Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 58) (1885 06 30)
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Oa poe PR a a ae ae ey, DAVIES aly SUE LES ~ i AN =e BN \ - om : : (mary Seay: Be | Rea xeeooO Human se SOO OC/ANO> AeatrOmna reste Pees We _ Crpyalelife: 1885, by BeaApLK AND Apams. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mai! Matter. Jone 40,7 VoL V. i $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, No y~ Nee ha Year. No. 93 William Street, New York. Fivedents, NO. 08. ‘*ADA WAS SAVED.”’ THE BARONET'S SECRET: Or, THE RIVAL HALF-SISTERS. Gtiuwer — BY SARA CLAXTON. CHAPTER IL. THE MAIL COACH. MERE 13 a charming little village in the east of England, situated about a quarter of a mile from the sea, in a well-wooded valley, through which the merriest of streams wends its way—a valley lovely enough to have been transported from Fairy-land. The mail coach that ran between Glimmer- mere and the neighboring town was lazily pro- ceeding toward the former place. There were but two passengers, and these, seemingly, un- congenial spirits, for one of them had the inside
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ae of the coach all to himself; while the other sat, silent and gloomy, amid the luggage on the roof, : . They were both members of the sterner sex; 3 gentlemen, to all appearance. ? He who had voluntarily constituted himself ‘the outside passenger, was remarkably hand- SA ‘some, His large, dark eyes, now that their owner was in repose, were soft and melting as a woman’s; but, for all that, somewhere in their placid depths lurked a tiny spark like un F to the flickering embers of an all but extin- df -guisbed fre—a spark that wanted but a breath to fan it into flame. 3 Arich mass of curly dark kair surmounted E his broad white forehead; while tho lower parts of his face wera concealed by heavy is ’ mustaches, and a full bizck beard. But when the coach drew up at the village inn, the outside passenger’s broad-brimmed hat -. was pressed low down upon his brow, and a thick scarf so effectually concealed his face, nem his best friend might not have recognized im. - The other traveler, a pleasant-looking young fellow, sprung lightly from the coach, nearly upsetting ‘‘mine host.” ‘‘Beg pardon, Andy!” he said, carelessly. “Tam very awkward. How are you, old fel- low?” - Good gracious!” ejaculated the innkeeper. urely my eyes deceive me? It cannot—no, t cannot be Sir Guy Vurnal!” The gentleman laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, Andy, it is I, my very self.” “Tam overjoyed to see you, sir.” And how are you all getting on at Glim- _ mmermere? Your wife and family are well, I ~ bope?” flourishing, Sir Guy.” “JT am glad to hear it. I suppose they have - gent no carriage for me from the Crag?’ _ The innkeeper shook his head. “Do they expect you at home, Sir Guy?” “Well, not exactly. I came down earlier than I had intended.” _ Will you ride or drive to the Crag, sir?” send on my luggage after me.” The gentleman started on his solitary walk, topping now and then as he jassed through _ the village to exchange a friendly word with the simple folk who had known and loved him since his very birth. Glimmermere consists of some three or four dozen neat cottages, forming a complete square, in the center of which stands a monument—a marble column, supporting a clock with four dials; while at the base of the pillar, four giant mouths emit as many crystal jets of water, Upon the read the following simple inscription: : ont = a vai ae “Everything and everybody is well and “Neither, thank you; I shall walk. You | t of the monument you might = : om THE BARONET’S SECRET. “rected by his Tenantry, To the Memory of The outside passenger strolled across the road, inspected, and read the inscription on the monument. “Curse him, and all of them!” he muttered. _ “ Ah, Sir Willoughby! you have had your day; mine is at band. You arein your grave; but your son lives, and on him shall my vengeance fall!” Midway between the village and the coast, a fine old mansion, standiug on a considerable eminence, rears its time-stained walls higher than the tallest trees. Built of a dull gray stone, with innumerable turrets, quaintly constructed gables, terraces and balconies resting upon massive buttresses, together with chimneys the most fantastic- looking, Crag Vurnal is, indeed, a picturesque, if not a beautiful, dwelling. Upon a rustic seat on the lawn, that gently sloped from the walls of Crag-Vurnal almost to the water’s edge, sat two ladies, both young, both exquisitely fair. Isabel Garnett and Ada May were half-sis- ters. Ada was the youngest of the two by eighteen months; and the one was a striking likeness of the other. There was, however, a distinguishing mark, but for which their wonderful resemblance to each other might have been confusing. Ot the average hight, there was not an inch difference in their stature, while the figure of each was slender and graceful. Rich wavy hair of the purest golden hue framed their oval faces, which were perfect in feature and clear acd delicate in complexion. Sitting there in the moonlight, and gazing listlessly out upon the ocean, little dreamt these fair girls that ono who was destined to change the whole course of their hitherto simple and uneventful lives was attentively re- garding them from the shade of a neighboring tree. The unseen observer was a gentleman. As the minutes wore on, the svene upon ' which he was so fixedly gazing began to as- sume an air of unreality, as though it were a vision; while it preserved, at the same time, all the distinctness of a picture. The slumbering ocean in the foreground; the quaint old mansion to the rear; the richly- tinted trees, with their fantastic shadows; the almost unnatural stillness,of the air; and, last- ly, the two graceful forms, draped in snowy- white muslin, the soft moonlight falling over them like a pure transparent vail—each of these leat its own peculiar charm to the scene. The two ludies, whom we have introduced +
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THE BARONET’S SECRET. as Isabel Garnett and Ada May, had been silent for some minutes, when the latter said: “Isabel, I should like to be supernatural. Just think how delightful it would be to skip at will Over the waves, or soar aloft on the moon- - beams!” . & cricket, or even a butterfly. Ada uttered this somewhat startling desire in a more serious tone than her words seemed to warrant; and a little sigh of regret stole from her lips as her sister’s substantial laughter recalled her to the reality of her mortal con- dition, Isabel was a merry, light-hearted girl, who found it difficult to be serious for many min-| utes consecutively. “Invest in a broomstick, my dear!” she cried, lightly; ‘‘and then advertise for an ap- prenticeship to the old woman who sweeps the cobwebs from thasky. The rest will be easy of accomplishment, Do you remember, Ada, we used to say, long ago, that you would make a charming little witch,with those great brown eyes of yours, that must have been bestowed upon you by the grossest mistake Nature ever perpetrated?” “Nature never errs,” said the other girl, somewhatsharply. — “Tm not so sure of that,” declared Isabel, with mock gravity. ‘For instance, I t ink she erred in not making me a grasshopper, or But, rather than any of these, I should prefer to become y Vurnal.” *“‘T suppose you mean,” Ada said, ‘‘ that you would have no objection to Sir Guy as a hus- band?” “How else should I” become Lady Vurnal?” was the reply, uttered in the most careless. Manner possible, da turned aside, and her fingers closed tightly upon the soft muslin of her dress, “Why, Ada,” said Isabel, in some surprise, you surely are not cold?” a Cold! no. Why do you think so?” me thought I felt you shiver.” ‘Shivef! Did I? Oh, then, I suppose some eng was walking over my destined grave. But, Sebel, would you like cousin Guy to hear you kas you have just been talking?” Just then the gentleman came ‘from under © tree, and advanced, toward the ladies, With a little scream of surprise, not un- mingled with pleasure, Isabel ran to meet bim, eo bands extended. Ada retained her seat. » Guy!” cried the former, impulsively; are so much earlier than we had expect- . Welcome, welcome home!” ne A thousand thanks, my dear little cousin!” fe the response, as the tall new-comer bent pretren to kiss the pouting lips so innocently ad: ered for the caress, “Dear me!” he add- “you ed. i “how you have grown—and how beauti- - eh | home, cousin Guy. simply what people term “ passable-looking.” — : ‘fully, ‘‘how I have longed for this hour! The ful! Let me see—are you Isabel? Yes, of . course you.are; there isno mistaking the eyes.” Ada did not rise, but, quietly extending her hand, said, in arather cold tone, ‘‘ Welcome Aunt will beso glad to * Paine x see you!” “What!” cried the gentleman, “is this Ada, my little brown-eyed witch, grown so _ formal and reserved? Where ismy kiss, Miss Icicle?” oS eee “Nonsense, Guy! You seem to forget that gis we are no longer children.” ‘ : “Then Isabel shall pay for you!” ‘No, indeed!” retorted Isabel, ‘* Ada must discharge her own debts, or let them stand over.” And she darted away; turning her _ head to add, “It is:time to go indoors: the dew is falling. I shall run on first and tell . aunt of your arrival, Guy.” Poe ‘““No, Isabel, please do not!” he urged, © quickly. ‘‘I want to give my mother a httle surprise. Come along, Ada; we shall be bet- ter friends by-and-by.” And away he ran after Isabel, beckoning Ada to follow. But the latter did not stir, “Yes, Isabel Garnett,” she muttered, pas- — sionately, ‘‘ you would like to be lady Vur- © ~ nal! But you never shall while the little = = brown-eyed witch lives! I, and I alone, shall = be mistress of Crag-Vurnal!” ae ~¥) “Ha! hal ha!” laughed a hoarse voice al- most at her very elbow; and, with a stifled scream of alarm, she looked round to behold the bearded face of a man peering at her from — behind a shrub. ae She waited to see and hear no more, but, — with the speed of a young fawn, darted away — toward the house. o ta es aw ee a ae ae PA On. tr Ue Pe ae, oe ee ene CHAPTER, II. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT. Ow the threshold of his ancestral home Sir i Guy Vurnal found himself unexpectedly in his 5 mother’s embrace, a mother’s loving words of welcome sounding in his ears. She kissed him over and over again, and, holding him at arm’s length, called him her — ** handsome, noble boy!” cae But he was not handsome, nor was he ugly. Youth, health, and wealth had Sir Guy; but Fortune had denied him beauty. He We shall only add that he was of the average hight, with ‘‘sandy ” hair and mustache, and frank, gray eyes. ‘“Ob, Guy!” murmured Lady Vurnal, tear- two years of our separation have seemed so long, so very long! Thank Heaven, they are _ over at last!” ay Lady Vurnal had now been a widow about five years, ; Wee ; ed “ee hens 24 - o ae we rs
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~ had become of age. of a man. _ gee around me? _ Lady Vurnal was considerably relieved, yet 4 THE BARONET’S SECRET, The late Sir Willoughby Vurnal was said to have been somewhat eccentric in disposition; indeed, it was whispered that he had not been . right in bis mind. Sir Willoughby had inserted a clause in his _ will to the effect that his son was to banish himself from his home for two years after he ‘Lady Vurnal and Isabel were divesting the traveler of his wrappers and great-coat, when Ada rushed in upon them, white and panting. She sunk, all but fainting, into one of the hall chairs. “ What has happened?’ inquired Lady Vur- nal, tenderly, as she wound her arms around the terrified girl. Now that she was safe in the spacious and | well-lighted hall, her friends around her, Ada began to think that she had allowed herself to | be unnecessarily alarmed. After all, what had she seen?—only the face | How had she acted?—like a silly school-girl, she told herself, with a feeling | of disgust. What would Sir Guy think of her?’ 3 | And suppose Sir Guy should come in con- tact with that strange man out on the lawn, was it not just possible that the latter might | betray her—might reveal to the Baronet the | words he must have overheard her utter? /The thought was torture to her. At any price she would prevent such a calamity. While these thoughts were rapidly coursing through her brain, her anxious relatives were waiting for her explanation. It came at last, in the unlooked-for form cf g loud and prolonged peal of leughter. “My dear Ada!” observed Lady Vurnal, rather reproachfully, and wholly taken aback by the girl’s strange behavior. “Oh, dear—oh, dear!” sighed Isabel, in a disappointed tone, her fears for Ada having been dispersed by the latter’s apparent merri- ment, ‘I was certain that she had seen a ghost, or at least a highway robber!” “Oh, You dear, foolish people!’ put in Ada, now quite herself again. ‘‘Surely I am not responsible for the ludicrously grave faces I It is true I made a somewhat precipitate entrance among you, and that I was panting and breathless; but thero is no- thing to be alarmed atin that. The fact is, I had become so chilled from sitting so long in our favorite spot, that I thought a good run up the lawn would benefit me. Oh, dear me! it is really so absurd! Had I been a bombshell, dropped into your midst, I could not have caused greater consternation!” And the fair girl went off into another ap- parently uncontrollable fit of laughter. not, quite convinced that all was right, _ “T have often warned you, Ada, that it is wad most unwise to sit out of doors so late in the evening; besides, I do not approve of the prac- tice, and hope you will not do so again.” With this mild reproof, her ladyship al- lowed the affair to pass over, and in a. few minutes more the returned traveler was again the chief center. of interest, which he very naturally continued to be for the remainder of the evening. He entertained the little par- ty with a somewhat curtailed account of his travels, which narrative we do not reproduce, as it was neither brilliant in coloring nor startling in detail. That night, when about to retire to rest, Lady Vurnal placed a sealed letter in her son’s hand, with the words, ‘‘Guy, the day before he died, your father intrusted me with this letter. He bade me deliver it to you on your return after your two years’ tour; for he never entertained the slightest doubt but that you would scrupulously carry out his wishes as ex- pressed inbis will, in my desk for five long years; but the hour has now come when it must leave my custody. I know not its contents,” Left to himself, the young man gazed with no little surprise upon the letter. He had never heard of the existence of such a missive. Tenderly, almost reverently, he handled ‘it; while the sight of his own name, written in bis father’s well-known handwriting, all but un- manned him. But what was there in the very feel of that ordinary-looking envelope that sent a strange chill to his heart? By some mys- | terious process, for which he was wholly unable to account, he seemed to know that its contents would be far from agreeable. Sir Guy stood up and paced the room for some seconds. Then he opened a glass door, and strode out upon the lawn into the moonlit night, All was silent; the very trees seemed to slumber. The young Baronet sat down upon the seat that a few hours previously had been graced by the lovely forms of Isabel and Ada, With tender, half-reluctant fingers he at length sum- moned courage to break the seal of the letter. His face was pale and sorrowful, and a mist of tears gathered in his eyes. But stay!—a change comes over that sorrow-stricken counte- nance. Intense surprise is depicted in every feature, then it flutters from his nerveless grasp to the ground, ““T must be dreaming; it is impossible! Ob, q father, father! is this my inheritance?” Then the excited young man starts to his feet, and paces to and fro, his whole demeanor ~ indicative of the keenest emotion. There is a slight rustle among the shrubs, which are numerous and bushy in this part of the lawn. Sir Guy hears it not. A tall figure—that of a man, with hand- — bat Pied =? This little packet bas lain . Again he reads the fatal letter, and —
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> THE BARONETS SECRET. : 8 SLL es hese Some, bearded face—cautiously glides from shrub to shrub, until within a few feet of the rustic seat. Seizing his opportunity when the Bironet’s back is turned, the wily intruder da-ts from his ambush, snatches the letter from the ground, and is gone as silently as he came, A few minutes more, and Sir Guy is gazing fixedly upon the spot where he last saw his father’s letter. There is not enough wind to disturb a feather. Nota living creature has approached the spot—the Baronet is certain of that; yet, good heavens! the letter—that fatal letter!— has vanished! CHAPTER III. ADA VERSUS ISABEL, Sir Guy was the last to enter the breakfast- room the next morning. He looked pale, and the unmistakable traces of having passed a sleepless night were visible in his countenance. But when questioned on the subject he declared himself quite weli—only a little tired after his journey. Lady Vurnal instantly thought of the letter that she had guarded so carefully for five long | years. Could it be that it had contained some distressing intelligence? But she asked no questions; neither did her son then volunteer | any information regarding the unlucky com- munication, As breakfast proceeded Sir Guy’s spirits ral- | _ lied a little, and he began to look more like his © - former self. Isabel and Ada, in their pretty pink and white morning dresses, seemed to vie With each other which should appear the more “Charming. Ada was not gifted with the cheer- | ful disposition and artless, winning ways of her elder sister; but her calm, self-possessed Manner and ready wit, together with a sort of listless languor that stole over her at times, Were not without their own peculiar charm. These two girls had been brought up at Crag- Urzal. They were the daughters of the late Sir Willoughby’s only sister, who had been twice married; first to an exellent man- her father’s choice—who had left her nobly pro- Vided for. After his death, she espcused a Worthless spendthrift — her heart’s choice, her 'tst and only love—who squandered her for- tune, broke her heart, and then followed her ‘0 an early grave. Isabel Garnett was six years and a half, Ada t ay but five years of age, when their uncle Cok them to live at the Crag. fant penny for your thoughts, Guy!” said fav) Vurnal, as she looked across the break- aoe table at her son, who for the last few sec- nds had been gazing alternately from Isabel I Ada, in a puzzled sort of manner. “I tuink Could guess,” added his mother. He returned her glance almost defiantly, *¢-You were wondering which of your cous- ins is the prettiest.” The old lady’s words seemed to startie him; he flushed: hotly, and locked confused. Never- - theless, he admitted the charge. Ada’s brown eyes sparkled. “And pray, sir critic,” she cried, with the slightest possible tinge of scorn in her soft, languid voice, ‘which of us has gained the palm? Weigh your words well, sir,” she add- ed, loftily, and with a disdainful glance at her rival, ‘ere you consign me a victim at the shrine of my own presumption!” | ‘‘Oh, Guy!” cried Isabel, pleadingly, ‘‘ please let me live, for I also have a shrine of pre- sumption, and am pleased to pronounce my- | self ‘The Belle of Glimmermere!’ Sounds | well, does it not? Ada’s eyes are unnatural— unsuitable to her style. Don’t you think so, Guy?” There was nothing spiteful in this little speech, for Isabel delighted in her sister’s beauty; but she also took a mischievous pleas- ure in teasing her about the color of her eyes, ' a point upon which Ada was ridiculously sensi- tive. Sir Guy was somewhat taken aback by the manner in which each girl appeared to advo- cate the cause of her own beauty. “We await your decision, sir,’ resumed — | Ada, carelessly; yet a keen observer might | have noticed that she was anxious for the issue of the subject under consideration, “?Pon my word, Ada,” the young Baronet declared, ‘‘I am unable to decide this import- ant question.” “In other words,” retorted Ada, with a cha- grin that was not wholly concealed even from Sir Guy, “you cannot find it in that great soft heart of yours to visit either of us with the withering blight of your disapprobation.” “ And,” struck in Isabel, ‘‘ the consequences of your timidity, or soft-heartedness, be upon. your own head; for, naturally. we both feel aggrieved at your indecision, You have made two enemies instead of one. Henceforth, sir, it is war to the kuife!” ‘‘War to the knife!” echoed Ada. “Unhappy me!” sighed the victim. for him! it was not a feigned sigh. “What do you think, auntie dear?” queried Isabel, turning to Lady Vurnal, ‘*T think, my love,” said the old lady, quiet- ly, “‘that the conversation might be changed with very great advantage. It is too personal, to say the least of it. Besides, Guy, you must not lend a helping hand to spoil these incorri- gible girls, by adding fuel to the already well- kindled flames of their vanity.” . ‘““That’s right, auntie dear,” cried Isabel, “Guy deserves a good scolding; spare him not, I beseech you.” | Alack | Cruel little monkey!” cried Sir Guy, with
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a forced smile. . s your forgiveness?” “Can we forgive him, Ada?” . 4 Subject to a condition, yes,” replied the dignified lady addressed. _ “ And the condition?” “That the culprit rides with us this morn- ing,” was the reply. ‘“‘ Agreed!” he cried, with appropriate sprightliness, ‘‘ By the by, mother,” he added, this little affair being satisfactorily arranged, something quite mysterious occurred to me last night.” He had been turning things over in his inind, _ and had decided that it would be wise to make some allusion to his father’s letter, fearing that were he to maintain a complete silence on the © subject, his mother would conjecture | that all | was not right. Willingly, gladly would he | have taken her into his confidence, but circum- stances forbade that he should do so, “Mysterious, Guy?” said Lady Vurnal, in- eredulously. ‘‘ What do you mean?” In spite of himself, the young man’s voice fell, as he replied: ‘‘The letter you gave me last night, mother—which, by the way, was _ strictly of a business nature— left my possession in a most extraordinary manner,” His auditors looked surprised but said nothing. | Sir Guy continued: ‘ Aiter you had all re- tired last night, I strolled out upon the lawn to read my letter in the moonlight, and when I had done so, the paper slipped from my fin- gers to the ground, where I left it, while | took afew turns up and down. It seems uttcrly impossible that any one could have approached the spot without my knowledge, as I did not stir twenty yards from the letter; neverthe- less, when J looked for it, it was nowhere to be seen,” Ada looked up sharply, as if about to make aremark, but as suddenly checked the im- hor and fell to studying the yattern upon her plate, he letter must have been blown away, - Guy,” Was Lady Vurnal’s solution of the mys- ter ue Impossible, my dear mother; there was _ not a breath of wind.” “Tt is very strange!” ** Most unaccountable!” And then Sir Guy rose from the table, as if anxious to put an end to the discussion. CHAPTER IV. THE WOMAN IN BLACK, Iv was a lovely morning about a week after Sir Guy’s retiirn, He and bis fair cousin were enjoying their accustomed morning ride, To- day they had chosen a narrow road that skirt- ed the rocky coast. A cloudless blue sky overhead; to the right lay a panorama of green fields, diversified by “What shall I do to obtain THE BARONET’S SECRET. es patches of golden stubble-land, and fringed | with graceful trees, brilliant in their rich au- | tumn covering; while to the left the ccean smiled deceitfully in its borrowed loveliness. | Sir Guy was feverishly gay. Cankering care | might gnaw at his vitals during the long, sleep- less hours of the night; then he was a resigned | victim; but now, mounted on his spirited mare, with those lovely girls by his side, a smiling world around him—now he was determined to enjoy himself. Ada was riding behind, the road being too | narrow to admit of more than a pair of horses traveling abreast with safety. | Oh, Guy,” cried Isabel, turning a glowing | face to her companion, “ what a delightful ride! How I love these golden autumn “days; | every thing looks so bright and cheerful. Per- _ haps,” she added, with an arch glance, ‘it is _ because you have returned, And yet, Guy, sometimes thought so.” clared, smiling back ather. “Iam happy—{[ will be happy in spite of all! Why should I suffer for the wrong-doing of others?” he con- tinued, almost fiercely. fear my thoughtless words have awakened | painful reflections,” Sir Guy was ina dilemma, Ho could hard- ‘ly retract what, in an unguarded moment, hai escaped his lips, and certainly did not wish to add to it by further admissions, ‘“‘Tsabel,” he said, after a momentary pause, “you must try and forget my foolish ravings; and please do not repeat this conversation to any one. And now let us talk of something else. So you are really glad that I have come/ back?” “What a silly question! Are you not my ' cousin, whom I have known since childhood?” ‘‘Oh, yes, to be sure,” acquiesced Sir Guy, musingly; ‘‘and we have always ge stanch friends.” Isabel was shocked at the glimpse she had accidentally obtained of her cousin’s unhappi- ness, and it was some time ere she could regain her wonted cheerfulness of manner. ~ She strove hard to appear unconcerned, but was no | dissembler, and it required but little penetra- tion on her companion’s part to perceive that she was ill at ease. Nor was the knowledge altogether distasteful to the young Baronet; for, much as he regretted the unguarded words that had caused her uneasiness, it was pleasant to feel himself an object of interest to the fair girl by his side—pleasant to surprise those violet eyes fixed upon him with a sweet, sym- pathizing tenderness. “We missed you so much, Guy, when you were abroad,” resumed Isabel, "after a few mo- ments’ silence. “To be sure,” she added, with i you are not happy yourself—at least, I have ‘«Then you have thought wrongly,” he de- ~ “Forgive me, Guy,” murmured Isabel; ‘I
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_ Tespectfully of Mr. Bevil. —— affected gayety, “the Squire was most atten- tive and gallant, when his bodily ailments would admit of his venturing abroad. But, you know, Guy, Mr. Bevil is not just the most cheerful companion in the world, though I like him very much indeed.” Mr. Bevil, or “‘ The Squire,” as he was popu- larly called, was a bachelor of forty, possessing a snug little property adjoining the Craig- Vurnal estate. ‘By the by,” said Sir Guy, “I have not Seen old Bevil since my return. I beg your pardon, Isabel; I must not speak of Mr. Frank Bevil in disrespectful terms, since he is a par-.. ticular friend of yours,” he continued, with rather a comical expression of countenance. ““T should not allow any one to speak dis- I cannot: tell you bow much I esteem and respect our kind-heart- ed neighbor.” “Ob, indeed! mirer of yours?” “That,” she retorted, with a blush, and a toss of her pretty head, “is a question which I Shall not answer!” A look of incredulous surprise passed over the Baronet’s face. ~ “Am I to understand, Isabel—” he began; but she interrupted him with, ‘“You are to understand nothing, Mr. Inquisitiveness!” As she spoke, something must have tickled her fancy, for she burst out laughing—a genu- Ine laugh of mirth, it was, this time. Sir Guy did not pursue the subject. _And Ada! What was she doing all this time? Well, she was playing her game -as she though best. others were talking about; but it struck her that they were a little too confidential, if she might judge from appearances. “Little stupid!” she muttered, spitefully, in allusion to her half-sister, ‘‘she is playing a foolish and a dangerous game!” Our little party suddenly came upon the 8 re of a woman clad in widow’s weeds, oh Was standing, motionless, upon a narrow edge of rock, her face turned toward the sea, is ae ee fluttering gracefully in the Then, perhaps, he is an ad- etand seule statue-like figure, outlined ns e clear blue sky, h t startling et Yy, had a strange and he horses shied. Ada, whose attention had re centered upon her companions, was taken utterly by surprise. er horse snorted, reared, then, seizing the ae between his teeth, bounded forward past self?” remonstrated her compunion. Other horses. She could not hear what the | smote upon his ear. i } 1 j f THE BARONET’S SECRET. 7 had occurred. chasm, the chasm!” And, evidently aware that she herself had been the cause of the disaster, sunk upon her knees in an agony of terror. A feeling of faintness came over Isabel. She allowed herself to slip from her saddle; and there, upon the hard, dry road, she lay huddled up in a heap, her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out some horrible sight. Meanwhile, Sir Guy had started in pursuit of the runaway horse. He thought with terror of the gaping abyss ahead, through the dismal .depths of which the eye of mortal had never yet penetrated. But suddenly the Baronet reins in his horse, while an exclamation of astonishment bursts from his lips. : A stranger bad appeared, and had flung him- self between Ada and certain death. Regardless of his imminent peril, he had stationed himself in the middle of the road, and when the foaming animal dashed. blindly up, he seized the reins close to the bit, and was dragged clear off his feet. But he did not release his hold. The horse slackened speed, _ plunged and reared, then all three together rolled upon the ground. Ada was flung nearly a yard from her horse, which lay at full length, panting violently. The courageous stranger was the first to re- cover his feet; he was by the lady’s side in a - moment. She cast one searching glance up into his handsome, bearded face—a glance of recognition—then fell back in a faint. Her deliverer was about to kneel by her side, when the sound of approaching horse’s hoots His dark eye rested for a few seconds upon the girl’s lovely, pallid coun- tenance; then he turned and fled.’ When Ada opened her eyes Sir Guy was anxiously bending over her; but when she recognized his features, a shade of disappoint-— ment crossed her face, even as a sudden squ ruffles the smiling countenance of the de hice She sat up and gazed around. ““ Where is he—my preserver?” she inquired, in a low, hesitating tone. “Gone!” said her cousin, in ‘a half-vexed manner. ‘The noble fellow did not wait for , our thanks.” ats “Gone!” repeated Ada, blankly. Then she burst into tears. ‘Cruel, cruel!” she sobbed. “He has saved my life at the risk of his own; and yet would deny me the pleasure of telling him how grateful I am.” “Nay, Ada! is it wise thus to distress your- true, your hero has acted somewhat strangely; da quickly regained her self-control, and _ but you will probably soon see him again. Do kept her saddle, in be Heaven!” almost shrieked the woman | ck, as she turned round and saw what OWL - 7 - jis re a eee ly me you know him? Who is het” Almost despairingly came her reply. “ Alas! he is an utter stranger to me,” — “She will be killed! ‘The © It --is °
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dS yd ra ee Lat ay ak eee % = OE A er ee A ee ee we >. = 5 af + ~ ¥ a “ innkeeper’s cheery greeting. S-. THE BARONEI'S SHCREN, “Indeed! Why, i it is sae Sintec? He “Where is Isabel?” pursued the other, in , quite a dejected tone of voice. ‘Oh, I must ride back to her; she will be in torture all this time. But, no; I cannot leave you alone, Ada,” said Sir Guy, hesitatingly. | ‘*T shall do very well, Guy. Indeed, I am perfectly recovered now. Yes, please go to, Tsabel.” Sir Guy went—reluctantly; for it did not | occur to him that Ada was only too glad to |. get rid of him. She longed to be alone—to think, ‘Guy is such a bore,” she soliloquized, as he rode away. ‘Oh, if he were only like him !” Sir Guy found Isabel still crouching in her > lowly position, her face buried in ber hands, “Why, Isabel! mourning your sister’s es- cape?” said Sir Guy. With a glad cry, she sprung to her feet, “ Ada—our precious Ada?’ was all she could | say. “Ts safe, Isabel—safe and sound as you or I!” ‘¢ Thank Heaven! Oh, thank Heaven!” And | grateful tears coursed each other down her cheeks, “Oh, dear—oh, dear!” ejaculated the gen- | tleman, uneasily; ‘‘ why will you women al- ways cry when the danger is past?” “You saved her!’ rejoined Isabel, pursuing | her own thoughts. ‘‘ Oh, noble, noble Guy!” “No, Isabel,” he said, ‘I am not so fortu- nate a being as you imagine. Ada owes her life to a stranger.” ‘¢ A stranger?” “Yes, a stranger. woman?” ~ “The woman?” “Yes; the widow—she who frightened our horses,” “Ob,” said Isabel, with a shudder. quite forgotten her.” Jn vain they looked about for the sable-robed It was nowhere to be seen, CHAPTER V. HOPES AND FXARS. On the following day, Sir Guy caused inqui- ries to be made, which resulted in his ascer- taining that a gentleman of the name of Cox was staying at the ‘‘Vurnal Arms.” There- fore, concluding that this person and the hero of yesterday’s misadventure was one and the same, he strolled down to the village, with the intention of calling upon and thanking the stranger for his gallant services, “I’m glad to see you, Sir Guy,” was the “Hope you and But what became of the “T had “ her ladysbip is well, and the young ladies, too, sir?” /“ We are all weil, thank you, Andy,” re turned the gentleman, in his usual kindly tone of voice, | prised tone. . No doubt, sir,” went on the other, leading | the way into his comfortable parlor, ‘you have come to honor me with your promised visit. It’s very good of you, Sir Guy; very good, indeed.” “yt certainly hoped to see you, Andy,” re- joined the Baronet; ‘‘but independent of that, I came to call upon Mr. Cox, who, I under- | stand, is at present staying here,” The innkeeper’s face fell, ‘*So sorry, Sir Guy,” he returned. ‘' This very morning the gentlemen went up to Lon- don upon urgent business, and I don’t expect him back for some days to come.” “ That is unfortunate. You are sure, though, that he intends returning?” “Oh, dear, yes, sir; bis portmanteau is here! J£ you remember, Sir Guy, Mr. Cox came down the night you did, and he’s been here ever since!” ‘* Indeed!” said the Baronet, in a slightly sur- TY have not the least recollection of having noticed him.” “You see, sir, he’s an invalid, suffering from —well, I don’t exactly know what, now I come to think on it. He don't look very bad; how- soever, He must. be the best judge of his own health, ee What part of the world does Mr. Cox hail - from?” inquired the Baronet, ‘Well, Sir Guy,” returned the man, musing- ly, ‘*I don’t rightly know where he comes from; but I do know that he’s a gentleman of | property, and a great traveler—been all round the world, sir, and back again. He says this is the prettiest village he ever saw; but that it is spoilo by —guess what, Sir Guy!” And as the innkeeper came to a full stop, he drew himself up quite indignantly. The other answered, with a smile, ‘I give it up, Andy. Iam a bad hand at guessing.” ‘Well, sir, Mr. Cox thinks our beautiful monument ruins the appearance of the village, and he says he’d like to see it razed to the ground?” “Indeed!” cried Sir Guy, good-humoredly. I'm afraid Mr. Cox has no eye for the artis- tic. At all events, the people of Gliinmermere do not regard the monuinent in the same light that he does; so I suppose it is like to stand, in spite of him.” “Stand, Sir Guy!” echoed the other, al- most wrathfully. “T should think so, indeed, as long as one of us remains to defend ity? Very pleasantly passed the days at Crag- Vurnal. The three young people were the best of friends; and good Lady Vurnal had already begun to tell herself that the dearest wish of her life was ina fair way to be realized, But the complacent smile would sometimes vanish from her face, giving place to an ex- pression of mingled doubt and anxiety; and- s
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/ e e ~ a - she would ask herself, “Which is to be my daughter—Isabel or Aca?” This important question, however, she coult hev-r satisfactorily determine, each of her nieces seeming to receive an equal share of her Son’s attentions, Although Lady Vurnal was hardly conscious of entertaining a preference, Isabel was her favorite. But even had the old lady set her heart upon having Isabel for her daughter-in-law, she would have had too much sense to interfere | im so delicate a matter; moreover, she knew | very well that no man ever fell in love with a girl because his mother had told him to do so. Lady Vurnal did not attempt to disguise from herself the fact that her son was at times given to fits of melancholy. He would sit for hours silent and gloomy; and often in the midst of company, his brow would grow trou- bled, his manner become abstracted, plainly showing that he had some secret cause of dis- quiet, Once, indeed, his mother bad ventured to take him to task upon the subject; but he had systematically avoided her affectionate in- quiries, returning but scant and curt replies So, hurt more than she would like to have con- fessed, she desisted from her attempt to win his confidence; nor did she again renew it. In the meantime, Ada was quietly laying siege to the Baronet’s heart; nor had she, as yet, any serious misgivings as to the ultimate Success of her schemes. But had she really loved her cousin, her heart would have told her that the smiles he lavished upon Isabel were sweeter and more _ Sentle than those that fell to her lot; for, _ ‘though Love is blind in some respects, he is oe wide awake’ to his own individual inter- €sts, Now, Isabel noticed not Sir Guy’s somewhat unattractive appearance. ly, and noble. From her very childhood she had thought cf him thus. . da, on the contrary, cared nothing for the man, but a great deal for the position his wife Would be entitled to. CHAPTER VI JASPER COX, ADA May was at length awakened to the knowledge that affairs were not progressing ®xactly as she could have wished. She had Conducted her wooing on principles subtle as pd were unobtrusive, no very cheering re- sh accruing, it is true; but, then, as far as =. knew, her rival step-sister had not been °re successful. Indeed, Ada bad been under 2 we ‘mpression that Sir Guy was more demon- LY? in his attentions to her than to Isabel, May have been the case; but it was more = 2S pete ne pO et ees | to the concert. ; In him she beheld | er girlish ideal of all that was handsome, man- ° THE BARONETS SECRET. a likely that this was one of the pleasing delu- sions about to be dispelled. The young Baronet had promised to accom- pany the ladies to a concert to be given at Halton, the neighboring town. The entertain- ment was to come off in the afternoon of the day at which our story has now arrived. But Isabel did not grace the breakfast-table by her presence this morning, being confined to her room with a sick headache, attended by symptoms of fever, There was nothing to fear, Lady Vurnal de- clared. Isabel was subject to these little at- tacks. She would be better in the course of \ the day. Notwithstanding this reassuring assertion, Sir Guy’s alarm was very evident; he even went so far as to say that the finest music in world would have no attraction for him if IJsa- bel were not well enough to accompany them The result was that the pro- ject was abandoned, and they all stayed at home, We need scarcely say that the young man’s openly expressed concern at his cousin’s indis- position was as pleasing to his mother as it was distasteful to the now thoroughly aroused Ada. After breakfast, the elder lady betook herself to the invalid’s room. Sir Guy, in a fit of moody abstraction, sat at a window, an unopened book in his hand; while Ada donned her gar- den hat, ard went for a walk. As she strolled leisurely along the path that led to the cliffs, her fair brow grew dark and troubled. She . was putting two and two together, and the . sum total of her calculation was anything but pleasing to her. “‘Blind! blind!” she muttered to herself. “This cannot have been the growth of a day. How sly they have been! Well, well, this fair blossom shall be crushed ere it runs to seed!” Ada found herself standing upon the cliffs. There was rather a stiff breeze, and the sea wore a sullen and troubled aspect, relieved by the snowy wavelets which we call ‘white horses.” Firm, hasty footsteps rung upon the rocks behind her, and Ada turned to confront the handsome stranger to whom she owed so much —her “hero ” himself, Haughty and self-possessed as was her usual demeanor, why did the rich crimson mount to the girl’s cheeks?—-what meant that tingling sensation that surged through her veins?—why throbbed her heart so wildly, so exultantly? Isabel and the baronet were as completely era- dicated from her mind as though they had never occupied it. The gentleman appeared perfectly cool and collected—a fact that irritated Ada, conscious, — as she was, of her own unwonted confusion, — He was the first to speak. ‘May I venture
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TAS el ge oh rae ets ERE oe ¥ ! peF : meh Rae eee BL ee gO a ee) Py Tey iA Mee he vo ag Ha eee Tee + g <2) — / pA * 4 Se ee beets Ae Sie a Wild" LS EME 4 4 x “ “ ; ’ rime Sehe. at te hope that you sustained noinjury from your recent accident?” The words were accompanied by a look at once respectful, admiring, tender. With an effort, Ada recovered her self-com- mand, and, extending her hand, said: have so longed for an opportunity to thank you, sir, for the noble manner in which you risked your life for mine! Indeed, I am very, very grateful, though I cannot find words to express all I feel!” “Pray, madam, do not say any more,” re- joined the other, deprecatingly. ‘‘ Believe me, your good will is more than I deserve for the poor service I was fortunate enough to render you, and the importance of which you so very much over-rate.” ‘The lady smiled benignly, as she replied, “ I fear, Mr, Cox— ThatI believe is your name?” The gentleman bowed slightly. “Mine is Ada May ” she added, graciously. “ But I was about to say that your generosity | and disinterestedness would blind you to your justly merited deserts, But, now that I think of it, might I ask why you left me so abruptly | on that day the memory of which I almost shudder to recall?” The reply struck Ada as being somewhat strange; moreover, it was not spoken with that easy assurance that had hitherto characterized | his words. “May I not have been averse to hearing myself extolled as a hero, knowing how little I deserve it?” ‘« Possibly,” returned Ada, in a light, almost bantering tone; ‘providing you were far more modest and retiring in disposition than your present manners would lead me to sup- pose.” Then, looking him boldly in the face, she added, ‘‘ You ‘are equivocating, Mr. Cox. Had you been more straightforward, I might have been tempted to question you further, Remember,” she went on, slowly and impres- sively, ‘‘Iam your friend; could 1 be less, since I owe you my very life?” “Thank you, Miss May,” returned Cox, a flash of pleasure lighting up bis face. “I ac- cept your friendship, and shall value it more than anything on earth. Speak on, then; ask what you will. little as I have seen of you, 1 _ can trust you, arid that is more than I have ever said of woman.” It was Ada’s turn to flush with pleasure. She took him at his word. “How many times have I seen you, Mr. Cox?’ she began. ‘“‘ Thrice, is it not?” He inclined his head. “The first time was by moonlight, at Crag- | Vurnal, on the night of Sir Guy Vurnal’s re- turn?” Again he bowed in acquiescence. ‘* Then, of course, it was you who—who ap- 7 tao ee THE BARONETS SECRET. _ “oT, propriated the letter that left Sir Guy’s pos- session that same night?” | This charge also was admitted. ‘“¢ And—” Ada was resuming, when her com- panion interrupted her. “Stay!” he cried, with asmile, ‘‘ You are getting along too fast, Miss May. It is my turn now.” | Proceed,” said Ada, quietly. _ find that I also can be candid.” | ‘In the first place, then, does Sir Guy know that I was prowling about his place that night?” | ‘“No; he does not,” was the reply. | ‘*No?? he echoed, with unmistakable gratifi- _ cation, and some surprise. ‘Then he cannot ' suspect me of being the purloiner of the miss- ing document?’ * He does not suspect anybody.” “ And how came it that you did not impart | your suspicions to him?” ‘¢For reasons that would not interest you, _and which could not possibly concern you, Mr. , Cox,” retorted Ada, with a slight blush. “You will | Two more questions, Miss May, and then I have done. Does Sir Guy know my appear- | ance; and has he told any one of the contents of the document to which I have just al- . luded?” | My cousin has no recollection of ever |having seen your face, although you _ traveled on the same coach from Halton. And | as to the letter,” she added, impressively, ° it is my belief that its secrets are known but to two—Sir Guy and yourself.” _ * And you would like to be enrolled as mem- ber No. 3 of our little band—eh, Miss May?” “Tf you think me worthy of the honor, I shall be delighted,” declared Ada, with a mock ‘ courtesy. ‘‘Ilam buta woman. Let this be my apology for prying into what does not con- cern me.” ‘“‘Pardon me; you are one of the principal parties mentioned in this important document; for in it Sir Guy Vurnal is commanded to , choose between you and your sister for a wife, ‘provided he should return heart-whole after his two years’ tour; and, of course, provided ~ that you and Miss Garnett were free to accept his addresses.” | ‘*How very strange!” cried Ada. ‘I had not the slightest suspicion of this. But sup- pose Sir Guy fails to act according to his fa- ther’s wishes or commands?” | “In that’ case, he is to double the liberal _ fortunes to which you and your sister are al- | ready entitled by the late Baronet’s will.” Ada looked more surprised than ever, “ And what if neither Isabel nor I approved of the proposed alliance?” | “Then,” returned Cox, “the affair would be ended; and Sir Guy might choose a wife - where be would,”
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1 typ ee * ~* Your” the pursued Ada. ‘‘Is my cousin compelled to act according to its dictates?” “Tt is compulsory so far only as a dutiful 80n might consider bis father’s dying words so.” “ Ab,” said Ada, a tinge of sadness in~ her Voice, ‘‘my poor uncle bad such faith in his son; and his slightest wish was as a command — to Guy.” “Most estimable young man!” remarked | Cox, with a half sneer. “And now, Mr. Cox,” went on Ada, “ what about the secret? You have not told me that | yet, you know?” * All in good time, Miss May. I cannot in- itiate you into all our mysteries on the same day; it is against the rules of the brother- hood,” he added, with mock solemnity. “Nay, Mr. Cox, do not jest; you cannot Possibly be serious?” said his companion in a disappointed tone. “Oh, but Iam, though!” he declared. But rest: assured that I shall tell you everything before you become Lady Vurnal, and mistress of Crag-Vurnal!” This was said with a knowing look that sent the blood to Ada’s cheeks, ‘‘ As you please,” she returned, with offend- ed dignity; adding, “‘ But pray, sir, is there any necessity to remind me that you were un- gentlemanly enough to play the eavesdropper?” Nothing daunted, he retorted, ‘‘The degra- dation was mine, not yours, Miss May; and, as you are aware, I am not over-scrupulous.” Ada made a successful effort to recover her 800d-humor. “Well, Mr. Cox,” she said, with a smile, “you and I cannot afford to quarrel; besides, Whatever you may say or do, I must never forget that you havo saved my life, and that I &m your grateful and faithful friend now and Orever!? = “And in me, Miss May, you behold your Most abject slave!” was the gallant reply. “And yet,” she sighed, softly, while at the Same time throwing him a reproachful, yet be- Witching glance—‘“ and yet you have just re- “ed me a very simple favor!” ‘Not refused,” ho corrected; “I merely de- fe erred the telling of the secret.” 3 But you really will tell it to me?” « Swear it!” Then I suppose I must try and be content. he d now, good-by. It must be approaching me eon hour, and I must be off.” Not ‘good-by,’ Miss May. I hope to have Pleasure of seeing you again to-day, as I tend returning Sir Guy’s visit.” € shall all be delighted to see you. Sure to Be come, _ Mind, I shall be looking out for pit And with a gay ‘ Au revoir,’ she flitted bri Y, leaving Jasper Cox to enjuy one of the _ SAtest day-dreams he had ever indulged in, THE BARONETS SECRET. ar ee EET AES |S Ee LY “Ts this extraordinary document legal ?” | CHAPTER VII. A GOOD MAN’S ECCENTRICITIES, As Lady Vurnal had predicted, Isabel’s in- flisposition proved bnt trifling. On the follow- ing day she was sufficiently recovered to be able to ride with Ada and Mr. Bevil. Sir Guy and Mr. Cox had started for the woods upon a shooting excursion; but Mr. _ Bevil, who considered the indulgence of that — _ exciting sport a wanton cruelty, preferred the society of the ladies, Thus each party followed | the bent of their own inclinations. They were, however, to meet again at the (close of the day, Mr. Cox and Mr. Bevil having | been invited to dine at Crag-Vurnal. Mr. Bevil, as we have before stated, was a bachelor of forty. Moreover, he was a gentle- man of many excellent qualities, anda few | distinguishing characteristics, prominent among which were those that had reference t® his constitution, and to that mysterious organ of the human frame—his heart. x He had been gifted—or should we say cursed? —with a heart so tender that he had been known actually to writhe at the sight of a moth fluttering round the flame of a candle. Flesh, fish, or fowl he had not tasted for the last ten years, on the ground that it was heart- lessly cruel, if not sinful, to take the life of any creature in order to satisfy a depraved and un- natural appetite. Consequently, ‘‘the Squire” was not as healthy and robust as he might have been had - | he partaken of proper nourishment. But he | himself believed that his constitution was com- | pletely shattered by reason of the debilitating effect produced upon his system from the con- templation of the wholesale destruction of life | continually going on around him. Nor did he view with an eye of composure the ordinary every-day sufferings of his fellow creatures, Protector, benefactor, friend, was this really good man to the poor and lowly. To these — were devoted much of his time, and by far the greater portion of his means. é A tale of distress never gained his ear in vain. He would weep with the sorrowful and heavy-laden, administer to the sick, feed and clothe the hungry and naked. : Isabel and Mr. Bevil had all the conversa- tion to themselves as the three rode quietly — along, Ada not being in a talkative humor; in- deed, she was rather out of spirits. The truth | is, she felt aggrieved that ber cousin and Mr, — Cox should have preferred «a ramble with guns - and dogs, to a canter “ cross country ” with her. | Her present escort was not a particular fav- 'orite of Ada’s, and when at length she conde- scended to address him, she did so with the in- tention of amusing herself at his expense. | “Mr. Bevil,” she said, mischievously, “ you are the most gallant gentleman I know. With what excellent good-grace you have devoted — : ne
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ing the wrong as you would have of teaching a | F ’ fasting off a plump fly.” ~ letting him off so easily. Mr. Bevil. a few minutes afterward, as he drew up his | Spoustet to Isabel and me iddiag when ae the while your heart is in the woods with the sportsmen.” “Surely, Miss May,” replied Mr. Bevil, ina slightly repreachful tone, “ you must be aware - that I could take no pleasure in the destruction of bappy, innocent birds—creatures whose very helplessness, to say nothing of their beauty, should protect them.” ‘But they were created for man’s use. You cannot deny that, Mr. Bevil,” rejoined Ada, argumentatively. *‘ And are they not useful to man—in their natural state, I mean? If birds were annihi- | lated, do you suppose man could exist?” Ada shrugged her shoulders. “You are rushing into extremes,” she re- turned. ‘‘ Why base your supposition upon an | impossibility? The birds that are killed go no ‘further toward the annihilation of the feather- ed tribe than do the men that fall in battle tend toward the annihilation of the human | race.” “But why advocate slaughter in any form? Let man and beast live their little day!” “ With all my heart!” laughed Ada. “But | battle and bloodshed always have been, and, I | - guppose, always will be.” | “ Depend upon it,” returned Mr. Bevil, mus- | ingly, ‘‘there is something wrong somewhere.” “‘ Ah, yes; indeed there is,” acquiesced Ada, | solemnly shaking her head; ‘‘and I’m afraid, Mr. Bevil, you have as little a chance of right- | spider that he was a cruel monster for break- | Mr. Bevil ignored this remark, as well as the mischievous twinkle he detected in his fair | antagonist’s eye. But Ada had no intention of | ““Come, Mr. Bevil,” she resumed, gayly, “let us haye arace! ‘This common is two miles in circumference; and there are three ditches, which are to be taken at their widest, mind. Come, ‘et us be off!” “ Ada,” rémonstrated Isabel, thinking it high time to interfere, ‘‘I fear you are teasing Mr, | Bevil. You forget he does not approve of | horse racing, in however mild a form.” “¢ And,” put in the gentleman himself, some- | what pathetically, “the shattered state ‘of my health would of itself prevent me from taking such violent exercise,” “*Oh, dear!” cried Ada, in mock penitence; “Tam always trampling upon your scruples, Pray forgive me!” “‘T beg your pardon, ladies,” said Mr. Bevil, horse before the cottage of a herdsman; “ there | is a widow with a sick child living here. I} want to inquire about them, 1] shall not keep you a moment,” | THE BARONET’S SECRET, as «Could ig Ao anything for them?” asked Isa- bel, eagerly. “T think not, Miss Garnett. Mrs. West has all she wants at present, I believe; however, I will tell her of your kind wish to help her.” And then he dismounted, and, having secured his horse’s reins to the little garden gate, knocked at the cottage door, and was admitted. It was a lonely dwelling; small, but clean and tidy in appearance. ‘“‘Tsabel,” said Ada, ‘‘perhaps this is the very widow who frightened our horses that day.” ‘““Very likely, Ada. But what a lonely place to live! No other house in view, no sound to be heard, save the bleating of the sheep, and the distant voice of the ocean!” ; Fully a quarter of an hour had elapsed when Mr. Bevil came forth. Every vestige of color had left his face; his mild blue eyes swam in tears—in a word, bis countenance was indica- tive of the deepest suffering. The girls were shocked at his appearance. Isabel noticed that his hands shook as with the palsy. “Ob, Mr. Bevil!” she said, with a pitying glance, ‘‘ you are ill—I am sure you are ill!” ‘‘No, Miss Garnett,” he replied, in a low, sad tone; ‘‘not more so than I always am after visiting the sick and the sorrowful. Oh, its poor, pitiful little face!—its anguish-laden | eyes! So young to suffer! so helpless! so inno- cent! And then the agony of its heart-broken mother! That frail little life is the only tie that binds her to earth. Qh, it is a sad, sad world!” “Poor creature!” murmured Isabel, her voice husky from emotion. ‘But, Mr. Bevi:,” she continued, in a kindly tone, ‘‘is it not very un- wise of you to bring yourself into contact with such harrowing scenes—you, who are so kind- hearted, so deeply moved by the sufferings of others?” ‘““Ab, Miss Garnett,” he replied, “if I were to deny myself the greatest pleasure I have in ' life—that of doing what little I can to alleviate the sorrows of the afflicted poor—I should die. -It is true I pursue my work at the.expense of my health; sideration to bar my progress along the road I have marked out for myself.” ‘“T do not doubt, Mr. Bevil,” persisted Isa- bel, “‘ that continual emotion so violent as that to which you have but just been a prey must have injured your constitution very material- ly; but—pardon me if the deep interest I feel in you leads me to speak too plainly—you re- strict yourself to a diet upon which it seems impossible tbat any one could thrive, I do so wish that we could persuade you to alter your manner of living.” Mr. Bevii shook his head, but I shall never allow that con-
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Set Re ke ee ee ae ee « ‘You are very kind, Miss Garnett,” he said, gratefully; ‘‘but your wish can never be real- ized. And,” he added, more cheerfully, ‘‘ your poor cook would die of despair were there no longer any necessity for the dainty dislies she | delights to concoct in order to tempt my fasti- dious appetite. She is quite as ingenious as my own cook, and these two are the only mas- ters of the art I ever trouble; for, as you are aware, I never dine out except at Crag-Vur- nal.” - *‘ And believe me, Mr. Bevil,” said Isabel, warmly, “‘we fully appreciate the honor you | do us.” By this time Mr. Bevil had remounted his horse, and was riding by Isabel’s side, Ada | being some distance ahead. Meanwhile, our two sportsmen had made | considerable havoc among the pheasants and woodcock, consequently they were in high good humor; moreover, they appeared to enjoy each other’s ’society, and became excellent friends. “By Jove, Sir Guy,” said Cox, as they were making tracks for home, ‘‘ you ought to be the happiest fellow in the world! Lord of this fine property, with a noble old mansion to live in, and two of the loveliest girls I ever saw to smile upon you,”—this with a sly glance,— “ what more could mortal desire?” ‘¢None can tell the weight of another’s bur- den,” replied the Baronet, with a sigh. Then he ‘laughed boisterously, as if to lessen the seriousness of his remark. ‘“ At all events, your burden cannot be very | weighty. , It must, indeed, be composed of ‘trifles light as air,’”’ continued Cox. “Talking of my cousins,” resumed Sir Guy, musingly, ‘‘ what a narrow escape Ada had the other day! How fortunate that you happened to be inthe way! I shall never forget it!” ‘Nor shall I!” said the other. ‘‘A few minutes more, and she would have been dashed to pieces among the rocks.” ‘¢ Horrible!” ejaculated Cox, with a shudder. . & And she, too, the more beautiful of the sis- | ters,” he hazarded, with a sharp glance at his | companion. “What!” exclaimed Sir Guy, thoughtlessly ; “you surely cannot think Ada prettier than Isabel?” The Baronet had forgotten that there was a time—-not very far off, either—when his mind was not so clear upon this paint. (“‘ Ah,” thought Cox, ‘I see in which direc- tion the wind blows. That is a point gained.”) ‘Both ladies are perfection,” was his cau- tious reply. - And here the subject dropped. “JT quite agree with you, Ad ” declared Lady Vurnal, that evening, when and her nieces had retreated to the drawing- room after =o a er = 7 ‘a . - t THE BARONETS SECRET, =~ | Saisie tleman-like: His manners have that polish which foreign travel] seldom fails to impart.” “JT knew you would say so, aunt,” replied Ada. new acquaintance?” ‘*T, too, am prepossessed in his favor. Be- sides his fine person and agreeable manners, accent—it is more than half foreign, I think.” “But, my dear children,” rejoined Lady Vurnal, reflectively, “we must not form too hasty conclusions. After all, we know very little of this gentleman—in fact, we know no- thing of his antecedents. I faney, too, that he is strangely uncommunicative with regard to his own affairs. Mr. Bevil does not seem to cally, as though this were a weighty argu- ment in support of the caution she was adyo- cating. ment. ‘‘ Then it is the first dislike I ever knew Mr. Bevil to entertain,” said Isabel. Cox proposed that they should have some music. Isabel went to the piano, and in a clear, joy- ous voice, sung, to the entire gratification of eo audience. Ada acquitted herself none the less brilliant- ie but would only sing once, while Isabel, song to please Mr, Bevil, who was passionately fond of music. . For the remainder of the evening, Ada de- voted herself exclusively to the entertainment of Mr. Cox. She played: chess with him, and beat him, too. chance, followed, with varied results. They both exerted themselves to the utmost to please, and both were pleased. Besides her guest’s entertainment and her | other object in view. Perhaps she wished to show Sir Guy that he was not the only man in the world—that there were others who might easily be brought to her feet. But if such were her intentions, they certainly wary not productive of the desired result. | Sir Guy, Isabel, and Mr. Bevil managed to pass the evening pleasantly enough, in spite of the old adage that three are no company; while Lady Vurnal dozed contentedly in her great , arm-chair. | “— CHAPTER VIL PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS. THE intimacy between Ada and Jasper Cox, commenced on the evening the latter dined at ee steadily increased, Scarcely a pete ‘Mr. Cox is very agreeable and gen- ‘And, Isabel, what do you think of our there is something peculiarly pleasing in his ‘“Pshaw!” was Ada’s contemptuous com-— Shortly afterward the gentlemen came in, and after a little general conversation, Mr, — | with her usual good nature, sung song after 9 Other games, both of skill and own pleasure, the wily Ada may have had an- © like him, I have noticed,” she added, emphati- : AyD , Stang Wa ay ayS Oil oe oe - J acid i; ath iss “Oey
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Spee, ly Ie ek Petee eg AE 7 « 14 day pened that tlie dia not meet in rhabiior as well as clandestinely; indeed, the latter course was more frequently adopted, both parties, for the furtherance of their own ends, preferring woods, to the interchange of a few polite con- ventionalities in the drawing-room at the. Crag. In the commencement of their acquaintance -Ada’s vanity had been gratified by the hand- some stranger’s ill-concealed admiration of her charms. His flattery pleased her; his conver- sation amused and entertained her; consequent- | ly she courted his society. By-and-by, this intimacy very naturally ripened into something warmer. Jasper had ee saved Ada’s life; therefore she thought him ae entitled to her friendship as wellas her grati- f _ tude. These she willingly gave him; but he <i was not satisfied; he stole her heart. But, in spite of this circumstance, Ada had not the slightest intention of relinquishing her designs upon Sir Guy. Mr. Cox was a poor - man—he had told ber as much—therefore mar- riage with bim was not to be thought of. She had intended to amuse herself at his expense; she had done so wholly at her own, In the meantime Ada had tried every expe- 3 _ dient in her power to wean Sir Guy’s affections er a one pose. He was as indifferent to her attentions as unconscious of the motives that prompted them. Once only had she tried to arouse his jealousy by flirting with Cox; and once was _ enough to show her that such a plan would be more likely to injure her cause than to pro- “mote it. If there were an engagement between Sir _ daily expectation of an announcement to that effect. : A coolness had sprung up between the sisters, _ which precluded the interchange of their con- fidences, as of old. Upon the few occasions that they now chanced to be alone together, they conversed with the restraint of mere ac- quaintances, ing slowly enough, and, from Ada’s point of view, unsatisfactorily. ‘Scill, she did not de- spair of ultimately gaining her ends. She yet had one more iron in the fire; but her chief - difficulty now was how to get it out of the fire. Sir Guy hada secret ! Iu this tact iay ber only remaining hop This was the “iron” beneath the weight o which Isabel was to fall, crushed and help- less; and this was the “Giyon”? that, beate into links, was to form a chain that woul unite Ada and Sir-Guy for life—‘“‘for better, for worse,” stolen interviews on the rocks, and even in the | rom her rival step-sister; but all to no pur- | Guy and Isabel, neither Ada vor Lady Vurnal | had yet heard of it; but they were both in | Thus, affairs at Crag-Vurnal were progress-— ' me steal your heart, to wear it forever next | 4 eR oS othe Tie Se eT Maine oct . he ; \ *t a ra. Sadi B00) BARONETS SECRET. see “Up to the present time Ai asper Cox had man- aged to evade Ada’s inquiries concerning Sir Guy’s secret; but she was determined to be put off no longer; would suffer no more trifling. One morning, Ada, having dressed herself with unusual care, slipped from the house by a side door, and repaired to the trysting-place, | where she had promised to meet Mr. Cox. She quickly took her way along a path that led to the seaside. The air was keen and wintry. The gong of ‘the thrush was no longer to be heard, while the occasional chant of the robin sounded shrill /and joyless. Arrived at the cliffs, Ada de- scended, step by step, a natural stairs leading to a small, sandy beach, As she had expected, Jasper Cox was already awaiting her, Seated upon a rock, he was quietly enjoying a cigar. This he flung away as the lady approached. ‘“* At last you are come!” he cried. ‘A whole minute late! I was so anxious—so im- patient! I feared you were going to disappoint me!” She smiled as she noted his eager, lover-like air. It augured well for the success of the scheme she had in her mind. “Did I ever disappoint?” she asked, sweetly. “Nay, am I not always punctual?’ “You are an angel!” was the rapturous re- sponse, ‘*In theshadow of your wings I could live or die, happy and at peace with all the world. Those glorious eyes, that dazzle mine by their pure and holy brilliancy, are the only stars that beara for me. These lov ely smiles are to my heart what food and shelter are to the hungry and homeless. Oh, Ada!” he added, his face aglow, his dark eyes earnest and ten- der; ‘‘ what could recompense me for the loss of even one little minute of your sweet so- ciety?” © “Mr. Cox!—Jasper!” “Jasper! Bless those ruby lips! Tis the first time that word has stained them. I heard a cewdrop falling from the soft, blushing petals of a rose, it fell upon my throbbing | heart!” “Nay, the dewdrop must have been fair and pure, else it would not have fallen so prettily from the rose’s heart,’ Having spoken thus, the color in Ada’s face deepened, and her eyes fell beneath the other’s ardent gaze. He took her hand, and pressed it gently, while he murmured softly into her ear: “Sweet rose, I love you-Iadore you! Let } ? e my own! Nay, let them blend together, mak- ing one—we its joint owner!’’ Ada was but woman, after all, and found it impossible to act the unwomanly part she had marked out for herself,
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SYR 2 8s ke a AE A Se nae tee «ot bk ee tee AAS Neate Nise ST thos 2 aes BS a Ea I ia 0 od a Rt cal ats THE BARONETS SECRET. | is = _ She loved Jasper Cox; loved him as she | you can doubt my love, do so; it would be could never love another. He loved her; well | better thus—far better.” : did she know that, _ “How can I help doubting?” he cried, bitter- - _ Young, and inexperienced in the waysofthe | ly. ‘*You are cruel, Ada; heartless. What world, no music could sound sweeter to Ada | proof have I to the contrary? Ifyoureally than did the exaggerated sentiinentalism with | cared for me, you would not throw me over for — which her lover chose to clothe the expression | another.” _ of his feelings. To her it was simply the lan- ‘‘ You ask proof of me!” replied Ada, quickly. sf guage of his heart, born of a romantic soul. “Have you given any? The only favorIlever On, how could she deceive him? asked of you, you denied me. Tell me the No; be false and deceitful to all the world, | secret—tell it to me, Jasper, as a proof of your =: if need be; but to Jasper Cox she must be true. | love,” she pleaded, earnestly. SES True in one sense, false in another—false to “‘ And will you, in return, give me a proof him, and false to herself. of your love, Ada?” +6 Still, the good in her nature was now arous- “How, could I? What proof would you : ed in rebellion against the bad. have?” ae: A mist of tears gathered in this strange | “Listen, Ada,” he resumed, bending nearer 3 girl’s eyes as she once more met her compan-| to her. “I swear by your own sweet faco ion’s expectant glance. Her lovely face wore | that I will tell you Sir Guy’s secret the very a softened and pained expression. moment after you have given me the proof of ‘‘Forgive me, Jasper,” she faltered. ‘‘I | your love which I shall ask of you. If you came here to-day with the intention of deceiv- | refuse, I shall then know that you do not care ing you, but I cannot do it. At any other | for me, and you shall die in ignorance of that cost I would purchase the secret you hold; not | which you so much desire to knew.” at that—not at that! ‘You will despise me, He did not think it necessary to tell her that Jasper, yet I must tell you the truth—when | he could make a pretty fair guess at the use you learn that my intentions were, to pretend | she intended to put the secret to, once she had to yield to your entreaties, promise to marry | it. 5 you, gain the secret, and then desert you!” “« And the proof, Jasper? What do you wish 5 2 Instead of the frown Ada had expected to | me to do?’ ie : see on her lover’s face, it was illumined by a “Destroy that monument.” : radiant smile. Sbe could have given him no “What say you? Good heavens, Jasper, — ~-greater proof of her regard than this candid | are your senses deserting you?” c. ied Ada, — confession. She was his, let her say what she | aghast. would to the contrary. He saw her weakness, “I am perfectly serious, Ada,” he gravely felt his own power; therefore might allow her | replied. “I hate the monument; it is an eye- 4 tether as long as she pleased; he would know | sore to me. I will place a barrel of gunpowder when to pull the string. at the foot of the narrow winding-stairs—your “My sweet girl,” he replied, “‘say or do | fair hand shall do the rest. The monument What you please, you cannot rob me of your | will be destroyed, and I shall know that I am et love!” * beloved by the fairest and sweetest woman in “Tt were useless to try and deceive you, | the world!” aoe Jasper. Ido love you; but—” In silent astonishment Ada gazed at the : Before she had time to prevent it, he had originator of this wild scheme. Ps caught her in his arms, and snatched a kiss. “Well, Ada, do you agree to my terms?’ oc . She quickly disengaged herself, however; ‘¢ Jasper, I cannot believe you are in ear- and, though her face was scarlet from confu- | nest. Such an extraordinary project!” 2a 810n, her voice was firm and calm as she said, ‘“‘T await your answer, ’ urged the other, im- a “Jasper, this must not occur again. Under- | patiently. Stand me thoroughly when I say that I shall “Tet me think a moment, Jasper. I am = never marry you. As you are aware, my am- | half confused. Help todestroy my poor uncle’s bition lies in a different direction. This is the | monument! What a return for the great kind- very last time I shall ever meet you alone. | ness I have received from Lady Vurnal! You Nothing could change my decision.” are only trying me, Jasper. You surely ~ ; At this, Jasper’s countenance fell. All of a | would not like me to act so vile and ungrateful 5 Sudden he became the despairing, rejected | a part?’ Suitor, It was now his turn to do a little act- “Your answer?” was all he said. ing. ‘Oh, Jasper,” cried the girl, in great dis- “You do not love me Ada. I have been a | tress, “consider what you ask of me? Were I lind fool! I see it all now!” | to do as you wish, and Sir Guy should findit Ada’s heart bled at his apparent misery, out, be would never forgive me. Ah,” she ‘It matters not, Jasper,” she sighed. ‘If continued, with a suspicious glance, ‘“ perhaps - . that is the end you have in view?” {
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“a, oa lt ee A ss No, by Heaven, it is not!” he destaved ce ‘Think over the whole thing, Ada, and you ~ will see how utterly absurd is your supposi- tion. Remember, Jam the chief conspirator. If you and Sir Guy quarreled through my Means, you would naturally be incensed against me, he added, gloomily and grumblingly, ‘‘I sup- pose he is your lover, and, therefore, would not be likely to believe aught against you. Oh, never fear, Ada,” he went on, carelessly; “your cousin will not suspect you, at all events. Iknow a plan that would prevent even the possibility of such a calamity.” “ Tell it to me then,” said Ada. “Tt is simply this, Ada. crime to your sister’s shoulders—Mr, Bevil her | accomplice!” Ada started. come. ‘ Who would believe such a thing of them ?” ‘ she cried. for the commission of such an act?” “T tell you, Ada, it could be done, Put d, your trust in me, and you will have no cause to regret it.” as diabolical a plot as was ever hatched. To do her justice, Ada recoiled from the whole business; and it was some time ere his entreaties overcame her scruples. But at length she gave in. “ Jasper,” she said, thing—/for your sake.” _ Besides the reasons assigned to Ada, Cox had other and more powerful ones for acting .in the extravagant manner he proposed. It is aE true, the monument in Glimmermere was an eyesore to him; in fact, as he had said, he hated the sight of it. "But he hated the Vurnal tamily ten times more. It would be an intense gratifica- tion to him to sow a disunion between Sir Guy and his intended bride. Moreover, if he suc- _ eeeded in preventing the Baronet from marry- ing either of the sisters, his own intended “JT will do this base what might become of poor, wrongfully-accus- ed Isabel. Thus, the, strange test that was to prove Ada’s love for Cox was also to overthrow a monument, rob Sir Guy of the girl he loved, provide Jasper himself with a rich wife, and at the same time to wreak an unholy ven- geance upon a family whom he considered he _ had cause to hate, As Ada and her lover were about to part company, Jasper chanced to cast a glance up at the cliff above their heads. ‘‘ That woman!” he ejaculated. ‘* What does she want staring at us like that?” Ada turned her eyes in the same direction, and lo! upon the extreme end of a projecting rock, she beheld the ‘‘ Woman in Black,” the widow whom Ada had such good. cause ‘to re- Would that benefit me? Besides,” | “What motive could they have ' ' Dpride’s fortune would be doubled, no matter | | tion, Isabel,” said Sir Guy. a0} BARONETS SECRET. aber. ite was too far off to senitiedat what lovers were saying; still, they were any- thing but pleased at seeing her there. ‘*I do believe,” cried Ada, half in earnest, half in jest, ‘‘that that horrid woman is my evil genius!” CHAPTER IX. A SHATTERED IDOL. “TsaBEL, I wisb you would put by your work, and come for a stroll with me as far as the steward’s cottage.” said Sir. Guy, on that same day, about an hour after Ada had left the house to keep her appointment with Jasper We could shift the Cox. ‘‘ With pleasure, Guy,” replied Isabel, cheer- fully. She was seated in a window-recess, her lap full of many-colored wools, “‘Tsabel,” put in Lady Vurnal, from the other | side of the room, as she slowly laid aside her book and spectacles—‘‘ Isabel, do you not think Ada spends.too much time in her room? I ‘seldom see her now before luncheon time,” she And there and then, Jasper Cox unfolded , added, in what was, for her, an unusually querulous tone. . ‘Indeed, aunt, now that you draw my at- tention to the subject, Ada does seclude her- self too much. It is not good for her to be so much alone. I shall go and ask her to come out with us,” And Isabel rose and left the room, her conscience whispering to her tnat she had not been so solicitous of Adws com- pany of late as she might have been. But of course she searched in vain for her step-sister; 80, having put’on her hat and cloak, she re- turned to the sitting-room, ‘Ada is not in the house, aunt,” she said. ‘No doubt we shall find her in the garden. Come, Guy; I am ready.” On the lawn they met the gardener who informed them that ‘ Miss Adar haye gone towards the cliffs better than an hour since.” ‘“‘Then we may as well mwas in that direc- ** And I can leave | you with ‘Ada, and go round to the steward’s resolutely fixed upon the ground, afterward. I have business with him that will delay me some time, so I will not ask you to come with me,” “Very well, Guy,” agreed Isabel. And then they walked on, For some minutes more, neither spoke. Sir Guy’s manner was moody and abstracted. Isa- bel, too, was not quite herself to-day. She longed to talk in her usual free and uncon- strained manner; yet, when she essayed to do 80, a presentiment of something about to hap- pen—something, that sent her heart throbbing wildly—rose up within her, and repelled the impulse. So she sileutly tripp d along by her companion’s side, her head arooping, ber eyes
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THE BARONETS At last Guy spoke. ‘ ee ‘‘Tsabel,” he began, slowly and thoughtful- ly, ‘*I have often wished to speak to you upon a subject that nearly concerns my future hap- piness; but, somehow or other, I have always | lacked courage to do so. Oh, Isabel! if you were to turn against me, my misery would be complete! But I have been vain enough to hope tbat Iam not wi olly indifferent to you; so I Lave at last made up my mind to know my fate. But before I proceed further I must make you acquainted with an unhappy truth that 1 1ear will both distress and surprise you very much. Shall I proceed, Isabel? or do you bid me cease?” “Guy,” she returned, in-a low tone of voice,. ‘if you think me worthy to share your con- fidence, believe me, I shall never abuse the privilege. I am ready and willing to hear anything you may have to say to me,” “Then, I was right, dear Isabel; you do eare for me—a little?’ said Sir Guy, eagerly, his face lighting up with unmistakable pleasure. But just as Isabel was about to answer him as her heart dictated, old Brown, the Baronet’s steward, stood before them, ‘‘Beg your pardon, Sir Guy,” he said, re- spectfully, while taking off his Lat to Isabel. ‘‘T heard at the house you wished to speak to me, so I thought I’d just follow you, as I saw you in the distance.” As may be supposed, Sir Guy was not very well pleased at this interruption, but he was obliged to disguise his chagrin with what good grace he could muster. “Very good, Brown. I shall be with you in a moment,” he said. Then turning to Isa- bel, he added, ‘I am afraid I must leave you, Isabel. But you will be sure to find Ada on the rocks,” Then in a low tone he whispered, “ After dinner, to-night, in the conservatory.” Isabel nodded and smiled. “Oh, don’t mind me, Guy!” she cried, gay- ly. ‘ Business before pleasure, you know!” With this she turned and walked away, Sir Guy and his steward going off in the oppo- site direction. Isabel, disappointed, it is true, yet all un- conscious of the bitter trouble that she was hastening to meet, pursued her solitary way to the cliffs. Arrived there, she had a second vain search for her sister. The truth is, while she was on her way to the rocks, Ada had set out on her return to the Crag by a circuitous but less frequented route; consequently they had missed each other. _ Having searched every nook where she thought it likely Ada might have been, Isabel, Weary from walking and climbing, sat down to rest and to think. Poor girl! these were the last few moments — of happiness she was destined,to know for many days to come, : And she was happy then. The leve-light shone from her sweet violet | eyes, and the smile’of peace and hope played ~ about her rosy lips. } | ‘He loves me—he loves me!” was the bur- den of her thoughts. But stay! what sound is that? Surely she could not have been mistaken. Yes, there it is again—a low, sobbing mur- mur, mingling strangely with the sullen voice | of the waves as they roll lazily in uponthe — whence that piteous sound proceeds. Not many yards lower down the cliff sits the droop- ing figure of a woman, a sleeping infant in her lap. She is dressed in deep mourning, her long widow’s vail being thrown back over her bon- net. ree While descending to the poor creature’s side, these words, accompanied by broken sobs, are borne to Isabel’s ears: ‘‘My poor fatherless babe! Live, for your heariiroken mother, and she will live for you—for you alone!” 2 Isabel gently placed a hand upon the sorrow- | ing mother’s shoulder. The woman started, and as she looked up at ‘Isabel a convulsive shudder ran through her — frame. In years she was young—not more _ than thirty, perhaps—but her dark hair was ‘already plentifully streaked with gray, while _her face was worn and pinched, though still beautiful. Her coal-black eyes, so full of — _ pain, looked unnaturally large and brilliant by _ | contrast with the death-like pallor of her skin. ' Her refined and delicate features bespoke hera — person of gentle birth, although her garments, being much the worse for wear, would not help to sustain the supposition. ia = | “Forgive me, madam,” faltered Isabel at length, ‘if I intrude upon your privacy, but I could not bear to see you suffer in solitude. Do not send me from you! Let me try to ' comfort you.” “Don’t speak to me—don’t touch me!” almost sbrieked the stranger, covering up her baby with her cloak, and shrinking from Isabel 4 as though she had been some loathsome animal, — * Poor creature! Perhaps her troubles c turned her brain,” thought Isabel. ‘‘ Don’t be | angry with me,” she again ventured to say. ‘Indeed, indeed, 1 pity you very much, and it would make me so happy to be of the slightest service to you.” ‘*Go away !—go away, I tell you!” cried the virange woman, rudely. ‘‘Oh, you think I do not know you—but Ido! I know you but too well! ‘Your flaxen hair, your beautiful face! Go away, go away!” Isabel was beginning to be afraid of the poor creature, she looked so wild and excited. Yet she would make one more attempt to soothe _ her. : : i= beach. wna Isabel is not long in discovering the source — Ss : e *
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Seaman f-) _ You cannot deceive me. sb ieee eas never have harmed you. Why do you dislike me so much?” “Dislike you! Just Heaven!—dislike you!” was the almost fierce reply—‘‘I hate youl Do you think I did not see you with him? Oh, you need not start I watched you both—I saw you part company a few minutes ago. Ah, I know your secret—you love him, and he loves you. But, mark me,”—this with a sort of fiendish | delight —“ he first loved me, and better than | alone. - he now loves you!” FEE POR ys Bt Bs ae THE BARONETS SECRET. **T assure you,” she declared, quietly, “y| p=: -- "2 “Perhaps it would be better si6k: Leave him to me. Andas I said before, I can bide my time. Besides,”—and a_half-frightened look came into her face—“ besides, his anger would be so great, that he might kill me!” Isabel shuddered, and covered her face with her hands. It was dreadful to hear Guy Vur- nal spoken of in this manner. Yet did he not deserve it? Was he not a villain of the black- est die?” When Isabel uncovered her face she was The dark-robed stranger had disap- | peared, leaving sorrow and desolation behind And then she stood up and faced Isabel, her , her. dark eyes flashing defiance. Her bewildered auditor staggered as though she had been struck. “ Ab!” went on the woman, quickly, ‘you did not know that, perhaps. Then I will tell youmore. Listen! I met that bad man in a small town on the coast of France. He wooed and won me, and we were married "—a stifled scream from |sabel—‘ married, as I thought. But some time afterward I discovered that I , had never been his wife—that it was one of his bis: gay friends who had performed the mock _ ceremony of our marriage. Not many weeks | ee ago, he cruelly deserted me, and came to Eng- , land. I tracked him, step by step, to Glim- | mermere. He does not know that I am here. These widow’s weeds have baffled him, as they _. have been my protection against the finger of =? z LEY OMEN ave VTA hy PEE. Sh ete sata Oe ee ‘ss _child—my child and_ his!” scorn, Ican bide my time. Let my husband —for he is my husband in the sight of Heaven —let him, I say, go north or south, east or west, thither will I follow him—his shadow— All I crave is justice for my And then she assionately kissed the still sleeping infant. “Can this be true?’ groaned Isabel, from the depths of her despair. She was leaning his Nemesis! - heavily against a rock to support her failing limbs. ‘Go to the altar with the man you love; but, remember, I shall be there also, You are not married yet!” “Married!” echoed Isabel, stung to the quick—“ married to such a man as that?” Never!” And, with these words, Isabel endeavored to calm her feelings, summoning dignity to her aid. “You will not marry him?” repeated the other, half incredulously. “‘Certainly not! How can you ask me such a question?” “Forgive me,” said the other, softening as her companion began to freeze, “M y own sufferings make me Callous to those of others. ‘You are good and pure as you look; and I am sorry for you. Do you intend to tell my hus- band of this interview?” “Tt shall be as you please,” It was then that Isabel’s grief burst forth. She sunk down upon the hard, cold rock, and | wept long and bitterly o’er her vanished ‘faith in the goodness of the male sex; for what man on earth could she dare to trust, since her cousin Guy was false and unworthy? | Oh,” she mourned aloud, “it is too dread- ful to believe; yet there is no room for doubt. | Why should that poor creature deceivo me? , Oh, Guy, Guy! how can I look upon your face again? You, who could talk like a saint of the ‘ wrong-doing’ of others!’ What did he mean by that, I wonder? False! false!—he only in- tended to mislead me as to the real nature of | his anxiety. No wonder that his conscience | troubles him! Oh! how can he ever know an instant’s peace?” CHAPTER X. SPURNED. In the meantime Ada had returned ties: -and had been mildly lectured by her aunt upon the impropriety of indulging in solitary long walks. ‘The lecture sue bore with equanimity ; but it was with feelings nearly bordering upon alarm that she learnt that Sir Guy and Isabel had gone out. Latterly Ada had been anxious to prevent her sister and cousin from being left alone together; and many a sweet little tete-a- tete had she been the means of abruptly ter- minating, apparently in the most innocent manner possible, She was, however, agreeably surprised to see Sir Guy return alone, Unluckily, though, for the continuance of her peace of mind, she was not long in perceiving that the Baronet’s spirits were very considerably elevated; in- deed, she had not seen him in so happy a mood since his return from abroad. “ Halloa, Ada, you little witch!” he cried, cheerily, as that young lady ran out into the hall to meet him, ‘A nice wild-goose chase you gave Isabel and me to-day! Mother de- aor she would lock you up in the coal-cel- ar!” “Very kind of her ladyship, ’m sure!” re- torted the girl, pertly. ‘But may I ask, sir, where have you beeu «)) the morning?” ee, 2 an dl iw Low
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“By Jove, you may, Adal And remember, I shall exact your pity when you have heard my mournful tale. Know, then, that for the last two hours I have been trying to get through a little business with the slowest, the most tedious of mankind—old Brown, my steward. .Oh, that he were done brown ona toasting-fork!”? ‘And where, in the name of goodness, have you left Isabel?” “Did she not come home with you?” ex- claimed the other, in surprise. ‘Me? I never saw her!” “‘Then she must be looking for you all this time. How unfortunato that you should have missed each other. Tl go and meether.” And Sir Guy made a rush for his hat, and was off before one could say ‘‘ Jack Robinson!” “Well, this is really too bad!” thought Ada, stamping her little foot with vexation. Then she ran to the door with the intention of ask- ing her cousin to wait for her, as she had quickly made up her mind to accompany him. She had her hand on the handle of the door, which stood ajar, when she heard footsteps out- side. She paused, and listened. Sir Guy’s voice was borne to herear. ‘ You look tired, Isabel. I’m afraid you have fatigued yourself walking so much.” Ada did not catch the reply, which was ut- tered in a very low tone. Again the Baronet spoke; and now the two were close up to the door. “You will not forget our appointment, Isa- bel—in the conservatory after dinner?” “Guy,” came the answer—firmly, distinctly, coldly—‘‘ Guy, I shall not meet you in the con- servatory. I have nothing whatever to say to you; and you cannot possibly have any com- munication to make that would interest me, I must entreat you never again to address me in the manner you did this morning.” “As you please, Isabel,” was the haughty reply. The door was then pushed open, and Ada had barely time to dart back behind it. Then Isa, bel entered, and walked quickly along the hall, never turning her bead; but, as she pass- ed by, Ada distinctly heard a stifled sob. Sir Guy lingered awhile on the steps. ‘Spurned, and by her!” he muttered, audi- bly to the listener behind the door. “ Vain, heartless coquette!” Then he descerded the steps, and Ada stole away to her own room, more astonished, per- haps, by the sbort colloquy she had overheard than she had ever been in the whole course of her life before. At dinner that evening, Sir Guy made a mighty effort to appear unconcerned, “She sball not see the deep wound she has dealt me!” was his inward cry. Nevertheless, she did see that his gayety was ‘THE BARONETS SECRET, = ns pemeremn eee ee We ecak Blancos destructively amid the leafy tresses forced; and if anything could now have at all aan raised him in her estimation, it was this fact, | which showed that he was not ubtert de- praved. ‘ Later on in the evening, to the relief of more ; than one of the little family circle, Mr. Bevil ¢ *“dropped in.” “You bave come just at the right moment, Mr. Bevil,” said Ada, ‘‘Go now and prescribe for Isabel; she is not well.” Of course Mr. Bevil declared himself deeply grieved at this sad piece of news. Then he . seated’ himself beside the fair invalid onthe — sofa. i . “Now she will soon " well,” whispered Ada to Sir Guy, in a meaning tone. They were standing near the piano at the other side — of the room. a, “T was not aware that Frank Bevil is a pro- Mg ficient in the healing art.” See Ada laughed, mockingly. “You are so innocent, Guy! your eyes?” . “T don’t understand you, Ada.” jp “Then I shall not speak any plainer. I I must not reveal my sister’s little secrets.” = And then she left him to draw his own con-~ clusions, ii “Can it be possible that there is an sittedie’ ment between those two?” he asked himself, uneasily, Then, word for word, he recalled the conversation he had had with Isabel on this very subject, when she had confessed to a — great respect and admiration for their eccen- _ tric neighbor. “It may be so,” he thought. “‘There is no accounting for taste.” Before Mr. Beyil took his departure that night, Isabel found an opportunity of making — some inquiries respecting the supposed widow, —~_ But he knew little or nothing about her. Her name was West, he said, and he believed — she had very lately lost her husband, poor thing. And that was all Mr. Bevil knew, Where are CHAPTER XI. PROOF POSITIVE, Ir was a cold blustery night, dismally dark, save when the crescent moon rode quickly over an occasional patch of streaky blue sky, to bo ingulfed again by the scudding, murky clouds. — Gloomy discontent seemed to brood o’er the ‘earth, The wind whistled mournfully through the trees, which were now but scantily clad, for winter’s icy fingers had already begun to whereupon were stamped the bronzed smilesof gladsome autumn, The old gray walls of Crag-Vurnal were | shrouded in the deepest gloom, The ancient ' pile looked like some hoary monster in slum- x
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i. 1 ge ste Ss AS a ea RL | iE a. 4. - eo rs say as ose eee eo eS ~ ee ee ee % R mae - a : Pare eye a! Se ee _ sentries keeping guard. e windows were dark, all save one—Sir Mg, ‘Though it was close upon twelve o’clock, the young Baronet had not yet retired to rest. Ho sat at the open window, a cigar between his fingers, his gaze directed upward atthe lower- ing heavens, where a single star, straight above his head, sent forth its pitying smile—its feeble ray of hope, Long and earnestly he gazed upon the twinkling gem; but at length the greedy clouds seized upon it, and it vanished—vanish- _ed like a sweet, holy thought. Then all was gloom. “How like the star of my life!” thought Sir Guy. ‘A little while it illumined my cloudy way, then it died out forever, and left me to grope in utter darkness, Hark! One! two! three! four! five! six! seven! nine! ten! eleven! twelve! Ob, Heaven! what’s that?” One by one Sir Guy’ ‘had counted the strokes of the village clock, and as the twelfth one died away, a low, sullen explosion seemed to shake the very heavens, The sound proceeded from the neighborhood of Glimmermere, which, it will be remembered, was situated about a quarter of a mile from Crag-Vurnal, A few minutes more, and the young man ae was hastily pursuing his way toward the vil- * & 7 2. - lage. ed to find the little place in a state of the wild- ene ie) dees - at the bewildered gentleman’s side, “the devil _ Arrived there, he was scarcely surpris- est commotion, Lanterns, and even torches, were flashing hither and thither like so many - gigantic will-o’-the-wisps. Cries of “Fire!” and ‘‘Murder!’ were min- gled with curses and exclamations of astonish- ment, Sir Guy strode into the midst ofa noisy group, demanding, ‘‘ What is the matter, my good people?” “Oh, Lord!” came the voice of Andy Rhodd from the center of the motley crowd: ‘‘ it’s the Baronet himself!” - Then he elttowed his way to the gentleman’s side, closely followed by Jasper Cox, “Oh, your worship,” screamed an old wo- man, ‘“‘it’s the Rushions! The village is be- seadged! All our windows are broke; and your own beautiful monument is bu’st up!” ‘Oh, dear sir!” groaned a low, solemn voice, noust have broken loose!” “An earthquake! An earthquake!” roared - another, “No, you fool; ’twas a thunderbolt!” “Don’t mind them, your worship; it was lightning! didn’t I see the flash with my own two eyes?” “Silence, ye set of jabbering idiots!” cried the shrill voice of the innkeeper, ° eight! | ed Sir Guy, losing patience. “Tt is just this, master,” explained Andrew Rhodd. ‘There has been an attempt to blow up the monument.” “ What!” ejaculated Sir Guy, aghast. ‘Come and see for yourself, sir!” Sure enough, the destruction of the monu- ment had been attempted. Two or three large blocks of marble had been shifted from their places, while some smaller stones had entirely disappeared. The small oak door at the mouth of the narrow | winding stairs that ‘ascended to the clock, had also been blown away, together with its entiro framework, No other damage bad yet been discovered, save a few broken windows in the houses oppo- site. The police could do nothing in the mat- ter until daylight. ‘*Tt is the most unaccountable thing I ever _heard of!” declared Sir Guy, turning to Jas- | per Cox, who was standing by his side, ‘Yes, indeed!” acquiesced Cox; adding, “I never got such a start in the whole course of ' my life!” | ‘You may say that, Mr. Cox,” put in the ‘innkeeper, who looked ready to explode him- self, ‘I thought you would have bounded | stark through the ceiling, sir. You see, Sir Guy,” exclaimed Andy, growing voluble at | the recollection, ‘Mr. Cox, being lonely and _ dejected like, had kindly asked me to share a | bottle of old port with him in his own room; and I was just saying ‘Good-night’ to the gentle- man, when, bang! whew! Oh, Mr, Cox, I be- lieve we did jump! And Cora (that’s. my | daughter, Corabella, gentlemen) she rolled down-stairs, bottles, and glasses, and all, Oh, dear, sir, if you'll believe a sober man’s word, it | sounded for all the world like Bedlam; ani | ever since there’s such a din and singin’ in my ears, that I hardly know wether I’m standing upon my head or my heels!” Shortly afterward Sir Guy was about to se out on his return home, when Jasper Cox, who had got possession of a lantern, volunteered to accompany him part of the way. Sir Guy ob- jected, the other persisted, and eventually they walked on together, “*We had better go the short cut through the glen,”’ said Cox, * As you please,” was the indifferent reply. “How astonished your mother and cousins willbe when they hear the news!” went on Cox, musingly. “Tm afraid my mother will be deeply grieved. My father’s tomb could hardly be more sacred to her than is the monument in Glimmermere,” replied Sir Guy, ina sad tone - of voice. “T saw Miss Garnett in the village to-day, | !
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i THE BARONETS SECRET. SS 3 —— _ j ~~--——— --—- — oe neem Little did she think how near she was to tak- he to believe? What could he believe save the — ing her last view of the monument!” ‘“* Was she alone?” “Yes; but I think I saw Mr. Bevil join hef ly; rather would I have followed you to your — as she was leaving the village. I say, Vurnal, what’s that at your feet? Looks like a let- ter,” ‘Oh, it’s only a dirty piece of paper, I sup- pose.” But as he spoke Sir Guy stooped, and picked up the object under discussion, It was a neatly-folded letter. Cox immediately turn- ed the full light of the lantern upon it; and Sir Guy, half unconsciously, ran bis eye down the page. He started violently. Then, mere- ly saying it was a letter his cousin must have accidentally lost when she passed that way in the morning, he hastily thrust it into his breast coat-pocket, His companion made no remark, and they proceeded on their way in silence. Jasper Cox good-naturedly insisted upon go- ing all the way to Crag-Vurnal; then he shook hands with his companion, and they separated. Sir Guy admitted himself by means of a latch-key, and at once repaired to his own room. Having lighted a candle, he took the stray letter from his pocket, and read it three or four times over. . “Monday evening, “ DrAREST ISABEL,— “T have just received your letter, and am rejoiced to learn that you have treated your cousin’s propo- sal with the contempt it merited. Doubtless he would not have wasted his precious breath so vain- ly had he known that it was your fairy fingers that | spirited away that very interesting document in the handwriting of his unworthy father on the night of his (Sir Guy’s) return to the dishonored home of his ancestors, “Worgive me, os one, if Ihave dared to doubt your love! ow could I be certain that you preferred me—a shattered reed—to your gay and -more youthful admirer? But now, darling, you have given me proof infallible, and I have just cause to be the happiest of men! “After all, had I an ounce of brains, I must have known that you could not but hate Sir Guy, know- . ing what youdo. Did you notice what a sharp eye he kept upon us the last night I called in to see you? I could not whisper even one little word on the sly. ‘And so, sweetheart, you have also doubted my love, and ‘op now demand a proof of its existence? Be itso. Iam powerless to resist where you com- mand. Iam ready to show you, in the strange man- ner you yourself have chosen, that I am yours, and yours only. In the name of justice, then, we will plight our mutual faith in each other; and by the estruction of the living Jie that stands in the village square I will show you how much I love you, and detest the foul wrong that has existed for so many years—since in no other way can I satisfy you that I am feo heart and soul. “Listen, then, dear love, at twelve o’clock to-mor- row night, and you will hear the voice of justice cry- ing very loudly. ‘I shall now take this scroll to our secret post- office in the old crab-tree, hoping that it will fall into your hands at an early hour in the morning. “ Farewell, my beloved! ‘““YoOuRS UNTIL DEATH,”? In a state of the utmost perturbation Sir Guy paced up and down his room, What was black and white evidence before him? p i ee = ‘Oh, Isabel! Isabel!” he muttered, hoarse- grave than know you the base, heartless, re- | vengeful creature this letter proclaims you!” Then he threw himself into a chair, only to continue his soliloquy. ‘‘ So it was she that stole the letter that night! Good heavens, how well — she has acted! What consummate deceit! I can- not believe it! Alas! alas! I must! Oh, that this damning proof could vanish from my sight! Bevil’s peculiar handwriting could not be mistaken; and if she had not told him what. passed between us the other day, how could he have known it?” Thus Sir Guy sorrowed over his cousin’s supposed perfidy. But now that his thoughts -had turned upon Frank Bevil, his grief was converted into rage. ‘‘Canting hypocrite! idiot! madman!” he again burst forth. “I never had much faith in him. Yet how can I blame him, since he is not answerable for his actions? He is mad; he must be mad, else he would never bave undertaken this wild, senseless scheme. And Isabel to have urged him on! It is unac- countable, monstrous! What do they intend to do next, I wonder? Well, well, we shall see! Of one thing, however, am I certain; and that is, while I live, I will nev ‘place the slightest faith in woman!” And — with this reflection, Sir Guy retired to rest, but not to sleep. QHAPTER XII. GROPING IN THE DARK. Dayuicut had scarcely dawned the next morning when the household at Crag-Vurnal | was made acquainted with the attempted de- ain pon Sa ~ hue | struction of the monument, so thatit wasnotre- served for Sir Guy to be the bearer of unpleas- ant tidings. On leaving his room he proceeded to that of his mother. She, poor old lady, re- ‘garding the cowardly work of the previous night as a slight cast upon her husband’s mem- ory, took the affair very much to heart; so much so, indeed; that she was unable to leave her room for some days. ; Having done his best to comfort his mother, Sir Guy descended to the breakfast room, where Isabel and Ada already awaited him. — The former, who presided at the head of the table, could not forbear a glance of sympathy as she wished her cousin ‘ Good-morning.” Of late she had completely lust her cheerful spirits; she seldom smiled, and her old joyous laugh was never heard. Ada, on the con- trary, had become merry and light-hearted. Thus the girls seemed to have changed dispo- sitions. During breakfast, Ada was the only one of
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the trio that seemed at her ease. She wonder- pect. society.” Oe ed and speculated incessantly as to the prob- able perpetrator of the ‘frightful deed,” his | *| deed, to find you so hardened—so heartless— motives, etc., etc. Just as they rose from table, who should they see coming across the lawn but Mr. Bevil, | wearing his longest face and most doleful as- ’ “Show Mr. Bevil into the library,” said Sir . Guy toaservant. Then, turning to Isabel, he added, in a hard, stern voice: “Can you, also, spare me a few minutes in the library?” “Certainly, Guy,” she replied, quietly, though she was somewhat surprised at the re- uest, They left the room together. “J shall make my escape,” thought Ada, smiling to herself. And then she stole up to ' hor room, hastily dressed herself, and in a few ininutes more was making her way toward the trysting-place under the cliffs. Meanwhile a somewhat exciting interview was taking place in the library. When Sir Guy and Isabel entered, Mr. Bevil came for- ward the very piciure of distress. : “Oh, Sir Guy,” he began dolefully, ‘‘ whata ' wicked world it is! Ofcourse, you are very much hurt about this Glimmermere affair, And poor Lady Vurnal—how is she? Do you think she would like tosee me?” The young Baronet handed Isabel a chair, and motioned his visitor to another, When they were seated, he replied, in a voice so stern - that Isabel almost started: ‘‘ You are very kind, Mr. Bevil. But I think my mother can dispense with your condolences. waste such good acting on so unappreciative an audience as myself. inform you that I know all. Isabel, the letter you received from Mr. Bevil on Monday is. now in my possession. No doubt, you have missed it ere tiiis. You dropped it yesterday - on your way to or from the village. I found it, and considered myself justified in reading it. Isabel and Mr. Bevil exchanged glances of the wildest astonishment. At last the girl found her voice. ‘<Eixplain yourself, Guy. wou? = } ‘‘ Tsabel,’? was the reply, spoken in an almost I don’t understand .. pathetic tone, “what have I or my family ’ done to you that you should hate us so bitter- ly?” ; Hate you, Guy!” she repeated, wondering- ag ly. Then, blushing, and casting her eyes on the ground, she added, “If you allude to—to— | my refusal to encourage your attentions, Guy, I have only to say look into your own heart, and then tell me if it is strange that my wo- manly instinets should bid me shun your rather haughtily. | was never intended for me, let the writer be it. Pray do not | I may as well at once | THE BARONET’S SECRET. Sir Guy looked as he felt—deeply shocked and grieved. ‘‘T am sorry, Isabel, I am very sorry in- so utterly depraved!” Poor Isabel was speechless with surprise and indignation. Sir Guy handed her a letter, saying, ‘‘I am quite prepared to hear you assert that you never saw this before.” She merely glanced at it, then returned it. “You are quite right, Guy,” she answered, ““T never saw it before. It whom he may.” ‘¢Of course itis not your handwriting?” re- sumed the Baronet, handing the document to Mr. Bevil, who read it through, an anxious, ' perplexed look upon his kind face. “Yes, Sir Guy,” he said, slowly, and as if speaking against his will; ‘‘it is my writing— I cannot deny it.” And then he pressed one hand to his forehead, while he cast a look of helpless entreaty at Isabel. *“You see, Isabel,” said Sir Guy, not an- grily, but sorrowfully, ‘it is useless to deny I pity avd forgive you, because I have loved you. Oh, Isabel! Isabel!” he continued, his voice husky from emotion, “ once J be- lieved you little less than an angel! How great is your fall! How bitter my regret and disappointment!” White, tearful, and quivering in every limb, rose Isabel, with the air of an insulted queen. She looked Jike a stately lily in a shower; and not, as Sir Guy had expected to have seen her, like a bruised one in a thunder-storm. “Mr. Bevil,” she demanded, ‘‘ did you write this letter to me?” “Oh, Isabel,” groaned her cousin, ‘he has confessed his guilt. Do not seek to pervert your accomplice!” ‘“‘ Bo kind enough to answer me, Mr. Bevil?”’ went on the girl, ignoring the other’s remark, “Ob, Miss Garnett!” cried Bevil, despairing- ly, while he wrung his hands in a helpless sort of manner,—‘‘oh, Miss Garnett, forgive me! ' Think of my weakened constitution, my shat- tered health! Alas! I now see my intellect will not long survive. Isuppose I wrote this letter. I must have written it, since it is my writing. But I never saw it with my waking eyes. As you areaware, lam asomnambulist. I often write in mysleep. I cannot help it, It is one of the consequences resulting from my wretched health.” Here Mr. Bevil broke down compktely, and buried his face in his hands. Isabel gazed from one to the other of the gentlemen, growing more bewildered each mo- ment, ; “Like all other abominable falsehoods,”
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¥¢ _ knew not what to think of its contents. THE BARONET’S SECRET. proke forth Sir Guy, now, for the first time, getting angry, ‘“‘your explanation is lame. Pray, Mr. Bevil, who told you of what occur- red between my cousin and me the other day? And perhaps you will explain how you became possessed of the contents of the stolen docu- ment, if Isabel did not make you her confidant, as this letter plainly shows she did?” “Tt is all a mystery to me, Sir Guy,” groan- ed Bevil, as Isabel took the unlucky letter from his nerveless clasp. have wandered forth while my body slumber- ed, and held communion with yours or Miss Garnett? s. Ihave heard of such things before now!” ‘““Pshaw!” ejaculated Sir Guy, contemptu- ously. “I suppose you were also asleep when you attempted the destruction of the monu- ment?” “The monument!” exclaimed the other man, excitedly, as he started to his feet. ‘‘ That is / true, Sir Guy. I could not possibly have done that in my sleep. In Heaven’s name, what does it all mean? Could some one else have writ- ten this strange letter after all, and imitated my handwriting so perfectly? No, no, no! It could not be. I have proof to the contrary. I am the villain! I am the madman! Oh, Sir Guy, have me confined immediately, ere I per- petrate some other dreadful deed. Awake, I am weak and harmless: asleep, I must be strong and dangerous!” And again the poor man sunk into a chair, and actually sobbed in his great distress, “Yes,” thought Sir Guy, ‘he is mad, and therefore not so much to blame as Isabel. But as to writing the letter in his sleep, that is all moonshine. Mr. Bevil,” he said, aloud, and in a softened tone of voice, ‘just read over the letter once more, and you will see how impos- sible and absurd your explanation is.” By this time Isabel had read the letter. She It seemed impossible that Mr. Bevil could have addressed such language to her, unless he were, indeed, mad. And then the writer appeared to be aware of what had taken place between the Baronet and herself. ‘This, in itself, looked mysterious, since it seemed that neither of them had spoken to any one of the circum- stance. Isabel laid her hand upon Bevil’s shoulder, as she said, persuasively, “Mr. Bevil, pray consider what you are saying. This letter ac- cuses me of stealing an important document, which I assure you I never saw, And then you would never have written to me in that strain. You have never led me to believe— that is to say, 1 bave never heard you pro fess—” Here she broke down, blushing with confusion. ‘‘ Alas, Miss Garnett!” faltered Bevil; “ this is the greatest proof I have that J must have se ‘written the letter. ' tone, “vou have wronged Miss Garnett, “My mind must | ‘ 7 I love you, Isabel—have loved you long and devotedly; but I have never breathed a word of my love to mortal. I would not be so presumptu Therefore, how could any one but myself have — : written the secret feelings of my own heart? © As to the rest of the letter, it is a mystery to- me, But, Sir Guy,” he went on, turning to the Baronet, and speaking in a clear impressive She is pure and unsullied as an angel. Of that I would willingly stake my life.” ‘‘ Would to Heaven I could believe you!” was all Sir Guy said. ‘““You are at liberty to believe what you like, sir,” cried Isabel, haughtily; and thenshe rushed from the room, that he might not have the satisfaction of seeing her tears. Sir Guy continued to question Bevil for some time longer, but he could gain no further in- formation. He was sadly perplexed. He could neither make up bis mind what to think © or how to act. “Mr, Bevil,” he said, at length, “if you have been speaking the truth, you will respect my wish to have this affair kept a secret. I could bave you arrested if I chose; but I do not see how that would mend matters. I shall place the af- fair in the hands of a competent detective. Have you anything more to say to me?” ‘Nothing, Sir Guy. truth to the best of my belief, so help oe Heaven!” CHAPTER XIII. SOMETHING WRONG SOMEWHERE. A LADY wishes to see you, Sir Guy.” “To see me, Thomas? You must be mis- taken.” “Beg pardon, sir; I am quite correct.” “Then Isuppose you bad better show her into the drawing-room. Who is the lady?” “‘“Wouldn’t give her name, Sir Guy. Said she wasa stranger to you; but had come on very important business. < “Very well, Thomas, I shall see her.” This short colloquy took place in the library on the evening of the day upon which the events recorded in our last chapter occurred. Sir Guy had been seated before the fire, plunged in deep thought, when he was dis- turbed by the entrance of his servant. That day, Ada, and Sir Guy had dined tete- a tete, Lady Vurnal ard Isabel being confined to their own rooms, the latter making a severe headache a pretext for her seclusion. Had he been less engrossed by his own thoughts, Sir Guy must have noticed something unusual in his companion’s demeanor during dinner. She, too, was thoughtful, and pre- occupied, and ever and anon she looked sharp- ly up into bis face, an expression of blended sure prise, curiosity, and triumph in her own I have spoken the 3 : ‘ :. | yu et ee er
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i ‘Dinner over, she betook herself to her aunt’s: apartments, with the laudable purpose of keep- ing the invalided old lady company. Thus Sir Guy, nothing loth, was left to himself. , Having executed his master’s orders with - reference to the lady visitor, Thomas, the foot- -_- man, retired to his own dominions; but he had not been many minutes there when the draw- __ing-room bell rung in a dowineering sort of “ manner, which seemed to say, ‘‘ Answer me, _ Thomas, or leave the house!” : _ Thomas, accordingly, chose the former course, : “Thomas,” said Sir Guy, when that worthy | presented himself, ‘‘ask Miss Isabel if she is . well enough to come down for a few minutes, | Say that I wish to speak to her particularly.” “Very well, Sir Guy.” : And, Thomas,” added the Baronet, after a_ ' moment’s thought, as he ruse and went over to | the man’s side, ‘“‘hasten as fast as you can to the village, and ask Mr. Cox tobe good enough | to step over here, if he has nothing better to do. Say nothing more, mind—nothing !” These orders were given in a tone too low to. : reach the visitor’s ear. Isabel immediately responded to her cousin’s summons. e ; She entered the room slowly, looking pale | and very ill. Even after what had passed, | _ ir Guy could hardly prevent his anxiety and pity from gushing forth in loving words of _ forgiveness, as his glance rested upon that fair, grief-stricken countenance. But the kindly impulse was checked as he noticed Isabel’s start of surprise when she saw _ the dark-robed figure sitting by his side, for ‘the visitor was none other than she whom we have before spoken of as the ‘ Woman in Black.” . “There is no need for me to introduce you to -this lady, Isabel,” began Sir Guy, half- bitterly. ‘‘Isee you are already acquainted with Mrs, West.” - A To say that the young Baronet was very -. much surprised at what followed would but ill _” portray his feelings. = Isabel paused for a moment, and a slight blush suffused her cheeks; then the color fled as quickly as it had come, leaving her ashen pale, while a sweet, sad smile flickered across — _ her countenance, She quietly approached the | _ supposed widow, shook hands with her, and, | bending her golden head, imprinted’a kiss upon | her forehead. » “Tam glad to see you here,” she said, falter- ingly. ‘‘May your future be as happy and bright'‘as your past has been sad and clouded!” _ And then the big tears rolled down. Isabel’s pale cheeks as she turned to Sir Guy, saying, ‘“‘Guy, you have wronged me very deeply; but _ I forgive you from my heart. Now you under- stand why I acted toward you as I did the _ other day, for it was on that very morning, : : 7 Seu e é Oe ea ys “ y THE BARONET'’S SECRET. after I parted from you and the steward, that I met this lady, who then confided to me her secret. Oh, Guy, be kind to her, and make her a good husband, and Heaven will bless your union, and forgive you the wrongs you have done her!” And then she quietly took hold of the Baro- net’s hand, and, her hot tears bedewing it, was about to place it in that of the astonished visi- tor, But Sir Guy broke through the amazed spell that her words had produced. ‘“‘Tsabel, you are ill—very ill ‘You should not have left your room.” She looked di appointed, and cast a glance of reproach upon him; then turned to Mrs, West—for such is the name that this lady went by. ‘Then you two have not made friends, after all? Does he refuse to make amends for the wrongs he has done you?” ‘““Wrongs!” exclaimed the other lady. “What do you mean? Sir Guy Vurnal has never wronged me in any way, that I am aware of.” “What!” cried Isabel, astonished in her turn; ‘‘did you not tell me the other day that he was your—your husband?” “No, Miss Garnett. You must have’ mis- understood me. I alluded to the person whom you probably know by no other name than Jasper Cox.” “Jasper Cox!” repeated the girl, wildly. “Oh, Guy, Guy! there has been some dread- ful mistake! Ob, what—what can I have done?” ‘“Compose yourself, Isabel,” soothed the Baronet, fearing that she was about to swoon. “T cannot! I cannot!” she went on, excited- ly. ‘I see it all now! It was I that was in the wrong! Oh, Guy, I believed you a villain | —-@ monster!” / “And I, Isabel,” he returned kindly, ‘‘I | also have wronged you. It must be so, I will ° not believe anything else. I think we shall have much to forgive on both sides. Mean- while, let us sift this affair thoroughly.- Mrs. West called here to-night to warn me against Jasper Cox, who must be a villain of the black- est die, Mrs. West also tells me that she warned you to beware of him some time ago; but that, in spite of this, you still continue to meet him secretly out of doors. She says she saw you with Mr. Cox to day, under the cliffs; and so she determined to come and acquaint me of the whole business.” “Mrs, West,” said Isabel, with decision, ‘you also have been mistaken, I never in my life met Mr. Cox in this clandestine manner, To convince you, know that 1 did not stir out of doors to-day.” “Tt is false, you bad, wicked girl}” exclaim- ed Mrs. West, indignantly.
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THE BARONETS SECRET. a“ But just at that critical moment the door opened, and in walked Ada May. CHAPTER XIV. BLACK SHEEP, Harpiy had Mrs. West’s quick eye fallen upon Ada’s features, when she divined the true state of affairs, She had mistaken Isabel for Ada, whom she had never seen, save at a | distance; and, strangely enough, had never | heard of their striking resemblance to each other; for Mrs. West lived in an out-of-the-way spot, was not given to gossiping, had no friends, and but few acquaintances. When Ada saw the visitor, a sudden chill ran through her frame—she knew not why, unless it were that this dark-robed stranger recalled to her mind the memorable ride that had nearly been Ada’s last upon earth. But this was a vanished terror, and had left behind no unpleasant regrets. “Tam very sorry, Sir Guy,” said Mrs, West, being the first to speak after Ada’s entrance, ‘that Ihave been the cause of a misunder- standing between you and Miss Garnett. I now see the mischief I have wrought. This lady ” (indicating the new-comer) “ is evidently she whom I have so frequently seen in company with the so-called Jasper Cox. Is it not so?’ . she added, appealing to the lady in question. “Ah!” thought Ada, ‘this person knows too much,” She was not, however, by any means taken'aback. She drew herself up haughtily, and replied, in a more independent manner | than she would have used in Sir Guy’s presence twenty-four hours previously, ‘‘ Very probably, madam, you may have seen me a great num- ber of times with Mr. Cox. But I fail to understamd what that circumstance can have to do with you?” “Unfortunately, it concerns me very ma- | terially. “Iam sorry that it will be my pain- ful duty to open your eyes as to the true char- acter of the gentleman, or rather the ad- venturer, in question, I use no stronger term, since, in the sight of Heaven, he is my hus- band!” ‘Your husband!” cried Ada, starting, and with an ominous frown. “Yes, my husband!” reiterated the other, with a sort of defiance in her voice. “ But all ’ Task of him is justice to his child!” Here there was another interruption. The footman again entered, and announced ‘Mr, Cox,” Mrs. West started to her feet, and glanced wildly around, as ifin search of some means ofescape, Finding it not, she stood immovable, her eyes fixed upon the doorway. Her heavy crape vail was thrown back over her bonnet; while her bloodless face shone forth from its sable frame like that of a marble statue, with living, moving eyes, | Inthe same agitated manner, she wenton, | Little dreaming what was about to follow, Jasper Cox walked smilingly into the room. But he very quickly came to a full stop; for — had he suddenly found himself at the mouth — -of a cannon about to be discharged, he could not have been more startled than when he a2 encountered the fixed gaze of the dark-robed lady. Site “ Alice J” he cried out, in his wild surprise. . “Yes, Stanley! it is I,” was the reply utter- ed somewhat unsteadily. =: A muttered imprecation escaped his lipsere he had time to collect his scattered senses, Sir Guy rose from bis chair. “Sir,” said he, ‘‘be good enough to remem- ber where you are,” Seeing that further disguise was useless, Cox now revealed himself in his true colors, “Ts it likely,” he exclaimed, fiercely—*‘ is it , likely I should forget where I am, since I stand beneath my own roof, and the roof of my an- | cestors?” All eyes were fixed wonderingly upon him, except Ada’s, She sunk into a chair, and buried her face in her hands. Sir Guy turned a shade paler, as he hoarsely demanded, “Who are you?” zt “ Ah, hal” sneered the other man, with a demoniacal chuckle; “you begin to guess, do yout Well, I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Sir Stanley Grove Vurnal, at your service.” (A mocking bow). ‘‘ And I have the pleasure of addressing my cousin, Mr. Guy Vurnal.” Isabel drew nearer to Sir Guy, and linked | her arm in his. The simple action was strange- ly comforting to him. His faith in her, even as her faith in him, had returned; and he felt that with love on his side, he could brave the whole world, if need were, “You will have to prove all you say,” said Guy, looking his enemy full in the face. “That I shall have very little difficulty in doing,” was the exultant reply. ‘¢ Perhaps you are not aware that, even did you succeed in proving yourself to be my uncle Winstanley’s son, you could not claim the property?’ | At this, a deep scowl passed over the other’s face. 2 igi “T know that my father was disinberited, ee 3 , and that, consequently, his son cau claim little | beside the four walls of Crag-Vurnal and the family title. Had it been otherwise, you would have heard of me before now.” At this moment Ada started to her feet, and, hastily crossing the room, flung herself upon her knees before Guy and Isabel. “Oh, Guy! oh, Isabel! forgive me!’ she cried through her broken sobs. Her cousin endeavored to raise her, but in vain; she only clung to his band, ihe
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NER is Ce - wife. _ ument. power, and to, gratify his insatiable hatred to 26 HE BARONETS SECRET. No, no; I will not rise until I have confess: ed all! Oh, I have acted a cruel, heartless part! I have deceived you both, even as I myself have been deceived! Yes, I have been _ this base man’s dupe—his wicked instrument! But Iam rightly served! Ob, why did I not see through his miserable schemes?” “ Fool! idiot!” exclaimed Cox, passionately. “* Beware what you say in amoment of frenzy! You will regret those mad words!” Ada heeded him not; and he stood there ac- tually grinding his teeth with rage, as she con- tinued, in a calmer tone: ‘‘ You will despise me, Guy, when you hear all, self. Oh, Guy, it was he”—and she pointed to Cox, without turning her head—‘‘ who stole that letter on the night of your return home, It was he, too, that wrote the note to Isabel, too late!” And the generous girl glanced at Guy for his sanction to her words. He re- turned a look of love and admiration. This reunion was evidently tov much for the | baffled villain who stood by, gnashing his I despise my- | in Mr. Bevil’s name; and I procured him a copy of the latter’s handwriting. And it was I also that furnished the other information relative to your having proposed to Isabel. I overheard a short conversation between you both at the hall-door that day when you asked her to meet you in the conservatory. I guess- ed what had happened, and determined to | turn the knowledge to my own advantage. At | that time, Guy, nothing would satisfy my am- bition but that I should be Lady Vurnal ”—she | did not say it without a blush. and her voice | sunk almost to a whisper. ‘‘ Yesterday, this man, whom we have known by the name of Cox, told me a secret, in consequence of which I promised to marry him, not knowing, of course, that he already had a wife living.” “ Ada,” cried Cox, now in a half-supplicat- ing tone, ‘*this wretched woman is not my Iam an unmarried man. - These words seemed for a moment to stag- ger Ada, Then the good predominated over’ the bad in her nature, and she continued her confession. “‘The price that he put upon his secret was my participationin the destruction of the mon- His object was to get me into his I swear it!” | ' Winstanley was dead. teeth in the bitterness of his heart, He sud- denly burst in with ‘‘ You will all hear of me again!” and, shaking his fist, menacingly at the little party, he rushed from the room, and from the house. A-low moan from Alice West showed how deeply she was affected, and the next moment she sunk fainting into Guy Vurnal’s arms, CHAPTER XV. THE SECRET. Tue late Sir Willoughby Grove Vurnal, Sir Guy’s father, had been the younger of two sons. His brother, having been, to speak the plain, unvarnished truth, a wicked reprobate, was disinherited—that is, as far as it lay in | their father’s power to disinherit bis elder son. Winstanley Vurnal, the scapegrace alluded to, had put the finishing touch to a wild and | extravagant career by forging his father’s name the Vurnal family. And, oh, Guy,” she went | on, bursting into fresh sobs, and taking no no- tice of a warning growl from her sometime accomplice, ‘* what will you say when you hear that it was my hand that lighted the fuse which communicated with the barrel of gunpow- .. der—” Here the penitent girl broke | down, com- pletely overcome by her feelings. Isabel threw her arms round her sister’s neck, and, kissing her affectionately, insisted " upon her rising. _ “ What!” sobbed Ada. can forgive me so soon?” “Yes, Ada, dear; we both forgive you. You have been very wicked, but your repentance is full and sincere. Thank Heaven, it is not “Ts it possible you toalarge amount. Detection followed; ruin was the result. He changed bis name to Stan- ley Grove, Grove being his mother’s name. Then he married an actress, from the boards of athird-rate London theater. They fled to- gether to the Continent. A year had hardly passed away when Stanley Grove was stricken with a fatal illness. For the first time since ac had Jeft England he wrote to his father, ac- yualuting him of his marriage, and also of the birth of a son and heir, Forgiveness in his heart, the father hastened to the bedside of the son. He was too late— Disgusted by the vul- garity of his daughter-in-law, the old Baronet determined to have nothing to do with her. He was rejoiced to discover that the widow knew nothing of her late husband’s history. Indeed, she was not even aware that his name had been an assumed one, The wily old gentleman, therefore, pretend- ed to have been but a dear friend of the dead man; and when he had caused the sum of one thousand pounds to be paid (anonymously) to the widow, considered he had done his duty, He returned to England, and announced the death of his eldest son; but said nothing what- ever of the marriage of that son. And thus he went to the grave—his lips sealed. : The younger son—Willoughby—then came in for the property and title. Time rolled on, and about five years before bis death, on look- ing over a yellow, time-stained bundle of papers that had belonged to his father, he ac- cidentally stumbled upon the letter written so many years ago by his dying brother to his father,
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a le 2 ee ee — Re a Sir Willoughby was petrified with astonish- ment, How could he tell but that he and his wife were usurpers? for, in all probability, his elder broither’s wife and son were then living. As his father had done before him, Willough- by locked the secret in his own breast, and there it lay like a leaden weight to drag him, eventually, to the grave. / The sealed packet that was stolen from Guy Vurnal, that memorable night when he return- | ed to the home of his forefathers, contained an account of this unpleasant family secret. In it, too, the young man had received the most solemn injunctions not to breathe a-word of | his uncle Winstanley’s marriage to any mortal during the lifetime of his mother; but after her death, Guy was to do his best to have jus- tice done to Winstanley’s wife and son, should either of them be living. In this manner Willoughby Grove Vurnal strove to allay the pangs of a guilty con- science, .. ; CHAPTER XVL ALICE WEST’S STORY. WHEN Alice West recovered from the swoon in which we left her, she begged Ada to tell her all that she knew of the man who had wrecked her life. Ada willingly complied; and in return the “¢ Woman in Black ” narrated the sad story of her own life. ‘My name is Alice West,” she began. “TI was an Only child. I had no one on earth to love, and no one to love me, save my dear father, who was a clergyman in one of the midland counties. We were all in all to each other. Oh, if he had been spared to me, how different my life might have been!” Here she paused for a moment or two, Pre- sently she resumed: “My poor father was stricken with a disease that was destined to prove fatal. As a last ef- fort to save his precious life, I accompanied him, for change of air, to a small village in the south of France. Here I became acquaint- ed with Stanley Grove, whom you have known as Jasper Cox; and here my father breathed his last. “ About the same time, Stanley’s mother also died, so that he and I were companions in ufflictiou.” ‘Then she is dead?” terestedly. : “Yes; she died more than two years ago, at a pretty ripe age, and little dreaming that she was a titled lady. «Twelve months passed away, during which time I supported myself principally by my needle, interrupted Guy, in- “Poor, almost broken-hearted, a stranger in | a strange land, it was little wonder that the sympathy and protection of Stanley Grove THE BARONET’S SECRET. Pr ‘should grow very dear tome. At last I yield- ed to his entreaties, and we were marr'ed, as J thought. ‘Another year passed away. My life bad not been one of unclouded happiness. Then I discovered that our marriage had been a mockery, the ceremony having been per- | formed by a villainous billiard-marker. I was in despair. We quarreled, He left me. I vowed to crawl after him from one end: of the earth to the other. I would compel him to marry me, then he might go where he | liked—the further away from me, the better, By a lucky chance a business letter of his fell into my hands, It was dated from Halton, Thither I, with my helpless babe, followed my | betrayer. | him in the streets of that town. He knew me not, my disguise being perfect. I tracked him to Glimmermere. You know the rest.” “Yours has, indeed, been a hard fate,” said Isabel, sympathizingly. “And that man is my cousin,” mused Guy. “Has he any profession? How does he gain a livelihood?” | | 1 | = By another lucky chance, I met ~ ‘‘ He lives by his wits, and on the interest of the thousand pounds which, as it now turns out, was given to his mother by your grandfather.” “But,” pursued Guy, ‘there is yet another thing that puzzlesme. How did Cox—I beg his pardon, Sir Stanley Vurnal—find out the secret of his birth? For he must have known it before he came to Glimmermere.” ‘ “T can tell you that,” said Ada. ‘One day, in a hotel at Paris, he overheard a conversa- | tion between you and an elderly gentleman, who appeared to be a great friend of your family.” : ‘Ah, I remember,” said Guy. old Major Fare.” “In the course of conversation,” pursued Ada, “your friend happened to mention the “Th was inames of your father and grandfather—Nir | | Winstanley Vurnal, and Sir Willoughby Grove Vurnal. Now this Stanley Grove had enter- tained a slight suspicion that there was some mystery attached to his family history. The | unusual manner in which his mother had re- ceived the thousand pounds would indicate as “much, He, therefore, thought it likely, from the similarity of names, that he was a connexion: of yours. He followed you home; and the let- ter which so opportunely fell into bis bands — told him all he wished to know. Thus he ‘found himself heir to a title, and master of Crag-Vurnal, with a few acres of land in the ‘immediate neighborhood,” | Guy shrugged his shoulders, as he asked, “Then why did he not come forward at once, like a man, and declare his claims?” “Ob,” returned Ada, “he knew that a title out money to keep them up. He wanted a = ; = elt ah and a fine bouse would be next to useless wiih- - a
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38 as X rich wife; and that, he thought, he would have | found in me, For he said he had only to play ‘his cards well to double the fortune your father’s will entitled me to.” “ Ah, I see,” mused Guy. “The stolen document made him far too wise.” “When he had secured me,” Ada went on, ‘he intended to have shown himself your most bitter and merciless enemy. ! thought that in me he had a poor, spiritless dupe! But he was mistaken!” And, by way of enforcing her words, she burst into tears. 80, ‘ It was plainly to be seen that the unhappy girl had thrown over her lover more from the pique than from a sense of duty. Ab, he | | pletely frantic with bis discomfiture. _ Her companions sought to comfort her; but it was some time ere they succeeded in doing THE BARONETS SECRET. | fc an ene oe ne en. ee RS SE Ee her leave the house, Tell her to be patient, and I will find her child, if it is possible to do ” "Then the kind-hearted young fellow return- ed to his carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive to Glimmermere, CHAPTER XVII. i FATHER AND CHILD, Sir STANLEY GrRovE VuRNAL, alias Jasper Cox, left the presence of his accusers com- He was a passionate man. He really loved Ada May as muchas his selfish nature would permit of his loving any one. She had betrayed him. Then, after all, he had not held her by the iron grasp he had fondly imagined. It had been gall to him to witness the perfect love and Shortly afterward, Alice West, having | trust that now existed between Guy Vurnal thanked her new friends for their sympathy and kindness, rose to depart. But Guy would not hear of her going out alone at that time of night; neither would he allow her to walk. He ordered a close car- riage, and himself accompanied her to herds- man’s cottage, where she lodged. 2 Arrived there, Guy’s companion invited him in to see her baby. He readily assented. She quietly raised the latch of the door, and led the way to a small apartment on the right, % the fond mother gently approached the snowy cot that stood near the fireplace, a low wail burst from her lips. The cradle was empty! The poor woman seemed to guess instinc- | tively what had occurred. “He has stolen my child!” she cried, and fell upon her knees in an agony of terror and . grief. — “Nay, nay,” urged Guy; “you are over- anxious and excited to-night, you jump at so unlikely a conclusion? The 2 +» good woman of the house.” “Wy But even as he spoke, the herdsman’s wife made her appearance, and held up her hands in genuine amazement when she saw the empty cot. “La, ma’am! Dear heart, I’m all of a tremble!” she declared, rubbing her eyes to see _ if she was quite awake, ‘This is not natural. It must be the good people’s doin’, No one has been in the house—leastways, no human Christian. It’s not much more than an hour > J -- then he was slumberin’ like a little angel.” ‘He has stolen my child!’ moaned the mo- ther, ‘ Oh, be will kill it in his blind rage!” _ Guy drew the woman of the house aside, and told her to stay with Mrs, West, and try to comfort her. ~ “Above all things,” he added, ‘don’t let - where a lamp was dimly burning. But when | agone since I came in to see the dear child, and , | Why should | and Isabel. But perhaps the most bitter drop he had to swallow was the comparative indif- ference with which Guy bore the announcement of his (Stanley’s) name and parentage—intelli- gence that it was not unreasonable to suppose would have overwhelmed his enemy with con- fusion. Ah, but Stanley forgot that the moment that had stripped Guy of a titlk—ay, robbed him of the very roof above his head—he forgot that that moment had also restured him to love and Isabel, without which, life under any circum- stances, would have been an ‘intolerable bur- den. Moreover, Stanley, himself unscrupulous, did not give his cousin credit for being anything better. Whereas Guy, had it not been for his mother’s sake, and for the peremptory injunc- tions laid upon him by his father, would have searched for the heir of Crag-Vurnal immedi- ately on his becoming aware of the probable existence of such a person. When Stanley rushed from the house, rage little fellow may have got restless. No doubt ' and mortification surging within him, he, hard- you will find him safe in the custody of the | ly conscious of the fact, and without any defi- ‘nite object in view, took the path leading to the lone cottage of the herdsman, where he knew the .‘* Woman in Black” lived, Arrived there, he peeped in through one of the two front windows, The master and mis- tress were seated at either side of a blazing wood fire, both fast asleep, Stanley next ap- plied one eye toa rent in the drawn blind of the other window. He then cautiously exam- ined the door to see if it was locked. It yield- ed toa gentle push, Heentered. The next moment he was bending over a little cot, no look of fatherly love or pity on his white, fierce face, as he gazed down upon that sweet little countenance, smiling in its innocent slum- bers. A moment more, and he had lifted the baby, clothes and all, from the cradle. Yet another moment, and he had left the house as noiselessly as he had entered it.
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o- THE BARONETS SECRET. nion with that wretched man as he sped swift- ly across the fields with his helpless burden! It could not otherwise be that a father would - contemplate the atrocious act which now was | in his thoughts, Father and child! Murder in the heart of one; the other press- ed to that guilty heart, still smiling. sweetly, dreaming, perchance, of the gentle mother whose name those little lips had not yet learned to lisp! They were nearing the sea-shore! The sound of the waves as they dashed | against the rocks grew louder aud louder each | moment, till at last their augry roar alone was | to be heard. .The man, clasping his birden, stands upon the cliffs, above the frowning waters, He stoops; the deed is all but done. The child awakes. Its large, wondering brown eyes are fixed upon the star-spangled firmament. It is the first time they have ever rested there, Two chubby hands are lifted upward; lifted toward Heaven. Then the poor little hing crows forth its infantile delight. On either side of the father stands a figure. On the left, a hideous, sable-robed demon, with flaming eyes, and long-nailed claws, like eagle’s talons, ever ready to clutch their prey. To the right stands a glorious form, with hair of congealed sunshine, starry eyes, snowy wings of purest down, and glittering raiment, like unto running water. Her countenance of heavenly beauty is sad and bright alternately, while the demon’s foul visage is ever anxiously exultant. Great beads of cold perspiration stand upon the man’s white brow. He is torn by conflict- ing emotions. Now he listens to the demon’s voice; anon, the angel’s soft, persuasive touch thrills him to the very core. At length the demon waxes wroth, and his whispers grow loud and fierce. The father, with a convulsive motion, raises his helpless babe in the air; then, with a low moan, places it on his breast again. ‘The battle is won. He glances helplessly at the angel. She moves away, and beckons him to follow. He does so; while the now scowling demon clings to him, and endeavors to draw him back. After some time they approach a fisherman’s Oh, surely some foul demon was in commu- land distant music. Thus she ascended, and ; disappeared. The demon sunk, groaning, into the earth, The man turned, and fled. y CHAPTER XVIIL FLEETING SHADOWS. On the following morning, Guy Vurnal left his room, looking happier than he had done for many a day past. His face, though somewhat pale, showed no other signs of fatigue, not- withstanding that he had had but little rest. In the lobby he encountered Isabel, He link- ed -his arm in hers, and whispered something into her ear—something that sent the blood into her face and a happy light into her eyes. — “What a pair of bunglers we have proved ourselves!” she whispered, shyly, ““My darling, we shall be all the happier in the future, “Oh, Guy, how could I have doubted you?” “ And I, Isabel—I must have been mad to have believed aught against the purest, bright- est creature in the world!’ She was about to remonstrate, but he stop- — ped her mouth with a kiss; then whistling a | gay tune ran off to his mother’s room. Lady Vurnal (for so her friends continued to style her, although she could not lawfully claim — that title) was already up. Seated ina com- fortable arm-chair before the fire, and wrapped in her dressing gown, she was awaiting break- fast, being too unwell to venture down-stairs. She smiled as her son affectionately kissed her brow. “Guy,” began the invalid, in a slightly sur- prised tone, “ has anything happened? You look quite bright and happy; more so, indeed, than I have seen you since your return.” “Yes, mother dear, something has happened. I bring you good news, and some too, that I fear will pain you very much.) But you must promise not to be distressed by anything that I may tell you,” he added, in a graver tone. ““Oh, my dear boy,” the invalid anxiously returned, ‘*T am aware that there is some ter- rible secret that has made you so dull and gloomy of late. You have grown so reserved, too. You do not love and trust your old | mother, as formerly you did.” | cottage. There is a light in the window, not- | withstanding the lateness of the hour. The angel takes the baby from its father’s not un- willing clasp, and, having kissed it, places it gently on the door-step. Kissed it? Yes, Ah, but what does that action denote? Hush! the face hallowed by an angel’s kiss is destined soon to shine in Heaven! Then the angel, radiant with smiles, spread her glorious wings, and waved them to sweet - ‘‘Nay, mother, you misjudge me. I love you too well to let a shadow cross your path if I could turn it aside, But now for my good news,” he went on, resuming his light manner. “Tam going to present you with a daughter- in-law.” The old Jady was all smiles in a moment. “That is good news, indeed,” she cried, “Can it be Tsabel? Oh, Guy! say that it is Isabel, and all else you ‘have to tell will sink into nothingness,” / } |
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“You have guessed rightly, mother, it is: Isabel.” The poor old lady threw her arms round her son, and sobbed forth her delight. could leave her thus in ignorance of this other ma unpleasant affair!” Bry “ Ah, Guy,” rejoined his mother, ‘ you sigh. “s : at are unhappy still. Tell me all, my dear = Oy. ee And forthwith he commenced the story of 4 the family secret. ae The old lady cried a good deal, and was | bn half bewildered at the, strange tale; indeed, at | z first she could hardly realizs how matters | - stood. : “My poor Willoughby!” she at length said. ‘* He was so good to me; always thinking how . best to promote my happiness! But, Guy, you 3 have not told me why your father wished you - to travel for two years after you became of | 5 age.” “(In order that I might gain a knowledge of a ' the world before I became possessed of the Ey secret; and also, disapproving of early mar- : ri 8, he considered it wise to separate me from my fair cousins for the period named.” 2 Py Vurnal sighed as she wiped away her _ fast-falling tears. And must we leave our dear old home?” ee a she presently asked. ‘‘Guy, it will break my Wo + fea “‘No, mother,” he cried, cheerfully. ie © not so bad as that. ; _ newly-discovered relative to take Crag-Vurnal “Tt is xe three times its value; and, much as he would have liked to turn us all out of doors, he is too ns poor to refuse so handsome an offer.” This satisfactory piece of news in a great ~ measure consoled the old Jady. Guy then be- ‘gan to talk of Isabel. The ruse succeeded; - for before he left the room, he had the satis- face. , “Send her to me directly after breakfast,” said the good lady, Guy promised, and withdrew. Ada hung her head, and looked uncomfort- awaited him What!” eridd Guy, gayly, with the ‘good- - natured intention of putting Ada more at her ease. ‘I shall allow no downcast looks to- day. Cheer up, Adal I don’t like to see you look unhappy.” “You and Isabel are so good, Guy,” mur- mured the girl, tearfully, ‘‘ that I cannot help hating my own wickedness. It seems incredi- ble that you should forgive, and be so kind to me after what has passed.” Pits _ “Nonsense, little witch! Everything un- ss “ Alas!” thought Guy, with a sigh; “if I- Last night I offered our | off his hands at a yearly rent of more than | faction of seeing a smile upon his mother’s | able when Guy entered the breakfast-room, — where she and her now happy step-sisver. THE BARONET’S SECRET. pleasant is forgotten. Never name this subject again. I have something strange to tell you; and here goes? As you are aware, I saw Mrs. West to her lodgings last night. Well, when we arrived there, we found that her baby had been stolen!” “Stolen!” cried both girls, in surprise. “Yes; stolen by its father, to whom, not- withstanding the lateness of the hour, I at once determined to pay a visit. I arrived at the inn only a few minutes after him. I found him weary and utterly dispirited. The first thing I did was to offer ‘him a large sum for the rental of Crag-Vurnal. He agreed to my terms. But I imposed one condition to this arrangement—that he should tell me what he had done with his child. At first he denied having taken it from its mother’s protection Iwas firm. He yielded, and told the truth. ‘TI had intended to throw the child into the sea,’ declared my worthy cousin, with sullen bitterness; ‘but, like a weak-minded fool; changed my mind, and threw it on a fisher- man’s doorstep instead.’ Then, after settling a few other matters of a purely business nature, I left the inn; and before I returned hoine last night, had succeeded in restoring the iu- fant to its grateful mother,” ‘*Good, noble Guy!” cried the proud aud happy Isabel. “Tush!” said Guy, lightly, as he rose from table.. ‘‘I only did my duty.” Ada then escaped to her room to have good cry. . \ “ia his a visit to pay this morning,” ro- sumed Guy. “Can you guess to whom, Isa- bel?” “T think 50,” she returned, with a slight blush. ‘‘ You are going to seo "the Squire.” “Right! Poor old Frank Bevil! I am almost ashamed to face him.” ‘He is too good to bear malice.” ‘“‘By the by, Isabel, I promised to send you to my mother directly afier breakfast.” “Then Pll run off at once,” 6X0, no! don’t be in suchahurry. I did not mean—” But she had fled; and we are afraid the dis- appointed lover called himself some very naughty names, CHAPTER XIX. CONCLUSION. Ir will take but a few words to tell what re- mains to be told of our story. Isabel and Guy were quietly married, ' and were as happy a pair as ever stood at the hymeneal altar, in spite of the fact that they were simply Mr. and Mrs. Guy Vurnal. But six months bad hardly passed away when they awoke, one fine morning, to find them- selves Sir Guy and Lady Vurnal. Every one has heord of the old adage, “Set. ga oo > Po)
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THE BARONET’S SECRET. a beggar on horseback.” Well, Sir Stanley Vurnal developed a wonderful fondness for the chase; and one day rode to his death. Alice West lived to be happy. She had one severe trial, however. On the night its father took it from its warm cradle into the cold air, her baby, always a delicate child, caught a severe cold, and a few days afterward died. The good Frank Bevil alternately consoled and wept with the bereaved mother. The end of it was that these two became attached to each other; and, in Jittle more than twelve months, they were married. Ada May (we regret to have to record it) lived and died an old maid; still, she was of good and cheerful disposition. She lived a long life, and died respected by all. _ Once did she stray from the path of rectitude, and only once. But, reader, she never forgot her first love. The Glimmermere monument stands to this day; and if you examine it closely you will see that part of the structure is of a more modern date than the remainder. THE END. £7 CIME DIALOGUES AND SPEAKERS FOR SCHOOL HXHIBITIONS AND HOME ENTERTAINMENTS. Dialogues, Nos. 1 to 32 inclusive, 15 to 25 popu- lar dialogues and dramas in each book. Each vol- ume 100 pages 12mo, Speakers, Nos. 1 to 24 inclusive. Each speaker 100 pages 12mo, containing from 50 to 75 pieces. YOUNG PEOPLE’S SERIES. Dime Book of Winter Sports. Dime Book of Summer Athletic Sports, Dime Gents’ Letter Writer. Dime Book of Etiquette. Dime Book of Verses. Dime Book of Dreams. Dime Fortune Teller, Dime Laclies’ Letter Writer, Dime Lovers’ Casket, Dime Ball-Room Companion. Dime Book of 100 Games, Dime Chess Instructor. Dime Book of Beauty, "8" The above bools are sold by newsdeelers verywhere, or will be sent, post-paid, to any ad- ' dress, on receipt of price, ten cents each. Brapig 4ND Apams, Publishers, 98 William st., N. Y. = ‘ “ b ™ . s 9 . Half-Dime Singer’s Library 1 Wuoa, Erma! and 59 other Songs, Shae 2 Carrain Curr’and 57 other Songs, & Tur Garxszorv’ Hat and 62 other Songs, 4 Jonnny Morcan and 60 other Songs. 5 I’'tu Strike. You Wire A FEATHER and 62 others, 6 GroRGE THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs. ; 7 Tae Beitur or Rockaway and 52 other Songs. 8 Youne Feiuan, You'Re Too Frese and 60 others 9 Say Youne Giri and 65 other Songs. pth 10 I’m THE Governor’s OnLy Son and 58 other Songs, 11 My Fawn and 65 other Songs. 12 Comm’ Turo’ Tux Rye and 55 other Songs. 13 Tue Roxtiickine IntsHMan and 59 other Songs. — 14 Outp Doe Tray and 62 other.Songs, 15 Wuoa, CHARLIE and 59 other Songs. 16 IN THIS WHEAT By Anp By and 62 otner Songs. 17 Nancy Lee and 58 other Songs. 18 I’m THE Boy THAT’s Bounv To BLAzeE and 57 others, 19 THE Two OrpHans and 59 other Songs. 20 Waar ARE THE Witp Waves Savina, Sister? and 59 other Songs. 21 INDIGNANT Potty Woe and 59 other Songs. 22 Tue OLtp ArM-CHarr and 58 other Songs, Mo 23 On Coney Istanp Bracu and 58 other Songs, 24 OLp Stmon, THE Hot-Corn Man and 60 others, 25 I’m 1x Love and 56 other Songs, 26 PARADE OF THE GusRps and 56 other Songs, 27 Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs. 28 *T'witt Never po To Gis ir up So and 60 others, 29 Buve Bonnew Over THE BorDER and 54 others, 30 ‘Tae Merry Lavenine Man and 56 other Songs, . 31 Swesr Forart-mz-Nor and 55 other Songs, — 32 Leerie Basy Mine and 53 other Songs. aed, ee 33 Dz Banso AM DE InstRUMENT For Mr and 53 others, . 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. 35 Just TO PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other Songs, 36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others. 37 Kotorep Kranxs and 59 other Songs. 38 Nit DesprrANDuM and 53 other Songs. ° 89 Tue Girt I Lert Beniyp Mr and 50 other Songs 40 °Tis But A Litrte Fapep Fiowser and 50 others 41 Prerry WHILHELMINA and 60 other Songs. 42 DANGING IN THE BARN and 63 other Songs. 43 H. M.S. Pryarors. compiere, and 17 otlier Songs Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-paid, to any address, on ree ceipt of Siz cents per number. . BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pusiisuers, — a 98 Witla Street, New Yorr,, 2 ee ee
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