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' " ' ■ . •' ''^H '\. : ," '(VS /■ m^ ^»/.- ^ . -^ .1' v!. >- t •I^^B' ' ' ' ■> ' ■ ' '' -r 1,- - _ '^■'' '' • :: . , ^f:--"!-^ -.\ • • '^^B'' \ ,.-„ . :\^ .;^ V fc - ^IBi' --■ ^ i.k;K , ' *. : i'-- -'■■-, ■^ '-'...: '^HB '■'.; ' H-"'' ■; - ■ '"■";' 1 ^ -■.-■■■-. H^P •^- ^ . f. ;-r 'v' ---.^ ^W* ■ ■-' ,_■-*.:■"■_".-"■- ' ^ - • ■ '^"* mm - "* : ^ :*:»..■ 1 ) ■ :;-"->.'';^-\.: l^E^^ — ■ ^ V'"-^' '- « __ ., ' " «|P' ■; ..-i : 'ji. . ■ - ■■' '-- .'■-■;■; 91 r 'fi|-/ 'W.C^ Sn^r ■ -■'i^i" ••' ' , oBmbb ' 'l w' fl^» - ; ' " ^^ ^^ \ ' Mh^: - ^H ' m Vtfl^S rij^^ 1 « p- g; ■ -l \ V •Im M / AUT ^% ^ THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFF BY Mrs. may AGNES FLEMING AUTHOR OF " MAGDALEN'S VOW," " THE vQUEEN OF THE ISLE," " THB DARK SECRET," '* THE RIVAL BROTHERS," " THE GYPSY queen's vow," "THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN," ETC. ■ •-•-?&.; -/:■ NEW YORK ^ THE FEDERAI, BOOK COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1875, BEADLE Sc ADAMS. ^BRAR «;J VJ I u ^^sny m I ciM CONTENTS. % CHAPTER PAGB I. At the Theater S II. Mother and Son 15 III. The Heiress of Castle Cliffe 21 IV. Twelve Years A f ter 29 V. The Prodigal Son 41 VI. Killing the Fatted Calf 51 VII. Mademoiselle , . 58 VIII. Castle Cliffe 70 IX. Victoria Regia 79 X. Barbara 86 XI. The First Time 93 XII. The Nun's Grave 101 XIII. The May Queen no XIV. The Warning 125 XV. The Shadow in Black 136 XVI. The Rose of Sussex 145 XVII. Off with the Old Love, 155 XVIII. A Dutiful Granddaughter. 168 XIX. Back Again 179 XX. Accepted « 193 XXI. Barbara's Bridal Eve 204 XXII. Asking for Bread and Receiving a Stone 217 XXIII. Victoria's Bridal Eve 226 XXIV. Where the Bridegroom Was * 236 XXV. A Strange Request ^45 XXVI. Diamond cut Diamond 255 XXVII. What Lay on the Nun's Grave 265 XXVIII. Maison de DeuU 275 XXIX. The Sentence .... » E85 XXX. The Sentence 293 XXXI. The Turn of the Wheel 297 XXXII. Retribution 307 XXXin. The Fall of the Curtain 313 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. CHAPTER 1. AT THE THEATER, '^ The theater was crowded. The pit, reeking and steam- ing, was one swaying sea of human faces. The galleries were vivid semicircles of eyes, blue, black, brown and gray ; and the boxes and the upper tiers were rapidly filling, for was not this the benefit-night of Mademoiselle Vivia ? and had not all the theater-going world of London been half mad about Mademoiselle Vivia ever since her first appearance on the boards of the theater ? Posters and play-bills announced it her benefit. Madam Rumor announced it her last appearance on any stage. There were wonderful tales going about this same Vivia, the actress. Her beauty was an undisputed fact by all ; so was her marvelous talent in her profession ; and her icy virtue was a household word. Every one in the house probably knew what was to be known of her history — how the manager of the house stumbled upon her accidentally in an obscure, third-rate Parisian playhouse ; how, struck by her beauty and talent, he had taken her away, had her instructed for two years, and how, at the end of that time, three months previous to this par- ticular night, she had made her dkbut^ and taken the gay people of London by storm. Gouty old dukes and apoplectic earls had knelt in dozens at her feet, with offers of magnifi- cent settlements, superb diamonds, no end of blank checks, carriages and horses, and a splendid establishment, and been spurned for their pains. Mademoiselle Vivia had won, during her professional career, something more than admira- tion and love — the respect of all, young and old. And yet that same gossiping lady, Madam Rumor, whispered low, 5 ( 6 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. that the actress had managed to lose her heart after all. Madam Rumor softly insinuated, that a young nobleman, marvelously beautiful to look upon, and marvelously rich to back it, had laid his heart, hand and name most honorably and romantically at her fair feet ; but people took the whis- per for what it was worth, and were a little dubious about believmg it implicitly. No one was certain of anything ; and yet the knowing ones raised their glasses with a peculiar smile to ascertain the stage-box occupied by three young men, and with an inward conviction that the secret lay there. One of the three gentlemen sitting in it— a large, well-made, good-looking personage of thirty or so — was sweeping the house himself, lorgnette in hand, bowing, and smiling, and criticizing. " And there comes that old ogre. Marquis of Devon, rouged to the eyes, and that stiff antediluvian on his arm, all pearl-powder and pearls, false ringlets and more rouge, is his sister. There goes that oily little cheat, Sylvester Sweet, , among the swells, as large as life ; and there's Miss Blanche Chester with her father. Pretty little thing, isn't she, Lisle ? " The person thus addressed — a very tall, very thin, very pale and very insipid-looking young person, most stylishly got up, regardless of expense, leaned forward, and stared out of a pair of very dull and very expressionless gray eyes, at an exceedingly pretty and graceful girl, " Aw, yes I Very pretty indeed I " he lisped, with a lan- guid drawl ; " and has more money, they say, than she knows what to do with. Splendid catch, eh ? But look there. Who are those ? By Jove I what a handsome woman 1 " The attention of Lord Lisle — for the owner of the dull eyes and lantern jaws was that distinguished gentleman — had been drawn to a party who had just entered the box opposite. They were two ladies, three gentlemen, and a lit- tle child, and Sir Roland Cliffe. The first speaker leaning over to see, opened his eyes very wide, with a low whistle of astonishment. i " Such a lovely face I Such a noble head 1 Such a grand air I " raved young Lord Lisle, whose heart was as inflam- mable as a lucifer match, and caught fire as easily. Sir Roland raised his shoulders and eyebrows together, and stroked his flowing beard AT THE THEATER. " Which one ? " he coolly asked. Belle blonde^ or jolie bru- nette 1 *' '• The lady in pink satin and diamonds I Such splendid eyes I Such a manner 1 Such grace 1 She might be a prin- cess I " Hearing this, the third occupant of the bo"- leaned for- ward also, from the lazy, recumbent position he had hitherto indulged in, and glanced across the way. He looked the younger of the two — slender and boyish — and evidently not more than nineteen or twenty, wearing the undress uniform of a lieutenant of dragoons, which set off his eminently-hand- some face and figure to the best possible advantage. He, too, opened his large blue Saxon eyes slightly, as they rested on the object of Lord Lisle's raptures, and exchanged a smile with Sir Roland Cliffe. - The lady thus unconsciously apostrophized and stared at was lying back in her chair, and fanning herself very much at her ease. It was a blonde face of the purest type ; the skin, satin-smooth and white ; the blue veins scarcely trace- able under the milk-white surface ; the oval cheeks tinged with the faintest shade of rose, deepening into vividness in the thin lips. The eyes were large, blue and bright — very coldly bright though ; the eyebrows light and indistinct ; and the hair, which was of a flaxen fairness, was rolled back from the beautiful face, d la Marie Stuart. Light hair, fair blue, eyes, and colorless complexion usually make up rather an in- sipid style of prettiness ; but this lady was not at all insipid. The eyes, placed close together, had a look of piercing intent- ness ; the thin lips, decidedly compressed, had an air of resolute determination ; and from the crown of her flaxen head to the sole of her sandaled foot, she looked as high and haughty as any lady in the land. Her dress was pale rose satin, with a profusion of rare old point, yellow as saffron with age, and precious as rubies. Diamonds ran like a river of light round the beautiful arched neck, and blazed on the large, snow-white, rounded arms. Her fan was of gold and ebony, and marabout feathers ; and she managed it with a hand like Hebe's own. One dainty foot, peeping out from under the rosy skirt, showed the arched instep, tapering ankle and rounded flexibility, of the same type ; and, to her fingers' tips, she looked the lady. Her age it was impossible 8 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFH. to guess, for old Time deals gallantly with those flaxen-haired, pearly-skinned beauties, and Lord Lisle could not have told, for his life, whether to set her down as twenty or thirty. She certainly did not look demoiselle ; and her figure, though tall and slight, and delicate, was unmistakably matured ; and then her style of dress, and the brilliant opera-cloak of scar- let and white, slipping off her shoulders, was matured too. Sha and her companion formed as striking a contrast as could be met with in the house. For the latter was a pro- nonrh brunette, and a very full-blown brunette at that, with lazy, rolling black eyes, a profusion of dead-black hair, worn in braids and bandeaux, and entwined with pearls ; her large and showy^ person was arrayed in slight mourning; but her handsome, rounded, high-colored face was breaking into smiles every other instant, as her lazy eyes strayed from face to face as she bent to greet her friends. A lovely little boy, of some six years, richly dressed, with long golden curls fall- ing over his shoulders, and splendid dark eyes straying like her own around the house, leaned lightly against her knee. They were mother and son, though they looked little like it ; and Mrs. Leicester Cliffe was a buxom widow of five and twenty. The black, roving eyes rested at last on the op- posite box, and the incessant smile came over the Dutch face as she bowed to one of the gentlemen — Sir Roland Cliffe. " How grandly she sits I — how beautiful she is 1 " broke out Lord Lisle, in a fresh ecstasy. " Who in the world is she, Sir Roland ? " " You had better ask my beloved nephew here," said Sir Roland, with a careless motion toward the young officer, " and ask him at the same time how he would like you for a stepfather." - ' Lord Lisle stared from one to the other, and then at the fair lady aghast, "Why — how — you don't mean to say that it is Lady Agnes Shirley ? " " But I do, though 1 Is it possible. Lisle, that you, a native of Sussex yourself, have never seen my sister? " " I never have I " exclaimed Lord Lisle, with a look of hopeless amazement ; " and that is really your mother, Shirley?" ^ The lieutenant of dragoons who was sitting in such a AT THE THEATER. position that the curtain screened him completely from the audience, while it commanded a full view of the stage, nod- ded with a half laugh, and Lord Lisle's astonished bewilder- ment was a sight to sec. *' But she is so young ; she does not look over twenty." •' She is eight years older than I, and I am verging on thirty," said Sir Roland, taking out a penknife and beginning to pare his nails ; " but those blondes never grow old. What do you think of the black beauty beside her ? " " She is fat 1 " said Lord Lisle with gravity. "My dear fellow, don't apply that term to a lady; say plump, or inclined to embonpoint I She is rather of the Dutch make, I confess, but we can pardon that in a widow, and you must own she's a splendid specimen of the Low Country Flemish style of loveliness. Paul Rubens, for in- stance, would h^ve gone mad about her ; perhaps you have never noticed, though, as you do not much affect the fine arts, that all his Madonnas and Venuses have the same plentiful supply of blood, and brawn, and muscle, that our fair relative yonder rejoices in." - • " She is your relative, then ? " " Leicester Cliffe, rest his soul I was my cousin. That is her son and heir, that little shaver beside her — fine little fellow, isn't he ? and a Cliffe, every inch of him. What are you thinking of, Cliffe ? " " Were you speaking to me ? " said the lieutenant, look- ing up abstractedly. " Yes. I want to know what makes you so insufferably stupid to-night ? Wltat are you thinking of, man — Vivia ? " The remark might be nearer the truth than the speaker thought, for a slight flush rose to the girl-like cheek of Lieutenant Cliffe Shirley. " Nonsense 1 I was half asleep, I believe. I wish the curtain was up, and the play well over." " I have heard that this is Vivia's last night," remarked Lord Lisle ; " and that she is about to be married, or some- thing of that sort. How is it, Sir Roland ? as you know everything you must know." " I don't know that, at all events ; but he is a lucky man, whoever gets her. Ah 1 what a pretty little thing it is I By Jove I I never see her without feeling inclined to go on ■u 't ) 1' H lO THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. my knees, and say — Ah 1 Sweet I old fellow, how are you ? " " This last passage in the noble baronet's discourse was not what he would say to Mdlle. Vivia, but was addressed to a gentleman who had forced his way, with some difficulty, through the crowd, and now stood at the door. He was net a handsome man, was Mr. Sweet, but he had the most smiling and beaming expression of countenance imaginable. He was of medium size, inclined to be angular and sharp at the joints, with a complexion so yellow as to induce the belief ♦'lat he was suffering from chronic, and continual jaundice. His hair, what was of it, was much the color of his face, but he had nothing in that line worth speaking of ; his eyes were small and twinkling, and generally half closed ; and he displayed, like the blooming relic of the late lamented Leicester Cliffe, the sweetest and most cease- less of smiles. His waistcoat was of a bright canary tint, much the color of his face and hair ; lemon-colored gloves were on his hands ; and the yellow necktie stood out in bold relief against the whitest and glossiest of shirt collars. He wore large gold studs, and a large geld breast-pin, a large gold watch-chain, with an anchor, and a heart, and a bunch of seals, and a select assortment of similar small articles of jewelry dangling from it, and keeping up a musi- cal tinkle as he walked. He had small gold ear-rings in his ears, and would have had them in his nose, too, doubtless, if any one had been good enough to set him a precedent. As it was, he was so bright, and so smiling, and so glisten- ing, with his yellow hair, and face, and waistcoat, and neck- tie, and jewelry, that he fairly scintillated all over, and would have made you wink to look at him by gaslight. " Hallo, Sweet ! How do, Sweet ? Come in. Sweet,** greeted this smiling vision from the three young men. And Mr. Sweet beaming all over with smiles, and jingling his seals, did come in, and took a seat between the handsome young lieutenant and his uncle, Sir Roland. The orchestra was crashing out a tremendous overture, but at this moment a bell tinkled, and when it ceased, the curtain shriveled up to the ceiling, and disclosed " Henry Vin.," a very stout gentleman, in flesh-colored tights, scarlet velvet doublet, profusely ornamented with tinsel and gold AT THE THEATER. IX lace, wearing a superb crown of pasteboard and gilt paper on his royal head. Catherine, of Aragon, was there, too, very grand, in a long trailing dress of purple cotton and vel- vet, and blazing all over with brilliants of the purest glass, kneeling before her royal husband, amidst a brilliant as- sembly of gentlemen in tights and mustaches, and ladies in very long dresses and paste jewels, in the act of receiving a similar pasteboard crown from the fat hands of the king himself. The play was the " Royal Blue Beard," a sort of half musical, half-danceable burlesque, and though the audi- ence laughed a good deal, and applauded a little over the first act, their enthusiasm did not quite bring the roof down ; for Vivia was not there. Her rble was " Anne Boleyn," and when in the second act, that beautiful and most un- fortunate lady appeared among the maids of honor, " which meaneth," says an ancient writer, " anything but honorable maids," to win the fickle-hearted monarch by her smiles, a cheer greeted her that made the house ring. She was their pet, their favorite ; and standing among her painted com- panions, all tinseled and spangled, she looked queen-rose and star over all. Petite and f?iry-like in figure, a clear, color- less complexion, lips vividly red, eyes jetty black, and bright as stars, shining black hair, falling in a profusion of curls and waves far below her waist, and with a smile like an angel I She was dressed all in white, with flowers in her hair and on her breast ; and when she came floating across the stage in her white, mist-like robes, her pure pale face, uplifted dark eyes, and wavy hair, crowned with water-lilies, she looked more like a fairy by moonlight than a mere crea- ture of flesh and blood. What a shout it was that greeted her I how gentle and sweet was the smile that answered it 1 and how celestial she looked with that smile on her lips ! Sir Roland leaned over with flashing eyes. " It is a fairy I it is Titania ! It is Venus herself I " he cried, enraptured. " I never saw her look so beautiful before in my life." Loid Lisle stared at him in his dull, vacant way ; and Mr. Sweet smiled, and stole a sidelong glance at the lieutenant, which nonchalant young warrior lounged easily back on his seat, and watched the silver-shining vision with philosophical composure. -^ k ) 12 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. I The play went on. The lovely Anne wins the slightly- fickle king with her " becks, and nods, and wreathed smiles," and triumphs over the unfortunate lady in the purple train. Then comes her own brief and dazz'ng term of glory; then blue-eyed Jane Seymour conquers the conqueress, and Mis- tress Anne is condemned to die. Throughout the whole thing Vivia was superb. Vivia always was ; but in the last scene of all she surpassed herself. From the moment when she told the executioner, with a gay laugh, that she heard he was expert, and she had but a small neck, to the moment she was led forth to die, she held the audience spellbound. When the curtain rose in the last scene, the stage was hung in black, the lights burned dim, the music waxed faint and low, and dressed in deepest mourning, and looking by contrast deadly pale, she laid her beautiful head on the block. At the sound of the falling ax, as the curtain fell, a thrill ran through every heart ; and the four gentlemen in the stage-box bent over and gazed with their hearts — such as they were — in their eyes. A moment of profoundest silence was followed by so wild a tempest of applause that the domed roof rang, and " Vivia !" " Vivia ! " shouted a storm of voices, enthusi- astically. Once again she came before them, pale and beau- tiful in her black robes and flowing hair, and bowed her acknowledgments with the same lovely smile that had won all their hearts long before. A small avalanche of bouquets and wreaths came fluttering down on the stage, and three of the occupants of the stage-box flung their offerings too. A wreath of white roses clasped by a great pearl, from Sir Roland ; a bouquet of splendid hot-house exotics from Lord Lisle; and a cluster of jasmine flowers from Lieutenant Shirley, which he took from his buttonhole for the purpose. Mr. Sweet had nothing to cast but his eyes; and casting those optics on the actress, he saw her turn her beautiful face for one instant toward their box ; the next, lift the jasmine flowers and raise them to her lips ; and the next — vanish. " She took your flowers, Shirley — she actually did," cried Lord Liole, with one of hi. blank stares ; " and left mine, that were a thousand times prettier, just where they felll" , ., " Very extraordinary," remarked Mr. Sweet, with one of his bright smiles and sidelong glances. " But what do all I AT THE THEATER. y.*V' 13 the good folks mean by leaving .' I thought there was to be a farce, or ballet, or something." - - " So there is ; but as they won't see Vivia, they don't cr.re for staying. And I think the best thing we can do is to follow their example. What do you say to coming along with us. Sweet ? We are going to have a small supper at my rooms this evening." Mr. Sweet, with many smiles, made his acknowledgments, and accepted at once ; and rising, the four passed out, and were borne along by the crowd into the open air. Sir Roland's night-cab was in waiting, and being joined by three or four other young men, they were soon dashing at breakneck speed toward a West-End hotel. No man in all London ever gave such petits soupers as Sir Roland Cliffe, and no one ever thought of declining his invitations. On the present occasion, the hilarity waxed fast and furious. The supper was a perfect chef d ^odtivrCy the claret deliciously cool after the hot theater ; the slierry like liquid gold, and the port, fifty years old, at least. All showed their appreciation of it, too, by draining bumper after bumper, until the lights of the room, and everything in it, were dancing hornpipes before their eyes — all but Mr. Sweet and Lieutenant Shirley. Mr. Sweet drank spar- ingly, and had a smile and an answer for everybody ; and the lieutenant scarcely ate or drank at all, and was abstracted and silent. " Do look at Shirley ! " hiccoughed Lord Lisle, whose eyes were starting f :;hily out of his head, and whose hair and shirt-front were splashed with wine ; " he looks as sol — yes — as solemn as a coffin 1 " "Hallo, Cliffe, my boy I don't be the death's head at the feast ! Here 1 " shouted Sir Roland, with a flushed face, waving his glass over his head — " here, lads, is a bumper to Vivia 1 " "Vivia!" "Vi^ia!" ran from lip to lip. Even Mr. Sweet rose to honor the toast ; but Lieutenant Shirley, with wrinkled brows and flashing eyes, sat still, and glanced round at the servant who stood at his elbow with a salver and a letter thereon. V I i 14 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE. " Note for you, lieutenant," insinuated the waiter. " A little boy brought it here. Said there was no answer ex- pected, and left." " I say, Cliffe, what have you there ? A dun ? " shouted impetuous Sir Roland. " With your permission I will see," rather coolly responded the young officer, breaking the seal. Mr. Sweet, sitting opposite, kept his eyes intently fixed on his face, and saw it first flush scarlet, and then turn deathly white. "That's no dun, I'll swear," again lisped Lord Lisle. " Look at the writing 1 A fairy could scarcely trace any- thing so light. And look at the paper— pink-tinted and gilt-edged. The fellow has got a M/^/-rt'<^/^^ .^ " r . , " Who is she, Shirley ? " called half a dozen voices. But Lieutenant Shirley crumpled the note in his hand, and rose abruptly from the table. "Gentlemen — Sir Roland — you will have the goodness to excuse me ! I regret extremely being obliged to leave you. Goodnighll" He had strode to the door, opened it, and disappeared before any of the company had recovered their maudlin senses sufficiently to call him back. Mr. Sweet always had his senses about him ; but that shining gentleman was wise in his generation, and he knew when Lieutenant Shirley's cheek paled, and brow knitted, and eye flashed, he was not exactly the person to be trifled with; so he only looked after him, and then at his wine, with a thoughtful smile. He would have given all the spare change he had about him to have donned an invisible cap, and walked after him through the silent streets, dimly lit by the raw coming morn- ing, and to have jumped after him into the cab Lieutenant Shirley hailed and entered. On he flew through the still streets, stopping at last before a quiet hotel in a retired part of the city. A muffled figure — a female figure — wrapped in a long cloak, and closely veiled, stood near the ladies' en- trance, shivering under her wrappings in the chill morning blast. In one instant. Lieutenant Shirley had sprung out ; in another, he had assisted her in, and taken the reins him- self; and the next, he was riding away with breakneck speed, with his face to the rising sun. \-. MOTHER AND SON. X5 ^■■" CHAPTER n. MOTHER AND SON. r A BROAD morning simbeam, stealing in through satin curtains, fell on a Brussels carpet, on rosewood furniture, pretty pictures, easy-chairs and ottomans, and on a round table, bright with damask, and silver, and china, standing in the middle of the handsome parlor. The table was set for breakfast, and the coffee, and the rolls, and the toast, and the cold tongue, were ready and waiting ; but no one vras in the room, save a spruce waiter, in a white jacket and apron, who arranged the eggs, and tongue, and toast artistically, and set up two chairs vis-d-vis^ previous to tak- ing his departure. As he turned to go, the door opened, and a lady entered — a lady tall and graceful, proud and handsome, with her fair hair combed back from her high- bred face, and adorned with the prettiest little trifle of a morning-cap, all black lace and ribbons. She wore a white cashmere morning-dress, with a little lace collar and a ruby brooch, and Lady Agnes Shirley managed to look in this simple toilet as stately and haughty as a dowager-duchess. Her large light-blue eyes wandered round the room, and rested on the obsequious young gentleman in the white jacket and apron. " Has my son not arrived yet ? " she said, in a voice that precisely suited her face — sweet, and cold, and clear. " No, my lady ; shall I " " You will go down-stairs ; and when he comes, you will ask him to step up here directly." There was a quick, decided rap at the door. Agnes turned from the window, to which she had walked, as the waiter opened it, and admitted Lieutenant Cliffe Shirley. " My dearest mother I " " My dear boy 1 " And the proud, cold eyes lit up with 16 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE, I loving pride as he kissed her. ' I thought I was never destined to see you again." " Let me see. It is just two months since I left Clifton- lea — a frightful length of time, truly." ' ; " My dear Cliffe, those two months .were like two years to me ! " Lieutenant Cliffe, standing hat in hand, with the morning sunshine falling on his laughing face made her a courtly bow. " Ten thousand thanks for the compliment, mother mine. And was it to hunt up your scapegrace son that you jour- neyed all the way to London ? *' " Yes ! " She said it so grave'y that the smile died away on his lips, as she moved in her graceful way across to the table. ** Have you had breakfast ? But of course you have not ; so sit down there, and I will pour out your coffee as if you were at home." The young man sat down opposite her, took his napkin from its ring, and spread it with most delicate precision on his knees. There was a resemblance between mother and son, though by no means a striking one. They had the same blonde hair, large blue eyes, and fair complexion — the same physical Saxon type ; for the boast of the Cliffes was, that not one drop of Celtic or Norman blood ran in their veins — it was a pure, unadulterated Saxon stream, to be traced back to days long before the Conqueror entered England. But Lady Agnes' haughty pride and grand man- ner were entirely wanting in the laughing eyes and gay smile of her only son and heir, CliiTe. *' When did you come ? " he asked, as he took his cup from her ladyship's hand. " Yesterday — did not my note tell you ? " '■'-" ' " True ! I forgot. How long do you remain ? " < ; v Lady Agnes buttered her roll with a grave face. " That depends ! " she quietly said. "On what?" - ' " On you, my dear boy." "Oh! in that case," said the lieutenant, with his bright smile, " you will certainly remain until the end of the Lon- don season. Does Charlotte return the same time you do?" ... -, '--,...-■■ •;: / . - ■..- — .K • MOTHER AND SON. X7 «• Who told you Charlotte was here at all ? " said Lady Agnes, looking at him intently. " I saw her with you last night at the theater, and little Leicester, too ! " " Were you in the box with Sir Roland and the other two gentlemen, last night?" " Yes. Don't look so shocked, my dear mother ! How was I to get through all that crowd to your box? and be- sides, I was engaged to Sir Roland for a supper at his rooms ; we left before the ballet. By the way, I wonder you were not too much fatigued with your journey, both of you, to think of the theater." " I was fatigued," said Lady Agnes, as she slowly stirred her coffee with one pearl-white hand, and gazed intently at her son ; " but I went solely to see that actress — what do you call her? Vivia, or something of that sort, is it not.? " " Mademoiselle Vivia is her name," said the young man, blushing suddenly, probably because at that moment he took a sip of coffee, scalding hot. Lady Agnes shrugged her tapering shoulders, and curled her lip in a little, slighting, disdainful way, peculiar to her- self. : ■ -. " A commonplace little thing as ever I saw. They told me she was pretty ; but I confess, when I saw that pallid face and immense black eyes, I never was so disappointed in my life. I don't fancy her acting, either — it is a great deal too tragic ; and I confess I am at a loss to know why people rave about her as they do." ^.^ u^^; " Bad taste, probably," said her son, laughing, and with quite recovered composure ; " since you differ from them, and yours is indisputably perfect. But your visit to the theater was not thrown away after all, for you must know you made a conquest the first moment you entered. Did you see the man who sat beside Sir Roland, and stared so hard at your box?" ,\ .; >' " The tall young gentleman with the sickly face? Yes." " That was Lord Henry Lisle — you know the Lisles of Lisletown ; and he fell desperately in love with you at first sight." " Oh ! nonsense ! don't be absurd, Cliffe ! I want you to be serious this morning, and talk sense." .6 i8 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. " But it's a fact, upon my honor ! Lisle did nothing but rave about you all the evening, and protested you were the prettiest woman in the house." " Bah ! Tell about yourself, Cliffe — what have you been doing for the last two months? " " Oh ! millions of things ! Been on parade, fought like a hero in the sham fights in the Park, covered myself with glory in the reviews, made love, got into debt, went to the opera, and " " To the theater I " put in Lady Agnes, coolly. " Certainly, to the theater ! I could as soon exist without my dinner as without that ! " " Precisely so 1 I don't object to theaters in the least," said Lady Agnes, transfixing him with her cold blue eyes, " but when it comes to actresses, it is going a little too far. Cliffe, what are those stories that people are whispering about you, and tiiat the birds of the air have borne even to Clifton- lea? " " Stories about me ! Haven't the first idea. What are they?" " Don't equivocate, sir! Do you know what has brought r e up to town in such haste?" " You told me a few moments back, if my memory serves me, that it was to see me." " Exactly ! and to make you give me a final answer on a subject we have often discussed before." "And what may that be, jMay? " M^r- " Matrimony ! " said Lady Agnes, in her quiet, decided vray. . Lieutenant Shirley, with his eyes fixed intently on his plate, began cutting a slice of toast thereon into minute squares, with as much precision as he had used in spreading his napkin. " Ah, just so! A very pleasant subject, if you and I could only take the same view of it, which we don't. Do you want to have a daughter-in-law to quarrel with at Castle ClifTe so badly that you've come to the city to bring one home ? " " One thing I don't want, Lieutenant Shirley," said Lady Agnes, somewhat sharply, " is to see my son make a senti- mental fool of himself! Your cousin Charlotte is here, and I want you to marry her and go abroad. I've been wishing MOTHER AND SON. «9 to go to Rome myself for the last two or three months, and it will be an excellent opportunity to go with you." " Thank you, mother! But at the same time, I'm afraid you and my cousin Charlotte must hold me excused! " said the lieutenant, in his cool manner. " What are your objections, sir? " " Their name is legion ! In the first place," said the young gentleman, beginning to count on his fingers, " she is five years older than I am ; secondly, she is fat — couldn't possibly marry any one but a sylph; thirdly, she is a widow — the lady I raise to the happiness of Mrs. S must give me a heart that has had no former lodger ; fourthly, she has a son, and I don't precisely fancy the idea of becoming, at the age of twenty, papa to a tall boy of six years ; and, fifthly, and lastly, and conclusively, she is my cousin, and I like her as such, and nothing more, and wouldn't marry her if she was the last woman in the world ! " Though this somewhat emphatic refusal was delivered in the coolest and most careless of tones, there was a determined fire in his blue eyes that told a different story. Two crimson spots, all unusual there, were burning on the lady's fair cheeks ere he ceased, and her own eyes flashed blue flame, but her voice was perfectly calm and clear. Lady Agnes was too great a lady ever to get into so vulgar a thing as a passion. "You refuse?" "Most decidedly! Why, in Heaven's name, my dear mother, do you want me to take (with reverence be it said) that great slug for a wife? " " And pray what earthly reasons are there why you should not take her? She is young and handsome, immensely rich, and of one of the first families in Derbyshire ! It would be .the best match in the world ! " " Yes, if I wanted to make a marriage de convenance. I am rich enough as it is, and Madame Charlotte may keep her guineas, and her black eyes, and her tropical person for whomever she pleases. Not all the wealth of the Indies would tempt me to marry that sensual, full-blown, high- blooded Cleopatra I " One singular trait of Lieutenant Shirley was that he said the strongest and most pungent things in the coolest and quietest of tones. The fire in his lady mother's eyes was 20 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. !■■■ 1:1 s ?«^ 'B i fierce, the spots on her cheeks hot and flaming, and in her voice there was a ringing tone of command. " And your reasons ? " " I have given you half a dozen already, ma mere ! " " They are not worth thinking of — there must be a stronger one 1 Lieuetnant Shirley, I demand to know what it is ? " " My good mother, be content I I hate this subject. Why cannot we let it rest." " It shall never rest now ! Speak, sir, I command I " " Mother, what do you wish to know ? " " There is another reason for this obstinate refusal — what is it ? " " You had better not ask me — you will not like to know I " " Out with it I " " The very best reason in the world, then," he said, with his careless laugh. " I am married already I " I THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. 21 r% ■ < • " % " . «.■• CHAPTER III. THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. A STORMY March morning was breaking over London. The rain and sleet driven by the wind, beat and clamored against the windows, flew furiously through the streets, and out over graveyards, brickfields, marshes and bleak commons, to the open country, where wind and sleet howled to the bare trees, and around cottages, as if the very spirit of the tem- pest was out on the " rampage." Most of these cottages out among brick-yards and ghastly wastes of marsh, had their doors secured, and their shutters closely fastened, as if they, too, like their inmates, were fast asleep, and defied the storm. But there was one standing away from the rest, on the hillside, whose occupants, judging from appearances, were certainly not sleeping. Its two front windows were bright with the illumination of fire and candle, and their light flared out red and lurid far over the desolate wastes. The shutters were open, the blinds up, and the vivid glare would have been a welcome sight to any storm-beaten traveler, had such been out that impetuous March day ; but nobody was foolhardy enough to be abroad at that dismal hour of that dismal morning ; and the man who sat before the great wood fire in the principal room of the cottage, though he listened and watched, like sister Anne on the tower-top, for somebody's coming, that somebody came not, and he and his matin meditations were left undisturbed. He was a young man, sunburnt and good-looking — a laborer unmis- takably, though dressed in his best ; and with his chair drawn up close to the fire, and a boot on each andiron, he drowsily smoked a short clay pipe. The room was as neat and clean as any room could be, the floor faultlessly sanded, the poor furniture deftly arranged, and all looked cozy and cheerful in the ruddy firelight. There was nobody else in the room, and the beating of 22 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI " Yes, your honor." " Tell him, then, to go and purchase a coffin and order the sexton to have the grave prepared by this evening. In twenty-four hours I leave England forever, and I must see her laid in the grave before I depart." " And the baby, sir ? " said the woman, timidly, half frightened by his stern, almost harsh tone. " Will you not look at it ? — here it is 1 " " No I " said the young man fiercely. " Take it and be- gone 1" ' ' Jenny snatched up the baby, and fled in dismay ; and the young man sat down beside his dead, and laid his face on the pillow where the dead face lay. Rain and hail still lashed the windows, the wind shrieked in dismal blasts over the bare brick fields and bleak common. Morning was lifting a dull and leaden eye over the distant hills, and the new- born day gave promise of turning out as sullen and dreary as ever a March day could well do. " Blessed is the corpse that the rain rains on 1 " and so Jenny thought, as she laid the baby on her own bed, and watched her husband plung- ing through the rain and wind, on his doleful errand. The dark, sad hours stole on, and the solitary watcher in the room of death kept his vigil undisturbed. Breakfast and dinner hour passed, and Jenny's hospitable heart ached to 26 THE HEIRESS OE CASTI.E CLIFFE. think that the young gentleman had not a mouthful to eat all the blessed time ; but she would not have taken broad England and venture to open the door uninvited again. And so, while the storm raged on without, the lamp flared on the dressing-table, the dark wintry day stole on, and the lonely watcher sat there still. It was within an hour of dusk, and Jenny sat near the fire, singing a soft lullaby to the baby, when the door opened, and he stood before her like a tall, dark ghost I " Has the coffin come ? " he asked. And Jenny started up and nearly dropped the baby with a sliriek, at the hoarse and hollow sound of his voice. . , " Oh, yes, sir ; there it is 1 " The dismal thing stood up, black and ominous, against the opposite wall. He just glanced at it, and then back again at her. " And the grave has been dug ? " " Yes, sir : and if you please, the undertaker has sent his hearse on account of the rain, and it is waiting now in the shed. My John is there, too. I will call him in, sir, if you please." He made a gesture in the affirmative, and Jenny flew out to do her errand. When she returned with her John, the young man assisted him in laying the dead form within the coffin, and they both carried it to the door and laid it within the hearse. ** You will come back, sir, won't you ? " ventured Jenny, standing at the door and weeping incessantly behind her apron. ^2? J;; " Yes. Go on I " The hearse started ; and John and the stranger followed to the last resting-place of her lying within. It was all dreary, the darkening sky, the drenched earth, the gloomy hearse, and the two solitary figures following silently after, with bowed heads, through the beating storm. Luckily, the churchyard was near. The sexton, at sight of them, ran off for the clergyman, who, shivering and reluctant, appeared on the scene just as the coffin was lowered to the ground. " Ashes to ashes, dust to dust 1 " The beautiful burial- service of the English Church was over. The coffin was lowered and the sods went rattling drearily down on the lid. THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CUFFE. 27 The young man stood bareheaded, his auburn hair fluttering in the wind, and the storm beating unheeded on his head. John was bareheaded, too, much against his will ; but the clergyman ran home with unclerical haste the moment the last word was uttered ; and the sexton shoveled and beat down the sods with professional phlegm. Just then, flutter- ing in the wiijd, a figure came through the leaden twilight ; the young man lifted his gloomy eyes, and the newcomer his hat. He had yellow hair and a jaundice complexion, and his overcoat was a sort of yellowish brown — in short, it was Mr. Sylvester Sweet. " Good morning. Lieutenant Shirley 1 Who in the world would expect to meet you here ? Not lost a friend, I hope ? " " Have the goodness to excuse me, Mr. Sweet. I wish to be alone ! " was the cold and haughty reply. And Mr. Sweet, with an angel smile rippling all over his face, left accordingly, and disappeared in tlie dismal gloaming. With the last sod beaten down, the sexton departed, and John went slowly to the gate to wait in wet impatience for the young gentleman. Standing at his post, he saw that same young gentleman kneel down on the soaking sods, lean his arm on the rude wooden cross the sexton had thrust at the head of the grave, and lay his face thereon. So long did he kneel there, with the cold March rain beating down on his uncovered head, that John's teeth were chattering, and an inky darkness was falling over the city of the dead. But he rose at last, and came striding to his side ; passed him with tremendous sweeps of limb, and was standing, drip- ping like a water-god, before the kitchen fire, when the good man of the house entered. Jenny was in a low chair, with the baby on her lap, still sleeping — its principal occupation apparently : and he looked at it with a cold, steady glance, very like that of his lady mother. " I am going to leave England," he said, addressing them both when John entered, " In twenty-four hours I am going to India, and if I should never come back, what will you do with that child ? " '* Keep it always," said Jenny, kissing it. " Dear little thing I I love it already as if it were my own ! " " If I live, it will not only be provided for, but you will be jzS THE HEIRESS OF CASTI^E CInlea :ribe , the Ltch- ling hither and thither over the greensward in one living sea ; the long array of carriages drawn up near the race-ground and filled with such dazzling visions of glancing silk, and fluttering lace, waving plumes and beautiful faces. Then the air was filled with music from the countless performers, making up a sort of cats' concert, not unpleasant to listen to ; and over all there was the cloudless sky and blazing August sun. A group of officers standing near the course, betting- books in hand, wSre discussing the merits of the rival racers, and taking down wagers. Vivia, owned by Sir Roland Cliffe, of Cliftonlea, and Lady Agnes, owned by Lord Henry Lisle, of Lisleham, were to take the lead that day. " Two to one on Vivia 1 " cried Captain Douglas, of the light dragoons. •' Done I " cried a brother officer. " I am ready to back the Lady Agnes against any odds I " - The bets were booked, and as Captain Douglas put his betting-book in his pocket with a smile on his lip, and his quick eye glanced far and wide, he suddenly exclaimed : ' " And here comes the Lady Agnes herself, looking stately as a queen and fair as a lily, as she always does." " Where ? " said his superior officer, old Major Warwick, looking helplessly round through his spectacles. *' I thought Lady Agnes was a roan." " I don't mean the red mare," said Captain Douglas, laughing, "but the real Ifona fide Lady Agnes herself — Lady Agnes Shirley. There she sits, like a princess in a play, in that superb pony phaeton." " Handsomest woman in Sussex ! " lisped a young en- sign ; " and worth no end of tin. That's her nephew, young Shirley, driving, and who is that little fright in the back seat ? " .f " That's her niece, little Maggie Shirley, and they say the heiress of Castle Cliffe." " How can that be ? " said the major. " I thought the estate was entailed." " The Shirley estates are, but the castle and the village adjoining were the wedding-dower of Lady Agnes Cliffe when she married Doctor Shirley. So, though the Shirley \ 1 ' > t ■ i 1 ■ 1 » i 1 I- 32 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. property is strictly entailed to the nearest of kin, Lady Agnes can. leave Castle Cliffe to her kitchen-maid if she likes." " Has she no children of her own ? " asked the major, who was a stranger in Cliftonlea, and a little stupid about pedigree. " None now ; she had a son, Clifife Shirley — splendid fellow he was, too. He was one of us, and as brave as a lion. We served together some years in India. I remember him so well, there was not a man in the whole regiment who would not have died for him ; but he was a discarded son I " " How was that } Lady Agnes looks more like an angel than a vindictive mother." " Oh, your female angels often turn out to have the heart of Old Nick himself," said Captain Douglas, tightening his belt. " I don't mean to say she has, you know ; but those Cliffes are infernally proud people. They all are. I have known some of their distant cousins, and so on, poor as old Job's turkey, and proud as the devil. Cliffe Shirley com- mitted that most heinous of social crimes — a low marriage. There was the dickens to pay, of course, when my lady yonder heard it ; and the upshot was, the poor fellow was disinherited. His wife died a year after the marriage ; but he had a daughter. I remember bis telling me of her a thousand times, with the stars of India shining down on our bivouac. Poor Clifford 1 he was a glorious fellow 1 but I have heard he was killed since I came home, scaling the walls of Monagoola, or some such place." " Whom did he marry ? " " I forget, now. He never would speak of his wife ; but I have heard she was a ballet-dancer, or opera-singer, or something of that sort." " All wrong 1 " said a voice at his elbow. And there stood Lord Henry Lisle, slapping his boots with a ratan, and listening languidly. " I know the whole story. She was a French actress. You've seen her a score of times. Don't you remember Mademoiselle Vivia, who took dl London by storm some twelve years ago ? " " Of course, I do ! Ah, what eyes that girl had I And then she disappeared so mysteriously, nobody ever kne\y what became of her." - - » -^ . TWEI.VK YEARS AFTER. 33 " I know. Cliffe Shirley married her, and she died, as you have said, a year after." Captain Douglas gave an intensely long whistle of aston- ishment. " Oh, that was the way of it, then ? No wonder his lady mother was outrageous. A Cliflfe marry an actress I " " Just so 1 " drawled Lord Lisle, slapping the dust off his boots. " And if her son hadn't married her, her brother would! Sir Roland nearly went distracted about her." " Oh, nonsense 1 He married that black-eyed widow — that cousin Charlotte of his, with the little boy — in half a year after." " It's true, though 1 I never saw one half so frantically in love ; and he hasn't forgotten her yet, as you may see by his naming his black mare after her." Captain Douglas laughed. " And is it for the same reason you have named your red road-steed after Lady Agnes — eh. Lisle? " Lord Lisle actually blushed. Everybody^ knew how in- fatuated the insipid young peer was about the haughty lady of Castle Cliffe, who might have been his mother; and everybody laughed at him, except the lady herself, who, in an uplifted sort of way, was splendidly and serenely scorn- ful. . - " Lovely creature I " lisped the ensign. " And those ponies are worth a thousand guineas, if they're worth one." " How much ? Where is she ? Is she here ? " cried Lord Lisle, who was mentally and physically rather obtuse, staring around him. " Oh, I see her I Excuse me, gentle- men, I must pay my respects." Off went Lord Lisle like a bolt from a bow. The officers looked at each other and laughed. " Now, you'll see the grandly-disdainful reception he'll get," said Captain Douglas. " The queenly descendant of the Cliffes treats the lately-fledged lordling as if he were her foot-boy ; and probably his grandfather shoed her grand- father's horses." The whole group were looking toward the glittering file of carriages, drawn up near the end of which was an ex- quisite phaeton, drawn by two beautifully-matched ponies \ \, \i I f 'I J. 34 THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CIvIFFE. of creamy whiteness. The phaeton had three occupants — a lady, looking still young and still beautiful, and eminently distinguished, dressed in flowing robes of black barege, with a large lace shawl — gracefully worn more like drapery than a shawl — half-slipping off one shoulder, daintily gloved ill black kid, and wearing a black tulle bonnet, contrasting exquisitely with the pearly fairness of the proud face, and shining bandeaux of flaxen hair. In those flaxen bandeaux not one gray hair was visible ; and leaning back with lan- guid hauteur, she looked a proud, indolent, elegant woman of the world, but not a widow wearing mourning for her only son. Lady Agnes Shirley might have felt — widows with only sons mostly do — but certainly the world knew nothing of it. Her heart might break ; but she was one who could suffer and make no sign. Sitting beside her and holding the reins, pointing every- thing out to her with vivid animation, talking with the greatest volubility, and gesticulating with the utmost earnest- ness, was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, good-looking young giant, who, although only sixteen, was six feet high, and told his friends he wasn't half-done growing yet. He was Tom Shirley, an orphan, the son of Lady Agnes' late hus- band's youngest brother, now resident at Castle Cliffe, and senior boy in the college school of Cliftonlea. And that was Master Tom's whole past history, except that he was the best-natured, impetuous, fiery, rough, kind-hearted young giant, whose loud voice and long strides brought up- roar everywhere he went. There was a third figure in the back seat— a small girl who looked ten, and who was in reality fifteen years old — Miss Margaret Shirley, the daughter of Doctor Shirley's- second brother — like Tom, an orphan, and depe-iident on her aunt. She was dressed in bright rose silk, wore a pretty summer hat trimmed with rose ribbons ; but the bright colors of robe and chapeau contrasted harshly with her dark, pale face. It was a wan, sickly, solemn, unsmiling little visage as ever child wore ; with large, hollow, gray eyes, neither bright nor expressive ; sharp, pinched features, ' and altogether an inexplicably cowed and subdued look, , Her hair was pretty — the only pretty thing about her — . dark, and thick, and curly, as all the Shirleys were ; but it TWELVE YEARS AFTER. 35 could not relieve the solemn, sallow face, the pinched, an- gular figure, and everybody wondered what Lady Agnes could see in that fairy changeling ; and shrugged their shoulders to think that she should reign in Castle Cliffe, whose mistresses had always been the country's boast for their beauty. ' ' r. The knot of officers watching Lo'-d Lisle had all their expectations realized. His profound bow received only the slightest and coldest answering bend of the haughty head. Then Tom Shirley jumped from the carriage, and digging his elbows into everybody's ribs who came in his way, tore like a fiery meteor through the crowd. And then the horses were starting, and the officers had no time to think of anything else. For some time, Vivia and Lady Agnes kept neck and neck. The excitement and betting were immense. Captain D^iiglas doubles his wager — Vivia gets ahead — a shout arises — she keeps ahead — Lady Agnes is dead beat I and Vivia, amid a tremendous cheer, comes triumphantly in the winner. " That's three thousand pounds in my pocket ! " said Captain Douglas, coolly. " Hallo, Shirley ! What's the row ? " For Tom Shirley was tearing along, very red in the face, his elbows in the ribs of society, and looking as much like a distracted meteor as ever. He halted in a high state of excitement at the captain's salute. " The most glorious sight ! Such a girl 1 You ought to see her! She's positively stunning ! " " Who's stunning, Tom ? Don't be in a hurry to answer. You're completely blown." " I'll be blown again, then, if I stop talking here ! If you want to see her, come along, and look for yourself." " I'm your man 1 " said the captain, thrusting his arm through Tom's and sticking his other elbow, after that spirited young gentleman's fashion, into the sides of every- body who opposed him. " And now relieve my curiosity, like a good fellow, as we go along." " Oh, it's a tight-rope dancer 1 " said Tom. " Make haste, or you won't see her, and it's a sight to see, I tell you I " " Is she pretty, Tom ? " " A regular trump I " said Tom. ' " Get out of the way, lij r ^m ^ i '. % 36 THE HEIRESS OK CASTI.E CUFFE. you old kangaroo, or I'll pitch you into the middle of next week." This last apostrophe was addressed to a stout gentleman, who came along panting, and snorting, and mopping his race. And as the old gentleman and everybody else got out of the way of this human whirlwind in horror, they soon found themselves before a large canvas tent, around which an immense concourse of people, young and old, were gathered. A great pole, fifty feet high, ^tuck up through the middle of this tent, and a thick wire-rope came slanting down to the ground. Two or three big men, in a bright uniform of scarlet and yellow, were keeping the throng away from this, and a band of modern troubadours, with brass instruments in their mouths, were discoursing the " British Grenadiers." A very little boy was beating a very big drum in a very large way, so that when the captain spoke, he had to shout as people do through an ear-trumpet. " How are we to get through this crowd to the tent, if the damsel you speak of is within it ? " " Oh, she'll be out presently I " said Tom ; " she is goinjg to give the common herd a specimen of her powers, by climbing up to the dizzy top of that pole, and dancing the polka mazurka, or an Irish jig, or something of that sort, on the top. And while we are waiting for her, just look here!" The captain looked. On every hand there were huge placards, with letters three feet long, in every color of the rainbow, so that he who ran might read, and the text of these loud posters was somewhat in this fashion : I _ .^ UNRIVALED ATTRACTION. Unprecedented Ittducement ! Thk Infant Venus ! The Pet and Favorite of the Royal Family, the Nobility, and Gentry of England ! Come one ! Come all ! The Infant Venus ! The Infant Venus ! I The Infant Venus! 1 I Admission, 6d. : Children, half price. \ By the time the captain had got to the end of this absorb- ing piece of literature, a murmuring and swaying mqtion of TWJSIyVE YEARS AFTER. 37 the crowd, told him that the Infant Venus herself had ap- peared in the outer world. There was a suppressed rush — the men in scarlet jackets flourished their batons danger- ously near the noses of the dear public. There was an ex- cited murmur: '• Where is she ? " "What is she like?" '' Oh, I can't see her I " And everybody's eyes were start- ing out of their heads to make sure that the Infant Venus was of real ticsh and blood, and not an optical delusion. But soon they were satisfied. A glittering figure, sparkling and shining like the sunlight from head to foot, bearing the Union Jai k of Old England in either hand, went fluttering up this slender wire. The crowd held its breath, the music changed to a quick, wild measure, and the beautiful vision floated up In the sunshine, keeping time to the exciting strain. It was the li/Mit, slender figure of a girl of thirteen or four- teen, with tiic little tapering feet gleaming in spangled slippers of while satin, the slight form arrayed in a short white gossamer skirt reaching to the knee ; and, like the slippers, all over silver spangles. Down over the bare white shoulders waved such a glorious fall of golden-bronze hair, lialf waves, half curls, such as few children ever had before ; and the shining tresses were crowned with ivy leaves and white roses. The face was as beautiful as the hair, but in- stead of the blue or brown eyes that should have gone with it, they were of intensest black, and veiled by sweeping lashes of the same color. The music arose, quicker and faster, the silvery vision, scintillating and shining, flashed up, and up, and up, with her waving flags, till she looked like a bright, white speck against the blue summer sky, and the lookeis on hushed the very beating of their hearts. One false step — one dizzy turn, and that white frock will cover a bleeding and mangled little form, and the bronze hair will be crimson in blood. But she is at the top ; she is looking down upon them, she waves her flags triumphant in her eagle eyrie, and a mighty cheer goes up from a hundred throats, that makes the whole plain ring. And now the music changes again ; it grows slower, and the fairy in silver spangles begins to descend. If she should miss, even now I But no, she is on the ground even before they can realize it, and then there is another shout louder than the first ; the band strikes up an " lo Triomphe," and Tom and the cap- J 1' ) *• 38 THE HEIRESS OF CASTlvE CI.IFFE. ^ tain take off their own liats, and cheer louder than any o£ the rest. And the brave little beauty bows right and left, and vanishes like any other fairy, and is seen no more. " Didn't I tell you she was stunning ? " cried Tom, exult- ingly. " Tom, you re an oracle ! Is she going to do anything within?" " Lots of things — look at that rush ! " There was a rush, sure enough. The doors had been opened, and everybody was scrambling in pell-mell. Six- pences and threepences were flying about like hailstones in a March storm, and w^omen and children were getting torn and " squeezed to death." Tom and tlie captain fought their way through with the rest. Two people were taking money at the door in which they entered — a man and woman. They paid their sixpences, made a rush for a seat, and took it in triumph. Still the crowd poured in — it might have been the beauty of the girl, her dizzying walk up the wire-rope, or the rumor of her danc- ing, that brought them, but certainly the canvas tent was filled from its sawdust pit to its tented roof. They were not kept long waiting for the rising of the curtain, either — the same thing was to be played at last half a dozen times that day, so the moments w ere precious ; and the solemn green curtain went up in ten minutes, and they saw the youthful Venus rise up from the sea-foam, with her beautiful hair un- bound, and floating around her, her white robes trailing in the brine, and King Neptune and Queen Amphitrite, and thcir mermaid court, and the graces and attendant sylphs, all around her. The scene was all sea and moonlight ; and she floated, in her white dress, across the moonlit stage, like a fairy in a magic ring. The tent shook with the applause ; and nobody ever danced in trailing robes as she did then. The contest for the crown of beauty arose — Juno, Minerva and Venus were all there ; and so was the arbiter and judge. Venus, says legendary lore, bore away the palm, as much on account of her scanty draper}' as her unparalleled loveliness. The Venus standing before them there was scantily enough draped, Heaven knows ! the dainty and uncovered neck^nd arms whiter than her dress, one as short as the heart of any ballet-dancer could desire ; and oh 1 what another storm of TWEI.VK YEARS AFTER. 39 applause there was when Paris gave her the gold apple, and Juno and Minerva danced ?l pas de deuxoi exasperation, and she floated round them like a spirit in a dream i And then she bowed and smiled at the audience, and kissed her finger- tips to them, and vanished behind the green curtain ; and then it was all over, and everybody was pouring out in ecstasies of delight. " Isn't she splendid ? " cried Tom, in transport. " She beats the ballet dancers I saw when I was in London all to sticks. And then she is as good looking as an enchanted princess in the * Arabian Nights ' I " " My dear Tom, moderate your transports. I wonder if there's any way of finding out anything more about her ? I must confess to feeling a trifle interested in her myself." " Let us ask the old codger at the door." "Agreed." ^ . . - '-■ ■• - - ■ The twain made their way to the door, where the old cod- ger, as Tom styled the black-browed, sullen-looking man who had taken ^l":e money, stood counting over his gains with his female companion — a little, stooping, sharjveyed, vix- enish looking old woman. The man looked up as Captain Douglas lightly touched him on the shoulder. " See here, my friend, that is a very pretty little girl you have there 1 " " Glad you like her I " said the man, with a sort of growl. " I thought you would be. What's her name ? " "Her name? Can't you read? Her name is out there on them bills ! Don't you see she is the Infant Venus ? " " But I presume, for the ccrtnmon uses of everyday life, she has another ? Come, old fellow, don't be disobliging — let's hear it." " Not as I know on," growled the questioned one, civilly. Tom, combating a severe mental resolve to punch his head, then drew out a sovereign instead, and flourished it before his eyes, " Look -here, old chap 1 ttU us all about her, and I'll give you this." " I'll tell you 1 " said the old woman, snapping with vicious eagerness at the money. " She's his daughter, and I'm his mother, and she's my granddaughter, and her name's Bar- bara Black I Give it here ! ^'' 40 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFK, Before Tom could recover his breath, jerked out of him by the volubility with which this confession was poured forth, the old woman had snatched the coin out of his hand, and was thrusting it, with a handful of silver, into her pocket, when a pleasant voice behind her exclaimed : '* Dear little Barbara, the prettiest little fairy that ever was seen, and the very image of her charming grandmother ! " All looked at the speaker — a gentleman in a canary-col- ored waistcoat, wearing gold studs and breastpin, a gold watch-chain with a profusion of shimmering gold talismans attached, a lemon-colored glove on one hand, and a great gold ring on the other, with a yellow seal thal^ reached nearly to the second joint ; a saffronish complexion, and yellow hair, that seemed to encircle his head like a glory — a gentle- man who glittered in the sunlight almost as much as the Infant "Venus herself, and whose cheerful face wore the pleasantest of smiles — a gentleman to make you smile from sympathy as you looked at him, and not at all to be afraid of ; but as the grandmother of the Infant Venus laid her eyes upon him, she uttered a terrified scream, dropped the handful of gold and silver, and fled. * . '^ > V ^ :»«■ THE PRODIGAIv SON. 41 CHAPTER V. THE PRODIGAL SON. ** Ah, Sweet, how are you ? " said Tom, nodding famil- iarly to the newcomer. "What the dickens ails the old girl ? " " A hard question to answer. She is out a little, you know " (Mr. Sweet tapped his forehead significantly with his forefinger, and looked at the man) — " just a little here ! " " Can we speak to the Infant Venus ? " asked Tom of the old codger. " I tell you v/hat, gents," was the angry reply, " I want you three to clear out of this I There are other ladies and gents a-coming in, and I can't be having you a-loitering round here all day 1 Come ! " " Quite right," said Mr. Sweet, in his pleasant way. " Mr. Tom, I heard Lady Agnes asking for you a short tin\e ago. Captain Douglas, the major told me to say, if I found you, he had a little commission for you to execute. Mr. Tom, I believe her ladyship wishes to go home." " All right ! " said Tom, boyishly, moving away arm-in- arm with the captain ; and turning his head as he went : "Give my love to Barbara, you old bear, and don't let her be risking her precious little neck climbling up that horrid wire or I'll break your head for you ! Vale ! " With which gentle valedictory Tom and the captain moved away ; and the doorkeeper looked after them with a growl ; but tie growled more when he found Mr. Sweet standing still before him, gazing up in his face with a soft smile, and showing no signs of moving. " Come 1 get out of this ! " he began, gruffly. " Oh, no ! " said Mr. Sweet. " By no means ; not at all ; not yet. 'Tis just the hour. Moore found that out, you know. I want to see che old lady who ran away." ■» 1 42 THH HKIR^S OF CASTI.E CI.IFFK. " You will want it, then I Be off, I tell you 1 " " My dear fellow, don't raise your voice in that unpleasant manner. People will hear you, and I'm sure you would re- gret it after. Do lead me to that dear old lady again — your mother, I think you said." And Mr. Sweet patted him soothingly on the back. " I'll break your neck I " cried the exasperated man, snatching up a cudgel that stood beside him, and flourish- ing it in a way that showed he was most unpleasantly in earnest, " if you stay another minute here." The two men were looking straight at each other — the one with furious eyes, the other, perfectly serene. There is a magnetism, they say, in a calm, commanding human eye_ that can make an enraged tiger crouch and tremble. Mr. Sweet's eyes were very small, and were mostly hid under two thick, yellow eyebrows ; but they were wonderful eyes for all that. The man with the stick was a big, stout fellow, who would have made two of him easily ; but he slowly dropped his stick and his eyes, and crouched like a whipped hound before his master. •* What do you want ? " he demanded, with his customary growl, " a-coming and bullying a man what's been and done nothing to you. I wish you would clear out. There's cus- tomers coming in, and you're ih the way." " But I couldn't think of such a thing," said Mr. Sweet, quite laughing. " I couldn't, indeed, until I've seen the old ' lady. Dear old lady 1 do take me to her, my friend." Muttering to himself, but still cowed, the man led on through the rows of benches, pushed aside the green curtain, and jumped on the low stage. Mr. Sweet followed, and entered v/ith him the temporary green-room, pausing in the doorway to survey it. A horrible place, full of litter and dirt, and disorder, and painted men and women, and chil- dren and noise, and racket, and uproar. There w xs a row of little looking-glasses stuck all round the wall, and some of the players were standing before them, looking unutterably ghastly with one cheek painted blooming red, and the other of a grisly whiteness. And in the midst of all this confu- sion, *' worse confounded," there sat the Infant Venus, look- ing as beautiful off the stage as she had done on it, and needing no paint or tawdry tinsel to make her so. And there, THE PRODIGAL SON. 43 sant re- rour lan, [•ish- in on crouching down in the furthest corner, horribly frightened, as every feature of her old face showed, was the dear old lady they were in search of. The noise ceased at the en- trance of the stranger, and all paused in their manifold oc- cupations to stare, and the old woman crouched further away in her corner, and held out her shaking hands as if to keep him off. But Mr. Sweet, in his benevolent designs, was not one to be so easily kept off ; and he went over and patted the old lady encouragingly on the back, as he had done her son. , •.: " My good old soul, don't be so nervous ! There is no earthly reason why you should tremble and look like this. I wouldn't hurt a fly, I wouldn't. Do compose yourself, and tell me what is the matter." The old woman made an effort to speak, but her teeth chattered in her head. " You said you were — you said " " Precisely I That was exactly what I said, that I was going to America ; but I haven't gone, you see. I couldn't leave England, I couldn't really. * England, my country, great and free, heart of the world, I leap to thee,' and all that sort of thing, you know. What ? you're shaking yet. Oh, now, really, you mustn^t, it quite hurts my feelings to see one at your time of life taking on in this fashion. Per- mit me to help you up, and assist you to a chair. There is none — very well, this candh-box will do beautifully." With which Mr. Sweet assisted the old lady to arise, placed her on the box, amid the wondering company, and smiling m his pleasant way around on. them *all, pursued his dis- course. " These good ladies and gentlemen here look surprised, and it is quite natural they should ; but I can assure them you and I are old und tried friends, and I will intrude on them but a few minutes longer. I am anxious to say five words in private to your son, my worthy soul I and lest his naturally prudent nature should induce him to de- cline, I have come to you to obtain your maternal persua- sions in my favor. I will step to the door and wait, but I'm sure he will listen and obey the words of a tender mother," Humming an air as he went, Mr. Sweet walked out, after bowing politely to the company, and waited with the utmost I' j I I f 44 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. patience for some ten minutes at the door. At the end of that period the gentleman waited for made his appearance, looking sour, suspicious and discontented. Mr. Sweet in- stantly took his arm and led him out in his pleasant way. " Dear old fellow I I knew you would come — in fact, I was perfectly sure of it. About fifty yards from this place there is a clump of birch trees, overhanging a hedge, a gceat place where nobody ever comes. Do you know it? " A sulky nod was the answer. " Very well. Have the goodness to precede me there — people might say something if they saw us go together. I have a very interesting little story to tell you, which will not bear more than one listener, and that dark spot is just the place to tell it in. Go on I " The man paused for one moment and looked at him in mingled suspicion and fear ; but Mr. Sweet was pointing steadily out. And, muttering in his peculiar, growling tones, like those of a beaten cur, he slunk away in the direction in- dicated. The distance was short ; he made his way through the crowd and soon reacned the spot, a gloomy place with white birches, casting long cool shadows over the hot grass, in an obscure corner of the grounds where nobody came. There was an old stump of a tree, rotting under the fragrant hawthorn hedge ; the man sat down on it, took a pipe out of his pocket, lit it, and began to smoke. As he took the first whiff, something glistened before him in the sun, and raising his sullen eyes, they rested on the smiling visage of Mr. Sweet. " Ah, that's right 1 " that gentleman began in his lively way ; " make yourself perfectly comfortable, my dear Black — youi lame is Black, is it not — Peter Black, eh ? " Mr. Black nodded, and smoked away like a volcano. ' ^ " Mine's Sweet — Sylvester Sweet, solicitor at law, and agent and steward of the estates of Lady Agnes Shirley, of Castle Cliff e. And now th-.c we mutually know each other, I am sure you will be pleased to have me proceed to business at once." There was a rustic stile in the hawthorn hedge quite close to where Mr. Black sat. Mr. Sweet took a seat upon it, and looked down on him, smiling all over. " Perhaps you're surprised, my dear Mr. Black, that I THE PRODIGAI, SON, 45 should know you as if you were my brother, and you may be still further surprised when you hear that it was solely and exclusively on your account that I have come to these races. I am not a betting man ; I haven't the slightest interest in any of these horses ; I don't care a snap who wins or who loses, and I detest crowds ; but I wouldn't have stayed away from these races for a thousand pounds 1 And all, my dear fellow," said Mr. Sweet, jingling his watch-seals till they seemed laughing in chorus, " all because I knew you were to be here." Mr. Black, smoking away in grim silence, and looking^ stolidly before him, might have been deaf or dumb for all the interest or curiosity he manifested. " You appear indifferent, my good Black ; but I think I will manage to interest you yet before we part. I have the most charming little story to relate, and I must go back — let me see — eleven years." Mr. Black gave the slightest perceptible start, but still he neither looked up nor spoke. " Some fifteen miles north of London," said Mr. Sweet, playing away with his watch-seals, " there is a dirty little village called Worrel, and in this village there lived, eleven years ago, a man named Jack Wildman, ketter know to his pot-house companions by the sobriquet of Black Jack." Mr. Peter Black jumped as if he had been shot, and the pipe dropped from his mouth, and was shivered into atoms at his feet. " What is it ? Been stung by a wasp or a hornet ? " in- quired Mr. Sweet, kindly. " Those horrible little insects are in swarms around here ; but sit down, my good Black ; sit down, and take another pipe — got none ? Well, never mind. This Black Jack I was telling you of was a mason by trade, earning good woges, and living very comfortably with a wife and one child, a little girl ; and I think her name was Bar- bara. Do sit down, Mr. Black ; and don't look at me in that uncomfortably steadfast way — it's not polite to stare, you know ! " Mr. Black crouched back in his seat ; but his hands were clenched and his face was livid. " This man, as I told you, was getting good wages, and was doing well ; but he was one -of those discontented, un- 46 THE HEIRESS OE CASTI.E CLIFFE. grateful curs, who, like a spaniel, required to be whipped and kicked to be made keep his plaCv. He got dissatisfied ; he went among his fellow-laborers, and stirred up a feeling of _. mutinous revolt. There was a strike, and to their great amazement and disgust, their masters took them at their word, hired other workmen, and told the cross-grained dogs to beg or starve, just as they pleased. They grew fuiious, houses were set on fire, the new workmen were waylaid and beaten, works were demolished, and no end of damage done. But it did not last long ; the law has a long arm and a strong hand, and it reached the disaffected stone-masons of Worrel. A lot of tliem were taken one night after having set a house on lire, and beaten an inoffensive man to death ; and three moTiths after, the whole villainous gang were trans- ported for life to New South Wales. Allow me to give you a cigar, my dear Black ; I am sure you can listen better, and I can talk better smoking." There was a strong club, with an iron head, that some one had dropped, lying near. Mr. Black picked it up, and '" sprung to his feet, with a furious face. The motion was - quick, but his companion had made a quicker one ; he had thrust his hand into his breast-pocket, and drawn oi't some- thing that clicked sharply. " Dear old boy, keep cool I No good ever comes of act- ing on impulse, and this is a hair-trigger 1 Sit down — do — and throw that club over the hedge, or I'll blow your brains out as I would a mad dog's i " Mr. Sweet's voice was as soft as the notes of an ^olian , harp, and his smile was perfectly seraphic. But his pistol was within five inches of Mr. Black's countenance ; and snarling like a baffled tiger, he did throw the club over the hedge, and slunk back with a face so distorted by fear and fury, that it was scarcely human. " Dear boy, if you would only be sensible and keep quiet \' like that ; but you are so impulsive I Mr. Wildman was trans- ported, and is probably founding a flourishing c61ony in that delightful land, at this present moment, for nobody ever heard of him again. But some five months ago, there ar- rived in London, from some unknown quarter, a gentleman by the name of Black — Peter Black, who was so charmingly got up with the aid of a wig, false whiskers and mustaches, THE PRODIGAI. SON. 47 le. a of and a suit of sailor's clothes, that this own dear mother couldn't have known him. In fact, that venerable lady didn't know him at all, when after a month's diligent search and inquiry he found her out, and paid her an unexpected visit ; but it was a delightful meeting. Don't ask me to describe it ; no known words in the English lanjguage could do justice to a mother's feelings on meeting a lost son — and such a son ! Ah, dear me ! " said Mr. Sweet, taking his cigar between his finger and thumb, and looking down at it with a pensive sigh. Mr. Peter Black, crouching down between the trunks of the trees, and glaring with eyes like those of a furious buU- '^og about to spring, did not seem exactly the sort of son for any mother to swoon with delight at seeing ; but then, tastes differ. Mr. Sweet knocked the ashes daintily off the end of his cigar, replaced it between his lips, looked brightly down on the glaring eyes, and went on. " Mr. Peter Black, when the first transports of meeting were over, found that the relict of the late transported Mr. Wildman had departed — let us hope to a better land — and that his mother had adopted Miss Barbara, then a charming young lady of eleven and the most popular little tight-rope dancer in London. Miss Barbara was introduced to Mr. Black, informed he was her father, just returned after a long cruise, and no end of shipwrecks, and through her influence, a place was procured for him a^j ticket -porter in the theater. It was a wandering affair that sam*^ theater, and Mr. Black and. his charming daughter and mot)ier went roving with it over the country, and finally came with it to the Cliftonlea races. Sly old fox I how you sit there drinking in every word — do let me prevail on you to light this cigar." He threw a fragrant Havana as he spoke from his cigar- case ; but the sly old fox let it roll on the grass at his feet, • and never took his savage eyes off the sunny face of the lawyer. His face was so frightfully pale, that the unearthly glare and the mat of coarse black hair, made it look by contrast quite dreadful. " You won't have it — well, no matter ? How do you like my story ? " " You devil," said Mr. Black, speaking for the first time and in a horrible voice, " where did you learn my story?" i I ' 48 THE HEIRKSS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. " Your story, eh ? I thought you would find it interest- ing. No matter where I learned it, I know you, Mr. Peter Black, as pat as my prayers, and I intend to use that knowl- edge, you may take your oath I You are as much my slave as if I bought you in the Southern States of America for so many hundred dollars ; as much my dog as if I had you chained and kenneled in my yard I Don't stir, you returned transport, or I'll shoot you where you stand." With the ferocious eyes blazing, and the tiger-jaws sr..irl- ing, Mr. Bbck crawled in spirit in the dust at the feet of the calm-voiced, yellow-haired lawyer. " And now, Mr. Black, you understand why I brought you here to tell you this little story ; and as you've listened to it with exemplary patience, you may listen now to the sequel. The first thing you are to do is, to quit this roving theater, you, and the dAr old lady, and the pretty little tight-rope dancer. You can remain with them to-day, but tornight you will go to the Cliffe Arms, the three of you, and remain there until I give you leave to quit. Have you money enough to pay for lodgings there a week ? " Mr. Black uttered some guttural sounds by way of reply, but they were so choked in his throat with rage and terror that they were undistinguishable. Mr. Sweet jumped down and patted him on the shoulder with a good-natured laugh. " Speak out, old fellow I Yes or no." " Yes." " You won't go secretly, you know. Tell the proprietor of the affair that you like this place, and that you are going to settle down and take to fishing or farming; that you don't like this vagabond kind of life for your little girl, and so on. Go to the Cliffe Arms to-night. You'll have no trouble in getting quarters there, and you and your delightful family will stay till I see fit to visit you again. You will do this, my dear boy — won't you ? " " You know I must I " said the man, with a fiendish scowl, and his fingers convulsively working, as if he would have liked to spring on the pleasant law}'er and tear him limb from limb. " Oh, yes, I know it I " said Mr. Sweet, laughing : " and I know, too, that if you should attempt to play any tricks on THE PRODIGAI. SON. 49 iSt- jter Iwl- ive so ^ou »ed me, that I will have^ou swinging by the neck from the Old Bailey six months after. But you needn't be afraid. I don't mean to do you any harm. On the contrary, if you only follow my directions, you will find me the best friend you ever had. Now go." Mr. Black rose up, and turned away, but before he had gone two yards he was back again. " What do you want ? What does all this mean ? " he asked, In a husky whisper. •' Never you mind that, but take yourself off. I'm done with you for the present. Time tells everything, and time will tell what I want with you. Off with you 1 " Mr. Black turned again, and this time walked steadily out of sight ; and when he was entirely gone, Mr. Sweet broke into a musical laugh, threw his smoked-out cigar over the hedge, thrust his hands in his pockets, and went away whistling : . . * " My love is but a lassie yet." But if the steward and agent of Lady Agnes Shirley had given the father of the Infant Venus a most pleasant sur- prise, there was another surprise in reserve for himself — whether pleasant or not, is an unanswerable question. He was making his way through the crowd, lifting his hat and nodding and smiling right and left, when a hearty slap on the shoulder from behind made nim turn quickly, as an equally-hearty voice exclaimed : " Sweet, old fellow, how goes it ? " A tall gentleman, seemingly about thirty, with an unmis- takably military air about him, although dressed in civilian costume, stood before him. Something in the peculiarly erect, upright carriage, in the laughing blue eyes, in the fair, curly hair and characteristic features, were familiar, but the thick soldier's mustache and sun-browned skin puzzled him. Only for u moment, though ; the next he had started back, with an exclamation of : •■ " Lieutenant Shirley I " - "Colonel Shirley, if you please. Do you suppose I have served twelve years in India for nothing — do you? Don't look so blanched, man. I am not a ghost, but the same 50 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. scapegrace you used to lend money to lang syne. Give me your hand, and I'll show you." Mr. Sweet held out his hand, and received such a bears* grip from the Indian officer that tears of pain started into his eyes. *.' Thank you, colonel ; that will do," said the lawyer, winc- ing, but in an overjoyed tone all the same. " Who could have looked for such an unexpected pleasure ? When did you arrive ? " " I got to Southampton last night, and started for here the first thing. How are all our people ? I haven't met any one I know, save yourself ; but they told me in Cliftonlea Lady Agnes was here." • • / :. .. ^ ;, " So she is. Come along, and I'll show you where." With a face radiant with delight and surprise, Mr. Sweet led the way, and Colonel Shirley followed. Many of the faces that passed were familiar. Sir Roland's among the rest ; but the Indian officer, hurrying on, stopped to speak to no one. The file of carriages soon came in sight. Mr. Sweet pointed out the pony phaeton ; and his companion, the next instant, was measuring oflf the road toward it in great strides. Lady Agnes, with Tom beside her, was just giving languid directions about driving home, when a handsome face, bronzed and mustached, was looking smilingly down on her, a hand being held out, and a well-known voice exclaiming: "Mother, I have come home again I " . "^• ■:'^, KII.I.ING THE FATTED CAI.F. 5J CHAPTER VI. KILLING THE FATTED CALF. It is a vulgar thing to h- surprised at anything in this world. Lady Agnes Shirley was too great a lady to do any- thing vulgar ; so the common herd gathered round heard only one faint cry, and saw the strange gentleman's hands wildly grasping both the great lady's. '* Don't faint, mother. They haven't killed me in India, and it's no ghost, but your good-for-nothing son Cliflfe I " " Oh, Cliffe 1— oh, ClifTe 1 " she cried out. " Is this really you ? " " It really is, and come home for good, if you will let me stay. Amsl forgiven yet, mother" " My darling boy, it is I who must be forgiven, not you. How those odious people are staring 1 Tom, jump out, and go away. Cliffe, for Heaven's sake I get in here and drive - out of this, or I shall die 1 Oh, what a surprise this is I " Master Tom, with his eyes starting out of his head with astonishment, obeyed, and the Indian officer laughingly took his place, touched the cream-colored ponies lightly, and off they started, amid a surprised stare from fifty pairs of eyes. " Oh, Cliflfe ! I cannot realize this. When did you come ? Where have you been ? What have you been doing ? Oh, I am dreaming, I think 1 " "Nothing of the kind, ma mere. There is not a tnore wide-awake lady in England. I came here an hour ago, I have been in India fighting my country's battles, and get- ting made a colonel for my pains." " My brave boy 1 And it is twelve years — twelve long, long years since I saw you last I Shall I ever forget that miserable morning in London ? " " Of course you will. Why not ? Let bygones be by- gones, as the Scots say, and I shall settle down into the most ■/'■r 1 1] 52 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CI,f FEE. contented country gentleman yon ever saw at Castle Cliff e. How do things go jn a^ the old place ? " " Exceedingly well. I have the best agent in the world, But, Cliffe, we heard you were killed." " Likely enough ; but you may take my word for it when I tell you I was not. I was very near it, though, more than once ; but that's all over now, and I'm out of the reach of bullets and sword-cuts. Who is the young lady behind?" " You remember your uncle, Edward Shirley — well, he is dead, and that is his daughter. Wretchec" little creature ! " said Lady Agnes, lowering her voice and laughing contemp- tuously. " But I took her to keep her out of the workhouse 1 Drive fast, Clifi'e ; I am dying to get home and hear every- thing." The two creamy ponies flashed like an express-train through Cliftonlea, and along through a delightful wooded road, and drew up before two immense iron gates, swinging under a great granite arch, with the anns of Cliffe carved thereon. The huge gttes were opened by a man who came out of an Italian cottage — or, at least, as near an imitation of a cottage as they can go in Italy — and which was the gate-lodge, and the ponies dashed up a spacious avenue, with grand cedars of Lebanon on either hand, for upward of a quarter of a iflile. Then they crossed a great white bridge, wide enough to have lialf-spanned the Mississippi, and which in reality spanned an ambitious little stream you might have waded through in half a dozen steps, running sparkling through. the jgreen turf like a line of light, and disappearing among the trees. Past this the avenue ran along through a part of the grounds less densely wooded, and you saw that the rivulet emptied itself into a M'ide lake, lying like a great pearl set in emeralds, and with a miniature island in the center. There was a Swiss farmhouse on the island, with fowls, and children, and dogs scrambling over each other, a little white skiff drawn up on the bank, and a woman standing in the rustic porch, with a baby in her arms, and looking, under the fragrant arch of honeysuckles, like a picture in a frame. Then the plantation grew denser, and the avenue lost itself in count- less bypaths and windings, and there were glimpses, as they flew along among the trees, of a distant park, and deer sport- ing therein. Once they drove up a steep hillside, and on KIIvUNG THE FATTED CALF. S3 >. > '» the top there was a view of a grand old house on another hillside, with towers, and turrets, and m-^ny gables, and no end of pinnacles, and stone mullioned windows, and queer chimneys, and a great cupola, with a flag flying on the top ; and further away to the left, there were the ruins of some old building, with a huge stone cross pointing up to the blue sky, amid a solemn grove of yew trees and golden willows, mingling light and shade pleasantly together. And there were beau'.iful rose-gardens to the right, with bees and but- terflies glancing around them, and fountains splashing like living jewels here and there, and hotl: ouses, and greenhouses, and summerhouses, and beehives. 'and a perfect forest of magnificent horse-chestnuts. And further away still, there spread the ceasless sea, sparkling as if sown with stars ; and still and white beneath the roclcs, there was the fisherman's village of Lower Cliffe, sweltering under the broiling sea- side sun. Oh, it was a wonderful place, was Castle Cliffe ! They were down the hill in a moment, and dashing through a dark, cool beech wood. A slender gazelle came bounding along, and lifting its large, tearful, beautiful eyes, and vanishing again in affright, and Colonel Shirley uncov- ered his head, and reverently saic : ^ "It is good to be home 1 " Two minutes later, they were in a paved courtyard. A groom came and led away the horses, looking curiously at the strange gentleman, who smiled, and followed Lady- Agnes up a flight of granite steps, and into a spacious portico. A massive hall door of oak and iron, that had swung on the same honest hinges in the days of the Tudor Plantagenets, flew back to admit them, and they were in an immense hall, carved, and paneled, and pictured, with the Clifl:e coat-of- arms emblazoned on the ceiUng, and a floor of bright, pol- ished oak, slippery as glass. Up a great sweeping staircase, rich in busts and bronzes — where you might have driven a coach and four, and done it easy — into another hall, and at last into the boudoir of Lady Agnes herself — a very modem apartment, indeed, for so old a house. Brussels-carpeted, damask-curtained, with springy couches, and easy-chairs, and ottomans, and little gems of modern pictures looking down on them from the walls. " It is good to be borne 1 " repeated Colonel Shirley, look- it i i f r. 54 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFK. ing round him with a Httle satisfied smile, as he sat down in an armchi:ir ; " but this room is new to me." " Oh I I left the Agnes Tower altogether — such a dismal place, you know, and full of rats 1 and I had the suite to which this belongs all fitted up last year. Are you hungry, Cliffe ? You must have luncheon, and then you shall tell me all the news." With which practical remark, the lady rung, and ordered her maid to take off her things, and send up lunch. And when it came, the traveler did ample justice to the cham- pagne and cold chicken, and answered his mamma's ques- tions between the mouthfuls. " Oh, there is very little to tell, after all 1 You know I was thrown from my horse that morning, after I left you at the hotel in London, and it was three weeks before I was able to go about again. And then I got a note from Vivia" (his sunny face darkened for a moment) " telling" me she was ill — dying I She was more — v/hen I reached her, I found her — dead 1 " ;; ' : . • t- - ' r . ' But Lady Agnes was sitting, very cold, and pale, and upright, in her seat. What was the death of a French actress to her ? " There was a child — a midge of a creature, a week old, and I left it with the good people with whom she lodged, and set sail for India the next morning, a desperate man. I went on praying that some friendly bullet would put an end to a miserable existence ; but I bore a charmed life ; and while my comrades fell around me in scores, I scaled ram- parts, and stormed breaches, and led forlorn-hopes, and came off without a scratch. I would have made the fortune of any life assurance company in England! "he said, with his frank laugh. " And the child ? " said Lady Agnes, intensely interested. " Do you really care to know anything of her ? " " It was a daughter, then ? Of course I do, you absurd boy ! If she lives, she is the heiress of Castle Cliffe ! " Colonel Shirley took au oyster-p^te, with a little malicious smile. " And the daughter of a French actress I " " She is my son's daughter ! " said Lady Agnes, haughtily. And, with a sligj;htly-flushing cheek, said : " Pray, go on 1 " ■li' KILUNG THK FATTED CALF. 55 im al to •y» ■it; ell "i i -J 4 " I sent the people who had her money, and received in return semi-annual accounts o£ her health for the first six years. Then they sent me word they were going to leave England and emigrate to America, and told me to come and take the child, or send word what they would do with her. I wanted to see old England again, anyway, and I had natural feelings, as well as the rest ©f mankind, so I obtained leave of absence and came back to the old land. Don't look so incredulous; it is quite true 1 " it.. - -.' -. " And you never came to see me. Oh, Cliff e !" " No I " said Cliffe, with some of her own coldness. " I had not quite forgotten a certain scene in a London hotel, at that time, as I have now. I came to England, and saw her a slender angel in pinafores and pantalets, and I took her with me, and left her in a French convent, and there she is safe and well to this day." -- Lady Agnes started up with clasped hands and radiant face. " Oh, delightful 1 And a descendant of mine will inherit Castle Cliffe, after all 1 I never could bear the idea of leaving it to Margaret Shirley. Cliffe, you must send for the child, immediately I " *' But I don't think she is a child now — she i" a young lady of twelve years. Perhaps she has taken the veil before this I " " Oh, nonsense I Have you seen her since ? " . " No ; the supdrieure and I have kept up a yearly corre- spondence on the subject, and the young person has favored me herself with a half-dozen gilt-edged, cream-laid little French effusions, beginning, ' I embrace my dearest papa a a thousand times,' and ending, * with the most affectionate sentiments, your devoted child ' I How does your ladyship like the style of that ? " "Cliffe I don't be absurd 1 You are just the same great boy you were twelve years ago ! What is her name ? " " True 1 I forgot that part of it ! He good foster-mother, being at a loss for a name, took the liberty of calling her after her most gracious majesty herself, and when I brought her to the convent, I told them to add that of her mother ; so Miss Shirley is Victoria Genevieve." " What a disgrace 1 She ought to have been Agnes — all 56 THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CI^IFFE. - the Cliffes are. But it is too late now. Whom does she resemble, us or " Her ladyship had the grace to pause. " Not her mother ! " said Colonel Shirley, with perfect composure. " She has blue eyes and light hair, and is not bad-looking. I will start for Paris to-morrow, if you like, and bring her home." " No, no, I cannot part with you, after your twelve years' absence, in that fashion ! I will send Mrs. Wilder, the housekeeper, and Roberts, the butler — you remember Roberts, Cliff e — and they will do, excellently. I shall not lose a moment, I am fairly dying to see her, so you must write a letter to the superieure (oh, the idea of placing my granddaughter in a convent ! ) and Roberts and Mrs. Wilder can start in the afternoon train." JLady Agnes could be energetic when she chose, and ink and paper were there in a moment. Cliffe laughed at his mother's impetuosity, but he wrote the letter, and that very afternoon, sure enough, the dignified housekeeper and the old family butler were steaming away on their journey to Paris. There had not been such a sensation in Cliftonlea for years, as there was when it became known that the lost heir had returned. Everybody remembered the handsome, laughing, fair-haired boy, who used to dance with the village girls on the green, and pat the children in the town streets on the head, and throw them pennies, and about whom there were so many romantic stories afloat. Everybody called, and the young colonel rode everywhere to see his friends, and be shaken by the hand ; and Lady Agnes drove with him through Cliftonlea, with a flush on her cheek, and a light in her eye, which had not been seen there for many a day. And at the end of the first week there was a select dinner-party in his honor, in his own ancestral hall — a very select dinner-party, indeed, where no one was present but his own relatives (all Cliffes and Shirleys) and a few very old personal friends. There was Sir Roland, of course, who had married and buried the dark-eyed cousin Charlotte, whom Lady Agnes had once wanted her son to wed, and who was now stepfather to the little boy of the golden curls we saw at the theater. The Bishop of Cliftonlea, also a rel- ative, was there ; and Captain Douglas was there ; and Mar- \ KILLING THE FATTED CALF. sr garet and Tom Shirley, and Lord Lisle, and some half-dozen others — all relatives and connections, of course. It was a perfect cAe/ d^auvre of a dinner-party ; and Colonel Shirley, as the lion, roared amazingly, and told them wonderful stories of hunting jackals and tigers, and riding elephants and camels, and shooting natives. And Lady Agnes, in black velvet and rubies, looked like a queen, And the blue drawing-room, after dinner, was gorgeous with illumination, and arabesque, and gilding, and jewels, and perfumes, and music, and brilliant conversation. And Lady Agnes was just telling everybody about her granddaughter in the Parisian convent, expected home now every day, when there was a great bustle in the lower hall, and Tom Shirley, who had been out to see, came rushing in, in a wild state of excitement, to say that Wilder and Roberts had returned, and with them a French bonne^ and the expected young lady herself. It was indeed true ! The rightful heiress of Castle Cliffe stood within the halls of her fathers at last. /• V- ..I if- . ■- • -J 58 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. J ■- ; ■A.,'-i CHAPTER VH. MADEMOISELLE. ■w A MOMENT before, the drawing-room had been h'vely enough with music, and laughter, and conversation, and everybody felt a strong impulse to run out to the hall, and behold the daughter of Cliffe Shirley and the French actress. But it would not have been etiquette, and nobody did it except Tom Shirley, who never minded etiquette or any- thing else, and the colonel, who might well be pardoned for any breach in such a case, and Lady Agnes, who rose in the middle of an animated speech, made a hasty apology, and ' sailed out after her son and nephew. They were standing at the head of the grand, sweeping staircase, looking down into the lower hall, with its domed roof and huge chandelier. A crowd of servants, all anxious to catch a glimpse of their future mistress, were assembled there ; and right under the blaze of the pendant gas-burners, stood the travelers : Mrs. Wilder, Mr. Roberts, a coquettishly dressed lady's lady, evidently Miss Shirley's bonne, and, lastly, a small person in a gray cloak and little straw hat, undoubtedly Miss Shirley herself. As Lady Agnes reached the landing the travelers moved toward the staircase, and Mrs. Wilder, seeing her ladyship's inquiring face, smilingly answered it. " Yes, my lady, we have brought her all safe ; and here she is." The little girl followed Mrs. Wilder quite slowly and dec- orously up the stairs, either too much fatigued or with too strong a sense of the proprieties to run. It w^s a little thing, but it predisposed Lady Agnes — who had a horror of romps — in her favor, and they all stepped back as she came near. A pair of bright eyes under the straw hat glanced quickly from face to face, rested on the handsome colonel, and with a glad, childish cry of 'Ah, mon ph-e!'' the little girl flung herself into his arms. It was quite a scene. J MADEMOISKI^IyK. S9 •v'ii " My dear little daughter 1 Welcome *:o your home I " said the colonel, stooping to kiss her, with a happy glow on his own face. '' I see you have not have not forgotten me in our six years' separation 1 " "iV<7», mon p>.re!^'' The colonel pressed her again, and turned with her to Lady Agnes. " Genevieve, say * how do you do ? ' to this lady — it is your grandmother 1 " " I hope madame is very well 1 " said Mademoiselle Genevieve, with sober simplicity, holding up one cheek, and then the other, to be saluted in very French fashion. " What a little parrot it is ! " cried Lady Agnes, with a slight and somewhat sarcastic laugh, peculiar to her. " Can you not speak English, my child ? " " Yes, madam," replied the little girl, in that language, speaking clear and distinct, but with a strong accent. " I am glad to hear it, and I am very glad to see you, too I Are you tired, my dear ? " " No, madam ; only very little." " Then we will take this cloak and hat off, and you will stay with us fifteen minutes before you retire to your room. Come 1 " The great lady took the small girl's hand and led her, with a smile on her lips, into the drawing-room. It was more a stroke of policy than of curiosity or affection that prompted the action ; for one glance had satisfied Lady Agnes that the child was presentable au fiaturel, and she was anxious to display her to her friends before they could maliciously say she had been tutoring her. And the next moment Mademoiselle, fresh from the sober twilight of her convent, found herself in the full blaze of a drawing-room, that seemed filled with people and all staring at her. Half- rocoiling on the threshold, timid and shy, but not vulgarly so, she was drawn steadily on by the lady's strong, small hand, and heard the clear voice saying : " It is my grand- daughter — let me take off your wrappings, my dear." And then, with her own fair fingers, the shrouding hat and cloak were removed, and the little heiress stood in the full glow of the lights, revealed. Everybody paused an instant to look at her father and 6o THE HEIRKSS OF CASTI.E CLIFFE. grandmother, who had not yet a view of her, among the rest. A slender angel, quite small for her ago, with the tiniest hands and feet in the world — but then all the Cliffes had been noted for that trai^ — a small, pale face, very pale just now, probably from fatigue, delicate, regular features, and an exuberance of light hair, of the same flaxen lightness as Lady Agnes' ov/n, combed behind her ears, and confined in a thick black chenille net. Her dress was high-necked and long sleeved, soft and e blue e^es, golden hair, and laughing face, she knew 'y rv;;in and a flush of light rose to her face as she looked. " It is my papa — my own splendid papa. And there isn't one among them all who looks half as much like a king as he I" *: That's true enough ; and as he is the best, so he is the last. I suppose they will be Hanging up yours near it very »> soon. " But my mamma's, where is that ? Is not her picture here as well as the rest ? " Tom looked at her, and suppressed a whistle. " Your mamma's — oh I I never saw her. I don't know anything about her. Her picture i not here, at all events I " " She is dead I " said the child, in her manner of grave simplicity. " I. never saw my dear mamma I " " Well, if she is dead, I suppose she can't have her por-. trait taken very easily, and that accounts 1 And now, as I'm about tired of going from one room to another, suppose we go out and have a look at the old convent I promised to show you. What do you think of the house ? " " It's a very great place 1 " " And the Cliffes have been very great people in their time, too ; and are yet, for that matter : best blood in Sussex, not to say in all England.'* " Are you a Cliflfe ? " " No — more's the pity 1 I am nothing but a Shirley ! " " Is that girl ? " "What girl?" " Mademoiselle Marguerite. We three are cousins, I know, but I can't quite understand it ! " " Well, look here, then, and I'll demonstrate it so that even your low capacity can grapple with the subject. Once upon a time, there were three brothers by the name of Shir- ley : the oldest married Lady Agnes Cliffe, and he is dead ; the second married my mother, and they're both dead ; the third married Mademoiselle Marguerite's mother, and they're both dead, too — dying was a bad habit the Shirleys had. Don't you see — it's as clear as mud." " I see ! and that is why you both live here." A J I -^^» CAvSTLB CI.IFFE. 75 " That's why I And Mag would have had this place, only you turned up — bad job for her, you see ! Sir Roland offered to take me ; but as I had some claim on Lady Agnes, and none at all on him, she wouldn't hear of such a thing at any price." '* Sir Roland is the stout gentleman who told e call him uncle, then, and — grandmamma's brother. Ha?^ e no wife ? " "None now; she's defunct. He has a s. p.o. up at Oxford, Leicester Shirley — Cliflfe, they call him, ai i j:ist the kind of fellow you would like, I know. P' 'ap'' he will marry you some day when he comes home ; it would be just the thing for him 1 " *' Marry me 1 He will do nothing of the kind," said Miss Vivia, with some dignity, and a good deal of asperity. " I shall marry nobody but Claude. I wouldn't have anybody else for the world." . - - " Who is Claude ? " • " Why, just Claude — nothing else ; but he will be Mar- quis de St. Hilary some day, and I will be Madame la Marquise. He is a great deal handsomer than you, and I like him ever so much better I " " I don't believe itl I'm positive you like me better than anybody else in the world, or at least you will when we come to be a little better acquainted. Almost every little girl falls in love the moment she claps her eyes on me 1 " Genevieve lifted her blue eyes, flashing vvith mingled astonishment and indignation ; but Tom's face was per- fectly dismal in its seriousness, and he bore her angry re- gards without wincing. " You say the thing that is not true, Monsieur Tom. I shall never love you as long as I live ! " " Then all I have to say is, that you ought to be pitied for your want of taste. But it is just as well : for, in case you did love me, it would only be an affair of a broken heart, and all that sort of thing ; for I wouldn't marry you if you were the heiress of Castle Cliffe ten times over. I know a girl — I saw her dancing on the tight-rope at the races the other day — who is a thousand times prettier than you, and whom I intend making Mrs. S. as soon as I get out of ror bout jackets. 1 I!" I 76 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE. Genevieve looked horrified. In her peculiar simplicity, she took every word for gospel. " A tight-rope dancer I Oh, Tom I what will grandmamma say ? " " I don't care what she says ! " said Tom, desperately, thrusting his hands into his pockets. *• A tight-rope dancer is as good as anybody else; and I won't be the first of the family, either, who has tried that dodge." This last was added sotto voce ; but the little girl heard it, and there was a perceptible drawing up of the small figure, and an unmistakable erecting of the proud little head. '* I don't see how any Cliffe could make such a mhaUiance^ and I don't believe any of them ever did it. I should think vou would be ashamed to speak of such a thing, cousin Tom." " You despise ballet-dancers, then ? " ' "Of course." " And actresses, also ? " '•''Mais certainement ! It is all the same. Claude often said he would die before he would make a low marriage ; and so would I." Tom thrust his hands deeper into his trowsers pockets, rolled up his eyes to the firmament, and gave vent to his . feelings in a prolonged whistle. ' ' • " And this little princess, with her chin up and her eyes flashing, is the daughter of a nameless French actress," was his thought. Then, aloud : " You seem to have very distinct ideas on the subject of matrimony. Miss Victoria. Was it in your convent you learned them ? " . " Of course not. But Claude, and I, and Ignacia have talked of it a thousand times in the holidays. And, cousin Tom, if you marry your dancing-girl, how will you live? You are not rich 1 " " No ; you might swear that, without fear of perjury. But my wife and I intend to set up a cigar-shop, and get our rich relations to patronise us. There, don't look so dis- gusted, but look at the ruins." While talking, they had been walking along a thickly- wooded avenue, and, as Tom spoke, they came upon a semi- CASTI.E CLIFFK. 77 I circular space of greensward, with tlie ruins of an old con- vent in the center. Nothing now remained but an immense stone cross, bearing a long inscription in Latin, and the re- mains ol one superb window in the only unruined wall. The whole place was overrun with ivy and tangled juniper, even the broad stone steps that led up to what once had been the grand altar. "Look at those stains," said Tom, pointing to some dark spots on the upper step. " They say that's blood, i^ady Edith Cliffe was the last abbess here, and she was murdered on those steps, in the days of Thomas Cromwell, for refus- ing to take the oath of supremacy. The sunshine and storms of hundreds of years have been unable to remove the traces of the crime. And the townfolk say a tall woman, all in black and white, walks here on moonlight nights. As I have never had the pleasure of seeing the ghost, I cannot vouch for that part of the story, but I can show you her grave. They buried her down here, with a stake through her heart ; and the place is called the ' Nun's Grave ' from that day to this." , - .. r ' Genevieve stooped down and reverently kissed the stained stones. " 1 am glad I am a Cliffe 1 " she said, as she arose and fol- lowed him down the paved aisle. The grave was not far distant. They entered a narrow path, with dismal yew and gloomy elm interlacing their branches overhead, shutting out the summer sunshine — a spot as dark and lonely as the heart of an old primeval forest. And at the foot of a patriarchal dryad of yew was a long mound, with a black marble slab at the head, without name, or date, or inscription. " Horrid, dismal old place 1 — isn't it ? " said Tom, fling- ing himself on the grass. " But, dismal or not, I am about done up, and intend to rest here. Why, what is the matter ? " For Genevieve, looking down at the grass, had suddenly turned of a ghostly whiteness, and sunk down in a violent tremor and faintness across the mound. Tom spiung up in dire alarm. " Vivia, Vivia ! What in the world is this ? " She did not speak. He lifted her up, and she clung with a nameless, trembling 78 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. terror to his arm, her very lips blanched to the whiteness of death. " Vivia, what under heaven is this ? " The pale lips parted. " Nothing I " she said, in a voice that could scarcely be heard. " Let us go away from this." He drew her arm within his, and lod her away, my§tirted beyond expression. But, in the terrible after-days, when the " Nun's Grave " had more of horror for him than Hades itself, he had reason to remember Vivia's first visit there. VICTORIA REGIA. 79 • '-'. ' t CHAPTER IX. VICTORIA REGIA. i "M ■) Pefore the end of the first week, the little heiress was thoroughly domesticated at Castle Cliffe. Everybody liked her, from Lady Agnes down to the kitchen-maids, who some- times had the honor of dropping her a courtesy, and receiv- ing a gracious little smile in return. Lady Agnes had keen eyes, and reading her like a printed book, saw that the little girl was aristocrat to the core of her heart. If she wept, as she once or twice found occasion to do, it was like a little lady, noiselessly, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and her face buried in her arm. If she laughed, it was careless, low, and musical, and with an air of despising laughter all the time. Sho never romped ; she never screamed ; she was never rud Heaven forbid I The blue blood of the Cliffes certainly flo.ved with proud propriety through those delicate veins. The '^jirl of twelve, too, understood it all, as the duck- ling understands swimming, by intuition, and was as radically and unaffectedly haughty in her way as Lady Agnes in hers. She was proud of the Cliflfes, and of their long pcdigiee ; proud of their splendid house and its splendid surroundings; proud of her stately grandmother ; and proudest oi Ji of her handsome papa. " The child is well named," said Lady Agnes, with a con- scious smile. ** She is Victoria — exactly like her namesake, that odd, wild beautiful flower, the Victoria Regia." Everybody in Cliftonlea was wild to see the heiress-r-the return of her father had been nothing to this furor ; so the white muslin and blue ribbons were discarded for brilliant silks and nodding plumes, and Lady Agnes and Miss Shirley drove through the town in a grand barouche, half buried among amber-velvet cushions, and looking Hire a full-blown I m 11 ! it II ! 80 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. queen and a princess in the bud. Certainly, it was a be- . wildering change for the little gmy-Tohed pmsion/taire of the •. French convent. It was a hot, sultry September afternoon, with a high wind, a brassy sun, and crimson clouds in a dull, leaden sky — a Saturday afternoon, and a half- holiday with Tom Shirley, who stood before the 'portico of the hall door, holding the bridles of two ponies — cne his own, the other cousin Vic- toria's. This latter was a perfect miracle of Arabian beauty, snowy white, slender-limbed, arch-necked, fiery-eyed, full of spirit, yet gentle as a lamb to a master- hand. It was a pres- ent from Sir Roland to the heiress of Castle Cliflfe, and had been christened by that small young lady '* Claude " — a title which Tom indignantly repudiated for its former one of " Leicester." The girl and boy were bound for a gallop to Sir Roland's home, Cliffewood, a distance of some seven miles ; and while Tom stood holding in the impatient ponies, , the massive hall door was thrown open by the obsequious porter, and the heiress herself tripped out. Tom had very gallantly told her once that the rope-dancer was a thousand times prettier than she : but looking at her now, as she stood for one moment on the topmost step, he cried inwardly, " Peccavi / " and repented. Certainly, noth- ing could have been lovelier — the light, slender figure in an exquisitely-fitting habit of blue ; yellow gauntlets on the fairy hands, one of which lightly lifted her flowing skirt, and the other poising the most exquisite of riding-whips ; the fiery lances of sunshine glancing through ti.c sunny curis flowing to the waist, the small black riding-hat and waving plume tied with azure ribbons ; the sunlight flasinng in her bright blue eyes, and kissing the rose-tint on her pearly cheeks. Yes, Victoria ohirley was prettj' — a very different-looking • girl Irom the pale, dim, colorless Genevieve who had arrived a little over a week before. And, as she came tripping down the steps, planting one dainty foot in Tom's palm, and springing easily into her saddle, his boy's heart gave a quick . bound, and his pulses an electric thrill. He leaped on his : own horse ; the girl smilingly kissed the tips of Ler yellow gauntlets to Lady Agnes in her chamber window, and they . dashed away in the teeth of the wind, her curls waving be- hind like a golden banner. Vivia rode well — it was an ac- VICTORIA REGIA. 8i complishment she had learned in France ; the immense iron gates under the lofty stone arch split open at their approach, and away they dashed through Cliftonlea. All the town flew to the doors and windows, and gfized, in profound admiration and envy, after the twain as they flew by — the bold, dark- eyed, dark-haired, manly boy, and the delicate fairy, with the blue eyes and golden hair, beside him. The high wind deepened the roses and brightened the light in Vivia's eyes, until she was glowin,of like a second Ayrora when they leaped oflf their horses at the villa's gates. This villa was a pretty place — a very pretty place, but painfully new ; for which reason Vivia did not like it at all. The grounds were spacious and beautifully laid out; the villa was 2l chef (fcsuvre of Gothic architecture ; but it had been built by Sir Roland himself, and nobody ever thought of coming to see it. Sir Roland did not care, for he liked comfort a great deal better than historic interest and leaky roofs, and told Lady Agnes, with a good-natured laugh, when she spoke of it in her scornful way, that she might live in her old ruined convent if she liked, but he would stick to his commodious villa. Now he came down the grassy lawn to meet them, and wel- comed them with cordiality ; for the new heiress wart an immense favorite of his already. "Aunt Agnes thought it would do Vic good to gallop over," said Tom. switching his boot with his whip, " So here we are. But you needn't invite us to stay ; for, as this is Saturday afternoon, you know it couldn't be heard of!" ' ^ -^ ■■ '■ ■■- ' ■•' :'^::. '^■'•;:' " Oh, yes ! " said Vic — a name which Tom had adopted for shortness ; "we ought to go right back ; for Tom is going to show me something wonderful down on the shore. Why, uncle Roland, what is this ? " They had entered a high, cool hall, with glass doors thrown open at each end, showing a sweeping vista of lawns, and terraces, and shrubbery, rich with statues and portraits ; and before one of these the speaker had made so sudden a halt that the two others stopped also. It was a picture, in a splendid frame, of a little boy some eight years old, with long, bright cuils, much the same as her own ; blue eyes, too, but so much darkef than hers that they seemed almost black; the straight, delicate features characteristic of the 82 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CIvlFFE. ;i ■' 4. i ^ Cliffes, and a smile like an angel's. It was really a beauti- ful face — much more so than "her own ; and the girl clasped her hands in her peculiar manner, and looked at it in a per- fect ecstasy. ** Why," Tom was beginning impetuously, " where did you—" when Sir Roland, smilingly, caught his arm and interposed. " Hold your tongue, Tom. Little boys should be seen and not heard. Well, Vic, do you know who that is ? " "It looks like — it does look like" — a little doubtfully, though—" my papa." '' So it does ; the forehead, and mouth, and hair are alike, exactly. But it is not your papa. Guess again." " Oh, I can't. I hate guessing. Tell me who it is." " It is a portrait of my stepson, Leicester, taken when a child ; and the reason you never saw it before is, it has been getting new-framed. Good-looking little fellow, eh ? " " Oh, it is beautiful ! It is an angel ! " Sir Roland and Tom both laughed; but Tom's was a perfect shout. " Leicester Cliffe an angel ! Oh, ye gods ! won't I tell him the next time I see him ; and he the veriest scamp that ever flogged a f ag ! " " Nothing of the kind, Vic ! " said Sir Roland as Vic colored with mortification. " Leicester is an excellent fel- low ; and when he comes home, you and he will be capital friends, I'm sure." Vic brightened up immediately. " And when will he be home, uncle Roland ? " '* That's uncertain — perhaps at Christmas." " Is he old ? " " Considerably stricken in years, but not quite as old as Methuselah's cat," struck in Tom. " He is eighteen." " Does he look like that now ? " '< Except that all those young lady-like curls, and that in- nocent expression, and those short jackets are gone, he does ; and then he is as tall as a May-pole, or as Tom Shirley. Come in and have lunch." Sir Roland led the way ; and after luncheon the cousins mounted their horses and rode to the Castle. The sun was setting in an oriflamme of crimson and black, and the wind VICTORIA RKGIA. 83 had risen to a perfect gale, but Tom insisted on his cousin ac- companying him to the shore, nevertheless. < ' " I won't be able to show the Dev — I mean the Demon's Tower, until next Saturday, unless you come now ; so be off, Vic, and change your dress. It is worth going to see, I can tell you ! " Vic, nothing loth, flew up the great oaken staircase with its gilded balustrade, to her own beautiful room, and soon reappeared in a gay silk robe and black velvet basque. As she joined Tom in the avenue, she recoiled, in surprise and displeasure, to see that Margaret was with him. " Don't be cross, Vic," whispered Tom, giving her a coax- ing pinch. " She was sitting moping like an old hen with the distemper, under the trees, and I thought it would be only an act of Christian politeness to ask her. Come on, she won't eat you ; come on, Mag I " Tom's long legs measured off the ground as if he were shod with seven-leagued boots ; and the two girls, running breathlessly at his side, had enough to do to keep up with him. The shore was about a half mile distant, but he knew lots of short cuts through the trees ; and before long they were on the sands and scrambling over the rocks, Tom hold- ing Vic's hand, and Margaret making her way in the best manner she could, with now and then an encouraging word from him. The sky looked dark and menacing, the wind raged over the heaving sea, and the surf washed the rocks, far out, in great billows of foam. " Look there 1 " said Tom, pointing to something that really looked like a huge mass of stone tower. " That's the Demon's Tower, and they call that tHe Storm Bar beyond it. We can walk to it now, because the tide is low, but any one caught there at high water would be drowned for cer- tain, unless it was an uncommon swimmer. There's no danger now, though, as it's far out. So make haste, and come along." But over .the slippery rocks and slimy seaweed Vic could not " come along " at all. Seeing which, Tom lifted her in his arms, with as much ceremony and difficulty as if she had been a kitten ; and calling to Margaret to mind her eye, and not break her neck, bounded from jag to jag with as much ease as a goat. Margaret, slipping and falling, and rising I : \ 1 I 'I I 84 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. again, followed patiently on, and in fifteen minutes they were in the cavern, and Vic was standing, laughing and breath- less, on her own pedals once more. It was in reality a tower without a top ; for some twenty feet above them they could see the dull, leaden sky, and the sides were as steep, and perpendicular, and unclimbable as the walls of a house. The cavern was sufficiently spacious ; and opposite the low, natural archway by which they entered were half a dozen rough steps cut in the rocks, and above them was a kind of seat made by a projecting stone. The place was filled with hollow, weird sounds, something be- tween the sound we hear in sea-shells and the mournful sighing of an Eolian harp, and the eflfect altogether was un- speakably wild and melancholy. Again Vic clasped her hands, this time in mingled awe and delight. " What a place 1 How the sea and wind roar among the rocks. I could stay here forever 1 " " I have often been here for hours on a stretch with Lei- cester Cliffe," said Tom. " We cut those steps in the rock; and, when we were little shavers, he used to play Robinson Crusoe, and I, Man Friday. We named it Robinson Crusoe Castle ; but that was too long for every day : so the people in Lower Cliffe — the fishing village over there — called it the Devil's Tower. Vic, sing a song, and hear how your voice will echo round those stone walls 1 '' " But," said Margaret, " I don't think it's safe to stay here, Tom. You know when the tide rises it fills this place nearly to the top, and would drown us all ! " "" " Doi't hi ,\ goose, Maggie ; there's no danger, I tell you! Vic, get up in Robinson Crusoe's seat, and I'll be Man Frid?y -»g?'-n, t?:id lie here at yo ir feet." Vk rot ii»> tlic stej>s and so.led herself on the stone ledge ; Tom ri,;!i,; hiTVielC on the stone floor, and Margaret sat down on a fife -f dry seaweed i;. the corner. Then Vic sung some wild VeHO.kt;. h-ircarole, that echoed and re-echoed, and rung "Ail 01 he wind, in a way that equally amazed and delighted hvi. Again and again she sung, fascinated by the wild and beautiful echo, and Tom joined in loud choruses of his own, and Margaret listened seemingly quite as much de- lighted as they, until suddenly, in the midst of the loudest strain, she sprung to her feet with a sharp cry. VICTORIA REGIA. 85 ire th- ity he ■ J " Tom I Tom 1 the tide is upon us 1 " Instantly Tom was on his feet, as if he were made from head to heel of spring-steel, and out of the black arch. For nearly two yards, the space before the archway was clear of the surf ; but owing to a peculiar curve in the shore, the Tower had become an island, and was almost encircled by the foaming waves. The dull day was darkening, too ; the fierce blast dashed the spray up in his eyes, and in one frantic glance he saw that escape was impossible. He could not swim to the shore in that surf ; neither he nor they could climb up the steep sides of the cavern, and they all must drown where they were. Not for himself did he care — brave Tom never thought of himself in that moment, nor even of Margaret, only of Vic. In an instant he wag back again, and kneeling at her feet on the stone floor. " I promised to protect you I " he cried out, " and see how I have kept my word I " " Tom, is it true ? Can we not escape ? " " No ; the sea is around us on every hand, and in twenty minutes will be over that arch and over our heads I Oh, I wish I had been struck dead before ever I broug you here 1 " " And can we do nothing? " said Vic, clasping he nands — always her impulse. " If we could only climb the top." " Again Tom bounded to his feet. " I will try ! There may be a rope there, aiid it is a chance, after all 1 " ^ In a twinkling he was at the top of Robinson's seat, and clutching frantically at- invisible fragments of rock, to help him up the steep ascent. But in vain ; worse than in vain. Neither sailor nor monkey could have climbed up there, and, with a sharp cry, he missed his hold, and was hurl .^ back, stunned and senseless, to the floor. The salt spray came dashing in their faces as they knelt beside him. Margaret shrieked, and covered her face with her hands, and cowered down, and " Oh^ Sancta Maria^ Mater Dei, ora pro nobis Peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostra ! " murmured the pale lips of the French girl. And still the waters rose ! \ "" 86 THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CI^IFFE, CHAPTER X. BARBARA. Ut The Cliftonlea races were over and well over, but at least one third of the pleasure-seekers went home disappointed. The races had been "^^^uccessful ; the weather propitious ; but one great point ot attraction had mysteriously disap- peared — after the first day, the Infant Venus vanished and was seen no more. The mob had gone wild about her, and had besieged the theater clamorously next day ; but when another and very clumsy Ten us was substituted, and she was not to be found, the manager nearly had his theater pulled down about his ears, in their angry disappointment. None could tell what had become of her, except, perhaps, Mr. Sweet — which prudent gentleman enchanted the race- ground no longer with his presence but devoted himself ex- clusively to a little business of his own. It was a sweltering August evening. The sun, that had throbbed and blazed all day like a great heart of fire in a cloudless sky, was going slowly down behind the Sussex hills, but a few vagrant wandering sunbeams lingered still on the open window, and along the carpetless floor, in an upper room in the Cliffe Arms. It was a small room, with an attic roof — stifling hot just now, and filled with reeking fumes of tobacco ; for Mr. Peter Black sat near the empty fireplace, smoking like a volcano. There were two ladies in the room ; but, despite their presence and the suffocating atmosphere, Mr. Black kept his hat on, for the wearing of which article of dress he partly atoned by being in his shirt- sleeves, and very much out at the elbows at that. One of these ladies, rather stricken in years, exceedingly crooked, exceedingly yellow, and with an exceedingly sharp and vi- cious expression generally, sat on a low stool opposite him ; her skinny elbows on her knees, her skinny chin in her ■ ^ulky face and frowsed hair, looking out of the window, was no more like the golden butterfly, wreathed and smiling on the tight- rope, than a real caterpillar is like a real butterfly. In fact, none of the three appeared to be in the best of humors : the man looked dogged and scowling ; the old woman fierce ■»and wrathful, and the g^'-l gloomy and sullen. They had bf-^n in exactly the same position for at least two hours with- out speaking, when the girl suddenly turned round from the window, with flashing eyes and fiery face. " Father, I want to know how long we are to be kept roasting alive in this place ? If you don't let me out, I will jump out of the window to-night, though I break my neck for it I " " Do, and be hanged," growled Mr. Black, surlily, with- out looking up. " What have we come here for at all ? Why have we left the theater ? " " Find out 1 " said Mr. Black, laconically. The girl's eyes flamed, and her hands clenched, but the old woman interposed. - - " Barbara, you're a fool ! and fools ask more questions in a minute than a wise man can answer in a day. We have come here for your good, and — there's a knock — open the door." yellow old ogre again." muttered Barbara, door. '* I know he's at the bottom of all this, and I should like to scratch his eyes out — I should ! " She unlocked the door as she uttered the gentle wish ; " It's that going to the 88 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. \ I) < t and the yellow old ogre, in the person of the ever-smiling Mr. S». et, stepped in. Certainly he was smiling just now — quite radiantly, in fact ; and his waistcoat, and whiskers, and hair, and profusion of jewelry, seemed to scintillate sparks of sunshine and smile, too. " And how does my charming little Venus find herself this warm evening — blooming as a rosebud, I hope " — he began, chuckling her playfully under the chin — " and the dear old lady quite well and cheerful, I trust ; and you, my dear old boy, always smoking and enjoying yourself after your own fashion. How do you all do ? " By way of answer, the charming little Venus wrenched herself angrily from his grasp ; the dear old lady gave him a malignant glance out of her weird eyes, and the dear old boy .smoked on with a steady scowl, and never looked up. " All silent 1 " laid Mr. Sweet, drawing up a chair, and looking silently i ound. *' Why, that's odd, too I Barbara, my dear, will you tell me what is the matter ? " Barbara faced round from the window with rather dis- composing suddenness, not to say fierceness. "The matter is, Mr. Sweet, that I'm about tired of being cooped up in this hot hole ; and if I don't get out by fair means, I will by foul, and that before long. What have you brought us here for. You needn't deny it, I know you have brought us here ! " " Quite right, Miss Barbara. It was I ! " *' Then I wish you had just minded your own business, and let us alone. Come, let me out, or I vow I shall jump out of the window, if 1 break every bone in my body." " My dear Miss Barbara, I admire your spirit and courage, but let us do nothing rash. If I have brought you here, it is for your good, and you will thank me for it one dav I " "I shall do nothing of the k id ; and you won't thank yourself either,' if you don't let r. e out pretty scon. What do you mean, sir, by interfering ith us, when we weren't interfering with you ^ ' " Barbara, hold yoi )ngue i again the old lady sharply cut in. ** Her tongue i longer than the rest of her body, Mr. Sweet, and you iiusti. mind her. How dare you speak so disrespectful to the p n^ leman, ; ^u minx 1 " Hi MHM« BARBARA. 89 "You needn't call either of ns names, grandmother," said Barbara, quite as sharply as the old lady herself, and with a spectral flash out of her weird dark eyes. " \ shouldn't think you and father would be such fools as to be ordered ^about Tjy an old lawyer, who had better be minding his own affairs, if he has any to mind 1 " Mr. Peter Black, smoking stolidly, still chuckled grimly under his unshaven beard at his small daughter's large spirit ; and Mr. Sweet looked at her with mild reproach. " Gently, gently. Miss Barbara ! you think too fast I As you have guessed, it is I who have brought you here, and it is, I repeat, for your good. I saw you at the races, and liked you — and who could help doing that ? — and I deter- mined you should not pass your life in such low drudgery ; for I swear you were born for a lady, and shall be one ! Miss Barbara, you are a great deal too beaqtiful for so pub- lic and dangerous a life, anc' I repeat again, you shall be a lady yet 1 " •' How ? " said Barbara, a little mollified, like all of her sex, by the flattery. " Well, in the first place, you shall be educated ; your father shall have a more respectable situation than that of ticket-porter to a band of strolling players ; and, lastly, when you have grown up, I shall perhaps make you — my little wife ! " Mr. Sweet laughed pleasantly, but Barbara shrugged her shoulders, and turned away with infinite contempt. " Oh, thank you 1 I shall never be a lady in that case, I am afraid I You may keep your fine promises, Mr. Sweet, for those who like them, and let me go back to the theater." " My dear child, when you see the pretty cottage I have for you to live in, and the fine dresses you shall have, and all the friends you will make, you will think differently of it. I am aware this is no{ the most comfortable place in the world, but I came up for the express purpose of telling you you are to leave here to-night. Yes, my good Black, you will hold yourself in readiness to-night to quit this for your future home." Mr. Black took his pipe out of his mouth and looked up for the first time. ^ " Where's that ?" he gruffly asked. -' 90 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. " Down in Tower Cliffe, the fishing-village below here, and I have found you the nicest cottage ever you saw, where you can live as comfortably as a king 1 " •• And that respectable occupation of yours — perhaps it's a ia.vyer's clerk you want to make ofmel I'm not over particular, Lord knows I but I don't want to come to that 1 " " My dear Black, don't be sarcastic, if you can help it I Your occupation shall be one of the oldest and most re- spectable — a profession apostles followed — that of a fisher- man, you know." ** I don't know anything about the apostles," said Mr. Black, gruffly, " and I know less about being a fisherman. Why don't you set me up for a milliner ; or a lady's maid, at once ? " " My dear friend, I am afraid you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, you're so uncommon savage : but I can overlook that and the few other defects you are troubled with, as people overlook spots on the sun. As to the fishing, you'll soon learn all you want to know, which won't be much ; and as you will never want a guinea while I have one in my purse, you need never shorten your days by hard work. In three hours from now — that is, at nine o'clock — I will be here with a conveyance to bear you to your new home. And now," said Mr. Sweet, rising, " as much as I regret it, I must tear myself away ; for I have an en- gagement with my lady at the Castle in half an hour. By the way, have you heard the news of what happened at the Castle the other day ? " " How should we hear it ? " said Mr. Black, sulkily. " Do you suppose the birds of the air would fly in with news ; and you took precious good care that none should reach us any other way 1 "• " True I I might have known you would not hear it, but it is a mere trifle after all. The only son of Lady Agnes Shir- ley has returned home, after an absence of twelve years, and all Cliftonlea is ringing with the news. Perhaps you would like to hear the story, my good Judith," said Mr. Sweet, leaning smilingly over his chair, and fixing his eyes full on the skinny face of the old woman. " It is quite a romance, I assure you. A little over thirteen years ago, this young BARBARA. 9X man, Cliffe Shirley, made a low marriage, a French actress, very good, very pretty, but a nobody, you know. Actresses are always nobodies 1 " " And lawyers are something worse 1 " interrupted Bar- bara, facing indignantly around. ♦♦ I would thank you to mind what you say about actresses, Mr. Sweet." The lawyer bowed in deprecation to the little vixen. •• Your pardon, Miss Barbara. I hold myself rebuked. When my lady heard the story, her wrath, I am told, was ter- rific. She comes of an old and fiery race, you see, and it was an unhsard-of atrocity lo mix the blood of the Cliffes with the plebeian puddle of a French actress, so this only son and heir was cast off. Then came righteous retribution for the sin against society he had committed ; the artful ac- tress died, the young man fled into voluntary exile in India, to kill natives and do penance for his sins, and after spend- ing twelve years in these pleasant pursuits, he has unex- pectedly returned home, and been received by the great lady of Castle Cliffe with open arms 1 " " Oh, grandmother ! " cried Barbara, with animation, ** that must have been the lady and gentleman we saw driv- ing past in the grand carriage yesterday. There were four beautiful horses, all shining with silver, and a coachman and footman in livery, and the lady was dressed splendidly, and the gentleman was — oh I ever so handsome. Don't you re- member, grandmother ? " But grandmother, with her eyes fixed as if fascinated on the cheerful face of the narrator, her old hands trembling, and her lips spasmodically twitching, was crouching away in the chimney-corner, and answered never a word. Mr. Sweet turned to the girl, and took it upon himself to an- swer. " Right, Miss Barbara. It was Lady Agnes and Colonel Shirley ; no one else in Cliftonlea has such an equipage as that ; but your grandmother will like to hear the rest of the story. " There is a sequel, my good Judith. The young soldier and the pretty actress had a daughter ; and the child, after remaining six years in England, was taken away by its father and placed in a French convetit. There it has re- mained ever since ; and yesterday two messengers were IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) m. f/j f/. 1.0 ^BSI I.I 1.25 lis 2.5 U£ 2.2 V] <^ /] / ^> c?^i /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)873-4503 92 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. sent to Paris to bring her home, and the child of the French actress is now the heiress of Castle Cliflfe 1 Miss Barbara, how would you like to be in her place ? " " You needn't ask. I would give half my life to be a >^ lady for one day ! " Mr. Sweet laughed and turned to go ; and old Judith, crouching into the chimney-corner, shook as she heard it like one stricken with palsy. " Never mind, my pretty little Barbara, you shall be one some day, or I'll not be a living man. And now you had better see to your grandmother ; I am afraid the dear old lady is not very well." THE FIRST TIME. 93 CHAPTER XI. THE FIRST TIME. The village of Lower Cliffe was a collection of about twenty wretched cottages, nestled away under bleak, craggy rocks, that sheltered them from the broiling seaside sun. About a dozen yards from the one straggling road winding away among rocks and jutting crags, was the long sandy beach, where the fishermen mended their nets in the sunny summer-days, and where their fishing-boats were moored : and away beyond it spread the blue and boundless sea. To the right, the rough, irregular road lost itself in a mist of wet marshes and swampy wastes, covered with tall rank grass, weedy flowers — bl:''^, and yellow, and flame-colored — and where the cattle grazed on the rank herbage all day long. To the left, was piitd up miniature hills of seaweedy rocks, with tall, in their midst, the Demon's Tower ; and in the background, the sloping upland was bounded by the high wall that inclosed the park-grounds and preserves of the castle. The village belonged to Lady Agnes Shirley : but that august lady had never set her foot therein. In a grand and lofty sort of way she was aware of such a place, when her agent, Mr. Sweet, paid in the rents ; and she scarcely knew anything more about it than she did of any Hottentot village in Southern Africa. And yet it was down here in this obscure place that her lawyer located the little dancing-girl whom he had promised one day to make a lady. The delightful little cottage he had mentioned to Mr. Black stood away by itself at the end of the village furthest from the marshes, and nearest the park-gat^ — a little white- washed, one-story affair, with its solitary door facing the sea, and opening immediately into the only large room of the house. The place had been newly furnished by the i 94 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. benevolent lawyer before his protege's came there ; and this room was kitchen, sitting-room, dining-room, and parlor, all in one. There were two small bedrooms opening off it — one occupied by the old woman Judith, the other by Bar- bara ; and Mr. Peter Black courted repose in a loft above. The little dancing-girl, much as she had regretted being taken away from her theater at first, grew reconciled to her new home in a Avonderfully short space of time. Mr. Sweet had given her a boat — the daintiest little skiff that ever was seen — painted black, with a crimson streak running round it, and the name " Barbara " printed in crimson letters on the stern. And before she had been living two days in the cottage, Barbara had learned to row. There must have been some wild blood in the girl's veins, for she lived out of doors from morning till night, like a gipsy — climbing up impassable places like a cat — making the acquaintance of everybody in the village, and taking to the water like a duck. Out long before the sun rose red over the sea, and out until the stars sparkled on the waves, the child, who had been cooped up all her life in dingy, g^imy city walls, drank in the resounding seaside wind, as if it had been the elixir of life, went dancing over the marshes gathering bouquets of the tall, rank, reedy blossoms, and blue rockets, singing as she went, springing from jag to jag along the dizzy cliffs,' with the wind in her teeth, and her pretty brown hair blow- ing in the breeze behind her. It was a new world to Barbara. Mr. Sweet was certainly the most benevolent of men. He not only paid the rent for the tenants in the seaside cottage, but he bought and paid for the furniture himself, and made Barbara new presents every day. And Barbara took his presents — his pretty boat, the new dresses, the rich fruit and flowers from the conservatories and parterres of the castle and liked the gifts immensely, and began to look even with a little complacency on the giver. But being of an intensely jealous nature, with the wildest dreams of ambition in her childish head, and the most passionate and impetuous of tempers, she never got on very friendly terms with any one. Barbara certainly was half a barbarian. She had not appar- ently the slightest affection for either father or grandmother ; and if she had a heart, it lay dormant yet, and the girl loved THE FIRST TIME. 95 nobody but herself. Mr. Sweet studied her profoundly, but she puzzled him. Scarcely a day passed but he was at the cottage — taking the trouble to walk down from his own handsome house in Cliftonlea ; and Barbara was never dis- pleased to see him, because his hands or his pockets had always something good for her. One evening, long after sunset, Mr. Sweet turned down the rocky road leading to the fisherman's cottage. A high wind was surging over the sea, and rendering it necessary for him to clutch his hat with both hands to prevent its blowing into the regions of space ; the sky was of a leaden gray, with bars of hard red in the west, and the waves can- nonaded the shore with a roar like thunder. No one was abroad. At the village, all were at supper. But Mr. Sweet looked anxiously for a lithe, girlish figure, bounding from rock to rock as if treading on air — a sight he very often saw when traveling down that road. No such figure was flying along, however, in the high gale this evening ; and while he watched for it over the cliffs and sand-hills, his foot stumbled against something lying in the sand, with its head pillowed in the midst of the reeds and rushes. The recum- bent figure instantly sprung erect, with angry exclamations, and he saw the sunburnt face of her he was looking for. Something had evidently gone wrong, for the bright face looked dark and sullen ; and she began instantly and with asperity, the attack : " What are you about, Mr. Sweet, tramping on people with your great feet, as if they were made of cast-iron ? " " My dear Miss Barbara, I beg a thousand pardons ! I really never saw you." • " Oh 1 you didn't i You're going blind, I suppose I But it's alwai's the way 1 I never go anywhere for peace but you or somebody else is sure to come bothering 1 " . With which Barbara sat upright, a very cross scowl dis- figuring her pretty face, and gathering up the profusion of her brown hair, tangled among the reeds and thistles, began pushing it away under her gipsy hat. Mr. Sw^eet took a bunch of luscious grapes out of his pocket, and laid them, by way of a peace-offering, in her lap. "What's the matter with my little Barbara? Something is wrong." ■ t r H : 96 THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CLIFEE "No, there isn't 1" said Barbara, snappishly, and without condescending to notice the grapes. " Nothing wrong ! " *' What have you been about all day ? " - " Nothing ! " '* Your general occupation, I believe ! Has the dear old lady been scolding ? " " No ! And I shouldn't care if she had ! " " Have you been to supper ? " " No." " How long have you been lying here ? " " I don't know. I wish you wouldn't torment me with questions." Mr. Sweet laughed, but he went on perseveringly, deter- mined to get at the bottom of Barbara's fit of ill-humor. " Were you in Cliftonlea this afternoon ? " The right spring was touched — Barbara sprung up with flashing eyes. " Yes, I was in Cliftonlea, and I'll never go there again ! There was everybody making such fools of themselves over that little pink-and-white wax-doll from France, just as if she were a queen I She and that cousin of hers — that tall fellow they call Tom Shirley — were riding through the town ; she on her white pony, with her blue riding-habit, and black hat, yellow curls, and baby face, and everybody running out to see them, and the women dropping curtsies, and the men taking off their hats as they passed. Bah 1 it was enough to make one sick I " Mr. Sweet suppressed a whistle and a laugh. Envy, and jealousy, and pride, as usual, were at the bottom of Miss Barbara's ill-temper, for the humble fisherman's girl had within her a consuming fire — the fire of a fierce and indom- itable pride. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and looked at her passionate face with a smile. " They are right, my dear ! She is the richest of heir- esses, and the Princess of Sussex 1 What would you give to change places with her, Barbara ? " " Don't ask me what I would give I '* said Barbara, fiercely. ** I would give my life, my soul, if I could sell it, as I have read of men doing ; but it's no use talking ; I am nothing but a miserable pauper, and always shall be." " THE FIRST TIME. 97 The lawyer was habitually calm, and had wonderful self- possession ; but now his yellow face actually flushed, his small eyes kindled, and the smile on his face was like the gleam of a dagger. '* No, Barbara ! " he cried, almost hissing the words be- tween his shut teeth ; " a time will come when you will hold your head a thousand times higher than that yellow-haired upstart I Trust to me, Barbara, and you shall be a lady 3^et." He turned away, humming as he went, " There's a good time coming, .wait a little longer." And walking much faster than was his decorous wont, he passed the cottage and entered the park-gates, evidently on his way to the castle. Barbara looked after him for a moment a little surprised ; and then becoming aware that the night was falling, the sea raising, and the wind raging, darted along the rocks, and watched, with a sort of gloomy pleasure, the wild waves dashing themselves frantically along their dark sides. " What a night it will be, and how the minute-guns will sound before morning 1 " she said, speaking to herself and the elements. " And how the surf will boil in the Demon's Tower, when the tide rises 1 I will go and have a look be- fore I go in." Over the rocks she flew, her hands on her sides ; her long hair and short dress streaming in the gale ; her eyes and cheeks kindling with excitement at the wild scene and hour. The Demon's Tower was much more easily scaled from without than within, and the little tight-rope dancer could almost tread on air. So she fiew up the steep sides, hand over hand, swiftly as a sailor climbs the rigging, and reached the top, breathless and flushed. Pushing away the hair that the wind was blowing into her eyes, she looked down, expecting to hear nothing but the echo of the blast, and see the spray fly in showers, when, to her boundless astonishment, she heard instead a sharp cry, and saw two human figures kneeling on the stone floor, and a third falling back trom the side with a crash. Barbara was, for a moment, mute with amazement ; the next, she had comprehended the whole thing instinctively, H h 98 THE HEIRESS OF CASI.TE CLIFFE. and found her voice. Leaning over the dizzy height, she shouted at the top of her clear lungs : " Hallo 1 " ' The voice, clear as a bugle-blast, reached the ears of one of the kneeling figures. It was Vivia, and she looked up to see a weird face, with streaming hair and dark eyes, looking down at her, in the ghastly evening light. " Hallo 1 " repeated Barbara, leaning further over. " What in the world are you doing down there ? Don't you know you'll be drowned ? " Vivia sprung to her feet and held up her arms with a wild cry. " Oh, save us ! save us ! save us ! " '< Yes, I will ; just wait five minutes ! " exclaimed Barbara, who, in the excitement of the moment, forgot everything but their danger. " I'll save you if I drown for it." Down the rocky sides of the tower she went as she had never gone before, bruising her hands till they bled, with- out feeling the pain. Over the craggy peak, like an arrow from a bow, and down to a small sheltered cove between two projecting cliffs, where her little black and red boat, with its oars within it, lay safely moored. In an instant the boat was untied, Barbara leaped in, and shoved off, seated herself in the thwart and took the oars. It was a task of no slight danger, for outside the little cove the waves ran high ; but Barbara had never thought of danger — never thought of anything, but that three persons were drowning within the Demon's <;!ave. The little skiff rode the waves like a cockleshell ; and the girl, as she bent the oars, had to stoop her head low to avoid the spray being dashed in her face. The eve- ning, too, was rapidly darkening ; the fierce bars of red had died out in the ghastly sky, and great drops of rain began splashing on the angry and heaving sea. The tide had risen so quickly that the distance to the cavern was an ominous length, and Barbara had never been in such weather before, but still the brave girl kept on undismayed, and reached it at last, just as the waves were beginning to wash the stone floor. The boat shot on through the black arch, stopping beside the prostrate figure of Tom, and their rescuer sprung out, striving to recognise them in the gloom. THK FIRST TIMK. i.9 " Is he dead ? " v/as her first question, looking down at the recumbent figure. " Not^quite I " said Tom, feebly, but with strength enough in his voice to put the matter beyond all doubt. " Who are you ? " " Barbara Black. Who are you ? " " Tom Shirley — what's left of me ! Help those two into the boat, and then I'll try to follow them up before we all drown here." " In with you, then I " cried Barbara. And Margaret at once obeyed, but Vivia held back. " No, not until you get in first, Tom I Help me to raise him, please. I am afraid he is badly hurt 1 '* Barbara obeyed, and with much trouble and more than one involuntary groan from Tom, the feat was accomplished, and he was safely lying in the bottom. Then the two girls followed him, and soon the little black and red boat was tossing over the surges, guided through the deepening dark- ness by Barbara's elastic arms. But the task was a hard one ; more than once Margaret's shrieks of terror had rung out on the wind ; and more than once Barbara's brave heart had grown chill with fear ; but some good angel guarded the frail skiff, and it was moored safely in its own little cove at last. Not, however, until night had fallen in the very blackness of darkness, and the rain was sweeping over the sea in drenching torrents. Bar- bara sprung out and secured her boat as it had been be- fore. " Now, then, we are all safe at last ! " she cried. " And as he can't walk, you two must stay with him until I come back with help. Don't be afraid. I won't be gone long." She was not long gone, certainly. Fifteen minutes had not elapsed until she was back with her father and another fisherman she had met on the way. But every second had seemed an hour to the three cowering in the boat, with the rain beating pitilessly on their heads. Barbara carried a dark-lantern ; and, by its light, the two men lifted Tom and bore him between them toward the cottage, while Barbara went slowly before, carrying the lantern, and with Vivia and Margaret each clinging to an arm. A I right wood-fire was blazing on the cottage hearth 11 loo THE HKIRKSS OF CASTLE CUFFE. when they entered ; for though the month was September, Judith's bones were old and chill, and Judith sat crouching over it now, while she waited for their coming. The drip- ping procession entered, and Vivia thought it the plftasantest thing she had ever seen, even at Castle Cliffe. A wooden settle stood before it — Tom was placed there- on, and Margaret dropped down beside it, exhausted and panting ; and Vivia and Barbara stood opposite and looked at each other across the hearth. Vivia's rich silk dress hung dripping and clammy around her ; and her long -.vhite curls were drenched with rain and sea-spray, Barbara rec- ognized her instantly, and so did the fisherman who had helped her father to carry Tom. ' " It is Miss Shirley and Master Tom 1 " he cried out. " Oh, whatever will my lady say ? " Old Judith started up with a shrill scream, and darted forward. " Miss Shirley, the heiress I Which of them is her ? " " I am," said Vivia, turning her clear blue eyes on the wrinkled face with the simple dignity natural to her ; " and you must have word sent to the castle immediately." Old Judith, shaking like one in an ague fit, and looking from one to the other, stood grasping the back of the settle for support. There they were, facing each other for the first time, and neither dreaming how darkly their destinies were to be interlinked — neither the dark-browed dancing girl, nor the sunny-haired heiress of Castle Cliffe. THE NUN'S GRAVE. loi • > .»• " CHAPTER Xn. THE nun's grave. " Some one must go to the castle," repeated Vivia, a little imperiously. " Papa and grandmamma will be anxious, and Tom's hurt must be attended to immediately." Old Judith, like a modern Gorgon, stood staring at this figure, her bleared eyes riveted immovably on her face, and shaking like a withered aspen as she clutched the settle. Victoria stood like a little queen looking down on her sub- jects ; her bright silk dress hanging dripping around her, and her long hair uncurled, soaking with sea-spray, and fall- ing in drenched masses over her shoulders. Barbara, \yho had been watching her, seemingly as much fascinated as her grandmother, started impetuously up. "I'll go, grandmother. I can run fast, and I won't be ten minutes." "You'll do nothing of the kind," interposed Mr. Black, in his customary gruff tones. " You're a pretty looking object to go anywhere, wet as a water-dog 1 Let the young lady go herself. She knows the way better than you." Victoria turned her blue eyes flashing haughty fire upon the surly speaker ; but without paying the slightest attention- to him, Barbara seized a shawl, and, throwing it over her head, rushed into the wild, wet night. The storm had now broken in all its fury. The darkness was almost palpable. The raiii swept wildly in the face of the blast over the sea, and the thunder of the waves against the shore, and the lamentable wail of the wind united in a grand diapason of their own. But the fleetfooted dancing- girl heeded neither the wind that seemed threatening to catch up her light form and whirl it into the regions of eter- nal space, nor the rushing rain that beat in her face and I i 1 02 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE. blinded her, as she leaped at random over the slimy rocks. More by instinct than eyesight, she found her way to the park-gates — they were closed and bolted ; but that fact was a mere trifle to her. She clambered up the wall like a cat, and dropped, catlike, on her feet among the wet shrubbery within. There was no finding a path in the darkness ; but sh*^ ran headlong among the trees, slipping, and falling, and rising, only to slip, and fall, and rise again, until, at last, as she was stopping exhausted and in despair, thinking she had lost her way in the thickly-wooded plantation, she saw a number of twinkling lights flashing in and out, like fire-flies in the darkness, and heard the echo of distant shouts. Bar- bara comprehended instantly that it was the servants out with lanterns in search of the missing trio ; and starting up, she flew on again at break-neck speed, until her rapid career was brought to a close by her running with a shock against two persons advancing in an opposite direction. The im- petus nearly sent her head over heels ; but recovering her center of gravity with an effort, Barbara clutched the branches of a tree, and paused to recover the breath that had been nearly knocked out of her by the concussion. " Whom have we here ? " said the voice of one of the men, coming to a halt ; " is it a water-witch, or a kelpi, or a mer- maid, or " " Why, it's little Barbara ! " interrupted the other, holding up the lantern he carried. " Little Barbara Black, actually I My dear child, how in the world came you to be out and up here on such a night ? " Barbara looked at the two speakers and recognized in the first Colonel Shirley, and in the second Mr. Sweet, who held the lantern close to her face, and gazed at her in consterna- tion. " They're saved, Mr. Sweet ; they're all saved 1 You need not look for them any more, for they're down at our cottage, and I've come up here to bring the news I " " Saved 1 How — where — what do you mean, Barbara? " "Oh, they were in the Demon's Tower — went there at low water ; and the tide rose and they couldn't get out ; and so I took my boat and rowed them ashore, and he has hurt himself, and they're all down at our house, waiting for some- body to come 1 " THE NUN'S GRAVE. 103 Colonel Shirley laughed, though, a little dismayed withal, at this very intelligent explanation. •' Who is this little sea-goddess, Sweet, and where does she come from ? ** he asked. " From Lower Cliffe, colonel ; her father is a fisherman there, and I understand the whole matter now 1 " " Then we must go down to Lower Cliffe immediately. What could have brought them to the Demon's Tower? But, of course, it's some of Master Tom's handiwork. Wait one moment, Sweet, while I send word to Lady^Agres, and tell the rest to give over the search. What an escape they must have had if they were caught by the tide in the Demon's Tower I " " And, colonel, you had better give orders to have a con- veyance of some sort follow us to the vfllage. The young ladies cannot venture out in such wind and rain ; and, if I understood our little messenger aright, some one is hurt. Barbara, my dear child, how could they have the heart to send you out in such weather ? " " They didn't send me — I came 1 '.' said Barbara, com- posedly, as the colonel disappeared for a moment in the darkness. " Father wanted me not to come, but I don't mind the weather. I'll go home now, and you can show the gentleman the way yourself f " ■ " No, no ; I cannot have my little Barbara risking her neck in that fashion. Here comes Colonel Shirley. So give me your hand, Barbara, and I will show you the way by the light of my lantern.'* But Miss Barbara, with a little disdainful astonishment even at the offer, declined it, and ran along in the pelting rain, answering all the colonel's profuse questions, wntil the whole facts of the case were gained. " Very rash of Mr. Tom — very rash, indeed I ** remarked Mr. Sweet, at the conclusion ; " and I hope his narrow escape and a broken heAd will be a lesson to him for the rest of his life. Here we are, colonel — -this is the house." The ruddy glow of the firelight was sliining still, a cheer- ful beacon, from the small windows, to all storm-beaten way- farers without. Barbara opened the door and bounded in, shaking the water from her soaking garments as she fan, followed by the lawyer and the Indian officer. The wood 1 I04 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CLIFFK. fire blazed still on the hearth ; Tom lay on the settle before it ; Margaret and Vivia were steaming away in front of the blaze, and Mr. Peter Black sat in the chimney-corner sulky and sleepy. But old Judith's chair opposite was vacant, and old Judith herself was nowhere to be seen. Vivia started up, as they entered, with a cry of joy, and sprung into her father's arms. " Oh, papa, I am so glad you've come ! Oh, papa, I thought I was never going to see you again ! " " My darling ! And to think of your being in such dan- ger and I not know it ? " " Oh, papa, it was dreadful I and we would all have been drowned, only for that girl 1 " " She is a second Grace Darling, that brave little girl, and you and I can never repay her for to-night's work, my Vivia I But this rash boy Tom — I hope the poor fellow has not paid too dearly for his visit to the Demon's Tower." *' He is not seriously hurt, papa, but his face is bruised, and he says he thinks one of his arms is broken." *' It is all right with Mr. Tom, colonel," said Mr. Sweet, who had been examining Tom's wounds, looking up cheerily. *' One arm is broken, and there are a few contusions on his head-piece, but he will be over them all before he is twice married 1 Ah 1 there comes the carriage, now 1 " " And how is it with little Maggie ? " Laid the colonel, pat- ting her on the head, with a ^smile. " Well, Tom, my boy, thi§ is a pretty evening's work of yours — isn't it 1 " Tom looked up into the handsome face bending over him, and, despite his pallor, had the grace to blush. " I am sorry, with all my heart ; and I wish I had broken my neck instead of my arm — it would only have served me right 1 " " Very true I but still, as it wouldn't have helped matters much, perhaps it's as well as it is. Do you think you can walk to the carriage ? " Tom rose with some difficulty, for the wounds on his head made him sick and giddy, and leaning heavily on Mr. Sweet's arm, managed to reach the door. The colonel looked at Mr. Black, who still maintained his seat, despite the presence of his distinguished visitors, and never turned his gloomy eyes from the dancing blaze. I )re the Iky tnd ted ler THE NUN'S GRAVE. 105 " Come away, papa," whispered Vivia, shrinking away with an expression of repulsion from the man in the chimney- corner. " I don't like that man ! " Low as the words were spoken, they reached the man in question, who looked up at her with his customary savage scowl. " I haven't done nothing to you, yonng lady, that I knows on ; and if you don't like me or my house — which neither is much to look at, Lord knows ! — the best thing you can do is to go back to your fine castle, and not come here any more ! " Colonel Shirley turned the light of his dark bright eyes full on the speaker, who quailed under it, and sunk down in his seat like the coward he was. "My good fellow, there is no necessity to make yourself disagreeable. The young lady is not likely to trouble you again, if she can help it. Meantime, perhaps this will repay you for any inconvenience you may have been put to t> night. And as for this little girl — ^your daughter, I presume — we will try if we cannot find some better way of recom- pensing her in part, at least — for the invaluable service she has rendered." He threw his purse to the fisherman as he would have thrown a bone to a dog ; and turned, an instant after, with his own bright smile, to the fisherman's daughter. She stood leaning against the mantel, the firelight shining in her splendid eyes, gilding her crimson cheeks, and sending spears of light in and out through the tangled waves of her wet brown hair, something in the attitude, in the dark, beau- tiful face, in the luminous splendor of the large eyes recalled vividly to the colonel some dream of the past — something seen before — seen and lost forever. But the wistful, earnest look vanished as he turned to her, and with it the momen- tary resemblance, as it struck him, as a lance strikes on a seared wound. , " Ask her to come to the castle to-morrow, papa," again whispered Vivia. " I like that girl so much I " " So you should, my dear. She has saved your life. Barbara — your name is Barbara is it not ? " " Yes, sir." ' -^ " My little girl wants you to come to visit her to-morrow, io6 THE HEIRESS OF CASTILE CI.IEFE. 't I !^ V H I t in and I second her wish. Do you think you can find your way through the park-gates again, Ba'-bara ? " The smile on the Indian officer s face was infectious. Barbara smiled brightly back an answer ; and albeit Barbara's smiles were few and far between, they were as beautiful as rare. '* Yes, sir ; if you wish it." " I never wished for anything more ; and I shall be glad to see you there every day for the future. Genevieve, bid Barbara good night and come." Vivia held out her lily-leaf of a hand, and Barbara just touched it with her brown fingers. '* Don't forget. I shall be waiting for you at the park- gates. Goodnight." " I shall not forget. Good night." The tall, gallant, soldier-like form, and the little vision in shot-silk and yellow-hair, went out into the stormy night ; and Barbara went to her room, but for once in her life not to sleep. Her book of life had opened on a new page that day. The vague yearnings that had grown wild, like rank weeds, all her life, in her heart, had struck deeper root, and sprung up strong and tall, to poison her whole future life. It was sometime in the afternoon of the following day, when Barbara walked slowly — something unusual for her — up the rough road to the park-gates. As she passed through and went on under the shadows of some giant pines, a bright httle figure came flying down the avenue to meet her. " Oh Barbara 1 " And two little hands clasped hers with childish impet- uosity. " Oh Barbara 1 I was so afraid you would not come." ** I couldn't come any sooner. I was in Cliftonlea all morning. Oh, what great trees those are here, and what a queer eld cross that is striding up there among them." " That's the ruins of the convent that used to be here long ago — hundreds and hundreds of years ago — when there were convents and monasteries all through England ; and the last abbess was murdered there. Tom told me all about it the other day, and showed me her grave. it to you now." Come : I'll show THE NUN'S GRAVE. 107 The two children, the high-born heiress in rose silk and the daintiest of little French hats, and the low-bred dancing- girl in her plain merino and cotton sunbonnet, strayed away together, chattering like magpies, among the gloomy elms and yews, down to the Nmi's Grave. With the tall planta- tion of elms and oaks belting it around on every side, and the thickly-interlacing branches of yew overhead, the place was dark at all times, and a solemn hush rested ever around it. The very birds seemed to cease their songs in the gloomy spot, and the dead nun, ifter the lapse of hundreds of years, had her lonely grave as undisturbed, as when* she had first been placed there with the stake through her heart. " What a lonesome place ! " said Barbara, under her breath, as the two stood looking, awestruck, at the grave. " When I die, I should like to be buried here 1 " Vivia, mute with the solemn feeling one always has when near the dead, did not answer, but stood looking down af the quiet grave, and the black marble slab above it. The silence was broken in a blood-chilling manner enough. " Barbara 1 " Both children recoiled with horror, for the voice came from the grave at their feet. Clear, and sweet, and low, but distinct, and unmistakably from the grave I "Victoria!" The voice again — the same low, sweet, clear voice from beneath their feet 1 The faces of both listeners turned white with fear. The voice from the grave came up on the still summer air solem.n and sweet, once more ! ** From death, one has been saved by the other ; and in the days to come, one shall perish through the other. Bar- bara, be warned ! Victoria, beware i " It ceased. A blackbird perched on an overhanging branch, set up its chirping song, and the voice of Made- moiselle Jeannette was heard in the distance, crying out for Miss Vivia. It broke the i pell of terror, and both children fled from the spot. " Oh Barbara I What was that ? " cried Vivia, her very lips white with fear. " I don't know," said Barbara, trying to hide her own io8 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFK. • terror. " It came from the grave. It couldn't be the dead nun could it ? Is that place haunted ? " " No — yes — I don't know I I think Tom said there was a ghost seen there. Don't tell Jeannette ; she will only laugh at us. But I will never go there as long as I live I " " What made you stay away so long, Mademoiselle Vivia ? Your grandmother was afraid you were lost again." " Let us hurry, then. I want grandmamma to see you, Barbara ; so make haste." The great hall-door of the old mansion was wide open as they came near, and Lady Agnes herself stood in the hall, talking to the colonel and Mr. Sweet ; Vivia ran breath- lessly in, followed by Barbara, who glanced around the adorned, and carved, and pictured hall, and up the sweep- ing staircase, with its gilded "balustrade, in grand, careless surprise. " Here is Barbara, grandmamma ! — here is Barbara ! " was Vivia's cry, as she rushed in. I knew she would come." " Barbara is the best and bravest little girl in the world ! " said Lady Agnes glancing curiously at the bright, fearless face and holding out two jeweled tapered fingers. " I am glad to see Barbara here, and thank her for what she has done, with all my heart." Mr. Sweet, standing near, with his pleasant smile on his face, stepped forward, hat in hand. " Good afternoon, my lady. Good afternoon. Miss Vic- toria. Our little Barbara will have cause to bless the day that has brought her such noble friends." With a tune on hh lips, and the smile deepening inexpli- cably, he went out into the great portico, down the broad stone steps guarded by two crouching lions, and along the great avenue, shading off the golden sunshine with its wav- ing trees. Under one of them he paused, with his hat still in his hand, the sunlight sifting through the trees, making his jewelry and his yellow hair flash back its radiance, and looked around. The grand old mansion, the .sweeping vista of park and lawn, and terrace and shrubbery, and glade and woodland, mimic lake and radiant rose-garden, Swiss farmhouse and ruined convent, all spread out before him^ 1 THE NUN'S GRAVE. ^ Y...- 109 U, >> 'A bathed in the glory of the bright September sun. The tune died away, and the smile changed to an exultant laugh. " And to think," said Mr. Sweet, turning away, " that one day all this shall be mine 1 ** ■is- .,>• "■'^ij I I \ \> ! iio THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CUFFE. CHAPTER Xni. THE MAY QUEEN. Such a morning as that first of May was ! Had the good people of Cliftonlea sent up an express order to the clerk of the weather to manufacture them the fairest day he could possibly turn out, they could not have had a more perfectly unexceptionable one than that. Sun and sky were so radiantly bright, they fairly made you wonder to think of them. Ceylon's spicy breezes could not have been Vv'armer or spicier than that blowing over Cliftonlea com- mon. The grass and the trees were as green as, in many other parts of England, they would have been in July. The cathedral-bells were ringing, until they threatened to crack and go mad with joy ; and as for the birds, they were sing- ing at such a rate, that they fairly overtopped the bells, and had been hard and fast at it since five o'clock. "All the town, e/t grande tenue, were hurrying, with eager antici- pation, toward the common — a great square, carpeted with the greenest possible grass, besprinkled with pink and white daisies, and shaded by tall English poplars — where the Cliftonlea brass band was already banging away at the " May Queen." All business was suspended ; for May Day ha(^l been kept, from time immemorial, a holiday, and the lady of Castle Cliffe always encouraged it, by ordering her agents to furnish a public dinner, and supper, and no end of ale, on each anniversary. Then, besides the feasting and drinking, there was the band and dancing for the young people, until the small hours, if they choose. And so it was no wonder that May Day was looked for months before it came, and was the talk months afterward ; and that numberless matches were made there, and that the THE MAY QUEEN. lie May Queen was the belle all the succeeding year, and the envy of all the young ladies of the town. The cathedral-bells had just begun t© chime forth the national anthem ; the crowd of townfolk kept pouring in a long stream through High-street toward the common, when a slight sensation was created by the appearance of two young men, to whom the women courtesied and the men took off their hats. Both bore the unmistakable stamp of gentlemen, and there was an indefinable something — an in- describable air — about them, that told plainer than words they were not of the honest burghers among whom they walked. One of these, upon whom the cares of life and a green shooting-jacket appeared to sit easily, was remarkable for his stature — being, like Saul, the son of Kish, above the heads of his fellow men — with the proportions of a grena- dier, and the thews and sinews of an athlete. On an exu- berant crop of short, crisp, black curls, jauntily sat a blue Scotch bonnet, with a tall feather. On the Herculean form was the green hunting- jacket, tightened round the waist with a leather belt, and to his knees came a pair of tall Wellington boots. This off.hand style of costume suited the wearer to perfection, which is as good as saying his figure was admirable ; and suited, too, the laughing black eyes and dashing air generally. A mustache, thick and black, became well the sunburnt and not very handsome face ; and he held his head up, and talked and laughed in a voice sonorous and clear, not to say loud as a bugle- blast. The young giant's companion was not at all like him — nothing near so tall, though still somewhat above the usual height, and much more slender of figure — but then he had such a figure 1 One of those masculine faces, to which the adjective beautiful can be applied, and yet remain intensely masculine. A light summer straw-hat sat on the fair brown hair, and shaded the broad, pale brow — the dreamy brow of a poet or a painter — large blue eyes, so darkly blue that at first you would be apt to mistake them for black, shaded as they were by girl-like, long, sweeping lashes — wonderful eyes, in whose clear, calm depths spoke a deathless energy, fiery passion, amid all their calm, and a fascination that his twenty-four years of life had proved to ihc'r owner, few 112 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE. li i could ever resist. The clear, pale complexion, the straight, delicate features, somewhat set and haugKiy in repose, were a peculiarity of his race, and known to many in London and Sussex as the " Cliffe face." His dress was the most faultless of morning costumes, and a striking contrast to the easy style of his companion's with whom he walked nrm-in-arm ; patting, now and then, with the other hand, which was gloved, the head of a great Canadian wolf-hound trotting by his side. Both young gentlemen were smoking ; but the tall wearer of the green jacket was carrying his cigar between his finger and thumb, and was holding forth volubly. ** Of course they will have a May Queen ! They always have had in Cliftonlea, from time immemorial ; and I believe the thing is mentioned iri Magna Charta. If you had not been such a heathen, Cliffe, roaming all your life in foreign parts, you would have known about it before this. Ah 1 how often have I danced on the green with the May Queen, when I was a guileless little shaver in round- abouts ; and what pretty little things those May Queens were ! If you only keep your eyes skinned to-day, you will see some of the best-looking girls you ever saw in your life." :• I don't believe it." Seeing is believing, and you just hold on. The lasfe time I was here, Barbara Black was the May Queen ; and^ what a girl that was, to be sure I Such eyes ; such hair ; such an ankle ; such an instep ; such a figure ; such a face 1 Just the sort of thing you painting fellows always go mad about. I believe I was half in love with her at the time, if I don't greatly mistake " '* I don't doubt it in the least. It's a way you have," said his companion, whose low, refined tones contrasted forcibly with the vigorous voice of the other. " How long ago is that? " " Four years, precisely." " Then take my word for it, Barbara Black is homely as a hedge-fence by this time. Pretty children always grow up ugly, and Z'tc^ versa.^* " Perhaps so," said the giant in the green jacket and tightening his belt. " Well, it may be true enough as a general rule ; for I was uncommonly ugly when a child> « (( *."- 1 THE MAY QUEEN. »i3 and look at me now ? But I'll swear Barbara is an excep- tion ; for she is the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life — ex- cept one. Only to think, being four years absent from a place, and then not to fin., it the least changed when you come back." " Isn't it ? I know so little of Cliftonlea that its good people might throw their houses 'out of the windows, with- out my being anything the wiser. What a confounded din that band makes 1 and what a crowd there is ! I hate crowds ! " " They'll make way for us," said the young giant ; and, true to his prediction, the dense mob encircling the com- mon parted respectfully to let the two young men through. " Look there, Cliffe, that's the May-pole, and that flower- wreathed seat underneath is the queen's throne, God bless her ! See that long arch of green boughs and flowers ; that's the way her majesty will come. And just look at this living sea of eager eyes and faces ! You might make a picture of all this, Sir Artist." " And make my fortune at the exhibition. It's a good notion, and I may try it some time when I have time. Who is to be the May Queen this year ? " " Can't say. There she comes herself 1 " ^. . The place where the young men stood was within the living circle around the boundary of the common, in the center of which stood a tall pole, wreathed with evergreens and daisies, and surmounted on the top by a crown of arti- ficial flowers, made of gold and silver paper, sparkling in the sunshine like a golden coronet. From this pole to the opposite gate were arches of evergreen, wreathed with wild flowers, and under this verdant canopy was the queen's train to enter. The militia band, in their scarlet and blue uniforms, stood near the queen's throne, playing " Barbara Allen ; " and the policemen were stationed here and there, to keep the crowd from surging in until the royal procession entered. This common, it may be said in parenthesis, was at the extreme extremity of the town, and away from all dwellings ; but there were two large, gloomy-looking stone buildings withm a few yards of it — one of them the court- house, the other the county jail — as one of the young gentlemen had reason to know in after days to his cost. 114 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI THE BOSK OF SUSSEX. To faint in the light of the sun that she lov3S» To faint in his light and die. • " All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon ; Aii night has the casement jessamine stirred, To the dancers dancing in tune ; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon. ** The slender acacia would not s'.iake One long milk-bloom on the tree : The white-lake blossom fell into the lake, As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me ; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sighed for the dawn and thee. " Queen-rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dancers are gone. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one ; Shine out, little head running over with curls. To the flowers and be their sun." 153 Side by side they stood together in the moonlight, she in a cloud of white lace and lustrous pearls, the little head " running over with curls," and the fair face looking dreamy and sad as she listened — he leaning against the window, and watching her with his heart in his eyes. They had been talking at first of the ball, of Castle Cliff e, of his wanderings ; but they had fallen into silence to listen to the song. " Lovely thing, is it not ? " she asked, looking up at last. " Yes," said Leicester, thinking of herself, and feeling at that moment there was no other "Maude "for him in the world but her. " We had better go back to the ballroom, I think, Mr. Cliffe. If I am not greatly mistaken our quadrille is com- mencing." " How formally you call me Mr. Cliffe ; and yet we are cousins." " Oh, that is only a' polite fiction ! You are no more my cousin than you are my brother." 154 ^HK HEIRESS OF CASTLE GI.IFFE. " Yet, I think, you might drop the Mister. Leicester is an easy name to say." - "Is it?" " Try it, and see." " If it ever comes natural, perhaps I may," said the young lady, with composure ; " but certainly not now. There, it is the quadrille, and I know we will be late." But they vere not late, and came in time to lead off the set v.ith spirit. Somewhere, ugly old Time was mowing down his tens of thousands, but it certainly was not in Shir- ley House, where the gas-lit moments flew by all too quickly, tinged with couleur de rose, until the di.n dawn began to steal in, and carriages were called for, and the most successful ball of the season came to an end. " • Back in his own room, Leicester Cliffe was feverishly pac- ing up and down, with a v/ar going on in his own heart. A vision rose before him of pearls and floating lace, golden curls, blue eyes, and the face of a smiling angel — a reigning belle, and one of the richest heiresses in England — all to be his for the asking ; but with it there came another vision — the Nun's Grave under the gloomy yews ; the dark, wiM gipsy standing beside him, while he carved her name and his to- gether on the old tree ; his own words, " When I prove false to you, 1 pray God that I may die ; " and the dreadful fire that had filled her eyes ; and the dreadful " Alien " she had hissed through her closed teelh. The skein had run fair hitherto, but the tangle was coming now ; and, quite unable to see how he was to unwind it, he lay down on his bed at last. But Leicester Cliffe did not sleep much that night. ■W'^ OFF WITH THE OI.D I.OVE. 155 CHAPTER XVn. OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE. The daintiest of little Swiss clocks on a gilded mantelpiece was beginning to play the " Sophia Waltz " preparatory to striking eleven, and Lady Agnes Shirley looked up at it with a little impatient frown. The Swiss clock and the gilded mantelpiece were in the breakfast-parlor of Shirley House ; and in a great carved armchair, cushioned in violet velvet, before a sparkling coal fire, sat Lady Agnes. She had just arisen ; and in her pretty morning-dress of a warm rose-tint, lined and edged with snow-white fur ; the blonde hair, which Time was too gallant to touch with silver, and only ventured to thin out a little at the pa "ting, brushed in the old fashion off the smooth, low forehead, and hidden under a gauzy af- fair of black lace and ribbons, which she was pleased to call a morning-cap ; a brooch of cluster diamonds sparkling on her neck, and her daintily-slippered feet resting on a violet velvet ottoman, she looked like an exquisite picture in a carved oak frame. At her elbow was a little round stand, covered with the whitest of damask, whereon stood a porcelaine cup half-filled with chocolate ; a tiny glass, not much larger than a thimble, filled with Cognac ; a little bird swimming in rich sauce, and a plate of oyster-pitd But the lady did not eat, she only stirred the cold chocolate with the golden spoon, looked dreamily into the fire, and waited. Last night, before the ball broke up, she had directed a certain gentleman to call next morning and discuss with her a certain important matter ; but it was eleven, and he had not called yet ; and so she sat with her untasted breakfast before her, and waited and thought. She thought of another morning, more than eighteen years ago, when she had sat and waited for another young gentleman, to talk to him on the very same subject — matrimony. Eighteen years ago she had found the young 1I 156 THK HEIRESS OF CASTI.E GUFFK. gentleman obstinate and refractory, and herself outwitted ; but then all young gentlemen were not as self-willed as he, and she had great hopes of the particular one waited for this morning. So, tapping her slippered foot on the ottoman, and beating the devil's tattoo with her spoon, she alternately watched the Swiss clock and the red cinders falling from the grate, until the door was flung open by a footman, and Mr. Cliffe announced in a stentorian voice. And hat in hand, Leicester Cliffe stood before her the next moment. " Punctual I " said Lady Agnes, glancing at the timepiece, and languidly holding out her hand. '* I told you to come early, and it is half-past eleven o'clock!" " Ten thousand pardons ; but it is all the ,fault of the people of the hotel, I assure you ; I gave orders to be called at ten precisely ; but it was nearer eleven when the waiter came. Am I forgiven ? " " You've kept me waiting half an hour ; and I detest people who make me wait ; but I think I can forgive you. Take a seat near the fire — the morning is chilly." " And how are the young ladies ? " inquired Leicester, as he obeyed ; " not over-fatigued, I trust, after the ball." " I cannot answer for Margaret, who is probably asleep yet; but Victoria came to my room fully two hours ago, dressed for a canter in the park. Quite true, I assure you, my dear Leicester — it is the most energetic child in the world I Will you have a cup of coffee ? " " Not any, thank you. I have breakfasted. Miss Shirley is certainly a modern miracle to get up so early ; but, perhaps, to-day is an exception." " Not at all ! Victoria is an early bird, and constantly rises at some dismal hour in the early morning, and attends church — convent habits, and so on I " said Lady Agnes, with a shrug and a short laugh. " Shall I ever forget the first morning after her arrival at Castle Cliflfe, when, on going to her room at sunrise, I found her making her bed, like any chambermaid! I believe you never saw her before last night." " I never had that pleasure ; but I knew her immediately. There is a picture at the castle of a small child with blue eyes and long curls, and it is like her, only Miss Shirley is far lovelier." . . .«. . _^l W OFF WITH THE OhD LOVE. >57 Lr. jce, Ime .•,;^ Lady Agnes lifted her keen eyes from the fire with a quick» eager sparkle. " Ah, you think her lovely, then ? " '* Lady Agnes, who could look at her, and think other- wise ? " " You are right I Victoria is beautiful, as half the young men in our set know to their cost. Ah, she is a finished co- quette, is my handsome granddaughter l Who do you think proposed for her last night ? " " I cannot imagine." " The young Marquis de St. Hilary, whom she knew long ago in France. He spoke to me in the handsomest manner first, and having obtained my consent — for I knew perfectly well what the answer would be — proposed." " And the answer was- -? " said Leicester, with a slight and conscious smile. " No, of course ! Had I dreamed for a moment it could have been anything else, rest assured the Marquis de St. Hilary would never have offered his hand and name to my granddaughter. There is but one name I shall ever be glad to see Victoria Shirley bear, and that is — Cliffe ! " " Now it is coming ! " thought Leicester, suppressing a smile with an effort, and looking with gravity at the fire. Lady Agnes, leaning back in the violet velvet arm-chair, eyed her young kinsman askance. Hers was really an eagle glance — sharp, sidelong, piercing ; and now she was recon- noitering the enemy like a skilful general, before beginning the attack. But the handsome face baffled her. It was as emotionless as a waxed mask, and she bent over and laid her hand on his with a slight laugh. " What a boy it is ! sitting there as unreadable a* an oracle, without a sign ; and yet he knows all ! " " All what. Lady Agnes ? " " Nonsense I I am not going to have any fencing here ; so sheathe your sword, and let us have the whole thing, and in plain English. Of course. Sir Rolond has told you all about it." " Madam," stammered Leicester, really at a loss. " There, don't blush I Victoria herself cou)d not have done it more palpably. Of course, I say Sir Roland has i^ '^^ 158 THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CUFFE. told you the whole matter ; the object of my invitation, in short. Yes, your face tells it ; I see he has 1 " " Lady Agnes, I have read your letter." " So much the better I I need not waste time making a revelation ; and now, what do you think of it ? " " Your ladyship, I have not had time to think of it at all. Consider, I have seen Miss Shirley last night for the first time I " " What of it ? On the continent, the bridegroom only sees his bride when they stand before the altar." " But this is England, Lady Agnes, where we have quite another way of doing those things 1 I am a true-born Briton, and Miss Shirley is — " " French to the core of her heart, and with an implicit faith in the tontinental way of doing those things, as you call it. You saw her last night for the first time. True. But the sight was satisfactory, I trust." , . '* Eminently so, yet " " Yet what ? " " Lady Agnes," said Leicester, laughing, yet coloring a little under the cold, keen gaze of the woman of the world, " there is an old-fashioned prejudice in favor of love before marriage, and you will allow we have not had much time to fall in love with each other." " Bah ! " said Lady Agnes, with supreme scorn. " Is that all ? How many times in your life, my dear Leicester, have you been in love before this ? " Leicester laughed, and shook back his fair, clustering hair. \^ " It is past counting, your ladyship 1 " " And how many of those ladyloves have you married ? " " Rather a superfluous question, I should think, Lady Agnes." "Answer it 1 " ' \ - ^^^^ v ;; " Not one, of course I " ~ ' ' \* Again Lady Agnes shrugged her shoulders, with her peculiar scornful laugh. " We have met, we have loved, and we have parted 1 " That is the burden of c.ie of Victoria's songs ; and, of course, your heart was broken long ago, after all those sharp blows upon it ! " \ m - br ei lo ,:,i f • 3' • 11 ' ';'-V -■' 1:4 • s ''Wt I -^P' I ( iHit' OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE. 159 ni at '» he . .■! ly te '; > " I am not aware that it is 1 It feels all right — beats much the same as usual 1 I never heard of a man with a broken heart in all my life I '' " Neither have I ; and so, Mr. Cliffe, as you've had love enough without marriage, suppose you try marriage without love ; that sentiment will come afterward, believe me I " " You know best, of course 1 I bow to your superior judgment, Lady Agnes 1 " said Leicester, bending to hide an irrepressible smile. " Love is all very fine, and excessively useful in its place," said Lady Agnes, leaning back with the air of one entering upon an abstruse subject ; " the stock and trade with which poets and authors set up business, and without which I don't know how the poor wretches would ever get along. It is also well enough in real life ; for you must know I believe in the existence of such a feeling when in Its proper place, and kept in due bonds, but, not at all indispensable to the happiness of married life. For in- stance, I made a mariage de convenance ; Dr. Shirley was twenty years my senior, and I had not seen him half a dozen times when I accepted him, and, of course, did not care a straw for him in that way, yet I am sure we got along extremely well together, and never had a quarrel in our lives. Then there was Sir Roland and your mother. You know very well they married, not tor love, but because it was an eminently proper match, and she wanted a guardian for her son — yourself ; yet how contentedly they lived to- gether always. Oh, my dear Leicester, if that is all your objection, pray don't mention it again, for it is utterly ab- surd ! " ' So I perceive," said Leicester, dryly. " But is your ladyship quite certain Miss Shirley will agree with you in all these views? Suppose she has what is called a prior en- gagement ? " Lady Agnes drew herself up, and fixed her cold blue eyes proudly on his face. .v -■ " The idea is simply absurd ! Miss Shirley nas nothing of the sort 1 My granddaughter, my proud, pure-minded Victoria, stoop to such a thing as a clandestine attachment for any man I Sir, if any one else had uttered such an idea, I should have considered it an insult 1 " ii i6o THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. ^1 i " Pardon 1 I had no intention to offend." " Perhaps " — still with hauteur — " perhaps you judge her by yourself ; perhaps you have some prior attachment which causes all those scruples. If so, speak the word, and you have heard the last you will ever hear from me or any one else on this subject I The heiress of Castle Cliffe," said Lady Agnes, a flush crimsoning her delicate face, " is not to be forced on any man ! " Oh, Barbara ! his heart went back with a bound to the cottage by the sea, but never before had your power over him been so feeble. What would this satirjcal kinswoman — this grand and scornful lady — ay, if he stood before her like a great schoolboy, and blushingly blurted out his grand passion for the fisherman's daughter. His cheek reddened at the very thought ; and feeling that the eagle eyes were piercing him like needles, he looked up and confronted them with a gaze quite as unflinching md almost as haughty. " You are somewhat inconsistent, I^ady Agnes. You gave me carte blanche a moment ago to love as many as I pleased I " " I gave you absolution for the past, not indulgence for the future 1 With Leicester Cliffe and his amours I have nothing to do, but the husband cf my granddaughter must be true to her as the needle to the North Star ! " He bowed in haught}' silence. Lady Agnes looked at him searchingly, and calmed down. " If we commence at daggers drawn," she said, still laughing her satirical laugh, " we will certainly end in war to the knife 1 Listen to me, Leiscester, my nephew, the last of the Cliffes, and learn why it is that this marriage is so dear to my heart — why it has been my dream by day and by night since I first saw Victoria. Some of the noblest names in the peerage have been laid this winter at my granddaughter's feet, and by me rejected — she the most dutiful child in the world, never objecting. You know what an heiress she is — worth at least twenty thousand a year ; and do ycu think I would willingly let the millions of our family go to swell the rent-roll of some impoverished foreign duke, or spendthrift English earl? You are the last, excent my son and Sir Roland, bearing the name of Cliffe ; they will never marry, aad I don't want a name that ' w^ OFF WITH THE OI '^ ' i66 THE HEIRESS OF CASTI.E CI.IFFE. " Proud girl 1 Spartan Barbara I Is she as handsome as she was long ago ? " . "She is very handsome." Mentally she rose before him as he spoke in her mimic chariot, crowned and sceptered, with eyes shining like stars, and cheeks lilce June roses; and he drew still further back, lest the violet eyes should read his guilt in his face. She drew back a little herself, to avoid the fire of lorgnettes di- ■ rected at their box — some at the great Sussex heiress, others to the noble and lovely head alone. " ♦ Undine ' reminds me of her," she went on, " only * Un- dine ' died of a broken heart ; and if Barbara were deceived, I think " .• She stopped with a blush and a laugh. " Go on, Miss Shirley." " I think — but I am foolish, perhaps — that she would have revenge ; that she would have it in her to kill her betrayer, instead of melting away into the sea of neglect, and being heard of no more." He turned pale as he looked at the stage, where stood the false knight and his high-born bride, while Undine floated away in the moonlight, singing her death-song. Again Vivia leaned forward to look. " Poor, forsaken ' Undine I ' Ah ! how I have h?lf-cried my eyes out over the stoiy 1 and how I hate that treacher- ous Huldebrand I I could — could almost kill him my- self I " " Have you no pity for him ? " said Leicester, turning paler, as he identified himself with the condemned knight. *• Think how beautiful Bertralda is ; and ' Undine * was only the fisherman's daughter ! " " That makes it all the worse I Knights should have nothing to do with fishermen's daughters I " J' Not even if they are beautiful? " " No; eagles don't mate with birds of paradise." " How haughty you are ! " ** Not at all. You know the proverb, ' Birds of a feather.' Poor Barbara ! I do pity her for being poor ! " " Does wealth constitute happiness ? " " I don't know ; but I do know that poverty would con- stitute misery for me. I am thankful I am Victoria Shirley, OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE. 167 the heiicss of Castle Cliffe ; and I would not be any one else for the world 1 " She rose, as she spoke, with a light laugh. The curtain had fallen with the last scene of " Undine," and Lady Agnes was rising, too. " Where are you going ? " asked Leicester. " Will you not wait for the afterpiece ? " " A comedy after * Undine I ' How can you suggest suth a thing! Oh, never mind me. I will follow you and grandmamma." So Leicester gave his arm to grandmamma, and led her forth, Vivia gathering up her flowing robes and following. Tom, who had long ago retreated, sulky and jealous, from the field, came last with Margaret. The carriage was at the pavement ; the footman held the door open ; the ladies were handed within — Margaret wrapping her mantle around her, and shrinking away into a corner the moment she entered. Vivia leaned forward, and held out her snowy hand, with the smile of an angel. " Good night, monsieur. Pleasant dreams." " They will be enchanting. I shall dream of you ! "