Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 159) (1882 11 28)
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7 ‘$2.50 & year. \:/ ‘Wty / I é rT F PHIL PAT 2N Ei piled Pa ; h iN Ww SE yl Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. ¥., at Second Class Mail Rates. Foreign Novels for Five Cents! NTT 4 ‘November 28, 1882. mst nit Lady Helen’s Vow; THE MOTHER’S SECRET. A Romance of Love and Honor. y BY THE LATE MRS. E. F. ELLET, UTHOR OF “LOVE IN A MAZE,” “A ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG GIRL,’ ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. rw THE BARON'S DAUGHTER. ie geen St. Orme’s Head and the little hamlet _ ‘Ainaifen in Scotland, stands an irregular stone aoa ‘a3 many times er than the houses of the a ae armers scattered thinly about the neighbor- The walls are half-c ith i ituati : -covered with ivy; the situation Som tuestered ; the rear overhangs a rocky declivity. upper windows are closed and overgrown with dscape surrounding it is shut in istant view of the purple- ern Highlands. nl = flees ONY (p pou ra =. N.ORF-ta, No159. VoL. VIL. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. PRICE, 5 CENTS The mansion for ages belonged to the Barons of Swinton, once proprietors of vast estates in the north and west of Scotland. But their ancient pos- sessions melted away, and only this bleak piace and a castle on the seaside remain to the last baron of the name. He made this his home, with his only daughter. Even his right to hold this patrimony undivided was , disputed by a distant cousin, who had claims on ore of the lands, founded on an ancient mortgage. ‘his cousin took possession of the castle—more than half-ruined—by the sea, several miles westward, and there lived with his household, including retainers who served his fortunes. He maintained his occu- ancy more by might than right, paid no rent to his insman, the inheritor of the title, and was regarded through the whcle country as a sort of outlaw, liy- ing by practices which the law punished when proven. Early on a lovely morning in the beginning of June, two figures came out. of the stone mansion already mentioned, for a walk on the terrace. The crisp, cool air was delightful, and laden with the fragrance of flowers that bloomed luxuriantly in the little garden on one side of the house. It was the baron’s daughter who took charge of this patch, and WILLIAM ST., N.Y. the.space was always blooming. She herself looked like the moving spirit of the flowers. She had thrown a plaid over her head, but under it her soft brown ringlets, ruddy with a dash of golden tint, were blown about her face. That face was fresh and charming as the spring. The cheeks had the hue of the wild rose; the features were cast in delicate, aristocratic mold—but a spirit leaped from the b’ie eyes and asserted itself in the firm rosy lips, which betokened energy equal to that of the hardiest lassie who ever mingled in country toi! or sports. Alicia Maur, indeed, was used to open air and exercise, and to equestrian exploits, and shrunk not from the chase and from wild rides that might have fatigued.a peasant maiden. Just now she was bent on one discouraged by her father, and had come out to look at the aspect of the weather. “Tt is sure to be clear all: day, Margaret,’ she said, to her companion, a young*°woman older than herself, and with the hard outline of features peculiar to women of the middle class in that pait of Scotland; ‘‘and what is to prevent my visit to Lady Vaughan?” “Your father objected that he cannot go with you; and you know | could not ride so far.” > Pe \ + A\\\\ = \ %:
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. bonniest lassie in we WS fie, Margaret! Scores of gentlemen have ’ among the snowy petals ‘ her heron are aye fitly mated.” 2 _ * But Donald can go. He often attends me alone. “That is in rides about the moor, or skirting the hills, Alicia. Sir George Vaughan’s house is over twenty miles distant.” ““A matter of two hours’ ride! Oh, I must go! I es, See 2 breath aroma the Ar ; : re ee ose you should meet that wild young Her- rick Maur?” z “My cousin Herrick! He would do me no harm! Iam not afraid of him!” ay 08 might well be, Alicia. Did he not intercept you once? “Oh, yes!” returned the merry girl, her face dimpling with smiles. ‘‘He behaved rudely then. He swore he was in love with me, and would have earried me off to his old battered castle, I verily be- Hieve, if he had not been compelled to release me."’ * By a gentler cavalier. I have heard about it.” | ®he maiden shot ashy glance at her friend. “Do you know him?’ she asked, while a lovely eolor suffused her cheeks. ‘*Lord Cressy? You know I have seenhim several times; and I know that he isthe son and heir of a wealthy English marquis, who owns a shooting-box —as they call it—among yonder mountains.” “Yes; he chanced to be riding by, and he rescued me from Master Herrick.” “And brought you safely home; and has visited ‘Stene Crag’ how many times since?’ demanded Margaret, archly. “Stone Crar was the name riven to the baron’s seat; so called for a wild ard savagel ee ee rock uplifting itself just behind the b' ng. “Nay, not very often,” replied the girl, demurely. blushing yet more deeply. “it was but seemly tha’ my father should thank him for the services ren- dered to his daughter.” “ And it was but natural that the young earl, hav- ing eyes, should fall in love with the fair maiden he had rescued.” “Now, Margaret,” said Alicia, somewhat haughti- ly, ‘vou presume too far, indeed!” ‘Pardon me, sweet Alicia!” cried the Highland gil, catching her hand impetuously. ‘* You cannot ang AY Re your foster-sister for but repeating what all the gude wives say.” | “Ts it so?’ asked the baron’s daughter. “They have no ground for such gossip.” “Not when the English lord stays so long in his | Highland retreat? ot when he rides with the Baron of Swinton, furnishing hounds and horses for the chase? Not when he comes late to sup with him efter a day’s hunt, and drinks to the health of the all Scotland?” a f LADY HELEN’S VOW. the mai “* What is it, my Margaret step The baron looked at the flowers. Very indifferent was he to such trifles. ‘*They are from Lord Mie ?’ he asked. “Wh came he not to bring them? I have given him mu time of late.”’ ‘‘He is called suddenly to England. His father, the | Marquis of Estonbury, is very ill,” answered the young girl. . ‘“Ah! sent he that message? By whom? With an instant’s hesitation, Alicia drew forth the note, and handed it to her father. He opened and read it. ‘*Humph! the Marquis of Estonbury is ill!’’ he euatterad. “Tf he dies Reginald will inherit the title and estates. Has the young man set forth?” “T cannot tell. you, papa.. The lad who brought | this went back directly. fa : k di He was a barnman, and work, belike.” “A strange messenger to a lady!” ‘Perhaps the earl had sent away his servants, and | was in haste,”’ suggested Alicia. ‘“*T will ride over and see about it.” Oh, dear father, pray do! It would be but cour- teous,’’ added the girl, dropping her eyes meekly. “ And I will ride round, as I return, by the Lai of Penrhyn’s, and talk with him about that bit of land. Do not expect me home before dusk, Alicia.” “Then, dear papa, 1 may go and spend the day with Lady Vaughan?” : “ Qhild! itis a long ride for you to take without | ‘Donald will attend me. He is sufficient escort; and you know I have been kept a prisoner by the storms so long!’’ pleaded the girl. She clasped both hands on the m’s arm and looked beseechingly | in his face. He gazed fondly upon her. “Tam afraid of some danger for you on such a lonely road—”’ he began. “Oh, father! what danger could there be?” “You were molested once.” done that!’ “But not one of them has gained the lassie’s ear, | and led her to walks by the Roman well, and sent | her flowers day after day—such flowers! raised in hot-houses! gorgeous in bloom, when snow lies on the moor! Ah, my leddy Alicia! well saith the roverb: ‘ There is aye some water where the stirkie owns!’ “ Peace, lass, you talk idly! You know well that | the father of Lord Cressy would never consent that he should come asa wooer to the daughter of an impoverished baron who can give no dower to his chitd!” “T know naught so well as that beauty and bravery “T bade you hush, gt I will hear no more. | Reginald, Lord Cressy, is nothing tome. See, what a ee ee i up the owar e gate was a young poe the weer called barnmen—the hedgers a ditchers of the country. He carried something in | ene hand, ret his eyes with the other from the light, as he looked up. | ‘He brings somewhat for you, leddy,” observed Margaret. The young fellow indeed turned when he saw the two fi , and came forward, doffing his cap with an award scrape, and presenting what he carried peg IN the covering of a green bough that had. sha Alicia started when she saw the offering—a basket ! of the freshest and choicest flowers, far more beau- tiful than any that grew in the gardens. On the top her Own name was arranged in tiny starlike blos- exquisite ‘ance. : dy,” said the lad, again bowing. rdship,’’ he added, with another scrape. hed, and Alicia blushed cr mson as . Bidding her companion give money to the lad, she turned away, and walked to a rustic seat in a little arbor at the end of the terrace. As she bent her head to inhale the fragrance of the flowers, a tiny, three-cornered note nestli caught hereye. She glan timidly round her e she took it up. It was the first note she had ever received from Lord Cressy. He wrote in haste to say that he had just been summoned to England by news of his fa- ther’s illness. He was forced to go without the adieu his heart craved from the noble baron and lovely lady to whose kindness he cwed so much of the enjoyment of the last few weeks, But he hoped in a short time to return, etc. _ There was something in the half-formed language of the note, of meaning that Fs eed to the young irl’s heart; for her eyes were of tears, and her reast heaved as she read it, Again she glanced around and hid the missive in her bosom, as rga- ret approached. “Did the lad say his lordship had set out already on his journey?” asked Alicia. _ “Nay, he said not , replied Margaret. “ He went back like an arrow from the bow. But here is your father, Alicia.” Alicia rose in some confusion, as a noble-looking man, past middle age, came toward her. 'I have yearnings toward the lad. He is next heir to “But Herrick promised never to offend me so | again; and he will keep his word. He is our kins- man, you know.”’ “Yes, I know that. I have tried to tutor him. the barony, failing myself, for his father will never | take my place. I should like to see more of Herrick, if he would break loose from those lawless clansmen lof his.” 1 “You know, father, he has had no training in | gentle manners.” | “*T know it well, and I would fain bring him to my own house, and let him see company that better | suits his birth and blood than the reckless outlaws he has now for associates. I think there is good in the boy, if he had help to bring it out.” | “Tam sure there is, father, much good. He would . never have been so rude, but —” “But he was a lover,” put in the baron, laughing; “and love with savages is barbarous as the rest of their usages.”’ . “He promised never to molest me again,” mur- mured Alicia. “He had best not! Ishould punish such unseem- ly conduct! Let him come as a man and submit his suit to me! Though I think I would rather see my child the wife of an English nobleman.” “That is not likely, father,” interrupted the girl, averting her face. ‘‘No su come to woo a simple country girl.” “The days have been,’ muttered her father, “‘when the daughter of a Baron of Swinton might have had earls—ay, dukes at her feet!”’ “Time and fortunes are fag “The ancient blood is pure, and the nature true as ever!” cried the Scot, “ By St. Hierome! if any man could look upon my girl, and not vow her worth the proudest coronet in Britain, with her ere face and her unstained lineage, he must be a fool I have a better prospect than the bit my life!” “Dear papa, richest coronet! to stay with you ““T would I were as my forefathers were—for your , sake, child.” fe et rasan not have my own dear papa other than e * Two white arms were clasped around his neck, and a soft kiss was pressed on his bronzed cheek. “T must go now, my girl,” he said, releasing him- | self. : * And I go too?” she entreated. At a nod from her father, Alicia called joyously to Margaret to bid Donald get ready her horse, and pre- | pare himself to accompany her. She walked back to the house with her father, | who gave orders for his own horse to be saddled. In five minutes Alicia had donned her ge ' the and her hat with its pretty heron plume, an on the porch waiting for Donald to bot uw spirited ee she was used to manage with su mirable skill. CHAPTER I. KENNETH'S MISFORTUNE. “ Haut to, or we shall fire upon you!” “Fire away!’ with a stentorian oath. || she elutched the oars agai | pie ged of smugglers, ad- | pected between @ reve- e schooner; and another that hit the m scattering a shower of splinters. But the vessel's course was altered too quickly to permit the revenue men to board her and attack the smugglers. : There was more disorderly firing on both sides, with loud shouts and execrations; and the pore men seemed to have the worst of it. e schooner had already Janded her cargo; and when she was able to free herself from her assailants, she stood out boldly to sea. A small boat, pulled by a stout pair of hands, rushed out from the shelter of the rocks as tue schooner p the entrance of the little harbor. A single muffled figure sat in the boat, plying the oars with dexterity. As the small craft came along- side the schooner, it was hailed, and a shrill voice in- stantly replied. A man rose upon the bulwarks just as a parting shot from the cutter pealed over the water. e was hit; he reeled and swayed on one side as if unable to | direct or stay himse } presently falling over the side. . w He grasped a loose rope as he fell, and slid down into the water. The little boat was close ‘beside him in an instant. Two strong 6rms ped him by the shoulders, and drew him on board, dipping so much water as this was done that the little craft was near being swamp- ' ed. But the occupant, now seen to be @ woman, as her mantle was flung off, held the form she had rescued with one arm, while she quickly bailed out the boat. Then Placing her burden upon the only Fe she applied herself dexterously stanching the blood from a slight wound in the shoulder, and bathing his temples with cold water. Consciousness returned in a few moments, When the woman had completed her task by binding a strip of her plaid shawl over the wound, the man sat up, quite himself om “TI believe I shall be all right shortty,’’ he said. “Thanks to you, Hilda. I was going at first to ask ou to hide me somewhere, that I could die in peace.” idee words were intermingled with curses on the revenue men. “You shall live, Sir Kenneth, to punish your enemies,” answered the woman, eagerly. The boat had been drifting; but at this juncture ‘ and Geng vigorously geeee the rock projecting from the mouth of the inlet, h. I heard it fall in the water.” is the stimulant. Makw all the haste you can, Hilda.” The woman needed no . Her arms were stout and sinewy; she was well used to the labor. In the waning light she could now be seen; a tall, muscular figure, with a face that belonged to forty- five years 0 age, though the wear of toil and ex- pom made her seem older than she was. Her eatures were strongly lined, and the complexion, though healthy, was tanned to the loss of whatever beauty it might once have possessed. One feature could not be changed; the eyes, large, full and black, shaded by dark lashes, and overhung by eyebrows as thick and bushy as aman’s. Her long black locks had escaped from their fastenings, and streamed wildly over her shoulders, shaken k every minute or two as she plied the oars. i Her companion was an elderly man, with enough of the marks of years and a hard life about him to show that his was no lot of luxury, notwithstanding the title the woman had given ins ing to him. It was only in courtesy that it was bestowed on him; for Kenneth Maur, though affecting to call himself the head of an ancient house, no right todoso. He had an outlaw from his youth, indulging in predatory excursions, yet never bei brought under the punishment the law denoun ist such Offenses, For years past he had aided engaged in bringing car- ny tea, tobacco and spirits from the French Their confederates had ym dpe’ and manned the schooner, while Kenneth took charge of the stores landed and concealed in the cave mentioned, and rovided for their rt to market. It was only y chance that he had mn aboard the schooner; and Hilda knowing that he wished to land, had gone oe to fetch ee a the boat, before the scuffle with e revenue-cutter. Passing a dark mass of rock that jutted frowning- ly into the water, the boat ran into a little nook, and under the projection of a bowlder into a sheltered from outside view. Here was a When she had helped out her secured the boat, shoving it be- it lay hidden. Then she turned to Ken- neth. “T had best bring you ri tery the cave,” she said. ‘‘ Youare too weak toc b, methinks.” **Lead on, wench, and I will follow,” was the an- swer. She parted the sereen of bushes, and went up- ward by awinding path. Kenneth came close be-
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| h hind her, but was compelled now and regain his brea the foe whose shot ha e lingered. entrance to the cave, and then to stop cursing more vehemently weakened him, every time About midway up, on the face of the cliff, was the This was the resort of the smugglers, and it was there the stores brought over ore Rcposita, till they could be removed by the landsmen in the em- o ploy of ‘‘ the company.” e nneth seated himself on a stone at the mouth, and leaned arainst a tree, while Hilda went in; soon returning with a brandy-flask and some food. pea mapped man refreshed himself, while she ars ressed and bandaged his wound. efore long hi motioned yd rtotena, em the rocks, Hilda him hours at least; but he ste strengthened, and er to lead the way up to the summit of to repose in the cave for a few rnly silenced her. I will know what these government hounds are after next,” he said, growliir exeerations, They know naught of the cave?” “By good luck, no! and ten to ’ 80 searching the castle for spoil.’ they w Let them search . for their pains,” Aigenein He uttered a flerce oath, “ Think you, wench, they shall be at liberty to poke their noses in y We must ell ee the fox’s When they had nearly reached r—an’ one if they do not ill have their labor lease? they No; men, and make ready for them.” the summit, Ken- ' neth met two of his retainers, whom he dispatched ‘o summon the others, bidding them join him at the castle, The sun had set when the emerged from the low woods ee the top of the cliff. Kenneth turned to look seaw: Diminishi far off & sight t he present defeat of his foes. t of the chief, Th ing toa speck, the schooner could be seen ainst the red and gold of the west. It was: at made the gazer chuckle, for it signaled Another and neare sigh earer ow ere long caught the re of a revenue-officer stood on the cliff to the left, with his telescope to his eyes, watching the vessel. (Kenneth thought of the cave, in the direct ran of view, lanced around € uttered another low chuckle, ont , noticing that Hilda had left Hera ag glided swiftly toward the cliff through the A few moments after Hilda was upon a knoll back so" bluff, where she could see rsh tomate of Castle She turned, and was in full view also of the , where still stood the government officer. eak She saw Kenneth coming out of the bushes behind He is g Sart ae BE é will rui Swift as an antelon io The man who held fined against the red sky. oing to 4 a stealthy, panther-like tread. h A revenged for the shot they She cried, a “He will ruin him- she sped toward the spot. the telescope had his figure de- he cry of rarning sprung to Hilda’s lips; but she dared not utter it. Je on the brow of such 2 precipice, with the odds of a sturdy frame in full stren, against a man wounded—even though en y—it must result in Kenneth’s death or cap- He was but a ste was flushed and Bg Py eorbing the officer's attention. Hilda glided through the coppic victim. His face The telescope was still ab- e. She was afraid to calt out, or even let the rustle of her approach heard. She ran with breathless atone holt = might be in time to catch the rash man’s arm, and Save him from the consequences of his meditated deed! She was too late! Even as she Bprang into full view, with noiseless psy 8, Kenneth ad seized the man’s arm, inten m back and capture him before he coul recover from his was jerked back: him; shook off his hold as gered and fell headl. Kenneth started and Hilda caught Hovorlolgeg ty Surprise. The man struggled as he | clutehed at his Foo te ut missed he rung f : 3 ong from the abla Wo the same instan stood glaring forward, he we ee eet i horror. _ “Let go, wench!” the m ing loose his arm, Come you with me!” Hilda her k was on her ahe cae over the verge. “He is not dead!” tree rooted between the rocks! yet!” youn b broke forth, wrench- no business here. He has lod ina _Imay save him as ry Lh Where go 4 4 aaa questioned the chief, as she rushed past p To save the manifIecan! To ction!’ was her exclamation, as arms up, and plunged into the thicket. CHAPTER I. Save from de- flung her Aurctra had h tae acy wih Lady Vaughan er pleasant da ly Vai J but the gentlemen were not A home, and ane had the prospect of returning with only Donald’s escort, ie ho not heed, having pe orsemanshi the road homeward, ety warned them of the approach of ect confidence in mona none of ey star on: ore sun- set; but thick clouds on the hence fore them a storm; and the young lady decided on turning back for shelter, not caring to encounter the see Then Lady Vaughan besought Her fair guest to re- main for the night. But the girl laughed at the idea of peril, and resisted all entreaties, tight be home by ten, and would Stoy., And see—the moon was Her father de uneasy at her . broad, clear, LADY H man is he, and a kinsman of your ain, leddy,. t and bright, scattering the clouds. The road was like aribbon. She made her adieux, leaped into her saddle and was off, even while the remonstrances of her friend were ringing in her ears. The rain had passed over, but the wind was high, and bowed the tops of the trees as they rode through the copse on a hillside. Donald rode a little in ad- vance. His yous mistress heard him call out “Steady!” as he wheeled round a sudden turn in the road; and then fancied she heard other horse-hoofs that seemed approaching. The moonlight did not penetrate the thick screen of foliage. Alicia checked her horse, and ed to her servant again. Suddenly the animal she rode gave a quick snort, reared, and then plunged forward. The girl ES served her presence of mind; but she felt the bridle violently jerked from her hand. Her noble horse shied, shivered all over, and then sunk to his knees. His rider was flung from the saddle. Alicia felt herself in the firm grasp of a pair of arms, but could see nothing save a mass of some- thing dark. She uttered a loud shriek; she called her horse by name, and shouted to Donald, “Dinna scream again!” wled a harsh voice, “or I maun gi e! Your canna help ye!" *““You have ed him, wretch!” cried the girl; mindful, even in that moment of terror, of the noble brute. ‘ You have killed my brave horse!”’ “Nae, he’s no slain; he’ll do weel enough an ye hauld your tongue. I’ve dune nae wrang. Should T ha’e let ye fall when the beast reaied?”’ “Tf you mean well, help me to get Donald here, and help my horse to rise.” ‘“No—the lad has fled hame; I saw him galloping round the hill.” “Donald! Help! Donald!” the girl shouted. qoute dune wi’ that! The boy is clean gane, I tell ye!” $6 $ do not believe he would leave me in this man- ner. You may have murdered him! “ An’ I did naething, but just hit the beast a. blow or, ays, Be ve fled a oR, Hey eee pant owl!” er 6 girl’s captor, laughi oarsely. Alicia wrung her Raiden despair. A groan at « little distance behind her, and the noise of hoofs beating the ground, showed that her wounded horse was striving to rise. Breaking from the man’s hold, she rushed to the spot where the animal, wounicd by a knife-thrust in the breast, and weakened by %ss of blood, was t to raise himself upon his fee ‘Oh, Merlin! my brave Merlin!”’ ve girl exclaim- ed, throwing her arms round his neck; “you are struck; youarehurt! Why did you this wickedness? Merlin had not harmed you!” “T was fain to \ Fene him, ma'am. He would hove trampled you, if I had not saved you frae his oofs. ; The man evidently wished her to suppose that he ee Tig ae geneeri ‘ ‘Itis ” she cri aie on overpowering her fears. ‘“‘ You are anevilrobber! Take all—take my pat thing; but help my poor horse!’’ wis ell do weel eneugh! Ye maun come with me, cia knew not what todo. She was not yet half- way home; she could not go on foot. Her servant disa: She turned to her captor. “‘T will give you more than you can find of booty about me, if you will take me to Sir George Vaughan’s.”’ The man shook his head. e *‘Or to my father’s, the Baron of Swinton. He will reward F he But no—that is too far. I could walk to Sir rge Vaughan’s.”’ “The leddy canna walk, and the road is rough,” returyed the savage. “But I will take you to a gentle chief’s, not far frae this, and be will mak’ ye welcome as the dawn.” ‘Where?’ demanded the bewildered maiden. ** ¥en to the noble Sir Kenneth’s castle.” “ Sir Kenneth?” “He is called so,” said the man. “A noble gentle- ou be the Baron of Swinton’s daughter, bd - ‘‘ How far is it to the castle?” “ Just three miles and a bittock.” Alicia reflected. **Ts Master Herrick at home?” she asked. “* Ay, surely is he.” Her resolution was taken. She would claim the succor of her kinsman, She bade the man take her thither, and then return without delay to care for her wounded Merlin, This he arenvend glibly. Then he caught his own horse, which had been browsing the green leaves. contentedly during the a lid scene, and lifted the young girl to the e. " “Ican ride alone,” she said, haughtily. “Lead ELEN’S, VOW, the way.’ : But ber captor leaped with ty to the haunches | of the animal, hol the girl fast, and gave the | horse a blowin the away on a furious e that caused him to spring op. CHAPTER IV. T THE CASTLE. A Hiipa made her way to the spot, two-thirds down the rocks, where the rewonne-piilacr had fallen. Standing on a broad e, she his dress wae bony hs, and up his He was e. With all her prodigious stre: she could barely manage to drag hintalong the ie to the bushes where the path leading upward ;, @ blind, zig- Pp zag way, perilous to tread even in daylight, and much more so in darkness, Rordencd ith body of a wounded or dying man. She could not carry him up, but she made a soft bed of leaves, and laid him down, covering him with her shawl, and / ‘ ' = the | ) bathing his head and face with water that trickled from a crevice at hand. Presently a faint moan came from the sufferer, and he moved his arm slightly. With another effort he raised himself on his elbow, opening his eyes. ‘¢ Where am 1?” he asked. Hilda explained that he had fallen from the top of the cliff, and was sorely bruised; but would be bet- ter if he would only remain quiet and not attempt to rise. , ““Who are you? It is a woman’s voice. How came you here to help me?”’ “IT saw you fall, and ran down the path. You might have been killed, but the branches of a tree broke your fall on the ledge yonder.” “T know; I remember now. A man came up. be- hind and grappled me, and pushed me off.” “You must not talk so!’ said the woman, shixl- dering. ‘“ Your foot slipped while you were looking through the telescope.’ “Not so; some one clutched me to throw me down. Isaw the man—” “You saw him?” shrieked Hi a cold sweat of terror starting out on her face. ‘ For mercy’s sake, man, speak! Who could do such a deed?” “ Nay, I know not his name; but I should know him again if I saw him.” “You would know him nm?” “T-would surely know him, lt you saw me fal, woman, you must have seen him too!”’ ‘* No—no—no!’’. vehemently exclaimed she. ‘I charge no man wi’ such a crime. It would ba‘e been murder.” f Hilda’s motive in race nn the officer was to seve her master. It wou!d be believed he meant to kill the man; Kenneth would be sent to prison; in case of the injured man’s death, it might bring him to the scaffold! — “Don’t trouble yourself wi’ such thoughts, mau!’ she went on, earnestly. ‘Lie'you there, while { go for some one to help carry ye further.” , “And a cup of liquor, dame, an you please. I feel very faint.” Hilda muttered to herself as she ran up the ascent, But for the necessity of shielding her. chief, she would fain have left the injured man to his fate. _ “Tf he can be got to the hawthorns—the holiow in the rock wi’ a stane. like a blue whin-stane, he li be hid frae them that seek him.”’ She shuddered again. “They say there's a bluid-stain there, though the water rins o’er it, and has done the same for years bygane. Eugh! but it’s cauld, and the north wind whistles amang the brackens.”’ The barking of a dog washeard. Hilda stopped and whistled. The next moment a huge animal bounded toward ss leaped up, and greeted ber with demonstrativus of joy. an thousand welcomes, Snath!"’ she exclaime:}; “for I know thy master is near, and I want line SO! By Who wants me!”’ repeated a aut voies, and the form of a tall man was dimly descried, coiiiu. + ooY Ou, Matlin, is it you? Speak!” + you “Who else should it be—and who are you? woman’s voice.”’ “‘T am Hilda, the housekeeper.” ‘Hilda! And what do you here?” “Know you not, Matlin, seer as youare? What else brought you, just at the moment succor is must needed?” “Sucevr? Are you in peril, Dame Hilda?” “Not me’ Surely you know?” ; “T know .othing; I am blind to-night. sense is stunnec '”’ As he came nea. the woman eraapert his arm, “Come with me, on theinstant.” She led the way down by the winding path amcng the rocks. ‘* Where are you going?’ demanded the man. “That I should have to tell 4 seer like you, Jiat! Knew ye naught of the chief in deadly peril?” Itis a Or iny “The —Kenneth? Why, I spoke with hina going toward the castle.”’ ““My tongue be palsied for what I was about to Is it for me to betray him?’’ muttered the wo- man. ‘‘Nae—nae!_ It’s not the chief, but.one of the men that eo om him. He fell frae the elitt, ant peeds help! I coujd not carry him up to the 12!- Ww Thus answering Matlin’s questionings, she led the way to the spot where the hurt stranger lay. He gore a mig gene he heard them, but answered em no} wo! He had been trying to Mai ups his feet, and the effort had utterly exhausted im, Matlin lifted him as easily as if he had been an in- fant, and prepared to reascefad the rocks, The doz sniffed and growled; but the bidding of his master silenced him; and the woman urged the necessity of argying. none to know what had happened, Jest sus- picion should be drawn upon themselves. They reached the dell; but there was no shelter for the wounded man, and Matlin said he must be taken to his hut by the larchces. This would take time. With repeated injunctions to silence, Hilda took her leave, to return to the castle, The castle, meanwhile, was the scene of merii- Ren mingled with fierce deflance and blusiering rea) Kenneth Maur, a powerfully-built, stern-locking man, with shaggy beard and bushy gray hair, set :t the head of the table after the evening meal i cd been dispatched, with a huge flagon of wine i eicre nae ——- of — bp and ee sill ue- ie: eir seats, 2 many w sing fn ee ¥ were drinking witle ~~
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ee “his?” 4, Contradictory rumors had come in, concerning the movements or intentions of the government men. Some said they had departed quietly; some that the cutter was ly in the cove, ready on the morrow to reconnoiter the coast. Others said that they had sent for a reinforcement of soldiers, and were going to search the castle for the smugglers’ stores. At every suggestion Kenneth would laugh hoarse- ly, and say the varlets had better present themselves at his gates; he would give them a welcome from his Lipte: ete. He lif the flagon to his lips and took a mighty draught after every speech; and while the latter was applauded, the first was imi- tated by his foliowers. The door was pushed open and a young man came : He was about twenty-two years of age, though broad and stout frame might have made him ap- peat much older, but. for his youthful face and resh complexion. He had bushy yellow hair and blue eyes; and a long tawny mustache partly con- cealed his mouth, He would have been called handsome even in refined society. He was attired in a full suit of dark green cloth with leather breeches and heavy boots, and wore a slouched hat, which he lifted, or rather swept from his head, a came in, dragging a heavy carbine in bis left “So, you are here at last, Herrick, my son,’’ was his gree from the chief. ‘Make room, there} A seat for you at my right hand; your place, boy? More wine!” But Herrick declined both the wine and the place at table. He stood his carbine im a corner, looked around gloomily upon the rest, and then sunk into a leathern chair by the hu; chimney, in which green fragrant bushes occupied the, place of logs that in _ winter made the great baronial hall warm for the revelers. In answer to his father’s history of what had oc- curred, and demands for his aid in main their independence, the young man said, with a slight provincial accent: “T have heard of all this, Will ye have my coun- sel, or do ye contemn it, father?’’ Speak freely, boy bid i ye.” “ “Then counsel is— you throw open the castle to their search,” “What! admit the government men under this roof in peace on such an errand?” ‘““Why not? You have no war with the govern- ment, and they will find nothing here.” “But they shall not come here—to put shame upon us as sneaks and cowards!” enneth’s words evoked a muttered assent from his followers around the table. “Tt is not cowardly to avoid needless blood-shed- - ding, or even strife,” said the young man, “And where learned ye submission?” owled Kenneth, scowling at his son. ‘‘ Ye would make loyal slaves of us all. Belike this comes of your visits to our comely cousin, the Baron of Swinton!” “T am not favored there!’ muttered Herrick. ** And I care not.” “ Show yourself a man, then!’’ shouted the chief; “Joyal to your clan and your ain house! Who counsels submission is a traitor!” Young Herrick started to his feet. “Who calls me traitor?” he fiercely demanded. “None here,’ answered one of his cousins, brusquely. ‘The chief but said he who would take aslave’s treatment at the hands of our foes is so; and he is right. The spies shall not enter the castle. We will anal to prevent it.” “And I will not 7 at any bidding!” cried Her- rick, advancing to the table, and glaring at the others, who drew back as if in scorn as he approach- The burst of laughter and mutterings of “ craven,” violently irritated the young man. He seized a. stone pitcher, and was about to huri it at one of the men, when his arm was clutched by Gregory, the first speaker. At the same instant one of the trusted retainers of Kenneth entered hastily, and whispered in the ear of his chief. y “Tam not dark of speech! I say, will ye lead a fair bride to the altar at my bidding? “That depends on whether she pleaseth me or aj me Pye a the yeni ee response. “Suppose I as ou wed yo i ) Mistress Alicia Mauri = ee net A deep flush swept over Herrick’s fa mR it away for an None ig jcoelirad ‘‘ He scorns women!”’ c re; , derisively. The nis Neb tn ai as Pers any | Herrick ec e mi n bitter mockery. he turned to his father. ae wanes **You have more pluck than power!” he said, I cousin would laugh to scorn/your suit or mine} r Fong Sor I was sure of her consent?” RP hat canna be. ‘Think yé the proud baron— her father—with his English associates, would listen | to a loon like Herrick Maur?” | “ Arve you not next heir to the title, failing son of | “What of that? It is an enipty title; or Jittle land wi’ it.” ply carries _ “Little Jand, but muckle state! A baron of Swin- | | that is coming! The foe is at hand! | tempt to interrupt h “Take the warning given,” his solemn speech went | ton may hold his ain wi* England’s proudest rs! And ad daughter is fairest among the fair!"’ tee ‘* We a’ ken that!” cried Gregory. ‘‘ Here’s to her | health!” A dozen cups were li to drain the wine, “Be silent!’ exclaimed Herrick, impatiently. ‘I | ask again, what means all this?” “Tt means, boy, that Ican bestow your cousin, if ye are minded to wed her; ay, this very night!” Bh raid ill jesting, when the speech is of a fair maiden.”’ “Tt is nae jest. Ye shall wed her within the hour, | if ye will.” ‘If she wills, I am willing enough,” said the young man. “ But—” ‘“*Let the minister be called—” began the chief. He was interrupted. The great bell of the castle—the bell that was never heard unless danger threatened, or a chief of pau age was dead—swung out its slow and solemn CHAPTER V. THE SEER’S WARNING, Att the men started to their feet. ‘“What does this mean?” exclaimed Kenneth. The front door was thrown open, and a figure of aspect familiar to all passed over the threshold. It was that of a tall mealwart-idoking man, LS in a dark mantle, with flowing white beard and abun- dant white locks rolling down over his neck. His eyebrows were jet-black, and under them were deep- set, dusky eyes, now fixed, as if gazing on vacancy. There was a rapt expression in the face, and its pal- lor was more natural, One hand clutched the eet the right was extended, and lifted up- Ww “It is Matlin, the seer!’’ ran in a hoarse whisper from man to man oe the revelers. “Tt is the seer, and the vision is upon him!" ex- claimed Gregory. Our readers need hardly be informed that the old Scottish superstition of second-sight yet lingered grave the clans in the mountains. Thé seer, gifted rom his birth with the faculty of seeing events be- fore og Agen’ to pass, espec those that con- cerned own people, was listened to with reverence, His prophecies often determined the counsels of the chiefs, and he was regarded by the common eed as a mysterious being to whom the secrets of nature were open, and whose eyes, en- incaea supernaturally, could discern what was dden from all other sight. It will be remembe that Hilda, when she met the seer among the rocks, deemed that he had been supernaturally informed of the occurrence, and that he had come bg mp! to give aid to the injured Pam ete ence her surprise at learning that 6 knew nothing. The great bell still boomed out its sullen alarm. ‘‘ Listen!” said the seer, taking a step forward. “Tt is the death-peal of more than one among you who have drained the cup of feasting.” “* Matlin!” exclaimed Kenneth, in a tone of grave eat ut Matlin paid no heed, “*Tha’e seen your wild doings,” again said the seer, “‘and now the doomis revealed—the vengeance Your castle will be attacked this night!” “ Silence!”? shouted the chief. ‘How dare you come among us with your bodings of evil? Sit you Li and speak like a true man, or begone this in- stant!’ The seer turned to face him. “Kenneth Maur!” he said, in a slow and measured speech. ‘Is there not blood upon your hands?” The chief burst into coarse laughter. ,, An ye list to spin nursery tales,” he cried, ‘‘let it be in the women’s hearing! Away with him to the kitchen, or the housekeeper’s still-room.” No one stirred. Matlin heeded not the anger his words had provoked. “The man you fought with om the cliff,” he con- tinued, “‘lies in peril of death; and his blood that stains your footsteps will lure on the hounds in suit. Be wise, and turn them away before their fa are in your throat!’’ There was a confused murmur among the guests, and Herrick strode to the seer, but did not at- m. ur’- on. ‘Leave the castle to the soldiers who are marching on it, and will soon be here. My hut by the Jarches is a shelter large enough, and to-morrow you may return hither in peace.” *“ Who dares counsel flight to Kenneth Maur?’ de- manded the chief, threateningly. ‘‘ By the bones of my father, if he were other than the seer, I would hew him in pieces here in our hall!” ed his heavy sword, half-drawing it. ‘Before he provokes me beyond bearing, away with him! He may prate of his false visions beside the kitchen- | = Begone with him! Gregory, do ye not obey | me?” Gregory laid hold of the seer, but speedily released him. “The dog, Snath, had follow This master and had lain crouched at his feet while he was speaking. © At the touch of violence laid upon him he sprun up fiercely, and rushed upon Gregory, who fell ba | wit h an execration. Herrick stepped between them. ‘The dog will not harm me,” he said, as he laid his hand caressingly on the animal’s head. Snath And he clutch- | LADY HELEN’S Vow. welcomed the caress by wagging his tail, and went | back to crouch at his master’s feet. there was anoise outside as of many voices amd footsteps. The door was again flung open, and two or three men came hurrying in with their ae | moment, ere they went out followed | others. tidings. The alarm had been given that the rein— forcement of soldiery had received orders to- | march on the castle, demand its surrender for their’ occupancy till the search could be made next day, and arrest all who opposed them! | The sound of the great bell had summoned all who would defend the chief from their dwellings in the neighborhood; but they could not outnumber the soldiers. The troop was on the march, and the storm that was rising would make them more fierce to ob- tain shelter, The seer, Matlin, had sunk eet aseat, burying his face in his hands. The vision had passed. It had left him, as usual, with trembling trame and collapsed strength, Herrick noticed his condition. He filled aor with wine, and put it to his lips. Matlin drain it, and thanked him with a grateful ook, With loud execrations, Kenneth vowed he would give the assailants the reception they deserved. He ordered Matlin taken away. ‘Put him in one of the east store-rooms,” he cried; ‘‘ and since he came to bring news of disaster, and counsel submission, let him share the danger he predicted. Out with him, Gregory, and leave him a prisoner, In the largest room! © There is not a window for his escape, but he can hear all that passes within.” Gregory took the oki man’s arm, and led him to- one of the side doors, followed by the dog. ‘Nay, this violence shall not be!" cried young Herrick. ‘‘ Matlin is a faithful friend. He came when the vision was on him, to warn you, father, and b wos sword, his counsel was wise and good! You ab not harm a hair of his head!” “Who wants toharm him—foolish boy?” shouted his father. ‘‘ He shall but abide his own prophecy. If the castle falls, we fall with it! An ye med-- ps with = orders, I'll gi’e ye work to do, Gregory, oO me!”’ e strode to the side door, out of which Gregory led per and whispered to him as he a eat out. en he resumed his directions to his follow-: ers. “Place the cannonon the ram and dispose: the men at the windows to fling down the ladders if they raise any. Have the guns and crowbars out of the armory!’ His men hastened away in different directions in. seeming readiness to obey. But the utmost con- fusion prevailed. The bell was silent, but the storm was raging ee a and the dash of sea-waves pipe the rocks below was like the roar of distant ery. Once more Herrick, ignorant of his father’s reason arrest—and for dreading that he was willing to risk | all their lives rather than be captured, when death by the hangman might be his doom—interfered to prevent this mad resistance to the civil authorities, “T said ye should have other work than meddlin’ as it to be peace or a struggle?”’ / with us, craven boy!” cried his father, tauntingly.. “ And so you shall! Look there!” He pointed to the open side door. There stood Alicia loo at them, a other side Gregory, who had led the maiden into e hall. She wore her riding-nabit of dark-green velvet, trimmed with gold lace, and a green hat with its drooping heron’s feather. White leathern gloves covered her hands. Just as Bertram had received her from her captor’s hands, her dress disordered and her se peg pulled over her cheeks and neck, she stood there, a radiant vision of beauty—all terrified and bewildered as she was—beholding the strange scene. It was a minute before Herrick could k; and while he stood petrified with surprise, Hilda glided to the chief, an rasped his arm. “Where is Matlin?” she whispered, eager “ Away, woman! I want not your help!” “He had charge of the officer! the man who fell frae the cliff!’ she Boog convulsively pressing Kenneth’s arm. “The man will die for lack of “Ts he not dead already?’ demanded the chief. “He was saved by a miracle; but he is sorel hurt. Send Matlin to him; he hath a leech’s shill, Oh, Sir Kenneth! if the man dies—woe to you! woe “This way!’ said Kenneth, crossing the hall with her. His belief in the death of the officer, and that he was in danger of arrest, had made him so reckless in resolving to defend the castle. The news brought by Hilda put a new face on the matter. The brief dialogue and movement occupied but a y several , to us all!’ Herrick Sy fag ee the ‘young girl, and ordered Gregory to leave them. The man scowled wrath- ss but he obeyed. ; e scared look had not left Alicia’s face. The Siti Pessina gently led her to a chair. “Tl know nothing of this,” he quieres. * When you are recovered lady, you will tell me how you came here,”’ The frightened girl looked wildly around her; then iteously at Herrick ee her hands. Pr Oh, Herrick!” she so bed. “You are our kins- | man! You willsave me! You will save me!”’ CHAPTER VI. THE PRICE OF LIBERTY, Kewners and the housekeeper, with two of his fok lowers, proceeded at once to the room to which Mat- lin had been taken as a prisoner. It was a large apartment, used for lumber and ' household stores, and bare of furniture, The win- aur, with white, scared face, — Beside her stood Hilda, the housekeeper, and on .
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‘dows were narrow slits, high up in the stone wall; there was but one door, and that had been securely locked by the chief's orders. The ponderous key was produced, and the door was thrown open. Kenneth snatched the torch from one of his men and went in. He flashed the light to and fro, till every portion of the room was brought into view. It was entire] empty! pe He was not brought here,’ said the chief, an- “He was brought here; I can swear to it,’’ said one of the men; “to this very room.” Isaw him put in,” added Hilda, ‘‘and the door ea outside.” f * But, woman, you see for yourself he’s not here,’ testily growled the chief. 5 And he could not have gotten forth,” added the ame, embarrassed what to think. 4 a — other rooms,” thundered Kenneth, in to liberate, e disappearance of the prisoner he came th, ot a trace of the seer could be found in any of © rooms, The wonder was great, and several ‘avowed their belief that Mat was a wizard. ««, #10W else could he go forth?” suggested Hilda, bl ne'er a window to put his head through!’’ 4 he confusion in the castle and around it left no ime for conjecture or questioning. The -soldiers Were outside; and they had demanded admittance in e king’s name. qoresory, who was spokesman in the absence of pauneth, responded by requiring to know what had rought them at that hour to invade the dwelling of “man who had given no cause for a show of vio- ence against him, tie e leading officer of the troops rode within speech ‘of Gregory, who stood upon one of the balconies. He Said he and his men had been summoned and sent © assistance of the revenue men, who had re- ported the capture of their commander. He had beh Mussing since before dusk, and was supposed to oe eld a prisoner in the castle. He must be in- fo tly released, or the attack would be made to : Ke an entrance and deliver the captive. enneth came forward at this see Sy and loudly ane ared that no prisoner was held within the castle; nd that no enemy should be admitted to search. sola lere Was a stunning clamor of voices at this; the calles shouting that they did not. believe him, and of Kee their comrades. to the rescue; the adherents wil Retna’ giving orders, and running to and fro in on isorder, e chief’s orders to bolt and barri- € the entrances were obeyed, and preparations tted to make the search and then retire; it was gyswered that they claimed the right also to quarter lean selves all ni he sa 1 to arrest the bd ole household as suspected participants. There &S no limit to the freedom claimed by a body of r i ssession; and a man’s own house was it ronghold, me the midst of the wild disorder Hilda made her an, fp Kenneth, and laid hold of his arm. He turn- anaes Wy the woman’s face was white as death, er lips trembled; she had some evil news to She gasped, almost breathless, in her vourseit dying; he will be dead ere dawn; save the Tepoey Rainly, woman, or else stand aside!” was seer—” Malcolm—he came from Mat, the Whe nat of him? Has the devil carried him off? a hoon ye speak out?” be © man who fell frae the cliff; Mat took him home, He is hurt to the death. ‘Twill sune be betcha if "tis not a’ready! Master, master, save ace Leave the castle! the storm is *pating; I a ps hea: round, and fetch ye wi’ the dawn; at attire cave! There is a vessel nigh the = ee forth her entreaties with frenzied earn- ; th saw at once the d: in ht anger hin to ¥ IF aes His stubborn will, however, forbade ot not fly, nor hide, this Vi i “ Uy hoarsely. “I wei hen Phe castle til rule aaa thee Hilda wrung her hands in terro, ish. ] ‘ter than life ane loved her m, praaehauish, .Det- 30 f00 ay tort i ad her. aster, and to find him : errick! Iw m! He May persuade ; : ye, mine Kenneth! Wae is me, he heeds not words of rning, she sped from the place j help, but staggered against the wall in home 9 +5 next sound that met her ears. enith his own hands Kenneth lighted the fusee of € cannon on his ramparts, The roar shook the peal and though no harm resulted among the be- ene the formidable sound created a ¢, Show- with a aber urpose would not be accomplished 1 og loods ed and loss of life. The silence that pie Was speedily followed by greater activity and oe uproar than ever among both the hostile Return we to the terrified Alicia, She heard the giacioy the shouting and the dire confusion, wilder an the storm and he roar of the sea. It seemed Ps if the old castle were tumbling about her ears. a e had sunk on her knees, ant held her clasped auds toward Herrick in agonized supplication. He Stood irresolute and agitated by conflicting emo- tions. He knew his duty called him to share the la- bor and peril of his father and kinsmen, rash and puseuld as he deemed them. Yet how could he eave the fair girl thus imploring his help? Had not his father, too, committed her to his charge? ai a will save me, Herrick?” entreated the maiden. ‘* What can I do?’’ stammered the youth. “Take me home! Oh, take me to my father! I was mad toleave home! Iwas headstrong. Oh, Herricks take me back, and I will bless your name orever |” Turning abruptly, the yo man went to the door. He ean, it fastened sabe outside. He beat violently upon it, and shouted the names of several retainers. A voice answered him without: “The castle is attacked by soldiers, Every man is wanted on the ramparts!”’ ‘Undo the door! . Which of you dared bolt me in? Call Hilda. Send Hilda hither!” he shouted. ‘Oh, Herrick, take me away! I shall die if I stay here!’”’ shrieked the poor girl, more and more alarmed every instant. Herrick took her hand and led her to the extreme end of the hall. There stood a massive cask full of liquor; from which at meals the men were accus- tomed to draw full flagons. With a gjant’s strength the young man hurled this cask, larger aud heavier than a hogshead, on one side. It had stood directly over a trap-door.. Herrick stooped and pulling an iron ring lifted this, disclosing a narrow flight of stone steps. A rush of cold damp air came from the opening. “Behold the secret passage,” hesaid. ‘It leads by a winding way to a door that opens outside the walls. You can go that way; take this torch to guide yeur steps. You will find the outer door un- barred; it is always kept so. When you are outside nothing will hinder your flight.” He put the torch into Alicia’s hand; he led her to the a down which she was to go. Alicia looked up at him. He was struggling violently with emo- tion; his right hand was clenched; his teeth were set as in terrible determination. “ And you—what will you do?”’ asked the girl. “T? Oh, I will shut the trap-door, and replace the cask to conceal your flight. Then I will batter down yon door, and go out to help my kinsmen, and die in defense of the castle.” Alicia’s feet were already on the grimy steps of the paseace. She shivered violent me cannot go alone!” she said. me!’ ats one can I leave the castle when foes are besieg- in; bal f Your father put me in your care, and locked the door upon us. He does not want you. He would send, if he did. I dare not go alone! Come, Herrick —my cousin—come!” “What can harm you, alone? The storm is over the country is quiet. All the fighting-men are here!” “T should not know the way to my home, and it is far!’ moaned the girl, sobbing in terror. “At the nearest farm-house you will find shelter, rest, and a guide and horse when you list to pursue ee rer, Here is money; all the boors are easily bribed. He offereda purse, which the girl refused to take. hall die hi i x ge enero ae aes Sites 8 ie in unde und passage ns me but to look at it! I shall never come forth alive! ae you will perish, too, Herrick! You must come me! She stood on the copes step and clasped his arm ite her white hand looking beseechingly in his ace, “Do you care for me Alicia?”’ he asked earnestly. “Surely I do," she answered. ‘‘ You are my 0 friend, Herrick!” ‘What will you do for me, Alicia, if for your sake I desert my father in his hour of need?’ “Take me to my father, and he will send you help, He wil serve you in all things.”’ “What you do for me?” “‘T will. bless you. Oh, Herrick! I will call you my deliverer!” ;, ‘Will you love me, Alicia?’’ “T do love you, cousin,” “But not as llove you!. You have long known— yen must have known—how madly I worship you! would give the world, my life—my honor even—to call you mine! Do not start; my father sent to cap- ture you for the purpose of making you my wife— ay, this night! t I would have no constraint; you shall be free to choose. I might compe you to wed me, but I dome you too well for that; Alicia!” “Oh, Herrick! you have a noble soul!’’ “Hear me now,” cried the young man, impetu- ously. ‘I am ready to go with you, to forsake all; to brand myself as a traitor; to take you to your father’s house! But. you must promise to be my wife! Will you promise that, Alicia?’’ “Herrick, you_have too grand a soul to profit by my sore strait! Be generous—lI implore you!” “Then you love me not! You scorn my suit, proud girl!” “T do not scorn—I honor you. Iam lost unless you save me!.. I appeal to your mercy.” ‘* Shall I save you for another suitor?” _ His eyes glared; his lips were drawn; his face was white as death.” “You must answer me before I stir, girl,’’ he gasped, pelpasing his arm from her feeble hold. ane want’ me to save you—that you may wed an- 2° ! ? ;, Qh, no, no, no! Herrick!” + Will you swear to marry me?” ii Sati cannot!’ ., Will you swear to marry no one else?” "1 Merey, merey, Herrick!” By my ancestors, you shall swear, or I leave you to perish! Hark to those wild shouts! Our men have triumphed! They will be in here presently! What will become of you?” “Save me! Save me!” * Come you with LADY HELEN’S VOW. 5 ‘Will you swear to marry no man unless I give you leave?” “JT will! I will!” ‘““Swear then! by this sword! No, by your hopes of heaven!” “TI swear!’’ repeated the affrighted girl, falling on her knees. 3 “T have your oath!” cried Herrick, exultingly. ‘* You shall wed me, or n0 man! Now come!” He threw one arm around her waist. The cries without were redoubled; but unh them, he lifted her down the steps, closed.the trap-door after them and bolted it on the lower side. Carrying the. torch in one hand, and pee on] the almost-fainting maiden firmly with the other, he ained. the passage, and sped on swiftly, till the Sonn beyond was reached. This he flung open with some exertion of strength, and they stood in the open air, outside. A terrible scene burst on Herrick’s sight, amid the clamor and shouting. Flames were rushing from the upper windows of'the castle. CHAPTER VII. FATHER OBEYING SON. Wirn an exclamation of bitter self-reproach, Her- rick struck his forehead. He had abandoned his father and his kinsmen to such a fate! ““T rust go!” he cried, hoarsely.. ‘‘T must go—to die with them!”’ “Herrick!” the girl shrieked, in terror. : ‘Look yonder!” he exclaimed. ‘The castle is on fire! My father has rushed on destruction—dut I must perish with him!” ; 4 te “You shall not go, to perish!” replied Alicia. “Your kinsmen will escape. Take me tomy father, and he will come with men to their help!” **T must leave you at once, Alicia. have been & traitor for love of you!" * The soldiers will capture or kill you!” ) will not eare, girl. You will be safe!” “How canI be, without your help? I dare not take a step forward, in this darkness! Herrick, you will not be so cruel as to leave me?” Voices were heard at that moment, and approach- ing steps. . There was the gleam of a torch, Alicia ac penmanes a scream, and clung to her cousis. en there was a swift rustlimg among bushes near, and a dog sprung on the young man with a whine of recognition. “ Down, Snath! Where is your master?” ‘“‘Tam here, lad!’ answered the deep voice of Matlin, the seer, and, torch in hand, he came close to them. | " We may as well inform the reader how the seer made his escape from the strong room where he had been imprisoned by the chief’s orders. The windows were too narrow for egress; but the wide chimney was open; and Mat was used to cliinb- ing; and the dog too with his aid. Once on the top and outside the chimney, their descent was effected by means of the tall poplars. It needed out a leap to clutch their branches. Matlin was sefe and in freedom-while the master was searching for him. Herrick knew nothing of this. But he was over- joyed to behold the seer. He bade him take charge of his lady cousin, while he went back to the castle. “Na , ye may see for yoursel’ the danger is past. e is nearly put out.” : He pointed to the windows, now utterly dark, from clouds of rolling smoke. ‘An’ hear ye na the music of the soldiers en the return ?”’ * But my father—”’ ‘If he is wise, he will leave the castle. I sent him t If he linger till daylight, ‘twill be waur ‘or him.’ ‘“How is that?’ ‘*The officer he wounded is like to die.” ‘“ He wounded an officer?’ “ Ay, of the revenue men. Sir Kenneth sought to capture him, and he fell frae the cliff. If he dies, there will be murder to be answered for, Herrick stood a moment in a stupor of horror. “T must go to him at once!”’ he cried. ‘*Na—ye will hardly find him. Hilda has warned him to flee.’ ‘But he will not; he is foolhardy. Here, take you the girl, and I willspeedtohim. You shail hear from me anon.” ‘Come to my hut by the road. ‘Ye’ll find us ere.” “Go, Alicia; you are safe with Mat. I will re- He placed her beside the seer, and in a moment was lostto sight among the trees. ‘Come, lady,” said the old man. ‘Snath and I will guard you safely!” Alicia was weeping softly. ‘Oh, my father!’ she sobbed. fer this night,”’ She clung to Mat’s arm and went with him, the dog bounding on before them. H Even as the two fugitives bolted the trap-door be- hind them, the other door was thrown open, and Hilda ‘rushed in. She wasin search of Herrick, to help her in persuading his father to instant flight. A ane glance sufficed to show her the way of escape they had taken. With a shriek of discovery she ran to her master. and drew him into the hall. But no entreaties could avail to induce him to take to the secret passage. He denounced Herrick as a traitor; he upbraided him for cowardly flight when the foe was upon them; he swore that he would die at the head of his house- hold before he would surrender or escape. Hilda ran to and fro in her despair. Then the flames burst out above; andina new alarm, all the men were called to extinguish them and prevent the entrance of the besiegers in the confusion, “ How he will suf-
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“| Ya es 2 beneath it. Thus some Herrick found his way back. Finding he could not enter by the t door without danger of arrest by The first he met was nrc As who demanded an explanation of his absence. To him the youth re- fused to give it. But when Kenneth reproached him, he told him of the young girl he had placed in his charge, and his imperative duty to secure her safety before returning, as he now did, to share the fate of his kindred. ‘*And where is the girl?’’ demanded Kenneth. You have let her slip through your fingers, after all ss cme 3 ‘She is safe: cared for by the seer. ‘““Matlin! Hath the devil brought him back? How got he forth from the castle?” “Nay, I know not. I met him near the copse, and I bade him take care of the girl.” “You are a fool! She will escape ye! Ye should have wedded her the night.” “Nay, we are troth-plighted!”’ “Say ye so? Then gi’e us your hand, boy. Such a bride will bring ye dower to gild the barony, when her father dies.” “know nothing of that; nor de. care. I love the girl and mean to ma: her. But, my father, yeu cannot stay here to abide the search that will made the morn.” “Nae, that he canna; I ha’e told him so,” put in Hilda, eagerly. She had just joined the group. “And why not?” asked the chief. ** Because,’ whispered Herrick, leaning to his ear, “because it will then be known that the officer they deein a captive is not here, but lies dead at the hut | of Matlin the seer.” ‘** Lies dead!”? Kenneth’s pale lips echoed. “Surely; and you must be far from this coast; for it will be known that he met his death at your hand,” urged the son. Hilda and Gregory joined their entreaties. “The vessel is off the coast; you can be on board ocfore the dawn. It is your only means of escape. If they arrest you—” pleaded Herrick. ‘‘And you, boy? and you?” the chief questioned— giancing from his son to Gregory. “T will "bide in the castle,” answered the latter. ‘* You will go—with your betrothed—to the Baron of Swinton?” asked Kenneth of his son. ** Aye, or anywhere,” he answered ome ‘“Ye maun gae there!” cried Hilda. “Wi? the fair damsel to speak for ye—” ‘“*T want no one to speak for me!"’ was the young man’s rejoinder. ‘““Weel—weel—l'll_ be content, so ye are wi’ the maiden, and I’ll wish ye gc be your wedding when I come back!” laughed the chief. He then prepared for flight. Hilda had already prepared the necessaries of food and clothing, and two of the men were waiting to them. Gre- gory promised to fulfill every command to the let- ter; to keep the men at the castle, and to communi- cate with the chief from time to time at the sea- coast town in France where he was to fix his residence. Herrick took leave of his father, who would not hear of his going with him, and promised to return to his fair cousin, the instant he departed. No one but Hilda and the two servants, Kenneth said, should go with him to the beach, for fear of exciting the suspicions of prowling soldiers. They went by the secret passage, and Herrick, with Gregory’s help, replaced the cask. No one would have suspected the existence of an opening CHAPTER VII. THE NEW GUEST. Herrick found a way out of the castle by a door in the rear, and eluded the vigilance of the party of soldiers on the watch. The moon was set, and the night was very dark. He went round to reconnoiter the force, before leaving the vicinity of the castle. At the road leading to the dell he met Hilda return- ing; and from her he learned that his father had already embarked. He questioned her closely re- specting the occurrence on the and cautioned her against speaking of the matter; a caution quite papeeestere- It was through Matlin’s revelations in ‘the vision” that anything had become known to tla wean turned his steps to the woody Then the young man the w ravine where stood the seer’s dwelling. There was ere. glimmering from the windows of the hut; but all was silent. Not even the dog was to be heard, keen as he was to note the approach of a visitor. Herrick lifted the latch seftly and eén- tered. The outer room, or kitchen, was untenanted. passed on to an interior room, the door of which stood open. Alicia sat beside a couch, on which lay the form of aman. She was bending over the white face and wiping the forehead with a cloth. Hearing foot- Pepe she hastily turned, sprung up, and gave a itt e cry of pred ag ** Alicia!”’ da the Fea man, “how is it that you are alone here? Where is Matlin?” She glanced at the man on the bed, and led the way into the other room before she answered. oe LADY HELEN'S VOW. | **Matlin is gone to Sir Geo treated him. I must not stay here, you know. Sir | Warnock may ride home with news of your safety ;, George or Lady Vauehati laden “eh me.” | for Margaret is well-nigh frantic; and Alleck niay “ Why send there for aid?” fetch a surgeon for our host’s sick friend. Away “Tt is too far to Stone Crag.” | with ye, lads. Herrick and I will keep watch by the | “Did I not promise you to return, and take you , fire, here. ¢ 5 thither?” | While he examined his gr ay the men ns oe “But I knew not when, Herrick, and the time | ed todo his bidding; and Matlin brought out skins, | seems long; oh, very long.” “Who is in yon room?" ‘* A man sick—wounded—nigh unto death.” H ** His name, girl?” “‘T do not know it. Matlin said he had brought him hither for nursing and medicines. He is too ill Vaughan’s. I en- | od leave ye, Zirl; trust to me for that. James ang which he threw over a wooden settle and signed to his elder guest to use it as a bed. But Swinton chose to watch. Herrick walked restlessly to and fro; sometimes going out into the night air and recon- noitering the tae roy ee sometimes stooping over the bed on which the officer lay, and listenin to hear his breathing. Many times he questione | to know any one; and I have been doing what I could to soothe his pain.” Herrick went back into the room and bent over the sleeper, examining his clothes. “Tt is the same, I verily believe,” he muttered. *“The man who was bruised by—the fall from the cliff—as Hilda said.”’ “Yes, it is the same,” replied the girl, who had followed her cousin. Herrick uttered an exclamation of intense thank- fulness. “ He is not dead.” “No, surely not.” “They said he was lying dead. The knaves! Will he live? Will he recover?” “How can I tell? I have sat by him an hour, and still he slumbers.”’ The young man felt the pulse, and placed his hand on the chest. Tlo beats were feeble, but regular, and often labored. Beads of sweat stood on the marble forehead, and Alicia again wiped them off. ** He has had an opiate?”’ said Herrick. “The seer gave him a draught to ease his pain. When he wakes, Iam to give him a teaspoonful of this,’’ and she took a vial from the table. ‘He must have another leech. I will go for one, He must not die.” There was a sound of voices without, the barking of a dog, and the tramping of horses, Alicia started up in wild a ht. \ ‘Oh, Herrick, if those should be enemies! Mat | has had no time to reach Sir George’s house! Hide me! Shield me!” She clung to her cousin in mortal fear. > ns Snath’s bark!’’ he answered. ‘ Matlin is The seer’s moe voice was indeed heard mingled with others, as the outsiders came nearer. One voice more impatient than the others struck on the maiden’s ear. ' “*My father!’ she shrieked, rushing forward into the arms of the foremost of the new-comers, “My child! My own Alicia!’ cried the Baron of Swinton, clasping his recovered daughter to his breast, with tears of Sw ac Matlin, and two or men who had come with the baron, entered at the same moment. ‘““How came you hither so soon, dear asked Alicia, trembling with emotion, and clasping her father’s hand in both her own. ‘ How did you find me?” “Donald came home in wretched case, and frightened well-nigh to death, my child, with news of your capture, and the slaying of your horse, by an Lxmed soldier at the head of a force.” “Oh, father! there was but one; he wounded my brave Merlin, and carried me off.” “Donald was a cowardly slave, to let you be cap- tured, and seek his own safety. He lies in the dun- geon for it! It took not many minutes, as you may guess, to mount and scour the country in search of you, We thought, from the craven’s talk of armed men, that a pery. of lawless soldiers had taken my daughter. e rode on to Vaughan’s, and he has a | party in search also. We have scoured the coast, and were a aedan the castle, to see if aught had been heard b nneth’s people, when we fell in with dig woxtay man, who brought such news as | gave new life to my old heart! would have died | within me if I had lost ye, my daughter,” i The girl’s white arms went round her father’s neck, while she briefly narrated her adventure, and reception at the castle. She made no mention of — but kindness. The castle was besieged by soldiers, and she had been wofully terrified; but her cousin Herrick had saved her; had brought her forth in safety; and given her in c to the seer, who brought her to his hut, and had gone for ue at his entreaty. The baron acknowledged the kind- ness of both Matlin and Herrick, by grasping the nd of each, and thanking them. “And you have no for your wayward daughter,” she murmured, “whose obstinate self- will ea this trouble upon you, dear papa? % “T shall not trust her from’ my sight in future! the father exclaimed. Then he gave orders to his attendants to see to | their horses. S “My brave Merlin!” cried Alicia. “(No one has seen to him! He was wounded by the ruffian who | sh Tescribed the road as well as she could re- e desc e TO: | member, and that the men might be sent to pa?” care for her favorite. “No horse was in sight as we Porte git emg ' ground,” answered her father. “ i oned his legs and gone home at the best of his speed, him now. we Ye co eos hanes to-night!” cried Matlin. “Send | | on your followers, an ye list, but the leddy is tired | |enough. Here is @ couch, and he _ threw open a | door at the end of the kitchen. ‘Let her rest, while | we wait for the dawn by the fire. Nay—I crave your ‘kelp, Sir Baron, for one that n it sair;’ the | wounded officer yonder.’ The baron was pleased with the suggestion, and bade his daughter take the needed repose. “T will ae / : ful maiden to be welcomed so wi Mat to know what he thought of his chance for life, but received no satisfactory answer. It was dawn before the messengers returned; and the sun was flooding the east with crimson and gold, when the surgeon arrived. He made aclose exami- nation of the injured man, who by this time had awakened, and was able to speak. “He has had a narrow escape,” was his answer to young Herrick, who questioned him eagerly. “TI canna say yet if he will win through it. is ribs were broken in the accidental fall, and his strength is sair spent.” “Tt was nae accident,” moaned the sufferer, with al] the energy he could command. ‘The man meant to slay me.”’ ‘What man, d’ye say?” “The auld — the white hair, and flowing beard. He was like yon lad ”—pointing to Herrick —‘ but he was aulder.”’ “Sir Kenneth?’’ muttered the surgeon. “Kenneth Maur!” echoed the on. dreaming, man. He is no assassin!” Herrick gave his noble cousin a grateful look. pig hurt man continued to moan: “ He did it! he The surgeon interfered with an order for him to be quiet. e bandaged the man’s side, then admin- istered a sedative, with some light nourishment, Matlin and one of the attendants had prepared. breakfast. It was laid in the kitchen; steaks of Savory venison with rashers of bacon, bread and coffee. The men partook heartily of the good cheer. The seer was lamenting that he had no woman to wait on the bonnie leddy, when the'door of the small bedroom opened, and Alicia came forth, © but much refreshed by her slumber and a partial bath in the basin of water provided. She embraced her father, wished a good-mo to Herrick and Mat- lin, and caressed Snath, the dog, who had learned already to fawn on her. It was time to be moving. The horses were ready. The baron gave Herrick a pressing,invitation to re- turn with them to Stone Crag and remain there. “Tt should be your home, lad,” he said; ‘for you are of my own blood, and must wear the title some day. Ihave longed to doa kinsman’s part by you: why not let it be now?” “Come with us, Herrick,” the maiden added. He looked earnestly in her face, and a flush rose to his brow. The seer gave his counsel for the youth to accept the a os "4 “The castle nae your place now,” said he, ‘‘when the chief is ane” s ‘But I must go there first,” the young man said. “They may want me yet.” “Go, then, boy, and come to us the night,"’ added the baron. ‘‘ We will expect you ere sunset.”’ It was thus settled. As the youth took his leave, his lingering gaze fell on the maiden’s face. Her look of grateful regard So him, He was walking swiftly toward the castle when the girl, mounted on one of the men’s horses, was riding homewara by her father’s side. ; tin, having received a liberal fee for his hospi- tality, busied himself with the sick man, and soon had the hut to himself. : It was like returning after a victory to the youth- . Margaret. had come up from her mother’s cottage to receive her, and wept tears of joy at her safety, and of sym- pathy at the story of her adventures. Merlin was found at his bles, much the worse for his loss of blood, but well cared for by the host- tler. The first visit his mistress paid was to her pet steed, and his eyes brightened at sight of her, and at the touch of her caressing hand. The baron gave orders for the best horse to besad- dled and sent to the castle for his kinsman’s use in coming; and for one of the best rooms to be pre- red for his occupancy, Anattendant was Saeed ispatched, on another steed to seek Herrick, and attend him to his new home. “For he must not leave us again,” he said to his daughter. ‘‘That battered old den by the sea- coast, half-ruined as it is, is uninhabitable for civi- “se Ye're | Hzed creatures. And after what has happened, Kenneth will have to stay beyond seas,”’ Do you really believe he was to that poor officer?” asked the gir’ “Who knows? Aslikeasnot. Kenneth was aye of violence : too ready with his fist and his sword. nape a | scuffle, if is likely. rap hes y call ‘the chief,’ as t him, had a bullet-woun' shoulder; ’tis not like: him to let his enemy escape. If the man dies he will be hanged for his murder, an he ventures. back.” Alicia gave a shudder of horror. “The fad is best off here. I have tried to give him. better training, years ago; now he must do my bid- This smuggler’s lite is not for kinsman of mine. I want a young fellow of my own blood to be in place of my steward; and you would like a brother, eb, Alicia?” “ But Herrick has wild ways, papa.” “As any other savage! He must learn to curb his ‘ EEE
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headstrong Will and unruly spirit. T will tame, and you must refine him, m Reet daughter.” : Alicia sighed as she thought how hopeless a task that was lke 'to be. The baron’s orders were executed while his daugh- ter retired to her own apartments for change of dress and the refreshment of sleep to make up what she had lost d the night. iclect was with her when she awoke. The housekeeper and servants had put in order two other suits of rooms for ex- guests. “Come and see them,” said M the best university in ¥ ‘'Toolate now. 1) Sane , ut he is skilled in sports of the field; and pa 8 & passion for thone, yon know.” : sa sods dear, your father will enjoy the youngster’s ‘ Therefore he is welcome.” And in time, the baron may look upon him, the last of his line, as a fitting mate for his daughter.” Nay, Margaret, you go too far. Scarce two days since you were predic a different fortune for me,” said pci, tanning to her mirror to let down her ee i What is the proverb about the wooer on the spot faring better than. i at } ts vel ae the bee sane is not—meaning not é me your proverbs, I implore you.” “ And sit ye bg ay : locks, cweens, down, while I dress your rebellious unlikely in me eer sister! You know there is naught Our guest, Margaret!” cried the girl, offended. ‘white ick Saved my life yesterday; rescued me had no chance of succor; left his kinsmen to frwinen, to safety! I will receive him as an own eum silly ao “4 not set me against him with *, Oh, pardon me, Alicia,” Kno uu rooms is pie ’ ein tor what guest the other suit of For a visitor from London.” x stprmeed partes. and let fall her handkerchief. lier sunt < Rosen bins Sore it, her face was crimson to aeeeret smiled as she noted this, but forbore to “I think you have néver seen Sir Victor Wilder,” ety demurely, while she brushed her friend's and wound the ringlets round her er. Alicia a repeated the name and shook her head. <A tter came last evening from him, and the gave orders for the front apartments to be “Is he a huntin baronet?" asked Alicia, “T cann H w oa we Rie I think not. There was no talk ps jhe comes to hunt hearts, fair ae young girl held up her finger reprovin rv) 3 iu our pes gH aye running om eoterds fr a ergeret. Pray talk of something else,” is there of such interest to a couple of lassies, to whom the sight of a young gentleman is a yee treat? Fie, Alicia, your indifference is affected! .. ou—a beautiful young maiden, the only child of a iim 3 ctoter, the only hope of an ancient house, yeas P C) blood in your veind, and muckle siller to yar dewer— Pr Have noua foolish wench.” “ That Should scorn the very mention of guitors]} life upon it, the twa ho are allan: t© occupy your lordly chambers, will te Lt swords for oe . ore favor before the moon has wane “They will have more wit, be more sense th sure, and I will have ieateatt. But an to be won by the victor in a bloody ous about this i How ie it that my father has never ras him?" “Out of sight fag of sen com: so far north m what can that be but to woo the akong re ila in London, sweetheart}? this’ er, od father half-promised to take me there “You should be presented at court as your heart would create! ‘ei Jove, let me) be your woman ana your secretary. Hike m clow otk le ove-billets that be sure to come qos, girl!” Alicia started up and ran to the “Who has come?” she asked, eager One of the knights! Hark!” r an noise and trampling of horses came up like pest from the court below. Voices of servants pie hither and thither; the voice ef the baron gn A poe Noe the clanging of the gates, the apening : tting of doors, and the general confusion be- okened an arrival of unusual consequence. , ! He was in London. y f ” You shall talk thus of no young man who is to. LADY HELEN’S VOW. CHAPTER IX. THE YOUNG MARQUIS OF ESTONBURY. Brrore the town-house of the Marquis of Eston- bury, in Piccadilly, along array of mourning car- es was drawn up. e exterior of the noble mansion, half-shrouded with ivy, bore the usual tokens of mourning for the great in the realm; and within, solemn funereal state prevailed. The spacious apartments were hung with black, and the servants wore badges of crape. It was the day Be mee for the removal of the remains of the distinguished peer to the family vault at Estonbury Court. The body had lain in state several days, and was still in its casket in the room where it awaited the last removal. Near it, looking upon the attendants busy here and there, but absorbed in painful thought, stood a young man of fine figure and strikingly handsome Saxon features, Several of the servants addressed him as ‘‘my lord;’’ and he wore the deepest mourning. He was the only son of the de- ceased peer, and was now invested with his title and poeom. Universal deference was shown him; ut he seemed unconscious of everything but his own grief, and unable to tear himself away from the vicinity of the inanimate body of his father. A young gentleman at last came in, took him by the arm and led him into thehall. But even the whispered consolations of his most intimate friend had no effect in soothing the bitter sorrow of the bereaved son. We will not linger over the solemn preparations for the conveyance of the body to the ancestral seat of the pox ne where lay the ancestors of a long line of nobles. These last _prebenesone had been delayed by the temporary illness of the marchion- es S. As soon as she was able, she expressed her desire e set forth for the performance of the last duties to the departed. The entire household was to accom- pany her; for it was_her ladyship’s intention to re- main at “‘ Estonbury Court”’ rage dg summer, When the carriage waited, in which Lady Eston- bury was to take the Mpeg the young marquis bp up to her apartments to offer her his escort own. It was a magnificent boudoir, hung with costly paintings and draperies of damask satin. The oaken paneling was time-stained, but the window curtains and upholstery were modern in luxurious splendor. It was the lady’s fancy to surround herself with all that could please the eye. Carpet, cushioned sofas and seats covered with damask satin wrought in rare patterns of embroidery, were to match with the sweeping folds of the window draperies. Tables of the finest {marble held vases of fresh flowers and articles of vertu. This boudoir opened into a dress- ing-room furnished as superbly; and the bedcham- ber was beyond it. Lady neg ae | sat at an Indian writing-des having just finished writing a letter. She was and siender in form, middl traces of singe 5 beauty; though her strongly-marked and haughty features could not now be pronounced attractive. There was a analy. hardness in her eyes, and a coldness about her firmly e-aged, and bore the eeling. She was dressed for the journey, in widow's mourning, and held a smelling-bottle in one hand, which she frequently applied to her nostrils, : On the other side of the room sat a young girl, looking at a miniature which she had just fastene to a gold chain depemiing from her belt. She was slight in form, and might be thought plain in fea- ture, but had expressive gray eyes, soft with tender feeling, and the color came into her pale cheeks whenever she was moved, Her brown hair was arted and gathered behind in a knot, and fastened Ld Fe gine: comb of the style worn by wealthy ng. maidens. She too wore the deepest mourn- ing. She looked up as the door opened, and rose from her seat as the young marquis entered, putting the miniature in her bosom, The young man did not speak to her, though his lance met hers for an instant. He crossed the room his mother. Lady Estonbury looked up, and frowned. Ree nald took her hand, and stooped to kiss her cheek, but she repelled him with something like aversion. It was no new thing for the aby. man to be cold- ly treated, and even repulsed, by the haughty lady, e could not remember that she had ever, bestowed @ warm caress upon him,except on one occasion. That was when he had plunged into the river, and at the risk of his own life saved a little girl from drowning. That little girl was the one who now s - Celtaaien. cheostace, ds Wok rise th ni erefore not s se the you Seige He aitmibuled it to the wasting grief of the bereaved wife. He soothed her with words of tender affection, and protestations of his devotion to her, as both his duty and his heart prompted. The mother yest ay oe his fond words with man- ifest impatience. She declined his escort down- stairs, and bade him “take Helen;” while her maid wrapped her India shawl areund her, and put on her mourning bonnet with its long crape vail. Obedient to her wish, Reginald turned to the young lady, bowed to her courteously, but with re- Serve, and gave her hisarm. She blushed crimson as she took it to go out. Lady Estonbury having descended, stepped into her carriage but waved back her son, when he was mca 4 nog ” she called to her com e want you, er Co. n- ion; and Reginald, some leasure, drew to allow the girl to enter, and take her place beside -chiseled mouth that ave the impression of intellectual force rather than his mother, Her ladyship bade him take another carriage, and with a silent bow he obeyed her. “She might have overcome her unnatural dislike of me fer once, on an occasion like this,” he thought. “Little kindness has she ever shown me!’ Again he gave way to his feelings, and wept the bitter tears’ that manhood weeps, for the loss of the parent who had ever made him the idol of his affec- tions, Frank Ralston, his most favored friend, was with him, having accepted his urgent invitation to stay some days at Estonbury Court. Frank was the son of a Scottish laird, and had spent much time with Reginald during his visit to the Highlands. He Hea put forth his best efforts to soothe and console m. After their arrival at the Court the funeral cere- monies took place. As before, Frank endeavored to console his friend. The usual commonplaces of the duty of a young nobleman to imitate his father’s virtues, to honor his memory by great deeds rather than waste his health and energies in grieving for him, etc., were exhausted. Suddenly the marquis said: “T am sensible, nk, that my indulgence of ief appears selfish; but—”’ “Oh, no, Req I did not say that!” “But I feel that it does. Still, if you knew what I have lost you would not blame me.” “ How can xn think I blame you?’ “T ought say, if you knew how little I have left. You will say I havea mother. Do not mothers love their children, Frank?” “Certainly. There is no love like a mother's!” “Mine has never loved me. That is why I feel so bitterly the loss of a father who adored me.” “Lady Estonbury is not different from other wo- men. She does love you; butshe is not demonstra- tive in her feelings.” “She has no affection for me. She never had. She has always repelled me, when I sought for some tokens of love.” ” ““Many aristocratic dames are too proud to show their feelings, Reginald. Calmness, even to stoicism is the fashion, you know.”’ “Tt is not that. She loves the young girl whom she has taken for a companion. I have seen her | proud eyes fill with tears when she looked at her; and she makes her her constant companion.” ‘“ Who is that young girl?” “The daughter of my father’s under steward." “Thave noticed that her ladyship seems fond of her,”’ said Frank. ‘‘ Ladies often e such fancies to a hired companion.” ““She bas been my mother’s favorite since she was achild. You see that she is made quite a member of the family.” “She has a very ladylike appearance and man- er.’ ‘ “Yes. She is wel] enough; but I think it a weak- ness of my mother to take the childof a servant for apet. She has adopted her for her daughter, I un- derstand.”’ “Ts it possible?” ‘So Chisholm, her father, told me, with his dia- bolical grin. At least, he declared his lady meant to do so formally. The wretch knew he could gall me by telling me of it.” “Tt is singular, certainly. But you must not al- low your mind to be turbed, Reginald. Ihave heard of such things before.”’ “Tf the girl were a lady by birth it would not be so strange.” ‘*You are not jealous, surely!” “No, not jealous; but I wish my lady mother had better taste. I could bring her a bright young crea- ture she might be proud to call hinge prrsecatt “Ah, you wrote me, old fellow, of your beauty of the Scottish mountains, How fared you with her?” cried Ralston, glad to change the subject of bis friend’s discontent. “Thad to come ries without leave-taking," an- swered the young lord with a sigh. He went on: “When do you return, Frank? Excuse an inhospit- able question.” “Tam ‘due’ in a week.” “Then you must accept my company.” “ With all my heart.”’ “T shall go madif I stay here! And I must see again the girl who has charmed me! With that an- el by my side, Frank, I could meet the sorrows of fife with true courage!" “Never despond! What have you to do with sor- ele Me rich and noble? Have you ‘told your ove?’ “Not {age But I go on that errand. Wish me good luck, Frank!” “T do, heartily. It will be a day of rejoicing when you bring home a fair wife to Estonbury Court!” ‘Nay, she has not accepted me. Your good wishes nay be premature,” “You have perccnret Hea fear, I'll warrant me! You have much to offer, Reginald.” ; “T would not seek the love of a young girl who could think of wealth and rank as an inducement to accept me.” “T was not thinkin qualities—your noble any maiden’s heart.” f hey were in the library at the Court, the day after the funeral, when the foregoing conversation took * a oe Before Reginald could answer, the steward, Chis- olm, came with some papers to solicit his attention. Ralston could not but notice his insolence of manner 7 his lord. This fessor jt me Betws hitherto e young marqu been too absor any hese it. Now, he looked up in suieeioer te the man’s audacity, and calmly o: d him out of his presence, of them. Your personal aracter—are what might win / owe -_- 2S Me ree
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“maility. ** T shall discharge him to-morrow,” he said, quiet- \« And I fear he meditates some trick to vex you more than ever!’’ was Frank’s response. CHAPTER X. A DOWAGER’S PROTEGEE. INALD did as he had resulved. He gave orders tor the steward to attend him in his morning-room next day, and _ there informed him that he should dispense with his services, at the end of the month. “T need not give my reasons,’’ he added. ** You need not, my lord,” answered the man, with the sardonic grin that had so often displeased his master, and an indescribable insolence of tone. “TI have expected this whenever you should come into power. My wife goes with me, I suppose?” ‘She will do so, naturally.” “But your lordship Meowith alow bow that strong- | savored of mockery, and his accustomed leer— | 1 will not take it upon yourself to dismiss your lady mother’s confidential attendant?” “T shall dismiss whom I please, without consult- ing you; be assured of that,’ answered the youn nobler: chafed more than he cared to acknow!- edge by the man’s cool audacity. “It is not my in- tention to make chauges in the household; but not tolerate any want of respect.” “So long as your lordship has a right to command | it, you ought to exact your due,” the man said, his | dark, wrinkled face distorted with an evil sneer. There was an ominous emphasis in his words, which moved the marquis to demand what he meant; but on reflection he only waved his hand, in token that the steward should leave him, Chisholm was a middle-aged man, tall, bony, and thin in form, with a face on which’the evil passions of greed, envy and malice had left their ineffaceable stamp. His complexion was swarthy, and his black hair, slightly grizzled, hung over his forehead in bushy masses, while his beard, of growth as thick, almost concealed his chin. His eyes were deep-set, piercing, and intensely black, with a furtive glance | that betrayed a mind never altogether at ease. The deep wrinkles in his foreh and cheeks gave him the appearance of being older than he was in cr hf yet he could certainly be pronounced forty- five at léast. There had always been pig hr ge strange in his demeanor toward the young heir of the house, re- strained, however, by fear in some degree, so long as the old marquis lived. Since his death no Fe food thy or kindness had caused the suppression of the rebellious or hostile feeling that seemed to exist to- ward his young master. : He had received all orders either with impertinent indifference or with a sneering affectation of hu- annoying to his lord, even while he gave no thought to its possible cause, or to ridding himself of a servant so obnoxious, Now that he had spoken his mind for once, Reginald wished to think no more of the subject. “T have but a word to say,’’ added the man, as he shuffied toward the door. “Jt is your lordship’s will that I go at the end of the current month. It is my will that I do it at the end of this week.”’ nald answered: bk: henever you please. Now you will leave the Chisholm glared at him. and an angry fire leaped frem his eyes. “The young viper,’ he muttered under his breath; but he quailed before the firm command in the eyes of his master, and hurried from the room, The young man felt more disturbed than he quite , in the evi- | understood. There seemed a myster dent malignity of the man, which it pained his gen- erous heart to see in any of his dependents. It was his wish to be kind and indulgent to all his house- hoki... He could boally, provide himself with another steward; indeed Chisholm was but a subordinate to the general steward of the estate, whose business it wool be to fill his place. But how would it be with wie note ho might resent having her fa- vorite maid taken from her at her husband’s de- parture? It was a relief to take two hours’ gallop with Frank Ralston. They returned in time for lunch. Reginald could see that his mother had been in- formed of the steward’s dismissal. She met him with looks colder and haughtier than ever. But she did not allude in words to what had passed. The young peer epenth the afternoon in writi ters, and in a quiet ramble with his friend. ey talked of Scotland and the intended journey thither. In the discourse concerning the wondrous semnery of the Highlands, Reginald’s heart expanded. The Pee were formed. After the young lover’s visit to tone Crag, they would have an equestrian tour through the wildest of the mountain passes, linger- ing beside the lochs so famed in ballad _minstrelsy. The summer would close with a trip in Estonbury’s yacht among the islands off the northern coast. In the autumn, if fortune crowned his love-suit with prosperi nald would take his friend to Stone Crag, and bear he Mo lovely bride for a lengthen- ed tour on the Continent. A winter in Italy, and the happiness he anticipated with some tremulous, fear ure, would restore his spirits and courage to enter on the duties, social and political, whi ted rank imposed. a Alas that the purest aspirations of the noble heart should be at the mercy of the wicked to crush and marthem! That the resolutions of the brave, the upright, and the true, should be thwarted by cruel fate, which no energy could have power to change! The evening of the day previous to that fixed for the departure of the young men arrived. They were to go t to London, for the transac- tion of necessary business with Lord Estonbury’s | will | let- , his. StS ot ete a | solicitors, and a farewell visit of young Ralston | with some of his college friends. cursion, anticipated with the eagerness of ardent youth, and the anxiety of hopeful love. Chisholm had taken his departure. Reginald had | offered to give him a reference as to his ability and fidelity to business, which would be useful in pro- curing another situation. But the man declined it with his usual sneer. He could easily find employ- ment; he was not, in fact, dependent on his wits or his labor; he had those who had an interest in look- ing after him, as his lordship might learn some time; it was not all of the noble family he had served so | long who were ungrateful, ete. hoyuedid assuleu Bint Ge Was rejoiced to hear that | | his prospects were so good. He would be glad to remember his past: services, and do aught in his power for him should he need it hereafter. ‘Oh, as to that,” the man replied, “it is not likely I shall ever be beholden to your lordship. It may be the other way. And, while I think of it, here is the card of my address in London. If your lordship | should ever be in trouble that I can relieve, you may | apply to me!” And he shot a glance of malicious | significance into his master’s eyes. ‘Thanks,”’ replied the peer. *“* One knows not what | may happen in the future; and good-will is alwaysa valuable aid.” ‘‘ Very true, your lordship.” | Reginald felt as ua a load were lifted from his heart when the man left his presence. That last evening Lady Estonbury spent in the drawing-room, and was more gracious than usual to the inti young laird’s son. Her companion, Heleh, was there too, and by her ladyship’s desire, sung and played several times. Once the marchion- | be requested her son to sing a duet with the girl. Helen walked to the piano, and selected the music herself. She placed it on the desk and waited for the first notes; but Reginald hesitated. His pride thrust on his notice? cacy Estonbury gave him a look of stern displeas- ure. She was pale, and her lips quivered. The young man glanced from her to Helen; a misgiving cy. But the imploring expression of her soft eyes disarmed him. He took his place beside her; com- menced and went through the duet; and even complimented the girl at its close upon her ad- mirable culture in music and her superb voice. Frank was enthusiastic in his applause. Reginald was surprised by the noes in his mo- ther at this trifling incident. She smiled; her whole face was transfigured; she held out her white hand with a warm expression of approbation, and called him ‘‘my son.” The his lips, and kissed it fervently. The conversation became | Sete cheed and was pleas- antly kept up till bedtime, when the tray of candles was brought in by the f pop bd © leave pid 2 inl eae the next morning, on their journey. e 6 adieu for many week as they said good-ni he ‘i ” Lady Estonbury shook hands with both, making no difference between them in her manner, and only suffering her son to touch her cheek with his lips, without giving him an answering caress. Her attention seemed fixed on Helen, whom she called quickly to her side. The girl arose from her seat by a table at a little distance, and came with evident reluctance. The lady was holding her son’s Pop st seed caught that of the young girl, and placed n his. “Take leave of her, Reginald,” she said, and he noticed that her voice trembled with suppressed excitement. He bowed over the fair girl’s hand, respectfully, and murmured some commonplaces of farewell then moved away. | He saw the crimson that suffused her whole face, and th Grog pipe. of her lashes on her cheek, indi- cating her painful embarrassment. He saw, too, that his lady mother watchéd him with an eager flash in her e es, and with more emo- ' tion than he had ever seen her manifest. He bowed big to her, and walked quickly out | of the room. He and Frank ascended the stairs together, and stopped a moment by the door of Raiston’s chamber. Their whispe lasted but a few minutes, and th Bepinaid vended n en on to his own room. : meaning of his mother’s conduct? He could not fathom it! She bab in Maude t ie to establish friend- ly and intimate relations protegee ; but to what end? Then he thought of her lonely widowhood, and the necessary seclusion she would have to undergo | during his absence; during the time when he hoped to win the crowning happiness of his life. The society and love of that young girl was a solace to her. Ought he not to rejoice that she had found an object of love? He thought of the timid, tender looks of the shy maiden, and in his heart acquitted her of the least presumption. Low born she might be; but she was a in heart and manner; @ sweet, affectionate creature, to whom he felt grate- ful for the devotion of her life to the dowager whom | he knew to be unhappy amid the splendors of wealth ‘and rank. He forgave both for the coldness shown him by his mother, and mentally prayed that she might be blessed in her own way. There was a tap at his door, so light he did not at ' first heed it, till it was repeated. He answered by an invitation to come in. The door opened softly, and a woman about forty | years of age, dressed in a black silk, Plainly made, a] and with hich corsage. with her hair smoothly fcld- “* That would detain | them but two or three days from the projected ex- | was stirred. Was he ever thus to have this girl | stirred within him that the girl was in the conspira- ! oung man lifted the hand to | ootman. The two young | He threw himself into a chair. What was the | tween him and her young | ed under a cap; entered. The young man knew her | He started or at sight of her. He had not inquired | whether or not she had accompanied her husband; and his impression now was, that she had come to ae or his restoration to his place on the es- e. The woman seemed to divine his thoughts, She spoke quickly: “T see you are surprised, my lord, at my veing here still, I did not go with my husband; but I am to follow him soon,” : ** Indeed!”’ “Thad to attend to selling off our furniture and shutting up the house we have been living in; the house at the end of the park, your lordship knows; and my lady—” “No matter, good Mrs. Chisholm; let everything be as you please,” said her young master, leaning with one hand on the table, and still standing. He was anxious to be relieved of her unaccountable pres- ence. She looked at him wistfully, as if she wanted to say something, yet dared not. Suddenly she came up to the table, bent her closped hands upon it, and a eagerly and imploringly in the young péer’s ace, ** Oh, pardon me, my lord!” she wailed; ‘pardon me, whatever happens!”’ “Why, what can happen?” ‘Forgive me, as you hope to he forgiven! It was not my fault! Oh, believe that, and forgive!’ The tears were now streaming down her white face; she sunk on her knees, stretching forth her clasped hands, like a criminal condemned, suing for meroy, 4 “Woman, I do not understand you,” answered Hegel rather sternly. “If you have been guilty ee é, you should appeal to your mistress, not to “No—no. It is you—it is your Jordship I look to for mercy,” she gasped, through a passion of tears. “Rise from that unbecoming posture. If you | cone to ask me to receive Chisholm again I cannot oO it.’ “No, no, my lord, not that!’ “Tor any other request you must go to your mis- | tress. Itis a-disrespect to her to come to me.” e My lady sent me to your Peeee teat said the wo- man, in a voice scarcely audible for her sobs. “Sent you? For what urpose ?”’ He saw that the dame shivered from head to foot. She hesitated, struggling to calm herself. ‘For what, lasked you? Have you offended your lady, and want me to intercede for you?” “My lady wishes to see your lordship,’ was the stammering reply. “To see me, to-night?” “Immediately, my lord. She is in the drawing- room.” ‘Very well; 1 will go to her.” He waved his hand, The woman, her features still convulsed, her face white with evident appre- hension, obeyed his commands. At the door she turned quickly, and sobbed, faintly, as in despair: “Whatever happens, it was not my fault.” CHAPTER XI. LADY ESTONBURY’S COMMAND, Lapy Esronsury was still in the drawing-room. She was eth k A with one arm upon the richly- sculptured marble mantlepiece, her head uplifted; her eyes fixed on vacancy; her complexion blanched to a sickly pallor. Her very lips were colorless. Her sweeping black dress, and the thin tissue that shaded her veck and arms, were in accordance with her woe-worn aspect. The tissue had fallen from the arm that rested on the marble, and showed it to be white and exquisitely rounded. She did not move when Reginald entered, but he went up to her instantly, and k her hand. store what is it? Dear mother, you are not well! She drew her hand away. “T am quite well, Reginald,” she said. “I wished to speak with you alone.”’ “ oy maid told me so, Has anything hap- ned? “Things are always happening. Every day there are changes.” ‘ | xt pn ey uf”? | _ “I cannot say. ings distress me. It is | new thing for me to be wretched. a rt « “Mother, dearest mother!’" impetuously, “T entreat you to give me. your confi- dence. Tell me all your grief. No one is, or should be, ERs Pee to Mo an your own sia #n ell you my wishes ou respect—will you obe them » -8 4 * ofarasmy power extends, you ma r that I will.” iii sin FPR FOEe ‘If I were only sure of it—” “Believe in my affection, in my dutiful obedience! Oh, mother, I have longed for your love! I have tried to deserve it. Tellme what T can do for your happiness” “Sit down, there,” said the lady, pointing to a seat on one side of a table inlaid with marquetry, and loaded with books and rare and elegant frifles, yale she sunk into a cushioned chair on the nearer side. She was silent for a few moments, till her son again bene her to tell him how he could remove any cause of unhappiness that a gee her. a he did not remove the hand Peis’! conceal- ed her face, her elbow resting on the table, as she responded: ‘You can make me happy, Reginald.” “Tell me how; only tell me!" besought he, in tones that showed his earnestness, ‘“ What sacrifice 1 cried the young man, — i
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would not seem light'to me, if borne for your sake! if reprg npn ~~ ey of mind!”’ ‘It is easy of sacrifices,” said the lad: ae ae usual hauteur ee it is tomaket ior. all your smooth professions, my lord, I fear you would shrink from one I panier asa test of your emits “ Surely, mother, th and eone sion." fe is is unjust to me—this tone ‘True, test not been applied.” “‘T entreat you, do not sordupe tel” Lady Estonbury’s manner suddenly changed. Regin: red you ever thought of marrying?” Toa young nobleman who has on of vast estates, and an lent you term |, Your wishes prompt you to ?” the lady ie cheeks. 122 : One who loy ” cried the faba you, and who is worthy of love, x i mean that.” . + ou are beloved, Reginald, bya pure arid noble emt one worthy of a coronet, on crown—one ose whole heart is your own, and’ who will be to ne ‘ay Swectestof daughters.” " ri thought flashed upon Reginald that his moth- r xnew thé maiden of his love. Of whom else could we, speak? } “It will make me happy beyond the power of kaa to utter, my dear Rother, if you approve my bat ee eee, suit. I bayve not yet spoken to her}; Hane puOWs—she must know—iny feelings—” She knows nothing !—she sus ing!” i ; — suspects nothing!” in- pti sa Lady Eston) ury, impetuously. “No ten- Looping flower has more shri delicacy; she would die with shame if she knew I was plead . in tho oe | She has never disclosed to me the ipaaekot She Ong ago took possession of her whole being! ce a TL vepuet that I have read her soul in its Resign ou may lose no time in speaking to her } }0r ‘you may commission me! Shall I tell ‘eh she is to be your bride? heart, chit misgiving rushed upon the young man’s He rose Reemnthic o eviping it as with a hand of iron. ‘Mother! I fear there is <i some awful mistake be- deen ust” With my-heart full of one object, I un- <taiiela ou to be Speaking of her. Where is—thée “a England, Nie pew inde? Notte Engiand?” ouse. Have you not understoot me to speak of my beloved ‘Helen? “Of the maiden Thave adopted. $h " that name e adopted. She shall bear when sie hcngee t for il be fart caine ** Mother k “That you would have your son marry one s0 far beneath him “however worthy of Sas in her own a, Parebe and blood! The daurhter of my a. = s torte de of your waiting-maid!”’ ake care what you say, rebellious boy!”’ cried Lady Estonbury, growing deadly pale. “ thought you estee y pale. “Hal me- your motion ecemed any sacrifice light, to please “But this—this esallianee—it w: Sacrifice but a degradation!” ok ny, Ay 7 é ce ypu sult me!’” 2 NO: mother! what fitness would th in the Marquis of Es ing tk eee ae household Ae ye Mas hem nae sa, have take alopted “and edneated hae roe oS is i your equal, vr grateful boy?’ Mother, the nat, Ghange her “ineages Reel ery idea is preposterous!”’ do not dare dece fixed your affections upon ot ree I ¥ “T have, irrevocably, mea none but her. T love her with tea eh a wt soul, and the happiness of “my lito dope ma ir yee aes pape meen ‘Lady onbury stood ing th \ chair,” Her tace was ghastly pone p2e top. of her cee = cing b ? r her eyes blazed And who is this paragon?” she “Twill reveal ew heneld when Theva seen her, and learned my fate from her lips. Itig:to her T shall own! I have are you say she her blood. You have No, mother; the lady of my love bélongs to the is miore Her father wears i established in the Norman Conqueror’s reigns and $ an great Rr he can, yet shone e SS will aes oe of our peeraze. Do not fear your son bimished from my princely father.” marry none bu will receive a other!” it the one I have Aa: “id you shall _ chosen LADY HELEN’S VOW. In & momént Reginald’s calmness returned. “Tt will be a matter of regret, certainly,” he said, somewhat coldly, “‘that you are opposed to my choice. Iwill speak with you further, or communicate with you, hereafter.” * You shall not go!’’ cried his mother, passionate- ‘‘ without a pledge—a promise that you will sub- t to my wishes.”’ os that is too much to ask, Lady Estonbury! Lowe my mother all respect and deference; but you must be aware that you cannot, with propriety, in- terfere in a matter of this kind!” “T can and I will!” she answered, imperiously. “*T will have it as I choose, or you shall reap such oy amma as you never thought could descend on ou comment of the young man’s’ thoughts. He was silent a few moments. |“ Will. you promise to do as I wish?’ demanded thelady. + “ZT will'make no promises,” returned her son. ‘* We will talk of this when I return.” * Will you then be disposed to obey me?” “To marry as you bid me? No, madam, leave you to cherish such a hope. I may be disap- pointed in my own hopes. I may lose the prize T “She must have lost her reason!’’ was the inward | covet; but never will I stoop to an alliance unfitting | my birth and station, and with one whom I coul never love!” “Unerateful ag it is you who are L-meheog i gasped the aif a voice nearly choked by her emotions. Suddenly changing her tone, she flung aside the chair she held, and sunk to her knees, **See, Reginald,’ she said, ‘‘vour mother kneels to you! prey of demons that tear my soul to atoms! Tsup- plieate you for mercy! You alone cai save me, can give me peace! Pity me! pity me! I implore you!” rted her to a seat, and endeavored to soothe her. he terrible conviction took possession of him that she was laboring under delirium! “You are ill, dear mother: you are feverish. Let me summon assistance! Indeed, you must have it!’ He was about to ring the bell; but she rushed after him, and caught his arm. “What do you mean? Do you think IT have lost senses?”? ‘I think—I am sure—yvou need medical aid!” “Pshaw; foolish boy! Do yot drive ine to say what I shall wish unsaid. Iam as clear in my mind as'you are; as fully in possession of my reason—of all my mental faculties! I repeat it, lam wretched beyond the power of language to describe! You can banish my aap you alone!” “IT cannot understand you!” ™m, | T am the most wretched of women! the | He rushed to raise her from the floor; he sup- | “ No—you cannot; but you would understand if I | should tear the vail from my bleeding, broken heart, — show you the dreadful anguish you doom me “There is a strange mystery in your words, my mother!” __ “Be it so—a mystery; but no lack of reason! Some day it may be explained. All I have to say now is, will you save your mother from misery un- speakable?’ ; i “*T would give my life to save you from such dis- tress, if 1 knew—’’ : ; “Always an ‘if’! Nothing but submission will content me!” 2 ‘ Nothing but sealing the misery of my own life by a marriage that would be deemed disgraceful, and with one repulsive to me?’’: ‘And you refuse to wed her, even though I have asked you on,my knees, as for the boon of life?” “Tcannot,perjure myself by false vows! Do you know, mother, whet would happen, if you could force me to compliance?” : a What?” - ““Peould never endure the sight or companionshi of such a bride! no—not for an hour! Tewould te: come a fugitive from England! Iwould live and die pm far —— 5 oe me . ir ‘You might,” was. the y, “if you so lightly Hee the blaweing pow hid won as to fortiaive er!’ : ‘“* And knowing this, would you still urge me to the sacrificey”’ hy : tf ‘ ty “T would still urge you, though it cost your life!” the lady muttered, compressing her lips firmly. “Enough!? What strange infatuation binds you to that girl, I know not! ITonly know that -vour com- mands ought not to force me to part forever with honor, honesty, manhood! You yourself would de-' pe me for such abject prostration of my better vs ‘Have a care, Reginald! ence; ay, most fearfully!” “How can you i false vows, and make myself a wretch unworthy to crawl at the feet of honest men?” “You laugh to scorn my threats! You esteem yourself a great nobleman, invested with the dignity of your father’s title and wealth, and think nothing of ciger inting me! You spurti me when I myself to kneel to you! te mori a for what I could command! Have a care, leay! I can strip you of all vour possessions! Ican tear the coronet from your head! can reduce you lower than the gird you despise! Beware how you tempt, how you force me to do it!” I can punish disovedi- ish me for refusing to take Again Reginald gazed on the theme in utter sur- - — He could not reconcile her words with the 8 Frostion of her absolute sanity. ona e continued ‘to wire seen ten c ont Mother, requis ddles! But if it "2 er, you spea riddles! a: “wer true that the Conbequences of my refusal would be with set teeth | | Paroxysm? { 1 cannot | 9 the loss of fortune and title, I would be firm in it! J would not stain my soul with falsehood!” He hoped that her next words would be a fulfill- ment of her threat; But her mood had changed. _ ‘* Begonel’’ she exclaimed, in the hoarse tone of despair. ‘‘I will sayno more now!” “Will you not relent—my mother? Will you not give me your blessing?” He oe her, knelt on one knee, and tried to take her hand. But she snatched it away with a muttered exeeration, and again bade him leaye her, “Begone, ere I lose all self-comimand! My ven- ce shall follow you!” “Nay, mother, you will relent, on reflection, and acknowledge that I am right! You will justify me, when the coils of that serpent fascination are loos« ened? May that time come speedily!” And, fearful of another out! k, he retired from the room, marveling at: the stranze influence that seemed to have taken possession of her. Could the mere stubbornness of woman’s will, crossed in some cherished plan, have worked her up to such a CHAPTER XII, A STRANGE DISCLOSURE. Lorp Bstonsury and Frank Ralston were setiled at a hotel at the West End of London. Some days had been spent in the business with his solicitors that had brought the young marquis to town. He did not delay another visit on which he had re- solved: to the physician who had" always attended the family when in town, and who knew every mem- ber of it almost as well as his own children, To this faithful friend and skilifal adviser the young man confided his misgivings and fears for his mother’s reason. He related what hid, oecurred, and gave his own fimpressions. , No; the Marchioness cf Fsicibrry had never shown the slightest synjptom of aberration of mind. Her tamily, as far it could be. tiaced, bad ho such taint; hed no taint of any disease. She came of pure and vigorous stock, Her health had always been ro- bust: she had scarcely known what sickness was. . Dr. Harcourt decigediy was of opinion that her mind was perfectly sound, and thet her strange con- duct must be due to some other cause. She had al- ways shown an imperious and determined temper; and when her heart was set upon on cbject, she would move heaven and earth to accomplish it, . He had known several instances in which mothers seemed devoid of affection for their offspring; an alienation which amounted to pesitive aversion in one or two whom he could name. And he had known ladies who surrendered their whole hearts to a misguided affection for some alien fo their own blood. It must be soin this case. Lacy Estonbury had taken an unaccountable fancy to the young girl born under her protection; she had found the object of her régard deserving, and had, unwittingly at first, nourished in the girl an attachment for her son. She felt herself responsible for the growtl, of this passion; the girl was a dependent on hei care: and she was resolved to marry her to the marquis. | She fancied she would thus secure the happiness of | iion was not uncommon. both, while she gratified the love that had wound it- vclt round her heartstrings. That kind of faseina- Lady Estonbury’s iron will made her firm as a.rock in resolving to carry out | her wishes, Lord Estonbury was constrained to accept this ex- | planation; but he was not satisfied. He induced | | ly, while | H | | ibase | r, Harcourt to promise that he would pay a visit at Ustonbary Court, aud observe her ladysiip close- king with ler as a friend. He would communicate the opinion resulting from his inter- view at once to the marquis. Ge Reginald was in his chamber one afternoon, of the day before the time fixed for his departure for Scot- land with Ralston. © His business was concluded; his yacht was under orders to mect the young men, as soon as their tour in fhe mountains was finished at a certain point on the coat; the prospect scemed fair for a pleasant trip, and the young iien’s heart bounded as his’ otn§ roved to the spot whic. was his first destination. He had written twice to the Baron of Swinton: once, soon after his father’s burial; a second time, after their arrival in London, to say he hoped soon again to claim his hospitality: There was ‘a warmth in the tone of the letter, which he intended to convey sométhing of the feelings of his heart. His chivalrous honiage, too, was breathod in the message sent to the béron’s fair daughter. If BS could, he would thus have toid the story of h's ove, : He'was seated in his’ chamber at:the hotel, “The windows and bed were curtained with embroidéred* i white muslin. Flowers and glossy-leaved evergreeys stood’ in’ vases on either side of an oval swizig dress- ing- glass, on the marble top of a bureau. The walls were hung with four pictures in black walnut frames leaving much of the space bare. The carpet was light, of ‘a neat pattern, with clusters of flowers in the center of squares. The, furniture was of the modern style, different from the massive antiques of former days. . _ The door was open leadtg into the parlor belong. ing to the suit, It, too, was tastefully furnished, and was the handsomest tlc hotel affo' . “Come in!” the young pecr called out, in answer to alight tap at the door of his parlor. “Come in, Frank! Why do you use the ceremony of knock- in: oes . : é door opened slowly and softly, The rustle of a woman's dress was heard. — 1ald rose, threw aside the ‘f° eler’s Guide ”* ng bec conmigo ake ail fa ag e pro. route throu walked into the outer room. ie sie Be He wondered that the servant had not anuotced & strange visitor. By this time the woman had en- ‘\ \ ‘ ’ yh Ue teet bat sere ‘wee A =) * so ee
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= tered. She made a formal courtesy, and drew aside ' “Do not interrupt me. My late lord was from | Mrs. Chisho]m!’’ he exclaimed, in utter astonish- ment. ‘Tell me at once, has anything happened to Oy eee ecto b is quite i," th 1 ‘Lady Estonbury qu we was the reply; the words being jerked out, as it were, each witha spasmodic effort. _ “JT am glad, indeed, to hear it. Why, then, did her ladyship send you to me?” ‘* My lady did not send me; leastwise she did not . tell me to come, though she knew I would come, and she approved of it,’ the woman answered, faltering ‘sadly in her embarrassment, “Then you have left service at the court?” “T have, my lord. It was my duty to come with my husband.” ‘And what can I do for you, Mrs. Chisholm?” He had not offered her a seat, though she looked ‘as if one would be welcome; nor e taken one himself. He felt annoyed at her coming to him in this unceremonious way. “*T have an engagement this afternoon, and am on the eve of a journey. Please to be brief, therefore, in saying what you wish me to do for you.” The woman shuffled from one foot to the other, _ glanced about her, and seemed at a loss how to be- gin. Then she retreated toward the door, which was still open, and beckoned to some one outside. Aman advanced from the head of the stairway, came to the door, and boldly entering, stood beside ne Aran ag on es Re ge TT y e procee: 3!” na “ How is it, Mr. Chisholm, that you venture into my ' presence in this way?” ‘To support the courage of my wife,’’ the man re- plied, with a touch of his former defiant insolence. “She can never get through with what she under- ‘*She comes with news, then?’ “Ay, news of importance to all of us.’ * But she said her lady was well.” “Tt is not that. We are here to disclose to Ft sir, the secret which yeae lady mother—as you her—shrunk from telling you.” “You deal in enigmas which I do not care to study. If there be any secret concerning your late mistress and myself, I preted to hear it from her.” “She—my laay—tried to tell you; but she could not. Proud 1 though she is, there are some things that humble her, and ought to crush her to the very dust.” “This is no language to use in my presence, and I shall hold no discourse with you—with either of you —on a subject in which my mother is involved.” “Oh, my lord!” cried the woman, wringing her ry F “Jet him speak! My lady bade him! You had better hear it from him than from others who do not care for you!” : ‘* And the secret will soon be public property!” added the ex-steward. = pene: then, as briefly as possible!’’ “The test of misfortupes,’’ the man went on to say, ““may be averted if y Ad will only listen to her ladyship, and fulfill her dearest wishes. If you would do as she desires, marry the young girl she loves so tenderly, all may yet be well.” “Silence!” exclaimed the young nobleman, in a ‘Do not dare intrude yourselves on me here, me to disgrace my name and lineage? Lady could not have sent you for this!” Mi a, my lord!” passionately: wailed Mrs. Chisholm, ‘Itis her hope, as it is her dearest wish in life!” “Preposterous! This is your scheme, from begin- ning to end! I see thro it; and I only wonder ou ever obtained an ascendency so great over our ’s mini as to lead her to think of such for- e for your daughter.” “ You refuse to marry her, then?” asked Chisholm. “Sir, your insolence passes bearing! Leave the room instantly, or I will ring for the servants to put | wen Oh, listen to him a moment—only one moment!”’ pleaded the woman, with avcnge nanny, | tears. ‘‘ Have done with all these supp. cations,” storm- ed her husband. Then, addressing Reginald, who Ce va to the bell and had his hand on the rope, e added: _ “You must hear the truth, then, for the first time in your life. Lady Estonbury wishes you to marry nD _ ble!’ The doctor said he had little hope of her.”’ no Sangeet of ours. Helen is not our child, but her ladyship’s own daughter!’ \ ie ova mad, fellow?” cried the young man, contemptuously. | “T speak the solemn truth, as you will find from the proofs I shall produce.’ c ; “ffelen my mother’s child? my sister!’’ “Not your sister! You are ae ia son of the marchioness, nor of her late hus Another exclamation of scornful incredulity. It seemed a dark acy to wring from him his consent to the wild sc e his mother had nur- tured. ws true—too true!’ sobbed the woman, lifti xs “We have kept the ja : hands upward. poate hfully till + Aa for my_lady’s e! She knew my lord—her late husband—was | for an heir—for a boy to inherit his title. He raved continually of a fey: he told her ladyship he would live with her no longer if the child she was to pane him not prove a boy! He tormented her nigh and day; she knew he would die of the disappoint- ment, if it was not as he wished! She had lived he io aa chil ees n one ‘ Yes,” ore Chisholm: ‘for my lord would have sent her away—i ce, as it were—if the ex- pirth disappointed his hopes.” “And youexpect me to believe this folly of my father!” cried Reginald. \ ) and now her very life‘depend- | T have Reginald ta ‘ Oh Re | tion swe tinac { i | to London.”’ 3 just recovering from my own confinement the night she sent for me, to our house; and my husband took mein his arms to the carriage, and carried me up the grand stairs to my lady’s apartments. The nurse met me at the door, and whispered: ‘Do everything she bids you—and save her life if possi- ‘* And my father was absent?” | “He was not expected fora week. He had gone Well—go on.” fs vd 3 lady wasin a high fever, and I saw in a mo- ment her danger. Contradiction would have killed her. She drew my head down close to her lips and whispered that not a soul but the nurse and the doe- tor knew the sex of her child. She implored me as for life itself, to grant her prayer: to let the infants be exchanged !”’ Reginald, white as death, dropped into a chair yal his face with one hand. The woman went on: “T could not refuse to save her life. I meant to confess all to my lord when she died. The boy, my own child, was brought from our house just after midnight, by my husband, who told the servants that | I was to stay all night with my lady, and must suckle him. You know we lived in the cottage at | the end of the park, and none of the servants, nor. | any of the neighbors, had been to see me since the | birth of my boy. Hewas brought into my lady’s chamber; he was dressed in her child’s clothes, and laid beside her. I took the little new-born girl into my bosom.,”’ ‘Did the doctor—was it Dr. Harcourt—counte- nance this fraud?” demanded the young man. ‘“Dr, Harcourt did not come for three days after- ward. You see, the birth had been ten days before | it was expected. Another doctor had been called in heere i a village in the neighborbood—ten miles istant,”’ “Did he support the trick?” “He never knew of it. As soon as my lady recov- ered, she made my lord take her away for Bhasige of air. They went abroad that summer, and more than a yearand a half passed before they came home, | The village doctor wag told that her little girl had died, and the boy had'been born later.” She continued: ‘He had been ordered to say noth of the child | to any one, because it was weakly and like to die; and my lady wished it believed that her first-born was a boy.’ Pe ae? spre nied to thie nt eget may a pa im a heavy sum, m x ee e secret,’ said Chisholm. “But he really believed the a rl died before my lord and y went road.”’ ‘* And the register of the birth?’ ‘That was made at the time I speak of, and of the baptism, four weeks afterward.” The date of the registered birth was of the time be as you say, the children were exchanged?” “ t was.” ‘And there is no registration of any subsequent birth?”’ “None; for there was no other. Lady Estonbury never had another child.’’ After a pause, Reginald resumed: , “You are aware that I cannot take all this as fact, upon your word only?” “IT am prepared for disbelief,” answered the ex- e took a om from the breast-pocket aes 5 the young man, “‘ Here p. i : id took the otter! He saw that it was a long one, and refolded it. He was not then in a state of mind toexamine the proofs, Chisholm gave him three ovher letters, on paper yellow with age. They were from the maid to her absent mist giving accounts of the health of the little girl, once or twice named as ‘‘ Your ladyship’s dear child.” These were laid with the other. “You may leave me,’’said Reginald. ‘I will look at these papers, and then they must go to my solici- tors. Leave your address ais § be Poady to give your testimony when they send for you.” A tegee was exchanged between the ex-steward | “TA tase aaa to gi ” the man $e ve another message ve you, e added. ‘It would be Lady Estonbury’s wish that the matter should rest here, and the secret never be olan ag If you, sir, will submit to her will, it may 80, Reginald started to his feet. The flush of indigna- rimson flood over his face. ‘What!” he exclaimed, “if I will join in the con- spiracy, I may be allowed to keep the stolen title and estates! Leave me, before I lose my self-control , Rt eee be torted the man “You ma; angry,” re’ ; cannot prea that eed nail owe respect and duty to her ladyship. She bade me say, that if you still re- fused to do her bidding, and thus drove her to the confession of the secret she has kept so long, she | d immediately send for Mr. Maurice Howard, | “but you | woul He is the heir, you know, failing issue of the late marquis— and she will rag A ge daughter to him, She is resolved that Helen s reign at the court.” | S. ested you both to go, now,” replied | no heed of the man’s words. 1 Reg: —my son|’’ cried the weeping wo- man, “be obedient to my lady! us all—g; what it would ourseif—this terrible sorrow! e to lose every thing!” ‘ Sternly the young man motioned to them both to _ quit the room, )Ohisholm placed a card on the table with his address, and whispered to his wife, as he led her to the door: Reginald saw it not, His arms were thrown on-ihe table; his face was buried in his hands. CHAPTER XIII. EOR SCOTLAND. Arter twilight had. come on, Frank Ralston turned _ from his long walk, and found Reginald in the same attitude of despair.) He was alarmed seriously , when the young man lifted a white and haggard | face, with-eyes suffused as if bloodshot, and seemed scarcely to hear his friend’s repeated entreaties to know what was the matter. Then he wiped the great drops from his forehead, and pressed it with oth hands, before he was able to give any clear ac- count of what had happened, Reginald had no idea of concealment, If the fear- ful tale to which he had listened were trve, there was but one course for,him, But the shock had thrown him off his balance for the time. He gave Frank a full recital of the story told him by Chisholm and -his, wife... He placed the they had brought as evidence fn his hands. He wanted the help of his clear judgment, not to deter- mine his course if the truth had been disclosed, but to ascertain if it were the truth, The letter of Lady Estonbury contained her own narration, which fully sustained that of her maid and the steward. She confessed the fraud practiced by the imposition of a boy not hers on her husband as his heir, ie ge own pe to be brought up as the child of Mr. and Mrs. Chisholm. She add: her solemn oath to confirm this statement, and excused her conduct by dwelling on the cruel usage received from her husband, and his threats of some terrible calamity and disgrace hanging over her if she could not gratify his wish for an heir to his title and estates. He_ had once said that if her child should not be a boy, he would know where to find an heir, of his own. blood, too; and nae, Estonbury had been ter- rifled by apprehensions of a previous marriage. She had known there was some eras his life, she sa'd; and dreaded its revelation. Ha any wo- man in her case, she thought, would have serup to act as she did, Sbe added, that she naturally shrunk from a pub- lic disclosure of these facts, and. the blame that . would be heaped on her. would become the husband of her daughter, all should be buried in oblivion forever.. If he refused, she would at once communicate with Maurice Howard, a distant cousin of the late marquis. He had seen Helen and great- | ly admiredher. She would make her the wife of the | true heir. An exclamation of scorn escaped Peghiald more than once during the read of this letter. ‘‘In any case,” he said, ‘ought I not to be th Frank, that such a woman never gave me birth?” “TI should think so, indeed,” returned young Ral- ston. . ‘“‘ But am I much better off,” his friend murmured, with a groan of anguish, “ to be the son of Chisholm and his wife?” , the Sot ae mane pel ret rei it!” cried e springing up and pac’ e room. “T now see clearly many things that have always seemed mysteries to me! The man, Chisholm, seemed to have secret power, of some sort, over Lady Estonbury. I have no it on several occa- sions. She bore everything from him, and that nourished his native insolence till it beeame unbear- able. Then, her infatuation for the And she—she was too are ed she must be! Ikn how — ue Py id ej ee i ot ‘Apparently, fear of punishment leads her bady- ship 3 pfopose the alternative: marri with te daughter, and undisturbed possession of the title Ori Wome aie as has hy should she be will 305 why sho C) will- ing to wed her oes to one of foe birth—-th e child of menials in her employ?" said with a moan he could not suppress. “She counts on your unw ess to relin bh all! And the girl is pestle} bears the impress of her noble birth! Would grace a title! Reginald, have you weighed the matter?” nald looked him in the face, his noble soul Seat ae oom e e@ pro io you mean? Ralston, do you I ai ? for one in- uld give one thought, stant, to such a mgt ial 2; es “It would be a ge a eng to most men.” “If lam not the rightful heir to the isate do you think I would wear the title another hour? Maurice Howard is the realand lawful Marquis of Estonbury, could I be bribed to defraud him of his rights?” Frank grasped his friend’s hand, and pressed it warmly between both his own.” ; . “You shall with me to Scotland, we will consult my father. All this may be a falsehood; a er a conspiracy.” “Tt may be; andI must have other advice. I must see my solicitors at once. They will examine those yee ©; will see Lady Estonbury; will hunt up such evidence as can bé found. They have my rest at heart, and they will cleave to meas long, as there is ground on which to stand.” ee Reginald, © —— ee
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— Bie. should let the affair go to the courts for deci- a “Perhaps there will be no need of that, Iwould avoid unnecessary publicity. I would spare the guilty woman; ay, and her tools. Icannot bear the thou ht—but, Frank—they may be my parents!” ever! A nature so noble, so high and pure as yours, never was inherited from such people!” I confess my mind revolts against Pre idea. The loss of title and estates would be a less calamity, in m See san cotiet “See your solicitors, my boy, in the morning, and leave the affair in their tikndg?” You must eo with me to Scotland,” * How can I go?” . ing his face, Poh groaned Reginald again cover. Gin deat: , there is the bitterness of worse “Tunderstand you, yourlove till all is deci ‘: But, how can I see her, and wear for a moment honiong that may not be rightfully my own? And ow canI breathe the same air and not hasten to throw myself at her feet?” Ifshe really cares for you the loss of fortune net te make no eh gag r ak ou talk like a school-boy. Do you imagine t rf the Baron of Swinton wold tolerate thé suit, or even the presence, of one in my strait? nl T was so proud! I was glad my love was of ancient and high lineage, for it matched my own. I- espised poor Helen, thinking her born of such base blood as mine may prove to be!” toute agony with which these words were uttered suched Ralston’s heart. He renewed his importu- nities, and obtained at last a promine from Reginald t he would go with him to his northern home. Say nothing to the lady of dea.” . “i CHAPTER XIV. THE OUTLAWED KNIGHT. a ancient mansion of Stone Crag was enlivened Me red" by are ee The hospitality of its lord was ait ee by Sir Victor Wilder, who was eae gis in owe neighborhood of having matrimonial inten- The baron was not i i norant of his admiration for hoon autital Alicia; though as yet not a word had fataer m en to him on the subject. The gentleman’s . ad been an old friend, and on that score the x Yor man was always welcome. Swint Sir Victor was not a companion at all to which n’s taste. He cared pething for hunting, hound was the elder man’s poses e abhorred the nate Ween Hae not one Me sera Rather effemi- . f) cCarefu a degree and well-dressed person. Tall and room; and rely joined the early morn- y oni daughter. ; ut noon he would enter the drawing-room or ‘= mrtg Fag amg 1 pone AD and e silks and worsteds in t at embroidery basket of his fair hostess, or in porns over newspapers that had come by the last Or he would walk there, shiver in the resaptink, if he saw Alicia lightful coolness of the wéath tice her to an arbor, where, aOWing: etme ch the dca ever agreeable to Alicia, who loved rude, uncultured, yet really h ; : andsome young Herrick Maur.” He had arrived that ‘same a ” famite and mien had refused to sup with the pared for his occupan to those of Sir Victor f corridor; they were fu: ner; for the baron oe g Swinton aed esce arly as mn. d repast, Herriek had already lett the en ae groom said he had come himself to the stables, sad. dled his horse and rode ayae, ving no message. a ra fast ‘ had vem to wait for 6 baron orde 3 own ing his epi to nh eoye and see ery had bean € result of the con ween Kenneth tain- ers and the government men. des He went first to the hut in the hawthorn dell among the larches, Matlin was there, with the : surgeon, who had just pronounced an un- ievorable opinion in the case of the wounded officer, on hong sinking fast; but retained his faculties His description of the man who he persisted in Saying had caused his fall from the cliff led to’ the Fro oguHon of the so-called chief, Kenneth Maur, as the assailant. ‘ Two or three official persons from the nearest had come to take the- dying man’s testimony, and the magistrate, Sir George Vaughan, ad issued a warrant for his apprehension. : The old castle was full of so here but Sir Kenneth and his two see servants were missing. Even the housekeeper had disappeared. Search was made for coenase mounted TS nbed Bike, ‘who scoured the The castle was thoroughly searched. The fire that ‘ * HELEN’S VOW. ae had brokea out, and the stormy riot of that night of confusion, had left a portion of the -walls a black- ened and shattered ruin; without repairing, it was hardly a fit habitation even for the rough men to whom it had been a home. The soldiers in possession had spent hours in drunken carousals, and had stripped the best rooms of many modern articles of furniture, leaving the massive and grimy cabinets and tables, the tattered tapestry, and the pewter flagons and dishes, as not worth plunder. When the baron arrived, he consulted with Vaughan, and orders were given to dispossess these vagrants, and to secure the doors and windows against ingress; asthe few of the household who were left refused to remain there, unprovided for and unpaid. They werenot long in scattering in dif- ferent directions. No trace of the papel Sp goods was found; but the cave was discovered and ransacked; without any result, as the goods had been carried off. There was no danger, however, of ‘a renewal of the illegal im- ports for a long time to come. The baron came upon Herrick, wandering, like a lost spirit, about his former home, and mourn- ful of countenance, as one who had been bereaved of all. His father ‘had left a letter for him with one of his retainers. He bade his son accept the protection of his kinsman, the baron, and live henceforth with him. Heir of the dignities of that ancient house, he had a just claim to the future provision he needed. Swinton had made offers, which he would now ful- fill. Kenneth forbade his son to follow him abroad, or attempt to discover his retreat. He should stay away for the present; and in case of the death of the revenue officer, he could never return. Herrick would hear from him at intervals through Mat the seer, and he was earnestly counseled to leave his former associates and ways, and fit himself, under his kinsman’s guidance, for such society as befitted his future rank, ete. Herrick showed this letter to the baron, who add- ed his own advice 'to follow its counsel, and gave the youth the warmest assurances of his affection and a son’s welcome to his house and heart. “You are my nearest of kin, and must come into all I have when I am gone,” he added. “I have had an interest in you, boy, from your birth; you well know that. I shall ys you asason, Alicia will be a sister to you, and I iook to you to be her guard- ian and protector when she loses me!” A deep flush swept over the young man’s face, at the allusion to the maiden he loved with an untamed ion. But he did not turn from her father’s indly proffers, grasping his hand in token of his gratitude in accepting them. That night and the following Herrick was quarter- ed at the castle, where he had an interview with Matlin. Thewounded revenue officer was dead. The constables were still in search of Kenneth, whose fate was sealed in the event of his ture. ‘Be counseled, my lad,” said the faithful friend, ‘and leave'this neighborhood. The baron’s house is your home, Go to England, if he sends you to a university, and set foot no more in Scotland. The le murmur since this lawless deed, and may 19) isit it upon you.” But the young man sted in being present at led Sey Fore ena eld a the inn of t vs gene i i au, n, as magistrate, pre- pitted, and sdvetal of the Sneighbors were called as witnesses. One man had seen the deceased walking toward the cliff, with a telescope in his hand; another had met Sir Kenneth coming home and had noticed that he was pale and excited. He had passed the man without a word, and quickened his pace as he went on. Others testified to Matlin's strange iengusge in the vision; but hearsay evidence availed nothing. The seer himself was sworn. He was unconscious of his words when the second sight came to over- power his senses; and if he had remembered the vision, it could hardly have been taken by the magis- trate. Matlin deposed to having heard Hilda call for assistance, and, on descending the rocks, to have found her with the injured man. She craved his aid to carry him up, and he had taken him to his own dwelling. His eat skill was taxed to help him and bind up his bruises. He added a full account of what had been done for him, The village doctor gave his testimony that the man had come to his death by the breaking of his ribs in the fall, and At Gt pressure on the lungs, and impeded action of the heart. The dyi deposition was and other corroborative testi- mony taken, The ht of Kenneth, Gregory and Hilda was convincing proof crowning all the rest, of the chief's t. Herrick, whom suspicion had attached, was cleared i the testimony of pessoas who had seen” him, at that very hour, at a e of two miles from bg The presence and support of the baron him in good stead. No father could have more cordially sustained his own son in - stances of peril, Swinton had feared it would be necessary for Alicia to ae her testimony, but the young man was completely cleared without it. Calm, stern and eee careless of aught that might happen to himself, stood Herrick during the examination. Whenit was over, he strode out of the inn, and Me ori briskly away. But he returned before the verdict of the jury was rendered. The guilt of “willful murder” was fixed on Ken- posses ur, and rders vere iggned for his arrest and i Seon whenever he cou ‘ound. It ceagiiiar Se bree that he had left the coun ; but { no one whither the vessel had sail One | Conjecture pointed to France as the refuge of the su) “tha T ate dhte (ph ade ise to The people dispersed, murmuring and divided ia their opinions and feelings, Herrick was led away. by the baron, who enfreated him to ride home to Stone Crag without delay, whi's he lingered to transact some business with Sir George Vaughan. CHAPTER XyV. Ff A YOUNG SAVAGE’S ANGER, TwiLicHT had het df over the heavens when Her- rick dismounted at Stone Crag, and led his steed to the stables. He was accustonied to attend himself to the animal’s wants; and he shook out the bundle of hay, fed him with handfuls of oats, and gave him drink at the trough, which the groom had filled with fresh water. Then he went in at the gates, and en- tering at the front door, which stood hospitably open passed through the hall and ascended the grand ay. . He ontared the room on the first floor to the right, girs it to be his own; though in réality it was of the English baronet. he apartments, as we have said, were furnished alike, Herrick crossed the parlor toward the inte- rior room, the door of which was ajar. He was buried in thought and did not notice that some one was speaking within. He was in his road-stained riding-gear, and in haste to changé it for more seem- ly at before seeking his fair cousin. ; A light was burning in the dressing-room he enter- ed, silver lamp of antique fashion stood ou the table, and near a black oak carved chest of drawers surmounted by a swing-glass, reclined in an eary- chair a figure wrapped in a luxurious silk dressing- gown. 6 elegant baronet, seated so that he con) see himself in the mirror, was having his hair per- fumed and brushed carefully by his valet. “The curls on this side—a little more on the tem- ple,” he drawled, languidly, indicating a different course for the brush. “*Ha, who is this?” He turned to encounter the petrified gaze of Her- rick, who had never seen him before. He had au- vanced some yeep and stood perfectly still, The valet, brush in d, faced him as he turned. . Oh, one of the servants! What a rough set these fellows are!’’ again drawled the baronet, locking at Herrick. ‘“‘No ceremony in coming in upon or?! Has your master returned, my good fellow, and seit you with a message?” z Herrick made no reply. : “It must be the groom, for he smells horridly of the stables!" continued the dainty gentleman. “Hand me my smelling-bottle. Do you know, my man, my horse and I donot room together? Has he one lame of a sudden? Faugh!"’ And he applied the salts with vigor to his nostrils. : ‘* Who are you?’ demanded the young man, ‘anil what are you doing in my room?”’ é Ay me your room? Are these the servants’ quar- rs ’ “They are mine, and I will have nothirg of this trumpery stuff about!” cried the savage, .as he strode'to the table, and was about to sweep off it the entire paraphernalia of glasses, vials, gallipots, brushes and other implements of the toilet. But the valet interfered, and rudely bade him me; that room was his inaster's Sir Victor Wilder's, aid Ree Bae should be informed of this unseemly in- rusion. an Herrick had a riding-whip in his hand, and bad lifted it to chastise the fellow’s insolence, when it suddenly flashed upon him that the apartment was nt his own. He remembered having tured to the right instead of the left, at the head of the stair- way, ; oy have made a mistake," he muttered. “My rooms are opposite.” ‘‘ No offense—no offense at all!’ said the barore’, who had risen at the new-comer’s first hostile Co- monstration. “Only better manners in, futLict Such boors abound in this country, I suppose}”’ Herrick glared at him in increasing disgust. “You may go; you need not apologize. 7 shall not complain to your master. Here!" and taking a half-guinea’ piece ‘from his vest teage he threw it on the table, on the corner near which the stranger etood. sharia: (1,8 I pee errick’s eyes flashed fire. He picked up the money, and fing it with all his force in the Biro. net’s face; then turned with a fierce execration, and wivin the mayne of 8] thatia wonderful!” exclatiied ‘In the name o 's wonderful!"’ exclaim< the dandy, rubbing his cheek, on which the coin had ana TEER blow, “what does this mean? Who e fe The valet, who had peeped after the stranger, as he entered the room aires te corridor, came step- ping softly back. SON ; “T think you have made.a mistake, too, master. ‘Yonder man is not a servant,”’ ; “No? and what does he here, in coarse fustian, and smelling so? Faugh! Raise the window, Co- lebs. Who is he?” “T have heard the servants talk of a young rustic, | a cousin of my lord of Swinton, come to stay here,’ } replied the valet. ‘‘There was a great riot three or four days agone, at the sea-coast, and a murdér done, and my lord of Swinton was to sit wlth the magistrates in judgment on the rioters.” “And this is one of them? ‘Belike it is; for be bas the snarl] of a surly bulldog.” : "s BY, Sir Victor, this is the young cousin they ex- ed. “A cousin of the baron’s? And I gave him half a guinea!” exclaimed the young Englishman. “ Put twas well meant; and he was a boor and a say; £8 to it at me in such a rage! Bathe my check in cold water, Coelebs, or I shall have an unbecoming flush all the evening. Where is the man gone?” “Into his own quarters.” * Finish me rectly, that I may explain this.
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‘plunder to the fair Alicia. 12 There; my ave you biushed the velvet of my coat * It is ready, Sir Victor.” hair will do. pr? “Help me on with it. Wery awkward, this; but’ the young ey will excuse a mistake, Hal ha! ha! it was laughable, theUsh. How_was I to recognize a Co in suth clothes, and with such an odor? ‘augh!” His toilet was by this time made. He passed a| creamy silken handkerchief across his forehead, adjusted the cluster diamond ring on his Anger, slanced once more in the mirror, and.went out. e corridor was deserted, and only lighted. by the lamp that the great hall below. The baronet descended the stairs with his usual composed grace, and went into the et wnhing-room, where Alicia was practicing the harpsichord. While the valet picked up the halJf-guinea and laced the d -room in order for his master’s Misrob , Herrick, in the opposite room, was giving vent to hi the ferocious temper, chafed to Say deed indignity of being trea as a. servant in his man’s house, by the fop of an Englishman he al ready detested, He now recollected that LP habe baronet from the South wa$ the guest of Swinton, and also the sur- inise that he had come to pay court to the young lady of the mansion. This was the point that gall him sorely. What scenes of anguish he had passed eat ner with suddenly Euphured ties; a father houn by minions of the law, and self-exiled; a home made desolate! And while he groaned under this bitter experience, here was a dainty, roseate aliant, who had to have avalet to curland perfume is hair, paying court to the girlhe loved! ay, the girl who had sworu to love none but himself! By all the Druids of the groves,dt should not be! He would spoil this miscreant’s game! He would speak at once with Alicia! With impetuous haste, he threw off. his soiled gar- | h ments, performed the necessary abulutions, and donned the suit he ,called his best. But he never once looked in the mirror; for it was not his habit to indu in such contemplation. His thoughts ran upon his dainty, fresh-cheeked rival, who had dared talk of his ‘smelling of the stables,” and he won- dered if it were possible a maid could be pleased with such foppery. He clenched his hand; he could then and there have torn the exquisite to atoms. He strode to the head of the stairway. Sounds of music came up from the drawing-room, and presently the mingled voices of two, singing a duet. The notes rose and fell, and the feminine trills were lost in a clear, manly tone. Then a light laugh was heard; Alicia’s laugh! The draw tones of the Englishman, with his strongly-marke Southern accent, could be heard, too; and then the Jaugh was mutual, errick could bear no more. He dashed down the stairs at a breakneck pace; rushed to the front door, and out into the air. The night was clear, soft and balmy, and the,.moon, like a silver. boat rode the clear hyaline. As the young man hurled himself down the stone steps n the terrace, the tramp of a. horse pe Na aw and the baron, leap- ' his rein ing to the ground, fiu the groom, who hat one oe to watel fcr him. “* Who is this?” he called out, as he saw his young kinsman’s defined in the uncertain light, “ Herrick! is i you my boy? Have you but now + rt Rig ay thee, edt as he pone near eno i arm, and saw him turn aside with" atodt and felt that he was trembling with stro fos aeda te to) ! answered the young man to the ques- tion, after it had been twice repeated. “Pell me not that, boy!” crie 1 his kinsman; ‘and hide naught from me. Have you not seen my Seng hiats “ALF “No, Lhave not! She wants none of my sort,” was the sullen answer. : : ‘Some oue has chafed you, and sorely, too! Yet Alicia is not in fault; she knows not of your com- ing! Take my arm; we will go to find her,”’ No, I cannot!” returned the young man, draw ing ree arm, “T will not go in, I will away oc hither, I ray?’ * trios ruin eager d no_ shelter ita, ae is hide in their caves fled, and then go ockitooine capes aes Beast cried the baron, the sea; and the rocks! I can till I learn whither r to him!” s) weds: spe he has, he shall reap a heavy chastisement!"’ “No, no!” answered th ve see to release himself, _ “They had better not chafe you! Art you not m ove pigads Come, come; thie is dame’ nighngen, sta hei : “T cannot go in,” muttered Herrick, “to be meas. | ured with yon fop of an Englishman, and despised because I am not one of his sort.” - sei asl Who dares despise. thee ?” “He does, and his minion of a valet. I chanced but now to enter his room Ny sp Os while the cub was perfuming his master’s hair, and scenting his kerchief with rose-water; and he—your guest, baron ~railed at me as a boor to a servant; said I smelt of the stables; put a bottle to his nose, and then flung a piece of gold at me, as if I were one of the variets born to wait on such as he!” “Tush; ‘twas a blunder of his! He would neyer dare treat one of my kinsmen, or panics. ea is bees to our customs, Come in, and he 8 apologize.” ' : “Nay, it was matter of jest afterward between the fop and yourlady daughter. I heard them laugh- * ing.” am =" ees | 6 young man, endeavoring — be 7 Otiead LADY HELEN'S = eS “But not at you, ‘cousin! That is impossible, Alicia Maur could never be a guilty of a rudeness, wound me—seriously too! Soe Pe sia bos me,”’.., e drew the young man on to the stone steps. ‘Nay, I think eae lad wants none of my point a | while yon sweet-sme gallant—” “‘Art jealous? That is unworthy of a Maur. Sir | Victor Wilder is nothing to her; but she is bound to show him courtesy as my guest.”? * Then they wrong her by the talk in the village.” “Fie, cousin! Wouldst listen to boors and gossips, that aye speer into the ways of their betters? Come; I will teach you better!” They were in the house by this time, CHAPTER XVI. THE COUSIN’S WOOING. Tae light and elegance of the drawing-room—a refreshment to the baron after his long ride~acted an ae irritant to the wild, uncultivated youth at his side. Alicia and Sir Victor were still playing; but the music ceased on the instant; the girl ran to embrace her father, and gave her hand in cordial greeting to Herrick. He barely touched her fingers; then turn- ed away, witha sullen scowl on his brow, ° Baron Swinton took his ersonally introduced him to Sir Victor Wilder as is cousin, the heir of his name and the estate, and his favored friend. aries ord ne rc agate pl ene in acknowledg- ment; bu e faultlessly-atti entleman he so disdained came cain with the grace only ac- quired by familiarity with the best society, offered | his hand frankly, and expressed his pleasure. in making the acquaintance of a relation of their noble ost; one, too, of whose courage and. gallant: bear- ing he bee heard e much, Lads ee a abage read is. perfect good-breeding, an apparent. sin- cerity of his compliments, which Geortied Herrick of the power to repel his advances. He felt and succum to the spell; but in the depth of his heart 93 was conscious of a new fountain of jealous bit- ness, The young baronet added that he felt himself con- strained to offer an humble apology, for the stupid blunder he had been betra into, some. little time agone. .In the dim twilight, seeing a stranger enter his room in riding gear, he had absurdly mistaken him for one of the baron’s attendants, and had been Grit of the rudeness of madressing, bin as such, (7) You must make repara- Master Herrick Maur pardon him? He could not. pardon himself! H k was taken by surprise. The humility of erric the address, the self-reproach it implied, the appeal to his generous forgiveness, Gee somal} tag He was new to the ways of ety-bred people, and did not understand how so much self-abasement might yet consist with arrogance. : Then, too, it was plain Alicia had heard nothing of the occurrence, She came forward with questions and showed genuine rise. He had wronged Sir Victor, by seenaine he tod been made an onset of ridicule between the two. Herrick answered frankly that he was ite satis- fied, and that there was no cause of o: . His brow cleared, and he smiled -humo?! when the baron bade him lead in fs: r. «The evening passed very agreeably; and Herrick was fo ‘luctapsy. that the fluent conversation and ease of i leasure of the the ' é baron conversed almost exclusively with him on subjects they understood in common; but Alicia _ was inevitably engrossed by the seceninishest gal- lant who had‘so much power to arouse them all by: his piquant stories and sallies of wit. Even his aceful WwW manner, so offensive at times, added point , to his playful satire, or his graphic sketches. Lada, Bia, poe ie ihe ba harpischord With Ihe. fa) ey pla: sung in conce’ tor had a rich ew knowl of music. Herrick rela into his moody abstraction, pay- ing no heed to the discourse of his host. He watch- _ed the pair furtively. He had naught else to do; for he knew none of the parlor games then in fashion; ‘had no gift for music, and could not join in the con- versation. The consciousness of, his own. defigien- cies stung him. to the heart. He rose and paced ‘the , room unéasily, stopping now and then at, the win- , dows, to look out upon sently Margaret came in. She always mingled the visitors of her young foster- £0) Vie: ;@san equal wi | sister, and was entirely capable of joinin general conversation, though not accomplished in any special way. a iy he was introduced to the young stranger—Her-. rick—and essayed to draw him into discourse; .b found it impracticable. Alicia at le ' ceiv his discomposure, and. went to him, . ‘gentle wiles failed to restore him to good-humor, They stood by a window, which opened from the floor ag a narrow balcony. Without asking leave, pene drew aside the fastenings and threw it. wide “Come out here!” he,said, brusquely. « ‘‘ The air is insufferably close,” He drew Alicia out on the wm and closed. the frow head tot for’ was chill, and the girl, shivered “IT must goin,” she said, “ or a shawl.” eau ge aio “You not go in,” e insman.” “Let me put my, coat over you, if you preset a a | keep you here; Ihave had no ¢hance you. By: | Alicia laughéd as she declined the heavy coat he a“ ' Zz VOW. Come; you slander her by _such*a thought; and . kinsman by the hand and air cousin to sup- | reed to acknowledge to himself, though re- | gr generates contributed vastly to. , e. | cultivated voice, and a superior in the 1 ut, even. her.. aimed her impetuous — In a few minutes Margaret came and opened the window, giving Alicia a warm cloak, which she threw over her shoulders, “Now, cousin, I am at your service,” she said, tly, “Come down, then,” said the young man, and he: led her to the steps at the end of the balcony, de- scending to the te eC, She took his arm confidingly, and they walked on 4 till Bie conan te ie eas r & Sac ias. ere was a c sea' €: e drooping blossoms. The girl threw herself upon it. : “It is pleasant in the open. air,’ she remarked, ‘“‘with the smell of the flowers, and the moon so. eh ow ad gl stop a few minutes.” “Stay me as long as you can, Alicia,” return- ed Herrick, “ for I cannot go back,’ i “ Why not?” y ** T suffer too much,” > - 5 < “YT must speak as I feel! andIam miserable! I 1 Sam 2 bear it! Why was I brought here to meet m ny “You are unreasonable. He is my father’s visi- tor. He came unexpectedly; at least, my father had short notice of his coming.” | “Is this the first time?” “That he has been here? Yes; but papa has fhe Bigg entertained at his father’s, in Eng- | land, **Comes he not as a suitor?” ‘A suitor—for what?’ “You need not poe not to know what I mean. A suitor for your hand?” The girl burst out laughing. “What a strange notion! He has no such idea, I , assure youl”? ie ee I assure you he has; and he expects to win you as his bride!” exclaimed the young man, with a burst of jealous anger. | “Herrick! you are disceurteous! I will not hear: ~ such language!”’ replied the maiden, rising from her seat. R (* Feit not plaih enough? I have seen his eyes fol- low you with admiring looks; I have seen you hag ; upon his words, as if delighted. I tell you, he hes “come to woo you, Alicia: and I tell you, too, there is danger in him for you! A maiden’s love is soon \ won by such arts as he can practice!” . |. With grave displeasure, the girl turned to retrace her s to the house, H caught her arm, - “You shall not leave me, Alicia, chafed and tor- ‘tured asIam! Have you no pity?’ | see are rude and ill-mannered; nay, let me go , WB ben ten eye Sy ome her; ie F struge: _ ease ree, save t he sti clutched her dress: | “Oh, Alicia, drive me not to madness! I love you | —you know I love you!” . _ You are too wild and fierce, sir. Do not prevent. me from going! You have no right to speak to me in this manner!" ; | “Alicia, do you not remember a few nights since- _--at the castle—” “Yes, Herrick; and it is my recollection of the service you_rendered me that makes me bear with you now, . You saved my life, and 1am grateful! oh, so grateful! I was indeed in a terrible strait!” x father’s iodine foes was that you and I should be wed that night,” The girl gave a gasp of horror. “Yes, the priest was ready; but I would not have: itso; because, girl, I would not, take advantage of your ae a ra and fears; I would not take an unwilling @.” : “You acted nobly, Herrick. You have a noble. She put out her hand, and it was clasped passion- ately. . Ae you remember the promise you made, Ali- cia _ “The promise!” , , ‘Yes, the promise; you cannot have forgotten it,. You swore solemnly to fulfill it,” “ern The girl grew pi 6 as death, id “Every word is burned in upon her heart!” cried Herrick. “If I would come with you, you swore to ther man.” - “Nay, I made no promise to wed you nor an one,” faltered the if trying to, release her hands from his burning Bes - “But to wed none other without my leave! I shall. hold you to that. You are fast bound!” - “T do not expect to be married.” ‘Ts thereno man in the world you prefer to me?’ The maid could not prevaricate, y You are figs teeta Let us quit the sub- Rls Come into the gem wid t 4 “To see yon smooth, creamy-fac allant make love to you” Wéever |” * |'* * Blow son. J convince you that he has no such thought? at I have not?” | ‘Would you aceept him, Alicia?” : | “ Most certainly not. He is not the man whom 3 ' could ever love.” ; “Ox encourage him?” ‘ EE —— a
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- a “surely not that would be unmaidenly, unjust, oeraliclay [will be * Alicia, satisfied, if you will here and now declare that you will marry me.” ‘But I sh a “I will not be in haste; you shall have months, years of freedom. I will educate myself in the: arts that please you; I will cast off the savage and be- come, as courtly and refined as you wish; 1 will . transform my wild nature! , Alicia, give me _ your love in return for the love I lay at your feet!” Herrick, you ask what I cannot do. You are our kinsman, dear to my father and to me; you are as eh el > “Twill not wife ‘icia,” be your brother. You shall. be my “1 will be ’ pe ge no man’s wife whom I cannot love as a thae ta you have never seen’ one you love better anme? Your heart is untouched? I will win it by such pratlptanty such deep love as never yet was 4 hi rs ey og maiden fair! You cannot help loving 4 vé me time. ave na t this English top!" oT hee ors You are foolish, Herrick, to be jealous. of Sir Victor! Were there no other man in the world, I would not take him for a bridegroom,” You will swear that?” “There is-no need of swearing; he could never win favor from me. Yet I mustbe civil to him,as my father’s guest.” ‘t And when he Jays his title and fortune at‘ your pe you will tell him you are betrothed to'your cousin “ Not quite that; but indeed he has no such intent. Be reasonable, Herrick, and believe me.” “If you will not say that you are my betrothed, Alicia, I will watch by oung man; and if I see; in m the air of a favored suitor—the worse for him!” ‘, You then question my word?" ‘ No, I cling to it; your promise to be the wife of 20 other man.” “ Will you come to the house?” She was shivering, less from cold than fear of. the Tashness and impetuous passion of this wild kins- man, She leaned on his arm, and thus drew him to the steps, entering at the front door. CHAPTER XVI. Auicia was mistaken about the disposition of Sir Victor Wilder en a ispost m 0 Stig honor hs 5 She never love him, He wou fancy Kingman; the heir of the houses that was ally Then you 1 your ki y ey tee piety do him service as jootg iOffer was ly accepted; ver went to ' , hi > ters, Alicia rot own room to write his let alk her ‘3 company, ige thowgiste she wou confide to no rounded mouth built of solid ye ain weraee S from thirty to forty feet. i from the mouth to the bo dipped up; and bronze statues in the ni seen as one descended. : ercury. 7 and not even the to crumble them. * sai Alicia seated herself in a grove where the short, : shade, it the ancient bolt oz The rel Fup to though upon her hand, and gave were approaching, but she heard them ey gol through the prove: A manly = taped ance m the shelter of the wild vines that clus- f the winds, the branches, and swung at the bidding r) Suddenly the er started, and almost recoiled He had not to find the girl there. Re stood still a momen t, gazing » at her. _ Her book had fallen from her aes, 4 Cet mal ed so that her face was concealed. : t Reginal the young lover, recognized her at the first glance. — en LADY HELEN'S VOW. He had not intended to»seek her presence. A guest at Laird Ralston ; *s house, not many miles distant, he had walked over to be in the neig’ ood of Stone -Crag, not meaning to present himself as a visitor to the mn. Should the cprortantty oceur, he would have informed him of sad change of fortune. Alicia he thought of as a star that had beamed on his Bios now quenched forever in the gloom that had could not see her face, but the outline of her form showed dejection, She was sorrowing; could rung up, and as the young man turned once more, they were face to face. “Lord Cressy!” the girl exclaimed, calling him by the courtesy-title belonging to the eldest son of the Marquis of Estonbury—by which she had known ms A lovely -rose-oolor suffused her face, She came forward-and put out her hand. He took it and lifted it to his. lips. For his life he could not have avoided doing that; and she did not draw her hand away, though she blushed yet more deeply. an are glad to see me again, Alicia?’’ he asked; and a tenderness in his tone went to her heart. But she answered. lightly: ‘“‘ You know we are! Papa has missed you so! and you left us in such . She stonpeds for her eyes fell. on his mourning she remembered that she had heard’ he uitted. ba But you will go home with me? You were on your way. Papa will be so glad to welcome his com- panion in the ean “TI cannot go with you, Miss Maur. You must make my excuses to your father.” “Cannot go?) Why, have you not come peanoocly to make papa a visit? He told me-he had rd from you.” favorite, you era here, living with us. You “No, I heard nothing of it. Is that the vem cousin whose hands I once rescued you from, Aicia He was something of a boor.”’ “The same; and he is not greatly »” she replied, — “ After his father’s de re, he had no other ome and papa wishes him to live with “The changes in my life, Alicia, are greater than “Thave heard of your father’s death,” the ¢ said, loo grave as she saw the sudden gloom ov face of her companion. “That is not all. When I saw you last, Alicia— suffer me to call you so yet, till my is told—I Dod SYNE OORE; Nee dhave but de- The anguish that convulsed his features moved a et gh you see me rene to gh hoe ype «Ra maid and th I ref ter my departure, she sent the two ates cataseel idioma ttoet aan iennn exc ‘ was son of Chisholm and the maid—”’ “Impossible !"’ exclaimed Alicia. ‘Why should Lady Estonbury put from her her own child?” ss eads her husband was so anxious for & song he held over her mysterious threats, if the expected child were not a boy; that she was afraid of his revenge; and thoughtit better to de- ceive him. than to suffer the alternative he had threatened. She has declared in writing—under the seal of an oath—thatI am not her son, and that Helen is her own daughter!"’ An exclamation 0 escaped the ‘i 1, 8. at her first impulse was One of kindness. He had feared from “My friend Ralston,” he continued, “suggested that there was still room for. doubt of the truth of the story. Lady Estonbury has always shown a dislike of me, and a fondness for the girl which see:ned unaccountable. In her. disappointment .at the failure of her attempt to make a match between us, Frank thought she might have invented the tale to mortify and injure me. ‘So my solicitors “Tt must be so!” eagerly cried the maiden. directed immediate search to be Estonbury’s statements really oundation. The steward ¥ aid were carefully examined; also the doctor te) whom he remembered to have been a girl. been called in at the birth of the child, | her | t “tune and title that won me!"’ will be. tru testim was brought to light; till nd doubt re- mains of the truth of what has been toid me,” Alicia averted her face to wipe away tears that stole down her white cheeks, “You sulfer for me! you weep for 1!” cried im; ayer = mnis- ortune is not easily borne if your sympathy is mine! if you feel for me?’ ‘I do indeed!” said Alicia, with deep a *You deserved all the good that fortune have showered, upon you,”’,.. ~ ns I te I Mi not unworthy of om Save ing asc crushed. ave already taken ps resign the wealth and. state to which I, have no claim. I have a few friends to stand. by = and their is true and steadfast...Already, [hb the heir-at- law of the marquisate has gone to Estonbury Court; and if the proofs are complete of the imposture eral so long, I shall offer no, opposition to his claim,’ “Does my father know?” : “ He .does.not;,.nothing is known as yet, beyond the ppd I have mentioned.” “Tell -him, Reginald. , He..will, advise you. He will,act for you. , Come to him at once,” “ Alicia, I cannot appeal to,him!” _“ Why not?” **Because—he knew the hope I had cherished—the hope; dearer »than, -all..else—he would fear that I— cia, forgive me! .I meant.to have kept the'secret ofiny_ love, but I cannot hide it from you! I loved you—I love you still. It was the cherished dream of my. life to call you mine)! It is the darkest of all | the calamities that have overtaken me, that I must lose that hope; that I must resign you forever!” Alicia’s face was crimson now. She covered it with both hands before she murmured the next words: “ Reginald, I-knew you loved me!” ; He looked at her; »she lifted those frank, innocent eyes to his, and continued: “T knew it—by my own feelings,” hE The yo man caught both her hands in his, The tide of passion was too strong to be checked. “Your own, Alicia? You knew my love, and you rer me yours in return?’’ dash away the falling tears. ~ Why ancule I. deny it? Why should I stoop to et art? Yes—your is returned, and with my whole heart!” He ec her closely in his arms. In that me- ment all was forgotten except the rush of ecstasy that swept over him. ; He made her sit down and threw himself at her feet—holding her hand and kissing it again again. - Like a torrent long the eloquence of ardent passion overswept sorrow, reason and all else. ._ The girl listened, gusllinas even while her tears owed. , Suddenly the reaction came. : i uh low ane AOA BORNE Tien SucelomNed. ain up. “How dare J proffer love, and forget ou ate so far above me! What would the baron of on aca of such presumption in a penniless ou ? : ; He struck his forehead with his kand and groaned in bitterness of f ‘3 “Tt igs not your for- 4 t. “ Reginald!’’ coed the girl. “But you are lost to me, nevertheless. I cannot drag ou down to misery—my penury! What i | that I heseer he son of such parents—should have dared my eyes to you! to reveal the love it is a degradation to you to listen “Not so!” cried Alicia, rising, a noble spirit flash- ing in hereyes. “It is no degr tion to be beloved you, and to love you! My father will not think so!” ; “He would not--he could not—sanction Bestow his deuaiier on @ landless vagrant! . of menial birth!” suit! one “You are not answerable for birth or fertune!”” she replied. ‘“You have been bred a gentleman; you are same man as when my father welcomed and beved you. You shall be his guest again!” “He will spurn me when he knows— “Tf he should,”’ cried Alicia, ‘* J will be true to you in spite of fortune, in spits of all the world!” Again der: tuous lover folded the brave girl to his : “ I dared cherish this generous assurance! it T could, ook oEmard toa est fh : RP REE ou why may I no oes t pa Reg tie iy Sets ae oe E “T am no angel, but a lovi ward will win a name—and a res) ed one; no great wealth, perhaps—but at least an honored name.” “And when you claim me, Reginald, I will share pal kis you, and bear the want of fortune with con- D ’ Alas! she had forgotten entirely her pledge to Herrick Maur. At this moment the remembrance of that extorted promise flashed upon her; and pale as death, she re- coiled, and would have fallen but for her lover’s sup- porting arms, ‘“‘T have tasked your strength too far, dearest,” he said, tenderly. he drew her Hand from his clasp; but it was. to — woman; and [I icia. :
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a ~ not retract it!” “on, in case no more ‘ae fhe “shook her head’ but could not speak for some rainutes, | Reginald,” she resumed, at length, ‘‘ Ihave given you my whole heart, and death itself could not make me retract my word. But how is it with another sort’of promise—one made under different, circum- stances—peril to life—or something more terrible— woulda promisé; extorted from one at such a time, be always binding?” “Ido not quite understand, dearest. A promise— of your love—do you mean? “No, not that! I could not promise what was not my own to give!” he went on to harraté all that had occurred; her capture and forcible detention at the castle; her eousin’s interference and release of her; her terror, and the dread of suffering imprisonment or ede among the rough and savage ers of Kenneth; ber ‘su plication for aid, and her final yielding to Herrick’s condition—that she should swear to wed none without his acquiescence. Reginald heard her to the end. ““ And this man, you say, is now an inmate of your father’s house?” ‘"He is, and recognized as my father’s heir.’ ‘He must be worse than a savage! He must have theinstincts of a brute!” ae Hae a a right to exact the fulfillment of such a prom ““Not the least in the world! If he had manly feeling he would never have asked it.” “But it was glee save myself, and he has re- minded me of it—and will hold me bound.”’ “ Set yourself free at once! Tell him you repudiate such a pledge! Does hee t you to marry him?’’ “T told him I would not; [ could nut love him.”’ “* Yet he asserts a claim upon you?” , “Yes he insists ye the fulfillment of my promise; and, oh, Reginald, he isso fierce and violent, I dare ‘“This is weakness, dear Alicia. You must assert hea freedom. What a churl—to know you cannot ove him, yet so toimpose on your goodness? If I were in a position toask this dear hand of the baron, I would soon set Him right.” Al’eia’s eyes sparkled. ‘*] will make an appeal to him,” shesaid. “TI will convince him how hopeless is his suit. He has some- thing generous in his nature.” 9 Jaa if he eruatio uit. his absurd claim?” “Then I will tell him torted can be justly exacted. The lovers lingered yet awhile, and before they arted, Alicia received from Reginald the promise hat he would see her father that evening. “Tell him all,’ she implored. “I cannot bear to have secrets from him.” This was agreed. ae too, would conceal nothing. He placed a ric antique hy on the girl’s finger and begged her to wear it for his sake. “T dare not ask your troth-plight, my. beloved, till I am worthy of your father’s approval.” ‘‘T have given it,’’ she answered, ‘and shall never retract it nor fail you, Reginald.” CHAPTER XVIT. A ROUGH WOOER. HERRICK was absent that evening when Reginald to visit the Baron of Swinton. His whole story was laid before him in the library before ae in. Swinton entirely app am free, No pledge so ex- Lad: beaten | eal firm in’ vetlel whose judgment in such matters was celebrated. incli as to Ae cule he affecti different. € co union with one birth was unsui on, t now it was not consent to his daughter's and unknown; one, too, whose ambitious; his hicge e oung friend a cordial invitation to WA Py ted the vient? to stay until he’ could hear srom his lawyers in London. t nald could to sup and passthe evening. | nts Testing with: Alicia in the drawing-room in h ly as he commiserated his misfortunes, he was de- termined ndt to permit his only child tq_sacrifice ; ra moment of silence, the young man burst’ into mocking laughter. ‘Ye did not bargain for my company here, at this hour of tryst!” he said, bitterly. “I know well whom you are looking for!” “T came to meet "te baron in his heart hoped he would not. Deep- | ! nerself to é ae | take care of to London; she ' should see the world; she should have dist: ished suitors. cousin Herrick, when ety had polished his man- ners, and he had become a man of the world. He would not object to that. The barony ought to be continued in the family; he had no son, and Herrick | would represent his dignities. He would be satisfied to see his daughter the Baroness of Swinton. In the young Ts heart '* hope ‘told a flatterin tale;’’ and, confident of her lover's ability to triump. over evil fortune, she anticipated his early return. Her father loved her too much, she thought, to op- pose her in that on which her ha; piness depended, | and she resolved patiently to ‘‘ bide her time.” | Reginald was not so hopeful, for he saw the diffi- | culties awaiting him; but he could not despair, a the of that bright smile was in his In the aftérnoon of the next day Alicia was pre- for her walk, as usual. She had not asked aret to accompany her, but that young > oe — her home in the village, met her as she t the gate. Margaret linked her arm with Alicia’s and begged her not to walk toward the ravine or the Roman well. “That is just where I was going, lassie,” said the love-lorn maiden. ‘““You know why that spot is so dear tome.” She made a confidante of her foster-sister, disclos- ing to her all that had passed between herself and d, under an injunction of “But scarce an hour since,” said yiset met Master Herrick in the dell. He was in a rage of passion. Some led in the village had told him he saw = yesterday beside the well with a gentleman, and described his English dress. The lad saw him jg Si hand many times, and reported the same to Master Herrick.’ Alicia steod still, crimson with in ation. “And my cousin listened ‘to the r?’’ she ex- claimed, am: 4 ; “He did; he was wrought to fierce passion. He has gone to wait for you. Heset upon me when I met , railing atme for what he called my‘encour- agement of your folly; for he will have it that’ the favored t was Sir Victor Wilder.” father’s daughter,’’ cried the indignant girl, ‘if ldo not put an end, at once and wera ge ee ee Sie - ‘* Best let it pass, dear. e@ young man’s passion will abate.” “ And suffer him to hold me in a leash like a dog, to be obedient only to his bidding? No; I will not endure such unseemly behavior!” “ Stay, dear Alicia—" “Stay me not! What will the neighbors think? That I have a master! That he should dare question a village lad concerning my movements!”’ ‘“He may do you harm, if you encounter him while his é is seething!’ pleaded it. “y know how to manage him.” And Alicia broke from her friend’s hold. : “Let me go with you!” “No; I see him alone.. Do not be afraid, Mar- garet, and say nothing, In the dell, said you? I will go there ‘if ; “I will follow you, darling. He shall not see me; but I will guard you from his savage violence, if he iii alked iat & d Mi: t foll a , Ww! rap way, and Margaret follow- re enough to id her in sight. he shade of the tall forest trees fell sweet! 2. “Now lam not m over ourself, Master Herrick Maur,” answered Alicia, defiant) “Ye speak falsely!’ he cried, with the Scottish’ accent into which his speech glided under excite- ment, ‘‘ Ye would ha’ none o’ me here, but another; and it is me ye ha’ to reckon with!” “It is like the churl you are,” cried the angry girl, “to give me the lie; but I shall call you to account for worse insults.” She threw her shawl over a mossy bowlder, and took her seat with the air of a young queem about to _— judgement. errick came a few nearer. His face was aflame with passion, and his eyes glared savagely. The girl gave him no time to speak. “How dared you, sir, hold talk with a village boor ‘about me, and listen to his spying? Is it thus you hold the name of your kinswoman, and a maiden of ” nt how dared this fair kinswoman of mine, and suffer y advances, after the assurances given to me?”’ was the savageretort. | **{ will meet whom I be a “ . no i (i eu To Wore Oat sty father do I owe cnet sw Not to you, sir! It is nothing to you whom I choose to where!” oe seve cach eaepad the young man, in a voice choked by rage, and striding up to her, he clutched her arm. bi forget your bonds to me, mistress!" | a ee ee ee ee a SES Perbaps she might listen to the suit of her | LADY HELEN’S VOW. any romantic ideas of love. He would | that, She should ¢ A SES Sane - uM PEE. See" “T reject and cast them off, utterly!’’ cried Alicia, start to her feet, and fAinging off his grasp. **You have gone too far, sir! and never will be—never!”’ “You swore to me you would not wed another man! Yet you are toying and dallying with my ri- val when I am absent, and meeting him in secret!” Iam nothing. to you— “Listen to me,’ said the girl, with the dignity of authority, again seating herself, and wa her hand for him to step back. ‘The oath you extorted from me when I was in deadly il and scarce pe knew what I said, has no binding force, and I shall never acknowledge any; nor shall it be kept. And you know I would never wed you; so that you need not claim the right of an affianced husband to watch meand'stormat me. Lama free maiden and you have no right over me.”’ e) to feel that he had indeed gone too far. He struck his breast with his clenched hand. ee will not keep that solemn oath?” he ex- im a Fy dota = ont val gto sa it, fh = @ das- and crue e advantage of a poor gts desperate strait, No; that hy yd had no ‘orce; and I am not bound to keep it.”’ **You are pledged to marry another man, then?” muttered Herrick, his 7 leaming like coals of fire. ‘‘ Beware, madam, I will kill the Englishman, before he shall have you!” “Your insane fury has led you into’an error. It was not Sir Victor with whom I spoke here yester- da: tA A] : Te was!” rudely interrupted young Maur. “‘T have said it was not, and I shall not a trl my denial. You have no right to find fault with me in any case. Now, let me hear no more of this; and, moreover, I bid you cease your persecution of me, If you do not, I shall entreat my father to take me away from home.” ““To London, gw ll ‘Very likely. e has often promised that,” Alicia rose and moved to leave the dell. But the miserable victim of his own passion prevented her, “Stay, Alicia! hear me! but one word! I have of- fended you; but you see how wretchedI am. It is. because I love you so madly!” “ ekg ee “Cruel girl!” Can you no’ least on me?” She turned back, softened. me “T pardon you freely, Herrick. We may be friends, if you will but cease to persecute me.” ‘And it will be with us as before? You are mine?’” “No; Iam not, and never will be!’’ “At least, you are pl to favor no rival?” “T will not grant even that; I am free.” Herrick looked as if he would have broken out. into a tempest of execrations; but the girl’s ness. forced him to some measure of self-control. Yet he | strove to detain her by seizing her hand. A scarf fluttered a the trees ata little dis- tance. Alicia called ‘‘Margaret!” ‘and her friend. came hurriedly toward them. The two girls walked. quickly out of the dell, leaving Herrick to himself. CHAPTER XIX. THE AVERTED CRIME. It was late at night, and the household at Stone Crag had retired to rest. It was the custom in sum- mer to leave a side door unfastenéd for the con- venience of any inmate who might return to the house after the usual hour of going to bed. At the dead hour when all was at the stillest, a na manly figure approached this door, opened it an entered ving it wide open. He stood for an in- stant in hall, then ascended the stairs, and turn- ed into Herrick’s apartment. A light was burning in the outer room on one of the tables. By this the young man’s face could be seen; pale, distorted, altered almost beyond recog-. nition. He staggered in his walk; his eyes were bloodshot; his motions seemed not under the control. of his will. Now he stood still. gazing on vacanc with the set glare of a sleep-walker; now he arick atthe air with clenched hand ; now muttered repay to himself. cin et in the frantic passion _ je — had brought the young man to the verge: of madness. He had lost all hope of Alicia’s favor, Her resolute repudiation of the Begs ven him at the castle convinced him t e would allow him to retain no hold upon her whatever. ‘What then was he to do? ore her ye roa Paleo ay rival? ei * Bhe fling ance, due to him; but she: sagala never be the baronet’; bride! ; ° He strode to the eae 3 windows, and tore away the silken Da ease. é moon arisen, and poured a flood of silver light on the steep declivity” of broken granite outside, and the upper stones: covered with moss and luxuriant creepers. Far be- low lay the lawn sprinkled with shade trees and bor- dered by dark eve ens. Herrick gras his cumbrous carbine, which stood in the corner of the room. With the strength: of iron nerves he poised it by the barrel in his hand. One blow, and the reed is crushed,” he muttered ; and the gleam of his white teeth through the bushy dark beard gave him a ferocious expression, as of a tiger stealing from his lair to crush an enemy. Carrying the carbine, he passed out of the door,, and crossed the corridor. The door of Sir Victor’s phen on the oppo- ane be ae slightly ajar. Herrick pushed it open. and en ° The outer room was vacant, but the door beyond was open, leading into the sleepin chamber, To: this the half-crazed young man, intent on murder-- ous thoughts, advanced without an instant’s hesita-- tion. The moon's rays flooded the chamber, and showed’ Sir Victor lying on the bed in a profound slumber. His shapely form was well defined with no cover-~ ¢ ‘ \ te
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ing lf the sheet. His head rested on the pillows on which his tawny locks lay like clusters of gold thread. The white temples, the delicate features, were fully defined in the pel His breathing was soft and eg nd as an infant’s. ‘No thought of mercy had the assassin. He noted the fair and smooth cheek and brow, but with an in- ward execration. While he stood at some distance from the bed, the sleeper stirred restlessly, and flung an Wiswidl oaks muttering the words: ‘*’Pon my life, That name ran like lightning through the brain of Hse rate man, ent ie the carbine in .. stron hand 1 i 2 ing m Hie Es ecm and leveled it at the slumber gt Se ee ae ane) ne ee “T willnot kill He raised his Sir Victor awoke at once, and started up. nate as he was, he was brave enofigh; and * Who are you? What would you have?” Iam come to kill you!” answered the assailant, bas lifted the carbine. : rs eyes were upon the young man and did not quail for an instant. Aral % ‘ At . said the baronet, “you will tell me what Ihave done to provoke you to murder me? How have I wronged you?” ., You know well how!” Tassure you I do not know. I shall esteem it a der somé terrible mistake!” “* No mistake! betrothed brider™ you not stolen from me my réfesr’™ surely not! Is it your cousin to whomi you “You know it is, You have come between m ber sit and you shall die this night.” rte rl will thank me, Iam sure, for saving you in guilt of murdering an innocent man. So tena hohe a thought of interfering with your in- Fo ns, it is but a or two since I consulted with . er father, how to do you a service by procuring you Saretine Mts wilnny cr kao ence i “Did you Sopeaer at ote io eet Alicia secretly at the well in be ravine yesterday?” demand aaane young man H fereoth and dashing eye, | a. a aays out ot ty <r with the young lady in three 8a lie! shouted Herrick: “th _ passages atween Fou 1 yesterday ib the dell.” otis ere,” e baronet, firmiy, nis‘cisar, truthful ao stil fixed on those of 1s idable foe. t must have been the yo Eng aber hid ,who was here in the evening!” “phos es be?” demanded Herrick. Slee called him Reginald; I did not hear the said. oak Nay—I remember now: the Do ~e wna poten the son of Lord Estonbury.”’ e intruder, ¢ from the relaxing hand of ““ He here?’ he gasped. = Ae yd with the baron e , i sek & moment flash on Herrick’s mind. his f ou 99 hava he on east he cried. Sir Victor snatched e bed, and hast; him. As ‘the barongy 2° stri pete ney Ba from ‘falling, ‘he rrecolled, termed ridor, and into his own apa ot across the cor- he gar Ao — Sounded a loud voice at the a staff, and shouting for sino it violently with voice, : on in a stentorian mfusion through th sages. ‘The cries were redoub ; ee une fastty seiaiiitg elode 38a haleaeigee, shea light in his hand he saw a wild- headed, with a stick in his han os” in glaring eyes like one in a paroxysm of inganity € porter tried to close the door upon ‘the in- truder; but he pues past the lackey, and made for the stairway, e man threw himself in his wa now convinced that the intruder was either beside pees or intent on some mischief. He called loud- The baron raped es tied reste : peared elf, in his dress wh, a at the head of the stairs; and not far behind him pt Bd Victor, and his valet, newly roused from Swinton nity {he untimely visitor at a glance, e seer!” he exclaimed. “ t him Pass! Let him come hither! He is ‘in the vision!’ ° The others fell back. A degree of superstitious ‘ ' the rocks!” “and confusion, and hurried] ga veneration, in the minds of the common people, in- vested those gifted with the second -sight with super- human dignity. . Matlin passed up the stairs. His fixed, wide-open eyes took no note of any one, and they all pare way. e made straight for the apartment of Sir Victor Wilder, and the host followed him in, with the young baronet. ‘I saw him here!’’ moaned the seer, as he stopped by the bed so lately occupied. “I saw him with uplifted carbine. It was leveled at the sleeping age in yonder bed. Have I come too late to save He turned to the baron inan agony of apprehen- ion, “Of whom do you speak?” demanded the baron. “Oh, say, is it too late? Hath he done the deed? If he hath done it—I am accursed!’ And the seer struck his forehead thrice with his open palm. “ What is he talking of?” asked Swinton. The baronet answered: “He is a seer, you say? He must then have fore- seen, or known by some occult means, a scene that t= ew in this chamber, not many minutes ago.” “What peron of 8 for mercy’s sake?” “Tt was startled from sleep by a voice calling, ‘Awake!’ and I saw your kinsman, Master Herric. aed standing just there, with a carbine leveled at m oN A SS HE ‘Too P e seer, his hands wildly. i 4s: **No! all is well!’’ cried Sir Victor, shaking Matilin’s regen to arouse him from the trance. “It is not te) a ’ “ . ‘“‘Where is he? Where is the ae th boy?” ees tioned the seer, turning his gaze p roun him, and repeatedly clasping forehead with both hands. The baron, almost as confused, was eagerly questioning his guest. ‘Herrick in your chamber, with intent to kill you? You must have been dreaming!” “He came to murder me; he confessed it. His jealousy had wrought him to madness.” Rapidly he gave an account of what had hap- pene “Darkness! Darkness!” wailed Mat, in his an- = one bewilderment, ‘I see him not for the ness !’?’ ' The baron ordered the servants to retire. 4 ~ took Sir Victor’s arm to goin search of Her- As they crossed the corridor, the seer, who follow- ed them, uttered a low cry: “ Ha} the rocks! He lies bruised and bleeding on They had all now entered Herrick’s room. The lamp was xem burning; but the dressing-room and chamber were both empty. Matlin had rushed at once to the window. _ It was wide open, The moonlight, blending with the faint gleam of dawn—so early at that season— fell upon the broken rocks on which the casement looked, There was a natrow ‘strip of pathway, ae ee with shrubbery, above them just under the window. Below, a jumbled mass of bowlders, gray and moss-covered, made a rough and perilous de- scent of thirty feet. “How dreadful!” cried the English baronet, as they looked out, shudderingly. “Can he have Fee anton ees 3 peered th d e baron out, over the verge, an called out loudly: but there was no answer. ne The vision h assed from Matlin and he stood white and trembling. In another moment he had sunk upon the floor, overcome with weakness. “*Speak, Matlin!” cried Swinton, ‘‘ You said he hag ying, upon the rocks, Tell us where we may n ; But Matlin was insensible. Then the baron’s voice rung out, calling the ser- vants of his household. As they came he bade them take torches and make search instantly, His poms kinsman—he explained oie od to them— ad made a misstep, and fallen upon the bowlders below. If not killed by the fall; he may have crawl- ed away somewhere to obtain help. CHAPTER XX, A RASH DEED: Tur baron and Sir Victor were foremost, as the party descended to the search. cia had been awakened by the unwonted noise sing, came out to ask what was the matter. aret, by chance, had stayed all night; she, too, was. aroused and had ered the facts from the alarmed servants. The alarm, they said, had been given by Matlin the seer, comin “in the vision” to seek and save young Master Herrick, whom he had seen in deadly Peril of some sort. On Srey ‘ahappeare room, disa ; an hey found he had strange it was supposed he had somehow and fallen down the rocks beneath his bedroo dows. Alicia threw herself wee into M it’s arms, Tt was no accident,” she sobbed. es to kill himself, and 1 am the cause!” ‘Be self. Stay you gentlemen.’ “ No ere, ret; I will go with Poe n° iro Is went forth together. . the east, The party were s torch tied as yet discovered no one. The ocne man was not upon the beneath his window. short ce below. and to the . calm, dear friend,” said Margaret, soothingly, | “You have neon wherewith to reproach your hope. and I will go Out after the | LADY HELEN’S Vow. | res) } Tost his footing, m win- “He has leaped | : | “Tt is Mat’s dog!’ she exclaimed. ‘Then he has found him!” The girl whistled to the dog. He bounded a f6w steps toward them; but hearing the unfamiliar voice, went back. But his master now called; and with a joyous bark, he obeyed the summons. A cry from the gentlemen in search told that they were now on the trace, “Let us go to them!” said Alicia. eM i J rigs forward, and soon saw what had ned. Taaiiadl form Jay in the hollow between two ya bowlders; one arm bent under him, and per- f motionless. After précipitating himself from haleony into which the window opened, the oung man had evidently crawled some distance ei he swooned, As they lifted him up, Alicia grew pale, leaned heavily on her friend’s arm, and seemed about to faint. Margaret threw both arms around her, and drew her away toward the house. She saw it was no scene for either of them. “Let us go in,” she said, ‘‘and make ready the ehamber. ey will brin presently.” The baronet and Matlin raised Herrick. He was quite insensible; but after being carried a few paces, gave signs of life by faint ions. “Let him rest here,” said the baron. *‘ Take great care in a i ae Sve Bide here a bit; I will go on, and dispatch Donald for the surgeon.’ He walked rapidly toward the house. Matlin was chafing the young man’s forehead and hands, tears falling from his own eyes, Herrick opened his, and looked intelligently in his face. ‘‘Oh, my boy!”’ cried the seer, ing his hands a Poth his own, ‘‘ why hast thou committed this But the young man had swooned again. They lift- a a been ly pre morning- room; some called it “alicia’s boudoir, for it was sacred to feminine oceupation. Here stood spinet, her embroidet'y frame, and her writing-desk and drawing-table. Vases of Howers bloomed in the corners. e fresh, fragrant air of early morning came in at the open windows, like a epirit diffusing blessings brought from heaven. It was here Herrick was laid and beer cared for by the ladies; Margaret assuming the direction of matters. It was here the surgeon found him, already in the grasp of the fever consequent upon his late unnatural excitement, and the terrible shock to his m occasioned by his.fall. The medical man shook his head when he had ex- amined his patient. Then he whispered directions to ype whom his practiced eye at once singled out as the presiding genius of the invalid’s quarters. The other inmates of the room were red out. No one was to enter at all except Margaret and Mat- her as the course of the fever cont; removed to his own No; it was better he should remain where he was. There was risk in removal; for he had sustained in-. ternal] injuries, that caused inflammation. . The baron followed the su lon as the young man to be chamber? é lin. He would watch the abl night, and as nued. ° a on out. : ‘‘Will the poor laddie live?” he asked, apprehen- sively. : “T think he will; but it will be a tough tussle be- tween life and death. Only be sure to have him kept quiet. His brain is in a state: I do not like; his | nerves have had some shock previous to his fall. Do you know what drove him to this act?” “To what act?” “*Ts it possible, did this violence to himse ‘What do you mean?”’ “Nay; he has had sorrow, but not to make him a lunatic! He may have been w his Sod ‘“‘T tell you, no; he made that leap to end his life; for that ba ek por i “Why should he do that?” ‘Ay, Task you, why! Had aught befallen to drive him into lunacy?” * sat ‘Surely not.’ r “ Something hath chanced, then, more than you know of. I will’ come this evening. Let no one but the young woman I spoke with stay inthe room.” Le = Aickeo the baron turned back to lead aw , mG ' She was kneeling by the bed, her white brow pressed upon one of the sufferer’s hands that was on the silken eoverlet. ; I * M t stood over her, calm but “You must not be cast down, child.” he said, soothin Sf “The surgeon thinks he will live.” The si leaned her head on her father’s shoulder, and sobbed piteously, He gave her again and again the assurance that they had everything to I did not know you loved him, my sweet child!" | he murmured. “ Now that I know it, his life is pre- son’s.”’ io own “Oh, father!” wailed the maidén, “it was my e the first flush of morning spPeared fault! If he should die, it is I who am his mur- , derer!” | “ Alicia!” “Do not be an with me! dear aret was first to hear eho of a dog, a poeta i meant ndt fo be harsh, but I drove him to renzy |’ gle th he Lord pi Se fa do not know he © in sorrowful, . Shieete her entreaties that she would rise. No
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a ———— ore —— *T do not understand you, my daughter, ..s it not true that you love Herrick; that you were be- “ Oh, no hd “At least that you loved each other? Be calm, my child, and tell me all!’’ Alicia lifted up her head, Her pale cheeks were wet with tears; but her eyes, frank and truthful, did not quail. “My cousin loved me,” she said, ‘‘I told you, papa, how he saved me at the castle, that night, an forced me to swear I would wed no other promised him? ed th to break on his perceptions. “ Herrick was jealous of me; he, gave me no peace. And yesterday we aq ays ** A quarrel?’ H ‘* And you?” “Twas Very angry. I eyoxe cruelly to him. Ide- clared that I would never listen to his love, nor hold a bound by any promise! That drove bim m. » “But now, daughter, you repent of having been cruel to him?” ‘"Oh, father, kow could I foresee what has ha med? He must have thrown himself from the cony, in despair! If he should die—I shall die, too, of remorse!”’ “We will not talk of dying, my child, Herrick will live! He is. young, and. his youthful strength will triumph over the fever. And when we have him rel and strong again, you will make him happy, cia, “ What mean you, pepe vi “You know, now, that you love our kinsman. We will nurse him back to health, and then I will tell him my daughter returns his affection,” ‘Oh, no, no, no, father!’ ‘* What else am I to maceratands You said you ie.” I ‘said, father! Because I was “ . Oh, never! never!” e baron arose and paced the room, while Alicia wiped away the tears that would continue to flow. At last her father stopped, regarding her stead- “Let us settle this matter,” be said. “I have | oe it might come to.a match between the man should wear my name and title, child, ; my De please me well, girl, to see you Herrick’s ‘must not be allow ~ testimony cannot be, father! Never! Never!’’ “ Alicia, let me Oh FO, can never give you to man id, after what has happened. come hither, landless and pen- res for a maiden of honorable Pg nr he never tried to inanare me!” iT) ou courtly and poor Herrick has no chance be- side him. Bu te wih send our young cousin to the army, and he will become courtly and polished too. He is the better man of the twain; and that you will acknowledge.” “ Dear father—” “We will s no more of thisnow. Go to your room, my " Long after the girl went, her father mused on the ‘unpromising ee of affairs. Herrick's illness yo be long; and when recovered, he must join arm: , in which Sir Victor had promised him a eonimias on. It might bea year or more before he and Alicia meet; and meanwhile she Erg ARE SEES 80 his love on his last burried visit. , i ecided his daughter to ates: experiences to woo and vay brid the seer, devoi hi his ht- watches the de of his yo friend. t r three days it was necessary to find a to his brat tor a day. diers, under the authority of a constable, on the charge of being one of the outlaws and abettors of the smugglers onthe coast. The same party came to Saute another warrant for the arrest of Her- rick Maur. But the baron received them, and his was sufficient to satisfy the magistrates that Herrick had not been one of the rioters, Evi- dence was algo Fupaienee of Matlin’s innocence, and he was libera Herrick was at the crisis of his fever when his faithful friend came to renew his attentive nursing. stre of a rugged Youth and the strength of a constitution car- safely through. _ One morning he unclosed his eyes and looked with intelligence the fair, face of Margaret H burn bending over him. ‘ “Where am I?” he feebly asked. _ A soft hand was laid on the patient’s forehe an a soft voice bade him ask no questions, bu sleep. | Was not yo and Hand Woke or means to live in comfort before the | astounding news came to’ ed to him; I can see it all. He is @ | most. tient was able to list When the en, ie ned peacoat cont him of the ‘he had : | daughter, as soon as they were assured that his life , Was safe, set out for London-with the young | English baronet, leaving him to the care of the phy- ' sician and his faithful Matlin. CHAPTER XXI. THE UNWILLING BRIDE, Ir was a holiday in the little hamlet near Eston- Court. The joy-bells at intervals; the maidens were arraying themselves in their ry, and the.children, dressed in. white and carrying garlands of fresh flowers, were forming, in aret told ees dangers | upon | public. } Reginald had relinquished the honors he had won so nobly as soon as he was fully satisfied of the truth | of the statements of the woman he had believed to | by his solicitors and the high counsel'they had sum- parently trifling, and the evidence of one or two per- sons which supplied m no further questions could on the late 8s ofa Ruppasit yows heir, there was no need of further inquiry. made to follow the noble -pair—Lo tonbury—in their travels and longed sojourn on the ‘continent, subsequently the birth of Lady Estonbury’s child. The ma was not suffered to go before the courts. Reginald ealy wased to be sure had no claim to the title, to abandonit quietly. He himself wrote to the heir-at-law., While Reginald Pp himself for the study of the profession on which he to fora living, the new marquis traveled in state, surrounded by his dependents, to the splendid home he was to He asked to see the widowed marc and a them. own rights, and wo’ He epee cee A with He the lift him to the summit of Now he was ready “to take the and to enjoy it to the ut- rehensive of eadventof an eart: rosperity. east gods provide,” Some dowagers might have been a what should happen to themselves at pet ualnows t There were several points to be settled, in which the separate interests might om poe man in nese ole 5s I Ag to sure 0} 2 Estonbur; no fears whatever. Bhe Fas not een distiteed by th least suspicion that her favorite scheme—the marriage of her child with the heir—might be baffled. At the first glance she the character of the man with whom she had to deal.. The narrow and receding forehead, the full but not firm lips, the , and seldom met the looks fastened on the ressive features. |spea that often were fixed on the ground while The new lord was a want of erous thy, & so ard for selfish aiuiderediecd. tet ry as of pbetioaa? in the pursuit of che: parent, in spite of the veneering of polished manners. Helen was affected by the first sight of thisman. A shiver ran through her whole frame. She knew her mother’s purpose; she knew also her tion to captive bird to beat its wings against the iron bars of its cage, The hand she gave the a was like ice, and before him. He looked in bed eae Lad. : of the establishment, and treated the pene asa | the evident intention she had of bringing about the | 1 “a yi ‘LADY HELEN'S VOW. _. Also, that the baron and his - i } 341 remain looked, ‘The man heard his lord. bolt no that my um, iant beauty—bright black eyes—gait like a Juno—the hand of an empress—um—the majesty of a Cleopa- tra—the spirit of a Joan—_., Ah!’ And he smacked his lips—for he knew a realiza- tion of all this schedule of female charms—one, too, whom he ailed to make sensible of his own claims to homage or admiration. We will not dwell upon his new dreams, bright and olden as they were. Days passed, and he. took no rther steps toward perenne A mastership of his domain. mehow or other, her nave was still the controling power. But he meant to have a set- tlement shortly.. Finally, r conference with his steward and his valet, he resolved on spending a few weeks in London at, the season’s close, and visiting the Continent before.disturbing Lady Estonbury in her occupancy of the Court. He gave orders for the necessary packing, sum- moned his confidential man of business and placed him in charge, and graciously announced to the lady he honored as. his guest, tho’ she still treated him as hers, his intention to absent, gperhaps many months, and his wish that she would regard Estonbury Court as her own residence. as long as_ it should please her to do so, That evening the ady summoned the. marquis to an interview in her private parior, in. her suit of apartments, sacred to herself. The conference lasted several hours. When Lord Estonbury went to hisown chamber his valet noticed that he looked haggard and worn, as if tenyears had passed in one hour over his head, leaving the traces of hare and decay. His sallow complexion wore a ‘4 Bi er, his lips trembled; his eyes glanced furtively about him; his whole aspect was strangely different. from the assured, bold and easy manner that had marked his demeanor. . He A ewan the Siena ae a curt bupenenet or W: ‘or him; no business to e note how late his master chose to By nor how he dressing- thing before, as lock me out! H e dow- ob dag in anit hy toe y. : Estonbury had forbidden: her maid to come re herself, it could he | geen that she was unusually , and bore the traces of great agitation. But her proud spirit and iron will, as ever, triumphed over the least y to weakness. She went to the door of her daughter’s mowping- room, listened, and tried to turn the knob. It wou eld; the door was Not asound was to be heard within. The lady ; and if her n prayer it was nearest Spat fonme when she mentally invoked bless- ings on the head. of the only being she loved on earth or in heaven! "Yiu. blessings? Those of worldly rank, station and wealth. The state of a peeress; the wealth of a rincess. Did iness go with it? Nay—sha hought not of that. Could those gifts satisfy the loving heart of the girl? She troubled not herself to answer the question. The next mor the girl was sent for to attend her mother in her -room. Lady Estonbury was calm and reserved. e touched ‘s fore- head with her lips, and bade her be seated. “¢ Lord Kaper > ue pg rand after a pause, ** pro or yo evening.” The g 1 me te aa leolact: in the lady's face with ted eyes. wild, 2 5 | “Did you not hear me, child? The marquis wishes to make you his wife! Helen rose and stood before her mother. ‘Tt cannot be that he wishes it!’ she cried. ‘‘He ‘has shown me no attention; he does not care for “How can you judge of that? What does a girl know of a man’s heart? Re has proposed for you; it is the Raet Brood of his love." 4 “Love!” oed Helen, faintly, yet with a tone o meer * And if he were not romantic enough to fall in _— rg sight, has P: m of F, ee ought, or purpose, or dut, n how ulge his fancy? R peer must choose a wife who cangrace his station.” ; “J am not such a one!” murmured the Asa ‘“‘T have told you, Helen, what his lordship said; I shall expect you to be obedient to my will, and pre- pare to receive him as your affianced husband,” “Oh, Lad Estonbury—!" she began. The rowned, “Ts it thus you address me?” “Mamma, then! Spare.me, not force me to marry this man “Helen!” : , “He does not loveme! He does not wantto marry me! You have made him do this!" “Foolish em How could I compel the man to offer himself to you?” but you have power to do anything! i entreat you! io “‘T know not: Oh, mother! hs pe me free. “J am not ungrateful for all your kindness; but I cannot, oh, I cannot wed a man who is averse to me, and whom I—almost hate!" ‘“‘ Wretched child! you love that base-born eburl, - Reginald Chisholm!” :
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The pint sunk at her mother’s feet, hi her face in the folds of her dress, and struggling to repress her sobs. : “Do you dare confess it?” the lady cried. ‘‘That as or of mine should stoop to such degrada- Then Helen lifted -stai ; though she aid vse » 7 ms tear-stained face; i was yourself who taught me to love ald,” she said, i pernbling et, passionate ees You knew him . rae kid the is; yet you wished him be my— = “And he scornfully rejected youl He threw up title and fortune, rather ‘than wed you! You, who have the blood of the Estonburys in your veins— rane Peay Ont on you, girl! Have you no touch of The tl covered her face with both her hands. Ay, you. may well hide your face! To love a hice. who has spurned you! Will you grovel, still, at b feet? Show that you have the spirit of your race! ©come the Marchioness of Estonbury! Let him see you are not crushed by his contempt!” | there was no pride in the maiden’s nature to Answer such an. a . She loved, and loved hope- lessly. She would have laid down life for the ob- ect. of her loye; she had no spirit to rise in resent- , Ment against him for having despised her! The conference was prolonged more than an hour. Lady ae was accustomed to, rule,with ab- solute sway. Her will wag despotic; her daughter’s never before been prsared in opposition. The stronger nature came off victorious. . Helen left the drawing-room drooping like a Stricken lily, and subdued to full submission. | She begged permission to spend the day in her Own room. This was ted till evening. , After dinner the young lady appeared in the draw- ing-room to receive her accepted suitor. They could not be trusted alone; and the marchioness spent the evening in their company, and bade her anghter Play and sing. Before bedtime it was arranged that the marquis should take a short trip to London, Rl na the trousseau of his bride was preparing; re- irping at anearly day for the wedding. XX. E SOLEMN VOW. in her dressing-room before the . splendid room w. ed with the para- ernalia of wedding finery. e snowy silk, with ec wed, is 1a mpon a dive the - eC. and orange-flower wrea! athand. The table was covered with esse: and ali the various appendages o Helen would let no hairdresser; h her silken brown tresses. Only her own was permitted m, a8 usual; and she was ordered to ' every day. Not was added ‘to their glossy abundance. missed. maid had finished her duty, she was dis- The Behe x ounE mistress desired to be alone. frome then ange: Wil ht occasionally lea tym them. Then she op Hg ee wit & pa beer ee as if shutting in thoughts she could not Once Tun TH ine bride sat reveal, : x se glanced at her reflection ering ‘uigkly repressed She looked at Mrs.- Chisholm, the hioness—her favo" - | On special occasions “Bless my soul Lady H ie) , id bape elen!"’ she e ; whet dressed yet! Where is your oR mgm call ae aon! quite n lected her duty! Shall I “Ste and the other maids?” nN Ore cried the girl, authoritatively i rou let me dress é Inet I ress you? I have great sk my lady thinks; for ahe would have no hands Shout dress? Isee your hair is down Mays put on your itu eres but oan you would ! My lord is dressed ld e* and ? and in ished balfan hour since. She’ my lady was fin- aiipetly. © will be’ here for you “Did yoa not hear me, Chisholm? Leaye toom |” The woman stared, It was the first tj had ever spoken in that tone, in her h, time the girl I beg pardon,” she whimpered, with ac 80 low as to savor of irony, As she went out, she muttered: “The yo lady feels her rank!’ To 8 So to me, who was her mother so long)” , A few minutes later, and Lady Estonbury herself in her sweeping robes, dressed for the ceremony, Passed into the room where her daughter still sat; ea Sorbed in thought. She was vexed at the report of her and spoke severely. , , What is this? Not dressed? Alone, too? Where are your maids?” git is time pone ” the girl answered. There is no time fer dallying. The carriages ae ee guests are ready. Iwill call in the tire- “Stay a moment,” der touched the bell-cord. Sait Malas: 05: “tied .mn042ee i Eee 2 6 a. ee y LADY HELEN’S VOW. “Why? Have you anything to say? What is the ne Yad Tom mething. I have bee i mus some i ave been oniy a& obedient slave so far--” y you talk! Surely you are not to turn rebel now?”’ “No fear-of that. I have submitted to my fate. I will try to do =F duty. I will be a gentle and obedi- ent wife, even if I cannot love him. “An excellent resolution. You will be happy, too; I doubt it not.” “TI do not know—I do not care. But I want to tell you one thing, mother. I wasin the alcove of the room where you and Mrs. Chisholm were talking last evening.’ The lady started, and grew pale. “You were in the alcove?” she asked. “You hid yourself there to listen to our conversation?” “No, madam, I did not; it was an accident my be- ing there. When I heard you I was coming out; but oe uttered a name thatarrested my attention, and lingered. Yes, I confess it, I was determined to hear what you had to say, concerning him/” The lady closed her teeth and set her ps, repressing her emotion. “A singular curiosity,’ she said, with sarcastic emphasis, “ in a bride on the eve of marriage.” “Twas anxious to know,” contiriued the girl, “if = had fulfilled the stipulation you made. You ow what it was?’’ ‘ ‘*Oh, yes! to offer your young hero an annuity! It was respectfully tendered, according to the agree- ment between us.”’ * And accepted by him?’’ “You are a silly girl; jgnerant of the ways of men, toask = aquestion. Of course the young man de- i ‘““He declined it?” ‘Phere was no reason why he should receive the bounty of one to whom he has ever been a torment and ashame!” said the lady, bitterly. “‘ With his ideas of independence, he could have but one answer to such a proposition.” 4 ‘“‘ And he suffers all the evils of poverty?” “He found friends who set him up in the study of a profession. He will do well enough. Helen, you make me blush for you.. At sucha time as this, to occupy your mind with the concerns of another than your husband; one, too, who slighted and seorned you! Shame upon you!” a tb ee a mother; I have more to say. I discovered something from your conversation which Idid not tt.” “Indeed! And what, pray?” . “That you are still practicing some terrible wrong, r fraud, toward Reginald.” ; ‘Helen! How dare you?” ~ “T heard enough to convince me. There is some- what behind your confession that he was not your son, You have done something more to him.” __ “Wick what mean you?” With clenched hand the lady strode up to the dressing-table. Helen rose and faced her, defiance flashing in her eyes. ‘* He is not the son of the Chisholms, and there is some ou are hiding, of vital consequence oe nba? even Chisholm does not know.” The lady’s very lips were livid with passion or fear. They moved convulsively, but uttered no audible ‘sound. “T heard her plead with madam, to know ‘the secret.’ I herd her ro 4 ‘he was not her son; that the birth-mark was not on hisarm.’ The ‘birth- mark’ was her son's, as I understood.” Estonbury clutched the girl’s arm with a Lady & like iron. “You t!’’ she hissed in her ear. “ You un- natural viper! You would sting me to death!” **I would do you good. Not harm. I would e your conscience of a crime that will crush you, slay you, if you do not repent. I ure you, solemnly, mother, if you have rr ald, make restitution. If you do not, I swear that Twill!” The lady smote her forehead with her open palm. “Am I going mad?’ she exclaimed, ‘‘oris it my — hat has risen against me to drag me down “‘Mother! mother!’’ cried Helen. ‘ Listen to me! Whatever stands in the way of doing right, have courage to do it! I will stand by you!” And she flung her arms round the lady’s neck. But the lady tore her clasped hands apart and flung her off. “ Away, unnatural girl!” she cried. ‘ Base child that would destroy your mother! Perjured bi it your husband for the sake that would sin @ stranger!” Helen answered not; but her bosom’s heaving and her ee ere told of the excitement under which she labored. | a6 — deny—shameless girl! that you love the man ye’ **T do not deny it,” replied the sad bride. “ It was the first confession made to Lord Estonbury, when you forced me to receive him as my betrothed, I thought he would have left me, when I told him; but he said he would not me up.” You are not wo his love, ungrateful girl!” **T know it well. Iam not worthy the love of any man. Callhim hither, madam. Tell him I am res- olutely bent on one thing? to discover what is the eal . against d and to foil it! Yes— mother! J swear to doit! I will find it out yet! I warn you. now, that you may save yourself the loss | and shame hereafter; that you may save me the | ae of knowing that [havé brought exposure on | Lady Estonbury the room with lar steps, See ee ee semion: sane wineeener | to overmas her. At last she stopped directly in front of her daugh- ad ‘ter, glaring at her with wolfisk eyes, her face roll uA ed to the hue of marble. *“ Are you done?”’ she wied. “Yes. Ihave said now. Let me repeat it. [ edge myself—so help me Heaven—to discover and ring to 1 the wrong under which he—Reginald— suffers! to do him right, even if it costs my life; if it costs the ruin of all my house! This I have sworn, mother. Now, will Pd call my lord, and let him know my resolution?” ‘* There is no need!” “Ts he aware of the ‘ secret?’ ” “Whatever there is—or has been—is known to himyas much as to'me. What a fool I am, to let such an outbreak move me!” The lady wiped her damp forehead with her eost- reel apm ont handkerc’ - oe : Pde “Now, you are coming to your senses, ope Your melodrama is finished!” Helen looked in her face unblenching. ““Tcannot compass het’ secret,” she said, mourn- fully. “I cannot foil the conspiracy, till IT know more. But I willknowmore. Be sure of that.” There was atap at the door and a mingling of sweet and shrill voices came to the ear. “Is the bride ready?” ; Lady Estonbury flung the door open, and called the maids. They came hurriedly in. _ The bride — rigid and pale as a ghost, her eyes fixed on her mother. ¥ “Do your work, and do it quickly,” said her lady- ship, authoritatively. : It was meen | done. Helen made no resistance. She was arrayed in the bridal dress, and the bridal vail was fastened in her hair. The flowers were duly placed, and the bouquet was placed in her hand. She said not one word. Only once her imploring oe sought her mother’s, The mute appeal was un- erstood, and seornfully dismissed. : The clock had struck eléven some time since. The ere had formed; the bridal train was waiting. elen was led out by her mother from her chamber, and down the grand stairway. , The bridemai attendants and guests joined them in the hall, ey took their places in the car- riages, ‘ rea fronting the church, the wedding- the party alighted, and formed for entrance, while tue was hushed as the long-expected: train took a into the ivy-covered church. There, the received his bride at the altar. Lady Estonbury watched her anxiously till the ceremony was over. village girls strewed flowers in the wa the merry bells rung, and the hum of botiday’ rejoicing marquis _ ANEW By the window upper. * Stone vg , the invalid, Herrick Maur, vedio honk: ing out on the pi ue and inhaling breeze that ‘ept in, laden the fragrance of new-mown hay from the m ; His strength had very slowly. In many he was /wild ion he had been wont to indu! in, were sub- ed; he bore with exemplary backs of weakness and depression ra ret Heyburn, his intendent of the Dousshold, Dad at- tention, from time to time, ks out of the library, and had spent many evenings in re f y ing Once a He would read these missives again and again, as he lay on the couch; but never sent m or word in return; nor had he ever once alluded to Alicia. — He began to long, as he gained s for - dom to go out; to ride, or to walk. But uabenttied to the ph clan's orders, contenting himself with Matlin's visits for news of the outer world. The in- ternal injuries pe had received were for time was necessary to recover, or might hay te some fatal disorder of the ahead mae 1 the line bordering the copse a quarter of a Sie dikane the bell-cord, The man appeared at the door in a moment, ._ 1 see Matlin’s steed yonder,” his master said; ““but he hath some companion. By the sweep of pont garments, I trow, itis a woman. Call Margaret gts aret was clready near the door; and she came in as the man left the room. To her the in- valid repeated his question. ‘ “Do not excife yourself,” she said, soo _ taking his hand, and poune. that it trembled, a flush mountei to his pale forehead, ‘ Who could = it be that would come hither under Matlin’s guid- ance?”’ ‘““Nay—I dreamed not it was—my fair cousin!” the young man answered, “I am not so weak as ! $
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bs - aS Le ee "is ple ~ . Ba a a mn ee ad ‘ r world?” ; a eTF you think, Margaret.. The fever left me many weeks ““And your—your kinsfolk are in London,” added Margaret. Sig likely to stay there; at least not to re- t.-n_ hither, Erenons never—one, at least. Said you not the fair y was a worshiped belle in the not say so; but—” “But she must be; and no marvel; her beauty is rarer than a crown. You see, 1 canspeak of her calmly now, Margaret.”’ “* sv, and Iam glad, Master Herrick.”’ “T have more to say, anon; but now, girl, go and receive this stranger. Bring both hither .di- t left the room, and presently returned, wane i in the seer in lcmeeal cottish clansman’s dress, and a lady in traveling coat and a hat such as was worn in the lowlands, A vail of gray gauze fluttered from it, but was not thick enough to con- eal the features of the wearer. r ck started to his feet, exclaiming: ‘* Hilda!”’ The woman gave a short, gasping cry, sprung for- ward, flung reget about fie young man, c him to her breast, and then sunk on the floor at his feet. “Hilda! What news bring you? My father! Is he dead?” “The heavens forbid, Master Herrick!’’ cried the woman, rising as he drew her up, and taking the seat on the couch to which he waved her. ‘Sir Ken- neth fares well! He is anxious but for his son—of whose illness the seer wrote to him.” Matlin explained that he had given the father ray, Oh een as was necessary, without alarm- “She is not betrothed: have it.” ‘** She loves—then?”’ Again silence! ‘ | ‘Margaret, you are afraid of me. I was a fool once; but Iam so no longer. I was cured in heart | by the bruises that so sorely wounded my body. I am no whining, pining lover. Alicia is my cousin; she can never be more to me. I can bear to hear of | her. becoming the bride only that fop of a baronet. “He is your friend. Did he not bestir himself to obtain a commission for you?”’ “ Useless toa man crippled of his strength. And the leech says it may be a year more before I can hunt, or ride a day’s journey,’ wailed Herrick. ‘I shall carve out my own fortune, when I can wield a sword. Now, tell me, -girl, who is Alicia to a Ae ‘‘No man, The baron will never consent.” * But she loves some one. Ha!" as a sudden re- collection struck him, ‘* who was the stranger I saw with her the day before! played the fool, and sought the life of the baronet coxcomb, and was i iot enough to throw myself from the Hc hae te : ‘The stranger apt i Reginald Lord Cressy --at least he was called so, before it was made known that he was not the son of the noble Marquis of Estonbury,” answered Margaret, with hesita- on. f “Ha! the. youn estates as soon as “The same!” a y George! he is a noble fellow! Where is he now?” “T do not know. He went to studying law, I at from the laird’s people—the Laird of Ral- ston. man who gave up the title and e found he was not the heir?” I . Rand I came over to see to the household stuff, | and various matters to be sold, and the money con- veyed to Sir Kenneth,” added Hilda, My father is well?” “ Ay, and in excellent hey save for missing the face of his son. He hath but a lonely life.” “And Gregory?” ory, ae rest, joined a company on the jand.”’ / “Gregory in England?” sey, were on the coast of Wales a month since.” “To put their heads into the lion's mouth,” said ““Nay—they have quit the smuggling concern, were on a French trading vessel.” “ My father hath need of moneys, then?” “Not yet; but he wants his goods disposed of, as he cannot return hither,” . Herrick beckoned eR pe to him, and whis- to her. She nodded and left the room, pre- tly returning with a small ebony box, which she I in the invalid’s hands. ‘ “tT have a store of gold here,” said Herrick, ‘meaning to send it tomy father. Take it, Hilda, and give it into his hands.” She took the box, and the key, suspended ona ribbon, which she hung about her neck. “You must not part wi’ all you have,’’ put in Mat- lin. “Iha’e summat to send, too.” tag ; I, too, said Margaret, her brown eyes. fill- Let her take what I send,” replied Herrick. ‘‘I ‘salt tetas hore When T come? oe “ And will ye come, Master Herrick? Eh! but it be de T shall take wi’ me to dear Sir _ “Twill co BSE Pope hoe Sinond seein 4s “ at will bear the Ao ODOR y ded Matlin. ane enen clasped her hands with joy. Margaret e ve, Herrick Reain 4 whispered her; she rung the bell, _and gave an order to the attendant. “You have taken no dinner,” the invalid said, ad- ressing the seer. ‘‘Go. down and refresh your- es; drink my health in a stoup of wine, and then come hack to talk over w t we are to do,” At the invitation of rgaret, the two. visitors went to the Saine tat where an excellent lunch ryved. She rself did not stay, but returned a melee 3 as soon as she had ordered the horses to Aa for at the stables. found the convalescent pacing the room; but epee he saw her, he resumed his seat on the sofa, ding her ps the door, and, then sit beside him. e “You did not read me last letter that came 5g rg saay vt ae en rie ow ou wee ot to hear it.” 4 “ . ‘* Full of woman’s gossij ween. * Ay, and such is ever folly in men’s eyes.”’ “Fell me, is my fair cousin to. marry soon?” “To marry? No; not to my knowledge,” “But she is afflanced, I know!” “*T never said so.”’ “ She weds the dandy baronet, after all}’’ ‘Who said that of her?’ demanded the girl, “Ts it not true?” “Tt is false. She would be a maiden all her days ere she would look at Sir Victor Wilder as a busband.” “Indeed! But he loves her; and a woman learns to love & persevering suitor.” She never learn to love him!” “Then she must have conned the lesson with ‘ another. I know the heart of a wench.”’. ? 7 othe girl was troubled, Was the heart of the young man returning to its madness? She knew not what big: , between her anxiety to sa.v him, and her Ne Margaret was silent. = That's true, then? Alicia is a betrothed mai- to her young foster-sister. derrick repeated the question. | eyelids, m, *‘T would consent that my cousin should marry such a man,” ‘* Her father will never consent.” “Not if I entreat him?” i A no ” * And it is he whom Alicia loves?” aret bowed her head. She would have arisen, to leave the room; but Herrick stayed her. “T have summat to say, girl. You see Iam cured of my folly.” The girl lifted her eyes and met those of Herrick fastened on her face. She blushed and looked down again without answer. ‘Shall I prove it to you? Shall 1 show you. that Alicia is no longer loved by me? I love another, Margaret!” : Her face grew suddenly pale; but she moved not, nor looked up. J ‘““Wouldst know whom? Yourself, dear Marga- He took her hand; but she drew i away with a shiver. “ Nay—turn not from me, girl. You are worth a | dozen ep Abe: L f 3 ron ick, do not mock me!” the girl cried, witha c. _ Isive sob. “4 “Mock you Margaret? 1 am serious. I know our wort While sickness held me a prisoner, I ave been faithfully nursed and tended by one gen- tle, tender girl, to whom 1 have yielded my heart. LADY HELEN’S VOW. Her father would not of any worthy man, save | * Will he give his consent? I fear nof.” | “Tush, Iecare not! 1 shall not ask him! Think / ger the accident of birth, that made me heir to the tle aud land, which my father will never claim, put me in Hagen 3 to the baron or any of his race? While my father lives, I owe obedience only to him; and he will welcome the girl I love as his daughter.” ‘Yet he wished to marry you to Alicia.” ‘He has porter over such foolishness, as I have, Alicia is not for me. ea) fa is—and I swear by Saint Andrew I will have Margaret)” 2 again he clasped her in a fierce embrace. ‘Let me £0.) she pleaded, too jealous of her new a api dare indulge it. | of a March in | vate family hotel in rapes Ba ies | presen ot till you promise to be mine.” “Tf I may—without angering the noble baron—’ “Tush! you will anger me, talking thus!” “Or grieving my dear sister Alicta—” “Tell her all! She will not withstand me! She will be too glad to have me out of her way!’’ laugh- ed the happy lover. It was so arranged. Ma: t was to write to the baron’s daughter, and abide by-her counsel, Her love for young Reginald, dispossessed of all save his honor, was a pledge to Herrick that she would fa- vor his cause. And so it proved. A long and loving letter came from the fair girl; or rather two letters; for she wrote to both. She was rejoiced that Herrick had given his heart to one so worthy. Margaret’s good fortune delighted her. She would undertake to plead for them with her father, and his consent. The letter was ac- companied by a pretty bracelet, her gift to Mar- garet, sent by Frank Ralston. Meanwhile Hilda had accomplished her mission, and returned to her master’s place of refuge on the Continent, bearing the contributions of Matlin, Her- rick and Margaret. Matlin was to remain only til Herrick’s strength returned so far as to enable him to travel. The wedding was to take place before he dett Scotland, CHAPTER XXIV. THE MEETING AT THE OPERA, PARLIAMENT had commenced its session in London; though as yet some of the fashionables had not left their homes in the country to endure the discomforts e metropolis. ; however, of gayety in hig Alicia and her father had their lodgings at a pri- ost exclu- sively patronized by the nobility, i The girl had fairly entered society, having been : at court by a noble kinswoman, and chaperoned everywhere by Lady Northampton. é world of fashion had its charms for her; and many suitors were at her feet. The baron felt sure ' of effacing the cgi of Reginald, in the splendid rospects, that at her conseait would open before er, The uis and Marchioness of Estonbury, with the sina marchioness, were in their m vata town-house in Piccadilly. The dowager did not as . yet allow herself to be seen at balls.or routs; but Who shall gainsay me? I love you, lass, and I will | make you my wife, and mistress of all here when it comes to me,”’ “‘ Master Herrick!’’ the girl said, resolutely. now returning his gaze with earnest, anxious RY You iy not speak in this way!” “Tam but a dependent, My parents were servants of the baron, Iam not fit to be the wife of his kins- man,”’ “Who is to say so? I will fight any man who dares even think it! I will have none but you, girl; and the baro. Dipy ohana! A ae aebnidean ie > “The lords 0 nton have aye wedded ladies blood and birth.’’ oo “And ye Margaret, if I ever live to be Baron of Swinton. Come, come; there is but one thing can turn me from my purpose; and that is, to hear you say you love me not,’ ' ‘Nay, Master Herrick—”’ pe captured her hand again, and drew her to his and look. u. shall queen it with the best of them, | e. “Look at me, Margaret; in mine eyes—girl; so. | | Now, tell me if you do not love me!” The swiftly-varying color, the bashful droop of the e confession before the tongue could utter sound. ° * Answer me, Margaret.” Do How ey me too far, I pray you. I am but a r girl.’ Pend what am I but a dependent? But I will be more! So soon as I have my strength. I shall leave this place—I shall leave, this country. Must I go alone, Margaret?’ “But why do you go?” “Tt is my pleasure. I will not live in silken fetters, waiting for my fortune to come to me. I will carve out my own way: I will join the army; but the soft baronet shall buy no commission for me] Ha, Mar- garet, you are pale as death! Now do I know that I am _beloved!”’ He took her in his arms, and the girl did not re- sist his embrace. But she disengaged herself pres- ently. | we y chow not what to oF »? she answered, when he preeses the question. “T fear I have been a traitor the baron’s trust. He bade me stay and nurse ' and acting of the she accompanied her daughter in drives almost every day, and made one of the home circle in the ene } Soaithnalslly Winged he young e con the wife into gay so- ciety; and Helen passive PDebeod little ni seemed to enjoy scenes of the kind. She wore the honors her m won with more dignity than either her mother or her husband had anti- vy oe nbury had never loved her, and made no pre- tense of doing so. So long as she did not ‘mortif his pride, so long as she appeared at the head of his table and in public with grace and majesty sufficient to do him credit, he was content. He rarely went out with her. He was a | to her at all times; and that surely was as much as she could expect borat day manifestation of the affection he could not fee! F : Her submission to his slightest wish was the same atall times. Obedience she had promised; and she kept her vow erat So gentle and complying was she in everything that he felt the yoke an easy one, and in turn was ee to indulge her wishes whenever he learned them, This he did through the pe No occasion of difference had ever yet sen, The mother-in-law had her full swing in the exer- cise of power, and in social supremacy. Her Gavich- ter was subject to her; yet she kept the depths of her nature hidden even from maternal eyes. Georgiana, Lady Estonbury, could not fail to per- ceive that the young wife had a p se which, should circumstances J she would be powerless to eb : t rene it Into action, They were together at the opera. Two or three gentlemen friends had joined them in their box, and were assiduous in their court to the dowager. Helen was taciturn: and seldom encouraged the attentions of their fashionable acquaintances. She sat in front, her eyes fixed on the stage, absorbed in the singing great barytone, whose voice en- tranced the audience whenever it was heard. Helen was very fond of music, It was her solace in melancholy hours, her resource in solitude, Noth- ing could give half the pleasure she took at the opera; and their box was always occupied when great artists appeared, She did not notice the different visitors entering and departing, after brief conversations with her mother; till, at- some interval in the music, she heard the dowager sportively rallying one of the entlemen on his admiration for a new star in fash- Mepis doen indeed: bak. lovel “She does, ed, look lovely to-night! I heard of her beauty at the time she wal presdated’ She is all the raze in a certain set,”
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OI, , --m ordina) She should not be a helle,” was the rejoinder. Her nature is too fresh. The air of the drawing- room does not agree with her; she is most at home on her own Scottish hills.” , You are poetical, my lord,” said the lady, laugh- “With such a theme, who could wonder?” ex- claimed the gentleman. Look her now, receiving that bouquet from one of her worshipers,” said another, who had lifted & glass to his eye, elen noticed the direction in which he looked, pad rane cone, aes fora em Di She saw in . oppo a@ very beau oung girl, whose air, dress and whole demeanor ce so dif- ferent from the general run of young ladies she had seen that her attention was irresistibly attracted. Who is that lady?” she whispered, leaning back id speaking to a gentleman near her. In the box opposite? I have not the pleasure of knowing the lady; but I know her name, She is the daughter of Lord Swinton, a Scottish baron.” \ J have never met her!’ : Indeed! She has been out but a short time; yet she has created a marked sensation in society. I hear her toasted at the clubs.” “A protegee of Lady Northampton’s,’”’ remarked _ the dowager, “could not fail of creating @ sensa- “But this is owing to herself. She is so young, and unspoiled b: argo fe she has no wish for ad- miration, though it follows her the more, perhaps, for her indifference.” “Is she an heiress?” “'Phe barony is a poor one; ancient, but shorn of its former possessions. Her father has barely enough to maintain his standing, living at the ex- tent of his income.”’ “Then she has no fortune?’ ‘None but her wild grace and sweetness, flowers 80 unused to this soil, that they charm every one,” said the poetical lord who bad before s poker. =| “Ig she a guest of Lady Northampton?” asked the owager. “No; but she goes everywhere with her. She is with her father; and he has no house in town.” “How J should like to call upon her!’’ thought the eT ee 4, and en the star of the evening again appeared, an she was absorbed in the music. As they came, out, at the conclusion of the opera, their course was stopped by several acquaintances. Some’ ditgie dolar eed epee the ere yard uite unexpec sudde oung y Estonbury found herself close enough to the young girl she had observed in the box to have a good view of her face. She felt at once its ‘* wild-rose sweetness.”’ Alicia was surrounded by attendant gentlemen; but never did girl seem more unconscious of the ad- miration she excited. She was leaning on the arm of Victor Wilder, and on the other side of her a majestic-looking lady, a peeress well known a Oh highest circles, who was attended by Lord Wwinton, 2, . , For one instant the eyes of young Lady Estonbury met those of the fair girl, and each seemed to find in the other some attraction of the kind not expressed acquaintanceship. Alicia’s rosy lips arted in a half-smile and Helen bowedslightly, and elt the warm color rush to her face, Neither could imagine the influence one of the two was to exercise over the destinies of the other! : e dowager hurried her daughter forward, and the cry of “Lady Estonbury’s carriage” was pre- sently heard, As the ladies ascended. the stairs to their sleeeng apartments, the qo marchioness saw Mrs. Chis- holm coming out of hér mother’s dressing-room. The dame turned back into the room and remained there. Helen wondered what it could mean, Chis- holm was no longer one of the household, and not a frequent visitor. elen had not forgotten her resolution, nor the solemn vow she had taken on the eve of her mar- riage, though she never since, to her mother, men- tioned the name of Reginald. She resolved to lose no time in learning what news the harged maid had brought; for she was con- vinced her errand had something to do with him. She came into the dowager’s dressing-room the next ee and asked at onee the question she Lady Ustonbiry, thet hor interest ta ‘Reginald iry, that her interes i ted her to ask it, ‘ “You ought to be ashamed, Helen,” her mother - added, ‘‘to care for another man than your husband to whom your love belo ” * panama ey to S said bok ts marchion- ess, emphatically. are mistak ; mo Heninaid tee’ en in supposing “ne went by that name, and Helen had learned the “Indeed, I feared it,” said her mother, “You iene me by the assurance that you have forgot- : im.”’ “ Nor have I forgotten him, mamma. But I know that to love him ae I once did would be a sin; and I ave schooled my heart. If I were free at this mo- hin and you gave consent, I would not marry “Tam glad to hear you speak so, Helen,” “But oe still inbaeaten in his fortimes—in his future. I am pledged to watch over it asif he were my own brother.” That is but natural, child, since you were brought up together. You will be glad, then, to hear of his Success.” ;, Tell me of it, mamma.” ., Chisholm has been to see him.” te He fs in London, then?” “Yes, studying Jaw; he has a greet talent for the law, I understand.” LADY HELEN’S VOW. ** Well—go on!"? ter th hori “Mir Chisholm heard that he was aided by some Scottisn friends, and naturally he wished to share in his good org ne ; “By what right?” asked Helen, quickly. . Helen, you forget that the Chisholms are Re- ginald’s parents.” “7 know enough to convince me that they are not his parents,"’ was the prompt enswer. The dowager grew very pale and grasped her seughher's arm. * Helen, have ie ever communicated to Reginald your doubts on this subject?” “J, mother! I have never seen nor spoken to Reginald since we parted at the Court.” . “Nor written—nor sent message to him?” ‘* Neither,” ‘Beware how you do so, girl! But somehow, he has the same notion. When Chisholm claimed from him a sum of money for his and his wife’s suppor he was coldly refused. When his wife-my mai that was—went to him to crave help on the score of relationship, he disowned her! He refused to believe she was his mother.” “On what ground?” ; . “ His own feelings—his inward conviction.” h + von is right!" cried Lady Estonbury, clasping her ands. “Silly girl! you defend such unnatural conduct?” ‘You know why I do not. think he is their son. He had not the ‘strawberry birth-mark,’ you know.” ‘“‘ Helen!” cried her mother, white with rage, ‘if you ever dare allude to that again, you will offend me past forgiveness!”’ ‘*¥t was Chisholm I heard mention it as belonging to her boy.” “Silence! or I shall tell you no more.” ‘*T will be silent. So he disowned the Chisholms?” 5 Entirely ; they could only get one promise from * What was that?” “That they might take and enjoy whatever it might please Lord Estonbury to bestow on him.” : "Nay, mother, I know Reginald never so worded ee my Lady Incredulous, how do you know that?’ ‘Because Reginald promptly deelined your offer, and my lord’s, of an independence. He would not, after that, make any claim.” “Chisholm, the woman I mean, spoke of your hus- band’s willingness to assist him and he spurned it, as before.” ‘That is likely.” '.“ Then she as if he were rene they should re- ceive my lord’s bounty, as they needed it]’’ ‘* What said he?” ; “That he had no claim to anything, nor would he accept anything. If they received aid from my lord it must be independent of all claims on his part, and not founded on any supposed relationship to him.” ‘**He was right.’ The dowager flashed a glance of anger on her sepgiter: “ He sent Chisholm away, bidding her—the unnat- ural monster !—never come into his presence again. But she will ask my lord for the provision the mis- guided young man af Helen made no y “ Have you any objection to that?” “ T do not know—’’ she answered, mv ly. ‘* At least, if Chisholm obtains money from. Lord Estonbury, you will not oppose his liberality.” »~ “‘No—I will not; Ido not. care what he gives the man or his wife.” i “It was scandalous in Reginald to refuse them as- sistance. He isalready making money by his labors; and then he is known to be intimate with the rich merchant—the India man—” . ‘*Who?” asked the young lady. ‘His name is Wallrade, I understand, though I have never seen him. He is rich and does not bear a good character.”’ r ‘And Reginald is intimate with him?” “T have heard so, His money will cover a multi- tude of sins, in the eyes of a needy young man.” Helen had risen to leave the room, but turned back at this; her face aflame with anger. ; “Tf you mean, mother, that Reginald will be the friend of a bad man because he is rich,” she said, ‘vou say what is not the truth, It is not his nature. Nor would he have ‘cast off the Chisholms, had: he not been firmly convinced they had imposed on him alie and a fraud. You know, mother, as wellasI do, that he is not their son.” She left the room without another look at the dow- ager, who sunk into her chair, faint and trembling; her lips articulating the words: ‘Can she suspect? Impossible! She knows noth- el she did, would she drag ruin upon her own ead?’ CHAPTER XXV. A NEW FRIEND. : In the room next to that oceupied by Reginald at the Temple, a stra elderly bp a man hours of every day. It was a sort of office in whie he kept his ay OF and occasionally received a visit; sometimes, in weather, lodging there. Reginald had often met him on the stairs, and had several times rendered trifling services, such as supplying him with matches, inviting him to warm himself by his fire; lending him paper, pen and ink when he Preah tohave none; offering the morn- ing Zimes, etc. He saw thé traces of suffering in the shrunken and ‘slightly bent form, the deeply- lined features and low complexion; these were sufficient to interest him; for his compassion was readily drawn out by the evidence of sorrow or trouble of any kind. ‘ ; The stranger had once or twice seered on the verge of confidence; of communication beyond the | a PGE a te A ese ae cold: commonplaces of mere recngniions and the oung man was ready to make his uaintance, en he had res and unaccounta drawn back into silence. Reginald, who had been interested in his intelli- gent countenance and the manner, so eager and im- pace that it betrayed his foreign birth, thought his strange, but he made no effort to overcome the reserve. One day, seeing the man going down-stairs before him, he had pointed him out to his friend, Frank Ralston. On asubsequent visit young Ralston remarked, carelessly: ‘*T heard something that surprised me concerning your neighbor. The old man is very rich,” “Indeed?” “You would not think so from his plain dress, and his having a home here.” ’ ‘His attire, though not costly, is always neat,’’ returned Reginald. ‘And he has the air of aman burdened with cares. Your poor man is free from them, you know.” “He made bis fortune in India, I understand." “We is not an Englishman?” “No; a German by birth; a thrifty person, like many of bis nation.” eg tt is strange that he remains in London.” ‘* He may be looking for an heir to his money, heard something of that sort,” ** Looking for an heir?” “Or rather an heiress.” “Wanting to adopt a daughter, or to marry?" “Hardly the last, with such a face and figure. But. I heard nothing definite. You had best cultivate him,” added Frank, laughi ; hing. “Thank you; the iiafaces of heritage-hunting has | no attractions for me. beset data say, however, ex- plains the reasons of his deportment toward me.” “How so?” ‘““We have interchanged n when on the point of becoming has always drawn baek.”’ ‘Why? How account for that?’ “Tf he be rich, he naturally avoids the poor, w might become troublesome. shrinks from a peh- niless young man, situated as I am.” “The greater fool if he does! Your friendship my boy, would do honor to a prince,” ‘You have a priveely soul, Frank, to think so; but others will judge me according to my cireum- stances. To change the subject, I have an invitation for you... Here.” ey had entered the office, and Reginald took a dainty rose-colored card from a pile of papers. . “To Lady Brandon’s—for Thursday.” “*T owe this to you, old fellow!” cried Frank. “Her ladyship is one of the few whose kindness has followed me in spite of my fall,’ said Reginald, lg eae . ‘Tf Iwent into any society I would at- d her ball. Youshall bear my excuse.” “But you must eo." t Dh Reginald shook his head, with a grave smile. » “Let me tell. you where I saw her ladyship's car- riage on Saturday. At T—— Hotelin Berkeley square. You know who odges there?” F ‘‘T do not know,’ replied Regi “Baron Swinton and his daughter. I heard her berg to footman inquire for them.” A flush overswept the young law-student’s face. “T knew they were in London,” he said. “ They are lodging at that hotel; and Lady Bran- don visits them. They will be—at least the young lady will be—at her house on Thursday.” ‘The more reason I should not go. I have re- solved not to claim the acquaintance of—of—the baron till 1 am in a position to meet him—them—on a footing of equality.” y Pr . ental: power ‘of the: fgnest.kinde aeiatetegscty men’ power 0 e highest kind—noble ity of character, constitute no claim? That reminds me —here is a letter from my father; he has again placed a sum at his banker's to your credit.” Frank drew a paper from his et, and handed : to Reginald, who put it back, declining to receive it. “No, Frank; Ihave too long trespassed on your father’s oe oe My best, thanks for armed proof of his kindness; but lam earning money now; quite enough for all a expenses.”’ t “Reginald! you will not mortify my father and me by refus ing his help |” “Tf I needed it—I would not; but, you see, thanks to the Laird’s liberality, I.am not only independent, but have excellent prospects, Do not ask me to re- ceive aid when I can stand alone!”? Fou have been inflng Your heat by writing n our’! t' de aap OI reco my style in the-article?” as Reginakt , touching the Zimes on the table. ‘Well —it is only now and then, They don’t employ my pen regularly. : f As well not. Your health would not stand the strain, Promise me you will not do it again.” It was not for money. Idid not need that. But I wanted to air my opinions. Don’t be uneasy, Frank, When I need funds again I will apply you. = alittle more friendly talk the friends sepa- nT . ated, Not half an hour afterward, Reginald heard a ta at his door. He went and opened it. The shrivel elderly man who had been the subject of their con- versation stood there, : ‘‘ Have you a few moments’ leisure, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. Reaipala, peustoqualy: pada. Pay asked him we walkin. Hep a chair for wondering what had caused this first visit, ey ; The visitor took the seat, laid his hat on the table, and rubbed his hands, while looking at. the young awyer. “You are surprised to see me,” he remarked, hborly offices; but tier acquainted, he nald. | a 4 ig a4
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‘ * that of a c ‘ gee slowly; * but you will be more so when you now my errand.” y : Reginald looked up cape egg “T have eften thoug young tleman, that your acquaintance wouie’bs a wide). deirabi one for me, lonely as I am, and well able as you are to tend a charm to companionship and to give counsél Again the young man bowed. There was some- borat or fascination to him in the deference of this intelligent stranger, and he murmured an ac- ‘knowledgment of the pleasure i promised him, “T have heard your history lately,” the elderly man continued; ‘and is caging Ba your reverses has — interested me, Yours is no common charac- er. Any honorable man might feel proud of your acquaintance,” “You aré kind to say so,” replied the student, feel- ing embarr: though flattered. ~ “JT must now state my errand. I come, not to ask the honor of knowing you and ‘being numbered among your friends, but to warn you, on no account, to receive me as an acquaintance.” id looked his astonishment. “You have shown me kindness. Beware how you go on, ‘how you allow meto presumeuponit, Imay not always be able to resist the ardent desire I feel to seek your friendship.” “You speak in riddles, sir.”” “T will explain; that is my object in coming. You are young, generous, and ready of access. It would be easy for a man who knows the world, like my- ‘self, to entice you into an intimacy, which would be &@ solace and a delight to myself, e should almost inevitably glide into something like it, being near neighbors, if I did not caution you against it.’ “And why should you do so?” . “ Because—because—I am unworthy to be an asso- ciate or a friend of yours.”’ “T cannot believe that, Mr.—” ** WaHrade is my name.” “Mr. Wallrade, I have wished to know you for some time.” ' # You will wish it no longer, when you know what m.” ; “*T have heard of you; and have heard nothing to your disadvantage.’ ‘Few know any thing of my antecedents. I re- veal them to you for asaf Iam a man—who has been tried for theft—and convicted,” Reginald stared as if he th leoking elderly man had suddenly gone ; ‘Perhaps no more than one or two in Great Brit- ain know the fact. It is nevertheless true.” “You astonish me, Mr. Wallrade.” “Tf you have time, I will tell you something of emergency a triend who belon to my regiment—f eulisted asa winien to borrow a few — was absent... In haste and desperation ” But your note rementaly As I left it rh q ce) . As in the desk, I always t the man ; the for nefarious tters ht, was summoned for examination. 'd confession al; tried and had | to jealeusy all I ‘LADY HELEN’S VOW. __ bie | examined ft with much interest; ToF the features ly familiar to him. were im. “I see what you are thinking of; you are mistak- en, There was no love in the case. The lady—she was very young—almost a child—pitied me as the | t. angels pity the doomed; I worshi her as a pa- ton wale Years afterward I iene of her Had j ey to a noble lord; and I ventured to send from | India a rich shawl, manufactured for a princess—of | which I ed her acceptance, | “IT served my oko well; Iwas made a = | ner; i became rich. blight was unknown; I was _ esteemed among all who knew me. I formed the acquaintance of one aA who was an officer in the army; but com- pelled to leave it on account of failing health. I | nursed him through a severe illness; and he per- | Suaded me to accompany him to England, when he was ordered home.” ““Who was he?” “His name was Egbert Vane. We made the voy- age together; at least part of it; for the ship was | wrecked, and most of those on board perished.” | ‘How dreadful! You both esca ig “It was upon a hidden reef that we had been | driven. I was sweptinto the sea when the ship went to eeek but I managed to a few loose yt | and tied them together with some cordage I got from the wreck. I had just shoved the raft clear | from the reef, when @ drowning man was swept within reach of my hands; andT clutched him by the hair, I dragged him upon the raft; he was insensi- ble, but I brought him to with a few drops of bran- dy, and a little chafing. “Thén I bade him secure himself to the raft. Not till morning dawned, did I know whom I had saved, It was Egbert Vane.” ** Providential, indeed.” “T will attempt no description of our experience, driven by wind and wave far from the sight of men and without provisions, on a We looked only for death; but we were destined to live. On the fourth day a vessel picked us up, in a state of ex- wit enia previdential!”’ cxcigined ‘Hesiinl. @ rs n prov: > exc , deep- interested. “It was a German vessel, bound toa German og We were landed, but oo Egbert was too to travel far. I was again his nurse, and when he was well age we went into the mountains for the benefit of his health.” ‘“* Who would dare to call you heartless?” “We were like brothers; but my companion soon found one whom he could love with a deeper and —_ was very but of hum- rth. “When I saw that be yi was becoming attached to her, I remonstra with him, I showed him that he could not honorably court agirl in her sta- * How did she receive ime caution?’ : oe that ey abl discov: of ji ered what I and we had a ie reproached him, aud he did ob demi: that t a e C) meant never sours up the maiden. He attributed done, Thus we parted; parted “What did he do?” “I never learned. Inever cared to inquire. I went to another waa any, and thence came to ae gee since, I have revisited the place where we 5s t so many months, happy in each Pp; and where ‘that ill-starred love- other’s frie: affair course. I could not help inquiring ran its ” of after her. theft, “es ty friend, who had all along been confi- | ‘* What had become of her?” dent of truth of my statement, and suffered * Both she and were dead.. She had died from J ne ball go power <0} His constitution, undermined in India, and terribly proceedi step, was indefatigable in my behalf. He obtained a on for me.” ‘A sabeye a & poor compensation for the brand of “So I thought; and I resolved to leave the coun- try. Lcould not live in England with a sullied repu- tation; and my reckless impatience had deserved some punishment, My friend procured me a clerk- ship in a mercantile house and I went to India.” * And this was all!’ exclaimed Reginald. ‘You were not ity of crime. There is no reason why you should shun the association of honorable men, ‘on account of that early indiscretion.” He grasped Wallrade’s hand with 1 bpakie pres- sure. The old man gave him a grateful look, as he “T will finish my outline; and then you can judge, In the midst of my trouble, one lovely lady, who jearned my misfortune, took pity on me. It was “owing to her intercession that my friend was able’to procure the on; and her gentle influence raised up those who cared for me. She was a lady of rank; e bore an honored name; she was far above me; but I vowed a vow in my inmost heart, that for her sake I would devote myself to a life of useful labor,” “'Tt was a noble resolve,” ‘She gave me her miniature before IJeft England; see, I have it here, fastened to my watch.” ‘He drew out a small locket of fine wrought gold, eee on a slender gold chain. ‘t. opened with a . The face disclosed was utiful and very young girl, Reginald ave way gradually, was taken to the . spot whan he hed been aned.” * A sad termination to his romance! ,, Was he not brought to his friends in this country? “ Strange, it eer to me, that he was nob - They told me his brother had come over and wa ‘ with him at the last. It may have been his prefer ' ence to be buried near the pa he had so madly loved. Inever knew. I heard, after I came to Eng- , land, that both he and I—with all those in the ship on board of which we sailed from India—had. been | reported drowned. Three or four of the sailors | had escaped in the long-boat, and brought the , news.”” * “Thus you could begin life afresh,” **T could have changed my namé; but I did not. ' Very few remembered me rso many years. My fault was forgo’ . Ihad my ample fortune, safe in the bank that held the deposits of my mercantile house. Only one amusement I suffered to become a | pastime, and that has procured me the reprobation of the censorious. I have played now and then.” ‘** Played—at cards?” ‘““You are shocked? Well—I deserve blame. I used to play in Germatiy; and the excitement was a solace to me, I never risk large sums, however; and all I win is given to the poor.” “Ttisa erous ere ag ha young man; hardly with me. at can | Ido, without an object of interest in life?” oung Englishman of noble | ** Make one for yourself. You may find abundant material.” “ Too late! too late! Only one hope remains.”’ ** What is that?’’ **The beauteous Young lady who once gave me | hope when most in ee who gave me energy to commence a new life; ted to do something for her. She is dead. But she has left a child; a daugh- ter; lovely as herself, and as full, no doubt, of ten- der com on. Her father, T hear, has lost a .:) rt of the fortune his ancestors enjoyed; and what é has 1s strietly entailed on the male heir. He has oo son. His daughter, therefore, will be unprovided or.”’ “Ha! there is an object for your energies, for your gratitude.” 7 “Ts it so easy to goto this young and lovely crea- ture, lay my fortune at her feet, and have it ac- cepted? She would reject it with wonder that a stranger—who has no repute among men—should dare eH ach her. Her father has the pride*of high rank. He might reject my acquaintance.” “Shall I give you my advice? Shake off any hab- its that, as you say, may render scrupulous persons shy of you. Bein seeming what you are in nature; then seek the friendship of this noble, impoverished man of rank. He will not hesitate to wélecme you to his home and his heart.” “Think you so, young man? And you, are yon willing to be my fiend now that you know all?” “T accept your friendship with thanks. I shall proud of it.’ The German drew one hand across his eyes. Rognals had grasped the other in the warm im- pulse of his emotion. : “As Heaven blesses me with reason, I will take your counsel, young friend. You have saved me from myself. But are you sure you will be firm, when you hear me reproached as a man who has frequented gambling-houses; whose good character no one can vouch for?” ; “‘T have no fear. Evil rumor may follow “Altes even after you have won the right to a spotless name. But you will conquer at last.”’ ‘Will you help me?” we Wha: ver I can do, in that you may command “A thousand thanks! You give me hope again. May Heaven bless you for it!” a CHAPTER XXVI. Tw spite of baw utah ‘resobee, Mantis of his stern resolve, aceepted the on to Lady Brandon’s Bal pe He could not resist the temptation of erring, oncy more the object of his love, even though he must look upon her as a star moving ina sphere far above him. ince more to see her, and then he would be to his destiny. So he thought as he came in late, into the throng- ed dra rooms, sumptuous with the splendor Wandtot oF orem iaitte wleenne brilliant the hundred of wax- gleaming on gorgeous attire oad fair faces. ‘Tt was a ering had been used to the many familiar faces, scene, igh the young man tiie of soeiel ‘6, and saw heard many voices of old He was welcomed with frank cordiality by the hostess, and:soon found himself in the of Lord Estonbury, who insisted on to and young wif nothing ofyou. No friendw ad The dowager repeated the assurance with Youn Tad Eston’ merely bowed in silence, and held out hand. But she watched him with deep interest. It seemed to her that he had gro wh than ba . Re 3 ™ he said, with , our own fault, . a patronage air, not a litt pte “that we see Deis Be there eeleorh handsomer and more distinguished-looking a on park, - His name is Wallrade,” he continued, “ and I am Pa rospe Reginald felt resentment rise at’ this rebuke; but he made no reply, only with cold thanks for a repeated invitation, moving hastily ad tf elen pe after hint, “he was looking well this evening, in a silk of pale rose-color, With full over- skirt of delicate point lace, looped with white rose- buds. There were natural rose-buds in her hair and Is on her neck and arms. She was very pale, and her eyes had that dark depth they showed when | 8he was under the influence of emotion, | The dowager Lady Estonbury was attired in a r'ch purple corded silk with black laco flounces, bertha, and flowing sleeves. She wore jet and diamond or- naments, being in mourning. Both ladies were beset with introductions, and claimants for their attention. : | _ The young marchioness, eager to escape the watch- ful eyes of her mother, took advantage of the offer- ed escort of a Foune carl, and had a promenade through the room. € was anxious not to lose | | sight of inald. | He moved on, greeted by friends at every step, | and smiled on by the fair, Only a few middle-age mothers looked coldly on the young man whome¢h: had courted so naaiioualy scarcely a year Sate,
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His handsome face and grand manhers must not be- witch their daughters, re At one end of the last room stood a group that in- stantly attracted Reginald’s attention. Alicia Maur is central figure, and the object of general ad- ‘ation, She was dressed entirely in white, a filmy, cloud- like lace, that floated in ai uffs from the outline of her slender and graceful form. She wore no bracelets, nor any ornament save an old-fashioned pearl brooch containing her mother’s hair. Her own waving, light-brown locks, gleaming like gold in the light, fell from the restraining ribbon gather- ing them at the back of her head, to her neck, and Fs Siben in delicate rings around her temples. Her ise eyes sparkled, and a faint rose-flush was in her ie eeks. The homage paid her on every side was ev- ial gratifying to her pride. ° f veral gentlemen, peng these the young Duke th ontroy, whose devotion to the fair girl had been e talk of gossips for weeks past, werein lively duke eon with the belle of the evening. The uke held her bouquet, and waited to lead her to the dance, His eyes were fixed on her lovely face with an earnest admiration no one could mistake, for young love makes its first lang understood. cia, thus lightly toying with the scepter of Beauty’s empire over hearts, was unconscious that two persons were steadfastly regarding her with different feelings from the devoted gallants in her on circle, — 1 stood leaning against a pillar, pale as death, his‘eyes devouring her face. The intense craving of his soul was satisfied—he Saw her, in all her beauty, once again. But how? As far removed fyom him as if she were enshrined in some fair planet of the sky! She looked, in his eyes, like an angel just pte, 8 the earth for the Poise of an instant. And he might as well expect to capture the winged imhabitant of the empyrean, as to claim her attention. Yet he could not take his eyes from her face; though over his own crept an ae of deep anguish, darkening into rae ote élen, still leaning on the arm of Lord Clair, look- €d_ from nald’s face to the beaming one of flicia, and a conviction flashed upon her mind ther the two were known to each other, and 8 rn heré was the maiden who had won Reginald’s \ She felt irresistibly impelled to learn more. She re e way bY. slow and interrupted movements eee Beare , and when near enough, touched S arm with her fan, Will you do me a favor, nald?” Lady Estonbury!”? he exclaimed, starting ner- - Then bow courteously, and added: “ Pray “te d me, in any way I can serve you!” Gt a to introdueé me to yonder lady! I saw her atic © Opera; Iam anxious to make her acquaint- She ‘had close to Re Lord Clair’s arm, and was now impetuously : He hesitated, and she went on © youn, 1 in whi Montroy, yor gn hite, standing B oe Duke, ue take ing to so many. toher It is the only opnoronity Take me 4). YOu must excuse/me, Lad s i J y Estonbury,”’ replied tak sar drawing back as Helen was about to .+ou w her certainly,” cried she. “I have pny you looking at her, y will you not present “T knew the fo: swer: “ bre —formerly,”’ was the proud an- senting a friend to aoe toe take the liberty of pre- * Who is she?" ot Bove t ass Maur, the daughter of Lord Swinton, “It is unkind of you ’ najd! Iam so anxious snow her. IT am‘charm with her already!” regre I cannot ob your ladyship,” man, coldly. “It would pre- rsons here can have r Wilder. Shall I Mi tis no matter,” saw Mau replied Helen, as she musie had ne aie take the duke’s arm. The were taking th, iw or a dance, and the ers ‘ ginald, He i face; and before she could’ g rts tg pain had ting her request. She ao that ose a the dance was over; but, somehow, her ay non broidered lace, over rich folds of darePed with em- musie had a lulling effect, and of, lamas silk: «The Sity of playing a part in the socia = 5) shit it to be. Pshe gave herself up ta’thin rag presently lost the hearing of sounds within the The window was in a recess, and opened ona nar. row balcony leading to the splendid conservato now in the fj P. ervatorics, burst of spri ny Ms iran bloom that precedes the : e atmosphere was so ‘heated th the heey 8 marchioness felt. & grabetul relief when pret Bat Open one of the sides of the window dation - agar Shy had not noted the ces- promen Rings c, and the regular steps of the ‘€ Saw two figures glide slow ide, instantly started to hee feet, y Loe parte tent ge tey Were Alicia Maur and Reginald. The: look e caught on his face almost f rightened Helen. , we Ag f & seat om king, . LADY HELEN’S VOW. She toe the glass door open, passed out and follow CHAPTER XXXVI. LOVE’S OWN SWEET WAY. Tue two figures descended the marble steps at the end of the balcony. These led into a spacious court, refreshed by a fountain, with clear basin in which aquatic plants were growing, and set out with orange, lemon and ornamental trees, Helen saw the. flutter of a white dress at the fur- ther end, at the entrance of the long conservatory, and without giving herself time for thought, hasten- ed after the pair. The warm air of the hot-house, loaded with fra- grance, made her pant for breath; but she did not pense till she saw the persons she was pursuing, stop n a nook sheltered by an oriental tree with drooping beughs in fullleaf. Helen was concealed behind the tall vases that, held flowering shrizbs not yet in bloom. She did not once think of the strangeness of her chase, and of her listening to the conversation of those who thought themselves alone. Her. early training under the Chisholms’ care, had never taught her that such conduct was unbecoming a lady; and her ~— to know everything had its root in a good motive. ““Reginald!’’ she heard Alicia say, ‘‘ why have you brought me here in this hurried manner? We can speak together in the drawimg-rooms—”’ “T cannot speak to you there!” exclaimed the young man, in a tone that pear ee the bitter agony that he was suffering. ‘*Oh, Alicia! _Ishould not | dare to speak to you at all.” ‘But it would have grieved me if you had not, dear Reginald! I was so delighted to see you!”’ “T will ask only five minutes! It will do me good, Alicia, to hear from your lips, what I have read in your jooks to-night, that you have cast off all re- membrance of me!’’ “That I have cast off remembrance of you—Regi- nald! And it will do you good to know it!” ‘*It will crush presumptuous hope forever. I thought I could resign you calmly, but I know by what I have suffered to-night, that the task is one in | which you must aid me. Chide my Alicia! Tell me that the beggar who bis eyes to you, merits your scorn!” “ Reginald! did T not promise to be true to you?” | “That was before you could see how deep and hopeless is my fall! Before you knew your own power! What have Iseen? You enjoy the homage that waits om every step of yours! You receive ee of love from a suitor’s eyes, and do not repel them !”’ ‘You are unjust tome! Indeed you are! Ihave received no love messages!’ “Ha! is not the young Duke of Montroy your slave? Alicia, Ihave given you up, but I cannot tear your image from its throne in my heart, till you bid me doit! Do not deceive me! It is cruel to the con- demned man to allow him to hope!” ‘*It-is you who are cruel tome! Why do you look at me, as if I were about to stab you to the heart?” ‘*If you did that, it would be a merciful blow.” ‘“* Reginald, I have not deserved this! I have done nothing to justify you in saying that I am false to my vows.” : : ** Are you not, in heart and wis?” ‘ “No, indeed! If you would give me opportunity, I would convince you beyond a doubt. But you never came near us. You knew I was in London; why have you keptaloof?” “A welcome visitor I should have been!”’ » Always welcome; always, to me, Reginald!” * Pardon me, Alicia; I have no right to reproach you. Iam worse than presumptuous to expect kind, remembrance from you!"’ ” * Reginald, you ve rights over me which no | other man has, or could ever gain.” He put out his hand in deprecation. “Do not, do not madden me by hope. Rather crush out love—as you must despise it!”’ * Reginald, have you not cast me off? Areyou not false to the troth you plighted?” J “ Alicia!” , | ‘‘ J have thought so at times. I have been sorely | tried, in believing that you had ceased to love me > . ** You could believe it?” F . ‘* How could I help it? when you never came near | at when you seemed not to care if I lived or not?” ‘Was it for me to aspire to your favor, when the | highest nobles in the land 'were at your feet?” “Tf they were—what were they to me in compar- ison with you?” : , ‘Have a care, Alicia! I could not bear again to fall from such a pinnacle of bliss as you would raise me to, by the assurance of your love.” 3 The girl arose. from her ‘seat, and with a simple action of exquisite grace, placed her hand in his. “ Reginald, never again doubt that I love you! and Tileciasped oii ta ec er in bis arms. © They understood each other at last. Then Alicig | told him how deeply she had been wounded by his | seeming neglect, and had attributed it to the de- crease of affection. The pride he had stung had | been soothed by the homage of others. She dis- | claimed, passionately, having ever wandered, even | = thoug’ a fomeas ata from her. heart’s al- egiance to her chosen lord. . ‘ Hear me now, Reginald!”’ she copeladed, “For | & time I must be guided by m ther’s wishes. But he shall never compel me to break my faith pledged once, and pt ie forever, to you, I ean love no other; I will wed no other, Go on, in your upward path, my own beloved! Trust’ my inviolate | resumption, ares yet lift | his 24 truth, and be patient, even if we wait years for our’ happiness!” e young man was kneeling beside her, his arms. clasped round her waist, as he poured out the over- flowing joy that had taken the place of despair. Helen, embarrassed and afraid, was thinking how she could escape to the drawing-rooms, , Suddenly Alicia lifted her head from her lover's shoulder. : “We must part now, my beloved. But you shall come and visit me, will you not?” ‘Will your father—”’ : “Twill answer for him. He will not condemn his child to misery. If he should be unkind, we will meet elsewhere, my Reginald.” : Another herself quickly. : ‘Leave me now. They will send to look for me. For my sake—go! Ihear footsteps!’’ Reginald was gone. The footsteps passed on, The girl sunk back, over- come with the agitation she had undergone. Helen Scie she had fainted, and sprung to her assistance, er head lay back on the settee; her eyes were closed, and she was pale as marble, e young marchioness drew her close to herself, supported her in her arms, and placed her head on her own shoulder, chafing one of her cold hands be- tween her own. Presently Alicia revived, and regained full con- sciousness. She started at perceiving who held her so tenderly. She drew herself up, with a murmured apology for causing so much trouble, “Say nothing,’ replied Helen, ‘ Are you quite restored? or shall I get you a eup of water, from that | fountain?” ‘ ion you; Iam better. How—came you ere?’ ’ “T have been close to you for some time. I was behind those vases.” The girl started, and’ the crimson rushed to her ace. “Yes. Iheard you and Reginald. I know that you love each other; and I know that he deserves you. “You know him!” cried Alicia, starting up. “T am his—sister.”” ; “ His sister? 1never heard that he had a, sister."”> ‘Not. his sister in blood; but — but — we were brought up together. Thaye Joved him as a-brother from chillbood; and—I love you—because you are Alicia drooped her head, She could not quite un- derstand what she heard, : ‘Will you, not be my friend?’ asked Helen, softly. “ At least for his sake?” “T thank you, lady,” answered the girl, with a grateful look, **May Teall youfriend? Will you let me kiss you?” With a sudden impulse Alicia flung her arms round Helen’s neck, and burst into a passion of sobbing “the marchi oothed her with loving tendet ioness § er 0 der- ness. She told her how she had been a He ted ‘10 her at the opera, and-how she had asked Reginald to ae her, x the ok ag or ‘ “iio ies “But be was. gloomy an ; " she added. ‘You kes Saki hin bappy now; and I love you for it.” ; iby - ! mew eae was the smile Alicia cast on the kind ranger. ‘ ow where you live!” Helen went on, “I will come to see you. Ihave so much to say, sc a nald has enemies; and they are wronging him; but you and I together will foil them.” ~~ There were h ing footsteps, and this time com- vor ing rapidly toward thei, + at eae “he young Earl of Claircame upon the pair, s etary? I have been loo every~ where for you! Your mother is anxious, and sent me to find you!” ; Both the ladies rose, Alicia with extreme surprise in her face, and drawing back from Helen a pace or two... ; “Ts this Lady Estonbury?” she exclaimed. ‘“A singular question!” replied the young man, - laughing, ‘when I find you arm-in-arm, sitting li a pair of turtle-doves! Lady Estonbury, will” She honorme?”. oa He offered his arm. Helen replied: MN VE a: “Tf Miss Maur will accept our escort back! Sdme of her friends will have missed her.” Singh With thanks Alicia took the arm of the yo marchioness, and the three passed out, ee: oe 1g CHAPTER XXVIII. jet indi ANOTHER DISCOVERY, suid Ar three inthe afternoon of the succee day, young Lady Estonbury was alone in the: lib ay She was occupied in sig fe over the leaves of an illustrated folio upon the lo thoughts, were elsewhere. The scene she had wit- nessed the evening before was) vivid before her. ‘fhe fair young girl in her cloud-like white | her glowing face like the face of an angel; the young lover, with the change from despair to rapture m. his countenance! She felt an ent wish to make those two happy. - No feeli 3 jeal her desire remove the of which in rich masses on t J Ss} folday ugh ey ked out. 396, 9 4 tints was. i . \ 4 fond embrace, and Alicia disengaged ng table; but her — treés — — —%
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22 oliage and brushed the twigs sppinet the windows; but the spacious room, warmed by a large sea-coal fire, was of a soft, luxurious temperature. The marchioness wheeled a large cushioned leathern chair to the fire, and went in , get a book. i ’ The volumes were richly bound in an old-fashioned style, and were rather large for handling by the deli- cate ae ofalady. They were so tightly set to- ‘gether that Helen found difficulty in moving them. But the title in letters of gold on the back inspired a |. “Yes; one of the alcoves to | curiosity to examine their contents. After several | efforts she loosened one volume, and took it out. hen she went to replace it, she was obliged to move the next volume. As she pulled it forward, someth: fell behind it, and resisted attempts to ' Helen, I wish you woul bi the book. She drew it out to see what | . the obstacle was. os ial discolored ny age and covered with dust. Helen wiped away the dus the window to examine more care ' of a beautiful young woman. The hair and the dress ' had a foreign and antiquated look; but the features were mgge | defined, and the complexion fresh as the hue of life. ‘ Helen atit. in profound astonishment; for Lesy | the features were f. arto her. But for the dif- ference in sex, she would have been certain it was bs gece of Reginald Holmes! ) and noble outline,. the broad, placid foreh the rounded chin, were the very same. The eyes—those wonderful ey k gray, with el their penetrative power, were so like his own, that | hers involuntarily. eon Jt was Reginald’s yal face; and beyond a doubt, painted for some relative of his. Who could it be? ; In the left hand corner was faintly traced a name. a Helen could not make out that of the painter; but “Dusseldorf” was perfectly plain. On the back of nS the picture, which was in a light frame of polished foies wood, was an inscription in writing—very old-fashion- ed writing: “ Almeria to Egbert,” with the date— 18— ; enough! The portrait had evidently been coanee aeeeane pd twenty-four years ago! om could it represent? It had lain m: years forgotten, where the young lady had found it. It looked like none of the an- cestral portraits in the stately gallery of the town mansion, or in the picture-room at Estonbury Court. It resembled only one person Helen had ever seen; andit was solike him as to preclude the idea of a mere ice resemblance. Her first impulse was to show it to her mother her, she resolved to conceal her discovery. _ She hid j the’ icture in the folds of her dress as she heard Giese wisbol without, and the voices of servants a token that the dowager marchioness had returned 38 from 2. “ats we ladyship complained of the cold as she came hs Helen heard her ask for herself, and heard the an- ‘ swer given that she was in the library. ey, , door was thrown open. and her mother entered: ' “Bless me, Helen, what are e? doing here? Por- ing Ad thege books, as usual! It is very cold; give me PS And she sunk into the luxurious cushions, and held out her hands to feel the warmth of the glowing After ten minutes or so of desul conversation ae Helen felt the desire to learn something that might throw light on her discovery, too strong to be re- ange “Mamma,” she said, after a fit of musing, “‘is ta ther en Egbert’ in our family £ pe Nee t do you mean, child?” cried her ladyship, any one of the name of Egbert? or was . it one of papa’s names?” ees “What a strange quéstion! Ofcourse not. Why ' . do you ask?” " “T—T—have seen the name.” ; ona “Where?” demanded the lady, rising out of her ay chair, and confronting her daughter, who hesitated Pie ha at: ‘HERE have you seen that name?” she repeat- “T cannot tell, exactly, where; but I think I have a S hebeineettid aed 5 ee ui ce to answer, her excitement, inspir- ed her mother with cion, She fixed her eyes eo as on her face, and laid her hand on her arm. where you saw that name, or who has of him to you?”’ See ate lake dosereteiel wr nition aiehing @ yo etermin confess n i She felt. that a clow was in her hands. yeh eee, Taserly aad i Paha had or saw the ni ¢ pa | it, asI a nal he had pi rsa hn Ba the one you called him by every day?” : “Tt never was his—such a name.” “Did it belong to any of his relatives?” eT pat e dowager glanced around the room. Her eyes tell on @ quaintly-carved oaken cabinet, clam iron at the corners, and black with stood in the further corner of the library. , “Tg ae : “You have been poring over old papers, I su pose" ahe said. “I wonder if that cabinet is lock- ed?” Goi elen. . ave you been searching in this?” she asked. _ The young lady lauched a forced laugh. > y j it, she started in surprise; et took it to | nia It disclosed a fine painting; a miniature; the face | and ask information; but as a new idea occurred to | you are prevaricating! Tell meat once. been talking to it, she found that the door of the cabinet . She turned to Hi : ! ¢ time, t | pean. | stroyed, if they are not im teasing to an artistic eye. The wind stirred the! “No, indeed, madam. Iam not so fond of: rum- maging among dusty, moldering papers. I do not even know what is there! I believe it belonged to— father; did it not?” and it should have been cleared out long since. But something must have put that name in your head!” “Itis of no oy aie cmeiemat since it did not belong to any of the family! only wanted to know if there was such a person, and—whom he married—if he | had a wife.” The dowager grew very pale as she looked scruti- nizingly at her daughter. At length she said: “You seem always mi to grub up something, turn your attention to matters of practical life. Have you answered those invitations to dinner at Lady Roscoe’s?”’ * No, mamma.”’’ ‘They must be written before dark. Come with t It was a case about six inches square of morocco, me and write them in my dressing-room.” Helen mechanically followed her mother up the t, and looked for the fastening. | grand staircase. Excusing herse’f for a moment, she hurried on to her own chambe and consigned the picture she had found to her private ebony desk. For greater secur- ity, she put it between the false bottom of the es- critoir and the woodwork. Then she locked the desk, and tying the key to a ribbon, put it in her bo- Te) m. “There is something behind all this,” she murmur- ed to herself, ng her mother’s strange disturb- ance, ‘I will find it all out. I will see the contents of that cabinet.” She went then into her mother's room, and wrote notes for her till it was time to dress for dinner. His lordship came in rather late, and joined them at dinner. It was not his invariable custom to be present at that sociable repast. He was unusually communicative this evening. ‘I met that young fellow again in the Park with Wallrade,’’ he observed, as he pared a hot-house yeu’ atthe dessert. ‘*He pays no heed to my ad- ce , “The young fellow,’ Helen knew, was no other than Reginald. Her eyes were cast down, but she listened with the more earnest attention. “And I have been thinking,” the marquis pro- ceeded, ‘that I do not like studying law. He has decided talent, Iam told; and as a barrister his antecedents will be perpetually dragged up. That story of the birth-chamber were better let drop.”’ “Can you not help him into some other line?” asked the dowager. 5 “TI might. I have influence with the minister, He might be provided for in the diplomatic line.” “Tf you were to offer a large annuity, on condi- tion he accepted some office—’ “There’s the difficulty! he will take nothing! I have offered to settle a handsome income on him; I did it at first. I can only manage the matter through the minister, or some nobleman who per Mes to use interest for him. Confound his e ,’ © ‘““What beggars have to do with oan said the fe gin spitefully, “is more than n Helen flashed a glance at her mother, but did not dare trust herself to utter the thought in her mind— | that the pride of manly worth and independence was irth or fortune. far above the pride of aeeyrie his eee e ** He will not come here,” : “though I have lowered m to invite him, declined the invitation to dinner last #@eek.” _ “TI wish he would leave the country,” said the lady, fretfully. ‘‘I shall decline society, if he is to be an eye-sore wherever I go.” scat sere exclaimed eee $6 etd = never met him in company, except that one at Lady Brandon’s ball. » Her mother gave her a severe look, but made no answer; and st tn Gon the party rose from table, and adjourned to the drawing-room. Helen took her place at the ape but soon quit- | ted it for the a She was a proficient at the lat- ter instrument. She side opposite to that where sat the dowager and his lordship. While her wandered over the them perfect tune, her ear strings, bringin cau t much of the low-toned conversation near | er. Her mother had beén telling Lord Estonbury of her singular — concerning the name of ‘ Kg- bert,” and both appeared to attach significance to it, far beyond what such a trifle deserved. __ Lady Estonbury ee something Helen could not hear; and then said: “The old papers my husband left ought to be de- rtant enough to be pre- served. I know he never kept there any deeds or money documents; his solicitors had charge of those. There were only old letters, and such rub- bish, of no use to any one.” “] will see to it,” replied the marquis. “And without delay! I should not want those papers overhauled by any curious stranger.” he son-in-law answered, musingly: “T have to go into Devonshire to-morrow; at least ” “Pray do not leave the business to me!”’ cried his mother-inaw. ‘“{ cannot bear to touch mold parchments and such like! It would give mea chill. And if I came across anything about that Euro- uis.: “I will look anything of value.” cogs He never kept such here; nor atthe Court. He had a safe at his solicitors’ for business papers.” “Very well; I shall soon make clean work.” His lordship rose, stretched his limbs, and walked once or twice across the vast and sumptuous suit of “Hush! whispered the m over the papers to-night. I LADY HELEN’S VOW. can under- | drew it near the fire, on the | writing or ex- amine a book in the evening. He left the drawing- pone after another whispered direction from the owager, In a few minutes Helen let her harp lean back, and then arose from her seat. She was uneasy, but dared not suffer her distur- bance to be visible. She asked whither pay lord had gone. Her mother replied that she had heard him say he had something to do in the library. It surely could not be matter of surprise that he should leave her alone, He rarely spent an evening with them. The excuse for leaving the room which Helen was longing for came at last with her maid at the door, gd some direction, which she hastened out, to give. ; Then she flew down the stairs, She opened the library door softly, and glided in. Lord Estonbury was at the cabinet, which he had inet opened, as there had been some difficulty in. nding the Er. He was taking out package after ackage of old papers, apparently letters, and laying chem on a table near. He looked up, and saw his wife, as she stood by the fire, looking into the glowing bed of coals. ‘** You here, Helen!” he said, rised. “T wanted to ask you, Maurice,” she returned, “if you will not go with me to Lady Roscoe’s din- ner! Ihave written an acceptance for you.” _ “That you need not have done; for I shall not be in London,” ‘* Shall you leave town before Wednesday?” “‘Tmay—to-morrow; certainly the next day.” “T am so sorry!’ she murmured, in a Pas of chagrin, “It is long since we were at dinner to- gether.” ““My absence does not seem to stand much in the way of your enjoyment, usually,”’ his lordship ob- served, with a sneer. “More than you think, Maurice, I do not like to be neglected, when it is my first season in London.” “Oh, you will get used to it. Why do you not so- > yourself in the manner of Mrs. Brittan, or Lady Craiglethorne?”’ “Would you have your wife a flirt?” she asked, in pore a caper 4 well as not. You would never carry matters to the point of danger. You are not pretty anovgn “And I hope I have too much principle, or pride, at least. ou shall never complain that I have brought discredit on your name, my lord," ‘Tam not afraid of it—in that way.” “Tn that, or any other!" “Some day I may read you a lesson on the neces- sity of controlling your impulses, keeping down your | curiosity, or bridliuog your tongue.” “You have nothing to fear, lamsure. You never totes ne with any secrets; so how could I betray em eh 3 Thad any, I should guard them carefully from ‘And as to my curiosity, I have not even asked you what you are doing there now?” ** You can see for yourself. I am sparing the rats and worms some trouble, These things would not interest you.” . “Tdo not know. Will you let me hélp you sort them?” ‘‘ No; I shall find that easy enough,” | Hetook up anarmful of the musty documents, ' came to the fire, and laid them upon the coals. The fire leaped up and seized them. The marquis push- ed them down with the ieee and watched till the ' last gerap was consumed. “What records of the heart, or of the b schem- ing brain you have ruthlessly consigned to oblivion!"’ observed Helen, with a light laugh. The uis noted the ring of duplicity in ber | words; and sneered egain, as he answered: ‘* Have you been here before me, Helen, that you Weniieaee dines ate for such y not. ave no fondness for such m researches,” Why do you think I pear 0 usty “Only your early tr: nourished a prying disposition.” eG meg Seve It was not the first time her lord had taunted his ' young wife with her breeding as the child of menials, and she usually resented it. But now she merely answered: ly t Pe gna : early training me submision, or I should not be silent under ustice. And ah will not let me assist you? Then I might as well relieve you of my presence,” She sauntered slowly toward the corner where her lord was still busily engaged. The doors of the cab- inet were still wide open, and she could see that ite contents were all removed. Drawer after drawer, reopened, was seen to be = rhe work of disinterring the records was Again the marquis gathered up a heap of. rs and threw thear on othe fire, with a deep] ti Diewets inc, he courant bod, mind Tae n e , and w hands with his cambric handkerchief. tigen came near fie fire a ain. “‘T suppose, now,”’ she said p , “you mean to give me that old desk for gee RS mous cor- ne No. itis t00 black d antiquated. A lady should | »“*No, and antiquat pee letters in polished rosewood, shone or an Indian cabinet, perfumed daiutily, . I will find some sort of use for yon relic.” | There was a knock at the door, and the footman entered, with two cards upon a silver chased tray, | which he A peg pint to his master, + Ay, 1 forgotten that these tlemen were to call,” the marauis observed. ‘Show them into | i
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eH nae = Pe =F | et ; 4 LADY HELEN’S VOW. wee arene f° drawing-rooni, I must wash my hands before loining them.” He walked to the cabinet and closed it; then with the poker made sure that nothing remained of what he had consigned to the blaze. Then he quitted the room with a single glance at Helen as he went, and a smile that seemed to sa: how completely he had baffled her, re No sooner did she hear his steps ascending the , Ps the young silafeniobeke was at the The rusty key was tt w on y key yet ip the lock; it was not even She opened the doors, but the space within was vacant. Only a thick atmosphere of dust—the dust of more than a score of ears, that irritated her deli- cate nostrils and caused her to draw back more than once, She pulled open one drawer after another, and in- epected the pigeon-holes, thrusting in her’hand to eel if there was not behind them, In one of them she felt a sharp prick, and snatch- ing On her hand, saw that the skin was broken and & drop of blood fell from the wound. She wrapped her handkerchief round it, and again felt round the back of the receptacle. It was the center one. Her fingers came in contact with what seemed the broad head of a nail not driven fast into the wood- work. She pressed upon it with all her force. Something flew out struck her face with such violence that she recoiled in spite of her resolution. It was a small secret drawer, and contained some folded papers. These had evidently escaped the ob- servation of the marquis. Helen gathered them Zi} them into her pocket, wi the room, No one had seen her, and she breathed freely. She finished her survey of the empty cabinet, then Closed the doors, leaving the key in the lock. r & few minutes spent in trying to calm her agitated ‘Nerves, she left the room, and went up to her own partments. There was noone there. She passed through the boudoir and sitting-room into the bed-chamber, where a light was burning on the marble table. She locked and bolted both doors before she sat down, nan with A peating heart drew out the treasures she secured, . They were two letters written in a delicate ladv’s hand, and in pee ink, on paper yellow with age. he could make out no more than the date, which Gormayenty-three years back. The letters were in n, . There was a folded piece of tissue paper, contain- ing two curls of hair—one long and golden, as if cut : enn, ®& woman's head, one lighter and shorter, dently an infant's. €re was another paper, which she unfolded, and ted as she read it: ity © attested certificate of the marriage of Eg- bert Vane with Almeria Stenhaus.” quickly, and crammed a guilty glance around CHAPTER XXIX. FOLLOWING THE CLEW. ! Auicia Maur was alone in the drawing-room be- Be ng to their suit of apartments at the hotel in rkeley Square. She was finishing a drawing from memory; the pretty bit of landscape about the man well near her Scottish home, © spot was ®ndeared to her by thoughts of her love. th dette | Lord Swinton had laid before her © proposal of the young Duke of Montroy. net would bea match, he assured her, and © did not conceal the fact that his pride and his arent wishes for her would be gratified by her ac- nee, He told her of the impoverishment of the once magni cent estates of his own ancient house, and cherished hopes that she would by a brilliant Marriage, regain the social elevation and worldly grandeurs which he could not secure for her. his barony, limited as male heir, and he had hing to across her father’s neck as he Sat in the oe and stooped to touch his cheek ” she plead Mop tied Hina Saght else.”’ da seushter, agi very Pe on Juncts.” cr er es hans one bred as you have been. You -$25not know what you would’bs, or how you would share feel, if Suddenly deprived of your preseni d of these advantages "P 7 P of u“ eeqd—"? the ey, ad forty ent of my death, child—you ha ne 1 hones would ha friendless eat destitute, Atle clasping his 1, course of nature agreeable t papa. Think of something more “ I must think ¢ or child. I have nothing to leave you, You would be a dependent on the bounty t relative—” ofa ‘ ” th “0 He me 1 know ie pape.” Yapy;" aed She it, 4 port ty to repair evils we ; have dreaded. The duke will make beral settle- AC ‘ and his wealth is prodigious." no + ee ah o> . The girl shuddered. ““Oh, papa, I cannot marry a fortune.” “You will have all a woman’s heart ean desire; an ancient title—lofty rank—the love of ‘a noble heart—” “A love I can never return—never! never!’ ex- claimed Alicia, ‘*Are you sure?. The duke is handsome, full of manly grace: of a frank and noble nature, highly cultivated, devoted to you! Alicia, I dare not te you how ardently F desire this mateh,” The girl sunk on her knees, bursting into a storm of sobs and. tears, . “Oh, papa! have some mercy upon me! Do not condemn your child to certain misery!” “Alicia! Thad no idea of this! If you have such an aversion to the duke, I will not urge you.” She clasped his arms and thanked him in the midst of her weeping. He lifted her up and placed her on a seat beside himself. “T own that I feel disappointed—bitterly disap- pointed.. My heart was set upon this. But I can- not see. you wretched, Perhaps on reflection you will decide differently.’ ‘‘No, dear father; Ican never accept the duke, I can never love him. Pray give him my answer. It can never be changed.” The baron Dicom inwardly. He thought of the sad probability that his daughter’s heart might be ven to a man he wished she had never seen, But e knew that it was dangerous to recall his image by e hy ai agen fears. Ag Alicia pleaded with tears that her answer might be conveyed to the duke without loss of time. She was miserable till she knew herself free from his pursuit. Disappointed as he felt at this failure of his hopes, the re a had something consolatory in the back- ground. “IT want to prepare you for another visitor, Alicia,"’ he said. ‘‘ He will be here this morning.” “It is settled, then, about the Duke of Montroy?” she asked, eagerly. na | yard so. I shall never force your inclina- ey er father returned, a heavy cloud upon his row. “Then who is it you wish me to receive? Not an- other suitor?” .“* No; an elderly gentleman; a native of Germany. He has lately been introdu to me by Sir Victor Wilder, who speaks very highly of him. He is anx- ious to make your acquaintance.” “But, dear papa— : “I anticipate your scruples, my dear; but you may make an exception in this case. The gentle- man knew your mother—before she was married— eee before—when she was very young. She,then elped him in some terrible emergency ; it is her he owes all the prosperity of his after life. I have promised that you will see him.” ‘Certainly, dear papa; I shall be charmed,” cried the girl, her violet eyes sparkling. ‘ Any friend of mamuina’s will always be welcome! What is his name?”’ \ “Oscar Wallrade. _ He is not English, you know.” “IT remember: a German, you said. I shail re- main at home to see him.” The baron did not add the information he had re- ceived from Sir Victor; that the foreigner was a man. of large fortune, and so eager to find the child of his former benefactress that not a doubt could exist as to hisintention to make her his heiress. It was this which had rendered the. prudent fa- ther more yielding in the matter of the young duke's pro . 4 s really unselfish desire was to see his daughter ae x th an independent fortune in her own right, it was of less poneequenee that she should make a splendid marriage; though he still felt deep- chagrined at her refusal of the ducal coronet. Thus it was with agreeable ex tion, blended with curiosity, that Alicia waited for her visitor. An engagement ed the baron out, and the elder- ly lady friend who usually accompanied his daugh- ter out, or received company with her at home, was @ prisoner in her own room with indisposition. Alicia was alone, She was dressed in a pale violet silk, with high corsage and long sleeves, with a linen cambric over- dress, trimmed with Valenciennes lace. The rich material had a subdued effect, proper for a young girl's attire, in the plainness with which was made. It fitted her slender form perfectly, and was not set off by a single ornament. A small bow coy- ered the fastening at the throat. The sunny brown curls were fastened by a ribbon at the back of her head. Thecolor called up by recent emotion yet — on her cheek. She was looking very ovely. There was a tap atthe door, and the servant en- tered with a on a silver salver. ‘tthe Marehioness of Estonbury.” “The ioness 0: nbury.’ Her shonehis flew back to the evening of Lady Brandon’s The man said her ladyship had not yet mig Fs pas her carriage. Would Maur see her . ? Of course she would see her. She bade the servant | show her up. Then she put aside her drawing ma- terials. ey, the announcement—“ Lady Estonbury "’ —followed the opening of the door. Alicia received her visitor with warm cordiality; Bae ena cs rare aradd ot a as © marchioness were a c e was ease i a le rather elaborate and for the young s taste—a relic, perhaps, of what the Meets, eos ty have called her “ err oti mg EI woman. m custom, in the toilet than to an unmarried girl, , a “T haye. something to show you, Miss Maur,” she said, after the exchange of salutations and a little talk about the weather, “Iam in need of your ad- vice.’ . > Helen took from her reticule the antique morocco case, openéd it, and held it out for inspection, Alicia started at the first sight of the miniature. “Will you tell me whom it resembles?” asked the marecbioness. “Tt looks like—a friend—” was the hesitating re- + sa should like to know if the same idea struck you as myself.” “The friend is—a gentleman; this may have been taken for a sister, or relative of his.” “ Or—his mother. Look at the date.” Alicia read it. Still she pondered. The color to her cheeks. “Does it not resemble some one with whom I have seen you?” asked Helen, The girl's blush deepened as she answered: “Mr. Reginald Holmes? Yes; it is very like him. Did he give it you?”’ , “‘ No, indeed; there is a strange mystery attached to the picture.” “A mary be “I found it behind some books in our library, where it had lain rieglected a long time; perhaps a score of years. I have not dared to ask any expla- nation, or even to show it to mamma, or to my bus- band. You arethe only one who can help me to find out the secret—if there is one.” ‘“‘T? how is that possible?” “T am surer since rose ou have sure—the recognized the likeness—that it is the picture of some lady re- oe to Reginald. I have thought it might be his mother.”’ “His mother? I thought—” “*You know the story—do you not? It is general- ly known—how my husband came into the title?” — “T know that it cameout—from Lady Estonbury’s own statement—that Reginald was not the son of the late marquis—that he was:not the rightful heir. It was sad enough—and a great change for him. But he gave up al—as soon as he found to the inheritance. He was too honorable to dispute Lord Estonbury’s claim.” She spoke deprecatingly, as if: anxious to shield her lover from blame; and Lady Estonbury hasten- ed to assure her that no one knew Reginald’s integ- rity better than herself, who had known him in’ mately from childhood. ou, Miss Maur,” “Thave no one to consult but she went on. “ You may think it strange that I ee to you; but, as I know your interest in n aR e waited for encouragement, but Alicia said. nothing. Her interest, however, was visible’in her eyes. ‘Helen proceeded: “T must confide in you. I know you will forgive me if I am wrong; butI feel as if I were bound te prevent a ent that may injure—” “ u ahd < ' “Yes. Reginald is not the son of those le bbe child he was said to be. That much [ knew ore.” ' Alicia changed color, though she did not speak. “ His te were said to be Mr. and Mrs. Chis- holm, the steward and my mother’s maid. But he is not their son.” “How do you know?” “T heard the woman—Chisholm—say so, 8 nig’ or two before my marriage. She was talking her —my mother, and asking her what had be- come of her boy. Her ladyship wanted her to think Reginald was her son; but she answered Cy knew he was nol ; he had not ‘ the strawberry - m : 9 “This is strange!” cried Alicia, breathlesshy. _ “T asked my mother about it; and she wen Ys angry, It was plain that she was determined should not know the secret. Then I told her— Be to meer, I Fae perer rest till & puna out e mystery; an volved wrong ginald, that T would do him right,” ’ Alicia threw her arms around the young mar- chioness, and kissed her fervently. i “T tok the same thing to my husband. He laugh- ed at me; but I could see he was disturbed. I have mg pict this mee chen, tak . most generous of you. Eston |: “Not generous; but just. Tam site d 6 had no rzht - - Do think hi hi is ou © WAS y ib the son of the marquis, “Tdo not know. Iam satisfied that he is not the son of the dowager—my mother.” “She has always disliked him, A mother cou!d not hate her own child you know.” “T should think not.™* Then, she wanted him to ma me,”” the mar- chioness said, with a flushing cheek. ‘It was be- another.” Alicia blushed deeply, and a tender smile her beautiful lips. vial ° aie a c bie ty was you whom he loved. I do not won- er at it.” | you. ve up would not give you up.’ | “ Dear 2. MA sigh. ald!’’ Alicia breathed, with a gentle | “Had my mother been his, she could not have de- 4 ‘
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‘ * ‘Wallrade is a 24 prived him of these - am Boe crnid not have ht of Very true; she could not “Then whose son was he? I thought he ht Both ladies again examined the miniature, ° **You see, by the date, it was painted at least | twenty-five years ago, {+ was ‘ore Reginald was Ba is only twenty-three.” “He . eee then, could be his father? Lord Eston- “y am surehe was not. Lord Estonbury was then married, And can you look in this beautiful face, Miss Maur, and believe, fora moment, that the origi- nal was not an honorable woman?” is No; Icannot. She must have been pure and “Then, look at the inscription on the back. ‘ Al- meria Egbert.’ My father’s name was not Eg- bert.” “It is strange, then, how the infant came into the marquis’s family. Can you imagine?” “T remember hearing that after the children had been changed—as you have heard—that Lord and Lady ,Estonbury went abroad, and Bayon nearly two years, I was left with the Chisho ms, to be brought up as their child.” FA ““Yes—Reginald told me of that, “Sup that while Lord and Lady Estonbury were living abroad something had happened to the boy Lady Estonbury took with her! Or suppose she had grown tired of it! If shefounda child more attractive, might she not have changed the children ain e How could she without Lord Estonbury’s knowl- edge? & mat young children look very much alike.” at is true. “There are many, Ragligh traveling and residing on the Continent. . My lady—”’ Helen often fell into the holm fashion in s - ing of the mother who had so recently claimed her. My lady might have seen a baby so beautiful that she longed to have it for her own; and might have somehow procured the exchange. Or it might have been stolen and brought to her.” “* And imposed on his lordship?” . “Why not, as well as at first? The boy born of the olm blood could not have been like the child of aristocratic parents.” “Your theory is possible, at least. But then rau not st lgdyship have given back Mrs, Chis- s wT would have been risk in that. The maid would have been angry and might have betrayed the secret. So she was allowed to think the boy was own, till she discovered to the contrary b: no that it had not the birth-mark.” ¥ “NOt Inemodiavaty. Tenis Teton ded “MN A jury persua her it been removed, or outgrown, or had dis- a somehow. I gathered this from what I heard year: She— olm, I mean—was slow to think she ud been deceived all these years.” now she was? ~ satisfied eet FC apehat : to be sure was not her ace How could he be? Children always inherit some traits of their parents; do they not? “T have always understood so.” “Well; we have established that , then. The next step is, to inquire who Reginald yis. That is what have bound myself by a solemn oath to ver. ‘*Your ladyship is—” “Call me fi en, please! Well—I have the first link, ‘This portrait —I feel sure it is his mo- _ “You found it in Lord Estonbury’s library?” “ Yes—hidden thére, perhaps for a score of years. And that is not all. here!” ; ‘took from a Russian leather pocket-book the folded Ww reyes she had taken out of the secret drawer and unfolded them. ; “ Look; here is the marriage-certificate—the mar- riage between Almeria Stenhaus and Egbert Vane. The writing is clear, though faded. The date is 18—.” Alicia examined it carefully, “This is wonderfull” she exclaimed. ‘* And here are two letters, both signed © Almeria’ —as well as Ican make out the ng. See—it is the delicate writing of a lady—one of culture, too. But I cannot read the letters; they arein a foreign _lan pe? tt is German!” cried Alicia, after looking at the - manuscript. * “Can you read it?” “No—I cannot; though I have seen the written characters, as well as the printed text.” f , At that moment there was a tap at the door. Helen threw her handkerchief over the picture and papers, to conceal them, and moved her seat to prevent any ; a sight of them. _ person g: Alicia went to the door and opened it. A servant handed a,salver on which lay a card. She took it up and uttered an exclamation, “a *; “You may bring him up,” she said to the servant, w th ho bowed red, Relea feided he papers, and refurned them to her pocket-boo put cue, oat a ele “He comes just in time!” cried Alicia. —‘' Mr. j rman; he will be able to translate the letter for us!” eit ’ - t a LADY HELEN’S VOW. | CHAPTER XXX. SATISFACTORY PROGRESS. ** AnD who is Mr. Wallrade?”’ asked Helen. | “A friend of papa’s. A friend of my mother’s, too. She helped him in some way, when he was very young, and he is grateful for the benefit.” | “Can we depend on ? You know it would not do to put the secret into a stranger’s hands.” | him ¢ transince th eters, telling him Craling: | to transla e no \ | Then we can judge what further is to be done!” The door was wn open and Mr, Wallrade was announced. . Alicia rose and advanced, saying: | ‘“T am Miss Maur,” and ic him her hand. | Then she presented him to Lady Estonbury. The visitor looked earnestly at his fair young hostess. His features worked with profound emo- tion, and once he passed his hand At last he said: “You are your mother’s own child, Miss Maur, and I think I'should have recognized you as such, even if I had not known your name.” ~ “Do you remember her so well?” “Could Iever forget her? It was her fair hand that was extendedtto lift me out of the depths of miser and ns id i) ’ “I was condemned for a crime I iad not commit- ted—in intent, at least; foran indiscreet and impa- tient act was against me—and would have ruined me | but for her. er influence procured “a release; and not only that, but my establishment a situa- tion of trust and emolument in another land, where my fault was never known.” ‘You were in India many years, “A lifetime for many persons. generation on my return to England.” Some general conversation followed. Wallrade described his life in India. For the first time, he felt too much ashamed of his reckless association with gamesters, and made a firm resolution to‘avoid them in future. “IfI may be admitted to such society as this,” he thought, ‘‘I will have no soil on my garments,” Atlength Alicia timidly asked if he would do them the favor to translate something written in'the Ger- man language. Lady nbury explained that she had found the letters in the drawer of an old cabinet, unoccupied ee her father’s death. She placed them in his ands. He took them with a pleasant smile, and remarked carelessly how time-stained was the paper; and, if they were love-letters, what a lesson they afforded 1 7 ies of the sad destiny of all records of the eart. He read the first and longest aloud. It was, in- deed, a picture of a loving woman’s heart. She complained of her lover’s a ssionately reproached him with having eS den cold to her. e language was simple, but earnest and forci- ble. She entreated the beloved of her soul to write at least, and tell her he was unchanged. ‘Egbert!’ repeated the reader, as he lighted on the name of the person addressed. ** How strange! how very strange!” Then he glanced at the signature. * Almeria!’” He almost dropped the paper in ut- ter surprise. e “Could it be Almeria Stenhaus?”’ he exclaimed. ** No—no—im ble!” “Thesame! The same!" answered both the young ladies, rising, by a common impulse from’ their seats. “It is Stenhaus! That is the name on the Helen quickly unfolded the yellow marriage-certi- ficate aa poms free it polting to the name. Wallrade glanced at it, then looked upward with a exp on. Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed. His listeners were too much a to : Lady Estonbury broke the sileuce first; for her heart was beating fast. “Did you know her?”’ she asked. i portrait! let him see the portrait!” cried across his eyes, papa said.” id find another nce, and it, and held it before Wallrade. “He gave one look at the pictured face, staggered back a pace or two, and covered his face with, his hands, while his frame shook with agitation. “He is weeping!’ whispered Alicia. **He knew her!” returned Helen. She felt that ing the picture in her reti-_ she was indeed on the verge of discovery, Wallrade recovered himself in a few moments, agitating you with painful - ainful!” Sore e peemat, again wiping his eyes. “No, dear ; you have gi Pie. Stator You have lifted a dark clou , which I never hoped to see removed.” The young ladies looked at each other, neither venturing to s ‘ ‘ C) nett his hand for the portrait. He contemplated it long and okay 6 ; “* How like!” he murmured—* how very like! It is as I saw her last! And she was “married! | oe glad of that! Egbert did her justice, after aut Helen was about to speak; but Alicia stayed her. ° i Lanvin explain directly. Has he seen the other letter?”’ : Helen produced it, held it toward the visitor. Pay ia eke oa oe found with the other; in the same drawer,” . Wallrade took it and read. Surprise was now de- picted in his face. ~ , Alicia. With trembling hands Helen drew it out, opened ' did not say **T never knew this!” he exclaimed. Then h , . She bade her husband an affectionate farewell. She implored him to care for the infant, and not leave it to be a burden on the la- bors of her poor mother. words were a pear that God would bless him; would reward him for the love he had shown Le , Who ae a high enough to fe es peness and wo orgive him for wearying of her e ever had wearied of her, etc. : The postscript was in a cramped hand; that of an aged person. Almeria was very ill, it said; if her husband wished to see her living, he had not a mo- ment to lose, The child was a boy, and likely to live, Whatever happened, Egbert would remember that he was hisown. Alm would not live to be a shame to him who had stooped to wed a poor girl; but the boy had noble blood in his veins, and was not to be cast off; under the penalty of retribution upon him who should wrong him, ee the reader was agitated by deep emotion, and he sat long, with his ae fixed upon the paper— perusing it again and again, Then he recollected himself, and gave it back to the marchioness with thanks, He rose, and paced the room slowly, sometimes uttering articulate sounds, as if talking to himself— in his native tongue. fi Helen and Alicia sat clasping each other’s hands; thely eyes following him, while they preserved si- ence, Nearly fifteen minutes thus passed. Then Wall- rade resumed his seat. : “I trust you will pardon me,’’*he said, addressing Alicia, ‘‘The page of life you have opened, by the sight of these relics, was a painful one; and this is the first gleam of light thrown on its gloom. Will you permitme to ask afew questions? I will an- swer you in turn,” ; Both ladies expressed their readiness to reply, in the confidence that what information they could give would be sacred with him. He assured them it would be so, ‘* Where were these found?” He pointed to the picture and letters that lay on the table. Helen gave a brief account of the manner in which she had discovered them. “ And how came they in the possession of the late Lord Estonbury ?”” She could not tell. ‘Was he related in any way te the girl who was called Almeria Stenhaus? had hea relative of the name of Egbert. Vane?”’ c Helen did not know. She had tried to learn from ie moun or her husband; but neither would sat- isfy her. , : qirhere is some strange mystery in the affair."’ Lady Estonbury was sure of it. It was.the mys- ‘att, é had been striving to penetrate; but it bat. er. : “Wha t was the age of the late Marquis of Eston- (Sipe She gave his age at the time of his death. ‘‘ And the date of his death?” That was given. Wallrade shook his head. “He was young,’ he murmured. not have been!”’ After a pause: : “You say he had no relative of that name; at least you never heard of any. What is the family name of his lordship ?”’ “The name is Vane Thorpe,” replied Helen. The German bad resumed his walk to and fro in the room, “Have you a@ copy of the British Peerage?” he “There is one in the hotel, I am sure!’*replied Alicia, She rung the bell and directed the servant who an- swered the summons to bring the book. Her visitor opened.it, looked over the list of the Estonbury marquisite; then placed the open volume on the table, his finger on the line. : neers it is,” he said, bast sa e two young women came to. | er ex- pectation sparkling in their eyes, oe “* Egbert, eldest nephew of the late Marquis of Estonbury ’—I am sure it is the same.” : “That was not papa’s name!” remarked Helen, “*No—but it was his elder brother’s.” ‘‘He had no brother—when he succeeded to the title on his uncle’s death, At least I have heard mamma say so, many times. He was the only nephew.” Look for yourselves. ‘Egbert Vane Thorpe, eld- est nephew of the Marquis of Estonbury; born July ty - in ai re aa ad ie ‘He was drowned!” exclaim: icia. ‘Lost in the Esmeralda—on his return from India —September, 18—.’” Wallrade’s tone indicated suppressed emotion so deep that ibe young listeners gazed at him in as- ment, “Ttishe)] It was my Egbert Vane!’ he cried, ex- ultingly. ‘Fora caprice, orto enjoy more perfect freed he dropped the latter part of the family name. He told me he wasof a noble family; but he e was heir presumptive to a mar- “Tt could quisite!"* wen ’ 4 “You knew him, then?” both ladies asked in a breath, ’ | . ‘Knew him! we were like brothers in India. © 7 4% ag
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Many and many a hunt had we together! I loved him as if we had-boen of the same blood! But he never told me he was so high in rank at home!” Helen had been examining the record. She now ke: “He was lost at sea in September, 18—. Then he could not have been the ‘ : mar- ried to Almeria Seahent sre mary te “He was not lost at sea!” cried Wallrade. ‘The Esmeralda was lost, > we were both saved.” We both were on board of her; An exclamation of astonishment from the fair four days. pei: recovered, It was there he saw and loved i aporla Stenhaus. I was afraid of the intimacy; for oubted the steadiness of his rinciples, I never new till now that he had married her. Why did he not let his friends know he was liv- ing? asked Helen. That I cannot tell. He was always reserved about his family. When I reproached him for his love for a girl beneath him in birth and_ station, he answered angrily. We parted thus in misapprehen- penn When returned to Dusseldorf he had ceased e.”? “How strange that his family should be suffered *O mourn for him, when he had escaped the ship- wreck !” said Alicia. “I cannot account for his conduct, except that he feared this marriage would displease his high rela- ons. ‘*Tt must have been so.” “He loyed Miss Stenhaus, though it is evident that he strove at last to bring himself to the point of Parting with her.” “ The first letter shows that.” “Then his own failing health left him little en- ergy. Still, 1 cannot understand why he failed to Jet his nearest relatives know of his existence,’? “Tf he had lived,” Helen remarked, in a low musing tone, “he would have been the Marquis of nbury long before oe _ “At what time did the late Lord Estonbury come Ba ee laa in to the P ey referred again to the Peerage. ex That te $60. Attar the news. of the loss of the XsMméfalda’ reached England,” said Wallrade. “And the younger brother succeeded, the elder being supposed drowned!”’ added Alicia. ““While he lived,” said Helen, ‘my father had no right to the title or estates.” ba by Xgbert knew his brother had succeeded,” ob- served Wallrade, ‘‘I can hardly wonder at his not caring to claim his rights, health was rapidly a . He had ma --in an impulse of pas- Sionate love—a young girl whom he would,not intro- duce to his aristocratic family.” “Was she of such low birth?’’ Alicia asked, “Her family was respectable, though r, .The ‘mother kept lodgers at Eiisorenerth, e lodged in ‘the neighborhood. Almeria was beautiful and re- pe ee that from h “You may ow ‘om her picture,” said Miss Maut, yo inting to it. — nt “She had much native grace, but little education. nord bie Se an ve ge lareied much nd sent, home the phagecda received from the sale of his pictures. These hel them to live. After Egbert fell in love with the girl, he often Sent present of game and fruit to the mother. But they would not accept assistance in money. Almeria was proud, though so ver r. That is why I grieved so much at the =uhabie baat of her intimacy with Egbert. I feared lest. he might deceive her, and degrade himself. I remonstrated with him, and u his return to England. He re- sania ay iaper ends, ol tines A BM e was § ing—sti ac the room—Lady Estonbury had returned ri ib to her reticule, and put the folded papers in her pocket- book. She looked nervous and disturbed, till sud- ig her face lighted up, as she turned to Alicia. “T shall leave these in-your charge,” she said, Siving her bag and pocketbook. “ so 19 “Tt dare not trust myself,” : £a0 not Mn AOSE Ar gee ‘Do you not see, Miss. Maur,’’ she whis “that if ald is the child of these Shaw dep the rightful of Estonb Wy “But we have no proof that he is their son.” “TI want no proof. feel it here.” And she touched her breast. “This is the wrong that has en done him. My mother and my husband both know it. They knew it before my marriage,” “And what will you do, dear Lady Estonbury?” “You must never call me so again. Iam not the marchioness, I am simply Mrs. Howard, the wife of the man who wears the title unlawfully. What will I do? What did Reginald, when he thought he Was in possession of the rights of another?” “You must not act hastily, The links are want- ing to rove this, Mr. Wallrade!—” es cpnee. in his walk and came near her. “What has become of the child—the son of Eg- bert Vane?” “I was thinking of that,” he answered. “It must be my duty to find him.’ No doubt he was brought up by Mrs. Stenhaus, after the death of Parents.” Alicia continued: “ Estonbury and T both Noticed a resemblance between the picture of the ; ‘ LADY HELEN’S VOW. ermal married Egbert Vane—and a young gen- eman—’ “Mr. Reginald Holmes,” Helen added. Wallrade repeated the name, evidently surprised. “The young man who gave up the title and estates s0 honorably a year ago, and is now devoting himself to law! He is a noble fellow!” *Do you know him?” “Thave that honor. I really esteem itsuch. But his birth! Iunderstood that he was the son of the house-steward of the marquis.” _ “He is not;.1 have learned that much,” Helen said. She went on to state all she had gathered from the conversation she had overheard. Wallrade was inclined to adopt her views, * But several links are wanting,’’ he said, must be supplied, if possible.” “ How?” “The matter must be investigated. Do you think the dowager marchioness would give me any infor- mation?” “*T think—I am sure—she would not,” was Helen’s reply; andshe looked deeply ashamed. ‘Then I must go to Germany,” ; ae will?” asked Alicia, giving him a grateful ook, “Tt is not best to say anything to young Holmes, at present.” ‘No; not to any one,” “Be it so. To-morrow I will set out, Will you trust me with those proofs?” ‘“* Certainly, if it is necessary.” * On second thoughts, it may not be; and you had better keep them, Miss Maur. If we can supply the missing links, it is here, in England, that our friend’s rights must be established. Iwill write and report progress.”? Alicia expressed her thanks, It was agreed between the three, that nothing should be said of the matter, in the meantime. Heavy steps were heard outside, and presently Baron Swinton entered. He greeted the German visitor with marked cordiality. The young marchioness rose to take leave. She pressed Alicia’s hand, glancing at the picture and pocket-book on the table, and the girl promised to' take special care of them. Then with an adieu to both gentlemen, Helen passed out. The servant in attendance waited on her to the door, and her own footman helped her into the car- riage, that bore the arms of the noble Marquis of Estonbury. She sighed as she took her seat, and the door was closed. .“ Tt will end in our downfall,’ she murmured to herself. ‘‘ And I shall have brought it all on my mother, my husband, and myself. Be itso. I must oa as i have sworn to do, Justice before every- thing.’ “These CHAPTER XXXII. A LIFE SAVED. Aw ancient-looking stone house, of spacious di- mensions, with a row of poplars in front, and a goodly stret h of uncultivated ground in the rear, stood not far from the Rhine, in Kaiserswerth. It had Jong been kept as a public-house, but was now let in suits of apartments to permanent lod- gers. In one of these, on the first floor, looking on the river, Kenneth Maur lay ill unto death. His rooms were comfortably furnished. The floors were bare, but scoured to perfect cleanliness, and there were strips of carpet and reer! in front of the bed and sofas. The bed and window-curtains were of muslin, delicately embroidered; the tables were of carven oak, and covered with the ornamen- tal glass and china so much in voguein Germany, Paintings of Flemish and German artists—copies of celebrated masters—hung on the walls; and flowers in profusion showed the prevalence of feminine taste. It was Margaret Heyburn, now the happy wife of Herrick Maur, who sup lied fresh flowers every day. She Sew a them onthe banks of the Rhine. She and Herrick were living in the same stone house, in an apartment on the floor above. Herrick had regained his health, or nearly so, and looked back on his mad passion for Alicia as a fool- ish a m. He ya not im ie ne — he Kner ever have loved any other woman n Margaret. Kenneth was not pleased with the match. His heart had been set on Herrick’s marriage with his cousin. When his own life—on which a ban rested —was over, his son was to return, as the recognized heir of the barony; and he wished the new line that should spring from him to be of pure blood—the no- blest in the land. But when he learned that Alicia had refused the proud destiny offered her, and Herrick had suffered in consequence, and had been nursed.back to life by the Scottish girl, he almost forgave her plebeian birth, and made pistes lh necessity by consenting to receive her as daughter. The lovers had been married before they left Scot- land. The wife was devotedly attached to her hus- band; and her presence in the foreign home made it sunny and pleasant to both father and son, She at once took upon herself the charge of house- keeping, and with Hilda’s assistance the table and mode of living were rendered so like home that Ken- eee an ee eee ute resular, correspondence re ept up a with her foster-sister in London; and many were the presents of household stuff, and occasionally money, which Alicia had sent. She was thankful to hear o: her cousin’s happiness. She would bring her father round to approve of the match, and to welcome his kinsman his wife at Stone Crag. Matlin and his dog had made two journeys to Scot- pm — the flitting, and transacted business for CAlei. { 25 They were located near the stone house where Kenneth lodged, a little further from the river, ina portion of the manufactory, which was inafter years converted into the ‘‘ Training School for Protestant Deaconesses,”’ where Florence Nightingale acquired her earliest lessons in nursing. The little hamlet had been that day a scene of un- usual excitement, A large party of wedding-guests had enjoyed a festival in a public garden bordering the ne. The guests camein boats from various ints up and down the river, and there had been ancing and drinking, and a concert of musical per- formances by the band stationed in the summer-— house elevated on a platform under the trees. Many of the revelers departed as twilight came on; but some lingered; though the sounds of festivity had died away. Hilda pre the evening repast, and brought his to ‘Sir Kenneth;” but he had little appetite. H. liked the light wine of the country, and sipped the cup sweetened for him, is strength was sadly shaken; and it: had been many days since he had been able to sit up, or walk round ‘‘the garden,” as they called the vacant ground in the rear, On this evening he seemed gigpaned for conversa- tion, and desired Herrick and Margaret to sit with him. He had many directions to give concerning matters at home in Scotland. The ruined castle he seemed to look on as his own,,and he received the rents from_several huts on its domain, These be- longed to the Swinton estate, as well as the castle it- self; but the baron had never interfered with his cousin’s appropriation of them. Only once had Kenneth shown remorse for the deed which had made him an exile for life. It was in cautioning his son to haye nothing to do with the smugglers that infested the English coast. He had been compelled to join them, he said, to eke out his scanty revenues, ,But Herrick would be more fortunate. The baron ought to provide for him. He would live at Stone Crag with his wife, while the baron and his daughter resided in England. He would be made a magistrate, and must be strict in - enforcing the laws, and aiding the government men. It had been unlucky for him that hard necessity drove his father into collision with the authorities, leading to the unhappy accident of the revenue-of- ficer’s death, etc. The eve’ wore on in talk like this; and Hilda had prepared the night-draught and had fastened the doors, when the rush of feet outside upon the stone stairs proclaimed a late visitor, Margaret and Hilda had already risen to retire. They opened the door, and Mat’s dog dashed in, giving short, Se Drees as if desirous of call- i iH pit Bee on to his master. Herrick descend-, e stairs. There stood the seer, just outside the door, his hoary head bare in the moonlight; his right arm ex- tended, and poin in the direction of the garden which had been go lately the scene of revelry. He Marne m hist red Margare t, who had followed ‘Hush! w who Ow her husband, and now laid her hand on his “The sullen guest!’? muttered Matlin. ‘‘He lin- ergin the garden; he watches for his prey! e sees him! He springs’ a him! He him as he lies on the ground!” The young wife instinctivel, around Herrick, as if to shield him from some as- sailant. his : “He drags him to the river!’ shouted Mat, in a jercing voice. “He has plunged him oe ‘he sinks! It rises! It is gone again! The mur- CONS hes ttred ths las rds, th staggered s he utter e last wo @ seer baek, trembling, and would have fallen, “not Herrick su lay_ insensi e3 . that way. : tal Help Bey Mataeret, : said her husband, “ we must threw both arms. rted him. His head fell back, and he_ is “second sight” paroxyisms often terminated e : She took hold of the unconscious man, and together - they carried him up the stairs. “Now, some brandy!” as they laid him on a leath- _ ern couch in the anteroom. In a few minutes Matlin was able to sit up, Her- rick questioned him as to what he had seen; but he remembered nothing. He never did remember his impressions while in the vision. But they knew him well enough to ee Se his words, He only recollected having seen a sullen guest, who stood apart from the revelers while at their banquet | in the garden. The seer had been a looker-on. He had conceived a suspicion of this man; and when told that he had accused him of a murder, he start- ed up, and declared he would go in search of the body. es. rt he play ghee he said, in ae: ent, ere is no time to assistance, 5na by ng age : e dog, alive for any service required, spru after his master, who already started. es a Stay; I will go with you!” called out Herrick. “Nay, my husband! You are notstrong—and the night wind is chilly,” remonstrated Margaret, cling- ing to his arm. : _. Stand off, wench! Know you not there may be a life at stake? Let me go!” He broke away, calling to her to go back, and not suffer the old man to know aught. She would have followed him, but he bade her go . into the house. Hilda appeared at the door, to ask the cause of the Girone. Sir Kenneth, she said, was just going 0 sleep. byt re acin told ber in a whisper, and bade her watch by the invalid till the men came’ back. She herself © 2
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wT ax tae ee ee eae en ee re oe i ee a a i mee ‘ a eS ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee ee . Pp re ¢ erie 5 ‘* $ , , : : = . y and Pra 26 . _ would fetch her plaid and would walk under the YY tlin, Herrick and the dog hastened to the river- fide. The current was not so rapid near the shore; and a body flung into the water half a mile further up might not have floated down in over an hour. ey had no of recovering the man alive, of course. But tae Maogvery of a corne would stimu- late the authorities, and lead to justice on the mur- | derer. Once Herrick spied something in the stream, which he thought Sake be a human form, Hetook a small boat tied to the pier of a rude dock, and pull- ed out for it. Butit was only a log with the k worn off, “ Better trust to Snath,”’ said the seer. “He will ferret it out by his smell before our eyes can dis- eover aught.’ They went up the river, examining every _— spot, and the boats lying idle in the stream or. Suddenly the dog bounded ahead. Mat saw him, and motioned his companion to si- lence. They followed, but Snath was out of sight. They had gone about half-way to the en, & quarter of a mile from the landing opposite the stone mansion, A grove of low trees here grew in a spot of marshy ground, to the border of the Rhine. and a thick se was the resort of wild fow! in the season of their flight. They heard the quick, sharp bark of the dog, and heard his plunge into the marshy water. In a few moments they caught a glimpse of him, tugging at some dark object half submerged. t gave a low whistle of encouragement, and quickened his pace. Herrick strode atter him. The dog had not relinquished bis held of the object | he had seized. Both the men unhesitatingly entered the water choked with rushes, Mat sounding it as he went with his staff. He called to the dog again, and was answered with a low whine. A long piece of timber lay in the marsh. Herrick raised this and let it fall toward the spot; it served as @ support as they pleteed through the sedgy grass, nearer to the spot they sought. Snath by this time had the object afloat, and held it fast in his teeth, as he tried to swim toward them, still whining for assistance. “Tt is a man’s pots | cae Hetrick. “Push the timber er!’? cried Mat, ‘Steady, Snath! Here, my fine fellow! Here!” The water was up to his chest, and Ersgrees was difficult through the tall rushes. But they were both at arm’s length presently, Y. In another moment Herrick had laid hold of a dark serge cloak. He pulled at # with a will. Then the two lifted the body, each in an arm, while they steadied themselves by the timber. They reached the shore, panting from the weight ef the burden, dripping as it was. They laid it on the grass. The drowned man was closely wrapped in the mantle, As this was opened, the face came into view. It was that of a middle-aged man, pale and cold; but it had not been sunken with the rest of the body, as was evident from the comparative dryness ef the cloak that enveloped it. “Let us make a litter,” said Herrick, tearing down several ay boughs and tying them together with f0) A rude but strong one was presently constructed, laid the body upon it, bearing it home- consulted where to take their burden when wi ‘they came in front of the stone mansion. tran to meet them. “ ‘Ee to my lodging; to the manufactory,” replied They carried him up in their arms. round ga ; t hel to mao’ the wet cloak, and unfastened his dress, THE MURDERER TRACKED. / @wx the following morning, an inn on the road to- = Holland, was a scene of a rather unusual bus- A pair of English travelers had arrived over night and were for their departure in Pm sai directions by carriage and on horseback. There was a commotion in the courtyard, as the horses were few, and the demand much greater than the forge An elderly gentleman who had just finished his breakfast, was sea in the coffee-room. He did not contend with the other travelers. He could wait a couple of hours, he said; and if no horses were then at his service, he could walk to his destina- tion. So he took up a newspaper. and seated him- relf by the window. He was alone in the room, when the waiter ushered m a new arrival, placed a seat at a round table in the corner, and tobe the stranger’s order for break- fast, The elderly stranger glanced at the new-comer ever his paper. He was evidently a Prussian; his dress eh it; and it was travel-stained, although of fine cloth. As he removed his cap, his hair was neen to be disordered, and his face was very pale. He nervously round him evcry instant, and st violently when he caught thc glance of the ‘ a occupant of the room, shuffling uneasily in his Bea “é If T might judge from a rances,’’ mentall | observed the chinks man, ‘ ahold say. yon ~ ied | j co jewelry about hin, of which he feared being ro ” | | ger had been perpetrating some crime, or had money The waiter set out breakfast, which the man ate in — , while he gave orders to have a horse saddled once. “We have no horses,’’ replied the attendant. “Nohorses!” the guest exclaimed. ‘But I must have one; afresh one, too, to carry me te the next station in two hours.” “Tt is not possible, sir. Our horses are engaged. Here is another gentleman who is waiting because he cannot obtain a horse.” Thereupon the elderly traveler looked up; and apparently saw something to fetter his atten- tion; for he continued furtively to watch the man at his breakfast, while he did not permit him to perceive the scrutiny. ‘But I must have a horse!’ the man cried, im- patiently. ‘‘Go and procure me one in the hamlet somewhere.” The servant shook his head. **I will give any sum; I am in haste.” “It is not possible, sir. The horses are all taken. In two or three hours some of our own may be re- turned. Then you can be accommodated,” The man muttered a fierce oath. He swallowed | his breakfast in haste, and thrust two or three rolls into his pocket. Then he rose to go. The elderly gentleman rose too, and stood in his way to. e door. ; on, - Will you try the journey on foot?” he asked. “I suppose I must,” growled the new-comer, “ for some miles further at least. What is the next post- station called?” He turned to the waiter as he asked the question. The Engiish traveler made answer, speaking in the German language: “That depends, sir, on the direction in which you are going. hither are you bound?”’ The stranger glanced at him angrily. ‘iy do not know how that concerns you,” he re- “Not particularly; unless you are going my way. lam bonnd for the Rhine.” The sudden pallor of the man’s face was startling. He averted his eyes quickly. “T say—I am for the Rhine, And you—” “Tam not going that way,’’ he muttered, in a sullen growl. ‘* Perhaps—to Holland?” Again a look of terror, and avoidance of the pene- trating eyes. ‘Let me pass, if you please,” the man said. “One moment. I have a favor to ask.” ““A favor?” “Yes. It is that you will allow me to examine the brooch you wear in your shirt-front.” This time the alarm of the stranger wasso manifest that even the attendant noticed it. He instinctively covered his bosom with his spread hand, recoiling a step as he did so. His knees trembled; his white lips were quivering. Ina moment, however, he re- covered his self-possession. ““You—you are impertinent, sir!’ he exclaimed, a a TENG: atall. I recognize the crest on that brooch; the crest wrought inhair. I have never seen another like it. I wish to ascertain if it is the same.” Without reply, the Prussian endeavored to get past him to the door. But the sinewy arm of the stranger prevented him. -* Sir, I asked as a favor what I intend to claim as | aright. Let me see that brooch.” “Sir, for whom or what do you take me?” “T should not liketo say. Your manner is strange, and syne suspicion. I wish to examine the orna- ment. “T wish to pass out, sir.” “That you shall not do, till I am satisfied." **Do you think I stole the trumpery ban gh been loot more like it that you are afraid to let it seen!’ * Afraid!” with a contemptuous laugh. “T recognize the crest, I tell you. I sawit ina brooch more than a score of years ago; I suspect that it is the same; it belonged to a dear friend. “A score of years ago! And you expect to identi- fy it now?” ‘*T can readily do so, if it is the same.”’ “ How 9”? “Tt has a secret spring; what that discloses will conyince me.” Again the man’s face blanched; and again he tried | to pass, and found himself in the gripe of a force stronger than his own. ; ‘Now, you shall not leave this room till I am obeyed. Give me the brooch! Or will you wait till I call assistance, and have you taken before the magistrate?” The man’s fears would have taught him the wis- dom of yielding. He was in the act of loosening the ornament, intending no doubt to escape, leaving it in the hands of his captor, when there was a sudden interruption. There had been a trampling of horses’ feet, voices in conversation outside, and every indication of a new arrival. Now a number of Pernons en the and a crowd was gathering before the door. The man saw this, and turning, d toward the back door of the room, opening into the regions of the kitchen 1 domain. But the elderly man, as before, preven’ flight. He saw that it waa an escaped criminal who show- ed.so much fear of his fellow men. Then the door leading into the hall was thrown LADY HELEN’S VOW. : open, and several entered. Close behind them were two men in military dress. They marched straight to the Prussian; and one laid his hand upon his shoulder. ‘‘T arrest you,” he said.’ “You are mistaken,” cried the prisoner, struggling to release himself. “Ts not your name Johann Berg?” ““ No—no—it is not!” roared the man. mistaken. Let me go!” But that officer held him fast. It was soon explained that a m ous murder had been attempted or committed the night before at Kaiserswerth. It had been in a garden where an entertainment had been held in honor of a wedding. The party of revelers had remained till after sunset. One among them had been particularly noticed; his looks and bearing were peculiar. His dress was that of a Prussian, He had n seen in the garden, after the departure of the other Seeing with one man belonging to the hamlet, but about to set forth on along journey; for he had a valuable packet of jewels to take to Vienna, By some means it had been discovered that this man had been watched and attacked by the Prus- sian, had been strangled, robbed of his jewels, and thrown into the river. The body, floating down to a marshy spot, had been discovered by two Scotch- men, or rather by the dog belonging to one of them. They fished it out of the river, and carried it home. The alarm was given; the magistrates had at once dispatched officers to track the murderer. They had spent the night in the search. There could be no doubt he would make for Hamburg or Amster- — —— he —s repr find e officers no culty in recognizing the Erussian; they had both seen him at the festival in the garden. There could be no doubt of his guilt. The man stood like a statue, frozen with horror. His eyes glared like those of a sleep-walker; his features were rigid; his face white as death. All hope of escape had forsaken him. He made no resistance when they searched his per- son. The packet of jewels was found in a secret pocket of his vest. It was taken out, while the offi- cers proceeded to handcuff the prisoner. “And the dead body—whose was it?’ demanded the elderly traveler from England, his face working with unaccountable emotion. “The man is not dead,” said one of the new- comers. ‘‘He had floated down the river, and was found by a dog, and drawn out by two Scotchmen.”* “Not dead!’ The words had a powerful effect on the Prussian. His features relaxed from their rigidity; his eyes ** You are gleamed with sudden joy. ‘* He is hurt prett dad, but likely to live,’’ said an- other—one of the officers. : “They do say,’ observed his companion, “that the old Scotchman is a wizard, and sees visions. He saw this man throttle Albrecht Stenhaus, and pitch him into the river just as he did it—though he was inside his own lodgings.” ‘““T did not kill him,” grumbled the prisoner, “ by your own account.” “But you robbed him; and meant to killhim. You won't have the benefit of your failure.” “Albrecht Stenhaus, you said was the victim's name?”’ said the English traveler. $$ ee ' “Then Imust beg the favor, gentlemen, of being allowed to examine that b , worn by the pris- oner.’ “The brooch?” ‘““Yes—that in his shirt front. I knew Albrecht Stenhaus as a young man.” The prisoner made no resistance while the jewel was detached; it was then handed to the stranger. He looked at the crest embroidered in hair; sm One are pioedss ring at the back, en he a@ sp : It flew open, disclosing a locket. This contained the exquisitely painted miniature of a young and handsome man. en fair ocean eae oe F but the blue eyes and curling brown e Saxon, in enamel around the picture rant the. ‘bert to prea ge a - ty. Wie The traveler gazed ai ong and earnestly, while his breast heaved convulsively. Once he dashed his hand across his eyes. “J was not mistaken,” he said. “This jewel, which I knew at the first 5 (moe! by the crest in hair, belon, to the sister of Albrecht Stenhaus. It con- | tains the picture of my friend—the man who came ' from India with me, and was called Egbert Vane.” There was a murmur of curious sym 5 _ * Will you allow me to restore this err Sten- haus? He will know me. My name is Oscar Wall- rade. Ihave just come ‘from England on business. | that concerns the Stenhaus family.” “ We will take it to Stenhaus,” replied the officer, holding out his hand for the brooch. e gave it up, taking down the officer’s name . The party soon after set out on their reWallred roar hiring a horse from one of e su m one oO: i force accompanying the officers, and rode with e rest. XXXL WALLRADE’S RESEARCHES. THERE was a crowd assembled in and about the room at the inn where the examination of the pris- oner was held. Stenhaus himself was able to be present, He gave the story with straightforward simplicity. He had been charged with the conve y of a et of jewelry to Vienna by two gentlemen in Bruseldort: He had lingered several hours in the _ garden while the bridal are was going on. He
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ial * . _ a - > - " , LADY HELEN’S VOW. nad been desired by the Prussian to wait and be his traveli companion to the station for the night, where meant to procure fast horses. When came on, they were alone. They were about to leave the garden when the Prus- sian had suddenly rushed upon him, flung him on the ground and throttled him till he lost conscious- ness. This he recovered after he was taken out Of Herrick Na c ur and Matlin testified to having searched for the body, found it among the rushes, and drawn it ashore, They had thought life ex- tinct; but the shaking of ‘its conveyance to the ae no doubt had ‘revived the nearly drowned There was a profound sensation when Herrick re- a the conduct of Mat in ‘the vision,” and his wild appeal for help in behalf of the murderer’s vic- tim. Even the © segs was affected; and the su- perstitious looked at each other wonderingly. Who could dream of safety in Sones ein anaes meee TS Vi The Prus: neta was thus miraculous , sian was sent to prison to stand his trial for the robbery and assault. Waikees ieokesoa people were dispersing, the hand of Albrecht 8 aay Do you know me, comrade?” he asked. A moment of hesitation, and then Albrecht full recognized him. He flung his arms round the nec of his old friend, according to the Continental habit —and asked many questions about the past. * You must come to my mother,” he said. Before they went, the hioods was restored to its owner, and by him placed in Wallrade’s keeping—as he said it would prove a link in the chain of evidence in a‘legal case in which he was interested. Stenhaus took his friend first to his preservers. Wallrade thanked Matlin and Herrick the more ear- nestly, that he knew their association with the baron's daughter, and their consequent interest in his business. He thought it best to state at once his acquaintance with Lord Swinton and the fair Alicia. Herrick seemed delighted to meet one who had so recently parted from his kinsfolk, and insisted on both the gentlemen going home to dine with him. But Margaret met them at the outer door with the intelligence that Sir Kenneth was not so well; was restless and feverish, and could receive no guests. Hilda was in close attendance upon him. Herrick presented the new-comer to his wife. **You know, belike,” he said, ‘‘ how crazed I was for my cousin Alicia a time since?” Ges nothing of that,” was the answer. “Fie, Herrick!’ cried cousin betrays ey secrets? “Tm not ashamed of it,’ bluntly said the young man. “ She isa lovely young lady,”’ said the stranger. “ Ay; but I ha’ —- her better, say what you will!” ejaculated Herrick ‘his arm round Margaret’s waist. The wife flushed with pleasure, and catching his hand, kissed it quickly and let i drop. Her gratefnl look bespoke her pride and af- fection. Wallrade smiled; he was gratified to see the mu- tual devotion of A hag ct pair, for he knew Alicia would be pleased, r some further con: versation, he accompanied Stenhaus to his mother’s Mine aplh dai as busy at work; for, though me W: ; ou, her circumstances had improved since the an when Wallrade had known her, her active habits’ had not changed. She rec welcomed him cordially. The shocking story of the attempt on her son’s life was discussed, and shuddered over by the dame, “Heis allI have left,’ she murmured, ‘and he ought to be more careful. To risk his life in that garden at a wedding feast, and that when he bad valuables about him! The boy was always rash!” “The boy ” replied that no one knew of his carry- ing jewels; and he had been at a loss to conjecture how the Prussian knew it, till he remembered having seen him in Dusseldorf the day he received the com- mission from the two merchants. The old woman shook her head. “He will never learn caution,” she wailed. “Others are incautious, too!) remarked Wallrade. “This brooch, which Albrecht wore, was taken by the robber and placed in his own shirt-front. It was the sight of this that made me stop him; and ifI had not, he would have been out of Tbe inn, and on before the arrival of the officers sent to ar- her visitor, and " said Wall- r who it is?” lade, “ and tell omened displayed the minia- me He open the locket and * Remember?” riot oe Sania, beh , I have t lost my sens rt Vane, m daughter's pusband. - Poor Almeria! she had but him!’ little a my friend, you know. We came to- eerAy, I know, I have often wished Almeria had fancied Oscar, asshe called him ta love with her pretty asuehter- Shs had insisted it was jealousy and disappery sr uccessful rivet cul away, when he 7 sag had been married Il might have had her yet!”", _i4 oscar, with a sigh. “ igh. “ But “ Ro ane me few questions, They are not sg te had covered ter me with her apron, o a c oo=8 Se eee ret MHP Ber eves, a t, “ think you our. ** Ay, Indeed; as lovcly a boy as mother need wish to see! What a comfort he would have been to her! A i * And he lived? What became of him?” *“ Ach, mein Herr! it went to my heart to part with him! But what could I do? own father claimed him!’ . “ His father—Egbert Vane?” ** Ay, I took him myself to his father,”’ put in Al- brecht. ‘It wasa stormy night, and they thought Mr, Vane would not live till morning. I should have taken the boy yee on his death.” “He owned Almeria for his lawful wife to us all. Else I would not have given him the child, But the law gave it to the father.” “T know it, dear Madame Stenhaus. But what became of the boy? Egbert was in his mortal ill- ness.’ Albrecht answered: “ He lived but a few weeks. But he had a grand relation; an English milord, who came all the way over here to see him.”’ ** His name?”’ “T do not know his name. I think he did not give out the name; He came in haste and on purpose to see Herr Vane. I am told he did everything for him that money could do.” ** And the ney was given up to him?” ** Yes; he had lost his own; and he promised Eg- py to take care of him and to give him a for- une.’ ** Have you ever heard of him since?”’ ‘““Never; he went back to England; at least, he did not stay here after Herr Vane’s death.” “Had you no wish to trace him, and learn what had become of your sister’s child?” _ “It would have cost money, and I had it not to spend. “T heard that the English milor went to Italy,” re- marked the dame. ‘““ How should I have known where to look for him? After all, he had the best right. The father gave him the boy.” “Still it would have been satisfactory to know that the boy was dealt by according to promise.” ““We were very poor then,” said Madame Sten- haus. ‘We could not have given the child an edu- cation. If he lived, he would be better off with his English relations.” ‘Was the ‘milor’ a brother of Egbert’s?"’ “T never heard what relation. He lived very quiet- ly, and saw no one but the rich man.” ‘Had he a wife?” “T heard so,” replied Albrecht, ‘‘but I never saw her. Iheard the woman who took the boy say: ‘This child will be a comfort to my lady in plese of her own.’ ” ‘*She called her’‘ my lady,’ then?” “*She did; and so did the people at the inn where she stayed. But she never went out; she was in poor health.” “You saw the gentleman; did he bear any resem- blance to Egbert?’ **None; not the least.” “ But he was kind to him?” “*He was tender of him and nt all his time in doing what he could for him. He would allow no other nurse to have the charge of him.” “ Did he wear mourning at the funeral?” “Bless you!” cried the e; “‘ the funeral was as private and quiet as if the man had died of the plague! There were no mourners.” bi ere was Herr Vane buried?” “Tn the little cemetery over the hill.” ““T remember now, side Almeria.” “Tt was his wish. He always said he had never loved another woman,” “Now, Albrecht and Madame Stenhaus, let me tell you the business that brought me here. at noble gentleman whom you call ‘milor ’—as the Continent, ais callevery man of wealth and standing—was, I am a, convinced, no other than the Marquis of Both his auditors repeated the name—scarce pro- nounceable by foreign tongues. “ He was traveling on the Continent with his wife atthat time, I have every reason to believe that b ee lost, by death, the boy who passed as his “Who passed as his son?_ Was he not?” “T will Se og all that hereafter. Egbert Vane was his brother. His real name was Egbert Vane Thorpe. He was the edder brother, and therefore the rightful Marquis of Estonbury.” The dame held up her hands; and her son looked astonished, “Egbert was in wretched health. He failed so rapidly at the last that if he knew of the death of his uncle, the marquis, and his own accession to the title and estates, he did not care to claim them,” Madame Stenhaus shook her head. " Such things have little worth when death is near. “Almeria was & marchioness, then!” said Al- brech t. “Yes; for her os Rpecenen was the marquis before her death. You cah prove the marriage? “Tt was performed eR Protestant clergyman,” returned Albrecht. ‘‘Two others besides myself Were witnesses.”’ “Can these be found?” s The witnesses can; the clergyman went to Vi- “You could find him, if necessary?” “T think so.” ‘Have you a certificate? It is usual for the offici- ating priest to make out two.” Albrecht looked at his mother. She shook her ‘I could never find my daughter's marriage-lines," she answered, sadly. T But ‘bert—‘ milor *—owned Oe Ee ee ros her as his wife; both while she lived, and after she is enn her face with her apron for @ cov er r a) mournful recollections thronged upon her. “T have a certificate, which Egbert must have given to his brother. It was found lately among his papers,” said Wallrade. “A certificate of the marriage?” “Yes; itis plain enough for what pu eit was. Be e@, boy, if he is living, is now uis of nbury. The dame clasped her hands. “My grandson?’’ she exclaimed. ao so; but he has been defrauded of his birth- fe me Patience, mother,” remonstrated Albrecht, en- deavoring to check her ecstasies; ‘‘we know not. even if the boy is living!” “But I know,” said Wallrade—“ at least I am mor- ally certain—that he is; and a nobler young man does not exist. You will have cause to be proud of “He lives? Where?” exclaimed Stenhaus. “In England; knowing naught as yet of his ri But I am on the track to find out the truth. explain; though I cannot yet tell has all. Lord Estonbury brought up the boy—Almeria's. child and Egbert’s—as his own son and heir; though he himself usurped the title and estates belonging of right to him as the elder brother's direct suc- cessor. “The marquis died, and the boy came into the in- heritance.”’ “Fle came intoe ion?” “Then my lady—the marchioness—endeavoréd to compel ‘the young man to contract a marriage with a girl she had adopted: the alleged child of her maid. The young man refused to wed one of menial birth; or to wed the girl at all; for he loved another. her rage at the disappointment, Lady Estonbury disclosed the secret—that he was not her son, She declared him the son of her maid and her house- steward. The infants had been exchanged—she said—soon after their birth, and the girl was her own daughter,” ‘ ‘“Then he is not Almeria’s son.” Wallrade made a gesture imploring patience. “The young man—Reginald—still refused to mar- ry Lady Helen Swag. the loss of title and for- tune was the alternative. As soon as he was con- vinced that he was not the son of the late marquis, he surrendered all: title, fortune, everything, to the heir-at-law. That gentleman came, took possession, and married the daughter of the house.”’ Both listeners showed their disappointment. “Lady Helen, on the eve of her marriage, over- heard a conversation between the maid and mother, that convinced her Reginald was defrauded insome way. She made a vow to discover the se- eret, and do him right, if it iy, in her power, even to the loss of fortune for herself.” “Tt was generous of her!’’ exclaimed Albrecht, “She has kept that vow. Satisfied that nald was not the son of the Chisholms, she has obtained proof copringing spent to Buy more sense, of his real Li ahag ough it. may insufficient to es- tablish his rights ina courtof law, when those are keenly disputed. She found the marriage certificate I told you of, with the portrait of Almeria, inscribed to rt. “Phad it painted,” interrupted Stenhaus, “in . \ “Yes, that is the date; I recognized the picture at once. There were two letters from her also.” Madame Stenhaus wept at every allusion to her daughter’s acts; and her tears’ flowed abundantly at sight of copies of the letters, ‘There is no doubt in my mind that Reginald is the child of your daughter. And we ean establish the identity of Egbert Vane with theeldest nephew hert'a PuUnger MAL he belie: Siurtaedk Baek ‘8 younger brother, he being sup " He was reported ‘Lost at sea ’—and no one in Eng- Jand ever knew that he had been saved, But here he must have been recognized. I am here to obtain the evidence of that identity. Only one link re- mains to be discovered; that is: the proof that Re- ginald is the boy he intrusted to the care of his. uncle, and is his son.” “T could tell if I saw him!” said the dame. * And J—if he is like his mother,” said Albrecht, “ He is her living image.” “Then he is our own boy!” “‘T have no doubt of it; but it must be prove? be- ond cavil. Titles and estates are not transferred te English courts without evidence that cannot be I must consult eminent counsel in Lon- . will insaid. marchioness to a CHAPTER XXXIV. : HERRICK AND MARGARET IN yey A CARRIAGE drew up at the gate of the Estonbury mansion in London. Alicia Maur was seated in the carriage with her chaperone. She gave her card to be presented by the footman; to be taken to Lady Estonbury, The knocker and bell were answered by a porter in the livery of the house. The card faken in, and word came back that Lady Estonb was not at home to visitors, on account of the ess of her mother. Miss Maur left no,message; for she thought it sin- that she received none. The card had in 5 en taken to the marquis in the library, who sent the answer. ; The illness of the dowager had overtaken her sud- denly. It was an attack of pease, but not so vio- lent as to place her life er. It had soon elded to remedies; and she t have regained — usual health. but for the Rae set in after- \ hts. © on. They may find a way to compel the dowager ~ as | .
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oe _ proach her if delirium supervened. 28 -ward. This had run a course of of several da: had not yet abated. If not subdued ly, the medical attendant had expressed uneasiness as to ure. He did not like his wife to be much with the atient; he fancied all egree; but he did not interfere with Helen’s doi what she pleased. Only, she must not approac him when she came from the invalid’s room. y Hehad only that day, from the latest report of ,the physician, taken in the idea that there might be danger. This gave a new turn to his ideas. ‘ He would not have grieved at the death of his mother-in-law, nor at that of his wife. The first would have been arelief to him. But if the fever increased, fever might induce delirium; and what revelations might be the result? ‘ He changed his conduct, affecting a deep anxiet for the erer, He enjoined it on Helen to permit no servant or stranger to nurse her; or even to ap- He could con- trol his wifein any event. And if there were dan- ger of a death-bed confession, he had resolved to risk his own health by keeping guard in person. It was necessary to relieve Helen;/and, refusing to employ an of tried skill, he had summoned Mrs. Chisholm to wait on her mistress. The dowager, for months past, had not allowed her former maid to approach her presence, though she had ae ae from time to time, with the de- mands of Mrs. ChishoIm’s husband for money. ‘They were a habitual drain upon the liberality of the marquis; though not to any great extent; for oe knew not the whole secret; and the aversion of their mistress toward them, would, he thought, prevent her placing herself further in their power, Even in the event of an awkward discovery, he knew how to silence them. He gave orders that both ladies should be denied to all visitors. Thus Helen was deprived of the opportunity of seeing her friend, and learning what would have been most interesting to her. Alicia drove home, doing a little shopping on the way, in Regent street, and arriving at her hotel about dusk. The edi gg Toate of her suit was already lighted up; and the fact surprised her; for her father, in her absence, usually occupied his own: ‘*den,”’ fitted up as.a study. But she was still more astonished, as she entered, to find herself clasped in the arms of a Jady in deep mourning. The lady wore a deep cra -vail over her traveling bonnet; but Alicia knew the voice of Margaret at once. The baron presented Herrick, who received a warm ~welcome. e, too, was attired in black. Her father explained that his kinsman, Kenneth Maur, was no -‘more, : His death had been very peaceful, Margaret said; and he had suffered little. Matlin and Hilda were there to assist her in the care of the patient; and _ cthey remained for the present. errick was a little awkward at first; for the re- :membrance of his wild behavior at Stone Crag, while ander the sway of his savage on for his ceusin, - -was mortifying to him. But for his wife’s entreati ‘he would not have stopped in London. He hi yielded to her anxious desire to embrace her foster- r, were matters of business, too, to be arenes with the baron. As heir to the barony and all he estates appertaining, it was proper that some settled Nhat mae atta be made, and some place of resi- dence ed to Herrick. He shrunk from the _ fidea of m his home at the ruined castle by the sea, as it was wlth early painful recol- lections. Nor papi he do so—Lord Swinton declared _posi- brats 3 ‘as he-not in the place of ason? No home ‘but Stone ha a fitting abode for him; it was ‘time he learned to do the honors of the mansion as ‘its f proprietor. — “But it is your own residence,”’ remonstrated ‘young Maur. cia and I are not likely soon to return to Scot- land. Are we, aa “And if we should, .. guests of our cousins.” Margaret’s heart thrilled. It was so delightful to her to be thus recognized and received as one of the family. She caught Alicia’s hand, and kissed it. “T was afraid my lord watt not be pleased,’’— she w! red—tears filling her eyes—‘‘ with a lassie of mean birth for his lordly yo kinsman.” The intense worship of her soul was portrayed in ther eyes, as she glanced toward her Warieotine young husband. “How could you fear?” answered Alicia, in the same low tone. ‘You are the best of wives for him. And you know how dearly I love you, Marga- ret.” fj “ He chose me, though I was unworthy.” “Most worthy!’ cried Alicia, pressing her hand, *¥ will not let you disparage yourself. I cannot tell yyou how rejoiced I was when you wrote me that ‘you were betrothed.” The baron eran a to convey to the gene connie this warm nf ie of their marriage; and his con- -viction that they would be happy. and that a jolly tine of descendants would continue the succession. ele added some good advice to Herrick; and invited _ him to meet him next day at his solicitor’s to arrange such business as poight come between them. : Alicia had made Margaret remove her bonnet and _ outer wraps, and she now rung the bell to order the evening meal. A datnty one was presently ready in the dining- _ room, at which the health of the visitors was drank in good old wine, rivaling, the baron said, that in hig cellar at Stone Crag. dear papa, we can be the ana | diseases infectious in some | a = LADY HELEN’S VOW. | By the time they adjourned to the drawing-room, M ret had given some account of events during . the last few weeks of their stay in Kaiseiswerth. | She described the occurrence of the attempted ‘murder, discovered through the mysterious ‘‘ second sight ’’ of the Scottish seer, and Herrick’s bravery in going to render assistance. was a joy to her to speak of his good deeds; for never did a wife more idolize her husband. Happi- ness had made Herrick modest; for he disclaimed her praise, and declared the credit was owing to the dog. | Aiicia and the baron both started when they heard | the name of Wallrade; and the baron wondered what business had taken that eccentric individual to 'Germany. Belike, to look up titles to lands upon the | Rhine; in which he wished him luck; and he men- | tally added, for his sweet daughter’s sake. He was | now certain that Wallrade meant to leave his ample fortune to Alicia. The Herr Wallrade, Margaret said, had fallen in with some old friends; the man whose life Herrick had preserved—Herr Stenhaus—and his mother. “Stenhaus, did you say?’ repeated Alicia, with quivering lips. She had never dared tell her father of the business on which Wallrade had gone abroad. ‘Yes; Albrecht Stenhaus. His mother was like one distraught when she first learned the peril he | had escaped. She could have worshiped the ground on which my Herrick stood. How well I remember | her white face when she came in and threw herself 6 knees by the couch on which lay the poor man —her son.” ‘*Had she any—other—children?” asked Miss | Maur. | ‘*None; he was her only one; and he supported ‘her by his labor and commercial trips. e was ig starting on one when the robber entrapped | him,” : “Herr Wallrade is coming back to England,” re- marked Herrick, carelessly. “Coming back?” Alicia repeated. He had written to her that he was on the trace; and it was to carry that news that she had called upon Lady Estoenbury. Was he coming back because he had succeeded, or had he given up the enterprise? Her heart beat so that she was afraid its throbbin would call attention to the emotion she could no quite conceal. It was evident that Wallrade had not confided his undertaking to her cousins. The visitors did not remain late. They were go- ing on to Scotland as soon as agg and had no desire to linger in the metropolis where they were utter strangers. The baron, in shaking his kinsman’s hand at Masia ing, reminded him that he must not be late in his at- tendance at his solictors’ the next day. When they had departed, Lord Swinton threw himself into an Sa air before the fire, and com- menced making calculations with a pencil on a piece of Li He did not notice the abstraction of his daughter. How she longed to throw herself on her father’s breast, confess all her hopes and fears, and entreat him to send for Reginald! The happiness of her whole life, she felt, hung upon the tidings Wallrade would bring from Germany. CHAPTER XXXvV. MRS, CHISHOLM PACIFIED. Ir was about eleven at ht when young Lady Estonb arose from the luxurious lounge—fur- nished with cushions like a bed—in the large ante- chamber adjoining the rich chamber of the dowa- ger. For hours she had slept the GeeP.. sleep of ex- haustion, The room was dimly lighted by a small silver lamp that stood op a marble table at one end. The flowing silken draperies of the windows were softly stirred by the breeze, one of them being open- ed a little to admit the fresh air. Helen was very white, but arose refreshed by her slumbers. At first she did not remember where she was; and she passed her hand over her forehead with a piteous expression of bewilderment Then she recovered her full consciousness, and wondered how long she had slept. There was a quaint old Dutch clock on the mantle- jiece; and, lodkiing at it, she started to see how late t was, She Hipaatr through the dressing-room | adjo , and opened the door of the sick-room. A curtain of heavy silk, usually looped up, hun over the entrance. As Helen litted’ her hand o throw this aside she was stopped by the sound of voices. As perfect quiet had been enjoined by the physi- cian, her first impulse was to silence but, as she caught the first words, she stood perfect- ly still. Then she softly raised the curtain on one side, so as to see within her mother’s chamber. The stately bed, with its white curtains drawn back to admit a free current of air, stood with the head against the opposite wall. The dowager lay up by tiie lace-fringed and snowy pillows. ne of her arms was thrown over the blue silken citement, The other supported her head. Her cheeks wore a dangerous flush, d Chisholm, the maid, was kneeling beside the bed, her face partly concealed, and sobbing violently. aa “Oh, my lady, my lady!” she moaned. e I not think but that’ you would have pity for me no holm! returned ber mis ou trouble me, Chisholm!” retul . | tress, wearily. a My head aches so that sometimes I think my reason will desert me!” “And so it may, my lady; and pe, wore un. spoken that may give rest to r heart | as you value Feu for woh ais 5 ell me, and give | me Ad 172 v y : have already*told you.” - e speaker; , coverlet, and moved in the restlessness of febrile ex- | Oh! | ] y! ** But you know, and Ir know So op ,» andr P my lady, that it can -s Who dares question my word?” I mean no offense! You know that! I have held my tongue all these years! I have kept silence, to obey you, when my heart has been well-nigh broken t Oh, but it’s sore punishment on me for having been too submissive and too loving to my mistress!” “Woman, how dare you reproach me?” cried Lady Estonbury, growing more excited, and push- ing against the woman’s head as it leaned on the “ My lady, I have frome desperate. But I will be your slave, if you will but tell me the truth.” pou had it at first; but you refused to believe me!”’ “Oh, my lady, not an angel from heaven could have made me believe the boy my own son, Tell me, where is the one you took from me?”’ “You will foree me to call for assistance. You fake ecyentege of my helplessness!” groaned the invalid. “T have been struggling and striving not to speak; but Ican hold speech no longer. Only one word, my lady, to say where I may find him!’ **Do you accuse me of having killed, or sent into concealment, your son?” demanded the lady, fierce- iy. * Alack! Iknow not what!’ exclaimed the vwo- man, wringing her hands. “TI only know that you took away my blooming, beautiful boy, and I have never seen him since! And now I pray you, on my knees, to give him back to me!” * Why should you think I parted with him?” asked her mistress, querulously. “ Because I know the one you brought home was not mine! He has grown more strange to meas he rew up! He disowns me, and my heart disowns im.” “Why doyou urge the matter now, when you have kept silence so long ?”’ ““My husband would not let me speak. He said: ‘The boy will take care of us as hisparents.’ But he refused to acknowledge us. Then I was seized with a longing to embrace my own. A mother cannot forget her child, my lady. DidI not keep yours for you, and cherish her, and restore her fair and bloom- ing _ your arms? My lady, youare wicked to wrong “Thave not wronged you.” Ss wee ae robbed of m Seal Vhy do you suppose I wou ve him up?” * T cannot tell. Wetikke ou me He lsd of better blood in the one you put in my son’s place!” The lady half-raised herself in-bed. “Silence!” she exclaimed. ‘‘Do you think me a fool, to place myself wholly in your power?” “Oh, my lady! went on the desperate woman “death may be very near! Your reason may no! be spared. A few hours may make it too late to do me justice. As you would pass to judgment with- out a mortal sin on your soul—I beseech you—” The invalid sprung up and threw off the coverlot from her shoulder. “Death near?” she faltered, spent the words of her attendant. ‘‘ Who says so? A’ not growing Bebe hay ew Death! Doesany one thinkI am goin: ie?’ In her excitement she slip from the bed, and stood u her feet. Her Phe dvetet -gown fell to the floor; her arms were outstretched, graspin the air; her face was blanched with the horror o fear that had come upon her; her white lips quiver- edconvulsively. Her form swayed to and mt Helen flew to her assistance, and eaight her in her arms, as she would have fallen. She lifted her in her arms and placed her on the bed; then seized the bell-rope, and rung a violent peal. , Chisholm had risen and stood petrified under the young lady’s indignant looks. “Begone!” cried Helen. ‘You see she has faint- ed; would you kill her outright?” There was a rush of feet outside, and several of the servants presented themselves in answer to the summons. “Call his lordship, and send for the doctor,” ee the marchioness, preserving her presence of ; mind. She stood with her arm around her mother, as if to shield her. The attendants hurried along the corridor to the apartments of the marquis. But he | had been aroused by the bell, and was coming, al- ready, in ltis dressing-gown. He dispersed the af- frighted throng, and strode on to the door of the , dowager 8 room. | ‘ She wae aoanatng hor iene Helen, pale as ia corpse ersell, er han bat: er fi eee wien cold water, ds and bathing ore- Chisholm still stood i iddle of the like a statue of despair. wd gait “What is the Meaning of this?’ demanded his lordship, as he went up to the bed. | Helen explained that she had lain down to sleep for a few hours, leaving the maid with her mother. ‘When she came back, fhe two were in the midst of | a conversation which violently agitated the invalid. , She had rushed in, in time to save her from falling oan floor, in the swoon that followed her excite: “Can you stay with your mother afew moments?” asked his lordship. 2 Or shall I send one of the housemaids to help you? ‘Oh, yes! do send some one!” she answered, trembling from head to foot. “TI have never seen her like this before! If she should never come out of the fainting-fit! “She will come out, See, her pulse is stronger— | she will revive soon. Stay with her ten minutes, till Treturn. Now, woman, come you with me,” he said to Chisholm. C - By the time they had reached the library the poor | woman had recovered her gelf-possession, and braced
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. folding it, he held it befo: _ Was inistaken, herself up for a determined assertion of her mater- nal rights, . The enforced silence she had kept so long, under her husband’s constraint, and the 71 dapat ot other ie ees septa additional strength to her re- bean her lady should die with the secret un- She entered at once into a voluntary confession. She wished not to distress her lady; but if she were to die, or lose her reason, what clew could she obtain to the discovery of her child? And you have done your best to hasten that vba you E aeainn to ovens !” said the marquis, ¢ 0 you suppose your mistress will not have her days—her hours, perhaps—shortened by e ook you have made her suffer?” he, wonven forbid!” exclaimed the woman, clasping Stands, and looking upward. caret knowledge of her imminent danger has been oon kept from her. She always a terror of ceath. What you said may terminate her life with- im a few hours.” Chisholm sunk on her knees, and, amid sobs and groans, besought on. Stand up, and listen to me,” ordered the mar- Ye If you had come to me, all this might have en saved. I know all you wish to know.” ‘You? your lordship?” the woman. You were right in what you said, as far as re- gards the parentage of—the young man to whom ou alluded. He is not the son you gave your lady, n exchange for her infant daughter.” | Limew it! I knew it!” Your lady and the late Lord Estonbury were road much more thana year, you remember.”’ R — your lordship.” a our —th fetes nee en @& very young ant—died at “Be e after a few hours’ illness. It was croup, I think she told me.” i ‘And she never told me!"’ sobbed the mother. She her reasons. The infant boy taken in the place of the lost one was adopted by Lord Es- tonbury, somewhere in Germany.” Oh, my lord, it cannot be! The late marquis doated on little Reginald. He never could have loved so much a stranger to his blood!” «, Who said he was so?” ~ o Did ae lordship?” : dienceas 4 va te our lady had imposed an heir the fo one on ¥ good reason to hate the boy!” Bett hae or a he was—her husband’s son—but not her wae marquis nodded. io ord never loved my lady. But it was cruel of him to force her to ows. a ise “born child, sind By he had the blood of an Estonbury in his ., Are you satisfied?” a 2 my lord, forgive me; but—” aver gece T+ have proof that your son died? I can pbk oe he will do so; and then the matter must € went to an Indian cabinet, which he unlocked m & drawer, that opened b ing, he took out a folded i Slee ease oUR. Sweat, re the woman, Poe Age in ) seri testa of the burial of “ Reginald— at t) e of Estonbury;” and was now,” said his lordship. e wailed, and her head l hip naturall ferred » even if the a sinister faterponed Boa ee any right to inheritance. ikeonty & sneer, watching the woman's face i You can understand, now, her,” v7 Oh, I ee only note iy lord!” cried the dame. pee vans Ph esis pow now, that is sufficient, You wil sae me a ee Ke upon your lady, if you her ain on the subject romise never to speak to ess you our lordship!” et A eaaen aa pn te should say anything, ill you promise this?” Sught to any one else. agra my ere ear of your gossiping concerni 4 ing famil pr alg I shall know how to punish you,” he ada y lord,\I a ea this grief so many years he “ ee tis security for your silence. Ww. trust.you. You must answer for . lt Twill uc ypaeed I will, my lord.” hairiteesn: : yu best not go near Lady Estonb ‘i ury to- night f will sit’ with fer. You may go to your The woman made a profound obeisance , and Plc ec expressions of gratitude. .She saw in his a nine b’s forgiveness and his continued trust in her ne ge that both she and her husband might de- a ae oy ae bounty, as before. That set her mind Many a dispute had she had with the ex-stew: a who had hitherto restrained her from inquiries = cerning her child. He had always insisted that she and. that. Reginald was their own, ‘mind at once! When she repélled that conviction, and avowed her belief that her child had been put away and was living somewhere, his authority was overbearing, and sufficient to compel her obedience. or she could be silent with an unmurmuring spirit. After she had left the library, his lordship con- tinued his walk to and fro, arrarging his plans in the event of the death of his mother-in-law. CHAPTER XXXVI. HELEN TRUSTED. Unver Helen’s gentle ministrations, consciousness slowly returned to the dowager. Her eyes opened, the color came back to her cheek; her breath came antingly and irregularly, as of one in the & of ever, and her eyes were glassy and wild. er daughter soothed her, 1eOANE par cold hand on the burning forehead, and moistening the parched lips with the refreshing draught prepared. Presently the patient part lifted her head, to see if any one else was in the room. Helen stoo’ and ae her, while she bade her not tax her strength. ‘Is no one here but you?” asked the invalid, faint- ly. ‘No one, dearmamma. But the doctor will come; they sent for him when you fainted.” e pale hand was stretched out, and grasped the daughter’s arm, drawing her closer. ‘Helen, tell me the truth! Am I going to die?” “Oh, dearest mamma, how can you: think of such a thing! e hope expec! you soon My Weh and t will be we 3% . ‘* But Chisholm said so.” “She was frantic. My lord has sent her away.” “T want to know the truth, Helen. Do not de- ceive me.”’ “You have been made worse by the shock. But the doctor will give a composing draught.” F by You do not answer me. Am I thought to be in anger?” ‘T have never heard any one say so, indeed, mam- ma. Pray be calm; do not talk; lam sure it is not good for you!” Her tears were flowing fast; she threw. her arm over the patient, clasping her fevered hand, and laid her face close to hers on the pillow. But she could not. stop her from speaking. “Helen,” she faltered, in a low, earnest tone, “I ean trust no one but you. If I am to die there is something to be done. I cannot leave this world with that secret weighing on me. It would sink me to perdition.” “Oh, , Mamma! Speak and ease your Do not brood over such thoughts.”’ “Tell me, could I hope for salvation if I suffered a wrong and fraud to go on?”’ “Heaven forbid t any one should dare set limits to the mercy of our heavenly Father; but, oh, mamma, do not let wrong and fraud soil your soul, in life or death!” “The telling of the secret would plunge you into poverty, my child.” ‘“‘Mother, mother, think not of me! The Right be- fore all!” ‘You are a saint in heart, Helen! I do believe you would lay down your rank and title without a murmur,” “Tf I possessed them by fraud, they would be worse than worthless!”’ 2 “Ay, the burning crown! You have read of it; but I have felt it! It scorches my brain; it will drain my life!’ ** Pluck it off! oh, phick it off!” Helen sunk on her knees by the bed, on the very spot where Chisholm had knelt, and clasped her arms round her mother’s neck in mute sup} ication. There was silence for a few minutes. Then her ladyship motioned for the cooling drink which Helen held to her lips, : ‘“Helen,’’ she said, ‘‘ will you promise me, if I put myself wholly in your power, to say nothing—to re- veal nothing while I live?” 3 “Oh, mamma, should we make conditions in doing an act of justice? I trust you will live many years.’ ‘*In that ease, I will take my own way of disclos- ing the secret. You must promise what I ask, Helen. I feel that this fever may overpower my reason; J feel that Imay die without being able to speak, Don't weep, child, but promise me! I will not trust you unless you do! Will you? Say quickly ! My head will burst if 1 have to bear any more!” ‘Mother, I promise.” “You will never betray me till I give you leave, or till—I am no more?” “T will not! You may trust me!”’ . The sufferer plucked at a ribbon round her neck. It had a key attached to one end. “Take this,” she said, ‘‘and open the walnut cabinet in my dressing-room. The center drawer; the key unlocks it. Stay—I forget—my mind wan- ders—there is a drawer within, or—a false bottom; press ne spring at the back. You will find the papers there.’ 4 Her intermittent tones shared that the fever was cs) ts work w: er brain. Helen hastened to do her bidding. She locked the dressing-room door before she opened the cabinet. The drawer came out; it was filled with jewels of no great value; the Estonbury diamonds being kept under his lordship’s charge. The pressed the two wooden bottoms. abe yang marchioness secured the rs, which were thick and heavy; then she closed the irawer and the cabinet, unlocked the door, and hurried back to her mother. .‘T will not even look at these,” she said, “till you give me leave, mamma.” ring disclosed the space between LADY HELEN’S VOW. RS RD, 29 But her ladyship had fallen into a doze, and did not reply. Helen again fastened the key to the rib- bon round her neck, put the papers in her own bosom, and resumed her watch. In ten minutes there was a bustle in the hall be- low, and steps were heard ascending the stairs. The marquis entered, preceding the physician, who had been summoned. He went to the bed, and. examined the unconscious patient. His face suddenly darkened, “‘There has been mischief done here,” he said,. “ since my last visit.’ His lordship explained that the indiscretion of the waiting-maid had caused her lady a great shock. “ And thrown her into a condition I do not like!’’ the physician added. “ Feel her head. My lord, I must ask you to send in the morning for Sir James. Harcourt.” ‘ : This was the name of an eminent London physi- cian. The doctor went on to order ice applied to the: atient’s head, and other remedies to subdue the ever. His eng ag not be concealed He admitted to room, that the shock, sai DE oot the patient’s ye oining perfect quiet, he eave, promising br r in the morning, before the ‘time ap- pointed for the consultation. Helen still sat motionless by the bed. It was. already well on toward morning. ; ‘Poor girl!” said her husband, compassionately.. “ You better retire.’” anes my lord; I will stay here. I am not fa- igued.” “Your mother will not come out of that stupor till the fever abates. You can stay till then,,if you. will call me as soon as she wakes,’ ** Very well, my lord.’’ She was once more left alone with the sick.. om eee CHAPTER XXXVIL ; THE WIFEY DEFIANCE, Days passed on, and the Condition of the d marchioness did not improve. The consultation . The triumph of medical skill over disease has its limits, and these had been reachéd. But little hope remained of her restoration to health. The intervals of reason became fewer and shorter; and while broad ig og honge of fever continued; the pa- tient mutte in low delirium* or str ied ! eoniasigh § ms. When the'violence of the fever abated, she fete Ns ina stupor. Never was bond-slave more faithful toa me ‘ter than Dame Chisholm to his lordship. She knew her dependence on his bounty; and hoped for reinstate~ ment in one of his households at some future time.. Every word that fell from the unconscious sufferer’ Wabe cient ced stianeticeneaiones Same e often s expressions, w e had some difficuley ih Wa pists : sion of his ‘informant. Sometimes the sufferer fancied herself in Ger- many; talked of his lordship's brother, and of little Reginald as his son and heir. ' “It was their plan, at first,”” remarked Lord Es- tonbury, ‘‘to pass the “* as a nephew. But you: ourself, it could not be. The elder son, He. ane Tho perished at sea more than a year’ before Reginald was born.” ‘‘Thave heard so, my lord.” More and more, every day of this; till his lordship, with anxieties continually on the strain—most earn- estly wished that the scene would close. Such wan-- derings were rarely heard in his presence; but He- ig Keng seldom left her mother’s side was a o them. : Late one afternoon Chisholm came into the li- brary, where his lordship was reclining in a leathern- cushioned chair, She closed the door, and approach-- ed with her usual stealthy tread. “Well?” inquired the marquis; who saw. that she: had something to communicate. “ Her has been quiet this afternoon,” the woman said. “The fever is not so hi and she a posted sensible. I heard her w “ oung Paiy bo Sag whatI am sure your ordship ought to. Ow. “What?” asked the marquis, affecti a ference he was far from feeling. wth “T heard my lady say: ‘ Helen, remember your promise,’ and she answered, ‘I do remember it, mamma,’ And my lady said then: ‘Not a wo ae Llive. If it pleases God to restore me, I wit o it in m leaned her head down, sobb' read, heart. But she said ies? to eal her mother whis- pered in her ear,” ;, What do you make out from this?” There is’ some understanding between them. — # is, I A ge) make out. But my young lady s s case - tiers Sate © something in of her mo “She would promi i patient,” 8) se anything to soothe the “Ah, my lord, you do not know yo Lady Es- tonbury. She would never promise what she did not mean to fulfill, And I saw it in her face, my lord, that she had something weighty on her mind.’ It was your fancy, c olm,” said his lordship, “Not at all; craving your lordship's’ pardon. My penne lady ‘is as firm asa rock, and Re deep as a “Did you get an idea of the matter between them? Was there a word dropped that could lead you to a congosiqnt tad ! ‘T heard m speak once the name of ‘ Regi- nald,’ and T Krom: young Lady ec y Estonb’ wt r, Hush, mamma,’ and try to soothe het, as if eed rd Estonbury, in the dressing- — explaining to the apprehen- own way.’ And then’ my RNA. yay - witness: Le. ¥ e
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A u - 4 30 she would excite herself too much. But it may have . been to preven my hearing anything.” : whe marquis rose, and paced the room uneasily. Chisholm went on to report her reasons for thinking Helen should be watched. “You are a good, faithful soul, Chisholm,” re- marked his lordship, giving her a sovereign; * and I shall remember your devotion to my interests. But , you lex yourself without cause. There can be : no ie bettean your lady and my wife. If Helen knew anything, or had promised to do anything, she ~would come to me for aid.” The woman meekly crossed her hands, and bowed submissively. “You are right to report everything to me,” his lordship continued, “as I alone can judge what is of importance. This is nothing. You may go now; and I will visit your lady in the course of an ” our, : Chisholm courtesied and left the room. A ehange then came over his lordship. The most ‘ profound disturbance was evident in his movements | .and his countenance, “Helen arrayed against me!” he muttered under | his breath., ‘It is just like her to undertake setting matters right under the plea of justice. I should ; not wonder if the doting fool had made her promise . to do it to save her soul from perdition! ‘Not a word while I live.’ Ay, my lady; and when the breath is Ba oe your body, I will take care of my wife!” e resumed his walk for some minutes. “Pshaw!’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ What could be done, even if the mother did cram the daughter with a stary, to be repeated after her death? at would \ such gon iit avail? The word of a crazed wo- as man in the last stage of typhoid fever! The courts would laugh at it!’ ty He went into the dining-room, helped himself to a glass of wine, and rung to order supper. “Tell Lady Estonbury, my wife, that I would like Hab she her company at supper,’’ he said, to the ‘ootman. The man went up, and returned with the answer that. lady begged his lordship to excuse her. Her mother was not so well, and she herself could one Fate she avoids me!” muttered his Jordship. “J will see to this.” He partook of the dainty meal in silence and \ x a. Se i rose and went up the stairs; knocking at | the door of the dowager’s dreesiig..00 m. Helen herself came to the door. She smiled feebly when she saw her husband, and went back to her seat by her mother’s bed. tok. Estonb' inquired how she was, how long | ; ry , since the doctor’s last visit, and if he was coming : again that evening. Then ne asked where Chisholm was, “Tt is not right, Helen,” he said, “ that you should wear out pith Death and strength. Chisholm is an Sree Buse. Bho is eyes too. re her bt and let stay with your mother, and come you > the terrace fo walk. You are suffering Ny m this confinemen : : Helen begged to be permitted to remain; but his ee lordship was peremptory. He called Mrs. Chisholm, _ who was in the sitting-room belonging to the suit. Then he gave Helen his arm and led her down- The cool night air-on the lawn refreshed her. They there about half an hour. Then Helen begged to go in. Her husband took her into the library, and brought her aglass of wine, , : eying ie would do her good. She sipped it in obe- | ience to him. : When she rose to go up-stairs, he bade her sit still. ; The ayes lit, and burning brightly. He rose and went to the door, turning the key. “Do not be startled,” he said, observing his wife “ButI want a few minutes’ conversation With m Ld * thd ith you. Why do you look so frightened? Ny “Tam aa delahtened.” “You have avoided me of late, Helen; and now, when I to you, you turn pale, as if I had a knife at your throat.’ She tried to assure him she was calm and not at all terrified; but she trembled violently, and could vi articulate a word. 5 His ‘eyes were fixed on her face. a gen ie heard any thing, Helen, to make you m me?’ ~ © Oh, no! but—my mother is so ill! She needs me allthe time! Letme go to her!” she sobbed, almost | incoherently. : “Your mother is in good hands; better than yours, ey if you encourage her to talk of exciting mat- rs. “T_—encourage her?” “Helen you are always truthful. Can oe deny #hat your mother, since she has been ill, made Sime ato ncacet, be itaintie.ne canon fgets e oug: yp ce in e heart of the matter, to tide wife by surprise, ing her no time for prevarication, Oh, b a thankful was Helen that she could utter “ made no Beceem to me! She has revealed no family secrets.’’ , “Are you sure? Has she told you nothing of wich Foe are not to speak ‘a word while she eS The ! ate picion of the pa rs. These she had never opened. “And if she »’ said the marqnis, laughing, ’ « r “Si bt 9 ' i -re's Z / “what could it amount to? The word of a dement- ed patient, muttered in delirium?” | Quietly Helen was ae toward the door. “Stay. Do not bein such a hurry, unless you are afraid of me.” The young wife retraced her steps. “If your mother should say anything; should aid any Se ae Gee eee fever patients are | RATA cat opt | 4 giways the prey. ct imagmation wil you promise, | man in livery came toward her; and she timidly | asked for Miss Maur, Helen, to communicate it to me?” ““T cannot promise, my lord.” | ** Why not?” “Because, if my mother wanted something done, I should do it, even if forbidden by you.” a ig would be disobedient to my commands, en?’ “In that case, if I judged the command of my mother to be imyortant, I would.” “And you would set up your own ju ent | against mine!” grovled the husband, stopping in front of her, and fixing his glaring eyes upon her. ‘*T would try to do what is right,’’ she faltered. | He muttered a bitter oath. “Supposing what you were ordered to do should involve ruin to me?” “Tf it were right, and my bounden sty; I would pray that I should not falter in doing it, for fear of co. fuences !”’ Another terrific curse, that made the poor wife shudder. “It is well I am warned!’’ ejaculated the marquis, between a sneer and an execration. “ My wife would sacrifice me to her whim of proclaiming any lies a raving lunatic might utter, if she knew she would ruin me by doing t! Very well, my lady! I will take care of you!’ * My lord—’’ “You may go now to your mother; but when she breathes her last, and from that moment, you shall have speech with no human being but myself!” **Do you think she will die?”’ * Think! she cannot live more than a day or two! Then—you are my prisoner! You shall have no chance to £° about with your pretended disclosures! | I will teach you, madam, the duty a wife owes her husband!” The low, hoarse tone, the fierce glare of the eyes, | the twitching of the convulsed lips, the ghastly pallor , of the face, convinced Helen that he spoke in terrible | earnest. | _ She could have sunk into the earth in her terror. | He meant what he said. He penetrated the secret she had so nearly discovered; and his revenge would prt oo should he detect her agency in *peiging A af she moved toward the door. { member,” he said, with low, concentrated tones of force, “I married you to escape a greater evil! I paid a heavy price for what enjoy; and you shali never deprive me of it. You shall walk a straight path, Let me see you deviate from it, and you have yet to know what revenge and punishment mean!’ The white teeth gleamed through the bushy hair on his lips. Helen could not suppress a faint ery as bras fernng to the door, unlocked it, and escaped into e She heard him laugh long and loudly; a laugh as full of menace as his words. Long Helen sat beside her mother’s bed, while she strove to calm the tumult of her thoughts, and bring her shaken nerves into subjection. She was by nature timid and shrinking; though the spirit within her rose to meet any emergency. What was she now to do? She had no doubt of her husband’s purpose; to prévent hermaking any disclosure when the time should come. As soon as her duty, and her mother’s d command should urge her to action, she would find herself fettered as with a chain of iron. Would that some power would direct her! She stooped over the Pak who lay ,in undis- turbed sleep. She turned her face slightly, so that her lips were close to her daughter's ear. Then she murmured distinctly the words: ‘* Remember, my child; remember.” Helen started and looked up. Chisholm sat, nearly asleep, on the other side of the room. She could not ve heard the words. They came like the voice of a spirit—telling her what she must do. Yes; and how to do it, flashed that instant in her mind. She would trust Alicia. She would find her that very night. She would bind her by the same prom- ise she had given. Then, in the event of her mother’s prin ne) her own agency would be effectually con- She aroused Chisholm, and bade her sit by the invalid, while she retired to her own room for an hour or two. She requested not to be disturbed, as she niet obtain some rest. Chisholm promised to rema’ Helen went to her room, and summoned her own maid. To her she said that she wished to go out for a while, and she was to guard the door, and admit no one on any per The girl readily undertook to do so. Helen then | threw a dark serge cloak over her black silk dress, ow denial vib ya bol at yok mother has~PUt 02 a hood which completely covered her face, my ‘cee assu ? my and secured the important rs safely about her | on. They werein a nobles packet, and the seal ad never been broken. She went out by a private door and staircase lead- ing from her boudoir. The staircase led to a lower one, descending into the garden. Thence a narrow Helen passed out into a back street, narrower than the one on which the mansion fronted. | It was late, but she gave herself no time to gather LADY HELEN’S VOW. ‘fears or scruples. She ran to the corner of the next | | (STEEL AA Se OT street, and some distance along that, before she dared to look fora cab. Then she saw an empty one, hailed it, and bade the man drive her to T—~ Hotel, in Berkeley square. She alighted, and dismissed the cab. Drawing her hood closely over her face, she, ran up a flight of stairs and stopped in the upper hall. The halls and corridors were a blaze of light. A “Certainly, miss, this way,” said the servant—who took her for some lady’s confidential maid. He turned iuto a side passage, went on some paces, and knocked at the door before he threw it open. The room—the drawing of Lord Swinton's suit, was brilliantly lighted, and several voices were heard. Helen shrunk back, afraid of meeting stran. gers. The man who accompanied her, said, as he opened the door: “ A woman with a message for Miss Maur,” Alicia came to the door, and the servant retired. Helen was hesitating what to say, when the girl caught sight of her face between the sides of the hood. “Lady Estonbury!”’ she exclaimed in uttter sur- rise; and grasping her arm, she tried to draw her nto the room. But Helen resisted. She merely wished to speak with Alicia one moment; she could not meet stran- gers! Sheretreated from the door into the hall. Another ear had caught the name. The next mo- ment Reginald Holmes came Wess out, grasped both the visitor’s hands, and welcomed her warmly as ‘his dear sister Helen.” “Come in here!” said Alicia, opening another door, leading into an unoccupied apartment, “Your mother?’’ inquired Reginald. “Is she bet- rr?’ . aking very quickly. “I must go back to her. But I dared not trust any messenger with these.” And she ps the packet into Reginald’s hands. “T know I can trust you,’’ she said. , no!” cried Helen, “T gave fa ager to my mother that I would say nothing while she lived. If her life is spared, she will do you right, Reginald. If she is taken away, it is my duty. But I might—be prevented. I have thought it best to bring them while I am—at lib- erty.” Both her auditors understood her. Alicie pressed her in her arms. : Ns ipaegi you will spare my mother?” she fai- ered. “This is sacred with me,’ he said, touching the seal, ‘‘ till I have leave from you to open it,” “Do not wait to hear from me!” ‘“ While your mother lives!’’ “That is all I ask. Oh, thanks. inald, you have taken a weight from my mind. Now I must Alicia entreated her to stay; but she refused. “Tmustreturn. I may be missed.” ““T will go with you,” cried Reginald. ‘No further than to place me inacab. It would be known that I came to you.” Alicia clung to her friend with thanks and bless- ings; but she dared not detain her. he returned to the drawing-room, where Wall- rade and two lawyers, solicitors of the baron and Reginald, were in coversation. But it was several days before they knew of the important addition to their evidence. The cab deposited Helen at the garden gate and she unlocked it with the key. She hurried up the private stairway, and gained the upper hall before she took off the cloak. Her maid opened the door of the sitting-room. ‘* His lordship has been asking for you,” she said. “Ttold him you were asleep.” Helen gave her the cloak and passed into the bed- chamber. There was a knock at the door. She opened it and the marquis stood facing her. CHAPTER XXXVII. A MONSTROUS WRONG, Lorp Estonsury stood still for a moment at the entrance; then, as his wife stepped back, he followed her into the room, : “Your maid said you were asleep, with a sneer. ‘‘You do not look awakened from slumber,” Helen was silent. “You have been out,” he added. Have you not?” Still no answer. _ “Itis strange that your maid should have been instructed to report a falsehood to me.” “She was not instructed to report anything,” re- plied Helen. “Then she ventured on it of her own accord. And you cannot persuade me to believe that she had not some object.” Helen was about to answer that she did not care to persuade him to anything, but she checked the re- tort, and merely observed, quietly: “Ada had no idea of being disrespectful, my lord. _ I tind charged her not to admit any one.” “While you were absent. And where have you been, if I may ask?” After some hesitation, the young lady replied: “Pray excuse me from gi an account of my- self. Idid not know I was a prisoner on parok.” be You are & rebel to the authority of your lawful master. ’ ‘““ Will you permit me, now, to go to my mother?” “When you tell me where you have been!” “T cannot nr Fd why your lordship should be curious on the subject.” ‘*Because you have been absent the best part of an hour; and your maid tried to deceive me. Your he remarked, like one just
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hightened color, your excited manner, the dampness your hair, the strange disorder in your looks, show something unusual has occurred. It is your by hs ae frank with me, as well as to obey me, at Helen’s eyes flashed; but she repressed the rejoin- der that rose to her lips. , / Will you tell me where you have been, vr whom cs Pah oe em ‘I do not i i z ‘ ray.” you would believe me, whatever I erhaps not; but I might gathcr a clew to hunt you, madam, through the mazes of deceit and ¢, ce lordship makes accusations, expecting to not f ‘rom me admissions of their truth. That is Ah Tell to a suspected criminal.” ei Ine One thing; what is the promise you made your mother, of which she continually reminds you. in her feverish talk?” e Ir your lordship heard her?” Ha ae not—it been reported to me.” to re al that Then ree was a spy, placed ou will see that I know many things, madam, nich you Sete sae ignorant.” 4 x iv tair, or kind, my lord, to place a spy on phe abe when watching by the death-bed of her ‘I shall protect myself at all hazards.” ;, But what do you apprehend?” ‘ That IL shall not say ., How can I do harm, supposing I had the wish?" tan may stir up my enemies, and give me trou- One can injure you.” Again she attempted to leave the room. As'she did so, the marquis grasped her arm. You may now consider yourself a pieaner in ®arnest,” he hissed in her ear. ‘* Your lying maid will be disc to-morrow. You are under ob- “If you are conscious of no wrong, my lord, no servation. Ey. look, every word shall be watched leavent rted. d beware how you attempt to e house. If you wish to walk in the garden accompany you.” oo ne sold pmeronis yrith a fierce pores Helen ekly, and passed him, goi © suffer- €r’s room, at the other end of the corridor. e found Chisholm in the easy-chair as before; tient lying in an apparent stupor. Helen when the med ‘eines or nourishment had been > on rome ieosg feck ner penne, aigeo, besiise ’ er to her mother’s fev han, that lay on the Bet coverlet. nce she looked up at the woman in the easy- night who was aroused from her dozing, and sat up- “a y the ask watching her, you are tired, Mrs, Chisholm,’ she said, gently, ° noe leave the room rite I shall Fl eed ud ols t «Our ladyship cannot watch all night again?” reeinam strong to-night. Ido not feel the want of The woman rose wearily aachoweres his lordship’s orders,” she muttered went slowly out of the room Ay, “his lordship’s orders!” Th ose of her mis- tress or the lady of the household, were nothing to t. But, Helen's mind ‘ : €d by the highest moral ot nerved to action, guid- = for _humiliatio aap principle; and.she did not irine gra “Helen!” very faintly uttered, like an hone Sigh, arrested her Mitontian ; iY} Helen . her ear close to the sufferer’s lips. —the right,» “8s. You will do it?—the right Helen dropped ed hands aofeiant ee and lifted her clasp- Phe aa it, mother!” ble. But i unclosed; but no sound was audi- sha: tare sauehter, acing them, fancied they e SW I swear it gain for your seep ® sake of the right! t as a tend othe burton of as fe: Gauge had Le Siyal fight, n of sin from the soul about to take its e door o} “ His lordship “bige yiand Chisholm came back. said, as she resumed her sa¢/@¥ With my lady,” she the freshly-prepared he patient some of wo Be bi se ishment Chisholm brought e could no ei firmly closed; though Lor Bee “ed and eyes were i mee fd her daughter's, ung with a faint Lord mbury came in ce was sufficient, and went up to the bed. r he had gone, a servant état tot ron ‘thé physican, 0° away froin the e about an hour, looked at th woman, felt her pulse and foreh e dyt wee ene bet SAE on we" ha “ ce. bed x) x ryote ane see another sunrise. ce he said. an never speak again?” demanded his memset , e doctor re ed for the rest of the night lerdship did not go back into the ok-rdone: Hs a sensible of a - feeling of relief. the pe He first struggled through the wee MW reten was gently led from the Ada took rte rig a , er own , arranged the cushions of the couch for he ~~ of tea and biscuits on a airek Ge yittaaeme er young mistress could touch nothing. A key ¢ “ 7 t * Xs OC es A . . LADY HELEN’S VOW. But at the sound of a step in the hall, sie sudden- ly started up, hurried to her escritoir and took a card from the drawer. This she thrust into Ada’s hand. “* Ada,’’ she whispered, ‘‘if anyone should hap- n to me, take this card to the lady whose name it ars. See: ‘Miss Maur, Hotel ——, Berkeley uare.’ ” ‘I will, my lady,” replied the maid, putting the card in her pocket, ‘Oh, my lady, I have wanted to om) something. My lord saysI:must leave you.” Helen lifted her white face, full of anguish and despair. “And at this time!” she murmured. ** Hush, ay ” And at the instant the door opened to 1it the marquis. “What do you here?’ he said, savagely, eying the Srembiins girl. ‘I forbade you to wait on stonbury.”’ ‘Pray, let her stay !’’ entreated Helen. * Begone!’’ he commanded, fiercely. ‘‘ You would hatch a plot between you, under my very eyes!”’ , A oe eurse on the treachery of woman fol- owed. “My lord,” pleaded Helen, “Ada is my mai and used tomy ways! I implore you not to sen her from me now!’ egone!” he reitera ve the house “B ”h iterated. ‘‘ Leave the h this instant! Chisholm shall send your things. Am I to be obeyed?” The menacing tone left no alternative. The maid came and knelt down before the mis- tress she loved, took her hand and kissed it. In one look Helen saw that she would do all her bidding. Then Ada retired from the room. ‘*Now, madam,” growled the tyrant, ‘‘you shall have an attendant proper for you, and faithful to my interests. Chisholm shall take the girl’s place.” ‘I do not want Chisholm,’’ wailed Helen. * But I choose to place you in her charge.” “Let me stay alone.” “To steal out again, and meet some one in @ con- spiracy against your lawful lord.” “How can you speak so to me, at such a time?” . “Oh, you would not let times, nor rules,of eti- uetie, stand in your way! But Ihave clipped your : 4 flutter against bak flere: wings, my lady; they after |" “Lord Estonbury !’’ “Yes, madam, I do not care how soon you know it. [hate you; I have pirare hated you!” ‘Why did you marry me?” “Because I was forced into it! Your lady mother, who lies dead now, had my title and fortune in her wer, and threatened to deprive me of them if I id not wed her daughter. long as she lived, she could use this power; now I am free—free for hate and revenge!” ““T have never wronged you, my lord. I did not want you to marry me.”’ “But you are thecause of much trouble to me; and for that I shall punish you! Youshall no longer esoy the state and wealth I bought so dearly, and of which you would deprive me. if you could! I will be freed from your hateful presence—forever!” * You will not live with me, you mean?” *T will make my bed in the snake’s den, before I will share a home with you! But I will not leave you free, to hatch conspiracies, You shall have a safe ou pope “You cannot imprison me, my lord!” “T cannot? We will see.” “You could not keep me a prisoner in your house?” “T do not mean to.” “Whither would you send me?” “T do not mind telling you. Do you remember once, driving over —— Heath, the high walls of a secure retreat, with spikes on the top, and the grim old stone building above them? You asked what it was ” “The —— Heath Insane Hospital!” exclaimed Helen, with a cry of horror. “ Exactly; that is to be your home for life.” “But Iam not insane! Ihave never been mad!" shrieked the terrified young creature, starting to es- a from the room. e tyrant intercepted her. “A wife is insane who makes promises to a de- mented mother, to work harm to her husband! who oe ca pis a sesaegth ger A ste am gizrinetal ™m our doom “My jord! ney lord! You will not do this cruel wrong! I have never been mad; you know it! “You may be driven so, shortly, by the sights and sounds you will have around you!” sneered the brute, a fierce ant gleam of triumph showing his teeth through his dark m e. “My lord! if you are pe at least be human! I will go into obscurity; I obey you by keeping out of your sight, and living in ba las but do not condemn me to a fate so horrible!” She sunk on her knees; her deathly face upturned But her oer no malice. rt that your mind has ig aa. shall go, guard parate medical attendant! Every scream, every 4: for help—remember—will tell aainal edi- ‘And it is your deliberate purpose to do this ckedness?”’ the helpless prisoner. “Tt is! You cannot escape your fate.” His hand was on the knob of the door. gh St “Then Heaven tn mercy save me!” faltered Helen, as she sunk to the floor ina swoon. CHAPTER XXXIX, THE RIGHT SHALL BE! Tur news of the death of the Dowager Marchtion- ess of Estonbury spread over London. There was a meeting of Reginald Holmes, Lord Swinton, Wallrade, and his solicitors, to examine the evidence contained_in the papers placed in his hands by young Lady Estonbury. The packet was sealed with the late marquis’s own seal, and had evidently never been opened since it was closed by his own hand. He head, it was manifest, wished to provide, under any circum- stances of opposition, for the establishment in his htful inheritance of his brother's son, en the late marquis went on the Continent with his wife, he had news of his elder brother's oon from shipwreck, and his residence in Kaisers- werth. The news had come privately to him, in a letter — signed by Egbert, who was in failing health. He wished to see his brother before his death. Egbert had heard of his ponvens brother’s accession to the title, and did not intend to disturb him in the enjoy- ment of the inheritance. His friends in Eng might continue to suppose him lost at sea. The boy the noble pair carried with them from England sickened and died suddenly at Antwerp. Lord Estonbury had never doubted that this infant was his own son,and his wife did not undeceive him. His priet at the loss was the greater because he looked forward to_ the accession of the detested heir-at-law, Maurice Howard, whom he knew to be ae unworthy of a place in the peerage of Eng- His first visit to his brother was before the birth" of little nald. Four months later, Egbert wrote for him. e was then near death, and anxious for the future of his infant boy. He placed him sol- emnly in the care of his brother. “Bring him up as your own,”’ he said. “May God promising fidel- deal | ou as you deal by him.’ Lord Estonbury received the trust ity. After his elder brother's death he went to Italy with his wife. fall to inald in due course of time. His lordship consented to the fraud. . But he lavished a tenderness on the boy whichfew but fathers could feel. He took possession of the marriage-certificate and such papers as might be necessary to prove the legitimacy of nald’s birth, and drew up a full statement of his father's escape from ‘shipwreck, his marriage with a poor country girl, and residence on the Rhine; her death followed by his, etc. A certificate of the birth and baptism of. the child accompanied Egbert’s solemn recognition of Almeria Stenhaus as his lawful wife and the mother of his heir, with the declaration of two witnesses of the marriagé, and other necessary ; rs. ai lordship added his own declaration that he held the title and estates in trust for his infant nephew, and it was his purpose to surrender them to him when he came of age, etc. These papers had been intended to secure the in- heritance to hig ibe in case of his rights being dis- puted. Lady E’stonbury had been compelled to tA mise that they should be carefully preserved. But she had persuaded her husband from time to time after Reginald came of age, to put off the important declaration and surrender, His lordship’s sudden death by apoplexy released her from his control. r She had long wished to make her daughter the marchioness; and we have seen how she tried to ac- complish her schemes. But she had religiously preserved the papers, peony. them in a secret compartment of her cabi- net. Only the fear of death and the awful judg- ment that must follow had led her to confide the se- cret to her pang uee enjoining it upon her to do jus- tice when she should have passed from earth. The papers completed the links of evidence, leav- ing no doubt, or room for question, that Reginald Vane Thorpe was the rightful Marquis of Estonbury. It was decided to commence proceedings im- mediately after the funeral of the Jate dowager. The papers were ready to be served on the man’ who now held the title wrongfully through his Lon- don solicitors. The entir household, it was ascertained, had set out that morning for Estonbury Court, bearing ina hearse the body of the deceased dowager. rieids catia to the Hott Te in Barkelog Baek. came e Ho _—_— ele and asked for Miss Maur. ; re She was at once received by Alicia, who was as- tonished when she heard that, his lordship had dis- charged her, in his fury at her supposed connivance at Lady Estonbury’s last visit to her at the hotel. “Do you think he had discovered where your lady went?” she asked. : **T cannot tell,” was the answer. ‘I think he only ted. I was on the watch, and I let no one in. | suspec That old cat, Chisholm, came peering round; but I | sent her about her busin R ; and then my lord came, with that heavy scowl, and asked for my mistress, which I told his lordship she was sleeping. She Sed ck tare Aesorens pia “He n ave discovered if none of the servants saw her,” “None of them did, I am sure of that, miss. But oy. pee I was nearly dead with the fit of trembling, day—yesterday morning—when my Jord 7
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> oe funeral! — : went in to my lady, and bade me ‘one, as I was never to wait on her again! And I listened at the door, miss, and heard him tell her she was a prisom er, and the two Chisholms should be her jailers, and she should never-be set free; never.at all.” ** Did he threaten that?” ** Ay, miss, and worse! He said he was going to shut her in the —~— Heath mad-house, after the Her mother’s funeral—poor dear!”’ “Did you hear him say that?” ** Indeed I did, miss; and when he went out of the room calling for Chisholm, I poche in, and saw my poor, dear lady lying all in a heap on the floor, like a snow-drift!” » Alicia ran to the bell and rung it in great excite- ment, She ordered her father and Reginald sent for; Wallrade too; and she began putting on her traveling dress, while she gathered the informa- tion the weeping Ada could give her. It was so touching to think that the poor creature had sent her only friend to crave succor of her, in her terrible dread of the vengeance of a villain. When the gentlemen came, a few words sufficed. There was not one dissenting voice. That same ht the party, including Alicia and Ada, set out for Estonbury Court. But it was after noon of the following day before oo at the village near it. The deceased dowager had lain in state during that and the (ogee = 2 day, and the funeral was to take place on the next. What news of the young marchioness? The story had been whispered about that her lady- ship’s reason had given way under the strain of her motber's death. She had worn herself out with wi . His lordship was in great distress about her, She had not been able to leave her room; nor had she been seen by any of the servants. Ada, her late maid, took advantage of the con- fusion to mingle with the other house-maids: but she could learn nothing except that the two Chisholms ~ ing, had ¢ of their young lady; that she had eaten nothing, drank 1iothing, and had not been “‘ herself” since her bereavement. The husband’s purpose was manifest. ' But her rescuers could do nothing till the funeral procession had left the house. _ That was late on the following morning. It was a very handsome funeral; as m ficent as the deceased could have desired in her lifetime. The plumed hearse; the train of mourners; the costumed outriders; the. religious solemnities of the occasion; all were in keeping. In one of the long train of car- riages, open sufficiently for the crowd to see, Lord Estonbury was seated, in deep mourning, and with a countenance com i and sad. None of the car- riages contained his wife. As the procession left the gates, youre Reginald Vane Thorpe, with his companions, Wallrade and Alicia, conducted by Ada, went Ay the marble steps to the grand portico and colonnade Walirade demanded to see Lady Estonbury. Hid man answered that she was too ill to see them, 3 But Re d thrust him aside, and strode on through the halls so familiar to him; so soon again to own him as their master, Ada led the way up-stairs, and a group of wonder- half-terrified servants followed. These were her rooms,” she said, touching a - door. eat, were locked; but at the command of Regi- nald the house-keeper advanced, keys in had. > ‘“‘ Where is your mistress?” Alicia asked. : The woman answered defiantly that her mistress would see no visitors. And she added that it was very strange—this intrusion, at the time when there had been a death inthe ese Walirade took the dame, bristling in her stiff black dress, aside. ““My good woman,”’ he said, “‘we may as well be short with you. This gentleman ’’—pointing to Regi- nald—“‘is the rightful Marquis of Estonbury; and he is in his own house,” The woman held up her staggered when she saw th inald’s handsome features. ‘* And we mean to see your lady,” added Wallrade, M4 There is foul play at work, and we mean to save er. The cowering housekeeper unlocked the door of the suit of rooms belonging to young Lady Eston- a hE They were ee Zi of bigs 4 you would like to see his lordship’s and my lady the dowagér’s?” she demanded, dryly, with compressed lips. TP ou please,’” was the calm reply. All these were unlockedin turn. Ail were unoccu- ied. Pm Now, where is your lady?” “How can I tell? If she was mad, and her screams disturbed the house, it was right in his eee to order her conveyed to a safe place, was itnot? The gentlemen looked at each other. Was it sible that the victim had already been consign her living sepulcher? ‘Just then Ada, who had ia hands, but was e look of authority on O8- to acne up another flight of stairs, ranin and whispered that she had caught a limpse of Mr. Chisholm peering down over the stairs rom the pert enon ight. | The tantly ascended. ' Wallrade was foremost and clutched Chisholm as he endeavored to steal behind the balustrade, on his way to a room, which, they were all convinced baiting a prisoner. Moans were distinctly heard wit t. . Chisholm struggled with his eae and finding he could not escape, called to his wife to bolt the door $gainst the intruders. ¥ LADY HELEN’S VOW. But she came out, curious to know who had come, and jas confronted b Reginald. y Y - thrust her aside and went in, followed by licia. It was a large and lofty room, lighted only by a skylight, and destitute of furniture, except two or three mattresses and some pillows heaped in one corner, There on the floor, her face buried in the pillows, lay the hapless Lady Estonbury. At the sound of voices and footsteps, she gave a wild shriek, and strove to conceal herself behind the cushions, for she supposed they had come to remove her to the mad-house. Alicia flew to her, and kneeling down, flung her arms around her, crying and sobbing. Reginalc. lifted her from the ground and supported her, while he exclaimed: ‘Helen, dear sister! Do not be alarmed! you are safe now.” She looked from one to another, bewildered, while Dame Chisholm wrung her hands, sobbing: “Oh, my lady! my poor dear lady!” “You are come to save me!” gasped Helen. 1 tn not let them take me to that dreadful prison?’ And, while both her friends assured her of safety, she swooned in their arms. “Take her with you in the carriage—to the inn!” cried Wallrade.° ‘I will deal with these!” While Reginald, assisted by Alicia and Ada, bore the insensible form down-stairs, the gentleman was informing’ the Chisholms of the change of proprie- torship of the Estonbury estates. It was the argument of all others to compel their obedience, The dame, convinced that Reginald was the true master of the mansion, volubly excused herself for her part of the business, and busied her- self in packing up her lady’s trunks, to be sent after er. And she and her husband interfered to prevent any opposition from the rest of the household to the removal of their lady. Helen was taken to the best chamber the inn af- forded, and a medical man was sent for. She re- covered her senses only to be seized with convul- sions, and the surgeon pronounced her threatened with brain fever. / Quiet and judicious treatment, he hoped, might avert. it; and that she was sure to have with such friends around her! Wallrade continued to walk the terrace in front of the Estonbury mansion till the return of the car- ri after the funeral obsequies. e at once addressed the pest Gare and requested him to step aside and hear what he had to say. In a few words he made him Sequathted with the state of affairs on allsides. His lor pep Bio ty in- finite povenpt for the pretensions of Reginald, but was furious at his wife’s escape. He swore he would pursue her with the officers of the law. : “Stop. One word, if you please,” said Wallrade. “T see ae do not remember me as well as I do you. I had the pleasure once of knowing you under an- other name.” The marquis started and grew pale. “Gilbert Breck, you cannot have forgotten a cer- tain paper—a forgery—about which some noise was made twenty-five years since. That paper is in ex- istence, though the firm forbore to prosecute a young man of such excellent family. It is in my possession. Shall I produce it?” The effect of the threat was instantaneous on the detected villain. It was but one of the many crimes he had committed; yet it sufficed to bring him to terms, so far as regarded his intended victim. , _. Walirade joined his friends at the inn, armed with the assurance that they were in no danger of being molested. Helen was able to travel in two days, and went by easy stages to London. Her home was with Alicia Maur, who declared she never would part with her. Was she not Reginald’s own cousin, and the bene- factress of both The suit for the recovery of Reginald’s rights was brought, and the marquis, as he called himself, in- structed his solicitors and counsel to oppose it to the utmost. But, as soon as they knew the evidence ar- rayed against them, they saw the folly of opposi- tion, and threw up the case. ; Reginald was again Marquis of olpet e Dh Maurice Howard left England without attempting to see his. wronged wife. She heard, not a year afterward,.of his death on a steamer crossing the Mediterranean. Lady Helen Howard—for she kept her, married name—made her home with her beloved friends, the Marquis and Marchioness of Estonbury. How happy were inald and Alicia in their union our readers may imagine; since they, like the noble being to whom they owed their happiness, had ever esteemed “The Right above all.” THE END. Waverley Library. 50 Tar Cusan Herress. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, 51 Two Youna Grrus. By Alice Fleming. 52 Tur Winarp Mussencer. By Mary Reed Crowell 53 Aanes Hops, By W. M. Turner, M. D. Ont Woman’s Heart. By George 8. Kaime. 55 Suz Dip Nor Love Him. By Arabella Southworth. 56 Love-Map, By Wm. M, Turner, ¥, D. 57 A Brave Girt. By Alice Fleming. Reed Crowell. 58 Tam Epon Mask. By M 59 A Wiow's Wits ‘by Rachel Bernhardt, 60 Ceciu’s Decerr, By Jennie Davis Burton. ! | a = ” 61 A Wickep Harr. 62 Tae Mantac Brine. Margaret Blount. 63 Tue CrEoLY Ststers. By Anna H. Porter. 64 Waar JraLousy Dip, By Alice a 65 Tue Wirer’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis 66 A Brorurr’s Sin. By Rachel Bernhardt, 67 ForBIDDEN Bans. By Arabella Southworth. 68 WEAVERS AND Wert, By Mrs. M. E. Braddon. 69 CamruLe. By Alexander Dumas. By Sara Claxton. 70 THe Two OrpHANs. By D’Ennery. i 71 My Youne Wire. aa 4 Young Wife’s Husband. 72 THE Two Wipows. Annie Thomas, i 73 Rost Micunt. By Maude Hilton. ?4 Crcr CASTLEMAINE’S Gace, By Ouida. 7% Tur Buack Lapy oF Duna. By J. 8. Le Fanu. 76 CHaRLoTtse TempLe, By Mrs, Rowson. 77 CHRISTIAN OAKLEY's Mistakn. By Miss Mulock. 78 My Youne Huspanp. By Myself. .7@9 A QUEEN AMonesT WomEN. By the author of ‘Dora Thorn.” 80 Her Lorp anp Master. By Florence Marryat, 81 Lucy TEMPLE. 82 A Lone Time Aco. By Meta Orred. 83 Puayine For Hieu Staxes. By Annie Thomas 84 Tue LavuREL Busse. By Miss Mulock. 85 Lep AsTRAY. By Octave Feuillet. 86 JanrT’s REPENTANCH. By George Eliot. 87 Romance oF A Poor Young Man. By O. Feuillet:. 88 A TrerRIBLE Deep. By Emma G. Jones. 89 A GitpED SIN. 90 ‘HE AuTHOR'’s DAUGHTER. By Mary Howitt. 91 Tue Jmt. By Charles Reade. 92 ErngeN ALANNA. By Dennis O'Sullivan, 93 Lovr’s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon. 94 Taz Quier Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lerrice ARNOLD. By . Marsh. 96 Hauntep Harts. Rachel Bernhardt, 97 Hueu Metron. By Catharine — 98 Arick LEARMONT. By Miss Mulock. f 99 Margorin Brucr’s Lover. By Mary Patrick. 100 THRoveH Firrt anp WaTeR. By Fred. Talbot. 101 Hannan. By Miss Mulock. 102 Pea Worrineton. By Charles Reade. 108 A DesprRaTE Duxp. By Erskine Boyd. 104 SHapows on rHE Snow. By B. L. Farjeon. 105 Toe Great Hogcarty DraMonp. y W. M.. Thackeray. ; 106 From Dreams To Waxkina. By E, Lynn Linton.. 107 Poor Zerpn. By F. W. Robinson. 108 Taz Sav Fortunes or THE Rey. Amos Barton. By George Eliot. 109 BReAD-AND-CHEESE AND Kisszs. By B. L. Farjeon 110 Tae WAnpeRInG Her. By C. Reade. 111 Tar Broruer’s Bet. By E. F. Carien. 112 A Hero. By Miss Mulock. 118 Pavi anp VirarmisA. From the French of Ber- nardin de St. Pierre. 114 "Twas IN TRAFALGAR’s Bay. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 115 Tum Marp or Kriiegns. By Wiliiam Black. 116 Herry. By Henry ong 117 Tam Waysine Cross. By Capt. E. A. Milman. 118 Tur Vicar or WAKEFIELD. By Oliver Goldsmith 119 Maup Mowan, By Annie Thomas. 120 THappEus or Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter. 121 Tar .@ OF No-LaND. up Ag L. Farjeon. 122 Lover tHe Wivowrer. By W. M. Thackeray. 123 An IsLanp Peary, By B, L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin PHILLIs. 125 Lema; or, Toe Srraz or GrenapA. By Edward Bulwer, (Lord Lytton.) 26 WHEN THE Sxie Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice. . 127 On oF THE Famity. By James Payn. 128 Tue Brrtarient. By Mrs. Gore. 129 MorHerirss; or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 180 Homeuess; or, The Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. ’ 131 SistmR AGAINST SisTER: or, The Rivalry of Hearts, By Mrs. Mery Reed well. 182 Sop ror Goip; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M, V. Victor. 133 Lorp Rorn’s Srv; or, Betrothed at the Cradle. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens. 134 Din He Love Her? By Bartley T. Campbell. 135 SinnED AaarnstT; or, Almostin His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. ° 136 Was Sur Hts-Wirk? By Mary Reed Crowell. 187 Tam VILLAGE ON THE Ciirr. By Miss Thackeray.. 188 Poor VAuERIA; or, The Broken Troth, y. ‘Margaret Blount. 139.Marcarer GraHAM. By G. P. R, James. 140 Wirnout Mercy. By Bartley T, Campbell. 141 Honor Bound. By Lillian Lovejoy. 142 Freeine From Love. Mrs. Harriet Irving. 148 Aspuctep. By Rett Winwood. \ 144 A StrRancr Marriace. By Lillian Lovejoy. 145 Two Gris’ Livns. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell: 146 A Desperate Venturs. By Arabella Southworth: 147 Tue War or HeArrs. By Corinne Cushman. 148 Wich Was THe Woman? By Sara Claxton. 149 AN Amprrrous Girt. By Frances H. Davenport. 150 Love Lorp or Aut. By Alice May Fleming. 151 A Wixp. Girt, By Corinne Cushman. 152 A Man’s SACRIFICE. at Irving. 158 Dm. Suz Sm? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, ‘154 He Loves Mr Nor. ta Lovejoy. 155 Winnina Ways. _By Margaret Blount. 156 Waar Sam Cost Him: By Arabella Southworth. ia - teeth ee By Ha le wee ITTER MistakE. By Agnes elton. 159 Lapy Heien’s Vow. By the late Mix. ¥. F. Ellet. 160 Buyrxe a HEART. ae Lovejoy. 161 PearL oF PEARLS. A. P, Morris, Jr. A new tasue every week, For sale by all Newsdeale rice five cents each, or sent, porege pelts on receipt of six cents. BEADLh AND AMS, Publishers 98 Wiliam street, N.Y: