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Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year 1886, by The National Pobushino Company, in the Office of the Minister of A«ricultare. w^ A WICKED GIRL. PART I. CHAPTER I. It was not to be supposed tliat tliat viyor us south west wind which had swept unhindered over the Channel, would not strive to avenge itself when the long stretch of downs resisted it. Id its angry astonishment it broke into disorderly and rampant gusts : one reaching to whistle down a cottage chimney ; one whirling through a half- opened door ; one bending, with a mas- terful derision, the row of poplars stand- ing against the fading line of color in the west ; one blustering among the firs that stood scattered, like grim sentinels, about the old tower on the wide slope of the darkening downs; and one whirl- ing distractedly round the tower itself, chafed into a more and more boisterous mood, as it failed to find entrance there. Sturdily meeting the jealous blasts, as if it liked to feel the freshness of their strength on its own breast, the old square tower stood upon that south- ern slope, proudly seeming to support, rather than be supported by, the two long-gabled wings, whose old black-tim- bered walls stand iis firm, even in such a gale as this, as the hardy tower itself. Yet if any tower could have had tl>o good excuse of age for totterine, surely it was this, which had been built when the workmen received a penny a day. But from generation to generation the Athelings — to whom it, had been given as a reward for military services — had so oarefuUy presdrTed iti that still r^ its outer walln, the grotesque l^eads, Cirvod by prisoners in far-back years, w« re, most of them, perfectly unin- jured, and even the least so had only their harsh points rounded by a mellow old age. Even the great alarm bell was the very one whicii had been put u)H' pride, aa well a tUie curious aud hi(ieouH engcavin^K, a nong which Hot^arth's luuked ver\ luoderu; while lower down hnnf^ the in-iovatious of that yoiuj<4 Oaptaiu Bas- set, who Iind inHlHted on loavin}> his hj'rs a new plohiau name, an well is tin trophii B of his Hport and the le^fends of his vaudalisiu — for wan it uot even wluNpcred that the four carved le^n of his billiard-table had been the posts ol a nia^niticent oak bt^d iu which Qneeu Elizabolh had ouce stretubed her state- ly Jiuibs? But he had loft legends of liis courage too, for had not he, a penniless youn;; caiitnin of draj^oous, won by pure «'a • iiig the beauty and heiress of the couu- try ? Was it not often told still, how he liad brouf^ht his ti'oo[is up from their larracks to the tower, where (ai)par- cntly without even needii)^ the word of command) they lined the hall, closiu^ up to fihut out the stolid old servants of the Athelrngs, while he, in full uni- form, stepped boldly forward and took the band of Primrose Atheling ? She met bim with no evidence of uuwillin^- 71C8B, looking very lovely, and suspici- ously like a bride prepared for him in Ler long cloak of soft esterhazy silk, and her beaver hat of the same daiuty Lhade, with its broad brim buttoned lip behind with cord and tassels. As I roudly as if he were already her bride- (;room, he led her to the post-chaise, which was in waitiug, with four fresh liorses panting for a start, and in a few moments they and it were out of sight. But Squiro Atheling had only been vhistling throu<^h his morning toilet, and was soon made aware of what had happened. Then what a hot pursuit began, for ibo squire's horses, always more or less uvcrled, actually for this once rose to the occasion. Again and again he hoard, at the road- bide inns, of the yel- low chaise being less than an hour iu advance, and by afternoon be htid so gained upon it that turning a corner tudilcniy he saw the great) chariot on the long level road, not even half a mile aLiead For quite two hours then they kept so near, that once the young sol- oior in his coLSpicuous scarlet, leaned dariugly from tlie window, and looking back, seemed to the irate squire to bo laughing detiauce at him. No wonder that tlieu his heat increas- ed, and t lat lie spared the horses even less tliau hu had done all day, shouting with lustiest impatience to the hosUers who changed thetii. And at last iu the soft summer dusk what a moment of exultation it was for him. when he saw the great yellow oliaise stationary out- side one of the old pOHtiug-honses, and knew tliat he hai;iu|{, wbicli would not bave be- coiuu aa auimal so koeuiy oouauious ti.aii bis own bi^b birtb could be prov- ed lu an iuutaut by tbat hriii appea(la<{e. Tbe ({irl pasiaed ou to tbe wide old grate, wbere a bre Hiuoldered, uud opening a violiu-case ou an oak table near, took from its nest of silk aud tlaunei — witb tbu tender toucb of a motber awaken- iug ber sleeping ubild— tbe one dear frieiid aud companion of ber lonely life. AtDer boldiug tUe violin for many min- utes, care8Hiu<{ly, and tben tuning it witb reverent bands, sbe drew the bow atowly across tbe titring in tbat brut lung note for wbicb tbe dog seemed to be waiting. Yet bet'orj sbe bad played even anotuer note be bad uneasily risen, turned bis back to tbe slender bgare be bad watcbed witb such devotion, and atood witb bis nose oiitstretcbed in tbe augle of tbe fast closed door. At brst tbe notes fell slowly on the shadowy silence, feeling tbeir way, as it were, then they brightened aud trem- bled into fuller life, until they framed tbomseives, beneath ber delicate toucb, iuto a tender, yeaiuiug melody. It had panted itself out uucettaiuly at brst, quiveriug with intensust feeling, aa ber sad thoughts strove for utterance ; but at last, being repeated and repeated, it grew iuto perfection, breathing like a lovely solo voice among a soft-toned choir. The girl knew tbat this pathetic air bad slowly grown out of her memory of ( ne beautiful, bauutiug strain in a symphony of Scbuliert's, but gradually it had become ditfereut. It was the utterance of lonely, longing thoughts tliat bad otten struggled lor expression. It bad grown to be lier own ; and when, at last, witb a deep sigh, she dropped her bow, and put her lips for a moment to the violin, with a touching revela- tion of unstirred depths of love aud ten- derness, she knew she had made the aorrowful air a part of her very being. For a few minutes ahe stooi looking down into the fading tire ; the rapt look still in ber eyes, tbe wistful expressiou BtiU upon tbe melancholy girlish fac6; tben she lifted her head Hiidilenly, ami orosded tbe ball to the door fiom wbiob she entered scarcely half an hour before. Oently sb.) put the terrier aside, but so mechanically that she was not aware be followed her iuto tbe parlor. Wbea she re-eutored the hall, her face was stiff and drawn and haggard — like that of an old woman. Faltering as if sbe could not see her way, she trod tbe aileut tower, pausing beside Uie window simply for the rest of leaning there; yet presently, while looking vaguely through the soiall dia> mond paiioH. her uncon.'-oious eyes grew able to distinguish tbe scene beyond ; sbe started forward and opened the en- trance door, trying to move it noise- lessly upon its long black hinges. " Oliver," sbe whispei-»d, out among the shadows ; " Oliver.' There came no answer, and for a second sbe drew back, the eagerness suddenly restrained; but only for a second. " Oliver 1" she cried again, in a frigh- tened whisper, and a young man came slowly aud quietly np to her. His gaze went beyond her, far into the jjloo-ny hall, as he stood , beside tbe do( r in s - leiice for a minute' tbat seemed au lioac to the girl. She hastily caught one of hands in a nervous gr p between 1 er own, tben dropped it as hastily, and pressed her tingera on her lips, through which the breath came panting. " Oliver," she whispered, " bow ter- rible !" " Terrible ? Only to cbildreu," he answered, the rather supercilious smile looking odd on his indifferent, handsome face. " Tbe thief in the uighfc ngtiin, but what matter 1 Unless you" — he put his hands on the girl's shoulders uud scrutinized the pale youug face. " Potr little Primrose I For a man's enemy to be his own brother, signi es little enough, but upon a woman, 1 dare say it falls pretty heavily. While I remem^ ber my own just cause to bate him, must remember yours too.'* *• Oh, hush !" she cried, with an ap- pealing glance into he^ brotber'a care- less face. " I want to remember only yours. I want to remember how you have been forbidden to enter here— where it onght to be home to you — and obliged to come like a thief, as you say. I want to remember his aeltishncHs — uo»" suddenly drawing beiseif away A WrCKED GIRL. from licr brother's touch, " I want to ruineinlier— uothiuf^. I will not even Hpeak to yon — toni<^ht. He forbade it." *'■ (Jh, you will remember only that?" he queried, with a hard laug . '•This is a >:haD}4e iudeed. Your faitli in me vras not of a very wearing quality, des- pite its prote-stations — eh, Primrose? You would tbiuk it has lauted loa({ eDou({h." *• LoD({ enough — to break my heart." " Poor little heart I" the youn^ man said, his rapid toues softeniui; to ^entle- uesn. " You should be as inditTereut a I. It would be wiser. We know that a man who makes others suf- fer must take his own turn at last, else W3 acknowledge no juHtice in life. Whatj had he said to you thiseveuinf;?" " He would not listen. Yon know, Oliver, how he never would listen to me when I spoke on your behalf. He never was like a brother to me any more than to you. It must be my one comfort — now " " 1 thought so. He did not listen to that final appeal of yours. " I did not call it final- to him," she said, with a pitiful break in her voice "And afterward I went back. I had {^rown to feol dilTerently— after playing, and I fanciod Miles mi^ht feel diller- , ently too ; and — why are you looking at me BO ?" she broke off, sharply. '' It is you who are looking oddly at me Go on. You went in to Miles again, you say ?" " (io, go now, Oliver," she cried, with startling abruptness, and, while an angry fruwu gathered on his face, he turned without another word, and left her. blie did not watch him, as she had always doue befnre. Her ga/e was fixed in the opposite direction, among the bare, swaying branches of a huge willow, so old and decre )it that it had li>eeu supported and repaired by iron hoops and bolts. The sudden harsh creaking of these roused her nervously at last — though the melancholy noise had grown to be a familiar one to her on windy nights— aud she turned, and, without closing the door behind her, ran in the direction her brother had taken. No form was discernible, bat she bad intuitively taken the right path, for when she reached the one remaining fragment of the high walli which bad once defended the tower, she saw bim pausing on the edge of the dry moat. " Oliver," she said, standing beside him with a pitiful attempt at ease, and a still more pitiful nuconsciousni bh of its failure. '• 1 know — oh ! I know quite well, dear — how tliere come times when the old submissioa bre.ika iti bonds, and the old endurance dies. Tiiere — there must come such times. But you know how I — I love you. You know my own life is nothing to me coni))are(l with bringing any happiness — or relief — into yours. And you will — as I trust you— trust me." "Why, Primrose," he said, moving suddenly, while his foot sent a stone from the thick wall on whicn they stood, rolling down into the grassgrowu moat below, " don't make more of our fraternal miseries than need be. I'm pretty sure I've generally deserved Miles' disa reeable speeches, and I've often euough paid him back for them — always when I wasn't too hard up. We'll forget it all — from to-night — shall we ? Now, cheer up and give me a kiss." '' No — " He had taken her two hands between his own, and wondered why she wrenched them away in a manner so unlike herself. Afterward he remembered that, when they met his, thoy had shaken as if palsied. *' No " — pushing the soft, dark hair from her tem])les — " but I love you, Oliver, so well I so cruelly, that — " The words broke off suddenly, and she turned away in silence, while her broiher let her go alone, though her step was slow enough now. Shrinkingly she reentered th8 towor, and stood by the dying fire, shivering in every limb. " Primrose, Primrose I" It was almost an hour later when this querulous cry broke the silence of the great dim hall, and the girl for the first time lifted her bowed head. " I am here, grandmother." She thought she uttered the words aloud, but no sound followed the labor- e.l movement of her ashen lips. " Always mooning somewhere in a bat's light,'' the peevish voice com- plained, as an upright, rigid looking little old lady came toward the hearth. *'As usual, I look in yain for considera- A WICKED GIRL. t lie saw Lim ry njoat. linf? beBide it ease, and !i0URI](8-l of know quite fcirnes wlieu it'i bonds, There — liut you )U know my compared 9 — or relief —as I trust 'd, moving lit a stone vliicM they i,'ras8f^rown lore of our d be. I'm deserved and I've for them — hard up. to-ui^^ht — id give me her two 1 wondered iway in a Afterward ey met his, id. •' No " r from her Oliver, so ^enly, and while her lough her !ihs tower, livering in iter when silence of rl tor the d. fcion from yon, Primrose. You are al- ways bunt ou your own seltiHh enjoy- ment — just as Oliver was before uiy bouse was happily rid of him. Always tbosanie! Always tlie sainu I I aiu very sure that if Mik-s kuew bow you can leave me to iiiyKclf, he would insist ou tiiy uo louder (irl approaclicd > lUdu, UH if be would rather uot rink a queHtion until hIih was Hecure iu his departinetit, he led her, without a word, throu^li the hall, toward a door ()])pOHite them. At the bar wiudow, as tliey pans- ed» a small :red-facerouud beyond. " While you aee waiting for the fly, madame, what will you take?" inijuired the waiter, uotioiii({ that this visitor stood lookiu<{ stiaiKht throui;h the wiu- dow in an uubusinesslike way, alter she bad bes[;okeu the tiy on its return, just as if she were lisfauniug for something. » Shall I Oder lunch ?" " Yes," iudiil'erently. " With sherry ? ' " No," looking gravely now back into the room. '*A sandwich and a cup of tea, if uot incouveuieut." " Not iu the least inconvenient, ma- dame," l>e deprecated, his smile adding that thouglt, up to then, he had only thought she might be idiotic, he now was assured of it. When be had departed with his order, her ears followed bis Hat heavy tread, and presently he joined the two who were talking in the hall, and she kuew he waited tliere, tliough without speak- ing, until he was cruelly summoned to f»rry in her tray. Not until he bad set down her modest little meal iu order, did she simak to him, and then it was rather lightly. ^^ What ia that murder every one is talk- log of ? Was it here ?" " In Thawton, madame ? Oh, dear, no," the man said, aud nothing further, because he rei)uired time to reoover the insult offered to Thawton. " Where, tlien ?" she asked, taking up the huge teapot, and balancing it as if to tell whether it held sufficient to sup- ply her wants. ^' About lour miles away, jost beyond the villngo of Dewring. At the Towor* of which you have probahlv lieard." "And who was munlerea V " '■'■ Mr. Miles iiasset, the master of the Tower." "Aud who murdered him?" The question was asUed in tlie same tone, but tho man, lor all his natural dense- ness, had seen a passionate anxiety ii> the girl's eyes before she lowered them — sucli curious eyes he thought theuoi; gray am) green aud blue all at ouce, like the sea-water sometimes was on a sum- mer's day in a certain iavorite nook of his. Curious, hut very beautifnl. '^That's of course what nobody cao say, niaiianie," he answered, while thcHe thoughts ran in his niiud. " Tliere'i* nobo(ly even took up to> he tried for ik The coroner gave what he called opeu verdict ' " hut surely someone is snspeeted ?" "' Not a soul, 1 assure you. There isn't anybody the police can take up fur it." " It would be a satisfaction to the police to take somebody up ?" snggestetl the girl, absently, while she bweeteued her tea. " Yes, madame, it would be a great comapers say," she answered, leaning back, and seem- ing to forget tlie tea slie had prepared. " Y u tell me in your own way." " For myself I thought the papers very satisfactory and very correct, ' the man observed rather pointedly, as ko whisked a crumb oS the table-cloth, " an«i there were columns ol it, whereaw if you tell it, it is ail over in a few words. Mr. Basset was writing alone iu his library that evening — just a week tu-day it was — and there he was fouml sitting dead, with one of his own foreign daggers in his heart. People say it wasn't right for it to lie on his table to be UHe " But c vuld be opened from the out- side, no doubt? " " Yea» madamo. Neither was fasbea'* led ol I to sa aa^ A WICKED GIRL. t tho Towor, Y lieard." uaster of the »f» ? " Tlio same torie» tiiral deo.te- auxiety i« >wered thern ■"«lit them; at once, like IS on a Hiiru- ito Dook of uifnl. iH)l)ody caa wJiiJ»} tliew " There's tried for ik. v»lled opeu napecterl ?" lou. There take up fur 'on to the bWeeteuuU be • );reai »t it" >i ipers say," aud seem- prepared. he papers rreot, ' the Jiy. as he fible-eloth, i, whereas in a ft-w ig alone iu t a week vas found VQ foreign le say ifc I table to ose. The xt month. We all feel for poor iViiss •Oi)e— " " Yes, I know be was," the girl quiet- ly interrupted. " We all,' {lersisted the man, chafing under a sense ot injury becauHe no lady (especially a young one) had any right to shiver sitting no near a tire of his «onipiliu<», " feel for the poor youug lady at the Pines." " I am going to the Pines." The words were >o grave as to sound i like a rebuke, and were followed by Mich a meaning glance into tlie hall, that the man could not but take the hint When be returned, in tea minutes' time, it was to say the tiy was at the door, and to find the visitor so lost in thought, that he had to reniind her of Laving ordeie I a vehicle at ail. " No," tho girl said, hurriedly, when she saw her box being hoisted to the /oo ' of tlie tiy, '- 1 must leave that until 1 »end for it — or return. " Then having satisfied the man with silver, in her composed accustomed way, she took her seat and was driven out of the sleepy little town of Thawton. After enjoying about three miles of a road which xambled, with no directness of purpose, over the mtirgin of flat coun- try lying between the downs aud sea, they passed through the little villAge of Dewring (at whose station this express train had not stopped), and instead of driving northward up the gradual ascent to the Tower, they went straight on for another mile, and then turned abruptly Aouthwardi until even on the girl'suu- lintening ears, there fell the sound of the sea wasiiiiig its long stretch of peb- bly shore lireaking a long wall on one side this road, came a little round lodge, like a swollen aud moldy toy, and at- tached to it a yellow gate, iiefore thin the driver reined in his horso, with a hoot intended to arouite the lodge- keep- er, but which only startled the girl sit- ting Iteiiiud liiin. lie re{)eated it vainly again and a<>ain, yet all the time t ere was a wo nan sitting calmy looking out upon him from one of the round windows of the lodge. When presf ntly the girl caught sight of this woman's face, she at oucetuld the driver she would walu the rest of the way, and dismissed him. She paid him in excess, in the old take-it-lor- yranted wa\ , then opened the gate fur lierseif, aud walked up the yard of gar- den path to the dour of the toy lodge^ entering without an v preliminary knock. " I saw "you, Sarah,' she said to the woman who stood at her entrance, but gave her no smile of greeting. " Surely you have not become Miss Martins iodge-keejKjr? " " No, Miss Derry, I thought old Nat was out there ready to open the gate. Did Miss Ella send for you'? She told me she had begged you not to come " " So she did, and 1 tried to do as she wished, but it was impodsibla How could I know her to be in trouble and stay away ? 1 tried for a whole week, but had to jjive up at last aud come. Something must be done, Sarah. This awful murder must be found out. ' " It 8 a week siuce," the woman ob<- served, with no change iu her intent, un- smiling gai^. "• Yes, a whole week — " sadly. " As Ella begged me not to come, I thoughc I ought not— at first, but, as I say, some- thing must be done, and isn t it natural that Ella s sister should try to do it '/ " " Yes, it's natural," the woman agreed, the slow, level tones striking dully ou the ear after the girl s clear, heart-stir- red voice, but it will be of no use. Every- thing has been tried. The kindness to Miss Ella would be to teach her to for- get it-' " Then I will teach her to forget it. But I must also try — " " Miss Derry," the woman's interrup- tion was quick enough though heavily 10 A WICKED GIRL. uttered — " you will remembor she is not stioo}^ like you, and you will spare her any unueceHsary harass ?" " Who should spare her if not I ? ' the girl asked, with simple, frank astonish- luent. " You will remember how lately she has had such an awful shock ?" '' You would not think me likely to forget it if you knew how terrible this week has been to me while she kept me from her. ' " But yo) mderstood why, Miss Derry ? She levv Mrs. Martin would make it disafJieeable for you. Miss Ella thinks of you more than of herself. Did you expect to stay at the Pines? ' •' It Ella asks me ?" •' But she won't be allowed to. No, I'm sure she won't, so I must see al>out something, while you speak with Miss Ella. Will you come up to the house with nie, nnd I will take you straight to her room ?' *' As you like," said the girl, her lip curling more in amusement than con- tempt, as she turne's Jgemotion. nd ayaiu. 4ince I saw my necU, do in oM iiefore lich a was the -answered but, after • gaze into " Why did you come ?" gently and ;adly auked Ella a^aiu. " When I read that sorrowful letter i f ours, £ felt I ought to be with you, ear, though as you told me not to co u(>, submitted. But after tbiuUiug, thiol- ng through six whole days, 1 knew I ust came even if auly tor that otiirr purpose. Ella, that mystery must be Bolveil." " Will you please not speak of it ?" 'i nrged the younger ^irl gently. "Not speak of it 1 Must not I? Oh, Ella, just tbi»4 once, if never again 1 You must forgive me. Ichu not be patient and resigned and geniie like you. 1 feel hot and mad agaiust the man who did thin awful mun'er. It seems to me cold of you — I ni'jan " (with a caressing touch) *' it is joo submissive, too forgiv- ing of you— jf any one, Ella. Tell ine — just one or two tbing-<. Did you not know of any quarrel he had had — even an old one, loug a^io ? ' "No, none," with a slow shake of the head " Miles was nob quarrelsome.'' " Of course not, dear. J never meant it. But you must not be too unsuspici- ous—just yet. Some one inight have resented something be had dune which was in itself harmless — even uob'e, per- haps. Think it over — presently," as Ella gently shook her head aguin. " Is there any one who was jealous of him ? You understand me, dear ? Jealous of his being loved so well by pretty Ella Hope?" "No," Ella answered simply, as she met her sister's beautiful questioning eyes. " Miles was not jealous. I know be was newer jealous. Never I" " And he was not robbed ?" "No." " It is true that a five-guinea piece hung at his watch chain, close lo where the- dagger was?" " I do not know." " But have you heard it?" "Oh, yes." " Then they think it was no thief ?" '* They seem quite sure." " And, j^Ua, forgive me for asking one thing more. Does no one think it pos- sible it might have been — himself ? Oh, my dear, my dear," (with a hasty caress, as the soft brown eyes hll witli tears), " what a wretch I must be to have utleced'such an idea to you 1 Even to have surmised it possible for one you love. Can you forgive me ?" " Derry '' -it was not till a minute or two afterward that her sister hroko the rather painful p.>iuse — " I am ftfiaid that you forgot it would impossible to stay here. Aunt is always telling me she will never forgive you Did you fancy - " " Oh, I fancy lots of absurdities," said Derry, her voice wavering a little timid- ly, tlicugh her eyes were brave and deli- ant. " I even fancy I have more to foi give Mrs Samuel Martin than she hps to Ibrgive me. But now I cqme to thitk of it, I'm lost in wonder how I c >iiia even momentarily hi'vedrta-ued of stay- ing in her house. Never mind, I'll go back to mine inn. I am only sorry I dismissed my luxurious 'post shay,' but perhai)s '-^arah Eales will show me the way. Here she comes." But Ella knew the rustling step bet- ter, and grew percaptibly nervous as there entered a middle-aged lady, hand- somely attired, and with a handsome face, though its expression was bard even to cruelty. "Ella, my love," she began, and then stopped short and looked at Derrv. slow- ly scanning her from head to foot -a scrutiny the girl bore with cool iudiflfer- ence, after one anxious glance to see whether it pained her sister — " Ella," breaking the pause at last, "who is that?" " It is Derry," began Ella, almost whispering in her timidity. " Pray, my dear,'' said Mrs. Martin, " spare me such an imbecile nickname. If y(ni mean your 8i8ter,ofcour.-l it seems to offer fine attractions for a spendthrift." She paused and sat quietly at ease, as if she had said all that could be desired, but the lady oi the house had been taken by surpris**. and for a feW moments hesi- tated involuntarily. Then she smiled across at Ella before turning to leave room. " My love," phe said, with a gracious little wave of her band, " as f^oon as your Bister hag left you will join me, and I wish you not to keep me waiting " " 1 will not, aunt," she answered rendily; but a forlorn expression crept over the pretty face wheu the door was closed upon the two fiirlB. *' Oh, Derrv," she sighed, " why dou't you try to pro- pitiate her?" " Because — never mind," said Derrj', bravely withholding what she bad beeu tempted to say. " I can't help it. My sympathies are ail with— the late Samuel." " What did you mean, Derry, really, about your wealth ? ' " This, dear. She hurried me into telling it in a way I did nut mean. Uiic'e Joseph has sent me from Australia a whole thousand pounds, and offers to make me his heiress, if — as he puts it — I will leave off sculping." " Oh, what a good thing for you." " Is it ?" the elder girl asked, dreamily, as she sat gazing into the lire. " The dear old dad says so, too, but like that soldier in the song, he 'wipes away a tear ' " " He never yet has been well off, you know, Derry." " Well ott 1" The voice was stirred patl etically, and the beautiful eyes shone like stars for a moment ; then the glow faded. "You foiget it all, of course, Ella, as you left it so soon," she said, bringing her gaze from the tire to her sister's face, and speaking In a low, musing tone. " You can not understand what is is for Pat and me. We love the beautiful labor. 1 wonder whether a thousand pounds could ever seem to me worth so much as one of his words of praise when I have woiked not un- worthily. We love the freedom, the bn.sy day time, and the happy evenings, when he talks to me of books and art, or takes me where he thinks he cau teach me even more. Oh, thoso delici- ous hours in the art galleries ! or otht r evenings when busy friends can be idle too, and we have music or readuig from a book we would discuss, or when we rush off in unpremeditated joy to a con- cert or a theatre." " And you still call your 'ather Pat, Derry I You seem to be invited out sometimes," added Ella, with a kind attempt at seeing a good side to every- thing. " Yes, and I'm vain enough to like that too. To like weariig a pretty frock and looking at other women's, and noticing how differently men talk in dresa-coata or velveteens. Ob, yes, I A WICKED GirL. 18 enjoy it all." Tlie ■whimhical glance Mas directed stiaifiht into the tire, aid Ella guessed aotlnuj» of how the society of the clever sculptor, and that of his beautiful daughter who inherited his talent, were almost huuihly sued for by many whose aristocratic names the rich Mrs Martin would have given her right hand to have upon her visiting list. " Of course 1 was a poor judge, being only thiiteen when I left you," resumed Ella, " but I seem to remember we were always poor. Aunt Crystal says father always will be. That be is not contented with having to work hard for his money, but when he gets it he lends it.'' 'It is his privilege," said Derry, se- dately. *' He has a few very genial frieuiis who give him opportunifci s of lending what thoy usually speak of as if it were a bore to have it. There's one young man who comes a good deal to the studio and owes Pat nearly two hundred pounds, and he calmly informed me yesterday that if he ever needed to borrow money ho knew he should never Hsk a man who had to work for it ! I will do him the justice to believe he thought he never had." "Oh, Derry, What a shame 1 Did father hear?" " No, several of us had just seen dad himself off to Paris. He has to sculp Sara, and ho is to do some business lor Uncle Joseph on the same visit, so I shall be able to stay here all that time." " But you will be so dull, Derry, and lonely too 1 It is horrid of aunt not to let you stay here, es])ecially now wo are not going out, and I am so miserable. Aunt herself is cross, too, because hhe hates to be without change and visiting, and she is worrying so about who I am to marry, now that Miles—" " When's Miles thm ?" The shock of this sharp sudden qnes- tion, made Derry's cheeks as white as the beautiful low forehead over which the hair was drawn back in wavy rich- ness. Ella's face dimpled into a smile, while her eyes were lifted to a gilt bracket, on which there stood, peering down, a tine gray parrot. " George has been silent a long time today," she said. "He always seems depressed if any stranger is here, else he talks of almost everybody ; picks up everything. Sometimes his hm uuess startles me almost as much as he startled you, Derry, but not often I feel very an;:ry with hitu, he invariably grows melancholy and silent." " Wli'i-e's Mdt» then ?" •' Yes," resumed Ella, smiling again, " that is the question he generally asks now." *' How wretched for you," said her sister, kissing Ler pitifully as they stood. "I fear it is the cry ho has often heard from your sad lips, dear, lately. Oh, Ella, it must be oue of the gieatest sorrows possible to lose — even without its being in that sudden and terriltle manner — one's lover." " So you can imagine it," asked Ella softly, " though you have so often said you could not fall in love ?" " I can feel for you, dear, jnst the same — perhaps more, being one of those women De Quincey speaks of, to whom a real female friendship can not be sup- plied by companionship of the obhcr sex. Now, I must go, or darkness will fall upon me in a strange laud. May Sarah walk with me ?" The woman entered so exactly at that momeut that Derry caught herself un- comfortably regarding her, but after meeting the gaze with straightforwanl gravity, Saiah smiled tenderly into her youug mistress's questioning eyes. " I've got lodgings at Harrack's, Miss Ella," she said, with a quite perceptible anxiety in her even tones. " I thought I should, and 1 went there first. Mrs. Frayd has sent me back in her little cart with her man driving, und bo's v/aiting to drive Miss Hope back-'' "He must take me first to the Railway Inn for my luggage," said Derry as tihe kissed her sister and pretended not to be hastening her departure for that sis- ter's sake. " Now don't harrass yourself about me, P^Ila. I shall be perfectly happy. L shall — shall. I don't quite know yet what, I shall do; probably meditate over my thousand pounds." " I dare say you shared it with lather?" " We tossed up for each hundred." ••Oh, Doiryl" •• Don't look shocked, dear, for wo really did. ButI won quite enough to meditate upou." " I guess you '1 write a letter for fatbaB'» luuuHem ^6." Kaul Ella, trying; 14 A WICKED GIBL. to be cheerful. •• Give him ray loveand t( h hicu I have not HpiritH to write. I will be sure to drive over to see you to- morrow." ' Wei-'sMilen thent" The 8 irill, weird cry hurried Derry away, with a look in her eyes Haiidur than tearH ; yet she utteioil several little polite commonplaces to Sarah, whocou- duct'.'d her dowa into the now shadowy avenue where the little yellow village cart waited. *' Misa Ella," Sarah said on her return for Ella had ije.:vou8ly waited tc hoar of her sister's departmc before joining hor annt, "it was very kind of Miss Deiry to come ou purpose Co comfort you, and I pray she may discover the man who wjut into Mr. Miles' that uiuht. Of courso it is not likely, as the police fail ; but we'll do all we can. He had some onemy, of course, and it is just possible Misa Derry may find out who he was." " Yes," Ella assented, in a sorrowful, Wearied tone, and then joined her aunt. " It was an eccentricity of that girl's to come all in blacx- and yet not in mourning," Mrs. Martin begun, as if the thought had been rankliug all through her solitude. "Ella, my love, be with her as little as you need, for she — " Mrs. Martin paused abruptly. She had been going to say "throws you completely into the sliado," but she changed it com- placently into " she and I are utterly antiiuiticu." ■ " Yea," said Ella, snbmissively, as she sat down to pour out the tea. CHAPTER II. Derk* Hope sat in the yellow village cart at the door of the Railway lun, wondering what the immediate future held for her, while shedreamily watclied the wi/en little old man who had driven her go into the inn for her box. She Baw the flat-faced waiter accompany him out, with a skillful effect as if as- fiisting, but for a wouder she failed to notice his hungry expresHion of coun- tenance, and DO shilling was forthcom- ing. While the little cart stood there a train came nauntering into the statiou, aud seuiii<; it the old man had the appearance of being struck with an idea. ".Would you be nervous miss, to 'old the 'orso a minute?" ho asked Derry, who aiisently confessed herself equal to that daring deed. Idly she sat until his little bent form was swallowed by the station, then she made up her mind through natural de- ductions, that for an unlimited period she must possess hor soul in patience. So that when within reasonable time the little man reappeared at the pony's head it took her so by surprise that she paid scant attention to the fact that the reins were taken out of her hands with a stiff couven'i%f)nai speech, which at another time would have made her smile, and that she was being whirled away, not from Thawton only, but from the cau- tious little old man who had driven her thither. She looked round once or twice at the tall, heavy figure beside her. even taking cognizance of a strong silent profile ; and each time with an added sense of in- jury, for she was not accustomrd to men who were not entertaining, and slie had no idea how very apparent she hndmade it that she was sombetly wrapped in thougiit. OlLeu afterward she smiled to recall how she had broken at last the dis- courteous silence which was unusual with her. In the elderly manner she thought fit to assume, she proffered an inch of en- couragement to this grim-seeming per- son beside her, alluding affably to the want of picturesqueneas around her. Possibly he considered the fact too self- evident to need discussion, for he assent- ed in the boldest manner. " I hate flatness," she continued pen- sively, " in scenery or people." Again he agreed with no embellish- ment of language. " Where is Harracks ?" The question was perhaps a little im patient considering the elderly style she had ado^ited ; but to all appearances this did not strike her listener. " V^e.y little wav ahead of us now." •' Who lives at Harracks '?" " I do." " Oh I" " He did not look round, so could not have been aware of ber expressioB an A WICKED GIRL. IS ruck witli an miss, to 'old aHked Derry, rselt equal to lo bent form ion, then she natural de- oaited period in patience, able time the e pony's bead ibat HJie paid fcbat tbereina s with a Htiff at anotber r smile, and <1 away, not rom the cau- d driven her twice at the . even taking lent profile ; id sense of in- ompd to men and she had ibe /iHdraade wrapped in ed to recall ast the dis- was unusual > thought fit incli of en- eeniing per. ably to the round her. act too self- ir he assent- linued pen- I." embellish a little im lerly nfcyle ^pearances J8 now." couM not ressioQ a,a the startling fear swept over her that she bad made some e<;rcgiou8 blnudur, or that Sarah Eales had done ro for her " Do you mean it — that it is your houHH?" she asked feverishly. " Ob no. I am sorry to have alarmed you. I have no bouse." She would never have confessed what a relief the blunt words gave her. She certainly did her host not to betray it. " Why did not the mau who drove me into Tbawton bring me back?" ** Because I arrived in time though you were not aware of it, I asked your rermission to take his place. I am stay- ing in Dewrin", and old Amos bad to come and meet me. Did he not tell you BO?" " No." " He ought to have done so, then I should not have seemed so impertiuent. Still, bad you deigned to listen to me at Tbawtou, you would have known my name and destination — not to mention my antecedents, and my ambition in taking this seat instead of Amos. '' " I beg your pardon for not listening to you. Who is Amos?" " The factotum at Har rack's Beacon, ■where I have billeted myself. People call it Harrack's to save time." " I am going to lodge there." It struck her afterward tbut she had expected him to say be was delighted, because it was such a surprise when he merely inquired Avitb tranquility what she supposed she should find to do at Harrack's Beacon. " What do you do ?" "I? Heaven knows. Sleep is a great resource.^' " Indeed it is," with readiness. "I am happily a sleepy person. AVhy is it called Harrack's Beacon ?" " There used to be a church on the spot, and sailors knew its tower as one of the channel beacons. Long years ayo the reining Atheling blew up the ofd church that be might have a pretty site —separate from the Tower, yet within reach of it — to build a houso for bis im- becile child and bis attendants." " There always seemed a curse upon the house, though, and at last none of the Athelings would live there, so they sold it. One and another tried it and gave it up after sore disasters, until Harrack — whoever he may have been — I bfightit and hopefully raised a wind- mill close to it. All sorts of things hap- pened to that mill that never happened to any other, until the sails were gone, as well as Harrack's business, and the white mill stood useless. But then it became a beacon as the old church tower had been, and from that time things grew better, and everyone knew that Harrack bad appeased the devil by this bumauitarianism use of bis mill " " Should you have fancied," sheasked, " the devil would have troubled himself to resent the destructiou ot a hcuse of prayer ?" " A man may fancy bnt the fact re- mains. He did and was only consoled by this humanitarian use of hi» mill. You see we haven't been understanding bim yet. To this day if any Athciii g enters the mill, he comes in the form oi a huge, black bird and fetches bim or her away." " But there no Athelings now." " Not in name, but quite enough of the old stock still." "What a good thing we are not Athel- ings, as we stay in Harrack's Beacon." " It is good— for you," be said, look- ing straight be'ore bim " Who lives Harrack's. *' Mrs. Frayd. May we oblige each other by avoiiiing the palpable pun and assume, without saying so, that she is always afraid of thit thing of evil, whether bird or devil?" "Who else?' ** Penkus — Wordsworth wrote of her if you recollect — ' A child with a most knowing eye.' Shall I put you out of your suspense by giving you the infor- mation I have bad to 8 owly acquire? She was baptized Pentecost. Then there is the factotum Amos Pickett, from whom I so cruelly parted you in Tbawton, and there it is," pointing with his whip to where the ivy-covered trunk of p dis- used wind-mill stood upon the height. " We have to turn abruptly up to it from Dewring. The gradual ascent beyond is to the Tower." At ttie mention of that word the girl suddenly began to be aware that she bad wasted a valuable op[»ortunity. " Istlie Tower far from Harrack's ?" she asked, her voice actually trembling in her anx« iety to retrieve the loss of time. I do not mean lodges — at 10 A WICKED GIRL. " I thought 80 until I found that on the ni«;ht of the murder at the Tower the viin of the alarm hell waH not lieard at Hiirrack's. I suppose the wind was agaiuht it." " I should think," shuddering, "you were glad you did not hear it." " I came to Dewriiij^ next day." *' Then you were not iu the ueighhor- hood at the time of the murder?" •' Not at Harrack's," he answered, so brie 1y that her cheeks burned ; yet for all her sensitive pride she turned round to him with a look of quiet deter- luiuatiou. " Do you object to hearing of— that?" "Why should I," he ahktd, turning also and lookiDg her square iu the eyes. An^ there aud then she made up her mind that this was a really ugly man, with hollow cheeks and untidy haif, aud eyes that were tierce as well as melan- choly. It wa^ not until she had the sun to aid her scrutiny, that she discovered how with all its Hues, and they were not tew for a mau of thirty-live, there was no single Hue of weakness in the rugged face, and that at all times Steven Basset had that indescribable air of breeding which no mau can counterfeit. "Are they a proud family— arrogant, I mean, and likely to offend people?" she asked, feeling her way anxiously, not to waste the precious minutes they should occupy in mouutiug the steep lane up which, perhaps for the lazy pony's sake, perhaps for hisowu, ij any case to tlie girl's delight, her driver was letting the pony creep as he would. " Surely you will allow they ought to be, as they can bear their crest upon their cap of maintenance. You uuUer- stand ?" " Of course." " I am glad of that. I can't say I do." " You don't like them ?" asked the girl gravely. " t'hemi would you sweep the whole family away in one liking ? I confess to a sneaking affecuion for myselfi aud I am one of them." "Oh!" " That tone strikes rad as very ex- pressive, bat what does it express, if I may ask?" " I think,"— with a brilliant blush— •' it meant to express an ajtology for B|)eakiugto vou of your own family." " Oh, yon need not mind that. The late head of my family had an exalted aversion to me, and as I never could bear to be behind Miles in anything, I kept up with him in hatred too." "Yet, you have chosen to stay here?" He read more in her question than her natural suri^se, but of course could not know that her voice was stirred by a wild hope that he might be here for the same purpose as herself aud that he too, might be devoting himself to the discovery of Miles Basset's murderer. " I am a writer," he said tersely. " I can write here as well as elsewhere." The explanation hadcrushed her hope for a moment but it had given her a happy feeling, as if a warm ray t'loiu lier own old life had touched her. "Are you — really, 1 know so many men who write. But then," hesitatingly, "that is in the heart of the busy world. Is it possible that," she paused deep in wonder as her eyes took in the quiet scene, for she was too young yet to breathe its rest— "j'ou can compose here. I should have thought—" The rich, half-laughing voice inter- rupted her, "And you would have been quite right. Men with brains need to rub them occasionally against < thers. I don't, because I have none. When I want to evolve anything out of my head I screw it up in a vinegar bandage. If you ever cliauce to meet me you'll think me Laz- arus coming forth. I think it right to prepare you, for I'm so accustomed to loneliness, I shall be sure to forget the possibility of encountering you." " I shall be prepared," she said, with- out Jie laugh he had meant to provoke, without even a smile. She certainly was conscious of wondering whether she should find she knew his books, aud whether he should ever speak to her of them, but still her strongest desire was to learn from him facts that had nothing to do with bis writings. " Was Mr. Basset a man who would be likely to have enemies ?" she asked, making a new attempt " You mean beside his cousin ?" •' Oh, yes." " I should say that if any spirit was left in his younger brother, he was Miles' enemy too " "How dreadful t" A WICKED GIRL. it voice inter- '• Yes. Tilings (generally are." •' I was tluiiliiiif^ to day"— the little irt was 80 surely thoiij^h slowly reach jf,' the mill, thatDerry, feeliug that her faui«hiiij» oii[)ortnuitie8 must be ^raHpetl luU made the mo^t of, v.as hurriedly [ryiu^' a uew bef^inniny. "What an un- iHual uariie his sister has. Dou't you fchiuk I'riiurose a beautiful name?" I'erliaps it is. For myself I don't {{o |n for primness when I can get the roao trithuutit." " She is very lovely, is not phe." " Yes, in a steel engraving sort of a ?ay.' Did her brother love her ?" " Presumably. At least I do not Bee why we should imagine he did not. "Jut— presumably, also he better loved [another very pretty girl — painted on livury — to whom he was to be married in la few weeks' time. Poor fellow I Pour ;irl 1" You mean Ella Hope. You know jer, then." Yes, I know Miss Hope a little. She tits me. I tiud it saves so much wear laud tear to kuow exai^tly beforehand l^hat a girl will say. There are thues [when she is a little wearisome, but tliat lis my own fault, because I have not cum- ffortably ascertained whether she atl'ects I unaUectedness or only has a vacuum where affectation ought to be." She does not affect anything. She I is always good and natural," cried Derry, ' her eyes ablaze. "But I deserve this fur my persistent questioning of you. She i« my sister I" " Is she," asked the young man, com- posedly. " I said she was very pretty, and she is." " But you also said what was not true" " I often do. Here is the house. I see Mrs. Frayd has come lo the door to welcome you. Try always to invent some plausible diversion at her earliest full jp, for I assure you the Ancient Man ler was a reticient party compared with Mrs Frayd. Ah !" The gate into the mill enclosure had been opened for them by a well-dressed, middle- aged man, who bad been lean iug on it, and who raised bis hat as they passed through, directing an interroga* tory glance at Mr Basset. '* Ail right," that gencleman observed, " I will stroll back here and speak to you." " That," he tersely explained to Deny, " is a detective" " Oh, I am HO glad," she cried, "tben people are doing something to discovtr the truth. It iii my one great absorbing des re." •' What a ')ity," la/.ily, as the pony walked to the door, "women — especially girls, and more especially, Iraiik gi>^.d — are not cut out for that sort of thing. I would drop all thought of it if I were you Take my advice. Though why ou earth should you tako my advice ? And don't trouble your young head with such honors." "I must," she answered with grave steadfastness. "It is right." " Ou the contrary, it is wrong," was the serene reply. "I shall lift no linger to help those idiots." " It I werea man I would never rest till themurderer is punished, "she cried, fully aware next moment, what ample excuse he would have for smiling at her worth- less, impatient words. But he did not smi.e. She even fancied that his eyes had an anxious light iu them when he coollylif ted her fioiu the little c;irt. " Uh, Miss 'Ope, I ha\ 3 been so upset," ejaculated Derry's land'ady, leading her in-doors. " I'vo been blaming myself lor not having told Mrs. Eales all about iti L \t really she gave me no titue, she was in such a 'urry to get back to Miss Ella. You see Amos had to meet Mr. Basset by that train, and as my little carriage only 'olds two, of course Amos had to give up his place. I was so sorry. It was such a pity to have put you out so, just on your first evening." " But why are you sorry?" asked the girl, wondering to herself whether she could really have been put out and whether that accounted for it all. " Becauso you see. Miss 'Ope" — in lowered tones—" Mr. basset is a con- stant smoker, and I felt you mightn't like nearly four miles of tobacco. And more than that" — in lower and more concentrated tones, " he does so 'ate worn —ladies " "I see," the girl said with perfect comprehension. " Yes, I see," she said again to herself, half an hour later, as she looked from her window. For she saw Steven Has- 18 A WICKED GIRL, Het, liiH hrown head bare, and a broTvn pipe iu luH mouth, IcaiiiD^; la/ily at^ainst the ({ate hh he listoned to the det«ctive, evidently reveling in tlio lact that his compauiou now was not a woman. PART III. CHAPTER I. Derby's cheeks were blushing nnder the wintry njoruiuj^'s kiss, when, after an early run. she reached the top of the steep lane up to Harrack'a Heacon, and, making her pace more decorous through the iuclosure, stopped at the door by which she remembered leaving her room. Its upper half was glass, serv- ing the purpose ot a window, its lower half painted in a dingy shade of choco- late, and she remembered what au ob- stmate objection it had made to open, and how she had wrestled with it beiore starting. Now she was glad she had left it unlatched, and, passing in, she did not trouble herself to wrestle inside, but left it again ajar. She had returned to breakfast bj' the hour she had ordered it, but forgetting a'l about the meal, she stood before the fire, thinking how little she had accomplished by that morning investigation. " Yet," she said, in her thoughts, as she threw down her muff and gloves, holding her palms to the blaze though she was in a glow, " I surely couldn't have expected to find people standing thickly about these for- saken roads, on purpose to deal out in- formation to me, which others have sought in vam. Well, I've seen how the Tower lies from here, aud I've had two little conversations, and I must be content — so far." The morning air had given her an appetite, yet, standing on the rug, she began lazily to wonder why Mrs. Frayd should, even in her lodger's absence, have changed, for a certain oblong mir- or, with a green gauze veil shrouding the frame, which last night had crown- ed the mantel-piece, an illustration of various admirals on bonrd ship, all obviously dying through the rigidity of their shirt-irills. Had shn, Derry, boo^ so barbarous as to utter aloud any of the melancholy thought's which had possessed her, when she had caught iier face in that looking-glass, and seen it aged into three times her twenty-two years, and as green as the veil over the i'ramo? Assuredly she had never in- tended to hurt Mrs. Frayd's feelings by suggr.Hting any alteratiou in the room, yet the glass had dis ippeared and in its stead hung this cluster of dying officers. Then she began to realize that the chimney ornaments had been changed too, tor her glance fell upon one which she was certain sl^e could nob have overlooked on the previ- ous evening — a pho ograph of Mrs. Frayd, smiling blandly out of a cheap and showy frame. Derry amused her- self by practicing an imitation of this candid grin, until her though ^H had wan- dered from it down so many little side- ways, that she had forgotten ali about it| when she became suddenly and startl- ingly aware of an another now orna- ment on the mantel-shelf, a short brown pipe. Even before her first alarm had shaped itself to her, she turned and scrutinized the room. The truth was clear in a moment I This was not her room at all. Too much shocked to see the humor of the ^jsition, or to be as fully grateful as slie i)reseutly would be that she had left the tioor ajtir, she crept noiaele.ssly away ; and that blush the morumg air had given her, was almost pallor com- pared with the red that scorched her cheeks as, on her way to a similar door a few yards h gher up, she became aware of a figure strolling with most suspicieus unconsciousness — quite too cou8i)icuou8 to be natural — in a direc- tion markedly away from the adjoining door. Entering the haven of her own room, she sat down before the old look- ing-glass in its veiled frame, with a feeling of gratitude too profound even to allow her to amile. During break- fast her mind was deeply exercised between two desires — not to betray her faux pan to Mrs. Frayd, if that lady were not already aware of it — and not to attempt concealment if she were. When the meal was over, and her land- lady was taking away the things, Derry looked at her again and again trying to read the truth;, bat the woman's ooua> A WICKED GIRL. 10 any of ah had caught nd seen Dty-two )ver the 3ver iu- iu^s by e room, and in f dying realize ts had nee fell tain she \e previ- o{ Mrs. a cheap sell her- n of this had wan- ttle side- about it, id startl- ow orna- jrt brown lartu had rned and ,ruth was not her he humor ly grateful t she had loiaelessly loruiug air lUor com- irclied her milar door le became with moat -quite too n a direc- ) adjoining )f her own le old look- le, with a 'ound even ring break- exercised betray her that lady t — and not she were, i her land- ings, Derry in trying to nan's ooan- t'jnanco was a blank — it had even do memory of ♦ho pliotograiih's smile I — and her monologue, though blandly continuous, butrayed no knowledge of any abnormal step lier lodger bad taken. Wlieu it came to the last min- ute, and Mrs. Frayd, still talking fluent- ly, w;is reiilaoiug with mathematical precision, on the round table, two hair mats which might have been Indian scalps, Dairy's p'ttieiice could out no longer, and she told of her 7»iistake. " Yes, miss, I know," obiierved Mrs. Fravd, equably. " How ?" gaHpod Derry, bor desire to laugh battling with her desire to turn out her landlady, " I saw Mr. Hasset wnlk in there ft.:d come out again like a shot, and so quiet, and ho told me not to go in ; I knew by that, miss." b'ov one moment the girl's cheeks burned again, seeing in this a proof of consideration for her feelings; in the next her landlady ruthlessly explained. " It's such a pity he 'ates worn — ladies, isn't it ?" " I think," remarked Derry, her cheeks quite cool again, "I saw your photograph there, Mrs. Frayd." " Yes, miss. Mr. Uasset prizes it. I gave it hiin years ago when he was at 'Arrack's ilrsb." •' Then he has been here before ?" " Oh, he's often here. Generally busy wiitiug, but this time he's doing nothing, so it seems to me. I'm glad thoug'ii, for he has a look of overdoing, or overgoing, I don't know which, and he doesn't tell me much. It's a pity, for it's good for us to hear each other talk, as I tell him often, though I'm not a talker myself. He's too much by himself, too, I tell him. It isn't well for a man to be always lonely. Ho hasn't any letters, it seems to me, ex- cept business-looking ones, aud there's never anything friendly on his postal- cards." " Perhaps," suggested Derry, without a smile for this candid remark, so anxi- ously was she schooling her voice to sound calm on the subject she longed to start, " Mr. Basset is here for the purpose of discovering the truth about his cousin's murder ?" " P'raps so, miss, but somehow J [don't believe bo troubles about that.. I'm afraid I've even heard him laugh about the detective old Mrs. iiuaocb em))loys. He never liked Mr. Miles." ffc never liltal Mr. Mileii! The words echoed painfully in Derry's ears. True, he had told her this liim- self last night, but it sounded ditl'ur- entiy from this woman's lips. *' This Mr. Basset was not here on the night of the murder, was he, Mrs. Frayd <•" " No, mips. I think he said he vraa in Thawton, though there are some that say he was m Dewnug. Indeed, there are those that say he was at the I'iucs that night- next evening he was, any way. Tliere was to have been a dinner-party there, but of course no one Wont, knowing about Mr. Miles. Whether Mr. Basset dined there or not I can't say, but 1 know he came from there here." " He must have been to condole with or inquire after Miss Hope," explained Derry, musingly. " You do noo hear him speak of the murder, I suppose, " she continued, hating herself tor mean- ness while she asKed the question, which she still felt it right to ask. " No, miss, I've scarcely heard him mention it, except once he said he won- dered Mr Oliver didn't come to the Tower, bit he only said it in a laisy way, and not a bin as if he cared." "Poor old Mrs. Basset I " said Derry» from her heart. " She at least is try- ing to solve the mystery." " The man who did it's safe to be found out, miss." (Ihere was no fur- ther excuse to delay, aud Mrs. Frayu'a hand was on the door, but she had a little more to say.) " It's always done lair. Didn't my own brother keep a rattlesnake quite against nature, and it was its bite that killed him '? And wasn't there that wicked Coruey, over Black Down way, determined to poison his wife aud two innocent children ? So he bought a leg of lamb as a treat for thern, he said, and he first rubbed arsenic into it, aud just before dinner- time he came in aU in a hurry, aud said he was called away on busmess and couldn't wait for their dinner-time, so his wife must fry him the sole be brought. His appetite seeaed good and be eat it all up, and went cheer- fully off. His wile, being a frugal young woman, had thought it a pity 20 A WICKED OIRL. !■ to waste a le^ of Iamb on her and the chiulreu, so she put it away for oext dtty, aad they had e^f^H. Well, you uee, miHH, how it was ? She had fried her liusbind'H sole in the dri|>|)ii]f;, and ho lie ect, almost a pretty home look. She had Wrought in her books, and work, and photographs, and had put out of sight various articles highly prized by MiB. Frayd, (such as the scalps upon the table, and a wax doll dressed as a bride under a glass case), and had given everything a beautifying touch ; yet as she looked round she gave a little sigh of longing for the home stuJio. As it was still too early to expect her sister she decided to explore the surroundings of the mill, but not to go out of sight lest there might be a chance of missing even a minute of Ji^lla's society. She went through the creaking half glass door, and iu order to avoid the twin door lower down, she strolled upward, not pausing until she was on the highest spot. Standing in the broad daylight, looking down upon the house and noticing its sheer ugliness, Derry smiled over the legend she had been told, and the notion of any family ghost haunting such a huildmg as this. Yet the instant she turned back from her contemplation am) entered a magniticetit clump of spruce firs, she caught herself starting at only a small figure in their midst, silently and buhily engaged in picking a bone evi- dently taken from an open parcel on her knees. Derry stopped opposite to watch this process for some little time, then spoke with what her father called the brotherly way she had with children of all grades. " Oh, indeed I You are dining quite early, aren't you ?" " it saves carrying it," retqmed the yery small woman with round raised eyes, and a suspicious shine on her pro- truding ohin. "I see. It is your dinner packed to take to school, and you save carriage by eating it ou the way. It is a bright idea, but you had better put up what is left. And then you may open your mouth and shut your eyes." Derry took out a box of sweets, the purchase of which had been her excuse that morning for a little talk with the village shop-mistress, but when the child expanded her lips dangerously and screwed together her eyelids, Derry could not resist popping her finger only into the yawuiug chasm. It was a test the weiid-looUitig child bore so philo- sophically that Derry imruediately took her to her heart and liberally rewarded her. •'What will they do to you for being late at school ?" she inquired presently, with that warm air of sympathy and friendship which children love. " Keep me in. Teacher always does." •• Poor teacher ! And these are your usual hours* are they ? Uow old are you?" •' Eight." •' Indeed !" (The little thing looked at most five.) "Quite old enough to carry your dinner when mother packs it so nicely for you." " Mother's dead ten years ago." '• Oh !" gasped Derry, foundering over a new arithmeticiai problem, as she thought of the child's age. "What is your name?" " Penkus." " Penkus ?" with an amnsed gleam of r-^emory. " Then you aie ouo of the adjuncts of Harrack's Beacon ?" " I live at Harrack's with ma." *' Then Mrs. Frayd is ma. Who is pa?" " There is no pa?" " I see. Who is your father ?" " Amos." •' Now run off to school. Do you go down ?" " Yes." "Then yon only climbed to obtain privacy over your dinner ? You may well be called 'a child with a most know- ing eye,' as W^ordsworth said. Run." But the child preferred her own un- biased gait, and Derry stood watching I her, and rejoicing that that troublesome I man was not about. But presently a I tall figure came toward her among the! trees, and she knew it had been too latel to congratulate herself on that trouble- 1 some man not being about. I opone| I your ..J.J I en the (juillyl I woulc' "I( iintert *Bil I doors hike oil Iparts^ i'oa A WICKED GIRL. SI I what is leu your eets, tbe jr excime witb the tbecbild atily and 8, Derry iger only raB a teub BO philo- itoly took rewarded I for being presently, )atliy and e. rays does." I are your >w old are ig looked at ji) to carry •auks it so ago." idering over ^ui, as she "What 18 ;d gleam of ouo of tlie u?" ma." la. Who is ler ?" Do you go ed to obtain ? You may a most know- id. Run." her own un- )od v?atching b troublesome t presently ai )r among the been too late that trouble' Derrvtin her beautifully fitting bronze dresH, braided by herself, as oo one but an artist could have braided it, might be perhaps excused for looking with a lit- tle conteiiipb on the sage-grccn hue of his shabby coat, but her keen glance detect- ed that for all its sbabbiuess, its tit was peiffct. The brim of a soft felt bat was pull«d down over bis ears, but even that weak equipment of the bead did not rob it of its look of jKiwer. He did not otTer bis band to Derry, only lifted his hat and put his pipe straight mto his pocl You find" (there had been no pause., but the tone was lighter now), " that she has a few words to say and says them ? 1 thought you woola think tio." Derry had not auu- 23 A WIOTED GIRL. wered and he had only looked into lier eyeH. " Yon will be oveu more favo>'ed with them than I, for your face will give her more eucoura^^etiieDt. I wouder how far your thouxlita will geuerally stray while Hhe IioUIh on." " They went in to (JhcHln're this morn* itxfi," replied Derry, " tor I remciuber reatliu^ there on a woman's Rraventoue, a liue her huHband had put alter the date of her death — 'Ami /lurr iran a i/reat O'lhii.' But," (with B'idden frank com- puuetion), " tliat s (^' Hpicable of me, for 1 have myself been loading Mrs. Frayd en to talk, and i mean to lure her fur- ther aud furt er— and further. For I've a purpose in being here.' '♦ I feared so," he said, and Derry thought he had made an odd withdraw- ing movement, but the only thiu<{ Hho was sure of was that he frowned in a rathe/ u}{Iy manner. Slie was co<;itat- in^^over this, and donbtin<; the possibil- ity of his bavin;;; ^vinced at her words, when he broke the silence. " I owe you an apoIof?y, Miss Hope, for Iiaving intruded U[)0u you yesterday in your drive I should have walked certainly if I had understood how it was, but Amos merely siiid ho had come to meet me, and left me to make my own discoveries." "I think the intrusion was mine,'' amended Derry, "for as you said, you explained all to me while I was not lis- tening. You had engaged the curt, and besides," (demurely, "it was worse for you because I've not any particular oh- iection to your sex, while I understand that you hueem particular objection to mine." tie had thrown his head back as if to laupli, but after all ho only took the op- portunity of liiokiu^ beneath the brim of his hat intently into her debonair face. " Now I think we may cry quits. Miss Hope," he said then, coolly, "for thongh you have no particular objection to my sex, you have a general disregard for it, which is better for you and safer than my — particular objection.'' It was such a ridiculous pause that occurred then, the girl thought, that she broke it with the exaggerated coolness a woman so often assumes when she is not at ease. " [ feel the silence here wonderfully, I actually /»e«r it." " You prefer the sounds of London, of ronrso. No doubt yon would rsther have the pianos upon the Thames Eiu- baukment, than such trees as these, growing unnoticed, and in silence here." "Of course," she assented, as if there were uo doubt abont it, sim|)ly because his tone cut ironically. •' Who could " (looking np amon-^ the splendid ftrs) " compare one of these with a real Lon- don deodar — or sumach? Why, the very names lift them higher. Besides, our life's bliss does not> depend upon trees alone, we have pillar posts." " That serves me right," he said, good humoredly, "and it vat mean of mo. Why, some of the finest trees I know are close to your London home. No, J on could not, of course, live ovit of Lo' - don, and if I can 'tis all the worse fur me, as showing what a very old man I am." "But, o" course," she suggested, gra- ciously willing to allow an amelioration of his condition, " you keep yourself up in everything tliat goes on in the world ?" " The world ? Oh, that is too far away," with a sort of smilo in his voice. " We try to be aware when Parliament is sitting by listening for the prayer in I church, but sometimes there is a mis- take even among parsons, and that puts I us all wrong." •' You have your papers ?" •'Of course. "I'hey arrive afc curl station somewhere about the time whm the next day's news is preparing for press, and first the station-master, and | the postman, and the porters — some- times with a select audience — have to| learn their contents. Then the post- man, who for a weekly consideration! undertakes to deliver mine, starts offj with it. I usually meet him and Undl out from him what it contains, to save! myself the trouble he has passed} through." " I suppose," began Derry, presently,! her voice a little unsteady, as shel brought the subject round to her ouel absorbing desire, " the people have been! very anxious to see the papers since that| murder at the Tower ?" •• Why ? We know more than the| London papers can tell us. I wonder ' (quite n arkedly putting aside the topic she had with such a waste of ingennitj introduced) " what you will liud here A WICKED GIRL. lid rnthet ettnoH Kiu- as tliuue, lice here." as if there ly becauHe lio could " jndid firs) I real Lon> Why, tlie Btibides, 7end upon HfcH." I said, good 3an of nio. e» I know lome. No, 3ut of Lo' • ) worse for old mau I ested, Rra- luelioration yourself up he world?" in too far n Ina voice, irliatnent is tj prayer iu le is a mis- d that puts ive at our time whtu 3pariD{^ for n aster, and ;cr3 — some- e— have to the post- Dsideration starts off IU aud lind ius, to save las passed presently,! iy, as shel to her Duel e have beeni :s since that! than thel I wonder "j le the topic ^f ini^enaitj iud here tol 1 'Bly closed, ipaiiion was -it it would him ; but his •ranse you, and to mako up to yea for Loudou ?" "I don't want London now," she cried, irapetuouHly roaeutin({ this re putted failure to make Mr. Itasset speak of his cousin's murder, " aud to-day uiy sister is comiuij to me." " Theu that," he observed, pointinK to a dark object advauoin^ Heetly ou tlio level road below the dowua, " will be Miss Hope's pouy-carriage. I need iiot have ^iveu utterauce to my uu- warrantable wonder, lor where Misa Hope iias appeared ot':ers will soon fol- low. She IB like that Mrs. Somebody at whose appearance ' the horizoa be- came dark with majr Derry's lips had '"' o- for she had felt tha^. Hliout to be personal, be au impertinence iu manner was bo utterly wiihout iiuperti- ueuce Of presumption, aid his t >ne so ({Butle in its carelessness, that she could uot help smiliufT, after all; siuiliug was 60 natural to Derry ! He had been coolly critical before, fully alive to a pretty chin, fair as a white rosu petal ; to sensitive lips; white regular teeth, aud <>lorioiia Titian tints ; but now calm criticism was at an end. This sudden wiirm smilo broke on him as a (;leara of mimm^r sunshine breaks before we know that we have spring, aud gave him the same seusatiou— a gladness tliat can Dot be described, or named, or held. Bub Derry had made cow a move- ment preparatory to going, and so he spoke, in the old cool tones : *' For a youug and delicate girl, how well your mntet manages those ponies. And I have seen her in the saddle, mastering a horse with as much strength and juiet determination as— her late lover could hare shown. Yet how very gen- tle she is aud — feminine, if you will not |langh at such a ridiculous word. It ex- jresses exactly what I mean." " You know she is charming," declared erry. " Indeed she is. Unchangeably so. wouder if you have ever felt the in- euse weariness of watching a gas fire ; ivhether you have ever grown sick to 'eatli of seeiug the flame always in the auie spot." " No," she said, while she calculated w many miuuttm she must take iu de scending the slope, so as to meet Ella exactly at the door. "I suppose you hurled that at me as a bit of London. I was thinking of my sister." " So was 1," he answered, coolly. " B'it/«" to the iltialmliuiiil who had been lyiug at his feet — " go down aud whI- come Miss Hope. He declines the honor," as the hound haviug ri^.ell, stood close against his master's leg, looking up with an entreaty almost iiumau. " Fit/ was my cousin's dog. Miss Hope. I bought him from Miles, only a few days before his— eud. Is he not beautiful ?' " lieautiful ? With those crooked legs aud ugly splay feet '?" •* Wait," observed the young man, as he sauntered coolly at her side from the cluster of hrs, " till you see him dig for badgers." " I believe I may without anxiety con- sent to wait " said Derry, laughing ap she ran down the slope. i He did not laugh, but his eyes closed at the corners rather comically as he wacched her meet her sister ; then he turned aud strolled with k'itz away from Harrack's lieacou. CHAPTER IL " Derry, did I see some one v itK you ?" asked Ella, drawiug ult' a seal- skin gauutlet, and laying one tirin little white hand in her sister's, " when yuU first came iu sight ?" " I don't know when I first rame in sight," replied Derry, gently, " for you were iu sight of me a mile away." " Was it Steven Basset ?" " Yes, dear, but I did uot want to dis- turb you with that name the first min- ute you came to me. I fear the likeness distresses you." " The likeness?" repeated the younger sister, with a start. " Why, Derry, you never saw Miles." " Oh, no, but there's always a lika- ness between brothers, aud I know Oliver Basset." " Do you ?" indifferently. " But Miles and Oliver were uot really like. No one was like Miles.' " Not to you, dear, of course/' «x* 24 A WICKED GIEL. plained Derry, pitifully aware of tears gathering. " But this Mr. Basset is a very differ- ent looking; man, though indeed I don't dislike him, as Aunt Crystal does. I always find him very well informed when he converses with me." " And I do helieve," said Derry, her eyes warm with a laugh of which she was inHtaatly ashamed, " he is just as well informed when he converses with me - though 1 can not get him to im- form me." As Sara]) Eales bad accompanied her young mistress, and was standing now waiting for orders, Derry felt a little awkward, having only one room into which 10 invite anyhody, so she asked her sister whether she would prefer to walk about or <;o in. " Go in," returned Ella, giving the reins to her small liveried groom. " Saruh can sit with Mrs. Frayd until 1 summon her. It was very stupid," Ella went on, in a whisper, as the girl en- tered the house, " of Sarah to beg to come with me ihis niorumg; very un- kind too, as she has found that I seldom retuse her anything." " She will enjoy Mrs. Frayd," observ- ed Derry, pensively. Tliough Ella would not remain to lunch, and would not have the ponies put up, she threw off her sealskin with the appearance of intending *o stay a long time, and seated herself . jfore the lire, looking very comfortable aud pretty in the mourning, which, except for the absence of the cap, and the general en- livenment of jet glistening wherever it was possible, was as deep as that of a widow. " Derry,' she said, with a smile and sigh together, " I am so relieved to see you in your ordinary dress again. That affectation of mourning yesterday was a great mistake." * Yes," said Derry, simply, «' but I had felt unlike wearing colors since my own sister — " " I know, dear, that you felt all that was kind. Now let us talk of some- thing else." The girls had had an hour of idle, loving, wandering sister talk (which Derry had not the heart to break with any of the questions which harassed her, t whea Sarah Ealea appeared,, aud asked if the ponies bad not stood as lont; as it was wise for them to stand. She walked away when she had asked this» aud Ella rose to bid farewell. "Dear, stay a little," c/ied Derry, drawing her back with a pleading look. *' I have so much to ask you. I don b want to pain you — you know I don't — but I must speak to you. Am I to go to the Pines, or where will you come to me again ?" " Oh, Derry, you really most go back to town. I trust you will. It is wretched for you here, and indeed I came to-day almost solely to entreat you to return, and not make yourself so unhappy — and me. I really meant not to cease urging thi-', bat it is so nice to be with you that I forgot." " That's good, dear. But I am not going, so when will you come again ?" " Not at all if you speak to me of Miles." •' May I cot ask you to think — to try to remember whether he ever said any- thing to you which could give a clue '?" " You have his cousin near, ask hitii,' said Ella, with a look as if ilie teai a were very near, though, to Derry's de- light, they were kept back. " He must sur' ly have plenty to say, for he hated Miles." '* But if I am to win help,** said Derry, in deep earnest, " it will surely be from sotue one who loved Miles '* "Perhaps," continued Ella, looking dreamily into the tire, "■ Steven bene- tited by his death. I don't say he did — I don't know — bat perhaps ii was so. Oh, leave it all as it is," she broke off, meeting her sister's startled gaze. "I can not leave it as it is," said Derry, dazedly. "I can not think how you can. You must be an angel, Ella ; I mean it is so far beyond me to under- stand your resigniitioD. I may go to the Tower, for Primrose aud 1 have met, you know ? May I go at once '?" *' Of course, if you desire it. But I really do wish (quite perceptibly shrink- ing from what she was making an effort to say), " you need not go there, Derry. I — I have a fear of Primrose.'* "A fear of Primrose!** The elder sister could only repeat the words. "Yes, a fear. She was devoLed to Oliver, and Miles was in Oliver's way. i Oliver owns the property uow^ aud uo \ HI to JVIa I I slic (I neJ thil A WICKED GIRU 25 one is in bia way, but I can not forget tbat Miles was. VVIiat is it, Derry '?" for tbe long {^aze of borror bad forced Ella's eyes to her sister's face. " You have given me a cruel tbougbt," gasped Derry. '* Primrose is a girl like ourselves." "Yes," returned Ella, taking ber sis- ter's band and caressing it, " but loving sisters — ai^ I learned yesterday— will do daring things for those they love. I have only told you that Primrose adored ber brother Oliver, and never cared for Miles. I bad not even told you that fihe had been utterly changed since tbat nigbr. She is more broken- hearted than even / have the right to be. Besides, why does Oliver, who was supposed to love her so, stay away from ber now ?" " I made a mistake," said Derry, with a new compressi' n of the full pretty lips, " in tbiukiug tbere were no sus- picions at work. Dues not suspicion — seemingly so busy among Miles's rela- tives — touch Oliver?" " I dou't know," sighed Ella, wearily. " I have scarcely ever seen Oliver- But I always knew he was his sister's favorite, and tbat they both felt Miles in tbe way- 1 suppose," iu tired tones, " they had both a sort of right ti do i30. But this cousiu never mI " " Ella, why did so many people dis- like Miles ? It has been a great shock to me, for your love for him bad lifted him high in my thoughts." " Do you not know," in a pained half whisper, ■" what jealousy will do?" '• And Primrose loved Oliver best ? Well," with uncharacteristic irony, ^' there is no accountmg for a sister's taste." 'Then yoa did not admire Oliver? He is hanilsome like his brother," said Ella, speaking as one who knew, " but I did not mean to meutiou them. You will not force it upou uie again, Derry ? Oh, bow I wish you would go back and be happy- Tbere is n' thing in tbe world to keep vou here." " Yes, there" is- Didn't I tell Mrs. Martin I bad come to spend my wealth ? I began iihi« morning at the village shop." " You always jest when I am in ear- nest," fretted Ella. " Of course, some- thing different from that keeps you." -''Yea, I have not heard yet — and shall be a long time before I have iieard, I assure you— one thousandth part ol what Mrs. Frayd has it on ber mind to mention '* *' Nothing ever troubles yoa," said Ella, struggling alter a smile. " I re- member how father used to say, in old times, that you were as easy as an old shoe." And was this all that Ella remem- bered of the brave efforts of those old times? From Harrack's Beacon Miss Hope drove to tbe Tower, and again Karah Eales pleaded to accompany her. Vexed as she was, she lindly gave way as she had done iu the morning, but left Sarah in the phaeton outside tlie Tower when the old butler admitted ber. In the hall she fouud Primrose Basset, sitti g deep in thought before the fire in the great open grate, her Skye terrier lying opposite ber on tbe rug, looking unwiuk- ingly up into ber face through his silken tresses. " I don't want to disturb either of yon," smiled Ella, deprecating the trou- ble Miss Basset took to bring auother of tbe heavy old oak chairs up to the hearth, and the consequent unsettling of the dog. " I like to be disturbed," said Prim- rose, simply, "and Jess will be the l>ettei.- for a run. Oh, she has gone al- ready ! Tbat is right." *' I used to find you always playing," observed Ella, looking vainly for the violin case. " I have never played since that night." " I don't wonder," said Miss Hope, gently- In her glance round, she bad let her eyes rest for a mom( ut on tbe door of tbat room which used to belong to tbe master, and she locked her fingers together and set her lips, not allowing herself to cry. " It is hard for you, dear Ella," said Miss Basset, her manner strangely re- (•erved for all its softness. " You should have spared yourself this visit — yet." " I felt I must come to-day though it is opening an old wound." " Not au ohl one." " No, too new a one indeed to bear a touch. Primrose, I wanted to tell you tbat my sister Derry has come tr> Dew- ring. She j9AyB she ia )jomg to stay and .tii»rA'-^kj J'.'»?^PH"PHHi 26 A WICKED GIRL. devote herself to solving the mystery of Miles's death. She can do nothing, of course. What could a girl do? But she persists in opening this wound for ,me." Primrose Basset's wan face bad bright- ened at her companion's iirst words, but now it was paler evon than before, and she was so silent that presently Ella went on — '* She is coming here, Prim- rose. She ia HO bent upon questioning everybody, and she will speak of it to you as she has done to me. It is cruel to you." " No, why should it be?" cried Prim- rose, hotly. *' I mean — I do not think your sister would ever wish to be cruel." " No, but she has no right to trouble us all with the painful subject. She should not for^'et that we have bad to live through it. She ought to know that e^erythiug that can be done will be done — or has been — by those who were nearest to him." " But »he thinks she is helpin^^, and she knows that we ought none of us to rest until, or rather she feels sure that none of us can rest until the murderer is found." " 0' .6 and stay with me," suggested Ella, • dly, " and you will escape these paiuf' ' questions, for Mrs. Martin will not have Derry at the Pines." " No, oh no," was the soft answer. •' I must learn to speak of my brother's death. It is time. And I never leave poor grandmother now." " How good you are to her I" sighed Ella. " And to Oliver, for you never re- proach him ior not coming to you." " Oliver will come," said Primrose, in jaded tones ; and Ella, moved witli com- pasBi )n to see a curious haunting feaj; on the pale face, rose to leave. As Primrose turned, she found that Sarah Eales had come into the hall, and was standing there awaiting her young mistress. " The ponies are restive. Miss Ho[)e," she explained, in her respectful monotonous way, and then stood back for the girls to pass; looking first at Ella with anxious solicitude, then at Primrose with an inient, uneasy sus- picion. PART IV. CHAPTER I. It was a February morning, and Derry sat gazing into her fire while she marie strenuous efforts to pursue a di- rect train of thought ; to go back step by step over the three weeks of her stay in Dewring, that she might discover to what mistake or ignorance her failure hitherto had been due, and then if pos- sible to map out a more auspicious line of action for the future. But though she resolutely set herself to keep thought to this oue track, the veriest irille would disperse it, aud she had still no detiuite project formed, when at the end of two long hours the sikmce of her r(X>iu wa» broken by the noisy flapping oE wings. It was the involuntary mouiory of tlie legend she had heard which made her start from her seat in momentary alarm. " Whfn'H Milfs then ?" The sharp qnestion came from itnder the table, and Derry smiled disdainfully at her own childish fear. *'It is you, George, is it ?" she said, as she went for a lump of sugar for Ella's loarrot. •' This is a call I didn't expect, sir; why couldn't you bring your mistress?" The bird was not to be lored from his retreat, and Derry was still fruitlessly enticing him, when Sarah Eales came hurriedly through the open glass door, calm in her d 'Uieanor, though Derry saw that her hand shook when she extended it to catch the parrot. "•Come, George ! come, George !" she crooned, as if to a child. " E la wants you.'* But George remained nnraoved until by a skillful swoop Sarah captured him. " I won't stay, Miss Derry," she said i then, folding her shawl about him and leavmg the room. "Miss Ella will be uneasy." But outside the door, George, having craftily won confidence by his wary quietude, suddenly dived uuder Sarah's arm, and with a fiendish laugh flew to the top of the old mill, from which un- alloyed seclusion he looked down with a solemn pensiveness rather exasperating to his baffled captor. " If Ella :vQald uot be uneasy »" ob- . me,l he oaul thai par| wan «t air Bliyl ^eol A WICKED GIRL. 27 ing, and rhile she me a di- ack step her stay jcover to )r failure o if pos- cious lioe It thoiioh p *liouj»ht lie would detiuite »d of two room waa ot wings, ry of tlie made l)er iry alarm. ora nnder sdaintuHy It is you, e went lor rot. " "Vliis sir; why ess'?" d from his fruitlessly lales came glass door, 1 Derry saw « extended KJrge I" she fci la wants ooved nntil )tured hill). '," she said lit him and ilUa will be >rge, having y his wary ider Sarah's ogh iiew to a which un- Jown with a sxasperatiug measy," ob- served Delia, regarding the parrot with admiration, "how much better he looks up there than in a room I Leave him, Sarah." " I must have him," fretted Sarah, pointedly raising her voice when she saw that Mr. Basset was within hearing. " Could you get it down, sir ?' nervous y accosting him as he stood gazing up at the solemn bird. " Oh, well, it will do the best for itself, you may depend," ho returned, with an indilfereuco Derry thought in- excusable, though she herself had offer- ed similar advice to Sarah. As soon as the woman had unwillingly departed, Steven Basset returned lazily to Derrys side. "The cunning fellow will go into your room again probably, Miss Kcp >, if he does not tiy home. Therefore, as the wind is very cold lor you out here, will you ask me in, that I may be able to capture him lor you — your sister ? If there were any luxuries in my sitting- room,' he added, coolly, in her rather dubious pause, " or anything to look at, I would invite you in most humbly. But there is not." " There is Mrs. Frayd's photograph," corrected Derry, but could not hesitate to lead the way. Before following her in he took off his hat and hung it ou one of the nails among the ivy, and when she half lauf^hingly thought this gave him the air of being at home there, she unwittingly touched the motive that had stirred the lonely and fanciful nature. His gaze wau. lered round the room as he noted its iiright n-jss and warmth; its cozy, untidy, ar- tistic air of homeliness ; the bright fire, the open piano, the books lying about, the work and flowers. He felt it all with a keen and glid appreciation which kept him silent, until she (not understanding) feared she was at fault, and hastened to bid him welcome. " You can not guess what this is to me," he said, drawing his breath as if he drank in the air of the room. " You can not tell the weight of sick weariness that sometimes falls upon me in that parlor of mine, and this, quite lately, •was its twin." " But, Mr. Basset " (for all her debon- air ways, she invariably spoke with shyness of any one's brain-work), '-you people your room at your will. If I had your gift — if I were a writer, I should never find any place bare or lonely, I think." He only smiled, for be could not tell her that it was its being Iwr room that made its charm to him. He thought how all the light and warmth and brightness centered in her, and how it surely would all c.ntre in her in what- ever room she might be, however crowded, however brilliant ; and from this thought he went on to picture her in a society dress and scene, and with- out that unsj,tisiied desire the lovely face wore now. " Surely," he said pre- sently, " you are longing for your fami- liar dissipations ?" " Naturally," she answered, wonder- ing how soon she might open to him the subject which through that morn- ing — as through so many other days — had harassed her. " What would you have been doing now — at home ?" " Lot me see. To-night I might be at a co.stume ball, where all are to wear the dress of ancient Greece — whatever shajjo thei noses may be." " Then you, ' he mused, with his eyca still ou her lace, " would have had your hair piled high and tied with tUree suuo Is, I suppose. Or would you have chosen the loose knc. ?" " Any way, don't you mean that of course I should have looked entranc- ing?" She asked it with whatsomi3 men would have called linished coquetry, but he already uuderstood her better. " What I think signifies nothing. The qU'Bstion is what would not have IjojU thought by those other aucieut Cireekd. How different this must be tor you ! ' She noticed the unconscious heavi- ness in his tone, and spol' with a warmLh of which she was not aware. " If I had been in Loudon to-day I should have been at work, hard at work ; harder than you will be all day." , " How impossible to picture it I You look so unlike one who works ; so like one for whom others would — " •' So indolent as that ?" she queried in quick iuterrui)tion. " You would never think it after you had once seen me. plodding away in my great apron." " Aud in russet gown ?" She nodded, but when he did not speak, aud still stood by the mantel- 28 A WICKED GIRL, you first from the piece, looking down upoD her, she went on, with a smile, " Now, do you imagiao I work in silk brocade with old Mecniiii han^mj.' about? Mr. Baastt," nervously avoiding a pause, " may I ask you a few questions ?" I' If I guess their drift aright, no," he Baid, almost sternly. " Let me have these few minutes for my own. Tell me of yourself Do not ask about things here ; but tell me of that differ- ent life of yours in town. This enl'oiced one must be so tedious to you. If it •were spring it would be different." " Then be at ease,*' she said, lifting the pretty brows. •' It is spring, tor 1 found to-day that a brave little crocus h&H puslud Its way through the soften- ing earth," " It was not spring wh. n decided to stay here — so far world." His smile .f called to her that this was her own expression, and she laugh- ed. " You are disrespectful to your vil lage," she said, speaking lightly, because she wished him to understand she would not force upon him yet the subject he avoided "I wonder whether you ap- preciate the advantage it has over that village where the girl lived whose mother was so exacting in the matter of her binding her hair. That only seemed asleep or dead when Lubin was away, while this is surely more asleep or dead when Lubin is hanging about." " Village loafing is wasted on you, Miss Hope. Why, those are the mute inglorious Miltons and Hampdens guilt- less of their country's blood. Don't you ULderstand?" "iNow 1 do," demurely. "By the way, could not something have been done all through the winter eveuiuj^s to stir them up, or to use the time bet- ter ? A good penny reading or a con- cert is amusin;', isn t it ?" " Not so amusing as a bad one,'' said Stevens, dryly. " Still, we might hope. We could have deliciously local touches, and teel quite at home with ' Tho Sex- ton,' ' The Gravedigger,' ' The Bell-ring- er,' ' The Wtirker, not to mention tho 'Village Blacksmith ' — Harmonious, and otherwise. Let me see " (reflectively), " we have our organist to fall back upou. He had gone nearly all through ' With Verdue Clad ' on Sunday before 1 recog- nized it, but then I'm not particular about recognizing what he plays — why should I be?" " Mrs. Thair would sing," said Derry, determined not to smile. " An unmixed delight, if she would but recollect she has only two stories in her voice, and not climb after attic flats." ••You might read," suggested Derry, naughtily, while she was longing to si)eak to him about his own writing. " So I might You remind me of Mrs. Martin, who is sometimes determined to be gracious to me, and to talk of what I might be supposed to understand. So one evening she cheerfully began, ' Well, and what about books, Mr. Basset ? Are there any good ones you have lately read or written?'" " Mrs, Martin paid me a call yester- day," remaiked Derry, presently, glanc- ing up into the rugged face, ai.ave Dewring m, as she did not choose to have her darling worried by my eccentricities." '* Why on earth do yoa stay through it all ?" " You know why, and yet— sometimes I feel that I myself scarcely know why I care so much. Why should it be only I who ca-es?" "My opinion is," he observed, un- abashed by the wistfulness in her up- ward glance, " that you revel in this sort of life. You are like that man iu the JUler who recommended to every one tlie pleasures of meditation, and the charms of the country, and sat all morning in his window at Islington counting the car- riages that passed. You may just as well confess that an afternoon call from Mrs. Martin is a delight, " " Without afternoon calls life is empty to me. Can you wonder that I long for that lard where it is always afternoon ?" " You find a wide range of subjects opened up by an afternoon call in Dew- ring?'" " The friendliest," said Derry, in a mus- ing tone, " isofcourse the weather. To the male population of Dewring I have never spoken of anything else. But among my own sex there are other inferior topics introduced. Mrs. Noakes always goes conscientiously through the details of what she calls her great illness— now iu its sixteenth year. I know it all and am hopefully prepared to correct her when she goes wroug, but she never does. But the best of all," with a glance of inimitable drollery, " is to go into the village to Mrs. Bottiug. She keeps no servant and all morning works like a Briton, bat in the afternoon she is in great form. She receives me— I al- ways let myself iu at her desire— and sits opposite me in broad, benignant matronhood, with two or tliree comely chins resting on a tartan bow, and her cap hung with gorgeous creeping plants wliich take their growth very kindly over her shoulders. While I am there it generally happens that we hear a ring at the front door. She suddenly pauses, and with her head on ono side listens for something to follow. Nothing does, and the rap is repeated. " ' Oh, dear, dear,* she sighs, ' they never uill hear that door. Excuse me, one moment, my dear, while I look into the reason,' and' so disappears, of course to rouse her retinue of servants — no one could possibly imagine she went to an- swer the door. I — 1 am inexcusable, " Derry cried, Kuddenly lilting her eyes to meet Steven Basset's, as he still stood upon the rug, thoughtfully regarding her. *'Igotoitirs. Bottii gandelsi w lere for my own |>urpose, and my own plea- sure, and it is mean beyond words for me to laugh at any one." "Never mind,'' he answered placidly. " Every one— 1 mean the few folk;) that are here — seem ready enough to make a friend of you." '' Then that," declared the girl, quifa calm again though a little blush burned in her cheeks, "must be because I do nothing but listen, so no one has any chance of judging whether I've feelings or failings, or virtues o - vices. Indeed, I often feel quite sure I haveu't. Oh, I forgot " — as Steven Basset's eyes gathered a quiet amusement in their depths, ''I forgot Mrs. Martin, of whom I have made an enemy, and you, to whom I have talked immoderately. I wonder why I speak to you so unguardedly of your neighbors" — with a smile meant to be supremely careless, but which was rather wistful. '' Yon need not be afraid." he said, composedly. " 'Twas of us Drydeu said We pciiher believe what either can say, and ueither believing we neither betray .' " Her eyes darkened with anger while, he quoted the lines, but scarcely a min- ute afterward they were tilled wita en- treaty. " You know why I talk with you — with every one, Mr. Basset. You know quite well what I want, and yet you — Miles Basset's cou-^in— laugh at all my efforts." " Heaven forbid ! Without such efforts how could we lift ourselves above the commonplace of our existence ?" For the last few minutes he had been standing where he could see out into the mill enclosure, 8 nd now he abruptly m ade a little remark about lookmg atter tlio }iar- rot and walked away. Scarcely had Derry noticed his unconcerned departure when her sister entered, asking, in her gentle way, why Steven Basset had so suddenly left the room. " I suppose the time had come for him o lose all sense of the blessing of my ^ociety. Are you anxious about your MM 80 A WICKED GIRL. ! i parrot, Sambo?" scrutioizing the pretty ! face. "I waa, and bo I followed Sarah. But I am uot aDxions uow. I louud him UDdec the hedge in the lane. He is dead." I " Oh, Sambo, how sad for yon 1 Are j ; you to lose everj thing that loves you, my dear ?" . ! ♦' It can not be helped. He rau&t have : ' died sometime," said the girl, wearily. ' '* Hut how could it have happened ?" " There were some tools there, and an \ old garden line, and he was strangled in " What an extraordinary clumsiness ! Why, Ella, the poor fellow must have been bent on self-destruction to accom plish such a thing, musu't he ?'' " It is a fatal place for anything that 1 is fond of me, Derry. I wish you would I i go away." I •' Not yet," returned the elder sister, : ' quietly, for she had grown accustomed I to the mournfully reiterated request. I i " This sort of life is so dull for you." ; j " Not a bit," said Derry, cheerfully. I *' On the contrary, it is what Amos Pick- I ' ett calls jo'ful. Amos " (as she looked I ' away from her sister's face into the lire, , and resumed the careless, quiet tone) " is 1 Dot a remarkably jo'ful man himself, but still he is the occasion of jo' in ' others. This morning I told him, just to ease my mind, tliat his little girl seemed . to be occasionally a little bit obstinate. j • She hadn't ought to be, he said, with- out committing himself to an opinion, j • tor I often enough make her shoulders J black and blue with the strap.' Don't . you feel, Sambo, that she must have had 1 [ ■ a jo'ful childhood?" i * 1 " Derry, how idiotic you are when you ! want to turn aside a conversation. What ' M/e you staying for ?" '* I have serious thoughts of sculping I Amos. Or, what if I tried— Steven Basset? That long nose of his would ' look well in marble. But never mind my motive, dear. Will you stay with me today ?" " I can not. I have only come to tell you that I shall be at the foot of your lane in the brougham to morrow even- ing, at a quarter to seven exactly, and Bball wait for you if you are not there, Mr. Carfe told me you had promised t diiiti at the vicarage with me, and I was so glad. He knows aunt never asks you to the Pines, and he was sure it would be nice for both of us, and for themselves he said. Of course he has no party. You will be punctual, won't you ? And, Derry " — rather hesitatingly, " you have an appropriate dress with you, I suppose. There's no need of much of course, and I will secrete you some flowers. ' "No, don't, Ella. I wouldn't wear them. But I won't u'x^raco you, de«r. Do you remember say.ug I did once when I wore the blossor i of a vegetable marrow in my black let? Oh, dear, dear, what trouble I lad to hide tlie clumsy stalk I And do you remember how Pat thought it was a maguitlcent forei<.'n flower and was anxious to know wiio had brought me such an expensive gift ?" " You have improved since then, Derry,'' with loving scrutiny. '' What a consolation ! Do you really mean to say that at last the bloom of my ugliness is wearing off ?" Derry quoted, with a whimsical grimace. " I only asked you about having a dress here," Ella explained, " because I noticed you have such a small box." " I suppose it wouldn't hold your gloves alone, Sambo ?" " Nonsense. But you and father were always two economical ones," smiled the younger girl. '' Yes. Pat and I always had that specialty. When wj were sketching in Devonshire last summer, I so well remember one day when we found an overcharge in our bill. It was a matter of ninepence or so, but our economical minds could not sit down meekly under such unrighteous dealing, and we wont laboriously into the matter, and ha la't wear rou, de>r. did once vegetable )h, dear, hide the remember a<4uiticent s to know expensive ice then, you really ooiu of iny ry quoted, having a because I box." iioid your 'ather were buiiledthe had that sketching , I so well B found an 13 a matter economical selily under id we wont and had it ceed on our ,in and had I at oui and 3 driver live h, but then id 1 I won- L her sisti!r's est to you, reproachful, h a treat to e gloves she down to the ng the time ur to play to her, while she sat and dreamed, and wishing to recall these times to lier sis- ter, she softly played some old familiar airs. But presently, still without open- ing any mu>ic, she fell dreamily into an air Derry did not recognize. Certainly, at the very first she fancied Ella hud been going to play from Schubert's Un- finished Symphony, but she soon found she was wrong. This was new to her, distinctly new, a sadly haunting melody. Again and again Ella played it, sitting lost in thought, it seemed, and even when at last she ceased she did not leave her seat or turn. Coming up to her side, Derry kissed her, hut said nothing, feeling piti- fully that Ella must be suffering. The sisters walked together down the lane to where Mrs. Martin's victoria was being driven slowly up and down wait- ing for Miss Hope, and a glimpse of the dead parrot lying at the coachman s feet ^made Derry's farewell to her sister the more loving in its compassion. " Another caller ?" The unexpected question roused Derry from tiiought as the mill gate was open- ed lor her on her return by Mr. Basset. As she lifted her eyes straight to hia, a curious feeling stirred her heart to its depths, a passionate longing that all the world should know how impossible it was that this man could be guilty of auy real ill feeling toward his murdered cousin. She never forgot with what wild stren<,'th it surged within her at that moment. when so unexpectedly her gaze met his. " I did not see you, Mr. Basset. My sister came to seek her bird. She found it dead." Stevfu did not answer, and it struck her that he was looking ridiculously grave, but even stern, over this intelli- gence. " She feels it very much," Derry added, scarcely knowing why. "I have no doubt. J^xcuse that aber- ration of intellect, Miss Hope, but you came upon me just as I was trying to recall a verse. What is it ? " 'Tears from IMuto's dark dominion Can not now tliy husband lieep; If thoy cou!fl 'tis my opinion Those bright eyes would cease to weep.'" " Of whom were you thinking then," inquired Derry, coldly, " while I was Bpeaking of my sister 7" "Who is to know? It must have been of Mrs. Frayd. She has been si in- ing on my solitude, because she know yours was being shone upon, and she likes things fair between her lodgers. As usual, she expanded into interesting details," he went on, merely it seemed for the sake of speaking, as he and Derry walked up to the house together. •'She related how she had cured her late lamented and intemperate husband of frequenting the public-l)0i;H ; in Dewiinj-. She conceived the woudirful plan of going with or following him there, and calling for a glass of ale every time he ordered one for himself, and drinking it convivially with him too — which he not unnaturally hated to see. At first he expected her soon to tiro of this, but he little knew her if he did. Though she hated it, she assures me that siie stood it better than he did, and would have stuck to it. His anp;er, disgust and shame had no result upon her determina- tion, and he lonnd that the only way to keep her at home would l,e to stay him- sfclt. So he stayed, and from that time, as she puts it, tlioy were a 'a[)py pair. I ventured to lio})e that she and Amos would make another appy pair. Then I confess I have often felt curious as to the style of Mr. Pickett's wooing, having an idea that lovers' rhapsodies would not be much in his Hue, but I had scarcely prepared myself to hfar that Amos never goes so far— so near, I mean— as kissing ' " What nonsense you talk to me !" ex- claimed Derry, disdainfully, though laughing against her will. '• You are afraid of allowing yourself to believe that any woman has common sf nse." " I am afraid of worse than that," he answered, tranquilly. 'I'm afraid of not minding anything about it. I'm afraid of falling so low as to say, " ' Wlmtsoevor faults I see, In my soul still bideth she.' " •' Mr. Bas.set," said Derry, ai)parently too deep m thought to havp followed him, " when you joined me 1 wa feeling acutely how I have failed in what I meant to do. I suppose in ii...s sort of thing girls are failures! I — wish you would help me." Her voice trembled a little, but she had given form at last to her request, and heaved a long sigh of relief. " No," he answered, tersely. ma I 82 A WICKED GIRL. " it is moat unfair to refuse just be- 11 i I " But," she cried, and uukind of you cause — " " Because what ?" " Becauwe you liated Miles." •' Would it prove I had not hated him if I tried to liud his murderer ?" " I— think so." " No ; you do not think so any more than I t!o, to do not asit me," "And now that they have a fresh clew," pursued Derry, with sturdy re- Bohitiou, "it seems so dreadful for nobody beloufriug to him to lollow it up." " What I'resli clew ?" " Oh," she said, lookinj^ quickly round at his change of tone, for she be^^an to think she had been utterlf mistaken in fancying him nef^Ii^^ent about this crime "you kuow. Surely you have he.rd that a woman was seen in the park- that night. The man who saw her was i i Ireland, and he has come across to tell. • " In Ireland when he saw her ?" The tone hud its old careless com- posure again, and Derry's breath quick- ened, for it was disappointing to have to go back to her old belief in his indiffer- ence. " it seems so dreadful to me," she sighed, " that nobody car. s.' " 1 care. What have you found out — yourself, I mean." •' Scarcely anything. Miles had been writing a letter that evening — was writ- ing it when his sister went into his room — iind no letter was found alterward." '' Did Primrose tell you this ?" She had not meant to. She only let it out through things 1 said." " Was the letter to a woman ?'' " Primrose thinks so." " Then it would be to your sister, as Miles was her lover. There could have bteu no other woman for him to write to.' " No," said Derry, while she wondered why his lip8 were so firmly set. " Was any woman jealous of my sister, Mr. Basset?" ; " None, I can swear.' " Yet that woman was seen going into the park. A tall woman." "Miles never did admire tall women," declared Steven, with quiet absurdity. "You will not help then, though your help is so much wanted?" asked Derry, vriUi inteutse earutintuess, for bhe ieit that this must be her final appeal to him. ■' Old Mrs. Basset, the only one who has done anything definite, like offering a reward and employing private detectives, never speaks now." " Then nhe does not ask for my help." " And Primrose seems broken-hearted with this double shadow upon her; one brother killed so cruelly and mysteri- ously, and one keeping away from her in her sorrow. So she shrinks from any allusion to that night." " Then tthf does not require my help," inter[)Osed Steven, with an intent but unnoticed scrutiny of the girl's face, " And my sister can not bear the crime mentioned in her presence." " Then she does not seek my help. No one does, you see, Miss Hope." "I do." " You ? Oh, you have nothing to do with it." "It is cruel of you to say so," she cried, " and I should think — any one would think you would wish it discover- ed. ' " Then any one would be wrong. I'm content to let thmgs be. You would not wish to be cured to-day of your disease if you are to die to-morrow of your phy- sician — I see you don't read Mat Prior, All the better. If I help, it will not be because I care to, but because you wish it. Let me think it over. " ' Whatsoever faults I see—' no, that is not what I want to think over. uive me a little time." As he spoke, he raised his hat and stood aside, while she, looking quite de- termined not to comprehvud him, went into her own room. CHAPTER n. No evening Derry Hope had ever spent had been like this one in the pleasant, homely, country vicarage. Yet it was only a quiet few hours passed with her Hister and the vicar and bis wife and Steven Basset, for to her great surprise, when she and Ella entered the vicarage draw- ing-room, and the gentleman who had been standing on the rug talking with Mr. and Mrs. Carfe turned to greet them, she saw it was Mr. Basset. Many and i<-auy a time was bhe to r«- A WICKED GIRL. 88 peal to nly one te, like private y help. " hearted ler; one aaysteri- m her in :om any ly help," bent bub [ace. ihe crime lelp. No Dg to do BO," slie -any one dibcover- ong. I'm would not ur disease your phy- lat Prior, rill not be ause you ihink over. hat and g quite de- him, went ever spent e pleasant, tit was only h her Hister i,nd Steveu jrise, when irage draw- who had alking with id to greet saet. ,d bbe to re* call that evening, marveling over itn in- teiJHb onjoyuieut to her, and wondering wherein its perfect haiipiness could have lain. Ella was rather quiet, but all ex- cused her, and spared her, and did their best to enter taiu her, while Derry fan- cied that perhaps she also ought to have felt a little low-spirited. But then she could not ; the melancholy feeling would not coiue. To Steven Basset, too, this evening was different from all others he had known. The rooms seemed to him to hold Derry only, while his intercours^e with her was different utterly from their intercourse at Harrack's Her gen- tle, gracious presence had an unutter- able charm for him, perhaps the greater from his knowledge of her in so many different moods. He had felt her iu- divuality, but not this graceful, self-for- getting sympathy ; he had known her to be brightly piquant, but without this pretty easy entering into other lives and interests; he had known her quick and intelligent, but without t'is natural way of showing deeper knou odge and the originality of fresher thought. There was no forced jesting between them now, no careless commonplaces, no half-con- cealed defiance, or inclination to contra- dict; it was so different, yet so simple, and so exactly what he felt he should have expected. Through every tingling nerve Steven felt the wonderful charm 0. her presence, and dreaded losing it. He started directly Miss Hope's car- riage was ordered, intending to reach the foot of Harrack's lane before it. stop there, and walk up with Derry. But Ella detained the brougham so long that, walking in deep tho>^-ht, he at last forgot that he was lisbening for the sound of wheels, and even turned into, and climbed the lane without re- membering. This was such a lovely uight for the thoughtful solitary walk I The stars shone divinely in the wide arch of heaven, and the bare trees were far more beMutifal against the grave and tender blue than they could have looked in all their summer loveliness. If Berry's thoughts were fiew afid sweet that evening, Steven's were more deeply so, though less hard to inJ-T-^'-^f No doubt disturbed them ; no un. 3tMing question. Whfle hers were happy in a vague way which she even did nut wish to analyze, his were, in their gladness, straiglit and clear, and confident. It was no wonder that with such tliougjts as his, the deep, calm beauty of tho night crept into Steven s heart and sat- isfied it. No wonder that in such per- fect peace, no restless, seltish thoughts and nif>an desires could live. And so he crovned this happiest evening which his life hail ever known, with this night of perfect, unuttered, and scarce compre- hended surrender. Surely in the lives of most of us there will come one such hour ai this, when the craving within us is for somet ing higher than we have ever known ; when tho hungering impulse is for a noble deed ; when thought grows pure and rises high ; and when the inevitable pain within us instead of conciuering us, is conquered ; as Steven slowly trod the familiar way, his eyes among the stars, his thoughts were no desecration of the peace, or of the beauty, or the glory of this most perfect night. Only the action of opening the gate at the top of the lane roused him to the consciousness of having gone beyond where he meant to await Derry. In- stantly he turned to retrace his steps, and as he did so, saw that she was close to the gate. He saw too, that in [^pite of the calm tranquillity of the night infolding her, her face was puz- zled and disturbed. •' Why have you changed ?" he asked, scarce aware of the great earnestness with which he spoke, raising his hat as she passed him through the gate he held. " What anxiety has been forced upon you on your way ?" " None," she answered, in prompt loyalty to her sister. " But the old one is never long forj^otten." '* I wish it could be forgotten so long as to be forgotten forever." *' It can not," she said, pausing just within the gate, as if she dreaded .step- ping into the long heavy shadow of the beacon. " No one will help me, no one wishes me to be helped, and all my days are useless." As she stood, with the perplexity still within her lovely eyes, Steven ^ooked longingly down npon her, then he lifted his gaze far into the wide deep blue of heavcu, uuderbtuuuing now what 84 A WICKED GIRL. I I IP ! I! M! new divine emotion stirred him, and — to what. " You have asked for my help," he gently said, '* and I retiu-ted it Since then they have- we have heard of something which seems to make a dis- covery possible. Do you still wiuh my help ?" " You know I do," she answered, look- in<^ strai{{lit into his eyes. And after- ward, hIio remembered how there was not then -as there never had been — the very fainteat shadow of susi)icion, in spite ot all that liad b^en told her of his ill-will toward bis dead coiiHin. " Tben it is yoiirH — for all that I have, or am, is yours,' he said, in quite eur- UestuesH. then he continued, as it there could be no answer to this, " Hut before I strive to discover any- thing lor you — or for myself — let me be quite certain that you wish it." " I always have," she answered, sim- ply. " You know it." " I know it," he said, his words all very calm in the calmness of the night. '' but I do not understand it. I do not think you even do yourself. Would you try to tell me it is fate ? I would like you to consider. Suppose I fouud that that crime had been committed by one 1 was fond of, should you not be sorry you had given me that pain ?" " but that is not possible." "Oh, no. In any case don't look so pained. I was only speaking at ran- dom, and I suppose you fancied I was thinking of my cousins. Did you ? No, I onlv put a supposititious case. We will take just one other. Suppose — if you can suppose such a thing — that you loved me " (the little pause he made was scarcely perceptible) " and then learned that I had done it— Ah 1 you start. That shows me that such a possibility gives you no pleasure. Well, now will you not withdraw your command to me to hunt up this villain?" ♦' Why, I wish it all the more," she said, frankly smiling as if she had never given that horrified start. '* It is be- cause none of these have done it, that the vague, uncleared suspicion is so cruel." " Would you rather find it had been done by one you hate than one you Jlpve?" " It could not be that last," she an< swered, simply. " I will promise you my help," he said, in quite MteadfastneHS, " and now will you, in your turn, make me a ])ro- mise ? Never to let this night quite fade from your memory, and when you remember, to believe that no man you will ever know can give you more than I have given ; not from to-night only — do not tliink so— but from ^.he first time you spoke to me, and on through the happy days that end with this blessed hour. There, I have done wrong to utter even these few words tliat seem 80 cold to me, for tlioy have pained you, as I see. You will forgive uio? They shall be my last, for there will come a time when you will be grateful to me for silence now." The hand he laid on hers was firm as ever, and the low, clear tones never faltered ; yet when her eyes were drawn to his in that long, yearnmg, sor- rowful gaze, a strange thought Hashed across her— that he would look so when he was d}ing. " You forgive me," he said again, not as a question now, but with (juiet assur- ance, and lifting the yielding hand that lay in his he held it at'ainst his breast. All!" with a quick, indrawn breath; " it is agony to me to hear you sigh," " Did I sigh ?" she asked, and even in the moonlight he could see her grow paler. " Hov^ could I sigh when I am happy ?" His face had not been sad, and yet the change that came over it was won- derful to see. Gently he dropped her hand, stood bareheaded for a little space, then turned from her as it afraid to break the spell by another word or glance. H was more than an hour afterward when he wf nt slowly in, not using his latch-key for his own door, but going thoughtfully round to Mrs. Frayd's en- trance, that she might know both her lodgers were within. On the kitchen stairs, in one of her most advancetj and torpid sulks, sat Penkus, huddled in a great black shawl, her shrewd little wizen face glowering over it, while I Steven stood patiently to hear Mrs. Frayd's lengthened recital of the chik.'d i deliuauencies. Th^n he stooped, took] A WICKED GIRL. 85 at," abe an- r help," he , " and now e rue a pro- night quite 3d when you no man you lu nioro than niRht only— •,he first time t\>rouj;h the thiH blesaed ne wrons to liH tliat Heom e pained you, 3 uio? They :e will come a ratetul to me in hers was w, clear tones her eyes were ycaruiug, sor- lou-^ht Hashed I look 80 when said again, not th (luiet assur- liiig hand that inst his breast, drawn breath; ir you sigh." iked, and even I see her grow gh when I am n sad, and yet ver it was won- le dropped her i for a little her as it afraid nother word or the little creature in his arms and car* ried her upstairs. Ho was out of sight of Mrs. Frayd, when he put Iter down at the top, and before he turned away, he took tlio clean little sullen face in his hands, ami, in spite of its baleful expression^ kissed it. " One must," he smiled to his own sad heart, " kiss some one." 1, PART V. hour afterward not using his door, but going yira. Frayd's en- know both her On the kitchen )8t advauceti and IS, huddled in a ir shrewd little over it, while to hear Mrs. ital of the chili.'J 16 stooped, took CHAPTER I. On Ihe night following the quiet little diunerparty at the Dewring Vicarage, tliu biiliard-room at the Athuliug Arms (tlie coity old hotel in the centre of the Tliawtou High Street) had its usual complement of players, and, it being a .ojld wet night, rather more than its usual complement of idlers. On the bare wall opposite the tire-place a I printed bill was nailed, and in a thick, unsteady voice Stcvuu Basset read the I first two lines aloud — MURDER. £.'100 Reward. •• Two hundred pounds reward," he repeated. "That would pay a man's lohses — ' Halting sucidenly, he turned Jialf round to a very young man near lim, who had been speaking. " Rest jtroke in the room, are you, Blaker ? jet's see. I'm the worst, and I will tive you fifty. Are you on ?" " Oh, I m game ; but I've a considera- |ion for you ; and I advise you not to renture to-night," Blaker said, in a •atroniziug tone, which as he had never fel'ore ventured to assume it to Steven Jasset, struck agreeably on his own ear. " This is the very night, my son, ' re- irned Steven. ** After another bottle two, I'm your man. Something hps 3en the matter with my cue to-night, lit I'm all right now. Prudden, if you Me, I'll give you the eighty you once fered me, and a hundred to the back thiit, and yet beat you." I An irrepressible laugh ran ronnd the room, for Steven Basset was known to be no billiard-player — even in his own conceit — and wascbailengiiig (and olTor- ing grace to) the crack player of the county. " Don't be a fool," muttore^ Prudden, witliout joining in the laugh. " Basset's iiead wasn't moulded for a champagne-cup, eh, Glenmurray ?" one of the men near the door asked a gen- tleman who entererl tliat moment — a middle ageil artillery otliocr of (juiot bearing, who paused, looking gravely into the room. " Do you mean to tell me," he in- (]Uired, in a pained, low voice, " that Basset is— has been drinking '<•" "Self-evident," lauglied the other, " but there's nothing to took so glum about in a fellow gett'ug screwed, how- ever unusual with him " " This is a hateful sight to me,*' said Cajit. Glenmurray, still ga/.ing incredu- lously across at Steven, and still hesi- tating to advance. " VVhy, man alive, you've seen plenty of fellows more thoroughly drunk than Uasset is !" " But none so thoroughly changed. Ah I say, this is a hateful sight to me. What can have possessed him ?" ** Varied potations have possessed him, there's no doubt about that. I bet he will have fallen asleep within half an hour. He's nearly asleep now for all his restless swagger." Before the speech was at an end his listener had passed on. " Should you have guessed Glenmur- ray was such a soft old chap ?" " Never. He looks hard enough — the grizzly bear." Steven Basset was feebly balancing his cue, when Glenmurray came up and spoke to him. As he listened, he waved it in the air, seating liimself awkwardly upon the table. " I say, Blaker," he shouted, almost before Glenmurray was silent, " could you wait for our game till I've fought Glenmurray for preach- ing soberness to mo ? To me — good Lord I ' " To night," observed Glenmurray, coldly, " I would not even fight vou., Basset" " And to-morrow yon may wish you had fought me while you could." •'Poasibly.' 8G A WICKED GIRL. •• Then bIiuU we strike out ?" "I am leaving', ' 8ai(i Uk-ninurray, iu a grave and auxioim way. " Lbt inu drive you, liaytiet, as far an my way lieu with yourH." '* No, thunkn, I have a hed liere for tonight when I'm reaHy f<»r it -but I have to lick all these feilowf* first. " Thont^ii (apt. (Uonniurray lifld nnid he was leaviug, he 8ta^ ed on as if ho could not bi^ar to leave the man be cared for in this unusual stiito. '•I dt'clar*', 1 uover bororo saw Basset in the slightcHt decree atlectcd by wiue — did you, (jlcinnnrray ?" inquired a Boleum-lookinq young fellow, who had bien for a loug time silently observant. " I always considered him so mentally robust. It won't do to feel sure of any one. Why, he must have been at it half the day, more or less, I should think." •' I say, Basset," said Blnkcr, his young excited voice filling the room, " I went up t;) Harrack's this afternoon to see you, and they told me you hadn't been seen since early morning. Where have you been all day '?" " I forget," said Steven, stupidly. " Touch up your memory, man. we want to hear about this mysterious woman who was seen to enter your Cousin's park just before he was mur- dered. I heard that poor old Mrs. Bas- set sent to summon you to the Tower and you were not to bo found." " I'll go now," said Steven, coming up to the fire with spasmodic liveliness. Then he leaned against the mantel piece, his drowsy eyes fixed upon the bill opposite. " That's right Come along," put in Glenmurray, desirous on any pretext of getting his friend away from the.e. " No, I won't go to-night. Let a man rest in x)eace, Glenmurray — is it Glen- murray, though ? Which of you is it? How confouniiedly alike you all look to- night ! ^I'll tell you, fellows, what it isi. I esteeni my great-aunt immensely, 'out I rion't — when I can help it — run the blockade of her keen old eyes. You vouldn't if you knew as much as I know about that night. Why, sometimes I feel as if she looked right through me, and saw that I could explain everything nbout that murder. She's paying away \iit money to those idiotic criminal in- vestigators, as she calls 'em, to find out what there s no man in the worid knows about except myself." , •' You know ?" Only one man pave voice to the excla- mation ; but it interpreted every mau'» astonishment. Stevea made a change in his attitude so uusttadily as to reel agiiiii( as Glen- murray is with liasset. I don't suppose ho will to-morrow be aware of what he has divulged to nighty and ho will be as safe bore as in jail.*' " I shall see to that," asserted Denyer, harshly, *' if no one else does. Not that I'm snob ouough to claim the reward, but ril see justice done if on!v for the sake of Miles Basset's old grandi.iother." *' Or sister, say,'* was the retort with a laugh that was a sneet. Capt. Glenmurray was reading hia paper in the coffee-room of the Atheling Arms next morning, waiting breakfast for Steveu Basset, when a well dressed, middle-aged tuan entered and ordered breakfast for himself at the adjoining table. Glenmurray did not notice him, being to all appearance engrossed in his newsiiaper, but any one who had known the officer well, would have detected that even if he read at all, hia mind did not follow what he read. " Shall I send up to Mr. Basset's room, sir ?" inquired the waiter, with a mean- ing glance at the clock, for already the brc akfast was an hour and a half behind time. " Do," said Captain Glenmurray, with- out looking up from his " Times. ' It was not many minutes before the man returned to say Mr Basset's room was empty. The captain looked sharply up with a sust)icious, penetrating glance, but his neighbor went on cutting big toast into lingers. " Some lazy chambermaid has told you that lie. Mr. Basset is not likely to forget an appointment with me.' *' Nor usually, sir," the waiter allowed, with strict regard to justice. "But do you consider ivlr. Basset to have been quite as usual last night, sir ?" " Folly about his haviug gone !" reit- erated the captain, showing little vari- ety of language in his impatience. "An idiot of a chambermaid has been at the wrong door. Go yourself." On the man's departure. Captain Glen- murray's neighbor, using his »erviene slowly, glanced across and saw that the officer was preocrupied and ill at ease ; then he looked from the window. Y'es, it was all right. A little way up the dull High Street a young man was S8 A WrOKED GIRL. lonnRiug on the step of tho tailor's shop, hJH attitude mdoleut but his 03-68 alert us he talked with the master tailor himself, who occupied the greater part of every working-day on his own door-step. Low- er down the street a laboring-man stood at the bar entrance to a little old-fash- ioned public house, whistling, with his hands in his pockets. Yes, it was all right ; Mr. Basset could not have passed either way unfoUowed, even if the older detective within could have been so overacting '»io part as to have failed to cover hi? escape. •'It's quite true, sir," affirmed the waiter, returning with a fussy air. •' Mr. Basset must have left before any of us were down." " Then are your doors on the latch all night ?" " No, sir. It's ray work to unbolt and unchain the 'all door, hut 1 so often bud the master's been before me and done it 'iraself, that I take no notice when I don't find it fast, like I did this morn- ing." "At what time ?" " Just before six. We're always open by six, because gentlonien otten drive in lor the 0:45 up, and like a cup of coffee or anything, or they'll leave their 'orses 'ere if they're coming back. Yes, we're al- ways open and busy by six." " Then Mr. Basset must have left be- fore that hour ?'" " Not a doubt of it, sir. And one can't tell how long before tliathour. He could not have left after without being seen by some of us." The quiet-mannered man at the sec- ond table had risen, and buttoning his coat as he went, nodded to the waiter (for he had a running account at the Atheling Arms) and left the coffee- room. " Call out my man, and dog-cart," said Captain Gleumurray, " and bring me some coffee — no, tea, and anything yon have ready. Don't keep me a minute." " Captain Glenmurray " — Mr. Beves, the proprietor of the Atheliug Arms, had como up the captain's table to address him —"I regret exceedingly that this lias occurred here and just at thiS' junc- ture. Mr. Basset appears to have been in a state of intoxication last night, and to have made a very startling announce- ment. This extraordinary departure— I may even call it escape — will couiirm this into confession " •' Excuse me, Beves, I am in great liaste. I've only two minutes to break- fast in, having an appointment. The ravings of a drunken man never did have any meaning in my ears." •' But, sir, so many circumstances ihat were mysterious about this mur- der seem explained, as it were, by this." •' I really am sick of the very mention of that affair at the Tower, Kindly hurry round my man, will you ?" " 'f hat gentieman who breakfasted near you," said Mr. Beves, in a lower key, before he departed, " is from Scot- land Yard, Captam Glenraurray, and he has ordered a conveyance for Harrack's Beacon. Tliev tell me, too, that my house has been watched since day- break." *' And I don't suppose you mind a bit about that," rejoined Gleumurray, care- lessly. '* No nmrderer would choose your respectable hotel for a hiding-place.' "I believe you're right, captain," said the landlord, with a lively burst of con- fidence. But he won no further remark. Captain Gleumurray drove down the High Street at a leisurely pace, but as soon as the little town was left behind, he cut his fresh young thorough-bred, and the high, hghi ^->g cart rolled deetly along the level road to Dowriug Yet when it turned in to the ascent to Harrack's, the gentleman from Scotland Yard was not a mile behind it. Up the steep, rugged lane, Gleumurray did not spare his horse, but before reaching the gate he stopped. '* I will walk from here, James," he said. *' Draw up the cart across tho lane, and if any one drives upbehiuc'. take as much time as you can he falselioo I t-iat rouhed my HUi^piciuu. If he couli 40 A WTC vED GIRL. not {jive a trutli'nlreasou why be wanted tUe pony, wliy should he have it?" "And, Miss '0[)e," gasped her land- lady, ' there he f»oc8 driving ott, and his borseiHuo uorelanjethan— you are. And Le'8 lett hiH niau prowhug here, and ua. only women !** " VVlieu Amos comes iu^ of course I must have a drive, so you will let me know," SHiii Derry, and befjan at once to write a letter so that Mrs. Frayd had no opeuiug for lurthei discourse. Yet the letter must have been very unimportaut* for uoc three hues baa been wrilteu when, at two o'clock, she bad grown so unaccountably nervous, though yet un- willing loa-kuowledge it even to herself, that she nlipped out of the bouse au'i went to the mill-gate. From there she could Hie Mrs. Frayd talking excitedly up to Captain Gleumurray in bis doij- cart, aud I'eeliug still more uneasy the re-entertd her room, aud waited uutil across the mill-yard she caught sight ot Amos on his way to the stable. Siie ran out to him, grateful for tlte opportuuity. " I will have the carriage after dinner, Amos. Never mind it now," she said, relieved e ven to hear her own voice. "You Lave been uwiiy all murniug, so you must want your dinner. Did that man find Mr. Basset ?" " No, miss Nobody won't ever find Mas'er Basset agiu." "What — do you mean ?" " He wur took with cramp in the water, miss, and drowuded.'' " iou are — who told you that ?" " 1 ain't no ueea to depend on what any folk tell me,"' complained Amos, gloomily. "I know. There was bis clo's laid in that holler on the shingle, and Fit/ was a sittiu'on 'em, giirdiu"em, and awaitiu' for his mas'et as'U never come back no mare.'* " Amos, are you mad ?•' cried tbe girl, her tones rising with such a^ouy that tbe dense old man took it for crossness, aud tuiuod sulkily away. " Then you may ask Mrs. Frayd. She ain't mad." " No I no i I wont ask Mrs. Ftayd. You tell me. I am sorry I vexed you, Amos, very sorry,'' tbe girl siid, with generous compunction. "■ Who was there?" " Cap'n Olenmnrray wur there, and the gent that hud that old black cob ot Beeves's.and Mas'er Katchell come dow n trom his farm, but there warn't no heiu* onsartin 'bout it, with his tow'l there, and Fitz a-sittin* on his clo's, tlio very clo's he had on when he went down this mornin', when I towld *im it ud bo his death— and it wur I That theer strange gent be made out as if Mas'ei- Basset had carried other clo's when Iih went to bathe, and I said, 'No,' and whouted ' No ' at him, but be didn't take no heed, nor seem to keer, till Katchetl said as 'ow be' met Mas'er Basset in his lane, a-swingin' along to bathe, with b.a dog and his tow'l, and bai^n't carried notiiin' else. So then he didn't ask no more ** " And - tell me more. What did tbey say theu ?" " Cap'n Glenmnrray he saw! as 'ow 'twnr cramp, and no wonder. Res be, on such a mornin', and that he mun have sunk. Yes— yes— yes, sure.** Tbe old man's wizen face wriulbd suspiciously as be looked sharply iuio the girl's beautiful eyes. " I know'd you'd \-eer. I towld Mr». Frayd so, as you wor lodgers here to- gether." " Lodgers liere together f* That was all, though tbe giirl's heart was throbbiug with a paia almost unbearable. In |M)8itive dread of encountering Mrs. Frayd she took her cloak aud hastened out upon the downs, only when t'.ie dark- ness gathered, returning to her room, exhausted by fatigue and bun;:;eir. /ind no one, through all her life, ever km w what those hours had been tf< her, in tl.e sorrow which had so much of per- p.exity in it, and the fear which bad a I vagne, intangible hope. Mrs. Frayd, with red and swollen eye- lids, was yet equal to detail and reitcra- I tion over ifelating tbe story which had ! now climbed to Harrnck's Beacon, but; [even then, Derry, sitting dry eyed to i listen, felt she could not grasp the full I horror of it. Steven Basset had, while intoxicated in the billiard-room at the Atheling Arms, coufessed to having been his cousin'* murderer; bad in the darkness stolcu I away from the ))otel before tbe police begau to watch it ; bad returned to Har- racks in the d irk, and left it earlv ii> tbe morning to bathe; had been sei/el ^xth cramp im the vates, and mudli A WICKED GIRL. 41 me down I no beiu' /'I there. Id's, tli© ent down ifc ud ho at tbeer if Mas'e-i- when liH No,' antl dn't take Katchell 3et in tiis , with h;s fe carrie<^ "t aak DO 1 did tbey td as 'ow se» h«, OM Btia have wriul 1( d irply iuio >wld BIrw. s here to- That was tbrubbiu^ erinff Mrs. hastened 1 t^.ie dark- her room, 3,er. HuH iver kiifw U> her, in ?h of j)er- ioh Lad a rolTe» e5-e- id reitora- which ha<1 ?acoB, bub ry eyed to sp the full ntoxicated jHdr Arms, is consin'H less stnlcu the polio© led to Har- it earlv ii> )een sei/e i and luuuitt have bef^n inatantly drowned. No doul t wascabt on any portion of the story Mrs. Frayd related, but ia the truth of what Steveu had confessed, Derry never f< r one moment bad the verj faintest belief. Mrs. ]^ray even worse than ever since that dreadful confession of Steven's. It has been a great trial to me.*' " You beliewe it, then ?" "Believe it, dear? What do you mean '>" " I dou't know," said Dorry, pus in * the beautiful hair from her forehead as if its weight oppressed her " What is the matter ?" Ella question- ed, gazing at her sister. " Is tnere any reason for you not believing Steven's own words ?■• " Sambo, you must forgive me, though I can not forgive myself, i am mad with myself because I — can not believe it* " Not believe what he said himself?" " No ! Nol Not a word of it." " But, Derry dearest, are you mad ?" " Yes— I think so." " Would you say of the dead that he had lied ?" " Yes, I would sixy that he had lied a thousand times, rather thau that he had done that." " Then why should ha say he had ?" inquired Ella, plaintively. " I don't know. Don't ask rre. I can not think now. I believe I have lost the power of thinkin<;« I am trying to get it back; I sit here all day, and try and try and try all night, but— ifc will nob com Sometimes I think it is because I tried, too much wheu I came here first. Sumti. 42 A WICKED G Rti. times I tliiuk this shock has takeu it away. But," with Hudden bravery kisa- ing Ella's moiirDfully drawu lijis, " I did not mean to vex you. I am so an<)ry with myself, while— while I only ouylittobe sorry for you. Oh, Sambo, my darling, I /«hs7 be sorry for I understand. When you lost Miles, was it not- awful ?" "Don't speak of it," sighed Ella. " Do you wonder that my life is wreck- ed ?" "Is it? I mean, Ella." (Derry's breath came quickly as she stood look ing with puzzled wistfulness down into her sister's face), "no one can help be- lieving or disbelieving things, for people can't vuihe themselves believe or disbe- lieve things, can they ? I want to feel how different it is. If you really be- lieve what we have heard, you are very noble not to utter a word against him, especially here, for (his was, in a way, his home. May 1 thank you ?" •• You mean Steven ? I was very, very sorry, Derry. I should have done all in my power to prevent his being imprisoned, if he had not met bo sad a fate— for we need not surely credit that he put an end to his own existence. I could have done something surely, for if / do not wish to avenge my lover's death, no one else need." " I— I am senseless, and miserable, and ill-tempered," cried Derry, sudden- ly turning away and pacing the room. " I can scarcely follow yen. It is like a horrible mist even in this room. Oh, Sambo, I am a wretch to !^^ -^"r kind words chafe me. Try to be patient with me for a little while." "1 will come again," said Ella, with a gentle sigh. " 1 see it will be better for me to go now, dear." " What has come to me ?" cried Derry, starting back a moment to look dazedly into her sister's sad face. "Am I grow- ing—cruel. Sambo? Have I let you ilnuk it is nota dehght to me to have you with me ? Oh I forgive me, my dear I" " I here's nothing to forgive," said the younger sister. " We all must be a little out of temper occasionally, and you are never cruel — never wjre, except when you used to talk to me of Miles Derry " (after a thoughtful pause), "yon little thought how nenr von wore to the dis covery you sought, did you? Even I never guessed, though I thought— you see " (forbearing other words), "I knew Low Steven hated Miles." "Everybody hated Miles," cried Derry, in a burst of uncontrollable passion. " I'm sure he was a seltish, violent, heartless— Oh, Ella, Ella " (with agaiu the passionate contrition and prompt self-reproach), "don't forgive me this time. Let me suffer. I don't deserve vonr sweet forbearance. Go away, I am not tit to bo witli you." JUut when Ella, thinking it wisest, turnetl to leave the room, Derry stood before her. and seizing both her hands in a tight, long clasp, bent and kissed her on the lips, without a word Mrs. Frayd had so long listened vain- ly for any sound from her yonng lodger's parlor, that when two hours had passed .since she watched Miss Hope drive away, .she got so uneasy that she would have invented an errand into the room, had not a welcome one just then presented itself. In tlie dusk of the February evening, she caught sight of Miss Bas- set, attended by the old butler from the Tower, walking across the 8loi)e of the ifowus, taking the short way from the Tower to the Beacon. With genuiue delight, Mrs. Frayd hastened to meet her, and to take her straight into Derry's room. Then, while she entertained the old butler in her own premises -with much speaking and plenty of home- brewed ale, she busily preparerett/V laugliter ; and yet the moment her sister had left her, Derry desjnstd herself for her own misgivings, and for that passionless, spiritless feeling which wasso new to her. " Something must be done," she cried, iu her thoughts one morning us she rose wearily to begin another day. '* Surely nothing is so hard to bear as one's own cruel suspicion. This change in me is terrible." And it chanced to be that very morn- ing that Ella sent Sarah Eales up to Hariack's with a message. " Sarah," said the girl, plunging at once into what she had determined to say, " sit there and listen to me. Lis- ten with all your memory alive, and tell me whether you have ever heard this be- fore." Slowly and heavily (at finit her fin- ger:^ refutsing to make any notes at all| A WICKED GinL. 45 aud seomiD^ even to the end unwilling) Derry played the air she had played to Priimose Basset. " Have you ever heard it, Sarah ? You used to be a pretty sinoer and pick uj) every tune you heard. Do you recall that ?" " Why, MissDerry?" " Oh " (almost calirily, as her hands rested in her lap), " because I ana curi- ous to know where 1 have heard it. You have, Sarah ?" " Yes, often," " Where ?" "At home, of course, Miss Deir^. I go nowhere else now, except here." " Then Mrs. Martin plays it, or one of the servants has 8unt{ it. That's it, isn't it, Sarah '<"' " No, Mis-j Ella plays it. No one else. Miss Derry " — rather timidly, after a louf» silence — " aren't you well ?" " Yes," said Derry, rising slowly. •' I forgot you, Sarah. I am very sorry. Go now." " ^nd have you no message ?" •• No." From that morning there came an- other change in Derry 's manner to her bis'.er. Not only did she no longer shun her, but she sought her everywhere ; met her where she could ; clung to her, seemed to watch her as a troubled mother watches a sick child ; stead- fastly protecting, passionately tender, always pitiful and upholding. Aud this utter cJiauge which Derry shrunk Irom analyzing had a strange effect on her sister. Ella grew nervous and irritable, chafing under her sis- ter's sad yet tender gaze, until at last Mrs. Martin, seeiug tears so often in her pet's i)retty eyes, (leclared she must take her to town, lor that her sister's worry- ing presence, following on her great sor- row, was killing her. Ella had tears again in her eyes when she had re- ported her aunt's decision to Derry, but Derry read an indescribable relief beneath the plaintive regret. " No," she said, standing back when Ella proffered a farewell kiss, " you are uo^ oiug away for days yet. I will not Bi J good-bye till — the last minute. so terribly !) " You should too, dear. Oh, how I wiah not quite so eccentric 1" go away, you were "I think, Derry," said kindly, " you, too, look (Look rather ill ! with the in her brain, aud brighteuin<> her sister, rather ill" lire burning her eyes CHAPTER II, " Shk's been out since early morning, Miss BasKet. I warrant she's wander- ing about the Dewring woods, for noth- ing else fits her lately. 1 wish she'd more company. I never in my life saw any one altered like her, never, though she dofs try dreadful to be cheery with me, like she used, and Amos says the same ; and there's that child Penkus forever crying, just because she sees the lady cry, and I never did find the little imp ready to cry for herseh, how- ever wrong-doing." In the fiiBb pause of Mrs Frayd's, Primrose Bussett inquired which way Mi-ss Hope generally walked home from the woods, aud after receiving Tolul)ie directions, started to meet Derry. She came upon her unexpectedly, just with- in the little grove of tira above Harrack's where she had stood to talk with Steven on his first day in Dewring. *' 1 wish you had called for me to go with you," said Primrose, after her greeting, noticing how solitary the girl looked. "I would have loved a moin- iug in the woods with you, and would have brought you home in better time than this." *' J believe that I did hope to find you on my way," returned Derry. " I get ^o sick of myself. Wasn't it the Duchess of Marlborough who was sick of herself for very selfishness ? I'm like her. 1 came home on purpose past your moat. See, I gathered this little yellow wall- Hower there, and stood for long to listen to the rooks. They were not so buHily argumentative as when we listened last. Primrose. I suppose they have got all their arrangements about eligible sites and building leases off their minds. I counted ten nests in one elm. There they go homel How punctual they always are." ^ •' Derry, have you had anything to eat since you started?" " Oh, yes, Mrs. Frayd always makes me take sandwiches." " Then it is a custom of yours to go ■ K- 4G A WICKED GIRL. ofT in this way ? How glad I am that KUa iareturuiijg." MiHH BasHet bad been looking into ber couipaniou's face aud so could uot help Imt see that ber words wore a Hiirprise to EUa'a sister. lustiuctively sbe ({biuced awny uow, and Hpoke with a detDOUstrative unconcera. " My uews, of courwe, is only second liaud. You will be tbe first to bear direct." " Ella has told me uotbing," Baid Derry, heavily. •' Nor me," Primrose hastened to add " 1 have only my own news, that Oliver will be here to night. I have to say to myself over aud over and over, that Oliver is coming, else I should never realize it Id time to be prepared to meet Lim." " But you said Ella was returning. Has sbe v-ritten to you ?" " Oh, no, Oliver told me." " How strange!" " No," said Miss Basset, in a slow way, "for Oliver is — has been accepted by your sister. They are engaged." " What? Ob, I didn't moan to start e 30U, Primrose. I might have under- stood," said Derry, looking straight be- fore her with a terrible blauknessinher eyes.. " I might have guessed, I sup pose." "Even Iii3ver did," returned Prim- rose, in the same difiideut way, " aud yet I kuew they were continually meet- i'lg, for Oliver has constantly written to me since — Steven's death, when he first thought of coming home. But if I Lad even guessed he desired it, I should never have felt be would be able to pre- vail upon Ella to— forget Miles. I am glad, for Oliver's sake. You will be glad, Derry '?" wistfully interrogative. " But — oh, how ill you look ! I wish you would go home. It is plain to me that staying here is not good for you. You miss your lather and your work, and everything belocgiug to the life you love. I can not bear to see you so. To nie, no wonder this winter has been so terrible, but for you, it isn't right. You can surely now — " " Now," said Derry, with a long, in- draMltn breath, " if it killed me I must Ptay. Primrose, you asked me yester- day if I would try and feel to you as a piste r. If so, I must take your brother for mine. I must," (pauiiiugly) " take Oliver for mv wisii what yr " It wouk' Basset decj '. Do you still .<"' .ielight to me," Miss with shining eyes. " Aud uow, more oven than I thought it would be when I asked you, Derry, for then I did not know that my brother, on his return, would have some one dear* er to him than I can ever be again." '•Nor I that Ella— How glad I am," with a short, unmirtbful laugh, " to see this ugly mill agaiu t Do come in with me. Primrose. I — I suppose I have tired myself more than I thought. Yet really the woods were beautiful. You should have seen how fresh and young the bright wood sorrel looks among the dry leaves of last year, and I found some violets. 1 did indeed. Ob, don't go, you must come in and have tea with me," "Yes," Primrose answered, in her quiet way. " 1 want to ask you how you like my brother Oliver. 1 really believe that if you could have helped it you would never eveu have told me you iiad met him. Tell me, Derry, did you like him ?" "You will see," Derry said holding open the glass-door ; buc ber companion saw, before passing through, the Hash of lire in her eyes, and the deepening of the delicate color in her cheeks. " But please, ' Derry continued, easily, as she followed, " we will now drop everybody except our own two selves, and h§ye a dear little cozy old maid's teac I like being an old maid, Primrose. Do you think any destiny in the world is so free from worry as an old maid's ?" Next evening a little note reached Derry, informing her of her sister's arrival at the Pines, but no answer was returned, and after waiting two days in vain for a letter or a vi^it, Ella, sur-^ prised but not anxious, walked up to Harrack's. Derry was standing at the piano with her back to the door when Ella entered the room, and tbe jounger sister paused in silence, as if deii^iii- i'ully anticipating Derry's start of loving astonishment on turning to diarover her. But Derry did not turn, and goElia Uad to make her presence felt by ^uing up ani kissing her. 1( A WICKED GIRL. 47 " 1 thouf^ht you would bo glad to see nje," she be<»au, plaiutively. " I thought 8o, I hoped bo," faltered Derry : " but I am afraid of myself— of what 1 might say." " Say nothing, dear," advised Ella iu hpr gentle way ; " especially if it would be on that old sad topic." And Derry obeyeu her and said no- thing, though anguished thoughts were surging to her lips, while Ella told her tale, with the old pathetic cadence in her chill, sweet voice, hhe spoke of the great loneliness of her life since she had lost Miles; of how, while in London, his brother Oliver had tried to take his place and to cheer her, and was so like her own lover, that she had gradually grown to feel almost that it w s he. Of how Oliver was fond of her, and at last had won her promise to be his wife. Of how her aunt Crystal rejoiced, as she had always wished her to reign at the ^ Tower, and how she was quite sure that Derry would rejoice too. When Ella ceased speaking there was an odd silence in the room. More than once Derry tried to break it, but the words would not come, and when Ella, not un- naturally resenting this curious behav- ior, rose to go, the elder sister rose too, and putting her hands behind her to lean against the arm of the couch from which she had risen, looked into her sister's face, with a look Ella did not even try to understand— so full the gaze was of love, of pity and of horror. " Ella, is it a dream that you would marrv Miles's brother? Oh, how you will nil my heart with thankfulness if you tell me that this is a dream !" " Why should it be a dream ? You have no right to say that sort of thing, Derry, about your— thankfulness." A sudden tire blazed in Derry'a eyes, as she forcibly put away one thought and seized another. Her whole attitude as well as expression seemed chanj;ed, though she had not moved. " You can not know Oliver Basset, Ella. He is — he admires every girl— many girls, I mean, and he can not really love - Oh I Ella, you will change. You will not do this ?" " Oliver cares for me. It is nothing against him if he has cared for other girls before. He will not again." " He cares for your fortune," correct- ed Derry, every word an effort to her. " Only that. He knows you are Mrs. Martin's heiress. He knows you will be rich. Ho courts your fortune." "This is not like you, Derry," ob- served Ella, in genuine astonishnunt. " How can you even pretend to know thesi! things '?" '• I know Oliver Basset.'' "I recollect now that yon told me so," rejoined the younger sister, rather pointedly, " though I fancied you mu t have been mistaken when I found that he himself never mentnned having met you." " Does not that prove what I say ? Would not it have been more honorable to have told ?" inquired Derry. Her strange, cold manner would have re- vealed to Kome that she was forcing these reasons, but it did not to her sis- ter. •* He did me the honor, Ella, to pretend he cared for my favor above that of any other woman in the world." " Then that explains your odd idea. Jealousy is always unjust. But I can forgive it, Derry, it is so natural. But on which plea " (with a smile) " am I to dismiss Oliver ? For his dishonor in not telling me he had flirted with my sister among others ? For his general heartlessness in having flirted with a hundred others ? Or for his mercenary motives in finally choosing me, not to flirt with, but to woo in earnest ?" " On any, on all," panted Derry, " so that you dismiss him. Oh, Ella, let me implore you to do this I" " You are cruel," said Ella, tears of real alarm gathering in her eyes. " What right have you to say that Oliver wants only my fortune?" "May I prove him ? May I ?" queried Derry, eagerly. " You may try," with a laugh. " If I can prove it — if I can show yon that he admires another woman more, will you be convinced ?" cried Derry, feverishly. " Will you reject him then ?" " I know the feeling girls have when a rich one is engaged," observed Ella, patiently. " They never think it pos- sible that she is loved for herself. Now I must go." Once more Derry, in piteous earnest- ness, and now with tender, loving words, entreated her to break o£f her eugage>j I 48 A WICKED GIRL. ment with Oliver Basset, hut even while bhe pleaded, Hhe kuuw Klla would not cousent. She even knew it was not natural to expect it. " There is ouly one way," she cried to herself, wearily, when she was left alone. " There is only one thin>' I can do." But apparently she shrunk most of all from this one tiling she could do, for a^ain she had sou<{ht Ella, and pleaded t ) her, before that miserable ni^^lit when she had to give up all hope, and to form that determination from which she had bhruuk with such abhorrence. She watched the wakeful ni^ht dawn into a fair spring raorniufj, and rose very pale and very sad, but with this ne\V resolve strong and steadfast in her heart. She had promised to f^o soon and see Prim- lose Basset, and she would go that very morning. bhe made her way so slowly along the green slope of the downs that any one seeing her would have thought that she was idling away the fresh morning hours rathev than currying out a determina- tion so hardly fought over. "It will seem more friendly to go early," she said to herself, pausing in the tir grove and addressing Steven Bas- set's dachshund, who generally followed her in an indifferent manner, while he constantly seemed to be watching and waiting for his master. •' You must not come, Fit:^, because you always argue with JesR, and — " but she did not finish that reason even in her thoughts ; her new resolution would bre ikdown utterly it she permitted herself to remember anything Steven had told her. She nmst no longer let her thoughts touch him. The heavy arched door of the Tower stood wiile open when she reached it, and she heard voices in the hall before she had seen that her sister and Oliver Basset were there. When she entered with her light, free step, and the sun- shine lingering in her lovely hair, they little guessed how painfully her heart was throbbing, or that the delicate blush was born of loathing for herself. " Mr. Oliver Basset, Derry. My elder sister, Oliver." Ella went as formallv through the in- troduction as if she had never been told that those two bad met before. Oliver bowed, his features a little stiff, but a suspicious duskiness mounting slowly to bis hair, but Derry heli out her hand, the ))retty, capable hand that he had watched at its busy tasks. •' We are not strangers," she explain- ed. " Mr. Basset has spent many an hour with dad in the studio at home, and has often bestowed on me valuable criticism— and still more valuable bas- kets of strawberries. We once even managed the cream, didn't we, Mr. BassHt ?" ** You sent me for it." PUla glanced from one to the other in almost pathetic surprise. Oliver had never spoken to her of these visits, yet he was looking delighted to hear them spoken of now. Derry had shown a prompt disdain when Oliver's name had been mentioned to her, yet she was re- calling his presence in her father's studio as if it had brought happiness to her. And Ella was to be further surprised I Oliver had been lounging against the old oak table, teasing Jess with his whip while they waited for Primrose ; now ho was alert and brisk, his whole form, as well as bis face, seeming full of eager desire. " Oliver was just going to drive Prim- rose and me to Arundel and round the park, and then to put up and stroll by the lake," Ella explained; "knowing I should like it, be came early to fetch me.'' " Primrose is going, you say ?'' queried Derry, longing for Miss Basset's advent. "Yes, dear." " Then," looking straight into Oliver i Basset's eyes, which were fixed upon her with undisguised solicitation, " will you take me too ?" It gave Derry no surprise to see her sister blush over this outspoken request, for she knew she should have done so in Ella's place, and how could Ella under- stand that it had been hard to her when she had seemed to ask it with such ease ? Ella scrutinized her lover's face to see i how he received this demonstration of her sister's forwardness, and she saw that he must be annoyed, for he at once turned away and went to the door ; bub then he had heard the wheels. Just then Miss Basset came in ready to start, and her delight at finding sh» was to have Derry with her (fur she naturally A WICKED GIRL. 40 supposed they two would be thrown to- ^> tlier) wau recoiupeose eDOugh to Derry fur th.e huDiiliatiou she had itupoHed upon herHelf. It waa a small li^ht wagonette which Oliver had elected to driv«, aud wheu he had assiHted Mit-s Hope an 1 his sister to their seats witliiu it, Ella made a shy feint of following them. " Will you not sit in front with me, as yesterday ?' he asked, and she blushed a pretty assent. To Ella's surprise, the party never fell into couples. Primrose had, in her thoughtful way, tiUen the seat behind Oliver that the sisters might be near «ach other, and every time Oliver spoke to Ella, he had turned enough to include Derry in all he had to say ; he even looked sulky when he found Derry aud his sister chatting independently. Some- times he even turued ouly to address Derry, or to listen to her, for after the first mile or two the road was new to her, aud she had pleasant fresh rema^'ks to make, and had to tell him of her modest little drives with Amo^, and how he waa invariably seized with alarm when they approached a gate lest she should be too terrified to 'old the '• rse. " And 1 feel quite sure," commented Ella, '* you scare hitn more by pretend- ing to be m a panic." It was a beautiful day, and a beauti- ful drive, and when Primrose Basset said the way to Arundel bad never seemed so short before, and looked lovingly at Oliver, feeling that it was his restoied presence which had made it so for her, she found he had looked away from all his compauions, with again the dusky color mounting to his forehead- Even during their stroll, and during their rest and lunch beside the lake, the party never properly divided as parties do when two of the four are affianced lovers; and when the time came for starting homeward, Oliver suggested to Ella that, as the road on the return journey would be new to her sister, she might possibly wish her to have the front seat. •' Thank you," saidEUa, " I was going to propose it." But the gentle words stung Derry. Hastily bhe drew back, not ouly refus- ing to ta!:e the scat bcsiJlo Oliver, but that even changing with Primrose so she should be exactly behind him. " I — I shall have to do things I hate," she said in her miserable thoughts, ''hut there is time." And then, as if relieved of a weight which had threatened her, she indulged herself in a silence, as, through all the previous hours, she had dreaded doing. When tliey reached the Tower, they all went in for tea, loitering over it; then wheu Dorry rose to go, Oliver coolly ob- served that Ella could have a further rest with Primrose while he saw Miss Hope to Harrack'a Beacon, and that they two could walk to the Piues at their leisure, as he was gonig to dine there. " If Miss Hope will accept my ecort," he added, more humbly, Ella thought, than she had ever heard him speak before ; but then it seemed less happily too. " I need no escort," said Derry, brief- ly. "I could take that short cut across the downs now blindfold." " Then you do not wish me to come ?" " Oh. I do " (childishly), " are you ready ?' As she knew he mnst have sent the change in her since the time when he used to plea««'m;" "No, it is tome; but you will read it." When Ella quietly refolded the paper and handed ic back u her sister, every word had been committed to memory. " You see," quefied Derry, trembling in her agitation. " I see that all men are the same," rejoined VAla.. "I suppose thoy cau not help it when a woman leads tliom. You have done this for some purpose of your own.'* "If I have," cried Derry, passionate- ly truthful, " does not it show to you how worthless his love is? You will not accept it, Ella? You will not. You can not. I only did it to show you how li: tie you had to give up. How little you need care. I could not love Oliver Basset. I will never speak to him again, never see him again, if you will promise me to refuse him. Only say that you will not marry him and I will go away from here at once. 1 will go today — now, if you will ouly give me that promise." " And if I will noi ?" " But you will. Oh, Ella, my dear, you will." " If I will not ?" persisted the young, er girl, in her sweet, cold voice. " Then I — must marry him, and it will kill me." "Why should you choose to kill your- self ? You had better think." "Think!" cried Derry, pushing the hair from her temples, and locking her hands behind her head, as she stood looking far away with wide and deso- late eyes. " I have thought until £ have longed for the only rest from thought that we cau have — in death, 62 A WICKED GIRL. I'.lla" — with new, piteous entreaty — " {^ive mo that pioiuise — that oue pro- ii»,|se — aud the devotiou ot my wholo hfo bhall repay you." "No," said Ella, with her pensive smile, " I can not promise not to m rry Oliver. We are engaj^nd. His love is I miue, and he will he true to me. Your I uiijustitiable emouragemeut has enticed j that letter from him ; hut he has not I really changed. I am engaged to him." ' Ella, it is not true. It is not in- deed. He loved me tirst, and he loves me still. Such love as he ever had to give he gave to me ; and it is I whom h, wishes to marry. Jiut I will never marry him. We neither of us will, neither of us. What is there in him for you to love ? Oh, my dear," again fall- lug to her knees at her sister's side, and takiiig the small, steady white hauds into her burning clasp, " come away with me. You know how I have loved you. Come to father. We will neither of us ever see this place again. It makes us both wicktd. Oh, Ella, come with me !" "No, tlmuk you, Derry. You are ■very excitable, aud you pain me. Please try to be ditfereut " The docile, unmoved tones had pierced Derry like a knife. Cold as ice she rose to her feut. " There is now but one thing I can do," she said. ' I must accept Oliver. I must save him as well as you." " I don't understand yon," said Ella, plaintively ; " are yon making a virtue of marrying — or rather of trying to marry (for ()liver is engaged to me) — the man you have been openly encour- aging ?" " Ella, the mystery that brought me here has been solved. 1 know who — caused the death of Oliver's brother. Oh, Ella," Derry had spoken first in the same icy tones, with her eyes hidden, but the voice had faltered into its old )>a88ionate tenderness, aud the beauti- ful entreating eyes again sought Ella's. " Come with me away from here. Let us both go away. I will be so true to you that you shall miss no care such as Oliver can give you. I mean "—seeing Ella's incredulous smile — " that I will do all I can to prevent your missing liim. I will never leave you — all — my Ufe." "If j'ou know anything," said Ella, as if only the former part of her sister's speech needed answering, " you know that Bomeono came between Miles and me. Be it so, Derry, you must do as you choose."' Do as she chose! The words stunned her, and she stood quite still, knowing that if she moved yet she must grope her way from Ella's presence like oue blind. CHAPTER XL *• Which day do you leave, Derry J" "To-ironow," " So Hoou •? Why is that, dear ?" "I want," said Derry, rather broken- ly, "dud — and my work — and home." " I do not wonder," was the gentle reply. " You know that I have only wondered why you stayed so long. Why you came at all," 'Wonderedl I have wondered till I'm sick of wondering, why I came. Why I cared. I think the power that brought me, that kept me, was stronger thau my will. I think it was — Eate. ' " But, Derry, you staj'ed for a motive beyond that vain attempt of yours to find out what was afterward voluntarily confessed," said Ella, musingly, " You have stayed to win what you had evi- 1 dently set your heart upon ; and Eate, j in this case, may 3 interpreted into 1 Oliver Basset. But I do not mean to I reproach you, for he will return to his old allegiance. I had his letter this ! morning ; so I presume you accepted j him after your interview with me. I I ought to wish you happiness." I " No, no," pleaded Derry. " Let us be honest if we can, Ella. I told you the truth when I said that if you forced me to this step, it would kill me. Hap- piness it lin.i killed, indeed." I " To kill yourself is a sin, Derry," said j her sister, with a slow smile. " When is j the wedding like to be ?" I " Never — I mean " (with a change of tone) " there is no haste." " You feel sure of Oliver ?" " Yes," " Yet you look as if you meant that neoi-r " " What help is tbero for it now ?" A WICIv D GIRL. 58 ow aa )0(\ 'fd as " We sliall SCO. At any rate, don't leave to morrow. Stay oue Thi8 change positively hurt her, for it had been a curious delight to feel that his room was waiting just as he had left it, just as he would have re- turned to it on any ordinary day. When she saw Mrs. Frayd next, she at once, in her frank wiy, spoke of hav- ing been in, and menti ned the disap- pearance of the photog) !iph which had stood in its old place tlirough Mr. Bas- set's absence. " Yes, nuss, it's gone," Mrs. Frayd acknowledged with a vatlier lugidirious expression. " I have had word at last where to send Mr. Basset's luggage, and it's all gone. I s'pose," hurrying on, as Derry looked wistfully, (]uestiouing, "something thinks himself ^Mr. Bas- set's heir. 'I'hey do say nobody (lies without leaving a heir iu this world ; 80 I s'pose it's right." " Who came ? ' " Only a man, ' with hasty negligence, as if the heir ought at least to have had the grace to be'of some other sex. And when she had thus delivered herself, Mrs. Frayd did a thing so unusual with her, that Derry sat pondering it until summoned to her early dinner — she vol- untarily became silent. Punctually at the time arranged Derry left Harrack's, idling on her way, utterly unlike the Derry of old days, who had grudged every minute wasted alone, which she might have spent with Klla. It was a pleasant little stroll iu the April sunshine, over the " low back of the bushless downs," and on to the cottage near the bridle- road along the slope. As she entered the kitchen a lisherman, who had been standing near the big dimity-covered chair of the old invalid, moved away, and went out through a door at the . back of the room Derry looked after him almost wistfully, thinking that would be Leppard's son, the young fisherman who had been the last to see Steven Basset. She had often wished that she might chance to see him. •'I am sorry my coming in disturbed your son, Leppard," sho said, iu her sweet spontaneous way. " Kli ? «li ? ' (][ua?«red the old sailor. 54 A WICKED Gir.L. "My son? Oh, him as just went out. He 11 do. He's got lotu to do. Let him go-" " Yes," said Derry, qnaintly. " I have let him go. How are you to-day, Lep- pard ?" " Jest tired, miss, mortal tired. Jest •wonderin' and marvelin' why the Lord A'mit;hty has kep' me so long tackin' up an' down outside harbor, when 1 want to go in and take up a 'evenly anchrige. /'ve jest been askiu' — my son as went out theer, didn t yer say twiir my son ? — and he ses mebbe I'm to ride quaran- tine at'ore euteriu' a sinless laud. Meb- be so, eh, miss?" " Is your sou often here with you ?" " Never, scarce. He's got bis livin' to get. There s wheels.' Derry weut to the cottage door to show herself, and Ella drew up her ponies aa 'lear as she could. Tlie little groom sprung down from behind ; and when Derry had seated herself luxuriously beside her sister, he backed from the ponies' heads, touched his corded hat, and turned homeward, briskly walking. " For I mean to have you to myself to day, dear," Ella explained, as they started slowly along the narrow drive. " 'J he ponies are deliciously fresh, and we will have a proof of their pace pre- sently. You are not nervous?" " Why, Ella, you remind me of Amos Pickett's unfailing innuiry whether I have courage to 'old the 'orse." " But Mrs. Erayd's little wooden animal is rather diftereut, isn't it ? ' in- quired Ella, smiling as her critical ga^e dwelt on the sleek, restive young ani- mals she drove. *' How was it you did not bring Sarah? ' inquired Derry, while she was recalling Steven Basset's criticism on her sister's driving, and endorsing it, for Ella did indeed manage the })onie8 wonderfully for a young and delicate girl. " She did ask to come — she actually did even to day— but I refused her. She is sometimes really too presiimptu- ous. This waj' is new to you, isn't it, Derry?" " Yes. I have ' never before been beyond Leppard's cottage in this direc- tion." " Do you like it ?" " Leppard's cottuge ?" •' Don't be absurd, Derry. Do you like this drive ?" " I will tell you presently. It is rather a derogatory route lor vour stylish equipage. What will it be fur- ther on?" "Of course we descend into tlie level Toad again ; but in the nu antime we shall turn one corner, where the view will strike you, I think. People call it worth lookmg at ; so mind you are ready. It is rather a sharp turn — iit least you may think so— but you know that my ponies and 1 thoroughly under- stand each other." They were going quite slowly still along the bridle-ruad that cut the in- cline. On Ella's side the ascent was gradual to the crest of the dnwns, a solt grassy slope. On Derry's sido the des- cent was more abrupt ; and she was looking dreamingly down it when her sister called her attention to a small object in advance. " What little luna- tic is it,'' she asked. Racing on at the side of the road in front of them was a tiny stunted figure which was familiar to Derry. 'Tlie child had nothing over her pinafore, and her scanty black locks were blown every way by the wind, as she sped ou, her head never turning, her whole attention evidently on something before her, nob behind; something to which she was IJ^ing at the top of her small speed ; nu- looking, uuliateuing for anything to fol- low. " Do stop, Ella, and take up that littlo elf,'' pleaded Derry. " It is my poor little aged child from Harrack's." " She wants to be run over," observed ELd, tightening her reius ; " at least she does not seem to care whether s)je is or not, scampering in uhat headlong fa'jhion." " Just take her as far as she is racing to, will you?" entreated Derry, without a smile. " I will hold her by me. It can not be far that the poor little mortal wishes to go. May we ?" " You are very much in earnest, Derry. How could I refuse you ?' was the gentle answer; and guiding her ponies aside as far as she could, Ella overtook the hurrying figure and drew up. " Penkus," said Derry, turning to face her, " come here." A WICKED GIRL. 55 The commaad, though sudden, was so pleasant and kiud that it mi<;ht have utupped a child who had heea ruuniu^ away from the sisters. Peukus paused a luument, pautiug as she stared iuto Derry'!^ face. " I sawr 'inil I sawr 'im ! she f^asped, and was about to career on aj»aiu when Derry held her. The child had been ^'vinc{ to shake herself free from the Jetainiui^ touch, but after a furtive glance iuto Derry's amused eyes she stood motionless, mutteriu<^ with a frown on her wizen little face, " I eawr 'im. I want to be quick." " You would tumble down in another minute, and never sawr 'im again," said Deriy, in that friendly way ot hers tliat was irresistible, though she was smile- Ee^s. " We are goiug very, very, very quick, and you'll sawr 'im again in a minute Get your breath now. I have you safe, stand still" "Are you really going to hold your arm around that little object?" inquired Ella. " You don't mind, Ella, do you ? I euppoie her father is in front, just round that bend, most probably ; and Wd L&a put her down the moment she reaches him. She is utterly exhausted." " Little silly for racing so,'' observed Ella, with still a kind smile for the child. «'I would put her down if I were you, Derry ; but if you will not, why, you will not f Just at the turn there the descent on your side has been quarried, I think." " Uut what difference will that make ?" asked Derry, in simple surprise. " The child will be quite still. She can not frighten the pouics, and they are like lanjbs in your hands." " You have hampered yourself of your own accord." •"Ella, what can you mean?" asked Derry, turning anxiously to look into her sister's face " Tliat infant was safe enough running by herself; but now, if anything hap- l ens—" "But what can happen? Do j'ou " (in a low unfamiliar voice) " expectany- tiiing to happen ?" " Things happen to other people, why rottjus? Nevermind. You did it to rest tlie puny little mortal and help her on. You gener illy find time to think of other peo£)le, Durry, as I have uuticed. Many haven't time. I was thinking only yesterday of the difference between Aunt Crystal and you; she says so many kind things and means so little. Yoa tliink so many kiud thiu.;s and says so little. We are close to the turn now, and the quarries. There's no man in sight, sol expect that child was pretending to bo following her father. Would you like to put her out— here on rny side ? This slope is gradual, aud the grass pleasant for her to run on, but on your side it would scarcely be sate for her, even if the quarried parts were not cloae in front Will you?" " No, please, for I believe she could not stand. I have hard work to hold up as it is, poor little inaid. She bus has expended the short supply of strength she had." "1 hen, now we have had enough of this snail's pace," said Ella, gatliering the whole loop of the reins into the grasp of her left baud, aud with her loug^, driving whi]) giving two sharp cuts over the ears of her spirited pouies. From her left hand then she tossed the reins forward on their necks, aud from her right flung the whip after them, aud as the maddened ponies dashed away, she sprung from the low carriage to the sunny slope on her right. There was a wild consciousness in Derry's mind now that she known this was going to ha])peu ; had even been expecting it. Looking straight before her she held little Peukus close to her, firm and secure; longing to save the child, and never guessing that by so doing she would make the child her savior too. "I sawr 'im," Penkus whispered, as if she had at last found breath to utter her one all-important auuounceuunt ; then with a wild shriek she struggled to get away from Derry's encircling arm. With their heads down, and the reins entangling their rushing feet, the un- guided pouies tore along the narrow, irregular briille-road on the hill-side, the light carriage i; jeling, and the iinar- ries now in sight. Derry saw thetu, as she saw the whole scene, bhu-red and indistuict, while she sat motionless, her protecting clasp about the territie