Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 20) (1884 10 07)
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a POCKET EDITION. sate as SRV IAS : ghted, 1884, by Braptx AND ADams. Oct. 7, 1884, ntered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class. Mail Matter. $2,50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Prine’ Vou, Il, No, 98 William Street, New York. No. 20. a Year. Five Cents. ‘ ane pee YW satasee s A ‘7’ GOING ON DECK WITH THE TELESCOPE.” ENT AN GLAD ‘ can George be so duped? Would he, did he in- ; deed love me, his wife?” _ The speaker was a fair, pretty woman, of Oy, A DANGEROUS GAME, | 2bout two-and-twenty. Her features, delicate- ly formed, were pure and sweet of expression; RY wR "TA THACKERAY. her dark gray eyes tender, gentle, and caressing; HENRIETTA THA mie AY. her Aouve iniadie hight, slender and oranerne © ty JHAPTER I. She was one of those fragile-looking women & tee FERRAMORE WARNS HER HUSBAND. who in happiness accept a husband’s support, ; bey is really too bad. It is more than I can | but who in time of trouble and affliction become * The heartless, saameless woman! How astay and support to bim,
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+ 9 ENTANGLED. 3 Seated apart under an awning on the deck of the Peninsular and Oriental steamer Hes- perus, she appeared to be reading; but, in fact, her eyes, beneath the shadow of her long lashes, _ were watching two figures—t of a lady and gentleman, who, leaning over the side of the vessel, were talking gayly, as they gazed while passing at the shores of Spain, which the _ ship was passing. The lady was the very reverse of that other under the awning. Tall, her figure was rather largely developed, and commanding more than graceful. Her complexion was brunette; her features handsome; her lips full and pouting; her eyes dreamy and languishing, though capable of sending quick glances from under their deep ebony fringe of lashes, which few masculine hearts would be able to receive unmoved. Her companion was a well-made, military- looking man of eight-and-twenty, with the easy, well-bred air of one accustomed to the best society. In a word, Major Ferramore’s regiment was known. to possess the handsomest officers in the whole British army; and Major Ferramore was atknowledged to be the handsomest man in his regiment. A little over a year ago he had married, in Calcutta, Lucie Markham—carrying her off from twenty other suitors; and now was re- ’ turning to England with his young wife on a twelvemonth’s leave. Among the passengers—unfortunately for Lucie Ferramore’s happiness—was Mrs, Arthur Greville, a young widow. : ? Her beauty, the homage she seemed tacitly to exact, and all seemed equally tacitly to pay, soon. won her the chief attention on board. Even the middies were in love with her; while if the safety of the ship had depended on the first mate, whose heart was most suscepti- ble to feminine charms, the Hesperus would not unlikely have gone to the bottom of the Mediterranean. Mrs. Greville flirted with all; but her chief and most dangerous glances were leveled at Major Ferramore. . With the audacity.of a vain, ‘selfish, beauti- | ful woman, she triumphed in her ability to at- tract the handsome officer from the side of his pretty, gentle wife. . - «< ar. Yet, in pronouncing Lucie Ferramore ‘“ weak and inane,” Mrs. Greville totally misread her. The yourfg wife was too proud to enter into rivalry with one whom her, keen, unblinded woman's judgment.divined to be utterly un-- worthy the contest. Major Ferramore called Mrs. Greville Juno, Semiramis. 4 The others called her Cleopatra; . and him Antony. Lucie called her Lamia; and she alone, of 3 all, was right. : ¥ Her own bearing to the widow was civil, but not familiar. ; : She assumed that self-esteem which seemed — | to imply it was impossible for her husband to | be faithless, and in public watched his flirta- tion with apparently unruffled placidity. She allowed none to see—not even the Major —the misery, the doubt, the jealousy of the heart that was wholly devoted to him. | Even now, as she caught the sound of his — laughter, and saw his eyes bent with unmis- — takable admiration on the widow, dressed su- perbly and in perfect taste, she shivered con- vulsively. Her small lips tightened; her white, slender fingers spasmodically griped the book she held, and she murmured the sentences which opened this chapter. It grew altogether too unbearable passively to watch, when she perceived Mrs. Greville, as if unconsciously, place her hand on the Major’s, — while with the other she called his attention to ‘some object on the shore. Too unbearable. altogether when she beheld the glance he turned upon the siren, and how she seemed intentionally to droop hey sun-— shade, as though to conceal those-two heads from view. Rising, Lucie descended to her cabin. ‘ She was not perceived, for the rest of the passengers—there chanced not to be many— were occupied in their own diversions. Throwing herself on a chair, hiding her face, she exclaimed, witha little sob, ‘‘ Oh, it is hard! Only so short—short a time married, and George no longer loves me!” ‘But no,” she added, passionately; “ he does not love this woman no more than she— vain, heartless, selfish—a Lamia—a serpent in woman’s guise—cares for him! He is fasci-_ nated —led on by her. That is not love.” She stopped abruptly. A sadness overspread her fave. ; : “No,” she murmured, ‘‘ it is not love as yet | But under that evil ‘woman’s influence, | what’ may it not lead? To love, perhaps, 0? _ his part; then to his wretchedness and mine.’ _ She raised her head, listening. Theré was a step on thecompanion-stairs. 3 ‘was her husband’s. !.. He had missed her then. . ’ He had not grown so indifferent as not -have done that. a A smile of wifely pleasure played in Lucie® ‘eyes; but she controlled it as Major Ferramor® entered. - “Why, Lucie,” he exclaimed, “are you, o ‘such a lovely morning, sitting alone in this st ' fling cabin?” “T am getting so accustomed to my . owt
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ae YOU. Bae.” In the widow’s case Lucie little guessed how" Ais feet, shaking the "tangled si ‘* x “What do you mean, dear? This all sounds | its inquiry. ; pery absurd,” remarked Major Ferramorey ENTANGLED. society, George, as not to mind it,” was the | beautiful. That all she thinks of is conquest. quiet auswer. “If not very pleasant here, this cabin presents nothing to pain me.” He had been advaneing toward her, but at this stopped. ‘What do you mean, Lucie?” he asked, rap- id] ie Do you not know?—surely you must.” And calmly she met his gaze. ‘Most surely I don’t,” he retorted, with slight brusqueness, averting his gaze, how- ever. “Your flirtation with Mrs. Greville!” Despite his effort, his cheek went red. Then he broke into a laugh. “Why, what folly is this? Lucie, for Heav- en’s sake, dear ”—and he threw his arm around her—‘‘ don’t play the jealous wife, and look glum, or frown, or pout, directly your hus- band ventures to compliment a pretty woman; and, by Jove! Mrs. Greville is a deucedly handsome woman—you must confess that.” “1 confess that she is a vain, heartless, evil- minded woman,” replied Lucie, gravely, “‘ who is as greatly amused as I am pained by your admiration.” “What do you imply, Lucie?” exclaimed the Major, his face darkening as he released her. “That you are the handsomest, and the highest in status, among the passengers. Were there a handsomer anda higher, Mrs. Greville would neglect you—especially if that other had a wife, over whom Mrs. Greville could tri- umph in attracting him.” “‘Good gracious, what absurdity! Lucie, you are jealous!” added the Major, testily. And if there be one thing I hate more than another, it is, allow me to assure you, a jealous Woman.” “George!” Lucie could not help it; her lips trembled, her eyes filled with tears. In a moment he. You do not love her; I am certain of that. But it is her wish to make you believe you do; and if you continue your acquaintance with her, she will succeed. Oh, husband, for both our sakes, be warned!” i Earnestly she pleaded, by look and voice. And her sweet, pure, womanly expression {made her more lovely than twenty Mrs. Gre- villes. “What would you have me do, Lucie?” said George Ferramore. ‘‘ Remember, we are on ‘shipboard. I cannot cut the woman now; I have no excuse for that. For pity’s sake, love, don’t ask any thing of me that would make me look a fool.” Tam not likely to do that.” “No. Then what am I to do?” dy Merely ” (and Lucie glanced smilingly up athim) “give for the future a little more atten- tion to your wife anda little less to Mrs. Gre. | ville, who, though,.a widow is as cruel a co- _ quette as a girl of nineteen.” “There, my dear, I protest. you are wrong,” broke in the Major. ‘‘ You have taken a dis- like to Mrs. Greville. I fancy ”—and he tap- ped his wife’s soft, round cheek—‘“‘that you are just a little jealous, after ra And jeal- ousy is always biased.” ‘Well, George, so let it be; I am jealous; therefore, have compassion on me,” laughed was by her side, his arms about her, and he - Pressed a kiss on her cheek. “ Forgive me, darling!” be ejaculated, peni- tently. ‘I did not mean that—that is, I did hot inean—I know you are not jealous. You are sure I could care for no one as I do for | Are you not my wife?” ~ “Oh, George!” she answered, clasping him about the neck, and gazing eagerly, fondly, . the young wife. ‘Supply not food for the green-eyed monster to feed upon.” “ All right. You shall be obeyed. Still, 4 cannot help talking to Mrs. Greville.” “Of course not, George.” . “Then the matter’s ended,” remarked the Major, evidently wit! relief, as, kissing Lucie again, he turned away, lighted a cigar, and threw the fusee out of the cabin window. He talked awhile to his young wife; then grew silent, preoccupied, restless. Lucie had got him to hold a skein of silk; she was wind- ing, and he showed increasing irritation over the tangles, and the slowness of the process. At this juncture aclear contralto voice was heard, humming, in a mezzo tone, “Ever of Thee, i as its owner passed the cabin door. There was a pause in the tune, which had - brought a flush to the officer’s brow. Then a full, rich, musical voicé called, “ Don’t, pray, into his face, ‘‘ pray never—never give me‘cause . let me disturb you, Major Ferramore, nor Mrs. to regret that, for your happiness or my own. Ferramore; but Husband, I know you better than you do: your: | going on deck wi self, I know this Mrs. Greville better than You do. Tue were her words. Ying to assume a careless gayety. “That this woman is as clever as she is ibraltar is in sight, and I am he telescope.” The song ‘was restimed. The speaker was Both of you are playing a dangerous | heard to ascend the stairs. Lucie raised her eyes to her husband; cofifused, he had risen to lk from his fin- gers. Not meeting her BRy | ne yet answered “T can’t help going this time, Lucie. Notto follow her would be an act of rudeness I could not perpetrate. It’s—it’s an*appointment, I =
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oe’. 42 tt eet promised, as we passed Gib, to describe the place to her; for, you know, I was once in gar- rison there, Why, Lucie, do you not also come?” He did not even wait for her reply. He quitted the cabin, and she heard him ascend the stairs two at a time. Uttering a low cry of misery, she fell back in her chair. “Could heever have loved me? If so, it is I have no control—no power over him. Oh, George!—George, my husband!|— and for you I could have died!” she moaned, burying her face, wet with tears, in her hand- kerchief. CHAPTER IL FOUNDERING—MRS. GREVILLE DOES NOT PLEAD IN VAIN—DROWNED OR SAVED? Tat bright sunny day, when the Hesperus streamed through the Straits, apparently was the climax of the fine weather which had been enjoyed since the starting from the Bay of Bengal. Before reaching the Bay of Biscay, the “dirty weather” had settled into almost a gale from the south-south-east. The gale in- creased, after a few days, to a hurricane—such as upon rare occasions visit Europe, recalling those of the tropics—and, unable to beat ur: tlie channel, the captain had to drive before the tempest out of his course. The affairs of those on board in whom the reader is interested had undergone small altera- tions. The glamour, cast by Mrs, Greville over Major Ferramore was, Lucie saw, though not so open, as strong as ever. Kind and atten- tive to his wife he ever was, and she did not stoop to plead again. “Tf his love is not sufficient to make him save me from pain,” she murmured, sadly, ‘‘then will no prayers of mine do so, Let me wait until we reach England. This woman goes to Cornwall, to her estate. We to Lon- don. We may never again meet, unless—un- less”—hersmall lip quivered convulsively— “he follows her! She has asked us to her estate; but I have persuaded him not to go, I,” she added, with a wan, bitter smile— what power have I over my husband, when she beckons? Heaven have mercy upon me, and him!” Lucie let George Ferramore see none of her misery, atid be was too occupied to read it be- neath the sweet, calm surface. Her affection never wavered. How could it, when he wasall im all to her then, and so would ever be? Howas blind to this brave devotion through all his madness, now. Here- after he was doomed to recall, to ponder over it with bitter remorse and grief. ; To return to the hurricane. As night settled down it reached its hight. — In a mighty turmoil of foam and high tumbling billows, the Hesperus staggered, reeled, and drove onward, refusing to answer the helm. __ Huge masses of black storm-wrack flew across the heavens so rapidly, that the eye grew dizzy in contemplatingthem. The fierce wind tore over and made havoc with all, lull- ing at times into a purring murmur, like some beast of prey preparing for a spring, then ris- ing swiftly, and with shriek and howl lashing the sea into wilder fury, while the pale moon gleamed occasionally through some - black cloud-rift, as if terrified at the war beneath. None on board the Hesperus went to their berths that night. Until now the captain had ~ spoken cheerfully; but this time, when they had proposed sitting up, he had not negatived the proposition. He had sat silent, a grim, gray, earnest expression on his weather-beaten face. 3 Hour after hour passed, and familiarity be- gan, in some of the passengers, to deaden fear. They had battled successfully so long, why not then to the end? Daylight would soon be there. Thus, in a measure, comforted, a few, wort out by fatigue, had dozed on the couches; others had sought their cabins; the remainder. sat in small groups conversing in whispers, or — listening to the howling tempest and the tramp of the sailors overhead. Among the latter were Major Ferramore and his young wife. . Lucie, calm and still, but white with terror, leaned on his shoulder, his arm encircling her waist. Nearly opposite sat Mrs. Arthur Greville; her pomegranate lips bloodless and compressed; her dark eyes dilated, fixed vaguely before her, her small hands clenched, What was that? A shock so violent, so sudden, it awakened the sleepers, and flung all from their seats. What was it? The Hesperus had struck on some hidden rock! Would she right herself? Had the en-— gines power enough to back her off that dan- gert Yes; she was again afloat. Thank Heaven! All began to breathe more freely. The ques tion was, could she be kept from driving agai? upon the breakers? ; No; that wis not the question. It was nob even the danger—that they learned quickly; when the mate abruptly entered, his watet procf overclothes dripping with sea-water. ‘“¢ What is it?” demanded a dozen voicés. i “ Be calm, ladies and gentlemen!” he said: “Remember that obedience to the captain’s OF — | ders at such a moment can alone assure your 4 | safety. Come on deck—they are going 1? | lower the boats—all we have left of them,” »? added. sotto voce. 3 -,
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Mite » | Calm! How could they be? Something, a _ blending of a scream, a cry, a sob, burst from _ e women, as all, starting to their feet, made for the stairs. Major Ferramore, half sup- Porting, half carrying his wife, was the near- est, therefore almost the first to reach them. As he passed the mate he whispered quietly, e have sprung a leak, haven’t we?” “Yes, Major, the Hesperus is foundering.” , Quietly asthe wordshad been spoken, the Sen ears of terror had read them even, it Seemed, from the motion of the lips. A fearful ery arose. és “We are sinking! We are sinking! The Ship is going to the bottom.” A terrible confusion at once ensued. Men 4nd women pushed and struggled, making their Way to the deck. The boats were their only chance, They would not stop to be drowned be- low like rats. “Fear not, Lucie! Be calm, my girl, and ~°€p your wits about you. As Saunders said, it is our only chance,” remarked the officer to S wife, as he bore her apart from the strug- Sling, maddened crowd. “If we are to dio, “ear Lucie, let us meet death bravely.” “And together,” answered the young wife kissing the face that bent over her. ‘‘ George,” 8nd her fingers griped tightly his hand, “I _ Will not leave you. Do not ask me. If they Want to put the women in the boats first, I will ae go. If you remain, I remain; if you die, I 18. Less bitter death than to live alone.” s © stooped and kissed her, unable to speak. hen, in silence, they waited the result. hey saw the boat being lowered, and the Th keeping back the excited passengers. fae heard the command, “the women first,” lowed by a ery of despair. The boat on aching the water had been flung against the P's side, and stove in. Jor Ferramore had not said no to his ipl determination; yet, nevertheless, had intended to yield to her devotion. sing the fitting moment he had reckoned to Woul her forward. He knew tho hands which + Wo oe be extended to receive, and that she sist, d be in the boat before she could re- nom however, he saw there would be small Heg Ce of any being saved. The way the Perus rolled showed she was fast filling, \ ' <r fa. eT ld et ie a. aoe. |
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The wife watched her husband rapidly lash- ing the widow to the spar. “‘ After all,” she asked herself, “ could he, a man, let this woman, as a woman, perish? Would it not be cowardly? He will come back to me—surely he will!” Hardly had the thought passed her brain than the Hesperus heeled fearfully, but was righted by a tremendous billow breaking over the stern. Lucie uttered a piercing shriek, for, as the wave swept past, she saw Mrs. Greville cast her arms round the young officer, and both disappear over the side together, “George—husband!” she screamed. ‘‘ Do not leave me!” Frantically she rushed for- ward, intending to plunge in after them, but a strong hand held her back. “ Parted—parted!” she shrieked, ere she sunk on the deck, “In death, as in life, she has come between us!” When Major Ferramore felt himself whirled over the side, and the widow’s arms fastened tightly about him, he was powerless to resist. _ The billows were tumbling over them, and ‘they were sinking rapidly. In ‘a brief space, however, they rose again to the surface, when, almost fiercely, he ex- claimed, “‘ Why did you grasp me thus? What have you done?” f “Saved your life, thank Heaven! as you have mine!” was the siren’s response. “Saved! Better I had lost it!’ he ejaculated. “T must—I will return!” “It is too late!” and the speaker’s arms tightened. ‘‘ Major Ferramore, the ship is too far away!” ; She was right. Yet he would have risked it, only, as they were flung up on the next wave, and he turned his eager eyes in the direction, to his horror he beheld the huge black hull of the Hesperus rise, reel, pitch for- ward and disappear. In a second it bad gone. The waves rose and fell over the place where it had been. ‘‘Lucie—my wife!” shrieked Major Ferra- more, and made one fierce struggle. But the arms about him were not to be un- twined, and, for a few moments losing con- sciousness, his head drooped on the widow’s shoulder. Her words aroused him. “Major Ferramore, would you have us both | tb ' ship, the Major guessed the coast upon which drown? I see the shore!” ‘Summoning back his strength, he saw m which direction lay the land, and struck out for it. The tide was running in, it was true; but, owing to the nature of the coast, they drifted some way down before they were washed on- to the beach. Directly Major Ferramore felt firm footing, he grasped the spar, and drew it high up on ENTANGLED, ‘breaking, and that his —_ the shore, then dropped insensible beside her whom he had saved. e When he came to, he found that dawn was head was supported in some one’s lap. ‘ Looking up, he perceived it was Mrs. Gre- ville, who, by the aid of his pocket. knife, had freed herself from the spar. Major Ferramore, | averting his face and covering it with his — hands, groaned bitterly. 4 “T see; you have not yet forgiven me,” murmured the rich tones of his companion, — sadly. ‘‘ You blame me for what I have done. — How, Major Ferramore, could I have left you — to die? I could not!” hs “‘ But my wife—my poor Lucie!” he moaned. — ‘¢ Better to have died with her!” ~ ' “You think so now, yet why should you? Die together! Why, had I not held you, that — awful wave would equally have parted you— parted us” (and her voice yibrated) ‘all. ' Major Ferramore, but for your strong arm tO _ guide, I should have been dashed—killed upoD — the rocks! Do you think J can repent saving — you? I owe you my life! AmI—amI tore gret itg” : He was silent. His hands were clenched 02 the beach, his face upon them. Then he looked up, white and haggard, ‘‘ Regret is useless,” he said, coldly, “Ib cannot recall the past. That must be borne a5 — best Imay. Come,” he added, rising; ‘‘ you are wet through. “You will need rest and dry attire,” But, instead, she only rose to her knees, and, her ‘beautiful face lifted, exclaimed, entreat-” ingly, “Oh, forgive me—forgive me, Major Ferramore! Your look—your voice cut me tO the soul! I cannot bear it!” Leaning forward, he raised her, saying; ‘‘Rather pardon me, Mrs. Greville. I am wrong to blame you for an impulse which had its birth in—friendship. Yet do not wonder — that I mourn my wife.” a “Wonder! Major Ferramore, my heart bleeds for her. Mourn as you should, as sh@ deserves—you have my sympathy.” ; She held his hand, and now lightly touch it with her lips before she released it. She felt a slight pressure of his fingers, and 1? silence they proceeded up the beach. From its appearance and the position of they were to be Cornwall. The grandeur a? ‘4 ap bold ruggedness of the rocks proclaimed it, a they had much clambering over its jagged shore before a fisherman’s hut came in view. — The officer approaching, supporting Mt Greville, whose strength began to fail be found only an old woman within. Her “go? man,” she said, had gone down to Mill Bay, a the wreck, but she’d be happy to give the 18°?
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(s nr ant eee Shelter, and any accommodation her cottage ** could afford. The old fisher-wife had a true Cornish type of face, and keen, dark, searching eyes under her grizzled brows, which seemed to recall the _ times when wreckers nestled along the Cornish 4 Shore, as the sea-birds among its rocks, Per- aps it was her ‘‘ uncannie ” aspect that caused _ Mrs. Greville to grasp the Major’s arm, and _ €xclaim, ‘‘ And you?” ¥ _ “T shall proceed at once to Mill Bay,” he answered, ‘‘to see if any one was saved,” ‘“And that may be,” put in the fisher-wife; “for I know the life-boat went out... Ah, in ty young days nothing was known of life- _ oats in Cornwall.” { “The life-boat did go out?” cried the Major. ‘“That’s good news, indeed! I feared our Yockets had not been seen. How far is Mill _ Bay from here?” “Well, I reckon, sir, when you’ve gone a ~ hile and a quarter you'll have just done half.” * “But you'll come back?’ whispered Ger- _ trude Greville, yet holding his arm, and look- Ing pleadingly into his face with her dark, . utiful eyes. ‘I would go with you, but have jnot the strength. I should delay you. _ Sut you will not leave me here alone long With that horrible old woman—you will come back?” : , “Of course I will, Mrs. Greville.” How could he resist her? “ Rven—even if you find her?” “Even if I find her—my wife; and,” he added, fervently, ‘‘ pray Heaven I may!” She did not say “‘Amen!” She merely mur- Mured, “Thank you,” softly, and releasing Im, moved to the hearth, while he, after one 8lance thrown back at her, baving received © proper direction from the old fisher-wife, Passed from the cottage. His way lay along the road bordering the 4 oast, so rugged and weather-beaten that all , To Major Ferramore’s | ht lgy the sea, yet lashing the shore with | F vas barren and bare. ~ en moan, its surface marked by broad ark dashes, though the sun was shining. _ _ As the officer reached the hights, he eagerly ned the ocean for the wreck. But the Hes- Perus had foundered in deep water. Nota | Vestige of her was to be seen. ® shuddered, and a groan of agony burst \ a him, as he thought of his young wife. _~*vering his face, he sobbed aloud. ~ os to ved—whom, fresh, gentle and bonnie, he had “Slt so proud of winning. ; t that moment he did not give one thought ae dart trude Greville, The day seemed to have to kened; and he felt as one might be expected — teel whose good angel has been suddenly re- /“Alled trom his side. Ap : _ it, a mist swam before his eyes, and he stag-. ls young, his pretty wife, whom he had so | ENTANGLED. — - a Then he thought o Gertrude Greville, and almost cursed her, as he remembered Lucie’s | dislike—poor Lucie, who was dead, gone from him forever! ets) No; why should he think that? Had not the | fish-wife said the life-boat had been got off at | last? Would not the women be the first.saved, if—if the life-boat had arrived in time? Major Ferramore would not think of. that, but strode on more quickly, and finally from the hight looked down into the bay. There were groups of fishermen on the beach, also some portions of the wreck, which no man dared to touch, the salvage men hay- . ing arrived, with others who had been attract- ed by curiosity, or to lend aid, while a few men and women were gathered in front of some low cottages under the cliffs. Hurrying on, Major Ferramore, finding a path, hastened down to the beach. It brought him near the cottages first, and he addressed a woman, in husky tones, “Tell me, I entreat you, has any one been saved?” — “ Ay, sir,” was the reply, in strong Cornish accent, attended by a courtesy, ‘‘theer be some twenty poor souls —no. more!” : . “Can I see them?” exclaimed the Major, reeling beneath the news—‘‘can I know their names?” : “Sure can thee,” began the woman, when a “young man, respectably dressed, issued from one of the cottages, with a paper in his hand, and made for the path. ‘*There,” said the’ fish-wife, ‘‘ him yarnder can tell thee all. He’s from th’ papers, he says, he do, and has writ- ten ’t all down in th’ book.” As the Major hastened to overtake the mem- ber of the lecal press, the women stared after him, one remarking that ‘he looked as if he'd com’d out o’ t? wreck himself.” Hearing the quick step behind him, the young man turned, and, seeing the officer, raised his hat. The Major answered the courtesy, as he sai, ‘¢Pardon me, I hear you have the names of the saved. May I, sir, see the list?’ i The other ran his eyes scrutinizingly over the speaker. If he had feared a rival corres- pondent on a rival paper in the Major, the lat- | ter’s disheveled aspect and haggard face reas- sured him, and he at once replied in the aftir- mative, handing the list. As the husband took gered so that the young man caught him in his arms to save him from falling. ‘You know some one on board, sir?” he said, sympathetically. “Yes,” murmured the Major, hoarsely— _ “ some one who is very dear tome. I was on board myself, but—but we were separated in the wreck. I was washed ashore two miles away. Would you mind letting me ac-
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8 ENTANGLED, company you to the hights? I*—and the speaker glanced back at the lounging fishers— “cannot read this here.” * Certainly.” Together they ascended the path. When at the top, hidden from view, Major Ferramore halted, and, turning away, with shaking hands holding the list, beganits perusal. Why he could not have told, but he counted the names first—counted without seeing them, for the mist was over his eyes again. Then, with a beating heart, a wild hope, he read—read rapidly, until near the end; then slowly, as if fearing he might read. incorrectly. They were mostly feminine names, Many he knew. A few belonged evidently to the second class, of whom he knew nothing. But the name of Lucie Ferramore was not there, ; “Are—are you sure you have all here—all that were saved?’ he gasped, ‘‘Certainly, sir. There were but twenty,” and Ihave their names from their own lips. Naturally, each is anxious their names shall appear, for their friends’ sake. There’s not one, sir, I assure you but what I have got. I wish for your sake there was.” “Thank you,’ replied the Major. you much.” His voice broke. He moved away to hide his emotion, when the other said, ‘‘ Excuse me; may I have your name, sir?” ‘‘ Major George Ferramore,” he answered. ‘* Also, you may put Mrs, Greville. That lady was saved with me.” “Thanks, sir. Good-morning!” and penciling down the titles, he moved quicklyeaway; for there was small time to get the account into that morning’s first edition, and totelegraph it to London. When he looked back,he saw Major Ferra- more prone on the ground, his face buried on the short, dry grass, and his white hands clasped tightly at the back of his head, as some men do when torn by a terrible agony. CHAPTER III. A STRUGGLE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL. Wun Major Ferramore returned to the fisher’s cottage he found Mrs. Greville, looking very pale and wan, sitting by the fire, She glanced up as he entered, and even she started at his appearance—it was so ghastly, so full of wretchedness and despair. ‘‘Well, dear Major Ferramore, what news? Good, I trust?’ she murmured, her words speaking differently to her heart. “No,” he rejoined, not meeting her glance, but gazing down into thefire. ‘Twenty have been saved, but ’—his voice shook—“ she is not oO ” “Oh!” ejaculated the widow, in an acvent of “ Thank handkerchief she had been drying. There was silence aspace. Then, still not looking at her, he said, ‘‘ When, Mrs. Greville, do you think you can proceed?” “When? When you desire, Major Ferra- — more. At once.” “That is impossible,” he answered, ‘ You must have rest—your clothes dried. Iam go- ing onto the tewn, two miles distant. I send a fly for you?” ‘Yes; if you will not permit me to walk with you,” she replied, almost humbly, The tone touched him, He felt a brute, yet how could he remember any but his Lucie at such a time? “TI did not mean that,” he said, turning toward her. ‘I thought you were not able to walk,” ' “T would sooner try, Major Ferramore, than stop here,” she rejoined, rising as she spoke. ‘‘J—-I feel nervous. I should not like to stay here alone. Oh, do not think ”—and instinc- tively she clasped her hands in entreaty—“ I have suffered nothing this night!’ The voice was so plaintive, so musically be- seeching, that it chilled him. It made him ashamed of himself. Suffered? Yes, she must have suffered—this tender, delicate weman. “Forgive me!” he exclaimed, taking her hand in his. ‘You must think me a bear. But all this is too, too terrible, Icannot speak of it! Pray let us go! The wash of that awful sea drives me mad!” Without reply, but with a glance of grati- tude more eloquent than words, Mrs. Grevilla obeyed. Rewarding the fisher-wife handsomely, the two set forth. - There may have been moments when the Duchess of Marlborough, who stated that she was born before nerves were in fashion, has pretended to possess them. : Certainly Mrs. Greville did, and. neaded to lean very heavily on the officer’s arm during the two miles’ walk. Before it was over she had managed to wit — kinder sentences from her companion—to make him feel a greater brute than ever, and to” verge once more toward the net'so skillfully spread for him. Reaching the hotel, they rested until their garments were dried and strength somewhat restored, then together proceeded to Laun- ceston. There they separated. piteous grief, burying her face in the cambric c Shall — Mrs. Greville alighted to proceed to her es — tate, He continued on tothe metropolis; not, however, before promising to visit her shortly at the Holme. - ‘‘Believe me, Major Ferramore, no gu will be so welcome,” she murmured, softly, #4 a q
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, ES OE ae ee the train moved from the platform, accom- Panying the assertion by a glance, the power of which Gertrude Greville had well known. ‘‘ As if he would be able to keep away!” she smiled mockingly, when driving to an hotel. “Why, I could have brought him to my call even with his weak, pretty wife living! Now she is dead. I really think—and I have had some experience—these military men are the Vainest creatures alive!” _ Meanwhile, free from the beautiful widow’s influence, Major Ferramore, leantng back in his corner of the carriage, gave himself up to his gloomy reflections. Lucie’s death had affected him very deeply. He had never known how much he had really loved ber until now, and was glad of Mrs. Greville’s absence that he might think of her. y could not in the widow’s society. Why no “‘T really believe she feels for me ‘very much,” he reflected; ‘‘ and so takes a fellow out of himself! It was kind of her, too; so thoughtful to say, as she resided in Cornwall, she would take careful note of it—of all the— the bodies found, and inform me at once if my dear Lucie—” He could get no further even in thought, for the large lump that seemed to rise in his throat and choke him, It was evening when he reached London. The lamps were beginning to be lighted. Call- ing A hansom, he proceeded to Kensington, There, in a roomy, detached, walled-in, red- brick house, lived his own relations, an uncle and aunt. ; It had been arranged that he and Lucie Should stay there a fortnight before seeking 8partments for themselves, when he was to have shown all the London sights to his young Wife. Now how drear and miserable the time Would pass! Mr, and Mrs. Chichester were elderly and ht kind-hearted. Warmly, sympathetically, ®y greeted their nephew. “Oh, my poor George!—my dear boy!” ex- Claimed the old lady, then fairly burst out cry- oy “Qh! how you must have suffered! You "i k like a ghost! And Lucie, that pretty Sar |? 4 vat Please say no more,” said Major Ferra- li ae with contracted brow and quivering P. , I know you mean it kindly, aunt, but can’t talk about it yet.” “i I should think not—I should think not!” Fs ke in Uncle Chichester. ‘Quiet, Jannie. tr ©wn good time George will tell us all. hice young thing!—poor young thing! Dear, worthy couple didn’t talk about the shipwreck, deals Pots hell thabth- sams dices their mind. They said words and started Subjects which, at that moment, though they | would not have seen the similarity af any other, they fancied suggested it, and would come to an abrupt, confused halt in their speech. Finally Major Ferramore found it less pain- ful to give the full account. He did not mention Mrs. Greville, and to himself his description seemed somewhat wretched and vague. They saw nothing of this; only, fondly patting his hand, Aunt Chichester said she was certain he had done the best to save his poor wife, and such other sentences, that — sent keen stabs to his heart. When Major Ferramore retired to his room, he thought he had never passed so wretched an evening. ' ‘How some old people do like to talk of the miserables!” he muttered. ‘‘ Such a life would drive me mad in a week. They have not the tact of Mrs. Greville!” he proceeded, leaning out of the window looking onto the garden to smoke his cigar. ‘‘She made me forget my trouble. They keep it ever fresh in my memory, like flies hovering around a galled wound.” As the smoke of his cigar curled upward he dropped into a reverie, in which Mrs. Greville played a part, the Chichesters having been the innocent cause of that. Suddenly he threw his cigar away, and irri- tably came back into the room, ‘‘T must crush these thoughts,” he muttered. “Tt is sin to my Lucie’s memory. What is the widow to me more than a friend? Only, I must get from here, or I shall have to fly to The Holme from very despair.” Major Ferramore was .perfectly right. He did regard the widow as merely a friend. He liked her; was happy when in her company; but felt that, remembering Lucie’s aversion— he no longer called it unaccountable—he had no right to indulge himself in it; it would be ‘an insult to her memory. He did not know it, but this was the turning point of his life. Had he in his grief met con- genial society, he would have soon forgotten the widow—probably never seen her again. Indeed, she was one of those surface women who, like the snake, can only fascinate when their victim is within range of their vision. Indeed, each hour her influence over the officer was getting weaker. Only the uncon- genial, though sympathetic and doleful com- pany of his worthy relatives forced him to re- call and too much dwell upon that of Mrs. Greville. The Major strolled down to his club the next day, and rather nervously, for he wondered whether any rumors had got abroad of how he, with a lady, had been washed ashore, while his wife was drowned, Hefearedhow men read it. He found, however, no one there that he
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10 knew, So, after an hour’s lounge, went back to Kensington. z Entering the drawing-room, he was surprised to see a young girlof graceful figure arranging some fresh-cut flowers in a vase. She turned as he came in: then, a bright smile on her lips, and in her clear, frank, gray eyes, as he bowed ceremoniously, she extended her hand, saying, ‘‘ Don’t you know me, Cousin George?” .. “Why, it can’t be! Are you the wee, prim maiden, Maud Chichester, I left yet at board- ing-school five years ago?” he exclaimed, ‘“‘No other,” she smiled. ‘‘I have grown, have I not?” “Yes, as beautiful as tall,” he answered. “‘Maud, you are very pretty. How was it I did not see you last night?” “Oh, I don’t live here!” she laughed. “You have come to stop, then, I hope?” he answered. ‘‘A pleasant oasis where all is so doleful.” ‘‘Mor a week,” she answered, ‘Aunt and Uncle Chichester thought you might be dull, so asked me to come for a week, Cousin George.” “They were very kind and thoughtful. I feel grateful, I assure you,” he smiled. “‘ Pray go on with your roses, Maud, and I will help you.” The girl complied, and the conversation drifted freely and pleasantly on. Sbe was Major Ferramore’s chance against the widow. His sole one, because her pleasant, youthful society soothed him. There was something in Maud Chichester’s eyes that reminded him of Lucie. There was a soft sympathy in her accents. She strove, by well-placed not obtrusive cheerfulness, to win him from sad memories, and he found that he could talk to her of Lucie as he could talk of his poor, lost wife to no one else, And Maud’s frank confidence in him, while it pleased, seemed to make him feel a better man, The evening came to an end, and the officer had not, even for a single moment, thought of Gertrude Greville; while, as he had watched Maud’s fresh, sweet, innocent face, Lucie had never, for an instant even, been out of his noind. he asked, entering the breakfast-room next morning, “ why are you going to fly off in a week?” The girl, laughing, looked down, blushed, and answered, ‘“‘ Why, Iam going to Derby, to see Harry’s friends.” “Why, for goodness sake, my dear Maud,” . “And who the deuce—I beg your pardon— is Harry?” — “Don’t at him. “T didn’t,” bp. laughed; “but I fancy now - “he a, ; re : — you know?” And she glanced slyly peri, ENTANGLED. that I can guess. Harry must be the happy young fellow who has won Miss Maud Chi- | chester as his prize in the matrimonial lottery. Harry must be my future cousin.” “‘- Yes,” she smiled, and told him all. ‘“‘T must know Harry, to congratulate him,” he said; and took Maud to Regent street after breakfast, and purchased for her a wedding present. But the bright week went by, and the bright girl was gone. Major Ferramore was once more sent back to his past thoughts. The dull Kensington house hipped and depressed him. The remembrance of Delilah came stealing back, encircling him with Laocoon folds, He felt a craving upon him to fulfill his promise to visit The Holme. He must go somewhere; his own society was intolerable to him; but how escape from that —how fly the thoughts he so desired to banish? He battled against the voice, of the siren, which now again was constantly ringing in his ears. One evening, however, as he was returning © rather wearily. to the Chichester dinner, ‘the notes of a piano came to him from the open window of a villa he was passing. Soon with the music was blended a voice, singing with sweet plaintiveness, “Ever of Thee,” It was Mrs. Greville’s favorite song. It recalled a hundred memories he could not conquer. “pes “T will write to-night!” he exclaimed, reso- lutely, as he flung his cigar away. “T can bear this no longer!” es CHAPTER IV. AN OLD FRIEND OF MR, ARTHUR GREVILLE’ AFTERNOON of a hot August day. The welcome sea-breeze crept softly over the land, stirring the drawing-room window draperies of The Holme, and the delicate lace ruffles falling over Gertrude Greville’s round, snowy arms, as she reclined on a lounge, her eyes dreamy and half-closed, gently moving the feather fan she held. The Holme was a small, but compact estate, on the border line of the mine country. Indeed, between it and the Cornish village extended a tolerable stretch of bleak, brow, barren moor, dangerously broken by the dark yawning mouths of long disused mine-shafts. Fences had' once been placed round these 4° protection, but time had gradually leveled — them; and a reckless familiarity with dange® — not rare in mining districts, had caused the” never to be renewed or repaired. Over twenty years ago, The Holme had, by inheritance, become the property of a MU Arthur Greville, a wealthy East India plante% who~—the place having béen let for a J0PA —
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ENTANGLED. il forwarded checks for the quarterly rents to his landlord—had not even bothered himself with the trouble of an English agent; Mr. Arthur Greville declaring that from experience, rather than be robbed by any of that fraternity, he would sooner risk being cheated by his tenant. A year previously, however, the latter’s lease having expired, he removed to London. The Holme was not announced to let, but was shut up in charge of an old woman. This elderly personage had made herself re- markably comfortable there for eleven months, when a letter arrived, bidding her set the | ‘place in order, hire the necessary servants, and in four weeks’ time be in readiness to receive “the writer, Mrs. Greville. The news spread through the little com- Munity which formed the gentry of the place, and curiosity was rife, as no mention was Made of Mr. Greville. . Was he dead? Nothing more likely, as all that was known of him was that he must be quite seventy—a great age for one who had Passed his life and lost his liver in India, Tn that case, Mrs. Greville was a widow. s. Greville arrived, and was a widow. Also she was young, beautiful, and agreeable, hot to add rich; hence she was very well re- Ceived by the gentry. { term to a well-to-do tenant, who regularly | passionless natures, that can no more be ruffled than the surface of a granite rock. Yet her manner—graceful and refined—pro- | glaimed her to be a perfect lady. cers She carried letters in her hand, with which she advanced to her employer. | The post has arrived at last, madam,” shoe said, quietly. ‘“‘Itappears a goods train ran off the line, and for some hours blocked the way.” “Letters, Mrs, Hendricson!” exclaimed Ger- _ trude, half rising quickly to receive them. , “Who are they from?” ‘“‘T should find that difficult to tell, madam,” smiled the companion, as she took her seat at a small work-table at the other side of the bay | window, ‘“‘being unableto see inside the en- velopes.” i ‘“‘T meant, had they a gossipy, pleasant, or _ a business look?” remarked Gertrude, scanning | the three. ‘“‘Here is a biue-enveloped one; you may read that, Mrs, Hendricson, while I” —and asmile played over her face—‘ read this. ‘At last!” dropped back on the lounge and broke the fastening of one of the letters. The companion: had soon finished hers, It was merely from an upholsterer in Launceston about some alteration in the library furniture, As she put down the note, she glanced across With the wisdom of a clear-headed woman, | at her employer. She yet was smiling; a ertrude Greville had secured her jewels and Money upon her person at the first sign of the €sperus being in danger. Thus she had lost nothing but her wardrboe, Which had been easily replaced. On this August afternoon, Gertrude Greville, hguidly fanning herself, was recalling, all this, and the fact that more than six weeks elapsed, and yet the Major made no sign. Gertrude Greville. had given him four, to. Master his grief for Lucie. He had already taken over ‘six, and her | Pomegranate lips tightened with wounded | e. Prid At that moment the door opened, and the Widow's companion entered. “ was a middle-aged lady, being appar- htly over forty. to her age, and her black silk dress, which latter increased the fairness of her hands and | t | —and she laughed musically—“‘ be in full force ™Mplexion. a © wore thin gold rimmed spectacles, and t hair, of iron gray hue, was plainly braided er slight figure seemed yet more so, owing | Hd : | my dear Mrs. Hendricson, with your staid self, - | pleased light danced in her eyes, It was evi dent that she had read the letter twice before, | with a little, amused laugh, she said, ‘ My dear | Mrs. Hendricson, I must trouble you to see the | Gray Room is prepared by to-morrow, for we | shall have a guest more than we expect ed.” “ A lady, madam?” ; “Oh, dear, no; a gentleman!” laughed Ger- trude.. ‘‘No other than—well, yes, an old lover of mine. In fact, Major Ferramore, who, you know, saved me when the Hesperus was wrecked,” “Indeed! But will he stay at The Holme?” “Why not? There will be company enough not to shock propriety,” rejoined Gertrude, curling her beautiful lip, ‘“‘Mr, and Mrs. Vane, with their daughter, arrive this evening; and to-morrow Mr. and Mrs. Helton; which, will be sufficient to silence scandal. We shall” to receive this most gallant and susceptible of nown her face; while black lace formed a , She”? half-mantilla, on her head. He © moved with a noiseless, gliding step. had was low, and so even as to approach f; Parently Possessed one of those placid, equable, | | act, Gertrudg, Greville’s companion ap- | more comes here to woo?” her Majesty’s officers.” / The companion raised her eyes quickly in surprise, “Pardon me, madam,” she smiled; ‘but, a former lover, and now released from all mar- ried ties, I should imagine that Major Ferra- 3 So “T have not the slightest doubt of it,” cs be oe es Fa ne highs wale ee So eg, RARE Dat she murmured, as she | ya He Pe sae 2)
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12 “T am in no hurry to decide, Mrs. Hendricson, so time and the fashion of the Major’s wooing must do so. But you will see to the Gray Room, please.” “Certainly. When did you say we might expect Major Ferramore?” “To-morrow, Of course he will first stop at the village; and he writes,” added Gertrude, consulting the letter carelessly, ‘he will give himself the pleasure of calling in the afternoon. Yes, stay; there’s some mistake. This letter must have been delayed more than by the rail, for it isdated the 9th, in which case Major Ferramore’s ‘day after to-morrow’ is to-day.” “Then, madam,” said Mrs. Hendricson, ris- ing and speaking in her low, monotonous tones, ‘‘I had better see to the Gray Room at once.” “By all means, Thanks.” The companion glided from the apartment, and noiselessly closed the door. There, how- ever, her usual placidity underwent a slight change. She proceeded up the stairs with marvelous swiftness, and in lieu of giving or- ders respecting the Gray Chamber, proceeded to her own room,into which she locked her- self, ' Hardly had she quitted Gertrude than visi- tors were announced. _ It was the rector, the Reverend Septimus Sheldrake, with his wife, and a Mr. Bryerton. The rector was a portly five feet eight of clerical respectability, with a condescending air and woolly voice. His better half was a short, brisk, bright little woman, ready to at- tend to all the business of the parish before her _own; while their friend was a thin, withered little man of nearly seventy, so brown and dry that he almost made one sneeze. Gracefully, smiling graciously, Gertrude Greville advanced to welcome them, The rec- tor took the lead—as he did in everything— and pressing the widow’s fingers in his soft, plump hand, said woollily, ‘My dear Mrs. Greville, excuse this intrusion, J beg; but my friend here, learning, during his flying visit to me from the modern Babylon, that the widow of his dear old friend, Mr. Arthur Greville, lived so near, actually would not allow me a moment’s rest—not a moment, dear madam— until I had given him the honor of ul duction.” Perhaps it was because the rector’s fingers were so very soft and plump that he did not feel the hand held twitch suddenly. . He did, however, notice that the red lip quivered, and lost some of its brilliant hue, as Gertrude Gre- ville, with almost stately dignity, inclined her head to Mr. Bryerton. “ Sensitive creature—remarkably sensitive! ENTANGLED. “Your manner, however, appears to promise | Yet Greville was old enough to have been hes him liftle success.” grandfather!” reflected the rector. ‘‘There is . “That is as it may be,” answered Gertrude. really no accounting for the likings of pretty women.” “Your husband, Mrs. Greville, was indeed an old friend,” smiled the newly introduced, a9 — he bowed over Gertrude’s hand like a beau of the ancient regime; “for we were school chums in England, and received our appoint — ment from the East India Company together. — But”—and Mr. Bryerton slightly raised his shoulders—‘‘I was delicate, and used to say poor Greville had the constitution of a lion. The climate killed me. I came back; he re- mained, and gained a fortune. Now, here am I; and he—is no more.” ‘“‘My dear Bryerton,” broke in the rector, “a gentleman who passed all his years without change in India, as did Mr. Greville, would need the consitution of an elephant. Mr. Gre- ville, I am delighted to say, had that constitu- tion, and he remained—exactly—and gained @ fortune.” ‘‘He gained far more than that, my dear rector,” answered Mr. Bryerton, with a co ly bow toward Gertrude. “He gained that which would induce any man to brave any cli- mate to win.” During this, their, hostess sat silent, Her dark eyes, from under the shadow of their lashes, turned from one to the other. A closé observer might have noticed a contraction of the lips and of the folded hands, a “Once Mrs. Sheldrake addressed her. Either she did not hear or did not take heed. not answer. “Was my poor friend’s death, may I ask, sudden?” inquired Mr. Bryerton, sympatheti- cally. “Sudden? No—that is, not very!” respond ed Gertrude. e She did “Dear, dear! Tt seems but yesterday that he, a bright, hopeful young fellow, saw me 0 to England. ‘Yet it’s over forty years since W® ~ met, and twenty since we corresponded, May — Task if he was much changed? Did he resid? in the old place?” ; Gertrude had grown paler and paler; noW rising, she said, somewhat abruptly, and with evident agitation, “Would you pardon mé Do, I entreat you; for, as, sir, you may imag: ine, this is a most painful subject.” She passed her handkerchief across her face, then, with # faint, charming smile. “Do .excuse me, Mr. Bryerton. Ifear I must appear yery rude.” | ‘“‘Not so, Mrs. Greville,” he answered ‘<Mine would be the rudeness, did I take & fense at a grief which does honor to my f: memory.” “I thank you,” she responded, gratefully: The rector here broke in, to change the sub- ject, “You must not go, my dear Bryerto™ without seeing the apiary; it is just in perfec” ; va & p Las am
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ENTANGLED. 18 - tion. I know I have Mrs. Greville’s permis. Sion to show it to you.” Never had Gertrude felt more grateful to the Tector than when she saw him pass out of the Window with his friend. “Highly sensitive nature, Mrs, Greville’s— ghly sensitive, poor creature!” he remarked, his woolly accents. “‘ Exceedingly so,” answered Mr. Bryerton, dryly, ‘Had Greville been the young fellow that he was when I first knew him, I could Ve understood it better. But thirty grieving or seventy!” sd “Therefore such grief is the more to be hon- °red when we come across it—eh, Bryerton?” “ Assuredly,” smiled the other, as, thought- fully, he followed the clergyman. On their returning to the drawing-room, Sheldrake broke off her long account of the Dorcas meeting, and rose to leave with the Sentlemen. Gertrude.was now quite her usual Self again; and as she bade Mr. Bryerton good- Morning, hoped, with a winning smile, to have the pleasure of again seeing him at The olme, “Tt is an honor! regret I must forego,” wag the rejoinder, ‘‘as I leave Cornwall to-mor- Tow, Ang it is not likely I shall ever find my Way so far west again.” Gertrude’s lips murmured sorrow, while her fart beat joyously. When they had gone, Moving quickly to the couch, she sunk down, §nd, her hands clasped hard, muttered, ‘‘Who Would have dreamt of meeting a friend of Ar- thur Greville’s here? Why did the rector ring him? Thank Heaven, he will not come ain,” She paused, her beautiful eyes riveted on the carpet, her white brows knit. Then she added, in a whisper, “It’s a dangerous game— ae dangerous game! But Ill play it Leaning back, she buried her face in the vel- vet cushion, and became silent, motionless. wevly an hour must so have passed, when she 88 startled by a slight sound—a thimble fall- ing on the table. She looked up quickly, and saw Mrs. Hen- ((80n quietly at work in her usual place. Wie did not. know you were here!” she ex- Med, somewhat sharply. ‘I did not hear oan come in,” I thought you were asleep; you were so quiet that I tried not to disturb you. The Ray Room is prepared; all is in readiness. ative there is the sound of wheels on the tobe companion rose as she spoke, and moved ward the window. ‘be y.0 BOt gol” exclaimed Gertrude. “It may Mrs or Ferramore.” : | Ramey Hendricson returned, but did not re- | Sher seat. She stood, one hand leaning on the chair-back. Footsteps in the hall; then the door opened, and Major Ferramore was announced, Clad in mourning, he was paler than his wont; but that only made him appear handsomer as, at the first glance, believing Gertrude to be alone, he advanced quickly, with great eagerness, to meet her. But extending her hand quietly, she said, with the purpose of checkings his impulsive- ness, ‘“‘A thousand welcomes, Major Ferra- more, to The Holme, which I trust will not frighten you away by its dullness. Our pres- ent small party will soon be increased. Ah! it isso kind of you tocome! Let me”—and she drew a little aside to avoid his earnest gaze— “introduce you to Mrs. Hendricson, my com- panion,” she added, in a whisper. Major Ferramore, a trifle confused—perhaps a trifiy annoyed—at finding a third party pre- sent, turned and bowed to the quiet, middle- aged, staid lady in black silk, who—her white hand still on the chair-back—-calmly responded to the inclination. Thus the officer and. Mrs. Hendricson met. ee CHAPTER V. MAJOR FERRAMORDE’S RIVAL, > GERTRUDE GREVILLE was right when she said there would be enough company at The Holme to prevent the proprieties being out- raged by Major Ferramore’s presence there. Hence his portmanteaux were transferred from the village inn to the Gray Room that same evening, on which also arrived the other guests _ —but very recent acquaintances of the widow’s, © yet pleasant, agreeable people, just the sort to make a country house cheerful, Faget Few hostesses could have better played their part and performed their onerous duties than Gertrude. Gay, light-hearted, apparently without a carey she moved as the lovely spirit of mirth, banishing melancholy from her path —moved, with Major Ferramore, her aide-de- camp, as she had jestingly styled him, ever in her wake. of ‘‘Though you are my oldest friend here, Major Ferramore,” she had remarked, confid~ ingly, “‘our acquaintance is of no long date; .. but occurrences—sad ones, indeed—have made it seem as if for years we had known each other. Therefore, I venture to throw myself on your generosity, and ask your aid to amuse these people,. When they quit The Holme, let it be with pleasant memories.” “Command me, Mrs. Greville, I shall only be too flattered to place myself at your orders,” responded the Major, bending to kiss the white | hand that had been laid in his; “but am Iso fortunate as to be reckoned only among your acquaintances?” hd
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_ your friend—your nearest, your dearest. 14 ENTANGLED. ne “Truly that is a cold term,” remarked Ger- trude, letting ber lashes fall, ‘‘ for one to whom I owe my life! jf we, Major Ferramore, are not friends, who should be?” “Who, indeed, Mrs. Greville! Gertrude,” he murmured, lowering his voice, and stooping near her, ‘‘ the one wish of my life is to be We have both suffered. We have been by Fate thrown together; drawn together yet more by a terrible danger—by confronting death itself. To me the world seems barren—a waste on which you and I alone exist. With you alone can I talk of that past; hence there is a tie be- tween us that should make our friendship in- dissoluble.”’ Gertrude drooped her beautiful head, as with averted face, she answered, ‘‘ That is so, Major Ferramore. Neither of us two can ever forget the past. In it we both have suffered. We beth have lost those dear to us.” At those last words the officer drew back. He felt that they had been intended to recall to him that his loss had been too recent for more than friendship to exist between them—at least, openly—as yet. At any rate, so he read it; and again kissing the soft fingers, said no more, A. fortnight thus passed in a constant succes- sion of pleasure. Gertrude’s influence in the neighborhood increased daily. People began to be anxious for invitations to The Holme; while, in private, already was its lovely owner’s name and—Major Ferramore’s coupled together. Of course, the story of the wreck was recounted everywhere, though not quite accurately. Somehow, it was known that the Major had been instrumental in Gertrude’s preservation, but not that Lucie had fallen a sacrifice to it. Did George Ferramore really love the widow? Had he, as his young wife had warned him, played a dangerous game until he had fallen into the meshes beyond extrication? If so, where was the barrier to the accom- plishment of his desires? Gertrude apparently divined his secret; still, was kindness itself. In -all things he was treated as the most honored guest. Nevertheless, in that gay, light-hearted company, a close observer would have seen that Major Ferramore was not at ease. His manner was marked by a certain excited rest- lessness, as of one who, in the fever of pursuit, | is tormented by a vague sensation that he moves hardly by his own will, and that the goal he is striving to attain is not that at which he would have aimed when first starting in life. One evening when Gertrude had accepted a challenge from one of her guests to play chess, Major Ferramore, sauntering to that part of the drawing-room where, unless wanted, the companion usually sat quietly at work, threw himself ona chafr near, and with an evident sigh of relief, said, ‘‘ What a haven of peaceful rest appears to reign in this particular corner - of yours, Mrs. Hendricson! It almost makes one envious.” “Envious!” and the companion shook her. head with a faint smile. ‘‘Major Ferramore’s life, past and present, must be very different to what I imagined it, before he would think me a subject to envy.” “That may be, Mrs. Hendricson. We all have our private histories, our hidden skele- tons, I suppose. No doubt you have yours?” » “Tet these testify!” remarked Mrs. Hen- dricson, lightly touching the silvered braids of dark hair. “In that case, you must have suffered much,” said the officer, sympathetically ‘“‘T have; very much. There are some sor-_ rows which scar the heart ineffaceably.” “ And such have been yours?” pursued Major Ferramore, interested, ‘‘Yet how quietly, how placidly you bear it, Mrs. Hendricson!” The companion slightly raised her shoul- ders. “Time brings resignation, Major Ferramore. If you had suffered when as young as I, and now were as old, you would find it so.” “JT doubt that,” he answered, playing thoughtfully with one of her reels of cotton. — ‘““Women bear more patiently than men; iD all things save strength are man’s superior, and in nothing so much as their self-devotion in love.” The companion, looking up, saw the Major’s eyes fixed dreamily on Gertrude, who, her chid resting on her hand, was leaning slightly over the chess-board, considering her next move. She indeed was beautiful. Did the officer mean her? ’ ‘‘Mrs. Hendrieson’s lip curled as, with 4 smile, she rejoined, “‘ You flatter our sex, I am sure. Probably,” and she lifted her eyes t0 him, ‘‘ you speak from experience?” The officer did not reply. His gaze was still upon Gertrude, who was laughing gaylY over the prospect of checkmating her advers@ ry, and he sighed. “That is the second time I have heard you sigh, Major Ferramore,” said Mrs. HendricsoD; — ‘Cand you are the last person I should hav? imagined doing so.” “And why?” he demanded, quickly. “ Those who sit apart generally see more tha? — the actors. Would it offend you if Isay I hav? your secret?” ‘“You would not offend me,”he rejoined, ip a hurried whisper, “if you said that you nad hers.” ‘You mean ‘whether she returns your affeG — tion, and after the time fashion demands W consent to wed with you?” * i 4
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‘e ie iv ; ENTANGLED. You put it certainly ina straightforward way,” remarked the officer, coloring. “ Am I not right?” “Tt I admit it?” “Then I answer, it requires a keener person than I am, Major Ferramore, to read Mrs, Ger- trude Greville. The eyes of love: ought to be more clear-sighted than mine can be,” said the companion, as, rising, she crossed the room to the piano, where Miss Vane was playing unat- tended, ; The Major looked after her, a little piqued. Why had she gone? He liked talking to Mrs, Hendricson. possessing and imparting that repose which was as a refreshing sleep after feverish deli- rium, “J wonder what her trouble was?’ he thought, biting his mustache. “She has my Secret? Has she? Have I one? Heaven knows! Gertrude enthralls me. Her loveli- ness holds me like a spell. I feel that I could go through fire and water for her; that she has but to command for me to perform. My brain Seems in a whirl if I contemplate losing her. Yet, am I in love?” At that very instant matters were so ar- ranging themselves as to force him speedily to decide. “Checkmate!” cried Gertrude, clapping her |: hands. Then she added, perceiving the foot- man by her side, “‘ What is it?” “A letter, ma’am, left by hand, for Mr. Helton.” Mr. Helton, Gertrude’s opponent, was a well- looking, dark, rather sallow-faced aristocratic aoe of somewhere between forty and “For me?” he’ ejaculated, raising his black brows. “An error; it must be, Gad, I know no one here save yourself, my dear Mrs. Gre- Ville. Stay,” he proceeded, fixing his eye- Slass and examining the writing. ‘No, it Can’t be. Yet I’d vow it is his hand.” ‘“ Whose hand, love?” usked his wife, a tall, handsome, languid blonde, leaning . over his Shoulder, “The Honorable Augustus Beckwith’s, Clara, Mrs. Greyille, with your permission,” remarked Mr. Helton, as, bowing, he broke | ® seal, and hurriedly scanned the contents, at a fellow it is,” he remarked, looking Up, showing his white teeth and addressing the - Company generally. “I knew it was he. Th tion. I asked him a certain favor, and, instead of answering me by post, down he comes from | wae! in the hight of the season, to Corn- POR hd is friendship, truly,” smiled Ger- “Indeed, yes, Ah! Beckwith’s the best fel- ere never was such a fellow to do a kind ac- | She was so quiet, so ladylike; | ¢ 15 low out, Nephew to Lord Beltonsea, and, if a few intermediate cousins were only to die off; Lord Beltonsea himself one day. Yet he thinks no more of leaving his luxurious lodgings in Piccadilly, and putting up with the discomforts of a Cornish inn for a day or two to oblige a friend, than I should to—take off my hat to a lady. For gad! itis not an inconvenience, but a pleasure.” Mr. Helton had risen while this fell easily, glibly from his tongue, and now turning to _ Gertrude, said, ‘‘ Mrs. Greville, I am sure I may ask you generously to pardon my brief absence this evening?” ‘On one condition,” she smiled, “That you persuade your friend to leave the discomforts of the Cornish inn, for the better accommoda- | tion of The Holme.” ‘Oh, my dear madam, a. thousand thanks! | But Beckwith, though I confess my account of The Holme will make him envious, would never dream of intruding.” “It would not be an intrusion, but, I trust, a mutual pleasure. There, Mr. Helton, no de- nial, or I shall believe that Mr. Beckwith de- spises my hospitality. Major Ferramore, will you try your hand against mine in this mimic tourney?” she concluded, indicating the chess- board. The officer, crossing, readily took Mr. Hel- ton’s place, who, bowing his thanks for the in- vitation to his friend, quitted the room. In the hall Mr. Helton found the inn’s ostler, a tall, brawny Cornishman, waiting with a lantern, which was necessary over the mile or more of wild, barren land they had to traverse. Gertrude sent out, proposing to dispatch a messenger for’ the Honorable Augustus Beck- with, but Mr, Helton had reasons of his own for wishing himself to go. The night was dark, the stars were dim, but the ostler knew the way well, and in little above half an hour, Mr. Helton was ushered into the presence of his friend. And his friend was a tall, handsome, re- markably aristocratic-looking man of appar- ently thirty, whose elegance of figure had been done full justice to by an excellent West-end tailor. His fair hair was parted in the middle, long lashes gave a slightly languid expression to his large blue eyes, enhanced by the meas- ured tones of his voice, and long, drooping - mustache. As the other entered, he stood, one elbow on the mantlepiece, a cigarette in his fingers, and his glance inspecting his own reflection in the fly-spotted, dingy chimney- — glass. So you have managed to come, Beckwith?” — said Helton, as the door closed. “Managed! By Jove! was it likely, old boy, I’'d stop away?” answered the Honorable, throwing the cigarette end into the grate, and
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advancing. As soon asT could get free of Doynton, I started. Well, how continue the odds respecting the charming widow?” ‘* Not so much in your favor, mon ami, as I . at first imagined?” r ‘How is that? Any more horses entered for the race matrimonial?’ asked the Honor- able, with interest, “Only one; but I fancy he may prove a _ dangerous rival!” answered Helton, tipping back his chair bya perilous angle. “A Major Ferramore, who, besides having saved her life, is evidently, as far as his recent loss will allow, in love with her.” ** And she?’ _ Helton shrugged his shoulders, as he laughed. ' Oh, mystery, thy name is woman! I never could thoroughly read the sex, and cannot _ fathom the widow.” ““By Jove, Helton, I hope you’ve not brought - me down on a wild-goose chase?’ responded the other, ‘“ At any rate, you know the likely points of both the running horses, Which will you back?” : “You.” “You answer with most flattering readi- ness!” And the Honorable complacently smoothed his mustache. “Don’t be conceited with your pretty face, my Augustus,” smiled Helton. ‘There the Major is your match. ‘Your scoring will be in __- your title and expectations.” ‘ “Expectations! By Jove, with half-a-dozen | healthy male cousins intervening! You still | believe the widow handsome?” | ‘She is undeniably so.” * And regarded financially?” > 2 “Is worth the winning! The Holme is the snuggest little estate you can imagine; while Mrs, Greville’s style of living proves that the du Nabob must have left her an excellent exche- . quer.” ‘ “Most satisfactory,” responded the other, _ “for I must confess that at the present mo- ment a certain Honorable’s exchequer is re- markably low, and he sees no way of filling . ite” - fe Save by a wealthy marriage,” broke in the other, “Exactly, But now, as to entering the for- tress?” ) “That difficulty is got over already. I read ; your letter aloud; rolled out your title and ex- __-pectancy; and declared you had left the luxu- __ ries of Piccadilly for the discomforts of an inn, merely to perform an act of kindness for me, your friend,” } “ Quite true,” ~ “True?” \ “Certainly. If I get first to the winning- i post, do I not hand over to my dear friend five hundred or ‘a thousand, as the charmin _ Wwidow’s exchequer will permit?” a ENTANGLED, ' Ah, yes! So far, the matter is mutual. But, to proceed. Mrs, Greville, hearing my description of my worthy friend, insisted that he should take up his abode at The Holme. I bring the invitation with me, my dear boy, and shall wait to take you back.” ‘I will not, in that case, detain you long, for, as you niay understand, my pormanteaux are as yet unpacked.” The Honorable Augustus Beckwith was as good as his word, and the rather dilapidated inn chaise was speedily driving the two across the moor to The Holme. ‘*Oh, came ye by the barren moor?” murmured the Honorable. ‘By Jove! whata dreary place it is! Not a very enticing spot for a midnight ramble.” “T’d advise you not to try it, for the place is a pitfall of disused mine-shafts. Take the wrong path, and, gad! a man would be in the other world before he could say Jack Robin- son, But there are the lights of The Holme.” Very shortly after the Honorable Augustus Beckwith stood in its brilliantly-lighted draw- ing-room, bowing to its fair owner. “Well,” inquired Helton, entering his friend’s apartment after the household had re- tired for the night, “what is your opin- ion?” “T have formed three,” answered Beckwith, bringing himself in from the open window, where he had been enjoying a meditative smoke. ‘That Gertrude Greville is beautiful, that she is rich, and that I, my dear -fellow, and no other, shall win and wear her,” “ And Major Ferramore?” “Bah! Once, when I héld her in conversa- tion, she passed over a remark of his unno- ticed, and once she took my side of an argu- ment adverse to his. For a first evening, Hel- ton, my boy, those are signs which speak strongly in my favor. But who is that staid, middle-aged personage, Mrs, Hendricson?”’ “Mrs. Greville’s companion.” “T don’t like her. She sees all—I might say watches all—but says nothing. I mistrust her,” CHAPTER VIL MRS. GREVILLE RECBIVES A SHOCK. It soon became apparent toall at The Holme that the Honorable Augustus Beckwith was enthralled by Gertrude Greville’s charms, and that in him the Major had a powerful rival. To no one was this more plain than to George Ferramore himself, Gertrude was a skillful coquette, hence he intuitively felt rather than saw the preference that was giveD to Beckwith. Openly, he had no complaint to make, even on the score of their friendship. Nevertheless, he knew his star had waned he- fore that of the new-comer; and, according 19
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human nature, it aroused his pride and heated 18 passion. He considered himself unjustly treated, ill- Used by Gertrude. What bad he not done for hert What had he not sacrificed for hert Was he, after all the past, to be ousted for an- Other? As had grown to be his custom, he took his Sriefs to Mrs. Hendricson. The latter gener- y sat in a private parlor after breakfast, Making the daily arrangements, giving orders the servants. Here the Major would lounge n, and here he found her one morning about ® Week after Augustus Beckwith’s arrival. “You do not look very well, Major Ferra- More,” said the companion, glancing up from .r housekeeper’s book. ; reakfast.” es; ‘Did you? It was very kind of you, I am EN re, to take that interest, Mrs. Hendricson, ust like you,” he answered, as he went and on the mantlepiece near the small ta- “Just like me? she smiled. | Meany? | “How do you a That you possess one of those pure, sweet, | ngs , womanly natures which is ever think- | 8 of others before yourself,” (Allie Hendrieson raised her eyes rapidly. |, Pen she held slid from her fingers, ) m And have you read me thus, Major Ferra- ee she murmured, in a low tone. “Be- ome, I a complimented.” « not compliment,” he proceeded, ae I tell you really what I think?’ «7 Should be flattered by the confidence.” "Placa t you are one on whom a man might Wou) te , and never be deceived; who cared se a support, a comfort to those you ee in the hour of trouble, and would those yourself a sacrifice for them. One of Man Sentle feminine natures to which a strong wore Clings in time of trouble.” Griggs? YOU really think that?” said Mrs. Hen- “Ma ic leaning over her housekeeping book, the, “erramore, you could not have given « acter which so well pleased me.” 8Wereg a 2° well suits you, rather,” he an- Son, 7 tease Goodness and you, Mrs, Hendric- ®8Ver wal €ve to be synonymous. Have you thg rakened with the consciousness of hav- You eonla ® perfectly happy dream, though litg You 2ecall no incident, and all through Memon or member that moment as a sweet « roe Namo. 9). Most ‘ wate rae be have done so, Major Fer ®Mhogin 0% Mrs. Hendricson, seem like an Periog of that memory—ot some happy Pas Mire. "Hena; UB, she Boat her book. ! ENTANGLED. “T observed it at | - Sing dricson “was silent a s: aking uf pace, making» lg try Then, with a little ; Plied, “Really, Major, if you talk like that, I shall have to forbid these little meetings of ours,” ' “Pray don’t do that,” he ejaculated, earn- estly. ‘ You do not know of what a comfort you would deprive me.” Mrs. Hendricson, slightly turning bent her eyes, which looked very bright through her spectacles, upon him, “Major Ferramore,” she said, in her steady, monotonous tones, “‘ when I first saw you here I believed you the happiest man under the sun —a man'who had got his dearest wish fulfilled, and instead—” “You see me the most wretched,” he broke Why?” “Can you ask, Mrs, Hendricson?” And he laughed a trifle bitterly. ‘Surely your eyes have discovered it? Con- fess—yes. JI am sure I may trust you for my confidante.” ° “You may, indeed.” ‘Then has not Mrs. Greville treated me most unjustly, en? After—after all, she is gradually setting me aside for this—this Au- gustus Beckwith!” And the Major, pulling his mustache, began pacing the room, Mrs, Hendricson, rising, leaned against the mantlepice, as she answered, quietly, *‘ Don’t you think, Major Ferramore, in the end you may be happier for being put aside? Mind, I, too, speak in confidence.” Halting, he abruptly confronted the speaker. “Pray explain,” he said, a shade stiffly. “TI do not comprehend,” “Then, a little while back, I told you that I guessed your secret—you loved Mrs. Greville. I now recall that assertion, for only now have I your secret. You do not love Mrs. Gre- ville!” “Not love her!’ exclaimed the officer, start- in % moment he stood silent, thoughtful, as though the declaration had struck some secret chord in his mind. Abruptly, however, he threw up his head, saying, ‘No, Mrs. Hendricson; you were right at first, you are wrong now. [I do lovo her. You would say I am but fascinated, but under the spell of her witchery. I swear to you, . over and over again haye I thought so mys self—have tried to convince myself it is so. ‘Not, I fancy, very strongly.” — _ a Probably Ba: poi dire it is not delusion, it is love. If not, should I stay he . hould I feel this jealousy of this Mr. Beckwith? Nol I tell you I love Gertrude Greville! I would do her slightest bidding for a smile! I would die for her! In fact, I—I would do any thing rather than see her—after the past—another’s, — ndricson |” rT me pacing the room again, irritable from checked vassion,
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i eel 18 ENTANGLED, have sacrificed too much—you know not how much—to be now turned aside by a rival.” “Major Ferramore,” said the companion, her eyes bent on the empty fire-grate, “you should not say such things to me. But this I again unhesitatingly repeat, the feeling possess- ing you isnot love. You are jealous—you are passionate—you are under a delusion. A trifle may serve to open your eyes; your destiny depends on whether that trifle ever arrives. Mrs. Greville is beautiful, but she is selfish— false. Your inner self is conscious of this, though-at present you are not.” ‘¢ Mrs, Hendricson!” ejaculated the officer, amazed, and with knitted brows, as he re- garded the quiet, firm-spoken woman before him. ‘‘Major Ferramore,” she said, extending her hand, “I did not mean to offend you, you are sure of that. You are the last I would make miserable. Remember, what I have said was in confidence.” “JT will not forget; but you are wrong,” he said, a little coldly, as, taking the hand, he touched it with his lips. “Let time show,” remarked Mrs. Hendricson. “There! Hark! Here is some one. Come in.” It was a servant toinform the Major that the horses were waiting. Wishing the com- panion ‘‘Good-morning,” he at once hastened away. At breakfast, a riding party had been pro- posed into Launceston, and when the Major reached the drive, he found not only the horses, but the guests, some of them already mounted. He bit his lip to find Gertrude among the latter, and, with Augustus Beckwith close to her rein, already proceeding toward the lodge gates. Gertrude Greville never looked better than on horseback, and as George Ferramore saw the two—her face turned smilingly toward her companion, who bent low toward her from his saddle—his heart burned with jealousy and fury. Proceeding to his horse, he was in the act of flinging himself into the saddle, with the — intention of breaking the dangerous talk be- tween those two, when the mellow tones of Mrs, Helton arrested him, ‘‘Major Ferramore, dare I ask your assist- ance for me to mount? I have dismissed | Helton, he is so clumsy, Indeed, no one can do it I protest, like you.” The officer could not but comply, muttering a curse deep down in his throat against all blondes. Certainly if the lady had thought to please him by her compliment, she failed, ~ “Mr. Beckwith must look to himself. i Her large blue-gray eyes smiled without ré sponse, and his fury almost was beyond contro when first she dropped her whip, then et treated him to fastea the button of hel gauntlet. When finaliy he sprung into bi saddle, to his annoyance he found all the res were riding down the avenue, and he wa alone with Mrs. Helton. As a gentleman, he could not leave her. Was it a plot against him—a plan to sepa!” ate him from Gertrude? He began to believe so; that these three, th? Heltons and their friend, were playing int? each other’s hands to secure Gertrude. “But, by Heaven, they shall not succeed!” muttered the officer, through his teeth. “If any one’s, she shall be mine!” If a woman was ever hated, it was, at thal moment, Mrs. Helton. If a woman perfectly well knew it, it was she. . Major Ferramore fretted and fumed unde! the restraint. In vain he strove to increas? the pace, or. find excuse, for joining th? rest. She apparently did net understand. Suddenly an opportunity occurred. They were traversing a broad, flat country road, that refracted the sun’s rays with a whit® dazzling glare. ; : Far in advance were Gertrude and A™ gustus Beckwith. Asa barrier rode the re of The Holme party. No other figure prok® the scene save that of a solitary pedestrian a” vancing from the direction in which they we? going. ee Major Ferramore’s eyes, fixed jealously ” those two, saw not the other. ‘ He was a middle-sized, respectable-lookiné man, of about five-and-thirty, with a keer. intelligent countenance, and the appearance © a commercial traveler. He walked with the air of a man taking # purposeless stroll. His gaze strayed idly fro object to object. It was natural, therefor that the equestrian party should attract * notice. ag a: “As nice a turn-out of mounts as evel” _ other she gathered the vail she wore GQ — saw,” he remarked, critically. ig Then abruptly he came to a dead halt, gwin8’ ing half round on his heel. , oe Could it have been that sudden move, ; which frightened Gertrude’s horse, causiDé quickly to rear, and swerve away, ©? ooh 4 almost in violent contact with Augustus Be with’s? ¢ the Or was it the strong, sharp gripe O jo rider’s hand shortening "the rein, as with Si about her face? west The next moment, the animal again swe ag | ing, and thus escaping the Honorable ‘August Beckwith’s grasp, darted quickly forwar® — | It was this Major Ferramore beheld.
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‘ ENTANGLED: » ‘Great Heaven!” he ejaculated; “what’s| The speaker was Mrs. Greville’s footman, the matter with the brute? He has shied—he | and he was addressing Mrs. Greville herself, as has bolted!” she stood searching in a book-rack that stood on Whereupon he started off at full speed, fol- | a table in the bay-window recess of the draw- lowed by Mrs. Helton. ' | ing-room. Long before she was reached—indeed, almost Gertrude paused, her hand on the books, yet immediately—Gertrude had brought the animal | for a moment not speaking. Even when she under control. She was very pale, but. met all | took the card the man held to Ler, she did not inquiries with a laugh. ‘“Inever knew Dun- | raise her head. Once ber eyes rested on the robin act so badly before,” she said. Then, as_ slip of pasteboard, then the long, slender fingers er eyes turned from one of the gentlemen’s slowly crushed it in her palm as, in a clear but faces to the other, “‘T hope I have not startled low tone, she said, “‘I do not know this man, you” z - Treherne. Where is he?’ _ “Indeed, yes,” exclaimed Major Ferramore, “In the library, ma’am. He—he looked re- a so low a tone she alone heard. ‘How spectable, ma’am,” added the footman, apolo- Could danger threaten you without startling getically. me, atleast, Gertrude?” | “No doubt. That will do. I will see him. _She looked up quickly, meeting the earnest You need not wait.” light of his eyes. Hers fell instantly; a pink When alone, she did not move for a space, flush rose to her cheeks. There was an ex- but remained slightly bent over the table. Yet Pression of satisfaction_on her lips. ' her eyes beheld no object upon it. “TY fear much, Mrs. Greville, you at least “T have been expecting it all day, and it has _ have been startled,” here broke in Augustus | come,” she murmured, huskily. “He did Beckwith. “Pray let us return, and, for to- | know me, then!” ay, give up this excursion,” She looked back into the drawing-room. “Return?” repeated Gertrude, rapidly, A subject .of general interest had been almost sharply. “By no means. Pray, Mr. | started, and the conversation was being car- eckwith, give me credit for stronger nerves;” | ried on with animation -by all. Gertrude her- and she laughed. ‘ We will proceed.” self had come to seek a book in reference to ____ This time, as she galloped on, she kept nearest | the topic, All were too occupied, even Mrs. he young officer. Hendricson, busy at work at her usual table— “It is this one,” she murmured, sotto voce, to observe her. hrough her yet pale lips, “from whomImay | In a second, Gertrude Greville had passed ®Xact service, should I need it.” through the open windows onto the broad, As the words formed themselves, Gertrude firm gravel-path that ran around three sides of Ve one rapid glance over her shoulder. the house. ‘ “He is still there—still!” she added. ““No—} Thenight was dark, starless and oppressively ‘Mpossible! All was too hurried! He could sultry. Had it not been the latter, Gertrude Not have recognized me?” ‘ | was too agitated to remember she had no cov As the party rode away, the man who had ering, save the delicate, soft lace, over her Placidly watched the late occurrence, proceed- ivory shoulders. along the path. | Rapidly she moved from the lighted windows oma! that was not Gertrude,” he ejaculated, | to the other side of the house, where all was haphatically, “then it was her spirit! No;it is | dark, and a grove of trees shadowed it. °t likely that I should ever forget that coun-| Here she paced to and fro, her beautiful Nance |” | head drooping, her lips compressed, her hands ® went on thoughtfully, his face contract- clenched, and the soft folds of her evening vlog Within half a mile he met a field-laborer | dress causing a low whish-whish as she moved in, ding along the road. The man stopping, and sharply turned. x. quired of him about the riding party. After ten minutes she paused, and pressed € laborer could give him every informa- | her hands to her temples. ; ving é “Tn t’ parts everybody knew Mrs. Gre-| “Why do I delay the moment? she thought. nd t? party at T’ Holme.” | “Have I not reasoned out such an occurrence sui ter which, the commercial traveler, | as the present since this morning? Have I— Meditative went on. | have Inot arranged for it should it come? And “ | | —it is here! I must, if the worst be as I fear, % CHAPTER VIL. temporize—gain time—time, until to-morrow !” MAJOR FERRAMORE, SAVE ME FROM THAT — By an effort she seemed to steady her nerves, MAN!”—THE MINE-SHAFT. then re-entered the house by a side door. is he librar Tax ‘¢ you please, ma’am, says | Reaching the hall, she crossed to t y, he Would ‘be Bed f 2s eon see him "for a | and as she placed her grasp on the handle, few tainutes He told me to add, ma’am, the | fancied that she heard some one on the stairs. Mattor is important.” But all was silent. No one was there, Go- —
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20 ing back te the library, she opened the door, and the next moment stood before the commer- cial traveler. Five, ten minutes—a quarter of an hour— half, but Gertrude had not reappeared in the drawing-room. Hardly had she gone than Major Ferramore had noticed her absence, and gradually had dropped out of the conver- sation. He knew she had left by the window. He must have seen her had she crossed to the door. Had she felt the heat too oppressive, and been seized with faintness? Impatiently he watched the ormolu clock un- til the half-hour was growing to forty minutes; then, unperceived, managed to quit the room into the grounds. He had hoped and expected to see Gertrude’s graceful figure there, but was disappointed. He walked in every direction without success. Then, having no mind to return to the guests, he found another entrance into the house, crossed the hall and entered the library. It was dimly lighted; that is, the lamps were shaded, emitting a mellow twilight, On the threshold he stopped, for he per- ceived the room was occupied by Mrs. Greville herself. She had not heard his entrance, but was standing by the window, one hand grasping the heavy curtain, which she held back, her tall figure slightly inclined, as if she were intently contemplating the stormy night, The Major paused, Ought he to advance? Why not? Was she not alone? How rarely he found her so now! Why should he lose so excellent an oppor- tunity? The remembrance of his jealousy that morn-~ ing, his fear that Augustus Beckwith might outrival him, urged him, and he approached eel over the thick-piled carpet at her 8. “What do you find so charming in the as- pect of such a night, Mrs, Greville—dear Ger- trude?” ' The last name dropped softly from his lips. as he gently put his hand on hers, With a startled cry, almost one of terror, she turned upon him, She was deathly pale. “Great Heaven, Gertrude!” he cried, in alarm; ‘‘what is the matter?” For a space it seemed as if she could not speak, though she tried. She regarded him with a vague, frightened stare, leaning back from against the open window. “Gertrude, my dearest love!” he proceeded, drawing nearer. “Speak! What is the mat- ter? Tell me! Would I not die to serve you?” | for the past. But”—and she drew hers” — Abruptly her hands caught his arm, , She bent toward him, ENTANGLED, “You would?” she ejaculated, almost in a — whisper. “Can you ask, Gertrude? Dearest, try me.” “T will—I must, Major Ferramore—George! Free me from that man |” ; As she spoke she pointed from the window. The officer, peering into the gloom, beheld a man slowly crossing the broad sweep of lawn at an angle to the small boundary gate, “ Who is he?” asked the Major. ‘My enemy—my cruel, bitter enemy—one who holds my happiness in his hands, and will be pitiless!” she answered, wildly, entreating- ly. ‘He has come here to threaten.. To-mor- row, he will perform. Oh, George—George Ferramore”—and casting herself at his feet, she caught his hand in hers—‘‘you say you love me, and I believe you do! my life. Let me also owe to you my happi- ness. Save me from that man!” “Gertrude, tell me but how I may, and I will, I swear it!” he replied, excited, bewilder- ed, as he leaned over her. “Then—then,” she proceeded, hurriedly, her dark eyes riveting his, “he has to return to the village across the moor. He is a total stranger tothe way. George—George, if you love me, let him not reach the other side!” “*Great Heaven!” In his amaze he would have recoiled; but her hands held him. She drew herself to his feet. “ George—George,” she pleaded, “if you really love me, you will save me. You know not what urges me to make this request, You know not how I have suffered—how through this man, without your aid, I may be made to suffer, You alone can help. Listen! This hand—this heart shall be yours! Save me I will be your wife. Decide, for the matter will not bear delay.” f As she ended, she dropped on the floor prone, her dark hair streaming over her white shoulders, Major Ferramore’s brain was in a whirl. He was lost to reason. All that he was conscious of was the misery, the distress of the beauti- ful woman at his feet. So placed, how few. could have remained calm or self-poss Bending over her, however, he said, tremu- lously, “Gertrude, what is there between YoU and that man?” “Nothing—I swear it—nothing!” she @2° — swered, rising up with his aid. ‘George, fro™ you I will not hide the truth. Yonder Le was a lover before I left for India, W? girlish vanity I seemed to favor his suit. never meant any thing serious, I have t™ turned, my position altered. He has discov ered me—-would wreak his vengeance upon er erect, while her eyes, with a tender, sad, rie ressing expression, rested on tho officer— To youI owe he - , i i
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Will not live to be the victim of his revenge— + fide, 2 nform him that Gertrude had con- zi tie” objects indistinct in the oppressive sum- Onn: ight \ ENTANGLED. to have my sole hope of happiness destroyed by the villainy of this man. Every one has the means to escape suffering in their own hands, If he survives this night, I will not.” “Gertrude,” ejaculated Major Ferramore, horror-stricken, ‘‘ you would not attempt self- destruction?” “Why not? Is not death happier than a life where all hope is crushed? Yet—yet”— and she put her hand tenderly on his arm—* it Is hard to die s0 young. George—George, it is very hard! ‘Will you not save me?” He caught her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead, as he answered, excitedly, “Yes, Gertrude, I will save—preserve that life Which now by your promise I hold as mine. ag fear that man no more. Leave him to e, “George!” she softly murmured, as she touched her lips to his cheek. The contact seemed to send fire through the Officer’s veins as, breaking away, he sprung through the open window into the grounds, With a strange expression, Gertrude fol- Owed his retreating form with her eyes. ‘If my plan fails,” she reflected, “ with Safety may I leave my enemy to George Fer- Tamore,” Then, composing her features, she returned | the guests, tyiteanwhile, the officer strode quickly after sig Man. For long now he had been out of te ht, but Major Ferramore knew by this time 1° paths over the barren waste land accurate- Y, therefore had no doubt of speedily over- Ng him whom he was pursuing. ith what intent was he following? rtainly not with that the beautiful siren he Holme contemplated—hoped. th urder was as far from Major Ferramore’s Sughts as mistrust of her who had sought to 8e him to it. ma, ® followed, purposing to overtake this her trouble to him, and that henceforth With ; have aie Ferramore, the other would Wauce s to make him renounce his | Rirlish ned vengeance on a weak woman for a | Compa sretion; aud force him to quit | wall instantl, y. How he was to effect this he took no time to rine ider. Men, when under the influence of | doings ©xcitement, such as the Major’s at that — Out “4 are incapable of reasoning. the yond The Holme boundary; out onto ovens With the heavy thunder-wrack flying gloom, or Igoming forth in mere No Man ny ‘in front, nor to right or left Bie. 21 Had Major Ferramore missed him? Surely he could not so speedily have got beyond being overtaken, On the horizon was a faint, pale gray haze of light. It was immediately in front of him. Kneeling, he looked along the ground, Yes; he saw the man now. He was kneel- ing too, What was he doing?” Rising, the officer went on. Suddenly he saw a faint flash of light. The man had struck several lucifers, or tapers, to- gether, and was examining the ground, Why? The truth broke upon the Major. He had reached the spot where the path, little more than a sheep track, separated into two, one leading to the village, the other to the unpro- tected mouth of the old mine-shaft. Gertrude had said he was a stranger to the way. He had deceived her, for that could scarcely be. He evidently knew of the exist- ence of those two paths, and was seeking the right one. Major Ferramore bad halted during these speculations. -Now he gave a start and a low ery of surprise, blended with alarm. The man finally had teken the path leading to the mine-shaft, and was pursuing it at a quick pace. Did he know what he was doing? Was hea stranger, after all, and in ignorance had se- lected the wrong route? Suddenly a horrible thought oecurred to him. He recalled how he had come upon Gertrude Greville unexpectedly. He recalled her posi- tion, the pallor and agitation of her features. He recalled, too, her words—‘“‘If he survive this night, I will not.” He, the Major, had appeared, and she had appealed to him. Supposing he had not come? The officer reeled at the words which fol- lowed. Had she herself sought to remove this man by directing him to take the wrong path? — It’ was difficult to believe. He fought against it, but it clung to him the more as the mists seemed clearing from his brain. One thing was to him imperative~~that the min must be warned of his danger. Quickening his pace to a run, Major Ferra- more was in the act of raising his voice, when, ne if it had detached itself from the sur- rounding gloom, he saw a female figure, envel- oped in some long garment that gave indistinct- ness to the form, emerge and approach the man He perceived the latter stop, and the two talk earnestly. : After all, it was an assignation. The man — had come this way to meet that woman, What was he todo? He could not return to The
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Holme until he had freed Gertrude from her enemy, even if he saw him at the inn itself. One thing was evident. He could not ac- cost him wit) that third party present. Who could she be? So occupied, and slackening his rate of walk- ing, he followed, keeping the two, who were now going on together, and still in the direc- tion of the mine-shaft, just in view. At this juncture, the thunder-wrack, accu- mulated in density, seeming to stoop to the earth, Major Ferramore lost sight of the two figures. The deeper darkness was but transient. Yet before it lifted, leaving the atmosphere lighter than previously, the loud piercing cry of a man cleft the air. It was followed by a fainter one, like a muf- fled echo; then all was silent. Then the clouds lifted, and Major Ferramore knew that the dim outlined rise of ground be- fore him was the old mine-shaft. “Merciful heavens!” he cried, as he ran forward; ‘‘they have gone in—they are killed!” Madly he shouted, grasping the rugged sides, and peering into the black, awful chasm. Not a sound but the reverberation of his own voice answered. He knew that once over that fatal brink even the recovery of the body was impossible. Yet it was so terrible to be able to lend no aid. Still, how could he? Wildly he gazed around, with the vague hope of yet seeing these two figures. alate CP blank! Stay; what was that moving yonder in the direction of The Holme? It had vanished now, but not before Major Ferramore had recog- nized it as the figure of the woman. “Oh!” he ejaculated, shuddering. ‘‘ She is safe! It is he only who is killed! Horrible!— berrible!” CHAPTER VIII. MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED—DO NOT DE- SERT ME, ““ WHat can ha’ come t’? him? Wherecan he ha’ got to? It’s a mystery, it iss He wur a very respectable gent, but not quite o’ that. ENTANGLED. Parr se a ee sort as would ha’ been asked t’ stop at The | Holme all night.” The above was addressed to the lady at the “Tamar Inn” to his wife, as, taking his hat, he prepared to start for The Holme to inquire for news of his late guest, Mr, Grimshawe. He sat up for him until a late hour, but the guest had not returned to the supper ordered by him before setting forth. Day had dawned and advanced toward noon, yet Mr. Grim- shawe had not returned. ; He had told the landlord, on starting, that he was going to The Holme; consequently the landlord went there, naturally, to make in- quiries. Reaching the servants’ quarters, Treherne, 'the footman, could but tell him that Mr. Grimshawe had called and sent in his card to Mrs. Greville, who, declaring her ignorance of the name, had yet consented to see him. After — that, how or when Mr. Grimshawe took his departure, the footman knew nothing, ; Would Mrs. Greville kindly see the land- — lord? Treherne didn’t know, but would inquire. She wasn’t very well that morning; indeed, he, Treherne, didn’t know what had come over everybody. There was the Major going about — as pale and wretched-looking as a ghost. Only Mrs. Hendricson was as usual; in fact, if any-— thing, she was brighter. Returning, he brought word that Mrs. Gre- ville was in her boudoir, and would see the Jandlord. 4 , What did this beautiful, composed womat, before whom he stood admiring and respectful, know of Mr. Grimshawe? Nothing. That is, she would gladly tell him all sh? knew. It appeared that he had been acquainteé some years ago with a young person who had been in Mrs. Greville’s family, and had called ; to ask information of that young person. Unfortunately Mrs, Greville could give bit none, having lost sight of the party in whom” he was interested on. her (the speaker's) goiD8_ to India. | Whereupon Mr. Grimshawe had taken his departure. Which way? By the library wit: dow, across the lawn, it being the shortest, aBO he feared the breaking of the storm. ; “Then I tell you what, my lady,” remarked ; the landlord, decidedly, ‘‘t’ thing’s clear. a poor gentleman’s down t’ mine-shaft!” b Mrs. Greville uttered a cry of horror. ‘ “Impossible! Surely he knew his way, cot” | ing, as he did alone?” 7 “‘He’d ha’ none with him, my lady; and 4 gave him the direction plain; but cooming ®? — going over t’ moor are two different matte — Be sure he’s in t’ shaft.” “Tf you fear that, can no means be taked “; discover?” : y The question was put with real interest. Tb - ) landlord shook his head gloomily. isd Bs - le ““That’s t? mine that was flooded, my and any who goes in never comes out, dead alive! Many thanks, my lady, for your : attention. I'll trouble you no longer.” oe As the door closed upon the landlord, Ger trude drew a deep breath of relief. soft “Neither dead nor alive!” sho repeated, 7, ly, as she leaned back in her chair, ‘« Tha’ fortunate; the future is still my own. es must play out my game now quickly. ore Her mind reverted to Major F S «
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ENTANGLED. 23 Since they had parted in the library, she had ot him seen. On coming back the previous night, he had Sone straight to his room, sending word that he begged her to excuse him, as he was not Well, while the footman said he wasas white as | 4 ghost. - "¢ In reply, she had sent him these words on a Paper: ‘Tell me.” His answer, also written, was: “ Your desire tag been accomplished without my instrumen- y.” Gertrude had destroyed this, and waited, Patiently as she could, until she should see the Writer, What had happened on the heath? it hatever had, she knew by that brief note changed Major Ferramore toward ® hoped so, “hen would he come? She desired, at the | § time feared, the interview. door, | to her feet. Had he wronged her? How sincerely he prayed that he had! Taking a step nearer, he exclaimed, in some agitation, ‘Mrs. Greville, answer me truly —I entreat, I implore you! You -know well that your secret is safe with me, Did you not falsely direct that unbappy man? — Did you not send him on to the heath, and lure him to his death?” “I! ejaculated Gertrude, this time rising ‘* Major Ferramore, what do you mean? Am I mad still, or are you? What impels you to make this most unfounded charge?” Rapidly, clearly he told her. Before he had ended, Gertrude had resumed her seat. Her lips were pale, her bands tightly clasped, and evident it was to him that _ She listened in genuine surprise. wee questioned herself as to whether, after | yet ad occurred,-he would claim her promise? “Mrs. Greville—Gertrude!” he exclaimed, in conclusion; ‘tell me, were you not that woman!—have I wronged you?” “Most cruelly, Major Ferramore!” she answered. ‘I will give you but the simple raised her head, aroused by a tap at the denial, for you will but have to question my guests to learn that immediately after your fa reply to her ‘‘Come in!” Major Ferra- | departure I joined: them, and did not leave “re entered, ptt) ote ©xpression of his eyes, told how sleepless een the night. - Big = an, a ian was grave; his manner cold | Mistant, hon’ Gertrude Greville perceived it, she bowed wy, On her hands. she; 4 Reed not speak, Major Ferramore,” dom eet aured, plaintively. ; nation in your features! I deserve it! I Member serable—a guilty woman! Yet, re- n T, You came upon me in an hour of mad- of Whar flesperation! In You, st moment of bitter trial you appeared— to t sf ©m alone in all the world I could dare —you j 2 Ty only A ae alone I could confide moved id not approach her. If her words had — iim, he did not show it. haya one hand on . ©OMme, Mr ty intent” Mrs. Shi Greville, to inform you of on to leave The Holme.” “Tread my con- | s I was not half conscious | either said or did. I only know that | a chair, he said, “I. | them again until we separated for the night,” Pallor of his features, the heavy, hag- | “Then who was that woman?” “To me that is a mystery even as to your- self!” And the sudden anxiety on her countenance seemed to prove it. There was a pause, Gertrude broke it. ‘Major Ferramore,” she said, in a low tone, “last night, in a moment of despair, I did you a great wrong. I urged you to commit adeed which I hoped would leave me free to enjoy unmolested that happy future which the possession of your love promised. I trusted in my madness that it might strengthen your affection, as it would have done mine.” “ Gertrude!” ‘“‘ But,” she proceeded, sadly, ‘‘I now see that you are right. All must be over between us. You can but despise a woman who used her power to urge you to a crime, which Heaven kindly prevented you committing!” “Gertrude,” he broke in, seriously, “you are mistaken. When I quitted you it was | with no intention to do harm to that unfortu- from ek vered. A sound like a sob broke | Serve “Heected this, Major Ferramore. I de- » she whispered, humbly. “Still, fe On ho already know, M . Greville, and need Rothingp en? looked quickly up. “I know Her ton ane hight not know what—what occurred last | nate man. My purpose was to show bim you had a friend to protect you, and to force him not to molest you. As Heaven hears me, no inducement on earth would: make this hand that of an assassin!” " Starting, she looked sharply toward him. | She knew what he had said was true, and in her heart rejoiced that fate had prevented his meeting the other. “Tam glad of that!” she answered. ‘‘ There it carried ‘¢, her expression astonished him, for | is one sin less upon my conscience, Major Conviction with it,
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£ 5 ENTANGLED. Ferramore. We are neither of us guilty. Do | Launceston, a friend of this Mr. Grimshawe, bh? you stdii intend to go?” “T think it best- at least for a while.” “Will you do me one favort—though, I have no right to ask it!” “‘If possible, I will!” “Thanks. Do not, then, leave The Holme ‘until this matter has quite blown over. That man has been here, remember. Pray let nothing occur that may create the least sus- picion.” He reflected; then answered, ‘‘I think that would be wise. I will remain.” “TI feel too weak to thank you as I should,” she said, meekly. ‘I owe you too much ever to repay you. I ask you to forgive, only to think as well of me as you are able, and to re- member I had cause to feel bitter enmity to that man. Farewell!” She turned from him as she spoke; her head drooped; then, as it were, timidly, nervously, she extended back her hand. He could not, at least, forget that he had loved this beautiful woman, or had believed that he loved her. He could not see her thus tremble without being moved. Taking her hand, he touched it with his lips. “Farewell!” he ‘whispered. “My best wishes, Gertrude, shall be for your happiness, For myself I can but say, would that we had _ never met!” He paused, yet holding her hand. Then, “Gertrude, may Heaven pardon you as I do!” he said, released her fingers, turned, and left the room. “‘Tt is over,” she thought, as she dropped back into her chair. ‘ Better, far better than I expected. He will never betray me, and Edwin Grimshawe’s death will be soon for- gotten.” Major Ferramore, at the same moment, was thinking, as he reached his apartment, “I must believe her. She could not have denied with such a semblance ‘of truth, Then who was that woman?” That evening, at dinner, naturally the chief subject of conversation wus the disappearance of the commercial traveler-looking man. “Another nineteenth century mystery,” smiled placid Mrs, Helton. “No mystery at all, my love,” remarked her husband. ‘* When a man pops head fore- most, or walks, into one of those dangerous mine-shafts, there’s no mystery; everybody knows where he has gone, and so the thing ends. In fact, it é¢ ended already.” “There you're wrong, Helton,” remarked Augustus Beckwith, from his side of the table, © “ Having nothing better to do, I went over to the ‘ Tamar Inn’ this afternoon to learn if there was anything fresh.” “ WwW ’ * Well, a fellow’s come over to there from truly, _ certain that she looked even more than US says.” ** Come; for what p ?” “To make inquiries. He declares he knows something of the private history of Grimshaw% — and, that if he did go down the pit, it was very probably not by fair means,” | Major Ferramore’s and Gertrude’s eyes met She was déathly pale, He feared she would faint; but, by a supreme effort, she commanded herself, and gave the signal for the ladies rise. As she passed the Major, who had opened the door for their exit, she whispered, “For mercy’s sake, do not desert me!” CHAPTER IX. ; GERTRUDE PLAYS HER LAST OARD—THS STORM, ; Tu information the Honorable Augustus Beckwith had obtained from the “ Tamar Int was perfectly correct. A gentleman, Mr. Lawrence Power, a thit, middled-aged man, with a quiet, business-like manner, and the blended aspect of a country attorney and London detective, had arrived there, announcing himself as the friend of Mr Grimshawe, and declaring his intention to i” vestigate the cause of his singular disappea! i] ance. To the village the commercial travelers death was no mystery. The poor man had evidently, in the darkness, fallen into the min® shaft. — Mr. Power did not gainsay that. He merelY remarked, ‘‘ That those same mine-shafts wer? very convenient things at times.” ila In a quiet, business way he noted dow! every tittle of evidence, displaying an amoumy of knowledge respecting the event, as also 0 the sayings and doings of Mr. Grimshaw® greater than those who had been on the ‘5 Naturally, he was informed of his frien@, visit to The Holme, and as naturally proceeded thither to pursue his investigations. all As Mr. Lawrence Power walked tow q evening up the lime-tree avenue, and 100%. first this side and that upon the bright well-kept estate, a smile more than once SPI". over his thin countenance, and he rauttered ” an accent of evident admiration, “ A plu thing to do. Tosay the least of it—* plucky thing!” atdf His request to see Gertrude was immodin ss granted, and he was ushered into the bow? 4 where the lady was seated, apparently eP5° — in writing. tea Whether Gertrude had or had not ex” this visit, and whether or not she had rj beautiful, And as, with a graceful but a on inclination, she bent her dark, proud 6Y P 4
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‘her visitor, the latter mentally confessed he had never before seen so lovely a woman. ““'You desire to see me, sir,” she said, in her Soft, musical accents, “in regard to this late melancholy affair—the disappearance of Mr.— . Grimshawe—that I believe is the name?” Mr, Lawrence Power bowed. “T fear I can assist you but little; but I will Willingly tell you all I know.” _ ‘If, madam, you will do that, I shall be sat- isfied,” responded the other. Then, after a lance at the door, and removing his chair Nearer the writing-table, ‘You speak my friend’s name, Mrs. Greville, as if it were Strange to you.” “ And, sir, how otherwise could it be?” Scause at one time, Mrs. Greville, it was familiar enougb on your lips.. Therefore, Cugh nearly ten years have elapsed, you ®ould hardly have forgotten it or him.” . Lawrence Power spoke quietly, but his. Words were none the less effective. Gertrude’s P quivered convulsively; her white teeth Pressed together, 5 I do not comprehend you, sir!” she suc- , *eded in replying, haughtily. to 4, Tdon me, madam, if I give no credence b that assertion. Listen, Mrs. Greville. Toa ytittess man, such asl am, time is money; : Bes in any case to waste it is unnecessary. abon ®en you and me there need be no beating | thee the bush, ‘You, at least, will understand qe When Isay I am conversant with all Mr. Weng we’s affairs, I know how once you he ttiends—he, a lover; how, the other day, hong Snized you, though, by making your know, ea! You tried to prevent his doing so. I ge he sought an interview here hay the evening, I know what must e tery: beeh the subject of that in- ew, lifting i; YOU Saw in him a man who, by fabric his voice, could bring all this glorious ected you have so skillfully, so daringly, turned’ about your ears. Mr. Grimshawe re- Nor ae to the inn and the supper he had 9- AG sir,” demanded Gertrude, fiercely dagettly, through her teeth, “ if all you have With itp assert were true, what had J to do « Proves Mrs. Greville, will be my care to {¢4 haw Se erm KTP Prove, you must have proofs,” « Wha ; and witnesses!” hd shq ord broke from her lips involuntarily, oe : ho suddenly erect. ‘ Srieasha cy That you parted from Mr, : | Of fri ns Under a semblance of contrition— ¥ Petting 1p; that you ‘pressed his hand in : _ ™ and took most especial care to direct ENTANGLED, | % him to follow the wrong path over the heath.” “Great Heaven!” gasped Gertrude, dropping back, white and trembling. A moment ‘she was silent. Then said, hoarsely, ‘‘ Your witnesses speak - falsely. Direct him I did, but to the right path; not the wrong. My word, surely, is as good as theirs?” “Tt would be, madam, if,, by Mr. Grim- shaw’s death, they looked to gain a similar ad- vantage—the preservation of a dangerous secret,” E + “Do you mean, sir, that I—I would have at- tempted this man’s life?’ she asked, sharply. “‘Why not, Mrs. Greville? You are playing a dangerous game. You are a brave, a reso- lute, a desperate woman. Who in this house had any desire for Mr. Grimshawe’s death save you?” Gertrude, her elbow on her chair, covered her eyes with her hand, apparently in thought. - ‘Suddenly glancing up, she said, haughtily, “ And, sir, supposing this witness of yours should out-swear me—gain credence where I could not —what would be the result?’ “Your arrest, madam.” “Mine? On what charge?” “Murder—at the least, manslaughter!” Again she hid her face. When once more she looked up, her countenance was haggard, ‘but more calm. ** You drive me close, sir,” she said, hoarse- ly. ‘*What you force me to do, I from neces- sity, not inclination, must do. I would have — died rather; but”—she shivered—“I cannot stand, a criminal, for the curious to gaze at. Grant me an hour. Promise during that time to speak to no one on this matter, and, at the expiration of that period, I will give you a full account of that unhappy evening.” Mr. Lawrence Power regarded her curious- ly. Did she mean flight? No; Mrs. Greville was far too wise a woman to take a step which. would instantly condemn her in the minds of a jury. Besides, the space was so short, that he need never lose sight of The Holme. Again, he had strong reasons of his own for granting the request, “ Certainly, madam,” he answered, rising “The favor is too slight, considering the re-_ ward, to meet with refusal. In one hour—” ‘Return here and I will keep my word.” “ Agreed !” And, bowing, Mr, Power quitted the room. When alone, Gertrude sat for some minutes immersed in painful thought. : Finally, tuking ber pen, she began to write hurriedly, murmuring, “It ismy only chance, After doing so much, I will not lose all. The game is played aut!” The letter she wrote was to Augustus Beck- . with, and ran; 4
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ed 26 | ENTANGLED, | a "Re geneet. ind pratitad “T consent. i - erful than love, orI + the too woes rv td ae ae sacrifice, Yet, as I told you, I dare not meet pa could not, so, if your mind has not changed, an hour hence have ail ready, as you proposed. “Yours, in sincerity and faith, : “* GERTRUDE,” Addressing this, she rung the bell. “ Where is Mr. Beckwith?’ she asked of the footman. ““T have just passed him in the hall, ma’am.” *¢ Alone?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Then give him this note, and return to me.” On the man’s coming back she told him when the person who had just left called again, which he would do in less than an hour, to see that he ‘was shown into thelibrary. Then Gertrude repaired to her dressing-room, where she was busily engaged, until the period -when Mr. Lawrence Power was to arrive. He was punctual; and as he entered thé room,-lighted by the shaded lamps, he found Gertrude Greville attired in a plain, dark silk, awaiting him. “Itis, sir, still your purpose to pursue this unhappy matter?” she inquired, in a low tone, when he was seated. ' “How, madam, could I do otherwise?” “If you have no stronger clew to another, you arrest me?” Mr. Lawrence Power bowed. “Then ”—and Gertrude drew a deep sigh— ‘against my will, sir, you force me to confess the truth.” She paused. He leaned nearer, anxiously. Soon she began, in a low but steady voice, ‘The subject of Mr. Grimshawe’s interview with me was, as you stated, in reference to the past. What transpired, I do not feel called upon to relate.” ‘It is not necessary, madam—at least not at - present.” - We parted better friends than we had met. He left by yonder window, after I had directed him the path—mark me, sir, the right path— to take across the heath to the village.” Mr. Lawrence Power bowed. “Now,” proceeded Gertrude, ‘*comes the most painful portion of my story. There is a ‘gentleman beneath this roof at the present moment who has honored me with his affec- | tion—his love. Unhappily, coming to seek me, he entere’ the library unnoticed, and overheard the latter part of mine and your friend’s conversation.” “From which he drew, madam—” “The truth—that Mr. Grimshawe was a former lover, and that I stood in fear of him. When your friend had gone, he questioned me | -s0 closely, that at the moment, desperate my- self, Icould not control my replies. I owned I regarded Mr. Grimshawe as an enemy; that while he lived, I never could hope for happi- ‘aess—never be his.” Z “ And this gentleman?” “ Actuated by his love—I fear by jealousy —taking my hand, bade me dread the man no more.” “'Yes?”? ‘‘ Saying this, he hastened from the window after Mr. Grimshawe. I know no more.” ; Mr. Lawrence looked steadily into the face — of the beautiful woman before him. Her eyes met his unflinchingly, though sadly. “As you must be aware, sir,” she said, “this confession is very painful for me to make,” ‘‘T can understand that, madam. How did — this gentleman behave on his return!” “That is a question, sir, you must learn from my servants, as he went at ouce to his room. I understand, however, that he was pale and agitated.” ‘JT will detain you no longer then, madam,” remarked Mr. Lawrence Power, rising. ‘ Your opinion is—” The answer came clear and steady. k “That if Mr. Grimshawe was killed, Major Ferramore is his murderer!” ‘¢No man can be so termed, Mrs. Greville,” said a voice behind her, “until the body is produced. I produce that of Mr, Edwin — Grimshawe, but alive—not dead!” . Gertrude had started up with a cry, and now turning, recoiled, pale; trembling, before Mrs. Hendricson, the commercial traveler, — and the white, accusing features of Major Ferramore. “ What right have you all here?” she gasped, seeking-to recover her composure, ‘“ What does this mean?” “That, Gertrude Sterling, more than I know your secret now, and the dangerous game you have played,” answered Mr. Grimshaw®, — stepping forward. ‘That the false directiot across the heath which you gave me, intending my death, would most certainly have led to it, — had not this lady saved me.” And he indi- — cated the companion. es Gertrude looked from one to the other like a beautiful tiger at bay. F Her bosom heaved, but for a space she said oF nothing; then—“ This has been a plot—® scheme against me,” she cried, with defianc® — * But you cannot arrest me—you cannot tou me! I dare you to do that! You live; 2° one has been harmed; and I defy you!” She glanced round, as if to perceive whether they would attempt to check her. They were silent. 4 “Mr. Grimshawe,” she said, haughtily “you have made a charge which you W
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ENTANGLED. OE. have to answer af another time. Until then, “this house is mine, and I order you—all of you —to quit it!” With air and step of a queen, she swept by them from the room, Then, however, her manner changed. Swiftly she ran to her dressing-room, hur- riedly put on her outward attire, and, taking a small hand-valise, which she had prepared, hastened by a servants’ staircase into the | grounds. The night was of a dense blackness, The storm which had been beating up for so many days, was about to break at last._ The distant thunder rolled incessantly. “heavy, oppressive stillness seemed to hold ail vegetation spell-bound. Gertrude heeded it not further than to re- | joice in the darkness which insured conceal- | ment as she moved swiftly from the house. When she had crossed the lawn, she looked back. The lights were-in the library yet. She could perceive figures within, among them . Mrs. Hendricson’s. She clenched her hands with fury. She saw it allnow. That woman, with her staid, quiet ways, had been a spy upon her. She must have overheard her interview with Grim- shawe, and followed and saved him. Hers was the female figure Major Ferramore had seen, At this moment she reached the gate in the boundary fence. Opening it, she saw beyond a horse and chaise, with a man standing by. As she appeared, the latter stepped quickly . forward. “Gertrude, my darling,” he exclaimed, as he caught her in his arms, ‘you have come!” “Did you mistrust me, Augustus?” she mur-., mMured. ‘But pray do not delay. My heart yet hesitates at the step I am about to take. Still, loving you, how can I face him?” “ Better as it is, my sweet love!” answered Augustus Beckwith, quickly. ‘How you tremble! Fear nothing; I have arranged things too well for pursuit. We shall drive &Cross country to Launceston, catch the night’s Mail to the junction, and there change for Scotland.” " As he spoke, he had been placing Gertrude _ % the chaise, the valise at her feet. Soon he ‘Sprung up by her side, and gave the rather -Mettlesome animal he drove its head. _ _ Gertrude, as he, knew the path well, and at & sharp pace they dashed over the heath. The ~ Honorable Augustus Beckwith was not likely “© spare the whip. Was not the prize he had 5 Played for won? Gertrude Greville was his. Onward they went—onward, while the thun- trolled nearer and louder. It threatened tr Me 4 4 ee be a fearful storm. Never mind; they must go through it. Ha! the lightning at last! Ah, what a flash! In a second the whole heath was illumined | by the cold blue light, showing the chaise and its occupants being whirled along. Then the thunder—then another flash—dashing down | as if right upon them. So vivid was it that the horse reared up _ with terror. Then, seizing the bit between his _ teeth, bolted. Augustus Beckwith was no bad driver, but it was beyond his power to rein in the fright- ened animal. Madly, with a mouth of iron, it plunged on, but fortunately in the right di- | rection. “Be calm, Gertrude!” exclaimed the young fellow. “Keep your seat! The brute will calm down in a few minutes!” And he took a _ tighter gripe of the reins. His companion made no answer. She had stooped once, raising the valise nearer her hand. Another flash! Once more the horse reared—halting a sec- ond. That moment Gertrude seized. Rapid-_ ly, lightly, she leaped out onto the moor, with the valise. : Before Augustus was aware of it the horse was darting on again. Then he noted her ab- sence with a cry of horror. Had she been flung out? Was she hurt? Was she dead? He glanced back into the wild night. There was no sign. Why did not the lightning come now, when it was wanted? Ha! A violent jolt—a bump—the young fellow felt himself flying through the air. Then a great crash—a thousand lights danced in his eyes! | Then oblivion! CHAPTER X, ‘ | GEORGE FERRAMORE’S EYES ARE OPENED, | WueEn Augustus Beckwith came to he found himself in bed in a strange, plainly-furnished | room, He felt weak and ill—almost too much so to wonder where he was. A slight sound caused him to turn his head, _ when he perceived his friend Helton reading in a chair by the bedside. . “are you there? Where am I?” “In the best room of decidedly not the bwst inn,” smiled Helton, “Glad to hear you speak. Gad! you have had a narrow escape, my boy!” ‘ “Have I been so near hob-nobbing, with his grim majesty?” smiled Beckwith, What does all this mean? “Hullo, old fellow!” he murmured, faintly, — ae
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ie.) * Well, no; I did not refer to that, my Au- gustus But get a little stronger, and I'll teil you all.” ; “Bosh, Helton! I’m strong enough—weak in limb, may be, but my nerves are all right. I want tohear every thing. Of course you know—” “That you, by Mrs. Greville’s suggesti eloped with her!” oe “Exactly; but that confounded storm!” “Stay; do not upbraid that, my dear Au- gustus, which, when you have heard from - what it has saved you, on your knees you will bless,” “for goodness’ sake, Helton,” exclaimed the sick man, irritably, “stop speaking in riddles! How did I come here? Was Mrs, Greville hurt?” **T suspect not; as, a short time after the horse and shattered trap dashed up to the door of the ‘Tamar,’ Mrs. Greville passed very com- posedly through the village, carrying a valise, on her way to the railway station. Where ‘she is now Idon’t know. A party, fearing an accident must have happened by the state of the trap, started across the heath, found you ‘insensible, and brought you here.” “That explains something but not all. Mrs. Greville—” _ “Is no more Mrs, Greville than I am, but a Miss Sterling, an adventuress, of whom you were the dure.” “No?” ejaculated Beckwith, drawing him- self up on his pillow. “Go on, old fellow. You don’t mean that both of us were de- ceived?” ; “No less, It appears that, finding the dan- gerous game she had been playing was on the eve of exposure, she planned an elopement witb you, that she might score one trick.” ‘Who, then, and what is she?” “She was the housekeeper to Mr, Arthur Greville, an eccentric old fellow of over sev- enty, who long had renounced society, and led the life of a crabbed recluse in India, holding no communication with his relations, who were _ but distant ones, A sunstroke carried off the poor old gentleman one day; whereupon Miss Gertrude Sterling, who knew all her employer’s affairs as well as he did himself, superintended the funeral, let the estate, realized all the money she could, and came quietly over here as Mr. Arthur Greville’s widow.” “Yet she must have been sure of ultimate detection?” “No doubt. But my idea is that she hoped before then to effect a good marriage,” “Helton,” said the’ Honorable Augustus, “this has very nearly been a case of biter bit,” “ Undoubtedly.” “But how has the detection come about?” “First, owing to that Mr. Grimshawe who | b disappeared so mysteriously, appeared again.” ‘‘He was not down the mine-shaft?” “No. How all that happened I do not know; but it seems that he knew this Miss Sterling some years ago, and recognizing ber as Mrs. Greville, would not believe her story, and threatened, if he did not see the marriage certificate, to make his suspicions public, be- sides his acquaintance with her earlier history, Secondly, the worthy rector has received a letter from a Mr. Bryerton, who, having his doubts of the charming widow, had tele- graphed inquiries to a friend in Calcutta, from whom he has obtained the information I hay just recounted to you.” The Honorable Augustus Beckwith laid back on his pillow with the sensation vf a man who had just escaped some terrible accident. “Helton,” he said, ‘‘I must get out of this” (be meant the inn) “as soon as possible, I must get back to town.” “So must I, dear boy. Therefore drink this, go to sleep, and get strong enough as soon as you can.” The information Mr. Helton had imparted to his friend was correct in every particu- but who re- The morning after the elopement, when the rector, amazed, confounded, walked over to /The Holme, with Mr. Bryerton’s letter in his pocket, to, as a friend, give Gertrude a hint of its contents, and that the heir at-law of Mr. Greville was about instantly to take proceed- ings, he found the Heltons already gone, the Vanes on the point of departure, and the servants in a state of alarm about their wages, From Mrs. Hendricson, who was calm and self-possessed as usual, he learned all that had occurred. Of Mr. Grimshawe’s visit—how she, the companion, had overheard the interview, and had heard Gertrude Sterling direct Mr. Grim- shawe the wrong road across the heath, and how she, following, had prevented his destruc- tion. Mrs. Hendricson said nothing of Major Fer- ramore; though she had heard that interview too, Then the rector, having been told of the elopement and accident, no longer kept Mr.- Bryerson’s letter a secret, but made more visits in one day in his parish than he had ever done on any previous occasion. | Meanwhile, Gertrude Sterling, on board 4 Weymouth packet, was proceeding to Jersey, — whence she crossed to the Continent, and was lost sight of to all in this story. When the rector had quitted Mrs, Hen- dricson in The Holme drawing-room, the com- —=~ ee
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~ eee -panion, for some brief moments, paced the ‘apartment in dee) thought. She appeared singularly agitated. Sometimes she would approach the door hurriedly, stop, hesitate, and move back again into the room. Finally, as the clock chimed eleven, she seemed to make up her mind, and once more crossed to the door. Before, however, she reached it, it opened, and Major Ferramore entered, Yes, it was the young officer. But how ill, how changed! “T thought I might find you here> Mrs, Hendricson,” he said, advancing. ‘I wished to say good-by before I went, though I wonder I have courage to face you after last night. I so utterly despise myself,” ' “You take this too much to heart, Major Ferramore,” answered the companion, kindly pressing and retaining the hand he had ex- tended. ‘You look as though you had not slept.” : _ “Slept! how could I sleep?” he ejaculated. “ You know not the miserable idiot, the dupe I have been. Not only the dupe of this woman, but of myself. The last few months seem to have been the wild whirl of some feverish delirium, from which I have awakened —awakened to find that I, in my folly, my blindness, renounced true happiness for a shadow.” He had been pacing the room, half address- ing the companion, half speaking to himself. Now, with a groan, he sunk upon a couch. Mrs. Hendricson watched him, evidently with sincere compassion, Tears, indeed, seemed in her eyes, in her voice, as approaching him, she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder, ‘‘ Believe me, Major _ Ferramore, my heart bleeds for you.” “TI know it,” he answered, taking the soft fingers, and gratefully pressing them to his lips. ‘‘In all this feverish period, Mrs. Hen- _dricson, you have been as a cool, soothing “presence to me. If you do not despise me too much,” he added, humbly, “let us two con- tinue friends.” The companion’s lip trembled. The penitence, the self-humbling of a strong Man, creates exquisite pain to a pure-hearted Woman. “T trust we may ever be that, Major Ferra- -MThore,” she replied. ‘‘ Believe me, since our acquaintance you have interested me much. With intense sorrow I saw you, against your better nature, becoming the victim, the— Pardon my saying it—dupe of a selfish, design- | ing woman. Did I not warn you, Major “erramore, of her before the mask had been Plucked from her face?” __.“ You did; but I slighted the warning, as I | did that of another,” answered the officer, with ENTANGLED, 20 emotion. ‘ After the past, my lot is but the one I merit. Yet I know, could her gentle spirit behold me, she would pity—” “You refer to your wife?’ said Mrs. Hen- dricson. “My unhappy, most cruelly treated wife! Oh, Mrs. Hendricson, I have been enthralled by a mad infatuation!” “You loved her?” | “Loved her!”—and Major Ferramore started to his feet. ‘‘ After what you have witnessed, how will you believe it?—but I loved her _ through all. I now know I never loved but her—that I was unworthy of her!” “Tell me of her. Do you mind?” “No; for my thoughts are constantly dwell- ing on her. During this period that has past,” proceeded Major Ferramore, “‘ I have sought to drive her from my memory, as one banishes good thoughts when in the act of committing evil. Now I feel my sole happiness in life can only consist in recalling, in living upon the re- _ membrance of my sweet Lucie.” He paused, overcome with emotion, Then he told her all, ¢ “And not willingly, then, did you leave her on the wreck?” asked Mrs. Hendricson. ““Willingly!” he cried. ‘‘ Well, true, from what you know of me why should you judge me better?” ‘Believe me, I will judge you at the best,” she answered, kindly. ‘But now, what do you propose doing?” 3 ““Renouncing society, which no longer has charm or interest for me,” he answered. ‘The present, the future, are dead. I have but the past to live in.” “Nay, nay; you have had a severe shock—- may I say, a severe lesson?—Major Ferramore; but you are young—you will find time kind healer. I trust.” a, “You mistake—never!” he answered, firmly. ‘“‘Life can be but a wretched burden to one who, having abused the past, finds it impossible of recall. you, I leave my only friend!” “Farewell; but surely we shall meet again?” - she murmured, with emotion, while her fingers clung about his. ; _ “Tohope so would indeed give me pleasure,” he said. sly “‘ Where—where are you going to from here, Major Ferramore, may I ask?’ “ Certainly,” he answered, with a wan smile, “Tam about to reeommence my life as a re- cluse. I go to Stornoway.” ‘““We shall meet—we must—again!” mur- mured the companion. ‘That address will find me.” He took the paper she gave gratefully, kissed her hand twice, said farewell ag.in, and was gone, Happiness is yet in store for you, = Farewell, Mrs, Hendrieson, quitting . “Pry ’ . e stl 7 7 ‘ ?
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80 As the door closed, Mrs. Hendricson made a quick movement toward it. Then, by a violent effort, stopped. “No, no!” she gasped—‘too soon! The time has not yet arrived. Let me not commit a folly—a madness! Ah!” ‘There was the sound of wheels on the drive. The companion staggered rather than walked to the window. A chaise was rolling rapidly from The Holme. ‘“*Gone!” cried Mrs. Hendricson; and -sunk, half fainting, onto a chair. CHAPTER XL ONCE AGAIN, Srx months have elapsed. The Holme, swept and garnished, is now in possession of Mr. Arthur Greville, heir at-law, and Gertrude Sterling is almost forgotten. Only does Mrs. Hendricson recall her at this moment as she is whirled across Scotland to Skye. She is not at all altered, only there is a present trouble and great anxiety on her features as she first looks at a letter she keeps grasped in her hand. Then out onto the bleak, wintry land the train is flying through. The letter is from Major Ferramore. from Stornoway, and runs thus: E Mrs. HENDRICSON: ie end is near, and I rejoice that I am ill, It is The doctor calls it debility. e may be right. I know that I am dying, and hail with delight the re- lease from a life which is a burden. He bids me arouse myself, and shake off the—as he terms it— dangerous lethargy which is hastening me to the ibe I cannot tell him that here Lam alone, while ere Lucie awaits me, with, I feel, forgiveness. “Before I depart, however, I could not resist one word of farewell to her to whom I owe so much, “Good-by, on this earth, kind friend, forever! ‘ ‘GrorGE FERRAMORE.”’ The instant Mrs. Hendricson had received this she started for Stornoway. Should she find a boat to take her over the Minch? Looking at the wildly tossing leafless branches, she feared. Her fears were realized. On reaching the port in Skye, from whence she had intended to embark for Harris, she found so rough a sea that no boat would ven- | ture out. “(Would death be certain to those who tried the passage?” she asked, “Not death, but trouble, risk, danger.” “Then,” said Mrs. Hendricson, firmly, “ fifty pounds to the man who is brave enough to _ take me over. I have no fear.” There was silence, but the reward had effect. A strong, weather-beaten Skye man accepted | the offer, and Mrs, Hendricson soon was. > ENTANGLED. | to life—to happiness! George, you will not— tossing on the stormy waters of the little Minch. 4 ‘The boat will never live,” had been the re- mark on shore; and soon it was the opinion of — the daring Skye man. But the boat was good, and he and his small, sturdy crew had, to use a Breton phrase, their hearts steeped in salt water. . After many hours of fierce beating about and peril, the harbor of Harris was reached. Mrs. Hendricson, fatigued, her dress satu- rated with the spray, yet would accept neither rest nor refreshment but what she could take as she traveled. She had that which is a passport in all civ- ilized coantries— money— and was soon being conveyed from Harris to Stornoway. Is was close upon sunset when she reached it, and was ushered into Major Ferramore’s room. He was seated in a pillowed chair by the fire, pale and thin, but apparently happy. His eyes brightened as he saw who was his visitor, and, extending his wasted hands, cried, ‘‘ Mrs. Hendricson! Oh, this is kind— very kind! Now, indeed, have I nothing more to wish!” Her vail concealed her emotion as she took his hands in hers, and murmured, ‘‘How do you think I could have stopped away? But no, no! you did -not write the truth— you © wrcete only what you believed. “You—you are not dying!” “Yes, it is the truth,” he smiled. dying, because I do not care to live.” | “What! have you nothing to wish for in this : world?” she asked, in a low tone. “T have one wish, a hopeless wish,” he an- ] swered, gravely—‘‘my Lucie’s forgiveness, which is impossible.” ‘ “No, no! for she has forgiven long ago. George, my husband! do you not know me? ‘i Major Ferramore uttered a great cry, for the disguise had been swiftly thrown off, and in the woman now kneeling before him he be- held the pretty golden head and fair, fresh face of his young wife. “ Lucie!” he gasped, overcome by.a mighty joy, almost too great to bear, ‘“‘ Alive!” “ “ Alive, to comfort—to support—to love — you, my husband!” she answered, encircling him with her arms. “ Alive to bring you back “Fam you shall not die now!” : “Qh, Lucie, my darling, is it a dream?” he murmured. ‘The Hesperus—the wreck—”’ “‘T was saved, George, in the life-boat!” “Saved?” “Yes, But thinking that I had ceased possess your love—that you were weary of nas —when they asked our names, I gave as min® — a strange one, that you might be free.” ae = Pa om
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— es. Te ee _ ENTANGLED. Half-Dime Singer’s Library _ QOb, Lucie!” he groaned. “ Hush, dearest,” she interrupted, laying her cheek on his, ‘‘ Aware, however, that this woman’s subtle power would be exerted to draw you to her side—though assured your love was but a mad, transient infatuation, and that she cared little for you beyond flattered vanity—lI procured the place of that compan- ion which, while on board, she said she would require when at The Holme. Thus, love, I was able to be near you, who in all the world was - still dearest to me, and on the spot to save you from a crime, had Gertrude Sterling contem- plated wedding you, which, the more I was acquainted with her, the more certain I felt that she intended not to do,” ‘And all that while, Lucie,” he murmured, “ you never made yourself known!” “Why should I, when I believed my death had been a release to ycu? No, George, but for the confession you made me the last even- ing at The Holme—but for your evident re- pentance—you never would have learnt other than that the sea had been my grave!” “ But, my wife, why did you not fell me then that I was the happiest instead of the most wretched of men?” She rested--her face on bis breast, and was silent. “‘T know!” he exclaimed. trust so sudden a repentance. prove—to test my sincerity; and you were right.” ‘ft was so, George,” she answered. “And now—ah, Lucie! I fear to ask—to hope.” “ Ask and hope, George, of me as you would have done of Lucie Markham when you first received her. at the altar. J am your wife— your happy wife, George; for I feel now that Nothing in this world save death ever can again Come between us!” “Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Major Ferra- More, as he held her close—close to his bosom. “Ts there any hing on earth that can ee ul & pure woman’s devotion?” ‘You would not THE END. The Dime Dialogues No. 31. ¥ piu . Containing twenty Minor Dramas, Extravaganzas Uurlesques, Farces, Dress and Humorous Pieces, for he Amateur Stage, Parlors, Schools and Exhibitions. original and by favorite authors, professors, hers and amateurs. For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, on *eceipt of price—ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 William Street, New York, ’ 4 JoHNNY Morcan and 60 other Songs. You wished to- “Bt 1 Wuoa, Exma! and 59 other Songs, 2 Caprain Curr and 57 other Songs, 3 Tue Gainspory’ Har and 62 other Songs. * 5 Pun STRIKE You Wira A FEATHER and 62 otheth, 6 GrorcEe THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs. 7 Tue Bette or Rockaway and 52 other Songs, 8 Youne Freiuan, You’re Too Fresx# and 60 others 9 Say Youne Giri and 65 other Songs. 10 I’m THE GovERNOR’s ONLY Son and 58 other Songs. 11 My Faw and 65 other Songs. 12 Comm’ Toro’ tux Rye and 55 other Songs. 18 THe Rouiickine IrRisHMAN and 59 other Songs. 14 Otp Doe Tray and 62 other Songs. 15 WHoa, CHartip and 59 other Songs. 16 In THIs WHEAT By Aanp By and 62 other Songs, 1% Nancy Ler and 58 other Songs. 18 I’m THE Boy THAT’s BounD To BLAZE and 57 others, 19 Tas Two ORPHANS and 59 other Songs. 20 WHAT ARE THE Witp Waves Sayina, Sister? and 59 other Songs. 21 InpigNanT Potty Woe and 59 other Songs. 22 Tum Onp Arm-Cratr and 58 other Songs. 23 On Contry IsLAnD Brac and 58 other Songs. 24 Oip Simon, THE Hot-Corn Man and 60 othergy, — 25 I'm in Love and 56 other Songs. > 26 PARADE oF THE Gu/RDS and 56 other Songs, 27 Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs. 28 "T'witL Never po To Gris ir up So and 60 others, 29 Buur Bonners Over THE Borper and 54 others, 380 Toe Merry LAvGHInG Man and 56 other Songs. 31 Sweer Foraat-mE-Nor and 55 other Songs. 82 LeetLty Basy MINE and 53 other Songs. 83 De BAnJo AM DE INsTRUMENT FoR Meand.53 others, 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. 35. Just ro Purase THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 86 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GurrER and 52 others, 37 Kotorep Kranks and 59 other Songs. 38 Nu. Desprranpum and 53 other Songs. 39 Tue Giri I Lerr Benryp Mr and 50 other Songs 40 "Tis nut A Lirrim FapEp Ftowrr and 50 others 41 Prerry WuiaEimta and 60 other Songs. 42 DANCING IN THE Barn and 63 other Songs. 43 H. M.S. Prnarors, compLeTE, and 17 other Songs. Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-paid, to any address, on re- ceipt of Siw cenis per number, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PusuisHers, 98 Wittiam Street, New Yorr,
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