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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un soul clichA, 11 est filmA A partir do I'angle supArieur gauche, do gauche A droite, et do haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants lllustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 TWICE TRIED. pi il K/ t All day she had hcen l)aiintctl liy a vague rc^tksstiess." — Pu^i- 178. V * TWICE TRIED BY TO HON TO, CANADA WILLIAM liKIGGS KDINUUROIt AM) LONDON OLIPllANT, ANDKRSUN & FEKKIEK ISSI) / ANNIE S SWAN AUTHOR OK "ALbtKbVDK," "CATK^ ()!■ KDKN," "ACROSS HER PATH," "ST VtbA'S," ETC., ETC. I PlUd 3 7 260806 »;«.! Entered according to Act of the Parlinniont of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine, by William Rriogs, Boole Stewarfl of the Metliodist Hook and Publisiiing Hou80, Toronto, ot the Department of Agriculture. 06 1 ^ ^^^ ■^v-^-^.-^- CONTENTS. Chap. Pack » the year M nRiooa, K Huimo, I. Father and Son . 7 II. Lovers i6 III. The New Member of the House HOLD 24 IV. The Beginning . 34 V. Friends 43 VI. Beyond the Bounds . 52 VII. Aye or No? . . , 6o VIII. His Father's Wife 68 IX. Joan . . . , , 76 X. The Night Before • , 84 XL Caught . . . , 93 XI I. The Wedding-day • , 99 XI 1 1. Edged Tools . . . . io6 XIV. Gathering Clouds • • 114 XV. Very Ominous . • , 121 5 CoiltilltS. Chap. pAf.F.. XVI. HirsrAND AND Wife . • • 139 XVII. A Cruel Vaa)\w . . • . 138 XVIII. Thk Final Touch • • « 146 XIX. An Unf:xpf.ctkd Mf.kting . . • 154 XX. GiLKS Harrington's Wooing . , 161 XXI. Old Friknds . . . i , 169 XXII. Across the Moor. . . . 177 XXIII. A Spectre of the Past . 183 XXIV. A Terridle Conflict 19" XXV. Amy ..... 198 XXVI. The Blow Falls . . 205 XXVII. Dark Hours 215 XXVIII. Farewell .... 222 XXIX. A Wasted Life . . • 230 XXX. The Erring Child 239 XXXI. In Breton Woods 248 f! u- ■*? •*'ii-i-_il^ lii-.i-iilji J 1L_.., TWICE TRIED. C H A r T E R I. FA III KU AND SON. ^jf^^iy> a winter's cveninj^, two gentlemen were Pv^l sittinij; over their wine in a comfortable, well- rj ^'Sji lii;Iited room, which presented a i)leasant l^ntel and elsewhere were o^ems in their wny. Evidently a reluied taste had guided the furnishing and ndorning of the house. Yet there seemed something Incking in that lolty room — a dearth of flowers and other dainty touches which only the hand of a woman can give. There were no l.idies now in the Bank House at Auchengray, Mr Angus, banker and writer, having been a widower for nearly ten years, l-'atlier and son sat opposite each other, as they had done, wuii few exceptions, daily since the dear presence of the wue and mother had been ^««K 8 Twice Tried. removed by the relentless hand of Death. Rol)crt Angus the elder and Robert the younger were curiously alike — both handsome, and even striking-looking men. They were tall of stature, broad of figure, and manly in appearance. The square massive head and somewhat strongly-marked features were characteristic of both ; while the keen, penetrating, grey eye indicated that both were shrewd and far-seeing men of business. The elder was, if anything, the handsomer of the two. His habitual expres- sion was more bland and kindly, his mouth less resolutely stern than that of his son. Then the silvering hair and beard gave a fine softening effect to his face, adding a mellowing touch, as it were, to its sterner outline. " Young Douglas leaves next month, Robert," said Mr Angus the elder, looking across the table at his son. " Does he ? " inquired Robert, without any exhibition of interest, for his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yes," responded his father. "We'll need to see about getting someone to fill his place in the bank." " I suppose so," admitted Robert, carelessly. " But I daresay there will be ])lenty of lads in Auchengray eager for the job. Have you promised the place to anyone ? There's Charlie Burnett, you know. I believe his father would be glad of the opening for him." " He is too young — a mere schoolboy," said Mr Angus, quickly. " I want one older, if possible." Robert Angus elevated his eyebrows. ** Douglas was just Charlie's age, father, and he did not give much trouble, so far as I can recollect. I am glad he has got promotion, so that he can yved the girl of his choice." " If he marries just now he will be an ass," said Mr Angus, dryly. ''That's just what he intends doing. A hundred and fifty, no doubt, seems a great fortune to him," said Robert, cracking his walnuts philosophically. " And the chances are tiiiK for Father ami Son. t Angus alike — nanly in mcwliat I ; while th were • was, if exprcs- isolutely lair and dding a iaid Mr jition of e about "But I agcr for There's Duld be Angus, did not glad he :hoice." aid Mr ed and Robert, :hances arc lie will be more comfortable than in lodgings, and ten times ha|>i)icr." '* Vou seem to know all about it," said Mr Angus, drily still. '* Well, Douglas's marriage isn't the point. 1 don't sui>pose his domestic felicity is of absori)ing moment to us. What I want to say is that there is a ycning lad in Slrath- blane to whom I am going to offer the place." Robert Angus looked up in surprise. "In Strathblane !" he exclaimed. "Who is he? It is surely unusual to go so far afield." " You have heard me speak of Mrs Colcjuhoun of Mount Rosa?" incjuired Mr Angus. " I know who the lady is. You have done some business for her, 1 think." "The same," nodded Mr Angus. "Well, it is her nephew, the son of her sister, who married Captain Ransome, of the Navy." "Is this lad dependent on Mrs Cohjuhoun?" asked Rol)ert. " Yes. He and his sister have been left destitute by their father's sudden death. They are orphans, and Mrs Cohjuhoun is their only relative." " Mow old is young Ransome?" " He is not a lad. I should think he must be three or four-and-twenty." " He has been in a bank before, of course?" said Robert, " Well, no, he hasn't." " What has he been doing ? " " Nothing, that I know of," returned Mr Angus, in a rather embarrassed tone. " In fact, they have been ne- glected. 'I'heir father, I suspect, was a ne'er-do weel, and the lad has never had a chance." " He is pretty old not to have sought some kind of chance for himself," said Robert, a tritle drily, for he felt slightly mystified. I 10 Twice Tried. I I " Suppose T offer Rolfc R.msome the place, Robert, nnd he acccjjts it, would you have any objections to him living in the house?" asked Mr Angus, presently. Robert raised his head tiiis time and looked with im- mit'f^ated astonishment into his father's face. " Not I. But surely that would be a very extraordinary arr.ingement." " Not so very extraordinary when you come to think of it. He has been brou^dit up in a verv different position, of course, from the like of Jamie Douglas, and his aunt is a. thorough lady," said Mi Angus emphatically. "There is l)lenty of room here, .'ind these two idle women will be all the better of having a little more to do." Robert Anirus was still further amazed. He observed an under-current of anxiety in his lather's manner which seemed to denote that this was a matter of extreme interest to him. Yet why should he be so concerned in behalf of an utter stranger? Who was Mrs Colquhoun, of Mount Rosa, thnt the internal arrangements of the Bank House of Auchen- gray should be u])set on her nephew's account ? These (juestions presented themselves to the mind of Robert Angus, the younger, demanding satisfactory answers. " The house is yours, father," he said, quietly. " Surely you don't need to consult me about its arrangements." '' J wouldn't say that. Bob," said the banker, drawing a very perceptible breath of relief. " So long as you arc, under my roof you have a right to be consulted," " It is very good of you to say so," replied Robert, briefly. *' What age is the young gentleman's sister ?" "I really cannot tell,'' said Mr Angus, rather ijuickly. " I believe she is three or four years older than Rolfe." Once again was Robert Angus immeasurably surprised, and yet anrUher question suggested iiself rather disagreeably to his mind. Why had he never belore iicard tiie name of for Father and SiHi. I [ lert, and 111 living with iin- ordinary think of >iti()n, of lint is .1. riicre is 11 be all ervcd an I seemed ; to him. an utter 3sa, that Aiichen- These Robert " Surely s." awing a you are. Robert, tiuickly. IX than rprised, (reeabiy lame of Ransome, when his father seemed to be on su^ h very faiiiiliar terms with the latest additions to the family circle at Mount Rosa? He thought he had found a new ex- planation of the very frequent pilgrimages to Stnthblane his father had mode of late. It was such a startling ex- planation that involuntarily he rose to his feet, and pushed back his chair. "Are you going out?" his father asked. "Yes; I promised James Burnett to look in at tb.e Thorn for an hour ; but I won't be late." " All right ! Don't hurry yourself. T sliall be laie nr. srlt over that deed of old Macdonald's. I'll m i'out Amy doubt of ig to the ^liness of ly looked the fair, the big, ng about It one of s was so •t sleeves ite arm to ch added -" quite lad it, for ler kind. ssy cat ? " riucricd her lirolhcr, unnuTcifiilly. "llnvon't T wntcliod those eyes of yours warulerini,^ wistfulK' tu the cluek halt"-a- dozen times within the last half hour?" ''Jim, youVe a — a " " Wrelcii," sui)i)lemented the young fellow, pronijUly. " Yes, I know all about it. Say, mother, is that nut Am}'s party frock she has on ?" '* Do be quiet, Jamie, and don't tease your sister," said Mrs IJurnett, good-naturedly, while Mr lUirnett looked up presently from his })aper, and inquired what all the noise was about. It was a pleasant picture in that pleasant family round, sugL!;estive alike of comfort and happiness and i)eace. There was nothing fine nor grand about the drawing- room at the Thorn, for Mrs IJurnett had no ambition for a fine house. She was a motherly woman who made her house a home indeed to her husband and her children, wlio were devoted to her heart and soul, and loved their own home better than any pla:t' on earth. 'I'iie Burnetts were in comfortable circumstances, for Mr Burnett was factor on the Earl of Beauly's estates, and also for the neighbour- ing estate of Stiathblane, whose iwner was still a minor. The Thorn stood within the policies of Beauly Castle, and was a roomy, old-fashioned house, replete with every convenience and comfort for the use of a family. There were nine Burnetts, of whom James, a^^ed twenty- one, was the eldest. As fine a young fellow as ever stei)ped in shoe leather, the servants on the estate called him, and their verdict was correct. He assisted his father in his work, and was in every respect his right hand. He was his mother's boy, too, and the younger members of the family almost worshipped him ; so it wms little wonder that the sunny-hearted James Burnett found the world a very plea- sant place to live in, for he had countless friends, and not an enemy that he was aware of. Is the world not, after all, much as we make it for ourselves ? If we " carr\ our ain B I !l i i8 Tivice fried. w Hi sunshine wi' us," as the song has it, wc will have neither time nor inchnation to grumble or be sad at heart. " Did I hear you say Robert Angus would be over to- night, James?" queried Mr IJurnett, folding up his paper. " I didn't say so ; I only inferred it from Amy's frock," answered Jim with a comical smile. Mr Burnett glanced at his daughter, and laughed in his dry fashion. He enjoyed hearing his children's nonsense, and believed that Jim's unmerciful teasing would do Amy good. She was as vain as a ])eacock over her pretty face, and inclined to be idle and selfish because she considered herself the beauty of the family. The next daughter, Mary, a demure, plain featured girl of sixteen, was worth two of Amy where common-sense and usefulness were concerned. But, doubtless, Amy would improve by-and-by, and perhaps make a good wife and mother yet. With these assurances Mr Burnett was wont to comfort his wife when she complained sometimes of her eldest daughter's failings. *' Don't bend your brows that way, child," he said, for Amy's quick temper was up now, and she showed it in her face. " Let us have some music ! See, mamma is half asleep." "Come on. Amy; don't get in the dumps," said Jim, with a provoking smile. " If Angus saw you now, I'll bet he wouldn't come back." Amy jumped uj) and flounced out of the room in anger. James whistled, and sitting down to the piano, began to play a ratting piece such as he loved. The noise of the instrument under his powerful manipulation prevented them hearing a knock at the front door which was familiar and welcome to more than one at the Thorn. James Burnett entertained for Robert Angus that species of reverential love which young lads often lavish on older men who make friends of them. Amy was on the way to her own room Lovers, 19 when the knock came to the door, and she stood on tlic stair and listened till the maid answered the appeal. Then she peeped over the balustrade, and after one glini[)sc of the intruder turned and ran downstairs. The housemaid, waiting to usher Mr Angus upstairs, dis- creetly withdrew at sight of Miss Burnett, and the two were left alone. "Well, my darling, how are you to-night?" Robert Angus said, and putting his arm about the slender little figure, touched her brow with his lips. "You are late, very late!" she said, pettishly; "you don't deserve to be admitted at all. What kept you ? " " Kept me ? Oh, nothing 1 " said Robert, absently ; for somehow his thoughts would revert with a strange persistence to the woman he had left. " Are they all upstairs ? Couldn't we go into some other place for a little ? " " Yes, there's a fire in papa's room," replied Amy, rather ungraciously. Then Robert Angus stepped across the hall, and held open the study door for her to enter. The only light in the cosy little room was that given by the fire, which cast a ruddy glow about the hearth, and made fantastic shadows dance upon the walls and floor. Amy threw herself into the easy-chair, while Robert stood on the hearth, leaning his arm on the mantel, and looking into the fire. Certainly he was not the most demonstrative nor satisfying of lovers to-night. There was a wide contrast — something of incongruity almost — between them. Robert Angus looked his thirty years to the full, and there were positively some grey hairs in the short pointed beard which was so becoming to his style of face. Beside him Amy Burnett looked a perfect child, and yet it was understood that some day they would be husband and wife. Surely both had made a mistake. 20 Tivicc Tried. |i| "Is Jnmcs in?" he asked at length, recovering himself with a start. " Yes. Shall I ring and ask Sarah to request him to come down?" asked Amy, sarcastically, and with her small hand on the bell-rope. *' Not yet. What is the matter with you, Amy ? " " Nothing. But what is the matter with you? Do you know you are perfectly horrid? I just hate you, Robert Angus !" **No, you don't," responded he with a smile; "at least I don't hate you." 'i'hen he stooped down and kissed her again, but still the puckers in her brow remained. " Yes, I do ; and if it's Jim you come to see, why do you pretend it's me? I'm sure I don't want you. There are plenty of other men in the world besides you — plenty nicer ones, too." *' Don't be so foolish, dear. I know I am a bear, but I feel troubled about something, so you must excuse me." " Was that what kept you so late ? " " Oh, no. I left just after dinner, but I met Miss Laurence in the High Street, and, as it was so dark and stormy, I walked back with her to the Manse." "Oh, indeed. You might just have waited and walked home with her again. Don't imagine I would have cared," said Amy, hotly. Her temper was up now, and she was as jealous as could be. " What are you saying, Amy ? " queried Robert Angus, in no little astonishment. Accustomed as he was to his sweetheart's whims and caprices, she surpassed herself to-night. " Saying ? Just that if you prefer Joan Laurence's com- pany to mine, you needn't come any more to the Thorn," said Amy, jumping to her feet. Robert Angus stepped to one side, put his arm about her, and drew her very close to him. Lovers. 21 " You are a silly little thing, Amy. Somebody has l)ccii teasing you, and putting uj) your small temper. Well, «ny pet, am I the kind of man to come to see one woman and like another better ? You ought to have more faith in mc than that." " So I have," sobbed Amy, remorsefully. " But Joan is so clever and grand, and knows so much more than me ; and then I believe she cares for you, and " " Amy ! " Never in her life had Amy Bu'-nett heard her lover speak in such a tone. " Well, it's quite true, I'm " She got no further, for a stern hand was laid on her lips. "For shame, Amy; Joan Laurence is your friend and mine, and she is a woman from whom both of us might take a lesson," he said, sharply. " You are not my sweet- temi)ered, bright-eyed darling to-night at all. I do not know what kind of a little Tartar 1 have got in her place." Amy wept afresh, and Robert was obliged to soothe away her tears, though inwardly much annoyed. He felt rather irritable himself, and in his mind there was a strange prevision of coming trouble. " I'm very sorry, Robert. I know I am perfectly horrid," sobbed Amy. " I'm sure I don't mean to say anything nasty about Joan." " Let us leave Miss Laurence alone, dear," said Robert, with quiet authority. " Jf Jim is in, I think we had better go upstairs. I am afraid we will only be very disagreeable to each other if we remain here." " You can go up yourself, then," Amy said, petulantly, and, somewhat to her astonishment, he took her at her Word, and walked out of the room. He hesitated a moment in the lobby, feeling much more inclined to go home than join the family circle. However, V I m ,1- aa Tiuice Tried. II reflecting on Jim's disappointment if he left without seeing him, he proceeded upstairs, and entered the drawing-room with the unceremonious ease of a privileged visitor. James jumped from the piano at sight of him. Robert nodded to him, pulled the curly hair o*" a small urchin l)oring over his lesson -book, and went round to Mrs liurnett's chair. " Good evening, Mrs Burnett. I hope I see you well to-night," he said pleasantly. " Well, sir, how are you ? " he added, returning heartily Mr Burnett's hand-shake. Then he took the chair Jim set for him, and the circle closed about him ; and the talk began to flow pleasantly, as it always did when Robert came. ** Run up and tell Amy Mr Angus is here, dear," said Mrs I'urnett, turning after a little to her second daughter. " 1 saw her downstaiis," Mrs Burnett, said Robert, quickly, hereat Jim elevated his eyebrows and grinned a comical grin. Amy elected not to appear again that night, though she did not disdain to peep over the balustrade for the last glimpse of her lover when he was going away. There was a temporary lull in the storm outside, and Jim escorted his friend half-way home. The Thorn was quite two miles from the town, and it was a dreary walk, especially on a stormy winter's night "I say, Angus, what's up with you to-night? Are you not well?" Jim asked, after they had walked a hundred yards in silence. " You're awfully quiet." " Yes ; I'm well enough," responded Robert, briefly. " I suppose you and Amy had a tiff," continued Jim, with his own charming candour. " You needn't mind ; she'll be sorry enough to-morrow. Girls always go on in that way." " Do they ? " queried Robert, in no little amazement. ** What do you know about it ? " " Oh, well, I've heard and read a good deal about love, you ki never "Til really t are so "I Jim, c right n Jam Robert Lovers, 23 you know," laughed Jim, " though I'm thankful to say I've never been in it." " Time enough yet, my boy," said Robert, gravely. " I really think you shouldn't come any further, Jim, the roads are so bad." " I see you don't want me ; you are out of sorts," said Jim, candidly. " Well, good-night. Hope you'll be all right next time we meet." James Burnett was wont to say often that from that night Robert Angus was a changed man. .^ 19: I 4 1 i CHAPTER III. THE NFAV MKMr.KR OP THE HOUSEHOLD. • I m ^^jpocsi^T hrd been an unronifortable, iinsociaMc meal. Mr An:;iis had doiic his best to keep uj) the convLMsation, and l);id hecn affable and talka- tive far beyond his wont. It was necessary, perhaps ; for Robert tiid not api^ear to be in the most amiable of mooil>, and was certainly not con- spicuously courteous to the y,uest at his father's table. That, however, did not a.t all discompose Mr Rolic Ransome ; cpaite the reverse; he seemed to enjoy it. lie had arrived at Auchengray that aflernoun, Mr Angus having driven hirn in from Sirathbla:.e, where he had been on business. Of late Mr An^us's business calls at Strathblane had been numerous and pressing. Peojjle vsere beginning to remark upor. 'he irequent appearance of his horse and trap in the neighbouring town, and to "put two and two together," as the sa)ing goes. x\nd when the news got abroad that Rolfe Ransome was coming to fill Jamie Douglas's place in the bank, there were many wise head- shakings, many satisfied " I told you sos," and a great deal of excited waiting for the issue of events — all quite un- dreamed of by those most interested. 'Vhc new bank clerk was a very different person from what Robert Angus had anticipnted. He had expected to .see a raw, youthiullooking lad, such as Douguis and he hiiusLll had been when they The Xe.iv Member of the IlouseJu hi. 25 entered upon similar positions in the ban.-, but lo ! the new importation was an exceedingly smart and very foppish young man, with the assurance and conceit of twice his years. He was undeniably handsome ; but his was an empty face, possessing the beauty of form and feature, but sadly lacking in that of expression. He made himself very much at home in the house of his employer, — so much so, that Robert Angus was infinitely disgusted, and took a dislike to him at once. That need scarcely be wondered at, for if ever two men contrasted widely, and we.e utterly anta- gonistic in nature and habit, these two were Robert Angus and Rolfe Ransome. He seemed to accept his place at his employer's table ?.s if it were his perfect right, and instead of being shy or reticent, as might have been ex- ])ected of him under the circumstances, he had a charming How of talk, which, however, did not fall very agreeably on at least one of his listeners' ears. "Have you, ah — much society here?" he in([uired, with a slightly supercilious smile, which aggravated Robert Angus almost beyond endurance. " Yes, we have some very nice families in Auchcngray, small though it is," Mr Angus hastened to reply. " V'ou have heard me speak of the Burnetts. Robert, you must take Mr Ransome to the Thorn, and introduce him. It is the very place for a young fellow to pass a happy evening. 1 have often heard you say so." " Mr Ransome's predecessor was not on visiting terms at the Thorn, I think," Robert said in his tiuietest tones ; and the expression on his lace conveyed a finer sarcasm than his words. Mr Angus looked decidedly uncomfortable. " No, no, of course not," he said, hastily. " But I thought I explained to you, Robert, that Mr Ransome comes here on a very dilierent footing. He is a gentle- man's son. His lather was a captain in the navy." I If 26 Twice Tried. " If a man can't stand on bis own legs, and make a position for himself, independent of his father, he does not deserve the name of a man," Robert said in the same quiet tones, and glancing very expressively at the handsome face opposite him. Mr Rolfe Ransome did not seem at all put out, however, but continued to eat his dinner with evident relish. But he heard and felt the scorn with which Robert Angus regarded him, and made a note of it for future consideration. *' I should imagine Auchengray to be rather a slow place," he said, presently. " Strathblane is bad enough ; but I should say this would be a degree worse. I wonder you have stayed so long in it," he added to Robert. " I have never thought it slow ; possibly because I am slow myself," said Robert, with a slight smile. " You will have some difficulty in supporting existence here, Mr Ransome." *' Ah, I daresay it will do in the meantime. Isabel won't care for it, I doubt," said Rolfe, looking straight across tlie table to Mr Angus. That gentleman coloured slightly, and there was an un- comfortable pause. Robert devoted himself to his pudding ; if he wondered at the speech he made no sign. Mr Angus hastened to change the subject by referring to some bank business, and the slight constraint passed off. Rolfe Ransome took advantage of his employer's in- vitation to help himself from the decanter, and took more spirits than that gentleman apj^roved of. " Have you any engagement for to-night, Robert ? " Mr Angus asked, cutting the dessert short by rising and pushing back his chair. " Nothing particular," Robert answered, carelessly. " Are you going to the Thorn ? " his father asked, pointedly. " Yes," answered Robert, briefly. *' I shall be much obliged if you will take Mr Ransome with yo| Mrs C( " All! you are! Mr his real into tht street. "Goj case. "No "Eh your go "Sir Noth Angus had ov not bro "No pretty { "I d discovf experie "Nc must d a fello and \\ himsel "Yi own li "D Isabe' seren( was a it swt I The Neiv Member of the Household. 27 make a does not me quiet :)me face at all put 1 evident ^ Robert •r future a slow enough ; wonder am slow ill have r.>ome." el won't OSS the an uii- idding ; with you. Tell Mrs Burnett who he is. I think she knows Mrs Colquhoun." " All right," said Robert, briefly as before. " Well, if you are ready, Mr Ransome, we will go." Mr Ransome nodded, emptied his glass, and signified his readiness to go. So the two stepped out together into the bright starlight, and turned their faces down the street. " Got a light, eh ? " asked Ransome, producing his cigar case. " No, I don't smoke." " Eh, you don't ? I wonder at that. Nice old cove, your governor ! " said Ransome, affably. "Sir!" Nothing could exceed the hauteur with which Robert Angus uttered the monosyllable. Ransome saw that he had overstepped the mark, and that Robert Angus would not brook much familiarity on so short an accjuaintance. " No offence meant," he said, apologetically. " Any pretty girls in this place, eh ? " " I don't know. If there are any, doubtless you will soon discover them," said Robert, drily. " Have you had any experience of bank business, Mr Ransome ? " " No. Don't suppose it's hard work, though. A fellow must do something for a living, I suppose. It's a shame of a fellow's governor to bring up a fellow like a gentleman, and then shufile off without leaving him a c pper to bless himself with. Isn't it, now ? " " Yes, especially if a fellow has no desire to work for his own living," Robert answered, in his dry fashion. " Don't believe much in work myself. Neither does Isabel. She's a degree worse than me," said Ransome, serenely. " It's in the blood, I believe ; the governor was a lazy old chap, too. Holloa ! is this the place ? Is it swells we're going to see ? " 28 Ti<.'icc Tried. iii ilil " No ; this is the Earl of Beauly's place. We are going to his factor's house," said Robert, and relapsed into silence. There was not another word spoken till they turned aside from the avenue, and crossed the park to the Thorn. The up[)er windows were lighted as usual, for the Burnetts always sat in the drawing-room in the evening. The front door was open, and Jim was enjoying his cigarette on the step, and watching for his friend. When he heard the sound of ap[)roaching footsteps he stepped across the lawn to meet him. "That you, Angus?" he called out, cheerily. "Holloa, who's with you ? " " The new member of our household. Mr Ransome — Mr James Burnett," said Robert. "Are you alone to-night?" " Yes ; very glad to meet you, Mr Ransome. Come away in both of you. We'd better go straight upstairs. They're all there as usual." Robert nodded, and the trio proceeded to the drawing- room. At sight ol the stranger with Robert, Mrs Burnett rose from her chair. " This is Mr Ransome, our new clerk, Mrs Burnett. I have brought him at my father's er'-ress desire," Robert said, with a very curious expression, and then wa^^ied over to Amy's side. He would make no more introductions that night. Mrs Burnett was surprised; nevertheless, she recei/ed the young man kindly, and offering him a chair by her side, began to talk to him in her own frank, motherly manner. " Can we go downstairs, Amy ? " Robert whispered bending over her chair. But Amy was too curious, and too interested in the haudsoiHc stranger, to retire from the drawing-room yet. " Papa is in the study, and there are no lamps in the dining-room," she said. "Wait 'ill papa comes up. Do tell me I didn't yj " Bec| I had at all." " Oh,I will be "I opinionl the ban! "Def believe than yoj Amy I words li smiled chagrinl " I a person* " Ar "It is ugly n: hideou Rol went EucUc "V gettir Til were M roon to t' and her The New Member of the IloiiseJioUi. 29 ' .ire going psed into till they e park to as usual, m in the 3ying his I. When ' stepped " Holloa, nie — Mr light ? " Come upstairs. ^Iravving- Burnett nett. I Robert ed over Auctions -ss, she hair by otherly 5pered in the 'et. in the . Do tell me something about Mr Ransome, Robert. Why didn't you introduce him specially to nie?" " Because I did not choose," said Robert, coolly. " If I had had my way, he shou'd never have been here at all." " Oh, why not ? I am sure if he is as nice as he looks, he wili be quite an acquisition to society in Auchengray." " I am afraid Mrs Burnett will not be quite of your opinion, Amy. She has not been accustomed to receive the bank clerk into her family circle hitherto." " Dear me, how horrid you are !" exclaim xl Amy. " I believe you are jealous of him, he is so much handsomer than you. I never saw such lovely eyes." Amy looked up coquettishly into her lover's face, but her words had not quite the effect she had expected, for he only smiled his most aggravating smile, but did not seem at all chagrined. " I am sorry for your sake that I am so much inferior in personal charms to Mr Rolfe Ransome." •' And what a pretty name he has ! " pursued Amy. " It is quite musical. I always thought Robert an ugly name, and when it is joined on to Angus it is simply hideous." Robert Angus turned from his sweetheart's chair, and went over to the sofa where Charlie was poring over his Euclid. '* Well, old chap," he said, pleasantly, " how are you getting on ? Can I help you ? " The lad looked up gratefully, and in a few minutes both were absorbed in the problem. More annoyed than she cared to show, Amy crossed the room to her mother's side, and was then duly introduced to the stranger. In three minutes she was chatting gaily and freely to him as if she had known him all her life, but her coquetting, if it was meant to annoy Robert, did ! i 30 Tivice Tried. not appear to do so, tor he never once glanced towards thciii. Amy Burnett was a born coquette. She would flirt with her own brother if no more eligil)le person ccild be found, and here was a glorious opportunity to exercise her charms on a handsome young man — a stranger too ! — and strangers were as welcome in Auchengray as the flowers in May. Then, how delightful to provoke Robert Angus, to make him jealous, and to punish him for his grumpiness ! Verily, Amy Burnett was in the zenith of her delight to- night. Mrs Burnett listened to her daughter's chatter and Ransome's flattery in rather a nervous frame of mind, glancing sometimes at Robert Angus to see whether he was listening ; but he seemed absorbed by Charley and his P^uclid. She was relieved presently by the entrance of her husband, who received the stranger affably enough. Mr Burnett was always affable, and had the reputation of being tl e most good-natured man in Auchengray. As the even- ing wore on, and Robert still remained perfectly indifferent and neglectful of Amy, she began to feel a little uneasy. Of late her lover had displayed less inclination to bear with her coquetting and silly, selfish ways ; and she feared her l)ower over him was on the wane. Now, this idea was not at all pleasant to Amy Burnett. She had won Robert Angus away from all the ladies of Auchengray, any of whom would very gladly stand in her shoes ; and it would not do to let him slip away from her ; to give the disap- pointed ones the chance to say that though she won him she could not keep him. At half-past nine the supper tray was brought in. Robert Angus had a little claret and a biscuit, and again Rolfe Ransome took spirits. " Tell me who Mr Ransome is, Robert," whispered Mrs Burnett, when she had a chance of a word away from the others. " His name is familiar, and his face too. Does he belong to this countryside?" ♦< You| Burnett ''Oh, nephew the captl living in| him." "Nor I acquaintl You niui keep eld them hit " It's house ; Well, nv Robert.' "Dor herself," he was scrioush moving window table. " Go last of I: e oth " Wl in a 1< to ouri said, i *..|ii The Nciv Member of the Household. 31 " You know Mrs Col(juhoun, of Strathblane, Mrs Burnett ? " " Oh, yes, of course ; I know now. He must be her nephew ; the son of her only sister, who marriccl the captain ! , How stupid I am ! He is his mothers living image. I am not very favourably impressed with him." "Nor I, Mrs Burnett; but possibly he may improve on acquaintance," said Robert. " Well, we must b e s^oui- You must set the example, and teach young Ransome to keep elders' hours. I fear he has not been accustomed to them hitherto." " It's a ([ueer idea of your father's to have him in the house ; but no doubt it is for Mrs Colquhoun's sake. Well, must you go ? I am very angry with Amy to-night, Robert." " Don't be, Mrs Burnett. She seems to be enjoying herself," Robert said, quietly ; but Mrs Burnett knew that he was not well pleased, and inwardly determined to talk seriously to her wayward child. When Amy saw her lov moving to go, she rose and purposely retired to the oriel window, and began to toy with the fern on the little table. " Good-night," he said, courteously but coldly, coming last of all to her, and offering his hand as he had done to t: e others. " Why are you so stiff and horrid to-night ? " she asked, in a low, pettish voice. " We have never had a minute to ourselves, and I had ever so many things to say to you." " They must wait now. It was not my fault. Amy,'' he said, in the same cold, quiet tones. " Are you very vexed with me, Robert?" she asked then, lifting lovely, beseeching eyes to his face. It was just such a look which had swept aside his better judgment a year ago, and made him utter the irrevocable words which Mil ;1 32 Tivicc Tried. bound him in honour to a woman vvlio would never ma\'e liim happy ; but now they had lost their charm. "You know best whether I have a right to be, Amy. I am growing tired of this nonsense. I endeavour to be kind and considerate to you, and I think it not too much to expect like treatmenc at your hands. If you think you have made a mistake, tell me so. It will be better for us both." " Oh, Robert ! " . The wistful, childish eyes, filled with tears, touched him in spite of himself. She was wayward, indeed ; but then she v»as so very, very young ! He must be gentle with her yet. ** I don't mean to hurt you, dear. It is my love for you which makes the thing hurt. Well, we can't say any more with so many eyes on us. Will you meet me to morrow night at the old bridge at seven, and we can have a long talk ? " " Yes, yes," she said, quickly, and the sun shone again in the sweet eyes, and the white fingers returned the pressure of the strong hand grasping them with loving earnestness. Rolfe Ransome had not been unobservant of this little scene, and he was not slow to draw his own inferences therefrom. " Nice family that," he said, rather patronisingly, when they were walking across the park. " Nice little girl, too ; regular flirt, though. There's some fun in her. Don't you think so, eh ? " Robert Angus bit his lip. " Kindly reserve your comments upon my friends, Mr Ransome. They are neither agreeable to me nor creditable to yourself," he said, in his most cutting tones. *' What a mighty prig you are ! Talk of good taste. Do you call your treatment of me gentlemanly ? You couldn't behave worse to me though I were a cad — by Jove, you couldn't!" The Neiv Member of the Household. 33 Robert Angus held his peace, though certain uncom- plimentary words were burning on his lips. But, after all, it was scarcely worth his while to bandy words with Mr Kolfe Ransome. " I know how the land lies, Mr Robert Angus, and I'll be even with you, I bet I will," Mr Ransome whispered within himself; and he kept his word. M 1 •'! ^— if2V-r- ^C^^ ^•;;^5^,.^M^ A f'w ^-. ^^' " w ^' t !" ■ TT' \ ) ■■■■■■'"ya.ti" \*'''- v» ■■.p-.-^y. CHAPTLi^ IV. THE B E O I N N I N G. <« AM .uoing to Edinburgh l)y the first train to-morrow, Robert," Mr Angus said to his son as they were pairing for the night. " That is unusual, sir," Robert said. "Yes, it is an early start, but I have a good deal of business to transact." " Well, have you any directions to leave with me?" " None, except that you are to keep the key of my room in your pocket. If you need to enter, you know where to find it." Robert looked so much astonished that the banker felt called upon to make some explanation. *' I don't care to have everybody prying into the place. There are so many valuable things in it, and too much money in the cash-box. There is no use putting tempta- tion in the way." Robert nodded. He knew as well as if he had been plainly told, that there was someone in the bank his father could not trust ; ay, and he knew, too, who it was. " I hope you have left your orders with Ransome, father. He declines to do anything I bid him." " He has no right to decline. What does he suppose he is there for if he can't obey you ? " fumed Mr Angus. " I'm afraid he isn't going to turn out so well as I expected and hoped. Perhaps I should hardly have taken him into the The Begiti ii ing. 35 bnnk, but under tlic cirrumstnnces I could hardly do less. Well, good-nijiht," he said, hastily, as if in dread lest he should be (juestioned further. "(jood-night, sir. When will you be home?" "Not in time for dinner. I will come to Strathblane by the 8.40 exj)ress. I have given M'Dowall his orders to be at the station." •'All right, sir." Mr Angus took up his candle and retired. Robert went back to his arm-chair on the hearth and fell a-thinking. There were several things puzzling him very nnu:h, and troubling him not a little also. There was something about his father he could not understand — a nervousness and hesitation he had never seen in him before. It could nf)t be that his powers were failing him yet, for he was only sixty-two, and up till within the last six months had been as even tempered and coolly practical as he had been all his life. But of late there had been a change. U seemed to Robert that his father lived like a man in per|)etual fear of being found out in some great wrong. And yet how could such an idea be applicable to Mr Angus of Auchengray, whose name was synonymous in the country-side with integrity and honour, and whom all who knew him would trust with : "told gold, and with what was much more precious — the family secrets, the skeletons on the hearth, the shadows in the home which have to be revealed some- times to those in his profession. Robert dismissed the idea as absurd, and yet it would haunt him persistently, till he felt astonished and annoyed at his own imaginative folly. It was now two months since Rolfe Ransome had come to Auchengray, and during th^. ume Robert and he had not become more friendly ; in fact they rarely spoke to each other, and between them Mr Angus was kept rather uncomfortable in his mmd. Many wondered, both privately and publicly, what the banker meant by being so much 36 Tivice Tried. more indulgent and considerate to the junior clerk than be was to his only son. One or two had a strong suspicion of the truth. Mr Angus left Auchengray at seven o'clock the following morning, and Mr Rolle Ransome elected to take a holiday likewise, and joined the skaters at noon on the loch in the Karl's grounds. Robert Angus made no com- ment thereon, but those in the office with him knew the meaning of that ominous darkening of the brows and the stern compression of the lips. There was a storm brewing in the Angus household, which would break ;;re many hours weie over. Robert directed M'Dowall to have the trap ready at half-past seven, as he intended driving to Strath- blane himself to meet the master. Then he dined alone (nobody knew what had become of Rolfe), and, muffling himself up well, jumped into the gig and drove away. It was bright moonlight, the air clear and still, and frosty — as fine a winter night as one could wish to see. Objects could be seen at a great distance, and the snow-capped ridges of the hills beyond Strathblane were distinctly visible as he drove slowly up the long incline which gradually rose fron. Auchengray. When he reached the Earl's gates he pulled out his watch and sa ' *hat it was ten minutes past "eight. Beauty had been taking it easy coming up the hill, but he would need to pull up now, for the train was due in twenty minutes, and he had still three miles to run. By driving straight through the policies, past the Thorn and out at the North Lodge, he would save a mile, so after a moment's hesitation Robert turned the animal's head down the avenue. He could see the lights of the Thorn twinkling through the trees, and picture, too, the pleasant family circle gathered in the drawing-room, such as he had seen it many, many a time. The avenue took a wide sweep past the Castle, which at that season of the year v,'as dark and deserted, then it cut across the park, and, passing the factor's house, emerged into the high road to Strathblane. The The Bc^innini!^. <> f .")/ trees at the lower end ^rcw thickly together ; giant beerlics, with the growth of centuries u|)on them, interlacing their huge arms overhead, wliich in the summer time made ii dark, deHcious shade, and now in their winter nakedness cast long, weird, dark shadows across the way. Robert Angus looked with fond interest at the brightly- lighted windows of the house which iield his darling, little dreaming hovv near she was to him in that moment, and what unexpected picture was about to be presented to his view. When he entered upon the other end of the avenue he saw two figures in the distance — a man and a woman, his keen vision presently assured him — and there was a strange familiarity about them both. They were walking (losely together, and seemed so much absorbed that they ajiparently did not hear the whirr of the approaching gig. When he came nearer to them he saw distinctly the outline of the woman's graceful figure, the soft, white wrap about the head and shoulders, and his lips twitched under his brown moustache. Her companion might be Jim ; but the fi^'ure was scarcely so tall or so well-built ; then a brother and sister are not much given to moonlight strolls on a bitter winter night, unless, perhaps, under very exce|)tional circumstances. When the machine was close upon the pair they seemed to come to themselves with a start, and both turned round, and immediately sprang apart. But not before Robert Angus had seen the close clinging of Amy's hand to Roife Ransome's arm — not before he had noted the air of confident proprietorship with which Rolfe Ransome held his handsome head down to the golden one. No, he saw all these, but he made no sign. He gave Beauty a sharp touch with the lash, and set her off in a sharp trot, and he kept his face looking straight before him, as a stranger might have done out of consideration for a pair of lovers whose courting he had unintentionally interrupted. Robert Angus made no outward sign ; only Beauty seemed to be alive to ill If : I II '511 I ,i!" 38 Tivice Tried. the fact that her master was not to be trifled with ; she was kept so hard in curb, and driven with such unusual force. The train was signalled when they reached the station, and in two or three minutes it came puffing in with a mighty noise, the red lights on the engine gleaming like fierce eyes in the darkness. The omnibus from the country was in waiting as usual, and one or two cabs and a carriage and pair, pertaining to one of the Strathblane mill-spinners, were waiting in the enclosure. Robert Angus drew up as near to the station gate as possible, and watched — with little enough interest, it must be told— the passengers streaming from the platform. He saw two ladies and a gentleman get into the carriage, which at once drove away, and wondered a little what was keeping his father, who was generally to the front everywhere. He saw him presently coming along the platform, laden with j)ackages, and carrying a lady's fur mantle over his arm ; and he was not alone. Robert paid no attention, however, thinking he was helpin;]^ some friend who happened to be travelling alone. She came out of the gate first, and then paused directly under the lamj), waiting, evidently, till her companion had delivered up the tickets. Robert Angus glanced carelessly and curiously at her, and his eyes were at once riveted by the exceeding beauty of her face. It was a beauty no<" common in the North country ; a delicate and exquisite loveliness, such as he had never seen surpassed or equalled. The face was not attrac- tive merely in its harmonious blending of feature and colour, but was peculiarly winning in expression. Robert Angus had not for a long time seen a face which interested him so deeply. While he was looking and wondering who the fair stranger could be, he saw his father join her, and could not but be struck by the impressive courtesy oi his demeanour towards her. It was far beyond his ordinary polite attention to the ladies of his acquaintance. " Has your man not come ? " he heard her ask, and ,it:.i TJic r>coiunin(^. 39 lier voice was low and sweet — that excellent thins: in woman. "The trap is there," Mr Angus answered. "I see my son is with it himself." Robert saw the fine eyes shadow as she glanced a little timidly towards him, little guessing how closely she was being watched. The next minute Mr Angus crossed the enclosure to the side of the dogcart. " Robert, can't you come down a minute, and see this lady ? " he said, in a queer, abrupt way. *' 1 want to intro- duce you." '* Rcauty won't stand, as you know," Robert answered, with unpromising brevity, for the whole truth had come uj)on him with a shock. IVIr Angus at once went back to the lady, and appeared to be urging something upon her; but she repeatedly shook her head, and at length he opened the door of the nearest cab and put her in. Robert watched how he lingered, as if loath to say good-night ; but at last he turned away, gave the driver his orders and his fare, and, when it drove away, crossed over to the dogcart, which was now the only vehicle in the enclosure. " What made you think of coming to night. I never thought of it," he said, as they drove away. " I don't know. I wanted the air about me," Robert answered. " Did you get all your business through in town ? " *' Yes, very comfortably. What kind of a day have you had ? " " Dusy. Ransome had a hol'day, of course, and that gave the others more to do." ** A holiday ! Dless me, who gave him a holiday?" *' I thought you did, sir, he went off so calmly." "Not I. I'm not such an ass as to imagine two can be sjjared at once. 'I'he lad wants talking to." 40 Twice Tried. fl! " He wants something more," said Robert, with a kind of subdued savageness. " If I were the master, I'd kick him into the middle of next week." Mr Angus, senior, discreetly held his peace, and there was a brief silence. " That was Miss Ransomc I wished to introduce you to at the station. Bob," he ventured to say at length. " Was it ? I fancied so," Robert made answer, ^nd not another word passed between them all the way home. M'Dowell was waiting to take Beauty to the stable, and the two gentlemen passed into the house at once. The dining-room was snug and cosy, but it was empty. "Has Mr Ransome been in to dinner?" Robert asked of the servant who came in to put up the lights. " No, Mr Robert. It is very inconvenient when Mr Ransome has to have dinner kept for him," said the girl, in rather an aggrieved voice. " Next time Mr Ransome is not in to dinner there is none for him, my girl ; remember that," said the old master, in sharp, clear tones. "And if he makes any complaints, refer him to me." " Very well, sir," said the girl, respectfully, and at once withdrew. Robert threw himself into the easy-chair and took up the Scotsman. His father went to the sideboard and helped himself to a glass of sherry. "Cold work driving six miles to-night. Wouldn't you like a nip?" " No, thank you. Did you dine in town, father? " " Yes. You would have your dinner alone, seeing Ransome wasn't in ? " " I didn't particularly miss him," said Robert, drily. " You and he are not great friends." " Do you wonder at that?" asked Robert, quietly. "Well, no; you are very different. He is a senseless, TJie Beginning. 41 thoughtless lad, but I hope as he grows older he will improve." " I don't think it likely. He will get us all into trouble if we don't watch ourselves," said Robert, significantly. " The fact of the matter is, I believe I made a mistake bringing him here, Bob," said Mr Angus, repeating the conviction he had expressed the previous night. " Why don't you send him about his business ? If I were dissatisfied with a servant I wouldn't keep him a day longer than I was obliged ♦.o. It passes my comprehension how you can tolerate him in the house for a moment. I hove been very near kicking him out myself more than once.'* " Well, you see — well, you see " said Mr Angus, in rather a helpless manner. " Say, Bob, didn't you wonder why I wanted to introduce you to Miss Ransome to-night ? " " If I did, what then ? " "Well, I suppose I had better tell you. But by-the-by, when are you going to set up house-keeping yourself?" " I have not thought about it," Robert answered, keeping : 's eyes fixed on the newspaper before him. " I think, if you are going to marry, it would be a pity to lose the chance of a house like Fairgate. It will be snapped up quickly enough." " Are you anxious to get rid of mej, father ? " asked Robert, with a slightly bitter smile. "No, no; what's the use of saying that?" asked Mr Angus, testily. ** It will be dull enough for me when you are away." "Then you may keep your mind easy, father, for the probability is that I may never marry." " Oh, nonsense ! What's the use of saying that to me? What of Amelia Burnett ? I would be sorry to think you were speaking in earnest." "But what was it you were to tell me?" said Robert, bringing his father back to the starting-point. 42 Tivice Tried. ill' " Well, well, I thought you were a shrewd fellow, Hob, who could put two and two together. In fact, I never thought I'd need to tell you," said Mr Angus, nervously. " Well, you see, when you are married it will be rather a lonely job for me. So, in fact, I've made up my mind to marry again." The paper feh from Robert's hand, and he looked at him in absoiute surprise. " Mai. y again !" he repeated, blankly. "At your time of life? Surely not." " At my time of life ! Bless me, boy, I'm only sixty- three, and as frciih as a man half my age," said Mr Angus, briskly. There was a few minutes' painful silence. *' You cannot expect me to be greatly elated at first, sir; the thing has come so unexpectedly upon me," said Robert, at length. " But if the lady is suitable in age and circum- stances, and will make you happy, I will be the last person to say one unsatisfactory word." " Thank you. I knew you would take a sensible, considerate view of the matter. Let me assure you that, though there is some little disparity in years between us, the lady is all that even you could desire." *' Is it Miss Ransome?" " It is Miss Ransome," responded Mr Angus at once ; then to his no little astonishment, Robert rose up and walked out of the room. A minute later he heard the closmg of the hall door, and his tiim, quick step going down the street. rr:3 CHAPTER V. FRIENDS. T was a very pleasant room, especially on a winter evening, when the curtains were closely drawn and the old-fashioned chintz-covered couch placed in front of the cheery fire, and the little work-table beside it, with the open work-basket, and a piece of knitting, or perhaps just a thimble, to indicate that it was a woman's favourite corner. There was a piano opposite the lire-place — an old-fashioned scjuare, with a sweet, tinkling voice, and a very brilliantly- polished case, which told that it had been well and tenderly dealt with. The old piano and one or two choice engrav- ings on the wall were the only valuable articles which had been saved from the Manse sale, and which hel|)ed to make the little parlour at Sunset Cottage something like liome to Joan Laurence. People had wondered and con- demned when, without consulting anybody. Miss Laurence had rented the little empty cottage ..[ the foot of the High Street, and, after having removed the few goods and chattels she possessed, had settled down alone to earn her bread in the place where she had been born. The busybodies agreed in thinking that it would have been a much better plan for Miss Laurence to have gone out as a governess, lor which she was perfectly qualified, and which would have been a much more res[)ectable and proper position 44. Twice Tried. for the daughter of their former minister than hving alone, without even a solitary domestic to give a tinge of genteel propriety to the small domicile. But Miss Laurence evidently knew her owr. mind best, and none of those so deeply interested in her a^airs dared to make a suggestion, or to hint at their disapproval to her, for she was a thousand times more distant and haughty and unapproachable in her reduced circumstances than she had ever been in the days when she was mistress of the Manse. Joan Laurence had not many friends now among the upper classes of Auchengray. She was one of the women who would be known and loved by the few, never by the many. Those who had known her longest loved her best, for she did not reveal herself to everyone. In her nature there were depths undreamed of by the shallow minds who sat in pitying judgment upon her, and who would say, with a shrug of their shoulders, " Poor Joan Laurence ! She was always peculiar, and she gets worse as she grows older." But there were people in Auchengray, hard-working, struggling, ignorant men and women, whom the " select circle" would pass by loftily on the other side, but who worshipped the very ground upon which Joan Laurence trod. To them she showed herself; to them she was the tender, sympathetic, warm-hearted friend, strong to comfort and to help, humble and unmindful of herself in her en- deavours to make life a little less hard for them. Such had Joan Laurence been to the poor in her father's parish, and as their firm, warm friend they loved and honoured her even after the advent of the new minister's very officious wife, who intruded into their dwellings at all hours, lifted the lid from their broth-pot, and gave patronising advice about the making of economical dinners out of cheap bones and in- ferior meat. Mrs Balfour pronounced the parishioners of Auchengray to be an ungrateful lot, wanting in every element of respect and proper understanding of their position, and Friends. 45 she did not scruple to say that the former minister's wife and daughter had spoiled them, and given them ideas far above their station. It had been a hard trial for Joan Laurence to undertake the musical tuition of Mrs Ikilfoar's two girls. But knowing that she could not afford, and had, moreover, no right to refuse to give her services to tiie minister's wife more than to any other, she swallowed her pride and went. Mrs Balfour was jealous of her influence in the parish ; she could scarcely take a step without being met by warm and loving praise of Miss Laurence, and, not being a lady either by birth or education, nor even a feeling- hearted woman, she did not scruple to humiliate the "music- mistress," as she termed her, on every possible occasion. But Joan was equal to her. Whatever rudeness or discourtesy Mrs Balfour might choose to exhibit to her, she never for a moment forgot that she was a lady, never for a moment allowed her calm, proud serenity to be ruffled ; she did her work faithfully and well, and, while teaching the minister's girls the mysteries of music, she also gave them lessons in love. The minister himself was a kindly, well-intentioned man, much subdued by his wife. " A feckless crater," the work- ing-folk called him, and his influence for good in the parish was not very strong. He was a good preacher, however, and was seen and heard at his best in the pulpit ; out of it he was little more than a cypher. Joan had just returned from the Manse, and was in the kitchen setting on the kettle for the cup of cocoa with which she was accustomed to refresh herself after her walk when there came a loud and imperative knock to her door. Thinking it would be a messenger from some poor body who had been taken suddenly ill, she ran to answer the summons, forgetting in her haste that she carried the little tin kettle in her hand. It was pitch dark outside, and, as there was no light in the lobby, she could only discc.»n the dim outline of a man standing on the step. 46 Twice Tried. "Well, what is it?" she asked, kindly, and was a little alarmed when the man, without speaking, stepped across the threshold. " Who is it?" she asked more sharply. " It's only me, Joan," said Robert Angus, in a stifled voice. " I can come in, I suppose? " " Of course," she said, quickly ; " step into the sitting- room, please, and I'll be with you presently." So saying, she sped back to the kitchen, set down the kettle with a litde laugh at herself, then took off bonnet, cloak, and over-shoes, and took down her dress, which she had carefully fastened about her to save it from the wind — for in these changed days Joan had to be very careful of her clothes, not knowing where the next suit was to come from, but sure that it could not be procured until it had been hardly earned. When she was quite ready she went back to the sitting-room, to find her visitor leaning back in the comfortable easy chair with his eyes fixed moodily on the fire. He did not even look up at her entrance, and, divining at once that there was something wrong, she never spoke a word, but sat down in her own corner of the couch, and took up her knitting. She was one of those rare women who know when and how to hold their tongues. "What are you making, Joan?" Robert Angus asked presently. " A woollen vest for that poor Willie Wilson. He has such a frightful cough ; and he is thinly enough clad. There are frightful draughts in that station-house, and when he goes out to collect the tickets the east winds get a beautiful clutch at him ; so I thought this would be the very thing for him." " How on earth do you find ways and means to do so much for people, Joan? It is a perfect miracle." Joan laughed slightly ; but there was a little catch in her vo.ce more suggestive of tears than laughter. .1 \ Friends. 47 "Oh, I like to do it, and the w'" finds the way, you know. It is good for me, too, to see that others are worse oft' than me, and so try to help them if I can." " It's a pity there are not more like you," was Robert Angus's sole comment ; and another silence ensued. "It's a long time since 1 was here, Joan," he said, presently. Joan nodded. "Not since I told you not to come," she said, with a little odd smile. " You remember, when I became rather unpleasantly aware that it was not i)roper for me to allow you to spend an hour here. Yet they knew our relation- ship, and how we had been like brother and sister all our days. Truly, the tender mercies of our friends are very cruel." " But for you, Joan, I would have disregarded their silly and malicious gossip." '* So should I if I had not been dependent on them for my bread," said Joan. " Poor things, their hearts are not much wider than their purses, and that is narrow enough, as 1 have bitterly proved." " Why don't you ask me why I am here to-night?" asked Robert Angus, ai)ruptly. " Because 1 expect you to tell me. I am not of a i)rying nature." '* I wish you were a little more like your neighbours — no, I don't, though. Well, I'm rather put out to-night ; in fact, I'm thoroughly disgusted with myself and everybody else." " Charming frame of mind ! Go on ! Confession is good for the soul." Robert Angus rose from his chair, and began to walk up and down the little narrow room. "Joan, my lather is going to marry again," he said, suddenly. 48 Twice Tried. \ '> I list I! I t i : i 1 ti 1 '|l ■:t'i JoTn laid down her work, and turned her face round to him. " I am not surprised. I was afraid of it ; but I am very sorry." " What do you think of it?" " Not very much ; but Mr Angus is not an old man." " He is sixty-three." " Look at my Uncle Joseph. He was eighty." " But he married a suitable wife. Do you think Miss Ransome a suitable wife for my father ? " " Not in age, certainly ; but you must not be too hard on her." " How can I respect her ? Would any young girl marry an old man for anything except to gain position and wealth?" " Now I do not quite agree with you. I grant that what you say is the rule, but there are exceptions. Your father is very handsome, and carries his years well. Then he is young in spirit, and very lovable." "Oh, bosh?" " Thank you, Mr Angus." " Well, what's the use of going on like that ? Are you trying to make me believe there is any love in the matter?" " I cannot say, but I think it not unlikely. You must make the best of this, Robert. As far as I can hear and judge, Miss Ransome is as good as she is beautiful." " Then she must be very different from her precious brother," said Robert, savagely. " She is very different. I am sure you will like her, and I believe she will make your father very happy. As you are a man, and have a home of your own in prospect, the change really cannot affect you very much. If you were Mr Angus's daughter instead of his son, it would be different." Fi ten lis. A) "You are right, it would. You are very positive that I have a home in prospect, Joan." ' Whether is it Amy or you who have changed, then ? " Rol)ert Angus made no answer, but Joan saw his face grow darker as if some uni)leasant thoughts were in his mind. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, presently. " Fairgate is ready, isn't it ? I think you should marry soon, Robert." "Why?" " I am not compelled to give my reasons. I think both Amy and you would be happier. Certainly she would be more settled ; and what is the use of waiting?" " Not much, certainly. It will have to be off or on soon, any way," said Robert Angus, and there sto[)ped. He felt tempted to tell Joan Laurence what he had seen in the policies that night, but it would hurt his pride. He could not confess that a being so contemptible in his eyes as Rolfe Ransome should have caused Amy to swerve, even for a moment, in her allegiance to him. He need not have been so reticent, however, for Joan had her suspicions already ; and, what was more, she was reading his thoughts in that very moment like an open book, " Is your father's marriage likely to take place soon ? " she asked, wisely changing the subject. " I don't knr'.v. I was so disgusted when he told me of it that I walked out of the house. I haven't much patience, Joan." *' You're a man," said Joan, philosophically ; " so nobody expects it of you. You will be more civil to him the next time he speaks of it." " If I am, he has you to thank." " Oh, no ; you would have come to reason sooner or later," said Joan, serenely. " Will you take a cup of cocoa Willi me ? If you won't you must go away and let me have mine. I am very hungry." D m 11 50 Twice Tried. " No, tlinnks, I could not eat or drink anything, so I'll go away. Vou are a good sort of woman, Joan. I couldn't get on at all without you," said Robert, suddenly, as if the thought had hut newly struck him. " I believe I'm a selfish, ungrateful wretch, but I do value your friendship, Joan Laurence ; I assure you I do." Joan's fine eyes filled with sudden tears, and she rose hastily, brushing them aside as she did so, as if ashamed of her emotion. *' Of course I know you do, else I wouldn't have taken the trouble to talk so much to you. When you fall short of what I expect and think you should do and be, I just comfort myself by thinking that as you are a man you must be excused." Robert laughed a little, and looked contemplatively for a moment at the woman before him. Slie was not beautiful by any means, but there was a something about her he had never seen in any other woman. The wide sympathies, the strong yet tender soul, the boundless kindliness of her heart shone in ner eyes, and showed themselves in every play of her somewhat strongly-marked features. Her attiic might be shabby and lowly enough, but she was a lady, and looked it every incli ; nay, she was more — a woman whom any man might be proud and glad to call friend. " You always do me good, Joan ; what a brick you are ! Do you know I sometimes wish those jolly oM days, when we used to throw stones at and otherwise- abuse each other, were back again ? We were very hapi)y then." " Very ; but there's no use growing sentimental," said Joan, with a queer twitch about her grave, sweet lips. "Good-night, and do you take my advice and be kind to your father, and to the young wife when she comes home. You'll never regret it. I think we'll find when we grow old Frieuiis. 51 that it's not the kind deeds that will cause us sorrow, but the other ones. Off you i^o ! " " I'll remember your sermon, Joan. Good-night, and (lod bless you ! I don't often use phrases like that, but I really mean it to-night." Joan nodded. She really could not trust herself to say any more. When the door closed upon Robert Angus, she gulped down a great sob, and went away to prepare her solitary meal. ■t:[ ij;l||| im CHAPTER VI. BEYOND THE BOUNDS. NSTEAD of going straight home, F )bert Angus walked out the Strathblane road as far as the Earl's gates. He had no intention, however, of going to the Thorn ; Amy Burnett would see no more of him for a few days to come. He simply wanted a quiet hour to himself to ponder over certain things, and to shape the course he intended to pursue. His talk with Joan Laurence had done him good. There was no nonsense about her, no beating about the bush ; she said what she had to say in plam, pointed language which could not be misunderstood. Then she never flattered nor spared when she thought blame was due ; when she did praise, however, it was in no stinted measure — she did nothing by halves. Curiously enough, Robert Angus thought, she had never given him a word of approbation ; on the rare occasions when they met now she was invaiiably taking him to task honestly and fearlessly about something. The strangest thing of all was that he enjoyed it, perhaps because it was different food from that to which he was accustomed. The women folk of Auchen- gray had done their best to spoil Robert Angus, and they had very nearly succeeded. From Joan Laurence his thoughts wandered presently to Amy Burnett, with whom he felt justly indignant. The ' I « Beyond tJic Bounds. S3 very soul of honour himself, true not only in word and deed, but in thought, to his promised wife, it hurt him bitterly to find that she had swerved in her faith to him. There might be nothing in taking a stroll with Rolfe Ran- some ; still, as the betrothed of another, she had no right to do it. Therefore she deserved to be punished, and he would go no more to the Thorn till she penitently sent for him and begged to be forgiven. Grimly satisfied with this resolution, he bethought himself that he had better be going home, as it was past nine o'clock. Just as he" turned to go, someone came striding through the Earl's gates, and pre- sently the mingled odour of perfume and tobacco convinced him that Rolfe Ransome was coming up behind. Not at all desirous of having his company home, Robert qu ckened his steps ; so did Rolfe, and in a few minutes was alongside. " Holloa, Angus, it's you ! Out for a stroll, eh ? " he asked, in his cool, impertinent manner. No answer. " It's rather late to go to the Thorn ; besides, Mrs Bur- nett had a headache, and had gone to bed. That's why I left so early. Going home, eh ? " *' Yes ; but be good enough to go on in front, or else keep behind," said Robert, quietly. " I prefer my own company to yours." *' Dear me, how grumpy you are ! Governor home, eh ? Was he waxed at me for taking a holiday?" *' I expect you will hear about it. Mr Angus is much displeased. It is probable you will receive your dismissal." " Not a bit of it," said Rolfe, serenely. " He won't for Isabel's sake. You bet he won't ; but there, I'm letting the cat out. You wonder I am " " The fjact that Mr Angus is about to mal-ry your sister will not make him overlook all your offences," said Robert, significantly. " Several of your doings of late will require an explanation shortly." li 11 54 Twice 'fried. Rolfe gave vent to a long, low whistle, indicative of his extreme surprise. *' So you know all about it, do you ? Well, you know, you may as well keep civil, for you won't have much say when there's two of us in the house." Robert Angus bit his lip till it bled. Onlyhimself knew what a mighty effort it cost him to keep his hands off Ransome. " You've treated me worse than a dog since I came to this vile place," said Ransome, presently, carefully knocking the ashes from his pipe. "But I'll be revenged on you. Say, how did you feel when you saw the divine Amy and your humble servant in the avenue to-night? Very small, eh ? I thought you would. Here, I say, keep off. Do you mean to kill me? " Robert Angus threw his prudence to the winds. Catching his tormentor by the collar of the coat, he shook him as a dog would shake a rat — shook him till his teeth chattered in his head, and he howled for mercy. Then taking up the dainty cane which had fallen from Ransome's nerveless fingers, he snapped it across his back, and tossed it and its owner in the gutter. Then he strode on in front, leaving Rolfe to pick himself up gingerly, swearing and vowing vengeance in no measured terms. When it came to a trial of strength, he had not the ghost of a chance against Robert Angus ; so his revenge would need to take some other form than that of personal chastisement. After the heat of his passion wore off, Robert felt annoyed at and ashamed o himself. It would have been much more dignified, cer- tainly, to have passed by Ransome's impudence with silent contempt, only there were men upon whom contempt was utterly lost, and whom nothing short of corporal punishment would touch ; and Rolfe Ransome was certainly one of these. He seemed utterly devoid of any of the finer feelings ; as for honour, the word was to him only an unknown sound. As he neared home Robert's thoughts reverted again to Beyond the Bounds. 55 Ms father. He felt sorry now that he had been so short with nim. After all, he had a right to please himself witli- out consulting anybody. When he remembered the anxious nervousness with which he hnd approached the subject, and the evident dread he had ot the reception he (Robert) would give his news, he smiled a compassionate smile, and again regretted that he had not been kinder. As Joan had said, kind deeds would be the pleasantest to reflect upon at that period of life when memory is all we have to live upon — that time which comes upon us silently and swiftly, con- vincing us that the highest ambitions and proudest aims of humanity are as nothing when weighed with love. It was exactly half-past nine on the Town Hall clock when he passed up the High Street, which was now quite deserted. The only creature he saw was the doctor's house- maid, running to the Post Office with her master's letters. He bade her good evening as he passed, for she had been two years in the Bank House, and it never occurred to Robert to pass even a servant-girl without recognition. It was that perfect frank courtesy which made him so much beloved in Auchengray. " Is the master in, Christina ? " he asked the girl who opened the door to him, for he had forgotten his key. " Yes, sir. He is in the study. Is Mr Ransome not with you, Mr Robert? The master has been asking for him. He seems anxious about him." " Oh, he is all right. He will be here shortly," Robert answered carelessly, and, hanging up his hat and coat, went straight to the library. His father was writing at the table, and merely glanced up at his entrance, but made no remark. Robert stood against the mantel with his hands in his pockets, listening to the scratching of the pen across the paper. " You did not see Ransome, T suppo5:e ? " his father said presently, as he addressed and sealed his letter. 56 Twice Tried, Robert could read the address from where he stood — " Miss Ransome, care of Mrs Colquhoun, Mount Rosa, Strathblane." " Yes, I saw him. He will be in shortly." " Where has he been ; do you know ? " " Spending the evening at the Thorn," responded Robert, briefly. " Ah, I'm glad to hear he was in so safe a place. You surely don't go so much to the Thorn as you did, Bob ? " " One wooer at a time is sufficient, I fancy, even for Miss Burnett," Robert answered, with a bitterness which surprised both his father and himself. But the old man wisely made no comment. *' Father, I'm sorry I was so rude to you this evening," said Robert, presently, turning his fine eyes fully and frankly on his father's face. " I was taken by surprise and forgot myself. Believe me, I wish you every happiness, and I shall not lack in courtesy, I assure you, to your wife, when- ever you please to bring her home." It was half-comical, half-pathetic, to see the change which came upon the banker's face as he listened to these words. "Thank you, Bob. I hoped this wouldn't make any difference between us," he said, somewhat huskily, and ex- tending his hand to his son as he spoke. " I won't forget this, I, promise you; and I am sure Isabel will appreciate your good-will even more deeply than I do. She has been very anxious about you, and I have just been writing to her to-night with a heavy heart." Robert nodded. " You might re-open the letter, and convey my good wishes to her in a postscript," he suggested, with a slight twinkle in his eye, which brought a smile to his father's lips. So Joan's sermon was already bearing fruit. " I say, father, do you know what I've been about to- night ? " \'"k i 44 Beyond the Bounds. 57 " No. Haven't you been at the Thorn ? " "No, I looked in to see Joan Laurence for an hour; then I went out tlie Strathblanc Road, and gave Kansome a tlirashinL%" "Bless me, boy !" Mr Angus started, not being able to discern the annlogy between paying a visit to Miss Laurence and chastising Ransome. " He was impertinent to me, and that was the only way I coiild punish him ; so I did it," said Robert, coolly. " I hope you didn't hurt him." " Not I ; only spoiled a cane and a pair of kid gloves for him ; that's all. He'll weigh his words next time he speaks to me, ril warrant you." " Dear me, it is most extraordinary ! I had no idea there was so much fire in you, Rob. But if you didn't hurt him, I daresay it won't do him any harm." " It'll do him good. There he is, coming in. He won't show face here, I promise you." Mr Ransome admitted himself with his own key, and went straight up to his room. As may be imagined, he was not in a particularly amiable mood. Nor were the remarks he made in a savage undertone while he brushed the mud from his new tweed suit of a very elegant or complimentary kind. Robert was right. The thrashing, richly merited as it was, did Ransome good, in so far as it put an end to all impertinence directed against the individual who had in- flicted it. He now kept a respectable distance from Robert, and, though living under the same rooftree, they seldom exchanged words. Mr Angus, senior, began to keei) a more strict and vigilant surveillance over his junior clerk, and did not mince matters when he chanced to offend ; so that the young gentleman had but an indifferent time of it in the house of Angus. Hut he found consolation ever awaiting him at the Thorn. s« Tiuice Tried. ijii| jl ;Hal 'I'll' ■ ■ jl ^.1| I :i I, ill rS ) ■::( Robert Angus absented himself from the factor's house for a week, and intended still further to absent himself until Amy should send for him and make some explanation of the scene which she knew very well he had witnessed. He was somewhat astonished at his own coolness in the matter; in fact, he felt no extreme distress at the separation from his lady love, and as the days went by he felt less and less inclination to return to his old allegiance. He was standing at the bank door one afternoon just at closing time, waiting on the office boy bringing up the mail- bag from the post-office, when Mr Burnett came up. *' Holloa, Robert ; how are you ? " he said, cheerily. " I was in the town, and came up sjjiicially to see you. What's come over you this age, eh ? " "Nothing particular. Won't you come in? It is just three, and my father will be going into the house presently." " No, thank you. Come, tell me why you have stayed away so long. Amy not been behaving, eh ? " "Amy knows what has kept me, Mr Burnett," Robert said, " She pretends not to — the monkey — for I asked her this very day, and she tossed her head, and said you must have got a sweetheart. Is that so ? " " It is Amy who is fickle. She does not miss me. evi- dently ; she has got so good a substitute," said Robert, drily. "Tell you what; that young Ransome's not worth his salt, and he comes a deal too much to the Thorn. If I thought he was making love to my girl I'd show him the door precious quickly, I assure you," said Mr Burnett, with asperity. " That's just what he' is doing, Mr Burnett ; and it is scarcely to be expected that I should brook his rivalry." " Bless me ! I wish my family had been all boys ; they are so much less trouble. That Amy beginning to annoy me with her lovers already, and four young ones coming up Beyond the Bounds. 59 to follow her example. It'll make me an old man before my time," said Mr Burnett, comically. ** Well, Robert, Amy or no Amy, don't desert us. Mamma misses you of an evening — so do we all." "Thank you. Tell Mrs Burnett I'll be up some evening soon. You've heard of my father's approaching marriage with Miss Ransome ? " "Yes, and I didn't know what to think of it. I thought your father too sensible a man to have done it," said Mr Burnett, shaking his head. " But she's a very sweet girl, I hear, and you may be very comfortable together; I am sure I hope so. Well, I'm off. There's Miss Laurence coming up the street. Fine woman that ; I wish my Amy were more like her. Don't forget your promise to come up. Good day 1 " CHAPTER VII. AYE OR NO ? iiliiii R BURNETT was an exceedingly amiable man and an iiidulgent father, but he could be sternly angry at times, and then his children quaked before him. Now, if he had one special desire in this world, it was to see his eldest daughter the wife of Robert Angus, and there had been no prouder or better pleased man in Auchengray than he that day when Robert asked his per- mission to pay his addresses to Amy. It was not only that it was a good settlement in life for her (for, in addition to his expectations from his father, Robert Angus had in- herited a considerable fortune from his mother), he was a son-ijvlaw of whom any man might be proud. He had never been mixed up in any of the follies of which so many young men are guilty ; his life from his very boy- hood had been a pure and spotless page, in which even the most censorious could not find a flaw or a blemish. Such being the case, it was no wonder that Amy Bur- nett's father and mother had both gladly and thankfully promised her to Robert Angus. Knowing him so well, Mr Burnett guessed that it was not from a mere punctilio he had absented himself from the Thorn so long. No. Amy must have given him some real ground for offence ; and it was his nature to stand aloof until that offence was liM' Ay or No ? 6i acknowledged, for he wrs as proud as a prince where his own honour was concerned, and would not swerve an inch, even for the woman he loved. As Mr Burnett walked home that afternoon, thinking over the thing all the way, he grew gradually more irritated and annoyed, until, by the time he reached his own house, he had made himself seriously angry. He let himself in, and went into the study, where Mary was lying full length on the rug devouring " The Fortunes of Nigel." She jumped up at her father's en- trance, and, gathering from his face that he was displeased about something, began to move quickly out of the room. " Where's your sister ? Is she in the house?" he asked, abruptly. "Which one, papa?" queried Mary, rather timidly. " Amy, of course. What should I want with the children?" he asked, sharply. "Go and find her, and tell her I want her down here at once." Mary gladly made her escape, feeling inwardly thankful that she was not Amy, though very sorry that she had so evidently fallen under the ban of her father's rare displeasure. Mary was a shrewd girl, and like these very quiet people, saw more than anybody imagined. She quickly surmised that it was about Robert Angus her father was going to take her sister to task. Amy was in the drawing-room, trying her eyes in the already fading light over an exquisite piece of crewel work, for she was an adept in making these pretty trifles which cost both time and money, and which are in constant requisition for bazaars and fancy fairs. " Father wants you in the study, Amy," said Mary, break- ing in upon her reverie. " You had better make haste. He said you were to come at once." Amy jumped up at once. " Dear me, papa wants me in the study ! ^\' nat can it be for ? " she wondered, as she folded up her work. " Do you think he is angry, Polly ? " 62 Twice Tried. mm !:: "r "I am afraid he is, Amy," Mary admitted, whereat Amy compressed her lips, and marched boldly downstairs. She, too, had a ])retty good guess what her father wanted her for , but she felt herself equal to the occasion. She found her father standing on the hearth-rug, solemnly waiting tor her, and wearing a very stern expression, which rather diminished her courage. " Well, papa, what is it ? " " Shut that door, please. Now, then, tell me what you mean by making a fool of yourself, and trying to make one of Robert Angus too — eh ? " " What do you mean, papa ? " queried Amy, faintly, beginning to fear that he knew far more than she had the faintest idea of. Visions of innumerable moonlight and starlight walks, in- numerable sweet words and flattering vows, to which she had no right to listen, and which, no doubt, some spy had reported to her father or her lover, or both, rose up before her mind and made her quake. " Mean ! Bless me, girl ! can't you be content with one sweetheart at a time ? You are engaged to Robert Angus, and mean to be hij wife ; why on earth do you en- courage the silly attentions of a jackanapes like Rolfe Ransome ? " Amy's fair face flushed crimson at this contemptuous allusion to the young man whom she had invested with a halo of romance such as surrounds the heroes of poetry and story, but which the reality of work-a-day life speedily dispels. " If Robert Angus has been complaining to you, father, it shows his mean, ungentlemanly spirit," she said, hotly. " He seems to think that because he did me the infinite honour to ask me to be his wife I should be for ever grate- ful and expect nothing more. No woman wiih any sense of what is due to her would be content with the meagre liitii Ay or No ? Q .1 i ■ >■ attention he thinks fit to bestow on mc. It is time his eyes were opened ; better now than when it is too late." Mr Burnett listened to his daughter's words in extreme surprise. " Bless me, girl ! He came to see you every night. He was always [)lanning things for your enjoyment, and I am sure he has spent plenty of money on trinkets and such like," he said, pointing to the exquisite diamond brooch and ear-drops, his gifts, with which she was then adorned. " What more do you want ? Perhaps he didn't flatter you, and talk a lot of rubbish to you ; but didn't that show he respected you more than those who do ? Be careful what you are about, my girl ; a man like Robert Angus isn't to be picked up every day — remember that." *' I'm sick of having that dinned into my ears morning, noon, and night. In my opinion, Robert Angus is a very ordinary man," said Amy, still hotly. " It shows how much he cares for me, anyway, that he has stayed away so long." "There is a reason for that, you know very well," said Mr Burnett, significantly. " Robert Angus loves you, but he will not lose his self-respect for the best woman alive. I know him too well. Well, then, the question is this. Are you going to be off with him altogether?" The girl's fair face paled a little. She was not prepared to go so far yet. Some lingering tenderness for the absent one remained, for he had been good to her, he had loved her well — none knew it better than she. " How am I to know, papa ? " she said, pettishly, her lovely eyes filling with tears of vexation. " Do you want me to walk into Auchengray and go down on my knees to hnn?" *' Don't be absurd. No, I don't want that ; but I'll tell you what I do want, and what I mean to nave — no more of young Ransome hanging about the house. If you don't 'S (54 Twice Tried. give him his Icnve I'll do it, and perhaps not quite so ])()litely. Apart from you altogether, he is not a good com- I)anion for the boys. One thing more; take a hit of fatherly advice, my dear, given to you in love. Be faithful and kind to Robert Angus, for he is a good man, and will make you the best of husbands. I>on't estimate that lightly, for, let me tell you, good husbands are growing scarcer and scarcer every day. Robert Angus may not have so much polish about him as some, but he is the true sort. It's the old story of the gold and the glitter : take care not to be de- ceived. And mintl that he won't stand very mucli more. No manly man will allow a woman to play with him. If he does he loses both her respect and his own, and the love soon follows suit. Now, off you go, and mind what I have said." Amy had no more to say, and leaving the room, she went upstairs to her own, with her hands clasped before her, and an unusually thoughtful expression on her pretty face. She sat down in her quiet chamber and followed out the train of thought her father's plain speaking had staited. Now, though Amy had been pleased and flattered by Rolfe Ransome's admiration, and though she had found his passionate protestations and vows of eternal devotion very sweet in comj)arison with her own lover's cooler wooing, she was not at all prepared to give Robert Angus up. She was not blind to the advantages of the position he could offer her. Mrs Robert Angus of Fairgate would be a person of no mean importance in Auchengray, whereas Mrs Rolfe Ransome would be nobody at all — a creature to be pitied, perhaps, that would be all. Amy Burnett weighed the thing carefully in her own mind in a worldly-wise manner, which was surprising, seeing she had been reared in such an unworldly home, and sur- rounded with the most affectionate influences all her life. Finally she came to the conclusion that her father was r ght, Ay or A'o ? 65 and thnt she would need to woo Robert hack to his allcKi- niK c. 'I'hat, of course, would involve the sacrifice of Rolfe's sweet adulation — a certainty which caused a faint si.uh to escape the coquette's Iij)s. Acting Ujion the imj)ulse of the moment, she opened her desk to pen a little pleading' note to Robert ; but jhe was not a ready writer, and got no further than *' Dear Robert, — Why do you stay away so loHK?" 'i'hen she shut up the desk, resolved to leave the thing till a more convenient season ; and hearing Jim's cheery whistle in the hall, went off downstairs. " Holloa, Amy ! You'd better get on that fine, fancy frock to-night, and give your hair an extra frizz," he said, teasingly. " Angus is coming up to-night." "Is he? What time?" " Oh, about seven, I suppose. You don't deserve that he should come," said Jim, grimly. " See if you cant behave yourself. I don't know why girls can't appreciate a thorough good fellow like Angus when they get nim." "What do you know about anything?" (lueried Amy, loftily, and passed on, outwardly indifferent, but inwardly relieved and glad. A little before seven that evening a slight figure, warmly wrapped up, stole out of the house, and ran lightly across the park towards the avenue. It was a fine moonlight night, and a figure coming up from the lodge gates could easily be recognised from where Amy stood. She had not long to wait, for in a few minutes the long swinging tread, so familiar, came sounding through the stillness, and she saw the tall figure of Robert Angus coming towards her. When he was within a hundred yards of her, she stepped out from behind the trees which sheltered her, and went to meet him. " Is it you. Amy ? " he asked, in surprised tones, but not offering to kiss her, or even to touch her hand. "Yes, it's me," she said, 'ather pathetically. "Jim told IM' n 66 Tivice Tried. me you were coming, and I came to meet vou. But you don't seem glad to see me." " Ycu are sure : was me you came to meet?" he said, quietly. " Of course, who else could it be?" " You might have expected Ransome," Robert answered quickly ; and they turned and began to cross the park together without saying another word. Amy was nearly crying with vexation. Her power over Robert Angus was too evidently gone, for he XoqV not the smallest notice of her woe-begone expression and beseech in;; eyes. When they reached the edge of the park, and were within sight of the house, he suddenly stood still and faced her. " I have something to say to you, Amy, before we go in. We had better come to an understanding at once and for all." Amy shivered a little, for she felt a little afraid of her lover when he spoke like that. " It is nearly a fortnight since I was at the Thorn before, Amy — a fortnight to-night since I passed you and Ransome down there," he said, pointing in the direction of the North Lodge. " I have waited patiently ior an explanation of that scene. Why has none come ? " " What could I say, except that I was sorry if you were vexed ? Was it so very unpardonable to walk a little way with him without meaning anything?" she asked, innocently. Robert Angus impatiently shook his head. " Well, Amy, leaving that altogether out of the question, please to answer me one thing truly. It is the first and last time I shall ask it. Whether do you care for him or for me?" " I promised to be your wife, Robert Angus ; yet you ask me that ! " she said in an aggrieved voice. " I do, and I require a truthful and earnest answer, Amy, Ay or No ? (,7 \{ yoM please. I am tired of this nonsense, and must have it ended either way." She moved near to him, so near that her dress touclied him, and her head was very near his shoulder. But he never stirred. " I am waiting for my answer," he said, quite calmly. " If you are tired of me, of course, and don't want me for your wife, of course I can't help it ; only it's very hard, after making me love you," she said, beginning to sob. '* Do you mean those words, Amy ? Answer me truly. If I seem cold and hard, I am to be forgiven. It is the happiness of both our lives we are about to decide. Be womanly and true for once, Amy," Robert Angus said, with a husky tremor in his voice. The next moment the white arms were clasped about his neck, her golden head pillowed on his breast ; and he held her very close to him. " You will let me speak to your father to-night. Amy, and you will be my wife very soon ? The house is almost ready, and thc-e is no need to wait. I will be happier and more at rest when you belong to me." " Yes, yes, Robert, whenever you like, and I will try and not vex you any more," cried Amy, really penitent now. " I have given my honour and happiness into your keep- ing, Amy, as you have given me yours. God help us to be faithful and true to each other to the end," he said hoarsely. Then he lifted the fair face tc his, and kissed it once— not with a lover's passionate loudness, but with a grave tender- ness, which seemed to Amy Burnett like the confirmation of some solemn vow. ~nr>f - y^^ir; -'^*.!>!> I II was brought in, and Mrs Anrj^us rose. Robert was very temperate always, and as he had already been too lon^ in Ransome's company, he very gladly joined Mrs Angus upstairs. His father did not stay long behind, and as Rolfe had no desire to spend the evening tftfamiile, he immedi- ately left the house. He had an engagement in the Karl's grounds at half-past eight, and it would take him all his time to be punctual. He walked briskly, puffing at his cigar the while, but in spite of his haste he found Amy Burnett waiting for him at the old bridge over the burn at the back of the castle. Yes; Amy Burnett ! An hour ago she had been busy stitching at a part of the wedding gar- ments she was to wear as Robert Angus's wife, and here she was keeping an appointment with Rolfe. Oh, woman, verily thy vows are writ on sand ! How Robert Angus would have gnashed his teeth had he seen the calmness with which Ransome put his arm around Amy, and lightl}' touched her cheek with his lips, scarcely troubling to remove his cigar. *' Not a word, my pet. I know I am late, but the happy couple were nearly half an hour behind the time, and I was obliged to sit the dinner out," he said coolly. " 1 thought so, but it was very cold here, Rolfe, and I was so afraid anyone would see me," she said, drawing closer to him, as if to hide from some reproachful and condemning eyes. "Tell me about them, and about the home-coming." "Oh, it went off beautifully. The governor looks years younger, and was particularly jolly, seeing his good boy so obediently playing the part of a dutiful son. The meeting was pathetic — 'pon honour it was — and Isabel, you know, is Al at that kind of thing. At home she was always execut- ing a weep over her scapegrace brother, and appealing to him in a heroic vein to behave his little seit better ; but the colt must have his fling." ii* His Fathers Wife. 71 Amy was silent. Truth to tell, she felt slightly disgusted with lier admirer's viilgar talk, and could not but contrast him with Robert Angus, who never adorned his conversa- tion with any slang or objectionable phrases. " It's going to be a regular nest of turtle-doves, I tell you — till there's a row, of course," continued Rolle. "I feel rather out in the cold. Never got on very well with Isabel, you see. She's too goody-goody for me. i'he governor isn't a bad old sort, if he was let alone. As for J'ol), I like him about as well as he likes me, and that's very well indeed. What are \ou so quiet about, eii ? " " 1 want to say to you, Rolfe, that I can't meet you any more like this," said Amy, striving to speak finuly. '• It isn't right. I feel quite miserable about it sometimes, besides, what's the use, when I'm to be married in June." "June is it ? Why, that's an age yet ! And, let me tell you, you may as well take your fun when you can, for when Ar ;us once gets you shut up in Fairgate you want get any n.ore. As well go to Newgate at once, you take my word for it' "No fear. Do you think I'll be a poor downtrodden creature, like Dr Torbain's wife, for instance?" "That's just what you will be unless you begin right. Angus is an out-and-out tyrant. I know him belter than you, for you only see the sweet side, if he has one." Amy stood silent, her heart misgiving her a little over her treachery to her absent lover. " It was an awful shame of you to throw me over after making me care about you," said Ransonie, in an aggrieved voice. "I suppose that's the way of all women." " No, it isn't ; but what was the use of going on with you ? Suppose I had sent Robert Angus away, would you have married me ?" " ( )f course I should," said Rolfe, loftily. " And after I had made my fortune we'd have had a place in the country, and a house in London, and had jolly times with the swells — much jollier than you'll ever have at Fairgate, lor 74 Tiuicc Tried. I'm quite an easy fellow to live with if I'm not crossed, and we would have got on splendidly." Amy sighed a little The picture presented to her silly little mind was very bright, and beside it the roomy house at Fairgate, and the position she would have there in a few months' time, v iled into meanest insignificance. " Bu'c '■ ^e' you did throw me over," said Rolfe, con- descends > :h, 'I >.e oblivious of the fact that he had never uttered on^. wUior^ •"•r compromising word to the girl in his life, "there's no use grumuling over it. You must just marry Angus, I suppose, and we can be good enough friends after it. Of course, we'll need to stop all this sort of thing, but in the meantime we may as well have our fun off Angus. I chuckle when I look at him sometimes, and think how I could make him swear if I let the cat out of the bag." " Oh, you mustn't tell," said Amy, apprehensively, " I don't know what papa would say. He'd nearly kill me, I believe." " Not he ; he'd get over it. No, no ; I won't tell. Are you going away already? Why, I have ever so many things to say to you yet." " I can't stay any longer. They'll miss me, and come out to look for me. Good night. No, I'm not coming to meet you again. I've made up my mind." " Oh, yes, you are. You must just make your mind down again. I couldn't live without seeing you, my darling ; you have made yourself necessary to a fellows existence, and it isn't much pleasure he has in this vile place. Don't grudge me a few minutes. It'll come to an end all soon enough." The honeyed words, the strange fascination which Rolfe Ransome had over the girl, speedily weakened and dis persed her feeble resolutions. And they parted in a little, after appointing time and place to meet again. And all unconscious, Robert Atjgus was enjoying himself in the drawing-room at home, with a heart unsuspicious of treachery or wrong. CHAPTER IX. JOAN. Ci HAD one caller to-day in spite, o^ wind and weather," said Mrs Angus to Robr"- one even- ing when he joined her in thr drawing-room before dinner. " Yes, who was it ?" Robert asked, cheerily. ** It certainly has not been a very tem;)ting day." " Miss Laurence." " Joan !" exclaimed Robert, eagerly. " And what did you think of her, Mrs Angus?" " Will you excuse me if I say I like her the best of all the ladies who have yet called ? " Isabel said, a little hesi- tatingly, for the ladies from the Thorn had been among her earliest visitors. " I hoped and expected you would like her, Mrs Angus. I was afraid she would not call. Joan is very proud in her own way." " I could see that. She apologised for coming in the storm, and frankly told me her reason for doing so was that she guessed she would find me alone. We both laughed at that, and then we got on splendidly. She invited me to come and see her, and I am going soon." " Then she must have thoroughly approved of you, Mrs Angus," laughed Robert. " Miss Laurence has not sus- tained her old reputation for hospitality since she went to Sunset Cottage." 1 ' i I «■' I:!; 76 Tivice Tried. " I felt very sorry for her, yet she is not a woman, either, who looks as if she expected or desired pity. Yet her life must be terribly lonely." "'I'hen you know her circumstances?" Robert said, inf|uirin^ly. " Oh, yes. Your father used to tell me about Auchengray folks before I came; and I was specially interested in Miss Laurence, probably because she is an orphan like myself" " She will be your true friend, Mrs Angus. She has been mine all my days, and has kept me in the right way often when I migh.t have gone wrong," Robert said, and Isabel Angus marvelled a little at the evident emotion with which he spoke. Very pleasant indeed was the friendship between Robert Angus and his father's wife, and, save for Rolfe, it had been a happy household. It was wonderful the difference a woman's gentle presence made in the house, and day by day she fulfilled more completely her resolution to make it indeed a home. She was a woman whom it was impossible to be constantly with and not learn to love. She was un- selfish, considerate, thoughtful for others, gentle and yet bright in her whole bearing ; her very presence was like sunshine wherever she was. Spite of the disj^arity in years between her husband and herself, they were deeply attached to each other, and happier than many who enter the bonds with brighter and more equal prospects. Rolfe Ransome was the only shadow, and a dark one indeed, upon his sister's happiness. She was never a moment at ease con- cerning him. Too surely he had inherited all his father's vices, and verv few of his virtues, and Isabel lived in dailv dread lest he should commit some graver offence, which her husband, even out of his love for her, could not overlook. She pleaded with him, appealed to his sense of gratitude, placed before him the benefits Mr Angus had heaped ui)on them both, and tried to make him acknowledge his obliga- tions, but in vain. He laughed her off, and went upon his careless way, enjoying himself as best he could in the quiet §. JOIVK 77 country town, where he was regarded as a hopeless neVr-do- wecl ; indeed, Mr Angus Iiad to listen to many a bitter coiiij int against his junior clerk. He had more than once seriously warned him, and tlireatened him with dismissal, l)Ut the grave, rebuking words went in at one car and out at the other, without making the slightest imj)ression on the scaj)!. grace. Meanwhile the year was wearing on, spring blossomed into early summer, and Robert Angus's own wedding day approached. The house at Fairgate was complete without and 'vithin, the grounds laid out, and the rooms furnished in accordance with the bride-elect's desire and taste, which no expense had been spared to grnnfy. Robert Angus had means, and did not grudge to spend now, though he had hitherto been of rather a saving nature. Fairgate was indeed a home of which any woman might have been proud, and Amy Burnett was proud of it in her own way. When she surveyed the lofty drawing-room, with its costly nick-nacks and substantial furnishings, her vain heart swelled at the thought that it was the finest drawing- room in Auchengray, that at the Bank House not excepted, though it was much admired. Robert Angus superintended all the preparations for the approaching change in his life in a quiet, methodical, undisturbed manner, which might be characteristic of him, but was not like the ha])py elation of a man about to niarry the woman of his choice. He never attempted to analyse his own feelings ; he only felt at times a vague apprehension lest the new life should be dis- appointing, and less happy than the ])resent. F'or just then he was very happy at home, happier than he had ever been since his mother died — thanks to Isabel. In the middle of all these busy preparations Robert had no time to see or sjjeak to Joan Lawrence. She step[)ed aside, as it were, knowing that at this time she was not necessary to him, and never would be again, indeed, unless some undreamed of trouble cnmc. 78 Twice Tried. \ I Ml! Joan accepted this as her portion, and if there was a little ])itterness in her heart over it nobody dreamed of it. She was not a selfish woman, as you are aware, yet at times it did seem hard to iier tiiat a vain, empty, shallow-hearted creature like Amy IJurnett should have won, and account so little, the treasure which she would have thought the mo^t precious on earth. She never for a moment doubted, ob- serve, that Robert's lovvi was fully and completely won, yei the matter was open to question. Society in Auchengray was much exercised and sore dis- pleased that, passing by many more eligible ladies, Mrs Angus elected to make Joan Laurence her chief friend. That friendship, sincerely offered, and as sincerely accepted, was an unutterably precicus thing just then to Joan; and she clung to Isabel Angus with a strange, rugged love which had in it the very power to attract and draw Isabel's heart tov/ards her. They were sitting together one sunny evening in the window of Joan's sitting-room at Sunset Cottage, and from one topic to another the talk turned upon Robert's marriage, which was to take i)lace that day week at the Thorn. " Robert is a very cool lover," Mrs Angus said. " I sometimes think he does not care for Miss Burnett as he ought." "That is his way," Joan replied, quietly. "He does not wear his heart on his sleeve." " I am rebuked," laughed Isabel. " But, seriously, Joan, I am not altogether satisfied with this marriage. Do you think Amy good enough for Robert Angus ? " "Why do you ask me that, Mrs Angus?" Joan asked, a little harshly. " How should I know ? I daresay he is tiie best judge. He has chosen her, and is evidently satisfied that she is the wife for him." " Dear me, don't get so cross," said Isabel, good-naturedly. "Do you know, you are sometimes very irritable, Joan?" "Oh, I know. Don't I feci myself a perfect bear some- Joan. 79 times? I am a kind of Ishmatl," said Joan, a liltlc wcwtily, and her eyes turned yearninL;ly towards tlic Ljlowint; west, as il longing for the rest wiiich lay beyond those gol len bars. She was pale to-night — paler than her wont, and her tn,e eyes were mourntully shadowed, telling of some inward care. Looking at her, Isabel Angus felt her heart moved in no ordinary degree, and she laid her sott hand, with tender compassion, on the girl's arm. "Dear Joan" " Oh, don't," said Joan, quickly. " Don't pity me, or any- thing. I don't need it. I am not unhappy ; why should I be ?" She spoke vehemently, and her eyes flashed restlessly back to Isabel Angus's sweet face, and, resting there, filled with sudden tears. " How weak we women are at times ! " she said, with the glimmer of a dry smile. '* I suppose all this marrying and giving in marriage among my friends makes me feel my loneliness more than I do at other times. Let us talk of something else." " I want to talk to you about ray brother, Joan," said Mrs Angus, growing graver. " He is a constant care to me ; the only shadow on my happiness. I wish Mr Angus had never brought him here, and yet it may be for his good." " He is very different from you, Mrs Angus," said Joan, as gravely. " One could scarcely believe you to be brother and sister." " He is very like poor papa, both in appearance, and, I fear, in otr.er things. When I think of the martyrdom my mother endured for many years, Joan, I can only thank God for my husband. He is so good," Isabel said, passionately. " Yes he is. I knew you would be happy. We used to account Robert's mother the happiest wouiap in Auchen- giay," Joan said, gently. " But there are few men really fit to have the shaping of a woman's life in their hands ; so many of them are unworthy." HI 80 Tzjicc Tried. M: *' You speak bitterly ; almost as if you had proved them un- worthy by experience, Joan," said Isabel, with a slight smile. '* 1 ? Oh, no. 1 had the best of fathers, and I have known, and do know, many good men. But I never had a sweetheart in my life," said Joan, with a short laugh. "Yonder comes Robert, swinging down the hill. His walk will soon be in a different direction." "Yes. Well, I will just wait and go up with him," said Isabel. " Mr Angus will be wondering where 1 have gone. I did not say to him I was coming here." She rose as she spoke, and the two went out into the little garden and waited till Robert came down to the gate. He raised his hat, and greeted them in a gay fashion, which indicated that he v^as in the best of spirits. " Holloa, Joan ! How pale you look ; working too hard. Don't you think so, Mrs Angus ? Do you ever take a holiday?" " No ; where should I go, or what should I make of myself? I am best grinding on day after day without a break or a pause. Leisure would >nly bring me discontent, I fear," Joan said, quietly. " But you will wear yourself out in time," Robert said. " Mrs Burnett is not very well pleased at your refusal to come to the wedding." " I should be out of place there. Mrs Burnett knows, as do you and Amy, that I wish you every happiness ; not many are more sincere in that wish than I." " 1 believe you. Thank you, Joan," said Robert, very gently. " Well, Mrs Angus, are you going home ? " " Yes. Good evening, Joan, do come up, soon. You stay indoors too much ; indeed you do. Will you take a drive with me to-morrow ? " "No, thanks; I am as anxious to keep myself in my own place as certain folks are to put me there," said Joan, with a little wilful pride. " But I am sincerely obliged all the some. You are very good." gt liiiliiii^iu. Joan. "n and try to make him happy." Isabel said, with a siresent to Amy liurnett. She was late in coming with her gift, but Joan liked her own time and her own way of doing things, and it was her desire to see Amy Burnett the night before her wedding-day, and this was it. Yes, to- morrow, all going well, would see Robert Angus and Amy Burnett husband and wife. Joan walked slowly, and with rather a listless step. It might be that she found her walk through the sweet summer air so pleasant that she was anxious to prolong it ; and yd, tjiiilii^i^ TJic Night Before. •^3 if she were conscious of all the beauty around her, she scarcely looked at it, for as she walked she kept her eyes on the ground. The lodge gates were wide open, for the family were at home. The season in London had been ( ut short owing to the illness of the Countess, and they had come to the Castle in the end of May. Directly she was within the gates, Joan stepped on the soft turf, and walked in a slanting direction across to the Thorn. Some of the younger ones were playing croquet on the lawn, but at sight of her they threw down their mallets and ran to meet her. She was a great favourite with old and young at the Thorn, and her rare visits were highly ])rized. She had a kind smile and a word for them all ; then she turned to Mary, and asked if Amy was in the house. "Yes, I think she is; at least, she was a little while ago, and I have never seen her come out. See, there is mamma at the drawing-room window. She will be so pleased to see you ! " Joan looked towards the window, waved her hand to Mrs Burnett, and followed Mary into the house. It was in somewhat of a confusion, as was to be expected, for the waiters from the hotel at Strathblane had taken possession of the dining-room already, and were erecting tables long enough to seat the large company invited to the wedding. Poor Mrs Burnett, as was to be expected, also looked tired and harassed, for the burden of the prei)arations had fallen on her, the bride-elect evincing singularly little interest \x\\k\ very little helpfulness indeed. " How are you, Joan? I had a mind to scold you, but I can't now I see you," said the kind, motherly woman, as she affectionately kissed Joan. " This is a turn up ! I've just been telling Polly and all the rest they must eith«.i all marry on the same day, or give me five years' resi)ite be- tween each. A\hat a business it is ! 1 shall be thankful when it is over." if 84 Tivice Tried. " As it will be soon now," said Joan, with a smile. "And it is pleasant labour after all. I hope I can see Amy to-ni.L,^ht ? " " M you wait long enough I dare say you will. Robert will be here by-and-by, I expect she has gone out to meet him. Come in and see what remain of the presents. So many have been sent to Fairgate already." There were many costly and beautiful articles, chiefly silver |)late and pretty ornamenis, set out on the drawing- room tables, and these Joan duly admired. Then she pro- duced her own gift. It was a necklet and pendant of gold set with fine rubies ; a lovely thing, both costly and rare in workmanshij) and design. "Bless me, Joan, this is far too valuable a gift irom you I" exclaimed Mrs Burnett, in astonishment. *' Only part of it is new. 'i'he j^endant was my mother's, but you will understand how I value it." " Yes, yes, I know ; but, my dear, it is too in'.K.h." " Not for Amy to wear," Joan said; addmg in hec henrt, "when she is Robert Angus's wife." (Jlad of a sympathetic l^sicner, Mrs Burnett sat down and began to talk freely ab(>5't. the marriage and all its connecting circumstances, freciuently expressing her admira- tion for Robert Angus, and her hope that Amy would make him a good wife. Joan was (juick to note that the mother's love could not blind her to her child's imperfections ; and that no little anxiety and fear mingled with her thankful hapi)iness. The sun went down, and slowly the long shadows of twilight began to fall aslant the lawn, and at last Joan rose and said she would need to be moving homewards. "Oh, dov.ait a little," pleaded Mrs Burnett. "Robert iTVid Amy should be in soon, and papa and Jim will be i ume horn Strathblane, and you will get company home." But Joan would not stay. She neither wanted nor re- The Xij,::t He/crc. 85 r|uirecl company home to-night. She left a kind mcssnge lor Amy, promised to come up ngain very soon, and not unthankfully went her way. Slie had no jiart in the dehghtful stir and excitement ; she was Ijcst at home by her own (juiet fireside. She crossed the piirk at a dirferent part, and going round by the eastern wing of the Castle, followed a little winding foot[)ath which ran j arallel with the burn, and, leading through a deep and bosky glade, conveyed her into the high road almost at her own door. It was a ciuicker and quieter way ; and for both these reasons it com- mended itself to her to-night. She was walkin- (juickly, and without i)aying much heed to her surroundnigs, when the sound of voices startled her. She was nearing the old bridge, which was in the darkest and most secluded part ot the glen, and from which the voices evidently ])roceeded. She hesitated a moment ; her first thought was that she had come upon Robert and Amy ; her second, that it might be some of the Castle guests enjoying an after-dinner stroll. In either case she must go on now, for she was too near home to turn back. Presently, through the dim light which struggled through the leafy arches overhead, she discerned two figures standing near the bridge — lovers evidently from their position, and she smiled a little as she v Iked on, determined to pass them quickly, with her face >erted, so that they might not recognise her. One step nu-re, and her limbs began to tremble, for both these figures were familiar to her, and their presence there together was a thing she could not, dared not understand. She held to her resolu- tion, and went bravely on, until she came so near that they became aware of her approach, then both started and sprang apart. Joan stood still a moment, looked from the blanched face of Amy Durnett to the defiant, mocking one of Rolfe Ransome, and without a word ])asscd on. She walked now as if pursued by some evil thing, .nd just as she came up to the wicket, which oi^ened out to the road, a 86 Tivice Tried, man's tall figure approached it, and held it open for her to pass through. ''Holloa! Joan, is it you?" he asked cheerily. "Have you been at the Thorn?" She stood still a moment, lifted her eyes to his face, and put her hand to her heart. For a brief space her voice failed her. "Yes," she managed to articulate in a voiceless whisper. " If you are going, I think you should keep the highway, it is so — so dark down there." " Has somebody been frightening you, Joan ? you are trembling from head to foot," laying his strong hand on hers, vvirli a curious tenderness. " This weakness is not like you ; Lell me what it is." "Yes, I was frightened. Do go round the road," she said, eagerly. And yet her heart misgave her. A\'as it her duty to tell or keep silence ? That was a question not to be answered in a moment. " If I was not obliged to go to the Thorn I'd see you home, Joan," said Robert, gravely. "I'm too late as it is, but I don't like to let you go like this — near home though you are." " Yes, yes — never mind me," she said, hurriedly. " Good-niglit." " Give me a word of comfort for to-morrow, Joan," said Robert, as he held her hand a moment in his own. " You have never said a special word yet." "Have I not? It was not forgetfulness or lack of si'!(e»-\i.y. May God bless and keej) you, and your wife, Roher*; Angu.-, for ever and ever," she said, solemnly, and the Fe:a inome;v; she was gone. Robei* Angus thought much of Joan as he strode on- wards to Me Tltorn. She was certainly not 1 j other \vf:men, an 1 had a way of surprising you, and lUcth.ing you think when }0U least expected il. As he passed the old bridge he looked at it, not without tenderness, for it had been a favourite trysting-place for him and Amy, and many sweet thougii some half-bitter, The XiQiJit nrfoir. 87 tncmories clung al)out its mossy parapet, and tlic tinklinoj i)iirme underneath had borne ui)on its breast many a sweet word and earnest vow. It was (piite deserted now. I'he pair whom Joan had disturbed had made good their escape, and Amy Burnett was nearly home. Robert could scarcely realise the fact that ere to-morrow closed he should call Amy ilurnett wife, and that henceforth he should have a home of his own, whether for weal or woe he could not tell. It seemed to him almost as if he were only an onlooker ; not the })rincipal jierson to take part in the event of to-morrow, and upon whom its after-consequences, whether happy or the reverse, would fall. These somewhat strange musings were ended by his arrival at the house, and, pulling out his watch before he knocked, he saw it was twenty minutes to ten. But they would be indulgent to him to-night. Mary opened the door to him, and looked £;u; prised to see him. *' How did you come? " she asked. " Amy went down to the bridge to meet you, she said; she has just come in. She got nervous waiting ; it was growing dark and late." " I am sorry for that. She might have waited long enough," Robert answered. " I did not say I would come that way. Amy knows I prefer the highway. Where is she, Polly?" " Upstairs. There is no one in the drawing-room. If you will go there, I'll tell Amy," Polly said, with her usual quiet consideration. Robert nodded, and ran up to the drawing-room two steps at a time. It was not lighted, but he made his way through the confusion, which Mrs Burnett, in despair, had aban- doned till morning, and was already in bed, for she was coiupletely worn out. He waited a few minutes, and was beginning to grow imj)aticnt, when Amy came m. She entered the room hesitatingly, but Robert met her half-way, and gathered her to his heart. She shivered a little, and then lay still : and for a briet space th-.-re was nothing said. 8S 7\vice Tried* iHil«^r " Mv dnrlin?, I am so sorrv vou had to wait Vou should scaicelv have c:one out to meet me. ^'()U know I could not tell you when I should come,' he said, ^nentiy. " Did you walk down with Joan Laurence? I met her at the wicket." The slight figure in liis arms c,'ave a violent start. "Oh, did you meet Joan? No, I did not see her." she whispered at length. '• She must have gone round by the stables. It is quicker, you know." "Amy, did anyone try to Irightcn you in the glen? Joan seemed in a nervous terror, and IV)lly said you were afraid." "No, not very. Did Joan say she got a fright? " " Yes, but she would not tell me how or where. But enough of this. Come, tell me, my pet, are you to be a brave httle woman to-morrow, eh ?" " I — I don't know. Light the gas, will you, till I let you see what Joan brought me," Amy said, htirriedly, and drew herself awav from him. When the bright light shone full on Amy's face, he was strvick by its exceeding paleness. There were ])urple rims abo'it the big brown eyes and some lines about the childish drooping mouth he did not not like to see. " My darling," he said, almost passionately, "you look very ill. It is quite time I had you in my care. We will have a delightful lime of rest at Penzance when we get there. We will not come back in a hurry, I promise you." Amy smiled faintly, and, opening the clasp of the morocco case, held it up for inspection. " Is this Joan's present, Amy ? " "Yes, isn't it lovely? It is very good of her; far, far more than I deserve from her, for I have not been kind to her," she said, a little brokenly. " I want you to take this home, and keep it for me^ Robert." " To-night, do you mean ! " TJie Xight Before. 89 "Yes, now, take it," she said, shutting the case with a sharp chck, and offering it to him. " Won't you wear it to-morrow?" "No, I shall not wear it to-morrow; do take it; it will be safer with you. I have no right to it. If Joan knew ail my waywardness she would not have given it. It was for your sake, I know." Robert Angus put the case in his pocket without a word, and looked searchingly and gravely into the white face of tlie girl before him, but she had never been dearer l(^ him than now. He took her to his heart again, calling her by every endearing name, but no word of response fell from her pale lips. " Will you forgive me, Robert, for all the way I have done to you? I never was worthy of your love. 1 have tried lately to be better, but I was not strong enough. .Say you forgive me ; yes, yes, say it." " My dearest, if there is anything to forgive, I do forgive it with my whole heart," he said, fondly. " And now 1 am going away. I am afraid when I see you, you look so white and ill. Get to bed at once, my darling, so that you may not look so haggard to-morrow, when so many eyes will bo Ujjon you. I wish the ordeal was over, and I do wish it had been quieter." " What if all the people came and there was no marriage — wouldn't that be funny?" she asked, with a strange smile. " How no marriage ? " " Oh, bridegrooms sometimes don't turn up, you know ; but I daresay it will be all right. Well, good-night and good-bye, Robert." " Not good-bye. Amy ; only good-night for a few hours, and then we never part," he said. Then she drew herself away from him, and ran sobbing from the room. ^-cfr^:■^^^^ CI I APT KR XI. CAUGHT. 1 Jii. T was after eleven o'clock when Robert Animus reached home that nii^ht, to find the house- hold in bed. Even Rolfe, who was generally the night bird, had retired to rest. 'Robert was not sorry. He had many things to think of, and the perfect stillness in the house was grateful to him. He went into the dining-room, where the thought- ful Christina had left the supper tray ; but he did not touch either food or drink. He threw himself into an easy-chair, and sat in the dim light looking straight before him, his face wearing a look of deej) thoughtfulness, whi :h was almost pain. To-morrow he was to take a woman's I'fe and happiness into his keeping. It was a solemn thought ; he had a vague feeling in his heart, too, that all was not right. He could not divine whether it was with himself or with Amy that the discording element lay, but there it was, a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, but which might ere long over- shadow the horizon of his life. It was nearly one o'clock when he raised himself somewhat heavily from his chair, ])ut out the gas, and mounted the stairs to his own room ; little guessing with what strained anxiety a pair of ears were listening for his step. There was only one bedroom on the first floor, next to the drawing-room, and which was occupied by Mr and Mrs Jl.:l ' Ctvt(;fit. 91 AncMis. On tlie second floor tlicre were four bedrooms — lii.it occuj)ic(l by the servants, one by Rolt'e, tlie ijuest- ( hainbcr, and Robert's own. The Inst mentioned was the first room on the landinir, while Rolfe's was ([uite at the other end of tiie corridor; had they been good friends, ne room would j)robably have served them. /\s it was, the firlher apart they were the better, both by day and niL^ht. The moonlight was streaming so brilliantly in at Robert's ( liamber window that he did not trouble to light the gas. He stood a few minutes looking somewhat absently across the wide stretch of fertile landscape, on which the waving corn gleamed white in the decepti\e moonlight, though it had not yet a harvest tinge \x\)0\\ it. After a little he leisurely undressed and got into bed, but sleej) was very far indeed from his eyes. He had never felt so wakeful in his life. Very slowly the dawn of day began to creep over the earth, causing the brightness of the moon to wane. So still was the house that Robert could hear quite distinctly the ticking of three clocks, which presently struck two — the hall clock and the dining-room one simultaneously, and in a few minutes the sweet tinkling chime of the timepiece in the drawing-room. Not many seconds after that he heard another noise — that made by someone moving in one of the bedrooms. That noise ceased, however, and he was beginning to feel a little drowsy, when he heard the creaking of a door. He turned his head and listened, and, as his own door was a few inches ajar, he heard quite distinctly a stealthy footfall jjass it and steal downstairs. Curious, though not very suspicious, for it might be one of the maids, he crept noise- lessly out of bed, threw on dressing-gown and slippers, and with a swing which prevented his door from creaking, he opened it and stepped out on the landing. The light had now grown a little broader, but the hall was still in semi- darkness. Glancing over the balustrade, he saw quite dis- \'<^ ** IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^/ V.% ^ 1.0 I.I ^1^ 1^ MII^B |L25 i^»4 7^ o>. 7J /: y /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation ;\ 23 WeST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MStO (716)«72-4S03 ,.v .^ «^^. (^ Twice Tried. " Not for a month. I don't trouble her, and she doesn't trouble me," said Amy, with strange sharpness. " I don't care about her, Polly." *' Don't you ? Why, I think she is the nicest woman in Auchengray, except Joan Laurence. I'm sure Robert will be sorry you are not intimate." " I daresay he is; but though I'm Robert's wife, Polly, I don't allow him to choose my intimate friends for me," said Amy, throwing a piece of sugar to the spaniel on the hearth. Polly opened her eyes very wide. These words seemed to reveal something of which she had never hitherto dreamed ■ — that it was possible for a husband and wife of six months' standing to disagree. But she had tact and discretion enough to let it pass without remark. " Did you say Robert wouldn't be home till the late train?" said Polly, presently. " It will be half-past eleven before he will be here. As Mrs Angus doesn't happen to require the carriage, M'Dowall will be permitted to drive to Strathblane for my husband. It is a shame and disgrace, Polly, that Robert will not give me a trap of my own, to save me the humiliation of being indebted to his father's wife for the loan of hers." " Bless me. Amy, what is the matter with you ? What do you want with a carriage ? " exclaimed Polly, in honest indignation. " I think you have no reason to complain. It is a mean thing to say, but can the Bank House com- pare with Fairgate? Mrs Angus has as much right to grumble over that as you have to be displeased because you haven't a carriage." Amy was silent, and Polly feared her plain speaking had given offence. "What are you going to do all the evening? I'll stay over nignt, if you send Sarah to the Thorn to tell them," she ventured to say at last. " Oh, no, never mind. I won't weary. I have some Ed^cd Tools. 109 letters to write, and some new music to practise, if I am not too lazy," answered Amy, more affably. " Don't bo in a hurry to marry, Polly — especially a man so much older than yourself. He expects you to live like a hermit, and to be for ever grateful that he has made you his wife' Polly bit her lip to keep back some indign;int words whic'.i burned for utterance. She was annoyed at Amy, whose exacting selfishness she knew of yore, and her sympathies were all with the absent husband. Young though she was, she felt how unbecoming it was in a wife to sjieak, even to her sister, in such terms. " You've got one of your old tantrum fits, Amy," she said, quickly, as she buttoned on her gloves. "Shall I tell you what I think — that you are one of the best cared for women in the world, and that if you could appreciate your blessings you would be the happiest, only you can't see it." And, having thus relieved her mind, Polly took her leave. But it was a very long time before the haunting feelings of discomfort left by Amy's words faded out of her mind. Young Mrs Angus sat idly dreaming in the firelight till the maid came in to remove the tea tray and light the lamps. Tiicn she bestirred herself and seated herself at the davenport, to attend to a mass of neglected corres- pondence. But she only read over one or two of tiie accusing epistles, idled a little, pen in hand, over a sheet of notepaper, with her dainty monogram at the top, then shut up the desk, and betook herself to the piano. V/hile she was listlessly looking over the sheets of music, a peal at the hall bell sent its echoes reverberating through the house. She held her breath, her colour came quick and fast, her heart beat as she heard the footsteps on the stairs, and guessed the maid was showing up a visitor. She had no reason to expect that the intruder would be Rolfe Kansome, and yet, when the servant announced his name, she was not at all surprised. A something — a vague, but i I 10 Tzvice Tried. unerring prevision — had wliispercd all day that evening would bring him to FairLjate. It was not the first time lie had been in the house. He had received and accepted the invitation to young Mrs Angus's first dinner party, and he had occasionally spent an evening with the inmates of IJank House, liut he had never been encouraged to drop m without ceremony, and this was the first time he had j)rc- sented himself alone — the first time, also, that he had had the opportunity of a private word with Amy Annus. Hitherto her avoidance of him had been most pointed. To-night she was equal to the occasion. She turned away from the piano, and, standing directly under the gasalicr, with her fair, calm face unrufiled by tremor or faintest blush, bowed stififly to Rolfe Ransome. He was not less handsome than of yore — nay, both face and figure had gained in manliness, which added to their grace. He did not appear quite so much at ease as Mrs Angus, for the colour came and went in his smooth, pale cheeks, and there was an uiiwonted fire glaring in his eyes. "Good evening, Mr Ransome," said Amy's clear, sweet voice, which in her inner excitement was raised a little louder than usual. " I am sorry my husband is not at home to see you. You cannot have known it, I suppose, or you would have spared yourself the walk to Fairgate." " Yes, I knew it. It was because I knew I should find you alone that I came," said Rolfe, quickly. " Won't you ask me to sit down, Mrs Angus ? " " No. You must know you are not welcome here," she 3aid, and now the rich colour rushed to neck, and cheek, and brow, and her voice perceptibly faltered. She turned away, walked over to the hearth, and stood there looking down into the fire. She was trembling in every limb, and her heart was beating almost to suffocation. " It is not pleasant for a fellow to be told plainly that he isnt wanted," said Rolfe, following her, and standing where Edged Tools. II I he could look upon her face. " If I were as mean and { ontemptiiile as you believe me to be, I should deserve it. It is to clear myself in your eyes that I have come here to-night, Mrs Angus." Amy did not speak, but he saw the start of surprise with which she heard the words. *' If you had not avoided me so pointedly since you be- came Angus's wife," he went on — *' if you had even given me a chance to explain certain circumstances, we might liave been good friends these past five months, and it would have been much more jolly and pleasant all round. As sure as I stand here, Amy, I would have kept my appoint- ment that morning if " " Be quiet ! Say no more ! Don't dare to refer to such a thing in my presence ! " fell thick and fast from Amy Angus's indignant lips. " It shows what you are, Rolfe Ransome, better than anything else could have done, that you come here in my husbands absence to insult me, but I shall tell him. You shall not go unpunished." "I don't think you will., Amy," -.aid Rolfe Ransome, quietly, and a slight smile came upon his lips. " You may as well listen quietly, for I intend that you shall hear my explanation. I was ready to come — waiting in the hall, in fact, with my portmanteau in my hand, when Angus came and caught me. He ought to have been asleep ; I don't know why he wasn't, I'm sure, but whether he suspected any- thing or not I can't tell, only he wouldn't let me out. He's a stronger man than I am, Amy, and he made me go upstairs and locked me into my room. I'm telling you the solemn truth, so you needn't stare so incredulously." Amy Angus fixed her startled eyes full upon the speaker's face. Dared she believe him ? Could it be possible that her husband had suspected the plotting of that night ? Oh, no — never ; eLe how could he have been so gentle, so tender, su loving with her all these months ? I 12 Tivice Tried, 1 1 r ^ " I tell you it's true, and 1 felt precious queer that day^ I assure you. It wasn't ])leasant for me to know y(ju thought me such a treacherous, mean scoundrel. If it had been as you thought, and I had pur])()sely stayed away, I don't know what 1 deserved. Won't you forgive me, Atny.^ It wasn't my blame." Amy Angus spoke no words, but only kept her eyes fixed fast on the dancmg flames. " Perhaps it was bi tter that it happened so. If you really don't believe me, you know, you can ask Angus," continued Rolfe, knowing very well how small was the chance of such a thing happening. " I believe it was better, I say ; for, of course, though I loved you, and all that, I couldn't have kept you in style like this," he said, glancing round the luxurious room and assuming an air of injured self-sacrifice. *' And, of course, you are ridiculously happy — everybody says so — and so I daren't complain, though I must say it was pretty hard upon me, and I can't think very calmly about it yet." Still Amy Angus never si)oke. What were the thoughts which brought that dark, dark shadow into her eyes, and "which blinded them by a mist of tears. *' Well, I'm off now. I've said what I came to say," said Rolfe Ransome, making a motion to go. *' I feel belter now that you know it wasn't my blame. So, good-bye, Amy. You won't often see me again, for I'll get away from this i)lace as quickly as I can. I'd have been away before now, only I was waiting to tell you about it. I knew my time would come. It's not easy for a fellow to stand seeing the only woman he has ever loved married to another man, you must know. It's about more than he can stand. Won't you say one kind word to me, Amy? Well, good-bye." He waited a moment, expecting the drooping figure to turn, and the down-bent face to be raised to look into his. He was not mistaken. " Don't hurry away. Tliere is no need," she said, with Edged Tools. 113 cliffirulty. " Sit down for a little. I am glad you have told 111c this, for I did feel very hitter against you. I shall be happier now, knowing you \'ien you came." "Amy, dear, why should you say all this to me?" said Joan. " What right have I to hear it ? Suppose you did not say a word in explanation of his presence here, I should not dare to try to understand it." •' Why ? " " Because you are Robert Angus's wife, Amy, and she is above all suspicion in my eyes," was Joan's (piiet answer. It brought the rising flush slowly to Amy's check. " When did you see Mrs Angus at the Bank ? " she asked, by way of changing the subject. " To-day," was Joan's brief reply, " You see her often, don't you ? " "Yes, very often. She is the truest friend I have in Auchengray," answered Joan, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. " That's not fair, Joan. We are older friends," said Amy, reproachfully. '• Yes, but you have not always been constant. Amy," re- plied Joan, candidly, and a smile drove away the mist of tears. " Well, you haven't known Mrs Angus long, Joan. You have to prove her constancy. I can't get on with her. Don't you think her very straitlaced ? " " Not at all." " She always makes me feel very ignorant, and stupid and silly." "I am sure she does not try to make you feel so. Amy. She is the soul of kindness, and it is a real grief to her that there are so few comings and goings between Fairgate and the Bank." " Robert is always lecturing me about not going, and holding up Mrs Angus before me as a paragon of perfection. I fill ! II M 1 1 i If W™. ' 1 :|' ,' if* :: \ li'-^ i i II 1 |i 1 ii8 Tivicc Trk'd. That doesn't do any good, Joan," said Amy, significantly. "A woman always resents that." " You must remember how comparatively little your husband knows of the ways of women. He never had any sister, and did not seek ladies' society much." " Except yours," said Amy, with a little jerk. " Does he never tell you what a useless, stupid, ignorant wife he has, Joan ? " " Amy ! " " Well, I know he thinks you are a paragon, too, and and — I am very wretched ! " cried Amy, and she burst into tears, although she could not, for the life of her, have told what she was crying for. In a moment Joan was kneeling by her side, with her strong, tender arm round her, soothing her with a gentle- ness ]jeculiarly her own. She saw that the girl's nerves were quite unstrung— the result, probably, of her talk with Rolfe Ransome. " I am not happy, Joan. I should never have married Robert Angus," she sobbed, wildly. " He doesn't under- stand me, nor love me well enough to try to understand me. My life is monotonous — so miserable — I sometimes think I shall die. What shall I do? What shall I do? " " Hush, hush, my darling ! You will remember with pain these wild words. You are out of sorts. You have been left too much aione, but you will be better soon," said Joan, with infinite tenderness, speaking in low, sweet, sooth- ing tones, though she was herself trembling in every limb. " I am too young to be shut up here with nothing to do but look after my house and my servants, and none of my own age to speak to," continued Amy, still sobbing, though less vehemently. " If Robert had any real love or con- sideration for me he would see how dull I am. He would try to make life brighter and happier for .ne. I " " Hush, oh, hush," fell in low pleading tones from Joan's Gatliernic!' Clouds. 119 lOUgh con- would Joan's ]i})S. "Yoii are talking of your husband, who loves you above any earthly thing." "If he does, I do not know it. He never lets me see it ! " said Amy, rebelliously. " He comes in and out, sits down to his books and his papers, and leaves me to amuse myself. It is not right. If my love gets starved out by slow degrees he has himself to blame." Joan was silent, because she felt utterly helpless and per- plexed. How could she guide and soothe thi^ wayward heart, how lead it to estimate more dearly its own jirecious blessings? "Amy, listen to me," sbe said, at length, in low, grave, almost solemn tones. " I must sf)eak plainly to you, my dear, because you have spoken with such sad unreserve to ine. Your words are \\\A only wild, but wicked ; they wrong the good, true man who loves you, and whose witt you are. If there has been any apparent neglect on his part, it only arises from his nature and habits; and, instead of railing at them, Amy, you must try to change them in so far as they affect your own happiness. I am quite sure of this, Amy, that Robert Angus would never grudge you anything you thought necessary for your happiness or welfare. And is it not largely your own fault that you live so quiet a life here? When do you go out, or ask anybody to Fairgate? You miglu have the largest, and yet the most select, circle of society in Auchengray if you chose." " Robert doesn't like company. I have often heard him say it." " Aly dear, he must and will learn to like it for your sake. ] fear you shut yourself uj) too much from your husband too, Amy. Go to him, tell him frankly and kindly that you feel your life quiet and dull If he does not at once bestir himself to make it livelier for you, he is not the man I take him for." " I hate to beg and sue to any man. He ought to see for himself. He must know well enough it is a great change to me to live here after the Thorn. Why, it used to be like a jmrty there every night ! " !• I I 20 Twice Tried. Joan siglied, and almost helplessly dropped her hand from Amy's shoulder. What could she say — how advise in a case like this? It was too evident that Amy Aiv^iis was the wrong woman in the wrong place, and her heart fiHjd vith sorrow and with compassion for the husband and wife, for she loved them both. " Amy, dear, did you not weigh those things in your mind before you married ? You can hardly expect to live such a gay, butterfly life as you d'd when you were a girl at home. Would it not be better to try and sympathise a little with your husband's love of quiet ? Don't be too hard upon him, though he seems unsympathetic with you. Take him into your confidence; believe me, that will be the first stef> towards setting matters right. How can any third person advise or help? No one, you know, has any right to come between husband and wife. Interference is often productive of evil, seldom of good." " It is so easy for you, v/ho have every liberty, to give good advice to one who is bound," said Amy, 'vith a smile, which made Joan rise quickly from her knees, and turn a little coldly ?»way, wondering whether the pretty creature before her had any heart at all. " Here comes Sarah with the coffee," said Amy, presently, having apparently quite recovered hers .^If. *' I have quite made a fool of myself, Joan. Please forget what I said. .As you said, my words were wild enough, but I felt thoroughly out of sorts. I think it is the weather. Do sit down now and let us have a cosy chat until Robert comes; home. Mrs Balfour was telling me the other day that you were writing a book ; too bad of you, Joan, not to tell us the secret. Do tell me all about it now. I am sure it will be splendid, you are so clever.'' " When I do write a book. Amy, I will be quite sure to tell you about it," said Joan, very drily indeed for her. " I think after we have had some coffee, we had better try the eftect of music, for we are both out of sorts." '"•%<^3^>^ f!i.(c^,^y:-s V'^?%r _. — .i\4 CHAPTER XV. VERY OMINOUS. ERY well, sir. Of course, if you insist on turning a fellow out of the house, tlicre's nothing for him but to go ; but I must say it is very hard." So said Rolfe Ransome, in very sullen, aggrieved tones, his handsome face wearing an expression of injured innocence. He was alone with Mr Angus, the elder, in that gentleman's private room in the bank, and, as business hours were over, the outer office was deserted. The banker bit his lip, but made no reply, for he was determined not to bandy words with his wife's brother. "Why did you bring me here at all, hang it? Did I ask vou to let me come ? " asked Rolfe, kicking the bar of the fender with his foot. " It's not fair, I say, to kick me out like this after I've got accustomed to the place." Mr Angus took no notice of these disresi)ectful remarks, but went on serenely adding up the figures in the ledger before him. " On the 15th of this month you will receive your quarter's salary in full," said he, at length, leaning back in his chair and sticking his pen behind his ear. " I advised you before, and I advise you again, to emigrate. Isal)el tells me you have a distant relative in Sydney. I think the best step you could take would be to go out there." " Oh, I see I Isabel and you have been laying your heads together to get rid of me," he said, with a slight i 122 Twice Tried. ■J i X sneer. " Very good. Lut how am I to get there ? Do vf)ii think the Government will give me an assisted passage, eh?" Again Mr Angus bit his lip. He was a quick-tempered man, and scarcely for his wife's sake could he calmly endure such gross impertinence. "If you decide to emigrate to New South Wales, I will give you a hundred guineas," he said (juietly. "It is infinitely more than you deserve. And I beg of you Id consider that it is solely for your sister's sake that I am so generous with you." "Andif I declinetoaccept yourmunificentoffer, what then?" "Nothing, except that on the 15th of the month you (juit your situation and my house," said Mr Angus, quietly. *' Had I done my duty to myself and others I would have sent you about your business long ago. You have not been a credit to the Bank of Auchengray, nor to me, sir." •* I'm sure I wrought for the beggarly pittance I got," said Rolfe, savagely. *' Hush !" said Mr Angus, sternly. "You know as well as I do that you have supplemented the ' beggarly pittance,' as you are pleased to call it, in certain very questionable ways. My pocket has materially suffered olnce you came— a fact of which my son is quite aware, and which, I fear, the others more than suspect. Be very thankful, sir, that you are getting off so easily, I have it in my power to place your departure from this country out of your power, so you had better keep a civil and quiet tongue in your head, lest I rue my indulgence." Rolfe Ransome grew pale with rage and apprehension. " It's Robert who has done this. He hates me. He would do me a bad turn if he could. He has been jealous of me since the first night he took me to Burnett's," he fumed, angnly. " I might have known he was at the bottom of it, but I'll be even with h'm !" Mr Angus turned upon him, his eyes blazing with fury. Ransome,an arrant coward at heart, quailed beneath that look. Vt'/y 0;!iiiioi(S. 12 " Don't insult my son by taking bis name upon your lil)s!" be tbundered. "You are not fit to even mention his name. Robert regards you with a contempt so im- measurable tbat he would scorn to speak of you in any terms whatsoever. You nave need to go to him, ay, on bended knees, and thank him for keeping you out of a felon's cell. There is not another man in Auchengray who would have done so much for you." Paler still grew Rolfe Ransome's face, and he shifted uneasily from his position. He was utterly cowed now, for he saw that all his misdemeanours were fully known. He need not have been surprised. Did he suppose that, in an office like the Bank of Auchengray, the heads of which were men of more than ordinary shrewdness and perception, sum after sum of money could disappear and not be accounted for? For his wife's sake hitherto Mr Angus had refrained from taking any stej) in the matter, until he saw it was impossible to stop Ransome in his course of dishonesty, and that it would speedily become almost impossible to keep it from the public ear. Isabel more than suspected the true reason of her husband's increased anxiety to get her brother away from Auchen- gray, only she had never put that unhappy suspicion into words. Yet she was not less anxious to have him removed from all connection with the Bank and from residence in the house, for he had been the one shadow on her own happiness, and she lived in a perpetual nervous dread of something happening through him, some trouble which she could not specify or describe. Therefore she had eagerly and gladly acquiesced in her husband's desire to dismiss him — nay, she urged upon him to do so without delay. She feared, indeed, that Rolfe was a hopeless re[)robate, for she had never been able to reach or touch any finer feelings in him, nor to arouse him to any interest apart from self and selfish ends. She had pleaded with him, wept over him^ and now only prayer for him was left. Her 124 Tzuicc Tried. m influence was utterly impotent to awaken in him any sense of honour or gratitude, and his presence was hke a dark shadow coming between her and ])eace. " Well, then, I'll go; I won't wait till the 15th,'' he said, between his teeth. " I wish I had never seen this place. I've wasted too much time in it already. I wish you'd left me alone, I say. Did I beg you to take me into your employment ?" " It was to give you a chance to redeem your character, and to enable you, if you chose, to follow out an honour- able and respectable path in life. If was for that reason, and for the sake of the sister whose heart you have nearly broken, that I took you against my better judgment. Perhaps the day may come when you will look back with regret \\\)o\\ the time you have truly enough wasted here," said Mr Angus, gravely; then, holding open the door, he signified that the interview was at an end, and that he had better go. In no amiable frame of mind, Mr Rolfe Ransome tjuitted the banker's private room. He sauntered into the hall, took his hat from the stand, and went out of doors, with no particular object in view. Mr Angus was not surprised that he did not appear at the dinner table. " Well, my dear, I have given Rolfe his coti^e^^ he said to his wife, when at the sound of the bell he quitted his desk and hastened into the dining-room. "How did he take it?" Isabel asked, paling a little in her anxiety. " Much as I expected. It will be an immense relief to us all when he is safely out of the way, Isabel. You, at least, will be infinitely happier." " You are right," Isabel answered, and yet an involuntary sigh escaped her lips. Her heart reproached her a little, for when the ne'er-do-well was cut adrift from all better influences and left wholly to himself, what might not be the result ? "What troubles you, dear?" said the banker, quick to note the shadow on his wife's fair face. " Don't keep it Vt'/y Oiuinous. \2 from me, Isabel. You know my chief earthly aim is to make you happy. Tliere is nothing I will not do to accom- plish that end. If you have any plan or thought in )our head about Rolfe, tell it to me, and I will do my utmost to aid you in it. Although our past endeavours to helj) him have failed, we may be successful in the future." Isabel Angus did not speak, but her beautiful eyes filljd with tears, and stooping, she touched with grateful lips the kind hand resting on her arm. " I have no more to ask, Robert," said she at length. "You have done too much for me .nd mine already. Did Rolfe seem willing to emigrate." " He did not say, but I fancy he will see that it will be to his own best advantage. He is not the fellow to refuse the chance of a hundred guineas, and I told him plainly that unless he left the country he should receive nothing but his salary." *' You are quite right. Unless there is an ocean between him and Auchengray, he will be a ceaseless trouble and annoyance to you," said Isabel, sadly. " I will write this very day to my mother's cousin in Sydney, and W\\ him the whole circumstances. For her sake I believe he will try and lend Rolfe a helping hand. They were deeply attached to each other in their youth." " That is satisfactorily settled then. Now let me see you snule, wife ; I like not that doleful countenance," said the banker; "you at least can have nothing to reflect upon. You have borne his waywardness with an angel patience and loving kindness which would have touched any heart but his." " Robert, do you think there is any human being wholly bad ? " asked Isabel, almost wistfully. " I sometimes fear there is no portion of good in Rolfe." " There must be good, though we have not discovered it, my dear," said Mr xAngus, gravely. "We must just hope that he may speedily be surrounded by influences which will Si ; . m 126 Ticicc Trill/. call it forth ; and yet, where could he meet with more kind and helpful consideration, more patient and long-sufrcrin;^^ tenderness, than you, my darling, have lavished upon him here?" Isabel shook her head. " He is so like poor jiapa. He has inherited all that terrible weakness — I dare not call it by a harsher name — which broke my mother's heart, and made our home the most miserable place on earth. Life is a great mystery, Robert. I am overwhelmed at times by the unutterai;lc sense of thankfulness 1 feel when 1 think of all the secure and happy privileges you have bestowed on me. My own deep happiness makes me very tender, very sorrowful, for my brother, who seems bent on making an utter shipwreck of his life." "We will leave him in a higher Hand, my wife," said the banker, quietly. " Sometimes, when human beings lay down the work in despair, God takes it up and finishes it. ' " I will try to be hopeful, but it is not easy," said Isal)el ; for she was haunted by a perpetual brooding sense of coming trouble, a feeling that the worst had not yet come. Mr Angus was obliged to ride out to Strathblane on busi- ness that evenmg, and after he was gone his wife put on her bonnet and walked down to Sunset Cottage, where she found Joan among her flowers. The weather was exception- ally warm and pleasant, even for genial April, and flower and leaf were rapidly approaching perfection. Joan's little plot was gay with hyacinth, polyanthus, and crocus, and the air about her was laden with the perfume of the sweet narcissus. She looked up with a ready smile, to greet her friend — for ihese two women were friends in the truest sense of the word. They had an absolute faith in each other. "You look troubled, Isabel. What is it?" Joan askcJ, leaning upon her garden rake, and lookin inquiringly at her frit'ud as she came up the path. "Yes, I am troubled, Joan, It is the old story. I want Ve/y Oiitinous. 127 to speak to you about my brother, if you arc not too busy to listen." " No, I am never too busy to listen to you ; but why should we sit in the house on such a L^lorious evening ? Just look at yon purple light upon the muox beyond Fair- i^ate. I have been looking at it longingly fc the last hnlf-hour. Do you feel ecjual to the climb? You look as if the fresh moorland air >vould do you good, and we shall see a glorious sunset over the Ben to-night." "How eloquent you have become since you began to exercise your literary tastes," said Isabel, with a glimmering smile. " I fear I do not see with your enchanted eyes, but I shall be grateful for the walk up to the moor, and we can talk as we go. I shall just wait here till you are ready. How lovely your flowers are ! Mr Angus says you are the most capable gardener and the cleverest woman in Auchingray ; there now ! " " Tell Mr Angus from me that he talks treason against his own accomplished wife," Joan laughed back, as she dis- appeared within the doorway. She did not spend a long time over her toilet, and ere half-an-hour was passed they had left the quiet town behind, and were slowly mounting the winding hill-path to the moor. It was a wide stretch of waste ground, covered with heather and bracken, and dotted here and there by clumps of sturdy firs — a pleasant: place for a walk on a fine summer evening, the sense of Ireedom and breezy freshness being enough to sweep the cobwebs away from min 1 and heart. As they walked, Isabel told Joan the wholy story of her brother's waywardness and sin, the greater part of which was known to her already. She was sympathetic and kind, but she could not be very hopeful or comforting, for her andpathy to Rolfe Ransome was so strong as to surprise herself, and she feared he would be little else than a heart- break a''d trouble to those connected with him all his days W'c do meet with such weak, faulty, erring human beings If I $ ^ 1 i%\ ...ii: tin 128 Twice Tried. sometimes, who seem either to be devoid of any hiL^'her, better impulses, or who have allowed the baser part of their natures to gain the mastery, to the annihilation of the good. They are a heartbreak, truly enough ; a constant martyrdom to those bound to them by the ties of kinship. ** I feel better after a talk with you, and this air is deli- cious," said Isabel, when they had reached the wide pleasant tableland, and could look down at tiie little town clustering; at their feet, Joan took in a full, deep breath, enjoying li-ic whole prospect and surroundings to the full. Away over the lofty peak of the Ben the sky was rosy red, fringed by a rim of burnished gold where the sun was dropping to his royal rest. There was a feeling of life and promise in the air, flower and buc' were springing evxivwhere, and the green fulness of the heather tops gave promise of a glorious autumn bloom. The cuckoo was calling sweetly and clearly in her haunt in the fir trees, and somewhere down in the v.i.le a thrush was pouring out all its heart \\\ a glorious burst of song. " We are not quite alone," said Joan, presently, with a little smile. ** I see a white gown gleaming through the trees. A pair of lovers, probably seeking the kindly shelter of yon copse. We had better be merciful and retire." Isabel looked in the direction indicated, and her face began to flush. Her vision was clearer than Joan's, and she could see more than the gleam of a woman's white gown. "Joan, look again ! " she said, grasping her friend's arm. *' Can't you see them now ? Uon't you know them ? Perhaps I am mistaken." Joan looked again, this time aided by her eyeglass. Then her arm fell helplessly by her side, and she looked Sj)eechless into her companion's face. The pair, standing in the attitude of lovers, absorbed in very earnest conver- sation, were no oilier than Rolfe Ransome and Robcit Angus's wife. •■• <>jNr,v,««K%- CHAPTER XVI. HUSBAND AND WIFE. pi I KM arc you g<)in<]f to take your wife away for a holiday, Robert ? " It was lsal)el who asked tlie question, next afternoon, wiien he droi)i)ed into the house for a few minutes, as he often did, before going home to dinner. She smiled as she spoke, but it was a tremulous, uncertain smile, which, had Robert Angus been particularly observant at the mo' lent, might have suggested to him a little uneasiness of mind. " My wife ! Do you think she needs a holiday, Mrs Angus?" he asked gaily, for that day he happened to be in the best of spirits. *' Why, I was telling her this very morning she was looking as fresh and sweet as the spring llowers ! Rather a pretty speech for me, wasn't it ? Seriously, though, what makes you ask such a (juestion ? " *' I was only thinking a change might be good for Amy just now," said Isabel, and her eyes drooped a little, for she felt uncomfortable in the extreme. " She leads a (^uiet, uneventful life at Fair^^ate." " I assure you she is perfectly contented, Mrs Angus," said Robert, blithely. " She told me so this very morning. Shall I tell you a secret ? I never hoped that Amy would turn out such a pattern wife. We suit each other admir- ably, and we are very happy." Isabel turned her shadowed eyes towards the window ; I I30 Tivice Tried. and for tlic mnnicnt sho vowUX tliink of nolliiiv^ to <;nv. Were tliey niisinken, nftcr all, in thinking Ann' Animus v.;k swerving Irom her wifely lailli, and lui'^ht not that eveniiiL; stroll on the moor be capable «)f a very simple explanation ? She felt in a maze of bewilderment and perplexity, noi unmixed with an indefinable dread. She had rt'soUcd to do the only thin^ she could tlo — counsel Robert to tai.o his wife away from Auchen^ray for a ae^k or two — but ui li.e face of his remark she could say no more. "So your brother is i^oinij off?" s;n"d Robert, more gravely. "I sympathise with you \ery much about Iiim." " I know you do. You have acted a brother's i)art towards me and mine, Roberr," Isabel said, in tones of emotion. " I only wish I could repay you with aught besides my deep j^ratitude." *' That and your sisterly love have repaid me over and above, if I need payment," answered Robert, with a sunny smile. " Has Rolfe decided where to ^o ? " " Yes ; he gave your father his decision to day. It seems that one of the Royal Mail lines snils trom London on liie i6th, and he seems inclined to go with it instead of wailing another month." "Sydney is his destination, then.'- " *' Yes. I wrote to our relative last nii^ht, and the letter will arrive in time to prepare him lor Rolie's coming." *' He may do better there," said Robert. " You must keep up your heart about him." "1 will try to do so; but T must confess I do not feel very hojieful," answered Isabel. '* Are you going already ? There was something I was going to speak to you abo'.t. Oh, yes ; it was Joan Laurence. Did you know she had turned litterateur ? " " Amy was telling me something to that effect the other day. Mrs Balfour had hinted it to her, but I did not pay much attention to what she said. Is it really true ? " " Yes. She has i:ot her book disjiosed of, too, very Ilushaud aud \ \ Ifc. 131 nflvnntnpieoiisly, ronsldcrini; tlint she is quite an nnintciir. I am afraid Aiiclicnj^'ray will not lonL,' hold Joan I.niirt'nce." "I should say not. Well, I am not siirprist-d, 1 have always known Joan to he a woman by herself. 1 wisii we saw more of her at l-'airyate, l)ut Amy and she do not seem to pull well together. Tell Joan I congratulate her, and wish her continued success with my wliole heart, will you?" '* If you wish me to do so, but good wishes lose half their value when uttered by |)roxy," said Isabel, with a sli.ht smile. "Well, good afternoon, (live Amy u.y love, and tell her I will be up one of these fine days," " We shall be charmed to see you. Good afternoon," said Robert, and went his way. Not many yards past the Bank he met his father-in-law hurrying to see Mr Angus on some business of the Karl's. " Holloa I Rol)ert. How are you ? Amy well, eh? " he said, in his cheery fashion. " Is your father in ? I have a telegram from Lord Beauly to-day which will recjuire his attention." " I think he is still in his private room," answered Robert. " All well at the Thorn ? " "Yes, thanks, although we might be anything for aught you and Amy care," laughed the factor. " James was amusing us at breakfast this morning by counting on his left hand the times you had been together at the Thorn since your marriage." "Well, I own we have been rather remiss," said Robert. *' Ikit we seem to like our own fireside best." "All very good and commendable," said Mr T*urnett, drily, "only don't grow selfish over your own fireside. 1 must say I am agreeably disappointed in Amy. I thought you would have some trouble with her." " No man need have any trouble with his wife, if only he take the right way with her," said Robert, rather loftily. "Amy has accommodated herself very readily to my quiet habits." 132 Tivice Tried. I. '■; . II ll w \ 1 ■ 1- . 9 1 H , i H i M' fi