too
soon to expect her father to sit down and write.

Mrs. Rosewarne sat brooding over her husband’s
silence; then she would get up in an excited fashion
and declare her intention of going straight back to
Eglosilyan; and these: fitful moods preyed on the
health of the invalid. Ought Wenna to risk .increas-
ing her anxiety by telling her this strange tale? She
would doubtless misunderstand it. She would cer-
tainly be surprised that Wenna had given him per-
mission to see her again—not knowing that the girl,
in her forced composure, had been talking to him as
if this avowal of his were of no great moment.

All the same, Wenna had a secret fear that she had
been imprudent in giving him this permission; and
the most she could do now was to make his visits as
few, short and ceremonious as possible. She would
avoid him by every means in her power; and the
first thing was to make sure that ne should not-call
on them again while they remained in Penzance.

So she went down tothe small lor ina much
more equable frame of mind, though her neart was
still throbbing in an unusual way. , The moment she
entered the room she saw that something had occur-
red to disturb her mother. Mrs. Rosewarne turned
paee the window, and there was an excited look in

r eyes. i png

“ Wenna,”’ she said, hurriedly, did you see that car-
riage? Did you see that woman? Who was with her?
Did you see who was with her? I know it was she;
not if Ilive a hundred years could I, forgot that--
that devil in human shape!” eva mack 3

‘Mother, I don’t know what you mean,” Wenna

Her mother had gone to the window again, and she
was saying to herself hurriedly and in a low vaice: -

‘‘No, you don’t know—you don’t know; whyshould
x4 know? That shameless creature! And to drive

here! She must have known I was here! Oh, the a

amelessness of the woman!”

She turned to Wenna again: ‘‘Wenna,I thought
Mr. Trelyon was here. ow long has he gone? I
want to see him mest particularly—most particular-
ly, and only for amoment. He is sure to know all
the strangers at his hotel, ishe not? I want to ask
him some questions. Wenna, will you go at once and
bid him come to see me for a moment?”

“Mother!’? Wenna said. How could she go to the
hotel with such a message?

“Well, send a note to him, Wenna—send him a
noke by the girl down stairs. What harm is there in
that?”

“Lie down, then, mother,” said the, girl, calmly,
“and I will send a message to Mr. Trelyon.”

She drew her chair to the table, and her cheeks
crimsoned to think of what he might imagine this let-
ter to be when he got the envelope in his hands, Her
anaes trembled as she wrote the date at the head of
the note. ,

Then she came to the word “Dear,”’ and it seemed.
to her that if shame were a punishment, she was
doing sufficient penance for her indiscretion of that
morning., Yet the note was not a compromising one.
It merely said; 1

“Dear Mr. TrEtyon: If you have amoment to
spare, my mother would be much ae to you if
you would call onher. I hope you will forgive the
trouble, Yours, sincerely,

‘“ Wrnna RosEWARNE.”

When the young man got that note—he was just
entering the hotel when the servant arrived—he star-
ed with surprise. He told the servant girl he would
a on Mrs, Rosewarne directly. Then he followed

e

r.

He never for a moment doubted that this note had
reference to his own affairs. Wenna had told her
mother what had happened. The mother wished to
see him to ask him to cease visiting them, Well, he
was prepared for that. He would ask Wenna to leave
the room, He would attack the mother boldly, and
tellher what he thought of Mr. Roscora.

He would appeal to her. to save her daughter from
the impending marriage. He would win her over to
be his secret, ally and friend ; and while nothing
should, be done precipitately to alarm Wenna or
arouse her suspicions, might not these two carry the
citadel of her heart in time, and hand over the keys
to the rightful lord ? It was a pleasant speculation:
it was at least marked _ by that auderly that never
wholly forsook Master Harry Trelyon. Of course he
was the rightful lord, ready to bid all false claimants,
rivals and pretenders Beware !

And yet, as he walked up to the house, some little
tremor of anxiety crept intohis heart. It was no
mere game of brag in.which he was engaged. Ashe
went into the parlor Wenna stepped quietly by him,
her eyes downcast, and he knew that all he cared to
look forward .toin the world depended on the de-
cision of that quiet little person with the sensi-
tive mouth and the earnest eyes. Fighting was
not of much use there. 3

ai |, Mes. Rosewarne,” he said, rather shame-
facedly, ‘‘I suppose you mean to scold re .

Her answer surprised him. She took no heed of
his. remark, but in a vehement, excited way, began
to kan questions about a woman whom she de-
scribed,

He stared at her. ‘I hope you don’t know any-
thing about that elegant creature?” he said,

She did not wholly tell him the story, but left him
to guess at some portions of it; and then she de-
manded to know all about the woman and her com-
panion, and how long they had been in Penzance,

and where they were going. Master was, by
chance, able OREM o some of her questions. The
answers comfort e

r greatly. Was he Ga sure
that.she was married? What was her ’s
name? She was no longer Mrs. Shirley? Wo he
find out all he could? Would he forgive her asking
him to take all this trouble? and would he promise
tosay no word about it to Wenna?

When all this had been said and done the young
man felt himself considerably embarrassed.

Was there to be no mention of his own. affairs ?
So far from remonstrating with him and forbidding
him the house, Mrs. Rosewarne was almost effusively
grateful to him, and could only beg him a thou-
sand times not to mention the subject to her daugh-

“Oh, of course not,” said he, rather bewildered.
“ But—but,I thought from the w:

in which she left
the room that—that rerhaps I had offended her.”
“Oh, no, I am_sure that is not the case,” said

Rosewarne ; and she immediately went and call
‘Wenna, who came into the room with rather an
anxious look on her face. She immediately per-
ae the ghange io Be Orne He ae i
mon of suspicion and jealo' D.

exo! ie it had ee ed ed. Mrs. Rose-
wel pelt ce talkie ei haae Resa tedaee
an ety of spirits. ie

what fearful cause of offence Mr. Trel wat ee
and lau: when the young man,

what, hastily assured both of them that it was all
stupid mistake of his own.

[e) ? said, rather nervously, ‘it is a
wistane” £. sure you have given me = offence at
ath Me. Trelyon.”

was an embarrassing zmomeu for two; at a
out of ti hree persons; a rs, Rosewarne,
her alkane He nature, could not understand

 

their awkward silence. Wenna was apparently look-
ing out of the window at the bright bine bay and

 

lies

wet
<—

THREE FEATHERS,

 

 

boats, and yet the girl was not ordinarily so occupied
when Mr. Trelyon was present. As for him, he had
got his hat in his hands; he seemed to be much con-
cerned about itor about his boots; one did not often
find Master Harry actually showing shyness.

At last he said, desperately, ‘‘ Mrs. Rosewarne, per-
haps you would go out for a sailin the afternoon? I
could get. you a nice little yacht and some rods and
lines, Won’t you?” :

Mrs. Rosewarne was in a kindly humor. She said
she would be very glad to go, for Wenna was grow-
ing tired of always sitting by the window. This
would be some little variety for her.

“T hope you won’t consider me, mother,” said’ the
young lady, quickly, and with some asperity. ‘‘Iam
quite pleased to sit by the window. I could do so al-
ways. And it is very wrong of us totake up somuch
of Mr. Trelyon’s time.”’

“‘ Because Mr. Trelyon’s time is of so much use to
him!” said that young man with a laugh; and then
he told them when to expect him in the afternoon,
and went his way.

He was in much better spirits when he went out.
He whistled as he went. he_plash of the blue sea
all along the shingle seemed to have a sort of laugh in
it: he was in love with Penzance and all its beautiful
neighborhood. Once again, he was saying to him-
self, he would spend a quiet and delightful afternoon
with Wenna Rosewarne, even if that were to be the
last. He would surrender himself to the gentle in-
toxication of her presence, He would get a glimpse,
from time to time, of her dark eyes when she was
looking wistfully and absently over the sea. It was
no breach of the aapied contract with her that he
should have seized this occasion.

He had been sent for. And if it was necessary that
he should, abstain from seeing her for any great
length of time, why, this single afternoon would not

ce much difference, Afterwards he would obey
her wishes in any manner she pleased.  ;

He, walked into the hotel. _ There was'a gentleman
standing in the hall whose me eee. Master Har
had condescended to make. He was a person of muc
money,.uncertain grammar and oppressive generos-
ity; he wore a frilled shirt and diam7nd studs, and he
had such a vast admiration for this handsome, care-
less, and somewhat. rude FoMRs man, that he would
have been very glad had’ Mr. Trelyon dined with him
every evening, and taken the trouble to win any rea-
scan amount of him at billiards afterwards. Mr,
Trelyon had not as yet graced his table.

“Oh, Grainger,” said the young man, ‘I want to
8 k to you. ill you dine with me to-night at
eight? p

% No—no—no,”’ said Mr. paneer shaking his head
in humble protest, ‘‘thatisn’t fair. You dine with
me. It ain't. the first or the second time of asking,
either.’ ; ‘

“But look here,” said Trelyon, “I’ve got lots more
toask of you.. I want you to lend me that little cut-
ter of yours for this afternoon; will you? Yousend
your man on board to see she’s all right, and I’ll pull
out to her in about half an hour’s time. You'll do that,
won't you, like a good fellow?’

Mr. Grainger was not only willing to lend the yacht,
but also his own services to see that she eet re-
ceived so distinguished a guest; whereupon Trelyon
had to explain that he wanted the small craft merely
to give.a couple of ladies a sail for an hour or so.
Then {r, Grainger would have his man instructed to
let the ladies have some tea on board; and he would
give Master Harry the key of certain receptacles in
which he would find cans of preserved meat, fancy
biscuits, jam, and even a few bottles of dry sillery;
finally, he would immediately hurry off tosee about
Renin pOee Trelyon had to acknowledge to himself
that this worthy person deserved the best dinner that
the hotel could produce.

In the afternoon he walked along to fetch Mrs.
Rosewarne. and her daughter, his face bright with
expectation. Mrs. Rosewarne was dressed and ready
when he went in, but she said:

“T am afraid I can’t go, Mr. Trelyon. Wenna
says she is a little tired, and would rather stay at
home.” ;

Wi that isn’t fair,” he said, obviously hurt,
“You ought to make some little effort when you
know it will do your mother good. And it will do
you good too, if only you make up your mind to go,

She hesitated for a moment; she saw that her
mother was. disappointed. Then, without a word,
she oy and put on her hat and shawl.”
sonable.and very 0 ent. we can’t have you
go with us with such a face as that. People would
a we were going to a funeral.””

shy smile came over the gentle features, and she
turned aside.

“ And we can’t have you pretend that we forced
youto go. If we go atall, iat must lead the way.”

“You would tease the life out of a saint,” she
said, with a vexed and embarrassed laugh; and then
she marched out before them, very gla be able
to conceal her highcened color, :

But much of her reserve vanished when peer had
set sail; and when the small cutter was beginning to
make way through the light and plashing waves,
Wenna’s face brightened, She no longer let her
companions talk exclusively to each other. She be-
gan to show a great curiosity about the little yacht;
she grew anxious to have the lines flung out; no
words of hers could express her admiration for the
beauty of the afternoon, and of the scene around

her.
“Now, are you glad you came out?” he said to

rs,

“ ” ered »shr .

¥ Aad rantinoks my sn another time?”

“Do you ever take any one’s advice?” she said,
venturing to look up.

ell,” he said, ap rovingly, “you are very rea- |

 

‘Yes, ce! ly, ’ he answered, ‘when it agrees
with my own clination. Who ever does any more
than that?” on

They had now got a good bit away from land,

“Skipper,” Trelyon to Mr, Grainger’s man,
“we'll wages) bout now and let her drift. Here is
a cigar for you; you)can take it up to the bow and
see it, and keep a good lookout for the sea-ser-

n

By this arrangement they obtained, as they sat and
idly talked, an excellent view of all the land around
the bay, and of the pale, clear sunset shining in the
western skies. They lay almost motionless in the
lapping water; the light breeze scarcely stirred the
loose canvas, From time to time they could hear a
sound ot calling or laughing from the distant fishing
boats; and that only seemed to increase the silence
around them, a ;

It was an evening that invited to repose and re-
verie; there were not even the usual fiery colors of
the sunset to arouse and fix attention by their rapid-
ly changing and glowing hues. The town itself, ly-
ing darkly all around the sweep of the bay, was
dusky and distant; elsewhere all the world seemed to
be flooded with the silver light coming over from be-
hind the western hills.

The sky was of the palest blue; the long, mackerel
clouds that stretched across were of the faintest yel-
low and htest grey; and into that shining grey
arose the black stems of the trees that were just
over the outline of these low hights. St. Michael's
Mount had its summit touched by the pale glow; the
rest of the giant. rock and the far stretches of sea
around it were grey with mist. But close by the boat
there was a sharper light on the lapping waves and
on the tall spars, while it was warm enough to hight-
en the color on Wenna’s face, as she sat 4nd looked
silently at thé great and open world around her,

They were drifting in more ways than one, Wenna
almost forgot what had occurred in the morning.
She was so pleased to see her mother pleased that
she conversed quite unreservedly with the young
man who had wrought the change, and was ready to
believe all that Mrs. Rosewarne said in private about
his being so delightful and cheerful] acompanion. —

As for him, he was determined to profit by this
last opportunity. If the strict rules of honor de-
manded that Mr. Roscorla should have fair play, or
if Wenna wished him to absent himself—which was
of more consequence than Mr. Roscorla’s interest—
he would make his visits few and formal, but in the
meantime, at least. they would have this one pleas-
ant afternoon together. Sometimes, it is true, he
rebelled against the uncertain pledge he had given
her. Why should he not seek to win her? What
had the strict rules of honor todo with the prospect

of a young girl allowing herself to be sacrificed,
while here he was, able and williag to snatch her
away from her fate?

** How fond you are of the sea and of boats!” he
said toher. ‘‘SometimesI think I shall have a big
schooner yacht built for myself, and take her to the
Mediterranean, going from place to place justas I
have.the fancy. But it would be very dull by one’s
a gree it, even if one had a dozen men on

ari

‘“What one wants is to have a small party all very
friendly with each other, and at night ae would
sit up on deck and sing songs. And I think they
would admire those old-fashioned songs that you sing,
Miss Wenna, all the better for hearing them so far

away from home—at least, I should, but then I’m an

outer barbarian. I think you, now, would be delight-

ed with the grand music abroad—with the operas,

you know, and all that. $

' “*T have had to knock about these places with

ple, but I don’t care about it. I would rather hear
Norah, the Pride of Kildare,’ or ‘The Maid of

Llangollen,’ because, I suppose, those young women

are moreinmy line, —

“You see, I shouldn’t care to make the acquaint-
ance of a eprerous creature with black hair and a
train of yellow satin half a mile long, who tosses up
a gilt goblet when she sings a drinking song, and then
gets into a frightful passion about what one doesn’t
understand. ouldn’t you rather meet the ‘ Maid of
LED. coming along a country road—coming in
by Marazion over there, for example—with a bright

rint dress all smelling of lavender, and a basket of

resh.eggs over her arm? “Well—what was I erie?

“Oh, yes!. Don’t you think if you were away in
the ‘Adriatic, and sitting up on deck at night, you
would make the people have a quiet ery when you
sang ‘Home, Sweet Home?’ The words are rather
silly, aren’t they? But they make you think such a
lot if you hear them abroad.” ;

“And when are you ing away?—this year, Mr.
Trelyon?”” Wenna said, looking down.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, cheerfully; he would
have no question of his going away interfere with the
re of the presenf moment.

t length, however, they had to bethink themselves
of getting back, for the western skies were deepen-
ing in color and the evening air was growing chill.
They ran the small cutter back to her moorings;
then they put off in the small boat for the shore. It
was a beautiful, quiet evening. Wenna, who had
taken off her glove, and was allowing ler bare hand
to drag through the rippling water, seemed to be
lost in distant and idle fancies not altogether of a
Pero ae oe

““Wenna,” her mother said, “you will get your

d perfectly chilled. ukaetias \ Brus

e girl drew back herhand and shook the water
off her dripping Anegs. Then she uttered a slight
ery. 7, ring! e said, looking with absolute
fright at her hand and then at the sea.

if course they stopped the boat instantly, but all
they could do was to Stare at the clear, dark water.
The distress of the girl was beyond expression. This

 

was no ordinary trinket that had been lost; it wasa
gage of plighted affection given her by one now far
away, and in his absence she had carelessly flung it
into the sea. She had no fear ef omens, as her sister
had, but surely, of all things in the world, she ought.
to have treasured up this ring. In spite of herself,
tears Re tion to her eyes. er mother in vain at-
tempted to make light of the loss.

And then at last Harry Trelyon, driven almost be-
side himself by seeing the girl so ee in grief,
hit upon a wild fashion of consoling her, ‘“*Wenna,’
he said, ‘‘ don’t disturb yourself. Why, we can easily

et he the ring, Look at the rocks there; a long

ank of smooth sand slopes ont from them, and your
ring is quietly lying on the sand. There is nothin,
easier than to get it up with a dredging machine;
will undertake to let you have it by to-morrow after-
noon.”

Mrs. Rosewarne thought he was joking, but he ef-
fectually persuaded Wenna, at all events, that she
should have her ring next day. Then he discovered
that he would be just in time to catch the half-past
six train to Plymouth, where he would get the proper
apparatus, and return in the morning. :

“Tt was a pretty ring,” said he. “There were six
stones in it, weren’t there?”

“Five,” she said. So much she knew, though it.
must be confessed she had not studied that token of
Mr. Roseorla’s affection with the earnest solicitude
which most young ladies bestow on the first gift of
their lovers.

Trelyon jnmped into a fly and drove off to the sta-
tion, where he sent back an apology to Mr, eo
Wenna went home more perturbed than she had
been for many a day, and that not solely on account.
of the lost ring. "

Everything seemed to Seen against her and
keep her from carrying out her honorable resolu~
tions. That sailinthe afternoon she could not well
have avoided, but she had determined to take some
opportunity of begging Mr. Trelyon not to visit them
again while they remained in Penzance. Now, how-

fever, he was coming next day, and whether or uot
he was successful in his quest after the a ring, F
tly

would she not have to show herself abun
grateful for all his kindness?

In putting away her gloves she came upon the let-
ter of Mr. Roscorla, which she had not yet answered.
She shivered slightly; the handwriting on the enve-
lope seemed to reproach her. And yet something of
a rebellious spirit arose in her against this imaginary
accusation; and she grew that she was called
upon to serve this harsh and inconsiderate task-mas-
ter, and give him explanations which humiliated her.

He had no right to ask such questions about Mr.
Trelyon. He ought not to have listened to idle gossip.
He should have sufficient faith im her promised
word; and if he a knew the torture of doubt and
anxiety she was suffering on-his behalf. She did nos.
pursue these speculations further, but it was well
with Mr. Roscorla that she did not at that moment’
sit down and answer his letver.

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
FUTURE ENTANGLEMENT,

“Mor ” said Wenna, that night, “what vexed
you so this morning? Who was the woman whe
went by? ¢

** Don’t ask me, Wenna,” the mother said, rather
uneasily. “It woulddo you nogoodtoknow. And
you must not speak of that woman; she is too hor-
rid a creature to be mentioned by a young girl,

ever.
Wenna looked surprised, and then she said, warm-

Me And if she ig so, mother, how could you ask Mr.
Trelyon to have anything to do with her? Why
should you send for him? Why should he be spoken
to about her?” j
“Mr. Trelyon!”’ her mother said, impatiently, “You
seem to have no thought now for anybody but Mr.’
Trelyon. Surely the young man can take care of
poe ; j 1 ine
e reproof was just; the justice of it was its sting.
She was indeed thinking too ae apes the young -
man, and her mother Was right in saying so; but who
was to understand the extreme anxiety that pos-—
saaee her to bring these dangerous relations to an

end?

On the cae afternoon Wenna, sitting alone at.
the window, heard Trelyon enter below. e young
person who had charge of such matters allowed him

to go up stairs and anounce himself asa matter of
course, He tapped at the door and came into the °
the room. “Where’s your mother, Wenna? The
irl said she was here. However, never mind; I’ve
rought, you something that will astonish you. What
do — think of that? j
She scarcely looked at the ring, so great was her

embarrasment, That the present of one lovershould —

be brought back to her by another was an awkwai
almost humiliating circumstance. Yet she was ad
as well as ashamed.

“Oh, Mr. Trelyon, how can I thank you?" she said,
in a low, earnest voice. “All you seem to care for is
tomakeother peoplehappy. And the trouble you
haye taken, too!”

¥
She forgot to look at the ring, even when he point-
3 made it

ed out how the washing in the sea had
bright, She had never asked about the 5
Indeed, she was evidently disinclined to of
this ee 7 - may and kept the finger with the
on 8 , ;
‘Pyfr. ‘Tretyon,” she said, then, with equal steadi-
ness of voice, “Lam going to ask so ‘more of
you; and I am sure you will not refuse it.” -
“T know,” said he, hastily: “and let me have the

%

\

 
 

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

first word. I have been eiaking over our position
during this trip to Plymouth and back. Well, I think
I have become a nuisance to you.

“ Wait a bit, let me say my say in my own way. I
can see that I only embarrass you when I callon you,
that the permission you gave me is only leading to
awkwardness and discomfort; mind, I don’t eos
are acting fairly to yourself or to me in forbidding
me to mention again what I told you. I know you're
wrong. You should let me show you what sort of a
life lies before you. But_ there! I promised to keep
clear of that. ell, I will do what you like; and if
you'd rather have me stay away altogether, I will do
that. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you. but mind
this, Wenna, I do it because I think any man is bound
to respect an engagement which—which—which, in
fact, he doesn’t respect.”

His elogoence broke down, but his meaning was
clear. He stood there before her, ready to accept her
decisions with all meekness and obedience, but giving
her frankly to understand that he did not any the
more countenance or consider as a binding thing her
enga: ement to Mr. Roscorla. 3

““Mind you,” he said, ‘‘Iam not quite as indiffer-
ent about all this as look. It isn’t the way of our
family to put their hands in their pockets and wait
for orders. But I can’t fight withyou. Many atime
I wish there was a man in the case—then he and I
might have it out—but as it is, I suppoge I have got
to do what you say, Wenna, and that’s the long and
short of it.”

She did not hesitate. She went forward and offered
him her hand, and with her frank eyes looking him
in the face, she said: ‘‘ You have said wha: I wished
to say, and I feared I had not the courage to say it.
Now you are acting bravely. Perhaps at some fu-
ture time we may ome friends again—oh yes, and
I do hope that—but in the meantime you will treat
me as if I were astranger to you.”

“That is quite impossible,” said he, decisively.
“* You ask too much of me, Wenna.”’

‘Would not that be the simpler way?” she said,
fooking at him again with the frank and earnest
eyes, and she knew she was right.

* And the length of time?” he said.

“Until Mr. Roscorla comes home again, at all
events,” she said.

She had touched an an; chord.

**What has he to do with us?” the young man said,
almost fiercely. ‘‘I refuse to have him come in as
arbiter or in any way whatever. Let him mind his
own business: and! can tell you, when he and I come
to talk over this engagement of yours——”

“You promised not to speak of that,’’ she said,

quietly, and he instantly ceased.

‘Well, Wenna.”’ he said, after a minute or two, “I
think you ask too much, but you must have it your
own way. I won’tannoy you and drive you into a
corner; you may depend on that. But to be perfect
strangers for an indefinite time—Then you won't
speak to me when I see you passing to church?”’

“Oh, yes,’’ she said, looking dewn; “I did not
mean strangers Jike that.”

“AndI thought,” said he, with something more
than disappointment in his face, ‘‘that when I pro-

d to—to relieve you from my visits, you would
at least let us have one more afternoon together—
only one—for a drive, you know. It would be nothing
te you; itwould be something for me to remem-

1

She would not recognize the fact, but fora brief
moment his under lip quivered; and somehow she
seemed to know it, though she dared not look up to
his face.

“One afternoon, only one—to-morrow—next day,
Wenna? Surely you cannot refuse me that?”

Then, looking at her with a great compassion in his
eyes, he suddenly altered his tone.

“IT think I ought to be hanged,” he said, in a
vexed way. ‘‘Youarethe only person in the world
I care for, and every time I see you I plunge you into
oe. Weill, this is the last time. ood-by,

enna.

Almost involuntarily she pat out her hand, but it |

was with the least perceptible gesture, to bid him re-
main. Then she went past him, and there were tears
running down her face,

“Tf—if you will waita moment,”’ she said, ‘‘I will

see if mamma and I can go with you to-morrow af-
ternoon.”
» She went out, and he was left alone. Each word
that she had uttered had pierced his heart; but
which did he feel the more deeply—remorse that
he should have insisted on this slight and useless
concession, or bitter rage against the circumstances
that environed them, and against the man who was
altogether responsible for these? There was now at
least one person in the world who greatly longed for
the return of Mr. Koscorla.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
FAREWELL.

“ Yzs, it is true,” the young man said next morn-
ing to his cousin; ‘this is the last time I shall see her
for many aday.”’ He was standing with his back to

’ her, eras eres out of the window.

“Well, Harry,” his cousin said, gently enough,
“you won't be hurt if I say it is a very good thing? I
am glad to see you have so much patience and rea-
sonableness. deed, I think Miss, Rosewarne has
very much improved you in that respect; and it is
very good advicé she has given you now.”

“Oh, yes, itis all very well to talk!” he said, impa-
tiently. ‘‘Common sense is precious éasy when you
are quite indifferent. Of course she is quite indiffer-
ent, and she says, ‘Don’t troubieme.: What can one

do but go? But if she was not so indifferent— He

 

turned suddenly: “Jue, you can’t tell what trouble
Iam in. Do you know that sometimes I have fancied
she was not quite asindifferent—I have had the cheek
to think so from one or two things she said—and then,
if that were so, it is enough to drive one mad to think
of leaving her. How could I leave her, Jue? If any
one cared for you, would you quietly sneak off in
order to consult your own comfort and convenience?
Would you be patient and reasonable then?”

‘Harry, don’t talk in that excited way. Listen!
She does not ask you to go away for your sake, but
for hers.”

“For her sake?” he repeated, staring. “If she is
indifferent how can that matter to her? Well, I sup-
pose I am a nuisance to her—as much as I am to my-
self. There it is; I am an interloper.”

“*My poor boy,” his cousin said, with a kindly smile,
‘you don’t known your own mind two minutes run-
ning. During this past week you have been blown
about by all sorts of contrary winds of opinion and
fancy. Sometimes you thought she cared for you—
sometimes no. Sometimes you thought it a shame to
interfere with Mr. Roscorla; then again you grew in-
dignant and would have slaughtered him. Now you
don’t know whether you ought to go away or stop
to porapeute her. Don’t you think she is the best
judge?”

“No, I don't,” he said. ‘I think she is no judge of
what is best for her, because she never thinks of that.
She wants somebody by her to insist on her being
wg selfish.”

“That would be a eee. lesson.””

“A necessary one, anyhow, with some women, I
can tell you. ButI poe I pedeagt as she says. I
couldn’t bear meeting her about Eglosilyan and be
scarcely allowed to speak to her. Then when that
hideous little beast comes back from Jamaica,
fancy seeing them walking about together.

“T must cut the whole place. I shall go into the
army: it’s the only profession open to a fool like me;
and they say it won’t be long open, either. WhenI
come back, Jue, I suppose you'll be Mrs. Tressider.”

“T am very sorry,” his cousin said, not heeding the
reference to herself: ‘I never expected to see you so
deep in trouble, Ha But you have youth and
good spirits on your side: you will get over it.”

“T suppose so,”’ he said, not very cheerfully; and
then he went off to see about the carriage which was
to a Wenna and himself for their last drive to-
gether,

At the same time that he was talking to his cousin,
Wenna was seated at her writing-desk answering Mr.
Roscorla’s letter. Her brows were knit together: she
was evidently laboring at some difficult and disagree-

‘able task.

Her mother, apne the sofa, was regarding her
with an amused look; ‘“‘ What is the matter, Wenna?
That letter seems to give you a deal of trouble.”

The girl put down her pen with some trace of vex-
ation in her face: ‘*‘ Yes, indeed, mother. How is
one to explain delicate matters in a letter? Every
pater seems capable of misconstruction. And then

he mischief it may cause!”

“But surely you don’t need to write with such care
to Mr. Roscorla?”’

Wenna colored slightly, and hesitated as she an-
swered, ‘‘ Well, mother, it is something peculiar. I
did not wish to trouble you, but, after all, I don’t
think you will vex yourself about so small a thing.
Mr. Roscorla has been told stories about me. He is
angry that Mr. Trelyon should visit us so often.

And—and—I am trying to explain. That is all,
mother.”
“It is quite enough, Wenna; but I am not sur-

prised. Of course, if foolish persons like to miscon-
strue Mr. Trelyon’s visits, they might make mischief.
I see no harm in them myself.

‘“*T suppose the young man found an evening at the
inn amusing; andIcan see that he likes you very
well, as many other people do. But you know how
you are situated, Wenna.

“If Mr. Roscorla objects to your continuing an ac-
quaintance with Mr. Trelyon, your duty is clear.”

“T do not think it is, mother,” Wenna said, an in-
dignant flush of color appearing in her face. “I
should not be justified in rary over my friend or
acquaintance merely because Mr. rla had heard
rumors; I would not do it. He ought not to listen to
such things; he ought to have greater faith in me.
But at the same time I have asked Mr. Trelyon not
to come here so often—I have done so alre: ¥3 and
after to-day, mother, the gossips will have nothing to
report.”

That is better, Wenna,” the mother said. “I
shall be sorry myself to miss the roe, man, for I
like him, but it is better you should attend to Mr.
Roscorla’s wishes. Anc don’t answer his letterin a
vexed or angry way, Wenna.”

She was certainly not doing so. Whatever she might
be thinking, a deliberate and even anxious courtesy
was visible in the answer she Was sending him.

Her pride would not allow her to apologise for what
had been done—in which she had seen no wrong—but
as tothe future she was earnest in her promises.
an yet she could not help saying a good word for

eylon.

“You have known him longer than I,”’ she wrote,
“and you know what his character is. I could see
nothing wrong in his coming to see my family and
myself; nor did you say anything against him while
you saw him with us.

*T am sure you believe him straightforward, honest
and frank: and if his frankness sometimes verges
upon rudeness, he is of late greatly improved in that
eee as in many others, and he is most respectful
and gentle in his manners. ;

“ As for his kindness to my mother and myself, we
could not shut our eyes toit. Here is the latest in-
staace of it, though.

“T feel deeply ashamed to tell you the story. “We

 

were returning in a small boat, and I was carelessly
letting my hand drag through the water, when some-
how the ring you gave me dropped off.

“Of course, we all considered it lost—all except
Mr. Trelyon, who took the trouble to go all the way
to Plymouth for a dredging-machine, anc the follow-
ing afternoon I was overjoyed to find him return with
the lost ring, which I had scarcely dared hope to see
again.

‘“ How many gentlemen would have done so much
for a mere tea! Iam sure if you had been
here, you would have been ashamed of me if I had
not been grateful to him.

“ Now, however, since you seem to attach import-
ance to these idle rumors, I have asked Mr. Trelyon

So the letter went on. She would not have written
so calmly if she had foreseen the passion which her
ingenuous story about the dredging-machine was
destined to arouse.

When Mr. Roscorla read that simple narrative, he
first stared with astonishment as though she were
making some foolish joke. Directly he saw she was
serious, however, his rage and mortification were in-
describable.

Here was this young man, not content with hang-
ing about the girlso that neighbors talked, but ac-
tually imposing on her credulity, and making a jest
of that engaged ring which ought to have been sa-
ered to her. Mr. Roscorla at once saw through the
whole affair—the trip to Plymouth, the purchasing of
a@ gypsy-ring that could have been matched a dozen
times over anywhere, the return to Penzance with a
cock-and-bull story about a dredging machine. So
hot was his anger that it overcame his prudence. He
would start for England at once. He had taker no
such resolutton when he heard from the friendly and
communicative Mr. Barnes that Mr. Trelyon’s con-
duct with regard to Wenna was causing scandal,
but this making a fool of him in his abscence he
could not bear. At any cost he would set out for
England, arrange matters to his satisfaction by
calling Wenna to a sense of her position; and then he
would return to Jamaica. His affairs there were al-
ready promising so well that he could afford the

trip.

Mosivetiiie: Wenna had just finished her letter
when Mr. Trelyon drove up with the carriage, and
shortly afterward came into the room. He seemed
rather grave, and yet not at all sentimentally sad.
He addressed himself mostly to Mrs. Rosewarne, and
talked to her about the Port Isaac fishing, the emi-
gration of the miners and other matters. Then
Wenna slipped away to get ready.

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said, “you asked me to find
out what I could about that red-faced person, you
know. Well, here is an advertisement which may
interest you. Icameon it quite accidentally last
night in the smoking-room of the hotel.”

It was a marriage advertisement, cut from a =
about a week old. The name of the lady was “ Kath-
erine Ann, widow of the late J. T. Shirley, Esq., of
Barrackpore.”

“Yes, Iwas sure it was that woman,” Mrs. Rose-
warne said, eagerly. ‘And so she is married
again?’

“T fancied the gay young things were here on their
wedding trip,” Trelyon said, carelessly. ‘They
amused me. [like to see turtle-doves of fifty billing
and cooing on the promenade, especially when one
of them wears a brown wig, has an Irish accent and
drinks brandy-and- water at breakfast.”

“ But he is a good billiard player—yes, he is an un-
common! ‘ood billiard player. He told me Jast
night he had beaten the [rish secretary the other day
in the billiard room in the House of Commons. 1
humbly suspect that wasalie. Atleast, I can’t re-
member anything about a billiard table in the House
of Commons, and I was two or three times through
every bit of when I was a little chap with an uncle of
mine, who was a member then; but perhaps they’ve

ot a billiard table now. Who knows? He told me

e had stood for an Irish borough, spent three thou-
sand pounds on a population of two hundred and
eighty-four, and all he got was a black eye and a
broken head. Ishould say that was all a fabrication
too; indeed, I think he rather amuses himself
with lies—and brandy-and-water. But you don’t
want to know anything more about him, Mrs. Rose-
warne?”

She did not. All that she cared to know was in
that little strip of printed paper; and as she left the
room to get ready for the drive, she expressed herself
grateful to him in such warm tones that he was
rather astonished. After all, as he said to himself,
he had had nothing to do in bringing about the mar-
riage of that somewhat gorgeous person in whom
Mrs. Rosewarne was so strangely interested.

They were silent as they drove away. There was
one happy face among them, that of Mrs. Rosewarne.
but she was thinking of her own affairs in a sort of
pleased reverie. Wenna was timid and a trifle sad;
she said little beyond “Yes, Mr. Trelyon,” and “ No,
Mr. Trelyon,” and even that was said in low voice.
As for him, he spoke to her gravely and respectfully ;
it was already as if she were a mere stranger.

Hac some of his old friends and acquaintances seen
him now, they would have been something more than
astonished. Was this young man, talking ina gen-
tle and courteous fashion to his companion, and en-
deavoring to interest her in the various things around
her, the same daredevil lad who used to clatter down
the main street of Eglosilyan, who knew nocontrol
other than his own unruly wishes, and who had no
answer but a mocking jest for any remonstrance?

“And how long do you remain in Penzance, Mr.
Trelyon?” Mrs. ‘Rosewarne said at length.

‘Until to-morrow, I expect,”’ he answered.

“To-morrow?” "

“Yes; 1am going back to Eglosilyan. You know

 

 
ee aie een ae

_>

ag

 

“Its rox buh
its rocks, and bushes, and slopes of

they came in sight of

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

my mother means to give some party or other on my
coming of age, and there is so little of that amuse-
ment going on at our house that it needs all possible
encouragement, After that I mean to leave Eglosil-
yan for a time.’

Wenna said nothing, but her downcast face grew
@ little paler; it was she who was banishing him.

“By the way,” he continued, with a smile, ‘my
mother is very anxious about Miss Wenna’s return.
Ifancy she has been trying to go into that business
of the sewing club on her own account; and in that
case she would be sure to get into a mess. I know
her first impulse would be to smooth matters over.
but that would be a bad beginning, wouldn’t it?”

* Yes, it would,” Wenna said, but somehow, at this
moment, she was less inclined to be hopeful about
the future. sens

“And as for you, Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said, ‘I
suppose you will be going home soon, now that the
change seems to have done aon so much good?”

& Yes I hope so,” she said; ‘“‘but Wenna must
first. i husband writes tome that he cannot do
without her, and offers to send Mabyn instead. No-
body seems to be able to get on without our
Wenna.”

“ And yet she has the most curious fancy that she
is of no accountto anybody, Why, some $5¥ Tex-
pect to hear of the people in Eglosilyan holding a

public meeting to present her with a service of plate | I d

and an address written on parchment with blue and
gold letters.” :

“Perhaps they will do that when she gets mar-
ried,”’ the mother said, ignorant of the stab she was
dealing.

It waa a picturesge and pleasant bit of country
through which they were driving, yet to two of them.
at least, the afternoon sun seemed to shine over i
with a certain sadness.

It was as if they were bidding good-bye to some
beautiful scene they,could scarcely expect to revisit.
For many a day thetéeafter, indeed, Wenna seemed
roe that drivisas though it had happened in
a dream.

She remembered the rough and lonely road lead-
ingup sharp hills and getting down into valleys
again, the masses of ferns and _ wild-flowers by t
stone walls, the wild and undulating country, with its
stretches of Seren furze, a clumps of trees, and its
huge blocks o ey granite.

e fomamboned their assing into a curious little
valley, densely wooded, the winding path of which
was not well fitted for a broad carriage and a pair of
horses. They had to watch the boughs and branches
as they jolted by. The sun was warm among the
foliage; (unre was a resinous scent of ferns about.

By and by the valley abruptly opened on a wide
and beautiful picture. Lamorna Cove lay before
them, and a cold, fresh breeze came in from the sea,
Here the worldseemed to cease suddenly.

AJl around them were huge rocks and wild flower:
and trees; and far up there on their left arose a_ hil
of granite, burning sed with the sunset; but. down
below them the strange little harbor was in shadow.
and the sea beyond, catching nothing of the glow of
the west, was grey, and mystic, and silent.

Not aship was visible on the pale plain; no human
being could be seen about the stone quays and the
cottages; it seemed as if they had eome to the end of
the world, and were its last inhabitants. ener.

All these th: Wenna thought of n after days, until
lain little harbor of Lamorna, and
, ‘anite, seemed
to be some bit of fairyland, steeped in the rich hues
of the sunset, and yet ethereal, distant and unrecov-
erable. ,

Mrs. Rosewarne did not at all understand the silence
of thege young people, and made many attempts to
break it up. : ,

Was the mere fact of Mr. Trelyon returning to
Eglosilyan next day anything to be sad about? He
was not a schoolboy going back to school. As for
Wenna, she had got back her engaged ring, and
ought to have béen grateful and happy.

“Come now,’ she said; ‘‘if you propose to drive
back by the Mouse Hole, we must waste no more
time here. Wenna, have you gone to sleep?

The girl started as if she really had been asleep:
then she walked back be Sse Sonate ‘of in.
They drove away again without saying ‘

& What is the Glitter with you, Wenna? Why are
you so downcast?”’ her mother said.

* Oh, nothing.” the girl said, harshly. ‘‘ But—but
one does not care to talk much on so beautiful an
evening.” f

“Yes, that is quite true,” said Mr. Trelyon, quite as
eagerly, and with something of a blush; ‘one only
cares to sit and look at things.” 3

** Oh, indeed!”’ said Mrs. sewarne, with asmile;
she eee before we Mr. Trelyon give expres-
sion to his views upon scenery,

They drove around by the Mouse Hole, and when

enzance again, the bay and
the semicircle of houses and St. Michel’s Mount were
all a pale grey in the twilight. As they drove quietly
along they heard the voices of people from time to
time; the occupants of the cottages had come out
for their grening, stroll and chat, .

Suddenly, as they were yes we certain huge mass-
es of rock that sloped suddenly down to the sea, a
heard another sound—that of two or three boys call-

; t for help. The briefest glance showed what
he oo These boys were ee on the
fixedly at one of theircom ions, who

rocks,
into the water and was wildly splashin
ebott oi whileall they could do to help him was to ca!

for aid at the pitch of their voices.
“That

chap’s drowning,” Trelyon said, jumping

_ Out of the

fe he was out on the rocks hastil:
pullice or his coat. What wast he heard just as he

 

jumped into the sea?—the agonized voice of a girl
cellirig him back.

Mrs. Rosewarne was at this moment staring at her
daughter with almost a horror-stricken look on her

Was it really Wenna Rosewarne who had been
somean? and wyat madness her to make
herso? The girl had hold of her mother’s arm with
both hands, and held it with the grip of a vice, while
her white face was turned to the rocks and the sea.

**Oh, mother!” she cried, “it is only a boy, and he
is a man; and there is not another in all the world
like him!”

““Wenna, is it you who are speaking, or a devil?
The boy is drowning.”

But he was drowning no longer. He was laid hold
of by a strong arm, dragged in to the rocks, and
there fished out by his companions, Then Trelyon
got up on the rocks and calmly looked at his drip-
ping clothes.

“You are a nice little beast, you are!” he said to

&0 | the small boy, who had swallowed a good deal of salt

water, but was otherwise quite unhurt.

“How do you expect Iam going home in these
trowsers? Perhaps your mother’ll pay me for a new
pair,eh? And give you a jolly soot thrashing for
tumbling in? Here’s half a crown for you, you
young ruffian! and if I catch you on these rocks
ee throw you in and let you swim for it; see if

on’t.”

He walked up to the carriage, shaking himself, and
putting on his coat as he went with great difficulty.

Pe Mrs. Rosewarne, I must walk back; I can’t think
of—

He uttered a short cry. Wenna was lying as one
dead in her mother’s arms. Mrs, Roswarne vainly
endeavoring to revive her. He rushed down the rocks
again to a pool, and soaked his handkerchief in the
water; then he went hurriedly back to the carriage
and put the cold handkerchief to her temples an
Onn, ” 'Trelyon, d ill get

r, Trelyon, do go away, or you will get your
death of cold,” Mrs’ Rosewarne said. “Leave Wenna
tome. See, there isa gentleman who will lend you
his horse, and you will get to your hotel directly.

He did not even answer her. His own face was
about as pale as that of the girl before him, and hers
was that of a corpse. But by and by strange tre
mors passed through her frame; her hands tightened
their grip of her mother’s arm, and with a sort of
a she opened her eyes and fearfully looked
around.

She cuaght sight of the young man standing there;
she scarcely seemed to recognize him for a moment.
And then, with a quick, nervous action, she caught
at his hand and kissed it twice, hurriedly and wildly;
then she turned to her mother, hid her face in her
bosom, and burst into a flood of tears. Probably the
girl scarcely knew all that had taken place, but her
two companions, in silence, and with a great appre-
hension filling their hearts, saw and recognized the
story she had told.

‘Mr. Trelyon,” said Mrs. Rosewarne, “ you must
not remain here.”

Mechanically he obeyed her. The gentleman who
had been riding along the road dismounted, and,
fearing some accident had occurred, had come for-
ward to offer his assistance.

When he was told how matters stood,’he at§once

ave Trelyon his horse to ride into Penzance; and
then the carriage was driven off also at a considerably
less rapid pace. °.

That evening Trelyon, having got into warm clothes
and dined, went along to ask how Wenna was.” His
heart beat hurriedly as he knocked at the door. He
had intended merely making the inquiry and coming
away again, oes ag servants aid,that Mrs, Rosewarne
wished to see him,

He went up stairs and found Mrs. Rosewarne alone.
These two looked at each other; that single glance
told everything. They were both aware of the secret
that had been revealed.

For an instant there was dead silence between
them, and then Mrs, Rosewarne, with a great sadness
in her voice, despite its studied calmness, said:

‘Mr. Trelyon, we need say nothing of what has
occurred. There are some things that are best not
spoken of. But I cantrust to you not to seek to see
Wenna before you leave here. She is quite recover-
ed—only a little nervous, a know, and _ frightened.
To-morrow she will be quite well again.”

‘* You will bid her good-bye for me,” he said.

But for the tight clasp of the hand between these
two, it was an ordinary parting. He put on his hat
and went out. Perhapsit was the cold sea air that
made his face so pale.

PART Ix.

CHAPTER XXIX.
MABYN DREAMS,

“Yus, mother,” said Mabyn, bursting into theroom,
“here Tam; and Jennifer's down stairs with my box;
and I am to stay with you here for another week or a
fortnight; and Wenna’s to go back at once, for the
world is convulsed because of Mr. Trelyon’s coming
of age; and Mrs. Trelyon has sent and taken all our
spare rooms; and father says Wenna must come back
directly, for it’s always ‘ Wenna, do this,’ and ‘Wenna
do that;’ and if Wenna isn’t there, of course the sky
will tumble down on the earth. Mother, what’s the
matter, and where’s Wenna?”

Mabyn was suddenly brought up in the middle of
ner voluble speech by the strange expression on her
mother’s . ie

“Oh, Mabyn, something dreadful has happened to
our Wee” se ‘

 

Mabyn turned deadly white. “Is she ill?” she
said, almost in a whisper.

- “No, not ill, but a great trouble has fallen upon
er.”

Then the mother, in alow voice, apparently fearful
that anyone should overhear, began to Yell her
younger daughter of all she had learned within the
past day or two—how young Trelyon had been bold
enough to tell Wenna that he loved her; how Wenna.
had dallied with her conscience, and been loth to part.
with him; how, at length, she had as good as reveal-
ed to him that she loved him in return; and howshe
was now overwhelmed and crushed beneath a sense
of her own faithlessness and the impossibility of
ieee reparation to her betrothed. :

“Only to think, Mabyn,” said the mother in ae-
cents of despair, ‘that all this distress should have
come about in such a quiet and be ge pei way!
Who could have foreseenit? Why, of all the pie
in the world, Ae would have thought our
was the least likely to have any misery of this sort;
and many a time—don’t you remember—I used to
say it was so wise of her getting enga; to a pru-
dent and elderly man, who would save _ her from the
plagues and troubles that young girls often suffer at
the hands of their lovers. I thought she was socom-
fortably settled. Everything promised her a quiet
and gentle life. And now this sudden shock has
come upon her, she seems to think she is not fit to
live, and she goes on in such a wild way——”

“Where is she?” Mabyn said, abruptly.

“No—no—no!” the mother said, anxiously, “you
must not speak a word to her, Mabyn. You must not
let her know I have told you ot about it,
Leave her to herself, for a while at least; if you speak
to her, she willtake it you mean to accuse her, for
she says you warned her, and she would pay no heed,
Leave her to herself, Mabyn.”

“Then where is Mr. Trelyon?” said Mabyn, with
some touch of indignation in her voice. “ at is he
doing? Is he leaving her to herself too?”

» “T don’t know what you mean, Mabyn,” her moth-
er said, timidly.

““Why doesn’t he come forward like a man, and
marry her?” said Mabyn, boldly.

Yes, of course; that is right and proper. And Wenna.
will Eo, on doing what is right and Pes if you al-
low her, to the very, end, and the end will be a lifetime
of misery; that’s all. No, my notion is, that she
should do something that is not right and is quite im-
ra oo: if only it makes her happy; and you'll see if

don’t get her to do it. Why, mother, haven’t you
had eyes to see that these two have been in love for
years? Nobody in the world had ever the least con-
trol over him but her; he would do anything for
Wenna; and she—why she always came back singing

-after she had met and spoken to him. And then you

talk about a prudent and sensible husband!

“I don’t want Wenna to marry a watchful, mean,
old, stocking-darning cripple, who will creep about
the house all day and peer into cupboards, and give
her fourpence-halfpenny a week to live on, I want
her to marry:a man--one that is strong enough to:

rotecther. And I tell you, mother—I’ve said it be-
ore, and i say it again—she shall not marry Mr.
Roscorla.” t

‘“Mabyn,” said her mother, “ = are getting mad-
der than ever. Your dislike to Mr. Roseorla is most:
unreasonable. .A cripple! Why—” ; ’

“Oh, mother!” Mabyn cried, with a bright light on
her face, *‘ only think of our Wenna bei: married to
Mr. Trelyon, and how happy and pl and pretty
she would look as they went walking together?’ And
then how proud he would be to have so nice a wife!
and he would joke about her and be very imperti-
nent, but he would simply worship her all the same,
and do everything he could to please her. And he
would take her away and show her all the beautiful
ope abroad; and he would have a yacht, too; and

e would give her a fine house in London, :

“‘And don’t you think our Wenna would fascinate

everybody with her mouse-like ways and her nice

small steps? And if they did have any trouble,

eae es be better i pe wes her
not timid and anxious an ttifo; ng, bi some-
body who wouldn’t he cast down bul aaa her as.
brave as himself ?” ’

Miss Mabyn was a shrewd young woman, and she
saw that her mother’s quick, imaginative, ieee
thetic nature was Scanners by this picture,
She determined to have her as an ally. e

‘““And don’t you see, mother, how it all lies within
a. reach ? 7 ‘trelyon is oa ny Sane $
there was no need for him to say so. new it long
before he did. And she—why, she has told him now
that she cares for him ; an
what I'd do in. his place. What is there in
Why, a—a sort of understanding.” '

‘4 promise, Mabyn,” said the mother,

“Well, a promise,” said the girl, desperately, and
coloring somewhat. “But it was a promise given in
ignorance ; she didn’t know—how could she know ?

verybody knows how such promises are constantly
broken. If you are in love with somebody else,
what’s the good of your keeping the promise t Now,
mother, won’t you argue with her ? here, if she
keeps her promise, there’s three people miserable.
If ie breaks it, there ’s only one; and I doubt.
whether he’s got the capacity to be miserable. That’s.
two to one, orthree to one, isn’tit ? Now, will you
see =a are a ae : Siig te $

yn—Mabyn @ mother said, with a shake:

of the head, but ‘evidently pleased with the voice of

the eee ihe une fancy run are with you,
Mr. yon never proposed marry her,

oy know fhe wants to,” wala Mauyoy confidently, ao

“Pitas hin and prve it tyon.” %

ask him an ve ou. ;
“Indeed,” said the mother, sadly, “it is no thought

way?

Slit nesdionaneepatsenaiteialameieinnetbeanmnttenitnnasteeteaiaiemaaaetemmdaemeammnandmnoaaamednamammndmmamedem mmm taedteeaenaectamiteaaaaoneaectadateeteeenaeoe

“Yes, thatis what —
I would do if I were a mian, She has sent him away?

if I were him, know |
the
 

   

mT ere pe eee

‘30

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

of marriage that is in Wenna's head just now. The
7 girl.is full of remorse and apprehension. [think
she would like to start at once for Jamaica and fling
herself. at. Mr. Roscorla’s feet and confess her fault,
Iam glad she has to go back to Eglosilyan; they may
distress her mind in a measure, at. present she is suf-
fering more than she shows.”
“Where is she?”
“In her own room, tired out and fast asleep. I
‘dooked in a few moments ago.”’
Mabyn went up stairs, after having seen that Jen-

nifer had properly bestowed her box. . Wenna had
just risen from the sofa, and was standing in the
middle of the room, er sis-

Her younger and

ter went lightly forward to her, kissed her as usual,
took no notice of the sudden flush of red that sprang
into her face, and proceeeded to state, in a business-
like. fashion, that all the arrangements had been

le.
“Have you been enjoying yourself, Wenna,” said
n, with a fine show of indifference.

“Oh, ” Wenna answered; adding, hastily:
“Don’t you think mother is greatly improved?”

“Wonderfully! I almost forgot she was.an invalid.
How _iucky you are to be going back to see all the
fine doings at the Hall! Of course they will ask you

up.
“They will do nothing of the kind,’’ Wenna said
with some asperity, and with her face turned aside,
“Lord and ly Amersham have already come to

the atti

** Oh, indeed!’’

“Yes, They said some time ago that there was a
good chance of Mr. Trelyon marrying the daughter
—the tall girl with yellow hair, you remember?’

“ And the sloping shoulders? Yes. I should think
they would be glad to get her marrried to anybody.

Ss. 5
_ Oh, Wenna!”” :

“Mr. Trelyon told me so,’’ said Wenna, sharply.

“And they are a little surprised,” continued
Mabyn, in the same indifferent wa: but watching
her sister all the while, “ that Mr. Trelyon has re-
mained absent until so near the time. But I sup-
eo he means to take Miss Penaluna with him. She

ives here, doesn’t she? They used to say there was
a chance of a marriage there, too.” ‘

‘““Mabyn, what do you mean?’ Wenna said, sud-
denly and angrily. “What doI¢are about Mr. Trel
yon’s marriage? What is it you mean?”

But the firmness of her lips began to yield; there
was an ominous trembling about them, and at the
same moment her younger sister caught her to her
bosom, and hid her face there, and hushed her. wild
sobbing. She would hearno confession. She knew

5 Nothing would convince her that Wenna
had done a:

about ;
* Wenna,”’ she said, in a low voice, “ have yousent
= Ge aenmor? a. girl said, trembling. “I fear
even to think of him; and when you mentioned his
name, Mabyn, it seemed to choke me, And now I
have to go back to Egk an; and oh, if you.only
knew how I dread that, Mabyn!”
Mabyn’s conscience was struck. She it was had done
. She had persuaded her father that her
0 needed another week or fortnight at Penz-
ance; she had frightened him by telling what _both-
er he would suffer if Wenna were not back at the inn
‘ the festivities at Trelyon Hall, and then she
to go and take her sister post.
: Rosewarne was penetiln ean to quchange
the one daughter for the other. yn was too inde-
. ; She thwarted him; sometimes she insisted
_on his bestirring himself. Wenna, on the other hand,
went about the place like some invisible spirit of or-
on worry. cca tea te a a“ one
or ‘ iy e neces-
and so it was that Mab;

‘

i

sary thought she
was doing her sister a friendly turn by sending her
back to lyan in order to join in congrati ng

Trelyon entrance into man’s estate.
No xyn found that she had only pl her
ao le deeper trouble. What could be done to
save

““Wenna,” said Mabyn, rather timidly, ‘‘do you
_ think he has left Penzance?”

_. Wenna turned to her with a sudden look of en-
in her face ; “ Icannot bear to s of him,
Thave no right to;I hope ‘ou willlnot ask me.
now I—I am going to write a letter—to Ja-
Ishall tell the whole truth, It is for him
what must happen now. Ihave done hima
3 I did not intend oe had no thought of

ut my own folly and thoug! ‘ht

}

4

ae. brought it
and I have to bear the penalty. I don’t think | all

he need be anxious about punishing me,” ;
_ She tu away with a tired look on her face, and
began to get out her writing materials. Mabyn

watched her fora moment or two'in silence ; then
she left and went to her own room, saying to herself,
Punishment! Whoever talks 0} punishment will
hhaye to address himself to me.”
When she got to her own room she wrote these
ords on'a piece of paperin her firm, bold, free
A friend would like to see you for a minute in
front of the post-office in the dle of the font

_ She put that in an en , and addressed en-
= "Trelyon, fea,

— of which she ite Satalinaseeased

the hotel at w Mr. Trelyon had been
to

&

‘ n, just.as if she were out to the
yea look at the sea, she carelessly left

_ the house. ; do
Reepeeas cl the evening wee growing to dark: A

mist lay over the sea. The solitary lamps were

ie

ing wrong, so there was no use speak- | Th

Sth weept her bannct on, she went down stairs | chance.

 

being lit along the parade, each golden star shining
sharply in the pale purple twilight, but a more con-
fused glow of orange showed where the little town
was busy in its narrow thoroughfares. She got hold
of a small boy, gave him the letter, a sixpence and
his instructions. He was to ask if the gentleman
were in the hotel. If not, had he Jeft Penzance, or
would he return that night? In any case, the boy
ee not to leave the letter unless Mr. Trelyon was
ere.

The small boy returned in a couple of minutes. The

entleman.was there, and had taken the letter. So

abyn at once set out for the center of the town, and
soon found. herself in among a mass of huddled
houses, bright shops and_ thoroughfares pretty well
filled with strolling sailors, women getting home
from market and townspeople come out to gossip.
She had accurately judged that she would be less
observed in this busy little place than out on the Par-
ade; and as it was the first Sree cnes she had
ever made to meet a young gentleman alone, she was
just a little nervous.

Trelyon was there. He had recognized the hand-
writing in amoment. He had no time to ridicule or
even to think of Mabyn’s school-girl affectation of
secresy; he had at once rushed off to the place of
appointment, and that by a short cut of which he
had no knowledge.

“Mabyn, what’s the matter? Is Wenna ill?’ he
said, forgetting in his anxiety even to shake hands
with her,

“ Oh, no, she isn’t,’’ said Mabyn, rather coldly and
defiantly. If he was in love with her sister, it was for
him to make advances. _‘* Oh, no, she’s pretty well,
thank you,’’ continued Mabyn, indifferently, ‘ But
she never could stand much worry, I wanted to
see you about that. She is going back to Eglosilyan
to-morrow; and ped must promise notto have her
asked up to the Hall while these grand doings are

oing on—you must not try to see her to persuade

er. If you could keep out of her way altgether--”

“You know all about it, then, Ma byn?” he said, sud
denly, and even in the dusky light of the street she
could see the rapid look of gladness that filled his
face, ‘And you are not going to be vexed, eh?
You'll remain friends with me, Mabyn—you will tell
me how she is from time to time. Don’t ycu see, I
must go away; and—and, by Jove, Mabyn! I’ve got
such a lot to tell you!”

She looked around. t

“T can’t talk to. you here, .Won’t you walk back
by the other road behind the town?” he said.

‘Yes, she would go willingly with him now. The
aniety of his face, the almost wild way in which he
seemed to for her help and friendship, the mere
impatience of his manner, pleased and satisfied her.
was as it should be. ‘ere was no sweetheart by
line and rule, demonstrating his affection by argu-
ment, and acting at all times with a studied proprie-
ty; but areal, true lover, full of passionate hope and
as ionate fear; ready to do ye: and yet
not knowing what to do. Above al.
and handsome, like a prince,” an
lover for her gentle sister.

“Oh, Mr. eee she said, with a great burst of
ne “T did so fear that you might be indiffer-
ent
_ “Indifferent!’’ said he, with some bitterness, ‘‘ Per-
haps that is the best thing that could happen, only it
isn’t very likely to happen. Did re ever see any-
body, pisces asI am placed, Mabyn! Nothing but
stumbling-blocks every way Took. family have
always been hot-headed and hot-tempered; ifI told
a grandmother at this minute how I am situated, I
believe she would say: * Why don't you golike aman
and run off with the girl?”

“Yes!” said Mabyn, quite delighted.

“But suppose you’ve bothered and worried the
girl until hi feel ashamed of yonrself, and she be;
9

therefore a fit

of a. to leave her, aren’t you bound in fair -
ness ¥

““T don’t know,” said Mabyn, doubtfully.

“Well, Ido. It would be ry mean to pester her.
I'm off as soon as See eo leave the il. But
then there are other ngs. There is your sister en-

to this fellow out in Jamaica—”
‘ *Isn’t he a horrid wretch?” said Mabyn, between

with him now! But, after all, what harm has the
yen Trees Is it any wonder he wanted to get Wenna
‘or a wife

“Oh, but he cheated her,” said Mabyn, warmly.
“He Pee her and reasoned with her, and
argued her into marrying him, And what business
had he to tell her that love between young people is
bitterness and trial, and that a girl is only safe
when she marries, prodene and elderly man who
will look after her? » Why, it isto. look after him that
he wants her. Wenna is going to him as a house-
keeper and a nurse. On y—only, Mr. Trelyon, she

hasn't gone to him just HS
“Oh, I don’t think he did am hing unfair,” the
‘oun

said, gloomily. ‘It doesn’t matter, any-
ow, tI was going to say is, that my Soa
mother’s notion of what one of our family ought to
do in such @ case can’t be. carried out; whatever an
may think of a man, you can’t go and try to rob him
of his sweetheart behind his back, Even sup)
she were willing to break with him—which she is no
you've at least got to wait to give the fellow a
5 Trelyon,”
Mabyn said, warmly. |“ Wait to gi ato
make our Wenna miserable! Is she to be
prize of a sort of fight? IfI were aman I’d pay less
attention to my own scruples and try t yuld

“There I quite disagree with you, Mr.

her.” Qu, Bis. Dreivon:-ok Dem TOUR: on.”
abyn suddenly sto; on the overw
with contusion. She Eeibecn so warmly thinking of

er teeth. ‘
“Oh, I quite agree with you. If I could have it out

 

her sister’s welfare that she had been hurried into
something worse than an indiscretion,
ie What then, Mabyn?” said he, profoundly surpris-

‘*I beg your pardon; I have beén so thoughtless. I
had no right to. assume that you wished for the—
for the opportunity ——” ‘

“Of marrying Wenna?” said he with a great stare.
“ But what else have we been speaking about? Or
rather, I ee we did assume it. Well, the moreI
think over it, Mabyn, the more lam maddened by
all these obstacles, and by the notionof all the
things that bi happen. That's the bad part of my
going away. ow can I tell what may happen? He
might come back and insist on her marrying him
right off.”’

“Mr, Trelyon,”’ said Mabyn, speaking very clearly,
““there’s one thing you may be. sure of, If you let
me know where you are, nothing will happen to
Wenna that you don’t hear of.”

He took her hand and pressed it in mute thankful-
ness. He was not insensible to the value of having
so warm an advocate, so faithful an ally, always at
Wenna’s side. f

“How Rae do letters take in going to Jamaica?”
Mabyn asked.

“*T don’t know.”

*T could fetch him back for you directly,” said
she, “if you would Jike that.”

* How?”

“By writing and telling him that you and Wenna
were going to get married. Wouldn’t that fetch him
back pretty quickly?” ; f

“I doubt it. He wouldn't believe it of Wenna.
Then he is a sensible sort of a fellow, and would say
to himself that ifthe news was true he would have
his journey for nothing. Besides, Barnes says that
things are looking well with him in Jamaica—better
than anybody expected. He might not be anxious
to leave.”

They had now got back to the Parade, and Mabyn
stopped: “I must leave you now, Mr. Trelyon. Mind
not to go near Wenna when you get to Eglosilyan.”’

She shan’t even see me. Ishall be there only a cou-
ple of days or so; then I am going toLondon. Iam
going to have a try at the Civil Service examinations—

‘or first commissions, you know. I shall enly come
back to Hgicaligne for a day now and again at long in-
tervals, You have promised to write to me, Mabyn.
Well, I’ll send you my address.”

She looked at him-keenly as she offered him her hand.
“T-would be down-hearted if I were you,” she said.
i aa oda things sometimes happen.”

“Oh, Ishan’t be very down-hearted,”’ safd he, “so
long as I hear that she is all right, and not vexing her-
self about anything.” :

“Good-by, Mr. Trelyon. I am sorry I can’t take any
message for you.”

“To her? No, that is impossible. Good-by, Mabyn:
I think you are the best friend I have in the world.”

“ We'll see about that,” she said as she walked rapidly

Her mother had been sufficiently astonished by her
long absence: she was now equally surprised by the ex-
citement and pleasure visible in her face.

“Oh, mammy, do you know whom I’veseen? Mr,
Trelyon.”

“ Mabyn >.

“Yes. We've walked right round Penzance, all
ourselves. And it’s all settled, mother.” w

“ What is all settled 2”

“The understanding between him and me. An offen-
sive and defensive alliance. Let tyrants beware!”

She took off her bonnet and came and sat down on the
floor by the side of the sofa; “Oh, nes I see such
beautiful things in the future! You wouldn’t believe
it if I told you all I see. Everybody else seems de-
termined to forecast such gloomy events. There’s
Wenna crying and writing letters of contrition, and ex-
pecting all sorts of anger and scolding; there’s Mr. Trel-

on haunted by the notion that Mr. Roscorla will sud-
nly come home and marry Wenna right off; and as for
him out there in Jamaica, I expect he’ll bein anice
state when he hears of all this, But far on ahead of all
that I see such a beautiful picture!”

“Tt is a dream of yours, Mabyn,” her mother said,

but there was an imaginative light in her fine eyes too.
“No, it is not a dream, mother, for there are so many

people all wishing now that it should come —-

spite of these gloomy fancies. What is there to
it when we are all agreed ?—Mr. Trelyon and I
the list with our important alliance ; and you, mother,
would be so proud to see Wenna happy; and Mrs.
Trelyon pets her as if she were a daughter —T.:
and ‘everybody—every man, woman and child—in Eglo-
silyan would rather see that come about than get a
a, apiece. Oh, mother, if you could see the picture
hat I see just now !”

“It is a pretty picture, Mabyn,” her mother said,
shaking her head. “But when you think of everybody
being agreed, you forget one, is Wenna herself.
Whatever she thinks fit and tight to do, that she is
certain to do, and all d friendly wishes
won’t alter her decision, even if it should break her
heart. And indeed Ihope the poor child won't sink
under the terrible strain that ison her: what do you
think of her looks, Mabyn?” 3

“They want mending—yes, they want mending,”
Mabyn admitted, y with some compunction,
but then she added y, “and you know as well as I
do, mother, that there is but the one way of mending

— 4

 

ae

a

 
 

THREE FEATHERS.

sat

 

 

CHAPTER XXX,
FERN IN DIE WELT.
Ir this story were not tied by its title to the duchy

‘of Cornwall, it might be interesting enough to follow

Mr. Roscorla into the new world that had opened all
around him, and say something of the sudden shock his
old habits had thus received, and of the quite altered
views of his own life he had been led to form. As
matters stand, we can only pay him a flying visit. —
' He is seated in a verandah fronting a garden, in which
Beeetion t and oranges form the principal fruit.
own below him some blacks are bringing provisions
up to Yacca Farm along the cactus avenue leading to
the gate, Far away on his right the last rays of the sun
are shining on the summit of Blue Mountain Peak, and
along the horizon the reflected glow of the sky shines
on the calm sea, It is 4 fine, still evening; his cigar

* smells sweet in the air; it is a time for indolent dream-

Jamaica for a cure.

: young man would be very much

f this little arrangement. But as soon as Harry
. a eat his intention of sate. losilyan for

- that is what I mean to do; but now I fancy I un

ing and for memories of home.

But Mr. Roscorla is not so much enraptured by
thoughts of home as he might be. “Why,” he is
saying to himself, ‘my life in Basset Cottage was no
life at all, but only a waiting for death. Day after day
passed in that monotonous fashion: what had one to
look forward to but old age, sickness, and then the
quiet of a coffin? It was nothing but an hourly

rocession to the grave, varied by rabbit-shooting.

his bold breaking away from the narrow life of such a
place has given me a new lease of existence. Now Ican
look back with surprise on the dullness of that Cornish
village, and on the ey of habits which I did not
know were habits. For is not that always the case?
You don’t know that you are forming a habit: you
take each act to be an individual act, which you may
perform or not at will; but, all the same, the succes-
sion of them is getting you into its power; custom
getsa grip of your ways of thinking as well as your
ways of living; the habit is formed, and it does not
cease its hold until it conducts you to the grave. Try
Fling a sleeping man into the sea,
and watch if he does not wake. Why, when I look |
back to the slow, methodical, common-place life I led
at Eglosilyan, can I wonder that I was sometimes afraid
of Wenna Rosewarne regarding me as a somewhat staid
and venerable individual, on whose infirmities she
ought to take pity z

e rose and gan. to walk up and down the veran-
dah, putting his foot down firmly. His loose linen suit
was smart enough: his complexion had been improved
by the sun. The consciousness that his business affairs
were promising well did not lessen his sense of self-
importance.

“Wenna must be prepared to move about a bit when
I go back,” he was saying to himself. “She must give
up that daily attendance on cottagers’ children. all
turns out well, I don’t see why we should not live in
London, for who will know there who her father was ?
That consideration was of no consequence so long as I
looked forward to living the rest of my life in Basset
Cottage: now there are other things to be thought of
when there is a chance of my going among my old

lends .

By this time, it must be observed, Mr. Roscorla had
abandoned his hasty intention of returning to England
to upbraid Wenna with having received a ring from
Harry aie After all, he reasoned with himself, the
mere fact that she should talk thus simply and frankly
about yonne Selon showed that, so far as she was
concerned, her loyalty to her absent lover was unbro-
ken. As for the young gentleman himself, he was, Mr.
Roscorla knew, fond of joking. He had doubtless
thought it a fine thing to make a fool of two or three
women by imposing on them this cock-and-bull story
of finding a ring a dredging. He was a little angry
that Wenna should have been deceived; but then, he

‘reflected, these gypsy rings are so much like one

another that the young man had probably got a pretty
fair duplicate. For the rest, he did not want to quarrel
with Wary Trelyon at present.

But as he was walking up and down the verandah,
looking a much younger and brisker man than the Mr.
‘Roscorla who had left Eglosilyan, a servant came through
the house and brought him a couple of letters. He
saw they were respectively from Mr. Barnes and from
Wenna; and, curiously enough, he opened the reverend

entleman’s first—perhaps as schoolboys like to leave
fhe best bit of s tart to t e last.

He read the letter over carefully; he sat down and
read it again; then he put it before him on the table.
He was evidently ye by it. “What does this man
mean by wri’ ese letters to me ?’’—so Mr. Roscorla,
who was a cautious and reflective person, communed
with himself.—“ He is no particular friend of mine.
He must be driving at something. Now he says that I
am to be of good cheer. I must not think anything of
what he formerly wrote. Mr. Trelyon is leaving
Eglosilyan for good, and his mother will at last have
some peace of mind. What a pity it is that this sensi-
tive creature should be at the mercy of the rude
passions of this son of hers! that she should have no
protector! that she should be allowed to mope herself
to death in a melancholy seclusion!’ _

An odd fancy occured to Mr. Roscorla at this moment,
and he smiled: “I think I have got a clew to Mr.
Barnes’s disinterested anxiety about my affairs. The
widower would like to protect the solitary and un-
friended. widow, but the young man is in the way. The
in the way if he

Wenna Rosewarne; the widower’s fears drive

_ him into suspicion, then into certainty; nothing will

do but that I should return to England at once and

my affairs may go anyhow. ‘nes finds

er: idden to stay where Iam. Well,
clear: Iam b =
Mr. Barnes’s generous friendship for me and his
affectionate correspondence.”

coas'

He turned to Wenna’s letter with much compunction.
He owed her some atonement for having listened to the
disingenuous reports of this. scheming clergyman:
How could he have so far forgotten the firm, un-
compromising rectitude of the girl’s character, her
sensitive notions of honor, the promises she had given ?

He read her letter. and.as he read his eyes seemed to
grow hot with rage. He paid no heed to the passionate
contrition of the trembling lines—to the obvious pain
that she had endured in telling the story, without con-
cealment, against herself—to the utter and abject
wretchedness with which she awaited his decision. It
was thus that she had kept faith with him the moment
his back was turned! Such were the_ safeguards
afforded by @ woman’s sense of honor! What a fool
he had been, to imagine that any woman could remain
true to her promise so s00n as some other object of
flirtation and incipient love-making came in her way !

He looked at the letter again : he could scarcely be-
lieveit to be in her handwriting, This the quiet, reason-
able, gentle and timid Wenna Rosewarne, whose vir-
tues were almost a trifle too severe! The despair and
remorse of the letter did not touch him—he was too
angry and indignant over the insult to himself—but it
astonished him. The passionate emotion of those
closely-written pages he could scarcely connect with
the shy, frank, kindly little girl he remembered ; it was
acry of agony from a tortured woman, and he knew at
least that for her the old quiet time was over.

He knew not what to do, All this that had happened
was new to him ; it was old and gone by in England,
and who could tell what further complications might
have arisen? But his anger required some vent ; he
went in-doors, called for a lamp, and sat down and wrote
with a hard and resolute look on his face :

“T have received your letter. I am not surprised.
You are a woman, and I ought to have known that a
woman's promise is of value so long as you are by her
side to see that she keeps it. You ask what reparation
you can make ; I ask if there is any that you_can sug-
gest. No; you have done what cannot be undone. Do
you think a man would marry a woman who is in love
with, or has been in love with, another man, even if he
could overlook her breach of faith and the shameless
thoughtlessness of her conduct? My course is clear, at
all events. I give you back the promise that you did
not know how to keep ; and now you can go and ask the
young man who has been making @ holiday toy of you
whether he will be pleased to marry you.

: “ RICHARD RoscoRLa.”

He sealed and addressed this letter, still with the
firm, hard look about his face; then he summoned a
servant—a tall, red-haired Irishman. He did not hesi-
tate for amoment: ‘“ Look here, Sullivan: the English
mails go out to-morrow morning. You must ride down to
the post-office as hard as you can go; andif you’re a few
minutes late, see Mr. Keith and give him my compli-
ments, and ask him if he can possibly take this letter if
the mails are not made up. It is of great importance.
Quick, now !”

He watched the man go clattering down the cactus
avenue until he was out of sight. Then he turned, put
the letters in his pocket, went in-doors, and again
struck a small gong that ‘did duty for a bell. He wanted
his horse brought round at once. He was going over to
Pleasant Farm ; probably he would not return that
night, He lit another cigar, and paced up and down
the gravel in front of the house until the horse was
brought round.

When he reached Pleasant Farm the stars were shin-
ing overhead, and the odors of the night-flowers came
floating out of the forest, but inside the house there
were brilliant lights and the voices of men talking. A
bachelor supper-party was geing forward. Mr. Roscorla
entered and presently was seated at the hospitable board.
They had never seen him so gay, and they had eertainly
never seen him so generously inclined, for Mr. Roscorla
was economical in his habits. He would have them all to
dinner the next mre and promised them auch
champagne as had never been sent to Kingston before.
He passed round his best segars, he hinted something
about unlimited loo, he drank pretty freely, and was
altogether in a jovial humor.

“England !”’ he said when some one mentioned the
mother-country, “Of one thing I am pretty certain ;
ie will never seeme again. No, aman lives here ;
in England he waits for his death. What life I have
got before me I shall live in Jamaica: that is my view
of the question.” f

“Then she is coming out to you?” said his host with

a 3

Rosceeiats face flushed with anger. “There is no she
in the matter,” he said abruptly, almost fiercely. “I
thank God I am not tied to any woman !”

“Oh, I beg your
naturedly, who did not care to recall the occasions on
which Mr. Roscorla had been rather pleased to admit
that certain tender ties bound him to his native land.

“No, there is not,” he said. ‘“ What fool would have
his comfort and peace of mind depend on the caprice of
a woman? I like your plan better, Rogers: when
they’re dependent on you, you can do as you like, but
when they’ve got to be treated as equals, they’re the
devil. No, my boys, you don’t find me got in for the
angel ae house—she’s too exacting: it to be un-
limited?”

Now to play unlimited loo in a reckless fashion is
about the easiest way of getting rid of money that the
ingenuity of man has devised. ‘The other players were
much better qualified to run such risks than Mr.
Roscorla, but none played half so wildly as he. His
I. 0, U.’s went freely about. At one point in the even-
ning the floating paper bearing the ure of Mr.
Roscorla represented a sum of about three hundred

pounds, and yet his losses did not weigh heavily on him. |’

was resolved to

At length every one got tired,
oint the

 

wer short at acertain hour. But from this
lu

changed : nothing could stand against his cards;

’

pardon,” said his host good-|-

 

one by one his I. 0. U.’s were recalled ; and when they
all rose from the table he had won about forty-eight
pounds. He was not elated.

He went to his room and sat down in an. oasy-chair;
and then it seemed to him that he saw Eglosilyan onco
more, and the far coasts of Cornwall, and the broad
uplands lying under a blue English sky. That was his
home, and he had cut himself away from it, and from
the little glimmer of romance that had redently bright-
ened it for him. Every bit of the place, too, was
associated somehow with Wenna Rosewarne. He could
See the seat fronting the Atlantic on which she used to
sitand sew on the fine summer forenoons. He could
see the rough road leading over the downs on which he
met her one wintry morning, she wrapped up and driving
her father’s dog-cart, while the red sun in the sky
seemed to brighten the pink color the cold. wind had
brought into her cheeks. He thought of her walking
sedately up to church; of her wild scramblings among
the rocks with Mabyn; of her enjoyment of 4 fierce
wind when it came laden with the spray of the great
rollers breaking on the cliff outside.” What was tho
song she used to sing to herself as she went along the
quiet woodland ways ?

Your Polly has never been false, she declares,
Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs,

He could not let her go. All the anger of wounded
vanity had left his heart: he thought now ‘only of the
chance he was throwing away. Where else could hoe
hope to find for himself so yn @ companion and
friend, who would cheer up his dull daily life with her
warm sympathies, her quick humor, her winning wo-
manly ways?

He thought of that letter he had sent away, and
cursed his own folly. So long as she was bound by her
promise he knew he could marry her when he pleased,
but now he had voluntarily released her. In a couple
of weeks she would hold her manumission in her
hands; the past would no longer have any power over
her; if ever they met they would meet as mere acquain-
tances. Every moment the prize slipping out of his
grasp seemed to grow more valuable: his vexation with
himself grew intolerable; he suddenly resolved that
i would make a wild effort to get back that fatal

etter,

He had sat communing with himself for over an hour:

all the household was fast asleep. He would not wake ©

any one, for fear of being compelled to gre explana-
tions; 86 he noiselessly crept along the dark

until he got to the door, which he carefully opened and
let himself out. The night was wouderuny clear, the
constellations hover and glittering overhead: the
trees was black against the pale sky.

He made his way round to the stables, and had some
sort of notion that he would try toget at his horse,
until it occurred to him that some suddenly awa-
kened servant or master would probably send a bullet
whizzing athim. So he abandoned that enterprise,
and set off to walk as quickly as he could down the
slopes of the mountain, with the stars still shining
over his head, the air sweet with powerful scents, the
leaves ot the bushes hanging silently in the semi-dark-
ness.

How long he walked he did not know; he was not |

aware that when,he reached the sleeping town ner | gray
was lightening the eastern skies. He went to the house
of the postmaster and hurriedly aroused him. Mr.
Keith began to think that the ordinarily sedate Mr.
Roscorla gone mad, : ;
“But I must have the letter,” he said. “Oome now
Keith, you can give is me back if you like. Of co

UTS,
Iknow it is very wrong, but you'll do it to oblige a

friend,”

“My dear sir,” said the postmaster, who could not
ott ime for explanation, “the mails were made up last
:-t Wecais

“Yes, yes, but you can open the English bag.” |

“ They were sent on board last night.” bo

“Then the packet is stillin the harbor; you might
come down with me.” °

“She sails at daybreak.” ’

“Itis not daybreak yet,” said Mr. Roscorla, looking —

up. \ ;

Then he saw how the gray dawn had come over the
skies, banishing the stars, and he became aware of the
wan light shining around him. With the new day his
life was altered; he would no more be as he had Been;
a ee and purpose of his existence had been
changed. 1

Walking heedlessly back, he came to @ point from
which he had a distant view of the harbor and the sea
beyond. Far away out on the oot plain was a
steamer slowly making her way to the east. Was
that the packet bound for England, carrying to Wenna
Rosewarne the message that she was ? .

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
“ BLUE Is THE SWEETEST.”

Tur following correspondence may now, without any.
'HE following hed’ out any

t breach of confidence, be pub! $
grea ‘EGLOSILYAN, Monday morning.

Dear Mr. TRELYON: Do you know what Mr, Roscorls
says in rene a pote ines Ssosted, 2 ee that

ou could not get up that ring by dredging,
Lhe must haye bought the other one at oun.
Just think of the wicked old wretch fan such
things! Asif you would give aring oF to
any one! Tell me that this is a story, that I may bid
Wenna contradict him at once. Ihave got no patience
with a man who is given over to such mean suspicions,

“Yours faithfully;
ours ese Rosuwanwn.””

: ;
“Lonvoy, Tuesday night.

“Dear Masyn: I am sorry to say Mr. Eas
right, It was a foolish trick—I did not think it would

 
 

Se ee

Sees Peon

 

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

=

—=

 

be successful, for my hitting the size of her finger was
rather a stroke of luck—but I thoughi it would amuse
her if she did find it out after an hour or two. I was
afraid to tell her afterward, for she would think it im-
t. What's to be done? Isshe angry about it.

“y

ours sincerely, , = wes

“ EGLOSILYAN,

“Dear Mr. TRELYON: How could you do such a
t ? Why, to give Wenna, of all people in the
world, an emerald ring, just after I had got Mr. Ros-
corla to give her one, for bad luck to himself! Why,
how could you doit? I don’t know what to say about
it, unless you demand it back, and send her one with
sapphires in it at once.

“ Yours, “M.R.

“P, 8.—As quick as ever you can.”

“Lonpon, Friday evening.
“Dear Masyn: Why, you know she would not take
8 sapphire ring or any other from me,
“Yours faithfully, “ H. TRELYON.”

“My pear Mr. TRELYON: Pray don’t lose any time in
writing, but send me at once a sapphire ring for Wenna.
You have hit the size once, and you can do it again ;
but in any case I have marked the size on this bit of
thread, and the jeweler will understand. And please,
dear Mr. Trelyon, don’t get a very expensive one, but
aplain, good one, just what a poor person like me would
buy fora mtifI wanted to. And post it at once,
please: this is very important.

“Yours most sincerely,
“‘MaByn RoSEWARNE.”

In consequence of this correspondence Mabyn one
morning proceeded to seek out her sister, whom she
found busy with the accounts of the sewing club, which
was now in a flourishing condition. Mabyn seemed a
little shy. ‘Oh, Wenna,” she said, “I have something
to tell you. You know I wrote to ask Mr. Trelyon
about the ring. Well, he’s very, very sorry—oh, you
don’t know how sorry he is, Wenna—but it’s quite true.
He thought he’d please you by getting the ring, and that
you would make a joke of it when you found it out;
and then he was afraid to speak of it afterward.”

Wenna had quietly slipped the ring off her finger.
See betrayed no emotion at the mention of Mr. Tre-
lyon’s name. Her face was a trifle red: that was all.
“Tt was a stupid thing to do,” she said, ‘ but I suppose
he meant no harm. Will you send him back the ring?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Give methe ring, Wenna.”

She carefully wrapped it up in a piece of paper and

_ putitin her pocket. Any one who knew her would
have seen by her face that she meant to give that ring
short shrift, Then she said timidly, ‘‘ You are not very

Oe. Wenna ?”’
“No. Iam sorry I should have vexed Mr. Roscorla
carelessness.”

“Wenna,” the younger sister continued, even more
timidly, ‘‘do you know what I’ve heard about rings ?—
that when you’ve worn one for some time on a finger..
you ought never to leave it off altogether; I think it
affects the circulation,or something of that kind: Now,
if Mr. Trelyon were to send you another ring, just to—

3 awd the place of that one until Mr. Roscorla came
back ’’——

“ Mabyn, you must be mad to think of such-a thing,”
said her sister looking down. j

“Ob yes,”- Mabyn. said meekly, “I thought you
wouldn’t like the notion of Mr. Trelyon giving you a
ring. And’so, dear Wenna, I’ve—I’ve got a ring for
you—you won't mind taking it from me—and if you do
wear it_on the engaged finger, why, that dosen’t matter,
don’t you see?’’

She produced the ring of dark blue stones, and her-
self put iton Wenna’s finger. 5 ;

“Oh, Mabyn,” Wennasaid, “ how could you be so
extravagant? And just after you gave me that ten shil-
lings for the Leans!”

«You be quiet,” said Mabyn briskly, going off with |

a light look on her face.

And’ yet therd was some ‘determination about her
mouth. She hastily put on her hat and went out. She
took the path by the hillside over the little harbor, and
eventually she reached the face of the black cliff, at the
foot of which a gray-green sea was dashing in white
masses of foam: there was not a living thing around
her but the choughs and daws, and the white seagulls

‘sailing overhead, : .

She took out a large sheet of, brown paper and placed
it onthe ground. Then she sought out a bit of rock
weighing about two pounds. Then she took out the
Ti cel containing the emerald ring tied it up
carefully along with the stone in the sheet of brown

yper: finally she rose up to her full height and
eaved the whole into the sea. Asplash down there,
and that was all.

She clapped her hands with joy: ‘And now, my pre-
cious emerald ring, that’s the last of you, I imagine!

_ And there isn’t much chance of a fish bringing you back
to make mischief with your ugly green stones.”

Then she went home and wrote this note:

ae an * EGLosILyAn, Monday.
“Dear Mr. Tretyon: I have just thrown the emerald
ring you gave Wenna into the sea, and she wears the
Seaen ea you" oe Sel iat load

it. you ever 4

rhyme that is this: Ne i
Oh, sreed is forsaken,

forsw

An 11 :
And bine tet cone
Color that’s

bg

8
he
what mischief that emerald

ines that Wenne
; and Wenna is

done. Butthe sa)
are perfectly beau

 

 

not so heartbroken that she isn’t very proud of them.
I never saw such a beautiful ring. Yours sincerely,
“ Masyn ROsEWARNE.

‘“ P.§,.—Are you never coming back to Eglosilyan any
more?”

So the days went by, and Mabyn waited with a secret
hope to see what answer Mr. Roscorla would send to
that letter of confession and contrition mna had
written to him at Penzance, The letter had nm writ-
ten as an actof duty, and posted too; but there was no
mail going out for ten days thereafter, 80 that a con-
siderable time had to elapse before the answer came.

During that time Wenna went about her ordinary
duties just as if there was no hidden fire of pain con-

| Suming her heart ; there was no word spoken by her or

to her of all that had recently occurred ; her mother
and sister were glad to see her so continuously busy.
At first she shrank from going up to Trelyon Hall, and
would rather have corresponded with Mrs, Trelyon
about their joint work of charity, but she conquered

| the feeling and went and saw the gentle lady, who per-
| ceived nothing altered or strange in her demeanor.

At
last the letter from Jamaica came ; and Mabyn, having
sent it up to her sister’s room, waited for a few minutes,
and then followed it. She was alittle afraid, despite
her beliefin the virtues of the sapphire ring.

When she enteredthe room she uttered a slight cry
of alarm and ran forward to her sister. Wenna was
seated on achair by the side of the bed, but she had
thrown her arms out on the bed, her head was between
them, and she was sobl: as if her heart would
break.

“Wenna, what is the matter? what has he said to
you?”

Mabyn’s eyes were all afire now. Wenna would not
answer. She would not even raise her head.

“Wenna, I want to see that letter.”

“Oh, no, no!” the girl moaned. “I deserve it ; he
says what is true. I want you to leave me alone, Ma-
byn: you—you can’t do anything to help this.”

But Mabyn had by this time perceived that her sister
held in her hand, crumpled up, the letter which was
the cause of this wild outburst of grief. She went for-
ward and firmly took it out of. the yielding fingers :
then she turned to the light and read it. ‘Oh, if I
were aman!” she said; and then the very passion of
her indignation, finding no. other vent, filled her
eyes with proud and angry tears. She forgot to rejoice
that her sister was now free. She only saw the cruel
insult of those lines, and the fashion in which it had
struck down its victim. “ Wenna, she said hotly, ‘you
ought to have more spirit. You don’t mean to say you
care for the opinion of a man who would write to any
girl like that? You ought to be precious glad that he
has shown himself in his true colors. Why, he never
cared abit for you—never ?—or he would never turn at a
moment’s notice and insult you.”

“T have deserved it all: it is every word of it true ;
he could not have written it otherwise.” That was all
that Wenna could say between her sobs,

“Well,” returned Mabyn, after all, lam'glad he was
angry, I did not think he had 80 much spirit. And if
this is his opinion of you, J don’t think it ‘is worth
heeding, only I hope-he’ll keep to it. Yes,I do, I hope
he’ll continue to think’ you everything that is wicked,
and remain out in Jamaica, Wenna, you must not lie
and cry like that. Come, get up, and look at the straw-
berries that Mr, Trewhella has sent you.”

‘Please, Mabyn, leave me alone, there’s a good girl.”’ |

“T shall be up again in a few minutes, then ; I want
you to drive me over to St. Gwennis. Wenna, I must
go over to St. Gwennis before lunch’; and father won’t
let me have anybody to drive. Do you hear, Wenna ?”’

Then she went out and down into the kitchen, where
she bothered Jennifer for a few minutes until she had
got aniron heated at the fire. With ‘this implement
she carefully smoothed out the crumpled letter, and
then she’as carefully folded it, took it up stairs and put

it safely away in her own desk. She had just time to-

write ’a few lines : '

‘Dear Mr. TRELYON: Do you know -what news I have
got to tell you? Can you guess? The engagemcnt be-
tween Mr. Roscorla and Wenna is broken off, and I have
in my possession the letter in which he sets her free.
Ifyou knew, how glad I am! I.should like to cry
‘Hurrah ! hurrah !’ through all the streets of Eglosil-
yan; and I think every one else would do the same if
only they knew. Of course she is very much grieved,
for he has been most.insulting.. I cannot tell you the
things he has said; you would kill him if you heard
them: But she» will come jround very soon, I know;
and then she will have her freedom again, and no more
emerald rings and letters all filled with arguments.
Would you like to see her, Mr. Trelyon? But don’t
come yet—not for a long time; she would only get
angry and obstinate. I'll tell you when to come; and
in.the meantime, you know, she is still wearing your
ring, so that you need not be afraid. How glad I shall
be tosee you again! Yours most faithfully,

“Mabyn RosEWARNE.”

She went down stairs quickly and put this letter in
the letter box. There was an air of triumph on her
face. She had worked for this result—aided by the
mysterious powers of Fate, whom she had conjured to
serve her—and now the welcome end of her labors had
arrived. She bade the hostler get out the -cart, as
if she were the Queen of Sheba going to visit Solomon.
She went marching up to her sister’s room, announc-
ing her approach with a more than ordinarily sopurate
rendering of “Oh, the men of merry, mer gland |”
so that a stranger might have fancied that he heard the
very voice of yon, with all its unmelodious

© passage,

,

 

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE EXILE’8 RETURN.

PERHAPS you have been away in distant parts
of the earth, each day crowded with new
experiences and slowly obscuring the clear pictures of
England with which you left: perhaps you haye only
been hidden away in London amidits ceaseless noise, ite
strange faces, its monotonous recurrence of duties. Let
us say,in any case, that you are returning home for a
space to the quiet of Northern Cornwall.

You look out of the window of a Plymouth hotel early
in the morning. There is a promise of a beautiful
autumn day—a ring of pink mist lies around tho hori-
zon; overhead the sky is clear and blue; the white
sickle of the moon still lingers visible. The new,
warmth of the day begins to melt the hoarfrost in the:
meadows, and you know that out beyond the town the
sun is shining brilliantly on the wet grass, with the:
brown cattle gleaming red in the light.

You leave the great world behind, with all its bustle,!
crowds and express engines, when you get into the quiet.
little train that takes you leisurely up to Launceston,.
through woods, by the sides of river, over great val-
leys. ere is a sense of repose about this railway jour-
ney. The train stops at any number of small stations—
apparently to let the guard have achat with the station-
master—and then jogs on in a quiet, contented fashion.
And on such an autumn day as this, that is a beautiful,
still, rich-colored and English-looking country through
which it passes. Here is a deep valley, all glittering
with the dew and the sunlight. Downin the hollowa
farm-yard is half hidden behind the yellow elms; a boy
is driving a flock of white geese along the twisting road;
the hedges are red with the withering briers. Up here,
along the hillsides, the woods of scrub-oak are glowing:
with every imaginable hue of gold, crimson and bronze,.
except where a few dark firs appear, or where a tuft of
broom, pure and bright in its green, stands out among:
the faded breckans. The gorse is profusely in bloom;
it always isin Cornwall. Still farther over there are:
sheep visible on the uplands; beyond these, again, the:
bleak brown moors rise into peaks of hills; overhead
the silent blue, and all around the sweet, fresh country

air.

With a sharp whistle the small train darts into sn!
opening in the hills: here we are in the twilight ofa
great wood. The tall trees are becoming bare; the
ground is red with the fallen leaves; through the
branches the blue-winged Jay flies, screaming harshly;
you can smell the damp and resinous odors of the
ferns. Out again, we get into the sunlight! and lo! a
rushing, brawling, narrow stream, its clear flood sway-
ing this way and that by the big stones; a wall of rock
overhead crowned by glowing furze; a herd of red cattle
sent scampering through the bright-green grass. Now
we get slowly into asmall white station, and catch a
glimpse of a tiny town over in the valley; again we go
on by wood and valley, by rocks and streams and farms,
It is a pleasant drive on such a morning:

In one of the carriages in this train Master Harry
Trelyon and his ndmother were seated. How he
had ever persuaded her to go with him to Cornwall by
train was mysterious enough, for the old lady thor-
oughly hated all such modern devices. It was her cus-
tom to go traveling all over the country with a big, old-
fashioned pheeton and a pair of horses; and her chief
amusement during these long excursions was driving
up to any big house she took a fancy to, in order to see
if there was a chance of its being let to her. The faith: |
ful old servant who attended her, and who was about as.
old as the coachman, hada great respect for his mise
tress, but sometimes he swore—inaudibly—when shg
ordered him to make the usual inquiry at the front
door of some noble lord’s country residence, which he:
would as soon have thought of letting as of forfeiting.
his seat in the House of Peers or his hopes of heaven.
But the carriage and horses were coming down, all the:
same, to Eglosilyan, to take her back again. ~ i

“Harry,” she was saying at this moment, “ thelonger
I look at you, the more positive I am that you are ill.
I don’t like your color: you are thin and careworn and
anxious. What is the matter with you?” j

“Going to school again at twenty-one is hard work,

andmother,” he said. “Don’t you try it. But I

on’t think I’m particularly ill: few folks can keep a
complexion like yours, grandmother.”

«Yes,’’ said the old lady, rather pleased, “many’s the
time they said that about me, that there wasn’t much
to complain of in my looks, and that’s what a girl
thinks of then, and sweethearts and balls, and all the
other men looking savage when she’s dancing with any
one of them. Well, well, Harry; and what is all this
about you and the young lady your mothér has made
such a pet of? Oh yes, I have my suspicions; and she’s
engaged to another man, isn’t she? Your grandfather
would have fought him, I'll be bound; but we live ina
peaceable way now. Well. well, no matter; but hasn’t
that got something to do with your glum looks,

37

Boe

“TJ tell you, grandmother, I have been hard at work
in London. You can’t look‘ very brilliant after a few
months in London.” ‘

“And what keeps you in London at this time of the
year?’ said this plain-spoken old lady. “Your fancy
about getting into the army? Nonsense, man! don’t
tell me such a tale as that. There’s @ woman in the
case : a Trelyon never puts himselfso much about from
any other cause. To stop in town at this time of the
year! Why, your er, and your father too,
would have laughed to hear of it. I haven’t had a
brace of birds or a pheasant sent me since last autumn—
not one. Come, sir, be eee me. I’m an old wo
man, an hold mgue.” eae

“ thee cothting "ty" tell, grandmother,” he said,
“You just about hit it in Sateen of yours: I sup-
pose Juliott told you. Well, the girl is engaged to an-
other man: what more is to be

 

~~ —

 

 
 

ee

nae

<~

THREE

FEATHERS.

33

 

“The man’s in Jamaica?’’
** You.” . . 5
“Why are you going down to-day ?’’
* Only for a brief visit: I’ve been a long time away.’””
The old lady sat silent for some time. She had
heard of the whole affair betore, but she wished to
have the rumor confirmed. And at first she was sorely
troubled that her grandson should contemplate marry-
ing the daughter of an innkeeper, however intelligent,
amiable ee well-educated the young lady might be ;
but she knew the Trelyons pretty well, and knew that
if he had made up his mind to it, argument and remon-
strance would be useless. Moreover, she hada great
affection for this young man, and was strongly disposed
tosympathize with any wish of his. She grew in time
to have a great interest in Miss Wenna Rosewarne: at
this moment the chief object of her visit was tomake
her acquaintance, She grew to pity young Trelyon in
his disappointment, and was inclined to believe that the
person in Jamaica was something of a plucky enemy.
The fact was, her mere sympathy for her grandson
would have converted her toa sympthy with the wildest
project he could have formed.
“ Dear! dear!’’ she said, “ what awkward things en-
eeeats are when they stand in your way! Shall I
ell you the truth?) I wasjust about as good as en-
gaged to John Cholmondeley whenI gave myself up to
your grandfather But there! when a girl’s heart pulls
her one way and her promise pulls her another way,
she needs to bea very firm-minded young woman if she
means to hold fast. John Cholmondeley was as good-
hearted a young fellow as ever lived—yes, I will say that
for him—and I was; mightily sorry for him; but—but
you see, that’s how things come about. Dear! dear!
that evening at Bath—I remember it as well as if it was
yesterday; and it was only two months after I had run
away with your grandfather. Yes, there was 4 ball that
night, and we had kept very quiet, you know, after com-
ing back; but this time your grandfather had set his
heart on taking me out before everybody, and you
know he had to have his way. As sure as I live, Harry,
the first man I saw. was John Cholmondeley—just
as white as a st: they said he had been
drinking hard and gambling pretty nearly the
whole of these two months. He wouldn’t
come near me: he wouldn’t take the least
notice of me: .The whole night he. pretended to
‘be vastly gay and merry; he danced with everybody,
but his eyes never came near me. Well—you know
what a girl is—that vexed me a little bit; for there
lever was 4 man such aslave to a woman as he was to
me. Dear! dear! the way my father used to laugh at
him, until he got wild with anger! ‘Well, I went up to
him at last, when he was by himself, and I said to him,
just in a careless way, you know, ‘John, aren’t you
emg | to dance with me to-night?’ Well, do you know,
face got _— white again; and he said—I remember
the very words, allas cold as ico—t Madam,’ says he, ‘lam
glad to find that your hurried trip to Scotland has im-
paired neither your good looks nor your self-command.’
Wasn’t it cruel of him ?—but then, poor fellow! he
had been badly used, I admit that. Poor young fellow!
he never did marry ; and I don’t believe he ever forgot
me to his dying day. Many a time I’d like to have told
him all about it, and how there was ‘no use in my mar-
rying him ifI liked another man better ; but though
we met sometimes; and especially when he came down
about the Reform Bill time—and I do believe I made a
red-hot radical of him—he was always very proud, and
Foal the pee to go oe on eo gee pore ae
you what your gran er ‘or : he got
at the very next election, and he on the other

returned
side, too; and after a bit a man begins to think more | he

about getting a seat in Parliament than about courting

an ane girl. I have met this Mr. Roscorla,

haven't 1?" | "

“Of course you have.” ‘ i [

“ A good-looking man rather, with a fresh complexion
”

and gray hair t

“ Paon't know what you mean a good looks,” said
WTrelyon shortly. “I shouldn't think people would
call him an Adonis. But there’s no accounting for
tastes.”

“ Perhaps I may have been mistaken,” the old lady
said, “but there was a gentleman at Plymouth Station
who seemed to be something like what I can recall of
Mr. Roscorla : you didn’t see him, I suppose ?”

“At Plymouth Station, ther!’ the young
man said, rather uneasy.

“Yes. He into the train just as we came up. A
neath; man, gray hair and healthy-looking face.
Imust have seen him somewhere about here before.”

“4 is in Jamaica,” said Trelyon positively. ~

Just at this moment the train slowed into Launceston | fac

Station, and the people began to get out on the
platform.

“That is the man I mean,” said the old lady.

Trelyon turned and stared, There, sure enough, was
Mr. Roscorla, loo! not one whit different from the
precise, elderly, fresh-colored gentleman who had left
Cornwall some seven months before.

“Good Lord, Harry!’ said the old lady nervously,
looking at her grandson’s face, “don't have a fight
here |” fo

The next second Mr. Roscorla wheeled round, anxious
about some luggage, and now it was his turn to stare
in astonishment and anger—anger, because he had been
told that Harry Trelyon never came near Cornwall, and
his first sudden suspicion was that he had been deceiv-
ed. All this had happened in a minute, Trelyon was
the first to regain hisself-command. He walked delibe-
rately forward, held out his hand, and said, “ Hillo,
Roscorla! back in England again ? I didn’t: know you
w ” .

No." Mr, Roscorla, with his face grown just a

grayer—* no, I suppose not.” ( f
. In point th dicts Herne. not informed any one of his
coming. He had prepared a little surprise. The chief
motive of his return was to get Wenna to cancel forever

that unlucky letter of release he had sent her, which
he, had. done. more or less successfully in subsequent
correspondence ; but he had also hoped to introduce a
little romanticism into his meeting with her. He
would enter Eglosilyan on foot. He would wander
down to the rocks at the mouth of the harbor on the
chance of finding Wenna there.. Might he not hear her
humming to herself, as she sat and sewed, some snatch
of “Your Polly has never been false, she declares ;”’ or
was that the very last ballad in the world she would now
think ot singing? Then the delight of regarding again
the placid, bright face and earnest eyes, of securing

their glad return to the inn!

All this had been spoiled by the appearance of this
young man: he loved him none the more for that.

“TI suppose you haven't got a trap waiting for you?”
said Trelyon with cold politeness. “1 can drive you
over if you like.”

He could do no less than make the offer: the other
had no alternative but to accept. Old Mrs. Trelyon
heard this compact made with considerable dread.

Indeed, it‘ was a dismal drive over to rire tan
bright as the forenoon was. The old lady did her best
to be courteous to Mr. Roscorla and cheerful with her
grandson, but she was oppressed by the belief that it
was only her presence that had so far restrained the
two men from giving vent to the rage and jealousy that
filled their hearts.

The conversation kept up was singular.

“ Are you going to remain in England long, Roscorla ?”
said the younger of the two men, making an unneces-
savy cut at one of the two horses he was driving.

“Don’t know yet. Perhaps I may.”

“Because,” said Trelyon, with an impertinence,
“TI suppose if you do, you'll have to look round fora
housekeeper.”

The insinuation was felt; and Roscorla’s eyes looked
anything but pleasant as he answered, “ You forget I’ve
got Mrs. Cornish to look after my house.” ;
“Oh, Mrs. Cornish is not much of a companion for
you.”
“Men seldom want to make companions of their
housekeepers,” was the retort, uttered rather hotly.

“But sometimes they wish to have the two offices
combined, for economy’s sake.’’

At this juncture Mrs. Trelyon struck in, somewhat
wildly, with a remark about an old rained house which
seemed to have had at one time a private still inside:
the danger was staved off for the moment. “ Harry,”
she said, “mind what you are about: the horses seem
very fresh.”’

“Yes, they like a good run: I suspect they’ve had
precious little to do since I left Cornwall.”

Did she fear that the young man was determined to
throw them into a ditch or down a precipice, with
the wild desire of killing his rival at any cost? If she
had known the whole state of affairs between them—
thé story of the emerald ring, for example—she would
have understood at least the difficulty experienced b
cence two men in remaining decently civil toward eac'
other,

So the sed over the high and wide moors until
far ahead they caught a glimpse of the blue plain of the
sea. Mr. Roscorla relapsed into silence: he was becom-
ing a trifle ne: is. He was probably so occupied with
anticipations of his meeting with Wenna that he failed
to notice the objects around him; and one of these,
now become visible, was'a very handsome young lady,
who was coming smartly along a wooded lane, carrying
a basket of bright-colored flowers.

“Why, here’s Mabyn Rosewarne! I must wait for
rr,”

Mabyn had seen at a distance Mrs. Trelyon’s gray
horses: she guessed that the young master had come
back, and that he had brought some strangers with him.
She did not like to be stared at by strangers. She came
along the path with her eyes fixed on the ground: she
thought it impertinent of Harry Trelyon to wait to
speak to her,

“ Oh, Mabyn,”' he cried, “‘ you must let me drive you
home. And let me introduce you to my grandmother.
There is some one else whom you know.”

The young lady bowed to Mrs. Trelyon ; then she
stared and ¢. ed color somewhat when she saw Mr.
Roscorla; then she was helped up into a seat.

“How do you do, Mr. Trelyon?” she said. “Iam
very glad to see you have come back: How do you do,
Mr. Roscorla ?””

She shook ‘hands with them both, but not quite in
the same fashion.

‘¥And you have sent no.message that “you were com-
ing?’ she said, looking her companion straight in the

ee
“No, no, [did not,” he said, angry and embarrassed
by the open enmity of the girl. “ I thought I should
surprise you all.”

«You have surprised me, any way,’” said Mabyn;
“ for how can you be so thoughtless? Wenna has been
very ill—I tell you she has been very ill indeed; though
she has said little about it—and the least thing upsets

you know what you are doing? I wish you would go
away back: to Launceston or London, and write her a
note there, if you are coming, instead of trying to
frighten her.”

This was the language, it appeared to Mr. Roscorla,
of a virago; only, viragoes do not ordinarily have tears
in their eyes, as was the case with Mabyn when she fin-
ished her indignant appeal.

“Mr. Trelyon, do yow think it is fair to go and fright-
en Wenna so?” she demanded.

« It is none of my business,” Trelyon answered, with
an air as if he had said to his rival, Yes, go and kill
the girl, Yousarea nice sort of gentleman to come
down from London to kill the girl!’

“This is absurd,” said Mr. Roscorla, con

 

i t temptuously,
tor he was stung into reprisal by the persecution of
these two; “a girlisn’t so easily frightened out of her

once more a perfect understanding between them, and.

her. How can you think of frightening her so? Do |

| reasonab e, OF over-exacting, as a younger man migh

 

wits. Why,she must have known that
home was at any time probable.”

“I have no doubt she feared that it was,”’said Mabyn,
partly to herself; for once she was afraid of speaking
out. Presently, however, a brighter light came over
the girl’s face, “Why, I quite forgot,” she said ‘ad-
dressing Harry Trelyon, “1 quite forgot that Wenna
was just going up to Trelyon Hall when I left, Of
course she will be up there. You will be able’ to tell
her that Mr. Roscorla has arrived, won't you ?”

The malice of this suggestion was so apparent that
the young gentleman in tront could not help grinnin)
at it: fortunately, his face could not be seen by his ri-
val. What he thought of the whole arrangement can
only be imagined.

And'so, as it happened, Mr. Roscorla and his friend,
Mabyn, were dropped at the inn, while Harry Trelyon
drove his Miascdee up and on to the Hall.

“Well, Harry,” the old lady said, “Iam glad to be
able to breathe at last: I thought you two were going
to kill each other.”

“There is no fear of that,” the young man said:“ that
is not the way in which this affair has to be settled, It
is entirely a matter for her decision; and look how
everything is in his fayor. I am not even allowed tosay
a word ‘hee and even if I could, he'is a deal cleverer
than me in argument. He would argue my head off in
half an hour.”

“But you don’t turn a girl’s heart round by argu-
ment, Harry. When a girl has to choose between a
young lover and an elderly one, it isn’t always a
sense that directs her choice. Is Miss Wenna
warne at all like her sister?”

“ She’s not such atomboy,” he said, “ but she is quite
as straightforward and proud, and quick to tell you what
is the m ht thing to do. There’s no sort of shamming
tolerated by these two girls. But then Wenna is
tler and quieter. and more soft and lovable than Mabyn

my coming

—in my fancy you know; and she is more humorous .

and clever, so that she never gets into those schoolgirl
rages. But it is really a shame to compare them like that,
and, indeed, if anyone said the least thing against one of
these girls, the other would Soo aon soon make him
regret the day he was born. You don’t catch me doing
that with either of them. I’ve had a warning already
when I hinted that Mabyn might probably manage to
keep her husband in good order, nd so she would, I
believe, if the husband were not of the right sort; but
when she is really fond of anybody, she becomes their
slave out and out. There is nothing she wouldn’t do
for her sister; and her sister thinks there’s nobody in
the world like Mabyn. So you see”—— -

He stopped in the middle of this sentence.

*“ Grandmother,” he said, almost in a whisper, “ here
she is coming along the road.”

“Miss Rosewarne ?”

“Yes; shall I introduce you?”

“If you like.”

Wenna was coming down the steep road between the
high bridges with a small girl on each side of het, whom
she was leading by the hand. She was gayly talking to
them; you could hear the children laughing at what she
said. Old Mrs, Trelyon came to the conclusion that
this merry young lady, with the light and free weer the
careless talk and fresh color in her face, was ainly
not dying of any love affair. .

“ Take the reins, grandmother, for a minute.”

He had leaped down into the road, and was standing
before her almost ere she had time to recognize him.
For a moment a quick gleam of gladness shone on her
face; then, almost instinctively, she seemed to
from him, and she was reserved, distant and formal, .

He introduced her to the old lady, who said some-
thing nite to her about her sister. 6 young man was
looking wistfully at her, troubled at heart, that she
treated him so coldly.

“‘Thave got to break some news to you,” he said;
“ perhaps you will consider it good news.”

She looked up quickly, ‘

“ Nothing has happened to anybody—only some one
has arrived. “Mr. Roscorla is at the inn.” -

She did not flinch. He was vexed with her that she
Showed no sign of fear or dislike. On the con
she quickly said that she must then go down to
inn; and she bade them both good-bye in a placid and
ordinary way, while he drove off with dark thoughts
crowding into his imagination of what might happen
down at the inn during the next few days. He was an-
gry with her, he scarcely knew why. ;

Meanwhile Wenna, apparently quite calm, went on
down the road, but there was no more laughing in her
voice, ho more light in her face.

“‘ Miss Wenna,” said the smaller of the two children,
who could not understand this change, and who looked
up A Yo big, wondering eyes, ‘‘ why does oo tremble
Pr ‘

-
——

PART X.—CHAPTER XXXII.
SOME OLD FRIENDS.

WaeEn they heard that Wenna was a the
road they left Mr. Roscorla alone : lovers to have
their meetings and partings unobserved.

She went into the room, pale and yet firm: there was ~

even a sense of gladness in her heart that now she must
know the worst... What would he say? How would he
receive her? She knew that she was at his mercy. .
Well, Mr. Roscorla at this moment was
f-+ he had been deceived and trifled with in absence;
L- the was also ious, and his anxiety caused him
to conceal his anger. He came forward to her with
quite a pleasant look on his face: he kissed her and said,
“Why, now, Wenna, how frightened you seem! Did
u think I was going to scold you? No, 10,

no! I
ype th is no necessity for that. I am not

t
be: I can make allowances. Of course I can’t say I

 
 

ty done.

ae

er

THREE FEATHERS.

 

like what you told me when I first heard of it; but then
T reasoned ‘with myself: I thought of your lonely posi-
tion, of the natural liking a girl has for the attentions
of a young man, of the ee of any one going
thoughtlessly wrong. And really I see no great harm
A passing fancy—that is all.”

“Oh, I hope that is so!’ she cried suddenly, with a
pathetic earnestness of appeal. “It is so good of you,
so generous of you to speak like that!”. For the ‘first
time she ventured to raise his eyes to his face. They
were full of gratitude.

Mr. Roscorla complimented himself on his knowledge
of a woman ; a younger man would have flown into a
fury. ‘Oh dear, yes! Wenna,” he said lightly, “ I sup-
pose all girls have their fancies stray a little bit from
time to time; but is there any harm done? None
whatever: There is nothing like marriage to fix the
affections,as I hope you will discover ere long—the
sooner the better, indeed. Now we will dismiss all
those unpleasant matters we have been writing about.”

“Then you do forgive me? You are notreally angry
with me?’ she said; and then finding a welcome as-
surance in his face, she gratefully took his hand and

| touched it with her lips.

This little act of graceful submission quite conquer-
ed Mr, Roscorla, and definitely removed all lingering
traces of anger from his heart. .He was no longer act-

} ing clemency when he said, with a slight blush on his

forehead, ‘“You-know, Wenna, I have not been free
from blame, either. That letter—it was merely a. piece
of thoughtless anger; but still it was very kind of.you
sto consider it canceled and withdrawn when I asked
you. Well,I wasina bad temper at that time. You
cannot look at things so philosophically when you are
far away from home; you feel yourself so_ helpless, and
-and you think you.are being unfairly— However, not
-another word. Come, let us talk of all your affairs, and
‘all the work, you have done since I left.”
» It was a natural invitation, and yet it revealed ina
moment the hollowness.of the apparent reconciliation
between. them. What chance of mutual confidence
could there be between these two? He asked Wenna
if she had. been busy in his absence; and the thought
, immediately occurred to him that she had had at least
sufficient leisure to go walking about with young Trel-
yon. He asked her about the sewing club, and. she
stumbled into the admission that Mr. Trelyon -had pre-
sented that association with six sewing-machines.. Al-
ways Trelyon, always the recurrence of that. uneasy con-
Beiousness of past events which divided these two as
completely as the Atlantic had done! It was a strange
meeting after that long absence.
“It is a curious thing,” he said rather desperately,
" “how marriage makes a husband and wife sure of .each
,other.. Anxiety isall over then. We have near us, out
in Jamaica, sevéral men whose wives and families are
here in England, and they accept their exile there as. an
ordinary commercial necessity. But then they put
their whole minds into their work, for they know that
when they return to England they will find their wives
and families just as they left them. Of couse, in the
_Majority of cases the married men there have taken
_ their wives out with them. Do you fear along sea-voy-
age, Wenna?” '
K “I don’t know,” she said rather startled.
“You ought to be a good sailor, you know.”
She said nothing to that; she was looking down,
what was coming.
~ Lam sure you must bea good sailor. I have heard
“of many of your boating adventures. Weren’t you
~ rather fond, some years ago, of going out at night. with
_ the Lundy pilots ?”’
“T have never gone 4 long voyage in a large vessel,”
. Wenna said rather faintly. :
“ But if there was any reasonable object to be gained
an ordinary sea-yoyage would not frighten you ?’”
“Perhaps not.” .
-gj‘t And they have. really very good steamers going. to
the West Indies,”
“Oh, indeed |” ;

‘||. ..." First rate! You get a most comfortable cabin.”

~ “T tho’
_ your first
“<Oh,’’ said he hurriedly and lightly (for he had been
sympathy on account of the discomfort of
his voyage out), “perhaps I made a little too much of
that. Besides, I did not make a proper choice in time.
One gains experience in such matters. Now, if you
_ Were going out to Jamaica, I should see that you had
every comfort.”

... {But you don’t wish me to go out to Jamaica?’’ she

- said, almost retreating from i.

t ee rather—in your description of it—in

‘ “Well,” said he with a smile, for his onl:
' object. at -present was to her with the
\ idea, “I don’t particularly, wish it unless. the project

seems a good one to you. You see, Wenna, I find that

-Iny stay there must be longer than I expected. When I

went out at first the intention of my partners and my-

self was a Ishould mee a on coe ee help our
manager ing to his accounts at-the moment,

and undertaking a lot of work of that sort, which other-

2 wise would have consumed time in correspondence. I
was merely to see the whole thing well started, and then

°return. But now I find that my superintendence may

there for along while. Just when every-

be
- thing promises so well I should not like to imperil all

our chances simply for a year or two.”
‘Ob no, of course not,” Wenna said: she had no ob-
his in Jamaica for a year or two
he had intended.

aaeetane

S
3
E
f
i
t
3

0:
siderable spells of holi if you
thought it was worth while coming home oe short
time. Iassure you you would find the place delightful
-=-tar more delightful than anything I told you in my

 

 

letters, for I’m not very good at describing things. And
there is a fair amount of society.”

He did not prefer the’ request in an impassioned
manner. On the contrary, he merely felt that he was
satisfying himself by carrying out an intention he had
formed on his voyage home. If, he had said to himself,
Wenna and he became friends, he would at least sug-
gest to her that she might put an end to all further
suspense and anxiety by at once marrying him and ac-
companying him to Jamaica. :

“‘ What do you say ?”’ he said, with a friendly smile.
“Or have l frightened you toomuch ? Well, letus drop
the subject altogether for the present.”

Wenna breathed again.

“Yes,” said he, good-naturedly, ‘‘you-can think’ over
it. In the meantime do not harrass yourself about that
or anything else. You»know I have come to spenda
holiday.”

«And won’t you come and see the others?” said
Wenna, rising with a glad look of relief on her face.

“Oh yes, if you like,” he said; and then he stopped
short, and an angry gleam shot into his eyes ; ‘‘ Wenna,
who gave you that ring ?’’

“Oh, Mabyn did,” was the frank reply; but all, the
same Wenna blushed hotly, for that matter. of the
emerald ring had not been touched upon.

“Mabyn did,” he repeated, somewhat suspiciously.
She must haye. been in a generous mood.”

«“ When you know Mabyn as well as .I. do, you will
find out that she always is,” said Miss Wenria quite
cheerfully : she was indeed.in the best of. spirits to
find that this dreaded interview had not been so very
frightful after all, and that she had done no mortal
in ury toone who had placed his happiness in her

ands.”

When Mr. Roscorla, some time after, set out to walk
by himself up to Basset Cottage, whither his luggage
had been sent before him, he felt a little tired, He was
not accustomed to violent emotions, and that. morning
he,had gone through a good deal, His anger and
anxiety for long been fighting for mastery, and
both had reached their climax that mornings On, the
one hand, he wished to avenge himself for the insult
paid him,and to show that he was not-to be trified with;
on the other hand, his anxiety lest he should be unable
to make up matters with Wenna led him to put an
unusual value upon her, What was the result, now
that he had definitely won her back to himself? What
was the sentiment that followed on. these jarring emo-
tions of the morning?

To tell the truth, a little disappointment. Wenna
was not looking her best when she entered the room:
even now he remembered tbat the pale face rather
shocked him. She was moré insignificant—perhaps it
is the best word—than he had expected. Now that he
had got back the prize which he thought he had lost,
it did not seem to him, after all, to be so wonderful.

And in this mood he went up and walked into the
pretty little cottage which had once been his home.

“What!” he said to himself, looking in amazement
at the small old-fashioned parlor, and at the still
smaller study filled with books, ‘‘is it possible that I
ever proposed to myself to live and die in a hole like
this ?—my only companion a cantankerous old fool ofa
woman, my only occupation reading the newspapers,
my only society the good folks of the inn ?”

He thanked God he had escaped. His knocking about

‘the world for a bit had opened his mind. The possibil-

ity of his having in time a handsome income had let» in
upon him many new and daring ambitions.

His housekeeper, having expressed her grief that she
had just posted some letters to him, not knowing’that
he was returning to England, brought in a number of
small passbooks and a large sheet of blue paper.

“Ifyu baint, too tired, zor, vor tolook over: the ‘ac-
counts, ’tis all theear but the pultry that Mr. ——

“Good heavens, Mrs. Cornish!” said he,’ “do you
think I am going to look over alot of grocers’ bills?’

Mrs. Cornish not only hinted in very plain language
that her master had been at one time particular enough
about grocers’ bills, and all other bills however trifling,
but further proceeded to give him a fulland minute ac-
count of the various incidental expenses to which slie
had been put through by young Penny Luke having bro-
ken a window by flinging a stone from the road;
through the cat having knocked down the best tea-pot;
through the pig ee out ofits stye, gone mad,
and smashed a cucumber-frame, and so forth, and so
forth. In desperation Mr. Roscorla got up, put on his
hat, and went outside, leaving her at once astonished
and indignant by his want of interest in what at one
time had been his only care.

Waa this, then, the place in which he had chosen to
spend the rest of his life, without "change, without
movement, without interest ? It seemed to him at the
moment a living tomb. - There was not a human
within sight. Far away out there lay the gray-blue
sea—a plain without a speck on it. The great black
crags at the mouth of the harbor were voiceless and
sterile: could anything have been more bleak-than the
bare uplands on which the pale sun of an English Octo-
ber was shining? The quiet crushed him; there was
not a nigger here to swear at, nor could he, at the im-
pulse of amoment, get on horseback and ride over to
the busy and interesting, and picturesque scene sup-
plied by his faithful coolies at work.

What was he to do on this very first day in England,
for example? Unpack his luggage, in which were some
curiosities he had brought home for Wenna ?—there
was too much trouble in that. Walk about the garden
and‘smoke @ pipe, as had been his wont ?—he had got
emancipated from these delights of dotage. Attack
. ” bills ?—he swore by all his gods that. he would
‘have nothing to do with the price of candles and cheese
now, or at any future time. The return of the exile to
his native land had of
disappointmen’

 

already uced a feeling
ts when he married, be said 1S himecl®

he would take very good care not to sink into an oys
ter-like life in Eglosilyan.

About a couple of hours after, however, he was
reminded that Eglosilyan had its small measure of
society by the receipt of aletter from Mrs, Trelyon,
who said she had just heard of his arrival, and hastened
to ask him whether he would dine at the Hall, not next
evening, but the following one, to meet two old friends
of his, General and Lady Weekes, who were there on @
brief visit.

« And I have written to ask Miss Rosewarne,” Mrs:
Trelyon continued, “to spare us the samé evening, 80
that we hope to have you both. Perhaps you will
kindly add your entreaties to mine.”

The friendly intention of this postscript was evident;
and yet it did not seem to please Mr. Roscorla. This
Sir Percy Weekes had been a friend of his father’s, and
when the younger Roscorla was a young man about
town, Lady Weekes had been very kind to him, and
had nearly got him married once or twice. There was
great contrast betwen those days and these. He hoped
the old general would not be tempted to come and visit
him at Basset Cottage. ‘

“Oh, Wenna,”’ said he carelessly to her next morn-
ing, ‘‘ Mrs. Trelyon told me she had asked you to go up
to-morrow evening.”’

“Yes,” Wenna said, looking rather uncomfortable.
Then she added quickly, “ Would it displease you if L
did not go?. Lought to be at a children’s party at Mr.
Trewhella’s.”’

This was precisely what Mr. Roscorla wanted; «but
he said,“‘You must not be shy, Wenna. However,
please yourself: you need have no fear in vexing me.
~~ I must go,for the Weekeses are old friends of
miné.*

“They stayed at the inn two or three days in May
last,” said Wenna innocently: “They came here by.
chance, and found Mrs. Trelyon from home.” :

Mr. Roscorla seemed startled. “Oh!” said he.
“Did they—did they—ask for me?’ }

“Yes, I believe they did,”” Wenna-said,

“Then you, told them,” said Mr. Roscorlaswith a
pleasant smile—‘‘ you ‘told them, of course, why you
were the best person in the worldto give them infor-
mation about me?” f tints

“Ob dear, no!’ said Wenna, blushing hotly: “they
spoke to Jennifer.”

Mr. Roscorla felt himself rebuked. It was George
Rosewarne’s express wish that his daughters should
not be approached by strangers visiting the inn as if
they were officially connected: with the place. Mr:
Roscorla should have remembered that inquiries would
be made of a Servant.

But, as it happened, Sir Percy and his wife had really
made the acquaintance of both Wenna and Mabyn on
their chance visit to Eglosilyan ; and it was of these
two girls they were speaking when Mr. Roscorla: was
announced in Mrs. Trelyon’s drawing-room the follow-
-* evening. The thin, wiry, white-moustached
old man, who had wonderfully bright eyes and a
great vivacity of spirits for a yeteran of seventy-
four, was standing in front of the fire, and declar-
ing to everybody that two such well-accom: ed,
smart, talkative and ladylike young women he had
never met within his life. ‘ What did you say the

name was, my dear Mrs. Trelyon? Rosewarne, eh ?—
Rosewarne? A good old Cornish name—as good as
yours, Roscorla. So they’re called Rosewarne? Gad t

if her ladyship wants to appointa successor, I’m will-
ing to let her choice fall on one of those two girls.”

ladyship, a dark and silent old woman of eighty,
did not like, in the first place, to be called her ladyship,
and ee not relish, either, having her death talked of
as a joke. ,

“‘ Roscorla, now—Roscorla, there’s a good chance for
you, eh?’ continued the old. general. “We never
could get you married, you know—wild young dog!
Don’t you know the girls ?” Z

“ Oh, fom Sir Percy,’’ Mr. Roscorla said with no great
good-will; then he turned to the fire and began to
warm his hands. — © ai

There was a tall young gentleman standing there
who in former days would have beex thted to cry
out on such an occasion, ‘“ Why, Roscorla’s going to
marry one of ’em!” - He remained silent now.

He was very silent, too, throughout the evening, and
almost anxiously civil toward Mr. Roscorla. He paid
great attention when the latter was describing to the
company at table the beauties of West Indian scenery,
the delights of West Indian life, the change that had
come over the prospects of Jamaica since the intro-
duction of coolie labor, and the fashion in which the
rich merchants of Cuba were setting about getting plan-
tations there for the growth of tobacos. Str. Roscorla
spoke with the air of a man who now knew what the
world was. When the old general asked him if he were
coming back to live in Eglosilyan after he had become a
millionaire, he laughed, and said that one’s coffin came
soon enough without one’s rus! ‘to meet it. No;

when he came back to England , he would live in
London; and had Sir Percy still old walled-in.
house in Brompton?

Sir Percy paid less heed to these descriptions of Ja-
maica, than Harry Trelyon did, for his next neighbor
was old Mrs. Trelyon, and these two venerable flirts
were talking of old acquaintances and old times at Bath
and Cheltenham, and of the celebrated beauties, wits
and murderers of other days, in a manner which her si-
lent ladyship did not at all seem toapprove. The gener-
al was bringing out all his old-fashioned gallantry—com-
pliments, easy phrases in French, polite attentions : his

companion to use her fan with acoquettish grace,
and was pleased when a reference was made to
her celebrated flight to Gretna Green.  - Gla st

“Ah, Sir Percy,” she said, “the men were men in

those days, and the women women, I promise you: no
hooting abens sie bude ben Oe Sef tmeae

fair word taken; and then a broken for whoever.

 

oP

 
eer anitteae el gpetennentaiaene aeeindinamnentnaastmninbgnneseateay

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

should interfere—father, uncle or brother, no matter
who; and you know our family, Sir Percy, our family
were among the worst,’’——

“T tell you what, madam, said the general, hotly,
“your family had among ’em the handsomest women in
the west of England; and the handsomest men, too, by
Gad! Do you remember Jane Swanhope—the Fair
Maid of Somerset they used to call her—that married
the fellow down Yeovil way who broke his neck in a
steeplechase ?””

“Do I remember her?’ said the old lady. “She was
one of my bridesmaids when they took me up to Lon-
don to get married properly after [came back. She was
my cousin on the mother’s side, but they wére connect-
ed with the Trelyons, too. And do you remember old
John Trelyon, of Polkerris? and did you ever see a man
straighter in the back than he was at seyenty-one, when
he married his second wife ? That was at Exeter, I think.
But there, now, you don’t find such men and women in
these times: and do you know the reason of that, Sir
Percy? I'litell you: it’s the doctors. The doctors can
keep all the sickly ones alive now: before it was only
the strong ones that lived. Dear, dear me! when I hear
some of those London women talk, it is nothing but a
catalogue of illnesses and diseases, No™ wonder they
should say in church: ‘There is no health in'us :’ every
one of them has something the matter, even the young
girls, poor things? and pretty mothers they’re likely to
make! They’re a'misery to themselves; they'll bring
miserable things into the world; and all because the
doctors have become so clever in, pulling sickly people
through, That’s my opinion, Sir Percy. The doctors
are responsible for five-sixths of all the suffering you
hear of in families, either through illness or the losing
one’s friends and relatives.”

“Upon my word, madam,” the general protested,
“you use the doctor badly, He is blamed if he kills
people, and he is blamed it he keeps them alive, What
is he to do?”

“Do? ‘He can’t help saving the'sickly ones now,” the
old lady admitted, “ for relatives will have it) done, and
they know he can do it; but’s.a_ great misfortune; Sir
Percy, that’s what it is, to have'all these sickly creatures
growing up to intermarry into the good old. families
that used’ to be famous for their comeliness and
strength. There was a man—yes, I remember him well
—that came from, Devonshire: -he was aman of good
family, .too,,.and_ they made such a noise about his,
wrestling, Said I to myself, Wrestling is not a fit
amusement for gentlemen, but if this man comes up to
our country, there’s one or other of the Trelyons will
try his mettle. And well I remember saying to my
eldest son George—you remember when he was a young
man, Sir Percy, no older than his own son there ?—
‘ George,” said, ‘If this Mr. So-and-so comes into these
parts, mind you have nothing to do with him, for
wrestling is not fit fora gentleman.’ ‘ All right mother,’
said he, but he laughed, and I knew what the laugh
meant. My dear Sir Percy, I tell you the man hadn’t a
chance :'T heard of it all’ afterward. George caught
him up before'he could begin any of his tricks and
flung him onto the hedge; and there were a dozen more
in our family who could have done it, I'll be bound.”

“But then, you know,-Mrs, Trelyon,” Mr. Roscorla
ventured to say, “physical strength is not everything
that is needed. Ifthe doctors were to let the sickly
ones die, we might be losing all sorts of great poets
and statesmen and pin ers,”

The old lady turned on' him: * And do you think a

- man has to be sickly to be clever? No, no, Mr. Roscorla;

ve him better health and you give him a better head.

‘hat’s what we believed in the old days. I fancy, now,
there were ter men before this coddling began than
there are now—yes, I do; and if there is a great man
coming into the world, the chances are just as much
that he’ll bé among the strong ones as among the sick
ones. What do you think, Sir Percy?”

“TJ declare you’re right, madam,” said he gallantly.
“ You’ve quite convinced me, Of course, some of ’em
must go; I say, let the sickly ones go.” cs

“Tnever heard stich brutal, such murderous senti-
ments expressed in my life before,”’ said a solemn voice;
and every one became aware that at last Lady Weekes
had spoken. Her speech was the signal for universal
silence, in the midst of which the ladies got up and left
the room.

Trelyon took his mother’s placc and sent round the
wine. He was particularly attentive to,Mr. Roscorla,
who was surprised. Perhaps, thought the latter, he is
anxious to atone for all this bother that is now happily

If thé younger man was silent and preoccupied, that
was not the case with Mr. Roscorla, who was already

assuming the airs of a rich person, and speaking of his

being ‘unable to Hive in this district or that district
of London, just as if he expected to purchase a lease of
i gd Palace on his return from Jamaica.

~ how are all my friends in Hans Place, Sir Per-
cy? hecried. | ,

“You've been a deserter, sir—you’ve been a deserter
for many a year now,” the general said gayly, “but
we're all willing to have you back again to a quiet rub-
ber after dinner, you know, Do youremember old John

Thwaites? Ah, he’s; gone now—left one’ hundred
and fifty thousand pounds to build a hospital,
and only five. thousand pounds to his sister.

The poor old woman believed some one would marry
her when she got the whole of her brother’s money—so
Y’'m told—and when the truth became known, what did
she do? Gad, sir! she wrote a novel abusing her own
brother. By «the way, that reminds me ofa devilish
ood thing I heard when I was here last—down at the
inn, you know. What’s the name of the girls I was
talking about? Well, her mre. caught one of them
a novel, and not very well pleased with it, and
to the young lady, ‘Don’t you like that book ?”
the girl—let eee what was it? Gad! I
ust go and ask herladyship.” —
‘And off he trotted ‘to the drawing-room. He came

iL

 

back in a couple of minutes. “Ofcourse,” said he.
“ Devilish stupid of me to forget it. ‘Why, said the
young lady, ‘I think the author has been trying to keep
the fourth commandment, for there’s nothing in the
book that has any likeness to anything in heaven above,
or in the earth beneath, or the heavens under the
earth.”

“The waters under the earth.”

“I mean the waters, ofcourse. Gad! her ladyship was
immensely tickled.”

“Which of the two young ladies was it, Sir
Percy? The younger, I suppose ?”’ said Mr. Roscorla.

“No, no, the elder sister of course,” said Trelyon.

“Yes, the elder one it was—the quiet one ; and an un-
common nice girl she is. Well, there’s Captain Walters,
the old sea-dog ! still to the fore ; and his uniform too.
Don’t you remémber the uniform with the red cuffs
that hasn’t been seén in the navy for a couple of cen-
turies, I should think? His son’s got into Parliament
now—gone over to the Rads and the workingmen, and
those fellows that are scheming to get the land divided
among themselves—all in the name of philosophy ; and
it’s a devilish fine sort of philosophy; that is; when you
haven’t a rap in your pocket, and when you prove that
everybody who has must give it up. He came to my
house the other day, and he was jawing away about
primogeniture, and entail, and direct taxation, and equal
electoral ‘districts, and I don’t know ‘what: besides.
‘Walters,’ said I—‘ Walters,you’ve got nothing to share,
and so you don’t mind a general division. When: you
have, you'll want to stick to what’s in your own pocket.’
Had him there, eh?”

The old general beamed and laughed over his smart-
ness; he was conscious. of haying said something that,
in shape at least, was like an epigram. X

“T must rub up my. acquaintance in that quarter,”
said Roscorla, “before I leave again. Fortunately, T
haye always kept up my club subscription; and you’ll
come and dine with me, Sir Percy, won’t you, when I
get to town ?”’

“Are you going to town?” said’ Trelyon quickly.

“Oh yes, of course,”

“When?”

The question was abrupt, and it made Roscorla look
at the young man as he answered, Trelyon seemed to
— to be very much harassed about something or
other.

“Well, I suppose in a week or so: Iam only home for:

a holiday, you know.”
“Oh, you'll be here for a week?” said the younger

man submissively,’ “When do you think of returning’

to Jamaica?”

“Probably at the beginning of next month. Fancy
leaving England in November—just at the most hideous
time of the year—and in a week or two getting out into
summer again, with the most beautiful climate and
foliage and what not all‘around you! I can tell youa
man makes.a great mistake who settles down to a sort
of aon life anywhere; you don’t catch me at that
again,”

“There’s some old women,” observed the general,
who was so anxious to show his profundity that: he
quite forgot the itividious character of the comparison,
“whoare just like trees—as much below the ground
as above it. Isn’t that true,eh? They’re a deal more
at home among the people they have buried than
among those that are alive. I don’t say that’s your
case, Roscorla. You’re comparatively a young man yet:
you’ve got brisk health. I don’t wonder at your liking
to knock about. As for you, young Trelyon, what do

uu mean to do?’”’

Trelyon started. “Oh,” said he with some
confusion, “I have no immediate plans. Yes, I have:
don’t .you. know I have been cramming for the civil
service examinations for first commissions ?””

« And what the devil made the War Office go to those
civilians ?’’ muttered the general. :

'“ And if I pull through Ishall want all your influence
to get me gazetted to a good regiment. Don’t they
often A you onto the First or Second West In-

“And you’ve enough money to back you, too,” said
the general. “I tell you what it is, gentlemen, if they
abolish the purchase of commissions in the army—and
they’re always about it—they don’t know what
they’ll bring about. e’ll have two sets of officers in
the army—men with money who like a good mess, and
live far beyond their pay, and men with no money at
all, who’ve got to live on their and how can they

ay ;
afford the ental mess out of that ? But Parliament
won’t stand it, you’ll see. The war minister will be

beaten if he brings it on—take my word for that.”

The old general had probably never heard of a royal
warrant and its mighty powers.

«80 you're going to be one of us?”’ he said to Trelyon.
“Well, you’ve asmart figure for a uniform. You're
the first of your side of the family to go into the army,
eh? You had some naval men among you, eh?”

“I think you’d better ask my grandmother,” said
young Trelyon with a laugh: “she'll tell you stories
about ’em by the hour together,”’ .

“She’s & wonderful woman that—a wonderful old
creature!’ said the general, just as if he were a
sprightly young fellow talking of the oldest inhabitant
of the district. ‘‘She’s not one of them that are half
buried: she’s wide enough awake, I’ll be bound. Gad!
what a handsome women she was when I saw her first!
Well, lads, let’s join the ladies: I’m none of your
steady-going old topers. Enongh’s as good’s a feast
—that’s my motto. And I can’t write my name ona
slate with my knuckles either.”

And so they went into the large, dimly-lit red
chamber where the women were having tea round the
blazing fire. ‘The men took various chairs about; the
conyersation became general; old Lady Weeks feebly
endeavored to keep up her eyelids. In about half an
hour or so Mrs. Trelyon happened to glance round the
room, “ Where’s Harry ?”’ said she,

 

No one apparently had noticed that Master Harry haa
ainappeares. f

 

CHAPTER XXXIV,
A DARK CONSPIRACY,

Now, when Harry Trelyon drove up to the Hall after
after leaving Wenna Rosewarne in the road he could not.
tell why he was vexed with her. He imagined some-
how that he should not have allow Mr, Roscorla to come
home ; and to come home just at this moment, when
he, Trelyon, had stolen down tor a couple of days to
have a shy look at thesweetheart who was 80 far out of
his veach! She ought to have been alone. Then she
ought not to have looked so calm and complacent om
going away to meet Mr. Roscorla; she ought to have.
been atraid. She ought to have— In short, everything
was wrong, and Wenna was largely to blame. :

“ Well, grandmother,” said he, as:they drove through °
the avenue, “ don’t you expect every minute to flush ay,
covey of parsons ?’’ :

He was angry with Wenna, and sovhe broke out once,
more in his old vein,

«There are worse men than the parsons, Harry,” the
old lady said. :

x I'll bet you a sovereign there are two onthe door-,
step.” ;

He would have lost. There was not a clergyman of
any sort in or about the house,

“Isn't Mr. Barnes here ?’’ said he to his mother. r

Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly as she said: “ No, Harry, -
Mr. Barnes is not here, nor is he likely to visit: here
again.” i nig t

Now, Mr. Roscorla would at once have perceived that»
a strange little story lay behind that simple speech, but.,
Mr. Harry, paying no attention to it, merely said he was:
heartily. glad to hear of it, and showed his gratitude by
sant unusually polite to his mother during the rest of ,

8 stay,

“And 80 Mr. Roscorla has come back ?”’ his mother
said. ‘General Weekes was asking about him only yes-,
terday. We must see if he will come up to dinner the:
night after to-morrow; and Miss Rosewarne also,’”’ ,

“You may ask her—you ought to ask her—but she
won't come,” said he. ‘ ,

‘How do, you know?’ Mrs. Trelyon said, with a ~
tle wonder. ‘She has been here very often of late.’’

“ Have you let her walk up ?’* “

“No; Lhave generally driven down for her when I
wanted to see her; and the way she has been working:
for these people is extraordinary—never tired, always.
cheerful, ready to be bothered by anybody, and ent
with their suspicions and simplicity beyond ief. I
am sure Mr. Roscorla will have an excellent wife.’”’

“Tam not at all sure that he will,” said her son, goad-
ed past endurance.

“Why, Harry,” said his mother, with her eyes wide
open, ‘I thought you hada great respect for Miss Rose-
warne,”

“I have,’’ he said; abruptly—“ far too great a respect.
to like the notion of her marrying that old fool.”

* Would you rather not have him to dinner?”

“Oh, I should like to have him to dinner.” 9

For one evening, at least, this young man considered,
these two would be separated. He was pretty sure that
Roscorla would come to meet General Weekes; he was
positive that Wenna would not come to the house while
he himself was in it,

But the notion that, except during this one evening,’
his rival would have free access to the inn, and would’
spend pleasant hours there, and would take Wenna with
him for walks along the coast, maddened him. He
dared not go down to the village for fear of seeing these.
two. together. .He walked about the grounds or’
went away over to the cliffs, torturing his heart with-
imagining Roscorla’s opportunities, And once or twice:
he was on the point of going straight down to Eglosil-;
yan; and calling on Wenna, betore Roscorla’s face, to be
true to her own heart, and declare herself free from!
this old and hateful entanglement. : Ow Of

In these circumstances his grandmother’ was not ‘a
good companion for him. In her continual glorifica-’
tion of the self-will of the Trelyons, and her stories of)
the wild deeds they had done, she was unconsciously

driving him to some desperate thing against his better-
judgment. > 2

“Why, grandmother,” he said one day, “you hint,
that Iam a nincompoop because I don’t go and carry
off that girl andmarry her against her will. Is L
what you mean by telling me of what the men did in:
former days? Well, I can tell Fon this, that it would -
be a deal easier for to try that than not to try it. The-
difficulty is in holding your hand. But what good_
would you do, after all? e time has gone by for that’.
sort of thing. I shouldn’t like to have on my hands a
woman sulking because she was married by force. Be-~
sides, You can’t do these mad freaks now: there are too
many police-courts about.” _

“By force? No,” the old lady said. “The girls I
speak of were as glad to run away as the men, I can tell
you, and they did it, too, when their relations were.
against the match.” >

“Of course, if both he and she are agreed, the way is. .
smooth now as it was then: you don’t need to care.
gos ae relations.” en's Be nit / o

“But, Harry, you don’ ow what a thinks,
thik ditigurous old indy hald. “She hed bec hnsicme
duty, and her respect for her parents, and all that; and
if the man only went and reasoned with her he would
never carry the day; but just as she comes out of &
ball-room some night, when she is
fun and pleasure, and ready to become rom:
the stars, you see, and the darkness, then just show her

: li and her

a carriage, a pair of horses, a marriage license.

own aaa to accompany her, and see what will 1
Why, she'll hop into the like a dicky-bird: then
she'll make @ bit of a cry, and then she'll recover, and

Sener nenen wrrernener Dre s Sun UnarenOnS TEBE on TNT SUICIDE TEESE TS ESET OTET™S Oo 7 E VO nn eee a ee dcbuemaemeimmsiitannmeatencemeianmmaetenniamtammeiemataamel
 

 

a gperneree mer s

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if
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a : 4 J .
be mad with the delight of escaping from those behind
her. That’s how to win a girl, man! The sweethearts
of those days think too much, that’s about it; it’s all
done by argument between them.”

“You're a wicked old woman, grandmother,” said
Trelyon with alaugh. “You oughtn’t to put such no-
tions’ into the head of a well-conducted. young man
like me.”

“ Well, you’re not such a booby as you used to be,
Harry,” the old lady admitted. ‘Your manners are
considerably improved, and there was much room for
improvement. You're growing a good deal like your
grandfather.”

“ But there’s no Gretna Green now-a-days,”’ said Tre-
lyon as he went outside, “so you can’t expect me to be
perfect, grandmother.”

On the first night of his arrival at Eglosilyan he stole
away in the darkness down totheinn. There were no
lamps in the steep road, which was rendered all the
darker by the high rocky bank with its rough masses of
foliage: he feared that by accident some one might be
out and meet him. But in the absolute silence under
the stars he made his way down until he was near the
inn, arid there in the black shadow of the road he stood
and looked at the lighted windows. Roscorla was
doubtless within—lying in an easy chair, probably, by
the fire, while Wenna sang her old-fashioned songs to
him. He would assume the air of being one of the fam-
ily now, only holding himself a little above the family:
coed was talking of the house he meant to take
when he and Wenna married.

That was no wholesome food for reflection on which
this young man’s mind was now feeding. He stood
there in the darkness, himself white as a ghost, while
all the vague imaginings of what might be going on
within the house seemed to be eating at his heart.
This, then, was the comfort he had found by secretly
ee away-from London for a dayortwo! He had
arrived just in time to find his rival triumphant.

The private door of the inn was at this moment
opened; a warm glow of yellow streamed out into the
darkness,

“Good-night,” said some one. Was it Wenna?.

“Good t,” was the answer; and then the figure
of a man passed down the road.

Trelyon breathed more freely; at last his rival was
out ofthe house. Wenna was now alone; would she go
up into her own room and think over all the events of
the day? And would she remember that he had come
to Eglosilyan, and that she could, if any such feeling
arose in her heart, summon him at need ?

It was very late that night before Trelyon returned;
he had gone all round by the harbor and the cliffs and
the high-lying church on the hill. All in the house had
» gone to bed, but there was a fire burning in his study,
and there were biscuits and wine on -the table,
of stood on the mantelpiece. Apparently he was
in no mood for the indolent comfort thus suggested.
He stood for a minute or two before the fire, sta into!
it, and seeing other things than the flaming coals there;

then he moved about the room in an impatient and

excited fashion; finally, with his hand trembling a little
bit, he sat down and wrote this note: '

_* DEaR MortHER :—The horses and carriage will be at
Launceston Station by the first train on Saturday morn-
. Will you please send Jakes oyer for them? And
bid him take the horses up to Mr.——’s stables, and
have them fed, watered,and properly rested before he
drives them over. Your affectionate son,
: * “Harry TRELYoN.”

- Next morning, as Mabyn Rosewarne was coming brisk-
ly up the Trevenna road, carrying in her arms a pretty
big parcel, she was startled by the appearance of a
= , who suddenly showed himself overhead,
and ar eee down the rocky bank until he stood

“Tye been watching for you all the morning, Ma-
byn,” said Titges. *I—I want'tospeak to'you. Where

are a going ;
_“ Up to Mr, Trewhella’s. You know his granddaugh-
ter is pe bo guile well again, and there is to be
ering of children there to-night to celebrate
recovery. This isa cake I am carrying that Wenna

"Is Wenna to be there ?” Trelyon said eagerly.
“Why, of course,” said Mabyn petulantiy. ‘“ What
do you think the children could do without her ?”
ik here, Mabyn,” he said. “TI want to speak to
you tvery Pee ao Couldn’t you just as well go
Bite 8 by the farm-road? Let me carry your cake for
you

Mabyn guessed what he wanted to speak about, and
maey, made the circuit by amore private road
leading by one of the upland farms, At acertain point
they came to a stile, and here they rested. So far
‘Tred. oe had said nothing of consequence.

“Oh, do you know, Mr. Trelyon,” Mabyn remarked

ite innocently, “I have been reading such a nice
Book all about Jamaica,”

“So you are interested abont Jamaica too?” said‘he

“Yes, much. Do you know that it is the most fear-
ful ae. for stormsin the whole world—the most

that come smashing down everything

snd ee people? You can’t escape if you’re in the
9 way @ hurricane. It whirls the roofs off the
houses and twists eut the plantation trees just like
aah. 4 ttle Tivers wash. aes wale acres of Seen
farms. Sometimés the sea rages 80 that

wae, carried right up into the streets of Kingston,

“But why does that please oe

a es she fad with
tion o! people

n live forever, and come eae
i

”

—it is too ridiculous !~

Many acc ts ma;
em, And isn't Noventber's very Bad” diet

A box’

‘proud. ation, “the no- |
King as if they could go out to
when they,

 

y 0
efor storms ?| then he’ll offer to bring it-to-you in buckets. Now,’

THREE FEATHERS.

Ships often get wrecked going out to the West Indies,
don’t they ?”

At another time Trelyon would have laughed at this
bloodthirsty young woman: at this moment he was
too serious. ‘‘Mabyn,” said he, ‘I can’t bear this any
longer—standing by like and fool a looking on while
another man is doing his best.to marry Wenna; I can’t
go on like this any longer. Mabyn, when did you say
she would leave Mr. Trewhella’s house to-night?’

“I did not say anything about it. Isuppose we shall
leave about ten—the young ones leave at nine,”

“You will be there?”

** Yes, Wenna and I are to keep order.”

‘‘Nobody else with you?”

“No.”

He looked at her rather hesitatlngly., ‘And suppos-
ing, Mabyn,” he said slowly—‘ supposing you and
Wenna were to leave at ten, and that it is a beautiful
clear night, you might walk down by the wood instead
of the road ; and then, supposing that you came out on
the road down at the foot, and you found there a car-
riage and a pair of horses ’’——

Mabyn began to look alarmed.

“And if I was there,’ he continued more rapidly,
“and I said. to Wenna suddenly, ‘Now, Wenna, think
nothing, but come and save yourself from this mar-
ca There is your sister will come with you ; and I
will drive you to Plymouth,’”’

Oh, Mr. Trelyon.!’’ Mabyn cried with a sudden joy
in her face, “she would do it! she would do it!”

“And you would you come too ?” he demanded.

“Yes!” the girl cried, full.of excitement. “And
then, Mr. Trelyon, and then?”

“Why ?” he cried boldly. “up to London at once—
twenty-four hours’ start of everybody—and in London
we are safe. Then, you know, Mabyn’”’——

* Yes, yes, Mr, Trelyon !”

“Don’t you think now that we two could persuade
her to a quick marriage—with a special license, you
know? You could persuade her, Iam sure, Mabyn.”

In the gladness of heart Mabyn felt herself at this
moment ready to fall on the young man’s neck and
kiss him. But she was a properly conducted young
person, and so she rose from the block of slate on which
she had been sitting and managed to suppress any
great intimation of her abounding joy. But she .was
very proud, all the same, and there was a at firm-
ness about her lips as she said “‘ We will do it, Mr.
Trelyon—we will do it. Do you know why Wenna
submits to this engagement ? Because she reasons
with her conscience and persuades herself that. it is
right, When you meet her like that, she will have no
time to consider.”

« That, is what my grandmother says,’’ Trelyon said
with a triumphant laugh.

“Yes, she was a girl once,” Mabyn replied sagely.
“Well, well, tell me all about it. What arrangements
have you made? You haven’t got.the special license?”
__ “No,” said he, “I didn’t make up my mind to try
this on tilllast nigbt. But the Bgeronee of a day is
nothing when you are with her, We shall be able to
Earnogasises away pretty well in London, don’t you

* Of course,’’ cried Mabyn, confidently. “But tell
me more, Trelyon. What have you arranged? What
haye you done ?’’ ;

Sy at could I do until I knew whether you’d help
me?’

“You must bring a fearful amount of wraps with | aii

you.” : £

“ Certainly—more than you'll want, I know. And I
sha’n’t light the lamps until I hear you coming along
for that would attract attention down in the yalley. t
should like to wait for you elsewhere, but ifI did that
Remssoues 4 get Wenna tocome with you. Do you
you will get her to come eyen then ?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mabyn cheerfully, * nothing easier.
I shall tell her sheis afraid, and then she would walk
down the face of Black Cliff. By the way, Mr. Trelyon,
I must bring something toeat with me, and some wine
ae, will be so. nervous, and the long journey will

re her, :

You will be at Mr. Trewhella’s, Mabyn ; you can’t go
carrying things about with you.”

“T could bi a bit of cake in my pocket,” Mabyn
stggested, but this seemed eyen to her so ridiculous
that she blushed and laughed, and agreed that Mr.
Harry should bring the necessary provisions for the
wild night-ride to Plymouth.

“Oh, it does so please me to think of it!’ she said
with a curious anxious excitement as well as gladness
in her face._ “I hope I have not forgotten to arrange
anything. Let me see ; we start at ten; then down.
through the wood to the road in the hollow—oh, I
hope there will be nobody coming along just then !—
then youlight the lamps; then you come forward to
persuade Wenna. By the way, Mr. Trelyon, where must
igo? Shall I not be dreadfully in the way ?”

“You? You must stand by the horses’ heads, I
shan’t have my man with me. And yet they’re not
very fiery animals : they'll be less fiery, the unfortu-’
nate wretches ! when they get to Plymouth.”

"ALA Sag tue tara

« bow “pas ein the ma ‘we go
strai Bo Pee eas 2H es elie

“Do you know a good hotel there?’ said the *

“ The best one.is by. the station ; but if you ep in
the front,of the house, you have the whistling en-_|
gines all night long, and if you sleepin the back, you
overlook a RAE TaG Kea et ;the confounded trumpeting
begins about,four o’clock, I believe.” totter *

a ae mind that—we sliall be —
Mabyn . “Do. you think they couldgive us'a
hot coffee when we arrive?’ © 0) ~ 9 t betoveoba

'“Oh'yes. I'll give the night-porter’a sovere woups]

 

don’t you, think the whole thing is beautifully ar.
ranged, Mabyn?”’

“It is quite lovely!” the girl said joyously, “for we
shall. be off with the morning train to London, while
Mr. Roscola is pottering about Launceston Station
at midday. Then we must send a telegram from
Plymouth, a fine dramatic telegram: and my
father, he will swear a little, but be quite
content ; and my mother—do you know Mr. Tre-
lyon, I believe my mother will be as glad as anybody,
What shall we say ?—‘To Mr. Rosewarne, Eglosilyan:
We have fled. Not the least good pursuing us. May as
well make up your mind to the inevitable. Will write
to-morrow.’ Is that more than the twenty words for a
shilling ?”

‘We sha’n’t grudge the other shilling if itis,” the
young man said. “Now you must go on with your
cake, Mabyn. I am off to see after the horses’ shoes.
Mind, as soon after ten as you can—just where the path
from the wood comes into the main road.”

Then she hesitated, and for a minute or two.she re-
mained thoughtful and silent, while he was inwardly
hoping that she was not going todraw back. Suddenly
she looked up at him with earnest and anxious eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Trelyon,”’ she said, “this is a very serious
thing. You—you will be kind to our Wenna after she is
married to you?”

“You will see, Mabyn,”’ he answered gently.

“You don’t know how sensitive she is,’ she con-
tinued, apparently thinking over all the possibilities of
the future in a much graver fashion than she had done.
“If you were unkind to herit would kill her. Are you
quite sure you won’t regret it?”

“Yes, I am quite sure of that,” said he—“ as sure asa
man may be. I don’t think you need fear my being un-
kind to Wenna. Why, what has put such thoughts into
your head?”

“If you were to be cruel to her or indifferent,” she
said slowly and absently, “I know that would kill her.
But I know more than that: J would kill you.”

“Mabyn,” he said, quite startled, “whatever has put
such thoughts into your head ?”’

“Why,” she said passionately, “haven’t I seen al-
ready how a man can treat her? Haven’t I read the in-
solent letters he has sent her? Haven’t I seen her
throw herself on her bed, beside herself with grief?
And—and—these are things I don’t forget, Mr. Trelyon.
No, I have got a word to say to Mr. Roscorla yet for his
treatment of my sister; and I will say it. And then”
— The proud lips were beginning to quiver.

“ Come, come, Mabyn,”’ said Trelyon, gently, “don’t
imagine all men are the same. And perhaps Roscorla
will have been paid out quite sufficiently when he hears
of to-night’s work. I sha’n’t bear him any malice after
that, [know. Already, I confess, I feel a good deal of
compunction as ards him.” .

“T don’t at all—I don’t a bit,” said Mabyn, who very
quickly, recovered herself whenever Mr. Roscorla’s
name was mentioned, “If you only can get her to go
away with you, Mr. Trelyon, it will serve him just.
right. Indeed, it is on his account that I hope you will
be successful. I—I don’t quite like Wenna running
away with you, to tell you the truth. I would rather
have her leit toa nies decision, and to a marriage with
everybody approving. But there is no chance of that.
This is the only thing that will save her.”

‘That is precisely whatI said to you,” Trelyon said,
eagerly, for he was afraid of losing so invaluable an

lly. :
“And you will be very, very kind to her?”

“ I’m not good at fine words, Mabyn. You'll see.’’

She held out her hand to him, and pressed his warm-
ly: “Ibelieve you will be a good husband to her, and I
know you will get the best wife in the whole world.”

s eo was going away, when he suddenly said; “ Ma-
yn!”

She turned.

“Do you know,” said he, rather shamefacedly, “how
much Lam ful to you for all your frank, ht-
forward kindness, and your help, and your T

“No, no,” said the reag girl, good-humoredl,
“ You make Wenna happy, and don’t consider me.””

CHAPTER XXXV.
"UNDER THE WHITE STARS.

Dura. the whole prs evening Wenna had been
queen of the feast, and her subjects had obeyed her
with ajoyous submission. They did not take quite so
kindly to Mabyn, for she was sharp of tongue and im-
perious in her ways, but they knew that they could
tease her elder sister with impunity—always up to the
well-understood line at which her authosity began.
That was never questioned.

_Then at nine o'clock the servants came, some on foot
and some’on dog-carts, and presently there was a bund-
ling of tiny figures. in rugs and wraps, Wenna
stood at the door to kiss each of them and say good-bye,
It was half-past nine when that performance was over.

“Now, my dear Miss Wenna,” said the old clergyman,
“you must be quite tired out with qo labors. Come
into the study; I believe the tray has been taken in
thare!”

~Do.you know, Mr. Trewhalla,” said Mabyn, bold],
‘that Wenng *t time to eata single bit when aii
those children were gobblingup cake? Couldn’t you let
her haye a little bit—a little bit of cold meat, now ?”
“ Dear! dear me!”’said the kind old gentleman, in the
deepest “that I should not have remem-

There was no use in Wenna protesting. - In the snug
little study she was made to eat some supper; and, if
she got off with drinking one of sherry, it was
not oe the intervention of her sister, who appa-
rently would have had her drink a tum’ .

It wasnot untila quarter past ten that the girls
could get away,

y-

 
_ Sister cried.

rr ee nee ee eediacaieenenn tagenesiennplecseenanlecnvenl
Perea ae ee sateen

THREE FEATHERS,

eerie

37

 

 

“Now, I must see you young ladies down to the vil-

e, lest: some one should run away with you,” the
old clergyman said, taking down his top-coat.

“No; no, you must not~you must not, indeed, Mr.
‘Trewhella!” Mabyn said, anxiously. “ Wenna and I
elways go about by ourselves, and far later than this,
too. Itisa beautiful, clear night. Why ’——

Her impetuosity made her sister smile, “ You.talk
asif you would rather like to be run away with, Ma-
byn,” she said. “But, indeed, Mr. Trewhella, you
must not think of coming with us. It is quite true
what Mabyn says.”

And so they went out into the clear darkness to-
gether, and the door was shut, and they found them-
selves in the silent world of the night-time, with the
white stars throbbing overhead. Far away in the dis-
tance they could hear the murmur of the sea,

“Are you cold, Mabyn, that you tremble so?’ said
the elder sister.

“No, only a sort of shiver in coming out into the
night-air.”

Whatever it was, it was soon over. Mabyn seemed to
be unusually cheerful, ‘‘Wenna,”’ she said, “ you’re
afraid of ghosts.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I know you are.”

“T’m not half as much afraid of ghosts as you are,
that’s quite certain.”

“Tl bet you you won’t walk down through the
wood.”

“Just now ?”

“Yes,”

“Why, I’llnot only go down through the wood, but
I'll undertake to be home before you, though ‘you've a
broad road to guide you.”

“ But I didnot mean you to go alone.”

“Oh,” said Wenna, “you propose to come with me?
Then. it is you who are afraid‘to go down by yourself?
Oh, Mabyn !”

“Never mind, Wenna, let’s go. down through the
wood, just for fun.”’

So the two sisters set out arm in arm, and throtgh

_pome spirit of mischief Wenna would not speak a word.

Mabyn was gradually overawed by the silence, the
night, the loneliness of the road, and the solemn pres-
ence of the great living vault above them. Moreover,
before getting into the wood they had to skirt a curious
little dingle, in the hollow of which are both a church
and churchyard. Many a time the sisters had come up
to this romantic dell in the spring-time to eine splen-
did primroses, sweet violets, the yellow celandine, and
other wild flowers that grew. luxuriantly on its steep
banks; and very pretty the old church looked then,
with the clear sunshine of April streaming down
through the scantily-leaved trees into this seques-
tered spot. Now the deep hole was ~ black
as night, and they could only make out a bit of the

ire of the church as it appeared against the dark sky.
Nay, was there not a sound among the fallen leaves and
underwood down there in the direction of the unseen
graves ? .

“Some eow has strayed in there; I. believe,’ Said |.

Mabyn in a. somewhat low voice, and she walked rather
qui until they got past the place and out.on to the
hill over the wooded valley. ool
“Now,” said Wenna, cheerfully, not wishing *tohave
Mabyn put in areal fright, “as! wego down! bam going
to tell you something, Mabyn., How would you like to
have to prepare for a wedding in a fortnight?” i
“ Not at all,” said Mabyn promptly, even fiereely..
“Not if it was your own ?” oe ; :
“No, Why, the insult of such a request'!’’ ;
According to Mabyn’s way of thin it was, an in-
sult to ask a girl tec marry you in a-fortnight, but none
to insist on her marrying you the day after to-
morrow. Se hd eit oll caaiaeieseiae od is
“ You think that a girl could fairly plead that as an
excuse—the meré .time to get one’s dresses and things
ready ?” '
« Certainly.” : :
“Oh, Mabyn,” said Wenna far more seriously, “it is
not of dresses I 4m thinking at all; but I shudder to
think of getting married just now. ;I could not do it,
Thave not had enough time to forget what is past, and
until that is done how. could I marry any man ? .;
“ Wenna, I do love you when you talk like that,” her
C «You can be 80 wise and reasonable when
you choose. Ofcourse you aré quite right, dear.
you don’t mean to say he wants you to get married be-
fore he goes to Jamaica, and then to leave you alone ? ‘
“Ohno. He wants me to go with him to Jamaica.’
Mabyn uttered a short cry of alarm; ‘To’ Jamaica!
To take you away from the whole of us! Why—— Oh,
Wenna, I do hate being a girl so, for you’re not allowed
to swear! IfI rae ti oars. ine 4
don’t you know-that there are hun s of people ‘al-
ways being killed there by the most frightful hurri-

canes and earthquakes and large serpents in the woods ? |.

To Jamaica!» No, you are not going- to Jamaica just
yet. Idon’t think you are going to Jamaica just yet.”

“No, indeed, lam not,” said Wenna with a quiet de-
cision, “Nor could I think of getting married-in any
Case at +t, But then—don’t you see, Mabyn ?—Mr.
Roscorla is just alittle peculiar in some ways ”’——'

“ Yes rtainl: ae, )

St sana’ he likes to have a definite reason for what you
do. If I were totell him of the repugnance I haye of

  

Yousllaboutie

But }) W

Wenna laughed: “ Yes, I’ve no doubt you would. I
think he’s more afraid of you than of all the serpents
and snakes in Jamaica.”

**Yes, and he’ll have more cause to be before he’s
much older,” said Mabyn confidently.

They could not continue their conversation just then,
for they were going down the side of the hill between
short) trees oad bushes, and the path was only broad
enough for one, while there were many dark places de-
manding caution.

“Seen any ghost yet?’ Wenna called out to Mabyn,
who was behind her.

“ Ghosts, sir?” Ay,ay, Sir! Heave away on the lar-
board beam. I say, Wenna, isn’t it uncommon dark?”

“It is uncommonly dark ?’’

“Gentlemen always say uncommon. and all the gram-
mars are written by gentlemen. Oh! Wenna, wait a
bit ; I’ve lost my brooch.”

It was no ruse, for a wonder; the brooch had indeed
dropped out of her shawl. She felt all over the dark
ground for it, but her search was in vain.

“Well, here’s a nice thing !. Upon my”——

“ Mabyn !”

“Upon my—trotting pony; that was all I was goin;
tosay. Wenna, will you ei here fora minute, and I’
run down tothe foot of the hill and get a match ?”’

“ How can you get a match at the foot of the hill?
You'll have to go to the inn. No, tie your handker-
chief round the foot of one of the trees, and come up
early in the morning to look.’’

“Early in the morning?’ said Mabyn. “I hope to
be in—— I mean asleep then.”

Twice she had nearly blurted out the secret, and it is
highly probable that her refusal to adopt ‘Wenna’s
suggestion wonld have led her sister to suspect some-
thing had not Wenna herself by accident kicked against
the missing brooch: As it was, the time lost by the mis-
adventure was grievous to Mabyn, who now insisted on
leading the way, and went along through the bushes at
arattling pace. Here and there the belated wanderers
startled a blackbird, that went shrieking its fright over
to the other side of the valley, but Mabyn was now too
much preoccupied to be unnerved:

*‘ Keeping a lookout ahead 2” Wenna called.

“ Ay, ay, sir! No ghost.on the:weather quarter! Ship
drawing twenty fathoms and the mate fast asleep, Ob!
Wenna, my hat!”

It had been twitched off her head by one of the
branches of the young trees through which she was
passing, and the pliant bit of wood, being released from
the strain, had thrown it down into the dark bushes
and. briers. f

“Well I’m—— No, I’m not!’’ said Mabyn as she
picked out the hat from among the thorns and
straightened the twisted feather. Then she set out again,
impatient over these delays, and yet, determined not to
let her courage sink,

“Tand ahead yet?’ called out Wenna,

“ Ay, ay, sir, and the Lizard on our lee. Wind south-
south-west, and the cargo shifting a point to the east.
Hurrah |” .

* Mabyn, they'll hear you a mile off.” :

It was certainly Mabyn’s intention that she should be
heard at least a quarter of a mile. off, for now they had
got down to the open, and they could hear the stream
some way ahead of them, which they would haye to
cross.” At'this point Mabyn paused fora second to let
her sister overtake her; then they went on arm in arm.

“Oh, Wenna,” she said, do you remember ‘young
Lochinvar? ” .

““Of course.” ~ F ,

“Didn’t you fall in love with “him when you read
about him? Now, there was somebody to fall in love
with! Don't you remember when he came into
Nethérby Hall, that - njbsieg-t ,

. >The bride-maidens whispered, ‘’*Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin, with young Lochinvar ?

And then you know, Wenna: :

Oné touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and tne charger stood near;
So she to the croup the fair lady he swung, .

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

“She is won! we are gone—over, bank, bush and scaur! ,
They'll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Lochinyar,

; That was a lover now !”” i 5
“T think he was.a most impertinent young man,’ said

yenna, . $ EBw :
“T rather like a young man to be impertinent; said
Mabyn boldly. ns : y

“ Then there won’t beany difficulty-aboutfitting you
with, ahusband,”\said Wenna, with a light laugh.

Here Mabyn-once more went. on ahead, picking: her
steps through the damp grass. as she made her way
hewn Areas stream, | Wenna was’ still in the highest

“ Walking the plank yet, boatswain ?” she called-out.

Not yet, sir; Mabyn called in return. |“ Ship wear-
ing round a point to the west, and the’ waves: running
mountains high. Don’tyou hear ’ém, captain ?”

‘Look out for the breakers, boatswain.”

“ Ay, ay, sir. All hands on deck to man the captain’s
gig hohe gras there!\ Avast! Mind, Wenna, here’s
» Grossing over that single plank in the dead of uight
) was a sufficiently dangerous experiment, but both these
young ladies had had plenty of experience in keeping

 

“Like the what?” , 5 ;
" :

“Like the Laodiceans, that were neither cold nor hot.
Why don’t you admire young Lochinvar ?”’ t

“Because he was interfering with another man’s
property.”

“That man had no right to her,” said Mabyn, talkin;
rather wildly, and looking on ahead to the point a
which the path through the meadows went up to the
road, ‘He was a wretched animal, I know: I believe
he was a sugar-broker, and had just come home from
Jamaica.”

“I believe,” said Wenna—“I believe that youn
Lochinvar”—— She stopped. “‘ What’s that?” she said.
“What are those two lights up there?”

“They’re not ghosts: come alcng, Wenna,” said
Mabyn, hurriedly.

Let us go up to this road, where Harry Trelyon,
tortured with anxiety and impatience, is waiting. He
had slipped away from the house pretty nearly as soon
as the gentlemen had gone into the drawing-room after
dinner, and on some excuse or other had got the horses
put to a light and yet roomy Stanhope phaeton. From
the stable-yard he drove by a back way into the main
road without passing in front of the Hall; then he
quietly walked the horses down the steep hill and
round the foot of the valley to the point at which
Mabyn was to make her appearance. 7

But he dared not stop there, for now and again som
passer-by came along the road; and even in the dark-
ness Mrs. Trelyon’s gray horses would be recognized by
any of the inhabitants of Eglosilyan, who would natu-
rally wonder what Master Harry was waiting for. He
walked them afew hundred yards one way, then a few
hundred yards the other; and ever, as it seemed to him,
the danger was growing greater of some one from the
inn or from the Hall suddenly appearing and spoiling
the whole plan.

Half-past ten arrived, and nothing could be heard of
the girls. Then a horrihle thought struck him: that
Roscorla might by this time have left the Hail and
would he not. be coming down to this very road on
his way up to Basset Cottage ? This was no idle fear: ©
it was almost a matter of certainty. ,

The minutes rolled themselves out into ages: he kept
looking at his watch every few seconds, yet he could
hear nothing from the wood or the valley of Mabyn’s
approach. Then he got down into the road, walked a
few yards this way and that, apparently to stamp the
nervousness out of his system, patted the horses, and
finally occupied himself in lighting the lamps.’ He was
driven by the delay into a sort of desperation. Even if
‘Wenna and Mabyn did appear now, and if he was success-
ful in his prayer,there was every chance’of their being in-
terrupted by Roscorla, who had without doubt left the
Hall some time before. ‘

Suddenly he stopped in his excited walking up and
down. Was that a faint ‘Hurrah |” that he heard in
the distance? He went down to the stile at the junc-
tion of the path and the road and listened attentively.
Yes, he could ,hear at least one voice, as yet alon,
way off, but now he had no more doubt.’ He walk
quickly back tothe carriage. ~ Ho, ho, my: hearties1’’
he said, stroking the heads of the horses, “you'll have
a Dick Turpin’s ride to-night,”

All the nervousness‘had gone from him now: he was
full of astrange sort. of exultation—the joy of aman
who feels that the crisis in his life has come, and that
he has the power and courage to face it. ‘

He heard them come up through the .meadow to the
stile: it was Wenna who was talking—Mabyn was quite
silent. They came along the'road. WE STS
» “ What is this carriage doing there ?’’? Wenna said. ©

They drew still nearer. . f z

«They are Mrsi Trelyon’s ‘horses, and there is no
driver.” Ca Oa RR i
., At this moment Harry Trelyon came quickly forward.
and stood in the road before her, while Mabyn as quick-
ly went on and disappeared. The girl was Startled, be-
wildered, but not frightened; for in a second he had
taken her by the hand, and then she heard him say to
her, in an anxious, low, imploring voice, “Wenna, my
darling, don’t’be alarmed. See here: I have got eyery-
thing ready to take you away; and Mabyn is coming
with ‘us; and-you know I love you so that Ican’t bear
the notion of your falling into that man’s hands. Now,
Wenna, don’t think about it. Come with me. “We
shall be married in London. Mabyn is coming with
you.” ; i

For one brief secondor two she seemed stunned ant
bewildered; then, looking atthe carriage, and the ear-
nest suppliant before her, the whole truth appeared to
flash in upon her. She looked wildly round.,.. ‘* Ma-
byn ”’—she was about to say, when he guessed the
meaning of her rapid-look, 3

“Mabyn is here, . She is quite close by—she is com-
ing with us, My darling, won’t, you let me save you?
This indeed is our last chance, Wenna.”’ :

She was trembling so that he thought she would fall;
and he would have put his arms round her, bnt that
she drew ‘back, and:in so .doing she got into the light,
and then he saw the immeasurable pity and sadness of
her eyes,

“Oh, my love,” she said with the tears running down
her face, ‘*I love: you! “I will tell you that now, when
we speak for the Jast:time. See, I will kiss you; and
then you will go away.” 2

“I will not go away—not without you—this night.”

 

the notion of getting married just now, he would callit | 1 wits about them in more ous places, Wenna, dearest, you have let your heart speak at last:
mere t,.and try to argue me out of it; then we |.“ are, you in such a hurry, Mabyn?”’ Wenna | now let it: tell you what to do.” ‘
should have a quarrel, But if, as you say, @ girl may paced bean Secconuaset. 5 “Oh, must I go? Must I go? she said; and then.
fairly refuse in point. of time’—— © ops os . Mabyn did not know what to: answer : she was very |/she looked wildly wound again. 2
“Now, I'll you,” said Mabyn plainly: ‘no girl | much excited, and inclined to talk at random merely to |» ‘‘Mabyn?” called out Trelyon, half mad with joy and
can get married properly who hasn’t six months to get | cover her anxiety. e was now very Jate for the | triumph—“ Mabyn, come along! Look sharp! jump
‘ready in, She £ mi in three or four months |.appointment,..and ,who, could. tell. what. unfortunate } int ‘way, my: darling |” f ;
for a. she was particularly fond of but if it isa | mis venture Harry Trelyon might haye met with? And he took:the trem’ girl and half lifted her
Santee een eer eg a Beata ina aside waves oie” Geass hee eae a cae yemiasae
ought I er at all, ix mM: : re, young ou're © ) > ““Ohy my love; what amvT doi: ‘ow this ?
Roscorla to me | Laodi - I f . | pphe said to him with her eyes s rea ne tears.

)« Butowhat was the matter with Mabyn she was just

 
 

}
i
i
i
H
1

oes

 

a

   

38

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

putting her foot on the irom step when a rapidly
approaching figure caused her to utter a cry of alarm,
and she stumbled back into the road again. The very
accident that Trelyon had been anticipating had occur-
ed: here was Mr. Roscorla, bewildered at first, and
then blind with rage when he saw what was happening
before his eyes. In his desperation and, anger he was
about to lay hold of Mabyn. by the arm whem he was
sent staggering backward half a dozen yards. .
“Don’t interfere with_me now) or by God:I will kill

. you!’’. Trelyon said between his, teeth, and, then he
hurried Mabyn into the carriage.

5 What was the sound then that. the still woods heard
under the throbbing stars through the darkness that
day over the land? Only the sound of horses’ feet,
monotonous and regular, and not a word of joy er
sorrow uttered by any one of the party thus hurrying

~ on through the night.

PART XI.—CHAPTER XXXVI,
INTO CAPTIVITY. .

Towarp eleven o’clock that night Mrs. Rosewarne
became somewhat anxious about her girls, and asked
her husband to go and meet them, or to fetch them
away if they were still at Mr. Trewhella’s house.

“Oan’t they look after themselves?’ said George

. Rosewarne. “I'll be bound Mabyn can, any way. Let
her alone to come back when she pleases.”

Then his wife began to fret, and as this made him
uncomfortable, he said he would walk up the road and
meet them. He had no intention of doing so, of course,

but it was a good excuse for getting away from a
a. wite. He went outside into the clear starlight,
an

lounged down to the small bridge beside the mill,
auiheanetie smoking his pipe.

There he encountered a farmer who was riding home
a cob he had bought that day at Launceston. and the

. farmer and he began to have a chat about horses sug-
gested by that circumstance. Oddly enough,. their
random talk came round to young Trelyon.

“Your thoroughbreds won’t do for this county,”
George Rosewarne was saying, “to go flying a stone
wall and breaking your neck. No, sir. I'll tell you
what sort of hunter I should like to have for these
parts. I’d have him half-bred, short in the leg, short
in the pastern, short in the back, a good sloping shoul-
der, broad in the chest. and the forehead, long in the
belly, and just the least bit over fifteen hands—eh, Mr.
Thoms? I don’t think beauty’s of much consequence
when your neck’s in question. Let him be as angular
and ragged in the hips as you like, so long’s his ribs are
well up to the hip-bone. Have you seen that black
horse that young Trelyon rides‘?”

‘{'Tis a noble beast, sir—a noble beast,”’ the farmer
said; and he would probably have gone on to state what
ideal animal been constructed by his lavish im-
agination had not aman come running up at this mo-

: breathless and almost speechless.

“ Rosewarne,” stammered Mr. Roscorla, “ a—a word

with you! I want to say ”"——
farmer, seeing he was in the way, called outa

careless good-night and rode on.
__, “ Well, what’s the matter ?’’ said George Rosewarne.a
le snappishly; he did not like being worried by ex-

citable people.

@* Your daughters!” gasped Roscorla. “They’ve both
Tun away—both of them—this minute—with Trelyon !

’

ee ~4 ride after them. They’re straight away
«Both ion ? The infernal young fools?” said

Rosewarne. “ Why the devil didn’t you stop them
yourself?’

ce aa oe could Sy ifiae tee on sod re that a fath-
er took the flight o: apparent equa-
nimity. “You must nate haste, Mr. ip, Prelit or
you'll never catch them.”

“T’ve a good mind to let ’em

” gaid he sulkily, as
he walked over to the stables

the inn. “ The notion

of a man ha to set out on this wild-goose chase at
this time 0’ it! Run away, have they ? and what in
the world have they run away for ?”

It occurred to him, however, that the sooner he got a
horse saddled and set out, the less distance he would
have to go in pursuit; and that consideration quickened
his movements.

“ What’s it all about ?’’ said he to Roscorla, who had
followed him into the stable.

ppose they mean a runaway match,” said Mr.
Roscorla, helping to saddle George Rosewarne’s cob, a
famous ter.

trotter.
“ It’s that young devil’s limb, Mabyn, I'll be bound,”
tbe father. “Iwish to Heaven somebody would
marry her!—I don’t care who. She’s always up to
some confounded mischief.”
“No, no, no,” Roscorla said; “It’s Wenna he means
to marry.”
# mahiee were to have married Wenna ?”
i" Yes, but ”>— :
“Then why didn’t you? So she’s run away, has she?’
warne grinned; he saw how the matter lay.
See's work, I know,”’ said he, as he put

t

his foot in the stirrup and sprang into the "
Eb Po ter go — ae Don’t you aes
_ word to any’ » You don’t want the girl made a foo!
_ of all through ? i

So George Rosewarne set out to bring back his daugh-
_ters:not galloping, a8 an anxious parent but wind
ahead with along, -going trot, Ww he: ning
_ would soon tell. on. Mrs, Weareers over. and under.
erey7 they macnn Plyzhouth,* he ap. thinking, * asrta
“ uw ” was , “ase

© from their taking the high-road, he’ll:
“Ht them gently at first j 3

Pounding along a dark road, with the consciousness
that the farther you go the farther yon’ve got to get
back; and that the distance still to be done is an’ inde-
terminate quantity, is agreeable to no one, but it was
especially vexatious to George Rosewarne, who liked to
take things quietly, and could not understand what all
the fuss was about. Why should he be sent on this
mad chase at midnight? If anybody wanted to marry
either of the girls, why didn’t he do soand say no more
; about it? Rosewarne had/been merely impatient and
annoyed when he set out, but the longer he 29de, and
the more he communed with himself the deeper) grew
his sense of the personal injury that had been done him
| by this act of folly. .

It was a very lonely ride indeed. There was not a
human being abroad at that hour. When. he
passed a few cottages from time, to time
the windows were dark. Then they had just been put-
ting down a lot of loose stones at several parts of the
road, which caused Mr. Rosewarne to swear. “I'll bet
a sovereign,” said he to himself, ‘that old Job kept
them a quarter of an hour before he opened Paddock’s
Gate.. I believe the old fool goes to bed. Well, they’ve
waked him up for me, any way.”

There was some consolation in this surmise, which
was well founded. When Rosewarne reached the toll-

| bar there was at least alight in the small house. He

struck on the door with the handle of his riding-whip,
_ called out, “Hi, hi! Job! Come out, you old
‘ool |”

An old man with very bandy-legs. came hobbling out
of the. toll-house, and went to open the gate, talking
and muttering to himself: “Ay, ay !.so yu be agwoin’
after the young uns, Maister Rosewarne? Ay, ay, yu’ll
go up many a lane and by many a fuzzy ’ill, and acrass
a bridge or two, afore yu come up wi’ ’en Maister Rose-
warne.”’

‘Look sharp, Job !’’ said Rosewarne, “‘ Carriage been
through here lately ?’””

“Ay, ay, Maister Rosewarne! ’tis 4 good half hour
agone.””

“Ahalf hour, you idiot!” said Rosewarne, now in a
thoroughly bad temper. ‘You’ve been asleep and
dreaming. Here, take your confounded money !’’

So he rode on again, not believing, of course, old Job’s
malicious fabrication, but being rendered all the same
alittle uncomfortable by it. Fortunately, the cob had
not been out before that day.

More deep lanes, more high, open, windy spaces,
more silent cottages, more rough’stones, and always the
measured fall of the cob’s feet and the continued
shining and throbbing of the stars overhead. At last,
far away head, on the top of a high incline, he caught
sight ofa solitary point of ruddy fire, which presently
disappeared. That, he concluded, was the carriage he
was pursuing going round a corner, and showing only
the one lamp asit turned into the lane. They were
not so far in front of him as he had supposed, ;

But how to overtake them? So soon as they heard
the sound of his horse would they dash onward at all
risks, and have a race for it all through the night? In
that case George Rosewarne inwardly resolved that they
might go to Plymouth, or into the deep sea beyond, be-
fore he would injure his favorite cob.

On the other hand, he could not bring them to a stand-
still by threatening to shoot at his own daughter, even
if he had had anything with him that would look like like
a pistol. Should he have to rely, then, on the moral
terrors of a parent’s authority ? e Rosewarne was
inclined to laugh when he thought of his overawing in
this fashion the high spirit of his younger daughter.

By slow and sure degrees he gained on the fugitives,
and as he could now catch some sound of the rattling
of the carriage wheels, they must also hear his horse’s
footfall. Were they trying to get away from him? On
the contrary, the carriage stopped altogether.

That was Harry Trelyon’s decision. For some time
back he had been listening attentively. At length
he said, “ Don’t you hear some one riding back there?”

“Yes, I do,”’ said Wenna, beginning to tremble.

“I suppose it is Mr. Roscorla coming after us,” the
young man said coolly. “Now I think it would be a
shame to drag the old gentleman halfway down to Ply-
mouth. He must have hada spell already. Shall
I stop and uade him to go home to bed?”

* nh ’ said Mabyn, who was all for getting on at
any ;

“Oh, no,” Wenna said, fearing the result of an en-
counter between the two men.

“T must a. Trelyon said. “It’s such precious
hard lines on . I shall easily persuade him that he
would be better at home.”

So he pulled up the horses, and quietly waited by the
roadside for a few minutes. The unknown rider drew
nearer and more near.

«That isn’t Roscorla’s pony,” said Trelyon, listening,
“ That’s more like your father’s cob.”

“ My father!’ said Wenna in a low voice. ~

“My darling, you needn’t be afraid, whoever it is,”

 

comfortable than she chose to aj . Who’ can pre-
vent us on? They don’t lock you up in con-
vents now: ys. If it is Mr. Roscorla, you just let
me talk to him.” ’

Charley, with his long swin, trot, soon brought
George Rosewarne up to the eas of the phaeton, and
the girls, ——— he had arrived, had recognized in the
gloom the tall figure of their father. Even Maybn was
atrifie nervous. — ; 4

and fume as 4 father is expected to do whose

his horse he called out in a petulant tone, “
the devil is all this about?" —

 

Trel said.
”, Gortainly not,” added Mabyn, who was far more un- |’

Their doubt:on that head was soon set at rest. White |

But George Rosewarne—perhaps because he was a
little pacified by thelr having ater \—did ‘not rage | inn

vhas run away from him. As soon as he had pulled up |"

o quite firmly: »“ I wished to marry» your daughter
enna’ ———

“And why couldn’t: you do that im Eglosilyan, in-
stead of making .a fool: of everybody around ?” Rose-
warne said, still talking in an angry and vexed way, aa
of one who. had been personally injured.

“Oh, dada,” Mabyn cried, “ you don’t know how it
happened; but they couldn’t haye got married. there.
There’s that horrid. old wretch, Mr. Roscorla—and
Wenna was quite a slave to him and afraid of him—
and the only way was to caary her away from him; and
Wo 721s

“Hold your tongue, Mabyn,” her father said.
drive 4 windmill with your talk.” °

“But what she says is true enough,’’ Trelyon said.
*‘Roscorla has a claim on her; this was my only chance,
and I took it. Now look here, Mr. Rosewarne: you'ye
aright to be angry and all that =pernars you are—but
what good will it do vou to see Wenna left to marry
Roscorla ?”’ 2

“What good will it do me?” said George Rosenwarne
pettishly. “T don’t care which of you. she mar-
ries.”” I

“Then you'll let us go on, dada?’ Mabyn cried.
“Will you come with us? Oh; do come with us!, We’re
only going to Plymouth.”

Even the angry father could not -withstand the ‘ab-
surdity of this appeal. He burst into a roar .of ill-
tempered laughter. ‘I like that!” he ‘cried, “Asking
aman to help his daughter to run away from her
own house! It’s my impression, my young. mistress,
that you're at the bottom ofall this nonsense. Come,
come! enough of it, Trelyon: be a sensible’ fellow, and
turn your horses round. Why, the notion of going to
Plymouth at this time o’ night!”

Trelyon looked to his companion. She put her hand
on his arm, and said, in a trembling whisper, ** Oh, yes:
pray let us go back.” : ¥

“You know what you are going to, then?” said he
coldly.

She trembled still more,

“Come, come,” said her father: “you mustn’t stop
here all night. “You may thank me for preventing your
becoming the talk of the whole country.”

“Ishouldn’t have. minded that much,”” Mabyn said
ruefully, and very like to cry indeed, as the horses set
out upon their journey back to Eglosilyan.

It was not a pleasant journey for any of them—
least of all for Wenna Rosewarne, who, haying been be-
wildered by one wild glimpse of liberty, felt with ter-
ror and infinite sadness and despair the old’ manacles
closing round her life again. And what although the
neighbors might remain in ignorance of what she had
done? She herself knew, and that was enough.

« You think no one will know?” Mabyn called out
spitefully to her father. ‘“ Do you think old Job at the
gate has lost either his jongne or his nasty temper ?’’

“ Leave Job t+ ne,” the father replied.

When they got back to Paddock’s Gate the ol4 man
had again to be aroused, and he came out grumbling.

“Well, you discontented old sinner,” Rosewarne

You'd

— oe him, “don’t you like having to earn a

“A fine livin’ to wait on folks that don’t knaw their
own mind, and kept comin’ and goin’ along the road 0’
nights like a weaver’s shuttle. H’m!’’

“Well, Job, you shan’t suffer for it this time,’’ Rose-
warne said. “I’ye won my bet. If you made fitty
pounds by riding a few miles out, what would you give
the gatekeeper?”

. Even the suggestion failed toinveigle Job into a better
fumor. :

“‘Here’s asovereign for you, Job. Now go to bed.
Good night !””

How long the distance seemed to be ere they saw the
lights of Eglosilyan again! There were only one or
two small points of red fire, indeed, where the inn
stood. The rest of the village was buried in dark-

ness.

“Oh, what will mother say?’ Wenna said in alow
voice to her sister.

“She will be very sorry we did not get away alto-

ether,’”” Mabyn answered. “ And of course it was Mr.
Roscorisi who spoiled it. Nobody knew anyt about
it but himself. He must have run on to the and

told some one. Wasn’t it mean, Wenna? Couldn’t he
see that he wasn’t wanted ?”

“Are you talking of Mr. Roscorla ?”’ Trelyon said:
George Rosewarne was a bit ahead at this moment. “I
wish to goodness I had gagged him and slung him be-
oy the sb aoe e would be coming down

ere: I expec every mi t. Why were
so 1% Mabyn ?” Fx moeoes ee

- you needn’t blame me, Mr. Trelyon,” said Ma-
byn, rather hurt. “You know I did everything I could
ae . ed you did, Mabyn: I wish it had turned ont

What was this, then, that Wenna heard as she sat
there bewildered, apprehensive and | ? Had
her own sister Joined” in this league to carry her off? It
was not-merely the audacity of young Trelyon that had
led to their. meeting. Bnt she was altogether too
frightened and wre to be angry. ;

As they’ got down into Eglosilyan and turned the
sharp corner over the’ bridge, they did not notice the
figure of a man who had been c
| darkness —— “belonging to a

 

 

“Tl tell you, sir,” said Trelyon, quite respectfully | made to

 

 
_*

oe

Pm BAe bs 8 ee

e

ee en

|
;

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVI. ‘
_ AN ANGRY. INTERVIEW.

Nexr morning George’ Rosewarne was, seated on the
old oak bench in front of the inn reading a newspaper.
Happening to look up, he saw Mr. Roscorla hurrying
toward him oyer the bridge with no yery pleasant ex-
pression on his face. AS he came nearer he saw that
the man) was terribly excited. “I want to see your
daughter alone,” he said. ;

e You needn’t speak as.if I had tried to run away with
her,” Rosewarne answered, with more good-nature than
was his wont: “ Well, goin-doors: ask for her mother.”

As Roscorla passed him there was a look in his, eyes
which rather startled George Rosewarne.

“Ts it possible,” he asked himself, “ that this elderly

chap is in love with our Wenna ?” 3

~ But another thought struck him. © He suddenly
jumped up, followed Roscorla into the passage, where
the latter was standing, and said to him:

~-“Don’t you be too harsh with Wenna: she’s only a
girl, and they are all alike.” ,

This hint, however discourteous in its terms, had
some significance as coming from a man who was six
inches taller than Mr. Roscorla. j

Mr. Roscorla was shown into anempty room. He
marched up and down, looking at nothing. He was
simply in an ungovernable rage. :

Wenna came and shut the door behind her, and
for a second or so he stared at her, as if ex-
pecting her to burst into passionate professions
of remorse. On the contrary, there was something
mrove than.calmness in her appearance ; there was the
desperation of a hunted animal that is driven to turn
upon its pursuerin the mere agony of helplessneas.

“Well,” said he—for indeed his passion almost de-
prived him of his power of speech—“ what have you to
say? Perhaps nothing. It is nothing, perhaps, to a wo-
man to be treacherous—to tell smooth lies to your face,
and to go plotting against you behind your back. You
have nothing to say? You have nothing to say ?”

“Thave nothing to say,’”’ she said, with some little
sadness in her voice, ‘‘ that would excuse me, either to
you or to myself; yes, I know that. But—but I did
not intentionally deceive you.”

He turned away with an angry gesture.

“ Indeed, indeed I did not,” she said, piteously. “I
had mistaken my own feelings—the temptation was too
great. Oh, Mr. Roscorla, you need not'say harsh things
of me, for indeed I think worse of myself than you can
do.”

«And I suppose you want forgiveness now ?”’ he add-
ed, pledges ma nh I vas a spree oh that. A wo-
man pl you her affection, promises to marry you,
Suaheees to have no doubts as to the future, and ul the
while she is secretly encouraging the attentions of a
young jackanapes who is playing with her and making
a fool of her.”

Wenna Rosewarno’s cheeks began to burn red; a less |

angry man would have taken warning.

“Yes, playing with her, and making a fool of her. And
what for? To an idle time and make her the by-
word of her neighbors.”

“It is not true, it is not true,” she said, indignantly;
and there was 4 dangerous light in her eyes. “If he
were here, you would not to say such things to
moe—no, you would not dare!”

“Perhaps you expect him to call after the pretty ex-
ploit of last night?’ asked Roscorla, with a sneer.

“T do not,” she said, ‘I hope I shall never see him

It is—it is only misery to everyone.” And here
broke down, in spite of herself. Her anger gave
sway to burst of tears.

“ But what madness is this?” Roscorla cried. “ You
wish never to meet him yet you are ready at a
moment’s notice to run away with him, dis;
yourself and your family. You make promises abou’
never seeing him ; you break them the instant you get
the opportunity. You profess that your girlish
fora Barner’s block of a fellow has been got over; and
then, as soon as one’s back is turned, you reveal your

= Indeed Idid.not mean to deceive you,” she said,
imploringly. ‘I did believe that all that was over and
gone, I thought it was a foolish fancy.”

“ And now?” said he, hotly.

a Mr. Roscorla, you ought to pity me instead of
being angry with me. I do love him ; I cannot help it.
You will not ask me to m you? See, I will under-
take not to ree A him—I will undertake never to see
him again—if only you will not ask me to keep my
promise to you. HowcanI? How can 1?”

“Pity you! and these are the confessions you make !”’ } nis)

he exclaimed. “Why, are you not ashamed of yourself
to say such things to me? And so you would under-
take not oo Tr. him? I know what your undertak-
are worth.
had struck her hard—his very hardest, indeed—
but she would not suffer herself to ~ , for she be-
lieved she deserved far more punishmen’ than he could
inflict. All that she could hope for, all that her whole
nature cried out for, was that he should not think her
treacherous. She had not intentionally deceived him.
She had not planned that effort at escape, But when,
ina hurried and pathetic fashion, she endeavored to ex-
lain all this to him, he would not listen. He angril
fod her he knew well how women could gloss over su
. He was no schoolboy to be hoodwinked. It
was not as if she had had no warning; her conduct be-
fore had been bad enough, when it was Peete to over-
look it on the score of ee nee a ‘was such
as would disgrace any woman who kn er honor was
concerned in holding to the word she had spoken...
“And what is he?” he cried, mad with wrath:

‘ - a /
“who has neither the manners of 4 gentleman nor the
oe of # day-laborer.” : .

3 ea, you = well say such things of him now,”

‘and
ignorant booby! @ ploughboy ! a lout, |,

said she with her eyes flashing, “ when his back is
turned. You would not say so if. he were here. But
he—yes, if he were here—he would tell you what he
thinks of you, for he is a gentleman and not a coward,”

Angry as he. was, Mr. Roscorla was astounded. The
fire in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the impetuos-
ity of her voice—were these the patient Wenna of old ?
But a girl betrays herself sometimes if she happens to
have to defend her lover.

«Oh, it is shameful of you to say such things !’’ she
said. “And you know they are not true. There is not
any one I have ever seen who is so manly and frank and
unselfish as Mr. Trelyon—not any one ; and if I have
seen that, if I have admired it too much, well, that isa
great misfortune, and I have to suffer for it.”

“To suffer ? yes,” said he bitterly. “That is a pretty
form of suffering thatmakes you plan a runaway mar-
riage—a marriage that would bring into your possession
the largest estates in the north of Cornwall. A very
pretty form of suffering! May I ask when the experi-
ment is to be repeated ?”

“You may. insult me as you like—I am only a wo-
man,”’ she said.

“Insult you ?” he cried, wfth fresh vehemence. “Is
if insult to speak the truth? Yesterday forenoon,
when I saw you, you were all smiles and smoothness.
When I spoke of our marriage you made no objection.
But all the same you knew that at night”——

“T did not know—I did not know,” she said. “You
ought to believe me when I tell you I knew no more
about it than you did. When I met him there at night
it was all so sudden, so unexpected, I scarcely knew
what I said; but now—but now I have time to think.
Oh, Mr. Roscorla, don’t think that I do not regret it. I
will do anything you ask me—I will promise what you
please—indeed, I will undertake never to see him again
as long as TI live in this world; only, you won’t ask me
to keep my promise to you ?”

He made no reply to this offer, for a step outside the
door caused him to mutter something very like an
oath between his teeth. The door was thrown open.
Mabyn marched in, a little pale, but very erect.

“« Mabyn, leave us alone for a moment or two,” said
at turning away so as to hide the tears on her

‘ace.

“T will not.
Roscorla.”

‘* Mabyn, I want you to go away just now.”

Mabyn went over to her sister and took her by the
hand: ‘‘Wenna, dear, go away to your own room.
You’ve had quite enough—you are trembling all over.
Isuppose he’ll make me tremble next.”

“ Really, I think your interference is rather extra-
ordinary, Miss Mabyn,” said Mr. Roscorla, striving to
contain his rage.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mabyn' meekly. “I only
want to say a word or two. Wouldn’t it be better here
than before the servants?’’ With that she led Wenna
away. Ina minute or two she returned.

Mr. Roscorla would rather have been shut upina
den with a hungry tigress. ‘Iam quite at your ser-
vice,” he said with a bitter irony. ‘‘I suppose you
have some very important communication to make,
considering the way in which you ”—— .

“Interfered.” Yes, it is 6 that I interfered,”
Mabyn_ said, still quite calm and a trifle pale.
“Mr. Roscorla, to be frank, I don’t like you, and
and perhaps I am not quite fair to you. I am only
ayoung girl, and don’t know what the world would
Say about your relations with Wenna. But Wenna is
my sister, and I see she is wretched; and her wretched-
ness—— Well, that comes of her engagement to you.”

She was standing before him with her eyes cast down,
apparently determined to be very m te in her

¢ ut there was a cruel frankness in her words,
which hurt Mr. Roscorla a good deal more than any
tempest of passion into which she might have worked
herself. “Is that all ?” said he. “ You have not startled
me with any revelations.”

“Twas going to say,” continued Mabyn, “that a
Rebun ts who has really a regard for a girl would not

ist on her keeping a promise which only rendered
ee unhappy. I don’t see wae — to gain by it.
eupene you—you expect Wenna to marry you?
Well, I dare sa; if you called on her to punish her-
self that way, she might doit. But what good would
that do you? Would you like to havea le who was

in love with another man ?”
ical, Miss Mabyn,” said

“You have Ltd omg lo
he, “and argument suits you better than getting intoa
etrue. You

rage. And much of what you say is qui

are a very young girl. You don’t know much of what

the world would say about anyt' . But being fur-
hed with these yble convictions did it never

occur to you that you might not be acting wisely in
eT into an affair of which you ‘inow noth-

e coldly sarcastic fashion in which he spoke
threatened to disturb Mabyn’s forced Siete:
“ Know nothing ?” she said. “I know everything about
it, and Ican see that my sister is miserable: that is
sufficient reason for my interference. Mr. Roscorla,
you won’t ask her to m you?” .

Had the proud and onate Mabyn condescended
to make an appeal to her ancient enemy? At last she
raised her eyes, and they seemed to plead for mercy.

“Come, come,” he said, roughly: “I’ve had enough
of all this sham beseeching. I know what it means.
ae is Stee man than I St she has S sortie

rlish no’ go we y-dreams, and soT am
ted to stand aside, ere has been enough of

ss nonsense. She is not a child; she knows what she
undertook of her own free will; and she knows she can

I want to speak a word or two to Mr.

for one, won’t help her to herself.
mpaaee: £0 beste s pa emncee otek . She
had to be reasonable: she had even humbled her-
caneeaeen ed from him; now there was % sensation
in her ag of some rising emotion that demanded

 

tid of this schoolgirl fancy directly if she chooses. | you

 

expression in quick words. ..“ You will.try to make her
marry you ?’ said she, ooking him in the face...

“JT will try to do nothin, the,sort,’’ said he. “Sho
can do as she likes. But she knows what an honorable
woman would do.’’

“And I,” said Mabyn, her temper at length quite
getting the better of her, “I know what an honorable
man would do, He would retuse to bind a girl to a
promise which she fears. He would consider her hap-
piness. to be of more importance than his comfort.
Why, I don’t believe you care at all whether Wenna
marries you or not; it is only you can’t bear her being
married to the man she really does love. It is only.
envy, that’s what itis. Oh,I am ashamed. to think
there is a man alive who would force a girl into becom-
ing his wife on such terms !” *

“There is certainly one considerable objection to my
marrying your sister,’’ said he with great politeness.
“The manners of some of her relatives might prove
embarrassing.”’

“Yes, that is true enough,” Mabyn said with hot
cheeks. “If ever I became a relative of yours, my
manners no doubt would embarrass you very consider-
ably. But Iam not a relative of yours as yet, nor is my
sister.”

“May I consider that you have said what you had to
say ?’’ said he, taking up his hat.

Proud and angry, and at the same time mortifled by
her defeat, Mabyn found herself speechless. He did
not offer to shake hands with her. He bowed to her in
passing out. She made the least possible acknowledg-
ment, and then she was alone. Of course a hearty cry
followed. She felt she had done no good. §& e had de-
termined to be calm, whereas all the cal mess had
been on his side, and she had been led into speaking in
amanner which a discreet and well-bred young lady
would have shrunk from in horror, Mabyn sat still
and sobbed, partly in anger and
ment: she dared not even go to tell her sister.

But Mr. Roscorla, as he went over the bridge again
and went up to Basset Cottage, had lost all his assumed
coolness of judgment and demeanor. He felt he had
been tricked by Wenna and insulted by Mabyn, while
his rival had established a hold which it would be in
vain for him to seek to remove. He was in a passion of
rage. He would not go near Wenna again. e would
at once set off for London, and enjoy himself there
while his holiday lasted: he would not write a word to
her; then, when the time arrived, he would set sail for
Jamaica, leaving her to her own conscience. He was
suffering a good deal from anger, envy and jealousy,
but he was consoled by the thought that she was suf-
fering more. And he reflected, with some comfort to
himself, that she would scarcely so far demean herself
as to marry Harry Trelyon so long as she knew in her
ie what he, Roscorla, would think of her for so

joing.

 

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE OLD, HALF-FORGOTTEN JOKE.
i Has he gone ?”’ Wenna asked of her sister the next

iy:

«Yes, he has,’”” Mabyn answered with a proud and re-
vengeful face. “It was quite true what Mrs. Cornish
told me: I’ve no doubt she had her instructions. He
be ee driven away to Launceston on his way to

ion.”

“ Without a word ?””

“Would Pas like to have had another string of argu-
ments ?’’ byn said impatiently. ‘Oh, Wenna, you
don’t know what mischief all this is a You are
awake all nigh you cry half the day: what is to be the
end of it? You will work yourself into a fever.’’

«Yes, there must be an end of it,’”’ Wenna said with
decision—‘ not for myself alone, but for others. That
is all the reparation I can make now. No 1 in all
this country has ever acted so badly as I have done:
just look at the misery I have caused; but now ’——

“There is one who is miserable because he loves
you,” Mabyn said.

“Do you think that Mr. Roscorla has no ae
You are so unjust to him! Wel, it does not matter
now ; allthis must come toanend. Mabyn, I should
like to see Mr. Trelyon, if just for one minute.”

“ What will you say to him, Wenna?’”’ her sister said
with a sudden fear.

A Something that it is necessary to say to him, and
the sooner it is over the better.”

Mabyn rather dreaded the result of this interview ;
and yet, she reflected to herself, here was an opportu-

nity for Harry Trelyon to try‘to win some pro ‘from

her sister. Botter,inany case, that they should meet
than that Wenna should simply drive him away into
banishment without a word of explanation.

The meeting was easily arranged. On the next morn-
ing, long before Wenna’s daily round of duties had
commenced, the two sisters left the inn, and went over
the bridge and out to the old promontory of black rock
at the mouth of the harbor.
This October morning was more like a summer day ;
the air was mild and still, the blue sky without o
cloud; the shining sea plashed around the rocks with
the soft murmuring noise of a July calm. It was on
these rocks long ago that Wenna Rosewarne bad piste’
herself to become the wife of Mr. Roscorla ; and at that
time life had seemed to her, if not brilliant and beauti-
ful, at least grateful and peaceful. Now all the peace
had ons ha odd te 1 Trely ;

“Oh, my rs on said when she advanced
alone toward him—for Mabyn had withdrawa—* it is
80 aoe of you tocome! Wenna, what has frightened

He had ‘seized both her hands in his, but she took
— wets ; n. For one brief enor neo eyes had

e' ere was 4 sort 0: despair: ing
Kindliness in them : het! sho" stood before him,
with her face turned away from him, and

artly in disappoint- .

ere was nobody about. |

 

 

 
 

  

 

pein =e

 

. ‘arguments were incontrovertible, and she’ had shrink-

— ee has some right to consideration,’’ she

rs

 

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

her yoice low and tremulous. “I did wish to see

argon once, for the last time,” she said. “If you
ad gone away, you would have carried with you cruel

thoughts of me. I wish to ask your forgiveness ’’——

- forgiveness ?”

“Yes, for all that you may have suffered, and for all
that may trouble youin the future—notin the long fu-
ture, but for the little time you will remember what
has taken place here. Mr. Trelyon, I—I did not know.
Indeed, itis all a mystery to me now, and a great
misery.’ Her lips began to quiver, but she controlled
herself. “And surely it will only be for a short time, if
you think of it at all. You are young—you have all the
world before you. When you go away among other
people, and see all the different things that interest-a
young man, you will soon forget whatever has happen-
ed here.”

“And you say that to me,” he said, “and you said
the other night that you loved me! It is nothing, then,
for people who love each other to go away and be con-
soled, and never see each other again ?”’

Again the lips quivered: he had no idea of the terri-
ble effort that was needed to keep this girl calm. “I
did say that,’’ she said.

“And it was true?” he broke in.

“Tt was true then—it is.true now: that is all the
misery of it,” she exclaimed, with tears starting to her

eyes.

“And you talk of our being separated forever!” he

cried. “No, notif Ican help it. Mabyn has told me

/ of all your scruples: they are not worth looking at. I
tell you you are no more bound to that man than Mabyn
is, and that isn’t much. If he is such a mean hound
as to insist on your marrying him, then I will appeal
to your father and mother, and they must prevent
him. OrI will go to him myself and settle the matter
in a shorter way.”

“You cannot now,” she said: “‘he has gone away.
And what good would that have done? I would never
marry any man unless I could do so with a clear
and happy conscience ; and if you—if you and Mabyn
—see nothing in my treatment of him that is wrong,
then that is very strange; but I cannot acquit myself.
No: Lhope no woman will ever treat youas I haye
treated him. Look at his position—an elderly man,
with few friends—he has not fat all the best of his life
before him as you have, or the good spirits of youth; and
after he had gone away to Jamaica, taking my promise
with him—Oh, I am ashamed of myself when I think
on all that has happened !”

“Then you’ve no right to be,” said he hotly. “It
was the most natural thing in the world—and he ought
to have known it—that a young girl who has been ar-
gued into engaging herself to an old man should con-
sider her being in love with another man as something
of rather more importance—of a good deal more im-
portance, Ishould say. And his suffering ? He suffers
no more than this lump of rock does. That is not his
way of thinking—to be-bothered about anything,
may be angry, yes—and.vexed for the moment, as is

natural—but if you think he is going about the world
with a load. of agony on him, then you're quite mista-

He

ken. And if he were, what good could you do by mak- }*

ing

ble, now.”
Had not another; on this very spot, prayed her to be

reasonable? She had ‘yielded then. Mr. Roscorla’s

miserable as well? Wenna, do be reasona-

ingly accepted the inevitable conclusion. Now, young
Trelyon’s representations and pleadings were far less
cogent, but how strongly her heart went’ with him !

“No,” she said, as if she were shaking off the in-
fluence of the tempter,“I must not listen to you,
Yet you don’t seem to think that it costs me anything
to ask you to bid me good-bye once and ~<for all.
It should be less to you than to me. A girl thinks
of these things more than a man—she has little else
to think of: he goés owt into the world and forgets,
And you—you will go away, and you will become ‘such
a man as all who know you will love to speak of and be
— of; and some day you will’ come back; and

-if you like to come down to the inn, then there ‘will
be one or two there glad to see you. Mr. Trelyon,

“ don’t ask me to tell you why this should be so. I
know it to be right: my heart tells me. Now I will say
tas to you.” ‘

. whenT come back to the inn, — will you be
there?’ said he, becoming rather pale. “No: you will
be married,to a man whom you will hate.” wi

‘Indeed, no,” she said, with her face flushing and
her eyes cast down. “Howcan that be after what has
taken place ? He could not ask me. All that I begged

- of him before he went away was this—that he would
not ask me to marry him ; and if only he would do
that I promised never to see you again—after bidding
you good-bye, as I do now.”

“And is that the arrangement?” said he rather
roughly. “Are we to play at dog in the manger ? He
is not tomarry you himself, but he will nae let any
other man marry you ?”

“Well, Wenna,” said he, “if you’ve_made up your

$ no more to -be said; but T think you are

You won't ‘si ; ~
saith tiPadod Say that, just as we are parting,” she

mie han; &
He looked at her
cat aa ok ‘ad moment with a great sadness

eyes ; then, moved by an un- | that that
con le impulse, he caught her in his arms,and
kissed her on the lips; “Now,” said he, with his face

white as death, “tell mie
ere in
on ; gf te a0 bis own, */10™ Wolee

“‘Trewhella 4 clergyman too !

“Do ‘you think it is nothing to |.

 

than you,” she said, “ and that is ocr me. But
as for you, why must you go away thinking’ of such
things? You will see some day what madness it would
have been; you will come some day and thank me for hav-
ing told you so; and then—and then—if anything should
be mentioned about what I said just now, you will

laugh at the old, half-forgotten joke.”
Well, there was no laughing at. the
joke just then, for the girl burst into

tears, and in the midst of that she hastily
pressed his hand and hurried away. He
watched her go round the rocks, to the cleft
leading down to the harbor, There she was re-
joined by her sister, and the two of them went
slowly along the path of broken slate, with the
green hill above, the blue water below, and the
fair sunshine all around them. Many a time
he recalled afterward—and always with an in-
creasing weight at ‘his heart—how sombre
seemed to him that bright October day and the
picturesque opening of the coast leading in to
Eglosilyan. For it was the last glimpse 6f
Wenna Rosewarne that he was to have for many
a-day, and a sadder picture was never treasured
up in a man’s memory.

“‘Oh, Wenna, what have you said to him
that you tremble so?” Mabyn asked.

‘“*T have bid him good-bye—that is all.”

‘*Not for always ?”

“Yes, for always. ’

“ And he is going away again, then ?”

‘* Yes, as a young man should. Why should
he stop here to make himself wretched over
impossible’ fancies? . He will go out into the
world, and he has splendid health and spirits,
and he will forget all this.”

‘And you—you are anxious. to forget it all
too?”

“ Would it: not be better? What..good can
come of dreaming? Well, I have plenty of
work to do; that is well.”

Mabyn was very much inclined to ery; all
her beautiful visions of the future happiness of
her sister had been rudely ilpdlled—-alt her
schemes and machinations had. gone, for noth-
ing. There only remained to her, in the way
of consolation, the fact that Wenna still wore
fhe sapphire ring that Harry Trelyon had sent

er. ; }
‘**And what will his mother think of you?”
said Mabyn as a last argument, ‘‘ when she

‘finds you have sent him away altogether—to go |;

into the army and go abroad, and. perhaps die
of yellow fever, or be shot by the Sepoys or
Caffres ?”” :

‘*She would have hated me if I had married
him,” said Wenna simply. ° ~4 me

“Oh, Wenna, how dare you say such a
thing?” Mabyn cried... What do you mean by it?”

* Would ’a lady in her‘position like her only
son to marry the daughter of an innkeeper ?”.
Wenna asked rather. indifferently;: indeed, -her
thoughts were elsewhere.

“*T tell you theré’s no one in the world she

loves like you—I can. see. it every time: she }.

comes. down. for you-~and ‘she believes, and: I
believe too, that you have changed Mr. Tre-
lyon’s way: of talking, arid his manner ‘of treat-
ing people in.such a, fashion as, noone would
have considered possible. .« Do you’ think she
hasn’t eyes? “He is scarcely ever impertinent
now: when he is it,is always .in good nature
and never in sulkiness. : Look at-his kindness
to Mr. Trewhella’s granddaughter, and’ Mr.
Did he ever use to
take his mother, out for. a drive? No, never.
And of course she knows whom it is all owing
toy and if ron would marry My. Trélyon,
‘Wenna, I believe she would worship you,and
think nothing good enough for you.’

» “Mabyn, I am going to ask something’ of
you.” ae :

.. Oh, yes, I know what it is,” her sister said.
“Tam not to any more about your mar-
riage with Mr. Trelyon. _ But I won’t give you
any such promise, Wenna. I don’t consider
iat, old. man has any hold on you.” .

|. «Wenna said ee ae at this moment they }

entered the house. |

‘sister to her room: then she stood undecided
for a moment; finally she said, “‘ Wenna, ‘if!
T've.vexed you, I’m very

y. Iwon't s} uk
an} of Mr, Trelyon if you don’t wi But indeed,

byn went up with her} a

 

indeed, you don’t. know how many people are-
anxious that you should be happy; and you
can’t expect’ your own sister not to as.
anxious as any one else.”

“Mabyn, you're a good girl,” Wenna
kissingher. ‘‘ But I am rather tired to-day:
think I shall lie down for a little while.”

Mabyn uttered .a sharp cry, for her
sister had fallen back on a chair, white
and insensible. She hastily bathed her
forehead with cold water, she chafed her
hands, shegot hold of some smelling-salts. It
was only a faint, after all, and Wenna, having
come to, said she would lie down on the sofa
for a few minutes. _Mabyn said nothing to her
mother about all this, for it would have driven
Mrs. Rosewarne wild with anxiety, but she her-
self was rather disquieted with Wenna’s ap-
pearance, and she said to herself, with great
bitterness of heart, ‘(If my sister falls ill, I
know who has done that,”

 

CHAPTER XXXIX,
NEW AMBITIONS.

Mr. Roscorna, having had few friends
throughout his life, had developed a most
methodical habit of communing with himself
on all possible subjects, but more particularly,
of course, upon his own affairs. He used up
his idle hours in defining his position with re-
gard to the peopleand things around him, and
he was never afraid to convince himself of the
exact truth. ‘He never tried to: cheat himself
into the beliefthat he was more unselfish than
might appear; if other people thought 80,
good and well. He, at least, was not a hypo-
crite to himself.

Now, he had not been gone abovea couple of
hours or sofrom Eglosilyan when he discovered
that he was not weighted with terrible woes:
‘on ‘the contrary, he experienced a, feeling of

‘austere satisfaction that he was leavinga. good |

deal of trouble behind him. ‘He had been
‘badly used, he had been righteously angry.
It was right that they who, had thus used oh
badly should be-punished. As for him, if his
grief did not trouble him much, that was a
happy peculiarity of his temperament which
did not lessen. their offence against. him. ~
Most. certainly! he was not weighted with
woe: He hada pleasant drive in the morning
over, to Launceston; he smoked a cigarette or
two in the train ; when he arrived.at Plymouth
rhe ordered a very nice luncheon ‘at the nearest
hotel, ‘and treated himself to a bottle of the
best Burgundy the waiter could. recom-
mend him. »'»After’ that he-got into a smok-
ing-carriage in the London’ express, he lit &

Jarge cigar, he wrapped a thick rug round his

legs, and settled himself»down in peace for the
long :journey. © Now ‘was'an excellent time to
find out exactly how his affairs stood. }
He was indéed very comfortable. Leaving
Eglosilyan had riot troubled himy' There was

‘soniething in'the knowledge that he was at last

free from all those exciting scenes which a
quiet, «middle-aged ‘man,’ not ‘beliéving in ro-
mance, fotind: trying to his ‘nérvous systeni.
This brief holiday in, Eglosilyan had been any-
thing but.a. pleasant one; was he not, on the
whole, glad'to get away ? ;

Then he recollected thatthe long expected
meeting with his. betrothed had:not been so full
of: delight as he had anticipated): Was there
not. just a trace of disappointment in the
first shock of feeling at their meeting? She
was certainly not a handsome woman—such a
one as he'might have preferred to introduce to
his friends about. Kensington in. the event of
his going back to live in London. i Sasi 61

‘Then he thought of old General Weekes, He
felt. a little ashamed. of himself for not. having
hhad the courage to tell the general and his wife

| that he meant to marry one of mai en Said
who had interested them. Would it not be
awkward, too, to have to introduce Wenna

That speculation carried him | the ques
that ls Betrthed ad booms w eto fond

.

 

¥

—_

¢

 
ee

THREE FEATHERS.

4d,

 

—_

ef the handsomest man in the neighborhood.
Perhaps that was natural, but at all events she
{ was now very much ashamed of what had hap-
pened, and he might trust her to avoid Harry
Trelyon in the future. That having been se-
cured, would not. her thoughts naturally drift
back to the man to whom she had _ plighted a
troth which was still formally binding on her?
& Time was on his side. She would forget that
my young man; she would be anxious, as soon as
these temporary disturbances of her affections
Le were over, to atone for the past by her conduct
ys in the future. Girls had very strong notions
about duty.
Well, he drove to his club, and finding
one of the bed-rooms free, he engaged it for a
week, the longest time possible. He washed,
‘dressed, and went down to dinner. Tohisgreat
delight, the first man he saw was old Sir Percy
ihmself, who was writing out a very elaborate
menu, considering that he was ordering dinner
for himself only. He and Mr. Roscola agreed
to dine together.
Now, for some years back Mr. Roscorla
in visiting his club had found himself in a
very isolated and uncomfortable position.
Long ago he had belonged to the younger set—
‘to those reckless young fellows who were not
cafraid to eata hasty dinner, and then rush off to
‘take a mother and a couple of daughters to the
theatre, returning at midnight to some ancho-
~ “vy toast and a glass of Burgundy, followed by
‘a couple of hours of brandy-and-soda, cigars
-and billiards... But he had drifted away from
that set; indeed, they had disappeared, and
he knew none of their successors. On the
other hand, he had never got intothe ways of
‘the old-fogy set. Those stout old gentlemen
who amotay drank nothing but claret and
-seltzer, who took a quartcr of an hour to write
out their binner bill, who spent the evening
in playing whist, kept very much to themselves
» It was into this set that the old general now
‘introduced him. Mr. Roscorla had quite the
air of a bashful young man when he made one
-of a party of those ancients, who dined at the
same table each evening. He was almost
ashamed to order a pint of champagne for him-
.self—it savored go much of youth. He was si-
lent in the presence of his seniors, and indeed
they were garrulous enough to cover his si-
lence. Their talk was mostly of politics—not
the polities of the country, but the politics of
office—of under-secretaries and candidates for
place. They seemed to look on the govern-
ment of the country as a sort of mechanical
clock, which from time to time sent out a few
small figures, and from time to time took them
in again; and they showed an astonishing ac-
quaintance with the internal and intricate mech-
anism which produced these changes. Perhaps
it was because they were so busy in watching
on the face of the clock they seemed to forget
the swinging onward of the great world out-
side and the solemu march of the stars. "
Most of those old gentlemen had lived their
life—had done their share of heavy dining and
reckless drinking many years ago—and thus it
was they had come to drink seltzer and claret.
But it appeared that it was their custom after
dinner to have the- table-cover removed and
some port wine placed on the mahogany. Mr.
; Roscorla, who had felt as yet no ugly sensation
; about his finger-joints, regarded this ceremony
with equanimity, but it was made the subject
of some ominous joking on the part of his
companions. Then me led to joking.
There were no more politics. Some very funny
stories were told. Occasionally one or two
names were introduced, as of persons well
known in London society, though not of it;
and Mr. Roscorla was surprised that he had
never heard these names before: you see how
one becomes ignorant of the world if one
buries one’s self down in Cornwall. Mr, Ros-
corla to take quite an interest in these,
celebrated people, in the price of their ponies,
and the diamonds they were understood to
haye worn at a certain very singular ball. He
was pleased to hear, too, of the manner in
which the. aristocracy. of England were re-
suming their ancient “atronage of the arts, for

ee

me

 

he was given to understand that a young earl
or baron could scarcely be considered a man
of fashion unless he owned a theater.

On their way up to the card-room Mr. Ros-
corla and one of his venerable companions
went into the hall to get their cigar-cases from
their top-coat pockets. This elderly gentle-
man had been the governor of an island in the
Pacific : he had now been resident for many
years in England. He was on the directorate
of one or two well-known commercial compa-
nies ; he had spoken at several meetings on
the danger of dissociating religion from edu-
cation in the training of the young; in short,
he was a tower of respectability. On the pres-
ent occasion he had to pull out a muffler to
get at his cigar-case, and with the mufiler came
|& small parcel tied up in tissue-paper.

‘‘Neat, aren’t they?” said he with a senile
grin, showing Mr. Roscorla the tips of a pair
of pink satin slippers.

*Yes,” said Mr. Roscorla ; I suppose they’re
for your daughter.”

They went up to the card-room.

“‘Texpect you'll teach us a lesson, Roscorla,”
said the old general. ‘‘Gad! some of you
West Indian fellows know the difference be-
tween a ten and an ace.”

“‘Last time I played cards,” Roscorla said
modestly, ‘‘I was lucky enough to wiu forty-
eight pounds.”

“Whew! We can’t afford that sort of thing
on this side of the water—not if you happen
to serve her Majesty, any way. Come, let’s cut
for partners.”

There was but little talking, of course, dur-
ing the card-playing : at the end of it Mr. Ros-
corla found he had only lost half a sovereign.
Then everybody adjourned to a snug little
smoking-room, to which only members were
admitted. This, to the neophyte, was the
pleasantest part of the evening. He seemed
to hear of everything that was going onin
London, and a good deal more besides. He was
behind the scenes of all the commercial, social
and political performances which were causing
the vulgar crowd to gape. He discovered the
true history of the hostility shown by So-and-
so to the premier ; he was told the little scan-
dal which caused Her Majesty to refuse to
knight a certain gentleman who had claims on
the government ; he heard what the duke reall
did offer to the gamekeeper whose eye he ha
shot out, and the language used the keeper
on the occasion ; and he received such infor-
mation about the financial affairs of many a
company as made him wonder whether the
finial col pse of the commercial world were at
hand. He forgot that he had heard quite sim-
ilar stories twenty years before. Then they
had been told by ingenuous youths full of the
importance of the information they had just
acquired : now they were told by garrulous old
gentlemen, with a cynical laugh which was
more amusing than the hot-headed assevera-
tion of the juniors. It was, on the whole, a
delightful evening, this first evening of his re-
turn to club-life; and then it was so con-
venient to go up stairs to bed instead of having
to walk from the inn of Eglosilyan to Basset
Cottage. ‘

Just before leaving, the old general took
Roscorla aside, and said to him, “ Monstrous
amusing fellows, eh ?”

“Very.” ‘

és — a a ne you let old Lewis lug
you into any of his companies: you -
ytand ?” y Pp 3; you under.
**There’s not much fear of that,” Mr. Ros-
corla said with a laugh. “I haven’t a brass
farthing to invest.”

“All you West Indians say that ; however,
so much the better. And there's old Strafford,
too ; he’s got some infernal India-rubber pat~
ent. Gad, sir! he knows no more about those
commercial fellows than the man in the moon ;
and they'll ruin him—mark my words, they'll
ruin him.,’ :

Roscorla was quite pleased to be advised. It
made him feel young and ingenuous. After all,

 

the disparity in years b him and his late
companions was most oD¥ious,

 

“ And when are you coming to dine with us, _

eh ?” the general said, lighting a last cigar and
getting his hat. ‘To-morrow night ?—quite
family party, you know: her ladyship'll be
awfully glad to see you. Is it a bargain?
al right—seven ; we’re early folks. I say, you
needn’t mention I dined here to-night: to
tell you the truth, I’m supposed tobe looking
aftera company too, and precious busy about
it. Mum’s the word d’ye see ?”

Really. this plunge into a new sort of life was
quite delightful. When he went down to break-
fast next morning, he was charmed with the
order and cleanliness of everything around
him ; the sunlight was shining in at the large
windows ; there was a bright fire, in front of
which he stood and read the paper until his
cutlets came. There was no croaking of an
old Cornish housekeeper over her bills—no nme-
cessity for seeing if the grocer had been cor-
rect in hisaddition. Then there was,a slight
difference between the cooking here and that
which prevailed in Basset Cottage.

In a comfortable frame of mind he leisurely
walked down to Cannon Street and announced

himself to his partners. He sat for an hour or ©

so in a snug little parlor, talking over their
joint venture and describing all that had been
done. There was indeed every ground for
hope, and he was pleased to hear them say that
they were specially obliged to him for having
gone out to verify the reports that had been
sent home, and for his personal supervision
while there. They hoped he would draw on
the joint association for a certain sum which
should represent the value of that supervision.

Now, if Mr. Roscorla had really been posses-.

sed at this moment of the wealth to which he
looked forward, he would not have taken s0
much interest in it. He would have said to
himself, ‘‘What is the life I am to lead, now
that I havethis money? Having luncheon at
the club, walking in the park in the afternoon,
pene with a friend in the evening, and play-
ing whist or billiards, with the comfortless re-
turn to my bachelor’s chambers at night? Is
that all that my money can give me ?””

But he had not the money. He looked for-
ward to it, and it seemed to him that it con-
tained all the possibilities of happiness. Then
he would be free, No morestationary gi
out of existence in that Cornish cottage. He

would move about, he would enjoy life. He -

was till younger than those jovial old fellows,
who seemed to be happy enough. When he
thought of Wenna Rosewarne it was with the
notion that marriage very considerably hamp-
ae man’s freedom of action.

& man were married, could he have a choice
of thirty dishes for luncheon? Could he have
the first edition of the evening papers brought
him almost damp from the press? Then how
pleasant it was to be able to smoke a cigar
and to write one or two letters at the same time

in alarge and well-ventilated room ! Mr. Roscor-

la did not fail to draw on his partners for the
sum they had mentioned ; he was not short of
money, but he might as well gather the first
few drops of the coming shower.

He did not go up to walk in the Park, for he

Imnew there would be almost nobody there at that
time of the year; but he walked up to Bond
street and bought a pair of dress-boots, after
which he returned to the club and played bil-
liards with one of his companions of the pre-

vious evening, until it was time to dress for.

dinner.

The party at the general’s was a sufficiently _

small one, for you cannot ask any one to dinner
at a few hours’ notice, except it be a merry and
marriageable widow who has been told that she
will meet an elderly and marriageable bachelor.
This complaisant lady was present; and Mr.
Roscorla found himself, on hig entrance, being

introduced toa good-looking, buxom dame, who

had a healthy, merry, roseate face, very black
eyes and hair, and a somewhat go ‘ cons den
She was a trifle demure at first, boven amiable
shyness soon Wore off, and she was most

to Mr. Roscorla. He, of course, had to take in
Lady Weeks; but Mrs. Seton-Willoughby sat
opposite him, and, while keeping the whole

 

 

MW
i

 
afer ceegitieceorceieemet tere

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

- mained much

42

THREE FEATHERS.

 

 

' table amused with an account of her adventures

principally to the stranger.

‘‘Oh, my dear Lady Weeks,” she said, ‘‘T
‘was 60 to get back to Brighton! I thought
I should have forgotten my own language, and
taken to war-paint and feathers, if I had re-
onger. And Brighton is so de-
lightful just now—just comfortably filled, with-
out the November crush having set in. Now,
couldn’t you persuade the genervl to take you
down for a few days? I am going down on
Friday, and you know how dreadful it is for a
poor lone woman to be in a hotel, especially.
with a maid who spends all her time in flirting
with the first-floor waiters. Now, won't you,
dear? I assure you the —— Hotel is most
charming—such freedom, and the pleasant par-
ties they make up in the drawing-room! I be-
lieve they have a ball two or three times a week
just now.”

“T should have thought you would have
found the —— rather quieter,” said Mr. Ros-
corla, naming a good, old-fashioned house.

‘‘Rather. quieter?” said the widow, raising
her eyebrows. ‘‘Yes, a good deal quieter?
About as quiet as a dissenting chapel. No, no:
if one means to have a little pleasure, why go
to such a. place as that? Now, will you come
and prove the truth of what I have told you?”

Mr. Roscorla looked alarmed, and even the
solemn Lady Weeks had to conceal a smile.

“Of course, I mean you to persuade our
friends here to come, too,” the widow explained.
‘What a delightful frolic it would be—for a
few days, you know—to break away from Lon-
don! Now, my dear, what do you say?”

She turned to her hostess. That small and
sombre person referred her to the general. The
general, on being appealed to, said he thought
it would be a capital joke; and would Mr. Ros-
corla go with them? Mr. Roscorla, not seeing
why he should not have a little frolic of this
sort, just like any one else, said he would. So
they agreed to meet at Victoria Station on the
following Friday.

‘* Struck, eh?” said the old general, when the
two gentlemen were alone after dinner. ‘‘ Has

in natal appeared to address the narrative

_ she wounded you, eh? Gad, sir! that woman

has eight thousand pounds a year in the India
Four per Cents. Would you believe it? Would
_ you believe that any man could have been such
. @ fool as to put such a fortune into India Four
per Cents ?—-with mortgages going a-begging at
six, and the marine insurance companies paying
thirteen! ‘Well, my boy, what do you think of

_ her? She was most uncommonly attentive to

you, that I'll swear: don’t deny it—now, don’t
deny it. Bless my soul! you marrying men are
50 Stara, is no getting at you. Well, what
was I saying? Yes, yes—will she do? Eight

' thousand a year, as I’m a living sinner!”

Mr. Roscorla was intensely flattered to have

it even supposed that the refusal of such & for-

’

_ the notion of having

tune was within his power. ‘‘ Well,” said he,
ae and yet critically, ‘‘she’s not quite
my style. I’m rather afraid of three-deckers.
But she seems a very good-natured sort of

‘*Good-natured! Is thatall you say? I can
tell you, in my time men were nothing so par-

ti when there were eight thonsand a year

é ing a-begging.”
, een Well, well,” said Mr. Roscorla with a smile,

“it isa very good joke. When she marries,
she a younger man than I am.”
“Don’t you be mistaken—don’t you be mis-
taken !” the old general cried. ‘“You’ve made
an ey liswear you have ; and Itold
ip you would.”
: what did Lady Weeks say ?”
“Gad, sir! she said it would be a deuced good
for both of you.”
e is very kind,” said Roscorla, pleased at
such a prize within reach,
and yet not. pleased that y Weeks should

“

have fancied this the sort of woman he would
care to marry, — :
They went to Bri

righton, and a v leasant
time of it 7, had at thebig nolay hota The
elightful.. Mrs. Seton-Willough-

 

by was excessively fond of riding ; forenoon and
afternoon they had their excursions, with the
pleasant little dinner of the evening to follow.
Was not. this a charming land into which the
former hermit of Basset Cottage was straying ?
Of course, he never dreamed for a moment
of marrying this widow ; that was out of the

uestion, She wasjust a little too demonstra-
tive—very clever and amusing for half an hour
or 80, but too gigantic a blessing to be: taken
through life. It was the mere possibility of
marrying her, however, which attracted Mr.
Roscorla. He honestly believed, judging by
her kindness to him, t if he seriously tried
he could get her to marry him—in other words,
that he might become possessed of eight thou-
sand pounds a year. This money, so to speak,
was within his reach; and it was only now that
he was beginning to see that money could pur-
chase many pleasures even for the middle-aged.
He made a great mistake in imagining, down in
Cornwall, that he had lived his life, and that he
had but to look forward to mild enjoyments, a
peaceful wandering onward to the grave, and the
continual study of economy in domestic affairs.
He was only now beginning to live.

‘*And when are you coming back?” said the
widow to him one evening, when they were all
talking of his leaving England. :

“That I don’t know,” he said.

“Of course,” she said, ‘‘you don’t mean to
remain in the West Indies. I suppose lots of
people have to go there for some object or oth-
er, but they always come back when it is at-
tained.”

“They come back to attain some other object
here,” said Mr. Roscorla.

“Then we'll soon find you that,” the gen-
eral burst in. ‘No man lives out of England
who can help it. Don’t you find in this coun-
try enough to satisfy you?”

‘Indeed I do,” Mr. Roscorla said, ‘‘ especial-
ly within the last few days. I have enjoyed
myself enormously. I shall always have a
friendly recollection of Brighton.” ~~

“Are you going down to Cornwall before
you leave ?” Sir Percylasked. :

“No,” said he slowly. —

orn isn’t quite so cheerful as Brighton,
eh?”
“Not quite.” :

He kept his word. He did not go back to
Cornwall [before |leaving ‘England, nor did he
send a’single line or message to anyone there.
It was with something of a proud indifference’
that he set sail, and also with some notion that
he was being amply revenged. For the rest, he
hated ‘‘ scenes,” and he had encountered quite
enough of these during his visit to Eglosilyan.

 

CHAPTER XL.

; AN OLD LADY'S APOLOGY.
Wuen Wenna heard that Mr. Roscorla had

left d. without even bidding her
good-bye . by letter, she accepted — the
rebuke with submission, and kept her

own counsel. She went about her daily duties.

with an unceasing industry ; Mrs. Trelyon was
astonished to see how she seemed to find time
for everything. The winter was coming on;
and the sewing club was in full activity, but
even apart.from the affairs of that enterprise,
Wenna Rosewarne seemed to. be everywhere
throughout the village, to know everything, to
be doing everything that prudent help and
friendly counsel can do. Mrs. Trelyon grew to
om the girl in her vague, wondering, simple
fashion. :

So the days and the-weeks and the months.

went by, and the course of life ran smoothly
and quietly in the remote Cornish village. Ap-
parently there was nothing to indicate the pre-
sence of bitter regrets, of crushed hopes, of
patient despair; only Mabyn used to watch her
sister at times, and she fancied that Wenna’s
face was growing thinner. . ‘
The Christmas festivities came on, and Mrs.
Trelyon. was pleased to lend her protegee a
helping hand in decorating the church. One
evening she said, ‘‘My dear Miss Wenna, I am

 

going to ask youan impertinent question. Could

your family spare you on Christmas evening ?,

Harry is coming down from London; I am
sure he would be so pleased to see you.” —

‘Oh, thank you, Mrs. Trelyon,” Wenna said,
with just a little nervousness. ‘‘ You are very
kind, but indeed I must be at home on Christ~
mas evening.”

‘‘ Perhaps some other evening while he is
here you will be able to come up,” said Mrs.
Trelyon in her gentle way. . ‘‘You know. you
ought to come and see how your pupil is getting
on. He writes me such nice letters now ; and I
fancy he is working very hard at his studies,
though he says nothing about it.”

‘‘Tam very glad to hear that,” Won-s said
in.a low voice.

Trelyon did come to. the Hall for, a few
days, but he kept away from the village, and
was seen by no one of the Rosewarnes. But
on the Christmas morning, Mabyn Rosewarne,
being early about, was told that. Mrs. Trelyon’s
groom wished to see her, and, going down, she
found the man, with a basket before him.

‘*Please, Miss, Mr. ‘Trelyon’s compliments,
and would you take the flowers out of the cot-~
ton-wool and give them to Miss Rosewarne ?”

‘‘Oh, won’t 1?” said Mabyn, opening the
basket at once, and carefully getting out a
bouquet of camellias, snowdrops and sweet
violets. ‘‘Just you waita minute, Jakes, for
I’ve got a Christmas-box for you.”

Mabyn went up stairs as rapidly as was con-
sistent with the safety of the flowers, and
burst into her sister’s room; ‘‘Oh, Wenna,
look at this! Do you know who sent them ?
Did you ever see anything’so lovely ?”

For a second the girl seemed ‘almost fright-
ened; then her eyes grew troubled and moist,
and she turned her head away. Mabyn put
them gently down and left the room’ without a
word.

The Christmas and the New Year passed
without any message from Mr. Roscorla; and
Mabyn, though she rebelled against the bond-

 

ae

ed

age in which her sister was placed, was glad ~

that she was not disturbed by angry letters.
About the middle. of January, however, a
brief note arrived from Jamaica.

“T cannot let such a time go by,” Mr. Ros-
corla wrote, ‘‘whatever may be our relations,
without sending you a friendly word. “ Ido
hope the new year will bring you health and
happiness, and that we shall in time forget the
angry manner in which we parted and all the
circumstances leading to it.”

She wrote as brief a note in reply, at the end

of .which she hoped he would forgive her for

any pain he had suffered through her. Mabyn
was rejoiced to find that the correspondence
—whether it was or was not meant on his part
to be an offer of nepancliaipo- aes there,

And again the slow days went by until the
world began to stir with the new spring-time—

the saddest time of the year to those who live

much in the past. Wenna was out and about a
eat deal, being continually busy, but she no

longer took those long walks by herself in which -

she used to chat to the butterflies and the young
lambs and the sea-gulls. The fresh western
breezes no longer caused her spirits to flow over
in careless gayety; she saw the new flowers

springing out of the earth, but it was of an-.

other spring-time she was A

One day later on in the year, Mrs. Trelyon
sent down the wagonette for her, with the re-
quest that she would come up to the Hall for a
few minutes. Wenna obeyed the summons,
imagining that some business connected with
the sewing club claimed her attention. When
she arrived she found Mrs.Trelyon to
express the gladness and gratitude: that filled
her heart; for: before her were certain London
newspapers, and behold! Harry Trelyon’s name

was recorded there in certain lists as having ~

scored a sufficient number of marks in the ex.
amination to entitle him to a first ‘commission,
It was no concern of hers that his name was

pretty far down in the list—enough Nem eres :

succeeded somehow. And who’
er of this miracle ?—who but the shy, sad-eyed

ee ne Vg TES ita’ $)* > ©

-

BBS Sh 3g Bere Boag HeamH

 

 
 

16

THREE. FEATHERS,

 

girl standing beside her, whose face wore now
a happier sxpression than it had worn for many
a day. :

“And this is what he says,” the proud
mother continued, showing Wenna a letter:
““<Tt isn’t much to boast of, for indeed you'll

see by the numbers that it was rather a narrow.

squeak: anyhow, I pulled through. My old
tutor is rather a speculative fellow, and he of-
fered to bet me fifty pounds his coaching would
carry me through, which I took; so I shall
have to pay him that, besides his fees. I must
say he has earned both: I don’t think a more
ignorant person than myself ever went to a
man to get crammed. I send you two news-
papers: you might drop one at the inn for Miss

_ Rosewarne, any time you are passing, or if you

could see her and tell her, perhaps that would
be better.’”

Wenna was about as. pleased and proud as
Mrs. Trelyon was. ‘‘I knew he could do it if
he tried,” she said quietly.

‘And then,” the mother went on to say,
‘“‘when he has once joined there will be no
money wanting to help him to his promotion;
and when he comes back to settle down here,*he
will have some recognized rank and profession,

_ such as a man ought to have. Not that he will

remain in the army, for of course I should not
like to part with him, and he might be sent to
Africa or Canada or the West Indies. You
know,” she added with a smile, ‘‘that it is not
pleasant to have any one you care for in the
West Indies.” ’ Laer

When Wenna got home again she. told
Mabyn.: Strange to say, Mabyn did not clap
her hands for joy, as “might have been ex-
pected.

““Wenna,” said she, ‘‘ what made him go in-
to the army? Was it to show you that he
vould pass an examination? or was it because

~~ he means to leave England ?”

a

:
}

“‘T do not know,” said Wenna, looking down.
**T hope he does not mean to leave England.”
That was all she said,

Harry Trelyon was, however, about to leave
England, though not because he had. been gaz-
etted to a colonial regiment. He came down
to inform his mother that on the fifteenth of
the month he would sail for Jamaica; and then
and there, for the first time, he told her the
whole story of his love for Wenna Rosewarne,
of his determination to free, her somehow from

_ the bonds that bound her, and, failing that, of

the revenge he meant to take. Mrs. Trelyon |

- Was amazed, angry and beseeching in turns.

- At one moment she protested that it was

Madness of her son to think of marrying Wenna

Rosewarne; at another, she would admit all
that he said in praise of her, and would only
implore him not to leave England; or again she
Would hint that she would almost herself go
down to Wenna and beg her to marry him if
Only he gave up this wild intention’of his. He
never seen his mother so agitated, but he
reasoned gently with her, and remained firm to
his . Was there half as much danger
in taking a fortnight’s trip in a mail-steamer as
in going from Southampton to Malta in a yacht,
which he had twice done with her consent?

“‘ Why, if I had been.ordered to join a regi-
ment in China, you might havé some reason to
complain,” he said.. ‘‘And I shall be as anx-
ious as you, mother, to get back again, for I
mean to get up my drill thoroughly as soon as
Iam attached. Ihave plenty of work before
me.”

““You’re not looking well, Harry,” said the
mother, | ;

‘Of course not,” said he cheerfully, ‘‘ You
eeoga one of those on “ Strasburg
ooki ially lively when they tie it by the
leg oo os 1 and that’s what I’ve been
going through of late. But what better cure
can there be than a sea voyage ?”

_ And so it came about that on a pleasant even-
ing in October Mr. Roscorla received a visit.

saw the young man come riding up the
acacia and he instantaneously guessed
his mission, His own resolve was taken as

“Bless my soul! is it you, Trelyon?” he
cried, with apparent delight. . ‘‘ You mayn’t be-
lieve it, but I am really glad tosee you. I have
been going to write to you for many a day
back. I’ll send somebody for your horse ; come
into the house.” A‘

The young man, having fastened up the
bridle, followed his host. There was a calm
and business-like rather than a holiday look on
his face. ‘‘ And what were you going to write
to me about?” he asked.

‘* Qh, you know,” said Roscorla, good-natur-
edly. ‘‘You see a man takes very different
views of life when he knocks about a bit. For
my part, Iam more interested in my business
now than in anything else of a more tender
character ; and I may say that I hope to pay
you back a part of the money you lent me as soon
as our accounts for this year are made, up.
Well, about that other point: I don’t see how
I could well return to England, to live per-
manently there, for a year or two at the
soonest ; and—and, in fact, I have often won-
dered, now, whether it wouldn’t be better if
I asked Miss Rosewarne to consider herself
finally free from that—from that engagement.”

‘‘Yes, I think it would be a -great deal
better,” said Trelyon coldly. ‘‘ And perhaps
you would kindly put your resolve into writing.
I shall take it back to Miss Rosewarne. Will
you kindly do so now?”

‘‘ Why,” said Roscorla, rather sharply, ‘‘ you
don’t take my proposal in a very friendly way.
I imagine Iam doing you a good turn too. It
is not eyery man would do so in my position ;
for, after all, she treated me very badly. How-
ever, we needn’t go into that. I will write her
a letter, if you like; now, indeed, if you like ;
and won’t you stop a day or two here befor
going back to Kingston ?” Py

Mr. Trelyon intimated that he would like to
have the letter at once, and that he would con-
sider the invitation afterward. Roscorla, with
a good-humoured shrug, sat down and wrote it,
and then handed it to Trelyon, open. As he
did so, he noticed that the young man was
coolly abstracting the cartridge from a small
breech-loading pistol he held in his hand. He
put the cartridge into his waistcoat pocket and
the pistol into his coat pocket.

““Did you think we were savages out here,
that you came armed?” said Roscorla, rather
pale, but smiling.

‘‘T didn’t know,” said Trelyon,

One morning there was a marriage in Eglo-
silyan, up there at a small church on the bleak
downs overlooking the wide sea. The spring-
time had come round again; there was a May-
like mildness in the air; the skies overhead
were as blue as the great plain of the sea; and
all the beautiful green world was throbbing
with the upspringing life of the flowers. It
was just like any other wedding, but for one
little incident. When the bride came out into
the bewildering glare of the sun, she vaguely
knew that the path through the churchyard was
lined on both sides with children. Now, she
was rather well known to the children. about,
and they had comein a great number; and
when she passed down between them it ap-
peared that the little folks had brought vast
heaps of primroses and violets in their aprons
and in tiny baskets, and they strewed their path
with these flowers of the new spring. Well,
she burst into tears at this, and hastily leaving
her husband’s hand for a moment, she caught
up one of the least of the children—a small,
golden-haired girl of four—and kissed her.
Then she turned to her husband, again, and
was glad that he led her down to the gate, for
her eyes were so blinded with tears that she
could not see her way. :

Nor did anything very remarkable occur
at the wedding-breakfast. But there was a
garrulous old lady there with bright pink
cheeks and silvery hair; and she did not cease
to prattle to the clergyman who had officiated
in the church, and who was seated next her.
‘Indeed, Mr. Trewhella,” she said confiden-
tially, ‘‘ I always said this is what would come

 

quickly,

of it. Never any one of these Trelyons set his

 

heart on a girl but what he got her; and what
was the use of friends or relatives fighting
against it? Nay, I don’t think there’s any
cause of complaint—not I! She’s a modest,
nice, ladylike girl: she is indeed, although she
isn’t so handsome as her sister. Dear, dear
me! look at that girl now! Won't she be a
prize for some man? I declare I haven’t seen
so handsome a girl for many a day. And, as I
tell you, Mr. Trewhella, it’s no use trying to
prevent it: if one of the Trelyons falls in love
with a girl, the girl’s done for: she may as well
give in.” “

“Tf Lmay say so,” observed the old clergy-
man, with a sly gallantry, ‘“you do not give
the gentlemen of your family credit for the
most remarkable feature of their marriage con-
nections. They seem to have had always a
very good idea of making an excellent choice.”

The old lady was vastly pleased. ‘‘Ah,
well,” she said, with a shrewd smile, ‘there
were two or three who thought George Trelyon
—that was this young man’s grandfather, you
know—lucky enough, if one might judge by
the noise they made. Dear, dear! what a to-do
there was when we ran away! Why, don’t you
know, Mr. 'Trewhella, that I ran away from a
ball with him, and drove to Gretna Green with
my ball-dress on, as I’m a living woman?
Such a ride it was!—why, when we got up to
Carlisle ”»——

But that story has been told before.

THE END.

 

 

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By Ned Buntline.
2. Loyal Heart; or, THE TRAPPERS OF
ARKANSAS. By Gustave Aimard.
By Aiken,

63. The Winged Whale.
ight, the Death Shot.
Ts

 

 

 

64. Double-
By Joseph E. Badger, ;
e Red Rajah. By F. Whittaker.
66. The Specter Barque. Mayne Reid.
ok van Boy ae . By J.E. Badger.
. The Fig! , er; or, Kir
CARSON TO THE oma By Canty. F.C. Adams.
69. The Irish Captain. By Whittaker.
70. Hydrabad, THE STRANGER; or,
ALETHE, THE CHILD OF THE CorD. By Robinson.
71. Captain Cool-Blade, or, THz Man
SHARK OF THE MississipriI. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
72. The Phantom Hand, By Aiken.
The Knight: of the Red Cross;
N ai Dr. J, H. Robinson.

: tleman George, or, PaRLo:
PRISON, STAGE AND STREET. By Albert W. ‘Moo?
Taser, on Peaeiee iy Geomieckibons”

, THE PRINCESS PALMIST. rge my.

79. The Fresh of Frisco. i
_%8. The Mysterious Spy; or, Gotprn
FEATHER, THE BUCCANEER’S DAUGHTER. By Grainger.
“99, Joe Phenix, Potice Spy. By Aiken.
80. A Man of Nerve. By P.S. Warne.
81. The Human Tiger. By Aiken.
82. Iron Wrist, the Swordmaster.
By Col. Thomas H. Monstery.
83. Gold Bullet Sport; or, raz Knicuts
OF THE OVERLAND. By Buffalo Bill.
84. Hunted own; or,
Wrren. By Albert W. Aiken.
’ 85. The Cretan Rover ; or, ZULEIKAH,
THE BEAUTIFUL. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham,
86, The, Big Hunter; aaa
oF THE Woops. By the author of “ Silent Hunter.”
87. The Scarlet Captath or, THE
PRISONER OF THE TOWER. By Col. Delle Sara. —
THE GIANT OF THE
GuLcH; or, FIve .w Brotuers. By Badger.
- ‘ince. By Ingraham,
90. Wild Will, THz Map RancHERO;
or, THE TERRIBLE TEXAN. By Buckskin Sam.
91. The Winning Oar. By Aiken.
92. Buffalo Bill, Tae Buckskin Kine;
By Major Dangerfield Burr. _ ; ‘
; at on Dick Talbot, Kina o
THE Roap. By Albert W. Aiken. :
94, Freelance, THz BucCANEER; or, The
Walir or tHe Wave. By Col. Prentiss am.
95. Azhort, THE AXxMAN. By A. P. Morris.
96. Double-Death} or, THz Spy QuzEN
or Wyoming. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.
97. Bronze ack,* THE CALIFORNIA
THOROUGHBRED. By A. W. Aiken.
98. The Rock Rider; or, THE Spirit
OF THE SrerRA. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.
99. The Giant Rifleman; or, WILD
Lire THE Lumber Reaions. By Oll Coomes,
100. The French Spy; or, THe Browz
or Paris. A Story of the Commune. By A. P. Morris.
01. The Man from New York; or,
Tae RoMANCE oF A Rich YounG Woman. By Aiken.
102. The Masked Band; or, THE Man
Wirnovut A Name. By George L. Aiken.
103. Merle, Mutineer. Ingraham.
104. Montezuma, the Merciless; or,
Tue EAGLE AND THE SERPENT. By Col. P. Ingraham.
105. Dan Brown of Denver, THE
Rocky Mountarn Detective. By Jos, E. Badger, Jr.
106. Shamus O’Brien, Tux BouLp Boy
or GLtNGAL. “By Colonel Delle Sara.
107. Richard Talbot of Cinnabar;
‘or, THE BROTHERS OF THE Rep Hanv. By A.W. Aiken.

108, The Duke of Diamonds; or, Tuz

THE WHITE

 

Frower or Cavcurra. By Capt, Fred. Whittaker.

Mayne Reid. ;

 

Each Number Complete. Price 10 cts,

109. Captain Kyd, Tax Kino or 15
Buiack Frac. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

110. The Silent Rifleman. By Herber

111. The Smuggler Captair; or, TH
Sxirrer’s Crime. By Ned Buntline.

12. Joe Phenix, Private DErectivs

or, Toe LEaGvE oF THE SKELETON Keys. By Aiken

113. The Sea Slipper; or, THE AMA
TEUR FREEBOOTERS. By Prof, J. H. Ingraham.

114. The Gentleman from Pike; or,
THE GHosT or THE Canyon. By Philip S. Warne.:

115. The Severed Wend $ or, THRE
SEcrET oF CasTLE Coucy. By Capt, Fred. Whittaker,

116. Black Plume, Taz Devin or THE
SEA; or, THE SoRCERESS OF HELL-GatE. By Ingraham.

117. Dashing Dandy, Tax Hotspur or
THE His. By Major Dangerfield Burr.

118. The Burglar Captain; or, Taz
FAauuen Star. By Prof. J. H. Ingraham,

119. Alabama Joe; or, THE Yazoo
Man-Honters. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. t

120. The Texan Spy. By N. M. Curtis,
121. The Sea Cadet. By Ingraham.
122. Saul Sabberday, Tux Inior Spy;

or, LULIONA, THE SEMINOLE, By Ned Buntline.

123. Alapaha, the Squaw; or, THB
RENEGADES OF THE BorDER. By cis Johnson.

124. Assowaum, the Avenger; or,
Tue Doom or THu Destroyers. By-Francis Johnson.

125. The Blacksmith Outlaw; or,
.Mrrry Encuanpd. By Harrison Ainsworth.

126. The Demon Duelist; or, Tup.
Leacvur or Stet. By Colonel Thos. H, Monstery.

127. Sol Scott, THz MaskED Minzr; or °

Dan Brown’s Dovustz. By Joseph E. Badger.
128. The Chevalier Corsair ; or, Ta#
HERITAGE oF Hatrep. By the author of ‘Merle,*

129. ere Mose; or, A Strona
Man’s Sacririce, By Edward Willett,
130. Captain Volcano; or, THE Man
OF THE Rep REVOLVERS. By Albert W. Aiken,
131. Buckskin Sam,1THE TEXAN TRAILER;
or, THz BaNnviTs OF THE Bravo. By Col. Ingraham.
‘132. Nemo, King of the Tramps; or,
Tae Romany Grru’s VENGEANCE. By Whittaker,
_ 183. Rody, the Rover; or, Tur Rw
| BONMAN OF IRELAND. By William Carleton.
134. Darkie Dan, TH CoLorzep Drtxc-
TIve; or, THE Mississippi Mystery. By Ingrabam.
135. The Bush Ranger; or, Tur
Haur-Breep Bricapg... By Francis Johnson.

136, The Outlaw-Uunter; ‘or, Rep
JouN, THE Bush Rancer. By Francis Johnson,

137. Long Beard, tur G SPY,
Ol Coomes. - - ont ee
_138.:The Border $
Horse-Tuier’s Tra. By ieee ne
139. Fire-Eye, THz Sra Hyena; or,
Tue Brive or a Buccaneer. By Col. P. Ingraham.
140. The Three Spaniards. B.
George Walker. e
141. Equinox Tom, Tux Butiy or Rep
Rock. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. ‘
142. Captain Crimson, THE MAN OF THI
IRon Face. By Major Dangerfield Burr.
143. The Czar’s Spy; or, THe Nissi
Leacur. By Col. Thos. Hoyer Monstery.
144, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
By Victor Hugo. oe
145. Pistol Pards; or, Sorr Hanp
THE SILENT SporT FROM CINNABAR. By W. R. Eyster
146. The Doctor Detective ; or, Tuy
Mystery oF THE GOLDEN CorFIN. By Geo, Lemuel.’
147. Gold Sp @ eet te
F ur, THE GENTLE
Texas; or, THe-CHILD oF THE Reaeant Be OL
Prentiss Ready August 17th.
pitt Oc. toes Seema
Micmeay. By Oll Coonion, Ready iy “August aeust oth. ©

A new issue every week.

 

Beadle’s Dime de fe
Sener so i enon hae is for sal ston, g

per or }
receipt of twelve cents eac’ BEADLE
Publishers, 98 William Binet New -

A

 
 

 

 

 

—_—

 

ms

BEADLE’S

HALF-DIME

 

 

LIBRARY. ->————

 

 

i Deadwood Dick, raz Price or THE Roa.
o Edward. L. Wheeler.
\ 2 Yellowstone Jack, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
"3 Kansas King; .or, THz Rep RicHT Hanp.
} Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody).
4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Captain
Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whittaker.

§ Vagabond Joe, rx Younc WANDERING JEW; }

or, PLOTTING FoR A Lecacy. By Oll Coomes.
6 Bill Biddon, Trapper. By E. S. Ellis.
7 The Flying Yankee; or, THE OcEAN OvT-
cast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
8 Seth Jones. By Edward S. Ellis.
9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen.
10 Nat Todd. ByE.S. Ellis.
21 The Two Detectives; or, THE Fortunes
or A Bowery Girt. By Albert W. Aiken.
42 Gulliver’s Travels. By Dean Swift.
13 The Dumb Sp y- By Oll Coomes,
14 Aladdin; or, Tae Wonperru. Lamp.
15 The Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker.
16 Robinson Crusoe. (2 Illustrations.)
$7 Ralph Roy, THE Boy Buccaneer; or, THE
Fueitrve YAcuHT. a Col, Prentiss Ingraham.
18 Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages.
19 The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill.
20 The Double Daggers; or, DEaApwoop Dick’s
Deriance. By Edward L. Wheeler.
21 The Frontier Angel. By Edward S. Ellis.
22 The Sea Serpent; or, THE Boy Rosinson
Crusoz. By Juan Lewis.
23 Nick o’ the Night; or, Tax Boy Spy or 76.
a T. C. Harbaugh.
24 Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingraham.
25 The ae. Coptakn. By Roger Starbuck.
26 Cloven Hoof, Tu: Burrato Demon; or, THE
BorperR Vuutures. By Edward L. Wheeler.
27 Antelope Abe, THE Boy Gurnpz. Oll Coomes.
28 Buffalo Ben, THz Pruvce or THE PISTOL;
or, DEapwoop Dick on Disevise. E. L. Wheeler.
29 The Dumb Page. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE REcK-
Less RanGcer. By Harry St. George.
31 Keen-Knife, Privcz or THe Prairies. By
Oll Coomes.
32 Bob Woolf, txHz Borper Rvrrran; or, THE
Girt Deap-SHor. By Edwurd L. Wheeler.
33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE Rep
PIRATES OF THE CARIEBEES. By 8. W. Pierce.
34 Oregon. Sol; or, Nick Wduirries’ Boy Spy.
By.Capt. J. F. @. Adams.
35 Wild Ivan, THE Boy Cuaupg Duvat;or, THE
BROTHERHOOD oF DEaTH. Ly Ed. L. Wheeler.
6 The Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn.
7 The Hidden Lodge. By. C. Harbaugh.
8 NedjWylde, THE Boy Scour. By Texas Jack.
9 Death-Face, THe Derectivs; or, Lirg anp
Love In New York. By Edward L. Wheeler.
40 Roving Ben. A Story or a Younc AMERI-
gan Who WANTED To SEE THE Wor. Marshall.
Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes.
The Phantom Miner; or, Drapwoop
Dicx’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler.
43 Dick Darling, THE Pony Express RmER.
= Capt. Frederick Whittaker.
44 Rattling Rube. By Harry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche, THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR;
or, W1LD EpNA, THE Girt Bricanp. E. L. Wheeler.
46 Glass Eye, THE Great SHoT oF THE WEST.

By Capt. J. F.C. Adams.

47 Nightingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh.

48 Black John, tse Roap-AGenT; or, Tux OutT-
Laws’ RETREAT. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

49 Omaha Oll, THE MASKED TERROR: or, DEaD-

woop Dick In DANGER. By Edward L. Wheeler.

50 Burt Bunker, rue Trapper. C. E. Lasalle.

61 The Boy Rifles. By Archie C. Irons.

52 The White Buffalo. By C. E. Lasalle.

53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., THE Boy PHxyrx; or,

THRovGH To DeatH. By Edward L. Wheeler.
$4 Ned Mazel, tHe Boy Trapper; or, THE PHAN-
ToM Princess. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
55 Deddly - Eye, THe Unknown Scour; or, THE
BRANDED BROTHERHOOD. By Buffale Bill.

56 Nick Whifiles’ Pet. Capt. J. F. C. Adams,

57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Taz Parps

or Froop Bar. By Edward L. eeler.

58 The Border King. By Oll Coomes.

59 Old eee By Harry St. George.

60 The White Indian. Capt. J. F. C. Adams

61 Buckhorn Bill; or, Taz Reo Rirte Team,

Edward L. Wheeler.

62 The Shadow Ship. By Col. P. Ingraham.
3 The Red Brotherhood. W. J. Hamilton.
4 Dandy Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh.

65 Hurricane Bill. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

66 Single Hand. By W. J. Hamilton:

67 Patent-leather Joe. By Philip S. Warne.

68 Border Robin Hood. By buffalo Bill.

69 Gold Rifle, THE SHARPSHOOTER; or, THE Boy

ETECTIVE OF THA BLACK RancH. By Wheeler.

70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THz GREENHORN IN

THE Woops. By J. F. C. Adams.
¥1 Delaware Dick. By Oll Coomes.
{2 Mad Tom Western, THE Texan RANGER;
or, THE QUEEN OF THE PRAIRIE. By Hamilton.
3 Deadwood Dick on Deck} or, CaLamry
J JANE, THE HEROINE oF WHOoP-Up. By Wheeler.
{4 Hawk-eye Harry. By Oll Coomes.
75 The Boy Duelist; or, THz CRUISE oF THE
Sgea-Wotr. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
76 Abe Colt, THE Crow-KiiER; or, THE Great
FIGHTING Man of THE West. By A. W. Aiken.
"7 Gorgarey. Charlie, raz Boy Bravo; or,
Deapwoop Dick’s Last Acr. By E. L. Wheeler.

78 Blue Dick. By Captain Mayne Reid.

79,Sol Ginger, Guiyr naaprane By A.W. Aiken.

80° Rosebud Rob; or, Nuceer Neb, THE KNIGHT
o? THE GuicH. By Edward L. Wheeler.
#1 Lightning Jo.

By Captain J. F. C. Adams.

 

82 Kit Haretoot, THz Woop-Hawx; or, OLD
PowbrEr-Facz AND His Demons. By Harbaugh,

83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes.

84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Roszsup Ros
ON Réen. By Edward L. Wheeler.

Buck Buckram; or, Bess, THE H'EMALE

Trapper, By Captain J. F. C. Adams.

Dandy Rock. By G. Waldo Browne.

The Land Pirates. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

Photograph Phil, THe Boy S.evrs; or,

RosEsBuD Ros’s REAPPEARANCE. By E. L. Wheeler.

Island Jim... By ee, Hemyng.

The Dread Rider. By G. Waldo Browne.

The Captain of the Club; or, THe Youne

Rrvau ArTHiETes. By Bracebridge Hemyng.

Canada Chet; or, OLD ANACONDA IN SITTING

Buiu’s Camp. By Edward L. Wheeler.

93 The Boy Miners. By Edward S. Ellis.

94 Midnight Jack, tHE Roap-AGENT; or,
Tue Boy Traprer. By T. C. Harbaugh.

95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine.
96 Watch-Eye, THE SHADOW; or, ARABS AND
ANGELS OF A GREAT Crry.. By E. L. Wheeler.

97 The Outlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marshall.
98 Robin Hood, tHe Ovriawep Eart; or, THE

Merry MEN or GREENWOOD. Prof. Gildersleeve.
99 The Tiger of Taos; or, WiLp Kate, Danpy
Rocr’s ANGEL. By George Waldo Browne.
100 Deadwood Dick in Lea.tville; or, A
STRANGE STROKE FoR LiserRtTy. By Wheeler.
101 Jack Harkaway in New York. By
praceixtige Hemyng.
102 Dick ead-Eye, THE Boy Smvae ier; or,
THe CRUISE OF THE VixEN. By Col. Ingraham.
103 The Lion of the Sea, By Col. Delle Sara.
104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; _ or, THE
SiGn or THE DowsLE Cross. By E. L. Wheeler.
105 Old Rube, THE Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes.
106 Old Frosty, THE GuivE. By T. C. Harbaugh.
107 One-Eyed Sim. By James L. Bowen.
108 Daring Davy, THE YounG BEAR-KILLER; or,
Tue TRAIL OF THE BorDER Wo Fr. H. St. George.
109 Deadwood Dick as Detective, "By
Edward L. Wheeler.
110 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A
Thrilling Story of lexan Adventure. By Bowen.
111 The Sea-Devil. By Col. P. Ingraham.
112 The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe.
13 Jack Hoyle, THz Youne SPecu.aTor; or,
THE RoaD To Fortune. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
14 The Black Schooner. Roger Starbuck.
15 The Mad Miner; or, Danpy Rocx’s Doom.
By George Waldo Browne.
16 The Hussar Captain; or, tHe Hermrr
oF Hetu-Gate. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham,
17 Gilt-Edged Dick, THE Sport DETECTIVE;
s
1
1
2

COD MOD WO
MOO MID w

2
S)

or, THE Roap-Acent’s DaveuTrer. Wheeler.
8 Will Somers, THE Boy Derective. Morris.
9 Mustang Sam, THE KING oF THE PLAINS.
By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
0 The Branded Hand. By Frank Dumont.
21 Cinnamon Chip, THE Girt Sport; or,
Tue Goupen Inport or Mr. Rosa. Kd. L.Wheeler.
22 Phil Hardy, Tux Boss Boy; or, THe Mys-
TERY OF THE STRONGBOW. By Charles Morris.
23 Kiowa Charley, THe Waite MusTANceEr.
By T. C. Harbaugh.
24 Tippy, THE Texan. By George Gleason.
25 Bonanza Bill, Mier. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
6 Picayune Pete; or, Nicopemus, THE Doc
Detective. By Charles Morris.
7 Wild-Fire, Boss ortTne Roap. By Dumont.
8 The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish.
9 Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, THz
Guost or Gorcon’s Guicn, Ed. L. Wheeler.
0 Detective Dick. By Charles Morris.
1 The Golden Hand} or, Danpy Rock To
THE RescuE. By George W. Browne.
2 The Hunted Hunter. By Ed. §. Ellis.
33 Boss Bob, THE Kine or THE BOoTBLACKS:
or, THE PAWNBROKER’sS Por. Ed. L. Wheeler.
34 Sure Shot Seth, THe Boy Ririteman; or THE
Youne Patriots oF THE Norts. By Oll Coomes.
35 Captain Paul, THe Kentucxy MoonsHINER;
or, THE Boy Spy or THE Mountarys. By Clark.
36 Night-Hawk Kit, By Jos. £. ger, Jr.
37 The Helpless Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid.
38 Blonde i183; or, DeaApwoop Dick’s Home
3

2 WwW KBKW WwW

Base. By Edward L. Wheeler.

9 Judge Lynch, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh.

140 Blue Blazes}; or, THe Break o’ Day Bo
oF Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. :

141 Solid Sam, THE Boy Roap-AGEnT; or, THE
BranDED Brows. By Edward L Wheeler.

142 Handsome Harry, THE Boorsiack DE-
TECTIVE. By Charles Morris.

143 Sear-Face saul. By Oll Coomes.

144 Dainty Lance, THe Boy Sport; or, THE
BaNK-BREAKERS’ Decoy Duck. J. E. Badger.

145 Captain Ferret, tae New York DEtTEc-
TIVE; or, Boss Bos’s Boss Jos. By Wheeler.

146 Silver Star, THE Boy Kyicur. A Prairie
Romance. By Oll Coomes,

147 Will Wildfire, THe THoxovesBRED; or,
THe Wiynine Hanp. By Charles Morris.

148 Sharp Samy; or, THE ADVENTURES OF A
FRIENDLEsS Boy. By J. Alexander Patten.

149 A Game of Gold; or, Deapwoop Dick’s
Bie Srrixe. By Edward L. Wheeler. .

150 Lance and Lasso, By Capt. F.Whittaker.

151 Panther Paul, THe Prarriz Pirate; or,
Dainty Lance To THE Rescue. J. E. Badger.

152 Black Bess, Wit Wrrire’s Racer; or,
Wisnine Acainst Opps. By Charles Morris.

153 Eagle Kit, Tae Boy Drewon. a Coomes.

154 The Swerd Hunters. By F. Whittaker.

155 Gold Trigger, rue Sport. T. CO. Harbaugh.

156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood} or,
Tae Pickep Party. By Edward L. Wheeler.”

fet ek meee ft ff feet ft fehl ft ff fmt fmf fl fk mh fel fh

 

157 Mike Merry, THe Harsor Poxice Boy; or,
Tue Nicut-Hawks oF PHILADELPHIA. Morris,

158 Fancy Frank of Colorado 3 or, Ta#
TraPPER’s TRusT. By Buffalo Bill.

159 The Lost Captain; or, THE OPEN PoLsén
Sea. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

160 The Blac Giant; or, Damry Lancz mf

. Jroparpy. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

161 New York Nell, rH: Boy-Girt DETECTIVE;
or, OLD BLAKESLY’S Money. By E. L. Wheeler.

162 Wili Wildfire in the Woods, Moz-ris.

163 Little Texas, THE Youna MusTanGER. A
Tale of Texan Prairies. By Oll Coomes.

164 Dandy KRock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne,

165 Billy Baggage, THE Ratroap Boy; or,
Run to Earru. By Charles Morris.

166 Hickory Harry. By Harry St. George.

167 Asa Scott, THE SrgampoaT Boy. By Willett.

168 Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

169 Tornado Tom; or, INsun Jack From Rep
Cors. T..C. Harbaugh.

170 A Trump Card; or, Wit WILpFire Wrvg
AnD Losses. By Charles Morris.

171 Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont.

172 Thunderbolt Tom; or, THz WoLFr-HERDER
or THE Rockies. By Harry St. Geerge.

173 Dandy Rock’s Rival. By G.W. Browne,

174 Bob Rockett, raz Boy DopGrr. By Morris,

175 Captain Arizona. By Philip S.Warne.

176 The Boy Runaway; or, THE BUCCANEER
OF THE Bay. Lieut. H. D. Perry, U.S.N.

177 Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, Taz Scamp
OF THE SIERRAS, Edward. L. Wheeler.

178 Old Solitary. By Oll Coomes.

179 Bob Rockett, tHe Bank Runner. Morris.

180 The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow Wei Kerr
By Lieut. H. D. Perry, U.S. N.

181 Wild Frank, THe Buckskin Bravo; on
Lapy Lity’s Love. By Edward L. Wheeler

182 Little Hurricane, THz Boy Capra.
By Oll Coomes.

183 The Hidden Hand; or, Writ Wmprie’s
Revence. By Chas. Morris,

184 The Boy Trailers; or, Damry Lance on
THE War-PatH, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

185 Evil Eye, Kine or Carrie THIEVES; or, THE
‘VULTURES OF THE R10 GRANDE. By F. Dumont.

186 Cool Desmond; or, THE GamBLER’s Bia
Game. By Col. Delle Sara.

187 Fred Halyard, tae Lirz Boat Boy; or,
Tur SMUGGLERS OF THE INLET. By C. Morris.

188 Ned Temple, THe Borper Boy. Harbaugh.

189 Bob Rockett, Toe Cracksman. By Morris.

190 nn Darke a or, THE TicERS oF HicH

y

Prinz. Wm, R. Eyster.
191 Buffalo Billy, THe Boy BvuLLWHACKER,
By Capt. A. B. Taylor, U. 8, A.

192 Captain Kit, THE W11-0’-THE-WIspP; or,
THE Mystery oF Montauk Point. By Lieut,
Harry Dennies Perry, U.S. N.

193 Captain Mask, Tue Lavy Roap-AGEnT; or,
PatTent-LEATHER JoE’s DerEaT. By Warne,

194 Buffalo Bill’s Bet; or, THE GAMBLER
Guipz. By Capt. Alfred B. Taylor, U.S. A.

195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, THE
Rivals OF THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler.

196 Shadowed}; or, Bos Rockert’s FicHT FoR
Lire. By Charles Morris.

197 Little Grit, rHz Witp Rier; or, THE STock-
TENDER’S DAUGHTER. By Col. P. Ingraham.

198 Arkansaw, THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE; Or,
THE QUEEN OF Fate’s REVENGE. By TC.
Harbaugh.

199 Featherweight; or, THe Boy CHAMPION
oF THE MuskKINGUM. By Edward’ Willett.

200 The Boy Bedouins. By Capt. Frederick
Whittaker.

201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Drap-
woop Dick’s Warp. By Edward L. Wheeler.

202 Prospect Pete, or THE Boy BRIGADE; or,
Tue Youne OuTLaw Hunters. By Oll Coomes,

203 The Boy Pards; or, Damry Lance Un-
MASKS. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

204 Gold Plume, tHe Boy Banprt; or, Taz
Kip GLove Sport. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom. A Tale of
Death Notch. By Edward L. Wheeler.

206 Dark Paul, Tae Ticer Kine; or, Cavcut
in His Own Trap. By Charles Morris

207 Navajo Nick, THe Boy Gotp Hunter. A
Tale of Arizona, By T. C. Harbaugh.

208 — a Hercules; or, THE Pram

. bY

RAMPS, Oll Coomes.
209 Fritz, Taz Bounp-Boy Derective. By kK.
> L. Wheeler.

210 Faro Frank of High Pine; or, Danny
Darkz’s Go-powN Parps. By W. R. Eys‘er
Ready Aug st 2d.
211 Crooked Cale, THe CALIBAN OF CELEsz14),
City. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. August 9th.
212 Dashing Dave, THe Danny Detective
By Charles Morris “ Ready August 16th.

A new issue every week.

The Half-Dime Library is for sale all

Newsdealers, five cents per co or sent by m
receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS.
Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.

>

 
 

 

 

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Ball-room ompanion.
Book of Beauty.

eas
Hand-Books of Games»

Book of Croquet.
Chess Instructor,
Grickts ond Football.
uide win
ad Rowing:

 

The D
v ‘im
Events fi paces cs each

ialogy ve Ck. Cries
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1 The Masked Bride; or, Wm Sx Mar-
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2 Was It Love? or, CoLLEGIANS AND SWEET-
HEARTS. By Wm. m Turner, M, D.
3 The Girl Wife. By Bartley T. Campbell.
4 A Brave Heart, By Arabella Southworth.
5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl.
By Wm. Mason Turner,-M. D.
6 The Secret Marriage. . By Sara Claxton.
7A Daughter of Eve; e: BLINDED By |
Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crewell.
8 Heart to Heart; or, Fam Puy us’ Love.
By Arabella Southworth.
9 Alone in the World; or, THE Youne
Man’s Warp. Bythe author of “ Clifton.”
10 A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, Toe Emer-
; ALD Neckiace. By Rose Kennedy.
11 Entangled. By Henrietta Thackeray.
12 His Lawtul Wife; or, Myra, THe CHILD
or ApopTion. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress, By |
Corinne Cushman.
14 Why I Married Him: or, THE Woman
InGray. By Sara Claxton:
15 A Fair Faces or, Our IN THE WorLp.
B cnc: g- Shee Campbell.
16 rust er Not; or, Taz True Kyicxrt.
By Margaret Leicester. :
17 7 Loyal Lover. By A. Southworth.
18 His Idol; or, Tue Itt-Starrep MarrisGe.
By Mrs. Mary well,
Broken Betrothal;s or, Love verR-
sus Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine.
20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or,
Tue WitcHes oF NEW YORK. ile Penne.
21 Now and Forever; or, WHy Di SHE
Marry Hi. By Henrietta Thackeray.
22 The Bride of an Actor. By the author
of “Alone in the World,” etc., etc.
23 poem Soars or, Way SHE Proposep. By
Sara Olaxto:

n.
Her Fortune. By

24 Her Face Was
Eleanor Blaine.

25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Un-
TOLD Secret. By Arabella Southworth.

26 Without a Heart. By P. I m,

27 Was She a Coquette? or, A STRance
CovurtsHip. By Henrietta Thackeray.

28 Sybil Chase: or, THz GaMBLER’S WIFE.
By Mrs. Ann 8. Stephens.

23 ‘or Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton.

36 The Bouquet Girl: or, A MILLION oF
Money. By ile Penne.

31 A Mad Marri

32 Mirian the
RosEs AND

By Mary A. Denison.
rima Donna: or,
By A. Southworth.

 

33 The Three Sisters. By Alice Fleming.

34 A Marriage of Convenience: or, Was
He A Count? By Sara Claxton.

35 Sinned_ Against.By Clara Augusta. -

36 Sir Archer’s Bride. By A. Southworth.

37 The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy.

38 His Own Again. Arabella Southworth.

39 Flirtation. By Ralph Royal.

40 Pledged to Marry. By Sara Claxton.

41 Blind Devotion. By Alice Fleming.

42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Sec-
OND LOVE. ‘By A. Southworth.

43 The Baronet’s Secret Sara Claxton.

44 The Only Daughter: or, BrorHer
AGAINST Lover. By Alice Fleming.

45 Her Hidden Foe. Arabella Southworth.

46 The Little Heiress.. By M. A. Denison.

47 Because She Loved Him; or, How
Wutr Exp. By Alice Fleming.

48 In Spite of Herself. By S. R. Sherwood.

49 His Heart’s Mistress; or, Love at
First Siext. By Arabella Southworth.

50 The Cuban Heiress; or, THE PRISONER
or La Vintresse. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison,

51 Two Young Girls; or, THe Brive or
an Eart. By Alice Fleming.

52 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking
ALL For a Heart. By Mary Reed Crowell.

53 Agnes Hope, the Actress; cr, Tur Ro-
MANCE OF A Rusy Rine. W. M: er, M, D.

54 One Woman’s Heart; or, Savep
FromTHE Srreet. By George S. Kaime.

55 She Did Not Love Him ; or, Stoopie
To Conquer. By Arabella Southworth.

56 Love-Madj3 or, BrTROTHED, Marrizp,
DivorceD AnD ——. By W. M. Turner, M. D.

57. A Brave Girl. By Alice Fleming.

58 The Ebon Mask. By Mary R. Crowell.

59 A Widow’s Wiles. Rachel Bernhardt.

60 Ceeil’s Deceit. By Jennie Davis Burton.

o1 4 Wicked Heart. By Sara Claxton.

62 Tne Maniac Bride. By M. Blount.

63 The Creole Sisters. By Anna E. Porter.

64 What Jealousy Did; or, Taz Hem or
Wors.ey GRANGE. By Alice Fleming.

65 The Wife's Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis
66 A Brother’s Sin. By Rachel Bernhardt.
67 Forbidden Bans. Arabella Southworth.
68 Weavers and Weft, by M. E. Braddon.

69 Camille; or, Tae Farx oF a CoqueTTE, |
By Alex Dumas.

70 The Two Orphans. By D'Ennery.
71 My Young Wife. By My Young Wife’s
Husband,

72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas.

73 Rose Michel; or, Taz Triats oF «a Fac
Tory GirL. By Maude Hilton.

74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage. By Ouida.

75 The Black Lady of Duna, By J.S8,
Le Fanu.

76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson.

77 Christian Oakley’s Mistake. By the
author of ‘John Halifax, Gentleman.” ;

78 My Young Husband. By Myself.

79 A Queen Amongst Women. By the
author of ‘ Dora Thorne.”

80 Her Lord and Master.
Marryat.

81 Lucy Temple.

82 A Long Time Ago, By Meta Orred.

83 Playing for High Stakes, By Annie
Thomas.

By Florence

84 The Laurel Bush.
“John Halifax, Gentleman.

85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.
86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot.

87 Romance of a Poor You
By Octave Feuillet. ax Se

88 A Terrible Deed; or, Aut ror Gout.
By Emma Garrison Jones.

89 A Gilded Sin. Ready July 26th.
90 The Author’s Daughter.

Howitt. Ready August 20 i) aint oer
91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. August 9th.

92 Eileen Alanna 3 or, Toe DAWNING OF THE
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93 Love’s Victory. By Farjeon. August 2%
94 The Quict Heart. By. . Oliphant.
dy August 30th,
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