Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 2) (1880 07 20)
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4 The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. Aes nm ~ STOTT TTY Th TO sees Pi A a Mio ents A in Aesinac lie hes an , ‘ ih pee B 3 Lp te Nye! "3 yn a i f i i - st a ! ; ~ r Cw A oOH iain cuiuiiahiiiltbcall SA e E 1 J i Me ie | Dy ie satan art te | rt t ” PAUL nl 7-5 LLG fal ae ee is $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. » No.36. VoL. IL. 7 ’ ay en PRICE, 5 CENTS ~~ ++ ao { ' Y 7 yess Lips Z Yj j “ AMONG THE CUSHIONS, BESIDE THE BARONET.” Sir Archer's Bride; or, The Queen of His Heart, | merisa sepia peti nomes atchis'time owed thelrsunshine toons young, loved face only. RS Sie Saari Colonel Humphrey, it is true, boasted of the existence of a talk = BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTAH. stripling, far away, who had been drafted at an early age into the 7 ae ES SOE EE OL RES ranks of the only profession to which, in his father’s opinion, a gentle- | CHAPTER I. man should aspire. “ d » Yet the young lieutenant was little wore than a myth, without oP ‘ : = pct ona 7. : 7 actual bodily presence, so far as life at the villa was concerned: albeit | Two villas—standing like twin sisters, side by side—with trim, well- | Mr. and Mrs. Hebden, next door, blessed by Providence with one gently down to the river’s brink, alike in each and | fair-haired daughter only, considered even the existence of this absent “s kept lawns sloping . mien ithin doors as without. — ne | son and heir a sort of personal grievance—a tacit reflection upon their / pe : n % ca Ae i ? Ke * ; e* : 2 ; ; ED ope Be) oe Se “7 ere Venn wae
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—— SIR ARCHER'S” BRIDE. own sterile lot, barren of sons, endowed with one ewe-lamb only. Pembridge Villas, forming as they did, one. harmonious whole, detached from any neigh- boring residences, had evidently been designed by a far-seecing and enterprising builder, with a yiew to the accommodation of the families of some modern Damon aud Py thias; for, assured- ly, being cut off from general | communion with ; one’s kind is the best way of cementing that cy spurious commodity which is the best apology tor friendship ‘known to this, our nineteenth \ ventury world, between those thrown. by Fate in contact, Accordingly, the Humphreys and the Heb- dens were ‘‘great friends;’ which phrase, translated into every-day English, is intended to convey that the intimacy between. the -households was extreme. That in this intimacy lurked a certain leaven of rivalry, it is almost unnecessary to ex- plain. The cold December afternoon upon which ; _ this story opens, found Ellen Humphrey and Nellie Hebden in close conclave together. Within closed doors and basking in the glow of a blazing yule-log fire, the girls could well +s _ afford to forget the dull, leaden sky without, . snow-covered garden paths, the murky, swol- sen. river, and, indeed, all those minor disad- 9 vantages which rendered the villas, in the , opinion of most folks, anything but desirable si residences in the dreary winter months. “Tam so very glad you enjoyed yourself, dear!” said Nellie Hebden, from her seat on the tender ottoman. But even as she spoke, she looked wistfully into the fire; for, perhaps she began to weary somewhat of listening to the elder girl’s voluble recital of the delights of last evening’s gather- ing at The Laurels—a gathering to which Nellie had likewise been bidden; but parental 3 authority had interposed, sternly forbidding the entrance of this eager Peri to the smiling lands so nearly within her reach. For not until Christmas Day would Nellie Sor have completed her seventeenth year; and her father persisted that, until this rubicon was it passed, nothing less than a royal mandate ae _ should induce him to consent to his little maid’s ' gracing any Terpsichorean festival, Perhaps be was right. Nellie was young enough, and fair enough, to require parental vigilance; still, now that | the hour of emancipation from the restrictions of girlhood drew near, she felt it doubly hard to be denied access to that reseate fairyland, whose pleasant paths in another pies she | ' would be free to tread. Besides, according to Ellen Humphrey ’s ac- _ count, never before, and never again, would :mortals taste of bliss so unalloyed as that _ which bad fallen to the lot of the fortunate fifty gathered within the hospitable walls of The Laurels the previous night. It did seem, perhaps, a little hard to have missed such exquisite enjoyment, just because one was not yet seventeen. “And my dress' was truly lovely!” Miss Humpbreys proceeded, regardless of Nellie’s ejaculation; likewise of the fact that she had already three times fully exhausted this head of the argument. ‘‘I could see how vexed the Heywards were. Those girls look positive frights in pink. And then mine was so much paler, and the quality of the silk so far ricber than theirs, that no wonder they felt them- selves quite in the shade. clared .he bad never seen me look half so love- ly!” Ellen added, with a little laugh of pre- «tended incredulity, which by no means dis- guised her secret complacency. ‘' And al- ' vhough ‘one cannot believe half he says, yet really I think I looked my. best.” “Pm sure you did, dear!” echoed Nellie, in -and given ‘ ‘finishing touches,” with unaffected admiration of her friend’s dark, southern beauty, set off to infinite advantage by her tasteful evening costume. ‘So, for once, Der- went spoke the truth, Iti is not often one can | Charlie Derwent de- allg good faith; for she "bad assisted at thie toilet, say as much for him. Was he vexed to see the impression you effected upon the Baronet?” ‘*Need you ask! He was positively savage, my dear; which added to the fun, Well, one can dance with Derwent any day} but baro- nets and M.P.s are scarce, unhappily, in these parts,” laughed the beauty, scornfully, fully alive to the deplorable fact that she was doom- ed to waste her sweétness on the desert. air of the old fashioned little town of Luton, while entitled, by her transcendent attractions, to bloom to greater advantage in the great Lon- don show of rank and fashion. “And you really liked this Sir Archer?’ questioned Nellie, simply. “‘ Well, who could fail to like the one man of importance in the room, if he singled you out from all others as the recipient of his ‘undi- vided attention for an entire evening? Particu- larly when one enjoys the pleasing conscious- ness that all the other girls are mad with dis- appointment, and that one man, at any rate, is white with jealousy and rage. For every girl, of course, expected to be introduced to Sir Archer, and, no doubt, at least a score were de- termined to create an impression. Whereas, I don’t believe he did more than six dances al- together; and three times out of those six I had the honor of being his partner. Then, of course, our fair hostess expected he would con- duct one of her three Gorgons in to supper. I declare I could hardly appear decorously un- moved when he advanced toward me, request- ing the felicity, et cetera, et cetera. I rose with much dignity, I flatter myself; yet I was more than half disposed to jump with joy.” And Ellen laughed with exuberant glee at the mere recollection of past triumph. “Yes, it must have been most flattering!” echoed Nellie, gravely. ‘‘ But, dear Ellen, I do think you were cruel to—to vex Derwent. You know he is no favorite of mine; still, I believe he really loves you. And you have led him to believe that—tbat you, in some measure, return his affection.” “And so I do,” retorted Ellen. “But sure- ly it is no fault of mine that the man is not in a position to propose? If we were properly engaged, you know, it would be different, * it is—” “Well, dear—as it is?’ questioned Nellie, looking at her expectantly. ‘As it is,” replied the elder girl, slowly, and with deliberate emphasis, ‘although I am really fond of Derwent, I do not intend to de- bar myself from any ° enjoyment that comes in my way. Moreover, should an unexception- able wooer present himself, I—well—I think I should aceept him, Nell. I am old enough to | be engaged.” “Oh, Ellen, Ellen! You cannot mean it! You love Derwent, you admit. Surely, then, you would not, you could not marry any other | man?’ “You dear little simpleton!” laughed Miss Humphrey, with an air of infinite superiority. ‘Suppose now, only suppose, a man like Sir Archer should ask me to share his name and fortune, his rank and position, think you I should be mad enough, wicked enough I might almost say, to reject him for the sake of a penniless barrister, like Charlie Derwent? Nellie, little stupid though you be, you can hardly believe that!” “Oh, Ellen!” rejoined: the younger girl, genuinely shocked—‘“‘ you surely cannot mean that you would even hesitate to refuse him? But what can have put such an idea into your head? Men of the stamp you mention are rare in Luton, so your constancy is not likely to be put to the test. There is really no one of much importance, save—save Sir Archer, of course.” ‘* Well! and why consider him out of the ques- tion? You will laugh at me, Nell, I dare say, but really I should not be immensely surprised, considering bow far matters progressed last night—upon a first introduction, remember— if—if—well—if Sir Aicher ultimately came to the point. there is, moreover, They say he means to marry; and | _ A oN afloat that, to in- | ter determined to select one-from among the in- numerable marriageable girls of Luton. Then why not your humble servant, as well as ‘another? Would it not be. delightful to write “Jady-’ before: one’s name, instead of Miss, or even Mrs.? Why, Nell, you would shine with a reflected luster, if only as ‘ milady’s friend!’ ” “Can you mean it, Ellen?’ cried Nellie, starting to her feet. ‘‘ Oh, surely you are jest- ing? Why, Sir Archer is quite old!” “‘Quite old, you little goose! Since when were bachelors, with inexhaustible check-books, pronounced old at thirty-seven? Save by your sixteen summers, dearest, I assure you un- married baronets and M P. s under forty are regarded by all spinsters as objects of profound- est admiration. And Sir Archer is really charming; and—he certainly pressed my band at parting, standing bare-headed in the frosty night air; and himself insisted upon holding open the carriage door. Besides, he was so unfeignedly delighted at the prospect of our meeting again at the Hamlyns’ on the twenty- ninth. What should all that mean? Ah, by the by, my simple Nell will make her first ap- pearance there! You will be at the Hamlyns’ yourself; and even if you are not introduced to him, you will see this delightful Member of ours, and judge for yourself whether his at- tentions to a certain dark-eyed friend of yours. are not what mammas call ‘ most particular.’ ” We need not pursue the conversation through all those diverse channels into which it flowed unweariedly for the next half-hour. The girls were in a confidential mood to-day, and when two maidens—neither of whom have numbered twenty summers—meet, and there is a ball in the past, and one in the future, open to discus- sion, small wonder if the discourse extend be- yond the limits of ordinary endurance. I will only add that when Nellie Hebden parted from her friend, with warm embraces and many protestations on both sides of meet- ing *‘ without fail” upon the morrow, her own anticipations of the long-talked-of ball upon the twenty-ninth were not quite so joyous as they hitherto had been. She could hardly account satisfactorily sfor so strange a circumstance. It could not surely be that she felt the pzrispect of the coming pleasure already somewhat dimmed by the cer- tainty that her friend’s brilliant triumph must. effectually eclipse any modest i:..pression she herself had been hopeful and desirous of effect- ing in the somewhat circumscribed arena of their small Luton world! .Perhaps; for surely in all maiden breasts, however artless and free of guile, lurks, even | though unconfessed, a natural desire to shine, 3 t ee CHAPTER II. | NELLIE’S DEBUT. | Tee Hamlyns knew all the nicest people in the town and neighborhood, and on the evening of the twenty-ninth the elegant suit of recep- tion rooms at The Cedars was crowded to ex- cess. Every one had been informed that this en- tertainment—like, indeed, most other gather- ings of any pretensions in Luton—had been arranged to do honor to ‘‘Our Member,” who was spending the festive season at a recently- purchased country seat in the neighborhood, | and had undoubtedly manifested praiseworthy - | alacrity in mingling, on all possible occasions, in the society of the foremost “‘ set”? of his con- | stituents. Yet it was well known that in London every | Belgravian mansion was open to Sir Archer; in each club, in every drawing-room, he was deemed a,.valuable dition by both. sexes. ‘among the “ Upper *fen’” Heneechis extreme affability was the more appreciated by those worthy, yet undeniably hum-drum, Luton Joneses, Browns, and Robinsons, who were per- mitted in this long-to-be remembered year of grace to bask freely in the sunshine of the -Member’s presence. ppened that Mrs. Hebden and her daugh- -were among the latest arr | brilliantly-lighted portals of e at the Cae Arts
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‘been its. one redeeming point! assured debutantes than our diffidert little - ¢annot dance to-night! ening sense of her own shortcomings, slender ' Nellie, in her modest toilet of simple white, a dowdy; insignificant little maid like her? he SIR ARCHER’S BRIDE. dress! wall-flower upon one’s very first introduction to society ! Full of these horrible forebodings of the fate in store for her, Nellie sunk, with a beating heart into a seat beside her mother, Raising her eyes for the first time, and venturing to glance. around the room, she beheld; Ellen Humphrey herself, arrayed in softly-shim- mering silken robes, of. palest cerulean_ blue, How. exquisite she looked! reflected Nellie. And, oh, what a number of sweet. pink rose- buds trailed here, there, everywhere—on skirt, and train, and bodice! Ah! if only Nellie’s own modest marguerites had: been spared, she would not have felt so utterly disconsolate. With what rapt admiration, too, Ellen’s partner was bending forward to look at her face? Why—-yes, surely! Nellie could not be mistaken! That must be Sir Archer?—yet how different was his appearance in the even- ing dress to when she had seen him, for the first and last time, upon the day of the elec- tion. And now the Member looked across the room, and evidently made some remark con- cernivg her ; for Ellen Humphrey, following the direction of his glauce, smiled and nodded at poor Nellie, whose cheek grew hotter still as the terrible fear came upon her that per- haps even those two were commenting on the deficiencies of her toilet. Just then the music ceased, and Nellie noted that the gilded clock upon a console-table. point- ed to eleven. Three hours at least before the company would disperse! Three dreary hours of unutterable humiliation to be endured, be- fore the anguish of her “ first. ball” would be numbered among the chronicles of the past! the last. moment, Mr. Hebden—somewhat au- Oh, the humiliation of subsiding into a tocratic in the domestic circle—had decided, when Nellie—radiant, blusbing and excited— presented herself for parental criticism, that the great. frosted marguerites which looped her fleecy draperies here and there were scattered about her silken train with a too lavish hand. And so Janet was summoned, and some modification of existing floral arrangements was insisted on. Papa disapproved, too, of the ivy-wreath with which his small daughter’s Grecian head was crowned; and so this, in turn, had to give way for a cluster of white, starry daises, which nestled shyly among her blonde curls. Yet such suggestions at the last moment, however well-intentioned, are apt to ‘‘fluster” (as the ladies’-maids phrase it) even more self- friend of seventeen summers. In her case, the result of papa’s disapproval, and the consequent alterations in her toilet, was well-nigh disastrous. Previously, she had been excited and ner- YGus in the highest degree at the actual ap- proach of that critical moment when, bursting out of the chrysalis of girlhood, she should be fully launched as one of the butterflies of life in the sunshine of that gay world which, to all such young | and giddy fluttering things, appears but one brilliant parterre of endless pleasures. The temporary check to her high spirits ex- ercised a violent reactionary effect; the girl felt painfully hysterical, and only by the strongest self-control restrained that violent flood of causeless tears which threatened, dur- ing the drive, to chase the luster from her eyes, and rob her of all chance of “a success ” on that ever-memorable evening! “Oh, mamma, I—iudeed I don’t feel well!” she faltered, as she followed Mrs. Hebden into the elegantly-appointed retiring-room, where a smart lady’s maid—much beribboned and be- flounceed—was in attendance to relieve the guests of wraps and shawls, ‘‘I—I am sure I Dear mamma, should you mind very much if—if we returned home —now, at once?’ “You must be mad, my dear!” calmly re- torted the matron, shaking out her rustling draperies, and surveying the general effect in a long mirror with infinite complacency. “ Is the company very numerous, Fanchette?”’ ‘Yes, indeed, madam. . And the ladies? dresses are quite helegant—that I must say, after many years’ experience! Our Member, ma’am —Sir Harcher Trenton—I myself hover- heard to say as how he never scarcely recollect- ed to have scen. so many sweet. young crea- tures so tastefully harranged—them was his very words, ma’am—in all his life before! He said that much to master, to my certain knowl- edge, and— Oh, miss, surely you’ve lost a flower, just above your ‘flounces——here!” And the well-meaning Abigail bent down with much anxiety to arrange poor Nellie’s train. “Oh, mamma, my dress is spoiled! Papa would cut those flowers off, and only see—what a hideous space! Oh, 1 look a fright!—and, indeed, I don’t feel well! Let us, dear mamma, CHAPTER. III. MAY AND DECEMBER. “ On, mamma, I cannot go! deed I cannot!” pleaded , Nellie, a few. brief hours later. “But, my as child, if is nearly three o'clock, and the rooms are emptying fast!” urged her mother, glancing round, “Yet, indeed, I cannot spare your daughter, Mrs. ._Hebden. You must be indulgent, and grant us still further respite. I know not what would induce me to relinquish the pleasure of this last valse. . Not even the fear of incurring your displeasure, I am bold enough to say.” The speaker was Sir Archer, who glanced from the mother with such intensity of admir- ation to the fair, flushed, disheveled Nellie Indeed—in- (who leant panting on his ari), that. even ma- ternal determination gave way beneath the influence of a Baronet’s smile. So Mrs. Hebden discreetly beat. a_ retreat, and Sir Archer, in tones of infinite solicitude, questioned whether, indeed, his little partner was not beginning to weary of the dance? Nellie admitted—not that she was tired of dancing—oh, no! who, indeed, ever . heard such a confession from the lips of seventeen? — but that her toes—‘‘only just her toes ”’—be- gan to ache a little. So Sir Archer was magnanimous, and led go home. No one, I am sure, will ask me to | the girl aside to a snugly-sheltered seat beneath dance!” a colossal vase of drooping ferns. He did not “Rubbish, my child! Here, button my | mean to relinquish her to the enemy just. yet love!” Decidedly not! He had foregone the promised And, despite a quivering lip, cheeks burning - furiously with nervous excitement, and a sick- dance out of ‘‘consideration for her toes;” but meant to have compensation in the shape of conversation, at any rate. , ‘* And so you,have enjoyed your fir st ball?” he asked, almost. tenderly—for, indeed, after no less than.four previous dances, to say, noth- ing of the long interlude of .supper..to -which the graye Member had escorted: the little de- butante, small wonder that these two were ‘* quite ‘at home.” im each other's society. _‘*Oh, more than ever I had , imagined _possi- ble!” Nellie candidly avowed, raising her flush- ed countenance and sparkling eyes to those of the austere man beside her, whose sparse locks bad no choice but to follow her complacent chaperone into the brilliantly-lighted room— thronged, surely, as it seemed to Nell, with the grandest and most imposing company ever gathered together within four walls. What silks!—what satins'—what wreaths and feath- ers! Ah, how pitifully mean her own simple attire—demuded even of the flowers which had She must in- evitably be overlooked; not a single partner would present himself; who would noti were already sprinkled with a slight leaven of ray hairs. ‘ Are all balls so delightful?” noted the deficiencies o “To seventeen,” he answered, smiling al- fst he" . r ey ; ech a : ct es > Py a d 4 s- - ut, le ee = nS - Cat Se eat Pe Se So Bad ae f J, are most sadly down upon her. Sad. because of his vanished. youth?—or because of the wide disparity between seventeen and thirty-seven summers? In truth, I know not. “‘ And only. three hours ago I was miserable!” laughed Nellie. ‘Already, it seems too ab- surd.. Truly, I haye never so greatly enjoyed an evening in all my life before!” “ Not in all that long, eventful roll of seven- teen years?’ Sir Archer queried; ‘‘seventeen years which have passed, I suppose, like one sweet, untroubled dream.” “A dream!” echoed Nellie. ‘‘Do you call lessons and school-days a dream? It is stern reality, I can assure, you, when you have to get up to practice scales at seven o’clock, and when you do not know your French irregular verbs, and Monsieur’s knock is distinctly audible. Ah! believe me, I am thankful that I am awake at last, and have done with such ‘dreams’ for- ever. Now that Iam ‘out,’ school routine is a thing of the past; though I shall take lessons with masters,” she added, ingenuously, despite a suspicion that the admission was not alto- gether creditable to one whose attractions had sufficed to chain a Baronet to her side for the greater part of one whole evening. “‘Lessons.. with masters, eh?’ echoed Sir Archer, with genuine interest. ‘‘ Well, they egy will only occupy a portion of yourtime. The =~ remainder, I suppose, will be devoted to balls and general festivities?” ‘¢ Indeed, not!” returned Nellie, ina dolorous tone. ‘It is very seldom we have any chance of amusement in this stupid Luton. I don’t suppose we shall have another ball like this— ~~ oh, perhaps never again! It has been delight- 2A y ful!” she concluded with a little sigh of content, — , mingled strangely with regret. : “Delightful now; yet three hours ago you pronounced it a wretched affair!” “Yes; that was before—before I was in- troduced to you,” she answered, innocently. “I do believe I have to thank you for having enjoyed myself so much—you have been. so reat kind!” : ‘‘Kind!” echoed. the man of the world, with a strange, unwonted sensation stirring in his heart, and something rising in his throat, rendering his voice for a moment almost hoarse. “Kind! Have I, then; indeed contributed to your enjoyment, Miss Hebden?” ‘‘ Oh, so much!” was the fervent rejoinder of this unconscious little flirt, who looked up with dangerous. earnestness into. the dark, many- lined visage, in such startling contrast, with her . own, fair, piquant features,. ‘‘ You have danced so often with me, and—and have introduced ee several of my. very nicest partners. Do you 2 i know, I have not. missed) one dance; and just AS. Gat es ea The before you spoke to me I was reflecting that it *S was a dismal fate to bea wall-flower at one’s first—very first ball!” Vege ee. For a moment Sir. Archer made no reply} he : was regarding Nellie with strange earnestness. ** And so you find your life in Luton dull?’ he said, at length. ‘‘ Would you care, then, to see something of the world? London with its ceaseless traflic—Paris with its endless so- called gayety? Would you enjoy a life in which that which you. term pleasure is, in truth, a part of daily routine? A life in which men, and women too, attend balls and parties from a sense of duty, for in truth each caste has its obligations, however much they chance to vary?).... ; ‘“ Like it ?” Miss Hebden echoed, clasping her bands involuntarily, and breathless at the mere mention of an existence which must surely constitute a sort of terresiial Paradise for those fortunate mortals who were permitted to participate in its delights. ‘‘ Ah! I cannot | tell you how—how it excites me, even to hear about such things.” vie ‘‘ Even from an old fogy like me?’ Ap, “Old fogy, indeed!, I think you are e ‘ the nicest of all the partners | have had to- night.” r Can it be possible that I have really added to your enjoyment, my dear Miss Hebden? Answer me quite truthfully, I beg.” nad > eh
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z_— "<« EA qi ey “ Most truthfully, then, I can assure you that you have,” returned Nellie, with more emphasis than elegance, and sublimely unconscious that any deeper meaning might lurk in Sir Archer’s ‘words—any import attach to her own reply. ‘Then perhaps you—you might not be al- together displeased to see me some time again, if—if I had your mother’s sanction to call upon her shortly.” “Oh, Sir Archer, I should be delighted! Do come, very, very soon! -Mamma’s sanction, indeed! Why, I shall simply tell her that you are coming, and we shall all be charmed.” Mrs, Heb«‘en’s permission to call at the Villas was nevertheless almost obsequiously solicited by the Baronet when, at the close of the dance, he led happy Nellie back to her mother’s side. Need I add that it was granted graciously by the deeply-flattered dame, on whom it may here be observed Sir Archer’s evident devotion to the unconscious debutante had not failed to produce due effect. As, indeed, likewise on one other. Ellen Humphrey never forgot, and assuredly never forgave, the signal eclipse she had undergone from the moment her fair-haired little friend had appeared upon the scene. But a few evenings ago Miss Humphrey had enjoyed the satisfaction of observing general interest manifested in her every movement in the ball-room of The Laurels, as soon as it had become patent to all that she was the fair one selected above every other to be the recipient of Sir Archer Trenton’s attentions. The sense of triumph and distinction thus conferred was in itself delicious, apart from the contempla-” tion of those future transporting “ possibilities,” which the Member’s evident admiration had conjured up in Ellen’s too speculative brain. When that blissful evening at The Laurels closed, she had been freely bantered and con- gratulated on the subject of the Member's “marked attentions.” Ere she left the ball-room at The Cedars, comment was circulating as to Sir Archer’s “absolute devotion to Mrs. Hebden’s little daughter.” Well, it was, perhaps, enough to disturb the equanimity even of Nellie’s bosom friend! CHAPTER IV. “IN THE PLEASANT SUMMER WEATHER.”’ THE winter for both families at the Villas passed somewhat monotonously away, un- _ marked by any incident of importance, save indeed the Member’s call upon Mrs. Hebden. This was not repeated, however, for very shortly after Sir Archer left unexpectedly for town—a farewell card apprising the in- mates of Villa No. 1 of that important de- _ parture in due course, The visit itself was, however, soon forgotten, at any rate by Nellie Hebden; and even before spring had’ burst into early summer it is doubt- ful whether she entertained more than a general recollection of the insignificant fact of the Baronet’s existence, By her friend Ellen Humphrey, however, it was, on the contrary, still vividly remember- ed. The Jast days of May were rendered ever memorable this year by the advent of the young lieutenant before alluded to at Villa No. 2. For Laurence Humphrey obtained leave from his colonel, and came home tri- umphant just in time to celebrate his majority upon the glorious 1st of June. Ah, that birthday! Would Nellie Hebden ever forget all that date must henceforth com- memorate in the annals of her life? No; for should she live till her own hair is streaked with silver—her features wrinkled, care-worn, old, her heart methinks would still t thick and fast as she recalled the delicious ill of wonder and amaze, mingling with ething, oh! how far more sweet and in- scribable than either, which she experienced when again beholding the tall, dark-browed young officer, from whom she had parted five long years before. Nellie had keen a gay, romping girl at that _SIR_ARCHER’S BRIDE. time, and had taken leave of the careless stripling with absolute ind:fference, as she now perhaps too forcibly remembered; marveling, as she held out her little hand, and gazed up into his dark, expressive eyes, how she could by any possibility have forgotten Laurence all this long time. Although some few weeks only had elapsed since then, Nellie, in these days every inch a woman, found herself wondering what exist- ence had been like before—well, before the first of June. Surely tedious, monotonous, un- eventful; but already the tender brightness, the all-absorbing interest of the life just un- folding, promised more than amply to atone for those bygone wasted years, before—before Laurence Humphrey had returned to play a leading part on the little stage of the narrow Luton world. To-day, Nellie sat before her easel, but tho pencil was idle in her hand; a smile hovered about ber sweet, fresh lips, for she was living over again in thought the delights of yesterday. A habit, this, to which she had become much addicted in these days; for surely as the cur- tain of each evening fell upon the blissful events of departed day, it seemed a thousand pities to say good-by to much that might be well-nigh as fully enjoyed in fancy over again. “Nell, are you within?” This question, in ringing, manly tones, start- led Nellie from her trance. ‘‘T am here, Laurence,” she cried, springing forward to the open window, and waving a glad welcome to the young fellow leaning over the garden gate. He bounded up the pathway then, and in another moment stood by Nellie’s side—she within, he outside the low French window opening upon the terrace. ‘Nellie, we’ve got the boat ready for this afternoon, and mean to start directly after luncheon,” the Lieutenant began explaining eagerly; “and Ellen has asked Derwent to go with us, so I shall be left entirely to your ten- der mercies, I suppose? Hard lines for me!” This, with a rueful expression of counte- nance, which made Nell laugh heartily, albeit she would fain have appeared to accept the statement in good faith. In very few minutes he had told her all about it. How they were to run down the river as far as Snarke’s Bay, as a little indenture along the bank was termed; there land and enjoy a ramble among the fragrant hedge-rows, until the tide should serve for their return. “And we must not start late on any ac- count,” Laurence added, “ or it will be all u—p. We can’t pull against stream with the river in its present state. So just make your dressing operations ‘sharp,’ even at the risk of appear- ing one degree less beautiful than usual. And now I’m off. Until three o’clock, ta! ta!” And, snatching a cluster of early June roses, which were fastened in Nellie’s dress, Laurence bounded off again, as unceremoniously as he had come. Miss Hebden did not waste over the myste- ries of her toilet many of those valuable mo- ments which might be turned to precious ac- count in the society of—well, of her friends— basking in the sweet, warm sunshine, upon the placid bosom of the river. So, as three o’clock struck, Laurence pushed off, and the May Queen, with her smiling freight, glided gracefully from the bank. Three of the little crew were radiant as sun- shine, youth and idleness can render mortals. Laurence alone wore a preoccupied gloomy air. For this, if the truth had been known, Ellen Humphrey was answerable—a brief verbal pas- sage of arms having ensued between brother and sister on Laurence’s return from the Heb- dens’, Ellen had «pened fire by suggesting that Laurence should ‘‘invite another man or an- other girl, if he preferred it”—to join their water party that afternoon. This proposal was received with infinite scorn by him whose welfare at that moment was uppermost in his sister’s mind. ‘“ Why on earth should we be bothered with any one else?” queried the young fellow, with ingenuous earnestness, ‘‘ You will have Der- went—ergo, neither eyes nor ears for any oth- er human creature. And I—well, Nellie and I must take rere in one another’s society. Hard lines for Nellie, no doubt; yet what in the world would become of the unfortunate odd man out, or Woman either, for that mat- ter, if this proposed addition to the party should happen to be of the feminine gender?” for, in truth, inward annoyance made her less careful than usual to conceal her real thoughts. ‘Laurence, I am not blind to what is going on between you and Nellie, and I think it perfect- ly disgraceful!” ‘*Hilen, what on earth are you talking | about?” ‘ “Ah, you know well enough, and Ionly too well! You are falling in love with Nellie, and she, of course, with you. And it is prepos- terous! You have nota farthing in the world; and when you are old enough, ten years hence, to indulge in the luxury of matrimony, why, even then you must perforce marry money.” This was plain speaking; and, despite the furious retort it elicited, it had, at least, the ef- fect of bringing the Lieutenant to a mental ‘full stop,” and caused him to indulge in a brief survey of facts, of which hitherto he had carefully avoided any distinct summary. Anyhow, he argued, he was justified in re- senting Ellen’s interference. Her own inti- macy with Charlie Derwent was disapproved of by both parents. Nevertheless, Ellen turned a deaf ear to all remonstrance on this count; although, as we have seen, more than anxious to warn her brother of breakers ahead, and the dangerous rapids of youthful indiscretion. Once the little boat was fairly afloat, how- ever, and Derwent was fully absorbing Miss Humphrey’s attention, the Lieutenant’s tran- sient disquietude evaporated, and he gave him- self up with perfect equanimity to the ex- quisite enjoyment of the hour. After all, the sweet June air and sunshine, the soothing motion of the waters, the presence of the fairest creature on earth—for so Nellie seemed to him—might well exorcise the demon of perplexity from the breast of even an older and wiser man than Laurence Humphrey. Snarke’s Bay was duly reached; the May Queen was moored, and the happy quartette disposed themselves in attitudes perhaps of more ease than elegance upon the fragrant, grassy bank, warm with the bright June sun- shine. The scene was exquisitely tranquil, and all nature had that tender beauty which is pe- culiarly her own when spring, passing imper- ceptibly away, gives place to early summer. The trees, the hedges, even the dancing waters and the cloudless sky, seemed invested with a delicate purity of color—an indescribable charm which becomes inevitably lost in the mature luxuriance of a more advanced season. Midsummer, it is true, has a glory all its own; but for many of us there are no days in the calendar possessed of half the tender charm of those bright days of early June, A hamper of light refreshments having been duly discussed, our happy party arose; and by general consent, a ramble among the fragrant hedgegrows was decided upon. BSisterly solicitude was forgotten, even fem- inine malice for awhile evaporated, as E!len, looking up at Derwent, allowed him to pass his arm within ber own, and lead her off toward a woody glade. After all, Laurence was old enough to be prudent on his own account; and, as for that flirting minx, Nellie—well, she must look after herself. N either of them had been consigned to Ellen’s care; so it was hardly to-be expected that she should sacrifice the pleasant moments that might be spent alone with Derwent in playing ee, for the sake of those who were hardly ] Bent manifest a becoming sense of grati- } she wandered off with Derwent, leaving ‘Laurence on his knees repackiig aman ham- v . “That is just it!’ retorted Ellen, angrily;
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= SIR_ARCHER'S BRIDE. per; while Nellie, bending over him, superin- | cause she, too, had a secret, and one that she tended the proceedings. The Lieutenant raised his head; and for a moment, hesitated, as he looked after his sis- ter’s retreating form. “They’ve left us to our fate, Nell,” he mut- tered, half aloud. rs “Oh, I'll take good care of you!” laughingly rejoined the happy, unconscious little maid. At that very moment, it so chanced that ‘Derwent, looking back, waved his hat, crying gayly, ‘ “ Good- -by till six o’clock!” “All right!” hastily. responded the Lieuten- ant, springing to his feet just as his friend and sister disappeared among the trees. “Well, Nellie, dear,” he began; but then paused suddenly, and looked aside. Strangely enough, at that very moment the girl’s gaze faltered likewise. For the first time, these two were uncom- fortably conscious that they were left to the uninterrupted enjoyment of each other’s so- ciety. Neither spoke. Strange that both, usually so voluble, on this occasion found never a word to say. CHAPTER V. THE OLD, OLD STORY. “ LAURENCE, it is getting late. Come, sir, we must go,” quoth Nellie, as the long shadows upon the grass startled her into recollection of time, circumstance, and place. They were sitting side by side upon a stile now, and I am not sure that the young man’s strong arm was not wound about the girl’s slender waist; at any rate, he held her right hand tightly locked in his, and Nellie was all content. For after that momentary constraint, which T duly chronicled in its proper place, IT am bound to admit that both youth and maiden simulta- neously decided (each in their inmost thoughts) that it would be only wise to make the best of the unfortunate position in which circumstances had placed them. ’ Arriving at so sage a conclusion, the rest was easy enough; and, once having resigned them- selves to the infliction of each other's society, behold them, when the sun sunk low behind the trees, as—well, as happy as is compatible with a temporary resting-place on the topmost rail of a rustic stiie. “Nellie, I positively decline to stir,” retort- ed the young man, bending forward to look more closely at her. ‘‘One does not so often come across a happy hour that one can afford to curtail it by a single moment, when that confounded old niggard, Fate, grants us a re- spite from the worries of life.” Nellie laughed—to hide a momentary em- barrassment, perhaps. Somehow — somehow sbe did not quite know what to say when Lau- rence spoke with that strange new expression in his gaze and in his voice. It made her heart beat, and her pulses throb; it made her tremble, and feel—well, just a little afraid. So what resource had she, save to essay a feeble little laugh? It fell flit and mirthless, however, and—indeed died away with a dangerous, ‘unsteady sound. “Laurence, don’t talk nonsense! What should you know, indeed, of the ‘worries of life,” as you term them—you, but-a boy, to whom mere existence is enjoyment?” “A boy, Nellie?” he echoed, quickly. ‘That is where you all make a great mistake. You would not call me ‘boy,’ dear, if you could but see the secret hidden in my heart of hearts!” “Secret! What can you mean, Laurence?” “Nellie, can you not guess?” She shook her head. Just then the words failed to rise glibly to her lips. “Must I tell you, then?’ he whispered, bend- ing his dark head lower—‘“ must I tell you, Nellie, dear one? Why do you turn aside? Nellie, look into my eyes. Perhaps you may read my secret there.” Yet Nellie only turned her curls m r- ; aistaaihy, toyrerd the speaker. Perha be- : . bis ee ec Bid would fain conceal. “Let us go!” she cried suddenly, and would have dropped to her feet; but his strong arm detained her. Spite of her struggles, he held her fast. “You shall not go,” he said, “until you have guessed that which I no longer care to hide.” “‘Oh, Laurence, we must not stay longer! We shall be late! I will not hear a word!” “Tf you will not hear, then you must be made to suffer. Nellie, translate this!” And, darting forward suddenly, he kissed her. “Taurence, how—how dare you, sir?” “He dares all who loves as I do! Nellie, you are the whole wide world to me! You would not call me ‘ boy,’ dear, if you could but form the faintest notion ‘of the strong man’s love in my heart now, darling, darling Nell!” © “Oh, Laurence!” was all she faltered.. Just then, it apparently sufficed. I fancy the discriminating reader, after this, will scarcely be surprised to learn that at least another quarter of an hour elapsed before this foolish, happy pair started to their feet, and, hand in hand, set out with rapid strides to re- join the others; for, in truth, both were now agreed that “it must be growing late.” Lovers, unfortunately, as is proverbial, having but a limited appreciation of the flight of time. Moreover, in this instance they were not al- together culpable—so we feel compelled to ad- mit the plea of ‘extenuating circumstances;” for Laurence, equipped for boating, had wise- ly (or unwisely, as it chanced) left his hunter safe on his dressing-table at home. Nellie, in truth, wore a jeweled plaything, which she grandly styled ‘‘ her watch;” but it is needless to observe that it shared the general fate of ladies’ time-keepers, and for many an hour had stood perversely still. Drawing within view of their extemporized landing-stage, both young hearts bounded with a sense of deep relief. Neither Derwent nor Ellen was in sight; hence the hour, after all, was not so late as they had tremblingly con- cluded. “Good heavens!” “Laurence!” Such were the ejaculations which escaped simultaneously, for on reaching a turn in the bank both Nellie and Laurence recognized at the same moment that the boat, as well as friend and sister, had undoubtedly disappeared. For a moment they stood spell-bound—then rushed forward breathlessly. But, alas! only to make assurance doubly sure. Derwent and Ellen had, in truth, unmoored the May Queen, and were now drifting quickly with the rushing tide in the direction of The Villas. © “Charlie shall render an account for this!” Laurence muttered, through closed teeth. “ How cruel—cruel of Ellen!” gasped poor Nell. But both did the absent grievous wrong. Far from having intentionally ‘“ played them a trick,” as the deserted ones forthwith con- cluded, Derwent and Miss Humphrey had in- deed waited, ina desperate state of anxiety, a full hour longer than had been prearranged, and had not finally embarked until the very latest moment compatible with tidal considera- tions. Then nothing remained but to Jeave the defaulters to their fate; for, as Ellen sensibly decided, “of two evils, it is always well to choose the lesser.” In the present instance, much as the delayed return was to be regretted for Nellie’s sake, still it was less disastrous for her to be belated | in the safe keeping of the young Lieutenant, the friend of her earliest days, than had a like mishap overtaken Ellen in the society of Char- lie Derwent, an acquaintance scarcely tolerated: by her parents. Besides, it was just po eerseed Laurence had devised some other method of reaching home —by road or railway, possibly. At any rate, one thing was evident—Miss Humphrey had been bound to consider the exi- gencies of her own particular case; and ‘0, with many misgivings, Charlie Derwent had | ultimately pushed off in esenieaye her wish, leaving the absent couple to maké the best of fate. But ignorant of all such redeeming clauses, Laurence and Nellie stared blankly at each other, with something very like despair in their hearts, and the strongest possible sense of in- jury against those truants who were far less blamable. than the lovers themselves. Anon they heard the cheery sound of a labor- er’s whistle, as he tramped homeward through the wood close by. “ Hi!—you there!” Laurence ed; and in due course the man responded to the sum- mons. ‘What may the hour be?” the young man asked, with an anxiety he could no longer conceal. “Nigh eight o’ the clock, zur,” responded the sturdy son of toil, with alacrity, evidently laboring under an erroneous impression that the intelligence conveyed was calculated to raise drooping spirits. “The deuce it is! aneuend do you happen to know whether a boat may be obtained about here?” The man took off his tattered cap, and pro- ceeded to scratch his woolly head with a sense of infinite enjoyment. “Ay, zur; I maun happen to know!” = Well” questioned Laurence eagerly. “There be naw fishing-smacks ?’ these parts, zur! Ours be a’op picking country!” “Not a boat of any kind?—a punt—a coble?” — The Lieutenant’s voice now had aring of deep disquiet, which startled even Nellie—less conscious than the young man of the serious nature, so far as she was personally concerned, of this unfortunate misadventure. “Naw, zur; don’t I tell ’ee? There’s naw so rmouch as a tub to be gotten in these ’ere parts. And even if ye'd got un afloat, it ’ud need be a man-o’-war to stand ag’in’ this ’ere tide!” This circumstance had escaped Laurence. He bit his lips in desperate perplexity. ; Given a boat, even, with the tide in its pre- sent condition he could not, unaided, have reached The Villas until far into the night. = “Can I get any sort of conveyance about) =~ here?’ he asked, after a moment’s pause, as the man shouldered his pickax, and prepared to trudge forward. “Yer might jist chance to git a waggin up — at t’ village—and yer just mighin’t !” was the cautious rejoinder. ‘And how far is the village? What Mac is it?” “Tt maun be a matter o’ two mile, more n less, to our village Hannalby, as most. eall it; and if ye canna getten waggin there, why, — you maun chance to catchen train!” A cry of relief burst from the Lieutenant’s lips, “The train! To be sure! If we are near to Annalby, of course we can reach the rail- — way. Forward, Nellie—forward!’ And tossing a bright shilling to the bewilder- ed laborer, Laurence drew poor, trembling Nellie’s arm through his own, and hurried on- — ward, without another second’s delay, in the direction indicated by a tall church spire. Well, in due course they reached the village station, theuce Luton, whence a cab bore them safely to The Villas. Nellie arrived in a state of complete exhaus- tion, which disarmed parentalire. Indeed, the anxiety both households had endured during the last few hours of suspense unfitted the authorities for any manifestation of severity in any degree corresponding with the enormity of the offense of which these culprits were un- doubtedly found guilty. I think the reprimands administered | Laurence and Miss Hebden would have worthy papa of either delinquent been Corte, scious of a brief dialogue which ensued almost — within reach of parental ears—even as the cab / stopped before the gates of The Villas. am oa eis V oS 5 by
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‘Nell, darling!” whispered Laurence to tbe girl, whose weary head rested tranquilly upon the arm passed, with infinite solicitude for her comf.rt (!), beneath her tangled curls, ‘‘ this — this adventure seems to have made you doubly dear! Remember always you are mine—my very, very own!—even though I may not claim you to-day, to-morrow, nor for weeks nor months! Nell, say that you give yourself to me?” ‘‘Oh, Laurence!” was all she answered. t Then the young man bent his head, and kissed her softly. ‘ As sign and seal!” he whispered. But Nell said never a word. Only later, when her mother, assisting her to disrobe, said, tenderly, ‘‘ You must have. had aterribly trying day, my dear!” Nellie gavea Beye little sigh, demurely answering, in all good ; faith, “Not so very dreadful, after all, mam- ma!’ a CHAPTER VI. * ‘ UNEXPECTED PROMOTION. ‘ Ir happened that the very next morning, - when Elen, asin duty bound, .went next door to ‘the Hebdens to inquire as to the welfare of her friend after the exploit of the previous day, a eircumstance occurred, trifling, perhaps, in it- self, yet on which may be said to have hinged < the destinies of several human lives. in “The postman!” said Ellen, listlessly, as, ey while listening to Nellie’s simple account of - last evening’s perplexities, her looks strayed we out toward the bank, ‘‘It must be a letter | ma. from the town or-neighborhood at this time of ts day. ae ia proved correct in her surmise. More- over, the Jarge square envelope, with an im- Loa: posing coat of arms upon its scarlet seal, was addressed to Mrs. Hebden, and came from no less a personage than Sir Archer Trenton, M.P ‘ Sir Archer Trenton briefly wrote that he found himself again at the Manor, where his sister (the Countess of St. John) was enacting hostess to a party of his friends. A pleasant, informal expedition to some neighboring ruins had been organized for the Wednesday follow- ing. Might he hope that Mrs. Hebden and her daughter would waive all ceremonious consid- erations, and join the party? He anxiously awaited her reply; and if this were of a favor- | able nature, he. would send a brougham, in on Wednesday morning to convey the ladies ,to _ the Manor in time to start with the remainder ” of the ‘* foraging force.” Pa The astonishment with which Nellie listened. _ while her mother read this note aloud was tri- fling compared to the absolute emotion by _ which Ellen sat inwardly convulsed, a silent ; _ Spectator of the scene, A eold, swift ‘‘something,” altogether inde- j age stole to her heart. Was it possible that she—she—must endure Pia to -be thus completely ignored, while on that ad Pen baby of a gir!” (as mentally she designated _ Nellie) showered laurels of distinction? ‘ An invitation vo the Manor was an honor © Ellen never remerabered to have fallen to the | share of any of their circle; and that the Heb- _ dens should be thus signalized. was—yes, was indeed proof positive that Sir Archer Trenton nad net forgotten the impression effected upon ie susceptible fancy by the fair-haired little - debutante at The Cedars at the close of the pre- vious year. Fe While Ellen—proud, beautiful Ellen Hum- __ phrey, whose supremacy had never been dispu- ted, whose right to hold her queenly head bhigh- er than any other, had been tacitly admitted in her own world because of her superior at- actions. over the majority of girls, the un- ed fascination she exercised over almost specimen of mankind with which she inced to come in contact within the pre- net limits of the narrow Luton world—that aalieeka be eclipsed, forgotten, while her in- noes ewe friend was selected, to play the part 1en cousidered herself specially adapted to ; sar was, in truth, maddening, unbearable to one _SIR_ this girl’s arrogant and but too resentful na- ture. Never, through all her life to come, did Ellen forget the swift, momentary agony she endured as the “situation ” forced itself upon her mind in its every bearing. Yet, when Nellie turned toward her with a radiant, beam- ing countenance, and hands clasped in natural girlish exultation, Ellen must perforce essay a sickly smile, and murmur, ‘‘ How. delight- ful!” Young Humphrey, however, found the in- telligence by no means “ delightful ” when it was duly conveyed to him later by his sister, with a studied calm of voice and demeanor strangely at variance with the passion rioting in: her- heart. Ah! of course you never heard of the affair at The Cedars, the night Nellie made her first appearance. It was long before your return home.” “What do you mean?” the young man ques- tioned, abruptly, while his pulses quickened. “Oh, I will say no more—you might. not be interested!” his sister retorted, with exasper- ating indifference, bending over some flowers she. was arranging in a vase, ‘¢ Nell, for Heayen’s sake,.tell me! know what you mean?” “Nell, forsooth!” —and Miss Humphrey | threw. back her beautiful head, and indulged in a low, carefully-modulated laugh, for, in truth, even in the family cirele she was seldom un- mindful of ‘ effects ,”—‘* you must be very anxious to gain your point, when you conde- seend to use to me the appellation usually re- served for the divinity next door! I almost forget that I have as good a right to the name of ‘ Nell,’ or ‘Nellie,’ as Miss Hebden herself! Well; Laurence, you shall hear.” And hear he did, a highly-colored and. dis- | torted narrative of facts, which were simple | enough had they been veraciously recounted; for have not most of us heard of some instance in which a man of mature age and elevated position has, like Sir Archer, suddenly felt the influence of bright eyes, a saucy smile, and the I don’t | irresistible charm of a pleasant, unsophisticated phrases of nature, in the opening blush of womanhood? The story had a different tone, however, couched in Miss Humphrey’s. well-turned virtuous indignation. » According to her statement, Nellie, had gone to The Cedars determined to effect..a conquest; had made what her friend stigmatized, as’ ‘‘ a dead set” at the unconscious; Baronet; and—‘‘mark my words,” she coneluded, with vicious emphasis, ‘‘that girl—child, indeed, I might almost, say —would harter her youth and beauty to-mor- row for Sir Archer’s broad lands and. title! Though, aiter all, it would be, in truth, less culpable in her than might appear to on-look- ers, for Nellie’s nature is such that I doubt whether she be capable of experiencing. that terrible feeling of disgust which possesses most women. when any man, save the right, ven- tures to make love to them! | Nellie would suffer no torture in becoming the wife of poor old Sir Archer. To her, caressing , tenderness is acceptable, I verily believe, from each and every quarter!” ‘Ellen, how dare you? How dare you speak thus ofany eirbernt Nellie Hebden, above all others?” ‘* Simply,” retorted Ellen, with a scornful laugh. of infinite amusement, ‘ because I fam always bold enough to speak the truth; and, considering, that Nellie and I have. hardly passed. a single day apart since she left her cradle, if I am not in a position to form a just estimate of her true, nature, I should very much like’ to know who is.. Not you, my. valiant brother, most assuredly; for I regret that it is plainly evident you regard Sir Arch- er’s loved one through the medium of rose- tinted glasses. , We all know, moreover, that a eertain mischievous imp is blind.” _. With something very like a curse, the young ‘man turned and left her. - His first impulse was to rush impetuously | next door, candidly: inform Nellie that the vw ARCHER S BRIDE. og notion of this visit to the Manor was intoler- able to him, and beg her, at any cost, to re. sign the prospect, of a day’s enjoyment in order to gratify his whi But after an bh r’s rapid walk along the fra- grant river-bank, Laurence had arrived at a more comprehensive view of the situation, By what rhyme or reason was he entitled to prefer such a request as the one he had con- templated? Even if Nellie were prepared to yield the point, what construction would her parents put upon so singular a determination on the part of pleasure-loving Nell? Moreover, albeit he loved the girl with as strong and true a love, he told himself, as any of which the human heart is capable, still, to a man of the world like Mr. Hebden, Laurence was conscious he must appear a mere hare- | brained youth—a penniless Lieutenant, with- out ultimate prospects of any sort. How dare he assert pretensions to the hand of any girl? And, without this end avowedly in view, what claim had he to influence Nellie’s decision in a matter like the present? True, he loved her; and knew that her love was all his own. Yet he dared not ask her boldly of her pa-_ rents as his wife, for the result of any such proceeding, Laurence was fully conscious, would be his immediate separation from. the girl, to whose father he could not appear’ in any light save that of a “detrimental.” . Yet surely it is hard that a youth may not woo a maiden unless a satisfactory account of £. s. d. can be rendered to papa. Do not the lambkins frisk together in the sunshine?—the young foals prance and curvet? Each little bird carols a love-ditty to the feathered flutterer on the nearest bough in the fragrant days of summer! To lads and lasses alone it is forbidden to follow the dictates of their own will. They must not love, and, loving, part, to meet and love again. Unless, indeed, Corydon’s check-book is open to the inspection of Phyllis’s papa. Ah! ours is, indeed, a cold, prosaic, nine- teenth-century world! Yet even Phyllis and Corydon need shoes and bread and butter in the present lamentably- constituted state of society; so that, after all, it is doubtful whether their ultimate fate would not prove even more sad than at present, save for the restrictions and precautionary vigilance of prudent mammas and papas. . CHAPTER VII. A LUCKY DISASTER, Like the old dame in the nursery story, Nellie Hebden, when the eventful Wednesday ultimately arrived, felt very much disposed to question, ‘‘ Can this, indeed, be me?” _ And, in truth, she might well be incredulous of her own identity when, toward one o’clock on a brilliant midsummer-day, she found her- self on the box-seat of Sir Archer Trenton’s drag, one of the select. few who were privileged to sit bebind those spanking grays which never turned ‘‘the Corner” in the season without eliciting a burst of admiration from all en- thusiasti mirers of horseflesh. The remainder of the party followed in con- veyances of divers kinds, the dog-cart bringing up the rear, with a goodly array of hampers. Nellie found herself transported to a new world—a world of which hitherto she had only | vaguely dreamed; and, indeed, trembled when the eventful morning "dawned at the contem- plation of the ordeal she was destined to under- 0. Mrs. Hebden, on the. contrary, was com- | placent and elated, conscious that at the Manor,. or go wherever else. she might, she would meet no more perfect lady than herself—no woman better dressed. Moreover, which titled dame among the party collected at Sir Archer’s would boast a — daughter half so charming and mia (the mother could not help reflectin ih dainty damsel who presented herself tea i ile Sais
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L: ee es Geet ene approbation just as the neat brougham from the Manor drew up at the villa gates. ‘“Oh, mamma! I am so nervous! wish’ I were as old as you, then—” ‘Why, then, my dear, the probabilities are we should neither of us have been honored by this invitation. But indeed, Nellie, I feel an- noyed with you. Remember always that a lady—a genuine lady, my dear—is equally at home with prince or peasant. Were you a ‘queen, my child, after all you could but bea lady. Assuch, you need feel yourself in no ' wise inferior to any whom you may meet at the Manor House to-day. Moreover, Sir Archer would hardly have invited us did he consider you in any degree the inferior of his I do so other guests. Despite which encouraging assurances, when the brougham stopped at the entrance of the Manor House private grounds, and Sir Archer himself hurried forward to assist the ladies to alight, Nellie, as she put her little.band in his, looked up, pale and anxious, murmuring, half unconsciously, ‘‘ Oh, Six Archer! do not leave | us! J—I think, I am afraid!” ‘Afraid, Miss Hebden?—afraid of what? Ah, that you will make the other ladies jealous, by putting them all in the shade!” ' As he spoke, he placed his hand almost | caressingly, upon her arm and Nellie, smiling, | blushing, radiant, now reflected that if all “aristocrats” were like Sir Archer, there was nothing to be alarmed at, after all. Mrs., Hebden was at her ease in a moment with Lady St. John and the other guests; and it was perhaps in consequence of the timidity Nellie had so ingenuously confessed, that the good-natured. Baronet hovered ever in her vicinity. And by the time he had himself shown her the aviary, the conservatory, the rosary, and the archery lawns, Nellie had quite forgotten that she was in strange waters, and floated merrily with the stream. No one regarding her could wonder at the unmistakable pre- ference Sir Archer evinced for the society of this piquant little maid, who had neyer per- haps appeared to greater advantage than as - she stood, surrounded by those more: artificial beauties gathered at the Manor House to-day. ~Her timidity once conquered, she became positively hilarious in her innocent glee. | In- -deed, at first, more than one stately demoiselle turned to regard ‘that Miss Hebden”. with a well-bred stare of wonderment, when the rip) ple of the girl’s gay laughter floated across, the lawn, or childish exclamations, of delight and surprise escaped her rosy lips each; time that | her attention was attracted by any speciai fea- Piaiis ture in the surroundings, previously, unnoti¢ed. Nevertheless, the master’ of those : lordly grounds beheld a fresh charmin the landscape, a new, beauty in the scene, each ‘time: his glance fell upon that slender | figure.in. her simple, morning. toilet of spotless white and palest blue, , And once, as,she ran, with the unstudied grace of girhood,the(fleet step of the fawn, across, the terrace, the Baronet look- j ed. after her with something deeper than ad- miration in his kindly gaze. Nevertheless, those ladies, whose every step was regulated, by line and rule, smiled some- what. contemptuously ; and even Mrs. Hebden murmured that. ‘‘ she wished Nellie would not make herself, quite so much at home!” All unconscious of the general criticism, however, Miss, Nell chattered g to. the Baronet as she sat now behind t int- ing with her dainty finger to an nm the landscape, which demanded special explanation: She learned the names of all four horses, and 4 declared, so vehemently that she had taken an ; unaccountable dislike. to. the off-side leader, | that Sir Archer mentally determined he would replace it by another. “Afterall,” it. now occurred to him, ‘was not so very admirable a match!” i Then came the luncheon, when Nellie, flushed with the excitement and the sun’s warm glow, threw off her hat, and sitting next the Baronet, ‘eyined, a wreath of ivy in mere ele 66ag SIR_ ARCHER'S while he ‘‘did the honors” to the hungry guests. After that he took the simple chaplet from her hand, and placed it almost reverently upon her golden curls, whispering, half invol- untarily, ‘‘Thus, thus I crown the queen!— queen among women, little Nell—queen of my heart, forever!” Nellie laughed, serenely unconscious of any deeper meaning in those words, and wore her garland on her sun-wreathed brow with child- ish simplicity and grace. The other ladies withdrew one glove, and just raised their vails above the upper lip, in order to admit of their sipping the champagne cup without detriment to their lace; no wonder they glanced at Nel- lie’s ruffled feathers with positive dismay, But the climax was reached when Miss Heb- den: discovered the wishing-bone upon her plate, and clapping her hands, cried. aloud in her glee, that ‘‘Sir Archer must. break it; and grant whatever she wished; for, of primey I must win, you know!” The . sequel proved otherwise, howatar; and when the Baronet held up his prize, laughing at the girl’s disappointment, she: cried out, in tones ‘of real ‘distress, “Oh; that’s no fun;. you can’t wish for anything that J can grant!» Oh, let us. try again!” But Sir Archer gravely placed the trophy in his letter-case, whispering that ‘‘ Fair play was a jewel;” and, later, he would put Nellie’s generosity to the test. After the refection, as a matter of course, the party broke up into twos and threes, and wandered about whither they pleased. Then who so well qualified as the Baronet to show Nellie every point of interest about the old monastic domain? So, naturally, he strode off along with the light-hearted girl. At last, when every wall had been examined, every winding-path explored, he took her to the Tarn—a sparkling pool of placid waters, so limpid, that on looking down, Nellie beheld her own fair features faithfully reflected. ‘Oh, Sir Archer, mamma must see the Tarn and hear the echo. Listen! Nel-lie!—Nel-lie!” And as she raised her fresh young voice again and yet again, its notes, clear as a bell, resound- ed among the hills, “Oh, let me fetch mamma!” And Nellie would have bounded off, but Sir Archer said she must rest awhile upon a mossy bank, and that he meanwhile would act as envoy to Mrs. Hebden. He had scarcely retreated twelve paces from her side, ere Nellie, climbing to her perch, placed her foot unwittingly upon a dark loose stone, and losing her balance, with a sharp cry, slipped backward into the pool. Sir Archer was beside, her in a moment, but already she had gained her feet, and scrambled, laughing, to dry land again. . Her pretty dress was drenched, however; her yellow curls were dripping; pond she stood like some Nereid of old; save’ for. her modern garb; while Sir Archer, infinitely distressed, himself wrung the water from her draperies, and, then, with a touch reverent and slightly tremulous, from out the tangled masses, of her hair. “And see my ‘shoes! How shall I walk? And, oh,”—with sudden gravity—‘‘my dress is spoiled! Mamma will be so angry!” “ Angry?—no one must be angry. The fault was mine—mine alone!” ‘Yours! Oh, Sir Archer, what a dreadful fib!” And Nellie’s laughter pealed forth afresh; her spirits rose again. _ Now it wasthat the Baronet proved himself a man of infinite resources. A dog-whistle, at- tached to his watch guard, in a few minutes brought one of the grooms to the Tarn, whence he) was dispatched; with strictest injunctions to let none suspect the nature of his errand, to the hostelry close by where the horses had been put up. Ten minutes later, the dog-cart stood among the trees, ready for action; and Nellie, divested of her dripping over-skirt, and carefully wrap- ped in a long ulster of Sir Archer’s—placed i the trap for use during the return drive in the cool night air—clambered up among the cush- - = a een eo dp RIDE. et ions beside the Baronet. The groom sprung up behind as Sir Archer turned the horses’ heads in the direction of the Manor House, which, indeed, was reached just as Mrs. Hebden began to wonder ‘‘ what on earth could have become of Nell?’ She smiled indulgently, however, as Lady St. John answered her, with an ex- pressive glance, that ‘‘her charming little daughter was quite safe, for the Baronet had taken her in charge.” NeHie, upon her arrival, had been handed over, with many instructions, to the kind old housekeeper; and not until she reappeared— still in Mrs. Barton’s charge, and arrayed in dressing-gown and slippers of Lady St. John, all rosy from the warm bath in which Sir Arthur had insisted she should be placed, to counteract the possible effects of any chill she might have sustained—did her anxious host bethink himself of the necessity of returning, to conduct home the remainder of his guests. There was a bright fire burning in his own little study when Mrs. Barton» ushered Nellie in, and a ‘delicious aroma of coffee filled the air; for on a glittering silver tray, in which Nellie could. see herself reflected, the daintiest of meals had been prepared for her especial delectation. Sir Archer wheeled forward his own great . leathern elbow-chair, ensconced in the furthest — corner. of which Nellie looked like an elfin creature, with her burning cheeks, disheveled curls, and strange, incongruous array. “‘Do you know, Sir Archer,” she cried, éx- citedly, ‘‘I do believe I have enjoyed the whole disaster. It has been such fun, bas it not, after all?” The Baronet did not answer, perhaps because he was stooping at that moment to arrange a footstool for Nellie’s use; which, by the way, was a somewhat superfluous exertion on his a part, as even the tips of Miss Hebden’s toes t were suspended far above the floor. Then, just as he was wishing her “ good-by ” for the third time, and really preparing to de- part, Nellie suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, the wishing-bone, Sir Archer! You have never told me what you wish?” Then he returned, and stood beside her chair, looking down upon her gravely, wistfully— somewhat sadly withal, it occurred to the girl, as she raised her dancing eyes fearlessly to his, “IT wonder, little maiden, if you would grant me the boon I do indeed desire above all things else on earth?”. a “Dry me, Sir Archer—only try me! I—tr think I would do anything in the wide world to please you.” ra ‘« Would you, indeed, Jittle Nellie? Even if I put you to a very hard test?” "Hoke. “ Ab! but you could not, because—because, — of course, there is nothing I can do for you And you have been so kind to’ me, Sir Archer; — you have provided. me with more enjoyment ? than I had ever known in all my life before!” “‘Good-by, little Nellie!” was all he said+ and, for a moment, he held her hand, and — would have turned away. ‘* But you have not told me yet, Sir Aswhany * Oh, you must before you go!” Nellie stretched forth her other small white hand; and, in her eagerness to detain him, clasped the Baronet’s long fingers between both her own soft palms. Thus she held, oe gazing frankly and fearlessly at him. And Sir Archer Trenton, looking down upon be her, shivered slightly, and disengaged his ; Be ¥ hand. - o. “Not to-night, child. Not here; it cannot— must not be! Some other time—elsewhere—I |, will remind you of the wishing-bone, Good- ' by!” "And thus he left her, wondering why he a af —— in ‘so grave a tone, % CHAPTER VIII. THE TROUBLES OF YOUTH. , ae . THE morning following these events,Hllen Humphrey, of course, appeared at the Heb - dens’, in order to receive a full, true, and par- ticular account of what bad transpired at the vt, ;
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te 8 SIR ARCHER’S BRIDE. ait ifanor House the previous day. She happened, therefore, to be present when a cockaded foot- ynan, wearing the Member’s livery, rode up to : the Villa gates, bearing a small hamper of your lips!) Asit is, Itreat your malicious in- sinuations with the contempt they merit. It is patent that you are jealous—jealous, ‘with all the mean, pitiful spite of a vain, empty- headed woman, of—of Nellie, whom you pro- fess to call your friend! Nellie, who ‘is ‘as much fairer than yourself as she is likewise worthier! You are conscious that all men, seeing her, must love her!) Admiration of a certain sort may be your meed, but Nellie Hebden is no sooner seen than loved!” The impetuosity of youth and passion ' had long since rendered Laurence blind ‘to all con- siderations of prudence; otherwise, for the sake of the girl he loved, he would not: thus have provoked to fury one whom he well knew likely to prove a dangerous adversary. Ellen heard him patiently to the end, gazing at him with a strange metallic glitter in her black eyes, and something feline in her general attitude and expression. When, at length, he paused, she threw back her head, and burst into one of those peals of studied laughter which grated so painfully on her brother's ear. “« Jealous—jealous of Nellie Hebden!’’ she hissed between her closed teeth; for, although she struggled to speak lightly, she was pale with passion, and found actual difficulty in emitting a sound through her dry quivering lips. ‘‘Laurence, you must be mad! We could never be rivals! No man who could find beauty in her baby face, her childish airs and graces, would be likely to seek even passing favor in my eyes; thus, no motive for rivalry could by any possibility exist. For foolish striplings—half-fledged youngsters, like your- self, Nellie Hebden may have some fascination. fruit and flowers for Miss Hebden, with his master’s compliments, and profuse inquiries after her health. To each member of the two households, saving the still unconscious Nellie, it was now ‘evident that the Baronet had but one definite object in view. And, indeed, on this score they were left but very little longer in doubt; for, on the ! third morning succeeding the events narrated - ‘ohn the last chapter, a letter, in the now familiar | “hand of Sir Archer Trenton, arrived at the Villa as the little household sat at breakfast. The missive, moreover, with cumbrous seal, was on this occasion addressed to no less a personage than ‘‘ Roger Hebden, Esq.” “From Sir Archer, I declare!’ cried Nellie, ' gleefully. ‘‘Oh, papa, let me see! Another invitation, I am sure.” Papa, however, did not let ‘‘me” see; but, having read ‘the Baronet’s communication three times over, with a slight flush upon his brow, folded it carefully, and replaced it in its en- velope, while he took shelter from cross- examination behind the broad sheet of the “Oh, papa, am I not to see? Quite a long letter, too! What carx Sir Archer have to write about to you?” ** Business, my dear—business!” was the curt ‘vejoinder. But papa seemed restless, and it was evident- dy a relief when he had finished a second cup, and could retire to his private den without exciting undue comment. She is welcome to wield it undisputed; I am _ hither Mrs. Hebden hastened to follow him, | never likely to care to contest her prize!” however, in accordance witha brief telegra- Stung to rage, Laurence imprudently re- phic signal which had escaped Nellie’s obser- | torted, ‘‘ Youngsters! striplings!—under which vation, her attention just then having been | category do you rank Sir Archer Trenton?— fully oceupied by an egg. by whose. passing attentions for one single : Surely it would be superfluous to add that | evening you were so elated, that I: remember it was a formal proposal for Miss Hebden’s | you thought it well worth while to write me a hand, which the delighted father now placed | full account of what you were pleased to term ‘before his wife. your ‘triumph! And—and what of Charlie The Baronet’s note, moreover, concluded | Derwent? Is he manor boy? At any rate he with an urgent petition that he might be al- | admitted to me, three short days ago, that he _, owed to plead his suit personally with tho | deemed Nellie Hebden ‘the fairest flower of Shy. irl, from whom he begged all formal intima- | womanbood on earth)? Those were his very words; tax him with them, and hear whether he denies them!” ‘He, too!” was the thought which flashed through Ellen’s mind, seeming to poison her very blood. For, even as she listened, remem- brance rose up of bow more than once, while Charlie Derwent had been whispering words of compliment, sugared ‘* nothings” —of which he ever kept a large supply on hand—into her own ear, she had xoticed that his gaze wander- ed, and, following the direction it had taken, she had found it riveted on fair, unconscious Nell as she jested gayly with Laurence at the other end of the boat. Remembering this, she answered not: only, with a pale smile, curiously regarded her brother. ‘‘Well,” she said, at length, ‘‘ why do you not enter the lists, and do battle with poor old Sir Archer for this jewel among women—this queen of all her sex? He has broad lands and a title, tis true; you but your epaulettes, your sword, and strongarm. Nevertheless, in days of romance, these always sufficed to win the fair one with the golden hair, and, I suppose, to provide her with the material necessaries of existence ever after. So, Laurence, why do you hesitate? Why not plead your suit with Nellie ere sbe falls, like a true heroine, into the ogre’s clutches? Ogre, in this instance, being synonymous: with Sir Archer, whose bride, but for your intervention, she will pro- bably become.” ‘Sir Archer’s bride, indeed!” the Lieutenant torted, in a voice hoarse with passion, “You judge all women by your own standard, Ellen; and, because you would be willing—ay, eady!—to barter youth and beauty for the ia of his intention might be studiously with- hel By return of post Sir Archer Trenton re- a) ceived a reply from Mr. Hebden, couched in _ terms which the eager Baronet deemed emi- - -nently satisfactory. Meanwhile, the domestic atmosphere next was in an unpleasantly disturbed conii- » Ellen had not failed to communicate to her ‘brother every particular connected with th» varrival of. the ‘‘ Baronet’s envoy,” as she per- _ sisted in terming the footman, from the Manor Laurence hearkened silently for a time; but “unable, at length, to bear the scrutiny of his ‘sister’s gaze, listen to her sneering tone, her bitter, sarcastic innuendoes, he rose, and would ‘have left the room. ae; “ Are you about to seek the solitude of your / ‘chamber, dear boy,” Ellen questioned, moci- f ‘ingly, ‘‘that you may weep undisturbed over %) se “your sentimental grievances? Confess, now, you ; did flatter yourself that Nellie regarded you ay os en peculiar interest; did imagine that it was ae we on you only she shed the sunshine of her smile, “the magic of her glance! You would not be- tieve, when my superior judgment whispered, that her smiles were thus far given to all man- kind! Inher mind the absent have no part; whoever hovers nearest has the first place in her heart. Lieutenant Laurence, were I a I would scorn to be fooled by a child t!” ‘len Humphrey,” he retorted, in a low, tone, which to his sister’s ear sounded ‘Sera. e and unfamiliar—‘‘ were you a man, : a Fatt have crammed your cowardly sentences _~- .é4g@m. your throat before they ha well left as oe, gold and title of a man almost old enough to J | be your father, you deem Nellie Hebden capa- ble of the same infamy. But you wrong her. She is too pure, too innocent to yield her hand where she cannot likewise give her heart!” ‘“Dear me, how sublime and poetical! Have you been composing sonnets to your lady’s eyebrow, recently, Laurence, that words form themselves into rhythmical measures upon your lips spontaneously? ‘But you are bold in asser- tions. Who shall say that Nellie’s heart, as well as her lily-white hand, may not become | Sir Archer Trentou’s lawful possession? After all, the man is hardly forty. To be her father he must have married young,” she added, with assumed gayety, in low, speculative tones. “She may love him some day—who can tell?’ “T can tell!” thundered Laurence. ‘She loves me, and I love her better—ay, a thou- sandfold—than life itself!” “Indeed !—how strangely pathetic! ‘Well, why not ask her at once to be your wife, be- fore the ogre— Sir Archer I mean—makes good his claim to the prize? You have your epau- lettes, and your sword and youth, and astrong arm, and innumerable other valuable posses- sions, as I before reminded you, to offer the lady of your love, even if—even if you have nothing else wherewith to begin housekeep- ing.” ‘‘Ellen, you may jeer—you may sneer at me! I tell you that I love Nellie; yet having, as you say, nothing but love to offer her, I—I must be patient for a time, and trust to Fate, and pray that her heart may remain true to me until some day when I can ask her father for her hand. Till then, I am too true a man— ‘penniless stripling,’ though you justly term me—to seek to extort any promise from her. If she loves me, she will not listen to Sir Archer, nor to any other. If she does not— well, then she will become the bride of some more fortunate man. Only Heaven knows how entirely I love her! Yet will I leave her free.” Then he turned, and Jeft her. i Laurence never clearly remembered in which direction he wandered for some hours after that. lt mattered little, however, whether his ‘ footsteps tended north or south. Go where he } might, his heart, his brain revolved but one painful problem. When he returned home late that still sum- mer evening, the air was ftll of a subtle, deli- cious fragrance. The happy birds twittered on every bough; the placid waters murmured monotonously ever the same low, soothing song; the heavens were roseate with the last rays of the setting sun. Yet Laurence Humphrey, paler, sadder than his wont, was oblivious of the quiet beauty of the scene, indifferent to the voice of Nature. ; He had even aged, it seemed, since the early morning hours. : His step had lost its elasticity; his voice its hearty, boyish ring. His brow was clouded, his dark eye lusterless, He had done fierce battle with his inner self, and come forth from the internal conflict con- queror. His course was clear. “ Love,” he whispered to himseif, ‘‘can be no ¢rime, so long as it is pure and strong; even though lovers may be held in some measure culpable, if they are young and por- tionless.” Yet he would not try to tear his love for Nelli Tee heart. He would rather strive to fos herish it, in spite of time or ab- sence, ever fresh and fervent in his breast. For love is youth’s best, noblest privilege; one of which he is robbed all too soon by the remorselessly advancing years. And despite his slender means, his manhood but so recently attained, the young Lieutenant whispered to himself that he could, and had every right to — love, as boldly as though’ he had already don- ned a colonel's uniform, and were as old—well, as Sir Archer Trenton himself. “What did such men know of love?” Lau- . rence asked, with a throbbing heart, and the
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| a a i re S ‘ . x * SIR ARCHER'S BRIDE. 9 life-blood coursing madly through his veins. ‘‘Let them talk of settlements and marriage portions, of festivities and wedding feasts, if so it must be; but leave the young, the ardent, ay, even the penniless, to discourse reverently, with bated breath and quickening pulse, of the grand, enchanting mystery of eternal love.” Yet, adoring Nellie as be did, he yet deter- mined that, as a man.of honor, he would err | did he seek to obtain from her a promise to be- come his wife. His future was so vague aud uncertain, he dared not ask a pledge. Did she love him she would wait for him. For the rest, he would leave her free—un- trammeled as the mountain roe, free as bird upon the wing. All honor to young Humphrey for his man- ly, brave decision, which dignified his youth- ful years—ay, even the uniform upon his breast. Yet, alas! had he proved less worthy, much sorrow had been spared, many tears remained unshed. , But what is coming, who can tell? Who dare hope to pierce the mystery infolded in the bosom of the far-off years? Mortals can but ponder, and, pondering, de- cide that which seems to them, short sighted as they are, the best course to pursue. Yet, even then; alas! how frequently those poor blind children of circumstance, erring in their judgment, faltering in their footsteps, stumble, fail, or fall. CHAPTER IX. THE MEMBER PROPOSES. “Sir ARCHER TRENTON, did you say, mamma?’ asked Nellie, who, upon her knees before an open chest, was ‘‘ putting to rights,” she said—a phrase, in this. case, synonymous with absolute confusion. ‘‘ Oh, 1 cannot come ‘down-stairs! See my hands, my hair!” And laughing, she held up the dingy little members, and tossed back the unbound glory of her tawny, glittering curls. “ You must entertain Sir Archer yourself to-day, mamma, and say I’m very busy, and far too untidy to appear.” But, to the girl’s surprise, Mrs. Hebden an- swered seriously, in grave and anxious tones, _ She was thoroughly annoyed to find Nellis in so desperate a plight, and bade her rise at once, change her dress, and smooth her hair; tor Sir Archer’s visit was to her. She must go down to the drawing-room at once. ‘Tf I must, I suppose I must!” cried Nellie, springing to her feet. ‘But then, indeed, mamma, I'll go down just as I am. You would not have me keep Sir Archer an hour, and then appear—like the lady upon who we called last week—freshly shining from soap and water, and a painfully neat air, which would most distinctly say, ‘Please, I’ve made myself look smart, to do honor to your lord- ship.’ No, I'll tell him the exact truth, I dare say even Lady St. John is a wee bit un- tidy sometimes.” And laughing merrily, Nellie darted off, de- spite maternal remonstrances; and when Mrs. Hebden, a few moments later, reached the drawing-room, it was a somewhat singular tableau which greeted her. The tall, grave, faultlessly-attired man of the world—whose mounted groom was walking the sleek horses up and down before the Villa gates—held bis hat and gloves in one band, while the other was clasped tightly between Nellie’s trembling palms. He was looking down upon her, with a strange air of tender absorption in her childish narrative; while she, gazing up with fearless look, tcld “‘ how ashamed she was to be caugbt in so terrible a plight. But as it was only you, Sir Archer, why, I thought you would forgive my appearing as an untidy little fright!” As an untidy little fright!’ he echoed. ‘‘ Well—even so, fair, beyond all others, in my sight.” And then, when Mrs. Hebden entered, the Baronet ex us re Feats px ined that he had come in the | hope that Nellie would remember her promise, of showing him all the beauties of the Villa garden—the dove-cote, her small conservatory, and even the windings of the river-bank. Then, indeed, she left him for a moment, to smooth her curls, seize her broad garden-hat; and a few minutes later, this incongruous pair passed. through the Villa gates together, to saunter down the grassy bank. ‘Our river,” as Nellie termed the streamlet which meandered, like a silver ribbon -- border- ed on either side by shady, whispering trees— for some miles through richly-wooded lands, was well worth the trouble of inspection; but I doubt whether the tall, grave Member, as he walked beside the girl—his hands elasped be- hind. him, his eyes bent to earth—were con- scious of anything in Nature half so fair as the one delicate face by his side, heard aught so full of harmony—despite the hum of bees, the birds’ gay carol—as the ripple of her childlike laughter, the music of her careless words. It was not long before he paused, and taking both small hands in his, began: ‘‘ Miss Heb- den, there is something which—which I scarce know how to say!” Then, seeing that for a moment she glanced up, with a timid, fawn-like air, he smiled, and dropping both her hands, asked, ‘‘Do you re- member this?” He took it carefully from bis letter-case, and held up before her that portion of the ‘‘ wish- ing-bone” which had fallen to his share, ‘Nellie, do you recollect? May I—may I ask you now to grant the boon?” ‘“‘Of course you may, Sir Archer! grant it, if—if I can.” “Ah, if you can, dear Nellie! knows, I scarcely dare to hope!” Then he took her hands again in his, and gazing down upon her, whispered tenderly, “Nellie, can you—will you give yourself to me? Nellie, could you learn to love me some day as my wife?” He had been very gentle with her—more, ob, far more, like a father than a lover, be- cause of a latent fear that such words from his lips might scare her. Yet, indeed, ere his whisper had died away upon the still, summer air, Nellie had started from his side, pale and breathless, looking up at him. “Your wife, Sir Archer! Ob, you cannot mean it! I—Iam such a child! Your wife! Gh, Sir Archer—you did not mean it? Unsay I will Heaven thuse words! You could not surely mean that?’ ‘Yes, Nellie. I mean, indeed, that I love you better than life itself. Better than woman ever before was loved by man, I mean, that to have you for my—my own, Nellie, would be the greatest happiness I could ever know; that to shield you from every breath of care and trouble would be the proudest object of my life; to endeavor to insure your happiness, the only aim or end that I should care to keep in view. Nellie, look up at me, dear child! Tell me, may I dare to hope?” But Nellie bad sunk low upon her knees among the long dry grass, covering her face with both her hands. The tall Baronet dropped beside her, gently endeavoring to withdraw those trembling fin- gers. “Speak, Nellie! May I hope?’ he pleaded. ‘Ob, Sir Archer, you are so old!” she al- most sobbed. ‘‘And, indeed—indeed I am only a child! And—oh! it is quite impossible — quite!” He had prepared himself for some such re- sistance on her part, and, placing himself be- side her, told. her, with infinite patience and gentleness, of the life which he could offer her; of the great world, where she would shine, a bright, particular star; of the pleasures, and the gayety, and the brilliant position which might be hers. Told her, above all else, how strong and pure was that abiding love, which could never wander from her, e’en in thought; but which would guard and shield her, guide and cherish her, until death should part them. “Nellie, think for some days of all that I have said to you.. You shall tell me then—not now—whether you are afraid to trust yourself to me.” . Then, for the first time, she withdrew her hands at the heart-breaking earnestness of his tone, and looking up through her tears, falter- ed, ‘Indeed, Sir Archer, I—I love you dearly; but—oh, I could never be your wife!” ‘Not now—not now, perhaps, dear Nellie. But why never? Never means so long a day!” ‘“‘Oh, because—because of Laurence Hum- phrey! It is he I love; and—and he loves me!” And then, with the impetuosity of a child, Nellie held outstretched her tender hands. Un- consciously, Sir Archer drew her toward him; aud sobbing unrestrainedly, Nellie flung her head down upon his shoulder, weeping like a tired, over-excited child in the safe haven of paternal arms, “Ob, Sir Archer, mamma will be so angry! You must not say a word to her of—of this! Nor about—about Laurence. Humphrey! I have told no one in the world but you. And, indeed, I love you, dear Sir Archer; you are so kind—so kind and true!” It is strange what»blows childish lips can in- flict on strong men’s hearts. Yet Sir Archer Trenton bore his punishment asa brave man should; pleaded that the disappointed parents would in no wise endeavor to coerce the child, for she was very young, and he was patient, He could wait. Moreover, in his subsequent interview with Mr. Hebden, no allusion to Nellie’s childish confession, no insinuation in respect to his youthful rival, escaped Sir Archer’s royal lips. CHAPTER X. PARTING. THEY stood together, hand in hand, gazing silently at each other—Nellie Hebden and Laurence Humphrey. All around was still. The pale, chaste moon looked pitying down upon this youthful couple ~ —in whose hearts was anguish, in whose eyes despair. Each young breast swelled with bitter pain —the intolerable agony of a first great sorrow; each felt that life itself was henceforth value- less—for must they not part on that dread morrow? Laurence had received a sudden recall; his regiment was ordered to Dublin, and before the sun rose on the following morning, he would start upon his journey. = Yet Fate, which had so ruthlessly interfered to cut. short love’s young dream, nevertheless od granted one last boon to those whom she was. about to sunder, Mr. and Mrs, Hebden, it chanced, were ab- sent at a dinner party; hence, at a given signal, Nellie was free to steal noiselessly out into the garden, to enjoy the sad luxury of a few last. words alone with her lover. The indescribable hush of a summer’s night resting on all things, seemed to sanctify the very air they breathed. There was a strange solemnity in the voices —ay, and in the hearts—of this hapless twain, in keeping with the silent majesty above their heads—and with the mysterious repose in’ which Nature herself seemed wrapped. “ And, Nellie, you will not forget me— never, never?” ‘Never, Laurence! While my pulses throb, my heart will beat for you alone!” “ And should they wish you to marry an- other?” “Should they bid me marry a prince, I would die sooner than prove untrue!” “Yet I dare not ask you for one word of — ¢ promise. Neil, remember always, you are free. Years may pass; and, passing, leave me ~ ith no better claim to you; Oh, Nellie, dear ne. —what can I do?” Say—only that you love me. ig, but trust me.” “ Yet, Nellie, I feel that it was unwise, and —and wrong, almost, for you to think of me. Do—noth- it is cruel—cruel! Yet what can I say? ~
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10 To the first blush of your youth and beauty, you might well aspire to a coronet. Why— why should you waste your spring-tide think- ing of a hopeless, penniléss, absent soldier?— j you, who will count lovers by the score, why should you bestow regrets upon me?” “Only because I love you, Laurence. It would be better, far, to grieve for you than to rejoice with any other!” ‘‘Heaven bless and keep you, darling Nell! Remember, always, that I leave you free. I ask ‘no promise—seek no pledge. I tell you, only, you are dear to me.” ‘*Laurence, that shall suffice!” “Farewell, my own—farewell! They tore themselves asunder —only to meet and embrace again, as lovers ever have, and ever will do. For is it not an old, old story, seemingly admitting of but little variation? Yet ever different—never twice the same. Nellie and Laurence believed that never be- fore had lovers experienced quite the same ai bitterness as that which now filled their own cup. It seemed to them that henceforth life itself would be void and motionless; for the * sun would each day set, to rise on a morrow fraught with pain. Yet they were mere feeble straws on the af waters of Fate, whirled at will by the cruel ? tide; powerless to grapple with Circumstance; ae with no choice but to succumb. And like other miserable lovers before their time, as well as after, they survived that terrible or- : deal, which each had assured the other must - render existence henceforth intolerable. = As the end of the week succeeding young Humphrey’s departure drew near, Nellie ‘ scarce knew whether she most dreaded or de- sired the slow flight of the leaden hours, For each departing brought nearer an event fever- ishly anticipated; yet one which, as it passed ah ar away—fulfilling Time’s inevitable law—must oh leave the world—ay, life itself, she fancied—a mere yawning void, a measureless tract of ( meaningless weeks and months, unredeemed by any single point of interest to mark one soli- tary day as of deeper moment than its fellows. It had been determined, after many doubts and righteous inisgivings on the part of the honorable young soldier, that once—only once might he indulge the exquisite felicity of writing to her whom he loved. The idea of a aa clandestine correspondence had been rejected mS ‘as utterly unworthy of himself, derogatory to Nellie, and an insult to her guileless faith and trust in- him; whose bidding she would not have hesitated to fulfill, regardless of moral in-' jury to ber own nature. _ Laurentve, however, proved deserving of this ’ girlish confidence, and was brave enough to explain that it would’ be base on his part to contemplate dragging her through those unde- sirable labyrinths of deception, intrigue, and hypocrisy, to which a clandestine correspond- ence but too surely leads. ‘He would not bave her lower ber moral standard, depart from her simple code of maiden integrity of thought and action, on his behalf. One single solace would he permit to both; and not even this point was yielded without’ much perplexity of the mental bal- ance. It was agreed, however, that on his arrival _ at Dublin he should write once—only once— < to assure Nellie of his welfare; this letter ; would be boldly addressed to The Villas; after that, nothing would remain to cheer the dis- consolate lovers save precious memories and faith in one another. It chanced that Ellen Humphrey spent the last day of Nellie’s terrible suspense (for ‘the morrow was to bring the feverishly antici- pated letter) with her friends at the Villa. Though the girls had been inseparable of late, drawn together apparently by a mutual sor- row—for to both the yoid left by the lieuten ~ ant’s absence was one not easily filled— Ellen found home intolerably dull after the you ti man’s presence was withdrawn; there was rs longer an excuse for Charlie Derwent’s: vis t boating excursions were suspended, and many , \ 4. . SIR ARCHER'S BRIDE. an engagement which her brother had facili- tated must now be foregone. Moreover, Ellen was strongly attached to Laurence, in her own selfish fashion; she was proud of him, was dull ‘without him, and ‘‘passionately fond of him,” as she phrased it, although powerless to under- stand that real affection considers ever the welfare of its object in preference to its own. And now that separation had brought to a summary conclusion ‘‘ tbe nonsense,” as she termed it, between Laurence and her friend, Ellen was almost disposed to forgive Nellie the offenses of which she stood unconsciously con- demned. Each girl had ecaibatniod a cruel loss; the sunshine of both lives for a time, at least, was missing; and so, forgetful of late differences, they drew nearer to one another, each more than ever dependent on the society of her solitary companion. “ Oh, dear!” ‘sighed Ellen, wearily, gazing out through the open window at the darken- ing twilight sky; “I wish it were to-morrow. However, there will not be long to wait.” “ Why to-morrow?’ questioned Nellie faint- ly, with a beating heart—for was it not the morrow that her own thoughts traveled to- ward? That glad to-morrow, which would bring her tidings more precious far than any which would reach the Queen upon the throne! —for to-morrow she should hear of Laurence’s welfare, receive fresh assurance of his love. “Why, to-morrow,” answered Ellen, slowly, still gazing absently afar, ““we are to receive letters from Dublin; Laurence will have reach- ed his destination, and be able to send a proper account of himself. So far, we’ve only had bald scraps of information, a few hurried lines to my mother, a telegram to papa; but to-morrow he will write to me, and has promised to let me know much that I am more than anxious to hear.” Nellie could scarcely resist the impulse which possessed her to throw her arms about Hllen’s neck, and thank her for such tender solicitude on behalf of the absent one. Nellie’s sympathy might have been less strongly enlisted, however, had she guessed that it was, as usual, Ellen’s own interests that were uppermost in her thoughts. Previous to her brother’s departure, Ellen had made a confidant of him in respect to her love affair with Charlie Derwent, who at length, it seemed, had formally declared the state of his affections. His immediate pros- pects, however, were such that Ellen dared not counsel any direct appeal for her father’s ‘sanction, such a course being but too likely to tend toa compléte severance of the lovers. To Laurence, Ellen had confessed all; and the Lieutenant, though opposed to his sister's hopes, had reluctantly undertaken to break the unwelcome news, and exert his influence with théir father in order to obtain’ permission for ’ Derwent to visit openly at the Villas, if no bet- ter terms could be obtained. Colonel Humphrey and his son had enjoyed a long midnight conclave, after the remainder of the household had retired, on the night pre-’ vious to Laurence’s departure; and it was then, when the prospect of impending separation might chance to have softened tlhe paternal heart, that the Lieutenant had promised to ad- vance his sister’s cause so far as lay in his power—with what result she was to learn by letter in due course, for Laurence was to start upon his journey before the sun rose or the ladies were astir. The Humphreys were not an~ emotional family; it had therefore been agreed that the young soldier could as well take leave of mother and sister overnight, in the general dis- comfort’ inseparable from departure in the gray, chill dawn of a summer morning. Only meager intelligence had since been re- ceived of the absent one’s movements. Ellen’s anxiety, therefore, for the morning’s post would have been but natural even had she been inspired by disinterested affection only. Nellie never doubted that such, and such only, was the inspiration; and, when she part- ed from her friend that night, experienced a sentimental, girlish satisfaction and consolation during the still hours of her own suspense from the reflection that another shared her solicitude—one other heart beat thick and fast in expectation of the morrow. Aud Nellie retired some hours earlier than her wont, in order that ‘‘ to-morrow might seem nearer.” ; It is more than doubtful, however, whether the means she adopted were not destructive of the end she had in view; for when morning dawned, and she descended to the breakfast- table with a white face and palpitating heart, the effects of anxious, sleepless hours were’ so plainly depicted on her child-like features, that her mother forthwith inquired whether she felt unwell. Nellie hastened to defend herself from the mere imputation of indisposition with such un- necessary emphasis that Mrs. Hebden found reason to supplement her first offense by gravely demanding what had given rise to such unusual and inexcusable irritability. Then, for sole answer, the over-wrought and over-excited girl rose quickly from the table that her mother might not notice the scald- ing tears which had gathered unaccountably in her eyes. Alas, poor Nellie! CHAPTER XI. NELLIE'S FIRST LOVE-LETTER. ‘Poor lamb—poor lamb! And, mercy on us! if that there ain’t a love-letter, my chris’en- ed name ain’t Mary Jane!” Alias Janet, in the Hebdens’ household. The morning had passed much as usual at the Villa, and not-until the luncheon-bell sound- ed at one o’clock was the fact of Nellie’s pro- longed absence noticed by any of the family. Then it was that Mrs. Hebden dispatched Janet in search of her young mistress, and, having inquired for her vainly next door, the maid proceeded to seek ‘Miss Nell” nearer home—with what success may be gathered from the exclamation recorded above, which burst from Janet’s lips as she pushed open the door of a small summer-house, and, enfering, discovered Nellie stretched full length upon the ground. Jn her hand she still grasped a written paper. This, Janet, with the discretion of her kind (reserved, generally, for similar emergencies), disengaged from the poor, cold fingers, folded carefully, and stowed away in her pocket, murmuring the while, ‘‘ Ay, ay; Miss Nell’s no different to the rest on ’em, so it seems—so' it seems! -More’s the pity,’ say I—poor, dear lamb! I wonder now, what sort: 0 gent he may chance to be!” All this had happened more ciel an hour ago. Since then, Nellie’s temples had been bathed’ | with eau-de-Cologne—she had been tenderly’ undressed, and put to bed. She lay now apparently unconscious, though with closed eyes, moaning softly to herself; while Mrs. Hebden, ‘half distracted, marveled why the note dispatched to the doctor had not™ received attention—well-nigh, indeed, before it’ had reached his hands. Poor deluded parents! how often ‘does it | happen thus! They hastily resort to physical restoratives, while regardless of the possibility of more desperate mental needs. Janet’s perception respecting matters of this sort was of the most acute order. Upon ‘the first opportunity, therefore, true to the in- stincts of her class, she glanced through the letter taken from Nellie’s hand, and, although the general tenor escaped her, the signature sufficed to determine her to “ keep a still tongue to the missus, and say naught just’) awhile. Time enough when. Miss Nellie’ mended; then the poor dear could please herself.” Thus all clew was wanting to the mystery of Nellie's sudden attack. Mrs. Hebden could only inform the doctor she had noticed the girl’s pallor and general disquietude that morn-
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ing. Beyond this no evidence was forthcom- ing. From the poor little patient herself nothing could be elicited. For some hours she lay quiet, calm, even, it might have been sup- posed, save for the closed eyes and the cease- less moaning, which reminded those about her bed of some poor, stricken animal in hopeless, patient pain. As evening drew on, Nellie became _ restless, tossing from side to side, and raising her parched and fevered hand to her burning brow. ' Before night closed in the girl was delirious. When with morning came the doctor, he laid his hand upon her head and pulse; he shook his head, and cleared his throat. “Madam, this is brain fever. The child will need your utmost care. Are you sure— . quite sure— that you can in no wise account for this attack?” Then, indeed, Janet trembled; but, as she argued mentally, disclosure of facts now “could do nobody no good, and might get me one month’s. warnin’; and then who'd see to Miss Nell? . The next'as might happen to come wouldna serve the poor dear half so well as I like to do.. Happen what happen. must, I now must hold my tongue!” There was only one other who had a clew to the solution of this enigma, That one likewise held her peace. The facts are briefly these. We will not at- tempt to describe the sickness of anticipation ' with which Nellie (for the first time, probably in all her guidless life) waited at the gar- den gate in order to waylay the postman, nor the rapture, almost akin to pain, with which she received from his hand a stout, white en- velope, bearing the Dublin postmark, and sealed with crimson wax. Long afterward she remembered, as in waking hours one re- calls a half-forgotten dream, how, at the very time, she noticed in the old man’s weather- beaten hand another letter, similar in all re- spects, addressed by Laurence to his sister Ellen. And even, as with a beating heart, Nellie turned away, and sped across the lawn with the light, fleet footstep of the fawn, a con- fused sense of satisfaction was uppermost in her mind that Ellen, too, was happy. Even at the suprem moments of her life, Nellie Heb- den could remember others. The sequel may, perhaps, best be explained by quoting this letter verbatim. Thus it ran:— ; , “ : eS. 440° | | * Were I to write a thousand pages, there could be _ but one refrain tomy song—I love you, dearest, love- | liest, with a devotion which shall be lifelong. Re- member ever that Iam yours; that I pray that some day you may be mine. Yet, if your heart should | wander from me, recollect that Lieft youfree. Time , and absence, which ma; saAneS, ron Nell, can but ‘ increase my love. Until death I[ shall be, indeed, with every throb of my heart, every pulse of my being, unalterably thine, ‘‘ LAURENCE HUMPHREY.” Such was the effusion which elicited uncon- trollable laughter from the full, red lips of Ellen Humphrey. In her eyes, no doubt, the composition appeared ridiculous; poor Nellie, most probably, wonld have regarded it as sub- lime. As we all know, however, there is but one step between the two extremes. The explanation is simple enough. Like many another eager, hasty correspondent, Laurence had slipped the letter intended for Nellie into the envelope addressed to his sister. He had been guilty of the fatal error of wri- ting all his letters, instead of sealing and addressing each in its turn as he completed ib. The habit is general enough, and perhaps many a one who reads these lines may have either benefited or suffered from a similar act of carelessness. To none, let us hope, has it been productive of results so disastrous as to poor, simple-minded Nellie Hebden, To her it never occurred to doubt or question. She ac- cepted facts as they were, or seemed to be, and succumbed hgneath a blow she was too fragile to withstand. Notwithstanding that Ellen enjoyed to the utmost the cards placed by Fate thus unexpec- tedly in her hand, yet she by no means decid- ed in that first moment of heartless mirth to enact the base part circumstances afterward led her to pursue, She rejoiced, indeed, to have been placed in full possession of Laurence’s secret, and cher- ished a perhaps not unnatural feeling of resent- ment against the girl who had so studiously withheld her confidence in the past. As we know, moreover, she was jealous of guileless, undesigning Nellie’s influence over the sterner sex in general, and opposed to any tender in- terest existing betwixt her and Laurence in_ particular. r Some hours later, while she still pondered the vexed. question of how she might best turn this strange circumstance to account, Janet burst in somewhat unceremoniously to deliver a message from Mrs. Hebden, who sent word — to Ellen of Nellie’s sudden seizure, and begged to see her, in order to learn whether she could — offer any clew to the prevailing mystery. ihe Then if was that Janet made fulland true ~ confession to her eager listener. “Oh, Miss Humphrey! I dursen’t say one. hy, word to the mistress, but I do believe that ’ere brother of yours is at the bottom of all this!” Then she produced the letter which had had so fatal.an effect, and related everything, which had transpired since. aap As Ellen read it through, it would be diffi- cult, indeed. to describe the furious conflict of emotions to which it gave rise. This, then,.was the counsel Laurence gave her, while himself pursuing a diametrically opposite, course of conduct! Well, the cards were in her own hands. now. Her wrongs, might be avenged at last! In one moment she decided—irrevocably, for Bllen’s was not a vacillating nature. She read the letter once again, refolded and hand-" ed it back to Janet, with a calm, unmoved ex-. pression of countenance. “Oh, miss! won’t you keep it? I dunna what. to do! The paper seems to scorch me, and yet I can’t well tell o’ Miss Nellie, and your brother, too! And, ob! the missus will be that angry! Don’t you think, miss, it would be better for, ou to interfere? a “Tndeed no, Janet. I can truly say that I know nothing about this affair. Miss Nellie kept me altogether in the dark, and I am uch surprised as shocked. You had better. eep the letter, it seems to me, for the present. I see nothing to be gained by disclosure now; ! and, when Miss Nellie is better, give it back to
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tender lips are set in rigid curves. on that charmed border-land, where child and woman join forces shyly, with innocent, un- conscious hesitation. summer are already buried deep beneath the “Manor House, with solicitous inquiries from strong and brave.” put the mother oaly ‘too “gladly did her bid- with all achild’s good faith, ‘“‘Sir Archer, do 42 SIR ARCHER'S BRIDE. ? her, and—time enough then to see what can be done.” Then Ellen rose to accompany the maid next door, reflecting that, even if she desired to rectify this momentous error, while Nellie lay in her present condition, explanation of any sort was quite impracticable. these days immediately preceding the auspicious Ist of the new year, which was to witness the consummation of Sir Archer’s hopes, Mrs, Hebden constantly bewailed the loss of Ellen Humphrey, who would have rendered invalu- able assistance at such a time. z For Ellen Humphrey had disappeared from her own little world forever. While Nellie lay fighting the fierce battle *twixt life and death, the elopement of the colonel’s daughter with Charlie Derwent had been the principal subject of discussion in the gossiping circles of Luton. Young Derwent, finding his home prospects hopeless, had determined suddenly to cast in his lot with that of an Australian uncle, who wrote proposing that his nephew should join him forthwith. Would Ellen consent to a hasty marriage, and go out to Australia as his bride? Ellen, weary of Luton life, eager for excite- ment, seized upon so novel an opening with avidity. The subject was duly mooted to the colonel. His indignation was, however, bound- less at the mere suggestion; and, once the lovers were convinced that there was no hope of the authorities relenting, the notion of an elopement, affording as it did a sensational ending to her Luton career, appeared to Ellen the simplest means of escape from all difficulties and perplexities. © Thus, too, would be obviated all necessity for that explanation, which it must be con- fessed Ellen had been anticipating as one of the unpleasant consequences of her own dupli- city; for surely on Nellie’s recovery, investiga- tion of some sort must ensue. She would probably write to Laurence, or he again to her. Ere that time arrived, however, Ellen Der- went was upon the seas, and the nine days’ wonder was forgotten in the little world where- in she had played a leading part. Only poor Mrs. Hebden, hopelessly perplexed by the con- flicting claims of dress material, Chamberry gauze and Indian muslin, sighed regretfully that Ellen was missing just when she might have been of such immense service. Once, only once, did the pale fiancee mani- fest the faintest interest in the bustle and ex- citement of preparations of which she herself was the moving cause. Neither the wedding- day nor the wedding-cake, the arrival of wed- ding presents, nor the discussion of the wedding feast, elicited from her one word of comment, either of satisfaction or dissent. Only once, when her mother sat silently filling in invita- tion cards, (from the long lists which the Mem- ber and Mr. Hebden had carefully prepared), Nellie looked up from the book before her, and through dry lips, in a grave, unnatural voice, said, ‘‘Mamma, I wish an invitation to be sent to Laurence Humphrey. Please, don’t forget.” “‘T will send one if you desire it; but, of course, my dear, he cannot come. Fancy your being married, and Ellen Humphrey a bride already far away! Itseems but the other day that you two and Laurence played together— three noisy children in the nursery overhead.” ‘*Ah! but many years have passed, and many, many changes happened, mamma, since then.” The wedding-day came, as all days come, no matter how slowly they may seem to approach, Such a cortege, in truth, Luton had never seen before, only the small bride seemed to play her part throughout the ceremony like a woman inadream, This was decidedly unbecoming in one who had been selected for so great, so unprecedented an honor, for the Trentons were one of the oldest families in England, and Sir Archer might bave selected a wife from among the fairest of the Upper Ten. That e had choseti Mr. Hebden’s modest, unassum- ng little daughter was matter therefore of great marvel, despite the girl’s childlike urity and beauty, which would render her pspicuous in any circle in the land. To-day she said the responses in a cold, grave, unfaltering tone, distinctly audible CHAPTER XII. FROM THE BRINK OF THE TOMB TO THE STEPS OF THE ALTAR. THE snow lay deep upon the ground; the Villa gardens were buried beneath a frozen mantle of spotless white; and within, the as- pect of affairs in both quiet households was as completely changed as the scene without since those ripe summer days when we left Nellie wrestling with despair. Nellie herself to-day lay wrapped in shawls and furs upon a many-cushioned couch, drawn before a glowing fire in her mother’s pretty drawing-room. The girl is much altered since we last saw her. If possible, she has grown more fair; or is it only the delicacy of convalescence which gives her an air so plaintive and irresistible? Nay; surely her whole expression is differ- ent now to that which her childlike features wore in those far-off, happy summer days, when Laurence Humphrey won her heart. There is a shadow beneath her eyes now; in the pupils themselves, a mute, fathomle:s won- der; about her mouth, a few grave lines; the Ah! these sad, short months have made a woman—a a stern woman, even—of the girl we left “Standing with reluctant step Where the brook and river meet,” Yet surely that was long ago. Looking back, it seems'to Nellie that the events of last sorrows and experiences of half a lifetime, at the least. Toward the close of autumn the girl first began to rally. It was then, in the twilight of one September day, that her mother, standing beside Nellie’s bed, tendered fruit and flowers, which every alternate day arrived from the the Baronet respecting the little patient. “Sir Archer himself is down-stairs. you send your thanks, dear Nellie?” “No, mamma; only—only I think I should like to see him for a little while. I feel so Will Even as she spoke, ber white lips quivered; din . Then, as the Baronet, pale almost as Nellie herself, stood before the little, trembling in- valid, holding both her hands in his tender grasp, Nellie, looking earnestly up, questioned, you love me still?’ ‘Nellie, dearest, can you ask? If possible, you are dearer to me in these days—when my heart is never free from anxiety on your account—than formerly, when I knew you well and happy—happier in my absence than my presence was ever likely to make you! Never doubt again, Nellie. Remember that eternity itself could not change my love for you!” “Then, Sir Archer, if you please, I am ready to be your wife!” Thus, then, it was settled, to the boundless delight of all parties interested, save the poor pale bride elect. Yet she never faltered in her determination. Once or twice, indeed, when her mother at- tempted to elicit her confidence, and uneasily inquired the meaning of so sudden a change in her child’s resolution,’ Nellie authoritatively waived all discussion. “Mamma, I intend to marry Sir Arche and hope to make him a good wife.” She took but little interest in the pre- paration of bridal finery, however; and in throughout the crowded edifice, where breath- less silence reigned. It was over; and Sir Archer warmly clasped his passive, snow-white bride, the usual em- braces and congratulations followed, :nd’ then the names alone remained to be signed. Many had pressed inside the vestry; the little room was full. The Baronet, tenderly solicitous, bent forward as he handed his fair young wife the pen. At that moment what grim specter did Eleanora, Lady Trenton, see, to make her eye- lids quiver, her heart’s-blood freeze within her ° veins? Her rigid fingers relaxed their hold upon the quill—a brief convulsion shook her frame—she staggered suddenly, and must have fallen, save that a young, stalwart sol- dier, from among the throng pushed forward, and caught the fainting figure before even the Baronet could stretch forth bis eager arms to receive his childlike bride, “Ah, Laurence, is it you?” Mrs. Hebden murmured. ‘Place her here, and some water, please, at once. She is over-excited, poor darling! She will be better presently, no doubt.” This circumstance, of course, invested the proceedings with additional interest, No one deemed it at all singular that so young and delicate a creature should be sud- denly overpowered by the weight of honors thrust upon her. ‘She will be better presently!” all echoed, turning smilingly away, as mother, father, husband, friends, hung anxiously about the unconscious girl. Surely she was left in loving hands. Laurence Humphrey had already left the church. He was missing at the breakfast- table, and had, indeed, already started upon his most miserable journey back to quarters before the wedding-bells had concluded their rejoicing peal. Poor Laurence! And, alas! poor Lady Tren- ton! CHAPTER XIII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. Untin the sweet spring sunshine cheered the English shores, Sir Archer kept his child- wife abroad, “seeking her missing roses,” as ‘he termed it, in half the foreign capitals of Europe. May found the strange, incongruous pair once again in Dover; and here the too-solicitous husband insisted they should rest a few days ere Nellie underwent the fatigue of further journeying. In this—as, indeed, in most other proposals —she acquiesced, with the unreasoning in- difference of 1 spoiled and weary child. Yet she tried her best, poor Neliie, to requite in some measure the Baronet’s affection. And, apparently, he was quite content; better pleased, it seemed, to minister to Nellie’s every whim—receiving in return, at best, the poor guerdon of a fleeting smile—than had another woman flung before him the richest treasures of a boundless love—satisfied, as some such natures are, with the mere acceptance of his homage. Men smiled good-naturedly, with a strange mixture of envy and contempt, at Sir Arcuer’s- infatuation for his pale, fragile wife; women arched their brows, wondering ‘‘ what on earth a man like grave Sir Archer could see in that insipid, baby-faced girl!” What recked he? Nellie’s mere presence by his side formed his all-sufficient joy. Besides, was she not always gentle winsome, kind?—_ lifting her fair countenance ever, with calm serenity, to receive his still passionate caress — eyen as an unresponsive child accepts thosé doting parental kisses which she considersright- fully belong to her? And later—well, later she would surely come to love him as—even as he would be loved! Not yet, however! Nellie was still so young, so childlike, her husband told himself, it was. not meet she should awaken yet to read her 1 1 7 . «
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y fair one has never surely looked more lovely than to-day!” pronounced Sir Archer, as the carriage waited before the door, and his wife stood fastening her gloves, while he scru- tinized admiringly her faultless toilet—one of many he bad himself selected during their stay in Paris from amoung the great Worth’s mas- terpieces. And Nellie, smiling faintly back at him, glanced at her own reflection in the mirror, murmuring, with innocent complacency, ‘‘ Yes; I think my dress is nice!” It was a brilliant scene to which they were forthwith borne. The *‘ Ninth” was to sail upon the morrow for some Indian station, hence the municipal authorities to-day entertained the officers at a farewell luncheon; while, in the evening, all the neighboring elite would gather in the gar- rison ball-room, where the ‘‘ Ninth” promised royally to return the hospitality received from local magnates during a protracted stay in those pleasant quarters. Nellie regarded the glittering scene—bright with the costly dresses of . the ladies, the uni- ‘forms of officers, the sparkle of silver and glass upon,» the magnificently spread tables— with the listlessness of utter indifference. She had become already more than accustomed— almost weary, indeed—of these brilliant spec- tacles, which, in earlier days, her wildest flight of imagination had never dared to picture that she herself might ever grace, But here, as at most other festivals, where she fluttered by her tall, grave husband’s side, there was a nameless charm, an indescribable grace, about “airy faery” Lady Leonora which riveted general attention, despite the more majestic beauty of many a high-born dame. During the last half-hour a eray-hatded colo- nel of Dragoons, who had conducted Lady Trenton in to luncheon, had been exerting all his fascinations to the utmost in her behalf, ap- parently with but limited success, for her lady- ship was little more than monosyllabic in reply —often, indeed, offering no rejoinder save the faint acquiescence of a smile. But presently her sleeve caught and swept eee a fragile plage from,off the crowded table A young officer sitting next her on the other side raised the fragments, and released some portion clinging still to her costly lace. ‘Oh, thanks!” she said. ‘I am so sorry!” And, turning as he raised his head, further speech deserted her, for Nellie found herself confronting Laurence Humphrey. He bad, in truth, recognized her from the first moment, when, all unconsciously, she had taken her place beside him; but, deeming she had purposely ignored him, the young man had at- tempted no formal recognition. He had now the advantage of the position. Nellie, amazed and disconcerted, could but gaze blankly up at him with piteous, question- ing looks. The first shock for him, however, was al- ready over. He looked coliay, gravely down upon her, his head half inclined in the courteous, defer- ential attitude of a man who waits the pleasure of an unknown lady. “Laurence!” she faltered, brokenly, through ashen lips. - ‘‘Lady Trenton?’ he answered, in tones of cold interrogation. : “Ts it—is it possible?” she questioned. ‘‘ How i came you here? ‘Your regiment is in Ire- 5 land!” 7 Her surprise was so great in that first mo- M ment that she forgot her supposed wrongs— uy his crime—ber own new-born wifely dignity ;— : forgot all, save that in Laurence Humphrey’s ; a el Pd oe: r. ae 1 Yas ‘ ; bis ie r sien i nti teste ee ay _ SIR ARCHER'S BRIDE. eyes she saw once more her own reflected—that once again she listened to the charmed accents of the voice which had stolen to her heart of hearts—ah! could it be but a few short months ago? “*As you observe,” he answered, with cruel, unmoved calm, “ my regiment is in Ireland— my late regiment, I should say. I have ex- changed, however, into the ‘Ninth,’ and sail for Calcutta on Saturday.” ‘* Ah, no!” escaped her, brokenly. And, just then—‘‘ Lady Trenton,” murmur- ed the bearded Colonel on the other side, “‘ may I not offer you some champagne?’ Far more graciously than her wont, she smiled, as with trembling fingers, she raised the glass, and drained it at one draught. Her voice was steadier now; the blood had come eddying madly back to her heart, and even tinged her cheek with a faint color, which throughout many months had been a stranger there. “JJ did not know,” she said, with sudden dignity, turning once again to Laurence, “‘ that you were going abroad. I should much like to speak with you!” ‘‘ When and whero you please.” The words were few, the tone was solemn; but at that moment, as their glances met, something gleamed suddenly in his—a ray of tenderness irrepressible—which went like sharp steel to Nellie’s breast, threatening altogether to disconcert her. “To-night—shall you be here?” she little more than whispered; for, in truth, breath well-nigh failed her then. “Will you reserve the eleventh dance for me?” Lady Trenton bowed her head. At that moment some one opposite claimed attention, and presently a general move ensued. The Baronet sought his wife, Lientenant Hum- phrey devoted himself to a portly dowager on his right, and Nellie moved through the crowd- ed rooms on her husband’s arm, in a half-be- wildered state. CHAPTER XIV. CRUEL BLISS. “Our dance, Lady Trenton, I believe!” And Lieutenant Humphrey, of the 9th, bowed low that dark, closely-cropped head of his, which Nellie had been vainly seeking since first she entered the brilliant throng. A purple-faced Cabinet Minister, who had enjoyed the distinction of conducting Lady Trenton through the last quadrille, reluctantly released the gloved hand, which her ladyship transferred to the arm of of Laurence Hum- phrey. ‘* Will you dance?” he questioned, briefly. Mutely she shook her head; just then words failed her. Without comment he threaded his way through the gay crowd, nor even glanced at his companion, until a dimly-lighted fairy- land of ferns and flowers was reached—where the Chinese lanterns burnt fitfully above the shrubs, and the perfumed fountains cast high their glittering spray. Here, then, they paused by mute consent. Humphrey released Lady Trenton’s hand, and, folding his arms, setting his back against a colossal vase of porphyry, looked sternly at her. Ah! how changed!—how cruelly changed within the last few months! “And now?” he questioned, grimly. Nellie, gazing up, shivered, and for a mo- ment clasped both her hands before her face; perhaps, that she might shut out from view those darkly luminous eyes of his, which were, alas! but seldom absent from her mind, and even haunted her dreams. To see him once again—to hear once more those deep-loved tones—to touch his hand—ah! surely, this was much of certain good, of actual joy. Yet she had hardly deemed he would dare regard h thus, with something of menace surely! so deeply erring—she so sinned against, yet, woman-like, forgiving! Ah! at sight of him 13 resentment, anger, all had vanished—pride itself well-nigh forgotten. Had he but deigned to tell her gently why and wherefore he had done her such cruel wrong, blotted the sun- shine from out her young life forever—why, even then, standing there a hopeless, miserable wife, Leonora Lady Trenton would have par- doned all, because he had loved her once. But before those fiercely glaring orbs her own sunk now dismayed. She stood before him (the man who had sinned against her beyond all power of reparation) in her costly, shim- mering robes of richest satin, draped with priceless lace, with the diamonds glistening about her creamy throat, twinkling in her shell-like ears, crowning her childlike head— she, attired like an empress, thus stood cower- ing now before him, over whom little Nellie Hebden, in her gingham frock, had ruled abso- lute, despotic. Ah! how humbling is the force of a master- ing passion! Yet, Laurence, glancing down upon her, read, in her attitude and unwonted meekness, only the evidence of past treachery and present shame, ‘¢'You wished to speak to me; I await your pleasure!” he said, harshly. Then she looked up quickly, stung to recol- lection and a sense of righteous resentment by something in his tone. She threw back her head with an imperious gesture that she had learned of late; and thus Lady Trenton an- swered the man who had made havoc of her life. - “Tis true,” she said; “‘ yet have no fear that i * . desire or seek explanation of—of the past. I would ask you only one—one solitary fayor. Lady Trenton asks that you will return to her the—the foolish offering of Nellie—Nellie He den—(perhaps, though, you scarcely recollect —with whom you amused yourself last sum- mer. A worn-out locket—a shabby trinket— perchance, however, ’tis long since lost; or you forget, perhaps?” Oh, the unutterable pathos of those trem- bling, broken tones! “Nay, Lady Trenton. I have forgotten not one single incident of that too brief past. Yet I would ask—” “You will send it back?” she interrupted, eagerly, For the remembrance that he, Laurence Humphrey, still possessed that long, fair tress of Lady Trenton’s hair had grown of late in- tolerable, oppressive. “No,” he answered, sternly; ‘‘I will not ; b I will return it to you now—at — aC send it back. once! See you, I have it here!” He thrust his hand within his vest, and drew _ it forth, holding the battered, bruised, and worthless thing—the only trinket of “her very own” which Nellie had dared abstract from her slender store, in those already far-off days, — when her earthly possessions were positively none, Ah! the scrap of faded blue ribbon hung — about it still. With astrange feeling at her heart, a chok- Was it, indeed, with a feeling of guilty joy that henceforth ‘she would have, and would > hold throughout life, something which he had cherished, something hereafter inestimably precious, ‘having lain so near bis heart? “Let me—let me at least keep the hair?” he began hoarsely. There was positive agony of cntesaty in those last words. His fingers closed convulsively ionik upon the trinket, even while he held his hand out- stretched. “Dare you ask that question of—of Lady Trenton? Lieutenant Humphrey forgets what is due to himself, and—and me.” She grasped the locket; but instead of relin- quishing it, he caught her slender wrist, and held her fast, gazing upon her with an expres- sion before which she shrunk and shivered. “Oh, Heaven!” escaped him, brokenly. “‘ The cunning of the serpent, with the apparent in- ww =“ ing in her throat, Lady Trenton held out her trembling band. “ * ~ ea: . * yt < BY Pe *
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b at! 44 nocence of the. dove! Can it be that with women it is ever thus? With angel face and child-like form—a heart black as night within! Ob, Nell, Neli, you might have spared me this!” He released her suddenly, staggering back a step, and shading his brow with one hand, that even she, just then, might not note the agony depicted on his featurés. Marveling strangely, she yet dared not pause to think. She must hurry forward with the task which she had come there purposely to fulfill. * “ Souvenirs, on either side,” she said, in a calm, unnatural voice, ‘are fortunately but few.. They may, therefore, be the more easily disposed of. I am prepared to render what Iclaim. Give me back my locket, and —and receive your letter! The first—last love-letter you wrote to Nellie Hebden!” He took it from her hand, and crushed it *twixt his fingers. “You do well,” he said, hoarsely, ‘to give me back the sole memento of past folly. Yet - this—this last, unmerited, needless insult I will never forgive you, Lady Trenton! Hear me! Nellie I forgave—albeit she broke my heart, ruined my life, marred existence itself for me. Poor fickle, faithless child—unlearned it may be, even yet, in the mysteries of human nature —what should she know of her own mind, its strength or weakness, or of a strong man’s love? Her temptation was great; moreover, _ she was in no wise bound—I left her free. A proud lot was offered her; she had been more, perchance, than woman, had she relinquished all the material good things of this world for a —a visionary dream. So I hardly blame, and can forgive her; though pardon me if—if Iam unduly harsh in saying she might have made the blow less crushing — broken the shock in some slight measure—sent me back but one brief line, ere that brutal printed message _ reached me—jeering at me, as it; seemed, in brazen, golden letters—mocking my misery with emblazoned arms and coroneted mono- gram! Yet,” after a momentary pause, he continued, bitterly, ‘‘ Nellie I forgave, because a love like mine can pardon well-nigh all. And she, poor child, was too young to understand. ‘But—” ‘‘But,” she interrupted, piteously, ‘how “could she--dared she answer, by one word or _ sign, a letter like—like that? Indeed, she had “no power—lacked strength, and——” “Tt is over!” he interrupted, sternly. ‘‘ Let it pass, I have forgiven treachery in achild; - but—but this last wanton exercise of, your woman’s power, Lady Trenton, I will. never pardon. I will even pray that—that Heaven ; hn day make you suffer the torments that you so well know how to inflict on others! You might have left even the locket in nay hands; it need scarce have proved itijurious to your peace of mind, considering that ere a third day’s sun should rise the trinket would have tossed, with him you wronged, pon the stormy ocean, But this—this,” up- 7 nee ; Wiatng the letter in his hand with something Vet momentary menace, only to crush it then again more fiercely ’twixt his fingers—‘‘ to return this that, was utterly unworthy of you —unworthy of, the girl, of the child I loved! ‘Why not have burned it, if—if, indeed, it troubled you by reminiscences of the past?? he , hissed, with sudden passion, close to her deli- * cate ear. “Ah! because, perhaps—because I had not P courage to consign to the cruel flames the only precious relic—precious, despite its venom !— of happy bygone days— days whose memory is all I have now lef) to love!” She covered. her features with her hands, | _ and the last words escaped in a bitter moan upon the’scented air, Mechanically Laurence now ‘unfolded the paper, smoothing out its creases with the un- conscious air of a somnambulist. eae how I loved you, Nell! Heaven help ! how I love you, Lady Trenton, still! Let re kead' this letter; let us laugh together over e S4. LTRS er SIR ARCHE words written by fingers tremulous with pas- sionate tenderness, yet scanned by you, per- | chance, with lips already curling with girlish | Say, how did it Surely, you loved indifference and contempt. all happen, Lady Trenton? me once ?” ““Once, and for ever!” she murmured, faint- ly, scarce conscious of the meaning of words which surely it was not meet should fall from the lips of Sir Archer’s wife. ‘Listen!’ he said, and would have read; but, suddenly, ‘‘Great Heaven!” escaped his | bloodless. lips; and he reeled backward like a man who had received an unexpected blow. ‘‘ Nellie,” he gasped, ‘‘ how—-when—where did you get that letter?” “The day you promised it. I—I myself re- ceived it from the postman’s hands!” ‘‘Ah! it cannot be! That—that was her letter—Ellen’s, _She—she, then, has yours! I see—I understand it all at last, reid far too well!” A brief explanation followed—if, indeed, that. word. applies to monosyllabic questions and answers, to incoherent cries and passionate gestures, which yet sufficed to make the treach- erous story plain to those two eager hearts, tricked and cruelly betrayed. And then, suddenly, ‘“‘Great Heaven be praised!” young Humphrey cried; ‘ Nell, you were not faithless, after all!” ‘Faithless?’ she echoed, brokenly; but at that word he caught her to his breast. He crushed her in his arms, and, looking up, ‘she forgot to struggle, but raised her sweet, pale, quivering lips to his, murmuring, through bliss- ful tears, ‘‘Ob, Laurence, how could you doubt me! Ihave loved you always—always, even when you seemed so cruel, and false!” They clung to one another with the passion- ate tenderness which only youthful lovers know, stammering breathless queries, to which swift caresses came as sole response. They had reached the earthly paradise which surely it is not granted mortal foot to tread beyond one” brief, happy, transient moment, in this dull world beneath the sun. To them it seemed the perfect ecstasy of that breathing space, which brought not only remembrance of their love, but also confidence and complete forgiveness—atoned for all the anguish of the past... As for the future— “Laurence,” she cried, suddenly releasing herself with one quick movement from his arms—‘‘ Laurence, we had forgotten! Yet surely it cannot be! Ab, Heaven be mercitul! | Tell me, is it true? am 1 am I—Sir Archer's wife?’ A groan escaped young peed slips. He staggered from her like a drunken man, shutting out with both his bands the sudden anguish he had seen upon her features. But little more passed between them, and in a very few minutes Nellie, with something of her former childlike helplessness. of voice and mien, pleaded, ‘‘ Take me—please take me to Sir Archer!” Then, as he stooped. to raise the fatal letter, which bad wrought the utter misery of those guiltless lives, she held out her small hand, murmuring, plaintively, “Al! give it back to me! Ihave held it dear, inspite of all! It was my first; last loye-letter. Give it back to me—it is mine!” And, snatching at it like a passionate child, she thrust the now torn and crumpled paper ' within the bosom of her dress. Ere the. ball-room was reached they met the Baronet séarching, in orery quarter for his wife, “Sir Archer, take me home!» she aried, stretching forth her cold, gloved hand. “ Oh! I’m very tied—very ill! Take me—take me home!” , He smiled upon her with, tenderest indul- gence. “ You are over- -excited, This ust not chance again.” But, even as he passed her arm through his, Nellie turned her head back suddenly. ‘* Laurence,” she, said—‘ Laurence, dear, little one. ie = ?S BRIDE. #4. pay good-by!” holding: up her sweet, pale face for a farewell kiss, with the simplicity of a chiid who clainis, despite of scene or circumstance, | a brother’s parting caress. Laurence bent, and kissed her gravely. ‘‘ Nell, Heaven kéep you, and—good-by!” The Baronet paused patiently, the unsus- picious’ witness of last greetings which he | deemed. it but natural a child like Nellie should exchange with the playmate of her earliest | years, bound for a journey to far-off seas. Yet he smiled, thinking to himself that, despite the | pity, he must caution his little wife that such displays must not be indulged too frequently in public by Lady Leonora Trenton, CHAPTER XV. FAREWELL. WraprepD in ‘soft furs and fleecy shawls, despite the warm shelter of her husband’s arms, Nellie complained bitterly of the cold throughout their short homeward journey. Then she sent her maid away, too weary to disrobe; and Sir Archer, to please her fancy, soothe her mood, held her, still in his tender arms, before the blazing fire i in her luxuriously- furnished dressing-room. And thus, from her guileless lips, he learned every incident that had transpired—heard of . past anguish and present joy—joy that Lau. rence was proved at last guiltless of all crime. Heard all!—ay, even read that cruel yet now all-precious love letter, which Nellie thrust again into the warm shelter of her white breast. Heard all—and as her father might, mindful only of her sorrow—repressing every sound or sigh that might betray the hopeless anguish of his own stricken soul, as he listened silently to Nellie’s story. And thus, with her fair arms wound about his neck, looking up at him—her husband—his child-wife murmured, with pathos indescriba- ble, ‘‘ Laurence said that we must never meet again; but, indeed—indeed, I could not’ live without him now—now that I know him true, | | and that’he loves me, even as I love him. Oh, Sir Archer! you will take me, or you will let me go with Laurence. to India when he sails? You will—I know you will! For you always say that I have ‘been a good little wife, whom you love to please.” “My darling Nell, it cannot be!” he whis- pered, huskily, smoothing her soft curls back, and pressing his hot lips to her marble prow. | “*Nell must be my good, wee wifie ever; and that—that would be hateful sin!” Very tenderly he reasoned with her, explain- ing the impossibility of the boon which she had never doubted the: too-indulgent Baronet would have been eager to grant. For how had she ever pleased him better than by hazarding every unreasonable demand | which had presented itself to her girlish fancy? When she understood at last, she burst into agonies of such bitter weeping, that Sir Archer, standing powerless, could scarce restrain his own tears. “T cannot live without him! know'l shall’ Such was her piteous refrain through the sad hours of that never-to-be-forgotten night. And when at length her husband’s arms placed her tenderly within the bed, her feyered tossings, and incoherent moaning cries made his heart: stand still with dread recollection of those dreary autumn days when Nellie Hebden had so nearly glided away from life forever. When she slept, at last, she passed from sleep into. that dull, uticénscious stupor which fills with anguish all loving watchers by-sad ‘sick- beds. Sir Archer never left her side until, on the third day after that, she opened het violet eyés, and looked calmly out upon the world, with the piteous, questioning gaze of newly- restored consciousness. Then, when her husband spoke to her, she I shall die—I remembered all, fancying this was the morrow after that long night of pain. | |
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Sates: | —s - “And then, with ‘pallid lips and pleading tones, she. begged Sir Archer would bring ; Laurence to her. She must see him once ; again, she said, before the cruel ocean yawned ) betwixt their sundered hearts forever. When he found it otherwise impossible. to pacify her, the Baronet told her the truth. The -9th had already sailed; but Laurence Humphrey first, and ct his own request, had been led to Nellie’s bedside, and reverevtially pressed his lips upon her fevered brow, as she lay unconscious there. When all this was made clear to her, she shed no single tear; only bitterly she cried, “Why, oh, why didI wake again?’ Later, she moaned, feebly, still tearless, ‘‘ Oh, I am tired, tired! Surely the night has come! Draw down the blinds, and close the curtains. Iam weary! I want sleep! Kiss me, Sir Archer! Good-night! Good-night!” He did her bidding now, as always. Saving once, indeed, was there aught he had deniad her ever? He made all still and night-like about her . room. He smoothed her pillow; and, bending over her, ‘‘ kissed her good-night,” as the chil- dren say, while she clung lingeringly tohim in along caress, Then she sighed; her head fell back, and it seemed as though sleep were al- | ready overtaking her. . The Baronet watched long and silently, sit- | ting by the fitful fire-light which alone illumin- | ed the shadows of thedarkened rvom. Yet, as twilight closed without, he rose, and stole once more to the bedside. Nellie’s restless moans and tossing had subsided. She lay, in- deed, wrapped in tranquil slumber. Then the Baronet, greatly comforted, crept noiselessly back to his place. He scarcely stirred throughout the watches of that long night—not altogether sad to him, because of the new-born hope. The worst was be dreaded from suspense; and; when she awoke, would rise up refreshed, and begin life anew. Ay! but never more to bear the burden of unwelcome honors; never again to attempt- that for which she was all unfitted; never more to Strive to play a part beyond her strength, As gray, chill dawn crept in between the cur- tains, the Baronet shivered.. Surely it had grown strangely cold! Had he been dozing?— for, in truth, he felt as though a spectral pres- ence had passed him close by. All anxiety lest sleep might indeed have overtaken him at his post, Sir Archer rose, and stole once more toward the bed where Nellie yetJay still and motionless, How peaceful her rest! He drew the laced coverlet aside with rever- ent fingers, light as any woman’s. . He glanced down upon her lovingly, as she lay curled like a breathless marble incarnation of the sweet goddess uf Repose. Both hands were folded upon her breast; and surely upon her angel features there lurked the shadow of a smile? How fair--bow marvelously fair—as she lay there! . And how white and colorless, after her long conflict with anguish and pain! Sure- ly it must be the sickly shado v cast by break- ing dawn which lent her rounded cheek that dread, mysterious pallor? Ah, he. must press his warm and hungry lips to hers—his own, his wife, his treasure!—just to assure himself that she was flesh and blood, and not a breathless statue, wrought by cun- ning hands and tools. é x Not even the risk of rousing her @ould re- ah that sudden ‘longing which had possessed hima) yee eae ; not wake, her afterall! | Hd held his breat ——he tried to sfill the beat- ing of his heart, lest it might break that peace- ful slumber—as he bent his head toward his adored onel {fig | sf sits ~. — Nay, in sad trath, kiss of buman lips could surely past. She knew all now; naught'was to. — EE eS Pe He would be gentle_—ver'y gentle! He might’ SiR ARGHES BRIDE: 0 pa never wake again to life the soul which had al- ready winged its flight to heaven! Nellie’s troubles were over—her brief battle fought: ‘The Baronet’s Bride was dead! And thus was her memory handed down to posterity forever. In the annals of his house she lived henceforth, and was known to gener- ations then unborn, as ‘‘Sir Archer’s Bride” —she, who, indeed, had been scarce a wife! And when, in time, a marble monument was reared—with sculptured angels, with folded wings,. weeping on either side —the country- folk one and all made answer to inquiries on this head— “There sleeps Sir Archer’s Bride!” THE END. The Half-Dime Singer's Library, 1 WuHoa, Emma! and 59 other Songs, 2 Caprain Curr and 57 other Songs. . 8 Tae Garnsporo’ Hat and 62 other Songs. 4 Jonnny MoreGan and 60 other Songs. 5. 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Dialogues No. Fifteen. 1 Dialogues No, Three. Dialogues No, Sixteen. Dialogues No. Four. Dialogues No. Seventeen. Dialogues No. Five, Dialogues No, Eighteen Dialogues No, Six. Dialogues No, Nineteen. Dialogues No, Seven. Dialogues No. Twenty. Dialogues No, Eight. Dialogues No. Twenty-one. — Dialogues No, Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-two. Dialogues No, Ten. Dialogues No. Twenty-three Dialogues No. Eleven, | Dialogues No. Twenty-four. Dialogues No. Twelve. | Dialogues No. Twenty-five. ! ogues No. Thirteen. | Dialogues No. Twenty-six. 15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book. These volumes have been i sega with especial | reference to their availability in all school-rooms. ce ‘They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- : niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac- rs suited to scholars of every grade, both male and emale... It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any price, contain so many available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious -| and comic. / Dramas and Readings. _ © 16412mo Pages. 2 Cents. . For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am- ateur e, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and ings, new and standard, of the greatest celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell. DIME ‘HAND-BOOKS. ~— -*" “Young People’s Series. Brapte’s Diaex Hanp-Boors ror Youne Propie cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially | adapted to their end. They constitute at once ee ; chéapest and most useful works yet put into the | market for popular circulation. ' } ies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller. , Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket. oe Ball-room Companion. ‘Book of Verses... | Book of Dreams, Book of Beauty, Hand-Books of Games. . 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