Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 2) (1880 06 29)
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EH THREE SISTERS. you would not eome alone, and so we have made no preparation for a guest.” * * ! ‘Never mind, ? answe~e? Mr. Travers, in the same lowered tones, ‘Iam sorry; but it was unavoidable. He shall have my room, and you can contrive me a bed on the sofa. Hush, dear!”’ he added, as he saw that she was in- clired to raise objections to such a plan. ‘‘ We will make other arrangements to-morrow. Now take vour sisters away, and I will be with you : shortly. ” As the young girls, thus dismissed, were quitting the hall, Jacqueline lingered behind “tat ‘the others, and looked back. arm, and urge him to rise. His head had fallen on his breast, and at first he disregarded the en- treaty, but ina httle while he permitted Mr. Travers to assist him to his feet, andthey went up-stairs together. ‘And wasit for this sullen unkaown we worked so hard to make the bed-chamber pret - ty and cosey?” exclaimed Jacqueline. ‘‘I sur- renilered the only decent toilet-glass without murmuring when I thought the sacrifice was for papa; but for a man I never saw before, it’s too much! I shall never brush my hair without a pang of regret for my good-nature.” “Who can he be?” queried Nella. ‘‘He is young, and would: be handsome if it were not for the |. ck of intense suffering on his features. Well-bred he cannot be, or he would have apologized.” ‘“‘Wor what?” asked Jacqueline. ‘It was not his fault. We took him for a respectable elderly father of a family, and treated him ac- cordingly.” ‘But he might have spoken,” pouted Nella, ** Who can he be?” she repeated. Claire shook her head; and her younger sis- ter, remembering that Mr. Travers had been educated for the medical profession, only re- linquishing it when the bequest of a relative se- cured him, as. he then hoped, a competency for life, hazarded a conjecture. “T have it, giris! Perhaps papa intends re- suming practice, and has brought this silent stranger to experiment upon.” “What an atrocious supposition!” cried Nella. “So it is, but it may be founded on fact; and, if it is how shall we reconcile ourselves to the idea of being in a house with a man who does not know bow to laugh? Now, hold your tongue, Claire; I am not talking absurdly. If he had ever Jaughed in his life, he must have done so when Nella and I fell into .that ludi- crous mistake.” ‘Papa will tell us all about him when he comes down,” said Claire, confidently. But papa did not seem disposed to be so com- municative as his daughter had predicted. He praised Nella’s cakes and Jacqueline’s tea; thanked Heaven he had his children about him once more; talked of the weather, the miserable time he had passed in London during the sale of his furniture, etc.; of the many kindnesses proffered him by friends; the literary work he had accepted from the publisher of an en- cyclopeedia, which would enable them to. live frugally till something else turned up; but still not a word of Mr. Edwards till Jacqueline’s curiosity prompted her to question him. “And who is this gentleman you have brought fi with you??” . “What, Mr. Richards? Oh, no one you know, my dear—no one you know.” “Tam quite aware of that, papa; but allow me a observe his name was Edwards an hour fo% staring intently at the fire. ‘He'll not give you much trouble, my dears, and I dare say he’ll leave us again as soon—well, he feels equal to it.” pathetically. “Oh, no—yes, I mean; that is, slightly a great shock—much anxiety of mind. She saw her father take the stranger by the | ‘Yes, Edwards; of course it is Edwards,” said Mr. Travers, wiping his forehead, and as soon as ‘‘ Has he been very ill?’ asked Claire, x has been—bas been—dear me! I forget what I | wi.l this Mr. | considerably disturbed. I hope youl ll like this placa, Not many was soi to say. chiJdren. It is very quiet, is not it? people prying about, eb?” ‘“‘Not when it rains, at all events,” said Neila, shrugging her pretty shoulde’s. ‘We are very glad vou heve joined us, papa. But Edwaids be domesticated. with us?¢”? ‘‘Certainly no !” cried Mr. Travers, looking “He will, I hope, confine bimself to his room as long as he is with us; ard the old woman—I have already spoken to her about it—will wait upon him.” “Really, papa,” said Jacqueline, with her customary frankness, ‘‘ Mr. Hdwards is quite a mysterious personage! I shall begin to think that he must be a foreign spy, or a prince in disguise, or—” ‘And I shall begin to think that my little daughter is chattering foolishly,” Mr. Travers observed, in tones that silenced her. ‘I have been induced by circumstances I cannot ex- plain just now to offer to a comparative stranger hospitality for a few days. I think this is all it concerns any one to know.” “‘You are not angry with me, papa?” asked Jacqueline, penitently. ‘No, love, Your curiosity is, I dare say, very natural; but it does not suit me to gratify it. When Mr. Edwards can dispense with my care, he will go his way. He is nothing to us, and we need not concern ourselves about his affairs.” And then Mr. Travers rose up, asif to signify that the subject was to b> dropped at once and forever. ‘“‘Where are you going to put me for the night, my dear?’ ‘Papa shall have my room,” Claire decided. And she led him thither at once. But when, with a kiss and a blessing, he had dismissed her, and she was on her way to rejoin her sisters, she remembered that there was a dress hanging in her closet which she would want to wear in the morning. Running back, she tapped at the door, and rapidly told her errand. Mr. Travers, who was unpacking his valise, instantly admitted her, expressing his regret as he did so that he had been obliged to turn her out of her apartment, and Claire went away again, but not to rejoin her sisters. She retreated to the room she was to share with Jacqueline; and, with hands that were ecld and trembling, unhooked the lattice of the window, and let the night air play upon the cheeks that had suddenly become ghastly pale. Why was it? What had she seen during the last few minutes that sent her to bed with an, as yet, intangible horror weighing upon her, and haunting her even in her dreams? She neither possessed the high spirits of Jacque- line nor the more sensitive organization of Nella. Her temper was so sweet and equable, her mind so well balanced, that it was in her Mr. Travers invariably placed more reliance and reposed more confidence than in her sisters, But to-night even the firm nerves of Claire were unstrung, and though she had abstained from questioning her father, she could not shake off a dread that something of a serious import bad occurred to him while he was in town, with which the silent and apyarently suffering Mr. Edwards was concerned. CHAPTER IL. ON THE SEA-SHORE. From her troubled slumbers Claire was awak- ened soon after the day broke by some one giv- ing her a sharp pinch. “Oh, Jack, what has happened?” she gasp- ed, as she started up and cast a terrified glance around her. ‘‘Why, nothing, you go Don’t look red, but follow my example. Jump out of sed, and dress as quickly as you can.” “Then there is something wrong!” she ejaculated, trembling in every limb; for al- Ry, See ade red ended in— | ready the fears engendered on the previous | mgt were reteruing upon her. ‘‘Of cour-e there is,” said Jacqueline, fran- quiily, as she struggled to get the comb through her crisp waves of raven hair. ‘‘Have you forgotten that there is nothing for breakfast but the remains of yesterday's dinner, and part of a stale loaf?—no eggs, no cream, no fresh butter—nothing in or about the house to fail back upon but those dreadful fowls? Oh, chickens neither tender nor true, don’t let’s have to breakifa-t on you!” “Nothing for breakfast! Need you have awakened me to tell me that?’ demanded Claire, rather crossly. “Yes: because we must rise to the occa- sion. Do you see the pun, darling? Good, isn’t it? Hurry up, there’s a dear Claire; and you and I will trot off to the village.on a forag- ing expedition.” “In this dreadful weather? necessary ?” Jacqueiine laughingly pulled back the cur- tains, and let in a flood of sunshine. “ A change has come o’er the spirit of our dreams. A strong wind has blown all night, and dried the ground, and driven the clouds away. ‘The road, at all events, is passable; so, as the lark at heaven’s gate sings, we must start off directly. Pray be quick, and put on your things. It’s a delicicus morning, and the walk will dous good. I’m pining for a breath of the ‘cauler air.’ ” Before she had finished speaking, Claire had recovered her equanimity, and, her smiles re- turning, was now expeditiously making her toilet. Jacqueline was quite right; their larder must be replenished, and there was no one to do it but themselves. They had their father and his invalid guest to cater for, and in a very short time she pronounced herseli ready for the walk to Embridge. A note was laid on the pillow of the still sleeping Nella, to apprise her of their inten- tions; and then, stepping on tiptoe, they pre- pared to descend thestairs. But, softly though they moved, Mr. Travers called out to know who was there es they passed bis door; and, signing to Jacqueline to proceed, Claire entered his room. He had smilingly listened to her explanation, and was turning on his pillow to finish his morning nap, when his daughter startled him by sinking on her knees beside his bed, and lay- ing her cheek against his, “Papa,” she said, tremulously, ‘‘what is it you are hiding from us?” Mr. Travers raised himself on his elbow, and as she rcse, too, and stood with her hands clasp- ed, and eyes questioning his imploringly, he knit his brows in evident perplexity. Was he debating how far to trust her, or whether it would be prudent to evade her inquiries alto- gether? “What is it you know or suspect? honest, child, and tell me all!” “J know that you must bave met with some accident or received some hurt while you were in London, and that is the reason you did not join us sooner; for last night ”—and Claire in her turn caught hold of her father’s hand as she spoke—‘‘ last night, when I came in here, and would have folded the overccat you hid tossed down yonder, the sleeve was stiff, the lining stained with blocd. Ob, papa, what does it mcan?”? Mr. Travers drew her nearer to him, and kissed her pale face. “‘Don’t be foolish, child. It was not I who was hurt. Have you mentioned this to your sisters? No? Then don’t do so. I would not have them know it on any account; neither must you allude to it in the hearing of our visitor.” “ Of course I shall obey you, sir, but—” “But you can’t shake of the unpleasant im- pression the circumstance has made. I ought to have guarded against it. The fact is, my dear, I was so unfortunate as to be the sole witness of a very shocking quarrel, which But I cannot tell you more just Pa * « Is it absolutely Be “ah
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A THE THREE SISTERS, now. It would do no good; so go and do your shopping—the walk will chase away all your foolish ideas.” Before she had gained the door Claire was recalled. ‘Tt may be as well to caution your sisters, my dear, that I don’t want Mr. Edwards’s visit mentioned in the village. He will leave us shortly, but while he is here, say nothing - about him.”? . Claire thought the caution an odd one; but faithfully repeated her father’s injunction to Jacqueline, who put her finger to her lips and began to ponder. ‘Dear me! Mr. Richard Edwards, or Ed- ward Richards, begins to grow positively inter- esting. Who-can he be? Has any foreign king been deposed lately? J wonder how he’d behave if I were to say, ‘Is your ex-Majesty’s tea sweet enough, and does your ex-Majesty condescend to take milk? ” ‘Tf you are going to stand still every time you make a ridiculous conjecture,” retorted Claire, ‘‘ papa will be famished before we get back from Embridge. ’ Thus admonished, Jacqueline, who had slung alarge market basket on her arm, quickened her pace, and the sisters reached the village street just as the two shops it contained were being opened. They succeeded in procuring those articles of which they stood in most need, as well as a promise of a joint and some poul- try later in the day; and evading the inquisi- tive queries of the grocer’s wife, who would fain have detained them till she had appeased Ler curiosity, they turned their steps home- ward. “Tm afeard you'll find the basket heavy long afore you reach the cottage,” the woman observed. ‘If my boy was at home he should carry it for you. Be ye going back along. the road? You’d save best part of a mile by cross- ing the fields, and then keeping to the shore, Iy’s roughish walking, but just turn the rocky joins at the end of the bay, and there you are,” The sisters looked at each other. Time was an object to them, the road was long and tree- less, and, as is often the case after a contin- uance of rainy weather, the rays of the sun were already beating down on the earth with unwonted fervor. ““T think we cannot do better than act on your suggestion,” said Claire, courteously. ‘But are we likely to have any trouble in flading our way? Remember, we are new- comers.” “ Lawks, miss, no! The field-path is straight enough as far as if goes, and once on the shore you've only to make for the point; but you’d best look sharp and get round it before the tide comes in; young ladies like you could not scramble over the rocks, nohow.” Thanking her with a nod and a smile, they mounted the stile to which she directed them, and carrying the basket between them tripped _lightiy oyer the fields of corn and crimson- blossomed clover. After the anxiety of the last few weeks, and the close confinement of the house they had just been enduring, the ‘air and the brisk motion were very exhilarating, und Jacqueline laughed aloud in her gladness when they arrived at the edge of the tall cliffs, and thesea lay glittering in the sunshine at their feet. But when Claire admonished her sister that they were in haste, Jacqueline was the first to lead the way down the steps roughly hewn in the chalk that led to the narrow strip of shingle lying between the hights and the sea. Some arduous walking on this soon brought them to the long, low line of crag and bowlder that jut- ted out from the land for some distance, and constituted one of the extremities of their own little bay, This rocky barrier must be passed before they could reach the cottage, and the sisters set down their basket and looked perplexed, for the tide, influenced, perhaps, by the strong breeze in the night, was coming up so rapidly that it had covered the the point al- ready, and to such unpraciiced climbers it would be difficult to cross it anywhere else. “We must either go back or wade!” said Claire. ‘‘ Which shall it be?” ‘“¢Going back is not to be thought of,” cried Jacqueline, decidedly, ‘‘ Those at home would be reduced to starvation or the antediluvian chickabiddies before we could relieve the garri- son with our supplies. We must storm the fort, sister mine—that is wade the beach!’ ‘Fortunately, there’s no one to see us!” said the laughing Claire, gayly, as she slipped off her hose and strong walking shoes. ‘‘ Better let me take the basket, Jack. I think my arm is the stronger.” “And your head steadier; so take it, but be faithful still! Don’t let a wave wash into the sugar, for I can’t drink my coffee without plenty.” So Claire went first, laden with the provis- ions, and Jacqueline followed, carrying her own and her sister’s pedal coverings, and laugh- ing merrily every time the surf flung its frothy crest over her white feet. ‘‘T feel—I feel I am a child again!” she sung, poising herself on a flat stone; while Claire, who had safely passed the point and reached the firm sand of the bay beyond, put dewn her load, and rubbed the rounded arm on which the handle of the heavy basket had left a broad red mark. ‘‘ How delicious to be a mer- maid!” Jacqueline went on. ‘‘No; not a mer- maid! I should object to a cold, scaly tail flapping after me wherever I went. ‘There’s nothing graceful about it. A nereid? Yes; I wish I were a sea-nymph in the coral caves, which something waves—no, laves; and— Ob -h-h, Claire!” The last ejaculation was prolonged to a scream, as she came bounding aud splashing to the side of her sister, driven from her perch by the sight of some slimy, marine monster, which turved out to be a bunch of seaweed washed up by the waters. “Serves me right!” she decided, as she echoed Claire’s merry laugh. ‘‘ Yes; it serves me right for loiterihg there, and torgetting breakfast. Now to resume the attire ¢f cizil- ized life, and appear like a decorous young lady once more! Here are my shoes. But good gracious, Claire, where are yours?” “There! there!’ gasped her sister, pointing to them, as they rode gayly out to sea on the top of a wave, dropped by Jacqueline in her wild flight from the marine monster. ‘ Oh, Jack Travers, what have you done?” “Tt’s my fate to be unlucky!” exclaimed that damsel, tragically. ‘If au accident be- falls any one in our family, it’s always my fault, or me that comes worst off—always!” “You!” retorted Claire. ‘‘ Much cause you have for complaint! You have your shoes safe and dry!” “Take them!” cried Jacqueline. ‘‘ They’re the only atonement I can cffer. Take them, and wear them! Never mind my feet nor my feelings!” “How can J, when you know they’ll not fit me?” retorted Claire. ‘‘ Your feet are so absurdly small! Now, what is to be done?” “The Scotch girls often walk barefooted!” observed Jacqueline, with a dubious air, as if she felt that the suggestion was almost an in- sult. “Walk barefooted over half a mile of such a steep, stony road as lies between the beach and our cottage? I couldn’t do it, Jack!” And Claire shook her head ruefully but de- cidedly. ““T suppose not; so you will have to stay quietly here while I fetch you another pair. I’m very sorry, Clary! It’s a real blessing that you’re so good-tempered!” ’ Claire accepted the penitent kiss that was offered her; and Jacqueline trudged away with the heavy t, promising to return as quick- ly as she 4 “That will not be much under an h Claire decided; “for the road is a sharp and witb so much to carry, and the sun shir ing down upon her so fiercely, poor Jack will rt ae e ‘ =" eel ~ not be able to make very rapid progress. It’s exceedingly provoking; but I suppose I must be resigned to tie inevitable!” She was about to reseat herself, when she caught sight of her shoes, which, afier having _ been alternately carried out and brought back by the waves, were now to be seen lying ona little ledge of rock at no great distance from, where she was standing. If she could but reach them before another rush of water came and carried them away! They were her newest, prettiest, and were worth the effort that must be made for their recovery. ‘+ Pinning up her skirts once more, away Seay Claire. The rocks over which she had to climb were slippery with the long fronds of seaweed that hung about them, and every now and then the tide washed over them, compelling her to re- treat. But still she persevered, and had nearly reached the spot where lay her stranded prop- erty, when a wave that. threatened to ingulf her as well as her shoes was seen coming rapid- iy in shore. She. fled in terror, lost her footing, and as she clung in desperation to the jagged rock from which she had slipped, with a taint cry for help escaping her lips, closed her eyes, that she might not see the roaring waters from which she could no longer escape. But suddenly a strong arm was thrown around her, and she was raised out of reach of the wave. ‘ As soon as it had expended itself, she was borne back to the sands, and her deliverer, in a low, mellow voice, was expressing his hopes that she had escaped without any injury, be- fore the bewildered girl had thoroughly real- ized her safety. Alarm and embarrassment combined to force a few tears from Claire’s eyes; but as she wiped them away she became aware that the person who had come to her aid so opportur.ely, and wbo was kneeling beside the stone on which he had seated her, coing his best to soothe her, was none other then her father’s guest Mi. Edwards. He accounted tor his presence by telling her that for the last half-hour he had been lying idly in a hollow of the cliff, from whence ke had seen her start on her enter- prise, and presaging the consequences, had has- tened to her assistance. Whatever his ailments might be, they were at this moment forgotten; tor bis voice was firm, his gestures animated, and the intensely sorrowful expression that marked his features _ on the previous evening had vanished, As soon as Claire, who was too modest and refined to be fussy, had composed her-elf, he went back to the rocks, where he made anothcr attempt to recover the lost shoes. But one of them had wholly disappeared, and its owner knew she must resign herself to waiting till Jacqueline appeared. Her few words of thanks, and the bow that eccompanied them, were so plainly significa: t of dismissal, that Mr. Edwards bowed too, and walked slowly away. But after he had gone a few paces, he made an irresolute pause and came back. ‘*] wish you would let me stay with you, Miss Travers,” he pleaded. ‘This is such a lonely spot, that I cannot make up my mind to_ leave you.”’ tc: “Tam not afraid,” said Claire; “and my sister will soon rejoia me.” “ But she is not yet in sight ; and permit me to remind you that if any of the rough people who sometimes visit the ccast were to laid here, you would not be able to run away frcim them.” Claire was silent. She could not bring her- self to bid him stay; but was not sorry he lin- gered near, sometimes coming to her side tu bring her a pretty shell or a piece of seaweed, and chattering pleasantly about it, but never pausing long enough to be intrusive. When he talked, his eyes sparkled with ari- mation; but as soon as silent, gloom and de- spondency quenched their light. 4 ‘ ‘ ' ©
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— 6 The furtive glances of the young girl, thus oddly brought in contact with him, told her that he was not many years her senior; that he had the unmistakable air of good breeding; and though not positively handsome, possessed one of those thoughtful, intellectual faces that are singularly attractive. Claire also discovered that her companion was easily startled. When a boy at work in the distant fields sent forth a loud halloa to a mate, Mr. Edwards turned round with a dis- turbed air, and drew his hat over his brows, _ asif he feared that some one was coming, whose recognition he would fain avoid. In spite of the interest with which he inspired her, Claire felt relieved when she saw her sis- ter coming toward them. Jacqueline made a full stop as soon as she saw that Claire was not alone, and after a gasp, intended to denote unutterable astonish- ment, exclaimed, ‘‘ It is Mr. Richards, is it not?” The young man seemed as if he had received a blow, and put up his hand witb an impulsive gesture. ‘Not that name!” he cried, agitatedly. ‘‘Call me anything but that.” For once in her life, Jacqueline lost all her presence of mind, and had no answer ready. But she persisted in tormenting Claire, as they walked home with Mr. Edwards, by dropping bebind at every opportunity and ele- vating her eyebrows—the only way by which she could signify her surprise at finding him on the beach, as weil as her impatience to know what it meant. Mr. Travers was leaning on the garden gate when the trio came toward it. He, too, look- ed so gravely inquiring that Claire grew con- fused and uncomfortable. He signed to her to go indoors, thus sparing her the annoyance of having to stammer an explanation; but he vexed Nella by keeping the breakfast waiting while he walked to and fro the weedy lawn with his guest, discussing what, to judge by their sober looks, was not only a serious, but an unpleasant topic. “What can they have to say to each other?” grumbled Jacqueline. ‘The eggs will be cold and hard, and I am frightfully hungry. Some one—let it be you, Nella; or you, my Claire —must politely hint to Mr. Edwards that we don’t like to be kept waiting for our meals. Remind him that punctuality is the thief—no, the—something else—of good living, or good— what is it, Nella?” “Never mind what,” was the reply. ‘‘ Mr. Edwards will not take hismeals with us. Mrs. Lane is to serve them in the little room we sat apart for papa’s books and writing-table.. And, girls, listen! Ido believe she knows him; for she shook her head, and looked so odd, when I called him Mr, Edwards.” “Put her to the question; extract from her all she knows,” Jacqueline recommended. “Get her into the kitchen cupboard, and don’t let her out until she has revealed everything!” “And displease papa!” said Claire. “If there is anything he wishes us to know about his guest, he will himself tell us. But here he is!” Mr. Travers ate his cold eggs without com- plaining; and when the daring Jacqueline hint- ed her surprise at Mr. Edwards’s unsocial habits, told her promptly that the young man was neither in health nor spirits to bear with the chattering of three thoughtless girls. But pres- ently he drew Claire aside. “My dear, how came Mr. Edwards to be with you this morning?” He looked so troubled that her color rose as she narrated the circumstances that had led their visitor to come to her aid. ‘‘ He was very polite, papa; very nice, and— you're not angry, are you?” “With you, child? No, no; but I wish it had not happened. In future I should like you to avoid him; that is to keep out of his way a much as you can without appearing rude.” _ Claire was still standing in the hall ponderin, over her father’s speech when he came back to her. 1 > THE THREE “SISTERS. ‘‘Thad almost forgotten,” he said, in a hur- ried whisper. ‘‘ Can you put that coat out of sight—lock it up somewhere? I don’t want your sisters to see it, and question me.” Claire nodded, and ran up-stairs directly to carry out his wish. There was a closet in the room her father occupied, of which she only had the key, and, hulding the garment at arm’s-length, she carried it thither and flung it into the furthest corner. As she did this, a newspaper dropped out of the folds of the coat, or off the chair onto which Mr. Travers had tossed it. Claire’s or- derly habits led her to pick it up; but she could never tell what induced her to scan the news instead of laying it aside for the waste-paper basket. Half-way down the second column she came on a paragraph that was headed with the omi- nous words, ‘‘ Mysterious Disappearance of the Ear] of Chalfont.” The name of this gentleman had a familiar sound in her ears, for Lord Chalfont’s steward was one of Mr. Travers’s oldest friends. It was through him they had obtained permission. to reside in the cottage, and she had often heard him, during his visits to her father, talk of the many good qualities of the late Earl, and express his fears that the too impetuous, too generous disposition of the present one was leading him into evil courses. Could her father have seen this announce- ment? Claire was sufficiently interested in it to take the newspaper away with her, and read it at her leisure. It stated that the Earl bad quitted his house in Wilton Crescent on a certain evening, with the avowed intention of seeking an interview with a Mr. Richardson, a person whose ac- quaintance he had made at college, and with whom he had since been on very intimate terms. Two or three of his father’s friends had look- ed doubtfully on this intimacy, and hinted opinions of Mr. Richardson which were not fa- vorable; but the Earl was stanch to his friend till a coolness had arisen between them, no one knew how or why. It was nosecret, how- ever, that angry letters had passed, which re- sulted in an appointment he left his own house to fulfill, telling his “valet, an old and trusted servant, that he had hit upon a plan by which he hoped to please all his friends, and adjust all his differences with them. From the hour when Lord Chalfont, in the highest of spirits, had walked away from his own door to fulfill this engagement, he had been seen no more, and what had become of him was a mystery. Miss Richardson, a young lady of considera- ble personal attractions, admitted that her bro- ther had agreed to meet the Earl on or near the Thames Embankment, and he had been seen with his lordship, or some one answering to his description, at no great distance from the Temple stairs. Both the young men were then talking loud- ly and angrily; more than this, a person de- posed to have heard a shout for help proceed- ing from that direction about the time the quarrel took place. On examining the spot these witnesses indi- cated, signs of an affray were distinctly visi- ble; and there, too, one of the Earl’s gloves was found, as well as a signet ring, broken, which was identified as his. Neither of the gentlemen had been seen sinee that night, and Miss Richardson, when further attempts were made to question her, first prevaricated, and then became hysterical. It was beginning to bé universally believed that the brother of this unhappy woman, on being reproached by the Earl, and perhaps threatened with exposure, had committed a frightful crime, and had dro the body of his victim into the river. hen Miss Richardson learn e form sus- on was taking, she had vehemently de- red that her brother was not—could not be uilty; that, whatever might have happened, Lord Chalfont was to blame for provoking a desperate man; but, when asked to explain herself, would say no more. : The newspaper fell from Claire’s hands. Her father had admitted that he was the unwilling witness of a terrible quarrel that had ended— Ah! he had paused there, as if he could not bring himself to enter upon further details. And he had brought with him a stranger, of whom he gave a hesitating and evasive ac- count; a person whom he bade his daughters shun, as if he disliked him, even while offering him the shelter of his roof. Mr, Travers had done many generous acts in his life. His friends were wont to say that he was too liberal to those who craved his assist- ance, too lenient to those who had sinned. Was it this overflowing milk of human kindness that had led him to stand between the guilty Rich- ardson and the punishment he merited? Was the man to whom Claire had that morning owed her rescue from danger a culprit, fleeing from detection? Had the hands that were put forth to save her been raised against the life of another? Claire suddenly crushed the paper into a ball, and threw it from her, for Jacqueline was coming up-stairs, calling her as she came. “Tt is papa’s secret, not mine,” she mur- mured. “If Mr. Edwards’s sufferings spring from remorse, may Heaven pardon him! But I wish he had not come here. It is selfish to say so, but how can I be thankful to him for having saved my life when the horrible thought is tormenting me that the same hands that drew me from the waves have been raised to strike down one who had loved and trusted him but too well?” CHAPTER III. PAPA’S INJUNCTIONS. A Few weeks of genial weather, and the cheerfulness with which their father accom- modated himself to his altered circumstances, tended to reconcile his daughters to their new home. Nella was cheered by a letter from her be- trothed, promising eternal constancy. Jacqueline was too busy to be unhappy; and even Claire, when she could resist brooding over the little she knew, and what else she sus- pected about Mr. Edwards, was as*cheerful as the rest. There was much to be done ere their resi- dence could be considered habitable. The once handsome paper in the sitting-rooms had either fallen off, or was hanging from the wall in rags; and as workmen were not to be had, the sisters were forced to exercise their own in- genuity, hiding the defects in their paper-hang- ing with the water-color drawings and oleo- graphs they had brought from town. With these, and a few yards of new chintz to replace the faded curtains, and hide the moth-eaten coverings of the chairs and sofas, the apartments were made bright as well as cosey. Then the garden proved, on closer inspec~ tion, to be well stocked with rare plants, al- though they were choked with weeds and al- most ruined with neglect. As the sisters dearly loved flowers, they were anxious to have this state of affairs remedied, and promised themselves much pleasant em- ployment among their flower-beds when the rougher work had been done for them. There was also a pretty rustic summer-house perched on a ledge of rock by the side of, and about balf-way down, the path leading to the bay. This would be a charming retreat, to which they could carry their books and work if the rustic benches were repaired, and the jessamine, climbing-roses, and westeria, now blown down from their supports and trailing on the ground, pruned and trained over the walls once more. Mr. Travers assented promptly to every thing his daughters proposed, and even threw out fresh suggestions and planned more im- provements. But when he had done this, and agreed with t that the sooner the work was comme better, he would return to
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THE) THREE: SISTERS. 7 his study, and forget that he kad promised to help them. Claire and Jacqueline would have been sadly at a loss—Nella had given up directly—if Mr. Edwards, after watching them awhile from the study window, had not offered his assist- ance, and, without appearing to notice their hesitation, immediately set to work with a will. From this time forward he always contrived to be near when the help of his stronger arms could be useful. Jacqueline rather contemptu- ‘ ously observed that it was evident he was a Londoner, and had never been taught to do much with those long white fingers of bis; and she could not reconcile herself to the sorrowful reserve from which her liveliest sallies had not power to rouse him. But those white hands were always at her service, and the gentle- manly, unobtrusive Mr. Edwards was certain- ly a most valuable assistant. It was he who mounted the steps and hung the long breadths of paper which Nella was vainly striving to fix properly. It was he who took the spade away from Claire, and, working under her direc- tions, chopped up weeds, pruned and budded roses, and raked the beds into beautiful order. It was Mr. Edwards who, at a whisper from Jacqueline, seized upon hammer, and tacks, and pruning-knife, and in the course of a few days made the summer-house a delightful retreat once more. Claire felt quite uncomfortable when she heard her sisters sing his praises; for, although tempted to join in them, she could not banish the suspicions that newspaper article had en- gendered. ‘He begins to get quite conversible,” said Nella. ‘On one occasion yesterday, when he was assisting me to cover that old screen, we had quite a pleasant chat about books we had _ both read. As his health improves—and he looks much better than when he first came, doesn’t he?—we shall find him quite an acqui- sition to our domestic circle.” “It’s my firm belief,” cried Jacqueline, ‘that he’s a blighted being. Love and de- spair, and all that, you know, has pressed up- on him, There’s no other way of accounting for the moody, unsocial fits he still has; and I’m afraid I have the misfortune to put him in mind of his false one.” “You, Jack?” 2 “Yes,” she answered, tranquilly. ‘ Why not? Have you not observed that whenever I have succeeded in making him smile—and it’s no easy task; hundreds of my neatest jokes are quite wasted on him—he always goes off to the shore directly after? I have not had an op- portunity of following him there; but it’s my firm conviction that he tears his hair and beats his breast by the sad sea waves, and hates poor me for recalling the heartless one who was the cause of all his anguish. When he and I are more intimate—” “I don’t think papa wishes us to be very intimate with Mr. Edwards,” Claire interposed. “My dear child, there’s no danger. At the rate we are now progressing, we sha’n’t reach that stage of friendship for the next five years. ‘When we have done so, I shall ask him to tell me al] about it—in more sentimental language, of course. I should dearly like to be the con- fidant of a love affair. Nothing prosy, you know, but a deliciously romantic one, like, I am certain, his must be.” But the bare idea of Jacqueline insinuating herself into the confidence of Mr. Edwards was so startling to Claire, that it sent her to her father in his study, where he was correcting the proofs of the first paper he had forwarded to his publishers, ' “Do listen to me for a few minutes, papa, will you?” she entreated, when she saw that he did not care to be interrupted. “I want-to speak to you about Mr, Edwards.” “Ah!”—and Mr. Travers laid down his pen, and ran his hands through his hair, —‘‘ what is it now, Clary? I’m afraid I did a foolish thing bringing that young man here; but, under the circumstances, and in his th ightful state of mind, I don’t know what else I could have done, do you?” ‘“‘ Without knowing particulars, how can I answer you?” asked Claire. ‘But I hope you will not get into any trouble through your well-meant act,” she added, anxiously. “T hope not, too,” he answered, in rather dubious tones. ‘‘ But what was it you wanted to say?’ “Only this, papa: that, if I understood you rightly, Mr. Edwards’s stay here was not to extend over a few days. It isnow three weeks since he came.” Mr.. Travers nodded gravely. ‘TI know—I know! But how can I thrust him forth until I feel that he no longer needs this haven?’ “But, papa, you bade us avoid him; and how can we do so now he no longer stays with you in your study, but is always running about the house or the garden, offering us aid we do not know how to refuse, ard behaving as a guest feels justified in doing?” “Ts this all you have to complain of, Claire?” her father demanded, with a penetrating look. ‘*He does not presume on your courtesy?—he does not offer attentions at which you feel you can justly cavil?” ‘* Oh, no, no, papa; I did not-intend to imply any such thing. Heis always quiet and gen- tlemanly. Nella and Jack like him much.” Mr. Travers pondered long and gravely; then raised his eyes once more to the sweet, serious face of his daughter. “Child, [am in a dilemma. When I con- ducted hither that unhappy young man he was almost mad with shame and remorse, I verily believe that his brain would have given way if I had not taken the responsibility on myself of bringing him away from London and all its haunting recollections. ‘You do not blame me for it, my dear?’ “Oh, papa, how can I, when I know that the best of feelings prompted you? But is he not encroaching on your goodness by staying so long? He should not be here now. Can he be ignorant that he is, or will be, sought for?” “Claire, you speak as if you knew, or guess- ed, more than I have told you.” “Tm afraid I do, papa,” she whispered, tremulously. ‘‘There was a paragraph in a newspaper you brought home, that I could not but couple with what you told me about that dreadful quarrel.” ‘‘And your sisters, do they share your sus- picions?” **Oh, no, no! to them.” “That’s well. I have not as much faith in their discretion as in yours, my dear. Keep the secret a little longer. As soon as I feel that our guest can depart with safety to him- self, I will urge it upon him. Till then we must have patience with and pity him. He is undergoing a frightful ordeal for a human soul to pass through. There are moments when our misdoings pierce us like barbed arrows, and we feel that their consequences crush out of us all hope, all energy.” “T do pity him,” responded Claire, her voice broken with emotion; ‘‘ but it chills, it horrifies me, to accept any service at hands that have been raised against a fellow-crea- ture’s life.” “Tf youknew the amount of provocation that he received!” her father began, then check- ed himself, and said hastily: ‘ But we will not discuss this question. There were grave faults, doubtless, on both sides. Lord Chalfont had himself to blame for much that occurred: and when we think that he might have been killed on the spot, or given his adversary, during the struggle, a fatal blow—” “Then he is not dead?’ Claire broke in, so relieved that . scarcely keep back a v principle in a young man, whom nature cer- tainly intended for something better, need not be poured into your ears, my love. Now you know the real name and position of Mr. Ed- wards, as we will continue tocall him. I need not impress on you to be careful not to let Nella or Jacqueline go beyond the bounds of mere acquaintanceship. In a short time he will cross to the Continent, and then we will forget that we ever knew him.” Claire promised to obey all her father’s in- junctions; but it was no easy task to do so, How could she help her own manner taking a softer tone toward their guest now that she knew his guilt was not of so deep a dye as she had feared? And how could she prevent this intimacy increasing when a week of dull wea- ther confined every one to the house, and threw her sisters and Mr. Edwards together contin- ually? Mr. Travers, good, unsuspecting man, shut himself up in bis study, absorbed in his work; but Mr. Edwards often brought a book into the family sitting-room, and sat in one of the bay windows alternately reading or musing, or watching, with unconcealed interest, the move- ments of the sisters; nor could Jacqueline, the irrepressible Jacqueline, be prevented from re- ferring to bim so continually, that he would have been churlish had he not entered into her pursuits, “Why should I not talk to Mr. Edwards?” she demanded, when Claire ventured to coun- sel greater reticence. ‘Tell me why not, and I'll do as you advise, if Tcan. Is he danger. ous? Will he bite? Under that calm demean- or does he hide any ogreish tendencies, and will he pounce on me some day, and swallow me up?’ ““Do be reasonable, Jack. Have I not told you that papa does not wish us to be too friend- ly with Mr. Edwards? You can be courteous to him without going to further lengths.” ‘““Let me see. What was the extent of my friendly advances to him yesterday? First and foremost, I said, ‘Thank you,’ when he picked up my scissors. Secondly, I was guilty improving; and when he asked me if I had went and found it for him. any harm in any of those acts?” “No, dear; but you need not have teased him with your pretended dislike for Longfellow till you had lured him and Nella into a discus- sion on poetry that lasted all the afternoon.” “ And to which Miss Claire Travers lent the most profound attention,” Jacqueline reminded her. “*T own that I was struck with some of his remarks on ‘Evangeline; but don’t laugh— don’t put me off witha sneer at my own weak- ness, dear Jack. Thrown as we are into the society of a young man of whom we know ab- solutely nothing, surely our own good sense ought to teach us not to make him one of our- selves.” ‘Now, really, Claire, your scruples are ri- diculous!” cried Nella. ‘Is it at all probable that papa would have brought Mr. Edwards here if he had not considered him fit to asso- ciate with his daughters?” “Papa did not anticipate his staying so long,” was the evasive reply. ‘He is very nice; I like him,” said Jacque- line, with her customary frankness; ‘ but only when he brightens up. When he has his mel- ancholy moods on, I feel blue too. Who is he, Claire? What is he? Where does he come from, and where is he going? Does he belong to a secret society, or was my first conjecture the true one, and is he a blighted being? If so isn’t it permissible for me to console him for the cruelty of the heartless fair one who has brought him into this morbid condition?” I have not breathed a word sob. “No; but y ill, and keeping out of th way of his creditors, who are infuriated at t reckless manner in which he has behaved. B ive me to my own devices. I have not all this miserable record of folly and want of | learned the art of stand-offishness. _ I cannot as roa ¥ . "4 ‘ — a. of remarking that the weather seemed to be volume of Longfellow’s poems in the house, at Now was there ~~. .o
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5 THREE S$ STERS., sit in the same ro: m with a} erson for an hour et atime, and confine myseif to a ‘Yes’ or ‘No; and, while Mr. Edwards is here, I must and will be civil to him—unless, indeed, papa absolutely forbids it.” “ sensible to the charms of literature; and he had the indescribable air that marks the gentle- man, He snatched off the Highland bonnet he wore as soon as he came in front of the rustic build- ing and caught sight of the nut-brown maidens seated there. His surprise and embarrassment at finding himself brought thus unexpectedly face to face with three graceful, beautiful girls, dressed with tasteful simplicity, and betraying no rustic confusion at his presence, was so great that a quizzical smile began to hover on the very lips of Jacqueline. “JT beg your pardon, ladies!” he said, as soon as he found his voice. ‘‘I am afraid that I and my dog have been, though unintentionally, trespassing. I was informed that the land about the bay, into which I have just rowed my skiff, pertained to the Chalfont estate, or I should not have strayed up the pretty path I found.” Nella quietly explained that her father, Mr. Travers, had received permission to reside in a cottage belonging to the Karl. “Then I am sorry I came here, and yet I hope you will permit me to view the cottage, if only for a moment?” the young man replied. ‘““My name is Norman Grey, and my mother, who was related to the last Earl, and spent pert of her youth at the Priory, has often spoken to me of this pretty little place. I promised ber that I would not leave the neighborhood with- out visiting a spot still so dear to her.” But when Claire rose to lead the way to the house, saying she was sure her father would be pleased to receive Mr. Grey, he was too cour- teous to permit her to do so. “Tf you will kindly mention to Mr. Travers that I am staying at the Priory for a few days, he will, I dare say, appoint a time when I may eall upon him.” “We understood that the family occupying the Priory had gone abroad,” observed Jacque - line, who could not be silent any longer. Mr. Grey assented. ‘Yes; my friends are away, but they have placed the house at my disposal; and though I find the evenings long and ghostly, I contrive to secure plenty of out-door amusement for the day. The fishing is excellent.” ‘* And you have a boat?” said Jacqueline, standing on tip-toe to peer through the trees edging the path, and obtain a glimpse of the spot where it was moored. ‘I wish we had.” The young man looked admiringly at the pretty, animated speaker, and said, ‘‘ Yes, it is a very nice skiff, safe and commodious, Will you come and look at it? I should be most happy to take you ladies round the bay in it, if Mr. Travers would intrust you to my care.” He spoke so frankly and pleasantly that Jac- queline was delighted with him, and even the more reserved Nella‘confessed to being very fond of boating. Before Mr. Grey returned to the shore, he had contrived to win the favorable opinion of his new acquaintances; and when he expressed his intention of making his formal call on the morrow, and gayly bade the sisters remem- ber that they had tacitly consented to accept his offer, they heard him with smiles of en- couragement. ‘Who is he, papa?’ Mr. Travers was asked,. when the little piece of pasteboard had been laid before him, on which was engraved ‘Nor- man Grey, Greyworth Castle, Cumberland.” ‘Yes, we know that he is related to the Chal- fonts; but in what degree?” “ Heir presumptive to the property,” said Mr. Travers, lowering his voice, and glancing to- ward the window, at which tbeir guest gener- ally sat; but he was not there. Jacqueline re- ported that she had seen him pacing one of the garden paths, looking bis grumpiest. “Then if the Earl be really dead—” Nella began. “Who says he is dead?” cried her father, testily. ‘‘ Newspaper reports? You have no business to read them. I hope you had not the bad taste to broach the subject to Mr. Grey?’ Niece | = mena Nella, reproachfully.
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i I “Do you imagine we could be guilty of such impertinence?” ‘‘Well, well, I beg your pardon. my dears; but these things harass me. Weren’t you plan- ning a long walk for to-morrow? I should like the house to myself when Mr. Grey calls. We must not forget that, situated as we now are, we cannot afford to entertain visitors. /f you are not at home there will be no excuse for his remaining or making another call.” ‘And thus end all my visions of learning to be an accomplished oarswoman, and having de- licious evenings on the briny ocean!” sighed Jacqueline, twinkling a tear from her eyelash. ‘We begin to feel how keen the stings of pov- erty can be when forced to give up the most innocent pleasures.” ‘: we ! If ever I feel that my | repentance bas atoned for the follies of the’ er prayers, will help me to become a better, . “ts -
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10 As she persisted in commencing the descent, he was compelled to accompany her; andif her breath came rapidly, and her color changed more than once when she was obliged to let him lift her over the chasm, he was careful not to distress her by noticing it. But when they had descended about half- way, a ponderous door barred their further progress. “Have we madea mistake? I don’t remem- . ber seeing this?’ she asked, in some alarm. The voice of Jacqueline answered through the keyhole, “‘Are you there, Clary—is Mr. Edwards with you? Ask him to open this ter- rible door. It’s all my fault. It was propped back with some heavy stones, and that ought to have warned me to let it alone; but I want- ed to examine the curious lock, and it slammed to with a crash, and wants the strength of a giant to move if.” “ A crowbar would do it,” said Mr. Hd- wards, after making several efforts to stir the unwieldy portal. “A crowbar? Ah, that’s a thing I never carry in my pocket,” said Jacqueline. ‘“‘ What’s it like, and where is it to be tound?” “Not at Snaresbrook, I fear. You have made us prisoners, Miss Jacqueline; and I don’t know how we are to escape without more as- sistance than you can render.” A long-drawn ‘Oh, dear!” responded to this. “Ts Claire very much frightened?” ‘She does not say so,” replied Mr. Edwards, = after an anxious glance at his companion, who was struggling with her dismay at the prospect of a lengthy captivity. But this did not console Jacqueline. “She never does make a fuss; but she’s cry- ing—I’m sure, from her silence, she’s crying, poor dear!” And Jacqueline’s voice was broken with self-reproach and alarm. ‘Oh, Mr. Edwards, do tell me what I am to do?’ “There is a farm-house about half a mile from the hill-foot. Go there, and ask them to send some men with a lever to force the door out of the groove into which it has sunk.” _ Away sped Jacqueliné; and Claire, who had _ climbed up to a window to reconnoiter, saw her rush past Nella, who was still absorbed in her drawing; whisking by at such a rate that the contents of the sketching folio were scattered in all directions. While the vexed artist was collecting them, and endeavoring to regain possession of a paper that the wind had seized and carried over the steepest side of the ruins, Claire called to her. But the sound did not reach the ears for which if was intended. Nella was bent on recovering her sketch, and was too much accustomed to Jacqueline’s im- petuous movements to suspect that any thing unpleasant had occurred. Claire came down from the window, looking so flushed and troubled, that Mr. Edwards, whose eyes rarely quitted her face, strove to console her. “Your sister runs fleetly, Miss Travers. She will soon reach the farm-house. If no one is at home there, I believe that there is a cluster of cottages just beyond, where she is certain to obtain assistance.” Claire made an incoherent reply, and went back to the window, where she watched while Mr. Edwards paced the floor, or stood silently beside her till Jacqueline was seen returning. “ Are you happier now?’ he asked, with a smile. But the blush deepened on Claire’s cheek, and so did the troubled look in her brown eyes. ‘‘T believe I understand why you are so un- easy,” her companion said—“‘ it would vex you to be found here with me. You think that those who come to release us will couple our names together; and your pride is hurt at the idea, because you despise me !” Claire did not answer. She could not deny that she dreaded the remarks, the jests the thoughtless people might make; but it was not her pride, it was her modesty which was mak- ing her bitterly regret that Jacqueline’s heed- lessness should have placed her in such an awk- ward ae mn, — a tes THE .THREE ‘SISTERS. Witbout another word, howeyer, Mr. Ed- wards swung himself up to a loophole opposite the one at which she was standing, and began knocking out some of the stones, to make the orifice larger. What was he about to do? Ina moment it flashed into Claire’s mind that he proposed squeezing himself through the opening, and dropping from this dangerous hight to the ground below. In the wildest terror she cried to him to de- sist. “Come down, Mr. Edwards!—for mercy’s sake, come down! I would rather risk any- thing than that you should be so rash!” “But there really is no danger,” he assured her. ‘The ivy here isso thick that I can easi- ly let myself down by it.” ‘‘ Butif you should slip!” she gasped. ‘‘ Mr. Edwards, I entreat you not to make the at- tempt! Ah! you are frightening me dreadful- ly! Ientreat you not to leave me!” And Claire burst into such a passion of tears and sobs, that he was forced toobey. Return- ing to her side, he sustained the now thorough- ly overwrought girl in his arms, till the voices _of Nella and Jacqueline were heard at the door begging her to keep up her spirits, as the farmer and his two stout sons were close behind, and would soon set her free. ‘Of course, it was an awful sensation to be shut up in that ghostly keep!” Jacqueline con- fided to Nella when they had reached home, and the pale, silent Claire, pleading a head- ache, had gone to her room. ‘‘But I couldn’t have imagined that it would upset our brave little sis in this way. As for Mr. Edwards, the manner in which he went off as soon as the door was opened, was on a par with his cus- tomary gruffishness. Instead of helping to support Claire home, he left her to us, although he must have seen that she could hardly stand. But, there! he’s like frosty, wintry weather— he’s always chilliest just after a thaw!” CHAPTER V. IN NORMAN GREY'S SKIFF. Lone before the sisters reached home that evening, Mr. Grey had paid his visit to the cottage and departed; but he expressed such regret at not being included in the party to Snaresbrook Castle, that Mr. Travers was quite concerned at his disappointment, and offered to accompany him thither himself on the fol- lowing day, and give him the advantage of his researches as an archzeologist. This offer was eagerly accepted; and, when the gentlemen returned from their expedi- tion, tired and dusty with clambering about the ruined towers and exploring some curious subterranean chambers, politeness demanded that Mr. Travers should ask the young man to share the meal Nella had set out on a table on the lawn, Then nothing could be more natu- ral than for the sisters to linger near, and join in the pleasant chat that ensued, when their father had lighted his meerschaum, de- claring that he could always talk best when smoking, and Norman Grey, with a cigarette rolled for him by Jacqueline, made a pretense of following his example. Nor was Mr. Travers’s consent to a boating excursion on the morrow very difficult to procure; and friendly relations were so rapid- ly established between Norman and themselves, that Claire could not resist quizzing her father a little when they were left alone, while Nella and Jacqueline went as far as the summer- house with their departing guest. But Mr. Travers bore her teasing stoically. “T don’t think there’s.any harm done, my dear. I certainly did not intend to encourage this intimacy, but Norman Grey and I had a great deal of serious conversation yesterday and to-day, and I like him. is a frank, intelligent, honorable young fellow. Neither | he nor I had any reservation from each other, | except—” “On the subject of Mr. Edwards. You did not tell him that Mr. Edwards is here?’ e ¥ ‘*No; I did not consider myself bound to mention that.” ‘But Mr. Edwards ought to know that there is a person staying at the Priory who might recognize him.” ‘‘He does know it. I thought it my duty to warn him that Mr. Grey is in the neighbor- hood.” ‘¢ And he will go away?” ‘““Who—Edwards? I don’t know, my dear! He did not say so, and just now it might be more prudent to stay quietly where he is.” Claire would have liked to know what her father meant by that significant ‘‘ just now;” but, before she could ask for an explanation, Nella and Jacqueline returned, and no other opportunity presented itself. From that time forward, Mr. Norman Grey contrived to find excuses for visiting the cottage daily. Jacqueline saucily warned him not to make morning calls, lest his doing so should result in his being sent away again because the ladies of the house were cooking the dinner, making the beds, and dusting the furniture. But he re- ceived at the same time a hint that they were always willing to sacrifice their evenings to their friends, and he did not hesitate to act upon it. And what pleasant evenings those were! Their guest—active, energetic, and social—had always some excursion or some amusement to propose. Under bis auspices a couple of canoes were brought from the Priory, and the sisters learned to paddle in the smooth waters of the bay; or in his skiff they rowed along the coast, and visited the many strange and beautiful cav- erns that indented the cliffs, or landed on some rocky shore, where a Jittle search enabled them to find pools that were the haunt of the loveli- est of the sea anemones; or, if the weather was too rough for these trips, there was always the sheltered and prettily-situated summer-house with its rustic seats, and the view from its trellised porch, which Nella never tired of sketching, though she never succeeded in satis- fying herself. Here, while the sisters worked, Norman Grey read aloud, or would put down the book to talk sometimes of his Northern home, some- times of the metropolis, in which he had spent afew days before coming to Embridge. On oneof these occasions, he mentioned that he had been summoned to town by Lord Chal- font’s solicitors on the disappearance of their client; and Jacqueline would have plied him with questions if he had not frankly avowed that he had very little to tell. “As soon as I received a hint that my cousin was still living, and would not thank me to meddle in his affairs,” he said, “ I determined to come down here, and stay till I was sent for. The little I did learn made me both sorry and angry; sorry that Chalfont should have fallen into the toils of a specious villain, and angry that none of bis so-called friends warned hiny of the true character of the fellow long ago.” ‘*Papa seemed to think that Lord Chalfont was as much to blame as—as the other,” said Claire, the color rushing swiftly into her down- cast face. “T must be forgiven, if I differ with Mr. Travers,” answered Norman. ‘If he knew all that I heard while in town, he would feel as I do—that a generous, warm-hearted, unsus- pecting lad like Chalfont had no chance against such a thorough scoundrel as that Richardson.” “ Will you hand me that bvok you are de- molishing?” asked Jacqueline. ‘It is a favor- ite of mine; and, if you must knock something about as soon as you grow warm, don’t let it be my poor Shakspeare.” The culprit laughed and apologized, and the subject was not discussed again. There were plenty of pleasanter ones always, and so rapidly and delightfully did the time fly, that Norman reproached himself sometimes as he walked back to the Priory, for kaving forgot- ten the outer world so thoroughly that even his letters from home lay on his table unan- swered,
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Ever since Norman Grey had become a daily guest at the cottage, Mr. Edwards had confined himself to his own room, or had taken long, solitary walks over the downs, from which he did not return till the night had closed in. And what seemed saddest to Claire was that no one missed him. Her father was engrossed in his literary labors; Nella thought only of herself and her absent lover; and Jacqueline, after saying once or twice, ‘‘ How unsocial Mr. Edwards is!—why does he not join us?’ turn- ed to Norman, and forgot him. Only Claire remembered the solitary man, and sometimes rose an hour earlier to help Mrs. Lane, that she might have more time to attend to their guest; to set the tray for his breakfast herself; to put a few flowers upon it, and a new book or periodical. But though for days she rarely exchanged. a word with him, she knew that he did not forget her. A bunch of woodland blossoms on her work- table, a new fossil for her little cabinet, or some rare fern added to those she tended in the shadiest corner of the garden, proved that he fremembered her tastes, and delighted in ministering to them. Could he be the heartless villain Mr. Grey had so indignantly termed him? How could she believe that he was irreclaimably vile while he led the life of an anchorite; and, as she learned through Mrs. Lane, gave liberal and regular aid to a poor widow at Embridge, who was burdened with eight or nine child- ren? It was a problem that often made Claire’s heart ache; luckily the solution was nearer at hand than she anticipated. Sometimes business that he had agreed to attend to for his friends carried Norman Grey to Eastport for a day or two, and then a cloud fell upon pretty Jacqueline. She missed him, as she herself confessed, dreadfully, and would be restless and unable to occupy her- self, although Neila scolded, and Claire looked grieved. “Pm the most ridiculous Jack that ever lived,” she said, with a sigh, on one of these occasions; ‘‘ but the fact is, 1 was born to shine in society, and cannotrafford to lose one of the few admirers who listen to my witty speeches, especially when that one is the most apprecia- tive of my audience.” “You think Mr. Grey admires you,” retort- ed Nella, rather ill-naturedly, ‘‘ because he po- litely smiles at your attempts to be amusing?” “Exactly so,” said Jacqueline. “‘I like my attempts to be smiled at. It encourages me to make fresh ones. How dull you would be if it were not for my doubtful brightness! Better to have the light of a little candle, you know, © Nella, than none at all.” She danced off before her sister could make any reply, but came back to coax Claire down the bay. “Do come,” she pleaded. ‘‘ When I am in one of my fidgety moods, I worry poor. Nella as much as she does me, and to keep the peace you had better separate us.” Claire made the condition that she should be allowed to bring her sketch-book, and permit- ted to work in peace, and away went the two sisters down the rocky path, to where Norman Grey’s skiff was moored. This boat had a strong attraction for Jacque- line; and, pulling it in shore, she stepped in, _ and lay back on the cushioned seat, dabbling her hand in the sea, or singing a barcarole softly as the waters rocked her with every rise and fall of their gentle wavelets; and thinking —ah! of whom was she thinking?—the while. Presently Claire, who had been engrossed with her sketch, sauntered toward her, and the dreamer roused herself to say, ‘‘ Why don’t you join me? From where I sit you could draw the bolder outlines of those crags; and see how lovely they look with the deep rich glow of the setting sun upon them.” But Claire shook her head, saying, ‘‘ Another _ tigne, Jack—another time. It is getting late. I must not recommence at this hour.” “% THE THREE- SISTERS. However, Jacqueline persisted, and Claire stepped into the boat, observing as she did so that the rope with which it was secured seemed very rotten, and Mr. Grey must be warned of it, or some day he would find his skiff missing. “Ah! you are right,” she exclaimed, as she seated herself beside Jacqueline, and gazed at the tall and rugged cliff high above their heads. “But Iam not clever enough to define such a scene or paint such vivid coloring as this.” Still, she could not resist sketching the out- lines of the most prominent headland; and with the book open on her knees, was hard at work when she missed her india rubber. “You must have dropped it on the sands. Tll find it.” And up jumped Jacqueline, glad of an excuse for busying herself. She gave a flying leap from the little barque, and the impetus parted the few remaining strands of the old rope that held it. Away floated the skiff with Claire, so slowly and gently that both sisters laughed at the contretemps. : ‘¢Shall I wade out to you?’ asked the doer of the mischief; “or will you row yourself ashore?” ; “Can I do that?’ asked. Claire, dubiously. ‘There is only one oar in the boat. Don’t you remember Mr. Grey carried the other away to mend it.” Jacqueline’s color began to fade away, and seeing this, her sister hastened to reassure her. “Don’t be uneasy; the next large wave that comes in will bring me back to the beach.” But Jacqueline only wrung her hands when she heard this. “Oh, Claire, Claire! the tide is going out, not coming in !” Her hearer felt a chill creep through her veins; but still she would not let her terror be- come perceptible. “Going out, is it? Then I must try what I can effect with one oar. I don’t suppose I shall bave much trouble in getting back to you.” And assuming a composure she was very far from experiencing, Claire succeeded in getting the oar into the water; but she soon saw that in her unpracticed hands it was worse than use- less. She was slowly, surely drifting toward the mouth of the little bay. Once there—once drawn into the stronger currents of the open sea— She dared not pursue the thought. Drawing in the oar, she sunk upon her knees in the boat, and covered her paling face with her hands while she commended herself to the protection of Heaven. Jacqueline saw her do this, and, frantic with alarm, began flying toward home, shrieking wildly for help as she went. Searcely had she placed her foot on the first of the rocky steps, when Mr. Edwards came crashing through the bushes that clothed the side of the slope. Down, down he came with reckless speed to where Jacqueline awaited him. “Some good angel must have sent you here,” she panted, before he could find breath to question her. ‘‘Save my sister! Save Claire!” She pointed to the boat, and Mr. Edwards sprung into the sea; but only to return again and stand looking on either side of him. Had his courage failed him? Must Claire perish? Would he make no attempt to rescue her? But as these thoughts passed through the mind of Jacqueline, she saw him running along the sands to where the crescent-shaped bay ended in a spit of land. She saw him flinging off his hat and coat as he went. He was lessening the distance between himself and the skiff, that was sometimes borne back to- ward the shore with its helpless burden, only to be carried further away again by the reced- ing waves. Did Claire see him? was coming to her? Did she know that he Yes, yes; for she waved him baa A5 if to say, ‘‘ The risk is too great. ; ‘a ¥ : - ‘ et —*") i. . — “7 a’ ifs | If my life must be sacrificed, let me not cause the death of another.” But if he saw her gestures, be did not heed them. Slipping his feet out of his boots, he | ran along the narrow spit of sand beneath | the headland, and plunged boldly into the sea. | He was a good swimmer, but the distance was considerable, and not all Claire’s efforts to steady the skiff could prevent its being borne further and further from him, and nearer and nearer to the wide, remorseless ocean. She had ceased to pray for herself. Her prayers were now for him who was struggling to reach her. | For a while he breasted the waves manfully. | Then, through the deepening twilight, Claire fancied she could see his features growing | ghastly with exhaustion. | “Go back!” she cried, her voice shrill with anguish. -‘‘Save yourself while there is yet time! Go back and comfort my father!” The swimmer heard her, compressed his lips, and made fresh efforts. The wind moaned and sobbed across the bay as if wailing his requiem; the white-winged : gulls screamed as they flew shoreward; and Claire knelt in the boat, fancying that above all other sounds she could hear his labored breathing. oe He was nearer. The skiff, caught in one of the currents that raced swiftly past the mouth of the bay, was.driven toward him. Claire could see his dilated eyes, his white lips, and Lee the fierce efforts he was making toreach her ere his strength utterly failed him. And then, as a wave that broke midway struck his heav- ing breast and hid him from her sight, her piteous cry was echoed by the hoary crags. But that cry incited him to one last desper- ate struggle, and in another minute his relax- ing hands have griped the side of the skiff, _ with Claire’s help he climbs into it, and then lies at her feet, almost insensible. CHAPTER VI. rele f NORMAN'S SUSPICIONS. aia CLAIRE thought no more of her own peril; forgot that she was still being hurried out to sea, where her only chance of safety was the remote one of being seen and picked up by a passing vessel. She was absorbed in the pros- trate figure over which she was bending, and her tears fell fast on the pale face of him who had risked his life for her sake. : ‘She raised Mr, Edwards’s head onto her knee; she wrung the water from his hair; chafed one of his cold bands till it grew warm beneath her touch, and clasping her poor little trembling fingers, raised them to his lips. He lived!—he would live!—and in the first transport of her joy Claire laid her cheek against his clammy brow, while she murmured a fervent thanksgiving. But he did not move again (perhaps the dreamy bliss of being thus caressed and wept over while he slowly regained perfect con- sciousness was too sweet to be relinquished), till, frightened at his immobility, she implored him to speak to ber. Then he sat up, and reassured the terrified girl. He felt weak and dizzy, that was all, and already these feelings were beginning to pass away; and again he clasped and kissed her little hands, and spoke ’so tenderly, so re- assuringly, that Claire grew calm, till she re- membered those on shore, who must be suffer- ing the direst terror and uncertainty concern- ing her. As soon as Mr. Edwards understood this, he roused himself to look around, Night was lowering over the scene so rapidly that the shore was but a dim line, They both knew that if Jacqueline had gone to the cottage for assistance she would find none; Mr. Travers would hurry back to the shore with her; but it would be a long time before the help of the Embridge fishermen could be procured, and a boat put off to their aid. However, Mr. Edwards sent a long, clear shout across the water, once, twice, thrice; and Kae fo a Mees
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E ee —- 42 the third time it was answered in the deeper tones of Mr. Travers. Then a cheery ‘All right!” was shouted back to the anxious father and sisters, and Claire found herself wondering if she should ever see them more, if she and her companion were now drifting toward that unknown shore from whence there is no returning. But Mr. Edwards’s next words were hopeful ones. ‘‘The wind is rising; it blows toward the shore; there will soon be enough to carry us round the headland and into Embridge haven, if we had but a sail, or any substitute for one.” “My shawl!” exclaimed Claire, handing him the thick woolen one she had brought down to the beach and thrown into the boat to Jacque- line lest she should be chilly. With a little aid from her, Mr. Edwards _ fastened it on the oar. For a while the folds flapped lazily, and he _ looked anxious; and Claire, as it grew darker, cowered beside him, and made no resistance when he put his arm around her, and drew her closer to his side. But presently the breeze freshened, the sail filled, the skiff felt and _ obeyed its impulse; and soon the lights twink- _ ling in the fishermen’s cottages on the shore ‘Bae Embridge gladdened the hearts of the weary girl and her preserver. The moon was rising, and the watchers in the bay had seen by its light the white sail of the skiff, and the direction it was taking. Around the jutting spur where Jacqueline had signalized herself by losing Claire's shoes, _ Mr. Travers and his daughters hastened, to be “in readiness to greet the dear one so nearly torn from them, and Mr. Edwards heaved a deep sigh, ‘“‘They are waiting for you,’ he murmured. “‘T can hear their voices. Hark! they are calling to you. But, ere you go, will you not say one kind word to me? To-morrow you will be cold and reserved; you will see in me only the man of many errors, whom you can scarcely resolve whether to pity or to scorn. For this one night—for this one minute—re- member, it is all that is left to us!—think of me—speak to me kindly! Let me feel that there are moments in which I am not despic- able in your sight!” “Never that—never!” said Claire, laying her folded hands on his shoulder, ‘‘ Those only - are heroes who have fought and overcome. Be my hero. Even though you go from our quiet cottage into the world, and we never meet again, live such a life that, when I hear you spoken of as a great and good man, I, in my quiet home, may be proud of you, too.” He bent toward her, and their lips met. But there was a loud cry of ‘‘ Claire, Claire! speak to us!” And she turned from him to answer it, and assure her friends of her safety. There was great rejoicing over her; but when they would have thanked Mr. Edwards, he had disappeared. CHAPTER VII. ON HIS TRACK. As Claire caught no cold, and assured her sisters she felt none the worse for her adven- ture, Nella and Jacqueline soon settled down to their ordinary tranquillity. Accustomed to regard their sister as one of the most equable-tempered of girls, it never en- tered their wise little heads that, in spite of -her outward placidity, she might have suffered much tnental discomposure from the strain on her nerves, . The one was engrossed in the absent lover, from whom the dictum of his purse-proud _ friends had separated her; the other was far- too much employed in regretting the tempor- ary abseuce of vivacious, energetic Norman Grey to discover that Claire was restless and illatease. —. She herself would have found it difficult to account for the suppressed excitement, that made it impossible to read, or draw, or prac- tice as usual, and rendered all her customary occupations distasteful. S je. ee ee. a : oo THE THREE. SISTERS. She avoided Mr. Edwards, although she could not help knowing that he loitered about the garden, asif to see and speak with her. After that last episode in the boat, how could she meet him without evincing an agitation she felt it her duty to conceal especially from him? 3 Until he could hold up his head with his fel- low-men—until he had expiated the errors of the past, she must not indulge in any warmer feeling for him than pity. So Claire told her- self, and was prudent enough to avoid any more dangerous interviews, And yet she found the confinement of. the house intolerable, and longed to escape from it; but not until she had seen Mr. Edwards start on one of his long, solitary walks, did she emerge from her room, and snatch up her gar- den hat. But she must have an excuse for wandering away alone, a most unusual thing for Claire to do, and stood in the porch meditating till she remembered having promised herself long since that at the first opportunity she would carry a few odd numbers of illustrated newspapers to the invalid son of a poor woman whose cottage was about a mile anda half from their own, on the road to the market town. With her roll of pictures in her hand, Claire set forth, sometimes hurrying along, sometimes strolling leisurely, according to the nature of the emotion that influenced her. She was near the by-lane leading up to the cottage, when, at an abrupt turn of the road, two men appeared before her. They were strangers, and one of them was decidedly unpleasant in his demeanor. He seemed to have been drinking freely. and reel- ed toward Claire as she would have passed him, with a coarse remark on her pretty face, that made her redden angrily and retreat from him in dismay. His more civil companion saw her «larm, and, catching him by the arm, dragged him back. “Be quiet, Andrew. Don’t you see that you are frightening the young lady? He does not mean any harm, miss, and we shall be glad if you will direct us to Embridge.” “ Thanks,” he said, as Claire pointed toward the distant village. ‘‘It is not exactly Em- bridge we want. I suppose there’s no harm in mentioning that it’s a young gentleman we are in search of, whom we hope to find somewhere in this neighborhood.” Claire could not help starting, and the man rubbed his hands. “You know him, I can see, and perhaps you can give us the information.” “No, no!” she cried, abruptly. none to give you—none—none!” And, scarcely knowing what she did, she fled past her questioner, and never stopped till she found herself at the door of the cottage. It cost her an immense effort to receive and answer the greetings of the sick boy and his mother, for her heart was beating so wildly that she could hardly breathe; and while the poor woman was describing ail Johnnie’s symp- toms, she was thinking cf those men. It was Mr. Edwards they sought, and men of their stamp would not be doing so with any friendly intent. The more respectable of the two was dirty and untidy, and evidently be- longed to a class of society many grades below that in which Mr. Edwards appeared to have moved. Oh, it was horrible that these men should have applied to her, of all persons in the world, to tell them where they could pounce upon their prey! Would they succeed in finding him, in spite of her refusal to answer thrir questions? Alas, yes! it was useless to hope to the con- trary. As soon as they had found their way to Embridge, and pursued their inquiries there, some one or other would be certain to mention in their hearing that a gentleman answering to the description given was an inmate of the cottage Mr. Travers was occupying. And “T Lave then—Claire’s blood ran cold as she pictured what would inevitably follow—and then these men wceuld hasten to drag him from his asylum. She would see him arrested and hurried away to London, there to answer for what he had done. Oh, it was not thus she would have had him expiate his misdeeds! Had he not. suffered enough without having to endure public shame? Could nothing be done to prevent his capture? While Johnnie turned over the engravings and commented upon them, Claire was telling herself that Mr. Edwards must—nay, showid —be saved from the danger that threatened him. Then she rapidly turned over in her mind the best way of effecting it. He had strolkd away nearly half an hour before she left home; therefore, those who sought him beneath her father’s roof would not find him there. But he must be cautioned not to return thither so long as his would-be captors were in the neighborhood. There was no one to do this but herself, and she started from her seat resolved to go in search of him at once. She had but a very remote idea where he was to be found. For some miles along the coast the ground was rough and uncultivated, and it was toward this wild but beautiful scenery Mr. Edwards generally directed his steps. Here he could ramble for hours, and rarely meet a living soul, and, knowing this, she hoped that, by climbing an eminence a few hundred yards from the cottage she was visiting, she should be able to discern his tall figure either strolling over the moor’and or lying in one of the hollows of the cliff toward which it trended, absorbed in the book that was always his com- panion. Bidding the sick boy adieu, and consoling him for her departure by promising to pay him another and longer visit shortly, she turn~ ed to depart. The mother of the child had been called into the outer room some few minutes before, closing behind her the door of communication. As Claire laid her hand on the latch, she heard voices that filled ber with dread. . Surely one of the speakers was the half-intoxicaed man from whom she had so lately fied. Opening the dcor cautiously, she glanced into the cottage kitchen. It was us she fore- boded. These men had followed her, and she was pent in here, unable to quit the dwelling without being seen by them, and perhaps ce- tained until she should consent to give ihe in- formation demanded. She tottered Lack to the bed, atd suk cn the foot cf iv so pale, so strange in Ler aspect, that the boy was frightened, and, when she made no reply to bis questions, he began to call loudly for his mother to cume to his axsist- ance, But the sound of his voice rcealled ker ficet- ing senses. Springirg up, she silenced the boy, whose cry bis mother, fortunately icr Claire, Lad not heard; but not till che led reassured poor Johnnie, and cnce more drawn: bis at- tention kack to his pictures, dared she think of her own position dnd Mr, Edwards. Wringing her hauds in an agony cf griefand terror, she gazed around the rcom, Was there no way frcm it but through the kitchen where those hateful voices were siill audible? No; none, unless—and Claire’s bores revived as her eye fell upon the Jatticed casement—un- less she could contrive to force her slender form through that. She determined to attempt it; but first the wondering boy, who was again watching ber changing features. and restless movements, must be bound to silence. This she effected by frankly avowing that she had been frightened by the men now par- leying with bis mother, and therefore wished to avoid them. As soon as Johnnie learned this, he was €2. ger to assist her in her escape, and softly clr) - ped his hands when he saw her climb onto the narrow window ledge, squeeze herself through
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THE THREE SISTERS, 43 the apertare, and look back to nod and smile faintly at him, ere she reclosed the casement. Once in the garden, she lost no time in run- ning down it, and crossing the bank that di- vided it from the fields beyond. But she crouched as she ran beside the hedge, lest the white feather in her hat should be descried, and did not venture to pause or look behind till she was a long way from the cottage. Then, and then only, did she make a detour, and direct her steps toward the hill, from which sho hoped to see Mr. Edwards. More than once she fancied that some one was following her—that those voices were borne toward her cn the wind—that she could hear the men hoarsely shouting to her to come back; and from behind every tree she passed fearfully looked, expecting to see one or other of them rush forward to intercept her. So completely did she become the prey of these terrors, that when her skirts were caught by a projecting stump, and her flight re- ceived a sudden check, she shrieked and dropped on her knees, covering her face with her hands, for she believed that the men had pursued and overtaken her. After this alarm it was some minutes before she could tranquillize herself sufficiently to rise. Only the thought of Mr. Edwards and what might befall him if she did not persevere gave her strength for renewed exertion. Afraid to ascend the hill from the side over- looked by the windows of the cottage just quit- ted, she had to follow the windings of a weary lane at its foot for more than a mile, but at last felt that she might safely strike into a track that would lead her to the point from which she hoped and expected to catch sight of the person she was seeking. But when, breathless and panting, Claire stood on the hill-tep and scanned the surround- ing country, she could see naught but the silent moorland, the sea lying far below her, and the wild birds that came fluttering and haere from their nests in the cliffs, Whither could Mr. Edwards have wandered? She shaded her eyes, and gazed again and yet again in every direction. This was the route he had taken, she felt positive of it, and yet failed to discern him. There was one path from the moorland to the shore by which he might have descended the cliffs, purposing to return home along the beach. In this case she was but losing time by lingering where she was. He must be apprised of these men being in search of him before they could find their way to her father’s dwelling; and Claire ran down the hill, on the side nearest her home, to make her way there with as little delay as possible. The sun had now risen to its fullest hight, and its rays beat down upon her head till it ached and throbbed intolerably. But still Claire plodded on, till, coming along a lane just in front of her, she beheld Mr. Edwards, He must have been to call upon his protegee, the poor widow, taking quite another direction to the one in which she had sought him; and he strode on, neither looking to the right nor the left, with his hat drawn down oyer his eyes, wholly unconscious that Claire was so near him. She was crossing some fields—he was tra- versing the lane; and at the time she first saw him, only the hedge and a high bank separated them; but when she timidly uttered his name he did not hear her faint accents; and when she called again, his swift steps had already carried him out of hearing. Claire could have thrown herself down on the ground, and wept, but it would not do to think of herself. She must not pause, must not rest, until she had overtaken Mr. Edwards, and told him that the avengers were on his track. And now she has nearly reached the last stile. Not two hundred yards away is the gate of the pretty cottage where ber family are residing. She can see her father strolling among the flower-beds, and Mr. Edwards quickening his pace to join him, and enter upon one of the scholarly discussions both enjoy. | net 3 ¥ ? a Alas! that she must break in upon them with tidings of such direful import! Claire's foot is on the stile, when a sound in the lane makes her pause and glance fearfully toward it. Those dreadful men, their foot- falls unheard on the loose, sandy soil, are there. They have seen Mr. Edwards—they are follow- ing him. Even if she could outstrip them, which she knows to be impossible, it would be useless; they would suspect her design, and in her very presence the arrest would be made. The unhappy Claire could go no further, and sat down on the step of the stile, leaning her head against the rails, completely prostrated both in mind and b dy. ‘ “T would have saved him, but could not— could not!’’ she moaned. ‘‘Oh, Heaven! be pitiful to him—be pitiful!” From where she sat she saw Mr. Edwards enter the house. Did he see who was coming, and was it to avoid them? If so, of what avail would it be? He could no longer hope to escape them. He was lost—lost! For a while her sight was misty—she could not discern anything; but when it grew clearer she clutched the bar of the stile, and clung to it in her anguish. The men had entered the garden. They were interrogating her father, angrily, it seemed, for one of them was gestic- ulating while he talked, and Mr. Travers re- treated from him. Were they demanding their prisoner? Then Claire suddenly felt that she must see him once more; that it would be unwomanly to stand aloof while he was being dragged away to prison. She had bidden him look for- ward and hope—she would do so again. He should carry with him one gleam of comfort, to keep the penitent from sinking into despair. But as she trailed her nerveless limbs toward home, she saw the men turn from the cottage door, and take the road to the village. What did this mean? . Had her father prevailed on them to delay the arrest?—had he answered for Mr. Edwards’s appearance when called upon? She hurried toward bim; but he was looking after the retreating men, and did not notice her till she caught hold of his arm. ‘““Those men?’ she gasped—“ those men?” ‘One of them has been drinking; the other is shrewd and civil. He has invented a life- boat, and, it seems, contrived to interest Mr. Grey init when showing him over some portion of the dockyard in which this inventor is a workman; so has taken advantage of a holiday to come down here and see Grey about it.” Then it was not Mr. Edwards they sought, after all, and her fears had been groundless. Claire laughed hysterically, to her father’s astonishment, and then surprised him still more by slipping down at his feet in a swoon. CHAPTER VIII. NORMAN GROWS SUSPICIOUS. WirnHovut being absolutely ill, Claire was languid, and unable to leave her room for some days after this attack. Her friends attributed it to her having walked too far in the heat of the sun, and she did not attempt to undeceive them. Mr. Edwards had planned to depart on the day after her illness commenced, but could not resolve to go until she was quite herself again, and even then lingered, as if he found it diffi- cult to tear himself away. Claire had fallen into a reverie of which he was the object, as she sauntered one evening, the first time after her recovery, along the shores of the bay. She had gone down there to meet Nella and Jacqueline, who had been out in the skiff with Norman Grey, who had desired that his return should be commemorat- ed by a water party. But, even after they had landed, the young people loitered on the sands, loth to separate; and Claire sat on a stone at no great distance, dreaming her own dreams, until she was awakened from them by the merry laughter and exclamations of Jacqueline. She was sportively lecturing Norman Grey, 7 ig 7y ee ee i> who, with hightened color, was gravely de- fending himself. **T don’t think it was such a very absurd mistake after all,” he was saying. ‘I appeal to you, Miss Travers;’ but Nella had moved away. ‘I appeal to you, Miss Claire; was it so very absurd?” “Don’t be drawn into the discussion, Clary,” cried merry Jacqueline. ‘‘Mr. Grey ought to know by this time that it’s high treason to ap- peal against any of my decisions. It’s as bad as contradicting me, which I never could en- dure from my babyhood.” “Very well,” said Norman, recovering his good humor; ‘“‘then Tl confess that I have been very ridiculous, and throw myself on the merey of my judge. Punish me lightly, most potent one, or not at all.” ‘‘ What shall his sentence be?’ asked Jacque- line. ‘‘Sball I banish him outright? Some- body suggest something, please ?” ““T donot know what you have been dis- puting about,” averred Claire, to whoni she was Jooking for a reply. “That’s an odious word, Miss Travers,” Norman interposed. ‘‘No one could quarrel with your sister.” : “Very true,” said Jacqueline, with mock graviy. “The sweetness of my temper, or else my doing all the talking myself, renders it impossible. Go on, Mr. Grey. The last re- mark was very prettily made.” “The fact is,” Norman explained, “I could not help knowing for some time past that you have a person—an invalid, I me ae with you; and as I had—rather stupidly, i appears—come to the conclusion that this Mr. Edwards was not quite— quite—” And here he paused, and looked confused. ‘The fact is,” said Jacqueline, saucily mim- micking him, ‘‘ Mr. Grey—rather stupidly; as he observes—had decided that Mr. Edwards is a lunatic, and that papa acts as his keeper. And, listen, Nelja—listen, Claire—I should not have found it out if he had not commiserated us, and wondered whether I should be able to keep up my spirits when the cold weather has set in, and we are boxed up in the cottage with our mad friend!” ‘““Mr. Edwards is not the liveliest of com- panions, I must, admit,” said Nella, earnestly, “and certainly is peculiar; but I think, I hope, his mind is not affected. I do not believe that I could stay in the house with him if that were the case; what do you say, Claire?” “That he will leave us shortly, and so we need not waste our time in discussing him,” was the prompt reply. But though Claire made strenuous efforts to introduce another topic of conversation, she could not silence Jacqueline, who when she had done teasing Norman Grey for his mistake, amused herself by describing Mr. Edwards’s arrival at the cottage. “And be came quite unexpectedly!” Claire heard the attentive auditor exclaim. ‘‘ You had never seen him till then? Sane or notsane, this Mr. Edwards appears to be a very myste- rious personage.” “He is, indeed!” replied Jacqueline, whose eye her sister vainly endeavored to catch. ‘TI think it is doubtful whether his name is Hd- wards, after all, for at first papa called him Richards, and will not answer any questions about him.” “ Aren’t you chattering too fast, Jack?” queried Nella, who now began to divine from Claire’s troubled face that something was wrong. ‘‘When papa told us that he had agreed to shelter Mr. Edwards, for a little while, because that gentleman was ill or in some difficulty, he did not intend us to talk about it.” “Tm always doing something I ought not to do!” said Jacqueline, penitently. ‘‘ But, after all, this does not signify; we know we can rely on Mr. Grey’s discretion.” Mr. Grey bowed, but did not speak—he had fallen into a brown study and Jacqueline as- t: nished her sisters, after they had parted with him, by bursting into tears. a ake i a al 5 a e a
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re: Rwrra 14 ‘‘ Why did you not check me sooner?” she de- manded. ‘‘ You must haveseen that Mr. Grey was marvelling how I could make a jest of poor Mr, Edwards’s misfortunes. He will set me down as heartless—absolutely heartless!” ‘¢ But we know that you are not!” cried Nel- la, to console her. But Jacqueline could not still her self-re- proaches; and when two or three. days passed away, and Norman Grey did not pay his cus- tomary visit, her eyes were so swollen, that even Mr. Travers remarked upon them, and hoped she had not been catching cold. Claire began to dread she know not what, and her heart almost ceased to beat when Mrs. Lane, coming home from a shopping excursion to the village, drew her aside to say mysteri- ously that their guest ought to be warned that there were inquiries being made. about him. Claire ran up-stairs to her own room to calm herself. . Her father, alas! had gone to see an old _ friend, the incumbent of,a neighboring parish, vs and would not return till the evening; while Mr, Edwards himself was away on one of his long rambles. _ Not knowing what else to do, she penciled a little note, and carried it to his room, laying it where it must catch his eye as soon as he en- on must fiy,” Claire wrote. ‘“‘ You are no longer safe here. Those who are investigating the mystery of Lord Chalfont’s disappearance are at Embridge seeking you.” Then she had hesitated whether to add a kind- _ ly word from herself, and eventually the note _ ended thus: Bs ¥ mee Pod meokutions! wil rd my prayers!” Claire took a little sprig of myrtle out of the bosom of her dress—was it not an emblem of hdpe?—laid it with the note, and then tried to go about her duties as usual. But her hands trembled, her color came and went, and she found herself listening to every sound. She heard Mr. Edwards enter the house, and go to his room. Would he not take her advice, and hurry away with all possible speed? But no; she heard him pacing to and fro for some time, and then all was still. Had he been seized with a desire to prove his repent- ‘S) hen you _in your aaler you always in sag" 3 ee by awaiting the coming of the officers of Sy aw +” q le r ustice, and give himself up to them? Would Mr. Travers never come? Ah! here he was at last! But he was hun- gry. The lamp must be lit, a meat tea set be- fore him, and all the details of his interview with his friend listened to before he could be taken aside to hear the tale of Mr. Edwards’s danger. Ay; and jist as he leaned back in his chair, smilingly assuring his daughters that he had had enough, a step—was it the step Claire dreaded to. hear?—came past the window. “Visitors at this hour!” said Mr. Travers, cheerfully. ‘‘ Weare getting quite gay! Open the door, Nella, love, and see who it is.” “Tt is Mr. Grey, papa!” And Jacqueline, her smiles returning, sprung from her seat. But the young man did not appear to see her outstretched hand. He looked grave — nay. stern; and Claire clutched at the back of her father’s chair for support, for, as soon as he begun to speak, she knew that her fears were realized. “It may seem ungenerous, Mr. Travers, af- ter enjoying your friendship and your hospi- tality, to come here on such an errand as my present one; but it is my duty and I. cannot shirk it.” “T don’t understand,” said Mr. Travers, looking from one to the other of his daughters in his perplexity. “IT am told,” Norman went on, hoarsely and- rapidly, ‘‘that in the kindness of your heart you have given an asylum to a person who, %y some specious tale, has induced you to think him deserving your compassion. Don’t imagine that I availed myself of your hospi- tality to pry into youraffairs. I never thought “e WI & : . time ie 8) DHE. THREE Sistine. of Mr. Edwards but as a harmless lunatic till a day or two since; nor would anything I then heard,” he hastened to add, as he caught the sound of Jacqueline’s smothered exclama- tion of distress, ‘‘ have aroused my suspicions if I had not received a few hours earlier a note from a friend in London, telling me that the scoundrel who had robbed, and perhaps, too, murdered, my unfortunate cousin has been seen in this neighborhood.” Was Claire fainting? No; although every vestige of color had left her face, making it contrast strangely with the glowing, eager countenances of her sisters, she kept her post behind her father’s chair, silent and rigid. “‘T am listening very attentively,” Mr. Trav- ers observed; ‘‘ but cannot follow you. It ap- pears to me that you are making some kind of apology for doing your duty, and yet, Mr. Grey, doing our duty never requires excuse.” “Don’t you see that it compels me to bring trouble and notoriety upon your quiet, happy household?’ cried Norman, in great agitation. ‘“‘Can you not understand how | am obliged to suspect that the man you have sometimes call- ed Richards, sometimes Edwards, and who lives here secluded, is none other than the vil- lain Richardson?” ‘Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Travers, rising from his chair. *‘Why—what—how came you to think this? Does any one else know of your suspicions? Then you have come to tell me that you consider it your duty to hand him over to the police?” “Yes,” replied Norman, firmly. ‘Every day fresh proofs of his evil condact are crop- ping up—checks that ke has iorged in poor Chalfont’s name—jewelry that he has obtained by pledging Chalfont’s credit; and skall he es- cape just punishment for the most shameful deeds ever done under the mask of friendship?” “But Lord Chalfont—-does ke sanction this arrest?” Mr. Travers demurred. ‘Ts he still living?’ asked Norman, excited- ly. ‘For some time past I have been tempted to believe that the letters his solicitors have re- ceived purporting tocome from him are for- geries, like the rest; and that they are sent to keep us quiet till Richardson has safely evaded justice.” ““You are wrong in this surmise,” Mr. Trav- ers assured him. ‘‘ Lord Chalfont is not dead.” ‘Then where is he?’ asked his hearer, in- credulously. ‘‘T am here, cousin!” And Mr, Edwards, who had been standing .at the door unobserved for some minutes, came forward, and put his hand in Norman Grey’s. CHAPTER IX. THE EARL. “Tt is all so strange, so inexplicable,” said Norman, when he had ¢.rdially greeted the Earl, “that Iam quite in a maze. Then it is you who have been Mr, ‘Travers’s guest all these weeks?” “Yes; he generously brought me here, that I might have the benefit of his skiil; and when he had cured me I still stayed on, because—” Lord Chalfont paused, reddened, and glanced at Claire, who was still! pale and trembling with emotion. “You might have let me into your secret,” his cousin told him, reproachfully. ‘T should have done so if—” He hesitated a moment, and then, taking courage from Claire’s emotion, boldly went on,-—“if I nad not been seized with a jealous fear that the same motive that kept mé here was influencing you also.” Norman saw the direction of his eyes, and smiled. He admired’Ciaire, but did not think her half so bewitching as one of her sisters. ‘“But why,” he asked, ‘‘ have we been allow- ed to think you dead?” “That ITamnot I owe to Mr. Travers, to whom I am indebted, not only for my life, but my reason,” : And the Earl gratefully and respectfully took the hand of his host; who, though re- aes pudiating the idea of any obligation, was affected by the action. “Tf Miss Travers and her sister will consent that I shall explain, I will be as brief as possible,” his lordship went on, addressing the whole party, but still looking at Claire. Every one was eager and interested; so, with an effort, he began: “‘T need not tell you that I was deceived in my college friend Richardson. It seems to be pretty generally known that he played the traitor from the commencement of our ac- quaintance, and that I was shamefully, cruelly duped. When I did get an insight into his true character, my indignant reproaches in- duced him to assail me; but I could not forget that he had been my friend, and that my own weakness might have led him into acts he would not otherwise have committed. I, there- fore, appointed a meeting, intending to offer him the means of quitting England, and living a better life in another country. We met; but when I found that he was attempting to regain his old ascendency over me, and endeavoring to evade the promise to leave England that I would have exacted, I refused to let him have the notes I had brought for him. What fol- lowed Mr. Travers can tell you better than I, for some lucky chance brought him to the spot just then. JIonly know that Richardson tried to snatch the pocket book from me, that we struggled for it desperately, and that then all was a blank.” “Don’t call it chance—it was Providence led me there!” Mr. Travers gravely observed, ‘for I was in time to see Lord Chalfont struck down by a blow on the head, so violent that it rendered him insensible; and when my cares had partially revived him, he talked so in- coherently that 1 could not learn who he was. Had I met a policeman, I should have taken counsel with him; but asI did not, I led my charge to my own apartments, at a quiet hotel in the Adelphi, where he was supposed to be my son, and there exercised the professional skill I still retain in his behalf.” ‘“No one could have been kinder, or more clever at healing my hurts, both mental and bodily!” the Earl exclaimed, warmly. ‘Pain, shame that I should have been so credulous, and resentment at the treatment I have re- ceived, made me little better than a madman, and left me at last so weak, so miserable, that I do not know what would kave been the result if Mr. Travers had not been at my elbow!” “The case was simple enough. Concussion of the brain, from the blow, complicated by intense excitement that threatened to terminate in fever. When | learned the rank of my pa- tient, I proposed handing him over to the fam- ily physician, but he would not hear of it; and as he was in no condition to be contradicted, I let him have his own way.” ' “Yes; and consented to bring me here that I might be perfectly quiet till my mind bad taken a healthier tone, which, I am thankful to say; it is rapidly doing! I have made at the ccmmencement of my career some serious, but not tatal, mistakes. I have been weak enough to suffer myself to be drawn into excesses and follies that Iloathed even then, and now look back upon with disgust; but I am beginning to see that the crdeal through which I have pass- ed may make me a wiser, if a sadder, man,” “Still it puzzles me why you have permitted us to think that you were no more?” Norman cried. ‘‘My dear fellow, I felt too ill for some time to trouble myself about anything, though as soon as I learned that there was a hue and cry for me, I wrote to my solicitors assuring them that I was still in the flesh; but as Richardson made off on the appearance of Mr. Travers, and did not know whether he had left me liv- ing or dead, I had no objection to keeping him in suspense as to what had become of me.” “Of course, he has. deserved all the terror be must have been enduring; but you will not let him escape punishment?” “J might vot have done so, for I was very wroth when I discovered, through a newspapcr o~
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THE THREE SISTERS. ie ae * 15 report Miss Jacqueline read in my hearing, that he has been audacious enough quite lately to forge my name; but the affair is taken out of my hands. He has been arrested for a crime committed under the alias of Morson, and without any interference on my part will have to expiate his misdeeds in penal. servi- tude.” “Papa,” said Claire, hurrying after Mr, Travers when he stepped away to his study, leaving bis daughters and Norman Grey shak- ing hands with and congratulating the young Earl, ‘* you have strahgely misled. me.* Why did you do so?’ Mr. Travers looked astonished at the charge. ‘““My dear child, I.cannot accuse myself of doing anything of the kind! It was Lord Chalfont’s own suggestion that he should be known while he was here by his Christian names, Harold Edward, and so I introduced him to you as Mr. Edwards.” “Sometimes you called him Richards.” “TInadvertently, then, ‘my dear; and only because the name of his lordship’s false friend was often in my thoughts just then.” “ But it misled me,” Claire persisted. “ And yet, Clary, you hinted to me on one occasion that you had .divined all that I had concealed from you about our guest.” ** Yes; because I believed him to be the Mr, Richardson flying from the consequences of his erime. How could I dream that our guest was the Earl, when everything you said led me to . quite another conclusion? And, papa, do you forget how carefully you warned me against any intimacy, as if you knew Mr. Edwards to be so hardened in sin that he was no fitting associate for your daughters?” ‘‘T never meant to imply any such thing,” her father assured her. ‘I have always pitied and admired Lord Chalfont for the tenderness of conscience that has made him exaggerate his own faults. I believe him to be a very fine young fellow.” “But still you did warn us to avoid him,” Claire persisted; and Mr. Travers was slightly embarrassed; but he drew her toward him, and kissed her forehead. “Yes, love, 1 remember that I did; but it was because we are poor, and I felt that my Claire was too good and sweet to be exposed to the risk of losing her heart to one so much above her in rank. However, Lord Chalfont has had sometliing to say to me on this subject, and here he comes to discuss it with you.” “Don’t go, papa,’’ entreated the blushing girl, as the Earl came forward eagerly; but Mr. Travers went away, telling her to give his lordship a patient hearing. ‘“‘ Am T over bold in asserting that you liked me a little, Claire,” Lord Chalfont murmured, “even when you thought me a disgraced man? Will you try and love me now that I am doing my utmost to be worthy of you?” Claire’s head drooped, and she was silent. “Look up, sweet one, and answer me. Have you not guessed that it was to be near you I stayed here so long? Or if you think that I - Should submit toa probation before you consent a to be mine, I will obey you.” “Yes,” said Claire, finding her voice at last; “it will be more prudent for you to go away. Just now your gratitude to papa may lead you to think too highly of his daughter.” “Claire, I love you with all my heart and soul. Be your own sweet self, and say, frank- ly, generous:y, ‘ Harold, I will trust you.’ On my ‘life I will not prove undeserving the rich treasure of your affection.” _ And Claire, after a little modest hesitation, whispered the words for which he asked. F ‘She will be a lovely Countess,” said Jaeque- jue Tapturously, waltzing round her sister; and her nuptials shall be a model of elegant simplicity. I mean to arrange all the details myself, We'll have’no satin, no diamonds— those shall be reserved till) ‘my lady? goes to Court; and yet our Claire, in her spotless white, shall be one of the prettiest, best dressed brides that ever knelt at the altar,” “Mr. Grey’s sisters aro to be two of tho a nS PPP SS ec Sc Rc ee bridesmaids,” said Nella; ‘‘and then there will be you and I—” But here Jacqueline, laughing and blushing, put a finger on her lips. ‘You must leave Jack Travers out of your arrangements, for she has just been made the victim of a shocking conspiracy. Lord Chal- font ani Norman have plotted a double wed- ding, and I have been worried into consenting to be the other bride, if my dear papa has no objection.” “ And ‘we three’ are to be parted at last!” was thesighing comment. “*Oh, poor Nella!” exclaimed both the brides elect, as they tearfully embraced their less for- tunate sister; asking themselves the while how they could have been so selfishly engrossed in their own happiness as to forget her troubles. But Nella played the heroine for once, and wiped away her tears. ‘ “Indeed,” she told them, ‘‘ you shall neither put off your weddings nor be sad.on .my ac- count, Everything’s for the best, as Claire is fond of telling us; and on this occasion Iam quite willing to agree with her; for think, dear girls, how could we all leave papa? It shall be my task to comfort him for losing you. Hith- erto Ihave been very selfish; now I shall be more considerate for others, and try to be hap- py myself in witnessing and ministering to the felicity of my very dear sisters.” And Nella was not long without her reward. As soon as Lord Chalfont discovered that the reverse in Mr. Travers’s circumstances had separated her from her betrothed, he set to work to remedy it. Inthe course of a few weeks, Mr. Travers was nominated to a berth under Government, for which his literary at- tainments rendered him well fitted; and the Eversleys, on hearing that he was no longer poor and obscure, withdrew their refusal to let their son wed his daughter. “Of course, papa will have to live in London now,” Jacqueline observed, ‘‘and the cottage will be deserted; but Claire, Nella, we will never forget neither the sad nor the happy hours we have spent within its walls; and, in the years to come, let us still try and meet there sometimes, and ask ourselves if we are doing our best to deserve the blessings that have been showered upon us and those whom we love.” A compact to which Nella and Claire gave a ready assent, and which, be it added, they in- tend to observe. It was not till Mr. Travers was comfortably settled in town among his old friends, with a cheerful elderly spinster cousin to preside over his domestic arrangements, that either of his daughters consented to leave him. The Ever- sley's took up their abode at no great distance, but Norman installed Jacqueline at his north country home, and Lord Chalfont carried his bride abroad for their honeymoon, which they prolonged till brought home by business that could no longer be set aside, even for the grati- fication of watching Claire’s delight at the lovely scenery to which her happy bridegroom had introduced her, Halting one night, as they traveled home- ward, at a Belgian town, they heard so much from their gossiping host of the beauty of one of the churches that they delayed their journey on the morrow in order to inspect it. As they drew near the edifice, a tall, grace- ful woman, in the quaint garb of a religious order, emerged from an orphanage, and would have glided by, but her eyes fell on the Earl, and, with a start, she paused. At the same moment he recognized her, and uttered her name—‘‘ Miss Richardson!” Bowing slightly, he would have passed on. He had never named, even to Claire, the bit- terest drop in the cup he had drunk at the hands of his false friend. He had never told him that it had humiliated him more than all else when he discovered that Henry Rich- ardson and his sister had. plotted to inveigle him into a marriage with the latter. To know that you have been the dupe of those in whose good faith you had testified unbounded confi- We $$ —_—_— SSS dence is terribly galling, and Lord Chalfont colored high as he drew his wondering bride forward. But he had a genérous and chivalrous nature, and the next moment had turned back, and was accosting her. ‘Miss Richardson, if you are here alone, and need a friend, Lady Chalfont will, I am sure, be that friend.” “T thank you,” she murmured; “but need nothing. My brother is dead—the news reach- ed mea few days since—and I have found em- ployment. You have atoned for the follies of your past, and are happy. Iam expiating the ‘sins of my life, and am resigned.” _ There was a cloud on the faces of the young couple as they listened; but it vanished as they went away secure in their own well- founded happiness. In spite of much morbid sentiment, this world is in a great measure what we ourselves make it; and though sor- rows will come to all; they will never press so heavily on the pure-hearted as the willfully © erring; and where shall we find men leading nobler, better lives than Harold Chalfont and Norman Grey, or sweeter matrons than the fair women who were erstwhile ‘“ Nut-brown Maidens ?” ' THE END, / The Saturday Journal, “The Model Family Paper —A p= ee Most Charming of the Weeklies”! wt A pure paper; good in every thing; bright, - brilliant and attractive. Serials, Tales, Romances, Sketches, Adventures, Biographies, Pungent Essays, Poetry, Notes and Answers to Correspondents Wit and Fun— All are features in every number, from such celebrated writers as no paper in America can boast of. What is best in POPULAR READING, that the paper always has; hence for Hom, SHop, Li- BRARY and GENERAL READER it is without a rival; and hence its great and steadily increasing circulation. 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