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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y 14580

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■M

CAN BE

But not by the use of tin; liquids, snuffs, powders, etc. , usually ouereJ
the public as catarrh cures. ISome of these reinedies may a tiord tem-
porary relief but none have ever been known to effect a permanent cure.
The reason for this is that these so-called cures do not reach tl>e seat of
the disease. To cure catarrh you must reach the root of tlie disease and
remove the ori^iual cause of the trouble. NaJSAL BALM is the only
remedy yet di>-cuverLd that will do tiiis. Jt never fail.;, and in even tlv3
most aggravated cases a cure is certain if NASAL BAL'M isperi^ihUontly
used. It is a well-known fact- that cutuirh in ninety nine c;i^ts out of
every hundred originated from a cold in the hcud, which the eufFcnr
ne,i;lected. NAiSxVL BALM affords imracdir.te relief wluu u^cd for
cold in the head. It is easy to use, requiring no douche or instrument,
and is soothing, cleansing and healins,'. As positive evidence that
catarrh can be cured by the use of NASAL BAIjM, we submit the fol-
lowing testimonials from among hundreds similar in our possession :—

Mr. Horatio Collier, Woollen Manu-
facturer, Ciineroatown, Out., stale-^ :
Nasai Balm is the only pjsitive remedy
for catarrh that I ever used.

Miss Addie Hovvlson, Brockville, Ont,
says: I had catarrli loi years, my head
was so stopped up I could not breathe
through my nosiril-^. My breath, was
very impure and continually so. Noth-
inf» I could get gave nie any relief until
using Nasal Balm. From the very first
it gave me relief and in a very short
time had removed the accumulation so
that I could breathe freely throu'.;h the
nostrils. Its effect on my breath was
truly wonderful, purifyin;; and removing
every vestige of the unpleasant odoi',
which never returned.

D, S. McDonald, Mabou, C.B. writes :
Na?al Balm has helped my catarrh very
much T. • .,- .

used.

P. H. Munro, Parry Sound, say^ :—
Nasal Bal.a has no equ.il a-; a remedy
fur cold in the head. Jt is both speedy
and effective in its results.

Mr. John Foster, Raymond, Ont.,
writes: Nasal Balm acts like a charm
for injr catarih. I have only use>l it a
short time a'ui now feel better than at
any period durin;^ the last seven years.
1)1 tact I am sure of a cure and at very
smail expense.

D. Derbyshire, president of the Onta-
rio Creamery Association, says : Nasal
Ba'in beats the world ft)r catarrh and
CO (I in the he.id. In my own case it
eifected reLef from the firat appucation.

Mr. John R. Wri,t;ht, representinr;:
Messrs. Evans, Sons and Mason, whole-
sale drugt^ists, Montreal, says: — Nasal
B ilin cured me of a lon^' standing c isa
It is the best remedy i ever of catarrh afier many other remedies

faiiin^'.

BEWARE of IIVlITAT10NS.^^alSd"'E;

NASAL BALM from its wonderful curative properties has induced certain un-
scrupulous parties to place imitations on s-ale, closely resemblin.,' the styie of our
package, and with names similar in sound. Beware of all preparations styled
Nasal Cream, Nasal Balsam, etc., they are IrauduJeat imitations. Ask for Nasal
Balm and see that you get it.

Ifyou cannot obtain NASAL BALM from your dealer it will be sent post-paid
•n receipt of price, 50 cents and $1, by addressing,

FULFORD & CO.,

BROCKVILLE, ONT,

Our pamj.hlet " Gems or Wispom " s^ot free on applicatiop. "^

■f''

AND

'^^^^^i^^s6&'S£,^sms^

In Tone
In Touch
In Sweetness
In Durability
In Workmanship

Holds more Gold Medals and Awards than
any other Piano in Canada.

WARRANTED IN EVERY RESPEOT.
Five Years' Guarantee with Each Instru-

LOWEST PRICES.

ment.

Sole -A-gency

EASY TERMS.

Toronto Temple of Music

J. S. POWLEY & CO.

68 Kinff St. W.

Toronto, Cnt.

mmmm

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

MES. CASHEL HOEY.

AUTHOft OP

"GRIFFITH'S DOUBLE," "A GOLDEN SORKOW," "THE BLOSSOMING 0.V AN

ALOB," "THE lover's CREED," "A STERN CHAbE,''

«« XHE QUESTION OF CAIN," ETC.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Cannda in the year one
thoneand eit^ht hiiiidred and eiphty-uine, by William lii'.ycE, in tlie
office of the Minister of Agriculture.

TORONTO :

W^^LIAM BBYCE, PUBLISHER

,: .1

IVOR

AR SOAP.

EFFECTIVE, DURAELE 6:. CHEAP

Ivory Bar Soap i« superior to imported C:a?/bil9.

Use Ivory Bar fc3oap for line laundry work.

Wash infants' cloths with Ivoiy Bar Soop.

Use Ivory Bar boap for bathing*.

Ivory Bar Soap is dehghtfully perfumed.

Use Ivory Bar r:oap lor shaving.

Ivory Bar Soap is a luxury, though very cheap.

Ciean painted wails with Ivory Bar Soap.

Ivory Bar boap lathers freely.'

Take home some I\ory Bar Soap.

Clean your teeth with I\ory Bar Soap.

Ivory Bar Soap pleases everybody.

Ivory Bar boap does not chap the hands.

Ivory Bar Soap answers every purpose.

Ivory Bar Soap the best of all lor Mechanics' use.

Wash your baby with Ivoiy Bar Soai:).

Wash yourself with Ivory Bar Soap.

Shampoo with Iv' ry Ear Soap.

Ivory Bar Soap will Clean anything.

Ivory Bar Soap will not injure anything.

Wash linen lawns w^ith lyory Bar Soap.

Wash your hair with Ivory Ear Soap.

Clean painted wood with Ivcry Bar Scsp.

Wash furnituro with Ivory Ear Soap.

Wash your hands with Ivory Ear I: cap.

Clean silverware with Ivory Ear Soap.

Ivory Bar Soap is healing- in its efiect.

Remove grease spots with Ivory Ear boap.

Ivory Bar Soap improves the complexion.

Experts pronounce Ivory Bar Soap unequalled,

Bathe with Ivory Bar Soap, it is luxurious and

refreshing.
You get Ivory Bar Soap in pound, two pound sin
^ ounce, and three poand bars, cut it up any size

to suit yourselves.

ASK YOUR GROCER FOR IT.

Manufactured at the

BRANTFORD *** SOAP a WORKS

A. WATTS & CO.,

Brantfprd, « - « Ontario, Canada

C O N T E N T S.

I-

CHAPTER I.

PAGE

THE ABBEY 1

CHAPTEK II.
THE CONFERENCE 15

CHAPTER III.
THE TOKEN 44

CHAPTER IV.
GEMMA 67

CHAPTER V.
BLANCHE 9-

CHAPTER VI.
**THE FATAL JEWEL" 105

CHAPTER VII.
KILFEREAN llG

CHAPTER VIII.
CYPRTAN's TRUST .. 132

Dr« Morse's Indian

Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian
Root Pills.

Dr. Morses Indian

Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian

Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian

Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian
Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian

Root Pills.

Dr. Morse's Indian

Root Pills

CuroJ of Inoigebtioa and Headache.
St. Arulrew's, Que., — March 31, 18S7.

\V. II. C'OMSTOCK.

1)1. Alt SiK,— iMokse's Indiax Root
I'li.LS have bcnelUod nie won. orfully.
I'Or months I siifleixd from Indirection
and licadaclic, %vas rcstlc,^ al night and
li;id ji bail taste in my nuuUli every
niornins^-, after takin'^ one b x of the
Fills, all the.se trouldes di.-appenred, my
ood digested Weil and niy sleep was
refreshing. My hcaltii i.s now good.

Daniel Horan.

What Morse's Pills are thought of at
Riverbaiik, Out.

Rivcrbank, Jan. 31, 1SS7.
Mr. Comstock.

Dk.vr. 81K,— I write to tell yoii in this
section of the coantry Dk." ]M(ji<.sf.'s
L-jDiA.x lloMT Pii,Ls have a good name.
J will give you the names of one or two
per.sons who have u.sed them and are
loud in their praises. ]Mr. Kobt. Smith
wlio lias been an invalid for many years
has triid many medicines for regulating'
liie bowels, but none suited him till he
trifd M()RS!'.s Indian Root Pir.i.s. He
savs that there was no ui'pleasanteifects
atier t iking them, the aciion beir<j mild
and free from pain.

Mrs, jas. Gilmour, the mother of a
largo family, speaks in hiyh terms of
the benefit sbe and her fainily derived
from theirusc. Mrs.Jas. Hamilton said
to me, "1 tliank you verv much for the
box of Mokse's P11.L.S vou recom-
niended me to try wlien I was so sick.
Ti;"_, have macie a new Avoman of me."
Yours Respectful,

Mrs. jJarv Hollis,

Agent.

IS- To save Doctor's Bills use Dr.
Morse's Indian Root Pills. The Best
Family Pill in use.

PRICE 25c. PER BOX.

For Sale by all Dealers.

3»

W. H. COMSTOCK,

Sole Proprietor,

BROCKVILLE, « . . ONTAEIO,

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

CHAPTER I.

THE ABBEY

KiLFERRAN Abbey is situated in a wild and
romantic part of the sontb-west of Ireland. The
coast thereabouts is grand and craggy, broken
into strange shapes, majestic sweeps, and sheer
precipices ; beyond it thunder the great ocean
waves, the long, sw^eeping ''rollers" of the
Atlantic.

They who w^ould see Kilferran Abbey must
not shun rough roads and lonely paths ; they
must not shrink from the sense of solitude, or
expect to find anything like the show places
of the great Enolish landowners. No smooth
shrub-bordered carriage road at Kilferran ; no
deftly - adj usted plantation, bringing out the
*' poiiits " of the ruin ; ao wide, grassy esplanade,
or well-kept grassy court; no flaunting flag;

2 THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

no trained ivy or luxuriant Virginia creeper
bii]ir]0[ tlie giiiuit grininess of decay.

The inland approach to Kilferran, from Bally-
caJie], tlie county toNvn, is monotonous and un-
interiistiug, like much of the inland scenery of
Ireland even in the south, bears few evidences
of prosperity, and has little diversity or sylvan
charm.

The Ahhey turns its hack upon the visitor
who comes to it by the laud way, and its back
is not imposing. AYlien it is a})proached from
the west by tlie irregular, precipitous road,
winding throi.r^h oreat i»'a])s, from whose rockv
sides ferns sprinp", aiul down wliose rugged sur-
face pure sparkling water trickles, forming tiny
threads of rivulet bilow, a)id makinix a tinkle
as of fairv music in the stilliu^ss of the summer
noon, and under the solemn moonliiiljt in the
nioht, the old bull din or looks m-aud. It stands
on the fa,ce of a hill with steep scarped sides ; a
deep roadway is cut in the rock, on wdiicli the
ironshod hoofs of horses ring as on an old
Roman causeway. Groups of cattle on the plains,
ge.ats clambering about the hills, the screaui of
the curlew fij^ing far in from the frequent
storm, the graj^-blue sky, piled with the low-
Ijiin^ fejitasuc ciouds, tluit veil the face of

TUD ABBi:^

heaven from tlie lands near the sea ; these are
the surroundings of the ancifut Al)l)ey, once a
place of grnat fame and much resoit in l)yg(»ne
times, wlie'i it was a monnstory of thn Domini-
can Order. From Kilf;'rran, prciichfrs, full of
fire and ehxjueiico, of zeal and severity, had
gone abroad to preach in Ireland, and in distant
lands beyond that sea, with the sound of whose
distant waters the voices of ihe bells of Kilft^'ran
mingled. Those famous ludls, masterpieces of a
Flemi-h founder's art, were biought to the Abbey
in its high and palmy <]ays by one Fran«oois de
Vahnont, who lived, and worked, and died, a
member of the Dominican Community, and
whose name in religion was Cy[>rian.

In those days France was a long way off from
Irehmd ; at a distance, indeed, which, (except to the
great nobles, to statesmen, to soldiers, and to the
Friars Preachers, implied absolute strangeness
and division, such as do not now exist between
our island kingdoms and any portion of the
known earth. From the Abbey of Kilfei'ran
went manv an earnest, eati'er-facod monk in the
Dominican robe, and cloak, and cowl, to mingle
with the motley world awliile, and preach to
unwillino^ ears the vanitv of earth, the worth of
heaven, and then to return, and keep the severe

B 2

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

but peaceful rule of St. Dominic. But Brother
Cyprian, the Frenchman, lived always within
the Abbev, altboui-h a tradition lino'ored longj
among the perisaiitry of the place — who had
little lore beside, or nutriment for the ever
active Irish imamiuition — that no more learned
mai or "gohlen-mouthed," had dwelt among
the Friars Preachers.

The Abbev, within whose ancient walls
Francois de Valmont found peace, and buried
the story of his foi-mer life, was already ancient
when he claimed its shelter,. The famous bells,
his miinificcnt gift, were landed from a foreign
craft, the fashion of whose sails was declared
to be " outlandish." A rumour soon gained
ground that the novice had brought much
wealth to the Community, in addition to his
gift of the bells — these the people regarded
with superstitious veneration.

If, however, Brotiier Cyprian had brought
wealth with him into the c.oister, there was no
external evidence of its expenditure ; the Com-
munity bought no more land, his own life was as
obscure as that of any humble lay -brother there ;
indeed, his name was rarely heard while he lived.
But for "the musical, mao^ical bells," he miijht
have been forgotten as utterly as any of the fore-

THE ABBEY 5

gone brethren of the Order, who mouldered away
in nameless sepulture in the Abbey burial-ground
under the shade of the thick eastern wall. One
sturdy fragment of that wall is still standing,
and the irregularities of the earth indicate that
ancient and forgotten graves arc there. But the
bells kept the memory of Brother Cyprian fresh
for scores of years, even after they had been
carried oil* from the ruined and dismantled
Abbey, and hung in the belfry of a church of the
reformed faith in the county town.

Deep and deadly, though suppressed, under
the iron lule of the time, was the wrath of the
people, when Brother Cyprian's bells, with their
beautiful dedicatorv legends and their orthodox
baptism, were transferred to the enemy of
their country and their faith. Deep, deadly,
and vain ; for the people were helpless. But
there was something on their side — some-
thinof they could not define, did not care to
investigate, did not dare openly to claim and
exult in, but, nevertheless, did believe in
and did cherish, as an imaginative race ever
cherishes an idea which combines the sentiments
of religion and revenge. The men employed
to hang the bells in their new place fell from
the scailblding, and were mortally hurt ; the

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

beifr}^ was strnrk by liglitning and Inirled to the
giciuid ; the bells were split in the fjdl, and when
rest>re'l, they cracked of their own accord. At
length, no man, in all the parish, could be found
to (-iliciate as bell-i'inocr, for all knew that he
who made Brotlicr Cy}irian's belLs to chime in
obedience to the strai)<;er and the heretic, would
have no place by any fireside, no partner in
the dance, no wife from any pleasant household,
no nunc in sickness; that he would, in (act, be
outcjist from his fellows. The power of the
stronir band availed nothino; airainst this re-
solve of ti:e iiiceiiscd j'CO[)le. There were cruel
laws enouoh in Ir* land then ; but short of
the subjeciiou of slavery, none which could
be jipiilied to loice a num to ring Cyprian's
bells, and so their sonorous voices were
hushed.

The tnidition lasted ; dormant, indeed, for
none cared to ronse it. At length, in the lapse
of time, the bells dis;>ppeaved, none knew
exactly when, or how. Tlie explanation might
have been simple ; but mystery was preferable,
and the mystery was established. But in the
course of years, when infants of the days in which
the avoided place of Cyprian's bells had been
unaccountably left tenantless, were grown meu

■M

THE ABBEY

■ ■%
4

'■'>!
'•■i

and women, it began to be rumoured that tlie
bells had again been heard on the heights of
Kilferran, and also from the sea, in the calm,
slumbering, sparkling time of summer, and on
wintry nights, when the watch would listen
from shipboard for their solemn, elevating,
admonitory music. Young mothers watching
by their sick infants' cradles, mourners by
death-beds, sorrow-stricken people heavily laden
with sin and grief ; above all, the dying, heard
the bells. And it was held to be '* a good
sion " for those who heard the ancient niu^'c.
The happy hearers were not afraid, although no
one knew where the bells hung or if tijey were
in existence, under any furm ; although ceuturi-s
had passed since anv sound had come irom tliede-
serted ruins of Kilferran but the swish of the
bat's wing, the hooting of the owl, or the twit-
tering of nesting birds among the ivy. They
were not afraid, nor had tliey any doubt that
the voices were those of Cyprian's bells. So that,
although it was always sad, yet it was accounted
blessed to have heard those bells : many a
sick heart had listened for their sound until
beniirnant fancy prod

iy pri

in I

longi

was satisfied ; the link of sense with the super-
natural was f>rantcu.

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

These occurrences were, however, of late
date, when ruin had so taken possession of
Kilferran Abbey that one would have needed a
keen imagination, and knowledge of the archi-
tecture of the period at w^hich it had been built,
to restore it to the mind's eye, as it was when
tlie sandaUed feet of Brother Cyprian trod its
cloisters while he mused among the graves — so
numerous even then — a man with a refined,
dark, French face, eager, and yet weary, and
strangely unlike the faces of his brethren.
The front of the Abbey was of great extent, and
it can now be traced, in all its length, although
of the remainder a mere shell exists. Tiie wide
and lofty entrance is in the centre, and a por-
tion of the stonework above the arch of the
massive gateway is in good preservation. This
portion consists of a long line of short, bulky
columns, which once formed the external side of
the principal cloister, and was probably con-
tinued on three sides of the building. Of
decoration, of the artistic skill and taste with
wliich the monks of old were wont to adorn
their dwelliiigs, the visitor will at first suppcjse
that no trace remains. The fragments of the
walls are rouoh fraoments. The time-worn
rugged surface of the columns which are still

KMCHa

■uawH^i^Ma

THE ABBEY

standing, in tbeir firm and massive sockets —
formed of the dreary-looking grey stone tliat
is so enduring — bears no impress of the
sculptor's hand. But when the visitor stands
close by the doorway, and carefully scans the
line of stonework just above the columns, he
observes a few feet of masonry, projecting to-
wards the hollow, empty centre, and makes out
how there once was in that place the massive
flooring of a great gallery, probably consisting
of cells or dormitories. On narrow inspection,
he sees that there w^as also a fire-place, and in
the few feet of wall remaining, the mutilated
remains of a sculptured tablet may be discerned,
just above the tenth column, counting from the
right side of the great entrance. The relief is
•almost obliterated by age and exposure ; the
corners are chipped, green stains mar the surface,
and a deep crack traverses the tablet, so that
one wonders it has not Ions: as^o fallen from its
position and been added to the heap of ruin
around. There is no means of climbing up to
the level of this sad little relic of a dead and
gone artist's handiwork, and it is difficult to
make out the design of the bas-relief. The
visitor is told that it represents the winged lion
of St. Mark, and people suppose that, in old

TTna aTTTlFX'S TOKE^

times, the distinctive signs of the Four Evange-
lists were sculptured upon the walls of Kilfernin.
Who was the sculptor ? No one knows. Perhaps
some wanderer coming from the distant sunny
home of the arts to this remote place — where
they were but little known, and met scant
welcome — set the mark of the Christian revela-
tion upon the yet unconsecrated w^alls, and
went his way ; perhaps the artist was a monk,
learned in other lore than the learning of
his brethren, and whose peaceful dust has
mingled with theirs for ages. There is no
other trace of any but the mason's skill at
Kilferran.

A short distance down the coast, and
formed by the sweep of the hills about
Kilferran, is a good harbour, where many ships
are no uncommon sight, and where, even in
those far-away days, there was much recourse
of shipping, for commercial purposes, espe-
cially for those generally known as " the Por-
tingal trade." Many a voyager landed in that
harbour, took horse and guide and set forth for
Kilferran, where he would be well received and
hospitably entertained, and having conferred
with the monks, and, mayhap, brought them
news of their foreign brethren, or more general

mmmm

THE ABBKY

intelligence of the world ontpule, would go on
his way to encounter the vicissitudes of a
troublous time, casting a wistful l)ackward look
at the peaceful place he left behind. The
dwellers by the shore were rude peasants,
mostly fishermen, near the A.bbey ; the towns,
with their more cultivated and crafty inhabi-
tants, lay beyond the harbour far to the south-
ward of Kilferran. All dsitors to the Abbey
had to come thither of special purpose ; it did
not lie in any track, and the brother porter had
ample notice of an arrival, before he needed to
let fall the ponderous chain f»"om off the heavy
black-oak door, and ask the pleasure of the
stranger.

Seven years had elapsed since the world had
lost siijlit of Francois de Valniont, and all
the country around Kilferran Abbey had come
to know how great were the learning, the piety,
and the austerity of Brother Cyprian ; but no
stranger had ever asked to speuk with him ; no
news from the external world had reached him,
in particular. Great events had happened since
he looked his last on his native land ; some
terrible scenes in the history of the world had
been witnessed, and it had gone very hard, not
only with the society from which he had cut

TTfTj QUUEN'S TOKEy

himself adrift, but with a great part of that in
which he had taken refuge. Kilferran Abbey
owed its safety to its remoteness — to its a ^ja-
rent insiguificauce. It is probable that many
of the men in power, engaged in destroying the
ancient monastic institutions of the land, did not
know anything about the obscure Dominican
house, or did not think it worth the trouble of
exploration. Be that as it may, the turn of
Kilferran had not come yet ; the Community
were still pursuing their way of life, and hold-
ing their goods in peace, although disquieting
rumours of the dealings of Elizabeth's EuoHsh
deputies with the Irish people and their faith
had reached the Abbey, when the first sign was
giv^en that any tie still existed between Brother
Cyprian and the external world.

It was a glorious day, late in the summer ;
the fields were fast ripening for the harvest;
the sea was slumbering in the sunny haze ; all
sounds had a reluctant, drowsy tone in them ;
the cattle lay down in content, and the motion-
less trees suddenly rustled at intervals as though
with stealthy pleasure. , ^

In a small room, with a grated window and
bare white walls, sat Brother Cyprian, poring

THE ABBEY

over gome folios of quaint writing on parchment.
His dark face wore its usual eager expression,
as with one lean brown forefinger he followed
the lines of the writing, and his thin lips moved
in unison with his detnpherment. Brother
Cyprian looked every inch a monk; but yet, an
observer, studying him closely, without his
knowledge, would have divined that with other
surroundings, he might have looked every inch
a statesman or a soldier. The sound of a horse's
hoofs was ringing en the fc«:;ny road, but it
did not reach his ears, nor did the clanging
of the chain, and the opening of the great door.
Presently a lay-brother entered and told him
there was one below who demanded to see him,
and was now in audience with the Prior. Brother
Cyprian looked up, with surprise and uneasi-
liews, his finger keeping its place upon the line
he had reached, and asked the lay-brother to
repeat his words. Then he rose, and, paler by
many shades of his olive skin, went to the
vaulted parloir, where he found the Prior, in
cloak and cowl, and with him a man in the
prime of life, of soldierly aspect, and, despite
his clumsy and stained travelling dress, of a
handsome and gallant presence. As Brother

THE QUEEN *S TOKEN

Cyprinn entered with Ids noiseless st^n ..
«tran.er advanced to him wil ^ ^' ^'
arms. ^^^^^ outstretched

"Fi''i»9ois!" he exclaimed.
"Louis! iVly brother!"

BSSsSKjBKsEa

CHAPTER IT.

THE CONFERENCE

" You never sought to learn what has been
my fate since we parted, Frangois," said
Louis de Vahnont to his brother, when they
were alone ; and as he spoke he looked closely
: in Brother Cyprian's face, trying to discern in
> it some trace of the feelings, the interests of the
past. Not quite in vain. The elder man's face
was not impassive, although it still bore the
impress of separation. It said plainly: "Your
world has ceased to be mine ; but I can
throw my mind back into it again, for
awhile, for your sake." There was no lack of
interest in the monk's slow smile, although
it wanted the tenderness that exists only with
association.

"You are wrong," said Brother Cyprian, iu

: r

I'llE QUE EN • 8 TOKEN

the Jong unspoken Jan-ruTvo „f i.-

" 1 iKive hear 1 of you In ? f """■'^'' ^""'^•

«'■•" hold ,our 1 Lr; r/'^'- '^"^' '^■-' you

a.Kl at tl,e Court M ' ? ^"^""'- "^ *''« King
. >- i-c, not ; Jr J^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

-",^'ht else I ea^Jto 1.7 7''~'t'" "'^

-••'--. I knew I .w,,;i,/;j-j;-' to

y°u 111 this world anri T ^ ' '"'"■■ of

you are I" ' "''/ ^"^ "^i-t; for here

- " And have you re.lly „„ desiro-no I •
to know more than th„t? r. . "''"-

back to the We ,.,,, ,,, ' ,^„f 3-ou never look

yo" utterly ceased to 1, te '„'''"'' '""''^
Have you forgotten ? " '"" ^'°" ^•"'^ ?

"I have forgotten nothin-. " s,i,wu
-the gesture with which lie , "'"""^ '^

•'> «mpl.a.is was slow a ? n''""'' "^ '"'"^
fl-f- that oversprea " t ""^^•" '"'* ^''^^
• q-'-k and invohritary .:;„!"' ^ '-''"■^■J^- --

and your Jife-there is nothi-^ "''" "'° • '

*■» not Franco!. .. .^f ""^ "' *="™™-'- I

Cypnan, the Dominican "

"is; I am

I ha

^e made a

7' " *o see you, to confer

broth(
Cliurchman thoucrh

^'oya?e/' said ]j
with

now

'"ftii X ivnow vou ■
you as to a brother; not a monk

you ; and,
you to be, I come to

THE COS FERE XCE

^^^ you

^ thnt

1 to
n- of
iiere

Brother Cyprian's face changed now, and
there was a soft pity in his smik% as he looked
at the speaker intently.

** Think that you have come to me as both,
Louis, that will be best. Tell me how you
travelled hither, and why, and how it comes
'lat you have left Paris. Surely the place has
I fc become hateful and deadly to you too ?
There is dancjer imd ditficultv, and much weari-
liCss in such a voynge ; and, as I remember you,
it is only to the first you would be inditferent."

" I came hither in a trading-ship from
Bordeaux," replied Louis. " The good people of
this savage island have one human trste at
least — they love our wines. I was recommended
to the captain of a trader bound ^to this port, and
we had many storms ; but I cared little, my
mind beinsr set on the business I came here to
do, and on the more distant voyage that is before

me.

" Still another voyage, my brother ! and
whither?"

" You shall hear. When I reached the har-
bour yonder, the captain put me in the way of
procuring a horse and a guide. He knows
the place and the people, and, I dare say, has
done some illicit bu^^inoss with them in his

time— -he

^'^^' ^^^m>S TOKE^

toJrl

speaks freely of th

'«e his concernfna J),

eir thoughts, and

7 • 1 •

o"er roads before me th

as w

rono-h

•ad
^^ s^iore, and
but J ]j

-^' - such assured „;:, ,7 *? '" ^Ufe
-' forth, earl, this J^,: 5^ ^^^P'

ave

'iTan.

morning, and

J^"^-^^^7 in silence, fbr

^^^^^^^^d aij this :Jl '

^ reception. J
performed my

bead.

^earj way besi

peasant Jad, w]

:I(

^' ^ wild creature T ' ^^ ^^^^^'^^

.icacuie, and sdp/iU v.. i

^ver^heard by polit

e ears,

speaks no J,

-li^guno-e

^^^e people are native Irf.h ^
own tonrrue" ''^^ -^^^sb, and

Lik

speak their

J-^^gb though \h
beautiful, with aJJ
^ess. so unJil,

e enouo-h • T T^« r

"f ' ^' perforce, held

road be, th(

mine. But

--; ou uniiiie (
■""St not say our

^ts Jon e] in e

count]

•y is

ss and its wild-

^"^' France. But I f,;

BO ties.

a monk has

Not

ot— I
"o eountiy, and

'"' ^""'^ '• «ay rather all th,
^e. and suifbr is th,

"1 which men li
--^t^,andhuma.-t;;;::

WeJJ

'oth

er.

}}

World
e monk's

n^ai^, from whose face th

faded, and was

r ""T'' ^''«P"fe." said th

e younoer

passing tightness Ld

Z' "" ^'' "0^ rqJaced by . r '

«'e« anxiety. «The world^ ! "':"!

•«ion
as not been

THE CONFERENCE

■^^ts, and
^'s a bad

oro, and

J have-

'^^erran,
ion. I

'ed niv

I who

horse's

;gUcige

■ their

But

y is

^vild-
t— I
and

ad
3H

so friendly to me that I need fight its battles.
I often think, Francois, the fate whicli left
us fiitherless and motherless — you in your
childhood and I in my cradle — has pursued
me ever siuce."

" And not me ? " asked the elder brother,
with a wistful look.

" I cannot tell — nobody can tell. The cloud
of your reserve has always been itupenetrable ;
and the world says that only one person in
it, besides yourself, knows what it was that sent
the brilliant, the successful, the gallant Francois
de Valmont into the cloister."

" And that one person ? " asked the monk, in
a tone which, in spite of him, was anxious and

eager.

" Madame Marguerlt<', the Quedn of Navarre."
The monk smiled. *' The world is as wTong
as I have always found it," said he calmly.
" Let it guess ; we will leave it and its surmises
alone, and speak of you and the business which
has brought you hither. Some rumours of the
Court at Paris have reached us here. One is
that a marriage betw^een one of the princes and
the English Queen is planned. Has Mon-
seigneur d'Anjou or d'Alenjon sent you on a
'. . 5

TUli QUJiBX's TOKEN

1 I

way roundel to fu|« i^" ^""^^ ^°" """"^ *« this
stoue'tth ^n^'T ^""^ ''"*"' ''™^'^If on a

%,l>'-s manner, histotanl r^"/"^^'"''^^^^^
-de hi3 brother nnaei^^^^^^^^^^^^

ti3 own past was for ever elold ^ ^''' °^

-'^«- "Y-said,.uJ:^^t:,-f"'''ose

from the outer world toM , , ''"^''^

-ot look at me with ir. "7 ''^ *"'''^- O''
face." "'^ condemnation in your

offendiu<.yourui„„ ' , ^°" '^ ^"^'^ «tory.

>ou cannot understand. I 1,,^^ „

tell you what I am goin. to do I, "' *"

Clever hear of me mo^e 7 T ', '" '^'' '^ ^'^u

I am about to IZ ^'"'^ '" '''« «ff-'-t

oouc to make, you may know tl,-,t r v

pernio u. doing my knigl^tJy duty." ""^'^

THE CONFEBEXCE

le all this

^elf on a
> and lie

^ttentioij.
e lie htid
ubject of

'ity than
watched
^aJ in oat
peaking
ii thosG
'hani^ed
t story

1. Do

n your

"An enterprise on behalf of the Queen of
Scots ! " said Brother Cyprian quickly.

**Yes, an enterprise for her — for her whom
f[\te and fortune have deserted : for her wlio
languishes in an English prison — a palace, they
say, but a prison to her most hateful and
intolerable."

** For her who forsook friends when she had
them, and whose fatal face has sent many a man
to his ruin. Louis, I have done with all these
gauds of women's follies and coquetries ; but
how did she treat you in old times, when you
came up to the Court, a mere boy, and wore her
colours and her chains ? I heard something of
this even then, and "

"How did yhe treat me?" said Louis de
Valmont exdtedly ; *' how but as a qu^^en treats
her servants ; as a woman made more royal by
her beauty and her grace, than by the two
crowns she wore and the third she has the
right to wear, treats those whom she designs
to use ? What was I to her more than all the
others who lived in the light of her smile ?
Was it her fault that she was fatal ? Who
has suffered as she has, because to see her was
to find it easy to die for her, and to be near
her, even unnoticed, was better than any other

TUT] QVEF.N*S TOKFN'

lot on earth ? You remember her, Francois ?
You remember the little Queen Marie, and how
she would not suffer her page to be slighted
by any one, not even her haughty uncle Guise
himself? We were all very young then, not
much more than children — she a girl-bride, a
girl-queen. What are we now ? You only
know how it has been with you since that
bright and glorious time ; but I — I have
sickened of life, of the drao^e^lnof, lincrerinpj
days, which, when they brought any news of
the widowed Queen of France, the sad 'white
queen,' who went away to the north land, to
the savage people who tortured, and betrayed,
and slandered her, brought bad, terrible news.
It was hard enough to know of her marriage
with the brutal Darnley, and the misery that
came of it."

" And the crime, they say," interposed
Brother Cyprian emphatically.

"But they lie ! They lie, like the traitors
and the cowards they are. Crime ! You can-
not have forgotten her ; and yet you must, or
you could not mention her name and crime
in the same breath. Do not make me sorry
that I have come to you, my brother — that I

h
tJ

a^
w|

tujj: coyFEi:i:yci!

', Fran9ois ?
Je, and how-
be slighted
uncle Guise
r then, not
■irl-bride, a

You only

since that
— I have
lingering
7 news of
sad 'white
fi land, to

betrayed,
ible news.

niarriaofe
sery that

' traitors
^^ou can-
niust, or
^ crime
le sorry
—that I

am resolved to trust you. But no ; this is
only your device to turn me from a danger."

" I have not forgotten the Queen of Scots,"
said Brother Cyprian, and now his long thin
hand hid the lower part of his face ; " but I
have heard from unprejudiced persons the his-
tory of her disastrous reign in her own kingdom.
You cannot prove that rumour errs in declaring
her a guilty w^omao, ^ailty even beyond the
wickedness which w^e have known in high
places ; and though you could, what would it
avail you now ? You are no nearer to this
woman — a wife still, remember — the wife of
the savage northern earl, Darnley's murderer,
than in her early days when she bound you
captive by a smile and a word ; and she is
also a prisoner in an enum \ 's country, where
the knowledge of your swuni service and de-
votion wouhl be your iuin, and, it may be, a
deadly wrong to her. What would you do,
Louis ? Avail yourself of your favour at the
French Court, and carry diplomatic messafres
to those bears and wolves of the north ? Do
you not know that France is abhorrent to them,
as the country of M.iry of Guise, who forfeited
their independence, and made the policy of the

THJ^ QUEEN'S TOKEN

Scottish kino^dom suhsorvient to the ambition
of Duke Henri and Cardinal Francois? What
weiglit do you carry, my brother, to counterpoise
all this ? What is it you would do ? "

** Nothing of the sort you think," answered
Louis de Valmont impatiently. " I have no
acknowledged mission. J am not going to
parley with the accursed traitors who have
betrayed their queen — that fair young girl, so
soft, so sweet, so bright, who was entrusted to
them by those who must have known — or what
do the resources of power mean ? — how utterly
unworthy they were of such a charge, of so
gentle and gracious a ruler. A dove in the
eagle's nest, indeed I You remind me that
Marie " (his voice fell and his colour rose as
he pronounced the .word) "is as far from me
as ever. Needless zeal, my brother. She never
could be other to me than my sovereign mistress
and queen, the ruler of my destiny, to dispose
of it with a word. She is a wife, not knowing
her husband's fate, as ignorant of her own.
Men who cannot understand her frank, fearless
nature, say she is heartless, and faithless, and
wicked. Even if all they say were true, I do
not care. My life is hers, let her do with it
as she will."

■.'^_

THE CONFERENGE

the ambition
9ois ? What
counterpoise

k," answered
* I have no
't going to
' who have
ung girl, so

entrusted to
vn — or what
■how utterly
Large, of so
ove in the
I me that
)ur rose as
r from me

She never
^Q mistress

to dispose
>t knowinof

her own.
ik, fearless
thless, and
true, I do
lo with it

A glance of keen intelligence shot from
[Brother Cyprian's dark-brown eyes, and he took
[the concealing hand from before his mouth.

** Then she has summoned you I She has sent
I for you to do some dangerous, perhaps some
deadly deed, in her service. Beware, Louis ! I
knew her before you did, and I know the school
Ishe was trained in— -beware lest the guilt of
blood stain your hands — innocent blood it may
be, and shed in vain ! "

" I have said I do not care ! No matter
what she commands, it shall be done, if I can
do it, at any cost. I believe her to be as in-
nocent as she is beautiful, as deepiy wronged
as she is fascinating ; but, if I did not so be-
lieve, I would do just the same. Thus, and
thus only, do I interpret knightly truth and
fidelity"

Brother Cyprian extended his hand in de-
precation of the other's vehemence, and answered
sadly :

** Of course it is thus with you, as with all
her bondsmen. There is a magic of subtleness
and potency such as Nostradamus Oiid Ruggieri
never dreamed of, and this fair woman was ever
a mighty witch. You are under the spell, my
brother, aud I cannot exorcise you. Let wo

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

harsh words, no upbraidings, pass between you
and me. Tell me simply how it is now with
the Queen of Scots ; what are her commands
to you, and wherein I can serve her cause, or
yours — I, a poor monk of St. Dominic, under
obedience in this remote place — far from either
of those kingdoms which banished her, and from
that one wherein she has been so evil-entreated.
It is with the knowledge and consent, if not
by the command of the Queen of Scots that
you are here, Louis, I am sure of it."

The monk's voice was changed, and when
he ceased to speak, his hand once more concealed
the too expressive mouth.

" I am here by her command ; but I have
had no word of writing from her, or message
by word of mouth, only a Token, a certain and
faithful messenger, one which cannot be inter-
rogated, and therefore cannot betray — one which
cannot be imitated, and may therefore be im-
plicitly trusted. It was signified to me, when
the fatal news, that the Queen had put herself
into the power of the bastard English tyrant,
reached me, that I should hold myself in
readiness to go to England, and aid her escape
from her hateful durance, somehow. I was to
leave Fi^a&ce on the lecci^ o£ a Token — having

-4

THE CONFERESCS

Jen you
•w with
nmaiids
ause, or
!, under
L either
id from
treated,
if not
;s that

previously collected all the money which I could
amass — and, taking this money with me, was to
place it in safe hiding until she had been rescued,
and had need of it. I have accordingly for
some time past been realising all the wealth
at my disposal — the greater part of it was once
yours, my brother — and turning it into jewels,
as the most portable form for an emergency. I
have gained a reputation for eccentricity at
Court : there is not a Venice merchant, not a
Florentine, not a Pole — we are great friends of
the Poles now — who does not know that in me
he is sure of a purchaser for his costly wares.
There is not a gallant at the Court, except it
be Monseigneur d'Anjou,* whose dress is so be-
gemmed as mine. There is, however, one jewel
in my possession, which no other eyes have ever
seen, since it has been mine, though it was
famous enough once — it is now supposed to be
lost, as 11 reality its fellow has long been."
" That jewel is the Queen's Token ? "
" It is. When the Token reached me I knew
what I had to do. Then I knew she needed me,
that her position had become intolerable, that

* This ^^""ince shortly afterwards became King of
Poland, and was subsecjuentJy Kiug of France, as
Henri. III. ...

TEE QUEEN*S TOKEN

her unnaturnl kinswoman was lioMino^ her in
durance, and hope was fading from ber undannted,
queenly soul ; that friends were few, and fearful,
perhnps faithless — more than this, that she had
need of me! Would she forgive me, if I could
not quite keep down the joy that knowledge
caused me ? If you were not a monk, if you
could judge of such things by any feelings of
your own, 1 would ask you to say you believe
JMarie would forgive me, if she knew that
though the Token could oidy reach me through
trouble and perplexity of hers, the sight of
it made mv heart bound with a sudden sense of
hope and freedom ? "

'* The Queen of Scots," said Brother Cyprian
drily, "is likely to be merciful to any fault
which proves her power over a man's feelings
and his will."

"Answered like a monk," said the younger
man. "No matter; I have the Token, and
the first portion of my purpose is accomplished.
Can you not now see that I had another motive
beyond that of seeing and consulting you, for
coming hither?"

" No," said Brother Cyprian. ** I do not see
your meaning. You muse explain your further
design and plan of action."

place
watch
I mean
I of th

I of th(
4 of he
J is mej
■Inot tc
iCharh
Iquain
J been
I force
iQueen
|victin
iBpirin,
■fScots
ake
hicl
Iworth

I spurs,
^ Scots

ithis ?

1 *^
i Medici

THE CONFERENCE

11? her in
ndaiHitcd,
id fearful,
t she hnd
if I could
V now ledge
k, if you
eeliugs of
)u believe
new that
6 through
sight of
sn sense of

ir Cyprian
any fault
*s feelings

younger
)ken, and
Qiplished.
er motive

tr you, for

lo not see
Lir further

" Willinorlv. The Queen of Scots is at a

1 place called Tatbery, where she is ji alonsly

I watched, and tormented by every dm'ice of a

J mean woman's time-seiving spite, by the wife

I of the Earl of Shrewsbury, one of the creatures

iof the English Queen. This countess is jenlous

1 of her captive, and I am well advised that she

is meanly entertained, even for a lady of estate,

not to vspeak of her Grace being a Queen. King

Charles and Madame Catherine* are well ac-

iquainted with the truth, and remonstratice has

J been made to Elizabeth, who denies that any

force or violence have been used towanls the

Queen of Scots, and charges the hel{)les3

victim, immured in an odious prison — with con-

Bpiring against her, with sending letters to the

Scots lords, requiring them to take up arms,

make an inroad to her prison, and set her .^ee.

Which things, had there been any among them

worthy to be called noble, any fit to wear guide n

spurs, and carry their liege lady's colours, these

Scots lords would have done."

** And does the Queen of Soots deny
this ? "

" Yes ; she declares that she haG> not written

* Charles the Ninth. The Queeii Mother, Caiherine de
Medicis.

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN'

nny snrh letter, or roprcsented Eliziboth'a be-
lijiviour in a liaiah li^lit."

"And yet she has sent to yoit jnst such
coTTiplnints as those, nnd arranged with you a
phni for lier release — surely not undertaken alone
and without concert. Louis, do you not see
that this is ruin ? Do you not see that only
the utter failure of her schemes within a
narrower ran<^e can have driven her to the
forlorn hope of your assistance ? "

" It may be so, most like it is, for your cold
wisdom sees clearer and farther than my im-
petuous faiih. But so be it. I shall have in
my life one nour worth ending it for, the hour in
which Marie shall know that I have come over
land and sea at her call, ready for any attempt,
however desperate, to join the few who are
still faithful to her in her fallen fortunes — for
/ a7n not alone in this — the hour in which she
shall thank me by one look."

Brother Cyprian made no reply. He placed
his elbows on the black-oak table, and hid his
face in his hands. A ray of the summer
sunlight shone through the painted window,
striking sharply the edge of the thick, deeply
cut stone wall, touching the shaven crown
of the monk's bowed head, and glinting

THE COKFEREKCW

fifth's be-

jnst such
th you a
ken alone
1 not see
that only
within a
T to the

your cold

my im-

htive in

e hour in

ome over

attempt,

who are

anes — for

v'hich she

le placed

hid his

summer

window,

J, deeply
crown
glinting

on the burnislied sword-hilt and long spurs
of the stranger.

** Look how the sun comes out," snid Louis

de Valmont. "I am a believer in omens, and

here is a good one. Many a good omen has

attended me since I quitted Paris in obedience

to her Token, and I have welcomed them all.

Listen, Francois. This is our — my plan. There

are negotiations for the marriage of this English

Queen with Monseigneur d'Anjou ; but they will

come to nothing. It is a scheme of Malame

Catherine's ; the Duke will have none of it.

When it is settled, and the envoys have talked

their fill about it, he will find a pretext, and the

negotiation will come" to an end. Then there

will be no more conciliation of England — then

the inquiries already made by La Motte w^ill be

followed up ; and if Marie were but safely out

of the hands of her foes, her interests would be

espoused by France. It is natural that they

should be ; for she has bequeathed all her rights

and claims to the house of Valois."

The young man spoke as ardently, as en-
treatingly, as though he were pleading the
Queen's cause, the cause on which he had set
his life, before one with power to judge it.
Hope, enthusiasm, courage, lighted up hia

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

handsome face, which resemMcd that of his
brother in form, but not in colouring or
expression. The younger man's hair and beard,
trimmed after the fashion of the time, were of a
golden brown hue, and his large, restless eyes
were lighter than the brown orbs of the monk,
in which time and habit had dimmed the light,
but increased the depth.

" Say that you think we must succeed,
Francois," he continued pleadingly. '" Tell me
that this risjhteous cause must be fav^oured of
God and blessed by the Church — that it must
prosper. Tell me that, brother, ai d also that I
sliall have your own blessing on my enterprise.
A ship will be in readiness to take the Queen on
board, when we can get her to the coast. I am
not afraid of doing: that. You can remember
the Queen -Danphiness in the hunting-field,
Fran9ois, long before I had ever seen her. You
remember how she rode ever foremost, and
fearlessly. The fame of her horsemanship
is almost as widespread in France ii.s ^lio fame
of her beauty ; and she has had sore need of
all her skill, strength, and. endurance since
tnen. Heard you here of her famous ride to
Carbery?"

" We have heard, among other things, that

i after

i rode
ment
after\>

I and (
dange
their

her.
more
appre(
I her to

TUE CONFERENCE 33

lat or ^is lifter lier escape from Lochleven, the Qneen out-
^^ f rode ner pursuers, aud avoided tluit imprison-
ment at the hands of her subjects which she
afterwards courted at those of her kinswoman
and enemy. But the Queen of Scots had ever
dangerous advisers near her, and a ready ear for
their counseh"

"You are hard and cold of speech concerning
her. Surely her great sorrows might claim
more sympathy, and somewhat soften your keen
appreciation of her faults, if faults you believe
her to have."

" I do not only believe, I know her to have
fatal faults," said Brother Cyprian ; " but I
am not thinking of them now, or indeed much
of her sorrows, but of you, and of this task
which you have undertaken for a fated cause.
Ay, Louis, a fated cause — Mary Stuart is fatal
to all who love and serve her. There is no
truth in her, there is no stability in her. When
she was a girl, almost a child, she ever won by
a ruse. She never valued loyalty or love ; she
lived but to betray. And so, I say, her cause is
doomed, is fatal. Stay ! let me go on. I have
little more to say, and I say it with conviction,
— not in useless warning — not to rouse your
anger, but to quiet my own conscience when

ourinor

and beard,
, w^erc of a
stless eyes
the monk,
i the light,

■ succeed,
•'^Tell me
Lvoured of
it it must
Iso that I
enterprise.
Queen on
Lst. I am
remember
I ting-field,
er. You
nost, and
emanship
'lie fame
e need of
:ice since
3 ride to

ngs, that

~~~~~"\im

THE QUEEN '8 TOKEN

this effort, too, shall have failed, and you arei^vho ha
sacrificed to the attempt, foredoomed from thtftad wh
first." their Q

"You will not aid me — you will not accept | «*I
my tru.st ? Are yon so utterly dead, then,|]ypriar
Francois ? Is all feeling so completely buried |o see t
under your monk's frock in this cold cloister ? " jt\^Q Qu(

" Not so, not so. I will aid you — I wil! *eneros
accept your trust. And I will say no more ol %orse i
warning. Are you sanguine of success ? When |iosta<ye
you shall have freed the prisoner by stratagem, *< J)
and brought her to the coast, when you shall IValois,
have embarked her in the ship and set sail, compai
forced to trust something to the fidelity of a |•b^t lat(
hired crew, where is she to land ? What country iQueen
is to receive her, and to defy Elizabeth's demand 4\nm an
for her restoration ? Is she to return to Scot- t^Q jj^r
land, there to adventure the effect of a presence llikewis
which had little influence in her youthful Ighips."
prime ? Is she to risk a landing on the shores
of France, to encounter the hatred of Madame
Catherine and the supineness of King Charles ? "

** No, no ; neither of these things is in her
mind or in mine, or in the mind of any of my | Louis,
colleagues. You leave Don Philip out of your 1 ^f ^h
calculations, brother — Don Philip, whose only
indomitable enemy is Elizabeth — Don PhiHp,

I Broth€
advani
delivei

ever.
it

THE CONFERENCE

md you are|vho has the chivalrous instincts of a Spaniard,
ed from thcind who hates Engknd, and the English, and
Iheir Queen."
not accept^ ««i had forgotten Don Philip," said Brother
dead, then, pypj-ian ; ** but for me to remember him, is only
itely buried |o see that you would be mad to attempt to land
cloister ? " the Queen of Scots in Spain, trusting to Philip's
rou I wil: generosity. She would but find herself in a
no more o! worse and more hopeless prison, the ill-treated
!ss . When bostage at once of France and England."
stratagem, « Don Philip's young wife, Elizabeth de
you shall Valois, Marie's sister-in-law, her friend, her

nd set sail.

companion in childhood, her bride-maiden, is

delity of a hut lately dead. He will be well disposed to tl

country Queen for her sake. And the bitterness between

8 demand him and Elizabeth is great, because of Alva, and

n to fecot- the harrying of the English in the Low Countries,

a presence likewise on account of the seizure of the Spanish

r youthful ^ships."

the shores | « d^^ phnip ^in not aid your cause," said
)f Madame | Brother Cyprian. " He will turn all to his own
arles . i advantage, and make peace with Elizabeth by
delivering up her rival. Pause and consider,
Louis. One precipitate deed now, and the ease
of the Queen of Scots is made worse than

is in her
my of my
it of your
hose only
)n Philip,

ever.

»>

"I cannot pause, I cannot consider. She is

D 9

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

wearing out her life, her beauty is fading, he
lieart is breaking, in the degrading bondage oflQa
her prison. She woukl change this for any lot|the
— for that of a peasant wlio is free. Let her butltru
escape, and all will be well." • licQl-

Brother Cyprian shook his head sadly. Ban

" I do not put faith in that," he said. " I do lacr
not believe the Queen of Scots would relish any Irec
liberty that was not restoration. You may free fper
her, but not iov flight alone, not for the peaceful |
hiding of the head which has worn two crowns. |thi
She will go from her prison to her throne, or j pre
to her grave."

" Then I will stand by the side of the one, or
die by the side of the other. The determination
of our plan in all its details is not in my hands ;
but you must help me in so much of it as this.
The treasure I have amassed is not to be expended
for the escape — that is otherwise provided for.
This treasure is to form her resource afterwarils,
to be carefully concealed, so that none shall
know of its existence save the Queen and myself.
When she needs it I will come for it, if I am
alive ; if not, you "

Brother Cyprian started, and exclaimed,

" Yes, you — for you will undertake the trust,

alo
I I

tlu
poi
he
wl
dc

N-

THE CONFERENCE

3 fading, her|l know— you will receive the Token from the

? bondage offQ^een, by which you will know that she needs

3 tor any Jot|the jewels and the gold, and that its bearer is a

■L-et iier out|trusty servant of her Grace. You will never

impart the secret, or relinquish the treasure, on

y* B^^y other guarantee. Fraii9ois, I have come

'aid. " I ^\q iacross the sea to ask this of you ; it is the first

^Giish any Ireoognition of our brotherhood for many years,

ou may free |perchance it may be the last."

JG peaceful | Brother Cypriau sighed. He had no hope in

wo crowns. |this enterprise, and his heart was heavy with

I presentiment.

" I will accept the trust," he said, " but not
alone ; that our rule would not suffer me to do.
I must have the Prior's permission to receive
the treasure, and he must be aware of its dis-
position. You have nothing to fear from him ;
he is a good man, and full of sympathy for all
who are oppressed and suffering, though he
does not know much of the great affairs of
nations. You may have noted his kindly
manner and gentle voice, while he spoke with

you."

** I did. There can be no risk in putting
trust in him, I think; but what if he will not
permit you to guard the treasure here? There
is no other resource."

throne, or

the one, or

termination
my hands ;
' it as this.
3 expended
>vided for.
ifterwards,
lone shall
nd myself.
'^f if I am

exclaimed,

the trust,

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

**Do not fear, I shall have no difficulty.
And now, where is this treasure ? "

** Not vet disembarked. I did not know how
I might speed in comiug hither. Nay, more, I
did not know whether you, my brother, were
still alive, or whether they would bring me to a
grave-side, and tell me you were resting beneath.
I must return to the harbour, and to-morrow
bring hither the mail that contains the jewels
and the gold. I will not linger now, 'tis a long
ride and a rough one, and it will be dark before
1 reach the shore. The Prior told me I should
find refreshment for my horse, my guide, and
myself here ; they have been fed, doubtless, and
r will but break bread and drink a cup of wine
before 1 go."

" So be it. While you are taking this re-
freshment I will see the Prior, and disclose your
erranil, in so far as I am bound to tell it. But
first, what is the Queen's Token ?"

Louis de Valmont unclasped his short riding-
cloak at the throat, and put his hand into the
breast of his leathern coat. " There is but one
such jewel in existence," he said, " and you
must have seen it, for you were present at
the marriage of the Queen of Scots with the
Dauphin."

issent]

l;vhite|
inicldl|
ed a
Isigni
I well ■
I these
iDauv
I more
I bighl

■| the .
wher

i"g.

iu-hi

But

the;

but

da}

noi

th5

THE CONFERENCE

^ (difficulty.!

>t know how
'^^y, more, I

Brother Cyprian made a silent sign of
issent.

*' The bridegroom and the bride each wore a

,vhite satin shoulder-knot, with a jewel in the

other fiiiddle. Each jewel was a bala.s-ruby, blood

JO- njQ f |i"ed and heart-shaped, whereon lay a pearl to

n^i- beneif] i^^S^^O^ '^ tear. The cunning workmanship is

to rv.^« Iwell-nicjh as pi-iceless as the orems, no more than
I'U-morrow I ^ & '

tlie ievv I 1^^^^^^ ^^'^ having ever been made. The Queen-
tis a I IDauphijiess prized the ruby heart, they said,
^ai-Jc ] f ^ ^ more than any jewel in her possession, more
highly than even the famous black paarls, like
grapes of Muscadel, which have been sold to
the English Queen for a third of their price,
whereat Madame Catherine is incensed, deem-
ing, that when opportunity to rob her daughter-
in-law arose, she should have had the preference.
But there was a fate over this jewel ; indeed,
they say none ever possess a ruby of size
but there is a violent death at the end of their
days. The Queen-Dauphiness lost it, she could
not tell when or how ; nor was more ever known
than that she wore it at the jousting in which
King Henry received his death- wound at the
hand of Gabriel de Montgommery. Much search
was made for it in vain ; and people said it had
fuliilled its evil reputation, and was accursed.

ore
e I should
^tiide, and
^tless, and
'P of wine

f this re-
2iose your
it' But

't ridino--
into the
but one
ud you
sent at
'ith the

! !

THE QUEEN* S TOKEN

The ruby heart was never heard of more, and ; ««
when King Fr \ illness commenced he had Jearn
a fear of tb'' -.>w jewel, and would have it iQfne
taken from collar in which it was set, and k^

laid by. Then the Queen, who was always t^\\^
daring, and mocked at such superstitious fables, ^qvci
even though she did not quite disbelieve them, if^xxi,
begged the ruby heart at his hands, and he, fy^ n
being near his end, and not caring to contest iijlenc
anything with her, gave her the gem. When elear,
she deigned to cause it to be signified to me. >vvith
that she relied on me for help in her evil ^liite
fortune, the Queen sent me that Token ; it is **

one that could not be mistaken or counterfeited, l\i^ pea*
it could come fiom none but her. There is I "
no other jewel like it in the vvorM." ■ A

While Louis was speaking his hidden hand J^ilfe
had loosened from his neck a short chain of |gton>
strong, finely-wrou*;ht steel links; from this |paiii<
a small steel purt^e was suspended, containing | ^
an olji'ct about the size of a walnut, rolled up
tiglitly in a [)iece of fine leather. With the hist
words Louis

pi,

han<1.

Bi other Cyprian proceeded to open the purse,
Luuis hiokini» al him with a half smile.

({

1 cannot find the sprin;j," he said.

I KiU<

\ ,
I whe

' hills

and

hav

THE CONFERENCE

* *^^i " ^^* ^^® trkk is cunning, and you must
e had |earn it, for if tbe Tokeu comes to you it will

3uJ(l have it i • ai i. 'i. • rpi i.1 • 1

'^ fome in that purse as it is now. ilie third

e , and jj^j^ ^^ ^j^g right slides, so, and the purse

was always ^^ ^^^^ » rpj^^^ Louis unrolled the leather

aoles, Covering, and Brother Cyprian saw the famous

lem, ^ena. It was a quaint and beautiful olgect, and

I and he, ^^ monk looked at it intently, but in utter

3 contest -^ileuce. It was a fair balas-ruby, heart-shnped,

ni. When Jclear, smooth, and red like blood ; laid on it,

cc to me. ^[i\i a well-feigned carelessness, was one soCtly-

n her evil ^^^^ p.^rL

" You will know that Token, brother, whcu

Ht reaches you."

J " I shall know it," said the monk.

f An hour later, Louis de Valinont had left

tKilferran, and was winding his way over the

J stony and dithcult track to the shore, accom-

i panicd by his wild-looking guide.

' Solemnly rose the voices of the monks of
Kilferran, as they chanted tlieir evening <»tKce,
when the sun had scone down behiinl the rnoraed
hills, and the ocean waters were tossing grey
and murky under the dull sky. None could
have discerned in Brother C\|)iiin's face, or
in any tone of his voice, that the da) just
departed had differed from any other day of his

^l^en ; it is
untcrfeited,
There is

dden hnnd
't chain of
from this
containinor
rolled up
th the last
^ brothers

the puree,

iiiMiBiijirrr;.: "

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

liii!!

even, uneventful life. His keen brown face'
looked out from under his cowl, composed and
devotional, liis voice rose solemnly melodious with
the voices of his brethren. When the others
Icfc the chapel he lingered still, kneeling in
his stall. After some time had elapsed, and
when the stillness and solitude around were
complete, he arose, and approached a recess
on the left of the altar where the dim light
of an antique lamp glimmered.

Upon the rudely-coloured wall of this recess
hung several reliquaries, some of precious,
others of base metals, and of various forms ;
for Kilferran was a noted shrine for the resort
of suppliants in temporal and spiritual distress.
Many an ex voto was placed there as testimony
to the granting of petitions from dwellers near,
and pilgrims from afar.

Brother Cyprian took down from the wall
one of the least conspicuous of these objects ;
it had the ordinary form of a heart, ar^d was of
no richer material than wrought iron, and hold-
ins: it so as to catch the feeble lio^ht from the
lamp, he opened it, and looked fixedly upon
its interior. The iron heart contained a fair
balas-ruby, heart-shaped, clear, smooth, and
red like blood ; laid on it, with a well-

5ignc(
ieurl.
Ha

luictV
,ouis

isr

TUB CONFEUENCF

'1 brown faco|igucd carelessness, was one softly - white

composed and f^'iirl.

nelodiouswith i He replaced tlie rcliqiiavy, and movrd

^n the others |nietly away, murmuring : ^ First^ me, and now

kneeling in Louis! God forgive you, Marie 1 "
elapsed, and
around were
hed a recess ^
ae dim lights

of this recess
of precious,
rious forms ;
)r the resort
tual distress,
^s testimony
weilers near,

)m the wall
ese objects ;
, and was of
1, and hold-
It from the
xedly upon
lined a fair
fiooth, and
h a well-

'Pi

!!,'•'

CHAPTER TIL

THE TOKI.N

The sky was red on the morning of the day
when Louis do Valmont set sail from the
southern harbour, after a grave leave-taking
with his brother. From the cloister of the old
Abbey, Brother Cyprian looked out on the face
of the heavens, musing on the strange event
which had befalic! him, and full of presenti-
ment that evil would come of his ^.other's
enterprise. And, as he gazed, the face of the
heavens darkened, antl the roseate clouds seemed
to him to be driven across it with a fierce,
sweeping motion, as though a terrible storm-
spiiit were in pursuit of them. Even in those
remote times the phrase which presaged ill to
the mariner from the redness of the mornirig,
was a proverb among the people who dwelt by

THE TOKEN

f tht day
^^'om the

5^ the old

I the i£ice

S^ event

presenti-

- -other's

e of the

' seemed

1 fierce,

storm-

n those

I ill to
orning^

i^elt by

the dangorons coast, aud wore learned in the
symptoms of weatlier.

''Tempest is coming," said the monk. "It
may be but a sudden and brief summer squall ;
but it is coming. And a fiercer tempest is be-
yond, also a sure shipwreck. Ave Maris Stella !
ora pro nobis ! "

Some hours later, from the topmost windows
of tlie Abbey, a sail was visilile, on the extn-mo
verge of the horizon, and Brotlier Cy[)rian gazed
upon it with resigned sadiioss.

" F.irewell, my brother I " he murmured.
"I shall never see you more until we meet in
the land wliich is very far off, and where sorrow
and its memory have alike no existence. The
land that is very far off, and yet no man knows
how near, the land that may be close to all of
us, closer than the shore wliither that tossing
barque is bound, with her freight of love and
loyalty, of hope and daring."

The influence of his cnlm and monotonous
life was strong upon Brother Cyi)rian; but yet
there was a yearning lo(»k in his eyes as he
gazed over the sea towarils the sail — even as he
gazed the vessel disappeared — a yearnino- look,
whi(!h would have told a keen ol)Server that the
strife in his breast was not yet over.

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

That niojbt a terrific storm arose, and burst
iij wildest fury over Kilferrau Abljey, making
breaches in the venerable walls, and uprootini,^
several of the trees that adorned the precinct of
the monastery. All the night long the wind
howled and raved, and down the coast it was
said that the furious, ceaseless thundering of
the waves was heard for miles inland. Perhaps,
in those old days, when everything beyond one's
actual siixht was vasrue, when partino- always
implied utter uncertainty, and no public service
existed for the transuiission of intelligence
affecting only private individuals, suspense was
not so heart-sickenino^, not such a onawinsr at
the roots of life as it is now. Brother Cyprian
did not expect to hear tidings of Louis, save
by chance ; until tlie Queen's Token should reach
him, he did not look for any sure knowledge of
his brother's fate ; the tremendous storm, which
raged with unabated violence for three days and
nights, was in keeping with his own secret feel-
ings, but he made no sign. He had known the
schooling of the cloister, and earlier still the
schooling of unknown, unshared sorrows : under
their joint restraint Brother Cyprian kept his
soul in patience. Soon after the subsidence
of the tempest rumours of shipwrecks oif the

.to

IloI

THUJ TOKEN

se, aud bursl
^ey, making!
^d uprootingj
e precinct of j
^ the wind I
coast it was!
iiuIeriDo- of;

'• Perhaps,
beyond one's
■^'^S' alvvavs
iWic service
inteiJigeijce |

g'iJawinor at
'^'r Cjprian
^^•-^is, save
'^^Jti reach
:>w]edoe of
^ni, wiiicli

d^^-js and j
-cret feej- I
fio^vn the

stiJI the
s: under

^^m his

^sidence
oif the

jonthern coast, with much loss of life and pro-
Iperty, arose, aud dismal tales of the crimes of
'the wreckers were told. But no tidings came
to Kilferran of the loss of the ship in which
Louis de Valmont had sailed. No spar had
drifted in, no drowned sailor, or shattered,
wave-tossed shred of ship's gear, to tell of a
vain battle with the awful storm-army, and of
swift, sure defeat. Days became weeks ; the
summer waned, but no iutelliiience of Louis
de Valmont reached Brother Cyprian. The
Queen's Token came not. Such scraps of strag-
gling intelligence as found their way to Kil-
ferran had no reference to the escape, the
release, or any amendment in the condition of
the captive Queen. Was Louis dead or living ?
Had he made the attempt and failed — made it
so foolhardily, been so powerless and inconsider-
able among Mary's friends and against her
enemies that he was merely set aside, killed,
perhaps, and no mention of him made the
public rumour ? Brother Cyprian pondered
much upon these things, gravely — not with
acute pain indeed, for the accidents of time had
sunk, in his mind, to nearly their just insignifi-
cance — but no solution of them came. Brother
Cyprian looked a good deal older; his habitual

III

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

o^ravity deepened ; and could those among who-lvicc
\w. dwelt have hoard the words of prayer moss
frequently upon his lips, tliey would hav.
known them for the solemn pleadings of thi
*'De Profundis." the

Brother Cvprian and the Prior talked some -i^
times of the brief visit of Louis de Valtuont,fc^^
and of the trust confided to their keeping. Thelco
Prior did not share Brother Cvprian's presenti- ftei
ment, nay, conviction, that Louis de Vahnojitjca
had perished, either by shipwreck, or in the ihe
attempt to execute his project. News indeed I reu
came slowly, and was often neither full nor V^
trustworthy when it did cume ; but the ship was m^^
a large vessel, and there were certain relations
between the coast poo!)lc and her captain and
crew, and if she had been wrecked, the intelli-
gence would have reached them somehov^^ The
Prior, admiring the patience of Brother Cyprian,
had diligent inquiry made among the coast
people, and found that among them there was
no fear that the ship was lost. So, the Prior
arirued that the CheviJier's desiijn was held in
abeyvmce for some good reason ; that time was
not ripe, and that Louis held aloof from all
communication with his brother, in order not to
compromise his associates, or endanger their

otl

sit

n(
ai

^WH^,

>se among who;
of prayer mo^
y would hix^A
P^'adiugs of ti],

'^ ^^^?ted some.
« ^e VaJnioMt,

na/i's preseuti-l
^ ^^ Vahnojul
^'^^ or in the
^^•^^•s indeed!
f^^^^^ i^'ii nor I
^ tlie ship v\7is I

t^'i^i relations |
cnptain and \
'» the intejji.
lehow. The
'^^^ Cyprian,
5 the coasfc
^^ there w-is
^ the Piior
^'''s held in
t time was
f from alj
'^er not to
"g^r their

T//^ TOKEN

luccess. He had told his brother he was to
ear of him (urged the Prior) only in a certain
vent — when he should need the gold and
ewels — and then he would bring, or send him,
he Queen's Token.

Soon there arose matters of quite another
ature to disturb the Prior of Kilferran and his
ommunity ; the dark and evil days which had
efallen so many, but had hitherto spared them,
came upon them now. The Lord-Deputy had
heard of Kilferran at last, and, despite the
remoteness and obscurity of the place, deter-
mined to " root out " the monks. Such pro-
ceedings as had previously been taken against
other monastic houses, so conspicuously well-
situated that they could not be overlooked, were
now put in execution against Kilferran Abbey ;
and the monks were in daily dread and danger
of being expelled from the sheltering walls of
their remote dwelling-place. Some timid souls
among the community of the Friars Preachers
regarded the trials which threatened them with
almost womanly terror, but the Prior and
Brother Cyprian were not of that number. Id
their frequent conferences respecting what must
be done, if the soldiers of the Lord-Deputy
should come to harry and drive them out, the

TUJ^ QUEEN'S TOKEN

1.1'

sul)ject of the treasure entrusted to Brotlierl
C)'[)rian, by him whose fate was all luiknovvnj
to them, was often discussed.

*' It must be hidden," was the conclusion
arrived at by the Prior ; "it must be removed
from the cellar underneatli the buttery where
your hands and mine placed it, and concealed
with what skill we have, and what precaution
we can take. A statement of the nature, the
destination, and the hiding-place of the treasure,
must be drawn up by you, my son, and kept
constantly in the possession of one or other of
us, so that in the hour of supreme danger, or
death, the holder may have it in his power to
communicate the knowledi^e to another, who
can, in his turn, fulfil your brother's intention if
called upon to do so."

*'Time is passing, father, and I think the
Queen's Token will never reach me."

" Even so, some provision must be made
for the restoration or other disposition of this
treasure."

The Prior and Brother Cyprian studied
the plan of the Abbey, a quaint drawing that
bad been made nearly a century earlier, and
they decided on a spot in which to conceal the
treasure. One night, in the cold, early spring,

bei
ih<

del
to

itO

'* ]

THE TOKEN

ed to Brother
8 all unknown

the conclusion
ist be removed
buttery where
and concealed
lat precaution
le nature, the
f the treasure,
'on, and kept
le or other of
ae danger, or
his power to
another, who
s intention if

I think the

St be made
tion of this

an studied
awing that
earlier, and
conceal the
arlj spring,

hen all was silent in the Abbey, and only the
im red lamp, burning always in the sanctuary,
ntruded on the reign of night, the Prior came
Brother Cyprian's cell, and told him he was

ieady. Then the two softly descended to the
ellar beneath the buttery, where the mail con-
ided to their care by Louis de Valmont had
|een deposited. When the Prior had opened
ihe heavy door, and they stood within the small
aulted chamber, Brother Cyprian struck a light
from flint and steel, and lighted a lantern ; then
|liey looked for a black streak upon the wall
^hich indicated the spot where the mail lay.
|iidden under sturdy logs of firewood.
I "It is here," said Brother Cyprian, stooping
to remove the logs, and disclosing to view the
stained and torn surface of a leathern valise,
which was, however, strongly lined with iron.
" I know not the precise nature or the exact
value of the contents, but Louis was rich, and
he told me all his wealth was here, except what
lie reserved for his maintenance and charges on
liis fatal mission. Perhaps there is a list of the
items of this treasure inside the maih"
I The Prior held the lamp, and Brother
Cyprian with difficulty carried the leathern
valise— for it was, though small, M^xy heavy —

8 2

TUE QUEEN'S TOKbN

throiioh the papsaqes and up the winding flig
of stone steps that led to tlie open ch)ist
adjoining the great entrance. At the top the
was a massive door of black oak, sheeted wi
iron, and studded with heavy nails. This do
was not barred, and it unclosed noiselessl
The Prior and Brother Cyprian passed throug
it, and found themselves in the cloister, whe
some straggling rays of moonlight that pierce
the darkness gave additionally weird etfect tB j j,
the gloom. l^^ ^

th
t h
s i
rin
th(
ti
bi

ief

Brother Cyprian w^as the chief scribe of thi |
Community. Little writing was in those cl^'^yMthe
necessary to the management of all huma» ^^
affairs outside of diplomacy, in comparison witm ^
the present demand for the liteiu scripta ; buju
certain matters had to be transacted by the peiM ^
and Brother Cyprian's services were in tolerj
ably constant demand. He had never passe
so much of his time in that same small rood
with bare white walls, and heavy oaken tablei

ed
ce.

e s

whither the lay-brother had come, to announca|g ^^
the memorable visit of Louis de Valmont, aa^j^g
immediately after the transfer of the treasure \^\^
to a secure hiding-place. For many hours om^Qy
many days the Community saw nothing o»ith

r&w

THE TOKEN

ik, sheeted wi
ails. This do
sed noiseless!
passed throug]
* cloister, whe

le winding fligf^ther Cyprian, except in choir and refectory ;
le open cL)i,stt^^ j^^ ^,^g understood to be engaged in busi-
Vt the top the^g ^^j. ^^^ p^i^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ inquired farther.

ring that time he indited an accurate record,
the kiborious, cumbrous, slow handwriting of
time, of all that had occurred in relation to
brother, and to the trust of the treasure ;
he recorded upon the document his own
^ht that pierced f ^1^,^^ L^^i^ ^^^ Valmont was dead. Writing
weird effect t|^g^, ^j^jg conviction, he added to the statement

t he, being the only survivor of Louis, and

natural Loir, bequeathed all the gold and

ef scribe of th|,gl3 ^^^^.^ij^g^l in the indi:;ated hiding-place

J in those daj^^i^^, (j^ePerg i^ Kilierran Abbey, for their use

of all bumaji^ absolute disposal. The bequest was to take

ipaiison ^vit,£|g|3 whenever it should become necessary to

^ * uike the fact of its existence known, owing to

^ ^ P^^^ death of Louis de Valmont being ascer-
weie in toleij^^^^^-j^ 1^^^ (Cyprian's) own death having taken
never passei^n^g^ ,^^^ ^j^^ treasure remaining unclaimed by
ime small roon^ q^^^^^^ ^f g^ots, or any emissary of hers,
y oaken tablcj^^^, g^j^j claim, it was stated in the document,
e, to announcy^g ^^ 1^^ recognised as valid, solely on condition
le Valmont, a^f ti^epj.^^^^^.|.|^jjj ^^f ^ certain Token, agreed upon
)f the treasur^^ himself and his brotlier. This Token was to
nany h()urs Oj^^ ,^^^,^1^^ ^ 1^^,^^ (Cyprian), at the time of his
w nothing uj^th, to a third person, who should be charged,

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

• I

under similar conditions, with the transmission
of the secret to one individual, preferably the
Prior of the Community.

His task completed, Brother Cyprian com-
mitted the writings to the custody of the Prior,
who placed them in safety, and all trace of the
momentous occurrence which had disturbed his
life passed away.

Vague rumours of the discovery of con-
spiracies for the overthrow of Elizabeth, for the
placing of Mary Stuart upon the English throne,
and even for the rescue of the Queen of Scots
without any defined ulterior purpose, had come
to Kilferran ; but no tongue syllabled De
Yalmont's name, and no incident in the various
stoiies which were in circulation seemed to the
Prior or to Brother Cyprian to have any
reference to Louis, either under his own, or
under an assumed designation. Neither had
: ny tidings been heard of the ship, and the
inquiries made by the Prior now received des-
ponding answer. Brother Cyprian entertained
no farther hope, and after awhile he fell
sick. He strove for some time with the de-
clining strength, the waning energy, the dulness
and supineness of mind and body which were
diiily making havoc with him ; he filled his

THE TOKEN

plnce in choir, in pulpit, in refectory, in the
sanctuary. His eloquence was not the less burn-
ing that he had the strength to use it but seldom ;
within and wilhout the Community he gained
hearts which he had not pieviously touched.
So convinced was Brother Cyprian — over whom
was the strange enlightening injjj*en'ce of ap-
proaching death — that hisHiJfother no longer
lived, that he requested the Prior to permit
the celebration of a solemn requiem for Louis ;
and this was granted.

With the sword of persecution hanging over
their heads, the monks of Kilferran assembled
for the function. Their homely chapel was
hung, their uncostly altar was dra[)ei] in black,
and never had the strains of the " De Profundis"
risen to heaven from those venerable walls with
a more piercing and mournful wail. Tlie voice
of Brother Cyprian was heard among the
voices of the brethren, with an agony of sup-
plication in its tone, in which some present
discerned warning and farewell. From tliat day
liis stall in the choir, his place in the refectory,
knew him no more, and before L)ng it became
noised abroad in the l.ttle world which sur-
rounded the Abbey, that Brother Cyprian was
dymg. The slow, insidious diseases of later

'^. I
U

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

times were much less known in other days,
when all the conditions and habits of life were
simpler and hardier. Men died of fevers, of
phigue, of the '* black death." They lived, in
general, a shorter time than the people of this
epoch in the world's history live, and were
counted aged men when our contemporaries are
reckoned in the middle term of life. There were
unusual and mysterious symptoms about this
mortal sickness of Brother Cyprian — long ti'ances
of seeming unconsciousness, in which no sound
of any human voice could so reach him as
to arouse recognition ; yet sometimes his face
wore a happy smile, as though there were some
presence by his bed, unseen by the watchers,
who were patient, unskilful men, with only good-
will to bring to their task. Again, muttered
sounds of pleading, of dread, of remonstrance, for
the most part inarticulate,* but awfully expres-
sive, broke the stillness of niijht, and chilled the
hearts of the hearers. They had little ex-
perience of minds diseased, and Brother Cyprian
was not to be suspected of a burdened
conscience, of a troubled soul. And yot in
those ramblinors of the mind, freeinij itself from
the fragile, fading body, tliere was agitation ;
wild vagaries of memory distracted the dying

THE TOKES-

man ; nnmes wliicli belonged to an<^ther country,
to a pliase of liistory out of which the world
liad passed, came frcqiicntly from his lips.
There was now much cominsj and caning to and
from Kilfcrrnn Ahhev, and trouhled consul ta-
tions took p'ace between the Prior and the
monks, and the strangers who brought them
confirmntion and warning of evil days near at
hand. But, amid all this, undisturbed by the
pressing trouble and danger, occupied by quite
other thoughts, drao^ored back to the life which
he had so long ago renounced, by that mys-
terious power which rules the spirit of the
dying, Brother Cyprian lay on his death-
bed.

Late one night, when the whole Community,
save only the watchers, had retired to their
cells, one of the latter came to the Prior, and
told him that the monk desired to see him. The
Prior instantly complied with the summons,
and, on entering the cell, found Cyprian awake,
quite sensible and calm, but with a look in his
dark, worn, feeble face, which can never be mis-
taken by any who have once seen it — that look
wh ch tells that death is very near. The monk's
thiu, transparent hands were stretched out be-
fore him and clasped, and his eyes were closed ;

•urn

TUl!^ QUEEN'S TOKEN

but they opened as the Prior approached,
and all the trouble, the restlessness, the vague
anguish which had been in them of late, was
gone.

'* You sent for me, my son," said the Prior,
advancing to the side of the rude pallet on
which the dying man lay.

** Yes, father ; I want to speak with you
alone.. My time is very short. Let the Com-
munity pray for me, and do you hear my last
confession."

For some weeks no such clear and coherent
words had come from Brother Cyprian's lips.

" And now," said the dying man, when his
confession was ended, and silence had prevailed
for a little while, " I will tell you how I know
this is the end, that my last night on earth is
passing on to the morning."

*' Tell me, my son," said the Prior, whose
habitual composure was severely taxed, for he
loved the dutiful and zealous monk with more
than the perfunctory affection supposed to be
inherent in a " superior,*' and he had just listened
to a strange and melancholy history. ** You are
not suffering, and I am not leech enough to
read the subtle signs of approaching dissolution.
I must summon our brother intirmarian."

'iii'ii'ii 1

THE TOKEN

5<J

** Not yet, not yet, for a little while. This,
father, is how I know the truth. It was not
quite midnight when I awoke from a refreshing
sleep and found my brother Louis standing
beside me."

The Prior started up ; he believed that
delirium had again seized upon the suflferer.
But Brother Cyprian caught his robe in his
feeble hand, and assuring him that he was
not raving, entreated him to sit still and let
him speak. There was no disturbance in his
face, no hurry or incoherence in his voice, and
the Prior, inexplicably constrained, obeyed him.

" There, opposite to where you are sitting, I
saw Louis. He was dressed as he was when he
left us that morning, which, until yesterday,
seemed so long ago, and now for its nearness
might be yesterday. The shining courage was
gone from his face, but there was a light in it
such as I have never seen, and yet seem to
know. He stood just there, and gazed at me,
and I spoke to him, not with my lips, but
as spirit speaks to spirit; and so he answered
me, but not in words of this world. I told
him that I was not afraid ; that I knew he
had been released long since, and now knew
he was come to tell me my own time was at

■:iJ

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

hand. And the spirit of my brother said to
my spirit, that it was so ; and, father, listen,
listen that you may be very sure " — the monk
raised himself slowly, and lifted one hand in
solemn asseveration — ** my brother bent over
me, nearer and nearer, and I was not afraid.
His hand was hidden in his breast, until he
was quite close to me ; but then he withdrew
it, and touched my lips with something that
it held."

" My God I with what ? " said the Prior, In a
hoarse whisper.

A faint smile dawned on Brother Cyprian's
face, as he fell gently back, and his outstretched
hand dropped at his side —

*' With the Queen's Token."

The grass had not covered the new-made
grave in the monks' burial-ground at Kilferraii
when the worst that the Community feared
befell them — the destruction of tiieir home, and
their own dispersion. This was the time of which
the Annals of the Four Masters tell, when ''Sir
Honry Sydney, Lord Justice of Ireland, marched
with a great iorce against the people of Muuster,
after the peace and league which they had
ratihed. The direction which he took was
through the south- vve.st of Leiubter, and he did

THE TOKEN

not halt until he entered the territory of Hy
Maccaille in Munster, and having constructed a
strong camp of active forces at Baile-na-Martra,
and remained for a week besieging the town, the
Momonicans threatened every day of that week
to give battle to the Lord Justice and his force,
which, however, they did not put into execution.
The town was at length taken by the Lord
Justice, and he garrisoned it on behalf of the
Queen, and then proceeded onward to Cork, and
remained some time, when several of the in-
surgents, adherents of James, Earl of Desmond,
came to seek protection and pardon. Then the
Lord Justice went thence to Limerick, and
destroyed portions of the town of Munster
between Cork and Limerick. . . . The Lord
Justice returned to Dublin at the end of that
harvest, after he had victoriously brought the
country under subjection ; and no Viceroy of
Ireland, with such a force as he commanded,
ever performed so prosperous an expedition as
he did on that occasion."

It was this prosperous; expedition against
the Desmonds that furnished the occasion for
the suppression of Kilferran Abbey, and the
taking possession of it for the use of the Enorlish
authorities. The transaction was of the simplest,

: 1, -

:■ f

■i ;:«|

5. '•■.

'S9''

■ll'l

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

iiiiii

according to the record of it : the misery and
suffering it created were no more than ordinary
at that time, and in many lands.

The decree went forth thus (the date is
1569): "The meetest phices for President to
lie in is as foUoweth : To have a house in town
of Ballycashel, and to have in all the country of
Pubhelbrean to be lotted unto him for his
provisions. The meetest house there is St.
Dominic's Abbey of Kilferran, which is the Earl
of Desmond's lands. Also to have the Grey
Friars of Adare for his dwelling-house, and to
have in farm from the Queen's Majesty all the
Abbey tithes and glebe lands belonging to the
same town, the house being called the Grey
Friars and the White Friars."

So, Sir Henry Sydney, in the plenitude oi
his power, «,iid with all the triumph of his
conquest, came to Kilferran, and took possession
in the name of the Queen's Majesty, and his
troopers harried the monks and drove them
away, they making only passive resistance and
little plaint, but the people looking on terrified,
and with anger subdued by fear in their hearts.
The graves of the brethren — happily released
before these evil days — were trampled under
fot V by the soldiery ; the chapel was stripped

^Nl

THE TOKEN

of its ornaments : these were not very valuable,
but, being melted down, their price kept the
troopers in driuk for some time. When the
rough division of the spoil was made among the
men by an umpire of their own choosing, there
was loud and angry dispute concerning the
cumbrous brazen lectern that had been in. the
chapel for many scores of years, and was
valuable, not only for its weight in beaten
and chased metal, but also for the ruby eyes
of the eagle in whose form it was wrought.
The fame of this lectern bad reached the ears
of the Lord Justice's soldiers, and they resented
its disappearance as a wrong done to their claims
as licensed spoliators. But none could gain, or
give, tidings of the goodly wrought- metal eagle,
with spread wings and fretted throat, behind
whose noble, stern shelter the Gospel had been
pronounced daily for more years than any man
there could have told, and not even by threats
of torture could the soldiery induce the monks
to reveal its hiding-place. Indeed, there was
but one among them who could have revealed
it — the Prior. He was the last who lingered
about the ancient precinct, after the others had
been driven out to seek the precarious hospitality
of the frightened country people, until oppor-

.,^3W^

■i' :

^., .. ! 4-.,

■: 1

iiiiii lU

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

tunity should offer for their joining some other
community of their order. Late on the evening
of the day which witnessed the final dispersion
of the monks of Kilferran, some of the soldiers,
and a few people of the vicinity, who had
timidly offered them the friendship of fear,
entered the denuded chapel. The light was
dim, and the stripped walls and undecorated
altar presented a rueful picture of desolation.
In the gloom they discovered a figure lying
prone upon the outermost step of the sanctuary,
the head restinor asrainst the altar rails. It was
the Prior, and he was quite dead, his face bear-
in oj no mark of violence or distortion. The Ion or
heavy sleeves of his white robe were tightly
wrapped round an object closely held against
his breast. When they were loosed, the crucifix,
which had stood for ages upon the altar, fell
from their folds. The Prior's face was serene
and happy ; he had evidently died without a
struggle. But the monks held ever firmly that
the last Prior of Kilferran died of a broken
heart.

The new possessors of Kilferran Abbey were
rough and warlike men, but not exceptionally
brutal, and they sufi'ered a remnant of the
brethren, who still lingered near, to lay their

THE TOKEN

Prior in the monks* burial-ground. They made
his grave beside that of Brother Cyprian,
and when he rested there the secret of the
treasure confided by Louis de Valmoiit to
the keeping of Kilferran was buried with
him.

The monks contrived to detach some of the
reb'quaries and other ex voto gifts from the walls
of the monastery chapel, but the iron heart-
shaped case, that contained so unsuspected a
gem, was not among the number. Neither did
it fall into the hands of the soldiery. No one
remembered that there had been such a thing,
or marked that it was missing.

So came the evil days upon Kilferran Abbey,
and it was good for Brother Cyprian that he was
at rest — he and his secret. The years rolled on
and on. The Abbey ceased to be garrisoned, or
in any way inhabited ; and, like all places which
having once been the dwellings of men, keep
within their shattered walls something of the
subtle essence of the human life which has been, it
had a grim and sinister repute. The Abbey was
haunted, people said ; not by the gleesome,
mischievous, soulless fairies, the "good people"
vvh

ose

rings

and " hills " were numerous in
those parts, but by the sp.d, unresting, ."w^nl

- .^MmmmUitimi I^U..41,.liJa

jiiii;

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

spirits of the dead, flitting solemnly through
the ancient cloisters, now ruined and laid
low ; open to the beating of the melancholy
rain, and the wailing of the far-sweeping
wind.

CHAPTER IV.

GEMMA

Sixty years ago, visitors to Cornwall, who were
not then numerous, had their attention carefully
directed to the situation and the architecture of
Tredethlyn Castle, the ancestral dwelling of Sir
Bernard Tredethlyn, and to the beauty and
luxuriance of the gardens stretching seawards
under the castellated walls of a mansion which
had all that is most romantic in natural
scenery to recommend it, and no drawback but
its remoteness. It was out of the way of all
but special visitors, and situated in a district
whose inhabitants had preserved the traditions
and customs of olden times with surprising
fidelity. The castle was a stately dwelling, and
during the centuries of its existence it had housed
a stately race, true to the ancient fealties in
faith and in politics. The TreJethlyns of Tre-

Ire"

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

dethlyn had never conformed to the Established
religion, nor, while the Standard of the House of
Stuart was raised anywhere, had they acknow-
ledged the House of Hanover. There had been
many exiles among the Tredethlyns, when their
sentiments were made obnoxiously perceptible
to the parties in power and possession, whether
in Church or in State, and confiscation and fines
had lessened their wealth considerably. But
through all, the Tredethlyns kept their faith,
and held their ancestral home. Sometimes the
castle had no sojourner within its precincts
for a score of years together, except the few
old retainers of the family left in charge of it ;
sometimes right noble state was kept there.
But, in the latter case, the company invariably
included many foreign elements. Frenchmen,
Italians, Spaniards, were welcomed to Tredeth-
lyn, and came and went, retaining an impression
of the place where they had been so hospitably
entertained, as though it were an enchanted
castle in a fairy tale, embowered in roses, laurels,
myrtles, and flowering shrubs, with far outlying
lamparts of great cliffs, and the guardian sea
lieyond. The Tredethlyns of Tredethlyn were
remarkable for their foreign alliances. Dark-
eyed, dark-haired women, with a southern flush

OEmfA

i>9

upon their handsome faces, and the graceful
freedom of the South in their carriage and
gestures, who spoke no word of the English
tongue, had come over the sea, from beyond
that Mont St. Michel which on the other side of
the Channel repeated theirs, the Cornish people
had heard say, and wedded with the Tredeth-
lyns. None of the race had ever married be-
neath him ; the ladies who bad ruled in the
ancient Cornish castle had all been noble, and
even in one instance there had been talk of
royal lineage. But the people did not know
much of that. A distant kinswoman of the
King of France had been saved, in awful times,
from the dangers of royalty in her own country,
and by a Tredethlyn, so ran the story ; and she
had married her preserver, and lived in the
Cornish castle only just long enough to leave
him a little daughter, who grew up and in her
turn married a Tredethlyn, her own cousin, and
her father's heir. Blanche Tredethlyn also died
young, and left a daughter.

It was traditional in the family, that all its
members, when in England, resided at home.
The old feudal spirit dwelt strongly in them ;
they loved their people, as they still called their
tenants and neighbours, who, being still a piimi-

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

tive people, loved them. But the Tredethlyna
were ta travelled race, and even in the later times,
the castle was often empty, while its masters
were exploring the beauties of Nature, or the
treasures of Art, in distant lands.

From a long spell of such emptiness and
silence the castle was aroused, in early summer
time, sixty years ago, by the return of Sir
Bernard Tredethlyn, with a numerous company,
including his only daughter, a young French
lady her friend, and several servants. The
people were very curious to see Sir Bernard's
daughter, who had been sent to France, and
placed in the charge of certain persons of rank,
just then basking in the light of the second
Restoration, and who were relations of her
mother. The young lady of Tredethlyn Castle
would be no unimportant person among lier
humbler neighbours. A Tredethlyn had never
been known to contract a second marriage, even
when no male heir had been born to him,
and Sir Bernard was not likely to depart from
the customs of his forefathers in this respect.
The estates in Cornwall were entniled on heirs
male, but there was no doubt that Miss Tredeth-
lyn would remain undisputed mistress of the
castle, It was said in the Duchy during her

OEM}fA

father's lifetime that Sir Bernar<l had saved large
sums of money for the purpose of purchasing
such a landed estate for his daughter, as should
place her, at his death, or her marriage, in a
position almost of equality with his successor in
the Cornish property. Sir Bernard had been
travellinor in Ireland for some time before he
joined Miss Tredethlyn m Paris, and people had
heard teP that he had bought a fine place there,
down in the South, but that there was no house
upon it ; only a very ancient ruin.

All this was hitlieito only hearsay, and the
chief concern of the place was that Sir Bernard
and his daui^hter were comins: home, and that
it was to be hoped the young lady was nice in
her ways, and could speak like other people, and
not only "gibberish" — though this latter was
to be apprehended, considering that she had
lived so long in a place where it was natural
for every one to talk gibberish, more was the
pity.

Sir Bernard and his daughter arrived duly,
and were greeted with the simple heartiness, de-
void of servility, that characterises the Cornish
peasantry. The carriages were closely scrutinised
as they passed the groups collected at the gates
of the castle, and along the road, every one

^■ft?-'

r "^

>i>*W»

THE QUEEN '8 TOKEN

being desirous of catching the first glimpse of
Miss Tredetlilyn.

There was hut one opinion of the young
lady's [)ers()iial iii)pearance, as freely expressed
as it was unanimous.

*' Did ever eyes see a more beautiful face ? "
the men and women asked each other ; " such
a fine, ruddy colour, and such piercing, bright
black eyes, and such dark, thick curls, and such
a smile ? When she got out of the carriage
with her little dog in her arms, she looked like
a queen." The speakers were still lingering
about, giving vent to their admiration, when
Daniel Penfold, the steward, came down from
the castle, and joined the foremost of the
groups. They once more commented on Miss
Tredethlyn's beauty, grace, and, above all, on
her height, that physical quality so specially
admirable in the eyes of the Cornish people.

Daniel Penfold looked at first puzzled, then
amused, finally he said, with a laugh :

"Tut, tut! you are all wrong together. The
young lady with the black eyes and hair, who
is so tall and slender, and looks as if the castle
and everything in it belonged to her, is not Miss
Tredethlyn."

** .Not Miss Tredethlyn I " exclaimed the chief

GEMMA

spokeswoman of the party. " Who is she, then i
And what is Miss Tredethlyn like ?

" That young lady is a frieni. of Miss
Tredethlyn's. She is French, and I don't
know her name — it is a plaguily long one ;
but I heard Miss Tredethlyn call her Gemma,
which id French for Emma, I suppose. As fur
Aliss Blanche, she is a pale little thing, and
looks more like the French young lady's waiting-
maid. She sat beside her in the first carriage,
but no wonder nobody saw her. She used to be
such a pretty child, too."

*' Dangerous company fi» Miss Blanche,"
saiil a shrewd-looking old woman, who had fol-
lowed the steward's words with keen attention.
" She'd ha' done better to leave her after her in
her own country. She'll be setting her cap at
Sir Bernard, and putting Miss Blanche out of her
place next."

** No, no, Mother Skirrow," said the steward,
"no fear of that. A Tredethlyn marries but
one wife. And for all she's so pale, and thin,
and little, Sir Bernard thinks there's nothinor
like his daughter, that's easy to be seen ; and
they do say there isn't, in point of learning and
such like, speaking foreign languages, and play-
ing music."

I'l-M^:

lillliljlll

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

Miss Tredethlyn had been so long absent
tbat she had almost as much sense of novelty in
making her friend acquainted with her home, as
the handsome young Frenchwoman had in being
introduced to the ancient, stately mansion. Tre-
dethlyn Castle combined the grandeur of the eld
and the comfort and elegance of modern times,
as only the feudal dwellings of England combine
them. The two girls roamed through the long
galleries, the quaint, rich chambers, and the
ancient turrets, where a ghostly assemblage of
old furniture and antique chests supplied them
with objects o^ curiosity and interest. The
house was rich in ancient china, in books and
manuscripts, and in many specimens of carved
wood. The treacherous sea had often cast u])
rich treasures, whose owners it held in its
uosom for evermore, on that wild coast; and
many of the most famous and prized possessions
of Tredethlyn were of Spanish origin, the spoils
of noble ships lost in the fatal expedition
f» gainst England in the old, old times. In the
north gallery under the long lanccolated win-
dows, there stood two huge ''bests of some
precious black wood, carved so richly and so
curiously, that many who had seen them said
the Florentine palaces had nothing more beau-

GEMMA

tifu or costly to show, and that, with their
scrolls and garlands, their angels' heads and
cunningly-twisted silver handles, they were fit
to have been the coffers of a queen. Many bif"
of quaint jewellery and armour were also among
the castle's gear, and there was a story current
that a Venice glass had once been borne inshore
uninjured, and carried to the then lady of
Tiedethlyn, who gave the salvage men a rich
reward, and had the glass placed in her own
chamber. But the next morning it lay broken
on the floor, and the lady told her waiting-
woman that she had thrown it down by
accident, and accounted for her paleness and
disorder by saying it was of ill omen to break
a mirror. People said, however, that it had
afterwards come to be known — the lady not being
able to keep the knowledge of the terrible thing
undivulged — that she had dashed the mirror to
the ground in a sudden access of terror, having
seen in it another face by the side of her own.
The face was that of a woman, very pale and
sorrowful, but dignified and beautiful beyond
belief, with hazel eyes and rich brown hair,
gathered under a strange head-dress, the like of
whi^h the lady of Tredethlyn had never seen.
As she looked into the mirror, the fair face

'II 'I!

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

grew dim, and began to fade; and then a
slender hand was passed across the white throat,
and the face was gone. ^ ich was the story
which was whispered round about Tredethlyn,
;ind it is certain that the kdy caused every
atom of the broken glass to be buried in the
earth, and that she entreated her husband, Sir
Michael, to take her away from the castle, which,
she declared, was haunted.

In the chapel attached to the castle there
were also many faeces of deeply-carven wood,
and other waifs from the sea ; notal)ly the
wrought brass sanctuary lamp, with its long
swino^inor chains, which had beloncjed to a noble
ship that had gone to pieces off the coast of
Cornwall, with a Spanish bishop on board. Not
a life was saved, but many of the drowned were
washed ashore, and the Spanish bishop's grave
was made before the altar in the chapel of Tre-
dethlyn Castle. Blanche and her friend heard
these and many other histories from the old
priest, who had lived there since before her
birth ; he had, indeed, been her grandfather's
private chaplain, and was still her father's, and
pastor of the scanty flock who dwelt in the
vicinity of the castle. Mr. Vau^han was a
learned man, quite a recluse, with great local

GEMMA

knowlocloro. He bad not seen much of the
world, and he disliked what he had seen ;
but he was very tranquil and hap}>y at Tre-
detblyn, where he took care of the library, and
watched over the well-being of the pictures. Mr.
Vaughan was perhaps not particularly pleased to
learn that his beloved solitude was al)out to be
interrupted! by the return of Sir Bernard and
his daughter ; but he soon became reconciled
to the change, and much interested in Blanche
and in her young friend. Thu'ir tastes were
similar to his, while their knowledge was
immeasurably inferior, so that he had the
pleasure of constantly instructing them.

Mr. Vaughan accompanied the friends in
their exploration of the ancient portions of the
castle, and he brought out of the storehouse of
his memoiy innumerable traditions, legends, and
veritable histories, wherewith he enriched every
nook and corner of the old building, and fostered
the taste for romance common to the two girls
who were otherwise unlike. His learning enabled
him to assign a date to every object, and to resus-
citate the history of its time ; to conjure up the
spirits of the past, and surround his companions
— his pupils, they called themselves — with the
atmosphere of the chivalrous and legendary ages.

ITWK'

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

The isolation of Tredethlyn Castle was highly
prized by its young mistress. She had many
visitors, it is true, but they came at stated
times, made the usual stay, and then departed,
leaving her time free, not subject to the con-
stant, meaningless interruptions which are the
bane of modern society. There was none of the
mindlessness and soullessness of fashionable
existence in her luxurious, stately life. Sir
Bernard and his daughter might have been a
sixteenth-century seigneur and chdtelaine, in
their feudal dignity, their tenure of honour and
obedience, and their active share in the local
conditions and interests. The apprehensions of
Mother Skirrow were not realised. Sir Bernard
was very kind to his daughter's friend, strictly
courteous to his foreign guest ; but he was, per-
haps, the only one who had ever seen the two
together, without perceiving that Blanche was
not to be compared in external charms with the
beautiful, graceful, accomplished, dignified, and
high-spirited Gemma di Valdimonte.

Blanche Tredethlyn was not a pretty girl.
She had indeed no beauty, except such as might
be found in the unusual depth and nobility of
expression of her daik-grey eyes, and in the
soft, pathetic lines of her mouth which bore

GEMMA

highjy
many
stated
carted,
Q con-
the
of the
nab/e
Sir
Jen a
', in
and
local

s of

lard
)er-

iVVO

I'as

he
ad

It
►f

the impress of refinement and gentle nur-
ture. She was pale, slight, and small,
and her face wore a thoughtful, dreamy ex-
pression, which marred its youth fulness, and
spoke to the observant of 'a mind matured and
serious beyond her yeirs.

** Your name is Italian, but your language is
French," said Mr. VauMian to Gemma di Valdi-
monte a few days after the arrival of the party
at Tredethlyn, and when the girls were examin-
ing the lumber-room already mentioned.

" I am French," replied Gemma, " by birth,
by distant parentage, and by predilection. My
immediate ancestors lived in Piedmont, our
family is French, as our name once was ; but it
has been Italianised, according to the custom.
I believe we could compete with Miss Tredethlyn
herself, in point of antiquity of race, and the
vicissitudes of our family fortunes."

** You must tell Mr. Vaughan the story,
Gemma. He is as enthusiastic about things of
the kind as papa and I, and far better informed,
papa says. Why, Mr. Vaughan, Gemma's family
was of old nobility in France, in the days of
the Valois, and they lost all in the cause of
Queen Mary."

" A good cause, a good cause ! I should

|i:!;:^;-ii

THt: QUEEN *S TOKEN

liiglily honour their memorj^ and hold such a
family tradition as a great treasure," said Mr.
Vaiighaii.

Gemma smiled. *' So 1 do," she replied;
"but it is an unsubstantial treasure, and, un-
happily, the only one belonging to us. We are
French, as I said before, and our name is De
Valmont. Ages ag^o, when Henri II. was King
of Franee, and the Queen of Scotland was be-
trothed to the Dauphin, the Comte de Valmont
was one of the gentlemen-in-waiting to the younw
prince. He was an odd sort of man, and thou^^h
young and handsome, and in high favour, he
suddenly left the Court and the world, and
went into a monastery — I don't know where
— and there was an end of it. He left almost
all his wealth to his younger brother, the
Chevalier de Valmont ; and he, too, disappeared,
but not, so far as was known or surmised,
into a monastery. The brothers had an uncle
with whom their father had quarrelled, and
whom they had never seen. He lived in
Gascony, when he was not following a soldier's
fortune, and my father is descended from him.
This Claude de Valmont was in the service of
Philibert of Savoy after the peace, and finally
settled in Piedmont, but not until he had

GEMMA

ciideavoiired to trace the fate of his nephews, to
whose property he would liave been entitled.
It was owing to his effi^rts, and the powerful
motive which prompted them, that so much of
the history of our family in those old, old times
was preserved. But really those times don't
seem so very old either, in this castle, and
among so many relics of them. After his
brother quitted the Court, Louis de Valmont
full into disgrace, in consequence of his devo-
tion to the Queen of Scotland. When she
went so reluctantly to the black northern king-
dom, the young man made part of her suite ;
and after he had retuincd to France, with
her other fiiends and would-be protectors, he
never ceased to urge her cause. Shortly after the
story of her rigorous imprisonment in England
reached France, the Chevalier de Valmont left
Paris, having, it was supposed, turned the
greater part of his wealth into jewels — it was
certain he had purchased a large quantity — and
travelled to Bordeaux. There he took ship on
board a trading-vessel, and he was never again
heard of. Claude de Valmont claimed and re-
ceived any remnant of the Chevalier's fortune
which could be realised ; and the proces was pre-
served among the family records. Whether the

''.■■I'

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

Chevalier went to England to conspire in the
Queen's cause, and fell a victim to his enter-
prise, or whether he perished at sea, was never
known. The old castle in Piedmont, in which
my father's ancestors were born, contained, until
lately, a painting which my father prized beyond
anything in his possession."

** Prized!" said Mr. Vaughan, who had
listened with deep interest to Gemma's story.
" Is it then his no lonjjer ? "

"He has been obliged by circumstances to
part with it. A large price was offered to him
for the painting by an agent of the Englitsh
Government, but just as he was painfully making
up his mind to accept the offer, a friend made
him a still more liberal proposal."

Gemma looked at Blanche and smiled, and
Miss Tredethlyn returned the smile, while a
faint flush of pleasure suffused her pale cheek.

Mr. Vaughan interpreted the girls' looks.

" That picture is yours, Miss Tredethlyn ? " he
said.

" It is my father's, Mr. Vaughan. You will
soon be able to tell us what you think of the
painting; it will delight you, I am su.e, be-
cause it is in keeping with all your pet anti-
(juities here. It depicts the marriage of the

GEMMA

Queen of Scots with the Dauphin Francois ; and
the tradition in Gemma's family is that the
young pair sat, or rather stood, for the por-
traits, so that they are fact, not fancy. I am so
glad to think it is to be here ; the castle will
seem more like home to Gemma when she has
that picture before her eyes."

" Is it not yet unpacked ? "

" No. My fiither is going to have it hung
in the picture-gallery ; but it is in London now,
beincr re-framt'd. I fear it will not arrive in
time for my birthday. There are to be wonder-
ful doings then, you know, and I am to be made
ever so much of. Papa is so busy about it all,
he can think of nothing else. Gemma and I
have carte blanche for our dresses, and we really
don't know whAt to do with it."

" I am afraid I cannot advise you in that
matter," said Mr. Vaughan.

Gemma had moved away from the others,
and was looking out of a window. Blanche
whispered lo the priest:

" I wish she could be in my place, though I
should not q \ite like to be in hers."

" And V herein is she better fitted for

yours

"In that shfc is so beautiful, so graceful.

^^!^ II

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

so self-possessed. I suppose it's wrong, Mr.
Yauglum ; but I can't help believiug in destiny,
and it seems to me she is born for all kind of
good fortune, and I for all kind of failure.
Now, I know you are going to scold me ; but
indeed you need not. I know how foolish this
is, and that any other person might think me
low-minded, envious, even jealous of Gemma's
beauty and fascination. But you will not ; you
understand me."

" I understand you perfectl}^ Miss Tro-
dethlyn."

" Have you no more treasures to show us in
this part of the castle ? " asked Gemma, coming
towards them ; " no more carved oak, or wrought
silver, or tapestry, or anything ? "

** No more," said Mr. Vaughan. " There are
some other curious things — old manuscripts,
Books of Hours, and so fjrth ; but they are in
the library, and you know them nil."

** I hope all these things are not heirlooms,"
said Gemma. '* Nobody will ever care so much
about them as Blanche. It is bad enouuh to
think uf the dear old castle going into other
hands."

" No," said Blanche. " Papa has told me
that those things are to be mine, I must build

OTJMMA

ji house, I suppose, at that beautiful place he has
bought ill Irelaud. So like papa — was it not ?
— to select the remotest spot he could hear of,
and set up a museum of antiquities ! There is a
beautiful ruio, to begin with, papa tells me.
What is the name of the place ? "

" Kilferran Abbey," replied Mi\ Vaughan. "It
was a Dominican monastery once, and the whole
district suffered much in former, and indeed in
later, penal days. But it is even more secluded,
I fancy, than Tredethlyn. I don't think you
will ever live there."

"Oh, yes, I shnll," returned Blanche.
" Gemma and I will live there whenever I
have to see Tredethlyn pass into other hands.
Papa talks of taking us to see the place next year."

The preparations for the celebration of Miss
Tredethlyn's birthday were made on a scale of
great splendour. The fete was to be a double
discharore of social obli<][ations — the first lar^je
entertainment given by Sir Bernard, and the
formal assumption by his daughter of her place
at the head of his household. The castle was
full of guests, and the accommodation afforded
by two neighbouring inns, although of a humble
kind, was secured by Sir Bernard for several oi
the bachelor members of the party.

'.■'■?;

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Q>-

THE QUEEN *S TOKEN

The day came, and the guests assembled in
good time for the dinner with which the fes-
tivities were formally to begin. Dressing-
rooms were occupied ; maids tripped to and
fro, taking notes of toilettes for the warning
or encouragement of their respective ladies ; a
pleasant air of bustle and anticipated pleasure
spread itself over the house. Miss Tredethlyn
was as yet invisible. She had been summoned
to her father's private 'sitting-room, where she
found him, attended by Mr. Vaughan and a
grave and business-like personage, before whom
lay some very important - looking documents.
Sir Bernard had summoned his daughter by a
line of writing, which directed her to come to
him alone, and she was therefore unaccompanied
by Gemma. Her father and the other two
gentlemen rose to receive her, and she faltered
for a moment, daunted by a certain solemnity
in their aspect.

Blanche Tredethlyn had never looked so
well. Her dress, pure white, of very simple
form, but rich material, suited her slender
figure, and harmonised with the refined lines
and thoughtful cast of her face.

"This is Mr. Maldon, Blanche," said Sir
Bernard, taking her hand and leading her to the

' ♦

fmmmmmm

GEMMA

table. " He has brought the papers relative
to the purchase of Kilferran, and those by
which I bestow it on you. Kilferran is yours
from this day, my dear."

Blanche said uothinsr, but clunoj to her
father, with tears gathering in her eyes.

" Don't cry, you silly child, or Mr. Maldon
will think you very unfit to manage your
property — he wants to consult you about it
to-morrow. And now " — he took a leather case
from the table — " I am going to give you my
real birthday present."

Sir Bernard raised the cover, and displayed
a striug of magnificent pearls, lustrous, sheeny,
soft, and exquisitely -shaped, resting on a bed of
dark blue velvet. Blanche uttered an exclamation
of delight.

" Oh, papa, I never saw such pearls ! "

" They are very fine, my dear, the finest I
could get. But how do you like the pendant ?"
He lifted the necklace from its case and hung it
over her hand. The pendant was of a fasliion
such as Blanche had never seen. It was a
fair balas-ruby, heart-shaped, clear, smooth,
and red like blood ; laid upon it, with a well-
feigned careiejisness, was one softly-white pearl.
The girl gazed at this superb jewel, speechless

iMI

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

with admiration and delight. The first wor«"'a
s- e spoke were :

" It must have cost a fortune.^

" Not to me," said her father. ** That jewel,
Blanche, is one of the ancient treasures of
Tredethlyn ; but it is not an heirloom, and I
have always intended that on this day it should
be yours."

" Was it — was it mamma's ? ' asked Blanche
in an agitated voice.

"No, my child. You will be the first who
has ever worn it, since it came out of the sea.
Mr. Vaughan has not told you the story, because
I wished you to see the jewel to-day for the
first time. One hundred and fifty years ago,
on a fearfully tempestuous night, a huge mass
of the cliff' beyond the sea-front of Tredethlyn
fell, and when the sea went down, \nd adven-
turous boatmen explored the new -dce of the
coast, they found the entrance to an immense
cave, whose existence had never been suspected,
laid bare. Craggy rocks hollowed into caverns
formed its sides, and in their crevices, among
w^isps of seaweed, shells, and all the debris of the
SPa, were found strange, ghastly relics of ship-
wreck and ruin. Many a skeleton could have
been formed of the scattered bones ; n\' th<-. lore

t-iBn«T.:.S

QEMMA

durable objects, such as metals, some remained
in comparative preservation. For long after,
it was a favourite and dangerous pursuit to
explore the Spaniard's cave at low water. The
people called it the Spaniard's cave, because
they found there the remains of a ship's figure-
head carved in a Spanish fashion. There was
ready market at Tredethlyn for such waifs as
they chose to sell to Sir Hugh, but they were
for the most part worthless. One of the things
brought to the castle was a short, very
Ptronor chnin, formed of metal links, and crusted
thick with rust, but not decayed ; to this a small
nirta! purse was attached. The thing looked,
when I saw it first, now thii'ty years ago, like
a lump of rusty iron, nothing more. No one
thought about it, I presume, or, if any one did,
it was taken for ah amulet or a reliquary ; at all
events, in Sir Hugh's time, in Sir Dennis's, and
in the time of all the later Tredethlyns, it lay
unnoticed, in the cabinet of shells and stones,
in the library, until a short tiuae ago, when
Mr. Vaughan and I, rearranging the cabinet,
found the piece of rusty chain, and set to work
to clean it. In doing this, we wrenched open
the rust-eaten purse, and found in it what we
thought was a pebble. We got it out with some

"'^

ll'.J'^'f

•R '»• •

11 il

TIID QUEUN'S TOKEN

difficulty, and saw that the thing was wrapped in
leather. Imairine our astonishment when we
dislodged the sjdemUd gem that" — here Sir
Bernard hung the pearls on his daughter's neck
— ** now becomes you so well."

"Just the same as it is ? " asked Blanche in
amazement.

" Just the same, except that it has been in
the hands of a clever jeweller, w^ho has furbished
it up. By the way, Vaughan, Jacobson was
mightily puzzled by my balas-ruby, and very
curious about its origin. He says that no such
design is known to the jewel-workers now."

** I dare say not. I wish we could know its
history ; it is like one of the sentimental, emble-
matical, romantic jewels of Queen Elizabeth's
time, of which one finds mention in the old
records."

While her father and Mr. Vaughan were
speaking, Blanche was looking down thought-
fully at the jewel upon her breast.

** Gemma will wonder at it," she said ; ** and
she and I will make many a story out of our
own imagination about the hands it has passed
through. How long ago do you think it is,
papa, since the ship was lost, and the lady
who wore this ruby was drowned ? **

OEMMA

" God only knows, my darling. We can't
tell whether the jewel came out of a lost ship,
although that is most probable, or whether a
man or a woman wore and lost it. It may have
made part of a jeweller's cargo, you know."

"What ! carefully enclosed in an iron purse ?
No, no. A lady wore that ruby heart, and she
was handsome and grand ! Thank you, papa, a
thousand times, for your beautiful, beautiful
present. Gemma and I will make up our minds
about the story of the lady, and we will tell it
to you when you've time to listen."

CHAPTER V.

BLANCHE

1i ■■;;!!

The birthday festival was a brilliant one; Sir
iJernard Tictletljlyu had the gratification of
seeing his daughter take her place with all the
grace and propriety of a Tredethlyn, and feeling
that the entente cordlale between him and his
neighbours, which his long absence might
have endangered, was intact. Next to Miss
Tredethlyn, who naturally commanded the chief
share of the general attention, her friend,
Gemma di Valdimontc, was the observed of all
observers ; to this her novelty no less than her
beauty contributed. The richness and taste of
her dress, the elegance of her figure, and the
grace of her dancing, were popular themes,
especially among the young men, while there
was no small curiositv amoncr the elder ladies
concerning this beautiful foreigner. That she was

BLANCHE

Miss Tredcthlyn's " companion " was a notion to
be flouted with scorn ; she was much too hand-
some, too " superior," for that kind of thing, and
it was known that she was higldy born. No,
this brilliant girl was the bosom friend of Miss
Tredethiyn, and the attachment between them
was deeply interesting ; especially as Gemma
was so much better-looking than Miss Tre-
dethiyn. Sir Bernard wouhl perhaps have been
mortified if he had heard the frequent remarks
made among the groups in his stately rooms,
on this disparity, and if he had known
that for one approving comment on his
daughter's looks, a score were devoted to
her jewels.

The fame of the splendid necklace and its
pendant spread quickly through the rooms. The
story of the ruby heart had been told by Mr.
Vatighan at dinner with great success, and after-
wards Blanche had handed round the j^'wel for
inspection. As Gemma re-cihispod the chain of
pearls around her neck she whispered :
** 1 have seen a jewel bke that before."
** Have you, Gemma ? Where?"
** I will tell you, or rather I will show yor,
another time."

There was no more opportunity for the giil-j

TEE QVEEN^S TOKEN

"k^imii'.

■■,;'g,,*'. ?.".

'■il

to t'dik just then ; both were swept into the crowd
of dancers ; but Blanche caught Gemma's smile
of meaning many times, and it added a new
and delightful mystery to the romances that
her brain was weaving, even in that busy scene,
about the former story of the ruby heart bearing
the pearly tear. And when the ball was over
and her guests had retired, when Blanche had
said good night to her father, and she and
Gemma were alone again, she recurred to the
subject. But Gemma put her off laughingly.

" You are too curious," she said, " and I am
determined to administer a moral lesson to you,
by not gratifying your inquisitiveness until I
choose. I shan't tell you where I saw a jewel
like that, until — until — you must wait even to
know until when."

Blanche submitted to the playful imperious-
ness of her friend, and laying the necklace by,
she began to talk about the ball.

"What a number of strange faces," said
Blanche, "and yet familiar names; I know every
one in the room almost by name, except the
oliicers, and no one in reality. Did you enjoy it
very much, Gemma? Which of your partners
did you like best ? "

" I enjoyed it very much," said Gemma,

f
pi

BLANCHE

*' and I liked Captain Ramsay best. lie was
the handsomest man in the room."

'*You danced with him early in the night, I
think ? "

*' Yes, and late too. lie bespoke the last
dance. Which of vour partners did you like
best?"

" I don't know," said Blanche Tredethlyn,
but her answer was not sincere.

Captain Ruthven Ramsay was one of the
bachelor guests of Sir Bernard, and quarters
had been secured for him at an inu. He was
only a captain in a line regiment, with very
little to live on in addition to his pay, and being
the younger son of a family as notoriously poor
as it was undeniably distinguished, he had no
particular expectations. He was indeed about
the last on the " young men " list of that season,
upon whom the fashionable mothers of Society
looked with favour. Those fashionable mothers
were careful to explain to their daughters
that it would be unprincipled on the part of
Captain Ramsay if he should attempt to marry
otherwise than for money. Hitherto Captain
Ruthven Ramsay had not put any temptation
to disobedience in the way of the fair pupils in
the school of expediency ; he had never been

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

f; :

I;"

M...

m<--?\

seriously 8poken of as the admirer of any
woman, and his already considerable claims
to female admiration had gradually been en-
hanced by that of reputed indifference, even
invulnerability.

But in truth Ruthven Ramsay was neither
invulnerable nor indifferent ; he was only scru-
pulously honourable, and excessively fastidious.
No fortune with which a woman could be
dowered would have induced him to marry her
without love ; but, on the other hand, no love
that a woman could inspire would have in-
duced him to accept all from her. So that he
had come to regard himself as an '* outsider "— -
one to whom the prize matrimonial was never to
be adjudged.

That very refinement of taste, manners,
and habits, without which no woman could
inspire him with love, rendered it improbable
that he should find the one woman whom he
must love, outside the rank and condition of
life in which wealth is as general as it is
indispensable ; yet, he had not hitherto been
obliged to fly from an agonising temptation,
or induced to fail in his allegiance to his
immutable code of honour. He had not seen
the woman whom he could have loved, had

BLANCHE

she been ever so romantically and accommo-
datingly poor; and he was beginning to think
his lot might not be so hard a one after all.
When Ruthven Ramsay, part of whose regiment
was quartered in Cornwall, entered the ball-room
at Tredethlyn Castle he was heart-whole and
fancy free.

Gemma had said truly that he was the
'"^andsomest man in the room. It almost always
befell Ruthven Ramsny to be so, and to produce
such an effect by his presence, that people in
general were much surprised to find he had
anything beyond his good looks to recommend
him. Lady novelists had not yet made mascu-
line ugliness heroic, but there already existed
a notion that male beauty and boobyism usually
went together. He was not remarkably tall,
but his figure combined strength and symmetry,
and his face, with its dark- blue eyes, features
fine and delicate, but peculiarly instinct with
manliness ; his noble head, with its closely-
curling masses of auburn-brown hair, were of
typical beauty.

He had been some time in the ball-room
before he attempted to penetrate the crowd
surrounding Miss Tredethlvn, but he waited
patiently his turn fur an introduction, looking

my' I

TUE QUEEN'S TOKEN

about him in the meanwhile, and admiring the
pretty, fresh complexions and animated manners
of many a belle of the Duchy, to whom " the
season" was utterly unknown, and the possibility
of ever getting eucugli of balls was incredible.
Thus, amid the shifting of the crowd, he caught
occasional glimpses of a fiice so beautiful, so
brio^ht, so full of youthful pleasure, and yet of
delicate and refined sensibility — with eyes dark,
proud, brilliant, and yet tender — a face in which
intellect, feeling, cultivation, race, had cuu-
ninoly blended their expression into loveliness
such as he had never before seen. People came
and went, intervening between him and the
figure, girlish indeed, but stately and statuesque,
at which he earnestly gazed. She only did not
change her place, and presently, a gap occurring in
the crowd, Ruthven Ramsay, with his sponsor, a
Cornish squire, by his side, took advantage of it
to be iutroduced to Misi TredetVlyn.

" Now we shall have a look at the wonderful
necklace Lady Merthyr has been talking about/'
said Sir Aierthyr Merthyr. But Ruthven Ram-
say made his bow to Miss Tredethlyn, asked for
a dance, and fell back into the crowd, with only
the vaguest notion of what Miss Tredethlyn was
like, and without having seen the wonderful

BLANCHE

necklace. He had been looking at Gemma di
Valdimonte's sparkling eyes.

Blanche Tredethlyn's eighteenth birthday
formed an epoch in her life in more than the
conventional sense. ..'he first of the guests at
the ball who presented himself afterwards at, tlie
castle was Ruthven Ramsay, and she heard his
name announced with a feeling hitherto un-
known, as though something extraordinary
had occurred to her.

There is no need to ehiborate this portion of
Blanche Tredethlyn's history — it was only the
old, old story, after all.

Tredethlyn Castle was always picturesque
and beautiful, but it was peculiarly so in the
glorious summer weather which set in after
Blanche's birthday festival, when sunshine was
upon sea and shore, upon ivy-grown turret and
smooth bowling-green, upon pleached alleys,
and smiling, many-coloured gardens. That was
to Blanche Tredethlyn an enchanted time, and
not to her alone. Captain Ruthven Ramsay
and his friends were still in the vicinity ; but
he had forsaken the inn, and was staying at
Merthyr with his sponsorial friend. Day after
day found the young officer, to whom Sir
Bernard had taken a decided liking, at the

H 3

1 :■■'

■il

y I

100

TER QUEEN'S TOKEN

castle, in p1cn.=^nnt, iillo attendance upon the
ladies. Tile first distinct idea concerning Miss
Tredcthlyn that Ruthven Ramsay was conscious
of entertnining, was that she was vastly inferior
to the peerless Gemma ; and although on better
acquaintance with her, he did justice to the
young lady's gifts of intellect and disposition,
it never occurred to him to think of her in any
light Imt that of Gemma's friend, who might,
perhaps, be induced to be his friend also. After
she had given him her whole heart, when every
wish and funcy of hers were centred in him,
altliouojh she had no real knowledore of how
entirely she loved him, Ruthven Ramsay could
not have told the colour of Miss Tredethlyn's
eyes, or remembered how she wore her hair.

Captain Ramsay learned very quickly all
about the beautiful girl who first made him feel
how difficult it would be to adhere to his rule
with regard to women. This portionless, high-
born lady was not to be thought of as possibly his
wife ; he could have no right to try and win one
who had such a future before her, such sovereign
right as hers to all that some happier man
than he could give. But it was not easy to
refrain from thinking of Gemma, and Captain
iuimsay speedily left off trying to refrain. He saw

BLANCHE

101

her frequently ; the old-world courtesy and hos-
pitality of Sir Bernard afforded him all the
opportunities that the most ardent admirer, if
he had any chiim to keep within the bounds
of reason, could desire. He had leave from his
regiment for some weeks, and there was no
equivocal warmth or eagerness in the reception
he met with almost daily from the young hidies
at the castle. If Bhinehe had had a mother to
watch over her with the vi<>;ilance of love, or
even an hired chaperon to surround her with the
precautions of interest, the disaster of an unre-
quited attachment could hardly have befallen
the young lady of Tredetblyn.

In about three weeks after the birthday festi-
val, and wlicn the early summer was exquisitely
beautiful, the painting which Sir Bernard had
purchased from Gemma's father reached Tre-
detblyn, and was hung in the picture-galKa-y.
Miss Tredetblyn and her friend had been out,
passing the sunny hours upon the shore, and
there Sir Merthyr Merthyr with his wife, and
Captain Ruthven Ramsay, joined them. Until
this day Blanche had not taken herself to task
for the feelings which she neither attempted to
define nor to govern. But now, as she walked
towards her stately uome, with Ruthveu at hev

102

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

IK'!'

lif!

i -;v

side, his dark-blue eyes bent upon her with even
more than their usual gentleness, his manner
full of the high-bred deference which is so
charming to women, his voice modulated to
tones in which dwelt all music to the young
girl's ears, she did not palter with or deceive
herself any longer. She loved him, and her
dearest hope, her delicious, timid belief, was
that he loved her. She was so exqui.^itely
happy I Surely the world must be a good and
glorious place, and human life a splendid, an
inestimable boon, when such a beins as Ruthven
lived in the one, and such feelings as hers were
permitted to irradiate the other 1 So absorbed
was she that she hardly noticed the preoccupa-
tion of Gemma, and felt like one awakened from
a dream — scarcely able to recognise surrounding
objects — when her friend said to her :

** Blanche, you have been very good to wait
so patiently, and to ask me no questions. But
you are now to be rewarded. I am going to tell
you the grand secret."

"Grand secret I" said Blanche, ])lushing, "I
don't think I know what y<»u mean."

" Oh, then you've forgotten ! And you don't
care to know where I saw a jewel like your ruby
heart?" ,

BLANCHE

103

" Of course — I remember, and I do care to
know — only — only I seem to have so much more
to think of now, that things escape me somehow."

" Never mind. You shall hear the secret all
the same as though you had been trying to find it
out ; bat only on one condition — you must wear
the ruby heart at dinner."

" When there's so small a party, Gemma ? "

" Yes — never mind the smallness of the
party ; everybody there will think anything
you do is right, you know. Stay — you are
nearly dressed — I will put it on your neck now."

The gem touched Blanche's soft warm neck
coldly, and she started slightly under Gemma's
hands.

After dinner Sir Bernard proposed a general
adjournment to the picture-gallery, in order that
his guests might inspect his latest acquisition.

The admiring group was gathered ruuud the
painting when Gemma came to Blanche's side
and pressed her arm.

"Now for the secret," she whispered. " Look
to the right of the picture, at the figure of the
Dauphin."

" Yes, I am looking."

" Now look to the left, at the figure of the
Queen of Scots," . , ,

i' i-i ;;

104

THE QUE EN* 8 TOKEN

'v.

" Yes, T am looking." -

" Do you see any similarity in their orna-
ments ? Here is a mMjjnifvinaj glass — observe the
white satin shoulder-knot worn by each as a
bridal favour. What is the jewel in the
centre ? "

Blanche looked intently, and then the arm
which held the glass dropped at her side, and she
turned a pale face on the smiling Gemma, as she
answered :

** Jt is a ruby heart with a ]jearU'

'\ ^

/ '

J.-'

,^ ♦ • »•,-■-.

CHAPTER VL

"the fatal jewel"

AVhen Blanche Tredethlyn was alone that night,
she sat gazing on the necklace with a strange
terror and attraction.

" It is no guess," she thought. " It is no
mere coincidence. Something has told my
spirit that this is the jewel the Queen wore, the
fatal Queen, who brouglit evil to every one by
her presence, and who seems to live still, cen-
turies after her death — the most real being in
all the history of the past to me, the being
whose true story I have most longed and tried
to penetrate. If you could speak " — her thoughts
were now softly murmured in words — " you cold,
bright, senseless, beautiful thing — what stories
you could tell, if indeed you adorned Queen
Mary at her bridal, and rested on her breast.
Strange stories of a terrible time, when for many

\i:

¥n\

.1 4

106

THE QUEEN'S I'OKEN

a one the upper earth was as perilous and fearful
as those depths of the sea, whence you comu
hither. What did you see there — in the tre-
mendous caverns where the dead rest not, men
say, but arc for ever swayed in the great roll-
ing waters ? If you could tell me your story,
could 1 bear to hear it? Should I not have a
great fear of you, atom as you are of the earth's
hidden treasure ; wrought relic of human love
and suffering ; waif of the dreadful ocean ?
Yes, I should fear you — nay, more, I fear you

now.

" Gemma," said Blanche to her friend, when
they met next morning, " I would rather you
did not say anything to either papa or Mr.
Vaughan about the lik'^ness of my ruby heait
to the jewel in the picture. I know it is weak
of me, and worse than weak, superstitious ;
but I would rather no one knew about this
likeness except ourselves."

"And yet it would give fresh interest and
increased value to both the picture and the
jewel."

"I know; but I have a strong feeling iu
this matter, and you won't cross me in it, will
you ? "

" No, indeed, I will not," said Gemma, and

'*THE FATAL JEWEL'*

107

she kept her promise, not even tilking of the
coincidence lo Captain Ruthven Ramsay.

Mr. MiiUiou ^ound Bhmohe Tredethlyn intel-
ligent and interested on the subject of her Irish
property. She now had a dear untold reason
for prizing highly the wealth which she should
have the power of conferring on another. Tlie
bright weeks of the summer Hitted by, and the
light cloud that rested from time to time on
Miss Tredethlyu's thoughtful, placid face, came
there more frequently, ^^d remained longer.
Her father saw it, Gemma &aw it ; of those who
were much v/ith her Ruthven Ramsay only did
not see it. But he was unobservant of every
one except Gemma — an example of the reflected
egotism of love. To all attempts to discover
the origin of this fitful sadness Blanche opposed
a gentle, steadfast denial of its existence. When
her father questioned her, she would remind him
that she was growing older, was a responsible
person, and must be steady, or she would put
him of with a jesting reply. When Gemma
questioned her, she would sigh, look wistfully
at her, and say that she was not sad, there was
nothing the matter with her, that, in fact, no
one could be happier than she. Gemma

uneasy about her friend ; finding it

grew
vain

,.:;,/ i

108

THE QUEEN *S TOKEN

pi,

mi '

El I >

question Blanche, she confided her anxiety to Mr.
Vaugban, who, in his turn, observed Blanche
closely. As an outsider in every game of active
life, as a looker-on at every scene of human
passion, the old priest was more clear-sighted
than any there, and he readily made up his mind
as to why Blanche's spirits were changing pain-
fully from the placid cheerfulness that had
characterised her. But Blanche, much as she
liked and esteemed him, clearly as sho )«>r-
ceived the greater sympathy of his mind with
hers than that of any other of her associates,
even Gemma, was entirely reticent towards
Mr. Vaughan, nor could any eflfort on his part
tempt her from her reserve. Their young lady's
changed looks, and silent, melancholy ways, soon
became the talk of the servants, and even of the
tenants about Tredethlyn. Some declared that
she looked like a ghost, while others said for
certain she had seen one.

This was true ; Blanche had seen the un-
canniest ghost which youth can see — the phan-
tom of an unreal, impossible, deceptive hope.
There is no more blighting vision. The young
girl bore bravely first the dawning, and then
the full, blinding, confirmatory light of the truth.
Her dream of happiness did not la^ for many

•"TEE FATAL JEWEL**

109

weeks, and it was dispelled by Captain Ramsay
himself. One evening when she was singing, as
she always sang, with exquisite taste and feel-
ing, and he was standing at a little distance,
she nr>t'Cfi.l the changes in the expression of
his f;ici(', ns the soft, passionate words of the song
flowiMl over her lips, and she saw, instantly, that
those looks were not directed to her. Gemma
was near her, leaning on the back of a high
velvet chair, over which her arm was stretched,
the hand touching Miss Tredethlyn's shoulder.
It was Gemma's eyes that Ramsay were seeking,
it was in Gemma's face he was looking for the
sentiment of the song. With the notes still
thrilling from her parted lips, Blanche turned
her head and caught the answering glance. It
told her all, and the stroke of a dagger in her
heart could hardly have been keener, while it
would certainly have been more merciful, pain.
But Blanche was true to her race ; she carried
the heart of a hero in that slender body of hers.
Her manner was as gracious, her smile was as
sweet, during the remainder of that evening as
before, but Gemma remarked somethins: stranffo
in her voice. Blanche imputed it to fatigue ;
the sun had affected her, she should be quite
well after a good night's rest. And when

|r,'i''
I

110

THE QUEEN'S TORES'

;:|i

Gomma went to her room to take leave of her
fur the iiiorht, Blanche kissed her with more tlian
her usual earnestness and affection, but acknow-
ledged that she was unable to talk any more.
For three days after this Miss Tredethlyn kept
her room, a bad cold was the assigned reason ;
and when she ;jgain appeared among the party
assembled at the castle, her altered looks con-
firmed the statement.

From that time the change which Sir Ber-
nard and Gemma noted with anxiety, became
apparent in Blanche, and from that time also
Captain Ruthven Ramsay began to have a truer,
higher, more generous appreciation of her. No
human eye beheld, no human heart sympathised
with, the girl's struggle ; there was none to
rejoice in her victory. She accepted her lot
with entire submission, and accused only herself
of the anguish it implied. She had given her
heart to Ruthven Ramsay unasked — she loved
a man who loved another ; but while she
fully acknowledged in this conviction the
extinction of the brightest hope which can illu-
mine a woman's life, she nobly kept fresh in
her remembrance the charms, the graces, the
undeniable claims to admiration of her beauti-
ful and gifted friend. Blanche's pale face grew

»THE FATAL JEWEL*"

111

paler, her gentle voice more low, her quiet srep
more subdued as the weeks went on, and every
day confirmed the revehitiou that had been
made to her by Ruthven Ramsay's face.

It was arranged that, in the following spring
Sir Bernard and his daughter should go to Ire-
land, and take up their abode in the town
nearest to Kilferran Abbey, from thence to
ispect the progress of the new mansion and
make themselves acquainted with the estate.
Miss Tredethlyn, while acknowledging that she
was not quite strong, did not in the meantime
wish for any change of residence. She had had
too much travelling, she said, and she wanted
quiet ; nothing that would break up t!ieir life
at home would be welcome to her.

Day by day Bhinche waited in expectation of
the coming of the great tiial which she felt was
in store for her — Gemma's confidence on the
subject of her happy love. No pang of envy
of her beautiful friend had ever been caused by
Gemma's loveliness — she had regarded beauty
as a thing apart, even as a monarch's crown
might be ; and she strove to feel no envy now,
but strove in vain. "She has everything,"
thought Blanche. *' Beauty, fascination, and his
love — and I, what have IV* To look around

Wr"'.

112

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

1 1

on all the wealth and luxury of which she was
mistress did not supply her with an answer;
these did not mean much to her^ and she was
too ignorant of the world's judgments to know
how much they might mean in the estimation
of that world.

But the confidence she dreaded did not
come from Gemma. It came in a form harder
to bear than any she had feared. It came from
Ruthven Ramsay himself. It came in the form
of a petition for her influence and h^r aid.
Gemma had owned that she loved him, but
had refused to marry him for his own sake —
refused to come to him, a portionless wife,
as she must come — -refused thus to traverse
his prospects in life, and she had bidden him
to leave her

Bhmche bore her sharp trial nobly. She
cheered Captain Ramsay with assurances that
Gemma's nature was as constant as it was
lovinor, and that if he had but courajre and
perseverance to pursue fortune, he might return
and find her still there and fiiithful to her love.
She urged upon him that Gemma was acting
consistently with her duty ; she spoke modestly
of interest which Sir Bernard miiiht use in liioh
places to procure for Captain Ramsay swifc

*'TEE FATAL JEWEL''

113

advancement. His plan was to go to Incliuj
where at that time the best prizes of the soldier
were to be won, to win some of those prizes, and
to come back and chiim his bride — a programme
which had a far diflferent and more terrible
meaning in those days than a simikr one would
have now. Bhinche approved his design, telling
him she would guard Gemma for him, and that
when he returned, he was to come and ask
her for the treasure he had left in her care. She
found relief and strength in the earnestness of
her intention and the eagerness of her promise.
The siuojle-hearted fervour of her regard for the
two, who little suspected what their mutual
love cost her, supported her. In her presence
Gemma promised her lover to wait for him, no
matter how long, and they exchanged rings in
the foreign style of betrothal.

"And I shall find you here?" Rudiven
Ramsay said to Gemma.

" If Tredethlyn is still my home, you will
find her," Blanche answered for her ; ** but, if
not, wherever my home is, there Gemma will
be. She has no near relatives to dispute that
point with me."

Ruthven Ramsay went away from Trerlethlyn,
and Blanche knew that wiih him all the glory

lis

IV 1 * I'

I' I

\ '

TEE QVEEN^S TOKEN

had gone out of her life ; but love nnd duty
were still left in it, and she was resolved to
1)6 faithful to both. The touch of this great
sorrow, alvvavs to be borne in absolute solitude,
ennobled her, and soon gave a new refinement
and dignity to her face.

No lady of Trcdethlyn had ever been more
popular or more beloved than Sir Bernard's
daughter ; but, as time went on, it began to be
whispered about among the people that Miss
Tredethlyn was ** strange ; " tliat she never in-
tended to marry ; that she had refused *' the
best blood in Cornwall " ; tliat if Sir Bernard
were dead she would go into a convent, as her
:;reat-aunt, Marcia Tredethlyn, had done ; finally,
that she had an awful knowledge of the spirit-
world, and had even seen the ghost who had
long ago looked into the Venice mirror. But
people did not believe this, for Miss Tredethlyn
continued to live at the castle, and if she
had seen that ghost she would have been
frightened away. She came back to Tredethlyn
from Ireland ; she did not go abroad with Sir
Bernard and Mr. Vaughan when they again
visited the Continent ; she seemed fonder of the
place than ever. It was then impossible she
should be "haunted." But Mother Skiriow, who

th
th

^'THE TATAL JEWEL

115

was reputed very wise in such matters, looked
mysterious, and said, oracularly, unmoved by
these arguments : " It isn't as she likes. Those
that the spirits come to must do what the
spirits bid. Mayhap she's held here by her
dreams."

f.:^! I

CFTAPTER VII.

KILFERRAN

Pi-

Ik ' <
It. 'y.-'

m'^

^\'

J '

^h *r T* 'P ^F

The moon was sliiiiing brightly over the ruins
of Kilferran Abbey, and Bhinche Tredethlyn,
hooking out of the window of her own room, in
the new house she had built, felt that she had
never before appreciated the beauty of the scene
thoroughl3^ The solemnity of a great change
hud fallen upon Blanche. Tredethlyn Castle
was no longer hers. Sir Bernard died a little
before the completion of the building of
Blanche's house at Kilferran, and the present
owner of Tredethlyn had shut up the castle.
Ke had indeed placed it at Blanche's disposal
for an unlimited time, but she preferred to take
up her abode at Kilferran, so soon as the new
house could be put in order ; and she, Gemma,
and Mr. Vaughan, now a very old man, had just

KlLFBREAn

117

arrived there. The loneliness of the place, the
strangeness of the life, had a charm for Bhin(;he
in her sorrow, and the slight figure of the young
mistress of Kilferran, in her mourning dress,
offered no discordant contrast to the general
aspect of the scene.

Since those sunny summer days at Tredethlyn,
a strange alteration had come over Bhmclic,
which made of her a being lonely a!id apart. It
was not her ill-fated love ; she had accepted
that in a spirit so humhie, so loyal, and so
frank, that it had no power to embitter her.
Neither was it her grief for her father; for this,
deep and sincere as it was, and full of the
aching void of loneliness, was not of a rebellious
and resentful kind. The change had another
origin, and not even Gemma had been able to
discover it. Blanche's smile still had its familiar
sweetness, there was the same musical ring in
her low voice ; but there was a far-away
look in her eyes, and she sometimes spuke and
moved like one in a dream. Active in the
discharge of every duty, and scrupulously
careful for the comfort of every one around
her, Miss Tredethlyn was not of the world she
was in. As she had lived of iate among the
people at Tredethlyn, so she lived umon^ the

iliiii;

lis

THE QUEEN* a TOKEN

fewer and ruder people at her new home —
kind, distant, different, alone.

Blanche stood by the window, which opened
down to the floor ; the moonlight shone on hei
face, thinner, more transparent, far less plain
than it formerly was ; it touched iu? lines of her
figure, clothed in a loose black dr^ss, and the
long tresses of her fair hair, pushed back from
her face, and falling over her shoulders. Behind
her was the luxurious, brightly-lighted, flower-
scented room, a picture of modern life and
comfort; before her, the new, incomplete-looking
flower-garden, and a young plantation ; then a
stretch of green sward, the abrupt rise of a
steep hill, and the old, old Abbey, ghastly, but
yet beautiful, in the moonlight.

"My dreams," she murmured, "oh, my
dreams ! Shall I ever find their interpretation ?
They crowd about me here, more than in my
old home ; my life is theirs, the hours in which
I am not dreaming hardly count. Whence do
they come ? and why ? and why more and more
constantly ? It must be because I so cherish
and love them. I turn from the brightest day
to the night which brings them to me — from
the company of my fi lends to the silent com-
munion with these shades. How Gemma and

(

T-T!

KILFEBBAN

lid

Mr. Vaughan watch me ! I know they are
looking for the fancied traces of some mortal
disease ; I know they think I am not to live
long — many of the Tredethlyns have died young,
I believe ; but I feel no illness, no pain, and if I
do feel weariness, it is that which comes of pain
that is past, as mine is. Yes, past,^ quite past,
gone for ever. I lov^d him with all my fancy,
not with all my heart, surely not according to
the passion called love, or I could not have for-
given — not him, but myself; — I could not now
think of his return and of their marriage with
more than composure, with checrftd hope and
pleasure. But 1 do not suffer now ; it is all
gone ; my dreams are here instead, and they
never bring me any [)ain. Perhaps they leave
a mark upon me — when 1 come back from them
to the life that is not life — a mark which people
see, and cannot understand, and therefore, they
watch me. Well, let them. 1 would tell what
my dreams are, Imt that they might leave me,
like the fairies 1 used to believe in when I was
a child, who would never appear twice to any
mortal who had told oH the mysttriuus grace
done him by the *good people.* They, too,
might vanish and leave me more than ever
lonely. No, no," blanche murmured, as she

li'l! Ml'

120

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

slightly waved her hand towards the ruin, as
though bidding it adieu, and dropped the cur-
tain before the balconied window, *' I cannot tell
any one my dreams."

Blanche retired to rest, and soon the moon-
beams, peeping through chinks in the curtains,
glimmered on her sleeping face. One white,
slender hand lay softly on the counterpane by
her side, but the other, hidden in the lace at
the bosom of her nightdress, closed over the
mysterious and precious jewel which she always
wore. By day and night, the ruby heart with
the tear of pearl rested ever in the girl's bosom ;
the constant, inseparable companion of Blanche
Tredethlyn s life.

Gemma di Valdimonte was beautiful and
charming as ever, and very popular in the new
home to which she had accompauied her friend.
She was happy though her lover was absent.
No jealous fears, no unworthy doubts disturbed
her, and even natural anxiety on his behalf,
while it made the feelings with which she re-
garded him solemn, did not distract her or
render her restless. Ruthven Ramsay would do
his duty, she knew right well, and if distinction
were to be earned, he would surely earn it. All
his letters were confirmatory of this faith; all

KILFERBAN

131

breathed hope, love, and assurance, and Gemma
was h.ippy. The people about Kilferran, with
the quick sympathy of their race, and the appre-
ciation of beauty and grace also natural to
Ihem, regarded Gemma with peculiar favour.
They had found out that she came of good
blood, that her family was noble, and had
suffered much ; this discovery increased her
importance in the estimation of people who
held the old names of their own land — all
associated with misery and oppression — in un-
dying reverence?.

Luthven Ramsay was beginning to talk of
coming to England. The last of England's
enemies in Hindostan were conquered — of
course for ever — his promotion had been
satisfactory, and his prospects in the service
were very good. Such was the state of affairs,
when on one autumn day, when the leaves were
falling, :;iid the winds were sighing softly around
the ruined walls of Kilferran, as a prelude to
their v/inter wailing, Ruthven Ramsay's last
letter formed the subject of discussion between
Blanche and Gemma.

The twirls, accompanied by Mr. Vaughan, had
been out for some hours watching the progress
of the workmen engaged in converting the laud

■ I

122

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

immediately about the new house into orna-
mental grounds. They wore pressing on the
operations, so as to forestall the severe weather,
and in particular the draining of a small but
deep pond ; an unsightly object, useless for the
purposes of the new house. Blanche had come
in tired, and was lying on a couch, placed close
to her favourite window, while Gemma sat by
her side. In Gemma's hand was Ramsay's
letter.

" After all, what he tells me does not make
things right," said Gemma — **he will still be
marrying a poor girl, and I shall be snubbed by
his people, I suppose." .

" No, no," said Blanche, " they could never
do that, I am sure ; and Colonel Ramsay will not
give them the chance if they were inclined. Be-
sides, Gemma, darling — though — though you
may not be what people call rich — English people
have such extravagant notions of the money
one needs to be happy in this world —
you will not be poor either, not quite portion-
less, you know."

Blanche spoke hesitatingly, and took Gemma's
disengaged hand. Gemma lifted up her head
and looked at her.

**You meAu that you will ddter me, No,

KILFEBBAN

123

Blanche, this must not be. Ruthven and I
knew you had this intention ; but we are ot
one mind about that. It must not and it
shall not be I " , .

** And why not, Gemma ? Why am I not
to do what I like ^-^ith my own — with the
money which my dear father left me, to dispose
of at my free will ? "

** Because it would be wrong ; because it
would be mean and unworthy of Ruthven and
of me. You have been my i»est friend, dearest
Blanche. Think of the comfortless, uncongenial,
grudging home you took me from. What sort
of home it was, and how welcome I was there
is plain, I think, considering that my uncle
has never asked me to return, or cared that
I was living all this time upon your bounty.
Think of the home you have given me ever
since, and "

*' Gemma," interrupted Blanche, *' you are
arguing for, not against me. It is because you
have no real home but this, because we are
sisters in all things, because our life is one,
that I have a right to expect you will let me
do as I propose. My darling, what is it all
worth to me apart from you?"

*' Now, I know that is so," said Gemma '

124

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

"but it will not always be so. The time
must come for me to leave you, and follow
Ruthven's fortunes, and before that time, I
trust, a similar hope, brighter in one sense — it
could not be brighter in another — will have
come to you. You will marry, Blanche, and
then — then — you will know that, in common
honour and honesty, we could not let you
giv^e us money which ought to be your hus-
band's. Don't you see this, dearest Blanche 'i
Ruthven has said it all to me, and I knew
the time would come when I should have to
say it to you."

Gemma was now kneeling by her friend's
couch, and her ar .s were clasped round
Blanche's slender form. As she spoke of the
probability that Blanche would marry, a tinge
of colour had suffused the pale face into which
she was looking; but it passed quickly as
Blanche replied with a smile :

" I shall never marry. Gemma ; be quite
sure of that. I shall wrong no possible hus-
band, no future children, by what I intend to
do."

"Never marry ? — and why V
^ " Because it is not my vocation, not my
destiny. I think mine is the best and happiest

KILFEEHAN

125

of any." Here she paused, and drew Gemma,
whose southern blood was chilled by something
in her face, closer to her. ** Gemma, darling,
you do not know that / have heard CypiiarCs
hells:*

At that moment the sound of many eager,
shouting voices, and the tread of hurrying feet
underneath the window, came suddenly into the
room. Blanche and Gemma started up and ran
to the window. A number of workmen — among
whom they recognised Mr. Vaughan, and saw
a large, dark olject carried by two men —
were turning the angle of the house. The
girls hurried to the chief entrance, and,
almost so soon as they reached it, the men
approached.

" What is the matter ? Has anything hap-
pened ? " asked Blanche.

" Nothing is the matter," replied Mr.
Vaughan ; *' but a very extraordinary discovery
has been made."

He directed the men to advance to the door,
and they laid down at Miss Tredethlyn's feet
a heavy, strangely -shaped object, blackened,
rusted, defaced by time, but bearing some re-
semblance to a monstrous bird, with beak and
claws and outstretched wings. The girls looked

I *

h^X

126

TUB QUEEN'S TOKEN

Sit it wondering, and the men stood around,
wandering also, to hear Mr. Vaughan's expla-
nation.

"When they had emptied the pond in the
place known as the Friar's Garden, the work-
men found at the bottom a quantity of rubbish
and heavy stones. They began to remove these
and came upon this strange object beneath.
I believe they at first tried to knock it to
pieces with their pickaxes ; but one of them
brought me to the spot where it lay, a mere
blackened monstrous-looking lump of metal. I
recognised it, as a lectern of ancient form and
fabric ; and I have no doubt it is one which
belonged to the old Abbey in the time of the
Dominican Friars, and was flung into the pond
when the Abbey was dismantled by Sydney's
troops. If this be true, you are to be con-
gratulated on the discovery of so valuable and
interesting an object of antiquity on your estate."

Blanche and Gemma were stooping over
the huge mass, eyeing it with curiosity, while
Mr. Vaughan spoke ; but the men looked
askance, and one of the foremost whispered to
his neighbour :

"Valuable is it? Arrah! sure it's only a
lump of ould iron."

KILFEREAN'

127

"The Tredethlyn tradition is destined to
follow you, it seems," said Mr. Vaughan ; ** the
relics of the past turn up wherever a Tredethlyn
has a house."

The strange-looking object, having been
cleaned so far as it was possible, was carried
into the house, the men were rewarded, and Miss
Tredethlyn, Gemma, and Mr. Vaughap. were
left to examine the ancient lectern. The battered
and blackened surface proved, after much
rubbing and oiling, to be finely-wrought brass,
and the ruby eyes were still perfect. The girls
watched the process of cleaning the lectern with
much interest, speculating upon its age, upon
how it came into the place where it had been
found, upon the dead-and-gone monks who,
reverently standing before it, had read the
sacred Evangels ; upon the closed ears which
had heard, within yonder ruins, the awful words
of counsel, command, and consolation. Blanche
was animated and excited ; Gemma declared she
had not seen her so much so since the day she
had been given the ruby heart, "that happy
day when I first saw Ruthven," she whispered.
The services of a competent person were pro-
cured to restore the lectern so far as possible,
and by degrees the artistic beauty of the design

I I

123

i'H£J QUEEN '8 TOKEIT

m '

and finisli of the workmanship became apparent.
When the restorer's task was complete, Mr.
Vanghan examined the fine brazen plates re-
presenting the feathers on the eagle's breast, and
raising with a chisel one of these which
had been bent and beaten, revealed an orifice,
dexterously stopped with an iron ping. Blanche
only was with him when he made this
discovery, and they wondered what the mean-
ing of the hole, which had evidently been
carefully made, and as carefully stopped, could
be.

" Perhaps there is something in the lectern,"
said Blanche at length ; " and this may be a
keyhole."

" I think you are right," replied Mr.
Vaughan ; " the body of the bird may be a
receptacle for something — papers, perhaps.
How strange if we should find anything of
the kind, though they would probably be
illegible."

** Perhaps not," said Blanche. " If water
has never got inside the lectern. But there
was no sound when it was moved."

" No ; but the plate was down then. Put
your ear to it — your hearing is so keen — while
I shake it."

KILFEEBAN

129

Mr. Vaughan shook the brazen bird while
Blanche listened. But she heard nothing. He
shook it once more, and she again listened.
" Yes, yes, there's a sound — a faint sound —
very far down. I can just catch it; but it is
there — it is, indeed."

" Then we will try and find out what
causes it," said Mr. Vaughan ; " there's some-
thing that will get the plug out among my
tools."

" Oh ! " said Blanche, detaining him for a
moment, " it makes me feel so strange — it is
almost like opening a coffin."

** We may find a relic there," said Mr.
Vaughan. " I should not wonder if the friars
hid something of great price in so secure and
ingenious a hiding-place when the troubles
came upon them, and they were driven out."

" Let me call Gemma."

"Call no one, Blanche, until we see
what this is. Let none but you and me
know anything about it."

Miss Tredethlyn watched Mr. Vaughan with
breathless interest as he plied his chisel
so as to raise two more of the brazen plates
below the plugged orifice. He made way but
slowly, and was saying he feared he mu't

130

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

I ml

m ^ w

4 f

t
( ,;

5
''1'

have the assistance of a smith, when the point
of the instrument he was usin<T was cauorht
in an imperceptible groove, and slid in a
straight line from left to right. It had evi-
dently touched a spring or hinge, for a plate, six
inches in length, fell open, disclosing the interior
of the eagle's breast, formed of metal of sur-
prising thickness. Mr. Vaughan plunged his
hand into the opening, dragged out with
difficulty, so closely was it stowed away, a large
packet covered with some woollen substance, and
disclosed a roll of tin or lead. This again con-
tained a roll of ancient, discoloured parchment.
Mr. Vauofhan smoothed out the roll and found
that it consisted of several skins, closely written
over in the quaint character of three hundred
years ago, but with the care, distinctness, and
evenness of the monastic writing of that and
earlier periods. He laid the scroll aside, and,
putting his arm down into the open space,
searched every corner of it carefully, but there
was nothing more.

"What are they?" asked Blanche, looking
at the parchment scrolls with the awe and
reverence inseparable in imaginative and refined
minds, from any object of antiquity which
records the lives and experiences of human

KILFEBBAN

131

beings, long ago passed into the unknown world.
She touched the woollen stuff which the packet
had been wrapped in, wondering whose were
the fingers that had touched it last. Were
they numbered among the bones which had
recently been reverently reburied, when the earth
about the Abbey was turned up, or were they
merely dust in the undisturbed graves within
the ruin ?

" Mr. Vaughan, what are the papers ? "
"I cannot tell y.t. It will take me a long
time to decipher them, although they are
uninjured ; for the writing is difficult, and the
language, too ; it is old French. If, as it seems
likely, these papers throw a light upon the
past history of the Abbey, our discovery will
be valuable indeed."

K a

CHAPTER VIII.

CYPRIANS TRUST

At Mr. Vaughan's request Miss Tredethlyn
left him to pursue his task alone. While she
remained away from the scene of his labours,
her thoughts dwelt upon them unremittingly,
and her fancy wove a thousand romances of
the loDg-extinct life, that had once animated
the scene she loved. But no effort of her
imagination had prepared her for the com-
munication that Mr. Vaughan made when
he summoned her to his presence late on
that same night.

She found Mr. Vaughan standing before
a table on which the parchment scrolls were
laid out, together with several loose sheets
of paper, covered with notes in his own hand-
writing. Strong emotion was visible in the
old man's face as he advanced towards her.

CYPRIAN'S TBUST

133

' Blanche," he said, " we have found a
treasure ! "

" The history of the Abbey V

" No, a real treasure in gold and jewels,
and also a record of deeply romantic interest —
a record, too, interwoven with the story of
your own old home in an extraordinary way.
Don't look frightened, there is nothing to fear,
though much to be surprised at. Take my
place here, while I tell you the strange story
revealed by these documents."

Blanche obeyed him in silence.

'* Look at this skin of parchment," he con-
tinued ; " it is the preamble to the narrative,
and it sets forth how, by command of the
Prior of Kilferran, a monk of the order of
St. Dominic did, in the year of grace 15G9,
put in writing certain things that had
befallen some months previously, and his own
personal concern with them, in order that a
sacred trust undertaken by him might be
fulfilled in the event of his death, and certain
jewels of price be preserved for their rightful
owners. You are following me, Blanche V
, '* Yes, yes, every word. How wonderful,
how awful it seems ! "

" \yondtirful indeud. Ouly himself and iho

134

THE QUEEN '8 TOKEN

Prior, says the writer, are in possession of this
knowledge, and he places it- record so that it
may, at their respective .iis, pass into the
keeping of some one in* iual, thereby charged
solemnly with the fulfilment of the trust, if
called upon for such fulfilment, and if not,
with the maintenance of the secret, and its
due transmission in an herein-appointed order.
Then comes the narrative." Mr. Vaughan
paused.

" Go on, go on," said Blanche. " I am not
frightened ; but it is like hearing the dead
speak, like seeing the dead move, that, after
centuries, this man's story should be told by
himself to us."

*' The monk, Brother Cyprian, of the order
of Friars Preachers "

** Cyprian ! " exclaimed Blanche. " The donor
of the bells the people talk of yet ! Cyprian's
bells, which some hear still, which I have heard
many a time. Yes, I have heard them ; don't
smile at me; go on, go on."

" No doubt this Brother Cyprian is the same
— it was in the great troubles, they say, that
the bells were taken from Kilferran. He tells
how he had been known iu the world as
Francois, Comte de Valmont, and how he h^i

OYPEIAN*S TRUST

135

a yonnger brother, the Chevalier de Valmont,
whose name was Louis."

" De Valmont," cried Blanche, " De Valmont
— it is Gemma's name I "

"Yes — it is Gemma's name, and I have
no doubt this document is the solution of a
part of the strange story which Gemma told
me when she came to Tredethlyn — and that
Tredethlyn itself has supplied the solution of
the remainder. But for the present you must
listen to the story of the brothers."

While the darkness waned, and the dawn
broke over the ruined walls of Kilferran, Blanche
listened to the solemn statement, written by
Brother Cyprian more than two centuries and
a half before — within the same walls whose
skeleton now stood bare and ghastly in the
coming light — the story of his brother's gallant,
loyal, fruitless enterprise. She listened with
almost appalled attention, motionless, and with
clasped hands. The statement ended thus :

** Forasmuch as I know not if my brother be
laid in prison, or be slain of his enemies, or be
lost in shipwreck ; and have no certitude at all
whether he lives or is dead ; but am, neverthe-
less, persuaded that he is dead, though without
proof of the same, I will and prescribe that th^

136

TEE QUEEN'S TOKEN

■ . ^

Trust which I have held shall be delivered to
whomsoever shall demand it in the name of the
Queen of Scots, and by showing of her Grace's
Token ; without the showing of which, the form
whereof is known to the Father Prior, the Trust
shall not be delivered. The place wherein the
Trust committed to me by my brother is laid is
known only to the Father Prior and to myself,
and shall be divulged by the survivor of us two
to one individual, who shall be bound, in the -
like manner as we are, to the fulfilment of the
Trust, and shall in his turn divulge it, under
seal of secrecy, to another ; so that in time to
come, the purpose of the Trust may be fulfilled ;
but never otherwise than on the showing of the
Token."

*' And now," said Mr. Vaughan, after he had
read the above passage from his translation of
the scroll, "now comes the final disposition of
the Trust, made by this monk, in the belief that
his brother was dead, and therefore that he had
become his heir — also, no doubt, with the desire
to secure the treasure to the Community, in the
event of the fultiliijeut of his brother's purpose
having become impossible, for he did not fore-
see the ruin and dispersion of his brethren. He
declares that after all possibility of its appli-

OTPRIAN'8 TRUST

137

cation to the original purpose of the Trust
shall have ceased to exist, the Treasure is to
become the property of the owner or owners
of Kilferran."

*' 1 wonder what became of it," said Blanche,
speaking for the first time.

" 1 believe that it has never been found.
I believe that in the secret hiding-place, in
which this monk and the Prior placed it, the
Treasure of the De Valmonts lies undisturbed,
and if I am right, Blanche, that Treasure is
yours."

" Mine I " she exclaimed, " mine ! "

"Yes, yours! You are the owner of Kil-
ferran, you are the dweller here."

** I am bewildered," said Blanche. " I can
hardly follow your argument. Where was the
treasure hidden? What became of Louis de
Valmont? He was never heard of in France,
according to the record in Gemma's family."

*' True, he never was heard of again ; but I
think 1 know what became of him, and also
where the Treasure he deposited with his
brother is."

Mr. Vaughan took up a smaller piece of
parchment, with writing on it in a different
hand, and in the English language.

liil:

138

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

"This," said he, "is a memorandum by
the Prior of whom the monk speaks, and in
it he states that, trouble having come upon
the Community, he is about to place Brother
Cyprian's record in a safe place, where it
will incur no risk of being discovered, until
such time as it may be permitted to him to
return to Kilferran, or, in the event of his
not returning, until the person on whom the
Trust will then devolve shall come back to
execute it. And the Prior adds : * Seeing
that we are in such straits that a swift de-
struction may at any hour come upon us,
and lest it should befall that I could do no
more than tell one trusty person where this
document may be found, I write herein, for
the instruction of the person to be intrusted,
that the Token whereof our Brother Cyprian,
now departed, makes mention as the Secret
Token whereby the Queen of Scots, or her
representative, shall alone make claim to the
Trust, is a great balas-ruby, shaped in the
form of a heart, and laid with one pearl.
The which jewel was given by the Queen of
Scots to the said Louis de Valmont, and is
without peer, save that other balas-ruby of
a like device which was brought hither by

OTPniAN'S TRUST

139

the said Brother Cyprian, and by him otTered
ex voto. Concerning which latter jewel, 1
have seen fit, as the times are troublous, and
the Community may be in straits, to place
it, together with the aforesaid Trust, in the
secure hiding-place herein described, so that,
seeing it is not consecrate, nor hath at any
time been used in the service of the altar,
it may, if need arise, lawfully be sold or put
to surety for the profit of the Community.'"

" Blanche," said Mr. Vaughan to the girl,
who had sat stricken with amazement, during
the reading of this document, "your ruby
heart is the Queen's Token I "

Blanche laid her hand upon the jewel, and
sank back in her chuir, quite weak and white.
The lio^lits in the room were fadinof in the beams
of the morning sun, but the old man and the
girl did not perceive that the day had come
upon them.

*' It must be so — it must be so," Blanche
said faintly. " The jewels in the picture of the
Queen's marriage, did you never notice them ?
I did not tell you of them, but Gemma and
I recognised them — and I have never doubted
that my ruby heart was once worn by Queen
Mary ; and oh, how 1 value and love it, for

140

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

that conviction. But — but how did it come
to Tredethlyn?"

** You remember your father's account of it,
Blanche. There is no doubt that Louis de
Valmont was lost at sea : that it was from the
wreck of the ship on which he sailed that the
coffers and the lamp were taken long, long after-
wards; that these things were destined for the
use of the rescued Queen. The coffers no doul)t
contained rich garments. The ruby heart was
cast upon the Cornish coast, and came into
your father's hands. There is a strange
destiny in all this, my child. The Treasure is
yours, as, by an extraordinary coincidence, the
Token, which would once have claimed it, is
yours also ; — if, as I have very little doubt, the
precious deposit remains where the Prior placed
it* But see, it is broad day, and you are weary ;
indeed, I too begin to feel ired. Go and rest,
and I will do the same ; to-morrow we will
puzzle out the secret of the hiding-place together.
Meanwhile not a word of this to any one."

Blanche went to her room ; she waa be-
wildered, almost stunned by the emotion she had
gone through. She lay down upon her bed, but
the house was stirring long before sleep came to
her.

CYPRIAN'S TRUST

14]

" This is what my dreams meant," she thought,
as she lay with her hand upon the ruby heart ;
"this is why my sleep has been peopled with
beautiful phantoms. Were they ghosts, those
brave and gallant men, those fair women, who
have kept me company in my dreams, and made
my life twofold ? Was this the message the
phantoms had for me? Mine, the treasure
mine ! Yes, by this Token, and for the fulfil-
ment of Cyprian's Trust."

At length Blanche fell into a sound slumber,
from which she awoke, late in the afternoon, to
find Gemma by her bedside.

" What is the matter ? What has happened
to you ? " she exclaimed, starting up, and throw-
ing her arms round Gemma, whose beautiful
face was radiant with joy.

" Oh, Blanche ! he's coming home I Ruthven
is coming home I He is in London. He left his
last two let crs to be posted after he sailed, that
I might not be in misery and suspense, and now
he is in London, quite safe, quite well — and he
is coming. Look, see, read his letter for your-
self. Oh, Blanche, Blanche I "

A week afterwards, and again late at night,
Mr. Vuughan and Misa Tredethlyn held couucil

ill:

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

in the library of the new house at Kilferran.
But this time they were not alone. Colonel
Kamsay was v/ith them, and engaged in study-
ing a rude drawing on a square of parchment,
marked here and there with figures.

** It is difficalt to reconstruct the Abbey
from this old plan," said the Colonel. " We can
but guess where the Prior's parloir stood, follow
the indications from thence, and if we are
wrong, assign some other situation to it, and
begin again. The note is less intelligible than
the plan :

** * First to right, close by fourth, reckoned
from right wing.'

** We can make nothing of this to-night,
Mr. Vaughan, at all events. To-morrow we
will minutely inspect the ruins, if Miss
Tredethlyn will undertake to keep Gemma
engaged elsewhere — for I find she is to be
kept in ignorance, though why I cannot under-
stand."

" You must obey without understanding,"
said Blanche. " That ought not to be difficult
to a soldier."

**I obey then. No one will think prowlers
about your famous ruin in any way remark-
able, and we cannot observe secrecy too abso-

CYPRIAN'S TRUST

143

lute. If indeed this treasure is found, the mere
rumour of such a thing would bring all the
country flocking in here, and cause you endless
annoyance. If it be not found, and any rumour
p^et abroad that such a search has been made,
we should be laughed at, or perhaps shunned
as something in the sorcerer or witch line."

"But," objected Mr. Vaughan, ** suppose we
discover the meaning of the enigmatical plan
and note, still we must have assistance. The
treasure is doubtless buried, and must be dug for."

" Certainly. But I can dig for it with your
aid. What two men hid unassisted, two men
unassisted can surely find. The chief point is
to read the riddle of the plan. 'First to
right,' what does that allude to ? Rooms,
passages, doors, wall, — it may be any of these,
and none now exist."

" None," said Mr. Vaughan ; " nothing now
remains but the outer walls, with a few abut-
ments, and some fragments of masonry adher
ing inside here and there, except, as you must
have seen in passing the ruin, the external
cloister which adjoins the entrance, with its short,
thick, almost imperishable pillars.'*

" Pillars ! " repeated Colonel Ramsay quickly
•— " there is a clue, Now we get number, and

144

THE QUEEN '8 TOKEN

that is less difficult than the measurement.
'Close by fourth.' Fourth of what? It may
be windows or cells, or it may be columns;
if not those which remain, we shall be able
to calculate the whereabouts of the others by
the spaces. I think we are getting at the truth,
Mr. Vaughan, but we can test it no farther
to-night."

When Blanche returned from the long drive
to which she had condemned herself and Gemma
— an act in which that young lady discerned
the first want of consideration of which her
friend had ever been guilty — she repaired at
once to the ruin, and there she found Mr.
Vaughan and Colonel Ramsay. They were
standing in the centre of the open space facing
the cloister, and Blanche placed herself by
Colonel Ramsay's side.

" We have made a u^liiute investigation,"
he said, " and have succeeded pretty well in
reconstructing at least the outline of the Abbey ;
and we believe that we have discovered the
interpretation of two of the clauses in the note.
* First to the right ' we take to apply to the
flags in the cloister ; * Close to fourth ' we take
to apply to the columns. Under the heaps of
earth and grass on the opposite side, there

CYPRIAN *8 TRUST

145

are cloubtless flags corresponding with those
which remain on this side. If we can but
establish the point of departure, the rest is a
matter of comparative measurement, by the
number and space of the existing columns. But
the last clause puzzles us completely, and
throws out all our calculations. ' Reckoned
from right wing.' There is no trace of a wing
to the Abbey." While he was speaking, Blanche
had scanned the skeleton walls from end to
end, following the indications he gave. She
remained silent when he paused, gazing intently
in the direction of a jagged piece of masonry
which jutted out from the main wall. Just
above this, a small tablet, bearing a design in
relief, much broken and hardly discernible,
intruded upon the monotony of decay.

" Stay," she said, pointing to the tablet ;
** what if the reference to a wiog were not made
to the building ? Gemma and I have made out
the design on the broken tablet there to be
the winged lion of St. Mark. See, one wing is
still plainly to be traced. Do you think this
can be the * wing ' from which the space is to
be measured ?"

Colonel Ramsay followed her words with
close attention, and answered :

THE QUEEN'S TOKEN

"You are ri^ht — there is no doubt you
are right. You have solved the enigma, Miss
Trerlethlyn. Counting four columns from the
right wing of the lion — these can only be the
pillars still standing — we are actually treading
upon the spot." He struck the time-worn
granite flag with his heel. ** Beneath this stone,
if the Treasure be undisturbed, it lies. I think
the Queen's Token must be a charm, and its
virtue potent for all time. Unless the Treasure
lies very deep — and that is not likely, for
the hiders of it had no notion that it was
to be long concealed, and for their purposes
a foot would have sufficed as well as a fathom
— Miss Tredethlyn shall see her mysterious
inheritance to-night."

Blanche smiled, a strange, absent smile, and,
leaving the two gentlemen to concert their plans,
preceded them to the house.

In the stillness of the night, wheu all was
quiet, and she was the only watcher within
the walls, Miss Tredethlyn stood by the window
of her room, and looked for the feeble glimmer
of the light that was flitting about the ruin.
Occasionally the sound of metal ringing upon
stone reached her strained ear. Many fancies
crowded upon her, solemn thoughts filled her

CYPIilAN'S TRUST

147

mind. There were luiautes, while she kept
her watch, in which the whole scene seemed
unreal, and she asked herself if this too were
not a dream.

But the light ceased to glimmer, and her
quick ear caught footfalls, which came nearer,
but with frequent pauses, as though the feet
were those of men who carried a heavy burthen.
They passed round the angle of the house, and
then Blanche crossed the room swiftly to the
door, and stood beside it fur a few moments with
clasped hands and Ideating heart.

"Are you there?" asked Colonel Ramsay,
from the outer side.

*'Yes."

•'Come to the library. We have brought
you the Treasure. We liave found Cyprian's
Trust."

Yes — they had found it. The silent, stealthy
earth had given up her secret to the hands so
strangely guided to that lonely hiding-place.
The gold and the gems destined by chivalrous
loyalt}'^ and love for the Queen over whom
an awful doom hung, even whiie the plotters
were contriving her rescue, lay all uninjured
before the eyes of these modern people, to win mi
Mary's memory was an ancient tradiiinn, The-

■

148

TEE QUEEN* 8 TOKEN

boDes ot the soldier, who had lived and died
for her, were fathoms deep beneath the sea ; the
dust of the monk who had loved her, not more
wisely, and no less well, mingled with the earth
in which the Treasure had lain. The Token
that had lured Louis de Valmont to the depths
of the sea, rested on a girl's living breast, as
bright and precious as when it did its errand
of death. The Token that the monk had
offered to the shrine of his penitence and his
prayer — the twin heart of ruby and pearl —
lay uppermost beneath the lid of the strong
iron coffer. Over the stone covering, that had
hidden all this wealth for ages, the feet of many
generations had passed ; beggars had crouched
on it, shivering even in the sunshine, and idlers
had loitered there in the tracks of the sandalled
monks of old.

" I do not yet understand why Gemma was
not told sooner," said Colonel Ramsay, when the
delighted, bewildered girl had heard the story,
and seen the Treasure ; " for if one portion of it
be more wonderful than another, it is the pre-
sence of the last of the De Valmonts under
your roof at the time of the discovery ; it is the
clearing up of the family mystery."

OTPmAN'S TRUST

14V)

" I concealed this from you, dearest Gemma,"
said Miss Tredethlyn, speaking with grave and
impressive dignity, " until the Treasure was
actually in our hands, because I would not
have had you disappointed, if we had never
found it. For it is yours ; this is the inheri-
tance which should have come to your father's
ancestors, to him, and to you. Think how
thankful I am that it has been given back to
you, in some measure, by my instrumetitality."

" Blanche ! what do you mean ? Stay, Miss
Tredethlyn," interposed Colonel Ramsay ; " you
must not talk so wildly. Gemma has no
possible claim, even if she, or I, could be
induced to recognise any. You forget that the
Comte de Valmont bequeathed this Treasure
to the possessor of Kilferran. This, if any
serious discussion of the matter could be
possible "

" The most serious moment in my life,
Colonel Ramsay," said Blanche, " and the
happiest, is this; for, if Gemma refuses to
take her inheritance, I, as the possessor of Kil-
ferran, bestow upon my sister, Cyprian's Trust."

Not of early death, with all its poetic allure-
ment, had the phantom music of Cyprian's bells

* *» ini K-m - ■! ■.> ■■■

150

THE QUEEN *S TOKUU

whispered to Blanche Tredethlyn, but of a long
life, useful, calm, and happy. A solitary life,
according to the world's notions — but the world
and she had little in common— a life without
close ties, but rich in the love and companion-
ship of the poor, and the esteem of her " own
people."

The ruined Abbey of Kilferran is a ruin still ;
but in the nearest city there is a church, ** under
the invocation of St. Dominic," which the people
owe to Miss Tredethlyn. Strangers who visit it
are told that the stones under the altar were
brought from Kilferran Abbey, and that no
chimes so musical as the chimes of St. Dominic
have rung out from any belfry in all the South
since Cyprian's bells were carried away and
lost. A small tablet on the wall of the church
records that Mr. Vaughan was the first to be
laid at rest in the newly- consecrated ground.

In an ancient church in Paris a richly-
sculptured tomb, bearing the name and the
arms of De Valmont, remains to this day.
It is placed in a small chapel m one of the
aisles, and it has, by some strange chance,
escaped the shock and the desecration of succes-
sive revolutions. Between the tomb and the
altar, there hangs upon the marble wall a

CrPRIAN*8 TRUST

151

reliquary of quaint design, whose contents are of
unknown origin, but very famous for their value
and rarity. They are two heart-shaped jewels,
each a great balas-ruby, laid with one pearl of
price. The abiding-place of the Queen's Token
has been well chosen, for in that chapel, under
the roof of a stately church to which a multi-
tude of historic memories belong, Mary Stuart,
Queen of Scots, in the days of her innocent
girlhood, but right royal state, was wont to kneel
by the side of her " gentil Dauphin."

THE E»£>

tOVOOK : HFEirCRB BLiLOKBTT, ST. BEIDB 8TRBBT, B.O.

Itxtract from Mr. Sidney Diclviii3on*'j letter totha Boston yournal,
rlrKriptive of a trip over tho Canadian Pacific Railway from Van-
couver, B.C., to Montreal.

The impression that is made upon the traveller by a Journey over
this road is, at first, one of stupefaction, of confusion, out of which
emerge slowly the most evident details. If one can find any fault
with the trip, it must be upon the score oi its excess of wondert.
There is enough of scenery and grandeur along the line of the
Canadian Pacific to make a dozen roads remarkable; after it is^en,
the experiences of other journeys are quite forgotten. The road is
attracting large numbers of tourists, and will attract more as its
fame becomes more widely known ; it is, undoubtedly, the most
remarkable of all the products of this present age of iron. I have
crossed the continent three times and sliould have some criterion
for the judgment, and may say that whether we look to Ontario and
Manitoba for richness of soil and peacef il and prosp^^rous homes of
men; to Lake Superior for ru-j^edneis of shore, beauty of expanse
of water, or wealth of miae and quarry ; to Assiniboia and Alberta
for impressive stretch of prairie and wild life of man, bird and
beast, or to the Rocky, Selkirk and Cascade Mountains for sublimity
and awfulness of precipice, peak and crag — we shall find them all
as they nowhere else exist, even in Amsrica, the 1 nd of all lands
for natural resources and wonders. No more delightful trip can be
imagined than that by the Canadian Pacific Railway during the
months of summer. For ourselves, until near Montreal, we found
neither heat nor dust, and arrived at our journey's end with little
feeling of fatigue. One point is especially worthy of remark — in-
deed, two, bat one above all the rest. That is, the superior meth*
ods of provisioning the line, a thing in marked contrast to soma
roads which I could mention, where travellers are sure to be fed
irregularly and wretchedly at the eating houses by the way, and, in
consequence of delays, often are unab e to secure any provision at
all for eight or ten hours. The Canadian Pacific runs dining cars
over all its line, except through the mountains, and there well man-
aged hotels furnish a most excellent meal and at a moderate cost.
In the diningcars (which are put on in relays at certain fixed points)
meals are served exactly on time from day to day, a d even in the
wildest regions the passenger may be sure of dining, supping or
breakfasting as well and cheaply as at any first-class hotel. The
second point upon which comment is permissible is the invariable
courtesy of all the railway's servants; I myself am much indebted
to engineers, conductors and division o(fi:ial3 for facilities in seeing
and learning about the country over which we travelled, Wonder-
ful in its construction, the road is equally admirable for ths spirit
gad carefulness with which it is run.

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