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32X

^^^

'l^

:i5y

THE HOLY STONE,

r " ■ '

t»-

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight, by Miis. Ellen Ross, in
the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

>■

le year one
!N Ross, in

A. ....

,.-K'«*^ "'■>>.. ■ ' !Si '^^

|1 ( :i

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Ar THE DOOR OF THE SYNAGOGUE

..^N.

;Vfti

11^

THE LEGEND

THE HOLY SfONE

EDITED BY

Meb. ALEXANDER ROSS,

llutbor of

VIOLET KEITH, "THE WRECK OF THE WHITE BEAR,
"the GRAND GORDONS/' ETC.

" Who can count the dust of Jacob, and the
number of the fourth p:\rt of Israel ?"

" Lo ! the people shall dwell alone, and shall
not be reckoned among the nations,"

A'umbers.

MONTREAL :

PUBLISHED BY A. A. STEVENSON,

No. 245 St. James Street.

I )

* To whom a thousand memories call,
Not being less but more than all.
The gentleness he seemed to be."

' Best seemed the thing he was, and joined
Each office of the social hour,
To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind. •'

' Waiting to strive a happy strife,
To war with falsehood to the knife.
And not to lose the good of life.''

' And thus he bore without rebuke
The grand old name of gentleman."

-Tennyson.

WILLIAM ROBB, Esquire,

CITY AUDITOR OF MONTREAL,

My Steadfast friend alike in sunshine aud shade,

I dedicate this book as a slight token

of esteem and respect.

Ellen Ross
Montreal, January, 1878.

i:tTiDE"x:.

— « • » • ♦ — \

CHAPTER I.

PAGE,

The Legend OF WESTMiNSTF.n Aiibey i

CHAPTER II.
Ruby 12

CHAPTER III.
St. Wolfgang's Well 21

CHAPTER IV.
Tile Fisherman 30

CHAPTER V.
The Fishermen 34

CHAPTER VI.
Herbert Sydney , 47

CHAPTER VII.
Nathan the Seeker 62

CHAPTER VIII.
Shadows 81

CHAPTER IX.
The Spring Tide Pictures 09

CHAPTER X.
Sweet Scented Violets 112

CHAPTER XI.
For a Name and a Ring . . , 118

CHAPTER XII.
The Blind Countess 123

CHAPTER XIII.
The Hermit's Cave 139

CHAPTER XIV.
The Telegram 169

INDEX.

CHAPTER XV.
'Thakiel Kiel's Seap^ch among the Rocks 164

CHAPTER XVI.
BA.noN Seymoiie in* the pAiMr.if.s Stl-dio I75

CHAPTER XVn.
The Fisherman's Cottage 132

CHAPTER XVni.
The Hebrew Baron . iqo

CHAPTER XIX.
Mistress Monica 205

CHAPTER XX.
The Mad Lord's Medicine 212

CHAPTER XXI.
' The People ' 203

CHAPTER XXII.
The Unseen Hebrew Power 240

CHAPTER XXIII.
The Artist's Home 244

CHAPTER XXIV.
Village Life in Jersey 249

CHAPTER XXV.
New York .... 2C5

CHAPTER XXVI.
Lady Sydenhault's Letters 23 4

CHAPTER XXVII.
The Tall Sailor of Brest 291

CHAPTER XXVIII.
Dick IIaldeiit's Sinr 300

CHAPTER XXIX.
Consternation , ;30.i

CHAPTER XXX.
Traces of tue Ston?. 307

•(•

LjIlJ

INDEX.

CHAPTER XXXI.
The Sfrixo Tide Pictures '. 819

CHAPTER XXXII.
Mistress Monica's Letters 824

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Alas I for the Conqueror King ! 886

CHAPTER XXXIV.
The Wolves 845

CHAPTER XXXV.
Dick Halbert's Tower 363

CHAPTER XXXVI.
By the Beacon Light 390

CHAPTER XXXVII.
Edward Penrytu at Bay , 899

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Tom HoLLiNG 410

CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Traveller of the Black Fokkst 416

CHAPTER XL.
In Silks and Jewels Fine 420

CHAPTER XLI.
"While the Waves comes in 423

CHAPTER XLI I.
The Findino of the Holy Stone 433

CHAPTER XLI 1 1.
The Rabbi Abraham. The Holy Stone 439

CHAPTER XLIV.
The Tribes of God go Thither 448

CHAPTER XLV.
From Henceforth and for Aye ,,,, 458

llic authoress acknowledges with thanks, the help given her in writing
ll)is work by the Rev. A. De Sola, LL.D., High Priest of the Jewish
Synagogue, Montreal ; and Jacou G. Ascher, Esq., the author of
' Jacob's Pillar.'

il..

Il >

'■'!^'

[I '

THE

LEGEND OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

» ♦ »

CENTURIES ago, in the time of Sebert, king of the
East Saxons.

Midnight on a lonely hurst, one side bordered by a
deep fore^st glade, the other by the River Thames. A
traveller dressed in the garb of a monk, his feet, pro-
tected from the pebbles and thorns which beset his path,
only by sandals, his tonsured head, by the hood of his
monastic habit.

He had been walking quickly, since he landed from
the vessel which brought him from distant Rome, not
because the way was long from the vessel's side to the
walls of the Abbey he sought, but because he knew, that
his errand accomplished, he must return on the morrow
with a haste that would leave him no time to indulge in
the reminiscences of fifty by-gone years.

This lonely hurst, deserted as it now was, had been
the place of his birth, and as the old man, ever and anon,
closes his eyes for a moment, he almost feels his mother's
soft caress, looks into his father's face, sees him light the
sabbath lamp, and feels the touch of his father's hand
laid on his head in solemn blessing. The harvest moon,

( ,

THE LEGEND OF

nearly at its full, was rising majestically over the still land-
scape. Surrounding objects threw their long shadows
on the tranquil waters of the river, while the silvery light
of the Queen of heaven played on the crisped surface oi
each tiny billow as it sobbed thro* the grasses at the
traveller's feet. How fresh and sweet everything looked
and felt. The monk of seventy years is a boy again,
walking among the cornfields and under the shade of
the wide spreading branches of the forest oak, — one by
his side, who had walked with him over the same brown
hurst, and had pressed with her light foot the cowslip
and the primrose half a century ago.

Where is she now ? — Sleeping soundly under the
grass grown turf ! — And the dwellings of his people.
Where are they ? razed to the groiind, — the people
gone on their weary way, to seek rest among those of a
strange tongue, to whom God's chosen are an abomina-
tion.

" Alas ! alas ! " exclaimed the monk, " it is, as it has
been, and must be, for thousands of years to come, until
the children of the promise * Tribe of the weary foot and
aching breast' have grace given them to believe in Him
who came from Edom — travailing in the greatness of
his strength — the Nazarene — the Crucified — until
then, their harps must still hang on the willows, and they
refuse to sing the song of Zion, in a strange land — my
people, my own — my beloved."

The stranger covered his face with his amice, lifted up
his voice and wept.

The monk has gained the gate of the little monastery,

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

the lights are still burning in the deep-set windows.
He looks up — they are waiting his arrival.

His summons brings two of the lay brethren to the
portal.

" Who knocks so late ? "

" Father Paul of Rome."

"Welcome, Holy Father."

The gate is thrown open, the monk is taken into their
hall, his sandals removed, his feet washed and dried with
care, and then, meat and bread, venison and fat capon,
with a flagon of mead set before him.

•* I have eaten nothing more savoury than herbs and
bread, taken no other drink than water for half a cen-
tury," says Father Paul, as he motions the Frairs to
remove the feast they have spread before him.

A supper of bread, herbs and watc is brought, of
which the holy man partakes sparingly, and then asks
to be conducted to the Abbot.

The Superior greets him graciously, and the greeting
over.

" You are aware, holy Brother," says the Abbot, " for
what purpose you have been sent from distant Rome
by our father the Pope ? "

" I am not ; I haye come to do work which a younger
man could not do, but what that work is, I must learn
from you."

The Abbot points to where, through the deeply em-
bayed window can be seen by the bright moonlight, a
newly erected church, around which still lie blocks of
unhewn stone, that shew how recently the structure has
been finished.

r ! \\

THE LEGEND OV

i',11

!<i

" That church is one which has been built by our good
King Sebert, at the request, and with the dower, of his
Queen Athelgoda, partly from the ruins, of a heathen
temple dedicated to Apollo, which once stood on the
site where the church is built. The heathen temple
was destroyed by an earthquake, and although attempts
were made by the worshippers of the God to replace it,
they were always prevented by the christians, as they
became stronger and stronger in the land ; and now,
when we try to build a church to the Living God, the
demons are at work day and night to prevent its com-
pletion. While the church was building, they destroyed
by night, what was built by day, until we were almost
in despair. At last we held a grand sen' night service
for the success of our undertaking, and exorcised the site
together with the materials. This has succeeded thus
far, — we have been able to raise the walls and finish
the inside in a befitting manner, but outside, we have
but too conclusive proof that the evil spirits are there as
busy as ever, although their power to injure the build-
ing is arrested."

" What are the proofs yoii speak of ? "

** Every night we roll the ground around the church,
making it smooth and even ; — every morning the soft
ground is marked by the hoofs of the evil ones."

" May not these marks be made by cattle ?"

" No, that is impossible ; they are made by bipeds,
one step coming in front of another, as a man walks ;
and within the last two days, there have been marks of
hoofs double the size of the others, the stride between
them being six feet, good measure, shewing that a demon

WESTMINSTER ABBEV.

of gigantic size has come to aid his brethren in their
attempts to overthrow our church."

" What do you wish me to do ? you have already ex-
orcised the evil spirits, I can do no more."

" We sent to our Father the Pope for a holy man to
consecrate the chu;ch."

*' Why not do so yourself ?"

" I dare not — ."

Father Paul turns towards a window that looks out on
the eastern sky, and lifting his hands and eyes to Hea-
ven, remains in prayer for a few minutes, and then
addressing the Abbot, he says —

" I will consecrate the church to-morrow morning,
at five o'clock, by the help of God, and of the holy
Angels. — To-night we will spend in fasting and prayer."
The chronicle saith not if the younger monks were
pleased with this proposal, but it was Father Paul's
order, and, for the time, he was to reign supreme in the
monastery. At the appointed hour next morning the
monks were each in his place, ranged on either side of
the high altar. King Sebert and his Queen Athelgoda,
their crowns upon their heads, occupying a temporary
throne in the nave opposite the chancel. The people
had come from the city in such crowds,^ that the little
church was filled with worshippers, to see the consecra-
tion, and the holy man who had arrived but yesterday
from distant Rome ; He, who, as they already knew,
lived on bread and water, and would go on his way again
by the morning's tide that would float his vessel out to
sea. . ^,. .

^11

k\ !

i\\

THE LEGEND OF

Father Paul kneels by the high altar — priest and
people wait in silent prayer to hear him say the Holy
Mass, for the living and the dead. Time is passing, —
but Paul the priest of Rome moves not. His head, with
the few gray locks that are left unshaven, is bowed over
his crossed, uplifted hands, his sandalled feet project from
under his amice as he kneels, the bright morning sun
from the eastern window falls with a golden sheen on the
richly embroidered cope, and stole, bathing the figure of
the kneeling priest in a flood of glory from the upper
world. A holy hush prevades the place. The people
are becoming impatient for the ceremony they have come
to see, and move uneasily. The Abbot rises from his
knees, and approaches the side of the altar where Father
Paul is kneeling, but the old priest moves not — . A
murmur among the people, they are not wont to be de-
tained thus — they have already been an hour in waiting,

— their fields are white with grain, ready for the harvest,

— to-day the sun shines with unwonted glory, to-morrow,
there may be mist or rain. Abbot Wolfgang approaches
the kneeling priest and whispers in his ear, — What ails
the Abbot ? — why doth he start, and clasp his hands
and groan ?

Father Paul, the priest of Rome, is dead !

Who will consecrate the church of St. Peter's ?

The body is laid in front of the high altar. King
Scbert and Abbot Wolfgang speak in monosyllables and
whispers. There is a movement among the people, like
the surging of the waves. Abbot Wolfgang raises his
hand, as if he would deprecate the least sound of voice,
or motion of limb, among those who have come to wor-

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

ship. The King draws the attention of the Abbot, to the
great western door of the nave looking out on the river,
it is slowly opening, touched by no human hand ; and
priest and king, gaze with wondering awe-stricken eyes.
Thtf people note the action of the king, the amazement
depicted on the faces of both king and priest, and they
rise as silently as sunlight falls to the ground,-:- all eyes
turn towards the river, seen through the now open door.
What do they see — the priest and his people }

Out in the midst of the broad river, a white misty
cloud moves slowly towards the church, the sun is pour-
ing down his beams in bri^^htness and glory, on all
around, studding every ripple of the stream with spark-
ling diamonds. But unaffected by the strong sunshine,
the misty cloud moves on and on. There is no wind
stirring, — not a breath — yet ever and anon the mist is
parted for a moment and the wondering beholders see,
now the prow, now the keel of a snow-white bark,
freighted with men, arrayed in white garments, but none
see either sail or oar. The cloud ascends from the river,
exactly in front of the little church and fills the open
doorway. The mist disperses, the cloud unrolls itself
into two great columns, which take up their position on
either side of the portal, and a wonderous Being, with a
glory around his head, enters the church, followed by
eleven others clad in white raiment. He, the glory
crowned one, walks and looks as one having authority ;
he ascends the steps towards the great altar, followed by
his companions.

The churchmen draw back in awe ; the men in white
apparel take their places. A great burst of heavenly

THE LEGEM) OF

iPIII

music ascends from every part of the church, — yet not
from the accustomed singers — the people sing not, —
nor can they see those who do. The whole place is filled
with harmony, the pillars of the church vibrate with the
chords, — solemn yet rejoicing — " Te Deum Laudamus,"
— "Gloria in Excelsis" — a great triumphant shout —
filling the people's hearts with joy and awe, unuttered,
unexpressed, save by the streaming eyes and the hands
lifted to Heaven in wonder, praise and adoration. The
mass is said, the work is done. Thus on Thorney Island,
centuries ago, was Westminster Abbey first consecrated
to God and to St. Peter.

The shining ones have gone as they came, in the white
cloud, their boat ascending the river as it had floated
down, without sail or oar. The people have gone to
their homes in Lunenburg to tell of the wondrous sight
they have seen. The monks have retired to their monas-
tery to prepare the body of Father Paul, the priest, for
burial. This duty over, Abbot Wolfgang desires to be
alone with the dead, — the monks depart each to his cell.
The Abbot kneels in prayer, long and earnest, for the
soul of him who hath passed away, he has spent hours on
his knees, and the gray light of day is fading into night
in the west, as he turns to gaze once more on the face of
the dead.

The Abbot starts, his eye fixes itself on the face of the
dead priest, — "can this be death ?" He asks himself-^
that fiice without one rigid line, so full of holy repose and
calm ! surely it cannot be ! The Abbot shudders as he
thinks what might have been, had they unwittingly com-
mitted to the grave an unshriven soul in a living body.

WKST.MIXSTKK AimKV.

i: •

The Abbot's fingers press the cold wrist, there is
neither beat nor sign of Hfe there, — the vestment is un-
fastened, and the priest's warm hand is laid on the breast
under which the living heart should beat ; it meets his
touch, it is rigid and cold as marble.

Yea, verily, the soul of Paul the priest of Rome, with
all its hopes and fears, — its stifled longings, — its dead
passions. — its long vigils, — its weary fastings, hath
passed away from earth forever, had won the goal.

What is it that strikes on the Abbot's fingers, as he
withdraws them from the marble breast of the dead ?
" Perhaps a medal given by our Father the Pope, or
some blessed relic," thinks the Abbot, as he lifts it up
that he may look upon the holy thing, and then returB^
it to the dead.

Lo ! — .the priest's eye falls on the "Holy Stone"
which the Angel gave unto Tobias, that it might be a
token between the Angel and the Tribe forever, unto all
generations. The stone itself, like the beryl and the
sapphire — the body of Heaven in its clearness, the
Hebrew Legend round the edge.

The Abbot knew the history of the Stone, and of the
tribe to which it had belonged, and as he thought, his
wonder increased that such a precious relic, had been
allowed to fall into the hands of the priest of Rome. He
placed the Holy Relic again on the breast of the dead
priest, and going to the chest where the archives of the
Monastery were kept, selected from amongst others a
l)archment, written in Hebrew, descriptive of the Holy
Stone given by the Angel Raphael to Tobias, and carry-
ing it to the cell where the dead priest lay ; compared

1 ■ 1 ■
1, fi

! I

i 1

nil .

I:
1^

( )

THE LEGEND OF

its description with the jewel carried by the holy man.
The Abbot was right, each Hebrew word, — each char-
acter, — talHed with the description given by the Jewish
Rabbi.

Abbot Wolfgang was a learned man, taught in Rome
• i by those who made the Hebrew Scriptures the study of
X their lives, but the wondrous words which now met his
eyes were beyond his ken. The Hebrew legend was
written in the same strange characters as those traced by
the finger of God, on the tables of stone given to Moses,
on Mount Sinai, and to all save the Jewish Rabbi, those
old Hebrew signs were a dead letter.

He held the jewel close to the lamp, which the increas-
AO^Wf ing darkness obliged him to use, the legend was deeply
ttJfs.. engraved, clearer than any earthly graver could grave it,
each letter as distinctly seen as the sun at noon-day.
'/ / / '^^^ writing was as follows :

hi--

\-\*

The Abbot gazed until his eyes were dazzled, his sight
dim, — in vain, — in vain, the words were written for
God's people, chosen of old, and the Gentile priest
knoweth them not — may never know them.

There was one discrepancy, the Holy Stone was des-

•> /

;

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

[ined to fall into the hands of the Gentiles, but the
)rophecy was clear.

" It will come (to the Gentiles) with a woman, it must
TO back (to the Hebrew) by a woman."

The Abbot asks himself the question, " How can this
)c, — Father Paul the priest of Rome was no woman ? "

Abbot Wolfgang knows not that Father Paul, the
)riest of Rome, was a Hebrew of the Hebrews — a Rabbi
)f the Tribe of Judah — who had counted all earthly gain
IS naught, that he might serve the despised Nazarene —
take up His cross and follow in His train.

The vesper prayers are ended, — each priest has gone

|to his cell. The eyes of all within the monastery are

Isealcd in slumber, all save those of Abbot Wolfgang, and

he on his palfrey has taken the way to King Sebert's

castle, there to deliver the Holy Stone to Athelgoda,

[King Sebert's queen.

%■

I . iH

4 — «->^/^/^^^2^/^^v-v— *

CHAPTER II.

RUBV.

"It hath come with a woman,
It must go by a woman. "

SUCH were the words of Abbot Wolfgang more than
a thousand years ago as he delivered the Holy
Stone to Athelgoda.

And the Holy Stone descended from King Sebert's
Queen to her son, and to her son's sons, from generation
to generation. And after the Norman conquest, when
the old Saxon Scberts had changed their names to the
more euphonious one of Seymore, the Holy Stone was
theirs still, bequeathed by father to son, from century to
century, and each Baron, whether Saxon Sebert, or
Norman Seymore, down to the middle of the nineteenth
century, as the time drew near for him to be a father,
waited, with anxious heart and bated breath, to learn if
a son or a daughter had been born to him. For over a
thousand years, the ladies of Seymore Castle had borne
sons. Godfrey Karl Seymore was the last of his race.
The clock had tolled the midnight hour, yet with long
strides his heavy restless foot, paced from east to west of
his castle hall, making the old walls re-eCko with his
foot-falls. Looking out from the eastern windows on
the dark, stormy billows of the ocean, climbing with

white crests the rocky height on which his castle stood,
13

THE HOLY STONE.

from the west the straggling moonbeams shewing him
[the dark pine forest away on the hills.

An old white haired man who has served the Sey-
mores for fifty years, enters the hall.

" What news, Godfrey ? have you brought me word
my son is born ?"

" God give you grace to be patient, Baron Seymore, your
I lady dwells in everlasting night, your child is a daughter."

Lord Seymore was a disappointed man, he had loved

[his wife with the passion of a boy, and now he mourned

her with the unreason of a boy. He, like his forefathers,

had longed for a son, he had neither the wealth nor the

I land of the old Scy mores to bequeath to a son, but he

I had still his title of Baron, Castle Seymore and the Holy

Stone. Of what avail was his title to a girl, she could

not inherit it ? Castle Seymore and its land was a mere

strip from the sea to the hills, hemmed in on either side

by the possessions of Lord Sydenhault that in the old

Itimc had belonged to the Seymore's. And the Holy

Stone, — did not his child's sex point to the time, when

it must go back to the Hebrew from whom it came ? It

seemed as if the waves of fate, were about to bury the old

Seymore name in oblivion, and he had no power, scarcely

|a wish to combat them.

Lady Seymore had been laid in her grave for fourteen
years, yet Baron Seymore mourned for her as he had
[mourned, the first hour he knew she had left him. His
:liild had remained so long unbaptized, that the servants;

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THE HOLY STONE.

and visitors in lieu of another name called her Ruby,
from a necklace taken off her dead mother's neck, and
put upon the child's. And when at length she was
baptized, because her father was shamed into it by the
clergyman (whose ministrations he rather professed to
attend than attended,) and by the persuasion of the
Ladies, who with their Lords, still came to spend a few
autumn days, in shooting or fishing at the old castle, her
name of Ruby had become a part of herself, and hcr|
baptismal name of ICdith was a superfluity.

Ruby was the darling of the old castle, wanderingl
among its picture-hung rooms, talking in her childish
way to the old Barons and their Ladies, whose ancestral
faces hung around, every one of whom, from KingI
Sebert and his Queen, down to her beautiful mother, shc|
knew by name, and, who she fancied, were living, breath-
ing beings, almost as near to her as was her silent fathcr.l

Her best loved, and most frequented play-ground was
the quaint old garden, the old gardener, her especial
play-mate, and to him she was the glory and the darling
of Seymorc castle. Taught by old Jasper, the childj
would try to win her father from his solitary library, his
lonely walks, and, looking up in his face with her plead-
ing violet eyes, would entreat beseechingly to be takcnj
with him.

" Take Ruby with you, Papa ; dear Papa, don't leave]
your little girl alone,"

The heart-sick father would look down on the face ofl
childish loveliness, framed in its wealth of golden hairj
upturned to his own, and say in his heart.

THE HOLY STONE.

" You are too like my lost love, I cannot bear to have
you beside me," and taking her small hand in his would
lead her to the garden, leaving her with old Jasper, and
belake himself to the deep pine woods, there to indulge
his morbid melancholy unmolested.

Ruby had attained her fourteenth year. If her father
had been indifferent to all else, he had taken every care
that his daughter should be educated in a manner be-
fitting her rank. An accomplished governess had been
provided, who in a certain measure supplanted Mistress
Monica, her nurse, in the care of Ruby ; professors of
music came several times a week from the next town ;
the daughters of the neighbouring gentry were invited
at stated times to visit her. Everything was done to fit
her for the place she must fill as the Lady of Castle
Stymore, and as she walked, with stately step and silent
maiden smile, beside the flower beds, or under the shade
of the beech and oak trees on the mossy lawn, Jasper
began to believe that, as in the old time, an angel had
come down to bless this green earth.

In Ruby's fourteenth year, a sudden change came over
the inhabitants of the old castle, Lord Seymore was,
w ithout any desire on his part, appointed to be Deputy
keeper of the records, in the Tower of London. He cared
not for the honour, but it was one he could not well
refuse.

Previous to his departure from Seymore Castle, Lord
Seymore brought Ruby into a room he called his labora-
tory, and taking from his own neck an antique gold
chain, the links of which seemed made more with a view
to strength than fine workmanship, placed it in Ruby's

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THE HOLY STONE.

hand that she might examine the jewel pendant from
its centre. The jewel consisted of a sapphire the size
and thickness of a chestnut, bound round by a thick band
of gold, on which were engraved strange characters,
which no man, save the Jewish High Priest could read.
The stone sparkled with such brilliancy that Ruby's eyes
were dazzled with the sight, she turned the other side,
and there, the stone became like the beryl, the onyx, and
the opal. *

" This jewel," said her father, " is one which has been
in our family for generations, it has descended from father
to son, each Baron Seymore has worn it. I have no son,
I cannot leave you without putting this on your neck, it
must be ri vetted on, it must never be taken off while you
live, neither must you shew it to any one ; when you get
older, I will tell you why. — You will obey me, my child ?"

'* My dear father, I will."

Lord Seymore, by the aid of the forge in his laboratory,
rivetted the chain round Ruby's neck, putting a gold
cover upon the jewel, by which it was entirely hid, the
whole being placed under the folds of her dress.

The arrangements for the Baron's departure were simple
and easily made, his sister, a lady with a large family, whose
means were limited, undertook the care of his child and
his castle, she and her family taking up their residence
there.

Mrs. Wolferstan, was to be mistress of the Castle,
Colonel Wolferstan, to take charge of the estate and all
outside affairs ; Ethel Wolferstan, a girl two years older
than Rliby was received by the latter with joy ; now a
great want she had sighed over from her infancy was

THE HOLY STONE.

supplied, she had a companion. The girls loved each
truly, Ethel's brown eyes, and long dark hair being the
admiration of Ruby, who, until she saw her cousin, had
never seen so fair a face except in her mirror, and that,
looked on from infancy, had no charm for its possessor.

Two years had passed since Lord Seymore had left
his castle, Ethel shared in all Ruby's lessons and equalled
her in quickness. Mr. Sydney, their French and German
master, was a young man scarcely twenty years of age,
the son of a widow -who had lately come to settle at
Sydenhault Oaks, the town which Seymore castle, with
its broad lawns and old rookery almost divided in two ;
the commercial part, its streets sloping almost perpen-
dicularly down to the wharves, east of the rocky height
on which the castle stood, while the residence of profes-
sional men, and of old half-pay officers, occupied the
table-land to the west ; the little town like the castle, was
bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the hills
and dark pine woods.

Mr, Sydney had been educated partly in France and
partly in Germany, his father, an artist whose pictures, —
beautiful works of art which adorned the walls of the
widow's humble dwelling, — had gained the painter a
name and little else. His widow lived on a small annuity
her own heritage, her son earning a precarious pittcmce
by teaching the languages he had spoken in his boyhood,
and understood perhaps better than his own. This it
was that introduced him to Seymore Castle, as the French
and German master of its heiress. '"

Herbert Sydney had a rarely beautiful face, his dark

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THE HOLY STONE.

brown eyes and hair suited well with the complexion
almost olive, the rich blood painting freshly both cheek
and lip, his figure tall and handsome, his manners refined,
almost courtly, sucb an one, as a wise parent would not
have entertained the idea of making preceptor to, or even
bringing in contact with, young ladies of rank so supe-
rior to his own.

Mrs. Wolferstan considered the presence of Miss
Crompton, a very stiff, precise governess of at least forty
years of age, amply sufficient to prevent advances on the
young man's part ; as to Ruby, she ignored the very idea
of a girl of fourteen years old even thinking of a lover,
she herself at that age would have been better pleased
with a box of sugar plums or a bright sash, and she
measured Ruby's sensitive, loving temperament by her
own obtuse nature.

In Ethel she had all confidence ; she had been her
daughter's instructress with regard to her choice of a
a husband ; the first thing to be looked for, was an eldest
son, a title if possible, in any case a fortune must be
secured, without which marriage was almost a sin. Mrs.
Wolferstan with dense stupidity, directed her daughter's
attention to the life of almost privation they had all en-
dured, owing to her own want of caution in marrying a
man who had only expectations from an uncle, which
uncle, was still, after a lapse of eighteen years, hale and
hearty, while his Aephew Colonel Wolferstan's hair was
turning grey.

Alas ! how sadly she had miscalculated and misjudged
the hearts and heads of both girls.

THE HOLY STONE.

Herbert Sydney spent two hours each day at Seymore
Castle, reading from the same book, now with Ruby,
now with Ethel, leaning over first one fair head, and then
the other, as he read and corrected exercises. Two
happy years for the fi\ir girls and the handsome boy, en-
folding all three in a mantle of romance and sunshine, —
to end in what ? — separation, — exile and toil in a foreign
land, — anxious, beating hearts, full of unrest.

Ethel Wolferstan, loved Herbert Sydney with a love
full of passionate hopes, which even then, made her cheek
pale as marble when the possibility of separation in after
years crossed her brain, but she put these thoughts from
her with a strong will, she had never been thwarted in
all her life, and she would not be thwarted now.

And Herbert Sydney, what of him ? did he love the
beautiful dark haired girl, whose eyes met his with such
a flash of joy as he taught her to say with clearer pro-
nunciation and less of English accent, ''je vous aime f*

Yes, Herbert Sydney loved both these fair girls, each
in her degree, Ethel with her sparkling eye and speaking
brow and lip, her graceful step and figure rounded like a
Ilcbe, was the object of his admiration, and sometimes of
his wonder, her intellect, so far in advance of the other
girls of her age whom he taught, made him sometimes
ask himself how it was possible she could know so much.
He loved her as he might a goddess, an angel or a star he
might never hope or wish to win, but Ruby in her youth-
ful innocence had all his unfettered heart.

He had never asked himself the question " what is to
come of all this ? " In the last two years his love had

■hn

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THE HOLY STONE.

become part of his being. Poor boy ! he was soon to
have his awakening from his dream of fair girls, — low
soft music, — sunlit grassy knolls, — wild thyme and
roses. His eyes were to open upon hideous rocks, a wild
sea,—

Uti

li III

1.1|!|;

CHAPTER III.

ST. WOLFGANG'S WELL.

HE day] had been

rk and gloomy, but had cleared
up towards evening, the girls had been in the
house all day, and they now proposed to go for a long
walk up among the hills in the pine wood. Away they
went, climbing the hill outside the castle gate, and were
soon lost to sight amid the laurel and mountain ash
growing half way up. Ethel stopped at a narrow path
leading to a spring of clear water welling out of the rock,
and falling into a deep stone basin below, which, with a
i semi-circular seat cut in the rock tradition said had been
made for the benefit of thirsty travellers, by Abbot
I Wolfgang, in the old Saxon times, and was still called
I St. Wolfgang's Well.

" We will go down and have a nice, cool draught of
[water at St. Wolfgang's well," said she ; " we have three
hours of daylight left and we will make the most of
[them."

The girls ran down the narrow winding path on the
[hill, and for the hundredth time stood on tiptoe to read
[the legend cut in the rock above.

Stop, weary pilgrim, stop and tell
Your beads beside this holy well.
And pray that you in heaven may meet •
The Saint who built this well and seat.
21

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THE HOLY STONE.

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They then drank of the cool water, making cups of
their rosy hands, sitting on the stone seat with their|
faces seaward.

" T,ook at that !" exclaimed Ethel, pointing down tol
the beach, which was seen clearly from the height where
they sat, " St. Wolfgang's chair is clear of the sea, this is I
what I have been watching for ever since we came to
Seymore, if we walk quickly we shall be in time to climb
up and sit in the Saint's chair before the tide turns, it is|
still going out."

St. Wolfgang's chair, of which Ethel spoke, was a|
great rock whose base was generally hid by the waves,
it was beyond the low tide mark, hence it was only at I
certain seasons of the year accompanied by very low
tides, that the base could be reached dry shod, but it|
lou/al be reached and the rock climbed. Several ad-
venturous young ladies in the upper town were wont to!
boast of having climbed it, and eaten thefr luncheon
sitting on the Saint's seat, and looking through his
window at the ships as they sailed out to sea. The
window refened to being an immense hole formed in
the pointed top of the rock, through which one could
look by standing on the shelving portion below, whcrej
tradition said the Saint had both sat and slept for years
previous to his death ; fed, Elijah-like, by the rooks from|
the castle rookery.

Ruby was ove joyed at the prospect of this rathcrl
hazardous expedition, to sit in St. Wolfgang's seat was
an old ambition of hers, and one which she had never
had a chance of realizing under the staid rule of Monica]
and Miss Crompton,

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THE HOLY STONE.

Away the girls went at a brisk rate, alrr.ost in a straight
line through the principal street in the upper town. As
they passed a corner house, Ethel glanced along the
upper windows, smiled and bowed to some one who looked
out at herself and Ruby.

*' That is Mrs. Sydney's house," said she, blushing as
she spoke, " and Mr. Sydney is sitting at the window."

" How do you know it is Mrs. Sydney's house ?" asked
Ruby.

" I know it, that is enough, if you wish to be sure look
back, you will see Mr. Sydney still sitting there looking
after us."

Ruby's heart beat quicker as her cousin spoke, and
the hot blood mounted to hei' cheek and brow ; she did
not look back neither did she reply but she asked her-
self the question, so often within the last two years
thought of, never spoken, " which of us does Herbert
Sydney like best ?"

The ^nrls passed on to the table-land above the rocks
which lined the shore, and seeking out one of the many
winding foot-paths leading to the sea, tripped lightly down
to the beach.

Herbert Sydney looked at his wal^h as they passed,
it was eight o'clock, he leaned from his window until they
entered the sea-ward path, jno were lost to his sight in
their winding descent ,

"What can bring thorn to walk on the sea-sl'orc at
this hour?" he asked hin ;.t!i, " I wish I could folio a 'hem
and take them home ; I l.ope they will not attempt to
gather shells, the tide will turn in half an hour, and it is
a spring tide to-night,"

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THE HOLY STONE.

The lad at one moment felt impelled by some inward
monitor to follow the two girls, one of whom was all the
world to him, the next moment drawing back from an
act which he feared might be deemed intrusive.

Why do we listen to these spirit warnings and heed
them not, until the time when we might have saved our-
selves or others has passed away forever ?

The girls had mistaken the place where; the path-vay
winding among the grassy knolls, would come out, ana
when at last they gained the beach they were r* lon^
way from St. Wolfgang's Rock. They wf^re not to be
foiled however, the obstacle of a walk along the sandy
beach was not to prevent the achievement of their pur-
pose.

The rock is gained, they are standing almost at k:,
base, close by the reef of smaller rocks which make it
impossible for boats to come to shore near St. W^olf-
gang's bed.

These rocks were so completely covered with seaweed,
that the girls were almost tempted to turn back ; they
look up to the great hole in the top of the rocky height,
— that decides them, wet feet or not they will go on,
besides, they say to each other, '* It may not be so wet
after all," — they wonder when they feel how hard the
wet sand is, covered as it nearly always is by deep
water, their feet only leave the slightest prints, scarcely
a dent, it is so hard.

The base of the rock is covered by sea-weed many feet
in depth, it is a troublesome ascent, they fall back again
so often, — they have to climb with hands and feet both ;

THE HOLY STONE.

e inward

as all the

from an

ind heed
ived our-

path'vay
out, ana
"e r* lonti
lot to be
he sandy
heir pur-

est at 't i

make it

St. Wolf-

seaweed,
,ck ; they
y height,
11 go on,
e so wet
lard the
by deei)
scarcely

any feet
ck again
et both ;

.5*

I but it is done with mirth and laughter, the very toil is
part of the pleasure.

' How we shall surprise them all," said Ethel, when

I the worse part of the ascent was over, "when we tell

them of our perilous adventure, of our many falls amongst

the sea-weed, and our climbing and clinging to the sharp,

Ijutting edges of the rock, I daresay they will scarcely

jbelieve us."

" They will believe us when they see '"'ur hands and
dresses," replied Ruby, " my gloves are gone long ago
down among the sea-weed, my dress is torn, and my
hrrds are scratched and bleeding ; but I do not feel it
^'^■A tbj ^east, — Oh ! I am so glad we came ; if I were a
DO} { would be a sailor or a fisherman, and live all the
iiriic out among the rocks."

The top is gained, — and they sit down to rest on the
aint's bed, now that the excitement is over, feeling tired
nough. The Saint's bed looks toward the hills, and
hey can see nothing from thence save the rocks lining
he shore, and the green banks sloping up to the table-
and above, beyond all, the outline of the pine woods
n the other side of the village. They turn round, and
tandiiig i^/i il.e seat, look out to sea through the Saint's

indo Tuer': indeed is a sight that fills their hearts
nd t:yv. ^oth. Far out in the offing, one — two —
h je ship? disuiictly to be seen, while as they strain
heir sight, and their eyes become accustomed to sea
nd sky, they can discern first one sail, and then an-
ther ; one is making for the harbour of Sydenhault
)aks. They stand there for some time counting the

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THE HOLY STONE.

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■lill '

IV,

little fishing boats following one another, their white
sails glittering in the rays of the setting sun, as they
stand out to sea. Suddenly Ruby looks down the side
of the rock on which they stand, and calls the attention
of her cousin to the waves at its base, saying* with white
lips —

" Look, Ethel ! look ! "

" What a little goose you are," laughed Ethel, *' don't
you know that the sea is always deep on this side of the
rock,»^the sand will be dry on the other side for an hour
after the tide turns, and it has not turned yet."

Alas ! alas ! the tide was turning as the girls were
climbing the i^ k !

The fishing u > sail on and on, passing within sight
of the girls, as the)' ..v^me out from the harbour of Syden-
hault Oaks, — how beautiful they look, each with its white
sail spread to catch the breeze, — the wind is light, it is
scarcely felt. The ship they were watching is now
clearly in view, sails, masts and hull, are all visible.
They watch the fishing boats again. The clouds seem
to have come between them and the boat", they look so
dim, and yet it is such a short time since they came out ;
they cannot have gone so far as to make them look dim
like that. They look at the incoming ship, — they can-
not see her so well as they saw her before, — simul-
taneously they look at the sky, it is growing dark, a few
drops of rain fall upon their upturned faces. They do
not utter a word, but they look into each others eyes,
and each while face tells the other its silent tale,- — they
must haste to leave the rock, — they wish they had
not staid so long.

THE HOLY STONE.

Their heads are drawn quickly in from the Saint's
window, and descending from the seat they looked down
to where, when they climbed up the rock, lay a wet, '
sandy beach, with a belt of thickly growing sea-weed
reaching far above their heads ; — there is now neither
sand nor sea-weed to be seen, only a wide waste of
waters. The great, swelling waves of the spring tide
with their white foaming crests climbing far up on the
beach, between them ?.nd the rocky banks ! They
neither moved nor spoke, — they scarcely breathed, yet
each young girl knew but too well there was at least
ten feet of water around the rock at the shallowest
place, that every moment it was becoming deeper, and
deeper. The rain was falling heavy and cold ; dark-
ness fast coming on. They clasped each other's hands,
and looked with piteous eyej each in the pale face of
the other, as if they would plead to their Father in
heaven for the help they despaired of. Ruby was the
first to speak.

" We must sit here all night, and with our white
dresses, make a flag that will attract the attention of the
fishing boats when they are coming home."

Ethel answered not ; she knew that no fishing boat
could come near St. Wolfgang's Rock, owing to the belt
of breakers which surrounded it. She feared it was the
time of the spring tides. She calculated as well as she
was able the time of the full moon, alas ! it was but too
surely the spring tide, and the waves ere midnight would
be passing and repassing through St. Wolfgang's window,
to which they now clung, two feet above the seat

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THE HOLY STONE.

I :

Looking from the castle tower, she had seen the sea
more than once foaming and boiling over the rock, the
jagged point above the window hidden as the base ; that
it would be so to-night she knew too well !

" Can you swim. Ruby ?" ,

" Oh ! no ! Can you swim, Ethel ?"

" I wish I could ; I never saw the sea until we came to
live at Seymore castle."

" Perhaps one of the ship's crew might see us, if we
tear open one of our dresses and hold it up."

" If they could, how can they save us from a rock that
a boat cannot come near ?"

" Perhaps some brave seaman might swim to the rock
and take us off. — I'll try it. Ruby unfastened her white
muslin dre -s, and tearing it from its belt, let it float out
to the breeze.

** Dear Ruby, it is worse than useless doing that, no
one can see so small a flag so far away, the night is
coming on dark and rainy. I have brought you out here
to die." I

" No, Ethel, you didn't bring me here, I wanted to
come as much as you did. I have never seen the sea
beyond the base of the rock but twice before, and both
times I cried because Monica would not allow me to try
to climb up."

Ethel did not reply, her heart was too full and sad
for words, she was certain they had come to St. Wolf-
gang's Rock to die ; she felt that ere midnight they
would both be washed out to sea, and her brain reeled

THE HOLY STONE.

as she remembered Ruby's white face an hour ago, when
gazing with affright on the leaping waves she said,
" Look, Ethel ! look ! " Had she heeded the warning
then, they might now have been safe.

The sea comes up and up, higher and higher towards
them, each wave as it comes on, rising to their feet.

" We will pray to God, Ethel, He who made the sea
and the rocks. He can save us."

Ruby clasps her white hands together, and kneels
down on the Saint's seat. The waves leap up and up,
higher and higher towards them, roaring like living
creatures round their feet. They are drenched with the
salt sea water to their knees. They stand on the Saint's
bed, clinging to the jagged projections round the win-
dow. But the sea, like some remorseless monster that
I will not let them go, follows them; it will soon reach
them even there. Ruby pleads with clasped hands and
[upturned face — "Our Father, which art ii. Heaven."

Ethel's lips moye not, but the cry of her soul ascends
to the footstool of the Great All Father. '*(0 Lord have
mercy, have mercy upon us."A

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riiii

CHAPTER IV.

HERBERT SYDNEY sat watching for the return
of the young ladies of Seymore Castle.

The evening was waning, but surely there was no
cause for fear in two girls walking on the sea shore, or
even on the sands ! What could harm them ? So he
reasoned with himself, yet his restlessness and anxiety
to follow them increased almost every minute. The
room door opened, and the old servant who, aided by
a little girl, served Mrs. Sydney as both cook and house-
maid, made her appearance.

" Mr. Herbert, the Missus desired me ask you to go to
Miss Devine's to bring her home at half-past nine."

" Very well, Sarah, I'll go."

Motion was a relief, he looked at his watch, the hand
pointed to half-past nine. He snatched up his hat, and
shortly presented himself in Miss Devine's modest sit-
ting-room, where he found his mother rather impatient
to be at home. Adieux over, they took their home-
ward way.

" I am very uneasy to-night, mother."

" What makes you so ? "

** I fancy you will laugh if I tell you what it is."

" Even if I do laugh, the best way to dissipate your
disquiet is to tell its cause to another."
30

TIIK nor.V STONE.

" Then I will tell you, about an hour ago, I saw Miss
ISeymore and her cousin go towards the sea-shore, by
[one of the footpaths leading from the plateau down the
Iclifirs, and they have not yet returned," — he stopped.

* I see no cause for uneasiness in this, further than
|that it is late for young ladies in their position to be
ibroad unattended."

" That is true, and had they taken an opposite direc-
tion for their walk, I probably should not have felt dis-
turbed about it, but they are both fearless, and some-
how I fancy they have gone to gather sea-shells ; to-
light is the spring tide, the sea will come rapidly in, and
nay cover the beach."

" Then why don't you take a walk to the shore by
the way thf^y went, find them, and bring them home ? "

This was exactly what the young man wished to do,
md its being suggested by another, made it seem right
to him that he should do as he wished.

" I will, I'll leave you at the door, and go in search
)f them ; I cannot be gone more than an hour."

Hebert Sydney is wandering about on the top of the
:lififs, straining his eyes in all directions in search of two
rjrlish figures in white muslin dresses. It is raining,
md the night is getting darker every moment, no
noving object of any kind is to be seen ; he calls out

ith all his strength. His answer comes from the moan-
||ng sea. " Surely," he says, speaking aloud, " they can-
lot be on the beach so late ; yet I must satisfy myself
that they are not ; they most likely returned while I was
It Miss Devine's."

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THE HOLY STONE.

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The sea was so dark that if any moving object ini
white was on the beach, he could not have failed to stc|

it-

" Yet," he said to himself, " it is but a half hour's run
to the water's edge, I shall sleep sounder for the exercise."

He sought one of the foot-paths leading to the shore,
and descending the rocky height, found the white-crested
waves covering both the sand and the shingle beach,
dashing up the rocky heights ; half an hour ago, in the
dim light, he had mistaken the crested waves for the
white beach. The rocks hemmed him in on either side,
and he shuddered as he thought — could the girls have
been caught by a retreating wave ? The rain ceased,
and the moon which had been hidden beneath the
clouds, shone bright above the expanse of waters. Her-
bert Sydney looked up to the suddenly brightened
heaVtns, and beheld two girls clinging to the opening in
the peaked top of St Wolfgang's Rock ! The waves
climbing one after another up to their feet, like white-
maned monsters, the spray dashing over the heads of the
girls, and over the rock they clung to ! In an instant
his coat and shoes were off and on the ground, and he
himself amid the waste of waters, swimming with sturdy
strokes towards the rock.

Herbert Sydney was a famous swimmer. As a school-
boy, he had swum in sport with his fellows across the
Rhine ; his heart was now in his work, and in less time
than he had given himself as he entered the water and
measured the distance with his eye, he was standing on
the Saint's seat, and lifting Ruby in his arms to help her

bject in

i to stcl

urs run
xercise."

e shore,

:-crested

2 beach,

), in the

for the

her side,

rls have

ceased,

ath the

s. Her-

ghtened

ening in

waves

white-

s of the

instant

and he

sturdy

school-
oss the
ss time
ter and
iing on
lelp her

THE HOLY STONE.

down to the declivity where it was safest to enter the
water.

"Tak.; Ethel first, I cannot go until I know that she
is safe."

There was no time to parley ; Herbert had full con-
fidence in his power to save both, but each moment was
of importance ; a minute more or less might make or
mar his work.

It was not possible to lift Ethel as he couid have lifted
Ruby ; taking her hand he directed her how to keep
hold of his clothes without impeding his power of motion ;
an instant more and both were launched amid the waves !

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CHAPTER V.

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Will

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THE FISHERMEN.

"TTNLESS those lads leave their look out before ten
, yj minutes time, they'll have wet jackets when
they reach the shore," said Thaniel Reil, to his sons.
who with the old man, formed the crew of one of tl
fishing boats which passed the Saint's Rock, going out
to sea on the twentieth of May 1 8 —

The youngest son had a pocket glass which he ap-
plied to his eye, and at once saw that the heads were
those of girls ; on telling this to his father, the old man
and the elder boys laughed, saying :

" Haco has been thinking of girls. He sees those
that were in his thoughts."

The boy still adhered to his statement that he saw
the heads of two girls, one with fair hair shining in th
light of the rosy clouds, . which still marked the st.^
where the sun had set. The old man looked through
the glass ; they were now further off, and the outline
only of the figures could be distinctly seen, they were
either girls or very young boys.

As they went out to sea, the waves began to assume
larger proportions ; there was a ground swell, the night
was falling. The oldest son observed : " It is going to
be a stronger incoming tide to-night than we have had
for seven years."

The old man had for some time been thinking of those
heads they saw on the rock, and bade his son try if he
34

THE HOLY STONE.

could see them again through the glass. The boy could
not discern the figures as before, but saw the white mus-
lin floating out from the rock. " We will turn about lads,
and see who they are," said the father, " they have put
that out for a signal ; they want help."

" We cannot get near them, father, for the sunk rocks,
and we shall lose our night's fishing," replied the eldest
son ; " it's some boys from the town who are trying to
play a trick, and make the fisher boats turn back from
their work"

" I dinna think that, Hugh man. I have done nothing
but think o' them foolish creatures up there since we
passed ihem, and so we'll een go about and see if they
need help. If foolish Aldie was to perish there to-night,
I should never forget my sin in putting the life o' a fel-
low creature against what we could gain for a week, far
less one night's work. It's no a poor fool lik j Aldie that's
there, but them that would be sore missed at some man's
fireside, so we'll just let t'boat go about."

The two eldest lads put the boat in order for return-
ing towards the rock, although it was with no good grace ;
they thought they were on a fool's errand, and one by
which they would lose a night's work ; their time was
their money. The darkness was spreading over land and
sea, and a heavy rain falling. The lads pulled at their
oars with willing hands ; if they were to go home, the
.sooner they were there the better, a storm was brewing.
As they neared St Wolfgang's rock, the sight they saw
made them hold their breath. The moon was out, the
rain clouds passed away. — Up between them and the
sky were three figures clinging to the rock between the

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THE HOLY STONE.

Saint's bed and the needle eye, hidden to the waist
by the waves.

The fishermen called aloud to attract attention to
themselves if possible ; they were too far ofif to be heard,
— Two of the figures plunged into the waves and made
for the shore.

The fishermen laid to their oars as if their very lives
depended on each boat's length they made ; on and on
they went, their eyes fixed on the swimmers. A huge
wave came thundering past, almost upsetting the boat
with its little crew ; they soon righted. The same re-
morseless sea, caught the swimmer and her he sought to
save, and hurled them out beyond St. Wolfgang's rock,
yet so near the boat that the fishermen could hear the
screams of the girl, and see her white robes.

They pulled as they never pulled before, each moment
seemed a life time. The boat stops — two of the fisher-
men are in the sea. — The swimmer and the girl are
both seized ! — They are saved ! -:- They are in the
boat.

A second time they pull for the rock. — Above these
dangerous breakers the eddying whirl of the waves
threaten every moment to whelm their little bark.

Up and up the huge billows climb like wild sea horses ;
St. Wolfgang's bed is covered by the waves, the spray
mounting high above its utmost peak, at times hiding
the figure of Ruby completely from sight. The waves
are swelling to greater volume every moment. The boat
is like a cockle shell on those wild angry waters, every
inch of canvass is lying in the bottom of the boat. It
takes the strength of the four men to keep her afloat and

THE HOLY STONE.

in motion. Herbert Sydney is stand ingf in the bt)w,
every nerve strung to its utmost tension. The little
vessel makes more headway in a second, than he as a
swimmer could make in sixty. The eyes of all are fixed
on the rock. The pointed top, with Ruby clinging there,
one moment distinctly seen, the next hidden by sea foam.
The great roller which returns with every ninth wave,
comes thundering on. It is now the old Dane, the des-
cendant of the Sea King, shews his seamanship, — he
calls aloud to his boys, — he adroitly turns the helm. —
The boat rides on the top of the wave like a great sea-
bird. A moment more they are as near the rock as they
dare venture.

Herbert Sydney is again in the sea, battling with the
waves. Great swelling waves, which were he not the
swimmer he is, would sweep him past the rock out to
mid ocean.

His head is raised, his eyes fixed on the rock. It is
the backward sweep of the waves ; the spray is down for
a moment — Merciful Heaven ! the sea sweeps over the
rock — and Rub}' is nowhere to be seen !

The men in the boat utter a cry of horror. Echel's
i;rcat dark ey.es are fixed on the waste of water. — A low
wail of despair passes from her white parched lips. —
" Ruby ! — Ruby ! " The swimmer is striving as a man
never strove for his life. He knows by the eddy and
whirl exactly where the peak of the rock is, hidden
though it be. The clouds are scudding swiftly over the
moon, she is shining now with a light as bright as
d.iy on the spot ; he is so near he distinctly sees
Ruby's head, its golden hair floating out on the waters.

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THE IIOLV STONE.

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Another great wave sweeps past, he must battle with it,
or it will sweep him towards the shore. His eye never
for one moment relaxes its hold of the golden hair. The
waves are mounting up over the rock, forming a cone of
v/!iite spray around and above it, as if a water spout
had gathered there, and was striving to rejoin the mois-
ture in the upper air.

From the boat the fishermen see the swimmer enter
the whirling cone of spray. With faces white with hor-
ror they look into each other's eyes. The old man
groans aloud, Ethel sits with clenched hands a ' staring
eyes as if bereft of reason. A minute passe.-) or per-
haps two, they seem like hours. The old man is the
first to speak. " God help us — they are both gone —
may He receive their souls in mercy. — We are no use
here now, — take to your oars, lads."

The old Dane looks out over the waters that he may
set his helm for the safest way home. The lads grasp
their o?rs, which, since the swimmer left them, they
have been holding lightly ; merely to keep the boat
steady. The boy Haco gives a loud huzza ! — They all
turn their faces in the direction of the rock. — The
swimmer is coming towards them out of the spray, bat-
tling the waves with one arm, the other firmly grasp-
ing Ruby ! The two lads wh6 were in the sea before
plunge in a second time — Herbert Sydney and Ruby
are safe in the boat.

The old man takes off his heavy boat cloak. Ruby is
enfolded in it and placed beside Ethel, who is lying on
the sails in the bottom of the boat.

Herbert Sydney kneels beside Ruby, and gently

THE HOLY STONE.

wrings the sea water from her hair ; she has neither
opened her eyes nor spoken a word since she was taken
from the rock,

" What way shall wc get the ladies home ? " said
Thaniel Reil, when they had turned the boat in the
direction of Sydenhault Oaks harbour ; " when we get
to the pier, they're too wet and weary to ^ walk, the
young one looks as if she would never walk again."

" If we're in time to see the steamboat off," replied his
son, I would na' wonder but the Honorable Mr. Penryth
will send them home in his coach himsel ; t'old Countess *.
and t'niad Lord and two or three of t'servants are all
going to take a trip in t'steamboat for t'old lady's health,
but t'steamboat starts at midnight, and I reckon its nigh
that already ; we have a half hour's good rowing before
we'll come to the pier."

The father looked up to the sky and then down to
the shadows of the oars, as they fell on the moonlit
waves.

" Ay " said he, " we'll be there in time, but ye'U have
to draw your oars to ye, ye'U take all ye're time. " I
wonder," continued the fisherman, " if that proud peat
will let the poor things wet as they aiC; into his coach,
it'll cost him a new red silk lining if he does, and he
docs'na like to draw his purse strings, but if they do na'
get into t'coac«h, he can na' refuse the dog cart that the
servants 'ill come in."

" Mr. Penryth will not refuse the use of his coach to
Lord Seymore's daughter and her cousin," said Herbert
Sydney,

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THE HOLY STONE.

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" No, that he won't, if they're ladies of that quality,"
said Hugh "and they look just like it, but what made
gentlefolk like them be rampin up on the rocks so late
at e'en, wi a young lad like you ?"

" The ladies came out to walk alone, and probably
seeing the rock bare for the first time, climbed up to
enjoy the view from the Saint's Hed, as I and doubtless
you have done when the rock could only be reached by
wading up to the knees through salt water. 1 did not
come down to the beach until the waves were above the
sand and the shingle both, and nearly up to the Saint's
seat on the rock,"

" Your a mettlesome chap," said the father, to try to
save two of them from the top of yon rock, and nobody
to help you.

" My efforts would have been of small a /ail had you
not come with your boat to the rescue when you did,
had you been three minutes sail further off I doubt
much if either they or I would have been living now."

** Do you bide in the town, or are you one of the
Castle folks too ? "

" I have no such good fortune as to live in a Castle.
I am a teacher, and know the young ladies because I
have taught them for two years,"

'•If you're a schoohnaster, you know b«^"tter how to
speak to Mr. Penryth than me or my boys, so when we
come to the pier, you'll as well go for'ard and bespeak
the coach from his Lordship ; he's a proud upsetting
man, and may be he has a right t'be that, being at he's

THE HOLY STONE.

4»

lord of all t'country round, only t'littlc bit that follows
Castle Scyrnore from t'sea to t'hills, but I heard an old
Scotchman from Balmoral where t'Queen goes to take
the fresh air every svmimer, say at, 'she speaks to all
t'poor folk round about,' and he'll have to stand wi' his
hat in his hand in her ])resence, I'll warrant ye."

*' He's a man I can no abide," said Hugh, taking up
his speech where his father left off, "and there's few that
like him, I'll warrant. I would spend all my hard won
earnings for a month, to see him stand i.i the Queen's
Castle door quite humble with his hat ofil, an' her goin'
])ast an' never letting her eyes touch him, wi' her gold
crown on her head, and her velvet rob'js covered wi'
diamonds, trailing behind her so grand, that would pay
off all my scores to him. I have gone to the Hall wi'
the best o' our fish every week for five years, many a
hundred times he's passed me, and I always lift my hat
quite respectful, but he never yet had t'tongue that said,
good een or good day to me."

"Well Hugh, if ye serve t'King o'Kings, He'll speak
to ye and call ye his faithful servant when t' Honorable
Mr. Penryth is lying in t ground, and his land an title no
one bit o'good to him."

" If t'mad Lord were to get his wits again, they
would no be nmch to him t'day " said Hugh.

" How is that ? " inquired Herbert Sydney, interested
to hear about this proud man, he was to ask a favor from,
if he were fortunate enough to find him on the wharf.

•' Because," replied old Thaniel, " Lord Syd^*nhault,
[t'cldest brother was long away in foreign parts, and come

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THE HOLY STONE.

home wrong in t'head just before his father died, and he]
never got his mind' back again, an so Mr. Penryth rules
'aw out an in, but gin t'mad Lord wad get his senses
back again, he wid turn over a new leaf. I 'ave had
many a crack wi' t' Forester about both t'gentlemen, an'
he says its a real pity. Lord Sydenhault was always as
good as gold and t'one that has aw' the power now boy
and man t'sanie, never a kind look or a cheery word to
give to anyone. Hut you see, a man out o'his mind
could na' guid his land or his siller, so they had to
change places, t'old Lady is stone blind for many a year
back, but she takes good care of Lord Sydenhault for
all that. He's very fond of fishing, (t'foolish one) and 1
whiles have her Ladyship's orders to bring up bait for
him mysel, and she aye comes to the lawn with t'mad
Lord when I bring t'bait, and speaks real kind, and
t' Forester says she never lets him away from her, he
leads her about everywhere, but I'm thinkin it's her at
takes cares o'him, not him o'her."

They were within a few boat lengths of the pier where
the broad full moon was shining brightly down on the
wharf, making one part as light as day, and throwing
the other into deep shadow. The steamboat was in her
usual place, the gangway was still extended to the wharf,
and busy people were passing and repassing. Lord
Sydenhault's carriage and dog-cart were on the qua)',
and they could distinctly see a gentleman helping a lady
to descend from the steps of the carriage while one or
tv/o servants stood around. Ethel was leaning over
Ruby trying to make her speak or move, but all her
efforts were equally futile ; Ruby lay with closed eyes

THE HOLY STONE.

just as she had been brought into the boat ; she breath-
ed, and once or twice sighed wearily, but she was either
unconscious, or so weak as to be wholly unable to speal^
a word or make a sign.

On arriving at the quay, Herbert Sydney at once
hurried to the wharf to ask for the use of the Sy-
dcnhault carriage, while the fishermen aided by two
gentlemen from the steamboat who had seen there was
trouble of some kind on board the little boat, and had
come to their assistance, busied themselves in carrying
the two girls from where they lay on the dripping
sails.

Mr. Sydney in a few words told the Honorable Mr,
Penryth the need Lord Seymore's daughter and her
cousin had for the use of his carriage, the request was at
once acceded to with a degree of courtesy which from
the conversation he had been listening to among the
fishermen, Herbert did not expect.

While talking to Mr. Penryth, Herbert's eye took in
the group of figures in front of him, on cither side and
behind. An elderly lady whose eyes covered by catar- ^.*
act proclaimed her to be the blind Countess, leaned on
the arm of Mr. Penryth ; while she held her other son
{^ently by the hand as if he were a boy who she feared
might run away, the dreamy absent look in the latter's
eyes telling that he was the mad Lord. What the fisher-
men had said, made Herbert Sydney regard him with
an amount of interest he would not otherwise have felt ;
it was probably the expression of the young man's eye
j which first attracted Lord Sydenhault's notice, and

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THE HOLY STONE.

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made him fancy the coatless and hatless lad some one he|
had seen and known.

No sooner had Mr. Penryth gone to give orders to the
coachman as to the conveyance of the young ladies to
their home, than Lord Sydenhault releasing himself from
his mother's hold came up to Herbert, and putting one
of his hands on each shoulder of the lad, looked earnest-
ly into his eyes, not certainly with the air of an insane
person, but rather with the manner of one who speaks in
his sleep, saying as he did so, "Speak again, who are|
you ? — Tell me your name ? "

Herbert answered the soft kindly look of the dark
brown eyes with a corresponding friendliness in hie own
as he replied to the last question.

" Herbert Sydney,"

" Herbert Sydney — Sydney — Herbert Sydney," said
Lord Sydenhault in a half conscious dreamy sort of
way, as if he was trying to bring something to his re-
membrance which eluded him like the shadowy frag-
ments of a half forgotten dream,

Mr. Penryth had observed the attitude of his brother,
although from the distance at which he stood it was not
possible he could have heard the words he addressed to
Herbert, and calling to the servant in an angry voice he
said ; " Brown ! attend to your master. What do you
mean by allowing my Lord to talk in that way to people
on the wharf ? "

The servant took Lord Sydenhault gently by the hand
and led him to his mother, whose sightless eyes and

THE HOLY STONE.

stretched out hand were already taking the direction of
the spot where her son stood. Mr. Penryth came up
hurriedly, and giving his arm to his mother, led his
party, followed by the servants, towards the gangway
of the vessel, giving a fierce contemptuous glance at the
half clad dripping figure of Herbert as hft passed.

The proud boy returned the glance of the proud man,
by one of angry defiance.

One of those who helped to carry the dripping girls
up the jetty steps, was an officer who had been spending
a week or two with some friends in Sydenhault Oaks.
He had frequently seen and admired Ethel Wolferstan,
and endeavored without effect to obtain an introduction
to her, and as he leaped into the boat, was surprised to
sec that the object of his admiration was one of those to
[whom he had come to render aid.

Ethel, with her marble face framed by the folds of
I dripping black hair which hung below her waist, was
j more beautiful by far than Ethel, as the officer had before
seen her in a studied walking costume, and as he placed
the lady on one of the cushions of Lord Sydenhaul'ts
carriage, and arranged the wraps around her, he made
up his mind to return to his friends in the little town
[upon the hills above, at least for another week.

Ethel had at once recognized the gentleman who
I lifted her so gently into the carriage as one^^he had seen
more than once in church, and passing the castle gate,
.1 place which generally formed an attraction to the girls,
[from the monotony of the lawns and garden inside. He
hvas a handsome distinguished looking man, very su-
Ipcrior in appearance to the retired annuitants, lawyers

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THE HOLY STONE.

15 i

and doctors who formed the male portion of society in|
Sydenhault Oaks, and it was with a feelinj^ akin ti
pleasure that she heard him say to some one near liiiiii
as he left the carriage, "Go quickly, Jones, and brin^ my
traps from the steamboat, I will remain another vveck|
where I am." ,

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CHAPTER VI.

HERBKRT SYDNEY.

THE summer had passed, the short sunny days of
autumn, that all enjoy with a sweet sorrow, be-
I cause each soft mild day with its brown and golden
leaves — its sheaves of rich grain standing midst the
j stubble — is bringing us nearer to stern winter, with his
cold breath, snow storms, and icebound brooks, those
mild grey sweet days of autumn, were fleeting all too
(soon.

I'Lthel Wolferstan was once more well and in buoyant
[spirits, exulting in the attentions of Colonel Ponsonby.
The young man found a ready welcome at Seymore
Castle from Colonel Wolferstan, for whom he left his card
the morning after the accident, which enabled him to
render assistance to the young lady whose acquaintance
[for weeks previous he had endeavoured in vain to make.
Colonel Wolferstan at once recognized in him the son
fof General Sir Alexander Ponsonby, his senior officer,
[iindcr whom he had fought at Vittoria during the Pen-
finsular war, hence he was welcomed for his father's sake
[as well as for his own.

Ethel fancied she owed the young officer a debt of
jratitude for the aid he had afforded to the fisherman in
)ringing her up from the boat to the quay, and the
sympathies of her parents took the same direction. The
47

THE HOLY STONE.

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young officer was now Ethel's accepted lover. Strange i
to say, she did not suffer much from the exposure to cold
and wet she had endured during the time she had been
with dripping garments on the rock, the waves breaking]
over her feet, and subsequently engulfed as she had been
more than once in that wild sea. If she did not leave
the precincts of the castle for a week, it was more in ac-
cordance with the wish of her medical attendant than
from any real weakness.

How was it with Ruby ? Many a week passed ere I
the almost lifeless form carried into the castle on that
eventful night was able to be moved from her own
apartments to the drawing-room. Summer had passed
away ere she again trod the green sward, or gladdened
Jasper's heart by walking among his garden plots.

During all the long, weary weeks in which it seemed
uncertain whether Ruby would live or die, Herbert
Sydney came every day to hear the sad response " no
better," and to learn that the hitherto apathetic father j
was now, half frantic with grief, day and night by the
bedside of his darling child. And when she bc^gan to sit
up and watch Jasper at his work, he saw her once, only
once among those quaint old parterres. Ruby held out
both her pale hands towards him, and when he came
beside her, she took one hand of his in both her own,
and pressed it to her cheek and brow.

Ruby was very weak, and seeing Herbert Sydney
whom she had last seen as he lifted her from out the
watery column on St. Wolfgang's rock, made h'^r ^ art
fluttered like an imprisoned bird that beats - the

bars of its cage ; she could not speak, bu lie kent

THE HOLY STONE.

his hand and pressed it between both her own, as if
she would thus tell all that was passing \n her heart,
and turning her face up to his, she looked in his eyes
with an expression of love true and deathless. Through
good and ill, through storm or sunshine, o'er all the
world that look went with him.

After this, Ruby saw Herbert Sydney no more, but
that day In the garden, the truth came suddenly to her
soul, — she loved him with a love that would fill her
heart for evermore, and with this knowledge came a fear-
ful looking forward to a dim and hopeless future.

She believed that Herbert Sydney's heart was in
Ethel's keeping, a handful of violets gathered for Ruby,
but given to Ethel because they were asked for, the ivory
tablets also given to Ethel because of her expressed wish
to obtain a set exactly similar, these precious things
given into Ruby's keeping, lest Mrs. Wolferstan should
see them among Ethel's ' white things,' told a tale to Ruby
which made her feel that her love for Herbert Sydney,
if betrayed, by word or sign, would be sin. She could
not help loving him, but she would bury that love deep
in her own bosom, and no one should ever know of its
existence.

Many times during those weary weeks of conva-
lescence when she had been left so much alone, her
father being obliged to return to his duties in London,
she wished to return to Ethel the faded violets, — the
ivory tablets, given to her so many weeks before — but she
saw so little of her cousin that it had remained undone.
Xow that the secret so long lying dormant in her heart

was laid bare, she sought out Ethel, and putting the

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Tlir: IIOLV STONE.

little parcel containing the once treasured trifles into her
hands, said :

" I ought to have given you these long ago, Ethel."

" What is this ? " wa.^ the reply, as Tlthei opened the
tissue paper in which they were enfolded. At the first
glance she smiled contemptuously, her face expressing
no trouble — no regret, putting them down on the sofa
on which they both were sitting, she continued :

" Oh ! these love tokens of Mr. Sydney's, how ashamed
I am I should have ever accepted them, ever kept them
among my precious things. I hope -the poor lad has for-
gotten that he ever had the assurance to give such to a
pupil, particularly one in my rank of life."

Colonel Ponsonby's attention to Ethel had efifectually
cured her of her love for Herbert Sydney, which in
reality was more a girlish fondness for admiration than
anything else, but now that her eyes were opened to the
evil which might have occurred to her through this
imaginary passion, she determined, cost what it might,
to save Ruby from a like folly. That night on the
Saint's rock had shewn Herbert's secret to lier but too
plainly, and thinking over the past, her memory went
back to the cast down eyes, the burning blushes of
Ruby, which she more than feared revealed a dream
that the heiress of Castle Seymore must be awakened
from at any cost Previous to that night on the rock,
Ethel Wolferstan was a school girl, with all a school
girl's romance, she was now a loving woman, loved by
one in her own rank of life, and capable of discerning
clearly the danger she had escaped, and to which Ruby
was now exposed.

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THE HOLY STONE.

Ruby's thoughts burned on her cheek as she replied^
" Ethel, do you recollect that you asked for these violets
and admired the tablets, saying you should like to have
a set like them ? "

•' I do remember perfectly, and I am ashamed to say
I wished for these things because I believed myself be-
loved by Mr. Sydney, and fancied I returned his love.
It was a silly 'dream, from each phase of which I have
awakened. The night he came to save jfon, not me, on
St. Wolfgang's rock, he would have taken you and left
me to perish ; bu that you insisted upon my being
saved nrst. Afterwards, in the boat, all his attention was
L^iven to you, Ethel lay unheeded, while, on what seemed
to others Ruby's dead body, was lavished all his care."

VAhc\ paused for a moment, and with crimsoned cheek
and flashing eye, continued, —

•' When we were brought to the quay, and afterwards
to our home, I, shivering with cold, every feeling keenly
alive, was left to the care of strangers ; you with the hue
of death on yoAir face, without motion or apparent life,
Herbert Sydney would permit no one to touch but him-
self. It was well for me all this happened, in any event,
it saved me from great trouble, — great folly. In the first
place, ^

J* She who can love unloveil attain.

Hath liettcr store of love than brain ;
\ I'll kfop my love my (lcl)is lu |)ay,
\ While unlhrifls foul ihcir lovo away I '

"In the next place," continued she, " had I not been
mistaken in believing myself the object of the young
man's admiration," (Ethel uttered the last word with a

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THE HOLY STONE.

contemptuous emphasis, accompanied with a curl of the
upper lip, which implied more bitter things than even
her words,) " our courtship, if it had proceeded so far as
to deserve the name, could only have been productive of
evil to both, nothing but my youth and inexperience
could excuse my romantic fancy for one in his position.
Under any circumstances he is very greatly to blame ; it
is fortunately all past, I have not seen him since that ter-
rible night, I hope we shall never meet again."

Ruby was bewildered, she knew not what to make of
all this, confined by weakness almost entirely to her own
apartment, with the companionship of Miss Crompton
and attended by Monica, she had heard and seen nothing
of Colonel Ponsonby save as a gentleman who had help-
ed to carry Ethel to the carriage from the boat, and who
had continued to visit the family in consequence of his
being the son of an old friend of Colonel Wolferstan ;
thus the change in Ethel's feelings seemed to her almost
miraculous.

" I want to say a few more words to you Ruby, and
then I hope what I consider my thoughtless conduct in
allowing myself to be attracted by one of such inferior
rank, will be a subject we shall never speak of again.
When I spoke of Mr. Sydney trying to save you first, I
did not mean you to understand that he loved you, only
that he wished to save you who arc the heiress of Seymore
castle. It was natural enough, the gratitude of your
father would be unbounded, and might serve to raise him
from his present position. That his ambition is great
enough for anything, we know, although, from the cold-
ness you have always shewn towards him, he could have

i I

THE HOLY STONE.

no hope of making an impression on your heart, as he
almost succeeded in doing on mine."

Many weeks passed away, Herbert Sydney came no
more, but, from her aunt, Ruby learned that Lord Sey-
more had written a letter to Herbert enclosing a large
sum of money, as a reward for the service which had
been rendered to himself through his child and her
cousin. The money was returned with these words, " Mr.
Sydney has already received a richer reward than any
Lord Seymore can offer."

" Dear aunt Wolferstan, how could papa be so cruel
as to offer Mr. Sydney money for risking his life to save
mine ? "

*' Foolish child, your father owed him a large debt of
gratitude, the young man presumed on this, and used to
come every day to the house to ask tor you, it might
have ended at last in his presuming to address you ;
tliese sort of people never know where to stop, and to
prevent any such undesirable audacity. Lord Seymore
requested him to discontinue his visits to the castle.

Ruby was still weak and ill then, too much so to sup-
port the contending emotions excited by what she had
heard. She had been taught by Sydney to value above
all things else, whatever was noble, generous, good and
true, and she knew he was all he wished to make her.
Hours afterwards, folding her pale hands together in the
solitude of her chamber she, exclaimed aloud :

•' Oh that I were a peasant girl, and that Herbert
Sydney loved me ! "

Ruby's tell-tale cheek and brow would have told Mrs.
Wolferstan the story of her feelings towards Herbert

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THE HOLY STONE.

Sydney, even if she had not from a few hints dropped
on purpose by Ethel, been watching for such signs, and
she was not long in communicating her suspicion to
Lord Seymore, impressing upon him the necessity of
removing Ruby from the castle at least for a time. In
reply to her letter her brother himself arrived, and after
a lengthened conversation with his sister, announced his
intention of taking Ruby to reside with him in London,
giving as his reason the superior advantages She could
obtain there from masters in every branch of her educa-
tion.

Ruby, who a year ago would have hailed with delight
the idea of going to London, to see and hear the sights
and sounds which she had heard described so vividly by
both her aunt and Miss Crompton, now, listened to her
father's words as if they contained the sentence of ban-
ishment from all she most loved. Her aunt, Ethel, the
servants, particularly Monica and Jasper, the house-dog,
her pony, the trees in the rookery, the grass on the lawn,
the pillars of the portico, the park-gate, the garden wall,
every animate and inanimate thing by which she had
been surrounded from infancy, became at once inexpres-
sibly dear.

There was another dearer than all, whom she must
leave behind, without a word or sign to tell him how
differently she felt from all around her. How, if she could,
she would have thrown the gold her father offered him,
into the deep sea from which he had rescued her.

It was early morn, the clock struck six. Ruby had been
up and dressed for hours, she could not rest ; it was her
last day at Sydenhault Oaks, — in Seymore Ca. tie, — she

rmSI

THE HOLY STONE.

would not return for years, perhaps never ; the very
thought gave her a sickening heart pang.

" I must go and visit all the old places once more,"
thought she, and putting on her hat and shawl, she was
soon amid the quaint garden beds with their old fashion-
ed Spring flowers. Jasper came towards her, a small
bouquet of lily of the valley in his hand.

'• Is that for me, Jasper ? "

" Well ye'U, get it if ye like. I did'na ihink ye would
be so soon out, the sun is not strong yet and the morn-
ings are cold : I have roses for you in the green house, I
was going to bring this to poor Mr. Sydney, he is very
low."

"What do you mean J .sper, is Mr. Sydney ill ?"

" Did you no hear that afore ? " said the gardener in
a tone of surprise, " he's been sick for many a long day,
last week they would na' let anybody see him. I may
gio ye the flowers, maybe he's dead now, or so low that
he would 'na heed them."

Ruby almost snatched the flowers from Jasper's hand,
and fled down through the broad green garden walks
out by the postcTn gate, on the road leading to the upper
town, ere the old man had recovered from his surprise.

" I have made a bad morning's work, I fear," said Jasper,
as he watched from the postern door to which he had
followed her. Ruby's slight figure almost flying along the
road leading to the upper town, "its my thought she
would rather yon bonny lad that's dying, in the grey
stone house up there, than all the fine folks she'll ever
meet in London. If my Lord gets wit she's been there,
and who telled lier the lad was sick, it'll cost me my

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THE HOLY STONE.

place, an it winna be easy for me to work for another,
now at I've been *:hirty years my own master at Seymore
Castle."

Ruby gave a slight tap with the muffled knocker on
the door of the house Ethel had pointed out to her, (on
the evening that now seemed so long ago), as the one in
which Herbert Sydney lived, the door was almost in-
stantly opened by a tidy young girl in a snow white cap
and apron.

" Is Mrs. Sydney at home ? — is Mr. Sydney better ?
— I mean is Mis. Sydney up yet ? " said Ruby hur-
riedly, scarcely knowing what she said.

•' Yes Ma'am, r>he's up long ago, and Mr. Sydney is
much better. Wili you come in ? "

Ruby was shewn into a parlor, the walls of which,
agitated as she was, she could not help observing, were
covered with paintings that seemed to be the work of Ita-
lian artists ; the whole room bearing the unmistakeable
impress that it was the residence of persons in the same
rank of life as herself, although circumstances obliged
them to live in this small grey stone house.

A lady dressed in black, whom Ruby knew to be
Herbert's mother, entered from an inner apartment, clos-
ing the door noiselessly after her, and approached Ruby
with a smile she could not have worn if her son were in
danger of death.

" I came to ask how Mr. Sydney is, and brought him
those flowers, I am going away at ten o'clock, and oh ! I
wish so much to see him," said Ruby standing up, speak-
ing nervously and clasping her hands together with the
flowers held between them.

THE HOLY STONE.

" Sit down, my child," replied Mrs. Sydney, you seem
agitated ; Herbert is much better, but scarcely in a fit
state to see any one. May I ask your name ? One of his
pupils I presume, so many come to ask for him that I
am occasionally unable to remember the names I should
wish most to recollect."

" I am Ruby Seymore, I never came before, but oh !
I do wish so to see him just once."

The clasped hands were raised as she spoke, the violet
eyes looking so pleadingly and with such a piteous ex-
pression into the lady's eyes, the fair face so wan and
wax-like, was eloquence itself. Mrs. Sydney was won as
all others were by the beautiful eyes.

" Compose yourself. Miss Seymore, I will take the
flowers to Herbert, I know he will prize them. I cannot
promise that you shall see him, he has been very ill — ill
nigh unto death, and this is the first time he has left
his bed for weeks. During the last few days he has been
improving, and this morning he begged so hard to put
on his dressing gown and be wheeled into the sitting
room, that I consented ; you can understand how im-
portant it is that he should see no one except his atten-
dants and myself, I only yielded to his moving at this
early hour because of his restlessness, and seeing a
stranger, would be sure to increase it."

Ruby did not understand ; she knew that every day
from the one on which she saw Herbert Sydney among
the flower beds, she grew better, it seemed as if she had
drunk new life from his words, from his touch, and a
feeling, she would not acknowledge even to herself,
arose in her heart, saying, "It may be so with him, were

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THE HOLY STONE.

I to touch him once, he might feel my touch giving him
life, as his touch once gave life to me.

Mrs. Sydney took the flowers from Ruby's hands, and
going into the inner room, returned in a second or two
as noi.se!>.\ssly as she had at first entered, this time how-
ev'er leaving the door opened.

Ruby stood watching every motion of Mrs. Sydney's
figure, each expression of her face as she came forwanl,
with an intensity of feeling in her dark eyes and crim-
son lips that said more to forward her cause than any
spoken words could do.

" My son is fast asleep, come with me, you shall see
him and place the flowers yourself in his lap, he will see
them immediately on awaking, and shall be told who
brought them."

Ruby followed Mrs. Sydney into the inner room, one
exactly like the first. A low fire was in the grate, in
front of which sat Herbert Sydney asleep in a reclining
chair, the light coming in softened through thin green
silk blinds over which the lace window curtains fell in
light drapery to the floor. His head lay on the back of
the chair, its healthy olive hue almost turned to white,
the blue veins distinctly to be seen in his forehead from
which his brown hair had been pushed back.

Ruby stood close to his chair looking down on the
pallid face, to which the only relief was afl"orded by the
dark eye-lashes that lay like a thick fringe on his marble
cheek. Herbert Sydney had himself taught her of the
wondrous power we sometimes hear ascribed to magnet-
ism, and a feeling possessed her, as if by her touch she
could heal him. The impulse to take one of his thin

THE IIOLV STONE.

white hands in her own, was almost irresistible. Raising
her eyes to Mrs. Sydney's face she was about to whisper
a request to be allowed to do so, when a loud voice speak-
ing at the hall door, replied to by vehement whispers as
if of one trying to enforce silence, struck with a harsh
jarring noise on the ear amid the hush and quiet of the
.sick room. Mrs. Sydney motioned Ruby to remain
beside the invalid, and leaving the room, softly shut the
door.

With jut an instant given to thought, Ruby leant down
over the face of the sleeping lad and pressed her warm
full lips to his thin wan cheek.

•• Ruby, darling Ruby ! " in a moment the boy's arms
were around her neck keeping her face down to his own.

" Ruby ! it was my guardian angel who sent you here,
I can die now. I have wanted so much all these weary
months to tell you how I have loved you, better far than
my own life," the feeble lad here stopped, exhausted.

" I too love you better than any one in the world,"
rcf)licd Ruby, her eyes telling him that her words were
truLii itself, "papa came yesterday to take me away with
him to London, I did so wish every day of this long
winter to see you, and when Jasper told me this morning
that you were ill, nothing could keep me from coming."

The faintness passed oft", he took both her hands in his.
" Ruby, if I die, I will love you when I lie in my
grave, will you sometimes come there, and sit upon the
green sod which covers me ? "

" If you die, — I will sit and weep beside your grave, —
till I am blind, — until they lay me down in the earth —

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THE HOLY STONE.

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by your side." Ruby spoke these detached sentences in
subdued tones ; her voice choked with sobs impossible
to suppress.

The boy drew her face down to his own ; and pressed
his lips to her soft cheek, he seemed to have drawn new
life from her fresh young face, he felt strong and well
again, and his voice sounded clear as it did in the old
time as he answered, " Ruby, if I live, for your dear sake,
I will make myself a name as honoured as the one your
father was born to, I will win money to place you in a
home as grand as Seymore Castle. If I do this, will you
be my wife ? Will you give me ten years of grace, ten
years in which to win a name that will warrant me in
seeking you for my wife ? Ruby, are you willing to wait
for me ten years ?

" I will wait for you, all the years, all the days of my
life."

*^No, Ruby ! If at the end of ten years I do not come
to claim your hand, be sure that I am sleeping in some
distant grave, alive or dead, my love for you will be as
fresh then as now, if the dead are permitted to revisit
this earth I will never be far from you, and if not, in my
far away spirit home I will never cease to think of you,
no change can make me resign the love, which since I
knew it, has made all the music of my life. I never feel the
fresh breeze fan my cheek, see the daisy blossom, or
hear the linnet sing, that my heart has not revealings of
you in your castle home. Merely putting off the flesh
can.^ot change all this, it has become my very being. If
ten years pass and I do not come, believe that I am
watching you from those blue heavens, and that my

THE HOLY STONE.

spirit freed from earthly dross, will love for your dear
sake, those who form your happiness. Ruby, you will
wait ? " J

" When I am free to do as my heart desires, I promise
you by the honour of a Seymore I will marry you ; I will
wait for you all the years of my life."

" Darling Ruby, I will trust to your honour. When I
have accomplished all I say, I will claim you from your
father, — until then " —

The door opened — Mrs. Sydney entered ;

" You are awake, Herbert, I hope you have not been
exerting yourself."

" If I have, my dear mother, I feel better than I hav«
felt for months past."

Half an hour later, Ruby sat in her own chamber,
thinking with flushed cheek and beating heart of all
that had passed in the previous hour, and wondering at
the change which had been wrought in herself.

At six o'clock that morning she was languid, waver-
ing, infirm of purpose ; now she possessed a will and
heart so strong she knew they could not fail her.

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CHAPTER VII.

NATHAN THE SEEKER.

THE way he had come was long and weary. It was
late, the night was dark and cold, and, although
the traveller was hardly past middle age, yet he was
well nigh exhausted as he approached the walls of old
Grenada, searching amid the darkness for the Vega
gate, the one at which he knew he could at once gain
admittance. Its guardian was always a Hebrew, not
known to be a Hebrew, it is true, by the Spaniards, in
whose hands his appointment lay, yet nevertheless most
surely a Hebrew of the Hebrews.

Ever since the expulsion of the Jews under Ferdinand
and Isabella from their beloved city of Grenada, no less
dear to them than to the Moors who left the beautiful
Alhambra, an undying monument of their abode there,
the Hebrew has silently but surely been re-gaining his
foothold in the city of Grenada, establishing there an
abiding place. He builds no house for himself in the
land of the stranger, save one in which to worship the
God, who to them alone of all the tribes of the earth,
hath manifested Himself by a visible presence. But
the Hebrew hath in Grenada great store of gold, and
precious stones of almost fabulous value, parchments
which the wisest scribe among the Gentile nations can-
not read ; parchments priceless to the children of the
62

if • ( •

THE HOLY STONE.

promise. All, — gold, and gems, and sacred writings,
stored in secret places where none but the initiated can
find them, kept in safe guardianship until the day, so long
promised, shall break in the East, its light shine even unto
the uttermost ends of the Earth, and the command
shall go forth, — " Israel shall return to their beloved
land, and the Lord will once more be the strength of His
people." " Egypt shall be a desolation, — Edom a wil-
derness, — but Judah shall dwell forever, Jerusalem from
generation to generation ; the Hebrew shall dwell before
the Lord in Zion ! "

The Vega gate is reached, the sign is given to its
Hebrew guardian that tells him one of his own people
is without, in the darkness and the cold. The ponderous
key is turned in the lock, the heavy iron bolts withdrawn.

" Enter, my Brother, peace be unto thee," are the words
the traveller hears as he enters among the abodes of
men. He replies with solemn air,

" The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob bless thee."

" Whence comest thou ? "

" From distant Britain."

" Rest thee, I pray, my Brother, and let me wash thy
feet, and give thee to eat a savory morsel such as is not
often within this poor house to offer."

" Nay, my Brother, time presses, I must be with the
Rabbi Abraham long ere the day dawns. Fare-thee-well."

" Fare-thee-well," responded the guardian of the Vega
•rate, as he looked after the retreating figure of the tra-
veller which was soon lost in the darkness of the silent
strefct, the lamps which were meant to light it being
placed at such a distance from each other, and the light

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TIIK IIOI.^' STONV;.

they cniittcti st> faint, that thoy only served to deepen the
f;lootn, as llie li^;ht ot the jjjlow-worni iii tlie swamp
or forest.

•* If mv eves deceive nie not, that nian is NaTMAN
TIIK Sl.l'.KlK ; it is twenty years since he was here last,
] wonder how he lias sped ; no doubt like all his prede-
cessors hearil nothitip; of the stone ; while we poor nicii
must j;ive of our sul)stance to support him." So solilo-
qui/eil David, the keeper of the Ve^^a ^;ate, as he rc-
placeil its heavy bars, and sou|.^ht the shelter of the t;ati
liouse.

The tiaveller walkeil on v. ith slow and weary step, ho
w.xs sure >)f his way now, but the streets were rou^;h and
harde» to tread than the coruitiy roads outside the ^atc,
and the man was ftnUsore and worn with lonj^ walkni};.
lie had still a l'.>n^ line of streets to traversr ere he could
reach the resiilc»ice of the Kabbi Abraham which he
sought. He had been once in Cirenada before, then only
for a day and night, once only at the house of the
Rabbi ; then he had found the place by the written
directions he hail with him now ; then, as now, he had
been strictly forbidilen to ask his way or to tell to any
man save one of his own Tribe (with whom it was scarce-
ly possible he could meet) that the Rabbi Abraham
dwelt in the city of Grenada.

He could not consult his directions, the night was too
dark, and just under the lamps where he could see, he
would have to brave the chance of encountering one of
the sentinels who were always to be found when their
services were not wanted, and were never within hearing
when there was robbery or murder abroad. Should his

Tiir: imiv si mm,.

«5

uriltcn direct ions bt* sr<*n by oiu* of these ineii he would
he .nrested as an iiisti^;ator of revoh. and his (to (lenlile
eyes) nnreadal)l<* itiiurary, construid into rebellions do-
(innents, eonnivin^ at, or jilottin^, the assassination of
some one in power.

ill- had tonned iiis lesson well several times durinj.^
the past week, and he had hi-, (»wn reeollcction of tin;
road he had traversed twenty )'«ars b«Tore to aid him
now ; heiiee there woidd be little difhcnity if any, in
Imdiiij^^ the house he sou}.;ht in the stn;ets of (Irenad;'.
The cities of Sjiain have. la}.jj;ed sadly ;; ]dnd those of
other I'.uropi'an countries i?i tin* wonderful march of j)ro-
nress which has distin|.;uished the tiineteeiith century ;
and have un(ler!.;one little rir no change, eitJK.T it) the
(iis|)osition of their streets, or in the architecture of their
hiiildin^^s, for the last thre<' Inmdred years. lie was now
in tlu- street belon^ini; to the Kabbi ; yt.-s, every house
ill that street by whatsoever nanur its owner was known
Ixlonj^'ed by niort}^a^:;e t<» the Jewisli K.ibbi, and their
iiiliabit.ints couUI be tinned out, and the houses them-
scKis r.i/.ed to the f^round at his word. Wondrous
power, — unseen,— unknown, lik>,' the snow fallin^j silently
to the larth, yet coverifi^ with a thick mantle every
llowir and herb it falleth. > n, so doth the power of the
Hebrew extend over t^r)( llie city of (irenada.

I le had counted tinje tens of houses the Rabbi's house
should |)c the seventh house of the fourth ten. I la I
lliere is the door with tlie sij^n upon it, known to every
Hebrew, unnoticed by, unknown to the (iet.tile. /\
siii'^Ie rap sufficcth even at this late hour to briji^^a reatly
response.

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Tin: lioLV STONt:.

" Who knocks so late ? " is asked in the Spanish
tongue.

The answer is given by one word in Hebrew. There-
are bolts to be withdrawn, and locks to be opened in the
Rabbi's house, as at the Vega Gate, both are done and
the traveller is admitted into a dingy half lit vestibule,
lofty and wide, but unfurnished save by a great clock,
the brass pendulum of which sways backwards and for-
wards, its broad moonlike face gleaming through the glass
door of the case, a table on which lay several parcels, and
a l:i»ge leather covered arm-chair, where sat a porter day
and night, relieved, like a sentinel, twice in the twenty-
four hours.

The traveller sat down in the leather chair, drawing
a deep breath as he did so, he closed his eyes for a second
or two, and remained silent, an outstretched hand on
each knee, his whole figure and bearing betokening the
fatigue he felt.

** You are worn out, you need sleep and rest," said the
porter, **come with me I w'll shew you where you can
repose your wearied limbs and wash your waysore feet."

** Nay," replied the traveller, " I must do neither until
1 have seen the Rabbi, and delivered to hi?n my errand.
Is he abed ? "

" lie is not abed, but I doubt much your seeing him
to-night, the Rabbi sees no one, be they lord or hind,
after the clock has told the tenth hour, it is now almost
midnight," said the porter pointing to the large steel face
of the clock as he spoke.

'• 1 am neither lord nor hind, i)rince nor peasant, but
the Rabbi Abraham will see me," replied the traveller

"^^■^

THE HOLY STONE.

taking from his finger as he spoke a thick copper ring, on
the flat top of which were engraved some characters in
ancient Hebrew, which he gave to the porter, desiring
liini to car*-)' it to the Rabbi.

The man took the ring, the characters engraved on the
top of which he vainly tried to decipher.

" What words are these ? " inquired he, holding the
ring up to the dim lamp which hung on the wall beside
the clock, and knitting his brows as if it were the poor-
ness of the light which presented him from reading the
Hebrew words.

" If I know I may not tell," replied the traveller, *^e
Kabbi Abraham knows such things well, when you give
liini the ring, you c?\n ask him their meaning."

I he porter turned and looked at. the stranger's face,
as if stirred by some feeling made up of surprise and
i'-''; (nation.

' ]>o you think me mad?" inquired he, "You have
never spoken to the Rabbi Abraham, never seen him, or
you would not give me such counsel, you had better
keep your old copper ring until to-morrow, and present
it to the Rabbi yourself, it is too late for me to disturb
him to-night."

"Late as it is you must gi\e him that ring, if you
(lelay doing so till the morrow it may cost you your
place, you need say nothing, only lay the ring on the
table beside him and await his orders, he will tell you, I
doubt not, to shew me at once into his presence."

" Well," with a cynical smile, ** to cure your presump-
tion, I will take the ring and lay it by the Rabbi's book
as he reads, he will look me in the face and say nothing,

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THE HOLY STONE.

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his look will mean, ' begone, trouble me not,' I will obey
and come back to tell you that you nust wait until to-
morrow's sun lights up the sky before you can see or
speak to the Rabbi ^Vbraham. I do not believe there's
a man in Europe he would see at this late hour unless,
indeed, it were 'N ATI IAN THE SEEKER,' and I hope you
don't pretend to be he."

" I pretend to nothing, I pray thee do mine errand,"
said the traveller wearily, closing his eyes and leaning
back in the leather chair as he had done at his entrance.
The porter took the ring, and going up two flights of
dimiy lighted stairs to the Rabbi's study, tapped lightly
on the door, and entering, without waiting for a com-
mand to do so, advanced to where the Rabbi Abraham
sat at a table covered with scarlet cloth, reading a long
roll of time-stained manuscript, three wax tapers in
silver stands being placed at each side of the parchment.
The Rabbi did not appear to notice the entrance of the
porter, and it was only when the latter laid the ring or.
the scarlet cloth beside the parchment, that the High
Triest seemed aware of his presence. Imme iiately as
his eyes fell on the ring, he lifted it up, exc'aiming in
more hurried tones than he was wont to use ;

*' Where did you get this? — Who gave it you? —
Where is the man who brought it ? "

The porter was completely taken aback ; in his ten
years service he had never until now seen the Rabbi's
eye flash as it did, had never heard him speak but in
slew measured tones.

" The man is in the vestibule, and " —

Jk'fore the porter could finish the sentence, the Rabbi

THE HOLY STONK.

had taken one of the lip^hted tapers from the table, and
was gone from the room, downstairs, on his way to the
travel-soiled stranger.

The man stared after his master in mute surprise ;
recovering himself quickly however, prompted by a
stronger feeling, a feeling of curiosity to know who the
stranger could be, who, coming to the house in the night,
meanly dressed, without attenuants or even a mule, could
so move the Rabbi by the mere sight of the copper ring
he wore, as to make him act in a way contrary to all the
j)recedcnt of the ten past years.

The tall commanding figure of the High Priest, his
black flowing robe, the small velvet cap keeping down
uithcr than covering the silver gray locks which fell in
soft wavy folds on his neck, his long white beard, — the
iJL^lited taper in his hand as he descended the staircase,
! irmed a picture, such as had not met the traveller's eye
ince he left Grenada twenty years before. He rose to
meet the Rabbi ; the latter, putting the taper on the table,
cla. ped the traveller to his bosom, av he exclaimed with
inexpressib'c emotion,

" Xathan, my Brother Nathan."

i'\)r a few minutes neither spoke. The traveller,
among his own people, and hearing his own name, for
llic first time for twenty years, pronounced with such
nianife: t affection by one who, before Nathan was born,
had gained the reverence of all his people, the highest
iionor they had to bestow ; sobbed aloud ;

" My father, give me thy blessing ! "

riie Rabbi raised himself up to his full height.

" My son hast thou brought me tidings of the ' Stone ?* '*

ll.i

THE HOLY STONE.

" Yea, good tidings. The time is not far distant when
it will pass into the hands of a woman ; she is now in
her twentieth year."

" You know then where the ' Stone ' is, who is its pos-
sessor ? "

" I do, my Father, I have sat and talked with the man
who has it, as a man speaketh to his friend."

The Hebrew High Priest raised his hands and eyes to
Heaven, his lips moved in silent prayer for a second or
two, and then laying his hands on the head of Nathan
with his eyes still raised, he said in low deep measured
tones ;

" The Lord God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob
bless thee, God give thee of the dew of Heaven, of the
fullness of the earth, of corn and of wine."

The blessing was given ; Nathan knelt in silent prayer,
the High Priest stood with hand.- and eyes raised to
Heaven, his soul lifted up in praise to the God of Israel,
— to Him whom the Rabbi Abraham and his fathers
have served from the beginning of time, from generation,
to generation.

The porter stood in silent awe until the men whom he
considered as the holy of the earth had each finished his
devotions, wondering to himself at what he had that
night seen and heard.

'* Go," said the Rabbi, addressing the porter, " and
arouse the young men," bid one of them ])repare a bath
and fresh raiment ; another, the guest chamber ,vhicli
the Rabbi Micha occupies when he honors Grenaihi
with his presence ; another to spread a table in my sitting

THE HOr.Y STONE.

room, with the choicest viands and wine the house
affords."

" Nay, my Father," said the traveller " there must be
no food spread for me until morning at the seventh
hour ; I am a Pharisee and have a vow ; I break not my
fast before that time ; I shall then have fasted forty
hours, the last twelve of which I have passed without
rest, that I might see my Lord and receive the blessing
ere the first hour of the day. I have seen thy face, the
blessing is mine."

Pointing to the broad disk of the clock which now
shewed the hour to be past one in the morning, he con-
tinued, " Lo ! the new day has already begun to run its
course, yesterday has gone, with the joys and sorrows
men have borne through it, to aid in filling the number,
which shall make up time."

l^re Nathan ceased speaking, two young men were in
attendance.

" Go, my son," said the Rabbi, ** wash and rest, at the
seventh hour we will break our fast together. I will then
hear what thou hast to tell me of the ' Stone.' May the
.ingcl Raphael guard thy pillow."

Nathan made a low obeisance to the High Priest, and
following the young men, was conducted to a bath around
which were spread all the luxuries of the East, the bath
itself of the choicest porcelain, filled with filtered rose
water ; the air heavy with perfume.

His bath over, the traveller arrayed in a soft white
night-dress of the wool of Cashmere, was led to a large
and lofty bed-chamber, such .as he, accustomed as he was
to visit the richest men in Plurope, had never before en-

■

i
il

r ;

ihil

THE HOLY STONE.

tered. A bed of ivory inlaid with gold, the purple velvet
canopy and curtains of which were fringed and looped
with the same precious metal, occupied the centre of the
room. At one end, the wall was covered with pictures
of enormous value by the first Italian masters ; cabinets
from China and India filled with curiosities in gold and
gems, together with rare sculpture, soft fauteuils and otto-
mans, a velvet carpet in which the foot sunk, and costly
mirrors, made up the rest of the luxury around. While
over all fell in soft rays the light from wax tapers, placed
in a gold chandelier, shaded by rose colored porcelain
globes, the pendants and knotted crystal cords of which
gave back the soft rays from their thousand facets. Soft
eider down quilts of white satin, bed linen of cob-web
like cambric, helped to complete the couch, on which re-
posed the wearied limbs of the wayfarer, that a few hours
before were battling with the cold wind on the bare
hills of Spain.

When the traveller arose next morning and surveyed
his strong athletic form and sunbrowned face, in one of
the mirrors of his chamber, he could not help asking
himself ;

" Is this the same worn-out bent old man I saw in the
peasant's door glass last night ten miles from the city of
Grenada ? — I have seen the Rabbi, — received my re-
ward for twenty years hard service in the cause of our
nation, — the blessing is mine, — my body has been re-
freshed r)y \vater and rest, the worn way-faring man
seeking shelter for the night has become once more,
'Nathan thk Skkkkk.'"

" Peace be unto thee, Nathan, my son," was the saluta-

THK IIOI.V STOXE,

tion of the Rabbi as the traveller entered the breakfast
room at the appointed hour.

Nathan answert d suitably, and the attendants busied
themselves in serving breakfast, which in its appoint-
ments and manner of serving, accorded with the chamber
in which the traveller had slept. Not-withstanding his
long fast, Nathan ate sparingly, confining himself amid
the delicacies by which he was surrounded, to coffee,
toasted bread, and goat's-milk cheese. The meal over,
they adjourned to the apartment where we first saw the
K.'ibbi. Seated there, the traveller unbidden commenced
his narrative,

"You will be surprised to learn that for ten years I
have known by whom tlie ' Stone ' is held in possession ;
you will think I ought at once, on making the important
discovery, have come to tell the glad tidings, and I should
have done so, but that I was in hopes from year to year,
to be able to bring the precious gem with me ; and to
place it in your hands. How often during those ten
years, have I pleased myself by fancying the glad ex-
pression which would light up your countenance, as your
eye fell for the first time on the words engraved by the
Angel's pen ; words, which so many of our tribe know
so well, and yet have never seen ; words, which even
now when we know where to find the gem, the present
generation may pass from earth without beholding.
According to my instructions, I proceeded first to Rome,
where, assuming the monastic habit, I soon, through my
knowledge of Eastern languages, and my intimate ac-
(juaintancc with our own tongue and holy writings, ob-
tained a position in the Vatican. This at once put it in

hi '

THE HOLY STONE.

my power to search for some sign, by word or otherwise,
from which I could discover if the ' Stone' had become
the property of the Catholic Church.

My search was useless, I laboured day and night,
allowing myself only four hours of sleep, that I might
in some favored hour fall upon the manuscript which
would teach me where the Relic lay. I knew that if it
had once fallen into the hands of the Roman Pontiff, it
would be placed in safe keeping. My labour was in vain ;
after ten years spent in this way I knew that all my
work in Rome had been, like that of my brethren em-
ployed in the same cause for over eleven centuries,
even as water spilt on the ground.

Arrived at this conclusion, according to the itinerary
given me I bent my steps to England, determined if need
be, for the next ten years to spend my time in examin-
ing the archives contained in Westminster Abbey, the
Tower of London, the Record Office, in short, wherever
old manuscripts were to be found. By the help of our
brother. Baron de Schwartzkind, I obtained leave to ex-
amine the parchments belonging to the capitular body of
Westminster Abbey, where I had decided my first search
in England should be made. The Angel Raphael must
surely have accompanied me to England, even as he
went with Tobias to Rages. For months my labour
availed me nothing, and I was about giving up the
search as hopeless, when one morning, among a parcel
of useless rubbish, relating to the expenses of an old
monastery, appeared the parchment I had sought in vain
for so many years. A manuscript in the peculiar Latin
of the old Saxons, written by a monk called Wolfgang,

THE HOLY STONE.

in which he gives a vivid description of the * Stone' as it
was found upon the dead body of a priest of Rome
called Paul ; then follows an extract taken from an older
manuscript, also describing the ' Stone/ and giving the
Hebrew legend written by the Angel, the whole signed
by Wolfgang, the Abbot above mentioned. Attached
to the manuscript is one of later date, but written by the
same scribe, stating that, on the night of the day on
which the 'Stone' was found, it was carried by the
Abbot Wolfgang, to the Queen of Sebert, then King
of Essex, thus fulfilling the first part of the prophecy,
'• It came with a woman. " With the help of the Angel
it may be my fortune to fulfil the last part, " It must go
with a woman ! "

As he finished speaking Nathan laid the copy he had
made from the parchment before the Rabbi, which the
latter carefully examined.

" Yes," said the High Priest, still holding the document
in his hand and examining it, "this is certainly a faithful
copy of the Heb-ew manuscript ; this is a description of
tile ' Stone ' by one who must have looked upon it while
he wrote."

" How could the ' Stone ' have fallen into the hands
of Paul, a Christian and a priest ? " asked Nathan.

The thin cheek of the Rabbi crimsoned, and his eye
flashed as if with both anger and shame, while he an-
swered. " Paul must have been Abraham of Athens, a
Hebrew of the Hebrews, the learned man of his Tribe, —
whom all Israel held in reverence, — who chose earth
for b:s portion and the Nazarene for his God ! Abraham
of Athens was descended in a direct line from Tobias ;

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Im ' ^I

THE HOLY STONE.

if it is as I think, then is the mystery of the ' Stone s ' dis-
appearance ::olved. I pray thee proceed with thy nar-
rative. "

" What I had now to do was to find the descendants
of Sebert, King of Essex, to whom the ' Stone ' was
given ; this I feared would prove another stumbling
block in the line of search. At the Norman conquest
of Britain not many of the old Saxon families were
allowed to hold their own ; few now remain who are able
to trace their descent from the old Saxons; but among
these are the Seymores of Seymore Castle, who by a
wise submission to the power of William, and a trans-
formation of their name from Sebert to the Norman, one
of Seymore, saved their lands and gold from the con-
queror's grasp. That the possession of the ' Stone ' was
the mystic cause of this, there can be no doubt. When
I had traced the family, I set myself to work to discover
if any tradition pointed to their possession of the * Stone,'
or if it had pas: id from their hands in time of need, sold
ns a bauble for its supposed worth in gold. I early
found that the family had never been poor, but that the
estate they now possess, was only a tithe of the lands
they held in the old Saxon time. I also found that
until the present representative of the family became
Lord of Seymore, there had been an unbroken line of
sons, born to the house, but that the first and only child
of the present lord was a daughter ! to that daughter
the ' Stone * must go ! "

•• I am not sure that must follow," said the Rabbi.
•' The mere fact of her being born heir, may be sufficient
to fulfil the prophecy, ' It must go with a woman,' T will

THE HOLY STONE.

study this well, it may mean because of a woman. How
did you find out that the ' Stone ' is still in their hands ?"
"This was the most difficult point to ascertain, and
cost me ten years of time, labour and thou<^ht. I at first
tried to get an introduction to the Baron ; this was not
accomplished without considerable trouble, he was a man
who since the death of his wife, ten years previous to my
^oing to England, had shut himself up entirely from the
world, I found it impossible in any way to gain a foot-
ing in his family, he would cultivate the acquaintance of
no one. I could see no more of him, than I saw during
the time occupied by him in reading the introductory
letter I presented to him. His reception of me was cour-
teous, that was all, his eye and bearing after a little time
told me plainly, my presence was obtrusive. Among the
neighbouring gentry I found out, that there was in the
Scymore family, what they denominated a talisman, a
precious jewel, which was believed to hold a magic in-
fluence in saving the wearer from evil. I found one old
man who had been favoured by obtaining a sight of this
talisman, and who described it exactly as I should expect
an unlearned man to describe the ' Stone.' It was shewn
to him by the father of the present Baron, upwards of
fifty years ago on the occasion of his son Godfrey's
birth. I was at my wit's end. I had been occupied for
) ears finding out what I have now told you, when one
day I fell \\y with one of our Tribe who is in high
power in England, I entrusted him with the secret, told
him I was ' The Seeker,' and of my success, adding,
" There it must stop, I cannot by any means gain ad-
mittance to this man."

f ,.

'1!

ll-ff

THE HOLY STONE.

" Have patience," said he, " I will find out a way by
which you will be associated together."

" How is this possible ? " I inquired. " No money
could tempt the melancholy man who lives in the past,
to leave his old castle and mix among other men."

" What money cannot do, power may, aided by the
ambition inherent in the breast of every Englishman,"
replied my friend.

" He argued rightly, he knew the weak points of the
race among whom he was born and bred. Six years ago
I was appointed one of the keepers of the records in the
Tower of London, a month afterwards an old and palsied
man, high in office died, and Lord Seymore was appoint-
ed in his place. At first he was very unapproachable, but
* constant dropping wcareth away stone,' so it was with
Lord Seymore, it took four years to establish an intimacy
with him, but I conquered at last. He would fain be a
chemist ; what was wonder and mystery to him, was child's
play to me, in England the science is yet in its infancy,
its early morning ; in Paris and Germany where I studied,
it has attained to at least its noon-day. I shewed
him the solution ot marvels, which he had considered
himself as incapable of attaining, — the gulf is spanned,
we are firm friends. I told him the story of the ' Stone '
down to its falling into the hands of the Gentile Queen.
He heard mc with an appearance of interest, his face be-
traying that it was not for the first time. I told him of
the prophecy, his agitation would have been visible to a
child, great drops of sweat stood on his brow and around
his mouth, as if he had travelled fast and far on a sunny

THE HOLY STONE.

day in June. I needed no more, I knew Lord Seymore
possessed the * Raphael Stone.'

"And now," said the Rabbi, "how is it to be ob-
tained ? "

" That it will never be got from Lord Seymore I am
certain. He does not wear it, that I have ascertained
beyond doubt ; that he knows its value, and will pre-
serve it as sacredly as he preserves his honor, I am as
sure of, as if it were written on the tables of stone God
gave unto Moses on Sinai. All that can now be done is
to wait until the appointed time is come, when it will
pass into the hands of a woman. Lord Seymore is at
least fifty years old, in fifty more, at most, it tnust be his
daughter's, — the ' Stone ' will be ours, — the prophecy
fulfilled. I grieve that it should take so long, if it is so,
I must forego the honor of bringing it to my Tribe, I shall
long ere then have been gathered to my fathers."

'• Not every one who runneth gaineth the goal, but he
who persevereth to the end. Your work is half done my
son, this is the first time for more than a thousanc years
that we have known where the ' Stone ' is, we must not
wait for the fulfillment of a prophecy, which it may be,
we do not understand, by the time Lord Seymore is
gathered to his fathers he may have a grand-son, his
daughter dead, where will the prophecy then be ? No,
we live in the present, here in the present is our duty.
In whatever way the ' Stone ' is found, and from whom
it is taken, the prophecy standeth fast and sure, we leave
the fulfilment of it to a Higher power."

" My father, I have been lo g convinced that any at-
tempt to possess the ' Stone ' in the Tower of London

■■:S*

.8-

1. !

THE HOLY STONE.

lilii

will be futile. Every wall in the whole building has been
a silent witness of cruelty and of bloodshed. It is stain-
ed with the blood of women, with the blood of children,
the blood of the Kings and Queens of the Gentile, their
lords, priests, and people. To such a place the Prince
of the Power of the Air has full access, naught can
debar his entrance. He who disputed with the Arch-
angel Michael for the body of Moses will not penait
such an one as I to recover the 'Holy Stone' in that
place of blood ! "

The High Priest smiled, " Does my brother Nathan
believe Satan to be stronger than Israel's God ? "

" Nay, n^y Lord, but we know that he and his angels
are permitted power on this earth that the children of
disobedience may be punished.*'

" Satan and his angels have no power at all unless it
be given them, it will never be given them to harm thee.
My son, go in peace, — keep thy vow, — fulfil thy mission ;
— it hath been told me in a dream that by thy hand will
the * Stone * be recovered. The God of thy fathers be
with thee. Farewell."

nrnfTfl

CHAPTER VIII.

THE month of May seemed somehow to have an in-
fluence on the life of Ruby Seymore ; it was in
May she was born, and in May her mother died. In
May her father left her at the age of fourteen, before he
went, rivetting on her neck the chain to which was ap-
pended the * Holy Stone.'

In May she was for hours face to face with death, part
of the time under the waves of the sea.

In May she first listened to the sweet words her girl
heart loved so well to hear, which told her, she was the
dearest object earth held to one she loved as the best and
bravest, one whom her girl's eye told her bore the hand-
somest face and form she had ever looked upon.

In May she left behind forever the simple life she had
led among the forest-trees, — by the sea-girt shore, in
Seymore Castle, all she was born heir to, and in May
she entered in her seventeenth year, and left, in her
twentieth, the happy English school in a pleasant suburb
of London, where with four other girls of her own age,
she spent three years, the merriest she had known ; un-
shadowed by a single cloud. The present, among her
girl companions, full of pleasant morning light of opening
flowers and of dew, — the future, to which she looked
forward, radiant with noon-day brightness ; Herbert
Sydney the sun and centre ; her path strewn with red
roses and white lilies heavy with perfume. Of all the
8i F

;

i !

THE HOLY STONE.

\u 1

fair young girls who together sang their morning song of
praise, and knelt in prayer at eventide, none had a hap-
pier heart or was more free from care than Ruby.

Herbert Sydney had promised her he would win her
hand with her father's consent, and she believed him
with a childlike faith ; she never once thought of the
desert sands he must tread with bare and bleeding feet,
the rocky mountain heights he must climb unaided, —
the deep ravines whose rapid torrents he must stem, the
dark waters of which have whelmed so many a brave
young ardent heart. No, he had promised, she believed
then, in his power being equal to his will, and this thought
fornied her happiness.

(The time came all too soon when she could look abroad
on the world, and reasoning from analogy, feel the bitter
truth, that of the hundreds of thousands who press along
the upward path to fame, only one in a thousand reaches
the pinnacle for which they all so bravely strive. AH
along the way lie grassy mounds covering deep dark
graves, where the earnest and brave hearts, wearied with
the strife, have folded their pale hands meekly on their
breasts, and laid them down to rest?\)

She came to think oft this* in after years, and to ask
herself in the broad noonday, and in the silent midnight,
if it would be so with Herbert Sydney, but that time was
not yet.

It was in May, Ruby entered as its mistress, the hand-
some villa residence at Bayswater, which her father h"kd
bought and furnished for his darling, and where Ethel
and her husband, Colonel Ponsonby, were to be her
guests for at least a year. Ethel in her position of a

III

THE HOLY STONE.

'■»;:

married woman, doing away with the necessity there
would otherwise have been for Lord Seymore residing in
the house, a thing*not reconcilable with his duty at the
Tower.

Their nearest neighbour was the blind Countess of
Sydenhault, who, the possessor, of an almost palatial
residence at Bayswatcr, with her two sons, Lord Syden-
hault and the honorable Mr. Penryth, spent the half of
the year there, the other half at Sydenhault Hall.

Between the families at Sydenhault Hall and Seymore
Castle there had always existed the closest friendship,
which was only interrupted by Lord Seymore's desire to
indulge his sorrow in solitude.

Subsequently trouble came to the family of the Coun-
tess which caused them also to seek seclusion. The eldest
son who had been abroad for seven years, and was hastily
recalled that he might see his father die, and assume
his place as the Earl of Sydenhault, returned to his
home, ill with a raging fever, from which he arose with
weakened intellect to be an unceasing care to his remain-
ing parent, whose own infirmity of blindness coming
on but too surely year by year, would have made most
women helpless. It was not so with the brave hearted
Countess, however ; she cared for her stricken son with
all a mother's love, never permitting him to be separated
from her for a single day, pleasing the half imbecile man by
making him fancy that his presence was necessary to her,
because of her own infirmity.

Ruby's vacations during her residence at St. John's
wood had been spent in the Countess of Sydenhault's
Villa. These were pleasant days, and marked by much

■A

t ■.'.U^

'4i>- ...

THE HOLY STONE.

>!' I

.happiness, one young friend after another had always
. been invited as a companion for Ruby, and the blind
Countess, accustomed now for nearlj' twenty years to
want of sight, drove into town each day, accompanied
by her infirm son and her young visitors, that the latter
might enjoy the pleasure of seeing all the sights the
world of London has to shew.

The British Museum was a favorite pl^pe of resort, the
blind woman who could with difficulty tell day from
night, leading them with most perfect accuracy to each
particular room, and the separate pictures or pieces of
statuary, she wished them to examine, never for one
moment forgetting her poor son, talking to him, ques-
tioning, and endeavouring to draw out his dormant intel-
lect, as if he were a child, and she hoped at some future
day to see him take his place among his fellow-men.

During the first visit Ruby paid to the Countess of
Sydenhault, her second son was much struck by the
fair face, aird sweet simplicity of his mother's guest.
Ruby's natural elegance, joined fo the repose and in-
nocence of her demeanor having a fascination for him,
and acquiring a power over his heart, which none of the
beautiful women whom he was accustomed to meet in
society had been able to exercise. There were not
lacking, daughters of the rich and great among whom he
lived, young ladies with blood as blue as his own, lovely
faces and large fortunes, who would gladly have been
bride to the presumptive heir to the Barony of Syden-
hault, with his handsome face and figure, his courtly
manners, high birth; and seventy thousand pounds a
year in prospective.

THE HOLY STONE.

On her subsequent visits the feeling deepened into
love, love which seemed ridiculous, owing to the disparity
in age between himself and her whom he would fain
make his wife.

" That little girl with her beautiful face, and her gentle
look of maiden modesty," said he to his mother in speak-
ing of Ruby shortly after she had left school and become
the mistress of her father's villa, " is dangerous society
for me, she is the only one I ever saw whom I could wish
to make my wife."

" Little girl," repeated his mother, " you must certainly
not talk in that way of a young lady who has completed
her twentieth year. I can fancy she is beautiful, her
mother was the loveliest woman I ever saw ; I know she
is sweet tempered and far above the little vanities which
mark many girls at her age. If she has really awakened
an interest in your heart, why do you not consult her
father ? If he does not consider you of too mature an
age for his daughter, then try to win th6 young lady
herself. You have several advantages on your side, one
of which is that she must of consequence be fancy free,
she has not yet been introduced into society and there-
fore probably has never seen any one who could have
made an impression on her heart."

Mr. Penryth was a man whose selfishness knew no
bounds. It never once occured to him that it was very
improbable that a girl of twenty years should love a man
of forty-five, so that, by becoming his wife she would
be made a happy woman, the great question was, how it
concerned himself.

Ruby's fortune was a small one, Seymore Castle with

p.l

"■^t

■; I

■ ■■ I

'■

THE HOLY stone;

a few hundred acres of ground and ten thousand pounds.
This was nothing in his eyes, he felt certain his brother
could not possibly recover, he himself was sole heir to
both his father's and his mother's land, consisting of large
estates in North Wales, and immense tract of lake, moor
and forest in Scotland, and every acre for miles around
Sydenhault Hall, except the narrow strip, on which Sey-
more Castle was built, running from Sebert forest down to
the sea. His rental would be seventy thousand pounds
a year, his rank of the highest in England by both birth
and place, and Ruby's rank was as elevated and her
blood as pure as his own. His mirror told him that both
his face and figure were in good preservation, he was
not slow in adopting his mother's view of the case, he
had little fear of a refusal from Lord Seymore, and many
beautiful girls with larger expectations than Miss Sey-
more he was sure would be his for the wooing. He
thought over the matter for some days, the more he con-
sidered it the more natural it seemed, until a few weeks
after the above conversation with his mother, he rode to
the Tower, and asked Lord Seymore for the hand of his
daughter.

Now, if any one had been able to read the secrets of
Lord Seymore's heart they would there have seen that
his dearest object in life, his highest ambition, was that
Ruby should become Countess of Sydenhault. In the
long ago before he left Seymore Castle, when he would
at times look and wonder at the beautiful face, he used
to say to himself with a sigh of deep regret, " to what
end is all this grace and beauty ? Penryth will be
married long before she is grown to womanhood."

THE HOLY STONE.

From the time Mr. Penryth first became attracted by
Ruby's fair face, Lord Seymore had been aware of it. He
had not been taken by surprise, he had for the three past
years known how it would be, and yet, now that Mr.
Penryth had asked his daughter to become his wife
the future Countess of Sydenhauh, to be mistress of
the land, which ever since the Norman Conquest, had
been, acre by acre, mountain, forest, river and wold,
leaving the descendants of the old King Sebert and fall-
ing into the hands of the Earls of Sydenhault, his heart
beat high with triumph, his whole frame trembled with
excitement.

He thought that now he could see the good of the
Talisman ; it is true he had heard of many a n aculous
escape which the Borons of Seymore had made from pc-iis
by the sea, perils by the s^vord, but what was thai when
their wealtii and power were melting piecemeal away from
them. Now all would be restored. Ruby would not only
be possessed of all the old Sebert lands and wealth, but
of more than the Seberts had ever dreamed of. His
mind went back to the hour when old Godfrey had
brought him the tidings which then seemed to foreshadow
the complete extinction of his race. " Be patient my
Lord, your child is a daughter," now, he exclaimed in his
heart, " Lo ! is she not better to me than ten sons ?"

While all this was passing in review before Lord Sey-
more, he forgot that Mr. Penryth was waiting beside him
unanswered. The suitor was beginning to fear, that the
Baron, upon whom he had reckoned as his friend, had
other views for his beautiful daughter.

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THE HOLY STONE.

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A dignified but cordial response in the affirmative res-
tored the lover's peace cf mind.

" Have you spoken to Ruby on the subject."

" No, I — in fact I considered it proper that you shoiiM
give me your leave to do so."

" Of course, certainly, you were right ; perhaps it would
be the best plan for me to break the matter to Ruby in
the first instance myself, she is very young.

Lord Seymore had his misgivings as to what Ruby's
ideas on the subject might be. He had not forgotteti
the story of " The schoolmaster " as he was pleased to
call Herbert Sydney.

" Very young," repeated Mr. Penryth, " certainly, I
should not think of marrying an old woman."

Mr. Penryth fancied that Lord Seymore in alluding
to his daughter's age had some reference to the discre-
pancy there would be in that respect between them ; he
did not like to be thought old, he was in good preserva-
tion, few men looked so well at forty as he looked at forty-
five, his valet told him he did not look more than thirty
and he believed him ; he had feared Ruby would object
(in her heart) to his age, but it was odious to hear any
allusion to it from her father. Lord Seymore could read
what was passing in Mr. Penryth's mind as easily as the
letters in a printed book ; and he replied, with a reas-
suring smile, —

" I should hope not, with your rent roll, such a pro-
ceeding would be simply folly ; nor is it Ruby's age in
years which makes it best that I should break the, sub-
ject of marriage to her; but the nun-like life she has
led, first in Seymore Castle, then at school where, from

THE HOLY STONE.

having lost her mother, I was obliged to place her,
and from which she has only, so to speak, just made h'6t
escape."

•'It is this very simplicity of character, this retiring
maiden modesty which, in my eyes, forms her chief attrac-
tion," replied the lover, "nor do I think, fancy free a^
she must be, that it is at all likely she will dispute youff
wishes in her choice of a husband. I coincide entirely*
with you, in thinking it best you should inform Miss
Seymore what your sentiments are, before I make proJ
posals to herself in form."

" I will ride out to Bayswater and speak to Ruby to-
day on the subject," said Lord Seymore, " but," added
he, — thoughts of "The schoolmaster" obtruding them--
selves, — "do not forget that there is a certain amount cff
wooing, which must be done." The Baron's heart smote
him as he spoke, he thought of days long gone by, and
of fair Rosamond Percy, how sure he was of her an-
swer ; how troubled lest her father should look for a
richer bridegroom for his child. Now the case was res-
versed, lands and gold in abundance ; but what young
girl ever appreciated these ? Alas ! the very quality that
made Ruby so loved and loving, was, that in every rela*
tion of life she ignored such things, valued them at their
true worth, to her, the priceless human heart was far
above rank or state, lands or gold.

Lord Seymore rode over to Bayswater with his future
son-in-law, parting with him at the villa gate with a
hearty shake of the hand, which shewed Mr. Penryth
more clearly than any v\ ords could have done that he was
Lord Seymore's choice.

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THE HOLY STONE.

Ruby was happy to see her father, he had been very
busy lately, and she had not seen him for the past
week. He did not like her to come to the Tower ; he saw
too plainly that she possessed the sensitive, nervous tem-
perament of her mother, and the Tower of London with
its associations of bloodshed and crime, of broken
hearts, of the young and fair and brave, who had perished
there on the scaffold, or withered day by day in its dun-
geons, was the very worst place she could enter, the
memory of which might cling to her, and haunt her
dreams for years. Hence she could only see her father
when he came to visit her at Bays water.

" I am so glad you came to-day papa, Ethel and Co-
lonel Ponsonby have gone to drive, and I shall have you
all to myself to show you the improvements I have made.
Come first into the conservatory, I have got all my birds
there, and all the old fashioned flowers we used to love
so much at Seymore, and out on the lawn, quaint old
beds like those at home, such quantities of lily of the
valley, wall flowers and great red roses.

" I will, by and bye, at present I wish to speak to
you on the subject which brought me out to Bayswater
to-day. Sit down by me, Ruby." Lord Seymore took
his child's hand and made her sit by him, so that he
could see and read her countenance. Now that he was
looking on her fair sweet face, his former misgivings
came all back with sevenfold force, her quiet, girlish
innocence, her love for her birds and flowers were all ini-
mical to a wish to be the future Countess of Sydenhault,
with a Lord twenty-five years older than herself. The
very simplicity of her dress, a plain white muslin, seem-

THE HOLY STONE.

ed, trifle as it was, to militate against the cause he would
fain have had her look upon with his own eyes. And
that handsome tutor, how he hated him, he determined
to lay his views before her at once, to give her no
chance of thinking otherwise, than in accordance with
his opinion, but, by a grand coup-dc-main, to convince
her she was the most fortunate girl in England.

" Ruby ! this has been one of the happiest days of my
life. I have had an interview with a dear and valued
young friend," (young stuck a little in his throat, but he
choked it down with the thought, he is five years
younger than I am, and he looks fifteen, my hair is grey,
my face full of lines of care, his hair is crisp and black,
his skin smooth,) he continued, " one of a long line of
ancestry, with riches and lands that might win him a
duke's daughter, a handsome face and form, a future
Peer of the realm." Ruby sat listening with great ear-
lie.^ t eyes, wondering to w.hat all this was to tend ; a fear
seized her, lest this handsome, rich friend had come to
tell her father that, he, together with some others equally
influential, had got the Baron appointed to the Governor
Generalship of India, and she would lose him again for
years, as she had lost him when he was appointed to the
Tower. " Mr. Penryth has this day come to ask you in
marriage. I promised at once that you should be his ;
thus is fulnlled the first wish of my heart. I shall not
only see you married in your youth to a highly estim-
able, honorable man, but to one who can place you in
the rank and position from which the Seymores have
been falling for generations, the old lands of Sebert will

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THE HOLY STONE.

be yours, in you will the family resume again the posi-
tion and power it has lost."

Ruby was horror struck. For some minutes she could
not answer, her face, from which every particle of color
had faded, leaving it as white and nearly as cold as
marble, was but too truly an index of the fear which
almost froze her heart. Her father saw and noted 'thiji,
going on in his enumeration of the advantages she would
have, the lands and wealth and power she would possess
as Countess of Sydenhault, the servants and carriages
that would be at her command, and the jewels she would
wear. Her heart almost stopped beatings-she clasped
her hands, and leaning forward towards her father, as if
she would plead for mercy, said in faltering accents :

" Father, I can never marry Mr. Penryth."

He look'ed at her in unfeigned astonishment ; he had
expected a slight remonstrance — a flood of tears, and
he was all the while steeling himself against this, but for
these rebellious words, so full of womanly decision, he
was wholly unprepared.

" Ruby, what did you say ? — my ears must have
deceived me — you will not marry Mr. Penryth !-^the
daughters of gentlemen in my rank of life, marry the
men of their father's choice ;^it is not supposed that
girls of your age are capable of judging whom they
should, or should not marry. If I know myself; — if I
live and keep my senses ; — you shall be Mr. Penryth's
wife ere the grass is mown this year, or the Summer
leaves turn yellow."

" No, my father, I never will." Ruby's thoughts fled
back to Herbert Sidney and St. Wolfgang's rock, and

THE HQLY STONE.

they shaped her words. " I would rather make my
dwelling-place on the Saint's rock, trusting to the mercy
of the wild sea waves than marry Mr. Penryth."

'• I will not argue the point with you, my child, but
that you marry the man I have chosen for you, the man
I would choose had I every one in Britain who boasts a
title sueing for your hand, is as certain as if it was already
a consummated fact. This day week Mr. Penryth will
dine here with me, I expect you then to welcome him,
as your affianced husband."

Lord Seymore gone. Ruby was left alone, her brain in
a wild whirl, her heart almost turned to stone. She had
in one short hour left behind the old life, with all its
little troubles, its short-lived cares, its sunshine and its
flowers, and entered on "A stormy sea where was never a
ship." How had all her fond dreams of home and Her-
bert Sydney been scattered by the fierce north wind !
She pressed her hands one over the other upon her
closed eyes and moaned out in her despair,

" Oh ! that I were dead ! "^

Lord Seymore came to Bayswater every day, taking
care to be there during Mr. Penryth's visits. He explain-
ed to him that Ruby had a girl's fancy to remain as she
was for some years to come, but that he wished to see
her Mrs. Penryth ere the year was out.

Mr. Penryth could not shut his eyes to the fact that
Ruby's cheek was becoming paler and thinner day by
day, her eyes larger and brighter, that in her heart most
surely there was no love for him. But his own love be-
came stronger and deeper, he was willing to take her on
any terms, and her father had determined if she should

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THE HOLY STONE.

only live a year, she should for that year be Mrs. Pen-
ryth. So they settled it between them, that in the end of
August this ill-starred marriage, this sacrifice on the altar
of mammon, and rank-worship should take place.

Ethel was delighted, she looked upon Ruby's misery
as romantic nonsense, which would all end the first day
of her wedded life.

** You are the most foolish nonsensical girl I ever
saw or heard of," said she, in one of her many essays
to make Ruby listen to what she called reason, "half
the g'.rls in London are doubtless envying you the
handsome wealthy husband you are to have, while you
consider it a misfortune to be obliged to marry him. I
do think Ruby it must be half affectation. Why the
Sydenhault diamonds alone would make me crazy to
marry him, were he old and ugly, instead of compara-
tively young and certainly handsome. What do you
mean ? you know the old song,^

" Saltouii's bowed in the back,
And crooked in the arm,
Jut the bonny lands of Saltoun \
^To me are the charm." ,^

" I never in my life heard of any one who would not
be delighted at the thought of marrying a rich titled
husband, except yourself."

•' Ethel, I will never marry him, they may take me to
the church, but I shall never leave it alive." The sad yet
determined tone in which these words were uttered, the
white face and compressed lips that spoke, almost fright-
ened her volatile companion.

•• For mercy's sake, Ruby, don't speak in that way, or

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THE HOLY STONE.

you'll terrify me so, I shall not have courage to accompany
you, do you mean to conceal a poniard in your bosom,
and just as the words have been uttered by the priest,
' They whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,'
seize the weapon and plunging it into your heart ? —
these are the approved words for recording that style of
thing, are they not ?"

" No, I do not, Ethel, but since I knew that I should
be forced to marry a man I cannot love, I have prayed
to God day and night that He would let me die, here in
this house ere the twentieth of August, the day, if I live
to see it, which will be to me the darkest that ever
dawned. He may not grant my prayer, but I know that
if I live to enter the church in marriage robes, I will
never live to leave it, perhaps it is better I should die
there, it may make other fathers have more mercy than
mine has."

The white lips which spoke these words, and the great
heavy eyes set in the marble face that looked at her
with an expression bordering on despair, made Ethel
shiver with fear for a moment or two. But her volatile
nature soon shook off the strange feeling; and as she
could not understand how Ruby or any one else could
really feel what she said in view of the brilliant alliance
she was about to form, she comforted herself by assigning
all such words to the romance of her cousin's nature,
which made her prefer, or think she preferred, wild roses
to camellias and daisies to gumcistus. Ethel believed in
lier heart that all this sickly romantic nonsense would
pass away, and that Ruby would be truly one of the
happiest wives in London if not the very happiest

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A trousseau fit for a Duchess was ordered, and sent
hpme to the weary girl whose heavy heart would not
permit her to look at satin dress or pearl necklace.

Mr. Penryth's present to his bride, a necklace and
bracelet of diamonds which a Queen might have envied,
was sent to Ruby through her father on the nineteenth,
the evening previous to the wedding day.

Ruby threw her arms round her father :

" Oh ! Papa, take them back, give them to Mr. Penryth,
if they are put on me they will only adorn the neck and
arms of a corpse, the brightness of these gems go through
my eyes to my heart, wounding it like a poisoned arrow ;
they will do the same to you and Mr. Penryth both when
I am dead."

Lord Seymore's cold blue eye fell on her with the hard
stony look she had become accustomed to during the
past three months, as loosening the hold her arms had of
his person he said, sternly :

" There is not the least fear of their adorning a corpse
I am tired of all this nonsense ; put on these to-morrow
and feel, as you ought to feel, the generous love of your
bridegroom in presenting you with such a costly gift.
Take care, lest wearied with your discontented melancholy
face, he does not desert you now, at the last moment, and
leave you to wear the willow, a laughing stock to all the
aristocracy in London." . .1

" Oh ! that he would be merciful and do so," came
from Ruby's pale lips.

That night Colonel Ponsonby said to his wife:

" I would as soon imbrue my hands in that beautiful
child's blood. as have any hand in that unnatural mar-

THE HOLY STONE.

<SJ

riage. Seymore is as surely dooming his child to death,
as if he took one of the axes in the Tower and severed
her head from her body, I do not know but the latter
would be the less barbarous action of the two."

Ethel stared at her husband with a half frightened
look,

" I wish I had had nothing to say to it ; I always en-
couraged uncle Seymore in urging Ruby to marry Mr.
Penryth, because I thought it would be a grand thing for
her to be the wife of so wealthy a man, a future peer, and
one who will possess such immense tracts of land ; but I
wish now I had never interfered, never spoken on the
subject. It will be a lesson to me to my life's end."

" It's a great shame ; that girl's white face makes my
heart sore every time I look at it. He's a spiritless fellow
that Penryth, or he would have nothing to do with a girl
whose whole soul is evidently set against him. It is
strange too, he is A good looking man, and so courtly in
his manners, I should fancy he could be fascinating
enough when he chose."

" Harry," said his wife hurriedly, " do you recollect the
young man who saved Ruby and me that night on the
Saint's Rock ? You saw him on the quay ? "

'• Who ? the lad who looked so handsome in spite of
dripping clothes, shoeless feet, and hatless head ?
Yes, I remember him well, I never saw a better looking
fellow. What of him ?"

Ethel rose from her seat and putting a hand on each

of her husband's shoulders and looking earnestly in his

face, said in a low voice as if fearful of being overheard,

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THE HOLY STONE.

" I think Ruby loves him, and has ialways loved him
since that dreadful night"

" That handsome boy ?"

" Yes," still speaking in a low voice.

Colonel Ponsonby shrugged his shoulders,

" I see it all now ; no wonder she could not love Mr.
Penryth."

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CHAPTER IX.

THE SPRING TIDE PICTURES. ST. GEORGE'S CHURCH.

BARON EPHRAIM, whom the Hebrews call
Nathan the Seeker, is on his way to London,
there to resume his duties as Keeper of the Records at
the Tower. He is in Paris, not as we saw him while
entering the city of Grenada in the habit of a poor way-
faring man, but dressed with the care befitting his station
as an English gentleman.

He passes leisurely along the Rue Rivoli, stopping first
in front of one book-shop, then of another, examining the
oldest looking books, but making no purchases.

A young man, tall and dark, with a short brown beard
and moustache, stands at one of the stalls, a well-worn
volume in his hand, in which he appears to be interested.
Baron Ephraim approaches.

The young man asks the stall keeper the price of the

book.

As the sound of his voice falls upon the Hebrew's ear,
he looks earnestly in the face of the young man for a
second or two, and then with a disappointed feeling,
busies himself in turning over the books, saying mentally,
" The poor artist boy of the Tyrol has died in some ob-
scure lodging from the same fever of which he helped to
cure me, or worse still, in the grange of some ch&let,
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THE HOLY STONE.

where the frightened peasants have left him to die alone,
as would have been my fate but for him."

The stranger speaks more than once to the keeper of
the stall who asks an enormous price for the book which
he holds in his hand. He is evidently anxious to become
possessor of it, yet does not wish to pay the price asked.

Baron Ephraim glances at the book which is open at
the ragged title page, his practical eye tells him at a
glance it is no genuine old copy, but one of the numerous
reprints got up to represent such books.

"That book is valueless," said he, speaking English,
which something in the air of the stranger led him to
fancy he could understand. "Its title page claims an
antiquity of nearly two hundred years, while in reality it
has been printed and got up, soiled and torn as you now
see it, within probably the last twelve months."

The stranger seemed less to heed the words than the
face of the man who spoke to him, and scarcely permit-
ting the Hebrew to finish his sentence, placed his hand
familiarly on the shoulder of the other, saying with a face
beaming with pleasure,

" Has Baron Ephraim forgotten the boy artist"

" Nay, I have not forgotten you and I recognized the
voice at once, although being accustomed to hear you speak
English, the French accent which you have picked up to
a marvel, puzzled me, and when I saw the bearded face
I discarded the idea of your being the one to whom I owe
so much ; besides, I had given you up long since as dead.
You promised to apply to me if you wanted assistance in
climbing the height you then looked up to, (I know too
well that one, without friends or money, would faint and

THE HOLY STONE.

lOI

fail long before he could reach the mountain top you had
set yourself to gain^and I felt sure if you had been in the
land of the living 1 should have heard from you. You
have, of course, giving up all idea of becoming an artist ?"

" On the contrary, since the day I saw you last I have
worked harder than ever I did while I tried to be your
sick nurse ; come to my atelier, you shall see if I haye
worked in vain."

Baron Ephraim looked at his watch, " I have just an
hour to spare. It is imperatively necessary that I should
be in London and at my post by to-morrow night, and
to accomplish this I must leave Paris in an hour ; but
for the detention jf a letter which has been following
me from place to place, I should now be in London ;
what annoyed me this morning is a cause of rejoicing
now, as it has led to my finding the boy artist again."

They are in the atelier, the Hebrew looking on his
friend's work with wonder and delight. The room is a
large one, and yet its walls are completely covered with
paintings of considerable size, all of which bear unmistake-
able marks of being the work of a talented man, who has
studied his art, and who in style and colour has marked
out a new path for himself.

" Come here," said the artist, " this I consider my chef-
d^ceuvre, on this I have expended all I know of my art ;
it does not please me, I have painted it over and over,
the same subject managed in different ways, and with
more or less figures. Necessity has obliged me to paint
others for sale. I can always command a fair price,
but I have never sold one of these, because I have

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THE HOLY STONE.

never been able to do justice to the face and figure which
constitute the principal object in the picture."

Baron Ephraim followed the artist into an inner
room divided from the first by a curtain, and on an easel
beheld a picture, the beauty of which in both design and
work he had seldom seen equalled. The picture was not
quite finished, it wanted those nameless touches which
an artist always gives ; yet it was the work of a master
hand, and an uneasy feeling came over the Hebrew as
he felt sure he knew the subject, had seen it before, and
could recognize the extreme beauty of the face which
formed the object on which the attention was at once
centred.

The picture was that of a great rock hidden by the
climbing waves of a sea at high tide ; amid the waters
on its very top clung a white robed, fair haired girl, the
spray enveloping her as with a white shroud, a boat at a
little distance, the tumultuous eddy and whirl of the
waves, telling it was kept there by the vicinity of
breakers ; a swimmer in the sea nearer to the rock than
the boat.

" You copied this," said he. " Even as a copy it pos-
sesses great merit, but if you can copy so well, why not
try something of your own designing. This is taken
from one of Sydney's pictures of " The Spring Tide."

" That is one of them, and intended for the Crown
Prince of Prussia ! " said the young man, as lifting a
brush, he wrote in heavy black lines in the corner of the
picture, " H. Sydney."

The Hebrew looked in amazement as he saw the
artist write the name on the picture.

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THE HOLY STONE.

103

" You surely are not Sydney the painter who duringf
the last year has taken the world by surprise, shewing
them a phase of art hitherto unknown."

" My name is Sydney " replied the young man, " and
the pictures of " The Spring Tide " are mine, in concep-
tion and execution. You are the first person who has
seen any of these pictures unfinished."

Baron Ephraim stood entranced before the canvas.

" That face must have been one seen in your dreams.
You must have great talent to be able to conceive such
a combination of beauty as we see in those pictures of
" The Spring Tide." The idea of the situation on the top
of that rock in the moonlight, drenched with the great
waves too, is full of poetry. It is no wonder with your
talent that you scorned help."

" That face I often see in my dreams, yet it is no
ideal one, it is the face of one I know and love, and hope
to win. I did not scorn aid, but with the prize I have
in view I felt I could be my own best help. I have fame
and fortune both to win ere I can call her my own."

" You have made a great beginning, one almost un-
paralleled in the snnals of your art, it would be simply
insult to offer help to you."

Little did Baron Ephraim know that this young pain-
ter, of whom the firs : artists on the continent of Europe
spoke with hope aud pride, htid not el that moment five
hundred francs in his purse !

The Baron looktd at his watch;

" My dear boy I must go, as I said before, I must be
in London to-morrow night without fail ; a few weeks
hence I will return to Paris that I may spend some days

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.THE HOLY STONE.

in your atelier, renew my acquaintance with you, and
.gtudy your pictures at leisure. I would Willingly remain
now, but Lord Seymore has requested me as a personal
favor, to return at the time I mention ; his only child is
to be married on the twentieth, to the Hon. Mr. Pen-
ryth, heir to Earl Sydenhault, and Lord Seymore wished
me to take his place in his absence, some unwonted cir-
cumstance having occurred which makes it impossible for
him to leave the Tower unless I am there."

Herbert Sydney's heart gave a great leap. For the
■first time in his lifje a faiutness as of death came upon
both body and soul ; the painting room seemed to sway
froni side to side, the picture on the easel to whirl
round and round his head with such velocity as to
prevent his seeing anything but the various colors which
all appeared blended into one.

■ " Are you ill ? what ails you ? " asked Baron Ephraim
with a look of alarm, as he saw the face of the young
artist lose its olive hue and become pale as ashes in a
moment.

The window is opened, it is a north light, and the cool
breeze from the waters of the Seine is rushing through
the atelier, and fanning the artist's face into life again.

He says, *' It is a slight faintness, it is over now, the
smell of paint is so unhealthy in this hot weather."

Baron Ephraim again looks at the watch he holds in
his hand. " If I do not make haste I shall disappoint my
friend, I would not do so upon any account, I shall
see you again in a few weeks, meantime, take my
advice, go into the country, yqu have been working

THE HOLY StONfi.

•Ids

too hard, you need relaxation and fresh air, adieu,
adieu."

" Good bye."

A fervent clasp of two right hands. The Baron is gone,
the artist is standing in front of his picture, the plead-
ing look is in the beautiful eyes, it speaks a piteous prayer
for patience, it infuses into his heart a faith stronger than
death. . >

The artist snatches up his hat, locks the door of his
paihtihg room, jumps into the first cab he meets, orders
the man to drive as fast as possible to the Chemin defer
du Nord, takes his ticket, and, as he enters a carriage at-
tached to a train on the point of starting, is jostled by
Baron Ephraim, who from his heated appearance and
disordered dress seems to have had as little time to spare
as Sydney himself.

" Mr. Sydney ! " exclaimed the Hebrew in surprise,
"you are on your way to the country, you have taken
my advice ? "

" I am on my way to London, it will be a more effec-
tual change of air than any I can obtain in France."

" I dare say you are right, Now I shall have the plea-
sure of introducing you to some of .your brother artists.
I number among my London friends some of the first
men of your profession in Europe."

" I do not intend to be more than one day in London,
otherwise your offer should be accepted with pleasure." .
• The travellers thus hurriedly brought together, talked
on many subjects ; art, science, politics ; not the politics
of Europe, but of the world, every subject seemed alike
to the learned Hebrew, and as he talked the young man

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THE HOLY STONE.

was every now and then weaned from the pain of heart,
the sharp agony which was urging him on his way to
London.

The approaching marris^e wajs also a theme im which
Baron Ephraim touched, the beauty of the bride, (whom
he had never seen but of whom all London was talking
as being the loveliest girl of the season), the wealth in
land and possessions of the bridegroom, his rank, his an-
cient name, his high descent

" Where does Lord Seymore's daughter live ? Not
surely in the Tower with her father ? " asks the painter.

" No ; she has a beautiful villa at Bayswater, where a
married cousin and her husband keep her company, I
have met Colonel Ponsonby at Lord Seymore's reside nee
in the Tower,"

" Colonel Ponsonby is married to a Miss Wolferstan ? "
said Mr. Sydney inquiringly.

" Yes, I believe that is the name, do you know him ? "

" No, not at all ; Colonel Ponsonby is one of the great
who are born with a name, which I must make."

" Perhaps you know his wife ? She is a neice of Lord
Seymore's, and like himself, his sister's family are poor."

"I have seen Mrs. Ponsonby when she was in the
school-room, but not since."

Silence.

" You will come to my quarters in the Tower ? The
place is full of interest, and I myself will be your guide."

" It is impossible at present • I accept, however, your
invitation for another time. It is not likely my present
visit will extend over to-morrow night"

The friends parted at the London Bridge terminus,

THE HOLY STONE.

107

the one took his way to the Tower, the other ordered his
cabman to drive to the Grosvenor.

Herbert Sydney bathed his wearied head in cold water,
gave his clothes to "the boots" to be brushed, and when
they were brought back asked the man if he knew the
villa where Colonel and Mrs. Ponsonby lived.

" Yes, sir, my sister's husband keeps the lodge. It's
Lord Seymore's villa you mean ? "

" It is. Is it far from here ? "

" No, sir, if you wish to go there to-morrow, I will
shew y^tu the place from the door."

" I will go to-night"

" It is late, sir, past twelve. Yet as my sister's child
is very ill, the lodge will be open. That is the lodge
sir, you see the roof above the outer walls, there are
colored lamps at each side of the gate."

" Thank you, I shall find it easily."

The lodge window was open, a woman sitting by the
sill, trying to hush to sleep a child whose low moans
told it was in pain.

The artist stayed his steps. " Your baby is ill, what
ails it ? "

" I scarce can tell, he is teething, my husband has
gone to the house for the gardener, he is skilful about
children."

The baby moaned and the woman rocked it to and
fro. The father of the^child came in, accompanied by
Jasper ; the latter bringing some herb medicine for the
child which he came to the window to administer.

" Jasper, do you know me ? "

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THE HOLY STONE.

The old man looked quickly up in the face of the
artist as he stood in the full light of the harvest moon ;

" I do, and I don't, you look like the brother 'o one I
used to know."

" I am he you used to know at Sydenhault oaks, and
I want to speak to you alone, I have only been half an
hour in London, I came far to see you."

" Come into the grounds, I know un well now."

Herbert Sydney put some of his scanty gold into the
woman's hand, as she opened the door of her own
cottage, letting him pass through to the grounds.

They walked on for a few minutes in silence.

"Jasper, is what I hear true, that Miss Seymore is
bought and sold ? "

" It is but too true, Jasper's voice gets husky as he
speaks. Lord Seymore and his father have both been my
masters, and they both used me well, they gave me my
wage reg'lar, an' I warked for't honest, sometimes hard
enough i'th cold an weet, but I would gie every Seymore
of them for the young leddy 'ats gaen to be sacrificed to
mammon t'morn." They were in front of the conserva-
tory, the door of which stood wide open, shewing a door
leading into the house on the other side. " It'll be little
pleasure to me to keep this place as it has been keppet,
that's her room door yonder an' the first step she takes
i'the morn in' is out here. I neVer gaed into my break-
wast till she came aut. I liked better to see her than
any flower' at grows."

" Will you let me go into the conservatory, Jasper?"

id Herbert, as they came close by the open glass
CfCsme which formed the outer wall of the conservatory.

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THE HOLY STONE.

109

" I'll do that, an' ye can pu' any flower ye like int' an'
I'll do mair than that, I'll gie a letter or anything else
ye hae to gie to them ye like best, gin ye wall."

The old man's heart was sore unto breaking, for her
he loved as his own child ; he had seen enough, in the
old time at Seymore Castle, to know that she loved the
handsome boy who had saved her from the wild sea
waves, better, far better, than Mr. Penryth and all his
lands. And it occurred to Jasper that now this hand-
some boy was come back in his strong manhood, with
perhaps lots of money gained in foreign lands, to take
away Ruby from this man who was as unpopular among
the country people as he was with Thaniel Reil and his
sons ; and he said to himself, " If it' be sae, I'll go to
my bed and have no interference wi' it, I only hope
they'll get off 'scot free."

" No, Jasper, I'll not ask you to give a letter to Miss
Seymore to-night, but if she is Miss Seymore to-morrow
night I will."

" E'en as ye like, the morning at seven o'clock in St.
George's Church she'll be Mr. Penryth's wedded wife."

" Perhaps not, Jasper."

" LorH grant it may be sae, but gin there's no a gallant
gent'leman like as there used to be in the auld time's at
will come, and rin awa wi her the night, I sair fear, she's
doomed to be his first wife, an' I'se zure she'll no keep
him lang frae another,"

Jasper walked away to the other end of the lawn, leav-
ing Herbert Sydney in the conservatory close to Ruby's
rooms ; for aught he knew it might have been hours or
days, he could only think of Jasper's last words. He

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THE HOLY STONE.

could not take her away, like the gallants of old, as the
old gardener had suggested, even if he was sure she would
be willing to accompany him in direct opposition to all
she held dear. He was not possessed of money sufficient
to support her for one year as she had been accustomed
to live all her life ; she was inexpressibly dear to him ;
life without the hope which had been its light for so
many long years, would be but a weary dream. And,
yet, if this young high bred girl who had all her life been
surrounded by every luxury, should have been won to
love Mr. Penryth, would it be right in him to try by word
or deed to win her back to the old fancy, now, perhaps
almost forgotten, perhaps repented of long ago ? He
remembered her firmiless of disposition, her determination
even in trifles to hold to the right, and he felt assured if
she herself still treasured her love for him, that she would
never marry Mr. Penryth.

The door of the room opposite to where he stood
opened for a moment, he saw the glitter of gems and
gold, Ruby lying in quiet sleep on a sofa, the wavy tresses
of her golden hair shining with reflected light from the
wax tapers, the folds of her embroidered robe falling on
one side to the ground.

To him the sight of all this wealth of loveliness was
simply — despair ! — He clasped his hands together in
agony, and as he did so said to himself. " Farewell, fare-
well. Ruby." Unconsciously the last word was spoken
half aloud, ringing out, clear as a silver bell amid the
surrounding silence.

The sound of his own voice, as it uttered the word
' Ruby ' recalled him to what he knew was the straight

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THE HOLY STONE.

Ill

path of duty. He turned from the place where he had
seen the light of his eyes, the angel form, that walked in
all his dreams, lying in placid sleep amid her bridal
offerings, the jewels of India. — the gold of Ophir, —
lovelier far than ever he had seen her in her early girl-
hood, and as she slept, it might be, she dreamed of her
future husband, Mr. Penryth !

He felt that if by word or look he could disturb this
happiness he would deserve to have his future allotted
to him in mist and darkness. He knew he should, and
must suffer. But he would suffer alone. Ruby would
be dear to him for evermore, through all eternity, but
none should ever know that it was so ; his love and his
despair should be buried, first in his heart, and then in
his grave.

He plucked a handful of violets from the conserva-
tory, paused for a moment as he heard the sound of
Ruby's voice speaking to Monica, he was too far off to
distinguish the words she spoke, but the soft accents fell
on his ear in a dreamy, happy cadence, and as he listen-
ed, he lifted up his full soul to heaven, and prayed that
God's blessing might be around her for evermore.

-^^^g

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CHAPTER X.

SWEET SCENTED VIOLETS.

LORD SEYMORE and Mr. Penryth tried to con-
vince themselves, and to talk each other into the
belief, that, after the marriage, all would go on smoothly ;
yet each had his secret misgivings. Both dreaded a
scene in the church, and, without saying to each other
why they thought so, were of the same opinion as to the
time for the ceremony. It was appointed to take place
at eight in the morning.

The bride was in her chamber. Both there and in
the anti-room the tables were strewn with jewels, flowers,
ornaments in gold and silver, jewel cases and dressing
cases with white satin covers on which the Sydenhault
arms with the quarterings of the Sebert's and Seymore's
were richly embroidered in silver or in gold ; everything
around spoke of elegance, luxury and profusion, all told
of some auspicious and happy event, in honor of which
this display of wealth was brought together.

The fair girl they were meant to please and adorn sat
in their midst with tightly clasped hands, rigidly com-
pressed lips, and eyes which seemed like great blazing
lights set in a cold marble mask.

Monica, the woman who had nursed ,Ruby when a
motherless baby, and tended her ever since, was moving
uneasily through the room ; lifting up a precious bauble
merely to put it down again in the place from which she
had taken it, counting the number of cambric handker-

112

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THE HOLY STONE.

113

chiefs which she had already counted scores of times,
evincing, by her restlessness, a mind nearly as ill at ease
as that of her mistress ; with the exception of Monica
and the despairing statue-like girl, all in the house had
been in bed hours before.

Out on the lawn, old Jasper the gardener, (who since
Ruby's return from school had been sent for from Sey-
niore Castle by her desire,) was wandering about the
conservatory, which extended along the whole side of
the villa occupied by the rooms specially set apart for
Ruby's use. Jasper was Monica's confidant, the only
one she dared trust with the secret, as she supposed it,
of her lady's unhappiness, and dread of this marriage,
which the world called the most brilliant match of the
season.

Jasper had watched Ruby from her infancy as he
would have watched the growth of a graceful plant, the
opening of a beauteous bud, his heart nearly broke,
when the news fell like death on his soul, that the
wealthy Mr. Penryth, '/ho was old enough to be her
father, had come to bear away the glory and the darling
of the old Castle. At the bottom of his soul lay the
saddest feeling of all, the knowledge that she, with all
her prospects of wealth and noble state, bore a wearier
heart than the meanest hind who served her father.

The hours passed on, as they will pass, whether we

are in joy or in sorrow ; Monica had more than once

tried to persuade her young mistress to lie down and

seek repose upon the sofa where she sat so still and

death-like. Ruby answered not, but the great wistful

eyes told that it was rest of soul, not of body, that was

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THE HOLY STONE.

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needed, the lids could not close over those blazing eyes,
sleep could not come to that troubled heart. The mid-
night hour passed, one — two, the dawn would soon
pale the wax lights in that chamber where a heart was
breaking amid gold and gems.

Monica opened the door opposite the sofa where
Ruby sat as still and nearly as cold and lifeless as if she
had been turned to stone. The door was one entering
into the conservatory, the outer doors of which in those
warm autumn nights were never closed. The cool air
came on the poor wan face, fanning it with'sweet odours
from the flowers over which it swept ; a plot of sweet
violets grew exactly opposite the door, the perfume of
which brought memories that seemed to rouse Ruby
from her stupor.

She rose, and going to the dressing case she had used
in her early girlhood, took from it a set of ivory tablets,
a bouquet of faded violets ; she kissed both passionately
many times. Monica saw but seemed not to heed, she
herself had loved and lost in the long ago, and knew
well why such trifles were held so dear.

" Monica," the voice did not sound like Ruby's ; it was
strange and hollow, " come here, I wish to say something
to you. I hope ere this time to-morrow to be cold and
dead, will you promise to put these dead flowers, those
tablets, close to my dead heart ? "

" If I live to see you dead I will dc even as you say."
Monica's voice was choked with emotion, and her tears
fell like rain.

Ruby put her arms round the woman's neck, sobbing
out,

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THE HOLY STONE.

"Oh ! Nurse, what shall I do ? If I could only die
soon enough, before I am forced into that terrible mar-
riage !

" You must pray to God, my child. He alone can help
you.

" Oh ! I have been praying all these long months
every day, almost every hour, that He would let me die."

" Pray that He may save you to do His will on earth,
to live to His glory and in His service ; and, if it be His
will, may He put a stumbling block in the way of this
hated marriage."

" Alas ! alas ! Monica, that cannot be, it is too late now."

As she spoke, she looked around with a wild expres-
sion, as if searching for some place to which she might
fly from her persecutors. Monica feared for her reason,
and leading her to the sofa opposite the open door, in-
duced her to lie down, she herself sitting on a low stool
watching the white face of her young mistress. The
exertion and excitement of the last few minutes had
completely overpowered the worn out girl ; Ruby's eyes
closed in sleep.

Monica asked the question of her own soul. " Would it
not be better she should never wake again ? " As she sat
with eyes intently fixed on the white face of the sleeper,
fearing lest with the dawn, which must now be close at
hand, the birds out among the lilacs and laburnums, should
awaken Ruby with their morning songs, she rose, intend-
ing to go and close the conservatory door so as to shut
out the sound. As she moved towards the door, a slight
rustle among the leaves outside arrested her steps ; she
heard a low voice distinctly say, " Ruby ! "

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THE HOLY STONE.

iiiHili

The sleeping girl opened her eyes,

" Monica, who called me ? " she asked in a hurried,
earnc st tone.

" Jasper has been in the conservatory and about the
lawn all night, perhaps it is he."

** No," replied Ruby raising herself, ** it was not Jasper.
I know the voice well, it is one from the dead. Oh ! if
they would only leave me to myself and let me die."

As Ruby spoke these words she looked more like her-
self than Monica had seen her since the marriage day
had been fixed on. She had recognized the voice at once
as Herbert Sydney's, indistinct and low as it fell on her
half awakened ear, it was his and none other. She had
heard no tidings of him for more than three years, and
she now felt assured he had passed from earth to heaven.
The sweet promise he had given her when they last met
in his mother's house at Sydenhault Oaks, came back as
fresh as yesterday. " If the dead are permitted to visit
this earth, I will never be far from you ! "

** Monica," said she, as she sat upright on the sofa, and
with both hands pushed back the fair hair that fell in wavy
masses about her face, " I have had a dream, a dream
sent me from heaven, the voice who called me was that
of one who came from the dead with a message to me.
I saw in my sleep one I knew years ago, come into this
room, and lifiirg that coro let, he said, " Ruby, you must
never wear this ; its gold and gems are false, and will
crumble into dust at your touch, I will give you a true
coronet of the pure gold of Ophir, farewell, Ruby ! '* — As
he said the last word I opened my eyes, he was gcr«e.
Ch ! Monica, what shall I do ? I gave my promise on

THE HOLY STONE.

117

the honour of a Seymore, to wed the one I saw in my
dream, it will be deadly sin in me to wed Mr. Penryth."

She was speaking rapidly, she now stopped, breathless,
the dawn had deepened into day with blue and rosy
skies, ^he birds singing, the laburnums waving their
iTolden blossoms, the lilacs rustling their shiny leaves as
if there were no breaking hearts on this green earthj

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iHii

CHAPTER XI.

FOR A NAME AND A RING.

LONG before the hour for opening the church,
Herbert Sydney was pacing with quick foo\\ to
and fro in front of St George's, Hanover Square. At last
the Beadle made his appearance, dressed in his cocked
hat, his blue coat with its red cape coming from the
inside, airing his portly person, and looking out from the
ponderous doors as he opened them, with a complacency
which told that his situation was easy and comfortable,
that he was well paid, and well fed. It is wonderful how
these creature comforts, in most cases, make or mar the
man.

" Good morning," said Sydney, as he approached this
important personage, noting as he spoke, the low retreat-
ing forehead, the protuberant eyes, and the great hanging
under-lip, all telling that the douceur he offered, would
pave his way to favour ; " have you a marriage here to-
day ? "

" We have several," answered the great man, as he
pocketed the gold coin with a suave look, and speaking
with the grandiloquence he always used when address-
ing those whom he termed " the inferior classes," thereby
meaning all who did not drive in their own carriages,

" we have for ten o'clock," —
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THE HOLY STONE.

119

" I beg your pardon, but I must leave London before
that hour ; have you no early marriages ? "

" Yes — ss — we have one at eight o'clock precisely, by
special license, the Hon. Mr. Penryth, bridegroom, to the
only daughter of Lord Seymore, very aristocratic people,
singularly conservative." The stout man delivered this
speech with, if possible, more pomposity than usual.

' That hour would exactly suit me ; could you not
contrive to put me behind some pillar, where I should be
unseen, and yet see the bride, it would be something on
my return to Paris, to say I had seen the marriage of
Lord Se/i^ore*s daughter."

• om ; in," said the Beadle, " we will see what can be
c ne."

It seemed a difficult matter to arrange, first one pillar
was tried and then another, the important affair was still
undecided, when the sound of carriage wheels coming
towards, and then stopping close to the church, attracted
the attention of the Beadle, who lost, at least, one half of
his pomposity in an instant ; pointing hurriedly with his
finger to the pillar by which he wished Herbert to stand,
he left the d ^ h, returning in a few minutes in the rear
of the bridte;:^,fin and his party.

Five — ^i. - ♦wenty minutes passed, and yet the bride
came not. HMlort Sydney's heart beat high with hope,
could he be misuikcn after all ? He asked himself — did
those soft accents spoken in the night, which still lingered
in h'\, ear, take their tone from weariness and unrest, and
not from love's full hope of fruition, as he had supposed ?

Mr. Pen'-yth stirred in his seat, opened and shut his
prayer bo*>k, and at last unable to restrain his impa-

120

THE HOLY STONE.

tience, walked up and down the nave ; went out under
the portico, once — twice, each time, on his return to his
party, his face shewing a shade less of its natural olive,
a shade more of ashen grey. Whatever it might be that
detained the bride, the bridegroom was full of trouble.

The clergyman has also been waiting ; he is an old
man and sits quietly in his great chair within the altar
rails as if he loved to rest, he looks around leisurely ; not
so his assistant, he displays but too plainly the same im-
patience as Mr. Penryth, but only the impatience, he
shares not his trouble . d disquiet.

The clergyman see>. nioyance of his coadjutor,

though the young man la * care it is expressed only
by his eyes, which, every second or two, seek the door;
the old man smiles, his smile is returned, but the answer-
ing one says plainly, " what a bore to be kept here all
day."

The finger of the loudly ticking clock points to three
minutes to nine ; the clergyman rises from his chair, he
too is now tired of waiting, perhaps he thinks it is use-
less, he has before waited for a bride, who never came ;
he consults his watch, compares it with the church clock
under the organ loft.

Hush ! — the tread of light and heavy feet, the rustle
of silk, the soft sound of wavy satin, the sheen of white
garments. — The bride is in the church. — Mr. Penryth's
face is dark and handsome now with the rich blood that
suffuses check and brow.

Herbert Sydney listens as the solemn words which
join his love to that handsome man who might be her
father, and whom he hates with a deadly hatred, are

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THE HOLY STONE.

121

being spoken by the grey-haired priest within the altar
rails. They are pealing in low solemn sounds through
the empty church, each word as it falls, snatched up by
Mr. Penryth and Lord Seymore as if they contained the
elixir of life for them. To the silent watcher at the
pillar they were as the " savour of death unto death."

Herbert Sydney noted them not, did not see the face
of man or woman there, nor saw aught of what passed,
save the pale face on which he looked so steadfastly and
saw so distinctly through the lace* cloud of its bridal
veil, telling him that Mr. Penryth was not her choice.

Is she conscious of his presence hid there behind that
pillar ? Does she wish to shew him more clearly that for
her all hope on earth is dead and gone ? Is it this that
makes her throw back her veil ? Not so, she sees him
not.

Mr. Penryth has responded to his name, promised to
love and cherish that fair girl unto his last breath.

Every faculty in Herbert Sydney's being is more
keenly alive now than ever they were in all his former
life. There is but one such season comes to either man
or woman.

In one lightning glance he comprehended all he saw,
he had not heard Mr. Penryth's last Words, yet he knew
they were spoken, knew why Lord Seymore drew him-
self up to his full height, why he bore himself so proud-

ly.

He hears Ruby called twice by her christian name,
and he hears her answer '* I cannot, I cannot I "

He hears Lord Seymore exclaim, in a voice that rings
as if it wsre the trump of the angel who will wake the

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THE HOLY STONE.

dead, " Go on with the ceremony," and for the third
time the white-haired priest asks Edith Seymore if she
will wed Edward Penryth.

Herbert Sydney moves one step and with folded arms
looks upon his love, her whole face is alight with recog-
nition, — her eyes blazing with joy, — a wild cry of,
" Never ! " echoes through the silent church.

Ruby has fallen on the altar steps, her bridesmaids and
her kinsfolk close around her.

The priest stands upright, his book in his hand, an ex-
pression of solemn satisfaction on his face as he sees Ruby
borne from the church.

The priest and his cu/ate have left the altar, gone to
disrobe themselves of their white surplices in the vestry.
— The marriage guts\; h vc gone in wonder to their
homes. — The church is closed. Herbert Sydney is out
in the busy street.

If,'.

CHAPTER XII.

THE BLIND COUNTESS.

HO in the world has done this ? " exclainnied
Brown, Lord Sydenhault's own man, as open-
ing the cupboard in which he kept his master's medicine,
a place never left unlocked, the key of which he trusted
to no one, he found the bottle lying on its side, the con-
tents nearly all spilled, wetting the shelf from end to end.

The man lifted up the bottle in hopes there might be
a part, at least, left ; there was scarcely a spoonful !

Had a stranger been present, he would have looked
with amazement at the emotion the man betrayed as he
held up the bottle and saw that its contents were entirely
gone.

" What shall I do ? What will become of me ? I am
the most unfortunate man under the sun ! ** said the poor
fellow aloud, as he put down the bottle on the damp
shelf, and stood looking despairingly on the now useless
medicine, which he would gladly have given anything
to be able to replace.

" It is ten years," he said, " since the last bottle was
broken, and my Lord was then four days without his
medicine, and Mr. Penryth warned me if a like accident
occurred again I should have to leave."

The room door opened, the man started, — it was Mrs.
Morgan, the housekeeper, who entered.
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124

THE HOLY STONE.

" What is the matter, Brown ? What makes you look
so frightened ? "

" Matter enough, Mrs. Morgan, I may trust you, you
have always been my friend."

" You're the most faithful servant in Lady Sydenhault's
house. Brown, I think you have been twenty years in her
service, and I am sure in all that time you have never
committed a wilful fault ; what has happened ? '*

" Look at that, his Lordship's medicine all spilt, and
how. Heaven only knows ; I am as careful of it as of my
life."

" Well, there can be more got."

" No, that's the worst of it, I have a supply given me
every three months, I shall have more given nue on the
first of September, and not till then. It is Mr. Penryth
himself who gets it for me, no one else can ; I do not
know the doctor who drew up the prescription, or the
apothecary who makes up the medicine ; Mr. Penryth
will not be at home until the evening of the nineteenth,
too late to get the medicine, and will be off on his wed-
ding tour on the twentieth.

" He is only going to the Hall, and will be back to
spend a day in London on the twenty-fifth ; you can
get the medicine then."

The man's face still wore the same look of misery ;

" You don't understand, Mrs. Morgan ; this medicine
is the only thing that keeps my Lord from being a raving
maniac, by its being given to him reguferly. The medi-
cine was spilt once before, and Mr. Penryth told me that
if such a thing occurred again I should lose my place.
You know what he says, he means."

THE HOLY STONE.

125

" If you were out of this house to-morrow you'd get a
good place, you need'nt fear that, and I don't believe the
Countess will let him send you away."

•* Perhaps not away from the family, but, Mrs. Morgan,
you don't know my wages ; I have a hundred and fifty
pounds a year, and with all that money my family is so
extravagant I can scarcely make the two ends meet at
the close of the year. What will they do on ordinary
wages ? God help me and direct me what to do."

" Let me see the bottle, Brown," said the housekeeper.
She did not believe a word of what Brown received with
such simple fa-ith, namely, that the want of this medicine
would make Lord Sydenhault raving mad ; she had
known of his being a week without his medicine before,
and no evil happened ; on the contrary, the poor man,
during that time, complained less of his head than ever
he had done before or since. She had known Mr. Pen-
ryth from his boyhood, and knew he was not over scru-
pulous as to what he did or said to accomplish his ends;
that the medicine was necessary to his Lordship she had
no doubt, but that the want of it, for so short a time,
would affect Lord Sydenhault so fearfully she could not
believe. At any rate, she would take the risk, if there
were any, on herself.

She smelt the medicine, held it between her eyes and
the light, and saying to Brown, " I'll give you something
that'll do in place of this till Mr. Penryth's return. He
will give you more himself, before he goes to the con-
tinent ; " she left the room.

The medicine smelt and tasted of port wine and cin-
namon, and the housekeeper filled the bottle with port

it- T :

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THE HOLY STONE.

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wine into which a small quantity of the oil of cinnamon
dissolved in spirits of wine was poured.

Brown received it from her hands, tasted it, it tasted
exactly the same as that which had been spilt. The
poor man w.xs earnest in his expressions of gratitude.

" What can I do to repay you ; you have saved my
family from beggary."

This happened five days previous to the day appointed
for Mr. Penryth's marriage.

When the exciting scene at St George's was over, the
Countess of Sydenhauit, and her imbecile son, returned
to their villa at Bayswater. Lord Sydenhauit was less
dreamy than usual, repeating to his mother all he had
seen. She was quick of hearing, and her intellect was as
bright as it had been thirty years ago. She understood
the situation, and felt deeply the wound which had been
given to her son's heart and pride ; he had all her sym-
pathy ; but she did not see the white face of the bride,
— that she had struggled more than once to release her
arm, — had thrown back her veil ! or that at last she had
f;;iinted on the altar steps !

I All this was told her by her weak minded son, as clearly
and distinctly as he ever related anything in his boyhood,
ere ever he left his father's home, or was afflicted with
his sore malady.

" I saw more than that, mother," said he, " I saw be-
hind one of the pillars the same boy we saw so long ago,
in the moonlight on the quay at Sydenhauit Oaks ; only
he is now a man, his beard is unshaven, and he looked
all the time on the bride's white face. I like that man,

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THE HOLY STONE,

127

but it pains me to see him, I think he makes my heart
sore."

** My dear Arthur, that must be one of your day-
dreams. You could not recollect that boy's face, only
seen once before, besides what could bring him there ?"

The Countess sighed, her poor son had been more
sensible, less dreamy than usual, for some days past, and
she had been buoying herself up, as she had done many
and many a time previously, with the thought that per-
haps he might yet become, as he had once been, the best,
the most talented, and the most intelligent of her sons ;
this foolish idea of his, seemed once more to dash her
hopes to the ground.

" Brown," said the Countess, a day or two after this
conversation with her son, " on the day of that most an-
noying affair at St. George's, did you see any one there
besides the invited guests ? I understood from Mr. Pen-
ryth that there were to be no others admitted, yet my
Lord has more than once spoken of a man, he says, he
saw behind one of the pillars, it must have been fancy."

" No, my Lady, I saw a man there too, a gentleman
who wore a beard and moustache."

An unmistakeable ray of pleasure passed over the
Countess' face, almost giving expression to her sightless
eyes.

** I am glad to hear that. Brown, do you know I ob-
serve quite a difference in Lord Sydenhault for some
time past, he does not wander from one subject to another
as he used to do, and he seems to take more interest in
everytiiing around him. To-day he proposed an improve-

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128

THE HOLY STONE.

ment in the lawn which strikes me as one which would
add greatly to its beauty."

The conscience stricken servant spoke not ; this was
exactly the effect he had been warned would follow, if the
medicine were not properly administered, a gradual
quickening of the intellect, which, like the sudden blaze
preceding the dying out of a lamp, would precede the
complete extinction of his intellect

Mr. Penryth did not return to his home after the dis-
appointment he met with at St. George's. He allowed
his mother and brother to return alone, and at once took
his way to his brother's place in Devonshire. Improve-
ments were going on there on a large scale, in draining
and planting, Mr. Penryth intended to make the De-
vonshire property his principal residence, and he was
having the house enlarged, and the gardens nearly
doubled in size, and laid out on a scale of magnificence
his fathers had never dreamt of.

Her son's immediate departure was rather a relief to
the Countess, his temper, naturally proud and irritable,
would, while the wound he had received- was fresh, be
more prone to irascibility than ever, if the news of his
disappointment got abroad and drew upon him the ridi-
cule or still harder to bear, the pity, of the world in
which he lived. His trouble was not one he believed
would be enduring, he had never failed in much that he
set his mind on, and he had no idea of ultimate failure
now. He was certainly in love with Ruby, but his love
was tempered by craft. He had various ambitious de-
signs, one of which was, to have the handsomest wife in
England, of course she must also be of noble blood. In

THE HOLY STONE.

129

Ruby he had found both qualifications, her face and
form unrivalled, her blood the best in England, that of
the old Saxon Kings. Lord Seymore was a man high
in office, who, in Mr. Penryth's political schemes when
he assumed his place in the House of Lords, which he
hoped soon to do, could help him as few could. All this
must not be given up without a struggle, merely for the
whim of a girl of Ruby's age, who could not be supposed
to know what was best for herself, besides had "he not
every reason to expect a favourable issue for his plans,
if he had patience ? Was not Lord Seymore quite as
anxious for the marriage as he was himself ? •

Mr. Penryth after the first feeling of annoyance had
passed away, was more inclined to look upon what had
occurred as an unfortunate circumstance by which his
marriage was delayed than anything else. After the
first interview he had with Lord Seymore on his return
to London, his mind was easy on the subject.

But there was one object very near his heart, and
absolutely necessary to his happiness, one which he had
never yet been able to accomplish, that was his mother's
consent to his becoming curator for his brother in place
of herself, to whom the Lord Chancellor had deputed
the whole power.

The Countess on this point was invulnerable, every
attempt he had made had failed utterly to move her one
iota from what she declared was the settled purpose of
her soul ; Arthur's affairs should never be in the hands
of any one but herself while she lived, and, in the event
of her death taking place before Arthur's, certain docu-
ments had been prepared by order of the Chancellor,

i-^ii

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in I iioi v SIMM

si^noil i\\h\ HiwM )>y hlin, ,i|>pol»\li»»}; ttlhois In (lie
chai-^i(\ in wo caso rnuM Ihr r.in' y^\' AiIImii'm afloirs
fall into \\w haml'-i ol his bmthiM-; shr h.ul nmtc than
tM\vo \\m\ i\ stroni^ cotuiition \\\,\\ lie w.m irvMVcrlii^^,
that ho wouUI yot ho ahio to hoM his own, hut i'luli lime
wlu t\ ho h;ul shown i\ lilllo n\oro ooiuontratioM, a liMlf
tnotvintoixst in what was ^;^>in^; \m aioniul hin», ihc
thinj;s ot' y('stor\lay, ronuMnhiMvil an«l talKoiJ ahoni [o
ihiy, it was hut a passing j;loa«\» of snnshim* amid showcts,
a tiash »>f lij^htiunj;, ntakinj* tht' ilaiKnoss sooni tnoro «la«K.

Mr. IVnrNth vanio homo to inaKo a fio<^h appoal to his
ruothor ti> alK>w hiiu to assnino a plaoiMvhioh hosai«l w.oi
his own, at a nu>»x^ inanspioit»ns moinont than ho iiicanit
ot". His htothor l\avl not i>nl\- ptoposo«| Mn iniprovoinoni
in tho lawn, hut ilosorihotl o\aotl\ lh»w ho shonM like to
have it done ; tv> tho svirpriso of tho i;ar(lonoi', takon one
of tl\o i;anlon tools anil nunkod out tho form of tho
nunnul wIumo tuoss aitcl croopors wimo to ho plantod.and
wluMX', tVrns atul fox ^lovo. Tho soiv.ints said ono to
anothor, s\uvl\- Lord S\do!diault was ^oinj;' to ^rct his
wits ai^ain, ami tho poi>f Mind mothor folt a hnsh
and quiot, as if tho happinoss and \)cm'v of past yoars
woix" to l>o rostoroil ; sho know how in fornuT seasons
of ahnost rotvu'nini;- reason sho hail mnsod fallacious hopes,
(."^h, if she oouKI sec ! Sho hoped in God the day
would come whet^ slio wouKI ha\ v> her sij;ht, her son his
reason.

" Mother," "Wv. IVmyth ho'^^an, " 1 have come to yon
ag^ain alxnit j^ettin^ me establislied in my rij;hts, in short,
to pve mc charjre o( my fatliers property ; had my po-
sition bet.»n a recognized one, Miss Seyniore, her father

*x\\Y. iinrv sroNi';.

131

nsmin-w iiic, wonlil never have; ilareil tn trifle with me an
IwiH she (hine. My ik'nr iiiothi-r, you are a woman, and
in y<Mir p^mitlon as l^ounte'sw »»r Syjhnhaiilt cannot iin-
ilerMtand the <liilly humiliation I snlter, that a whim may
he indnl^ed in, I he false |io4ition I o( enpy amon^ my
peern, that a mad man may have a ri^/ht he can never
i'McrcIsc, that he has not sense to understand,"

" I have listened to all these arf^umeiits before, yon
eamiol turn m«' from my juirpose, which nmst ever be- to
protect one who camiot at present protect himsj'lf,"

" Ihat is as nun h as to say that I forget lie is my
brother, my nearest relative on earth, tl)at lie needs to l>e
protected from me. Yon are aware he has b(ren almmt
an idi«>t for eighteen years, and there is not ll)e slightest
chance of his recovery."

"On the contiary, 1 have- never f^iven up hopes n^ it."

"The meaning*; of all this is, that I am to sperid my
lif(? in the same useless way in which I have been spcnt'-
inj; it since my father's death ; had he lived to sec one
year of Arthur's indjecility, I sh(udd not hav<' to ask you
for my rij,dit ; he was always just."

" You fori^et, lulward, yotir father never was ICarl of
Sydenhault, and his power over the land was only his
ri^^ht as my husband ; I know what your father's nn'nd
on this point would have been ; I am doin^ exactly as he
would wish me to do were he able to speak so that I could
hear."

Could Lady Sydenhault have seen the sinister hK)k of
hate with which her son rej^arded her as she spoke, it
would have told her, more strongly than words could
express, that no precaution she could take would be

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133

THE HOLY STONE.

superfluous in hedging in her weak minded son from the
tender mercies of his grasping brother.

Mr. Penryth yawned a loud yawn, so that his blind
mother might be aware of his having done so.

" I am tired of this idle useless life, I shall go abroad,
and shall not return until Arthur's death. I am tired of
playing a second part in the family of which I am really
head."

Saying this, Edward Penryth, with all his vindictive
passions aroused, left the room, taking the way to his
own apartments through the picture gallery, which was
anything but the direct way.

He fancied himself alone and unobserved, and, pacing
up and down, swore and clenched his hands.

" I will not suffer this, — the foot-ball of an old woman
in her dotage ; I must be a greater idiot than my brother
to bear it longer, — that imbecile shall be got out of my
way by some means or other."

As he spoke he suddenly raised his head and gave
several cuts, with a riding whip he held in his hand, to
one of the pictures, inflicting evident marks of his wrath,
upon it as if it were his enemy, a thing of life that
could feel.

Brown, who was in his master's room, at the further
end of i-he galkMy, the door of which was partly open,
stood, with eyes and ears equally alive, to the exhibition
he witnessed of ICdward Penryth's temper. In all his
service he had never seen anything like this, he knew
Mr. Penryth to be of a hard unforgiving disposition,
hence he feared to anger him, but this mode of venting
his wrath, the last words he had heard, made him think

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THE HOr.Y STONE.

133

and wonder. — ' That imbecile shall be got rid of by-
some means ! ' rang in his ears, as he went about his
work in the broad day, — when he lay on his bed in the
dark night.

Edward Penryth is in his own room. Not a trace of
the passion which so lately disturbed him is to be seen.
Brown is summoned to his presence.

Brown, you are particular in giving his Lordship his
medicine ? "

Brown shook with fear and shame as he answered,

" A tea spoonful twice a day, as was ordered."

" I fear it is losing its effects, you had better give a
table spoonful three times a day. I fancied I saw a
clear, restless look about his eyes as if he were trying to
use his brains, a very little would wreck them entirely."

The truth was Edward Penryth had not seen his
brother since his return, and this speech was only made
to account for his desire that the usual dose of medicine
should be increased. Had he looked in lirown's face
while he spoke, he would at once have read, that there
was something wrong, something to conceal ; fortunately
for the servant Mr. Penryth was occupied in looking
over the recipe for the medicine which was jotted down
in a memorandum book he always carried in his pocket.
There was a large parcel on the table. •' There," con-
tinued Edward Penryth " is another parcel of medicine;
there is sufificient for six months, you will carefully
observe to give a table spoonful each time."

" Yes, sir."

The parcel is carried to his room, the medicine care-

ife »"■ 1

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134

THE HOLY STONK.

I
1

fully put into a compartment Brown has had made on pur-
pose for it, so that another accident like the last cannot
occur. The bottle containing the port wine and oil of
cinnamon is placed on an upper shelf, and the conscience
stricken man, who had for several days past noticed with
fear and trembling that Lord Sydenhault was trying to
use his brains, and that his eye was losing its stolid,
heavy look, hurried to his master's apartment that he
might give him his medicine.

Instead of moving about the balls of a solitaire, his
usual occupation when alone, his master was reading
when the servant entered witli his medicine.

" Why do you give me a tablespoonful ? " inquired he,
adding, "the taste, too, seems different from the last."

Brown explained that the medicine was not strong
enough, which was the reason why the dose had been in-
creased, and inwardly thanked God he had now the
right medicine, and not a counterfeit to give.

•* What should I do," thought the poor man, " if he
were to go raving mad ? He is the kindest gentleman I
ever knew, and, if he did go mad I should surely lose
my place ; I never could control a mad man ; I wish I
had risked it and told the truth. His eyes look to mc
wild like, for all he is so quiet ; oh ! I trust God will for-
give me, and not visit my crime on him."

An hour afterwards Arthur's eyes were as vacant and
dreamy, his mind as wandering and childish, as ever,
satisfying Brown that the larger dose of medicine
had done him good, and that there was now no fear of
his becoming mad.

For an hour after her son's departure, the poor blind

THE HOLY STONE.

135

Countess sat with her hands clasped tightly together
resting on her knee, her eyelids fast shut over her sight-
less eyes, " God help me," said she, " and teach me what
I ought to do, and give me firmness to keep in the right
path ; one child so good and true, and loving, the other —
oh ! I dare not think of what might be were I in my
grave, and his poor brother in his power. He might be
consigned to a mad-house, or worse still, to the care of a
keeper whose conduct might be the more brutal because
he was responsible to none but himself. It is time for
thee Lord, row to work," said she, the bitterness of her
soul forcing her to express the woe of her heart aloud,
" send Thy counsel unto me, oh God ! I am in a strait
between two hard lines. The only child left me that I
can reason with, will leave me alone in my old days, if
this poor helpless one be not given up as a prey to the
spoiler ; God help me ! With all my useless wealth, there
is not a poor woman in London, who, if she knew all,
would exchange places with the Countess of Sydenhault !"

Bitter tears fell thick and fast from her sightless eyes
on the withered hands lying on her lap ; she rose, and
feeling her way to the door, locked it, and then kneeling
down she prayed to God for strength and aid, and He
who hcareth His people when they cry unto Him, sent
her the grace and strength she sought, until her feet were
out of the fearful pit, out of the miry clay.

" Come, Arthur, I wish to go with you to that new bed
with the rock work you suggested to Roger for the lawn,
he has sent word it is completed, lead n^eout like a good
fellow."

As the Countess spoke to her idiot son, he stared

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136

THE HOLY STONE.

vacantly for a second or two, as if wondering what
she meant, and then replied in the slow, silly way
in which he generally spoke.

" What new bed ? "

" Don't you remember, Arthur, about a week ago, just
the day after we were at church with Edward, that you
proposed a bed of rock work with moss grown stones and
ferns, trailing deer's horn moss, and fox gloves, and all
wild wood plants as a variety among the other beds ? "

" No, mother," with his silly, grave face, •* I don't re-
membjer."

The old pang, which she had had so many long years,
came back to the Countess' heart.

" But you remember the church and Edward, and the
white faced bride, and the two clergymen, the old one
with the white hair, who looked with such sad eyes on
the bride, and when he shut the book for the last time
gave Lord Seymore such a fierce, angry glance ; you re-
member all this, don't you, dear ? "

Arthur had told his mother all that she spoke of, and
she repeated his account of the wedding as nearly as
possible in his own words.

'• No, mother, I don't remember any church except
that one," and he pointed to where through an oriel win-
dow, they could see the church to which the blind woman
daily took her son, that with his hand clasped in hers,
she might kneel at God's altar, and beseech Him to re-
store to this dearly loved one, her eldest born, the strength
of body and clearness of mind he had possessed for
twenty-five years.

"Dear Arthur, you remember the man behind the

■S^^r^'l •

THE HOLY STONE,

137

pillar that looked like the boy we saw on the quay at
Sydenhault Oaks ? "

" Oh ! — yes — " replied he in an undecided way, as
if he was trying to think of something which eluded the
slight grasp his poor weak mind was capable of taking,
" I remember the boy with the beautiful mouth ; whose
mouth was that, mother ? "

'• I don't know, Arthur, try if you can think of it your-
self."

** I am always trying to remember, but I cannot, it
makes my head ache when I think of the pretty mouth
and the blue eyes."

The poor Countess pressed her hand upon her sight-
less eyes as she said to herself; " I fear it is that pretty
mouth, and those blue eyes that have scattered my dar-
ling boy's wits."

As her finger pressed her eyelids above the sightless
orbs, a slight movement was perceptible to her sensitive
touch, her heart gave one great throb, — could it be ?
It was surely too good news to be true, the eyelids are
pressed again, — the motion is more perceptible than at
first, — thank God, thank God I

She rings, a servant answers.

" Order the carriage with all haste, send Brown here."

In a second or two Brown is in the room.

•' I wait your Ladyship's commands."

" Bring your master's hat and gloves, he is going out
driving with me."

The Countess and her son are in the carriage, the
coachman on the box.

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138

THE HOLY STONE.

" Where to, my Lady ? " asks the footman, before he
takes his place on the footboard behind the carriage,
touching his hat as he speaks.

" To Sir James Clark's, St. James Square."

Mr. Penryth stood at the window of his apartment, as
her Ladyship and his brother entered the carriage, and
ground his teeth, looking after them as they drove off.
His servant was busily employed packing up for his
master's departure.

" I shall not return until she sends for me, I fancy 1
have hit upon what will bring her to terms," he muttered
between his teeth.

Long before his mother's return to the Villa, Edward
Penryth was gone ; gone, that he might punish the mother
who had watched over his infant years, wept and prayed
over the faults of his youth and manhood, loved him
through nil ; gone, that by his absence, and her own un-
protected loneliness, she might be forced into unconscious
participation in his diabolical plans.

What short sighted creatures we are ! Had Edward
Penryth known where his mother had gone and for what
purpose, he would have set himself down in the Bays-
water villa to wait the issue of that important interview,
the result of which was to influence all his own future.

~=s\

CHAPTER XIII.

THE hermit's cave.

" T OOK, Ruby, at that bed of geraniums, how beau-
j^j tiful it is, the scarlet flowers so close together,
that they almost hide the green leaves ; come and let us
pick a basketful and adorn one of the drawing rooms
entirely with scarlet and green."

The speaker was Mrs. Ponsonby, the time a Septem-
ber evening, the daylight fading slowly into night, the
scene a balcony attached to one of the drawing rooms
in the villa at Bayswater, and projecting, more than bal-
conies usually do, out on the lawn, thus giving it size
enough to contain a small table, several low chairs, a
couple of large oleanders in full bloom, the branches of
which, but for the sloping roof of the balcony, would
have mixed themselves with the waving boughs of a
Lombardy poplar which towered above, almost shading
that part of the villa.

" Yes," replied Ruby, " that will be charming, I will
go and get a basket and a pair of scissors, and be with
you in a moment."

The cousins were quickly by the geranium bed, de-
nuding it of its richest flowers, its most beautifully
variegated green and brown leaves.

" I love these geraniums so much," said Ruby, they
139

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l^E HOLY STONE.

remind me of Thaniel Reil's cottage, with the windows
filled with geraniums and carnations."

Ethel smiled, looking in her cousin's face with a comi-
cal expression as she said, " Thaniel Reil's geraniums !
You must have a more vivid imagination than I gave
you credit for, to enable you to convert the poverty
stricken, straggling looking stumps, with one flower
and half a dozen leaves at the end of each long bare
branch, into these gorgeous looking flowers with leaves
as thick as velvet."

" These are more beautiful, it is true, but I loved the
others better ; I was far happier at dear old Seymore
castle than ever I have been here, I wish we were all
back there again."

" Wish for yourself, my sweet cousin, I am of a con-
tented disposition, I prefer to remain where I am. Oh !
the dreary old place," said Mrs. Ponsonby with an
affected little shudder, " where, except in September and
October, we never saw a fresh face, from year's end to
year's end. Here comas Ernest, we will refer it to him.
Ernest, there has been a proposition made that we
should all return to Seymore castle, what do you say ? "

" I beg to be excused from joining the family, party.
You are surely not serious ! The horrid old place, it re-
minds me of what we used at Rugby to call a one horse
mud hole."

"The votes are against you. Ruby, so I fancy we
shan't go back to Seymore this year ; " said her cousin,
laughing in her usual merry way.

The basket was full with its wealth of scarlet flowers,
and the cousins took their way towards th^ balcony,

THE HOLY STONE.

141

there to arrange them into bouquets for the drawing
room.

" Just come with me one moment, Ethel," said her
husband, " I wish to show you a kennel I have here in
the copse with two deer hound pups that bid fair to be
grand fellows ; " saying this, he held out his finger to
Ethel, who, taking it, followed him, promising to join
Ruby in a few minutes.

Ruby having reached the balcony, seated herself on a
fauteuil, and immediately began her task of arranging
the geraniums into masses of scarlet, fringed with green.
She observed that the silk curtains separating the bal-
cony from the room had been drawn, and the chandelier
lit inside ; there were voices talking in the room, and
she, involuntarily, stopped for a moment, as she fancied
she heard her father's voice.

Ere she could assure herself that it was his voice she
heard, the words ceased, but the person who had been
speaking continued walking up and down the room with
heavy steps, a habit of her father's when he was
troubled.

Another voice she knew well, that of Edward Pen-
ryth, came from the other end of the room in deep low
tones — she could only hear detached sentences.

"Such a terrible insult — so wholly undeserved — ■
nothing but my love for her" —

Ruby's hands, filled with the scarlet blossoms dropped
into her lap, her heart felt faint and sick ; she knew
against whom these accusations were made. The time
was come now, or would very shortly come when she
must again refuse obedience to the commands of her

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THE HOLY STONE.

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only parent, or consent to forswear herself, to lead a life
of self reproach and misery with one she despised.

Mr. Penryth was still speaking, but she resolutely
closed her ears to his words. — He stopped, there was a
long pause, so long that but for her father's heavy tread,
as he paced backwards and forwards in the room, she
might have fancied they had both departed.

At last Lord Seymore spoke, in a voice such as she
had never heard him use, with low and measured tones,
expressing such determination of purpose, that it seemed
as if death alone could deter him from putting his words
into execution.

'* Penryth, this shall not be, — I swear to you by my
honour, that before the snows of winter fall, my daughter
shall be your bride ; and I make this oath for her sake,
more than from a sense of justice to you, the sickly — "

Ruby heard no more, she rose from her seat, the scar-
let blossoms falling to the ground, paused an instant,
leaning with both hands upon the table as if she would
wait to gain strength, and then, like a frightened bird
that hears the gun of the fowler, she fled to her own
apartment, bolting the door behind her, as if in that act
lay all her safety.

On the twentieth of August, when his daughter was
carried from the altar to her carriage, insensible, licr
father was inconsolable ; in his heart cursing his
folly, which he then believed had killed his child,
hour afterwards, when her physician assured him that
blood which frightened them all so terribly, came from a
small vessel in the throat, and that. the lesion was of no
consequence, he thanked God for the escape he had had.

THE HOLY STONE.

143

A week afterwards, when he saw Ruby walking on the
lawn apparently as well as ever, his ambition returned
sevenfold, even as the devils came to the man out of
whom one was cast, and then he vowed unto himself a •
solemn oath that she should be Countess of Sydenhault

Ruby had only seen her father twice since the memo-
rable twentieth of August, but upon neither occasion
did he speak to her, she had been told by Ethel that her
uncle proposed spending the early part of the winter
abroad, and that she, Ruby, was to accompany him. Even
while her cousin was telling her of the arrangement, she
shrank from the journey, now she saw this ill-starred
marriage was destined to take place abroad !

She sank down on a low chair, and, with a resolute
will, strove to calm her mind, that she might at once
resolve what course to pursue ; she had been speaking
within an hour to Ethel, of Seymore Castle, thinking of
the love and affection she had received there, and her
mind naturally ran in the same direction, her resolution
was taken, she would go to her aunt, her woman's heart
would see and understand all, as a man's never could.

She rose from her seat and kneeling down, prayed for
God's blessing, that He would teach her what was best
to be done, and lead her in His way.

•^he rose from her knees, soothed in spirit, and her
mind composed, she believed that her Heavenly Father
lie; I and approved of her desire to go to her aunt, and
sat down thinking over in what way she could attain her
desire. A light tap at the room door, and Ethel's soft
voice arousec her.

" Ruby, let me in. Did you know my uncle was here

144

THE HOLY STONE.

Ruby ? Hte and Mr. Penryth have been here for more
than an hour."

Ethels heart smote her as she spoke, she knew
they had come to arrange about the tour through Italy
to Naples ; she also knew for what purpose that tour was
to be made ; if she could have averted this marriage by
any sacrifice, she would have done so, now that she knew
how distasteful Mr. Penryth was to Ruby ; that her dread
of and dislike to him were such, that could he offer her a
crown she would not touch liir. hand. Ethel bitterly re-
pented the words she had spoken to her uncle in f:ivor
of this marriage ; needless regret, her approval, or di -
approval, would not have weighed as a grain of sand ;
this marriage had been the first wish of Lord Seymorc's
heart for years ; now, it was the settled purpose of his
iife. That accomplished, he fancied he would be willint^
to lie down and die.

•' Yes, I heard my father and Mr. Penryth speaking
when I came to the balcony with the flowers, that was
the reason I came here ; I wished to avoid seeing Mr.
Penryth. I would give up my birthright of Seymore
Castle, dear as the place is to me, to be certain I should
never see him again."

" Ruby, your father came to-night to say that he hnr.
decided to leave England to-morrow, we must be ready
to start at ten o'clock.

Ruby did not speak, but her face paled, its lines be-
coming almost rigid ; while her heart beat in great wild
throbs ; " Ethel, if you know, tell me why this visit to
the Continent is so hastily determined on, and for what
purpose we are going."

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THE HOLY STONE.

145

" Ruby, you can surely understand why we are going
to the Continent in company with Mr. Penryth. Your
father has never concealed from you what is the first wish
of his heart, the great desire of his life. Were I to say
more I should compromise myself with my uncle ; you
would not wish me to do so were it only for mamma's
sake ; she has a happy and comfortable home at Sey-
more, it would be no longer a home for her if my uncle
had any reason to suppose I either did or said anything
which could, in the least, influence you in opposing his
wishes."

Ruby looked at her watch, it was still early, but she
did not wish to speak more on this subject with her
cousin, and she knew it was one on which both their
minds were dwelling. If they remained together, nothing
else would be spoken of, and she was determined that on
the morrow, Ethel should be able to say, " I can tell no-
thing, I suspected nothing."

" Ethel, I have a long letter to write which must be
written to-night. I have arrangements to make which
Monica cannot make for me ; will you forgive me if I ask
yoi' to say good night ? "

" Good night, Ruby."

Before Ethel could open the room door in departing,
Ruby was by her side with both arms clasped round her
cousin's neck. Ethel often thought in after years how
fondly Ruby had kissed her again and again, that night.

Ruby bolted her room door satisfied that she should not
again be disturbed. On finding the door bolted, Monica
would make all arrangements for the morning's journey
without referring to her young mistress for orders. She

S-

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THE HOLY STON^

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determined to write to her father, and tell him what she
felt, more clearly than she could tell him in speaking to
him ; to ask his forgiveness for the step she was about to
take, and to assure him of her unchanged love.

She wrote page after page only to tear, and throw
them into the waste paper basket by the side of her
toilet table, until at last, after the clock had told her the
morning hours were begun, she hopelessly gave up her
task.

Taking a pair of scissors she cut off one of her curls,
and putting it in an envelope she said to herself, "this
will speak for me better than any written "Words can. "
The envelope was addressed to her father, and laid on
her unruffled pillow ; she feared to sleep, lest she should
awake in the broad daylight, when it would be impos-
sible for her to make her escape unseen.

Her watch told her it was now three o'clock, she
would have time to reach the wharf by five, the hour the
boat for Sydenhault Oaks sailed ; and lifting up the
parcel, containing a change of linen, which she had pre-
pared, she walked softly from her chamber, pausing for
a moment at the door of Monica's room, Monica who
loved her as a mother, whom she loved so pearly. The
door was ajar, the night light on the floor, she looked
in ; Monica was in a deep sleep/two large trunks, packed
with Ruby's travelling dresses, open in the room, telling
how her nurse had been employed far into the night
Ruby's heart almost failed her, she was going to wander
out into the world alone, to leave all this wealth of affec-
tion behind her, how did she know what reception she
would meet with ; yet it was her only chance of escape

i|'f wm

THE HOLY STONE.

147

from a fate worse than death. Better far lie down and
die on St Wolfgang's rock, than wed Edward Penryth ;
even now she was tampering with her fate ; should
Monica's eyes unclose, what would be the consequence ?

She took from her finger a ring which she had worn
from early girlhood, and slipping through it one of the
handkerchiefs lying on the trunk beside which she
stood ; she went to Monica's bedside, and placed it on
her pillow, looking wistfully at the dear, familiar old
face, by the dim light of the night lamp.

The door bolts are drawn silently ; the chain noise-
lessly placed on its hook. Ruby is outside, and the
door, without a creak, is closed as firmly as she dared.

In the drive, just in front of the steps leading from the
door, lay a great Newfoundland dog sent to Ruby while
she was at school by Hugh Reil, who had brought him
as a pet from Newfoundland,

He lay there beating the ground with his bushy tail,
and scraping with his fore-paws, delighted to see his
mistress.

" Good Nep, good Nep," said Ruby, patting the great
broad forehead with its bunch of flat curls ; she was in terror
lest he should make the least noise, one bark from Nep
would have brought Colonel Ponsonby to the window of
his room which overlooked the drive, and every servant
in the house round to the door.

Nep rose and followed his mistress leisurely across the
lawn to a postern gate close by the lodge. This gate
was only fastened by a bar inside, and, opening it, Ruby
with Nep following her, was soon out on the road.

She then, for the first time, realized that she had left

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THE HOLY STONE.

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her home, her father's care, and that she was out on the
wide world alone, and she asked herself the startling
question, " what was she to do if she found that her aunt
feared to shelter her. ?" She stood still, half inclined to
return and enter the house as noiselessly as she had left
it ; the postern gate was only on the latch, the house door
merely closed, no one would ever know she had been
outside her own room.

For some minutes she stood irresolute, and then
came thoughts of the morrow's journey, of him who
was to accompany them, — this was enough, she could
brave anything to avoid that bitter doom ; better to
wander in Seymore woods till she died, no fate seemed
so hard as the one she would be consigned to, were she
to return to her home.

She now hurried on, impelled by a fear that Monica
would go into her room, as she often did during the
night, and finding it empty, give the alarm. If she were
in Bayswater she would be sure to be overtaken and
brought back. The idea gave an impulse to her steps
which made them quicken as if she were already con-
scious of being pursued.

It was not until after many misgivings as to whether
she was in the right way, and much careful investigation
of the streets, and of the shops, that at last, wearied out
with the distance she had walked, it dawned upon her
that she ought to take a cab, which she did, and in an
hour found herself at Hores wharf.

It was wtll for her that it was early morn, so early^
that scarcely a sailor, and not one of the men employed
on the wharf was abroad. She had often driven down

'n«rr

THE HOLY STONE.

149

to the quay whence the little steamer running between
London and Sydenhault Oaks started, just that Ethel
and she might look at it, it reminded them of home, the
home, that, dull as Ethel thought it would be as an
abiding place, she loved dear'y, and would gladly, now
and then have gone to visit. She had been there once
or twice before Ruby left school, since then such a thing
was out of the question, she well knew why.

Ruby knew the little steamer, and the days on which
it came and went ; yet she trembled lest she had made a
mistake. Should she find hc/self alone in the streets of
London, the vessel gone, what could she do ? Once on
board the steamer, she would be safe.

It lay alongside the quay, there it was, *' The Athel-
goda" painted in large letters on the side, the effigy of
the Saxon Queen for a figure head.

One or two sailors were on deck busy preparing for
their departure in the grey light of the autumn morning;
one of them, the mate, saw Ruby standing looking wist-
fully at the gangway as if she would like to go on board,
yet feared to do so. He at once came down to the quay,
offering to help her on deck, if such were her desire. In
a few minutes she was on board, in the stateroom allot-
ted to her, lying on the sofa, with wearied limbs and
closed eyes, Nep stretched on the floor beside her.

Ruby was faint and weary, and for some time lay
there unconscious ef anything save a sweet feeling of
security. For a time at least she was safe from Mr. Pen-
ryth. She slept a sound and heavy sleep induced by
want of repose during the past night, and by the un-
wonted fatigue joined to the fear which made her heart

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150

THE HOLY STONE.

flutter with dread, since she had overheard her father's
words to her dreaded suitor. When she awoke it was
broad day, and she felt the motion of the vessel as it
sped swiftly on, and could both feel and hear the foot-
steps of the sailors passing to and fro overhead.

In that sound sleep she had forgotten all about her
flight through the dark streets of London, she only felt
there was some heavy, undefined trouble that weighed
on her heart, and it was several moments ere with widely
open eyes she realized where she was, and why she was
there.

When she was thoroughly awake to her position, her
first impulse was to lift up her soul in grateful thanks to
her Heavenly Father for the deliverance from a fate she
dreaded worse than death.

She next drew from her bosom what she treasured
most, one of the white things she would ever keep, a
letter from Herbert Sydney, given her by Jasper, the first
day her convalescence enabled her to walk out unattend-
ed on the lawn.

She read, over and over, each passionate word, each
fond protestation of enduring love, the last line so full of
hope for her, ' I have now climbed the first step on the
ladder of fame, a few more steps will enable me to gain
a position and to claim my love.'

•' The Athelgoda " has touched the wharf at Syden-
hault Oaks, the town clock tells the ninth hour, it is very
dark, no light on the wharf, save that which hangs above
the deck of the little vessel, and a lantern carried by a
servant girl who is in attendance on a lady. As soon as
the gangway is let down, the lady comes on board, and

THE HOLY STONE.

151

Speaks to the Captain. * Ruby remembers the accents of
that voice although heard only once before.
" You have a parcel for me sent by my son ? "

" Yes, Mar'm, here it is, a small affair, but, I suppose
very precious, he gave it into my own hands with many
charges."

" Was Mr. Sydney sea-sick ? "

" No, Mar'm," an indignant no, " he might go from
here to the Indies for that, walked the deck day and
night, never went below."

" Not day and night, I hope," said the lady, " he sure-
ly slept while on board ? "

" I believe he did throw himself on one of the benches
for a few hours, but he's none of your men who coddle
themselves up, some chaps take as much trouble inquir-
ing about their beds as if they was ladies."

For a moment Ruby was terribly tempted, two words
whispered in that lady's ear would insure her a hearty
welcome, and safe keeping in her house. She had al-
ready begun to fear that her aunt might take the same
view of her marriage with Mr. Penryth, that Lord Sey-
more did, if so, Seymore Castle was no home for her.
But the few minutes during which Mrs. Sydney spoke to
the Captain, gave her time for reflection, she knew from
Ethel that her father suspected her attachment to " the
schoolmaster" as he always called the young painter ; his
mother's house therefore would be one of the first places
in which Lord Seymore would imagine she had sought
refuge. In what a painfnl position would it place Mrs,
Sydney should Ruby's father come there, demanding

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152

THE HOLY STONE,

that his daughter should be given up to him. It was not
to be thought of for a moment.

Ruby had an idea that her father would not suspect
that she had gone to Seymore ; and even if he did sus-
pect it, and came to seek her, she hoped her aunt would
plead her cause. Mrs. Wolferstan had great influence
with her brother, she might be able to persuade him at
least to postpone the marriage for a year or two. Any-
thing like a respite would be eagerly seized on by Ruby.
Should her fears of Mrs. Wolferstan viewing her marriage
in the same light as her father did, pT.ve correct, she
would then hide herself in Seymore Forest ; at the worst
she could but die, anything rather than that hated mar-

riage.

Nep was by her side, she slipped out on to the dark
quay ; how homelike ever 'thing looked, she seemed to
know the very stones on the street as she walked along,
the light streaming, at intervals, from shop doors and
windows, the men selling inside the counters, the people
purchasing, all seemed old familiar friends. She knew
each face, could tell their names, had known them from
her childhood, as she walked day by day with Monica
through the village streets.

She is at Seymore Castle. The postern gate there is
never either locked or barred, the click of its latch is as
familiar to Ruby as the ticking of her watch ; she is walk-
ing up the drive, and turns lier steps round by the western
wing, where there is a room devoted to the use of Mrs*
Wolferstan's children, with a door leading out into the
lawn, by which they could run in and out at will. This
door is only barred the last thing at night, it communicates

THE HOLY STONE.

153

with the room where Captain and Mrs. Wolferstan gener-
ally pass their evenings, she will wait in this play-room
until she can see her aunt alone ; she can easily effect
this, Captain Wolferstan always smokes on the lawn
before going to bed.

Ruby's heart is beating fast ; at times with hope, at
times with fear ; she remembers how kind and good her
aunt had always been even before she came to live at
Seymore Castle, almost as kind as Monica ; as she thinks
of this her hopes rise. As she passes the drawing-room
windows, she stays her steps for a moment or two ; only
the lace curtains are drawn, she can see everything in-
side ; the crimson cloth on the table, the candelabrum
with its many wax lights, the pictures on the walls, all
old friends, all so dear. Her aunt is alone, employed in
crochet, or some such work, which she lays upon the
table for a moment and flattens down with her hand ; a
plea.^^d look passes over her face ; the work is what she
wishes it to be.

Everything was so familiar and homelike, that, for a
moment, Ruby forgot she had ever quitted the old walls,
— that she was now about to enter the home of her
childhood almost as a suppliant for protection. Now is
the time for her to go in and tell her aunt all. She has
reached the second window on her way to the play-room,
when she sees Captain Wolferstan enter; he seems
troubled, and throws an open letter on the table ; he is
standing of)posite the window through which she looks
into the room ; his face has a stern expression she never
saw, it wear before ; involuntarily she draws back from

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154

THE HOLY STONE.

the window, the play-room door is open, — Ruby is
inside in an instant.

The room is without light, except a single ray which
comes from the drawing-room door which is a little ajar
Dark or light. Ruby knows the room well, the place she
called especially her own, in her happy childhood ; and
trembling with fear, excited by the stern, troubled look
on Captain Wolferstan's face, she throws herself on a
sofa placed behind the door, through which comes the
ray of light.

She hears words, she is somehow prepared to hear, and
yet they make her tremble, and seem to paralyse her whole
being.

" Eleanor, there is a telegram from Godfrey ; Ruby is
gone, — has left her father's house, — no one knows
whither."

She hears her aunt reply in a startled voice,

" Charles ! what can be the meaning of this ? Monica
must be with her. Shew me the telegram."

Mrs. Wolferstan reads aloud,

" Eight o'clock, Saturday morning. Ruby is gone, no
one knows where, gave no hint to Monica, — the woman
frantic, — she has most likely gone to Seymore. If no
tidings of her before night, I will be at Seymore by the
ten o'clock train."

" Poor Godfrey ! what an awful thing, what can be the
meaning of this ? " said Mrs. Wolferstan, in a voice fraught
with emotion.

" The meaning of it is very obvious, her father is
determined she shall marry Penryth, the girl hates him
and will not sell herself for his gold or land. She has

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155

gone oflf with young Sydney who was here for some days,
and left for London by the Athelgoda. The evening my
sister went to take Julia to school, I shook hands with
him on board, he told me he was on his way to Paris
where he resides. Godfrey had better go there instead-
of coming here.',

" Heaven grant you may be mistaken, I am sure you
are. Ruby never would do that" — The trembling listener
could have worshipped her aunt for these words ; a re-
action came as Mrs. Wolferstan continued, — " If she
has ; there is an end forever to her marriage with Mr.
Penryth."

" In my opinion," returned her husband, " that is the
best thing that could happen. It is a shameful affair
this, forcing a girl to marry a man she abhors ; and if
she has made a low marriage with young Sydney, God-
frey has himself to blame for it. The girl is beautiful
beyond any one I ever saw, if he had left her alone, the
fancy for this young fellow would have died out, and she
could no doubt marry a nobleman any day. But to force
on a marriage with this man, who might be her father,
was absolutely horrible. Godfrey deserves wTiat he has
got."

" How can you talk in that way, Charles," said Mrs.
Wolferstan, speaking in .louder, more excited tones,
than Ruby had ever heard her use, " that, Godfrey is one
of the best of fathers, his whole life testifies. Almost any
other man left a widower before he was thirty, would
jiave married again ; and now, what is it that he strives
to gain by this marriage ? Not anything for himself
certainly, but to place her as far as possible in the posi-

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THE HOLY STONE.

ti;

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tion of the old Seberts from whom she is descended.
If the girl were not dead to every spark of right feeling
she would never have objected to the marriage, if it were
only to please a father who has sacrificed all for her."

• " What nonsense ! What sacrifice has the man made
for her ?"

'* His whole life has been one great sacrifice. Would
you have remained unmarried for Ethel's sake if I had
died when she was born ? "

" I don't think I should ; I am a social man, Godfrey
Is the reverse. I should have married again to please
myself, he remained unmarried for the same reason."

" It is well you had not the chance," returned Mrs.
Wolferstan in a pettish tone, " but it is worse than use-
less talking in this way now ; what can wc do to help
poor Godfrey ? Do you think it would be possible to
find out from the mother if Ruby has really thrown her-
self away on that tutor fellow ? If she has, she richly de-
serves to be cast on the world without a penny, which
unfortunately my brother cannot do, she was born heir-
ess of Seymore, and the money was her mother's ; God-
frey has only power over it in the event of her death,
which, if she has married that fortune hunting fellow,
may be the best thing that can happen, she will certainly
repent her conduct bitterly before six months are passed."

Ruby started up, she would go and tell her aunt that
she would willingly make over every penny of her for-
tune to her father, sign away even her right to Seymore
Castle itself if such a thing were possible.

Her hand was on the lock of the door, she was about

THE HOLY STOM*:.

157

to pull it open when she was diverted from her purpose
by these words.

" Eleanor, you talk at random, Mr. Sydney is well
aware Ruby cannot inherit one penny of her mother's
fortune if she marries without her father's consent.
As to Seymore Castle, Godfrey is some fifty years
of age, you are a long lived race you Seymores, if
he lives another forty as more than one of his fore-
fathers have, how long a lease will Ruby and her
fortune hunting lover have of Seymore Castle with its
barren rocks by the sea-shore, its forest land that shel-
ters only the fox and the badger ? This is simply non-
sense. The man is fast making a name for himself, that
if he can follow up his present success, will raise him
higher in the opinion of his fellows, and make him a
greater man than any Seymore since the days of old
King Sebert. At the same time, an alliance with a
struggling man is not desirable for a girl like Ruby, and
must be prevented if possible. Mrs. Sydney, with her
maid and lantern, as is her fashion when she goes
abroad at night, passed me just as I entered the gate, she
cannot yet be in bed, I will go and see what she knows,
or, at all events, what she is willing to tell, of Ruby's
whereabouts. This telegram has been a long time in
reaching us ; if Godfrey has not found his daughter, or
gained any tidings of her, he will be here in half an hour,
I shall be back again with all the news it is possible to
obtain from Mrs. Sydney by that time."

Ruby clasped her hands in fervent thankfulness that
she had not communicated with Mrs. Sydney by word
or sign.

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" Go," replied his wife, '' and while you are gone I will
stretch myself on the sofa for a few minutes repose, I
know (jodtrey too well to hope to lay my head on my
pillow, if he comes here to-night ; Heigh-ho," continued
she, sighing as if she needed sleep as well as repose.
"Who could have thought that such a sweet child ai
Ruby, would have grown up to be the disobedient, self-
willed girl she is, breaking the hearts of us all."

Ruby crept from the play-room, and remained for a
second or two outside, with her hand on Nep's neck
keeping him quiet, until she heard the click of the latch
as Captain Wolferstan closed the postern door when
he passed out

It was a hard task for Ruby to leave the old grey walls
thus, the place where she was born and ored ; but there
was no other resource, it were better to lie down and die
within the Hernn't's Cave in Seymore forest, guarded by
Neptune, than to live as Edward Penryth's v/ift,

She has been walking for hours up those thickly
wooded hills, through those tangled brakes ; the moon
is high in the Heavens, and here and there, where the
trees part for a few inches, it is shining brightly down.
She sees the great mossy stone in front of the Cave, —
climbs over it, Nep jumps in before her, the goal is won !
Her strength is gone, she has tasted no food since j-he
left l^ayswater ; fasting and fatigue have done their work.
Ruby sinks, almost fainting, to the ground, among the
withered lea'es that the winds have blown into the Her-
mit's Cave.

t , ■ I

CHAPTER XIV.

'Jllli TELEGRAM.

CAPTAIN WOLFERSTAN on his return from
Mrs. Sydney's, met Lord Seymore ^l the castle
gate. From what he had gathered from Herbert's
mother it was clear she knew nothing of Ruby's move-
ments, and he tried to persuade his brother-in-law that a
visit there would be useless.

Hut it was in vain to talk to Lord Seymore, he had
made up his mind that Ruby had, in some way, been
spirited away by " The Schoolmaster," and nothing
would convince him of the contrary.

Mrs. Sydney's quiet household was a second time dis-
turbed. She remembered well the beautiful girl who
brought Herbert the flowers one Spring morning, years
ago, and whose visit seemed to have brought health, like
a charm, to her sick son ; anJ she felt sore at heart for
the poor father who had lost his child in such a mys-
terious way ; picturing to herself what her own feelings
V ould have been if Herbert had disappeared in such a
sudden manner, and he a man who could take care of
himself, not a helpless girl.

Lord Seymore at once began his qiicstions, without
the few ceremonial words, which, in a different mood
would have occured to him at once, as being absolutely
necessary.
159

l6o

THE HOLY STONE.

" Madam, I have come to find out from you, it" possible,
whether your son has been concerned in the abduction
of my daughter who left my home last night or early this
morning ? I am Lord Seymore," said he, recalled to a
slight sense of propriety by the look of unfeigned aston-
ishment, and the lady-like demeanor of the person he
addressed, " I believe my brother-in-law, Colonel Wol-
ferstan, has explained to you the distress we are all in,
owing to the sudden disappearance of my daughter, who,
we have reason to believe, has been carried off from my
house in Bayswater, by your son.

Mrs. Sydney's concentrativcness of character enabled
her at once to >ee the simplest way out of the dilemma
in which she was placed ; she heard Lord Seymore,
first in his almost insolent, and afterwards, in the half
apologetic tone, in which he made the accusation against
her son, with perfect patience, and then said,

" Before answering you, I will ask you a question, as
your answer may enable me to tell you whether your
surmise is founded on truth or not. At what hour last
night was your child seen in your house ? "

" At nine o'clock. Her cousin, Mrs. Ponsonby, parted
with her in Miss Seymore's own room ; until twelve, her
nurse, who has been her faithful attendant from her
birth, heard her moving th<;re."

Mrs. Sydney went to her desk, and taking from it a
telegram, placed it in Lord Seymore's hands.

He read, *' Paris, Friday, eleven o clock, P.M. At home
all safe. Herbert Sydney^

Lord Seymore read the words twice over, and then
handed the telegram to Captain Wolferstan, as if he

f IT 1

THE HOLY STONE.

i6i

thought his brother-in-law's coolness might find some-
thing there, wnich his own disturbed heart and brain
prevented him from discerning.

"This IS painfully conclusive," said Colonel Wolfer-
stan, " Ruby would never have gone to him, he could
not have come to London for her, and been in Paris at
the same hour."

" Will you give me your son's address," asked Lord
Seymore."

' I will with pleasure, both that of his studio, and his
boarding-house,"

Going to her desk, Mrs. Sydney wrote her son's ad-
dress in an elegant Italian hand, and presented it to Lord
SeymT" ; it was received with a polite bow ; and the
brother ook their departure, leaving Mrs. Sydney to
muse over the strange vis:*' she had received, the strangest
part of which to her was the idea, entertained by
Ruby's Father, that her son had anything to do with
his daughter's disappearance.

Some considerable time after they had gone, she re-
membered the young lady she had seen an hour pre-
vious on board the little steamer, dressed in grey ; grey
dress, grey hat and veil, and who, as she passed in the
line of light cast from the binnacle, she had observed look-
ing at herself so earnestly. She recollected how the face
struck her, as one of peculiar sweetness, and awoke plea-
sant, though ill-defined reminiscences, as of a face she
had seen before, connected with some pleasant memory.

•' Yes," thought she, " it must be so. The young lady
is, of course, in her father's house by this time, he will

162

THE HOLY STONE.

Li.

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have f jund her there befoic him on his return, his care
and anxiety are all over ere now."

While Mrs. Sydney was communing thus with herself,
Lord Seymore was being carried by express speed, over
the London road on his way to Paris, to judge for him-
self if The School-master" knew anything of his
daughter.

" Where is Godfrey ? " asked Mrs. Wolferstan, as her
husband entered the room, shutting the door as he came
in.

" He met me at the gate on my return from Mrs.
Sydney's, having just arrived by the ten o'clock train,
and not satisfieid with the result of my visit to the lady,
went himself to make inquiries in person. From Mrs.
Sydney he obtained her son's addres3, and is now oflf, on
a wild goose chase to Paris, expecting to find Ruby
there, although, at the time she must have left London,
Mrs. Sydney received a telegram from her son dated
at Paris, which she shewed to me and your brother."

" And he has gone off without rest or refreshment !
He'll kill himself," exclaimed Mrs. Wolferstan in evident
alarm ; " Godfrey is always so positive, when he takes
anything into his head. Ruby would never think of such
a thing, she will most likely come here, and may at this
moment be in her own room or somewhere in the castle,
if she is not here she will have gone to St. John's wood :
what could tempt the man to make such a fool of him-
self and his family ? "

•' J exactly what tempts all the Seymore's to conslvder
their own judgment infallible," said Colonel Wolferstan

■-rps!

THE HOLY STONE.

163

dryly, " not that they have ever found it so, but, merely
from the fact of their being Seymore's, Infallibility is
their birthright"

Before her husband had ceased speaking, Mrs. Wol-
ferstan, had with a look of indignation, which she took
particular pains he should see, departed on her fruitless
quest of Ruby through the castle.

(5L

4 V - i ^ ' ^4 > «i)

CHAPTER XV.

THANIEL REII/S SEARCH AMONG THE ROCKS.

IT is Sunday morning. Thaniel Reil and his family
are seated at their frugal breakfast, when the door,
which is not latched, is pushed open by the nose and
paws of a great Newfoundland dog.

" There, father," cried Haco, " is the dog we were
speaking about, he has been here every day since Wed-
nesday, I am sure it is Nep that Hugh brought from
Newfoundland."

" How can that be ? " returned his father, the dog is
in London wi' Miss Seymore, look if the flat of his paws
be white."

" Ay, they are that," said Haco, " I thought about
that yesterday, look " — the boy lifted up one of the
dog's paws, shewing the white pad as he spoke.

" May be there's some o' t'folks frae London at the
csstle, an' the dog's down wi' un."

" That's not like," replied Haco, he comes here for
meat, an' he's wild wi' hunger, he wouldn' be that, gin
he was bidir.g up at the castle, look at un hoA^ he snaps
the bread out o* my hand."

" Lord Seymore was at the castle on Saturday last,"

said the fisherman's wife ; " he came wi' the ten o'clock

train on Saturday night, an' left wi' the midnight.

There's trouble up at the castle I'm thinking. I saw
164

THE HOLY STONE.

165

Geoffrey yesterday, he says there's no been much
pleasure there, or up in London either, since the mar-
riage wi' Mr. Pcnryth went back. It's a pity Miss Sey-
more would na' ha' made up her mind to marry Mr.
Penryth when the Baron was so bent on't"

" It's no a bit pity," exclaimed her husband and
Haco in one breath, " but it would be a great pity," con-
tinued the old man, " if one like her *ats the beauty of
the whole country, an' as good as she's bonny, wad marry
a man auld enough to be her feyther, an' ane that his
very servants canno' abide. — Where's the dog off to ?
Run, Haco, after him, an* see gin he takes the road to the
Castle. That's queer, he 's ta'en a ship biscuit in his
mouth."

Haco did as his father said, speeding after the dog
past the cottage windows, up in the direction of the
hills.

The other boys had finished eating their breakfast,
and gone out, before the dog made his appearance.
Thaniel and his wife were alone in the house. Looking
cautiously around to assure herself there was no one
within hearing, Mrs. Rcil said in a low tone,

" Geoffrey says that Miss Seymorc has run away from
her feyther, it was after her that his Lordship came on
Saturday night, but they dinna' let the servants get wit
there was anything more than usual, Sir Godfrey thinks
he'll get her back an' married off hand, and nobody the
Wiser.

"If they were no to let the servants hear 'ot, what way
did Geoffrey heai word o't ?"

'• My brother's no like a common servant/ ' said Mrs,

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i66

THE HOLY STONE.

Reil, with not a little indignation in her tone, " he was
in the house, him and Jasper both afore my Lord was
born ; what he hears nobody else will ; I wad 'na hae
heard this frae him, but they thought that maybe she
would hae come down here, an' gone to Jersey wi' Hugh's
vessel, an' when he was questioning me about who ga'ed
an' who didna' go, he thought I was close like, an' that she
was sure enough gone to Jersey, an* so it came out that
way, thinking I knew better than himsel' all about her."

" Well, my lass, ye'U see the young leddy's hidden
someway here about the rocks, an' the dog's wi' her ; the
poor child '11 die there wi' hunger and cauld ; I'll just
wander down about t' rocks an' see gin I canna' spy her
out, but mind, Marion, no ae word of this t' Geoffrey or
t'any other body, I wad as soon cut off my right hand as
help to make that bonny child marry Mr. Penryth ; all's no
gold 'at glitters wi' that man, or my name's no 'Thaniel
Reil."

The fisherman and his wife went to the cottage door,
turning to the line of rocks that formed a barrier between
the coast and the sea, the many caves and hollows of
which were well known to Reil, who had spent nearly
forty years in their vicinity. There were many of these
caves which would form good hiding places, but conceal-
ment there, would imst likely, as 'Thaniel Reil had said,
end in death from cold or hur.gcr.

Ere the fisherman had taken many steps in the direc-
tion of the coast, Ilaco returned, almost breathless,

" I followed the dog up to the upper town, and lost
him there, I wasna' able to run wi' him ; when he comes
again I'll tie a string to his collar, an' follow him by it"

THE HOLY STONE.

167

" We didna' think o' his collar," said the woman, " it
wad tell if he's the Baron's dog."

" I dinna think there's ony writing on the collar, if
there is I didna' see't," replied the boy, " the dog did'na
take the road to the Castle, I think he made fbrSeymore
Forest."

" Go down by the rocks, Haco, an' tell your father the
road the dog took, an' tell him it's near Church time."

Haco went to do his mother's bidding, but his father
was out of sight in some of the numerous caves or pas-
sages that seemed as if they were the work of human
hands, many of which were the subjects of legends con-
necting them with the time when the Danish Sea Kings
were the terror of the more peace loving inhabitants of
the country.

The church bell rang, and the people went to pray,
and hear the word of God, and cA returned again to
their homes, ere the old fisherman came back.

"There is no a cave or a hiding place on the coast till
ye come to the yellow sands, but I hae' been in, an' no
a mark o' beast or body in any o' them," said Rcil, as he
entered his cottage.

" No," replied his wife, " Haco says the dog took the
road to Seymore Forest ; he'll be back the morn, an'
we'll tic a cord to his collar, an' one o' the boys can fol-
low him wi' it."

While they were yet speaking, the dog entered less
hurriedly than before; the poor animal had evidently
been running hard, he was breathless, and lay dow n for
a second or two, panting on the floor. While he lay,
Haco examined his collar ; turning it round he found the

A Mi

168

THE HOLY STONE.

words "Seymore Villa, Baysvvater," engraved on the
lower side, and almost hidden by the thick curls of the
dog's neck.

They gave him water, and a few minutes sufficed to
restore his wind. He gets up, shakes and stretches him-
self as if he had just awakened from a long sleep, and
then, placing both his forepaws on Hugh's knee, looks up
in the young man's face with a great howl. •

'* Poor Nep, poor Nep," said Hugh good naturedly,
placing a hand on each side of the dog's liead ; the ani-
mal howled a second time, and jumping down, seized
Hugh's coat in his mouth endeavoring to pull him from
the cottage.

Hugh took his handkerchief from his pocket, and,
fastening one end of it to the dog's collar, gave it a shake,
as if to tell the animal to lead him \\here he would.

The dog understood him, and bounded from the cot-
tage at a pace which made it hard for the two lads and
their father, who followed him, to keep up with.

He took a line, almost as straight as the crows flies,
past the cottage, up one of the cross streets, thence up
the direct road to Seymore Forest, increasing his speed
as he went, until at last, freeing himself from Hugh, he
bounded on before them, and was lost to sight.

They were now at a loss what to do, they had gained
the outskirts of the forest, passed all the straggling wind
sown trees, and, just where the dog left them, there were
so many paths, it would have been hard to say which
they ought to take. Seymore Forest was but a narrow
strip in comparison with the immense tract of forest land
which covered the hills to their very topmost height, de-

THE HOLY STONE.

169

scending on the other side ; but it was in the middle of,
and ran so dose to Lord Sydenhault's forests on either
side, that the whole comprised one of the densest woods
in England, stretching from the sea far up among the
hills.

The men stood still, it would be simply folly to go
on ; they talked among themselves ; it was now late in
the afternoon, the sun sinking fast in the West, the twi-
light would not serve them in great stead to discover
any one in a dark forest such as they were entering, and
the moon would not rise for several hours after midnight

Irresolute, they were about to retrace their steps, when,
with a sudden crash among the brush-wood through
which he leaped, the dog was once more beside them,
taking Hugh by the coat for the second time.

The handkerchief which still hangs to his collar is
seized, and the dog, now seeming to understand why
the men had not followed him, runs along at an easier
pace. He has now ceased running in a straight line, and
takes a path which leads diagonally across Seymore
forest ; this persevered in for upwards of a quarter of a
mile, the dog again ascends towards the heights which
overlook the sea, the sun is waning low, and, but for the
old man, the boys would have gone back.

*' We're running a wild goose chase, father, following
this fool of a dog, if we go on as far as he leads, we'll get
home in time for breakfast to-morrow morning, after
wandering about on the hills all night, and having the
satisfaction of seeing the sun rise from a greater height
than we never saw it rise from before."

" Never fear, Hugh, we'll win the end of our journey,

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an' get work to do the poor dumb brute canna' do, an'
be back home afore the sun rise."

" We would need ; ' The Silver Spray ' is no half
loaded yet, an' I advertised to sail on Wednesday ; an'
wandering on the hills all night doesn't make a man feel
much like work t'next day."

While Hugh speaks, the dog turns into a narrow path
leading up among the densest part of the pine covered
rocks.

" He's taking us to the Hermit's Cave," cries Haco,
" this is the very way in a straight line, with Seymore
Church steeple on one side, a:nd St. Wolfgang's Rock on
the other."

" Some poor thing has crept into t'cave an' canna' get
out," said the father, casting in his mind who the ' poor
thing ' might be.

They have not far to go now, the steps in the rock are
reached, which seem like a winding, irregular staircase
made by man. The dog once more leaves them, scramb-
ling up the rocks ; they follow, Haco in advance of the
others ; he reaches the moss grown stone in front of the
cave, and leaning over the top, peers into the hollow re-
cess. The father and Hugh are yet many yards from
the top of the steps. The dog has leaped in, the bright
beams of the sun are illuminating the mountain top,
flooding with its glory each stately pine, each fallen
mossy trunk, grey rock, and waving fern. The fox-glove
around the stone on which the boy is leaning, seems great
masses of purple bloom. He tries to look into the cave,
which by the contrast appears quite dark. By degrees
the boy's eyes get accustomed to the rjrey light, the walls

THE HOLY STONE.

171

of the cave, the withered leaves with which it is so tiiick-
ly strewn come into sight ; even the dog can be seen
now. — The boy's eyeballs stare, — his heart beats quickly,
hia cheek pales, he calls aloud,

" Father, father, there's a dead woman lying in t'

cave

The old man is up on the stone, the first to enter ;
coming from the bright sunshine the darkness seems in-
tense. He shuts his eyes once, twice, ere he becomes
accustomed to the dim light, or can distinguish one ob-
ject from another. Now he sees clearly, Miss Seymore
is lying upon a bed of dry leaves, close by his feet, al-
most as pale as the night she was taken into his boat
from St. Wolfgang's Rock ? Her hands are crossed on
her bosom, the dog is licking them.

The fisherman kneels down by the figure of the faint-
ing girl, the young men are also in the cave. He takes
her hand in his, the pulse still beats ;

" Oh if we had only some water ! " escapes his lips, he
is thinking aloud.

" I'll soon get that," replies Haco, and in a few min-
utes he has gone, and returns with a pocket flask full of
pure water from the Hermit's well, a never failing spring
of clear water which trickles down the mountain a few
paces from the cave.

The old man tenderly bathes her face and hands, try-
ing to force some of the w atcr between her lips, she
heaves a sigh, her eyelids open for one moment, and
then close heavily again.

*' You must go home, Hugh, and get your mother to

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172

THE HOLY STONE.

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put a mattrass or some blankets into t' covered cart ; we'll
take her home in it."

The word '* home " strikes on her heavy ear.
" Oh no ! " she pleads, exerting all her strength, ** leave
me here."

The fisherman understands well why she dreads so
much to be removed from the cave, and says soothingly,

" We're going to take you to 'Thaniel Reil's house ;
I'm 'Thaniel Reil, an' them boys is my sons, an' when
ye're well, and rested, ye'll can tell yersel' where ye want
to go."

Warning Hugh how the case stands, lest he should re-
late to another the extraordinary scene they have just
witnessed, the fisherman hurries his son off in search of
the cart.

The boy Haco has some sweetmeats in his pocket, of
which his father puts, from time to time, one into Ruby's
mouth, endeavouring by every means in his powejr to re-
call her to consciousness ; but the girl is too weak, she
has been living for a week on wild fruits and nuts, drink-
ing water from her hand at the spring, and during the
past two days, she has neither eaten fruit, drunk water,
nor stirred from the dry sods and withered leaves on
which she lay. Had she been left but a few hours longer,
she, the heiress of all the land around, would have died
alone and uncared for, save by the poor dog who brought
the fisherman to her aid, and was watching, with almost
human earnestness, every breath she drew.

Hugh has a long way to go, and the night is pitch
dark ere he return.; with a lantern, to tell that the cart

THE HOLY STONE,

173

is out on the stone-hinge road, the highest point to
which they can bring it.

Ruby is wrapped in a large boat-cloak, which the father
keeps for taking with him to sea on cold frosty nights,
when he sits at the helm ; and the two boys carry her
gently down to the cart, the fisherman himself preceding
them with the lantern.

There were more than Thaniel Reil and his sons who
saw that light flitting in and out among the dark pines
that surrounded the mountain top where the Hermit
had once dwelt. The sea faring people, when they
heard that a light had been seen there, shook their
heads and said, " There will be women mourning for
men lost at sea ere the new moon is old ; it's to warn us,
that the holy man's spirit comes back to the cave he
dwelt in so long."

Ruby was weak and ill for many days, lying in the
clean bright room which was the best in 'Thaniel Reil's
house, but the fisherman and his wife feared not for her,
she was exhausted with cold and hunger, worn out with
watching and feai, and they knew that with care and
the feeling of security she had in their humble home,
she would soon regain her strength.

They knew well the risk they ran if it should be dis-
covered they were concealing the Baron's daughter, but
there was no hired hand about their dwelling, it was
some distance from the other houses on the sand^;, and
they said to each other ; "If the worst comes to the
worst, neither Lord Seymore nt •• Mr. Penryth can take
the house or the boat from us, they are both our own,

174

THE HOLY STONE.

there'll be fish in the sea whether they're pleased or
angry, an' if they donna buy, another will."

It was perhaps the knowledge that in neither house
would they have bought from him if they knew what he
had done, that made 'Thaniel Reil for years after, never
drive his fish-cart to Sydenhault Hall, nor Seymore Castle.

•
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lil'l

CHAPTER XVI.

BARON SEYMORE IN THE PAINTER'S STUDIO.

" T rOU know these places ? " said Lord Seymore to

j[ the driver of the carriage he had hired on
reaching Paris, some three days after his interview with
Mrs. Sydney, shewing the man the card containing the
address of both her son's atelier and boarding-house.

" I do, sir," replied the man, *' the first every one in
Paris knows ; it is the atelier of Sydney, the painter of
the Spring Tide pictures ; the other is that of a maison
de pension chiefly frequented by artists."

" Drive me to the boarding-house first," said the Baron
perplexed lest Mrs. Sydney had given him a wrong ad-
dress. He certainly was not in search of the famous
painter of " The Spring Tide " pictures, of whom all
F.urope was speaking, whose fame, like Jonah's gourd,
had grown, if not exactly in a night, at least in a year.
A year ago no one had heard of such a man, — now, —
people stared if you had not at least seen the engravings
from those famous pictures of " The Spring Tide,"

*• There is some misunderstanding on my part no
doubt," thought Lord Seymore, "or perhaps the lady
may have forgotten to say, what is very likely the case,
that her son is either a relative or a protege of this mush-
room great man ; we shall soon see."

The house was one where artists had either a room, or

tv;??

176

THE HOLY STONE.

Ill

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a suite of apartments, as their means permitted, the
porter taking charge of the whole.

Lord Seymore shewed the address to the porter, who
seemed a most important personage in his own eyes.

" This person resides here ? " said Lord Seymore in-
quiringly.

" Certainly, that is the number of the apartments oc-
cupied by Mr. Sydney, the great artist."

A happy thought struck Ruby's father, this painter
was most probably married, his wife would be more
likely to tell what she knew of a poor relative or pro-
tege's affairs, than a man puffed up with recently ac-
quired fame ; who had awakened one morning surprised
to find himself celebrated.

" I wish to see Mrs. Sydney, shew me to her apart-
ments."

" Impossible ; there is no such person ; Mr. Sydney is
a bachelor, quite a young man, lives alone, sees no com-
pany even."

" Then I will see him."

" Mr. Sydney only comes here late in the evening, you
can see him after seven at night, or before he goes to his
atelier, at seven in the morning."

The Baron was driven to the atelier, he felt he was in
the presence of the artist ; not the boy school-master,
certainly, but the artist, there were two or three young
men in the room who were unmistakeably pupils.

"Mr. Sydney, I presume, the painter of the 'Spring
Tide* ; " said Lord Seymore with some politeness ; he saw

THE HOLY STONE.

177

he was in the presence of a gentleman, and he wished to
jret the ear of the master, so that he might compass his
purpose, find out his daughter's whereabouts, and pun-
ish the young man who had the audacity to raise his
eyes to the eminence on which the daughter of Lord
Seymore stood.

Mr. Sydney bowed, asking his visitor to be seated,
" I V ish to see you alone," said Lord Seymore, who
in the nervous state in which he then was, entirely for-
got that he had not given the painter his card, " I have
to ask your help in a matter of delicacy, I do not care to
speak of, in the presence of others."

" These young men are French, and speak only their
own tongue, nevertheless, if it is on a subject of impor-
tance you wish to speak, we can soon become private."

Mr. Sydney led the way through the opening in the
curtain which divided his atelier, and thence into a small
apartment fitted up as a library with a few choice pic-
tures, evidently the work of another hand from his own»

On entering. Lord Seymore was struck with one of
the latter, inquiring of the artist if it were his own work..

'• It is not, it is the work of one who had he lived,
gave promise of being a better artist than I may hope to
become ; I have been fortunate enough to strike the
public taste ; while my father toiled on in a higher walk
unappreciated,"

*' I have seen a picture exactly like this somewhere,
perhaps a copy."

" It is possible," was the laconic reply, as the artist
again requested Lord Seymore to be seated, this was

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178

THE HOLY STONE.

! !

11 H

scarcely needed to recall the Baron to the object of his
visit, which pressed on him with a heart pang.

" Mr. Sydney," he began, " I have had the misfortune
to lose my only child, a daughter ; she left her home un-
attended on the morning of Saturday last."

Mr. Sydney asked himself if the gentleman were sane,
or how he could possibly expect aid from him under the
circumstances. Lord Seymore continued,

*' I have reason to believe that one of your pupils, one
bearing your own name, is aware of where my daughter
is at this moment, and I wish you to aid me in getting
at the truth."

" I think you must be under a great mistake ; I have
already observed to you that these young men are
French, and speak only their own language. Was the
young lady at school here ? "

" No, but the person of whom I speak was her teacher
in England some years ago ; his surname is the same as
your own ; his mother, who lives at Sydenhault Oaks, in
the vicinity of my place, gave me his address at your
studio." He stopped for a second, suddenly recollecting
he had not sent up his card, and then resumed, " My
name is Godfrey Seymore, I am Lord Seymore of Sey-
more Castle."

" And I," said the artist, his face deadly pale as he
spoke, " am Herbert Sydney, the French teacher of Miss
Seymore in years past, the painter of to-day. It is use-
less to say I know nothing of Miss Seymore; would to
Heaven I did ; I would give all the fame for which

•1 I

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THE HOLY STONE,

179

I have worked so hard to be able to tell where she

IS.

Herbert Sydney paced up and down the apartment
his face of a livid ashen hue ; Lord Seymore had the
best assurance in the world that he had been told only
the truth ; he saw that the distress evinced in the face
before him was equal to his own.

The porter tapped at the door, and then entering,
delivered several letters to the artist. Singling out one,
Mr. Sydney said,

" With your leave my Lord I will read this, it is from
my mother, something tells me it contains intelligence
of Miss Seymore.

He was right ; the letter gave a detailed account of
Lord Seymore s interview with Mrs. Sydney, ending by
describing the young lady, in grey she had seen on
board the boat, and who, she was sure, must have been
Miss Seymore on her way to Seymore Castle.

Mr. Sydney read aloud ; ere he concluded, Lord Sey-
more rose from his seat, exclaiming in accents of joy,

" Yes, that is my daughter's dress ; of course, Mrs.
Sydney has seen my daughter before ?"

" Certainly. — There is no doubt Miss Seymore is safe
at home in Seymore Castle."

" Yes, if I had had patience to go for one moment into
my own house in passing, I should have seen her there,
but I was on my way to Paris before Captain Wolferstan
returned home, and they had no address to which they
could send a telegram. Good-bye, Mr. Sydney, I must
apologize for my intrusion, and the trouble I have
given."

1 80

THE HOLY STONE.

" There is no apology necessary. Good morning, my
Lord."

Thus parted these two men, to meet again, in peril such
as occurs to Britons but once in centuries, and then only
to one in a million, she, v/hom each loved better than life,
the cause of dread to both, more bitter than death.

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CHAPTER XVII.

THE fisherman's COTTAGE. SEYMORE CASTLE.

RUBY, with Mrs. Reil's carefully nursing, was get-
ting well and strong again, and many an anxious
thought was cast by both herself and the Reil's into the
future, as to what she was to do, where to go. Their
cottage had proved a merciful place of shelter in her
distress, but it could not be a home.

" I owe my life to your care, Mrs. Reil, it is your good
nursing that has made me well again ; I wish I knew
how to nurse the sick, I would go and devote my life to
that, how is it that you know so much ? "

" I learnt all I know of the virtue of herbs in my
visits to Jersey, my mother's native place, there is an
Institution there kept by a few ladies who devote them-
selves to the care of orphans and sick people, they do a
great deal of good, they care for and educate about fifty
children who would be poor waifs but for them."

" Mrs. Reil, do you think these ladies would allow me
to help them in their labors ? "

" I am ^re they would be very glad to have you with
them, particularly if you took Monica with you, such a
woman as Monica would be of great service to them,
and with your accomplishments you could help to teach
the children ; some of them are taught music and draw-
ing and such thing - as make them able to be governesses,
i8i

;i '

182

THE HOLY STONE.

There is a young lady now, at Dr. Newcome's house,
who came from their Institution ; all the children are not
educated alike, only those who show a talent for learn-
ing, some of them are taught to be dress-makers, others
to be servants, all are instructed in some way how to
gain an honest living."

" Oh ! " exclaimed Ruby, " I should like of all things
to go, and I know Monica would come with me any-
where, but how could I get there ? how could I send for
Monica ? "

" It is not a hard matter to go to Jersey, there is a
steamer from Southampton that goes there every day,
and my husband's cutter is going there in a few days ; if
you would go in her we would make the cabin as com-
fortable as possible, and the cutter could lie out in the
Thames for a few hours to take Monica on board."

" I should much prefer going in the cutter, it would be
very comfortable I am sure, much better than the Her-
mit's Cave where I lived a whole week, and there would
be no chance of my being found out there, which there
might if I were on board one of the steam vessels. But,"
continued Ruby, as if she had just thought of the con-
tingency, " is the place you speak of on the coast, is it
one of the places the English go to ? "

" No, it is inland, up in the interior of the island, it is
quite a rare sight to see a stranger there. There would
be no fear of your being found out there until all this ill
thought of marriage wears out of my Lord's head ; and
you write for him to come and bring you home."

"And how could we get Monica on board the cutter ?"

" My man will go to Bayswater and tell her you are

THE HOLY STONE.

183

^ould

his ill

)U are

on board, and I'll warrant she'll need no bidding to come
where you are. 'Thaniel has been often up at the Villa
seeing Mistress Monica, her and me has always been
good friends, and since 'Thaniel brought you home in
his boat from St. Wolfgang's Rock, we grew more near
than ever, and so, when the cutter w^ent to London,
'Thaniel always took a step out to Bays water to see what
Monica wa<j doing, no one will wonder to see him going
there ? "

It V(#s all settled, the first trip the cutter made to Jer-
sey, Ruby was to go in her.

The evening previous to her departure. Ruby wrote a
long letter to her father ; she told him how many letters
she had written before she left home and destroyed them
all, none of them expressed what she desired to say :
she begged his forgiveness for all she had ever done
against his wishes, and told him she longed for the time
when Mr. Penryth's marriage with another, would make
it unnecessary for her to remain away from home.

The letter is addressed and sealed ; Ruby carries it into
the front room, where the family sit, that she may give
it to one of the boys to put into the post office ; the
door is open, she stands in the door-way and looks out
into the dark night. She is thinking of that other dark
night on which she arrived at Sydenhault Oaks, nearly
a month ago, how long it seems since then. Ruby feels
as if she had grown old since that night, she is thinking
of her father, her kindred, her happy childhood's home
up on the rock above ; an irresistible impulse urges her
to go there. She enters the cottage, and says to Mrs,
Reil:

ill

ikama

! ' i

1 i' '.■'^;

184

THE HOLY STONE.

" It is SO dark no one will know me. I will put my
letter into the post office myself; I want exercise and
fresh air."

" That you do, my child," replies the woman in a
motherly way, it will do you good to go out, one of the
boys shall go with you."

" Thank you, no, I am not afraid."

Ruby wished to be alone, to look upon the old grey
walls, to touch them, to look through the windows, into
the rooms where the pictures had been her earliest play-
mates, where the very chairs and tables spoke of home.

A short walk brings her to the upper town, accom-
panied by Nep, who now, could never be persuaded to
leave her, the letter is put into the post office with a
hesitating hand. Ruby knows her father has been at
Seymore within the last few days, she thinks he may be
there still, if so, and she sees him as she stands by the
window, and his face looks sad as if he missed her; she
M'ill risk all, will go in and throw her arms round his
dear neck, and ask for the forgiveness she now feels
would be so surely hers, together with all the love and
affection which she had known in the old time, before
she left Seymore Castle, and the happy life there.

A few minutes and she is within the Castle gate, walk,
ing swifty up the drive with a lighter step than she has
known for months ; the sound of music strikes on her
ear ; the well-known notes of her own piano. She al-
most runs to the East wing that she may ascend to the
balcony, from thence she can see all they do, hear almost
every word they say in the large drawing-room.

She is on the balcony, the night is so dark another

;, I

■'HE HOLY Sro.VK.

I8s

"'O'^Id have stumbled at everv ,. n
round e.ery tree on the lawn th \ ^"^^ '^"^^ g"
castle bhndfold. She is close tZ' ^'"'^ "^"^ '" '^^
i^'-e oflight inside makes her' hut h''"''' window,, he
ment ; while she stands thuTt^ ^"' '^"'' '■<"■ ^ mo-
-ain struck by a master hand 1' T'^ "'""^ P'^"" are
■'ow Ethel's voice is pour.netfh'-f "°"^ ''^ '""^^ ^^"^
favourite Italian duet tW h "V'""''"-'' ^""^^ '•" »
^"^y is gazing into the St'd I °'''". ""^ '°^^'''--
'" the house, Ethel is standin k T' '^''^ '''^ ^-"^itors
white, cloud-like muslin :lKi:'fP-o, ^-sed in

ha.r. The Percys of Dur nl ^urt m"" '" "^^ "'^^
her mother are there n -^u" . ''"°''' relatives of

Wolferstan are i Z' :oT'^T\u'''' "°^ ^^'-e
'«"<ing and occasional Ster K , " ''" '""""^ -^
room, which the gentlemen t '" ""^ ^'"'"^

With ''- father, slA:l:raretrrc%T '^''' ^'■<^>'
f transfixed to the spot haT ro """^ ■''""'^■'' ^s

hght and warmth ; i ts pictted „" '""""'"'' '""" °f
with flowers, the nch y^ o "ured ' ^'^ "="''^' «"«d
and radiant face, the w^ioTe " "?''' ^*^'''^ ''''ess
and happiness. The coTurtt ZT "'°'^"' °^ ^""'^o"
strikes on her heart v^"h a 'udH '" u*^"^^'' =""' ^thel
drizzling rain falling, Sbysdre"' f ^"^^^ ''' '^
she draws her mantle ti.htfv „/ V ^^^' ""^ ""'"•
^-ving. as if a great s£ IT/ e " '""'' ""'^'^ '^
There is no roof to the balcnr »u '"'^ ^"'' "nnot

leans against a pillarLip"^; *?'?"' '' "'''■ ^"•'y

-fiuenceof theLne.and hTk^ittf? ^"^ ^'"'"^
we^ht which i. ,ymg „„ ,,^ ,^- - "ot so cold as the

Hthels face .turned towards the balcony, it is bright

f ;

1 86

THE HOLY STONE.

with smiles ; Ruby realizes but too clearly that there is
not one there who thinks of her in her far off home,
wherever they fancy it may be. She creeps slowly down
the steps, she is close beside the windows of the dining
room, the shutters are closed, she can see nothing. But
an indistinct murmur of voices in conversation meets
her ear, a sudden burst of mirthful talking, she clings
to the window sill ; is that her father's voice she hears ?
She fancies it is, and that he speaks in his happiest, most
cheerful tones !

Ruby presses her hand to her throbbing temples, her
head is reeling, and she sits down on the wet grass, and
leans cigainst the stone wall, which in her desolation she
deems more a friend than those within ; those whom she
so loved, and to whom she thinks, she is nothing now ;
— forgotten by all.

Nep lays himself down by her side ; and puts his head
into her lap, he seems to know she is in trouble, and rubs
his nose fondly against her as if to show his love and
sympathy. Ruby puts her arm round his shaggy neck,
and, bending down, lays her soft cheek on the dog's
head, her tears falling down like rain. "Nep, poor
Nep," she sobs out, " you are the one who loves me
best, perhaps the only one who will always love me."

Could Ruby have looked into that room as she had
looked into the one above, she would have seen that the
group around the dining table consisted of three gentle-
men, neither of whom was her father ; and could she
have had the power of vision given her to see where he
was, she would have looked into a room in the Tower of
London, where Lord Seymore sat alone beside the dying

yrn

THE HOLY STONE.

187

embers of a forgotten fire, his face sadder than she had
ever seen it, his hair grayer. The book before him lying
open, the page unturned for the past hour ; his eyes
fixed on vacancy ; and, did her power extend to spirit
reading, she would have seen the question engraven on
his heart which he asked himself every waking hour,,
and w/iich, in his dreams, was repeated in slow and
measured tones,

" Where is my child ? "

lii

li'l

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HEBREW BARON.

llilil

LORD SYDENHAULT was not the only one who
recognized the boy ; seen for a few minutes on the
wharf at Sydenhault Oaks, in the dark man who stood
half-hidden by the pillar at St. George's on the day ap-
pointed for the marriage of Mr. Penryth and Lord Sey-
more's daughter.

As the Honorable Edward Penryth moved uneasily
up and down the nave, his eye was attracted by a man
who stood half concealed by a column on the side of the
altar opposite to the place where the bride would stand
on her arrival. At first he looked upon the stranger as
some one come to witness the ceremony, and only felt
his presence an annoyance, because the bride and her
party were so long in coming, that he began to fear they
would not come at all.

The bridegroom seemed fascinated by the stranger,
and as from time to time his eye would seek the place
where he stood so still and statue-like, he observed a
fierce look in the dark gaze which met his own, and that
expression told him, that the bearded stranger and the
boy he had seen years before on the quay at Syden-
hault Oaks, whom he hated the first moment he looked
upon him, were one and the same person.

Had this discovery been made a few minutes previous,
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THE HOLY STONE.

189

Mr. Penryth would have ordered the Beadle to turn the
stranger out Whether this could have been effected, it
would be difficult to say, but it was too late, the bride
was in the Church, — the priest at the altar.

When Ruby turned her wild eyes, and uplifted hands
in the direction of the stranger, neither the action nor
the look by which it was met, escaped the bridegroom ;
and when this man, whom he would fain have felled
to the earth — imprisoned — sent to a penal settlement,
nothing too hard or cruel, so that he might vent his rage,
and satisfy his revenge — when this man stood on the
steps of the Church, with fierce eyes, defying Edward
Penryth, the latter vowed a secret oath he would have
his revenge. From that day he set himself to find out
where this stranger lived, and how he gained his bread ;
this was no easy task, seeing he knew nothing of him,
except that he had come to him to ask the use of the
Sydenhault carriage to take Miss Seymore home on
the night she and her cousin were nearly drowned on
St. Wolfgang's Rock. But Edward Penryth was a pa-
tient man, when he had a purpose to serve ; and by
going down to Sydenhault Oaks and pursuing his en-
quiries there, he discovered that the man whom he had
sworn " to do unto death," was the son of a widow —
a nobody, who had gained his livelihood by teaching ;
that his name was Herbert Sydney, and that Miss Sey-
more had been one of his pupils for upwards of two
years. This last fact was a significant one to Edward
Penryth, it spoke in terms which he hid for the present
in his own bosom, resolved, when the day came, the day
he would compass Heaven and earth to bring about,

P7^

It)

♦•

190

THE HOLY STONE.

-when Miss Seymore should at length be his wife, he
would then, not only be revenged upon the insolent
upstart who had crossed his path, but would bring her
to task, for her share in this outrage ; to task in such
a way, as would cause her to tremble when she heard
the name of Herbert Sydney. The place of residence
where this plebeian, this insolent upstart, now lived,
was easily found. His mother, whose residence in Sy-
denhault Oaks made her easily accessible to a man in
Mr. Penryth's position, at once gave him Mr. Sydney's
address in Paris, well pleased, thinking her son had
obtained a new patron.

To Paris then Mr. Penryth went, only to find that this
nobody, was the painter of " The Spring Tide " Pic-
tures ! A man with whose name half of Europe rang.
This was bad news, Sydney the painter would not be
so easily crushed as Herbert Sydney the tutor ; but there
were ways and means of accomplishing even this ; pa-
tience and perseverance would both be required ; Edward
Penrj'th had good store of each, and grudged neither
time nor money to accon^lish his object

He had determined to tire his mother out by his
absence. To make the blind woman, from the very
weariness cf her lonely life, accede to his unrighteous
demands. The destruction of this man would give in-
terest to his life of self imposed absenteeism, yet he
could not hide from himself that it would be an arduous
task, one which must be proceeded with in a wary man-
ner, one to which he must devote time.

Mr. Penryth knew nothing of Ruby's absence from
her home. Lord Seymore was too politic to permit such

THE HOLY STONE.

191

i^il

a scandal as that of his daughter, a beautiful girl of
twenty-one years, having left his house unattended, and
without his knowledge, to come to the ears of any one,
except those whose interest it was, to conceal such a
bruit from the world.

With the exception of Monica, the very servants,
even the housekeeper, knew nothing whatever of Miss
Seymore's flight Jasper, — Monica's confidant on all
other occasions — only knew that Miss Seymore was
from home, that she had been hurried off without time
being given her to say goodbye to him, a thing she had
never neglected cver» in her childish journeys of a day ;
and he somehow fa.xied she had been carried off to a
convent, that, by a residence there, she might be coerced
into marrying a man she hated, /jasper's ideas of a con-
vent being that of a place where the sunshine was shut
out, and where to smile was a sin.J

Edward Penryth thought he could make good use
of his influence with Ruby's father in running the
painter to ground. From his position in the Tower,
Lord Seymore was constantly coming in contact with
people in power, introductions from such might be got
to gentlemen of influence in France, those, who, un-
wittingly, could be made to aid his purpose. Lord Sey-
more and his daughter's disappointed suitor were alike
ignorant, of each others acquaintance with Herbert Syd-
ney. Whatever ideas the former had gathered from Mrs.
Wolferstan's information, or his own suspicious, were
carefully hid in his bosom ; and it was part of Mr.
Penryth's policy to feign entire ignorance of the man,
either as teacher or artist. Sydney might disappear

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f *

i%!,i; ■

IIiBKiI ■

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192

THE HOLY STONE.

some day, and never be seen or heard of again, or worse
still, his body might turn up shewing marks of violence,
or something v/hich would lead to unpleasant investi-
gation ; it was best, for a man in Edward Penryth's
position in society, not to know anything whatever of
such an one.

Were it otherwise, he would never for a moment have
entertained the idea of seeking help from Lord Seymorc.
Low as his own nature was, he understood perfectly the
lofty character of Ruby's Father, the indignation and
contempt which any attempt to injure another would
meet with from him, hence the subject was not at all
likely ever to be mooted between them.

In order to obtain the introductions he sought as ne-
cessary to his first plan of ruin for Herbert Sydney,
(which was to raise a reaction in the public mind against
his style of painting, to starve him out in fact,) it was
necessary for him to return to London to see Lord Sey-
more, as through him more than through any other,
could be obtained the introductions he sought.

" You did not expect to see me so soon again ? " were
the words with which he greeted his friend as he entered
the library at the Tower.

•• I did not indeed, but that only makes you the more
•welcome," was the reply, as he pressed the hand ex-
tended to meet his own. " I hope the Countess and
your brother are well, and that it is to nothing un-
pleasant in your family, I am indebted for this visit ? "

"On the contrary, I believe my mother is unusually well
at present ; I have not been at the villa, I shall only
remain two or three days in town at most, leave-taking

THE HOLY STONE.

^93

never conduces to our happiness, at any age, and at
my mother's time of life, is particularly painful. I
do not mean to go to the villa ; I shall dine at the club
during the few days I am in London. I have taken
it into my head " continued he, " to write something
in connection with the Fine Arts ; and in order to obtain
an entree into the galleries and collections of the
French noblesse, (I mean to commence my work in
T'aris) I must provide myself with introductions ; it
strikes me your friend Baron Ephraim would, of all
others, be the person to furnish such as would at once
enable me to accomplish my object."

" If so," replied Lord Seymore, "I think I can pro-
mise his aid. I am sure he will give you an introduc-
tion to Baron de Schwartzkind, whose letter to his French
brother will accomplish all you desire. The Jews are
among our greatest patrons of art, and know more of its
history than perhaps any other people in Europe. I
have reason to know that Baron Ephriam is disengaged
to-day, come and dine with me this evening ; you will
meet him, and have an opportunity of telling him ex-
actly what you want, and, before you arrive, I shall have
arranged with him (jt your introduction to the banker."

•' A thousand thanks ; I look to this work as a sort of
resource in my trouble ; it must absorb a great part of my
attention, and wean my thoughts from unavailing regret.
Good-bye, I shall be with you in the evening."

Edward Penryth left Lord Seymore's residence, won-
dering at the sad troubled face of his frit.ncij, his hair

appeared grayer, himself many years older than when

!<•?

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194

THE HOLY STONi:.

they last parted ; he attributed this change to the dis-
appointment caused by Ruby's disobedience,and he hailed
it as a sign that his interest with her would not be for-
gotten in his absence ; he congratulated himself on Lord
Seymore's pertinacity. " This fellow's audacity punished,"
thought he, " his name blotted out of the world, his very
existence forgotten, his letters (which I dare say arrive
with due regularity at present, each bearing its quota of
pleasant information as to the height of the pinnacle the
writer has gained) ceasing all of a sudden, the beautiful
Miss Seymore, her romantic love for the artist having
died a natural death, will find her best defence against
old-maidism, in consenting to become my wife. And
then " — his face assuming a sardonic smile, as he thought
of the many plans he had already contrived by which
he was to have revenge to satiety, " Madame will dis-
cover she has found her master ! "

Edward Penryth and Baron Ephriam met at Lord
Seymore's dinner-table, the Hebrew entering most warm-
ly into Mr. Penryth's project of publishing a work, which
the former declared would be one of intense interest.
The would-be author became rather uneasy when pressed
by the Baron to give him some idea of the plan of his
work. Now the work was purely in imagination and had
only been thought of as a stepping stone to the
acquaintance of those who, unknown to themselves, were
to aid him in his evil doings. Moreover, the man was
by no means o^ a literary turn ; he had never in fat L
written a composition longer than a letter, since he left
the University, and his highly praised essays there, had
been entirely the work of a boy, younger, but of more

THE HOLY STONE.

talent than himself. Baron Ephriani's request, therefore^
was a most unpleasant one.

The Hebrew saw the confusion his questions were pro-
ducing, and recollecting the mauvaise honte which many
clever men, authors of no mean repute, possess in a pain-
ful degree, he at once cSime to the rescue himself.

" Ah ! I see, we cannot get you to speak ; we must
wait until we can read what you have to tell ; after all
I daresay it is the best way, the more we think, and^
probably, the less we speak, the better we write. I hav^
a few engravings here," continued the Hebrew, laying
hold of a large sized port-folio as he spoke, " some of
which, no doubt, you know ; one or two of them only
reached London from Paris this morning. They are
from Sydney's pictures of ' The Spring Tide,* which are
creating such a furore throughout the art circles of Eu-
rope ; you have of course seen the originals ? "

" I have not, nor do I wish to see them. From the
description I have had of those already in the market, if
we may speak in such common parlance of pictures, they
are only exaggerated scenes of rock and water."

'• You shall judge for yourself. The extraordinary
truthfulness of the pictures is the charm by which they
have taken the world by surprise. It is clear that me-
mory, not invention, has suggested the subject of these
scenes. The artist has evidently been an eye witness of
each phase of danger he depicts on that sea-girt rock.
Whether it is the fancied security of the girls, while look-
ing at the outward bound fishing boats, through the
fissure in the rock ; or their agony as they pray to God
for help ; the sea, each moment, climbing up nearer and

196

THE HOLY STONE,

nearer ; or the girl enveloped in the whirling foam of the
waves as they shape themselves into the form of a water
spout above her head ; every part bears evidence, not
only to the artist's power of delineation, but to his hav-
ing witnessed, what he paints with a life-like truth the
best model cou'ld never inspire. The greatest wonder
to me, is the power of memory possessed by the man,
who, witnessing such scenes in a time of extreme ex-
citement, can retain each picture in its individuality ; and
that, so distinctly, that the face which runs through the
whole, expresses pleased wonder, terror, reverential awe,
while raising hands and soul to God in prayer and fai h,
amid the clouds of spray, as she clings to the top of the
rock."

While Baron Ephriam spoke, he opened the port-folio,
and laying down the engravings one after the other in
the order of their course, exhibited to Lord Seymore's
astonished gaze, his daughter, as she must have appeared
while on St. Wolfgang's Rock — now in girlish delight
at the out-going sails, — again in prayer, — in agony of
soul, such as Ethel had described so often ; while she
herself was in the boat, Ruby alone, amid the waves
on the Rock !

" That fair face is the most perfect I ever saw, no
Greek statue ever equalled it, its very perfection tells
you it is no fancy, the hand of nature alone moulded
those features, gave colour to the violet eyes, and tex-
ture to the soft white brow and cheek ; you see a face of
exquisite beauty here, but it is only on the canvass, with
its depth of colour, its truth and clearness, that you
realize what the original must be."

'I .!!•

THE HOLY STONE.

197

The Hebrew looked up to see what effect his pictures
had produced on the two gentlemen who stood by his
side, while he described with such enthusiasm the
ability of the painter. It v/as with no common feelings
he looked on each face, the hand of Ruby's father rested
on the table, and trembled so as to shake the engraving
on the edge of which it lay. k was withdrawn hurriedl)',
Losd Seymore would hide the feeling which caused the
tremor, but the white face, full of woe, could not be
hidden,

*• The one whose face is pictured there, is my daughter,"
said Lord Seymore, his voice choked with emotion,
while he asked himself the question, so often asked now,
so familiar to his heart, " Where is she ? "

" Your daughter," exclaimed Baron Ephriam in aston-
ishment, as his eye sought the face of the man who had
been her bridegroom., and would, as he had been told,
yet be her husband, only the mairiage for family reasons
had been put off for a season. He saw there the face of
a man old enough to be the girl's father, a handsome
face it is true, and in good preservation ; one which had
never suffered from excess, that was evident, but with a
light in it he did not like, and, as the handsome dark
eyes rested on the engravings, the Hebrew noted their
expression turn to bitter hatred ! What could this
mean ? — Had his bride jilted him, and did he hate her
now ? And her father's face, — why did that tell so
plainly a tale of sore heart trouble ? — There was a
double enigma here.

There is a cloud cast over the three men which makes
each feel as if he would prefer the privacy of his own

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THE HOLY STONE.

apartment, those beautiful engravings have thrown a dark
shadow around them.

Baron Ephriam has retired to his own apartments, he
is pacing up and down his room, trying to read the
riddle chance has placed before him within the last few
hours ; and, as he searches his mind over and over again
for a solution, and thinks of the pictures, and then of the
painter, the almost forgotten words of Herbert Sydney
Come back to his memory, solving the mystery, convert-
ing the darkness into a flood of light.

The words ring in his ears ; '* The face I see in my
dreams, one I know and love, and hope to win," and
with this comes the sight of the artist's countenance sud-
denly turning as pale as ashes, the hurried journey to
London — and he connects both with his own words,
which told the artist that Lord Seymore's daughter was
the bride of another !

Baron Ephriam is still walking to and fro in his lib-
rary ; he is thinking of the promise he has made to aid
Edward Penryth in his work.

He feels a dislike to the man, — he distrusts him ; he
asks himself what is the probable use these introductions
he has agreed to procure, from, and to, his brethren, will
be put to ? He recollects the evident confusion his re-
quest for a slight synopsis of the proposed history of art
created. The trepidation the man evinced ; he could
almost put his hand on his heart and say :

'* Such a work will never see the light with Penryth's
. kne appended to it ; there will never be a line of it
, *»«,ned."

His vh oughts form themselves into spoken words, ring-

THE HOLY STONE.

199

ing clearly on his ear in the silence of his room, " It is
not for this these introductions are wanted ; I myself
must watch and set others to watch also, the use they are
put to. It haunts me somehow, that this sinister looking
man, this Lord with his suave and courtly manners,
would willingly see Sydney the painter under the sea-
waves he portrays so well. It is not doing the work the
Rabbi Abraham sent Nathan the Seeker to do, this mix-
ing myself up in the loves and hates of these uncircum-
cised Gentiles ; yet I cannot stand by with folded hands
or silent tongue, and know there is evil abroad for the
artist of the Tyrol. That boy has wound himself strong-
ly around my heart It would be strange were it not so !
But for hjm there would, long ere now, have been another
Seeker ; — Nathan lying in an unhallowed grave among
' the nations.' "

Baron de Schwartzkind is in his library, he welcomes
his kinsman with a friendly grasp of the hand.

" An introduction for Mr. Penryth to my brother ; with
great pleasure, but why do you not give it him yourself ?

" I was requested to introduce him to you, and pro-
mised to do so ; he would in that case have asked the
introduction himself. I made the promise last night,
since then I have seen cause to regret giving such a
promise, I will hand him your introduction to your
brother instead, a formal letter is all I wish for, I will
wait while you have it written out, and sign it"

The letter is placed in Baron Ephriam's hands, Baron
de Schwartzkind draws his chair close to his Hebrew

«.)

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200

THE HOLY STONE.

>< !*

Pll*

brother, lays his hand with familiar fondness on the arm
beside him, as he says,

" My brother Nathan has been in Grenada, has seen
the Rabbi Abraham since last we met ? The old man's
step is still firm, his eye bright ? "

*' The Rabbi Abraham looks and speaks as if he had
not reckoned three score years, and talks with earnest
joy of going up to Jerusalem ; I trust the day is not far
distant when we shall all go up to Jerusalem, to praise
the Lord in Ziork"

♦• And of the Holy Stone ? "

Nathan shook his head,

•' Nothing, unless a dream can be reckoned something.
It came to me some weeks past, and I counted it as
naught, until last night."

" Tell me what you saw, my brother ; you are not the
first Hebrew who has been warned of God in a dream."

"I was in a fisher's boat approaching a rock-bound
coast, the moon shining overhead as clear as day, the
waves coming up to the boat's side in light ripples. In
a moment I was in a room within the fisherman's cot-
tage ; on a settle lay a girl asleep, I marked her face well,
a face of perfect beauty, and in my dream, I remembered
it as the same face Sydney has portrayed in his pictures
of * The Spring Tide ; * round her neck was a gold chain
of antique workmanship, attached to which was a gold
case ; through the case shone the sapphire in all the blue
glory of the Holy Stone. Last night I found that the
original of the beautiful face in the ' Spring Tide ' pic-
tures is the daughter of Lord Seymore ! "

" Ha ! that indeed is a dream which seems to have a

llil

THE HOLY STONE.

201

certain significance, although, previous to her father*s
death, it is not at all likely his daughter would be in
possession of the Holy Stone."

* Your words are true, it seems impossible that Lord
Seymore would part with it during his life time, yet of
one thing I have assured myself beyond any doubt, it is
never worn by him ; I have searched his person for it
times without number ; when his sleep was so sound
that a cannon fired in the room would have failed to
awake him."

•* I am aware of that ; you told rae so long ago, it is
certainly strange, aye, marvellous, that he should not
carry the Holy Stone about his person. Can it be pos-
sible he is ignorant of its virtues ? "

" Impossible ! while I spoke to him of the Stone, its
virtues, its story, his face said more plainly than words
could express, * I know, I know ! ' "

" And you are sure he is aware of the Legend, * It
came ivith a woman, it must go with a woman ? ' "

"He knows it as well as you or I, or the Rabbi Abra-
ham. His family, whether Seberts or Sey mores, have
known it for ages, even as the Tribe to whom it was
given, and who have mourned its loss all these centuries."

" That is conclusive ; possessed of such knowledge.
Lord Seymore with his character for wisdom and far-
seeing would never place the Holy Stone in his daugh-
ter's hands while he himself lives ; it would be throwing
it into the lion's mouth, no, depend upon it, whether ho
w ears the jewel or not, it is in his own keeping."

Both men were silent for a few minutes ; both lost in
thought, occupied with the same subject, gne of intense

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THE HOLY STONE,

interest to every Hebrew, the recovering of the jewel,
given by the Angel to Tobias ; the thoughts of Baron
Ephriam forming themselves thus, " That the Stone is
not in Lord Seymore's possession, as far as his residence
in London is concerned, I have satisfied myself; my
many searchings, unimpeded as I have taken care they
should be, have assured me of that. I will ask for an
introduction to his daughter ; the excuse I have for
making such a request is a good one ; all the world will
naturally desire to see the original of the beautiful head
which, to admirers of beauty, forms the great attraction
of the pictures of * The Spring Tide.' I have faith in my
dream, I hope ere I die to see with waking eyes, the
antique chain of my night vision."

" I shall go to Paris in a few weeks," said Baron Eph-
riam, speaking aloud ; " you remember your promise of
becoming a purchaser of one of Sydney's pictures ? "

" I do, and I am more willing to fulfil my promise now
than I was at the time it was made ; these pictures are
daily becoming more and more famous, and I now de-
sire to possess one of them. I wish my purse enabled
me to become the purchaser of the whole series."

Baron Ephriam raised his eyes, which twinkled with
mirth, to his friend's face ;

" Your purse, poor fellow, all the world knows that it
is not a long one ; that purse of yours must often stint
you in your desires. How much do you mean to give
for one of these pictures ? "

*' That is for you, or I should rather say, for Sydney
to say ; the buyer seldom fixes the price to be paid for
the article bought."

THE HOLY STONE.

203

"The price of one of 'The Spring Tide* trictufes
is ten thousand pounds," replied Baron Ephriam, as-
suming an air of nonchalance as he spoke; while in
reality he watched with intense interest the effect of his
words.

" Ten thousand pounds ! Is the man in his senses ? "

"Which man do you mean, the Hebrew or the
Gentile ? "

" I mean Sydney ; a man we never heard of until a
few months ago, he is surely crazy to value his work at
a price never given except for a rare painting by an old
master."

" No ! do you remember the price paid to David for
his Expulsion, and offered to Rosa Bonheur for a
cattle piece ? These are subjects which have been
handled for centuries, Sydney's is a new conception."

" These prices also are exceptions, given for a special
reason ! David's picture was purchased for exhibition,
and made upwards of a hundred thousand pounds for its
owner, Rosa Bonheur's was ordered for the same purpose."

" And if Baron de Schwartzkind will exhibit Sydney's
picture, he will realize twice the sum any other exhibitor
has done, because thousands, who don't care for seeing
pictures, will go to see Baron de Schwartzkind. But
joking apart, it is three years since I asked you to buy a
picture of the boy artist who saved my life in the Tyrol,
then i told you that you must give a large price for a
mediocre work ; you have had the use of the money
for three years, in that time I have no doubt you
hAVe doubled it, so that in reality the picture will cost
you a mere trifle, and you will have a picture of which

p*'

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^04

THE HOLY STONE.

all Europe rings the praises, and more, which every
artist who has seen it, allows to be unique in conception,
unrivalled in execution. Now I made the price, not
Sydney, I am under a debt of obligation to this man
which money cannot pay. No one knows better than
you, Baron, that I cannot give up my time to the accu-
mulation of wealth, my life being devoted to the accom-
plishment of an object all Israel longs for. But if Baron
de Schwartzkind gives ten thousand pounds for Syd-
ney's picture. Kings and Kaisers will follow his ex-
ample."

Baron Ephriam rose as if to depart, laid his hand on
his friend's shoulder, and looking earnestly into his eyes,
said,

, " This money, my brother, what is that betwixt thee
and me ? "

" Naught, my brother ! " was the answer given in a
tone of deep feeling. " Tell Sydney to send the picture,
and to draw on me for the money."

r ^i^Q

CHAPTER XIX.

MISTRESS MONICA.

THE morning on which Ruby was to depart for
Jersey, was dull and cold, with a drizzling rain
which had been falling since the previous night

Ruby sat on the deck, wrapped in a woollen shawl
belonging to Mrs. Reil, and covered by an awning of
sails, hastily improvised by the fisherman and his sons,
when they found that all their arguments were ineffectual
to persuade her to go below to the little cabin, out of the
wind and the cold.

Her heart was sad and desolate as she sat amid the
bitter wind and driving rain, which, shelter her as they
might, it was impossible to ward off entirely. She
watched one familiar spot after another disappear in the
distance ; until at last Seymore Castle, perched like an
eyrie upon its rocky height, shewed but a dim outline,
and then sank entirely from her sight. Seymore Forest
upon the hills, — the mountain top which towered above
the Hermit's Cave, with its memory of cold and loneli-
ness, was the last feature of home on which her eyes
rested, and even that, quickly gave place to a broad sea
of stormy billows bounded by grey sky, the latter only
distinguishable when the wind, which came in gusts,
blew the light rain aside for a moment.

Ruby's tears fell fast as she now realized more fully
205

206

THE HOLY STONE.

,li«1

than ever, that she had truly left her home ancj kindred.
In the fisherman's cottage, however, its surroundings
might differ from those to which she was accustomed, she
was among people she had known from her childhood, the
peasantry of her own land, who attended to her every want
with the most sedulous kindness. Even in the Hermit's
Cave, she was in her own forest, on her native hills ;
where, every night, amid the darkness, she could distin-
guish the light from the windows of Seymore Castle,
shining like a beacon of hope.

But now, all she could call home was gone from her
sight, and she, herself, out amid the wide sea, alone,
journeying to a strange land, to people of a strange
tongue, and her own, — her own she might never see them
more !

She remembered that Monica used to go once in three
or four years to the mountains of Wales to see her re-
lations remaining each time several weeks ; it was more
than three years since she had been there, it was most
likely that now, when her services were not required,
she had gone to see her kindred ; in this case how hard
for her to go alone to this strange place, among this
strange people.

Nep walked up and dowi . the deck enjoying the rain,
which, with his love for the water, was a luxury to him ;
now and then he would come and put his nose on Ruby's
lap and evince his affection for her in his own doggish
way ; poor Nep felt she was in trouble, and would have
comforted her if he could.

'Thaniel Reil was pacing the deck, and in passing
where Ruby sat, addressed some observation to her on

THE HOLY 5T0NE.

207

the Weather, the sea or sky ; not waiting for an answer
which he saw her burdened heart would find it difficult
to give in words ; at last, seeing her a little more com-
posed, and that she patted Nep's head, and spoke to
him, the fisherman stayed his steps, saying in a cheerful
tone, as if he knew he was imparting good news,

" We are going at a spanking rate, by this time to-
morrow, if the wind holds good, you will have Mistress
Monica to tell you news of all that has happened in your
absence."

" I fear," said Ruby, " that Monica may not be there
when you go to the Villa,"' telling hiqi en what her sur-
mise was fourided.

The old man heard her with blank astonishment, and
although he combated her arguments in the best way he
could, it w IS but too evident that his real opinion coin-
cided with hers. The fisherman knew the people to
whom he was bringing her, and he feared not for her
happiness and well-being among them, as far as their
power went ; but he knew how Miss Seymore had been
watched and waited on from her childhood, and that,
for a time at least, every one v/' -'d be strange to her,
everything around her seem xjoor and lonely ; that it war
no place for a nobleman's d vaghter even with Mor. 'a,
and he asked himself, " If IViificress Monica is in Walta,
how will it be then ? "

There was no help for it, the old man had no choice
between his own cottage and Madame Dupoint':^ Inctiiu-
tion, there was no comparison between tlie t«»'":. ?nd he
comforted himself with the assurarice tb-!t, e\ca if
Monica were not at the Villa now, sht '. ?i:id, in all

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208

THE HOLY STONE.

probability, be there the next trip the cutter made, and
then he would take her to the Island.

The cutter is moored in the river, and the fisherman
and one of his sons go, in one of the boats, to reek
Monica. The boy is left in charge of the boat, whil'ithe
old man makes the best of his way to Bayswater, ex-
pecting nothing for his pains, but the words which he
shaped in his mind until they rang in his ears ; " Monica
is from home, she has gone to see her folk."

As he enters the gate, 'Thaniel sees Jasper, busily em-
ployed pruning a standard rose tree, at no great distance ;
the men are great friends, they have been so since they
were boys at school.

" Is that you, Thaniel ? "

" Who's un the day, Jasper ? "

The men shake each other by the hand heartily, and
then Jasper asks after the fisherman's folk, the latter al-
most fearing to ask for Mistress Monica, lest he should
hear the response which has been conned in his own
mind so often as now to seem reality, and he cannot be
false enough to ask for Miss Seymore ; answering his
first question,

" They're well, four o' t' lads are wi' me i' t' cutter.
Your gentles are weel ?"

'• They're no at home. Miss Seymore's off some way,
an' Monica's no wi' her ; the rest are at Seymore Castle,
did'nt ye see un ? "

" The officer an' his leddy ? noa, I've no a been at the
Castle this while, I'm sailing the cutter noo an' make
better bread o' 't. Monica will be off Seein her folk?"
The old man knew it was a useless question.

THE HOLY STONE.

209

ktter.

Istie,

the
lake
Ik?"

" She's no that, she's i' the house, but down i' the
mouth since Miss Seymore was taken off. I'm afeard
my Lord's putten her in one o' them convents, he's doin
that to make her marry Mr. Penryth."

The intelligence that Monica was in the house made
the old fisherman's heart give a sudden bound, yet im-
l.atient as he was to see her, and " make assurance doubly
sure," he could not let such a wrong as sending his daugh-
ter to a convent, which the fisherman and his class con-
sider j: little removed from a jail, be imputed to Lord
i ^mcre,

"i\'», no; her father never did sitch a thing, she's
visitm or some thing."

" I hope it may be zo, but I'm zore afraid, an' I'm sure
o' one thing, although I was never teit it ; she would
rather marry the tutor lad that took her off from the top
of St. Wolfgang's crag than ten Mr. Penryths."

" Whew ! "— said old 'Thaniel, " is that the way t'
wind blaws, think ye ? "

*' I dunno *^hink about it ; I'm zure enough."

Monica a tJ ,'.e fisherman are alone in her little room ,'
she sets ' ^ore mm some dainties which his own table
knows uGt. , - ^ ' expresses her surprise that \.he old man
does ot tasu; mc cider, fruit and cakes, and praises their
goodness.

She has not spoken of Miss Seymore, of whom she is
thinking day and night ; she has been forbidden to tell
the truth to any one, and her heart is too full of that
bitter tnth to speak of her as if all were well.

Thaniol Lx:k«i around the room, examining with care-
ful eye bcL door and window.

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210

THE HOLY STONE.

" I have something to say to you 'at no one must hear
but yoursel' ; is any body about ? "

Monica got up from her seat, tried if the door was fast
shut, bolted it, let down the window, and then, standing
in front of where the old man sat, asked hastily,

"What is it about, is it news of Miss Seymore ? "

The fisherman nodded with a confidential look, and
pointing with his thumb in the direction of the river,
said in a low whispe.

" She's yonder."

Monica did not speak - • a second, but her earnest
eyes and compressed lips told the agitation of her mind ;
at last she seemed to apprehend.

" Is the cutter up ? " she asked, as if it cost her an
effort to speak.

Another nod, and a significant "aye" from the old
man.

Monica put her hand on his arm,

" Wait for me, I'm going with you. She's in the
cutter ? "

" She's thot, an' she wants you doon ; we're off to Jer-
sey by the afternoon tide," was the answer given, like
the first, in a low whisper.

Monica took a sheet of paper and wrote,

" Honored Sir : — / am going to Miss Seymore ; she has

sent for mc. I have taken two of her trunks with me, and

draivn on the account at the Bank, ivhere you put my own

money, for a hundred pounds. Your obedient humble

servant^

Monica Mills.

THE HOLY STONE.

211

This she enclosed in an evelope addressed to her'
master, and leaving the room, sent one of the servants
for a cab, told the housekeeper that she was going to
Miss Seymore who had sent for her, placed the trunks,
which had been packed for the trip to the Continent, in
the hands of the servants to be put into the cab, and in
half an hour after she had heard these few whispered
words, was on the way to the city. There she went to
Hoaves* Bank, and drew a hundred pounds from an ac-
count kept in such a fashion that, in her master's absence,
she could supply herself. She then posted her letter to
Lord Seymore, and, in a couple of hours after the time
the fisherman had spoken to Jasper, he was again on
board the sloop, helping Monica to descend the compan-
ion ladder to the little cabin where Ruby sat.

^^^•l^^f-

I;- !

CHAPTER XX.

THE MAD LORD'S MEDICINE.

LADY SYDENHAULT was taken by Sir James
Clark to the first oculist in London, who, on in-
specting her eyes, decided that the time was now come,
the time so long looked for with alternate hope and fear,
when the opaque lenses were ready to be removed from
her eyes. In a few more days it would be ascertained
whether she was again to be blessed with sight, or doomed
to pass the rest of her life groping amid the darkness
which had been her lot for the last twenty years.

The day appointed for the operation had arrived ;
every preparation made. Poor Lord Sydenhault, who
seemed to be growing more dreamy, more inert and silly
day by day, was to be taken out for a long drive, ac-
companied by Brown, so that he might not disturb his
mother, who not only during the operation, but during
that, and many subsequent days, must he kept perfectly
still ; the least emotion of mind or body being detri-
mental to the recovery of her sight.

The room prepared for the operation was one in con-
nection with her ladyship's bedroom. The Countess was
seated there, waiting for the physicians ; Mrs. Morgan,
the housekeeper in attendance ; the nurse and other
domestics in the adjoining apartment.

A servant opened the door of the room, and silently

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THE HOLY STONE.

213

beckoned to Mrs. Morgan. The housekeeper followed
the signal, to find Brown bending over Lord Syden-
hault who was lying on the floor of the hall, writhing
in what seemed an epileptic fit, foam issuing from his
mouth. Just at this moment the physicians entered, Sir
James Clark inquired what was the matter.

He was at once informed ; Brown, with great presence
of mind, stating that, from the time the dose of medicine
was increased, his master had evidently become worse in
health.

" In that case," replied Sir James, who had the patient's
hand in his, and to whom Brown addressed himself;
" you had better resume the small dose, have him re-
moved to his own room for to-day, and kept as quiet as
possible ; if the small dose restore him to his usual state,
good, if not, let me know."

Lord Sydenhault was taken to his own apartments for
the rest of the day, the small dose of medicine tv/ice a
day administered instead of the large dose three times,
the result was, that in the course of a week he again
amused himself as usual with the solitaire board, which,
since he had taken the large dose he had entirely ne-
«;lected.

The operation on the Conntess* eyes was performed,
the bandages put on which were not to be touched for
ten days ; at the end of that time they would be removed,
and the oculist able to determine whether light or dark-
ness for the rest of her life was to be Lady Sydenhault's
lot.

The tenth day arrived ; Mrs. Morgan was again in
waiting on her Mistress, the doctors were to come at

111

214

THE HOLY STONE.

twelve o'clock, it was now ten, and Lady Sydenhault
talked hopefully with her faithful housekeeper of the
operation which was that day to be determined.

As on the day when the operation had been performed,
a maid servant appeared at the room door with ashen
face, beckoning to Mrs. Morgan.

The housekeeper, with quickly beating heart, followed
the girl out to the lawn, fully expecting to see the im-
becile again in a fit such as had before attacked him.
" Perhaps," thought she, " I will this time have to look on
while his soul passes away in those desperate struggles ; "
the poor woman blaming herself severely that she had
not let her Mistress know of the first fit, so as to break
the intelligence which she felt assured would soon
have to be given her.

" What shall I do ? " exclaimed the housekeeper ;
"my lady lying up there unable to move, this news
enough to destroy her new-born sight ; Mr. Penryth on
the Continent ; I am sure my lady does not know where
to telegraph to him, when the day of trouble comes. It
seems to me that the gentry, with all their state and
riches, are more to be pitied than the poor ; if Mr. Pen-
ryth had been a poor woman's son he would not have
left his old blind mother and foolish brother at such a
critical time, to go and amuse himself in a foreign land."

Out on the lawn a crowd of the servants was collected
around some one lying on the ground at the corner of
the conservatory. To Mrs. Morgan's great relief, before
approaching close to the group, she saw Lord Syden-
hault standing, looking down on the object which occu-

THE HOLY STONE.

215

pied their attention, wearing the same sad, silly face he
always wore when anything troubled him.

The servants p^ade way for her as she approached, and
there she beheld, extended on the grass, poor Brown,
white as a corpse, and quite insensible ; she knelt down
and taking his hand, felt that a slight pulse was
perceptible.

" How did this happen ? send for the nearest doctor as
quickly as possible," she exclaimed almost in one breath,

** The doctor has been sent for," said one ; while
another replied to her first question,

" He climbed the ladder there," pointing to one that
lay on the grass a few paces off, ** to get a bunch of
grapes that had been left out after the other fruit was
picked, and my Lord fancied it ; the ladder swayed, and
down he came, knocking his head on the leaden spout
that projects from the conservatory. I saw him fall,
he has never spoken or moved since."

While the man was yet speaking, the doctor arrived,
an apothecary from a chemists shop in the neighbour-
hood, Mrs. Morton explained to him, in few words, the
necessity there was for the house being kept tranquil.
He at once advised that Brown should be sent to the
nearest hospital, offering to go with the man himself.
The carriage was ordered, and in a few minutes poor
Brown, accompanied by one of his fellow servants and
the apothecary, was on his way to the hospital.

•* There must at once be some one appointed to take
charge of my Lord," said Mrs. Morgan, speaking to the
butler, " I think William's temper and quiet manners fit
him more for an onerous situation of the kind than any

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THE HOLY STONE.

I' '

"' :i

of the others ; I shall take charge of administering my
Lord's medicine myself until it is safe to inform her
Ladyship of what has happened."

That day the bandages were removed from Lady
Sydenhault's eyes. Before the physician could ask a
question as to the effect of the light, she raised both her
hands to shield her weak sight from the dim grey light
around, which to her seemed a glare of bright sunshine.

The oculist gave an exclamation of joy, while the at-
tendant physicians looked in each other's' faces with de-
light at the triumph of their art, which had succoeded in
restoring sight to a woman nearly seventy years of age,
twenty of which had been passed in almost utter dark-
ness.

" Let me congratulate your Ladyship," said the ocu-
list, "your sight is restored, but is still so weak that I
must replace the bandages for five days more ; at the end
of that time we will make another essay ; it is probable,
that even then, your unaccustomed eyes will not bear
the light, but I hope, by that time, to make the band-
ages less opaque, and in the meantime, you may move
about from one room to another, provided that all are
kept in a state of semi darkness."

The physicians have gone, Lady Sydenhault is on her
knees, with heart and soul raised to God in thanksgiving
for His great mercy.

When the hour arrived at which Lord Sydenhault's
medicine was to be given, Mrs. Morgan went to the cup-
board where she knew it was kept, and seeing there the
bottle of port wine and cinnamon she herself had pre-
pared, naturally concluded it contained the medicine ;

THE HOLY STONE.

217

(the supply which Brown had received from Mr. Penryth
being carefully locked up in the compartment he had
caused to be made for its safe keeping, the key of which
was in his own pocket in the hospital,) the port wine and
cinnamon therefore, was administered to Lord Sydcn-
hault without any suspicion of its not being his me-
dicine, and this continued for many weeks, during which
time, poor Brown lay in the hospital, ill of brain fever,
unable to recollect even his own name.

The appoinfed fifth day arrived, and with it again
came the oculist. When the bandages had been re-
moved from Lady Sydenhaul's eyes for the second time,
the light again struck with sharp pain on the sensitive
organs, but, during the moment which intervened from
the time the bandages were removed until she again
placed her hands over her eyes for their protection, she
saw, and recognized, a quaint old cabinet of carved oak !

" Oh ! " said she, while talking to Mrs. Morgan after-
wards of the emotions which the sight of that familiar
piece of furniture awakened in her soul, " I can never
express to any one the joy and thankfulness I felt as I
looked on the quaint carving of Abraham about to sacri-
fice Isaac, one upon which, in my childhood, I used to
gaze on, with fear and wonder. It is so strange that this
should have been the first object I saw. Had I been per-
mitted to choose what I should first look upon, my de-
sire would certainly have been to see my poor Arthur's
face, this I know must have been denied me ; that panel
with its quaint old carving would probably have been
my second choice."

The oculist was now to come each day, that the band-

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THE HOLY STONE.

ages might be removed for a few seconds, so that he
might be the better able to judge of the after treatment
to be adopted.

Thirty days passed away, and in that time her Lady-
ship was declared to be fully restored to sight, and the
bandages removed during an hour each day.

The day on which Lady Sydenhault was permitted
first to see her poor son was the twenty-first from the
day of Brown's accident, and in that time Lord Syden-
hault had lost much of the silly look which had charac-
terized his face for many years ; he was still listless,
dreamy, inert, but the childish, vacant expression had
nearly disappeared ; it is true at times the old imbecile
manner would return, when he would amuse himself with
a piece of string, or even by tearing leaves from the
nearest book ; but then, to be set against this, there
were times in which he would read for an hour or two
without intermission, as he had done once before at the
time of his brother's wedding, when the accident hap-
pened to his medicine.

" Arthur, my poor Arthur ! " said Lady Sydenhault,
as she tried to raise her weak eyes to her son's face.

" Kneel down, my boy," said Sir James Clark, the old
tried friend of the family, who had known Lord Syden-
hault when he was a boy, " and let your, mother see your
face."

The poor imbecile knelt down as he was bid, and look-
ed in his mother's face, not with the silly look which she
expected to see, but with an expression that reminded
her of the face she had parted with in its early man-
hood, twenty-five years before.

V 1

THE HOLY STONE.

219

" Your hair is turning, my poor Arthur."

" Yes, mother ; while yours is as brown as ever I re-
member it."

" Let me congratulate your Ladyship," said the ocu-
list, " it is not one in a hundred at your age whose res-
tored sight would be able to tell that ; the few grey hairs
that his Lordship has, might have escaped your notice,
and your sight still be strong and good ; have courage,
my Lady, with care you will yet be able to pick up
needles and pins."

Mrs. Morgan sent regularly to the hospital to enquire
after Brown each day, but for six weeks nearly the same
answer was returned, " a little better, — no bettt . , — the
same."

At last the day came, when a hurried message was
ocnt from the hospital desiring Mrs. Morgan's presence,
Brown urgently wishing to see her.

She went immediately, and on reaching his bedside,
before she was able to ask after the health of the poor
wasted looking man, he lield up a key towards her, in
his transparent, bony hand, uttering the words,

" The medicine, the medicine ! " Mrs. Morgan at
once understood what he meant ;

" Compose yourself, Brown, my Lord is much better
than you ever saw him ; reads and writes every day,
converses freely with company, remembers to-day what
he saw yesterday, and is so much improved that every
one in the house entertains hopes of yet seeing him re-
assume his birth-right."

She stopped, and the eyes of the sick man, which
were gazing wildly in her face when she began to speak,

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THE HOLY STONK.

assumed a look of composure, while the hand and arm,
by degrees, sought rest upon the bed.

" Mrs. Morgan, this is better news than ever I expected
to hear. Where did you get medicine for my Lord ?"

" I found a bottle full in your cupboard ; it is nearly
finished now,"

" A bottle full in the cupboard ! " said Brown, his eyes
evincing the surprise he felt. " The medicine was all
locked in a new compartment there, of which this is the
key."

" Of course," replied Mrs. Morgan, " I knew nothing
of that, and as I found a large square bottle on an upper
shelf of your cupboard, exactly the same as the one from
which the medicine was spilt at the time of Mr. Penryth's
wedding ; I concluded Lord Sydenhault's medicine was
in It.

" That bottle," replied Brown, ** contained the medi-
cine you yourself made ; the proper medicine is locked
up in the compartment."

The sick man Vearied with so much speaking, handed
her the key, his eyes closing heavily as he did so.

" Have no anxiety about my Lord, Brown, he is better
than you have ever seen him, both in mind and body ;
I will take the key to Lady Sydenhault, and be guided
by her what is best to be done. She is now, thank
God, no longer blind, neither is there any fear of excit-
ing her by the information I have to give. I shall tell
her of what 1 made the medicine. It is perhaps, a work
of God's Providence, your being ill, for most likely, the
medicine he was taking did him no good."

Mrs. Morgan took her way home, marvelling at what

^»l

what

THE HOLY STONE.

221

she had heard. As she entered the house, she was met
by Lord Sydenhault and the gardener, the former call-
ing to her,

" Morgan ! I wish you would give me the seeds I gave
into your charge about a week ago, they are the seeds of
a pomegranate which was brought from the Holy Land,
and Higginson tells me it will be better to have them
sown at present ; from the long rest they will have dur-
ing the winter in the moist earth, he says, they will come
healthier and stronger plants in Spring, than they would
if kept dry until then."

Mrs. Morgan recollected perfectly having received the
seeds in question, but it seemed impossible for her to re-
member, just then, where she had placed the packet con-
taining them ; her mind was confused and preoccupied
by the scene at the hospital, and by what she had heard
there, and do what she would, she could not recall to
mind anything concerning the seeds, except that she had
received them in charge. Seeing her confusion. Lord
Sydenhault said :

" You do not remember where you placed the parcel,
Morgan ? "

'• No, my Lord, I am ashamed to say I do not."
" Then I do," replied he, smiling good humouredly,
" get your keys and meet me in the passage leading to
your room, I saw you put them into a cupboard there."

Mrs. Morgan did as she was requested, but even when
thus far reminded of where she had placed the seeds, her
memory was at faOlt. Upon her opening the cupboard,
Lord Sydenhault took a small green basket from one of
the shelves, and there found the packet, shewing it to

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222

THE HOLY STONE.

the housekeeper with the same good natured smile as
before, reminding her so much of the boy they all loved
so well, Cie this terrible blight fell upon him,

He had gone half the length of the passage on his way
out when he turned quickly round, saying :

" Morgan ! I think I heard some one tell her Ladyship
that you had gone to the hospital to see Brown ; how is
he ? "

" He is much better, my Lord, and the people there
seem to think he vdll be able to return in a few weeks."

" I am glad to hear that, he is a kind-hearted, good
fellow, and used to bear so patiently with all my fancies."

Lord Sydenhault departed, leaving the housekeeper
standing looking after him in astonishment. The fact
of his remembering where the pomegranate seeds were
placed, while she could not, was a significant one, and
the allusion he made to his own peculiarly irritable state,
was the first she had heard him make, during all the long
years of his illness.

After taking off her bonnet and shawl, Mrs. Morgan
at once sought Lady Sydenhault's apartments, sending
the waiting-maid to inquire whether the Countess could
be seen.

*' Con^e in here, Morgan," said her mistress, who was
seated in an ante-chamber, the door of which was con-
stantly kept open so as to allow a softened light to enter
from the inner room, less painful to her Ladyship's weak
eyes than that which came directly from the window.
" I am glad to hear that Brown sent for you. How is
he."

" Your Ladyship will be pleased to know that he is

THE HOLY STONE.

223

very much better, and quite sensible, he sent for me prin-
cipally with regard to my Lord's medicine. I have a
long story to tell your Ladyship of what I know myself,
and of what he has just told me ; shall I relate it now, or
wait for another time ? "

" Now, certainly, there is no subject so near my heart,
or half so interesting to me, as anything relating to my
son. I begin now to entertain the most sanguine hopes
of his recovery. While you were gone, I had a visit from
Sir James Clark, who previous to his entrance, walked
round the lawn with Lord Sydenhault, talking with him,
and asking him questions about the trees in the grounds,
and the few late flowers which still adorn the beds on
the lawn, in all cases receiving the most pertinent an-
swers. Sir James assures me there can be nothing really
wrong with his brain ; and I have determined to allow
him to bring a medical man, a friend of his own, here,
who has made such cases his peculiar study. Oh
Morgan ! " continued her Ladyship, " how grateful I
ought to be, not only my sight given me again ; but
what is a thousand times more precious, a reasonable
prospect of having my poor boy restored to himself."

Her Ladyship entirely overlooked the circumstance
that the boy of whom she spoke was more than forty-
seven years of age.

Lady Sydenhault closed her eyes, and sat for a few
minutes, as if communing with a higher power, her house-
keeper remaining in respectful silence by her side.

" Now, Morgan," said her Ladyship, as she raised her
head from its half recumbent position, " let me hear all
you have to say."

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224

THE HOLY STONE.

Mrs. Morgan repeated to her Ladyship the scene
which took place between herself and Brown, when the
first bottle of medicine was spilt ; afterwards relating how
the bottle of port wine and cinnamon had been a second
time taken for his medicine, owing to her own ignorance
of where the true medicine was kept. Without appearing
to do so, she brought prominently before her mistress,
notice the remarkable fact that it was during the time
her son was taking a spoonful of port wine instead of
his medicine, that the temporary cessation of his cruel
disease had taken place, at the period of his brother's
wedding.

Lady Sydenhault sat listening with closed eyes to
what her housekeeper said, one hand supporting her
forehead, and although her Ladyship's face was thus half
concealed, the housekeeper could clearly discern from the
expressions of the mouth, and the uneasy way in which
the hand was occasionally drawn across the forehead
and eyebrows, that the news she was imparting was
productive of pain.

When she had finished. Lady Sydenhault said :

" It seems very evident there has been some sad mis-
take in prescribing that medicine for my poor son, lead-
ing, probably, to all this waste of the best years of his
manhood ; give me the key you received from Brown,
to-morrow I will submit the medicine to Sir James and
his friend ; meantime continue to give the port wine and
cinnamon to his Lordship as you have hitherto been
doing."

On the morrow a bottle of the medicine was brought
from the locked up compartment, which, being delivered

1. 1

THE HOLY STONE.

225

to the physician, he promised to examine and to let
Lady Sydenhault know whether it was one that ought
to be continued ; previously to this, he had a long con-
versation with Lord Sydenhault and gave it as his de-
cided opinion, that his mind would gradually gain strength
as his body did. That by and bye, when her Ladyship's
own health and eyesight were re-established, a trip to
the Continent would probably do both good, and was,
most likely, the only thing needed for the complete re-
storation of her son to his pristine vigour.

Next day, the physician again called ; almost the first
words he said were :

" I have had the medicine I brought with me yester-
day, and which you say Lord Sydenhault has been tak-
ing for so many years, carefully analyzed. Your Lady-
ship can, of course, give me the name of the man who
prescribed it as a palliative of the disease under which
his Lordship was said to be suffering."

" I am sorry to say I cannot give you the name of the
physician. We were living at Sydenhault Hall when
this medicine was first prescribed for Arthur by a physi-
cian in London whom his brother consulted on the sub-
ject, one who was said to be peculiarly happy in his
treatment of such cases,"

" Your Ladyship will excuse my asking by how many
years Lord Sydenhault is Mr. Penryth's elder ?" said the
physician, starting away from the subject of the medicine.

" My son Edward," replied her Ladyship, " is two
years younger than Arthur, but from the unfortunate
disease under which his brother laboured ; Edward has

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226

THE HOLY STONE.

since the death of his father assumed the management of
the estates."

" I was told of this, yesterday," repHed the physician,
" but wished to inform myself of the fact, and now Lady
Sydenhault, allow me to assure you, that whatever phy-
sician has prescribed that medicine for your son, has laid
himself open to severe punishment by the laws of his
country. It is neither a preventative nor a palliative,
but on the contrary a medicine calculated to produce all
the symptoms under which his Lordship has been suffer-
ing. I have no hesitation in saying, that provided he is
not again permitted to taste this medicine, which is, in
fact, a poison to both mind and body ; he will, ere the
year be out, be in perfect possession of all his faculties ;
his memory will return in all its force, and most likely
his health will be improved in a similar ratio. The best
course you can adopt to insure your son's speedy re-
storation is, as soon as your own physician permits you
to travel, to take him to the Continent, and as much as
possible have him surrounded by your own domestics.
The most difficult point to be attained in his case, is, to
restore the memory of events which happened before he
became a prey to this distressing malady. This will be
the last phase of returning health which will come to
him. I have no hesitation in again assuring you, that his
Lordship, with ordinary care, will have a sound mind
and healthy body ere the year is out, and be able to as-
sume the supervision of his own property instead of
making it over to a younger brother."

It was but too evident that Lady Syflenhault was
labouring under emotions arising from different sources ;

mf^

THE HOLY STONE.

227

joy and grief, pleasure and pain, were strangely mingled,
and had the physician been at all aware of the effect his
words would produce, he would probably have waited
until her Ladyship's cure had been more complete. As
it was, the words had passed his lips, and there was no
recalling them. They had turned a page in the history
of her family.

■^s:a--M-«a^

!li.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE PEOPLE.

HAVING received the introduction to the head of
the firm in Paris, from Baron de Schawtzkind,
and what interested him more, got a good price for
Sydney's picture. Baron Ephriam sought the privacy of
his own apartments in the Tower. There he wrote a
note to Edward Penryth, inclosing Baron de Schwartz-
kind's letter of introduction.

These despatched, he set himself down to write se-
veral carefully composed letters to his brethren on the
Continent, two of which were directed to Paris. These
all contained requests thxt the conduct of Edward Pen-
ryth should be carefully watched, in the various cities
in which his correspondents dwelt, that in particular, any
words or actions of his- which might bear upon the rising
fame of the artist Sydney, or his pictures of ' The Spring
Tides,' might be carefully noted and reported to the
writer. These letters were ♦many; and written with
scrupulous care, so that at one and the same time, they
might convey his meaning to his correspondents, and
yet, in case of their falling into strange hands, not com-
promise him.

This was the less to be feared, as each one of them was

written in the Hebrew in use among the Rabbis, and

other learned men of Israel, hence a student of the
228

;m was

^is, and

of the

THE HOLY STONE.

229

modem Hebrew taught in the collies of the Gentiles,
should one of these letters fall into his hands, would
hardly be able to decipher two consecutive words ; to
such an one it would appear something like an extract
from the Cabala.

Baron Ephriam having finished and sealed his letters,
looked over each address carefully, with the aid of a
marked list in his pocket-book, so that he might assure
himself there had been no neglect, each one who could
by any possibility serve his purpose, had been urgently
entreated to do so.

He smiled complacently as he saw his task completed ;
nothing left undone that could forward his end ; he
knew well that the request of Nathan the Seeker would
be zealously complied with, by each man to whom his
letters were addressed.

Nathan the Seeker was bound by his vow, as each of
his forerunners had been, to devote himself to the cause
so dear to all Israel ; by this vow he was incapacitated
from doing his own work, but in reward for this self
abnegation, each Hebrew was not only ready to work
for him, to serve his cause to the utmost of his power,
but considered such work would stand him in good stead
'• In that day when the Lord maketh up His jewels."

" Heigh ho ! " said the Baron soliloquizing, as he gazed
on the pile of letters before him, and stretched up both
his arms, clasping his hands above his head that he
might gain relief from the cramped position they had
held for so many hours.

" So my boy artist, you intend to accept help from no
one, least of all I suspect from the old Jew, lest he should

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230

IllK HOLY STONK.

fancy he was paying you for offices done from pure kind-
ness of heart. You have set yourself a high mark, my
boy ; you are a courageous feUow, with only your brusli
and your hand, to become the suitor of Lord Seymore's
beautiful daughter ; so be it, it will serve my purpose as
well as your own, that you should marry the one, who if
she is not now, will, in time, become the possessor of the
Holy Stone. If the Hebrew has any power in Europe,
you will gain fame and wealth enough to win the Baron's
daughter, were he Duke of Somerset instead of Lord
Scymore."

The Baron dispatched his letters with the intention of
visiting Paris in less than two weeks from the period of
their date ; but weeks had become months, and yet he
lingered. His work in the Tower had become sadly
confused in his absence; that must not be neglected.
His situation in the Tower and consequent daily inter-
course with Lord Seymore, were of the utmost impor-
tance to her life's object. This completed, he made a
long visit to Seymore Castle, during which, unknown to
anyone of the inmates, each nook and cranny, — each
old charter chest, — and modern desk, were, for the third
time, subjected to a strict scrutiny, and when all this toil
and trouble were ended he asked himself the oft re-
peated question :

" Where can Seymore have hidden the Holy Stone ?"
And the answer came as it had done for years l)ack,
" There is no other solution than that it is worn by
his daughter."

Baron Ephriam is again in his own apartment ; his
servant brings him his letters ; from among many he

Til?: HOLY STONli.

231

selects two, both bearinfr the Paris post mark, each of
them an answer to one of those letters in Hebrew he had
despatched two months previously.

Mad a stranger watched the countenance of Baron
Ephriam as he read those letters, he would have said,
" The man is in great trouble." The blood rushes to his
head and face, making them crimson at one moment, in
another, his forehead is deadly pale, his lips compressed,
as if liis soul were stirred by rage or hatred.

I^aron Kphraim's other letters are read hurriedly, his
desk locked, his servant summoned with a violent pull
at the bell-rope by his side.

" Put a change of linen in my carpet-bag and take care
you keep my apartments carefully locked ; I shall not
be back for eight, or it may be fifteen days."

Paron Ephriam is in Paris, in the house of one of his
correspondents ; and there he meets several other mem-
bers of his tsibe, all interested in forwarding the work
he has in hand, doubly interested now, because they not
only serve Nathan the Seeker, but they are serving the
cause to which his life is vowed. If Sydney the painter
marry the daughter of this English Baron, then another
chance will be given for the recov^^ry of the Holy Stone.

These men had been talking for more than an hour ;
their plans were all laid, laid in such a way that success
was almost certain. There is no Court in Europe, not
even that held by the ruler of the Vatican, in which the
power of the Hebrew, falling unknown, unseen, and in
silence, i.i not felt.

Baron Ephriam rose to go.

" I can depend, Baron Gottschaff, on your being in

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232 .

THE HOLY STONE.

Berlin with the utmost speed, as to the Empress Eugenie
I suppose some of you will be able to influence her
opinion."

" Yes, that is easily managed," replied one of the He-
brews, while Baron Gottschafif extending his hand to-
wards Nathan, said :

" Farewell, in a few days you shall hear good news
from Berlin ! "

Baron Ephriam nows seeks the atelier of Sydney the
painter, he talks for a second or two with the porter, be-
fore ascending the staircase.

"The Spring .Tide pictures still retain all their popu-
larity ? " said he inquiringly, talking in a cheerful voice,
as if he were sure the answer would be in the affirmative.

The porter shrugged his shoulders and shook his head,
his face wearing that doleful expression, which in a
Frenchman, appears almost comical.

" How is this ? " said the Baron, " has the artist ceased
to work, contenting himself with the fame he has gained,
forgetting that men want a fresh impulse every day, and
that if an artist climb to the top of the pinnacle of fame*
his brush must never rest, his colours never dry ? "

" Sydney, the painter," replied the porter, " works
harder than any artist in Paris ; but it is useless, the tid^
has turned against him, no man can strive success '^
against his fate, his pictures are either unnoticed, or n-
demned in the daily journals. No one comes to tiic
atelier no\\', if there is a footstep on the staircase, it is
that of a man who brings him canvass or colours, those
who would have given him a thousand Napoleons for a
picture three months since, would not give him so many

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THE HOLY STONE.

233

francs to-day. Mr. Sydney is proud," continued the
porter, " and will not send his pictures to the dealers, I
fear he has already begun to suffer from poverty, or will
soon ; he should have sold them while they were in
vogue, their day has passed, people have lost their taste
for such paintings. It is a great pity ; he is industrious
and generous, always gives me more for my work with-
out my asking him, than the other artists do when I press
them a dozen times."

" He has pupils still ? " asked the Baron.
" Yes," replied the porter, " the eye of an artist cannot
be deceived, his skill in coloring and conception so dif-
ferent from other painters, is known and appreciated by
his brethren ; without pupils he could not live now. For
weeks back no one has come to look at the pictures."

" I have arrived in a good time then," said Baron
Ephriam, " I am commissioned by Baron de Schwartz-
kind in England to buy one of those pictures cheap, he
wishes to get it for two hundred and fifty thousand francs."
" Two hundred and fifty thousand francs ! " repeated
the porter, his eyes staring, and his mouth gaping with
surprise as he looked in the Baron's face, " why he may
give you every picture in his atelier, and work all his
'■^e for you, for that sum."

" If he would," replied the Baron in a brisk voice,
" y fortune would be made ; his pictures are all the
rage in England. I could sell each of the seven Spring
Tide pictures for a like sum."

*' This is j^ood news ; " replied the porter, rubbing his
hands, as he spoke, " your face will look like the noonday
sun as you tell that news to poor Mr, Sydney."

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TIIK HOLY STONt;

" I think you mistake," said the Haron, " Sydney is a
silent man, and does not s.iy what he thinks, but he
knows the value of iiis pictures ; j/cojile do not come to
see them, because the price is more than tliey can pay."

" Perhaps, " returned tiie porter, siini^^inj; his shoul-
ders as t'le Haron ascended to the atelier.

While this conversation was beinyj held in the con-
ciei^erie, Herbert Sydney sat in his atelier holding a re-
trospective view ; his pupils had gone to dinner, and as
he sat alone ho buried his head in both hands, thinking
of the pronu'se he had made to Ruby, of coming back to
her with wealth and fame !

How near its consummation that promise seemed a
few months before, and now, in the dark barren present,
it seemed to be only a mockery, a vain dream, his little
day of short lived fame had gone by. For three years he
had worked unceasingly ; the conception of tiiese pictures
had occupied every waking hour long before he had dared
to use a brush to illustrate what these conceptions were ;
and just .as people began to sec that he had a painter's
eye, a painter's hand, they had tnrned from him ; in fact
ignored him !

J lad they denounced him as an innovator, or as a setter
up of new fangled notions which ought not to be toler-
ated, he could then have defended himself, — giving his
reasons for striking out a new path in his art, — perhaps
convinced the public, as he was aware he had already
convinced his brethren. True, there were same even
among them who hated him, because, with his youthful
face and slight boyish figure, he had out stripped them.
Masters as they considered themselves of their art at

THE HOLY STONE.

235

which they had been working for twenty years ; but
these were the owls and the bats. Artists in fjeneral,
are large-hearted generous men, who rejoice in the pro-
gress of their profession, and are ever ready to award the
meed of praise where it is due.

Hut an opportunity of defending himself was denied
him, an attempt to do so would be an absurdity ; he had
nothing to complain of but neglect, and had not all those
who had before striven for fame, and failed, been treated
in the same way ? All weighed in the balance of public
opinion and found wanting I — No doubt, many of them
while lying in their graves, had won the fame denied to
the living men ; and Herbert Sydney felt that he should
be added to the number ; and he drew a sad consolation
from the reflection, that, after he had died of a broken
heart, men would appreciate his works and put them in
honored places in their galleries, and point to them, say-
ing with regret :

" Poor fellow ! the artist worked hard for the fame
which denied in life we now award to him in death." And
Ruby, his beloved, — his betrothed, — mayhap might
stand by and know in her heart for what he had striven,
even to win her. And that, had he been accorded the
fame he had so well deserved, she would have been his.

Even now, despondent as he was, a new picture was
already maturing in his brain ; a faded sickly boy, — a
half darkened room, — Ruby's face of loveliness bending
over the sallow cheek and dark hair on which the fire-
light shone, — the nosegay of Spring flowers. ^

The artist started up,

" Yes, I will work to the last, she shall know that I

: , 1

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'f!;t

236

THE HOLY STONE.

'4
1

fo|

i»-^:

strove to win her while I had breath ; this picture shall
outshine all the others of the Spring Tide."

And then a dark shade passed over the boy's face as
he thought of one he hated, one he saw every day, one,
who at rirst, regarding him with fierce looks of scorn, now,
passed him by, with the eye of triumph Satan must have
shewn to his satellites, when he beheld Job mourning in
his desolation. He knew not why, but Herbert Sydney
coupled this hated man, with the evil fate which had
fallen on himself.

Sydney met the Hebrew on his entrance with the
same pleasant smile with which he had greeted him
several months before.

" You are as busy as ever, I see," said the Baron,
" climbing, still climbing."

" If industry will profit me, I shall not fail, but you
know. " The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the
strong." (We cannot shape our own destiny, the tide goes
with one man, against another."^

" Nay," replied the Hebrew, "A. hold we are nearly al-
ways masters of our own fate) provided we have talent,
perseverance is sure to conquerVi the end.)

With the knowledge which Baron Ephriam possessed
of the disappointments which had encumbered Sydney's
path for the last two months, it was easy for him to see
that the artist was fighting bravely with his fate, yet with
a shade less of hopefulness than before. He knew how
the boy had refused the least offer of help, and it was
not the Baron's policy to allow him for a moment to im-
agine that he had any hand in Baron de Schwartzkind's
order for one of the " Spring Tide " pictures. Sydney

■ I ' ,

THE HOLY STONE.

237

would certainly be helped to the utmost ability of the
Hebrew and his brethren ; and the kings of the earth pos-
sessed no such power to help' him as this Hebrew, who
was considered a poor man in his tribe ; but Sydney
should never know whence the help came, should live
and die under the impression that he had mounted the
ladder of fame and fortune unaided.

*' I hope you have not sold any of your " Spring Tide""
pictures ? " said the Baron.

" No," replied the artist, " people do not s'.em to fancy
them now as they did six months ago ; T nad what I consi-
dered an order, although not a' definite one, from the
Crown Prince of Prussia, but it has melted into thin air.
We artists are perhaps ready to jump at conclusions,
while other men are merely making up their minds
whether they can part with their money or not."

" I am glad you have not parted with any of the pic-
tures yet ; " replied the Baron, " the longer you keep them,
the larger the price you will ultimately realize. I myself
am the bearer of an order from Baron de Schwartzkind
to buy one of the " Spring Tide " pictures, that is to say,
if you and he can come to terms. The Baron offers
ten thousand pounds sterling, and leaves the choice
of the picture to me."

" That is double the sum I ever anticipated receiving
for any of them," replied the artist ; " three months ago
when my fame was at its zenith, I would gladly have
taken five thousand pounds, nay half the sum for any
one of them, now I do not know whether I ought to take
advantage of the Baron's offer. I fear this is the first
and last picture that will be sold at a tithe of that price."

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238

THE HOLY STONE.

" As to the value of the picture," said Baron Ephriam,
you need have no hesitation, I myself fixed the price,
which Baron de Schwartzkind at once agreed to give. If
you do not sell more than one at the same price ere ten
days pass, I shall expect you to refund me half of the
money ; meantime here is a cheque for ten thousand
pounds, which you can cash at sight. Now let us to
business, I shall choose my picture."

" I should like to do what is right," said Sydney, as
he stood hesitating, the cheque in his hand ; " at one
time I had great expectations from those pictures, I have
worked hard for the last three years, making them what
they are ; no one with a lower motive could have worked
as I have done. There are ten years work of an ordinary
life on those pictures, yet I cannot conceal from myself,
and I will not from you, that I have been building cas-
tles in the air ; neither my pictures nor myself are now
thought worthy of notice, in fact I feel that they and I,
are ignored." The Baron smiled, a pleased smile, which
reassured Herbert Sydney, and brought back his hope-
fulness better than any words could have done.

" We shall make a bargain," said the Hebrew. " I
shall let Baron de Schwartzkind have his picture, because
he is anxious to have it at once, and unless you wish to
take a copy for yourself (which he is willing to allow,
with the proviso that that picture must never be sold,
but remain in your own family,) he desires that the one
chosen for him should be packed up and sent to London
within twenty-four hours. Now I here agree to give, and
I will make out a document to the effect, ten thousand
pounds for each picture which remains unsold at the end

THE HOLY STvjNE.

239

of two years, that is, provided you take my advice as to
where you stu^y your art for the next twelve months."

" Agreed," replied the painter, " if you teach me how
to realize such a price for these pictures, I shall be an
apt scholar, and if you propc >e my leaving Paris, it is
only what I have been thinking over for the past week
or tv/o. I fear my sun has set here."

" Nay, it is not so," replied the Hebrew, " but the'
French are a volatile people, they were crazy over the
" Spring Tide " pictures, and as the sea flows, so it ebbs ;
at the same time you must not leave Paris for some
weeks at least ; immediately they know one of the pictures
is gone, if the tide ebbs now, it will flow again ; we
must wait and watch the result"

m^-

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-Vi^i,

CHAPTER XXII.

i
J ^<

■ '■■
1 jyt;'

'l^H|pi

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THE UNSEEN HEBREW POWER.

A FEW niorninps after the above conversation, the
Emperor of the French with his beautiful Empress
Eugenie;were seated at their usual simple dejeuner of
coffee, bread and fruit, in the private breakfast- room of
the Empress ; their son, then one of the handsomest
boys in Paris, breakfasted with them, together with two
of the Empress' Dames d'honneur. The Empress and
Emperor had, as they were wont, each a pile of the
periodicals of the day placed on an occasional table with-
in reach, from which they gleaned the news while sipping
their caf6 au lait.

" Listen to this," said the Emperor, in atone of dismay,
" that picture of Sydney's which you had decided on
purchasing some time ago has been sold to Baron de
Schwartzkind for the enormous sum of two hundred
and fifty thousand francs ; I think it is the very one you
chose, here is the description : ' The first of the series,
two girls ascending a rock, the smaller and fairer of the
two turning round and shewing a shoeless foot and torn
hands to the other, the faces of both expressing merri-
ment at the novelty of the situation.' The picture,"
continued the Emperor, reading from the paper he held
in his hand, " was purchased by Baron Ephriam for his
friend, Baron de Schwartzkind, and is now on its way to

England.'"
240

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THE HOLV STONE.

"That is extraordinary .'"renLVw. I, t. ^'*'

an enormous price- sur^y that Mr p ^™r^'' ">^''-'

tl.ep.ctures were condemned as d.K 7"' '"'"' ""''^
have been mistaken > " Th'p ''' '" '^"^'''"d must

,irr ■»" - ■"' -^"'s?L"t:L":

Preciate Sydney's pictures c^ ^""'^^ """'^ ^''^^ ^P"
Cild of a French or Sn ^''h"'^ '' '"°'' '"^^'y the

i>«h cou,d hardiy po rs'h ;v r? '^''°"^- ^"-

Fi-ench, both as to accent JT *• ^ "" t°W his

P- his mother n,ust have l^rr^f""' ''^"^^-^y
J^ those pictures of his/' a^^" afte/ ""''' ^^ *°
pause. =" ne, alter a moment's

"Oh they are beautiful !" said M, v
h- hands together, and looWn ^"'P''^^^' ^'''■'P'ng

«°rtofway,asifshewas 2"f ^T"' '" " '"•^'"»?
t'ful faces and grand scLTrV ^"' ■"'"'' "^e beau-

y speak to yVa„d "^ tT ''■' '''"^- " ^"'^
•■"most articulate words -thev ,?*!,'" '"'^ e'°^'"&
are ahve,- you fa„cy ;;„ hlr ^ "^"^l"' "^'"«'- 'hey ^

- the words of prayer r.L m' ''^^'""^ of the waves
sorrv I rfij l^rayer,— the waii of the o-irl, t
rry I did „Qj ""^ 8'"s,— I am so

Engh-shman ! " "^ P'«"«- Oh that stupid

-f ^^Z^S';^---'-ebeauti.,.ce V
hnehter than usual, from the exc^f *■' ^"' "^" * "tt'e

'"^ '«t her favorite picture onlSTf '"' ''" '" ''»^-

V ne wnich a few weeks before

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242

THE HOLY STONE.

she had decided on placing in one of her own private
apartments,) slip from her grasp. " Say rather, stupid
Eugenie! who, with a keen appreciation of the beauties
€)f nature and art, joined to talents which few possess,
could allow her judgment, so seldom at fault, to be in-
fluenced by a man who probably would not be able to
tell a Rubens from a Titian."

*' Oh it is too provoking, I had so set my heart on that
picture, and now it is gone."

** Tll^e are six still left ; you can have your choice of
those, and if you wish for one of them, now is the time ;
the first having been sold for such a large price and to a
well-known connoisseur, the others will soon follow."

The Empress signed to one of the servants, who brought
a port-folio containing the engravings of the pictures they
were talking of, placing it on the occasional table by the
side of Her Majesty.

" Come and help me to choose which I shall take,"
said the Empress, addressing her husband. " You shall
have it sent to me early to-day, will you not ? " saying
so she looked in his face with the bewitching smile which
never failed to gain what she desired.

" I suppose I must," was the reply. " Are you pre-
pared to give two hundred and fifty thousand francs for
it?"

" That is such an enormous sum ! He will not surely
expect tc sell them all at that price ? "

" Will it be becoming in the Empress of the French
to offer less than an English subject can afibrd to give ?"
asked the Emperor, looking good humoredly into the
beautiful eyes raised to his own.

r* ,. I!

THE HOLY STONE.

243

"Ah! I did not think of that,'* said with the sweet
bewitching look, " you must decide all questions where
my dignity as Empress of the French is concerned.**

When the Empress returned from her afternoon drive,
the picture she now so earnestly desired to possess was
hung in the most conspicuous place in her private draw-
ing-room ; the Empress* choice having fallen on the pic-
ture where the girls are seen looking out to sea, in pleased
wonder, as the ships sail by, in the glowing light of the
departing sun.

-. (

Irench

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE ARTIST'S HOME.

w-m,

THE public prints are again filled with descriptions
of the " Spring Tide " pictures, laudations of the
artist, comments on the large prices he is realizing.

A week from the time of his first visit, Baron Ephriam
is again in Sydney's atelier, the artist's face is now bright
with hope. The Hebrew looks round the room.

" You have lost three of your pictures. I heard that
the Empress sent for hers, where has the other gone ? '.'
Sydney placed a telegram in the Baron's hand, it read
thus :

" Send one of the pictures of ' The Spring Tide ' for the
palace of the Croivn Prince of Prussia^ and draw on the
Banqiie Natiotiale for the price.

Signed^

Adolph Braubachr

" * Nothing succeeds like success.* There is truth in
the old adage yet, and now there is no time to be lost,
you must be off to New York ; if the four pictures still
in your possession do not leave you then, they are mine
at one half of the price paid for the others."

•' I will do as you bid, the more readily perhaps, as I

have all my life had a desire to see the United States ;

America has been one of my dreams since my childhood ;

since I was able to think on the subject, I have always
244

THE HOLY STONE.

245

)tions
)f the

hriam
bright

d that
•ne r
it read

for the
ail the

)s, as I
iStates ;
Idhood ;
always

associated the minds of men there with the vast territory
they live in, somehow fancying their minds must corres-
pond with the extent of their mountains and rivers ;
latterly an object connected with my art has deepened
this desire. Since I have been in Paris I have seen
many American women of rare beauty, large lustrous
brown eyes, a wealth of dark hair, and features which re-
mind you of the old Greek models, my friends who have
been in America assure me such is the common type of
beauty there." The Jew smiled,

" There are men of large mind, and beautiful women
to be found everywhere ; whether in America they are
more abundant than in old Europe, you will be able to
judge six months hence, but of one thing you may rest
assured ; a man of talent has twice the opportunity of
distinguishing himself there, that he has here, surrounded
as he is by people who are envious of his popularity, and
ready to detract from his merit in every available way.
The field in America is so large, and the people so an-
xious to encourage genius in all its phases, that it is fast
becoming the resort of talent, whether we speak of letters
or the Fine Arts."

While Baron Ephriam spoke, Sydney seemed lost in
thought, at last rousing himself he answered,

" Yes, it is better I should go ; I will go at once."

" By the first boat ? " asked the Baron.

" Yes, it is as well that I should do so, in fact, if I am
to go, the sooner I am oflf the better."

"Then," said Baron Ephriam, " if you will allow me to
do so, I will telegraph to a friend in New York to take
apartments for you in the house where I live while I am.

'■%

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246

THE HOLY STONE.

• ' 1'.'

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there, it is a plain but comfortable house in Washington
Square, the apartments I occupy overlooking the Square;
if not one of the most fashionable, it is one of the most
pleasant town residences in New York, the house well
kept, the people civil and obliging ; if you are incHned
to like simply furnished comfortable rooms I think they
will suit you."

" I am sure they will," replied the artist with a smile,
" Baron Ephriam has not yet seen the sitting room, dor-
mitory and library I have occupied for nearly the last:
three years and a half. I have not dined yet, this is my
dinner hour, I take dinner in my own apartments, will
you come and see my residence, and the fare on which I
live ? I would ask you to dine with me, but that my
dinner waits me when I go home, and is only ordered for
one ; besides the fare is peculiar."

" It is immaterial to me," replied the Hebrew, " whe-
ther it is the fare of a Prince or of a peasant ; there are
few things, except bread, which the Hebrew eats with
the Christian. I shall however cheerfully go and have a
look at your snuggery, and while you eat, we will talk
over your plans for the journey to America."

The artist led the way down one of the side streets,
and entering a house which was evidently inhabited only
by people of moderate means, he mounted to the attics,
the Hebrew following him ; arrived at a little landing lit
by a s':y-light in the roof, and unlocking a door he re-
quested Haron Ephriam to enter.

The room was uncarpeted, but exquisitely clean, two
windows, curtained with white muslin, gave an air of
brightness to ihe apartment, a small iron bedstead in

THE HOLY STONE.

247

! ' ,

gton
lare ;
most

well
lined

they

smile,
U dor-
e last:
i is my
ts, will
^hich I
lat my
:red for

" whe-
lere are
s with
have a
ill talk

streets,
[ed only

attics,
|ding lit

he re-
Ian, two
air of
Itead in

one comer, a book-case, a table and two chairs completed
the furniture, one of the chairs was a little larger than
the other and had arms, this Sydney placed for the
Baron, requesting him to be seated, saying :

" You are in my castle ; with the aid of a little dressing
closet, this constitutes my sleeping, sitting room and
hall; I shall now show you my diiiner, which is un-
varying."

Saying so, he opened the book-case, the glass doors of
which were lined with crimson cotton, one-half was filled
with books, some of which were in elaborate and elegant
bindings, the other contained a few plates and other
utensils for the table ; taking therefrom a small loaf of
bread and a tumbler of milk, the artist sat down to eat
his dinner.

" For six months in the year I dine on bread and milk,
for six months I have bread and soup. Having now
seen my suite of apartments cind my fare, you need have
no fear of introducing a troublesome guest to your friends
in New York, the sim^Mest furniture in a house where
liaron Ephriam ha? dwelt, will seem elegance itself to
me, the plainest iai c, luxury."

'• I am pleased to see," replied the Hebrew, *' that you
have had courage to live thus ; it is in part owing to this
self-denial that you have attained to the skill in yourrrt
that has placed your name among the first in Europe ;
the time for such self-denial has now passed, half of the
money which you will receive for interest on that you
already possess, will enable you to live in a style suitable
to the phase in society in which the painter of ' The
Spring Tide * pictures must move. 1 will take care that

.ll"f'''

248

THE HOLY STONE.

your apartments are ready for you ; there is an address,"
said he, handing Sydney a card, " to which the cases
containing your pictures may be sent ; my friend will
visit you on the day after your arrival, perhaps our next
meeting may be in New York, until then good-bye,"

■^s^-i^^f-^^-

. >■

Pff

•

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■ui.j.'iiiii

III

CHAPTEli XXIV

VILLAGE LIFE IN JERSEY.

RUBY and Monica had been for several months in-
mates of Madame Dupont's establishment. Ruby
had taken a class of the >\)unger children, and, in addi-
tion to this, had given music lessons to several young
ladies in the village, the fees arising from which were
one of the many sources from which Madame Dupont
recruited her supplies for the support of the orphan
children.

Two of these young ladies were especial favorites with
Ruby. Amy and Constance Marchmont were the
daughters of a lady whose husband ga\ e himself out to
be an officer in the Preventive Service, and was seldom at
home more than a week or two in the year ; for the past
two years he had not been able to visit his family even
for a day.

Mrs. Marchmont was a woman of refinement and
education, her parents who were people of the farming
classj descended from some of the early settlers in Jersey,
possessed the land they tilled ; hence, it was natural,
that with their easy means, they should have given their
only child a better education than was thought necessary
by the simple people among whom they lived.

Mrs. Marchmont had spent several years of her girU

h.ood in one of the conventual establishments in Paris,
249

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^fw

250

rilE HOLY STONK,

MaM

il ■

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and it uas on board the steamer in returning from school
there, that she became acquainted with Mr. Marchmont
who accompanied her to Jersey, was introduced to her
parents, and soon after asked her hand in marriaj^e. He
remained there several weeks, and, finding that he could
not persuade the old people to hear of their child leav-
ing the Island, at last consented to allow her to remain
in her early home, he himself visiting her as frequently
as circumstances would permit.

From the time of his marriage, Mr. Marchmont al-
lowed his wife two hundred pounds a year from his
salary, of which that sum was said to form the greater
part ; he was then in hopes of promotion in the Service,
but promotion never came, and two hundred pounds,
which foiiiicd a liberal income in the early years of her
marriage, now when she had two almost grown up girls,
and three little boys to provide for, required to be care-
fully managed.

Ruby was a frequent visitor at Mrs. Marchmont's, and
knew all the family details ; she desired earnestly to im-
part the knowledge and accomplishments she had herself
acquired to these two girls, devoting to this purpose three
days in the week, the time she could spare from the ser-
vices sie had assumed in Madame Dupont's Institution.

The appearance of these young ladies formed a strik-
ing contrast to that of Ruby, tall and dark, with the
olive complexion she had so often admired in Herbert
Sydney ; these girls looked at her with their brown eyes
from under their dark eyelashes with the same glan^x',
the same expression she had seen in those of Herbert ;
the hair too, neither black nor brown, but of a colour

THE HOLY STONE.

2!;i

that at times looked the one, at times the other, their
very voices as they pronounced her name, calling her
Ruby, as she had taught them to do, would occasionally
make her start, with a pleased thrill, as the very tone
and accent of Herbert Sydney.

Monica was equally pleased with her new home, the
task assigned to her was to take care of the sick or de-
licate children, there were not many such it is true, the
place was healthy and well kept, the childrien's diet sim-
ple yet plentiful, and if a sickly child reached Madame
Dupont's establishment, the free air on the Jersey hills,
and the care and comfort with which it was surrounded,
soon made the weak strong, the sickly rejoicing in health.

Ruby had been several months in Jersey when a visit
to Mrs. Marchmont's father and mother, who lived six
miles in the interior, was proposed, and Mrs. Marchmont
came to request Ruby to accompany them.

*' You will only see an old fashioned farm house, cows,
sheep and goats, but you will find every thing very
different from what you have seen in your old London
home ; or even in this Jersey village."

" I am sure I shall enjoy the visit very much," replied
Ruby, '* I have wished for an opportunity of going into
the country ever since my arrival, and Amy and Con-
stance are such friends of mine, that being with them,
would constitute pleasure to me, independent of the
change from village life to wandering about among the
woods upon the hills."

The old couple were delighted to see the beautiful
stranger, and with great naivety praised Ruby's fair skin
and bright complexion, and the wavy folds of her pale

•I

252

THE HOLY STONE.

brown hair, telling her, in their simplicity, they had 4iever
seen any one half so beautiful.

Among the precious things which hung above the
mantel piece, in their best room, was a miniature, paint-
ed on ivory, which Mrs. Marchmont had left there in
the early years of her married life ; this miniature so
haunted Ruby's memory, as resembling some one she
had seen and known, that during her stay there, she
would take it down, again and again, from the nail on
which it hung, trying to realize of whom the pictured
face reminded her so forcibly, but it was impossible
with all her trying.

The face was that of a handsome intellectual looking
young man, one she fancied she had known well, yet if
so it must have been in her dreams. Herbert Sydney, —
Colonel Ponsomby, — even Mr. Penryth were all in their
turn gone over in her mind's eye, and each discarded ;
these three men were all dark, two of them sallow ;
while this face might either be called fair or brown, cer-
tainly not dark.

That face troubled her with pleasant, yet sad memories,
which she deemed must have been gathered from her
dreams ; that pictured face and the thoughts it stirred,
although dim and undefined, came to her often and often
during the re^t jf her bUy in Jersey.

A pleasant week was spent at the old farm house, then,
and many times after, when from Saturday afternoon
until Monday morning, Ruby went with Amy and Con-
stance Marchmont to pay a hurried visit to their grand-
father and grandmother. Each time she went, Ruby's
first steps were directed to the quaint, high mantle piece,

THE HOLY STONE.

253

never

e the
paiftt-
sre in
ire so
le she
e, she
ail on
ctured
ossible

, then,
ernoon
d Con-
grand-
Ruby's
piece,

above which, hung the ivory picture, vainly trying to
solve the problem, where she had seen that face in life.

Thaniel Reil in his cutter, paid frequent visits to the
island, bringing merchandise which was quickly ex-
changed for butter and other country produce for which
Jersey is noted.

Through an interview with Geoffrey, Mrs. Reil was
always able to send intelligence to Ruby of her father's
movements and health, while Ruby on her part regularly
wrote long loving letters to that dear father, which were
posted by the old fisherman in Southampton.

Winter had passed, and Spring was passing, when
Monica herself paid a visit to London and the villa at
Bayswater, saw the housekeeper, told her as a matter of
course that she had come for Miss Seymore's summer
clothing, made glad Jasper's heart by telling him that
his darling's face was now blooming again with rosy
health, her eye as bright as in the olden time,,\vhen a
happy child, she clapped her hands and laughed aloud
with delight, when she found an unexpected show of
flower blossoms in the garden bed she called her own.

Within the hour Monica had again departed, gone to
the city, drawn more money, and was once more safe on
board 'Thaniel Reil's cutter, waiting for the tide which
was to take them out to sea on their way back to
Jersey.

Constance and Amy Marchmont became very dear to
Ruby, and when thoughts of home came again, as come
they would whether bidden or not, and she imagined the
happy time when Edward Penryth married to another,
she would be back again in her own pleasant villa at

mi'

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254

THE HOLY STONE.

Bayswater ; she used to try and make the girls promise
they would come and pay her a long visit there.

" You must both come and spend at least a year with
me, and I will return with you, and bring you back to
this dear Jersey village."

The two girls were more than pleased at the prospect
of living for a whole year in a fine house at the West
end of London ; Ruby herself, even her clothes were so
different from any thing they had ever seen in their
Jersey home, that they imagined the house she lived in
would be a kind of fairy palace, and so in truth it would
have been to them, coming from the carpetless floors and
straight backed wooden chairs of their own home, with
its bare walls, and tables devoid of ornament

But on such occasions Mrs. March mont would shake
her head with a grave, almost sad air, and say :

"It is very kind of you to ask my children, it would
doubtless be a great advantage to them, as they have
improved so much during the time they have had the
benefit of your instructions and companionship. They
already speak English with a facility that makes me al-
most ashamed of myself. I who was taught to speak and
read English with care, whilst those girls never had a
lesson until you came here, except the hurried one I oc-
casionally had time to give them myself ; but my girls
must not think of such a thing, they must not set their
minds on it, it would only tend to disappointment; their
father^ although an Englishman himself, has a prejudice,
almost amounting to hatred, against his country, its in-
habitants and their language. Since the day of our
4iiarriage he has always told me he never would consent

THE HOLY STONE.

255

)romise

to my visiting England. In my younger days England
used to be a dream to me ; and a visit to its shores, par-
ticularly to Hampshire where an aunt of mine then lived,
was one of the things to which I looked forward with a
most ardent desire. I have long known it was impossible,
and pleased myself with the many happy ways in which
wc can pass our holiday times in Jersey, on the hills and
in the woods up at my father's farm house. I know the
children would enjoy a visit to your home perhaps more
than anything else, and if their going depended on me
alone, I would look upon your invitation as a great boon ;
but it depends entirely on the will of another, and their
father would never foi^ive me, if, in his absence, I allowed
his children to visit England. He wishes them to be
French in their manners, language, and their mode of
thought Although he speaks French but indifferently,
he never utters m English word, during the short visits
he is able to pay to Jersey. I have often during the last
six months," continued she, " reproached myself for al-
lowing my children to learn the language of their father,
because, I feel almost certain, were he here, he would not
have permitted them to do so. No, my dear Miss Sey-
more, their intercouse with you must be restricted to this
island, and I trust when you do go once more to live in
your English home, you will come, now and then, to see
us in the Jersey village where you have done so much
good, and are so much beloved."

On such occasions the girls would murmur, " Are we for
a whim of our father, whom we only see once a year, or
it may be once in two years, to be shut up all our lives
in this little Jersey? "

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23 WIST MAIN STRICT

WIBSTER,N.Y. MS80

(716) 872-4S03

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256

THE HOLY STONE.

The birthday of Constance was near at hand, and they
had determined to celebrate it with a party of their
young friends from the village, Ruby proposing that for
the amusement of their visitors, they should get up some
charades.

Mrs. Marchmont who was always ready to forward
any scheme that promised'^pleasure for her children, pro-
posed that a lot of light dresses which she had not used
since the first few years of her marriage should be con-
verted into costumes for the occasion, and, with a view
to this, gave up her keys that her two daughters and
Ruby might go to the lumber room, and select what
they wanted from a trunk which she indicated by des-
cribing it as the one with the letters made with brass
headed nails on the top.

To the lumber room they went ; the trunk was opened,
and dresses of various colored tarlatan, head dresses of
flowers and feathers, gold and silver spangled muslins
were speedily unfolded, shaken out, and declared to be
the very things they wanted. .

The two girls were laden with half the contents of the
trunk which Ruby shut down and locked ; while doing
so her eye was attracted to the letters on the top, and
forming them into words she there read a name familiar
to her ; pronouncing it aloud, she said, "Arthur Penryth.
Is that the name of a relative of yours ? "

" We do not know," replied Constance, " that trunk
has always been in this room since I can recollect ; I
have known it as long as I have known myself."

On reaching the sitting room, Constance, as if pursu-
ing the thought awakened by Ruby's qup«tion, asked

rilE HOLY STONE.

257

ind they
of their
that for
up some

forward
ken, pro-
not used

be con-
h a view
hters and
ilect what
d by des-
ivith brass

that trunk
[ecollect ; 1

If."

|s if pursu-

tion, asked

her mother to whom the trunk belonged, repeating the
name which Ruby had read.

" I cannot tell," said her mother, '• I only know that it
belonged to an acquaintance, or rather friend, of your
father's, who gave it to him that he might pack up in it
a lot of presents both for the household and myself,
which he brought here the first year of our marriage.
The miniature which you admire so much at my father's,"
continued she, addressing Ruby, " I found in the trunk,
curiously enough, hidden away under a newspaper put
loosely in as a lining to the bottom. I suppose the pic-
ture must be that of some relative of my husband, but I
have never asked him a question on the subject, as it
gives him such evident annoyance to speak of his own
family. It was my knowledge of this that made me carry
it up to the farm house where it is not likely ever to meet
his eye."

Some months after the charade party, Constance
Marchmont had the misfortune to sprain her ankle so
badly that it occasioned her violent pain, and swelling in
the limb ; confining her to a recumbent position day and
night, bringing on fever and alarming symptoms. For
weeks her mother, sister, and each of the servant maids
in her turn, sat up all night waiting on Constance, so that
the bandages covering the injured limb might be con-
stantly kept wet. The weather was hot and exhausting,
and Mrs. Marchmont accepted, with gratitude, Monica's
offer of coming to attend Constance, and making this her
sole duty ; thus she could snatch an hour or two for sleep
during the day, when some one else was in attendance

;.-te

f<n!

fill

i-^ifcT,

258

THE HOLY STONE.

on the invalid, doing away with the necessity of one
of the family sitting up through the night

Monica had been acting as sick nurse to Miss March-
mont for upwards of a week, when one evening a gentle-
man's voice and footstep, heard from the hall and stair-
case, told the unusual incident, that a visitor had arrived.

" It is my father," said Constance, replying to her own
thoughts, *' I wonder whether he has brought us. any
presents, I hope he has brought something for mamma
at all events. The last time he came he brought only
his sweet self; as to Amy and me we do not care for his
presents, we have never had anything we particularly
cared for since we grew up ; but mamma does care, and
I hope he has brought something for her."

She stopped short, " you look surprised, Monica, by
the way in which I talk of one of my parents, while you
know I am so sincerely attached to the other, but it
could not be otherwise : I only see my father at long in-
tervals ; and, when I do see him he is chary of both kind
looks and kind words. I remember quite enough of
complaints, which I have heard him make from time to
time, of our countrified manners, and our want of good
breeding ; but he does not seem to remember that we
have only peasants and villagqfs from whom to copy ;
and that we have never been farther from the village in
which we live than our grandfather's farm-house. He
carries his dislike of his own countrymen to such a height
that we have never been permitted to visit the places on
the island where they reside. Mamma tries to make
light of this, and tells us there are pure pleasures con-

.■w..;.|

THE HOLY STONE,

259

of one

March-
gentle-
d stair-
arrived.

her own
u& any
mamma
rht only
re for his
ticularly
:are, and

onica, by
kfhile you
jr, but it
long in-
)oth kind
lough of
time to
of good
that we
I to copy;
tillage in
>use. He
fi a height
places on
to make
lures con-

nected with our home, that we can never find equalled
elsewhere ; this is no doubt true, but it is also true that
there is an irksomeness almost unbearable in living where
you only see to-day what you saw yesterday, through all
your past life ; where your aspirations after knowledge
or improvement of any kind are stunted for want of food.
Until Miss Seymore came to Madame Dupont's Institu-
tion I had never met anyone so well informed as my
mother ; and her knowledge is necessarily very limited ;
educated as she was at a convent school which she left^
at seventeen."

Monica sat gazing with wonder at the girl as she
spoke ; yet each word she said attested the truth
she complained of. Some time after his arrival Mr.
Marchmont came into the room, spoke a few words,
more of reproof, than condolence with his daughter; said
it was very careless of her having sprained her ankle,
and without sitting down, returned with Mrs. Marchmont
to the room adjoining the one where the sick gir' lay.

Shortly afterwards Amy brought into the room a note
addressed to Miss Seymore, which she gave to Monica,
requesting her to take it at once to the Institution and
deliver it to Ruby, saying : " I will take your place by
my sister's couch until you return."

Monica did as she was bid, and delivered the note
to Miss Seymore, who on opening it read with surprise,

" Dearest Ruby,

^ Please ro not come near us for a

few days ; until I myself go to see you at Madame Du-
pont's. I will explain the reason of this when we meet.

i' I't (4 ;\j,,r

260

THE HOLY STONE.

I can only do so in words, it will not bear to be written,
Constance and Mamma send their love.

Yours affectionately,

Amy Marchmont."

Mr. Marchmont came regularly to see his sick child
once a day accompanied by her mother, on which occa-
sions he spoke a few words, stood for a second or two
beside the sofa on which she lay, and then retired with
his wife, into the sitting room before spoken of.

Monica could not help contrasting the handsome face
and form, the courtly air of the man, with the simple
manners of his wife and children ; his very clothes were
objects of wonder to her ; Lord Seymore, punctilious
in all things pertaining to a gentleman, never wore cloth
or linen more choice.

On his entering the room, Monica always withdrew to
the little hall from which the room was entered, so that
she might form no obstruction to unrestrained intercourse
between the father and his child ; this was wholly un-
necessary, his visit never extended over two or three
minutes.

During the three days she was in the house after Mr.
Marchmont's arrival, Monica asked herself at least fifty
times : " How is it possible that this gentleman, with his
fine manners and handsome clothes, can bear to see his
children dressed in the garb of peasants, their manners
only a step removed from those of the villagers among
whom they live ? "

She did not wonder now at the harsh words, and grave,
stern face of Constance, as she heard her father's voice

6 .' ■ !

• I,

.' ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H

\:n

ritten,

: child
L occa-
or two
;d with

ne face
simple
es were
nctilious
3re cloth

idrew to
so that
ercourse
oily un-
or three

ifter Mr.

iast fifty
with his
see his
manners
rs among

id grave,
jr's voice

THE HOLY STONE.

261

and step on the day of his arrival. A hush prevaded the
whole house from the hour of Mr. Marchmont's return.
Amy, the only one able to sit at the piano, was not per-
mitted to practice because it would disturb the august
ears of her father ; as to his desiring such a thing as to
hear her play, this was simply out of the question ; it
never occured to Mr. Marchmont to inquire into the pro-
gress his children made in this, or any other part of their
education. The three boys, aged four, five and seven,
were kept in the garden as much as possible, where their
mother would run out every ten minutes lest they should
play in the hot sun ; and yet would not dare to bring
them into the shelter of the house ; in case a light laugh
or shout of merriment should elicit from their father th6
surly question, asked with a scowl : " Why am I dis-
tjrbed thus ? Why are these children not kept out of
hearing ? "

On the afternoon of the third day after Mr. March-
mont's arrival, Monica was sent for hurriedly by Madame
Dupont. She found Thaniel Reil waiting her arrival,
who informed her that Lord Seymore was lying in his
apartments at the Tower dangerously ill ; he had been
seized with a fit of paralysis the day before, and the
physicians gave it as their opinion, that, although there
was no immediate danger, yet it was not at all likely
his life would be prolonged above a few weeks.

• Thaniel Reil on his own responsibility had hired a
little steam coaster, as the quickest way of conveying the
intelligence to Miss Seymore, and bringing her to her
father.

This was sad news for Monica to impart to Ruby in

t ' s

262

THE HOLY STONE.

the present state of misunderstanding which existed
between her father and herself ; yet it must be do' , and
to Monica's surprise, Ruby, with a face pale as ashes,
which told how her heart was torn by this fearful intel-
ligence, went about the preparations for the journey
with the coolness and presence of mind which belonged
more to a woman of forty, than to a girl of her age.

" We will not wait to pack anything up," said she ;
" Madame Dupont can have that done, and send these
things after us. I shall send for a carriage to convey us
to the shore, and while I bid good-bye to Madame Du-
pont and the pupils, I wish you to go, and ask Mrs.
Marchmont whether I can say adieu to her and the girls
on my way to the boat."

In a few minutes Monica was standing beside the
couch where Constance lay, deeply grieved at the pros-
pect of losing her kind and skilful nurse, both she and
her sister weeping bitterly as they said to each other in
.low voices :

" Perhaps we shall never meet Ruby again, it is not
likely she will return to Jersey, and very surely we can
never go to England."

Attracted by the low hush of voices coming from the
couch of her daughter, Mrs. Marchmont came in carefully
shutting the door of the room she was leaving, so that
the exacting lord and master of the establishhient might
not have his sensitive nerves disturbed by the voices of
his children in their hushed conversation,

" What is the matter ? What has occurred ? " said
she, in a low voice, half alarmed at seeing the tearful eyes
of her children.

THE HOLY STONE.

26.3

ixisted
• , and
ashes,
I intel-
journey
^longed

lid she ;
d these
>nvey us
me Du-
isk Mrs.
the girls

from the
carefully
so that

lent might
voices of

Id?" said
jarful eyes

Monica at once explained the evil tidings which had
reached Jersey concerning the precarious state in which
Lord S^ymore lay, adding that Miss Seymore would be
there in a few minutes to say good-bye to Mrs. March-
mont and the young ladies.

" Oh Monica ! " exclaimed Mrs. Marchmont in a low,
terror stricken voice, her face becoming red and pale al-
ternately, " Do go as quickly as possible, and tell Miss
Seymore not to come here upon any account, she can
have no idea of the mischief it would cause, were a young
English lady like her seen in this house by Mr. March-
mont. His dislike to his own countrymen and women is
a monomania, he has found out that you are English, he
heard you talking to Constance before you went away ;
you can have no idea how angry he is, I have never In
my life seen him so irritated, he talks of sending us all
to the farm to live, and will not believe that you were
acting as one of the nurses at Madame Dupont's, but in-
sists that you are one of the English residents of St.
Heliers. Do, good Monica, go and excuse us to Miss
Seymore as soon as you can, and beg her not to come,
or even look near the house. Good-bye, good-bye."

The poor woman almost hustled Monica out of the
room. In descending the stair-case she was met by Mr,
Marchmont, who appeared to her as if he were aware of
her being in the house, and was awaiting her in the
hall.

"You are an Englishwoman?" said he, inquiringly,
looking in her face and over her whole person, as if he
would take a note of each thing she wore, from her black
bonnet down to the hem of her black dress.

I M

i'* ^la

264

THE HOLY STONE,

" I am, sir," replied Monica, the last word coming out
involuntarily, as if it were a natural homage paid against
her will to the dress and manners of a man she certainly-
disliked, perhaps despised.

" You come from St. Helier," said he. " Were you
sent for to nurse my daughter ? "

" I am neither from St. Helier, nor was I sent for to
nurse your daughter," was the reply. " I live at Madame
Dupont's establishment at my own cost ; I am no hired
nurse, but came of my own free will."

Mr. Marchmont deigned no reply, but stalked upstairs
with a face of more composure than he had worn when
he first spoke, his action in turning so abruptly away
from Monica would have seemed in another man of the
same rank a piece of gratuitous rudeness; in Mr. March-
mont it appeared simply his way, nothing more.

Monica was fortunate in meeting the carriage occupied
by Ruby before it reached Mrs. Marchmont's dwelling,
and hurriedly explaining in the best way she could the
seemingly ungracious message of which she was the
bearer, motioned to the man to drive on towards the
quay.

Half an hour later the little vessel was steaming with
all its power in the direction of London.

.^s^^lf-^:^-

CHAPTER XXV.

NEW YORK.

WE have seen how the machinations of Mr. Penryth
against the painter of "The Spring Tide"
pictures had succeeded almost to a miracle. He had
taken every pains to make his scheme as secure as it was
covert ; he was furnished with introductions to the high-
est authorities in the land, and had he not been watched
by the Hebrews, he would probably have done Herbert
Sydney unto death or destruction. But the Jewish
power is spread like a net-work over every civilized land,
amid the frozen snows of Russia, — under the burning
sun of Chili, with Mohammedan and Christian, his power
is alike irresistible, what the Israelite wills to succeed,
will flourish as the green bay tree.

The old words which the Prophet was forced to deliver
against his will, *Be thou strong, be thou glorious
Israel ! " are in full force to the present day, the mysteri-
ous down-trodden people raise the hand, and the nation
or man they would help, rise in power as the great
swelling billows of the ocean.

Herbert Sydney was hedged in by the Hebrew power

which to each enemy said " So far thou shalt go and no

farther," and when the Hebrew raised his hand, Edward

Penryth was nowhere, — nobody.

Yesterday, he triumphed in his iniquity, to-day he
265

m:-.

■ ij', ? i9

I" V!i

iiii

i!li

266

THE HOLY STONE.

looks in dismay at the structure he has been months in
raising, fallen down like water spilled on the ground ;
but Penryth is not easily crushed.

Herbert Sydney had by his industry and talent won
himself a world wide fame, was set up on high ; the
public prints teemed with his praises ; the President, the
men of war, and those who stood highest in the great
Seifate of the land, all came to touch the hand of the
young artist, and bid him God-speed.

The President of the United States was the first to
choose one of the famous pictures of " The Spring Tide,"
one of the merchant princes of New York the second,
and then the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia ordered the
third to be sent to the Imperial palace at St. Petersburgh,

In seven months from his arrival in New York he re-
ceived a cablegram requesting him to send the last of
" The Spring Tide " pictures to the prince of bachelors,
the Duke of D .

The seven original pictures of " The Spring Tide "
have gone from Herbert Sydney for ever. He has only
copies remaining, which he is under promise never to
repeat, but to keep in his own family, as a memorial of
his art.

Mr. Penryth is in London, at the Club ; he has deter-
mined his blind mother's punishment should not cease
yet ; true it is many months since he saw the big tears
rolling from her blind eyes upon the hands that, clasped
together, seemed to beseech help by their very feeble-
ness ; he recollects it well, sees her feeble form bent over
the arm of the chair where she sat, even as in reality he
saw it months ago ; he sees the foolish looking dreamy

"HI

THE HOLY STONE.

267

eyes of his brother, and, even now, in imagination, he
halts again outside the half shut door, and listens with
exultation and triumph, as the poor imbecile replies:

" No, mother, I remember no church, only that one,''
and looking in, through that narrow space between the
wall and the door, he sees the finger of the grown man
childishly pointing at the window through which he is
looking, to the tower of the Church in Bayswater. As
these thoughts cross his brain, the selfish wicked man
laughs, a laugh which could it be heard by his kind,
would awaken in them feelings as if it came from Satan ;
and he mutters in a subdued, yet congratulatory tone as
if he would assure himself that this scheme of his, r re
diabolical even than the last, has not failed, cannot fail

" Ha ! she flattered herself I should be at her beck ali
her life, bowing and scraping without fee or reward.
She has found her mistake now, without one of her
kindred around her who can understand a sentence she
says, or give reply other than the silly laugh of an
idiot, or worse still, the mock solemnity which tells that
the fool is answering according to his folly. And her
pet Arthur, how is it with him ? Has that iron constitu-
tion of his, that so long stood out against the small
doses, been proof against the three large doses each day ?
No, the mother's darling is now doubled up in some
corner, hugging his knees with his claw-like hands, his
unkempt hair falling over the idiot staring eyes, while
with lolling tongue, he reiterates the low pal-lal which
this precious medicine never fails to make its victims
give utterance to. Ha ! ha I ha ! " laughed he with sar-
donic merriment " Where are your schemes now, Lady

268

THE HOLY STONE.

Sydenhault, for your sons aggrandizement, for his as^
suming the seat to which he was born forsooth ? A.
lordly p'-esence truly that curled up wretch would make
in taking his place as a British peer."

He pulled some writing paper towards him and wrote
thereon :

" Mr, Penryth desires Lord SydenJiaulf s servant. Brown,
to come at mice to •' The Carlton,' where Mr. Penryth wishes
to see him*'

Having addressed this to " Mr. Wm. Brown, Sydenhault
Villa, Bayswater," he desired the servant in attendance
to have it sent, and bring an answer immediately.

The note was not placed in an envelope, merely folded
and addressed, and on being delivered at the Villa in
Bayswater was carried at once to the housekeeper, Mrs,
Morgan, Brown being abroad with his master.

Mrs. Morgan read the note with feelings in which a
mixture of fear predominated ; fear, not for herself ; she,
in her own person, had no cause to fear Edward Penryth,
she was an upright, conscientious servant, one who did
her duty as unto the Lord, and be he evil or be he good,
she knew well Mr. Penryth could not interfere with her.
But, she feared for his elder brother, the one whom she
now believed in her heart had been the victim of this
man's treachery for nearly nineteen years ; she had no
choice however, she had Lady Sydenhault's orders to tell
what she knew as to her Ladyship's and Mr. Penryth's
health in body and mind, but on no account to give the
least clue to their whereabouts. These orders, God help-
ing her, she would obey in the spirit and the letter ; she
knew that Mr. Penryth would rave and storm, she had

THE HOLY STONE.

269

r his as-,
oth? A
lid make;

nd wrote

r/, Brown,
'th wishes

rdenhault
tendance

z\y folded
■ Villa in
;per, Mrs.

heard him do so often in the old time, and stood it
then with cool indifference ; she could do so again.

Going to her desk she wrote :

''Mrs. Morgan respect/idly informs t/ie Hon, Mr,
Penryth tJiat William Brown is on the Continent in at-
tendance on Lord and Lady Sydenhaulty Addressing
this she delivered it to the cabman.

Mr. Penryth did not storm and rave, as he read the
housekeeper's note, but he clenched both his hands,
pushed them to the utmost length of his arms on the
table at which he sat ; grinding his teeth and biting his
under lip till the blood came. He paced up and down
the room for some minutes until his passion had in some
measure died out, and then, stopping short, he rubbed
his hands together with a brisk action as he exclaimed
in a quick tone, " Aye ! Dick Halbert is the man. Dick
would sell his soul for a hundred pounds ; that is a happy
thought of mine," and snatching up his hat, in a second
or two he was out in the street, walking in the direction
of Bayswater.

As Mr. Penryth was entering his mother's Villa, he
was met in the hall by the housekeeper and one or two
others left in charge of the house ; his policy was to be
suave and polite, it was not often so, he was naturally
proud and overbearing to inferiors and arrogant to his
equals ; it was only when he found himself in the pre-
sence of his superiors, or when it was absolutely neces-
sary to accomplish some purpose, that he assumed his
present courtesy of manner ; he knew, or fancied, it
would stand him in good stead now.

m. \

|. T

-'r :: t

' . :i !

'■ n \

!! t

I..

270

THE HOLY STONE.

•^\

I t

His mildness was appreciated by Mrs. Morgan at ex-
actly its worth, she had often winced under the arrogance
of his look and tone, and she knew well why he touched
his hat with an almost familiar •* How do you do?" as
he entered the hall,

" Come into the drawing-room, Mrs. Morgan, I want
you to tell me all the news you can about Lady Syden-
hault and my brother. On leaving Paris some two
months since I was obliged to go to New York, my
letters must have gone astray at that time." Mr. Pen-
ryth continued speaking as he entered the drawing-
room, and threw himself with an air of weariness on one
of the sofas.

" Pardon me. Sir," said l^rs. Morgan, " there must be a
mistake there. If you heard from my Lady two months
ago, you must have been aware she was on the Continent,
it is six months since my Lady and his Lordship left
London."

" Six months ! " replied he, with an air of surprise
which was not all assumed. " How did her Ladyship
venture to travel ? By whom was she accompanied ? "

*• Her Ladyship had the usual number of attendants,
and went in a party with Lord and Lady Roseheath ;
of course your Lordship is aware that the Countess is
fully restored to sight ? "

Had some one felled him to the earth, Edward Penryth
would have felt it less. He started to his feet, for the
moment losing all control over himself, at the consum-
mation of what, to him, was a calamity, and one on
which he had never reckoned.

ir\

: II

THE HOLY STONE.

271

I at ex-
rogance
touched
do?" as

I want
Syden-
)me two
fork, my
Mr. Pen-
draw ing-
3s on one

must be a
ro months
'ontinent,
iship left

f surprise
Ladyship
nied ? '*

" How ? — when ? — what ? — how did that occur ?
When did that take place ?

" Your Lordship is overcome with surprise and grati-
tude," said Mrs. Morgan, who could not resist the temp-
tation of letting him know, in a covert way, that she
understood exactly how far his gratitude went ; he had
often trampled her feelings under foot, and the woman
almost rejoiced that she was able to tell him, in looks,
if not in woi Js, that his character, so far as it concerned
his mother's recovery of sight, lay open before her.

•' Yes, very grateful indeed," said he, hurrriedly,
" How did it occur ? What was done ? I thought my
mother was declared stone-blind ten years ago."

He scarcely knew what he was saying, his mind dwelt
so much on the calamity which had overtaken him in
his mother's recovery of her sight, that it was some
minutes before his thoughts could arrange themselves
into anything like an orderly form. Her Ladyship,
\vhile so blind that she knew not day from night, was a
powerful protector of her weak son. He would have
been an inmate of a rnad-house the first year of his
illness, but that she clung to him amid all her blind-
ness, never allowing him to leave her vicinity night of
day. How often since the day appointed for his mar-
riage with Miss Seymore, had Edward Penryth cursed
himself for his pusillanimity, that he had not effected by
stratagem what he dared not attempt in open day, in
the face of man ; namely, to place his brother in a
mad -house, where the keeper could be bribed to make
him the maniac Edward Penryth wished him to be.

" The trip to the Continent," said he to himself, " is

U ;

I '

X ;

■^■^Pi

■i
I . '1

ft:

fit

li-
fe

272

THE HOLY STONE.

all explained now. I should not be surprised at hearing
next that Arthur's medicine has been thrown to the
dogs, and he is where his mother would have him, among
the prophets."

" Her Ladyship," said the housekeeper, ** has for years
entertained hopes of recovering her sight, it is fully ten
years since Sir James Clark had her eyes examined by
an oculist, who told her then, that if she had patience,
the opaque lenses could easily be removed when the
proper time came, and explained to her the signs by
which her Ladyship would know when the cataract
was ready for removal. The day you left Sydenhault
Villa, sir, for the Continent, in September last, she felt
unmistakeably the signs of which she had been fore-
warned."

He could scarcely contain his rage, longed to knock
the woman's head against the wall as she spoke ; what
an egregious fool he had been. He had seen his mother
go out to drive and take Arthur with her, only a few
minutes after he had left her weeping in her own apart-
ment. Oh ! had he but known then why she went, how
easy it would have been to play the cards into his own
hands. With his mother confined to her bed in a dark
room ; what a simple matter to have sent Brown on a
message into town, and by the offer of any worthless
bauble, wiled Arthur into the street ; once there, the
coast was clear. He almost stamped with rage when he
thought of the golden opportunity he had let slip, merely
that he might vent his ill-humour on the old woman who
by his absence had absolutely put her foot on his neck.
By a great effort he calmed himself sufficiently to say :

:" "W Ti

THE HOLY STONE.

273

earing
to the
among

»r years
lly ten
incd by
atience,
len the
igns by
cataract
ienhault
she felt
;en fore-

" And Arthur, how is Arthur ? does he get better or
worse ? **

" My Lord is quite well, thank God," said the woman
in a calm tone ; although her. heart beat fast with the
knowledge that the intelligence she was imparting would
be anything but good news to Mr. Penryth ; "the medi-
cine which your doctor, (as she spoke she could not re-
sist putting emphasis on the word your), prescribed for
his Lordship, was declared by Sir James Clark, and
several other physicians who held a consultation on Lord
Sydenhault's case, to be poison for mind and body ;
he never had a dose of it afterwards, and almost every
day we could observe a difference. A month from the
time Sir James Clark saw him, he was a changed
man, and before he and Lady Sydenhault went to the
Continent we had \ family dinner with Sir James p.id
Lady Clark, Sir Benjamin and Lady Brodie ; and Lord
Sydenhault took his place at the foot of the table, and,
Mr. Johnston says, behaved in as becoming a manner as
ever his father did."

Mr. Penryth's blood was boiling within him, but he
preserved a calm exterior.

" Was my mother in bad health ? What reason had
she for visiting the Continent ? She neither speaks
French nor German ; she never had any desire to leave
her own conntry before ; on the contrary, my memory
goes back to times when such a trip was proposed for us
all, and she would not consent to it. Did Sir James
Clark advise a residence on the Continent for her health ?"

" No," replied the housekeeper, " the Countess' health
required no change, she has neither felt nor looked so

274

THE HOLY STONE.

well for the last twenty years, as she did during the few
weeks before she left home, but Sir James Clark and Sir
Benjamin Brodie, considered change of scene beneficial
for his Lordship ; although his mind was recovering it-
self faster than they anticipated, his health was poor."
The woman spoke with hesitation thus far, she knew
that at the last. Lady Sydenhault would gladly have
avoided going to the Continent ; it was part of the last
sad fancy of her son's, viz : that he should find there,
what he had sought so long in his wandering mind,
which finally decided her to undertake the tour. "And,"
Morgan added, speaking freely as was her wont, " besides
my Lord was very anxious to go, he wanted to visit all
the old places where he had been so happy in his youth,
during the five years he was from home, before the late
Lord's death." «

" What madness," said her hearer, speaking his thoughts
aloud more than replying to the housekeeper. " For
a woman of the Countess' age, just recovered from a
blindness of twenty years, to go abroad with a man who
has been so long next door to an idiot, and in no better
company than that of servants."

" There you are mistaken, my Lord," said Mrs. Morgan,
drawing herself up a little, " Mr. Johnston has gone
abroad with her Ladyship ; of course, he cannot be classed
as a common servant. Her own Lady's maid, Summers,
is also in attendance, and by Johnston's advice, William
was taken in addition to Brown, so that her Ladyship
might have her own coachman."

*' So Lady Sydenhault has taken ? carriage with her ?"

THE HOLY STONE.

275

e few
\d Sir
eficial

ng it-
poor."

knew
r have
le last

there,

mind,
"And,"
besides
visit all
s youth,
^he late

lioughts
«< For
from a
Han who
o better

Morgan,

as gone

classed

[ummers,

Iwilliam

.adyship

k her r

"Yes, my Lord, a new travelling chariot made for the

occasion."

This intelligence was the climax. Mr. Penryth was
by nature grasping and avaricious, his mother, exactly
the reverse ; during his father's life-time their income of
seventy thousand pounds a year was spent freely, since
then the charge had been mostly in his own hands, and
he would gladly have kept their expenditure within ten
thousand a year, but his mother could by no means be
persuaded to adopt his views, that is to say letting the
Manor house in Glamorganshire, and the shooting box
in Scotland. The poor lady clung with a death-like
grasp to the idea that her eldest son would yet recover ;
every year she expected the next would see his restora-
tion to health, and when that expectation had faded
away, she still prayed and hoped on ; determined to the
last, that if the blessed day ever arrived when he would
think, look and talk, like other men, no stranger should
be able to say : " I have rented your shootings and your
rivers, go and seek recreation elsewhere."

The utmost Edward Penryth could effect, was to keep
the expenditure within thirty thousand a year ; by this
means he was preparing a fortune for himself, by which in
the end, he hoped to become a rich man. Now, for any-
thing he knew, she might not only spend her regular in-
come of seventy thousand a year, but scatter part of what
he had been amassing for himself. He walked up and
down the room with long strides, he must vent his wrath
or die ; it would be lowering his dignity should he for one
moment give utterance to his rage in presence of that

: t

i i

276

THE HOLY STONE,

I, I 'i'l

1 1 H%1

meek looking woman, who stood, holding him with her
eye.

" Why do you remain here ? Begone, woman ! " said
he, turning upon her with a fierce look as he strode up
and down the room.

Mrs. Morgan departed, carefully shutting the door as
she went out, and then Mr. Penryth stamped and swore^
until, utterly exhausted by his passion, he threw himself
on a sofa, to think over what must be done to extricate
himself from this terrible dilemma.

If he were not prompt in action now, in a few months
he would be nobody, a second son, without a farthing,
except the pittance which would come to him as heir
apparent, and then a hideous, hated knowledge that only
he possessed, and which he had hidden for so many long
years beneath autumn leaves and winter snows, came up
before him as bright as if it had always been abroad,
before the face of men on the green earth, and he ex-
claimed in his bitterness, "Heir apparent, how long shall
I be that ? "

He lay for hours thinking over first one plan and then
another, by which this hated brother could be got rid of
in secrecy and safety, and he cursed his own cowardice,
that it had not been done long ago ; cursed his mother,
the only human being on this earth who had loved him
on and on unvaryingly. Cursed her, because she had so
cared for his weak brother, that day or night she would
have him in her own apartments, even sleeping in an
inner room, so that she might ever be sure of him ; rising
in the dark night, that she might pass into this room,
touch his face, and know that he was there, and in the

I her

said
le up

►or as
swore^
imself
tricate

nonths

rthing,

as heir

lat only

iiy long

lame up

labroad,
he ex-
ig shall

id then
k rid of
^ardice,
Imother,
sd him
I had so
would
in an
I, rising
room,
in the

THE HOLY STONE. 277

day, which was alike dffiRb her, keeping him ever by
her side, whether she drove or walked, pleasing the poor
weak man with the idea that he was necessary to her
life, that he led her about, as none other could.

Edward Penryth lay with closed eyes for hours think-
ing over what was to be done, and trying to arrange
some plan by which he could escape this doom of poverty
and insignificance. His mind was so troubled that it
could not dwell on one point long enough to enable him
to arrive at anything definite ; he would arrange and re-
arrange, and then all would be chaos again. Yet through
all, a small leathern case which had been in his posses-
sion for years, the contents of which he had examined
many and many a time, only to lay them aside again,
and hope they might not be needed, the red Russian
leather, — the key,— the lock, — would all come before
his mind's eye more painfully vivid than ever he had
seen them with the orbs God gave him for sight

He could, even there, as he lay on the sofa, in imagina-
tion lift the poinard and touch its steel, take the toy-like
pistol in his hand, examine the lock and assure himself
that both were ready for service. And then would come
the startling thought of what might be, did one of those
little accidents, (carefully guarded against, yet ever oc-
curring), point to him as the one who had made use of
those dangerous servants.

The picture his fancy drew was too horrible, and with
almost a cry he started to his feet. The room w::.s nearly
dark, the day fast waning into night, and the draw-
ing-room was only lighted through the glass doors which
opened into the conservatory ; he made a few steps to-

\i': : ill
■■• ill

2/8 THE HOLY STONE,

wards the door, indignant ^^Phimself that he could so
permit his imagination to weaken him down to childish-
ness. " It has ever been thus," said he aloud, " I have
been a child, and a coward all my life, but for this, I
should be a free man to-day." His arm was cramped
with the uneasy position he lay in. " Fool ! fool ! " said
he grinding out the words between his teeth, and raising
the stiff arm, he threw it above his head, touching, as he
did so, the crystal pendants of the chandelier, making
them clang and ring out tiny music.

" Fool ! " was hissed in his ear, by what he believed to
be a demon come to tempt him to his doom, while a
clawlike hand with pointed talons rested for a moment
on his head. He rushed through the open door into the
conservatory, out to the lawn, and down the drive, in
wild affright ; the postern door was open, he fled with
frantic steps, stopping not for a moment until he was out
in the busy street, under the lamps, among his fellow-
men.

When Mrs. Morgan came, accompanied by Robert,
that she might shut the doors, and make all safe for the
night, she found an old parrot who was particularly clever
at repeating what he heard, sitting on the chandelier
screaming, and seemingly well pleased with the change
he had made, from his cage in the conservatory, to the
freedom of the drawing room.

Mr. Penryth dined at the Carlton, talked as usual with
the friends he met, did exactly what he was: accustomed
to do, not a shade more, not a shade less of reticence, or
of gaiety ; none could have told thit the least cause for
anxiety pressed upon him, far less imagined that matters*

THE HOLY STONE.

279

which were as life or deaUflj^ him, prosperity or poverty,
hung at that moment in the balance. He went to his
own apartments at a late hourand retired to his bed, not
to sleep, that in his state of nervous excitement must
come by utter prostration, but again to arrange some
plan for the future, which must be put into execution
within a few weeks, if possible within a few days.

His mind was in the same state of chaos as it had been
while he was lying on the sofa in his mother's drawing-
room. He could not account in any way except by at-
tributing it to a supernatural cause for the word ' fool ! '
which had been hissed in his ear, the claw-like hand
which for an instant had touched his head. Was it his
good angel who had set the bird free, and made him
perch on the chandelier ? It may be, that the bird's cry
and touch saved him from a great crime.

The midnight hour had passed away, the early morn-
ing had gone also, and Edward Penryth in his darkly
curtained room, slept — a troubled sleep.

He imagined himself on the Continent, in the suburb
of Dresden, he knew the place well, he had been there
many a time when Arthur and he were students, and
went to visit friends, English residents in Dresden.
He fancied Arthur and hfc w^^king together, Arthur the
bright boy, who drew pleasure from each circumstance
of life as he passed along ; his dress, that of former years ;
he holds his student's cap in his hand and waves it as he
Walks.

Edward Penryth's mind, even in his dreams, is filled
with envy of his gay and handsome brother, who, by the
merest accident, is rich and titled, while he, is nobody.

■.,1 ,i>

!■ 'F

23o

THE HOI.Y STONE.

At Rugby, he knew this, anl(|[ui their students days, the
jealous feeling had grown until it became a demon, made
him its slave. It is written in the Holy Book, "(Iheway
of trangressors is hard!)[ Edward Penryth felt it so, even
when his schemes went on smoothly.

As he dreamt, the hatred which had filled all his man-
hood raged in his heart. He is now in fancy at the edge
of wood, a deep ditch divides it from the highway,
he looks down and shudders as he looks at the green
slimy mud, into which the least incautious step will
plunge him, he hears the noise of rushing waters, he
looks up and beholds a mountain torrent hurrying down
impetuously and filling the ditch. He takes a step
behind his brother, his hand is already raised to give
the fatal stroke which will push the other from life to
death, when, with a loud call for him to follow, Arthur
springs to the opposite bank,

" Jump, Edward, there is no fear."

" You can swim, I cannot."

" Neither can you ; wait, I will make a bridge."

Quick as lightning Arthur is in the wood and returns
with a fallen tree which he throws across the chasm ; they
are both on the trunk looking down on the dark waters as
they surge and roar beneath. Satan whispers, but Ed-
ward is a coward, without Arthur's help he could not
cross that swaying trunk ; he stumbles, and is down
among the turbid waters. Arthur is a famous swimmer,
he is battling with the stream, — in a moment they climb
the wooded bank, under the great pines which skirt the
edge of the forest.

Edward clasps the leather case, which he fancies to

THE HOLY STONE.

2S1

have been the companion of |J||is boyhood, he urges his
brother to greater speed, lest the coming darkness should
overtake them ere they reach their home.

" Wait, Arthur, I will climb one of these tall trees, and
see whether I cannot discover a short path through the
forest"

Edward is on the top of the highest tree, ah ! not a
soul to be seen, they are alone there in the deep forest,
everything is propitious. He opens his leather case, ex-
amines the pistol.

His brother stands, with his back towards him ; he
fires, Arthur leaps high in the air, and then falls heavily
to the earth.

Edward is looking on the white face and sees the life
blood welling out on the grass, he will " make assurance
doubly sure," and he buries the poniard in his brother's
heart ; the warm red stream springs up, dabbling his face
and linen, he wipes both face and shirt, but the blood stain
is there still. He seizes the body, so lately full of life
and joy, and smiles grimly, it will never again come
between him and the title or the land, he draws it by
the feet over fallen trees through deep brush wood, a
groan issues from the head as it knocks against the sharp
points of the rocks that jut out through the sward ; he
flies with frantic haste, he fears the dead thing and hurries
on that he may bury it out of his sight, he feels no re-
morse, his heart is full of the joy of demons ; he reaches
the stream, and pushes the body into the deep water. He
is now seated on the banks of the Seine, and the people
look at his blood-stained face, and the red marks on his
linen, and he tries to wash them out in the waters that

THE HOLY STONE.

are lapping up among the pebbles at his feet ; it is im-
possible, the blood is clogged and hard, the stain will not
go. The bmly is out there floating in the clear water, so
close that men are rolling up their trowsers and wading
out, to bring it to the shore ; but it will not be caught,
it eludes them all, and comes gently on and on, until
with something between a sigh and a groan, it is laid, by
the gentle stream, down at Edward's feet, and men look,
with awe-struck faces, and ask, " was there ever anything
like this ? "

The waters, the crowd, and the pebbly bank have
passed away ; he is in the moi^ue standing by his brother's
body, his own face and linen clotted with blood ; but
the dead man's body is white and beautiful, his brown
hair thrown off his forehead in soft wavy folds. With
the incongruity of dreams there are an English Judge and
Jury present, and the Attorney General calls in a loud
voice to Edward Penryth to put his hand upon hio dead
brother. He cannot, and he struggles to keep his hands
clasped behind his back ; but he is surrounded by strong
Englishmen, who seize his right hand and place it on
the flesh, in an instant the white body is covered with
blood welling out from the wound which he remembers
so well making in the forest near Dresden.

A great cry is raised, and he hears the word " Guilty "
pronounced in such tones as might come from the trump
which shall waken the dead, and the English people
around him shout

"Guilty! guilty!"

And his dead brother's lips form, and his still tongue
utters a low word,

THE HOLY STONF,

283

" Guilty ! "

And he knows that that deep tone will never leave
his ears, but ring on through time and eternity, " Guilty !
Guilty ! "

A rope is round his neck, he is on a high gibbet, is
swinging there with no covering on his eyes, nothing to
protect him from the hooting of the multitude, the jeers
of the English mob who shout his name aloud, well
pleased to see a man of his rank swinging there, and
he hears their cries of fierce anger as they point their
fingers in his face and yell out " Guilty ! "

Human nature can endure no longer ; he starts in hor-
ror from his bed, the spell is broken, and for the first
time in his life he thanks God that he is yet unstained
by the blood of his brother.

By the dim light of the waning moon, he gropes his
uncertain way to his despatch-box — it is opened, — he
draws out the leather case which contains the instruments
of his intended crime, shivers the dagger-blade to atoms
on the hearth ; and, having drawn the charge, throws
pistol, dagger, haft, fragments and all in a scattered
shower into the court-yard beneath his window.

ii : ■!.

> \

?-*=^

."»

? .^

CHAPTER XXVt.

I.ADY SYDENHAULT'S LETTERS.

IT was at a late hour on the day after his first visit,
that Edward Penryth again presented himself at his
mother's Villa. The good angel who was commissioned
of God to give him his dream ; had enabled him also to
make a firm resolution — founded it is true on the fear of
what might accnie to himself — that he would never im-
brue his hands in his brother's blood.

But he would by no means give up his plan of having
the guardianship of the estates in his own hands. There
were means to which he could resort, and in which he
would be aided by tools who did not know him to be
Edward Penryth, and who, therefore, could not expose
his part in the transaction. His mother and Arthur being
on the Continent, made it much easier for him to put his
plans into execution than it would have been had they
remained in England.

Edward Penryth is again in his mother's Villa, in the
same room he had occupied the preceding evening, he
looks up at the chandelier with a sort of nervous dread ;
he is no believer in the supernatural, yet he cannot di-
vest himself of the idea, that the voice he had heard, the
touch he had felt there, were not mortal. He is talking
to the housekeeper :

" I was so much disappointed at Lady Sydenhault's
284

.'11

THE HOLY STONE.

285

absence yesterday," he began, " that I quite foi^ot to ask
you to shew me the letters you have received from her
Ladyship."

Mrs. Moi^an did not answer, and Mr. Penryth, fancy-
ing she must have misunderstood him, said, with an in-
quiring look :

** You hear from her Ladyship, of course ? "

" I do, sir ; I have a letter from Mr. Johnston, written
by her Ladyship's commands, each week, and my Lady
has honored me three times, since her departure, by
writing me herself."

" I wish you to shew me these letters, Moi^an," said
Mr. Penryth, never for a moment doubting that they
would be submitted to his perusal.

" I beg your pardon, sir," said she, " but I cannot by
any possibility."

" What ! " — said he, in a loud tone ; both voice and
look expressing the surprise he felt ; " do you mean to
say, you will not shew me my mother's letters ? "

" I do, sir," was the cool reply, " I could not take such
a liberty with my Lady as to shew her letters to anyone."

Mrs. Morgan knew well there were passages in each
of these letters which Lady Sydenhault would on no
consideration have submitted to the eyes of any one,
except the person for whose information they were
written. She had her Ladyship's commands, that her
address was not to be given to Mr. Penryth, or any one
else ; were she to allow those letters to be seen, the
reader from their dates and post-mark, would at oace
have a clue by which to find her Ladyship's place of
residence.

ii;*s

*r^-

t 7^

I' !.l

286

THE HOLY STONE.

" You are surely not aware of the impertinence and
presumption of your conduct ? " said Mr. Penryth, in a
voice more conciliatory than angry. He knew the firm-
ness of the woman he had to deal with, that it would be
easier to persuade, than to coerce her into what she
considered would be out of the line of duty to her
mistress.

" I do not mean to be either impertinent or presump-
tuous, sir," was the reply, " it would be clearly against
my interest to be either ; but, unless instructed so to do
by her Ladyship, I most surely cannot show her letters
to any one."

" You are a faithful servant, Mrs. Morgan," said i/Ir.
Penryth, schooling his voice so as not to betray the an-
ger he felt, " but in the present instance you have over-
shot the mark. I am Lady Sydenhault's son, and vir-
tually master here ; it is not at all likely that my mother
would write to a servant what she would hide from one
who may be said to be her only son."

" Her Ladyship's letters to me, sir," replied Mrs. Mor-
gan, " contain only what a lady of her rank might be ex-
pected to write to a woman who has served her Lady-
ship to the best of her ability, for forty years. It is not
for me to judge by whom her Ladyship would wish her
letters to be seen ; therefore my duty in not shewing
them is quite plain."

Mr. Penryth smiled ; a bitter, angry smile it is true,
but one he wished Mrs. Morgan to construe into a sign
that he was more amused than angry at her over scrupu-
lousness.

" Be it so, for the news contained in your letters I must

jSP^

THE HOLY STONE.

287

wait until I see my mother in person ; I suppose the
same reason will not extend to Johnston's episdes ; shew
me the last you received from him."

" Excuse me, sir, I do not correspond with Johnston
or any other of her Ladyship's servants ; Mr. Johnston's
letters were written to me by her Ladyship's orders, and
must be kept by me as carefully as her own."

" You are the most extraordinary woman I ever heard
of. I suppose I must give you credit for being the most
faithful ser ant in England, and as shewing these letters
seems to be incompatible with your idea of duty, I must
content myself with receiving my mother's address from
you."

" I am sorry to say, sir, I cannot give you that satis-
faction either ; her Ladyship went abroad on purpose to
live a life of quietness and seclusion." As Mrs. Moi^an
spoke, her face might have betrayed to a closer observer
of human nature than Edward Penryth, she was telling
only a part of the truth, when she mentioned Lady
Sydenhault's wish for privacy. She knew that her Lady-
ship had gone to the Continent, that Lord Sydenhault
might search for a phantom which she felt sure had no
existence, except in his own brain, and which she hoped
would become fainter and disappear altc^ether, as he
saw the different places, where he fancied the scenes to
which he so often alluded had happened. " Her last
words in parting with me were 'observe strictly what I
have told you, give my address to no one ; if I can help
it I will not see an English face, except those of my
own servants, or speak an English word but to my own
household, until my return home.' "

i*>

f : ,

", f

, ,^;..;...

288

THE HOLY STONE.

" Do you mean to say," exclaimed Mr. Penryth, in
louder tones, than he had yet used, but striving to as-
sume a calm exterior, very foreign to the rage he really-
felt in being thus balked by one whom he considered his
oT/n servant, " that the Countess ordered you to conceal
her place of abode from her own son ? "

" I do not, sir ; if I am not mistaken, her Ladyship
thought that you had gone abroad. Her Ladyship" —

" Enough! I command you to give me Lady Syden-
hault's address instantly."

" I am sorry it is impossible for me to obey her Lady-
ship and yourself, sir ; I prefer doing my duty to my
mistress."

" You will either deliver that address into my hands
this instant, or I shall dismiss you from the house."

" It is not in your power to disnjiss me," replied the
housekeeper, at last fairly incensed by the arrogant man-
ner in which Mr. Penryth spoke, his voice as he thun-
dered out his words, and the menacing appearance of
his face, shewing more plainly than mere speech could have
done, that he looked upon her as his servant, to dismiss,
or retain according to his pleasure ; " if you eject me
forcibly, I must go ; but I shall at once inform her Lady-
ship of your actions, and, I have no doubt, her lawyer
will have orders, by return of post, to replace me in the
situation I have held for forty years."

Mr. Penryth knew the estimation in which his mother

held Mrs. Morgan, and that an insult such as he talked

-"f would be highly resented by her Ladyship ; it would

it bring him the address he wanted, and he turned

i rro her, muttering some words which she did not hear,

'& :y'M

THE HOLY STONE.

289

nryth, in
ig to as-
he really
idered his
;o conceal

Ladyship
yship" —
ly Syden-

her Lady-
uty to my

my hands
ouse."
[replied the
iCant man-
he thun-
learance of
could have
to dismiss,
eject me
her Lady-
jher lawyer
me in the

1 his mother
he talked '
; it would
he turned

Id not hear,

and, walking through the conservatory, vented liis ill-
humor by kicking over one or two of the flower pots as
he passed out.

On Mr. Penryth's departure, Mrs. Morgan went to her
room, and, taking from her desk the letters she had re-
ceived from the Countess, read such passages as the
following :

" My dear son's mind and memory are strengthening
day by day ; the physicians assure me his recovery is
certain. I trust we shall not in our wanderings meet with
Mr. Penryth ; I am sorry to say that Lord Sydenhault
understood but too well the hard things Sir James Clark
said of the physician by whose advice Mr. Penryth acted
with regard to Lord Sydenhault's health."

Again, in a letter written some months after the first,

" Lord Sydenhault is as sensible as ever he was, with
the exception of the idea of having friends here whom
at first he expected to find ; and he now blames these
terrible medicines as the cause of his losing those whom
he considers necessary to his life's happiness ; it seems
strange that this delusion should outlast all others, yet
it has not only outlasted them, alas ! every day it becomes
more firmly rooted in his mind."

The housekeeper folded her letters, and again locked
them up in her desk, thanking God that He had given
her strength to hold fast her integrity.

Mr. Penryth was not to be foiled in this way. He

went to his mother's banker, then to her lawyer ; both

of whom either could not or would not furnish him with

the address he sought. His next essay was made by

going down to Sydenhault Hall, where the steward at

' 1

'[ I >

^ '

(V '

(i '

^ Ij

ii^nVi

nmi

i I

U' 7T

I!',

290

THE HOLY STONE,

once furnished him with what he wanted : Lady Syden-
hault was in France, her address, Brest

Lord Sydenhault hurried back to London ; there was
little more to be done, only to secure the assistance of
his accomplices, and with them pay a visit to Brest

>^^-^lf-§:^—

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE TALL SAILOR OF BREST.

LADY SYDENHAULT and her son Arthur, were
seated at luncheon in a house they had hired for
a month at Brest. This was the last place where Arthur
hoped to find what he sought so earnestly ; the effective
remains of the five years spent abroad in his youth, with-
out a knowledge of which, his life must be one of trouble
and unrest.

For some time past, Lady Sydenhault had carefully
avoided any reference to the subject which more than
any other occupied her mind, because she considered the
whole, the dream of a fevered imagination. Perhaps for
anything she knew, through all the years when Arthur
used to sit so listless, silent and abstracted, he was mak-
ing images to himself and communing with them, until
they became part of his life, so to speak, fixed on his
eye and brain so firmly, that, at times, she feared these
creatures of his fancy would never wholly depart

Physician after physician was consulted privately by
her Ladyship, many of whom, when they approached the
subject with Lord Sydenhault, were convinced he spoke
of scenes and people among whom he had lived, and still
loved with undying affection.

Lord Sydenhault avoided talking on the subject,
with his mother, because he knew what her opinion was,
291

r il

292

THE HOLY STONE.

he himself never lost hope that some little accident
would afford him a clue to what he sought, and then,
when all was clear as day, he would say : " There is the
phantom I followed so long."

Lady Sydenhault and her son were talking of an
evening visit they had promised to pay to a family re-
sident in Brest, the mother of which had been an old
school friend of Lady Sydenhault's, nearly fifty years
before.

" It looks as if we were to have rain this evening,"
said her Ladyship, " how shall we manage our visit to
Madame de Salaberry in the rain, without being able lo
use the carriage? I suppose Jim is still unable to put
his foot to the ground ? "

" Not exactly," replied Arthur, " he is able to use his
foot ; William had him out to-day, but he is certainly not
fit to be put in harness ; however, those Sedan chairs
we have so often laughed at will form a good substitute."

" Yes, I did not think of that, but there must be two
additional men provided, Wiliam and Brown can carry
one, but it would be offensive to Johnston's dignity to
ask him to do such a thing."

" There will be no want of carriers," said her son,
"there are plenty of idle fellows about all the time.
That reminds me that there are two sailor-looking men
whom I have seen for some days hanging about here,
one of them is an Englishman ; both are very urgent in
their desires to obtain work of any kind, they seem
decent, quiet fellows, I think we cannot do better than
employ them."

" Certainly, it is but right we should do so, if one of

lii'

.THE HOLY STONE.

293

accident
id then,
ire is the

g of an
imily re-
n an old
ifty years

evening,"
ir visit to
ng able '.:o
ble to put

them is an Englishman, he has a right to be employed
by his countrymen in a strange land."

Lord Sydenhault rang the bell, and gave orders for
hiring a couple of Sedan chairs to be at the house be-
tween eight and nine o'clock, adding,

" Yourself and William can carry Lady Sydenhault,
and, as for me, if you can find that English sailor and his
friend who have been so anxious to obtain work for the
last day or two, it will be as well to give them an op-
portunity of earning a few francs."

Brown bowed and left the room, going at once in
search of the chairs, which were easily found, the sailors
appearing very grateful for the work thus put in their
way.

The Englishman was tall, the other short- and stout.

" How will you do ? " said Brown, " I am afraid you
will not be able to carry equal, one of you being so much
taller than the other."

" On the contrary," said ♦^he tall man, who seemed to
have his wits more about him, and to understand his
work. better than his companion, " in a place like Brest,
where you are either*going up or down hill, it is better
to have one carrier tall and the other short ; in going up
the hill, the tall man goes behind, thus keeping the chair
level, in going down he carries in front ; in cither way
his height enables him to keep the chair in an easier
position than if both were of the same size."

" What you say is likely to be the case," replied
Brown ; I suppose you are accustomed to the work."

" Accustomed to the work," repeated the tall man ;
I have carried chairs, oflf and on, for twenty years in

:, I''

, !■.

U Jh

I'-i- ; ' -

I :

294

THE HOLY STONE.

:i!!;l<!

!'|i,.',|

^'111

Brittany ; I wish I had the price of all the chairs I have
carried, I should be a rich man."

" Well," replied Brown, " you will not fail to be here
in time ; a few minutes before nine."

At the hour appointed, both chairs were at the door.
Arthur handed his mother into the first, taking off his
hat, as he returned her smile through the chair window,
while she was being carried off.

The Sedan chairs are pictorial curiosities in their way,
and for the benefit of those who have never seen any of
them, I must give an account of the Sedan used in Brit-
tany up to the present time. They look as if they had
belonged to the age of Louis XIV, and had been trans-
mitted, not very carefully, down to the quarter of the
nineteenth century with the traces of the gorgeous paint-
ing and gilding still upon their panels. The chair is
fantastically shaped, and consists of an oblong box with
a door on one side, and windows on the other, three of
which are generally curtained with faded silk ; but, ex-
cept as a matter of necessity, an English lady or gentle-
man would scarcely enter into so crazy a conveyance.
There is no choice however, and accordingly into this box
she is compelled to crush her velvets and silks when she
is going out for the evening, or has to pay a visit on a
wet morning, there being no such thin;; as a coach for
hire to be seen in Brest. As there are no lamps in the
streets it is necessary to be accomparticJ. at night by a
lantern which is supplied and carried in advance by a
boy or man belonging to the carriers ; in this way the
cortege wends its way on dark nights through the nar-
row smoky passages of Brest .

THE HOLY ^TONE.

2gi

i I have

be here

he door,
r off his
window,

heir way,
in any of
d in Brit-
they had
;en trans-
ter of the
:ous paint-
e chair is
box with
, three of
; but, ex-
or gentle-
inveyance.
;o this box
when she
Ivisit on a
coach for
ips in the
ight by a
ince by a
way the
the nar-

The man with his lantern in front, and the fantastical
Sedan with a lady or gentleman in a considerable state
of trepidation inside, borne along by two lumbering
men whose gaunt shadows are ever and anon cast
into gloomy entries and porticoes as they are suddenly
lighted up by the feeble gleams from the lantern.

Considering the scantiness of demand for this accom-
modation, inconvenient as it is, and the number required
to keep up the supply of such an establishment, no less
than three persons being indispensable for each journey,
it might reasonably be supposed that the service of the
Sedan would be, comparatively, rather expensive. The
reverse is the case ; you may be conveyed thus, in pomp,
across the town to your destination, wherever it may be,
and your chair, together with its three attendants, will
call for you, and convey you home again at night, in the
same ceremonious manner, for the small charge of three
or four francs.

Lady Sydenhault kept her eye on her son's handsome
face, while he stood waiting for his chair to take the place
at the door from which her own had been carried ;
thinking, as the light from the lamp in the hall fell on
his dark brown hair and finely cut features, that she had
never, even as a boy, seen him look half as well.

Poor woman ! she little knew that her eyes would
ache in the daylight, and weep in the dark, ere her son's
handsome face would meet her sight again.

As Arthur is being carried along at a rapid pac j by
the two men, something in the eyes of the tall sailor
strikes him as being familiar. His gesture, seen through
the window of the Sedan, as the man motioned to the

■4.

296

TME IIOl.Y STONF«

Others to take their places, and told thcni in siirpresscd
tones, tliroM^h which streets they were to jjjo ; spoke so
stnMtjjIy to Lord Sydcnhault's eye, of one he knew who
moved in a far different spliere of h'fe, and whom he he-
heved then to be hvmdreds of miles distant, that the
thoui;IUs called up by this striking; resemblance were al-
most painful, and certainly anything; but flatterin^j to his
own family pride.

It was fully a mile to the Chateau, where Madame de
Salabcrry ilwolt, in the suburbs of Hrest. These carriers,
accustomed as they were to move in a slin^^trot, p^enerally
accomplished sudi a distance in a cpiarter of an hour,
but althoup;h the men did not spare themselves, but push-
ed on at a quicker pace than usual, half an hour, even
more passed by, and )'et they had not reached the
Chateau.

Arthur strove to look throuj^h the window into the
dark road ; ho feared the men beinj^ strangers mij^ht
have missed their way, or even mistaken the place. A
bell rope hand's inside these chairs that rm^a a bell on
the outside. Lord Sydenhault made use of this once,
twic:, without its beinj)^ taken any notice of; at last a
continued pulling had the desired effect, the chair was
set down, and the tall man, who, as Lord Sydenhault
now saw, carried the lantern, opened the chair door, and
asked, in a husky surly voice, which sounded In his car
very much like a feiy;ned one, what the gentleman
w anted ?

•' I fear j'ou have missed your way, my good fellow,"
said Arthur. '* We ought to have arrived at Madame
DeSalaborry s in twenty minutes at most ; it is double

t^'iSM

THK IIOI.Y STONE,

297

irprcsRcd
spoUo so
new who
m be be-
tbat the
I were al-
in^ to his

lulame dc
^e carriers,
, generally
r an hour,
;, but push-
hour, even
Mched the

^v into the
L^ers niij^jht
place. A
;i bell on
this once,
at last a
chair was
ydenhault
• door, and
In his ear
gentleman

)d fellow,"

^t Madame

is double

that time since wc started, and," added he, looking out
tlirougli tlie open door, and peerinj; as well as he could
into the darkness, •' I sec you have indeed mistaken
youi way, you are in the lower road beneath the town,
while Madame Dc Salaberry lives in the one leadin^r to
the hills."

•' You are rij^ht there, Sir,'' replied the man in the
same husky voice as before, " but we cannot go by the
highroad, they began to blast rock in that direction thin
afternoon, there was no other way by which we could
reach Madame De Salaberry's than this, it is a round
about of three miles, and will take us at least half an
hour longer ; if I had known this before vrc started, I
would not have come with such a load for six francs, far
less the beggarly three your servant agreed to give me."

"He comforted, my man," replied Lord Sydenhault,
'' You shall make your own charge, 1 myself will pay
you, and give yru exactly what you believe your time
and labor are worth ; it is a tiresome job running up and
down these hills with this lumbering Sedan, and a great
follow like myself inside it ; go on anl do ot fear, but
you will be paid well for your work."

The men arc moving on again, i* jxi;m9 to Lord Sy-
denhault, with accelerated pace.

"Poor fellows," said he tc hi/nself, "that tall, surly
looking man has put them on thv ;» mettle ; I wish I had
not stopped the Sedan or spoktf to them at all ; he, at
least, need not complain of his vark, the weight of the
lantern can be no great burden."

On they went, it seemed more like an hour ihrxu half
an hour, and the men moved more slowK- now than a^.

'lb'

nii

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298

THE HOLY STONE,

first, as if they were getting tired ; at last the chair is
set down, the door opens, and Arthur is told by the
tall sailor in terms, the rudeness of which accords well
with the husky feigned voice, — to come out

The three men are round the door of the chair as Lord
Sy'denhault steps out on to the road, the night is now
clearer than before, the stars have come out, and their
pale light makes the objects around a little more dis-
tinct Arthur looks round, they are certainly not near
Madame De Salaberry's house or any other human
habitation ; there is neither tree nor fence to be seen,
they are evidently on one of the high, barren headlands,
four or five miles beyond the town.

" Where have you taken me to, fellow ? " said Lord
Sydenhault, a little excited at the situation in which he
found himself. " You must certainly be aware that this
rocky height is not Madame De Salaberry's, or any other
house."

" No words," said the tall fellow ; " we have taken you
where we meant to take you, come, tramp on, you must
use your own legs for the rest of the journey."

Arthur now felt sure that the man had been drinking,
and that his long walk in the open air had not put him
into a good humor ; he was determined to make the best
of it, and desiring the man to walk on with his lantern
in front, prepared to follow him.

" No, you'll go in front," said the fellow with cool in-
solence ; " you mean to make your escape, do you ? "

Lord Sydenhault turned to the other men, and ad-
dressing them in French, asked them if they knew where
they were ? The cool reply was,

THE HOLY STONE.

299

chair is

by the

Drds well

r as Lord
t is now
ind their
iriore dis-
not near
;r human
> be seen,
leadlands,

said Lord
I which he
e that this
any other

taken you
you must

, drinking,
Lt put him
Ike the best

lis lantern

[h. cool in-

you ?
II, and ad-
Lnew where

"We do, but you don't"

He saw that he was in the hands of ruffians, he knew
that in Brest he had the reputation, that most English-
men have, of being rich, and even of carrying large sums
of money on his person, he had probably been brought
to this barren rock for the purpose of robbery, perhaps
of p^urder. He immediately struck out into a run, en-r
deav oring to rid himself of the three men who clustered
around him ; they were tired with their walk, he was
fresh, and for months back had been regaining his lost
strength , he did not at all doubt being able to out match
th: vj *n a r?ce towards the town.

•lis df>iij;n was seen through, and prevented in an in-
?tan»:, ihe three men keeping behind and beside him,
while the tall sailor seized him by the arm, forcing him
down towards the edge of the rock.

Lord Sydenhault was fully equal in height to the tall
man, and, turning suddenly round, grappled with him,
endeavoring to free himself from his grasp.

The sailor struck him a hard blow on the chest, which
for an instant a'^r-ost stunned him ; quickly recovering
himself, he sei^t 'c t ; .i man by his bushy beard, thinking
by this mea'^ '-.o gain tiie mastery, and, without coming
to handicutrj w.' <ht ruffians, make his escape.

The b ard and whiskers came oflf in his hand, di;>
closing to Arthur's astonished eyes, features as familiar
as his own — those of his brother! a blow from whom at
that instant felled him to the earth.

H ■■ !■

L I , I mm

\l . ! :

i^iii

CHAPTER XXVTII.
DICK HALBERT'S SHIP.

WHEN Lord Sydenhault recovered his conscious-
ness, he was lying on the floor of some dark
closet which, he could feel, was moving with him, the
splashing of water close ' ' sounding in his ears. He was
sure he was on board shi; ' 'card the sailors calling to
each other as they walked ^ i'^e deck ; he tried to stand
up, but found this was impossible, he felt around him,
and came to the conclusion that he was in some com-
partment of the vessel where, amid the darkness he
would have to remain, until his brother, or the ruffians
in his employment, saw fit to release him. He knew
that it was to his brother's art in crime he owed all his
wasted years. Foiled in his attempts to deprive him of
reason, Arthur had no doubt, he was being carried, either
to immediate destruction, or worse still, to be incarcer-
ated for life in a mad-house. He lay for hours thinking
over his miserable fate, and, unselfish to the last, mourn-
ing more for the distress his absence would cause his
mother, than for the doom which hung over himself.

Daylight at last dawned, and from a borrowed light,
he saw that he was lying in the cabin of one of the
coasting craft used by fishermen in the Channel Islands.
Some time after, he heard his brother talking to some

one close to the cabin door.
300

THE HOLY STONE.

301

onscious-
>me dark
him, the
5. He was
calling to
d to stand
lund him,
ome com-
rkness he
e ruffians
He knew
d all his
ve him of
tied, either
incarcer-
thinking
;t, mourn-
cause his
mself.
ed light,
le of the
:1 Islands,
to some

" I tell you that place must not be opened until we
arrive at Guernsey," were the first words he heard.

"And I tell you, Tom HoUing," replied the other,
" that I will have no murder committed here, fast or
slow. We shan't be at Guernsey in this contrar win afore
to-morrow, and do you think I'm going to keep the man
i' that close hole wi'out either food or drink all that time ?
If I did, he would never chew bacca again ; no, no, my
jolly tar, depend on't I'm skipper here, and no one shall
sail my ship but me ; there'll be no foul play done in it
I'll not have the * merry mariners that trade i:i human
souls,' making their beds by my hammock on cold nights,
taking away my wits first, and then sending my ship to
the bottom. No, no, Dick Halbert knows a trick worth
two o' that, it's punishment enough, I'll warrant, for a
gentleman like him to be stolen away from his home,
wi'out being killed by inches."

" I tell you he is a fool, replied the other, " and his
mother, who is another fool, wants to put him into his
brother's place, and thrust that brother into the world
without a penny.

" And that brother," replied the skipper, " is Tom
Holling, and can take precious good care of hisself, I'll
warrant. Well, I've no business with your quarrels, I'll
make good my part of the bargain as long as you keep
to yours, and don't forget the day the rhino comes due.
If you don't pay in advance, when you come, you'll find
the bird flown.

'• You shall have your money regularly in advance,"
said the other, " I have given you a hundred pounds^l^
ready, and you dhkll have another as soon as that fellow

<: 1-

i !

WTTT

302

THE HOLY STONE,

is in safe keeping within your tower, as you call it, in
Guernsey ; if that is not good pay, I don't know what is,
and precious easily earned too."

" The pay is good enough, I don't complain o' that,
but the risk is greater than the pay. If that chap was to
get the freedom o* his feet again, he's not such a fool but
he could gi' the police good scent of where he had been,
and who he'd been living wi*, and then it's all up with
Dick Halbert and the old tower at Guernsey ; if me and
my cub saved our skins it's all we could do ; however
there's no use in speaking o' that, he'll never walk out o'
the tower no more than he would into the Ayaves out o'
this ship, without Dick Halbert's leave, which it stands
to reason he can't get. \s long as I receive my hunder
a year, paid in advance, ht'll never stand on green grass
again till he's carried out wi*i: his feet foremost"

The sailor stopped for a minute, and then continued
in a brisk tone,

" If you don't want to see this man, and have another
spat wi' him, scoot ; I'm going to feed him first, and
take him up for a walk on deck afterwards."

" Take care he does not jump overboard," replied the
pretended Tom Rolling ; " if he does, you know the
bargain ; you are only entitled to a thousand pounds, he
has twenty good years* life in him yet, and so a hundred
a year will give you double that money ; his lodginj^
costs you nothing, and with your free trade, his food, such
as it will be, will, not make a great hole in your pocket."

The sailor looked in Tom Holling's face with a queer
expression,

"A sorry man you'd be if he did jump onr«pboanl

■■( -

v»

ill it, in
what is,

I o* that,
ip was to
L fool but
lad been,

up with
if me and

however
alk out o'
^es out o'

it stands
\y hunder
jreen grass

continued

vt another
first, and

THE HOLY STONE.

303

Whenever I met you for the next twelvemonth I'd ex-
pact to see a yard of crape hanging at your hat, but don't
you make your reckoning wi' that score in't, he won't
jump overboard, or walk out o' this world in any other
unfair way as long as he's in Dick Halbert's chaise. As
you say the money will double itself in twenty years,
and he'll neither want for meat, drink or fresh air in the
top of my old castle, and none of the three will cost me a
King's ransom."

^*-<.^«*V2^»^2/laor**

li'S''i-' i .

I I I 'A

'I I

CHAPTER XXIX.

CONSTERNATION.

.;! :r

LADY SYDENHAULT became very uneasy as
first, half an hour, and then an hour, passed away
without bringing her son to join her at Madame De
Salaberry's ; at last she could not conceal from her hos-
tess what she felt, and Madame De Salaberry at once
offered to send a servant to know what prevented Lord
Sydenhault from joining their party.

In half an hour the man returned, accompanied by
Lady Sydenhault's own men servants, to say that Lord
Sydenhault had set off for Madame De Salaberry's a few
minutes after her Ladyship, and that neither carriers nor
chair had yet returned to the house.

An hour afterwards the whole inhabitants of the little

town of Brest were in' a state of consternation at the

news, that the English Lord, who for a month back

had been spending his money so freely among their poor

and needy, was spirited away, no one knew whither.

Next morning, at daylight, the little town was all astir ;

large rewards offered for intelligence of the missing

gentleman. The Sedan chair was found on the rocky

headland where it had been left the night before, and

this was the last trace Lady Sydenhault could obtain of

her lost son.

The tall sailor and his companions had disappeared as
304- .

THE HOLY STONE.

305

uneasy as
issed away
adame De
[n her hos-
ry at once
;nted Lord

ipanied by

that Lord

lerry's a few

carriers nor

ippeared

if some sudden calamity had swept the whole three from
the face of the earth. The landlord of the inn where
these men lived, before the disappearance of Lord Syden-
hault, produced a carpet bag containing a fine cotton
night-shirt and a hair brush with an ivory back. The
bag and its contents were shewn to Johnston, who, se-
lecting the brush, brought it to Lady Sydenhault.

On Johnston's entrance. Lady Sydenhault was inter-
rupted in a painful review of the thoughts that had
disturbed her mind as she stood for a second or two, in
the door-way of the house, before entering the Sedan
which was to convey her to Madame De Salaberry's.
Her attention had been attracted to the tall sailor by
his having placed himself at the corner of the Sedan he
was to aid in carrying. He had inadverdently put the
lantern on the flat roof of the chair, the light from
which fell directly on his head, and the upper part of his
person, throwing them into full relief against the dark
fir trees of the shrubbery. She caught his eyes fixed
with an earnest, searching look upon her face, the ex-
pression in theni being one which would have awaken-
ed thoughts of dread, had she not been surrounded by
her own people. It seemed to her then, that the man's
figure, with the arms thrown slouchingly forward, and the
upper part of his face, as much of it as could be seen
under the sailor's hat, were painfully familiar. The
memories they awoke were anything but agreeable, and
she put them away from her with indignation.

These ideas had all come back with renewed strength,

since the disappearance of her beloved son ; and, as

Johnston shewed her the brush, the conviction forced

1 1

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THE HOLY STONE.

Kii

itself upon her, that if Arthur had met with foul play,
it had been from the hand of his brother.

The police were set on the alert, throughout all France,
in England, and in the Channel Islands ; a hundred
thousand pounds reward was offered for the recovery of
Lord Sydenhault ; for months, men were dispersed
through every part of the country, searching for Lady
Sydenhault's eldest son ; everything was done that
thoughtfulness could suggest, but no intelligence of Lord
Sydenhault ever came to gladden his mother's heart

WJ ■' r I

)ul play,

il France,
hundred
;overy of
dispersed
for Lady
one that
e of Lord
heart

CHAPTER XXX.

TRACES OF THE STONE.

RUBY is in close attendance on her father's sick bed.
Weeks have passed since his first attack of para-
lysis, and although its evil effects, as far as impeding his
speech and motion, have passed away, yet there is no
improvement in his health ; he still lies, almost motion-
less, with closed eyes, taking little or no interest in the
news that is told him oi what is passing in the world.

Ruby sits by his bedside, smoothes his pillow, bathes
his fevered hands, or moves, with gentle step, silently
about the curtained room, a very angel in her father's
sight.

They have only two visitors, both unceasing yet un-
obtrusive in their attentions ; one is Baron Ephriam,
who, preceded by Monica, comes many times during
the day to the sick chamber, stands for a few minutes
leaning over the carved mahogany foot board of the bed,
and looks into the sick man's face with a cheery smile,
as he gives some little bit of news from the outer world ;
never talking hopelessly, or condoling with Lord Sey-
more on his situation, but saying in manner and in word,

" This will all pass away, you will be up and walking
about the streets among your fellow-men, to-morrow."

Some days after Ruby's arrival, she is seated by the
bedside with her face turned towards that of her sick
3or

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If u

3o8

THE HOLY STONE.

Hli

1 '«

PP;^^ ^

!■'■«

Jjiii.

father. Baron Ephriam stands in his accustomed place
leaning on the footboard. Ruby's fingers are busy with
her crochet ; her needle falls to the floor, she stoops to
pick it up ; and, as she bends her head and neck for the
purpose, Baron Ephriam sees the antique gold chain of
his dream !

Nathan the Seeker is a man endowed with great
power of self-restraint, it is the birth-right of every
Hebrew, but his blood rushes with sudden impetuosity
through his veins, his heart beats with a precious hope,
he knows now, as if an angel's hand had written it on
the wall, that he is within three feet of the Holy Stone !

His heart grows sick with very happiness, and he seats
himself that he may wipe the great drops from his brow,
and recover enough physical strength to speak the words
of cheering to the sick man.

He knows now where the Stone is ; for over a thousand
years no Hebrew has ever seen, ever touched the pre-
cious relic ; for all those centuries it had been carefully,
painfully, sought after. As one Seeker died, and found
rest in the grave, another was appointed ; each man going
forth in the strength of his youth, with high hopes, only
to return, as the others had done, at the end of a weary
pilgrimage through long years spent in vain ; with faded
face, and thin gray hair, to lie down and sleep the sleep
that knows no waking.

Nathan has been " The Seeker " for only twenty years
he is still in the strength of his manhood, " his eye is not
dim nor his natural force abated." That the angel Raphael
had been with him many times and oft, he believes with
a firm faith — ; he has been aided in making discoveries

THE HOLY STONE.

309

I place
;y with
)ops to
for the
hain of

h great
►f every
)etuosity
lis hope,
en it on
y Stone I
I he seats
his brow,
the words

snty years
, eye is not
-I Raphael
lleves with
(discoveries

during his twenty years of service, which had been sought
for in Vain, by men older and wiser than he. Had not
Eieazer of Corinth, and Aaron of Moscow, both num-
bered four score years and ten, e'er they laid them
down in their last, long, dreamless sleep ? and had not
they, and every " Seeker," during all the long years of
he previous thousand, spent their lives, in journeyings
and weariness often, in persecution, pain, and fasting
often, and no tidings of the 'Stone' ever came to cheer
them on their way ? Had not more than one " Seeker '*
in the last century, gone, in his fiftieth year, to the Rabbi
and said " absolve me from mine oath, the * Stone ' will
never be found, — it is lost among the Gentiles, — they
know it not, — laugh and say, * there never was such a
* Stone ' ; it is a myth of the Hebrew ? ' — While he, had
been led as Israel in the wilderness — he could almost
ee the pillar of fire by night, the cloud by day. They

d been " as men who dreamed," while his path had
been by "the streams of water in the South," verily
Israel's God had blessed him, and he would be blessed.

That antique chain had spoken to him in words of
greater power than mortal voice ever spoke.

He rises from his seat : his heart is too full to speak
the usual words of cheer to the invalid ; with slow and
heavy footstep he seeks his own room, that there, in si-
lence and alone, he may pour out his praises to Israel's
God, for the high honor to which he hath been 'called.

As the Hebrew leaves the sick room, the patient
exclaims.

" Some sudden illness has come over Baron Ephriam ;
his face was pale as ashes, and, again, bright as crimson

mMm

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310

THE HOLY STONE.

in a second. I trust nothinjj serious ails my friend. Of
all the men I have ever known, that Hebrew lies closest
to my heart."

Edward Penryth is an every day visitor in the sick
chamber ; he comes with quiet, unobstrusive step and
look ; bowing to Ruby, nothing more ; no stranger could
tell that she had ever been more to him than his friend's
daughter. He is still the same composed, courtly gentle-
man, his handsome face and figure showing to greater
advantage in the sick room than it ever did in the
drawing room at Bayswater. His star is in the ascen-
dant ; he comes twice a day, relieving Ruby for an hour
of her duties in the sick room, each day bringing piles of
the public prints from which he skims the cream for Lord
Seymore's amusement, letting him know by reading de-
tached, but pithy sentences, what is doing in the worlds
of politics and of science.

Lord Seymore's dream of marrying Ruby to Mr.
Penryth has not passed away ; nay, his desire, that his
offspring should possess the old Sebert lands, is as strong
as ever ; the wily suitor knows this, and acts upon it.
While to Ruby, his utmost attention consists in a courtly
bow, or a murmured expression of her name, she no
sooner turns to leave the room, however, than he gazes
after her retiring form with his eyes full of love inex-
pressible, being well aware that all the time Lord Sey-
more's looks are fixed upon his face, drinking in its ex-
pression with intense pleasure. ,

Each day after Edward Penryth's departure, Lord
Seymore seems, for an hour or so, visibly better, the

THE HOLY STONE.

311

id. Of
, closest

the sick

tep and

rer could

i friend's

y gentle-

) greater

1 in the

le ascen-

>r an hour

jg piles of

1 for Lord
.ding de-
le worlds

\y to Mr.
;, that his
as strong

upon it.

a courtly
le, she no

he gazes
love inex-

.ord Sey-
lin its ex-

lure, Lord
>etter, the

former always taking care to amuse, without tiring the
invalid.

Ruby and Monica both notice, and often talk of the
effect his presence produces on L'^- 1 Seymore, the nurse
saying more than once,

" If there is a doctor in London that can cure my
master, it is Mr. Penryth."

And Ruby's heart adds, " I have been terribly unjust
to that man ; I never thought I could like him half so
well."

Ruby takes the entire charge of her father's sick room
during the day, Monica occupying her place by his bed-
side«at night ; in this way the hired nurses are never
permitted to have charge of the sick man alone for a
single hour.

When Ruby enters the room after Mr. Penryth's de-
parture, her father ^fenerally requests her to look over
the papers Mr. Penryth has left unfolded ; to glance at the
births, deaths, marriages, the foreign news, etc. ; in
case there should be anything there, which she thinks
will amuse or interest him.

One morning while thus employed, her eye falls on
the words :

"At Paris, on the fourth instant, of typhoid fever, Her-
bert Sydney ; a young and promising artist ; he is believed
to be a native of Britain, and leaves his mother at Syden-
hault Oaks to deplore the loss of her talented son^

The paper swims and whirls before Ruby's eyes as she
reads, but no sound escapes her lips. Laying down the
paper containing those terrible words, — the words which
have withered her heart to ashes, driving out every joy

I il

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312

THE HOLY STONE.

from her young life in one moment, she rises and with
slow steps seeks Monica's room.

Monica is a light sleeper, the movement of the lock as
the doer is opened awakes her; seeing Ruby by her
bedside, her first impression is that her master has be-
come suddenly worse. She utters the words,

" Lord Seymore ! "

Ruby replies with forced composure, " He is as usual,
but Monica, I feel tired and want rest, could you take
my place for the rest of the day ? "

" Very willingly," is the reply, " pray go to your 1 jm
and lie down, ma'am, I will be with my Lord in less than
five minutes."

Ruby kneels down by her bed-side, burying her face
in her hands. (She feels that for her in all the future,
whether it is to be long or short, life will be but a weary
dream, a longing for a loved one gone, through all the
dark midnight, a cry, "would to God it were morning! "
And when the morning and the day come in their garish
dress, she knows that a like cry will ascend to the foot-
stool of her Father : " would to God it were night ! "^

For her, henceforth, on this earth, there is no future,
while her father lives, she prays that God may cmble
her to care for him, to live in the present, and tlien — when
he goes away, on his journey to the silent land, it may
b.. given her, in mercy, to go also. ,

Lord Seymore sees and notes, that something in the
paper she was reading has troubled his child, and, lift-
ing it up from the bed where she had laid it, he observes
and reads the notice of Herbert Sydney's death, reads it
twice over.

' ■ w ^

nd with

e lock as
r by her
• has be-

, as usual,
you take

^our i >>ni
n less than

y her face
the future,
ut a weary
\{Th all the
Imorning !
[heir garish
|o the foot-
.ightl"'^
no future,
ay enable
iicn— when
Ind, it may

[ling in the

and, lift-

I he observes

ith, reads it

THE HOLY STONE.

313

Lord Seymore is not callous to his daughter's sorrow,
but he sincerely rejoices as he reads that the '* school-
master " will cross his path no more for ever.

He has observed with satisfaction that Ruby's face
now evinces none of the aversion it once too plainly
shewed, in her intercourse with Edward Penryth, and a
feeling akin to joy nasses through his soul, as he thinks
that the gentleness with which she now greets him, may,
with her knowledge of Sydney's death, become a tenderer
feeling, and before his death he may see her Edward
Penryth's wife;

Weeks are passing by. Ruby's pale, thin face, and
heavy, dim eye, tell a tale of heart sickness most pleasing
to Mr. Penryth, because they tell him that the notice .of
Herbert Sydney's death, which was the child of his own
imagination, has been read. This sorrow, he believes,
will pass away when she becomes his wife, which he has
no doubt this clever trick of his, will go far to compass.

Ruby wonders, day by day, why her heart does not
break, wonders why amid the wreck and desolation of
all its hopes, (her father on his death-bed, Herbert
Sydney's bright face below the green grass,) her pulse
still beats, her heart lives on.

For a week. Lord Seymore is visibly worse, and, in-
stead of one hour a day, Mr. Penryth asks to be allowed
to spend two, three, and even four, beside what (he says
to Baron Ephriam in tones which he knows will reach
Ruby's ear) must be the death-bed of his dear and
honored friend.

Lord Seymore's illness assumes a restless phase ; two
or three times a day he asks to be lifted from his bed to

■

V ■

:';; r

Mi-;|

•H

! ■ h

.|l! .

} .. <

314

THE HOLY STONE.

a couch placed near the window. This office Mr. Pcnryth
insists on performing for him, and I)is threat height enables
him to do so with an ease to the poor patient which the
valets in attendance cannot effect.

The invalid's worn, weak voice expresses his gratitude
in terms which thrill to the heart of his child.

On one of these occasions, after Mr. Penryth has left
Lord Seymore's sick-room, and Ruby takes her place by
the sufferer's bed-side, she hears her father say, with
closed eyes, when she believes him to be unconscious of
her presence,

" With what comfort I could die if my child were the
wife of this good man."

The time is passing, and with it the physicians warn
Ruby that her father's life is passing also.

On two occasions, he speaks to his daughter on the
subject nearest his heart ; he says only a few words, but
they shew how deeply this old desire, which time or tide
cantiot obliterate, is rooted in his heart.

And Ruby reasons with herself, " what matters it
whether I pass into the silent land as Lord Seymore's
daughter or as Edward Penryth's wife. There will be
neither marrying nor giving in marriage in that blessed
home, we shall know even as we are known, and my dear
love will see so truly that Edward Penryth had only this
hand of flesh, that my heart never wavered for one
moment.

And so, when her father again urged her, with what
seemed almost his dying breath, to grant his last desire,
she tells him the truth in a few words, and then she adds,"

THE HOLY STONE.

315

} \

r. Pcnryth
ht enables
which the

is gratitude

th has left
icr place by
r say, with
:onscious of

ild were the

rsicians warn

Thter on the
sv words, but
i time or tide

ler, with what
Lis last desire,
Ihen she adds,"

"If Edward Penryth will have my hand when he hears
this, let it be his."

Even while the words are passing her pale lips, she
feels as if her life blood were cold water, that by her
own words she has sealed her doom, that, for the future,
she must shut out the remembrance of Herbert Sydney
from her soul, never once to look on those hidden me-
mories again, until the day when she shall clasp his hand,
and look into his eyes, and hear him call her by her
name in the Eternal Land.

But she will not recall one word she has said ; she
believes with a simple, child-like faith, that Herbert
Sydney hears her words, knows every feeling of her soul,
and in his home so far off, yet so near, approves of the
sacrifice she is making. And so Ruby Seymore is to be
Edward Penryth's wife I

The priest is in his robes. Baron Ephriam stands
beside the bridegroom. There are no bridesmaids, —
there is no need of such, — the bride is in her ordinary
dress, the one she wore yesterday, and the day before,
and the golden hair falls in wavy folds on the rich black
silk of her costume, while her great lustrous eyes, and
her ashen, sunk cheek, speak of death in life !

The Baron Ephriam thinks, as he looks on her sweet
sad face, he has never seen anything half so fair or that
j)ained his heart so much ; he looks on the bridegroom,
who, as f^ir as age goes might be her father ; and his
mind goes back to the handsome and talented lover who
is even now striving so hard to win her, and he denoimces
in his soul, the conventionalities of life, which demand
I such a sacrifice.

^ '(

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316

THE HOLY STONE.

Monica is in the adjoining apartment, she cannot stand
by to see the sacrifice of her darling, and yet she cannot
bear to be far off ; she must hear the terrible words that
consign her best loved to a living death.

The priest is a stranger, yet he knows too surely that
it is not sorrow for the man who lies dying there that
has worn the beautiful girl's cheek and makes her eye
blaze, and he says in his heart, " God forgive me, if in
^cmnizing His Holy rite of Matrimony I am doing the
devil's work ! "

And now Edward Penryth is again asked with Ruby
by his side,

" Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to
live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of
matrimony ? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and
keep her in sickness and in health ; and forsaking all
other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall
live?"

With a strong voice that rings out clear in the silent
room, Edward Penryth answers :

" I will."

These two words strick Monica as with an electric
shock, she is in the sicl; room in a moment, on the other
side of Lord Seymore's bed, opposite to where the
priest, the bridegroom and the bride are standing, close
by the dying man ; her hands are raised level with her
head as she stretches them accross the bed in the direc-
tion of Edward Penryth, while, with fierce eyes fixed
upon his face, she calls out :

" I forbid this unholy marriage ! That man is a mar-
ried man, and a father 1 "

annot stand
; she cannot
; words that

surely that
y there that
tkes her eye
ive me, if in
am doing the

:d with Ruby

ided wife, to

holy state of

her, honor and

forsaking all

ye both shall

in the silent

|ith an electric
It, on the other

to where the
[standing, close

level with her
•d in the direc-
[rce eyes fixed

man is a mar-

THE HOLY STONE.

317

Had a shell from some distant battle field fallen in the
midst of them, it could not have produced a more start-
ling effect.

•* You lie, fiend ! mad-woman ! " exclaimed Mr.
Penryth.

" I do not lie, Mr. Marchmont," replied the woman
fiercely, "and you know I do not, but you, are all a lie ; you
know me well, and remember the three days I lived with
you in your'wife's house at Jersey, and nursed your daugh-
ter, Constance. Your wife, two grown up daughters, and
three little boys, can all be brought to attest the truth of
what I say ; you are more surely Mr. Marchmont than
ever you will be Lord Sydenhault."

Each one in the room feels that the woman has told
the truth, there is not the shadow of a doubt on the
mind of one present.

The young priest with a sigh of thanksgiving, closes
his book and puts it under his arm as he moves some
paces away from the bed. The Baron Ephriam feels as
if a weight of lead had been lifted from his breast.

The sick man, who. an hour before could scarcely raise
his hand, is sitting up in the bed, and with fierce eye
and gesture ordering the enraged bridegroom to leave
the house ; never to pollute it with his presence more.

The only unmoved face is that of the bride. There
is a little touch of color in the cheek as if the blood had
begun to flow again, the .eye has lost its blaze, but her
exterior is calm, and she feels she is saved to be Herbert
Sydney's bride in the Spirit land. She knows Monica
has told the truth, she remembers the trunk with the
brass nails on which she spelled out "Arthur Pen-

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mi : I.

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3i8

THE HOLY STONE.

r)'th," and she knows now that the beautiful pictured
face above the quaint mantel piece in the old farmhouse,
is that of his weak brother, Arthur, as he must have ap-
peared in his life's young prime.

And Constance and Amy, with their dark handsome
faces, dark eyes and hair, are before her mind's eye, and
^ach face says distinctly, "Edward Penryth is my father !"

^ -Ti

■^^

ul pictured
farm house,
st have ap-

: handsome
d's eye, and
my father!"

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE SPRING TIDE PICTURES.

LORD SEYMORE'S indignation, at the rascally
duplicity of his would be son-in-law, seems to
have suddenly restored him to almost vigorous health.
The thought that Edward Penryth had intended to con-
fer upon his darling Ruby the honour of being his biga-
mistical wife, sends the sluggish blood of yesterday
coursing with lightning speed through his veins to-day.
His recovery seems more the work of magic t'.an any-
thing else, it does not take him more days to get well,
than it took weeks to drain his strength, sap the vigor
from his blood, and lay him on what every one, save
Baron Ephriam, believed to be his deathbed.

One day, he is sitting in his chair by the fire, another
by the open window, another day or two, and he is
pacing with almost sturdy steps to and fro in his apart-
ment. His physicians advise change of air and scene,
bid him visit France and Germany, make a short tour,
and return to pass the winter by his own fireside.

Twc or three weeks after the signal exposure which
Monica had made of the perfidy of Edward Penryth, Lord
Seymore is spending the evening before his departure in
his library. Ruby is there also, with the sad, quiet face
she always wears now, she is to accompany him on his tour
319

K I \

i I

320

THE HOLY STONE.

ir-

6BB

|;';:|i

jfeg

SlE

to the continent, and she sits, with folded hands, thinking
on the subject that is never absent from her thoughts.

Baron Ephriam enters, carrying a portfolio ; he greets
his friend in his usual hearty tone of voice, " You will be
gone to-morrow ; I wish I could go also. I have brought
you engravings of Sydney's last pictures, they are said
to be his best, they are two he has added to the series
of • The Spring Tide.' "

Ruby's heart is stirred with a strange feeling. Baron
Ephriam had, many weeks ago, long before she read the
notice of Herbert Sydney's death, taught her who the
painter of " The Spring Tide " pictures was, and her
heart beats uneasily to hear the man who used to talk of
Herbert Sydney as if he were a beloved son or younger
brother, now, that he lies cold and silent in the earth,
speak in the old jovial strain with not even a subdued
accent in his voice.

" These pictures have both been sold," continued he,
" for larger prices than the seven others. He tells me
he has realized twenty thousand pounds by the sale
of each of them, but he does not say who the purchasers
are ; I have taken it into my head it is Barnum the
showman ; if so, he will make his money out of them ;
when I was in New York, Barnum was vowing vengeance
against his own stupidity in letting the others slip through
his fingers."

" Poor fellow," said Lord Seymore, (he could afford to
praise the * School-master,' now that he believed him to
be in the other world,) " he would, no doubt, have built
himself up a coliosal fame and fortune both, had he
lived."

THE HOLY STONE.

321

Is, thinking
houghts.
; he greets
^ou will be
.ve brought
ley are said
3 the series

ng. Baron
ihe read the
ler who the
as, and her
ed to talk of
I or younger
n the earth,
I a subdued

Dntinued he,
He tells me
by the sale
le purchasers
Barnum the
)ut of them ;
ng vengeance
5 slip through

)uld afford to
eved him to
Dt, have built
oth, had he

" Had he lived ! What do you mean ? " inquired the
Baron with a queer smile, as he raised his head from the
table, where he was endeavoring to make the engravings
lie flat.

•' I mean," replied Lord Seymore, " that it is a pity
Sydney the painter died so young."

" Died ! " said the Baron with a smiling face, " what
has put that in your head ? If he is dead it is within
the last hour. I had a telegram from him this morning."

Baron Ephriam gave one glance in the direction where
Ruby sat ; her hands were folded in her lap, and she
trembled, as if with an ague fit.

" I saw his death in the " Times " three weeks ago,"
replied Lord Seymore, and, ringing for his servant, de-
sired him to look over the " deaths " in the " Times " for
the last few weeks, and bring him the paper that con-
tained the notice of Herbert Sydney the artist's death.

A paper was brought. The Baron Ephriam looked at

it,

" Who could have done this ? These things are poor
jokes ; in any cas.e I hope his mother did not see it, and
have the heart ache for a week in consequence. One good
thing, Mr. Sydney is very regular in his habits of corres-
pondence, and never allows a post to pass without letting
her hear that he is alive and well, and making more
money than he knows what to do with."

Baron Ephriam stole another gLnce at Ruby's face ;
her cheek had a rose tint now, she was more like the
original of " The Spring Tide " pictures than he had seen
her for many a long day.

- The Baron came on the morrow to bid good-bye to

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322

THE HOLY STONE.

■ ■

14.

'-'-

Lord Seymore and his daughter, to give them introduc-
tions which would be of use to them in their journey,
and to bid them God-speed.

The carriage was at the door, Ruby's hat on, her
shaw| folded over her arm, the Baron dressed with his
overcoat, all in readiness to depart.

" I am late," said the Baron Ephriam, " and I am
sorry for it, because I shall be obliged to trespass on your
good nature, and apologize to Miss Seymore for detain-
ing you five minutes ; there is a puzzle in one of my re-
cords which I know you can solve for me by looking at
it, can you spare the time ? "

" Certainly, with all pleasure," replied Lord Seymore,
and with a few words of apology to Miss Seymore, the
two gentlemen left the room.

The records were on the table. Lord Seymore sat
down with composure, to look over the difficulty, and
point out to the Baron Ephriam what he was to do.

Just as Lord Seymore began his task, the Hebrew
went to the room door, opened it, spoke a few wordi' to
an imaginary person in the lobby, and, turning towards
his guest, saying as he did so, in a hurried voice:
" Excuse me for one moment. Lord Seymore." was
gone from the room, shutting the door as he went out
In a second he was in Lord Seymore's apartment where
they had just left Ruby ; apologizing for his intrusion,
and taking a book from the table which he had left
there a few minutes before, he produced a note, hand'ng;
it to Ruby with the same coolness, as if it were 01
invitation to some evening party, said "I think uit

THE HOLY STONE.

323

introduc-
r journey,

at on, her
d with his

and I am
ass on your
for detain-
e of my re-
looking at

d Seymore,
eymore, the

seymore sat
fficulty, and
,s to do.
the Hebrew
iw wordi? to
ing towards
rried voice:
yrmore." was
te went out
ment where
is intrusion,
he had left
ote, hand- '^^

is for you, Miss Seymor^ it got mixed up in my papers
somehow."

While her murmured " Thank you " rang in his ear,
he was gone, already standing beside his friend, and
listening to a prolix account of what was to bedon* with
a deed that he knew far better how to manage than the
one who supposed he was doing the Hebrew a favor.

Ruby knew well the hand that wrote the address on
the little note delivered by the Baron, and hurrying to
her own apartment, locked it as she entered, that she
might read the words written there, in silence, and alone.

There were but a few lines, but they were sufficient,
all she wished to know, all she cared to hear, and she
knelt by her bedside, burying her sobbing face in the
pillows, while her heart went up in thankfulness to her
Heavenly Father* '.who hath mercy ever.'

As she drove along in the carriage, half an hour after-
wards, by her father's side, the sky seemed bluer than it
had ever been before, the autumn tints of tree and flower
richer and more varied than they had ever appeared in
all her life long ; the very insects chirruped and sang
with greater happiness ; all the earth was full of joy for
Ruby.

r*-*-^vi/'2^=^2/^a^-V— *

^eie 01
think

CHAPTER XXXII.

MISTRESS MONICA'S LETTER.

DURING the rest of the day, in which Monica had
made the discovery that Edward Penryth was the
husband of Mrs. Marchmont she felt ill at ease ; felt that
she had a solemn duty to perform, she knew that Mrs.
Marchmont, had been married to Edward Penryth, in
the church of the parish where her father and mother
dwelt, up among the Jersey hills. At the time Miss
Seymore went to spend a week there, Monica went also ;
she had been in the very church where the marriage had
taken place, seen the priest who performed the cere-
mony ; she could yet look back, in her memory, to the
very spot at the altar rails, pointed out as the place
where the bride and bridegroom had knelt.

In that quiet farm house, where incidents other than
the usual occupations of the day were rare, each little
occurence was treasured and talked over, in fact, became
an episode in the lives, not only of Monsieur and Madame
Bellfeuille, but also of all their dependants.

Monsieur Bellfeuille owned the land he tilled, and the
cottagers around who paid rent to him, looked upon the
farmer as a great seigneur, and considered the gaunt-
looking old farm house with its many gables, as a state-
ly family mansion ; hence such an event as the mar-
riage of the proprietor's daughter was one that would
live in all their memories.
324

THE HOLY STONE,

325

Monica had
yth was the
3e ; felt that
AT that Mrs.
Penryth, in
and mother
e time Miss
;a went also ;
marriage had
pd the cere-
mory, to the
as the place

other than
:, each little
fact, became
and Madame

lilled, and the
ced upon the
Id the gaunt-
]es, as a state-
as the mar-
ie that would

Monica knew that with a husband whose reputed

wealth was great even in rich England, Mrs. Marchmont*s

means were so scanty, that had it not been for the help

she received from the old farm house, she would have

had to deny her children the few and simple pleasures
afforded them.

During that long restless day, Monica asked herself
many times, " What is my duty ? Will it not be a sin
for me to conceal from Mrs. Marchmont the real name
and position of her husband ? If I should hear a month
hence that Mr. Penryth has married some other noble
lady, what will be my share in that transaction ? "

She could not ask counsel of Ruby in this emergency,
as she was wont to do. " No," said she to herself, ' 'I
will not allow my darling to soil her hands by any in-
terference in this man's foul transactions. God who made
me the means of saving her from Mr. Penryth, will help
me to do what is best. I will pray to God, He will put
thoughts into my heart, and words into my mouth."

Monica was helped ; ere the night closed she had
written a long letter to Mrs. Marchmont, which, in due
time, found its way to thi little home in the quiet Jersey
village.

It was with feelings of horror that Mrs. Marchmont
read the words which told her that her husband was no
poor officer in the Preventive service, but the son of an
I'^nglish Countess, a man of large wealth, who, but for
the knowledge of his voice and person obtained by Mo-
nica while in attendance on her daughter, would now be
the husband of the beautiful Miss Seymore they all
loved so well.

r .1 ■ i

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326

THE HOLY STONE.

Mrs. Marchmont, after reading the first few lines, car-
ried the letter to her own room, and, locking the door,
sat down, that she might there read, and re-read, this
wonderous epistle.

When Monica wrote the letter, she was aware she was
telling a story entirely out of the common run of events,
telling Mrs. Marchmont that while making and mend-
ing her children's clothes, teaching them to spell and
to read, going on in her simple round of everyday duties
in that poor uncarpeted home, she was the wife of one
whose mother counted her income by thousands, while
she feared, to spend a few shillings on anything but the
barest necessaries 1 Monica had seen the difficult task
which lay before her, and in her simple way she had
given so minute a description of all she knew concern-
ing Mr. Penryth, that this very circumstance gave to her
letter the stamp of truth.

She told Mrs. Marchmont that Miss Seymore was the
daughter of Lord Seymore, that a year previous. Miss
Seymore had been asked in marriage by Mr. Penryth,
and that the marriage had been suddenly put a stop to.
She accounted for her own ignorance of Mr. Marchmont
and Mr. Penryth being the same person, when she saw
him in Mrs, Marchmont's home, by the fact, that when
he was paying his addresses to Miss Seymore, she had
never seen him. The only room in the house fronting the
lawn which her duties called upon her lo enter, being
Miss Seymore's, the windows of which opened into a con-
servatory made and kept expressly for Miss Seymore's
own use, a place Mr. Penryth had never entered. Hence,
she had no opportunity of seeing the noble bride-

THE HOLY StONE.

lines, car-
the door,
-read, this

•e she was
of events,
Lnd mend-
spell and
^day duties
wife of one
ands, while
ing but the
ifTicult task
ay she had
ew concern-
gave to her

groom, unless her feelings had dictated to her to seek
such, which they did not.

Mrs. Marchmont sat, until far into the night, in her
own chamber, with barred door, reading, re-reading and
thinking over this letter with its astounding news. It
did not come upon her unexpectedly, Mr. Marchmont's
manners and appearance, his clothes, his very hands,
softer and whiter than her own, had told her he was a
man whose position was other than he professed it to be ;
she had long suspected he was not what he seemed,
that he was a man of easy, if not of affluent means, in-
stead of one to whom every pound was of value, and only
to be laid out in bare necessaries, as he assured her was
the case.

When the soft light of the autumn morning was break-
ing the darkness outside, and paliiig the light of the
candle by which she had so often read the letter in her
hand, Mrs. Marchmont still sat on the low seat by her
bedside. She had come to the resolution of not im-
parting the tidings she had received to anyone, but to
wait, trusting in her Heavenly Father, who alone could
help her in this dilemma ; she felt sure the time was not
far distant when her husband would come to change
their present life in one way or another; and she resolved
that she would not, merely to relieve the pressure on her
own soul, say anything to her children which could
lessen the little love they had for their father ; she would
bear the burden alone, it would nof be for long, she
would try to do God's bidding, and as she had been do-

328

THE HOLY STONE.

ing for years past, endeavor in her * patienee to possess
her soul.'

On leaving Lord Seymore's sickroom, Edward Pen-
ryth scarcely gave himself time for thought ; hv» hailed a
cab, sprang in and ordered the man to drive quickly to
the South Eastern Railway station ; arrived there, he
took a ticket for Southampton, and it was while being
whirled along in the train that he first permitted himself
to think over the events of the morning.

He recollected perfectly having seen Monica in his
daughter's apartment, and having questioned her as
to whether she came from St. Helier ; he was convinced
she had deceived him, that she was an English sick-
nurse who had probably accompanied some invalid to
Jersey, and that his wife in paying a visit to St. Helier
(a thing he had strictly forbidden), had picked her up
and brought her to the village to relieve herself of the
irksome task of attending to her sick daughter.

He was not long in concocting a plan, by adopting
which, he hoped to convince Lord Seymore that the
sick-nurse was mistaken in her belief that the Mr. March-
mont she had seen, and Mr. Penryth were the same
person. He determined to get his wife and children re-
moved from Jersey with all speed.

Where to send them, he had not quite made up his
mind, it was a matter of small consequence, provided
they were Air enough off, buried in some out of the way
place where they would never hear an English word ;
one of the French Colonies suggested itself to him ; thr's
could easily be managed, meantime he would bring them

THE HOLY STONE.

329

possess

xd Pen-
hailed a
uickly to
there, he
ile being
d himself

ca in his
;d her as
convinced
Tlish sick-
invalid to
St. Helier
ed her up
,olf of the

adopting

that the

[r. March-

the same

Ihildren re-

^de up his
provided
)f the way
lish word ;
him; this
)ring them

to the main land, preparatory to going to their destina-
tion, wherever it might be. This effected, he would re-
turn to the village, with his carriage and servants, dressed
in a costume very different to that he had worn on his
former visits, and going to the Bailli and priest, neither
of whom he had ever seen, would promise them a hand-
some sum for a certificate hom each, to the effect that he
and Mr. Marchmont were not the same person, although
a 3triking likeness existed between them ; that Mr. Pen-
ryth was a younger and a darker man than Mr. March-
mont

Upon these documents, and an earnestly expressed
desire on the part of Mr. Penryth that Lord Seymore
would appoint some one to accompany him to the
Jersey village, so that they might themselves judge of
the truth of his story he depended for reinstating him-
self in Lord Seymore's good opinion. His having found
out the yillage where the Marchmont's lived, (the name
not having been mentioned by Monica), he would
account for, by saying he had gone from one village to
another, until he had found out where these people had
lived ; unfortunately they were now gone, and no one
could tell whither ; otherwise, he would have brought
the true Mr. Marchmont with him, as the best and
simplest way of proving his story the true one.

Edward Peniyth had travelled so quickly, that Monica's
letter had only preceded him by a few hours ; after her
night of watching and weeping, his wife had barely time
to refresh herself by bathing her head and face, and
changing her clothes, ere she was confronted by her
husband. She saw at a glance that his temper, always

;■ t >'

^ i: '

if ^ ''■

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! -I

.'■ 'a

330

THE HOLY STONE,

)M'

I 1

»»fii

irritable, was at the present moment excited in the high-
est degree, and the poor woman absolutely quailed be-
neath the eye of the man who had wronged her so deeply.

" Well, madam," were the first words he uttered, on
entering his wife's apartment, as he threw himself into
the chair in which she had passed the night ; " you have
done for yourself as well as for me now ; how will you
like, you who could not live on two hundred a year with-
out grumbling, to go io one of the French Colonies, and
help to earn the bread yourself and children eat ?"

Mrs. Marchmont stared in unfeigned astonishment,
his words were so different from what she imagined they
would have been, she fancied that he had come to try
to excuse himself, forgetting that he was entirely igno-
rant of her knowledge of the facts with which Monica's
letter had acquainted her.

" I do not understand you, explain yourself," said she,
with as much calmness as she could assume.

" I will do so," still in the same fierce angry tone.
" Do you recollect when we first married that I told you
what I have continued to impress upon you, with, alas !
very little effect ; that you must on no account visit St.
Helier, or associate with any of the English people
there." He stopped to take breath, and Mrs. March-
mont attempted to answer him, which he prevented
alike by eye and finger, raising the latter pointedly.
" Excuse me, madam, I shall finish what I have to
relate before troubling you again to repeat the falsehoods
which you told me when I was last here."

Mrs. Marchmont's face bore evidence to the burning
indignation which this accusation gave rise to in her

THE HOLY STONE.

331

\ the high-
[uailed be-
r so deeply,
uttered, on
imself into
" you have
)W will you
a year with-
olonies, and

11 eat ? "
itonishment,

lagined they
come to try
ntirely igno-
ich Monica's

elf," said she,

angry tone,
it I told you
with, alas!
lunt visit St.
Iglish people
Wrs. March-
le prevented

tr pointedly.

lit I have to
le falsehoods

the burning
ise to in her

heart, but compressing her lips she raised her eyes to
his face, as if by so doing, the truth there expressed
would make him ashamed of the injustice of his accusa-
tion. " I shall now " continued he, in the same bitter tone
as before, " explain to you, my motive for requiring what
it would appear, is a great sacrifice on your part ; my si-
tuation is one that has never been held by a married
man, and I knew that the day I was discovered to be
such, would leave me penniless. By your disobedience
I have been turned out of my situation, the sick nurse
whom you employed f6r your daughter Constance has
given information to the authorities that I am a married
man ; the consequence is, all that is now left us, is to go
to a Colony where we can work hard for our daily-
bread. Make your arrangements as quickly as possible ;
this morning I shall sell those trumpery pieces of fur-
niture, and to-night we shall all depart for the main
land."

Mrs. Marchmont was so overwhelmed with astonish-
ment, that, for some moments, she sat on the seat she
had taken opposite her husband, cogitating with herself
which could be the truth, his story, or Monica's.

At last, however, she determined she would take what
appeared the plainest course, by at once shewing him
the letter, the perusal of which had caused her so much
pain during the past night. In taking it from the table
on which it lay, she said, in a dignified manner, very
different from her usual tone in addressing her husband
whom she really feared. " Mr. Marchmont or Mr. Pen-
ryth whichever you are, pray read that letter."

The words fell on his ear as if they had been scathing

IT\,^

332

THE HOLY STONE.

i I

n I
H

iiL'i

I [ i .. .
f

iiUi

|r;i»'

' 1

lightning, the secret he thought impossible for her ever
to arrive at, was in her possession, he was hemmed in
on every side, and his hand shook as he took the letter
from hers. His wife sat gazing in his face as he read,
and re-read Monica's words ; he saw then, that the
woman who had confronted him beside Lord Seymore's
bed was an old and attached domestic, and from her
letter, it was clear, that not only she, but Miss Seymore
also, knew his wife and family.

"Who is the writer of this letter ? " asked he, more for
the purpose of eliciting other information than that
which he asked for, and also to give liim time to arrange
his scattered thoughts.

"The attendant who accompanied Miss Seymore, the
daughter of Lord Seymore, to Jersey, when she lived at
Madame Dupont's." '

" What brought Miss Seymore to Madame Dupont's ?"

" I cannot tell, most likely the same motive that brings
other ladies of her rank, to do good by helping to edu-
cate these poor orphans."

"Are you acquainted with Miss Seymore ? "

" Yes, during the past year she has never been a week
without passing several hours in my house, she in-
stn; icd Amy and Constance in English, and in music,
and she has invited them both, to visit her at her father's
house in London."

Here was a revelation ; his wife he could easily man-
age, but Constance, with the determination of character
she inherited from himself, her ability to express herself
on paper, her knowledge of Miss Seymore's address, how
was he to manage Constance ? He must see her at once,

^wm

her ever
mmed in
the letter
i he read,
that the
5eymore's
from her
i Seymore

t, more for
than that
to arrange

ymore, the
lie lived at

upont's ?"
hat brings
y to edu-

een a week
e, she in-
in music,
ler father's

jasily man-
f character
ress herself
ddress, how
er at once,

THE HOLY STONE.

333

find out if they had corresponded, and how much she
knew.

It was just possible Miss Seymore might have written
to Constance an account of the startling interview which
put a stop for the second time to a marriage between
herself and the girl's father.

This was only the thought of a moment, and was dis-
carded at once ; yet it troubled his already over-excited
brain. He had eaten nothing since he left London, but
he had drunk plentifully of brandy and water, which he
had never indulged in before to the same extent ; it
seemed absolutely needed to give him strength of body,
and enable him to arrange and re-arrange his thoughts,
as he had been trying to do ever since he left town,
with only snatches of sleep, from which he would start
with Monica's words ringing in his ear, " That man is
a married man and a father ! "

" Where is Constance ? Bring her here, I wish to
speak to her," he said in a quick way, quite at variance
with his usual mode of speaking.

" Constance has not left her room," replied Mrs. March-
mont, speaking with a composure she did not feel, and
which seemed to excite her husband in a most extra-
ordinary degree.

" Not left her room ! " exclaimed he. " Do you sleep
all day here ? Bring her to me instantly, if she is not
here within five minutes I will know why."

He rose to his feet with a look which seemed more the
fierce glare of a demon, than that of a human being*
Mrs. Marchmont hesitated, she almost felt as if she
were in the room with a madman, and would be bring-

s^ m

m
f-' i,;

, , 1

--i-r-« ^'

334

THE HOLY STONE.

i ^v

' 1

mm^:

ing her child into dangerou.» proximity with one who
was unaccountable for his actions ; she knew Constance's
temper, that she would not try to conciliate her father,
or calm down his anger, as she herself would ; and for a
moment she stood irresolute.

Edward Penryth pulled his watch from his pocket, ex-
claiming in a voice of thunder which echoed through the
quiet dwelling amid the hush and silence of the early
morning. " If the girl is not here within the time I men-
tioned, you and she, shall both have cause to wish she
had never been born, if I should be hanged for it"

As the last words left his lips, the word "fool" seemed
to be thundered in his ears, his body to be swayed back-
wards and forwards by some irresistible power, he was
impelled against his will to look up in full expectation of
seeing the demon of his mother's drawing-room above
his head, he felt as if the floor beneath his feet had sud-
denly given way, the interview of the morning had long
been a thing of the past, his brother and his child were
in some unaccountable way mixed up with the demon
which he believed he saw, above his head — the claws,
he felt in his hair — A great cry escaped his lips which,
without words, went up to the ear of the Most High as
the same cry did six thousand years ago, "Am I my
brother's keeper ? "

Edward Penryth fell on his face to the ground, and
when his wife tried to raise him she could only move his
head enough to see that his face was swollen and purple,
white foaiii issuing from his lips, as it were the foam of
the salt sea waves.

th one who

Constance's

her father,

I ; and for a

s pocket, ex-
through the
)f the early
time I men-
to wish she
for it"
ibol" seemed
wayed back-
wer, he was
cpectation of
rroom above
^et had sud-
ng had long
child were
the demon
- the claws,
5 lips which,
ost High as
" Am I my

round, and
ily move his
and purple,
:he foam of

■ft

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t
S

t(
tJ
w

CHAPTER XXXIII.

ALAS FOR THE CONQUEROR KING!

LORD SEYMORE and his daughter are travelling
in their own carriage, attended by Monica and a
couple of men servants.

His fortune is not such as by any means to warrant
an expenditure of this kind, but he has just recovered
from a long and dangerous illness, one in which he has
been treading on the borders of the Land of the Shadow,
and his physicians have warned him that while change
of air and scene are necessary to his complete restoration,
he must be surrounded, as much as possible, by his own
servants, and the comforts to which he has been accus-
tomed all his life in his English home.

They take their journey by easy stages ; through
Southampton Water, past the Isle of Wight, to Havre,
where they take the train for Paris ; stopping long enough
to rest at Humiere's. Passed Elbeuf, on and on, through
Liseux, to Caen, where they remain for a day or two,
that they may inspect with care the place where every
spot is historical ground ; tread the earth which was
trodden so many centuries ago by William the Conqueror.

Alas ! alas ! We can only look at the place of his in-
terment. With the exception of a very doubtful hip bone,
the ashes of William have been scattered to the four
winds of Heaven. Although the names of William and
335

r •

i '

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336

THE HOLY STOVE.

Matilda are as familiar as household words to every
peasant here, not a single memorial of them remains,
except the citadel and churches which they built. It is
the same everywhere in Normandy, — even at Falaise,
where the Conqueror was born, and at Rouen where he
died.

That story is the saddest of all the glory stories on re-
cord, and thinking over it we wonder to ourselves, and
say, *' Can this be veritable history ? " —

Yes, the truest of all true histories, the life and death
of a man set above his fellows, who longed to be glori-
fied — not loved. The meanest Norman peasant lived a
happier life, died a more peaceful death, and most surely
was buried where his ashes were allowed to remain in
quiet, and fulfil the mandate " dust to dust."

The eyes of William were closed by menials, who,
dividing his wardrobe and other portables among them,
abandoned the unburied corpse ! In this, only imitating
the example of his friends and family who forsook him
ere he had ceased to breathe, while his eyes were yet
capable of noting each retreating form as it left his bed-
side. A peasant took pity on the dead body of the for-
saken king, and with a few others of his own class con-
veyed it to Caen for burial.

As the scanty, poor procession approached the city, a
fire broke out, and the terrified bearers laid down the
king's body and fled. It seemed as if this last miserable
honor was interdicted. Worse still, on the way to the
grave, the peasants having rallied a second time, and
borne t!»e body to the church, the form of a funeral ser-
v'.ce was gone through, with as much show of ceremony

THE HOLY STONE.

337

to every
n remains,
luilt. It is
at Falaise,
n where he

cries on re-
rselves, and

t and death
to be glori-
asant lived a
most surely
o remain in

lienials, who,
.mong them,
[Illy imitating
forsook him
es were yet
left his bed-
iy of the for-
n\ class con-
led the city, a
lid down the
I last miserable
le way to the
Ind time, and
I a funeral ser-
of ceremony

as was possible under the circumstances, but when the
Bishop called upon the people to pray for the soul of the
deceased, a citizen sprang up, and with loud threats pro-
tested against the interment. His father's house had
stood upon that spot, and had been seized by William,
and its inmates driven homeless and desolate into the
streets.

For this wrong, the citizen demanded restoration of
the ground as the property of himself, in right of his
family, and refused to let the funeral obsecitiics proceed.

The justice of the demand was supported by the un-
animous voice of the people ; and the priests, after vainly
remonstrating against the interruption, were compelled
to compromise the matter by purchasing from the citizen
the little space of earth in which the remains of the king
were about to be laid.

The burial service was suspended, while the price of
the king's grave was debated, and the coin paid over to
the owner in the nave of the Church.

This obstruction removed ; all was now ready for the
last sad office, but a fatality still followed the corpse, the
peasants said that the curses of torn and bleeding hearts
were around it, and so indce-' it seemed to be. As the
coffin was swung down into the grave it struck against
the side of the pit, was i:>roken open by the shock, and
flung its swollen contents violently to the bottom where
the corpse burst The effluvium which instantly filled
the Church, was so over powering that the people rushed
out in all directions ; even the Priest fled, and the last
sad rites accorded to every poor man, were for the King
and Conqueror left unfinished. The earth was hastily

338

THE HOLY STONE.

I '

hurled over the body, and there it lay unmolested for
nearly five centuries, when the Hugenots who had heard
that treasures of great value had been buried with it,
tore up the grave, and finding nothing but the bones,
collected them in a piece of cloth and scattered them
about the Church, completing the desecration by de-
stroying the very grave stone.

The relics were afterwards stealthily gathered, and
placed for safe custody in the hands of a monk, who kept
them carefully in his cell in hopes of finding an oppor-
tunity of restoring them in secret to the rifled grave.
But it never came. The sam? malignant Spirit still
pursued the bones as he had done the corpse nearly five
centuries before.

The town was sacked, the monks expelled, and the
bones dispersed to the four winds of Heaven for the last
time. And all that now remains of William the Con-
queror is a hip bone which was bought from the insur-
gents and deposited under his »^ionument. Yet, thi:>
King was a most liberal benefactor to the town ; and
these indignities cast upon his remains were done in the
very face of those noble structures built by his munifi-
cence.

The founder of the Churches of St. Etienneand of the
Trinity was surely entitled to the poor reward of beinij
spared insult in his toniK

These churches are almost miracles of mediaeval art,
and while standing amid the repose of their nave and
aisle, the grandeur of the conception gains gradually
upon the mind, filling it with feelings of profound awe.
The recessed pillars, the groined roofs, the colonnaded

mm^m

THE HOLY STONE.

339

(lested for
had heard
d with it,
the bones,
ered them
3n by de-

hcred, and
k, who kept
; an oppor-
ifled grave.
Spirit still
; nearly five

cd, and the
\ for the last
in the Con-
rt the iiisur-
Yet, thir>
tovn ; and
done in the
his inunifi-

\c and of the
ird of being

\ediaeval art,
:ir nave and
Ins gradually
Irofound awe.
colonnaded

naves, the vastness and elevation, are elements of a mag-
nificence expressly characteristic of the highest forms of
Norman arch'tecture.

They have seen all they wish to see in Caei., Lord
Seymore instead of feeling weary with the journey, is
refreshed and strengthened, and Ruby with Herbert Syd-
ney's note lying next her bosom, is getting back her
rose leaf color and dimpled cheek. They now take
tlieir way along the seductive heights of Vire, look at
the beautiful scenery and Cathedral of Avranches, and
pass through the Valley of the Fountain. They meet
se' -^^ral Knglish families in Brest, where, to their great
surprise, they are told the story of the abduction of
Lord Sydenhault, which fills Lord Seymore with hearty
sympathy for his old friend the Countess, and shock
them '"'^Mi by the surmises, coming through the servants,
who, . i all was over, seem suddenly to have found out
a striking resemblance b' 'ween the bearded face of the
tall English sailor, and the brother of the stolen man.
That brother whose interest it manifestly is, that Lord
Sydenhault should remain in the old dreamy state in
which he had lived for nearly a score of years, or else
disappear entirely from human ken.

The next resting place is in Brittany, where in the
Cote-duNord, it is not the Breton peasant alone who
lias an indomitable horror of modern notions, airs of
fine breeding, etiquette, taste and manners of the towns ;
hut the country gentlemen speak little else than the
patois of the Breton, and attend the Session of the States
at Rennes in the dress of i)easauts, in sabots (wooden
siloes), with swords by their sides. ;

:. , I!

M 1

'I a

:i'.>

340

THE HOLY STONE.

Piety towards the dead is a sentimt^nt common to all
primitive communities, but the Bretons carry it to an
excess of romantic tenderness, and it is with feelings of
great wonder that, in wandering about the Churches and
graveyards, Ruby and her father listen to the peasants,
who tell them (in full faith that they speak the truth),
that their friends and relatives lie in the graves around,
consi ous of their locality, like sentient creatures listen-
ing to high mass, and the supplications of their friends!

" The souls of our fathers dwell here," say they, " we
would not have them buried far away in the cemetery,
where they could no longer hear the chants of the ser-
vice, or our prayers as we make intercession for them ;
we love to have them near us, to feel that they know
when we pass by, when we talk of them, and strew
flowers on their graves. This is their home, we can see
their quiet resting places from our windows, whether the
sun shines, or the wind blows, and we can send our
children to pray beside them in the quiet twilight."

The Breton has several habits and customs in common
with the Scottish Highlander. The poor Breton, or the
poor Highlander, may have barely bread for himself, but
the utmost hospitality prevails ; in either land, the tra-
veller approaches the wide open door, assured of a hearty
welcome, and a share of the fare the house contains,
however poor and scanty that fare may be.

The sight of a stranger is always looked on with in-
terest, the poor man treated as bounteously as the richest,
and none more joyously hailed than the wandering beg-
gar ; the latter indeed brings an amount of gossip which
always borders on the marvellous, and which the Breton

rnrnm,

ill

THE HOLY STONE.

341

non to all

it to an
eelings of
irches and

peasants,
the truth),
es around,
ires listen-
sir friends!
they, "we
2 cemetery,
of the ser-

for them;

they know

, and strew

I we can see

whether the

,n send our

ilight."

|s in common

Ireton, or the

himself, but

land, the tra-
of a hearty

use contains,

•

on with in-
Is the richest,
[ndering beg-
Igossip which
]h the Breton

peasant repeats with a simple faith in its truth, which
seems almost incredible to those who have mixed more
freely with the world.

There are narratives of the intercourse held between
the living and the dead, which obtain a credence from
both priest aid people in Brittany, that elsewhere would
be looked on as the vagaries of a disordered imagination.

The weather was getting cold, it was late in the year,
the atmosphere seemed to predict a severe winter. To see
the Cathedral at Strasburg, and to visit the clock makers
of the Black Forest in their own homes, .lad been an ex-
pressed wish with Ruby before she left London ; and
in order to indulge this wish, her father transferred his
daughter, himself, his carriage and his servants to the
railway.

On their arrival at Strasburg, their first visit was of
course to the Cathedral ; very few English venture
inside, they content themselves with looking up at
the tower ; while the Germans, French and Americans
not only go into the Cathedral, but make the ascent to
the upper spire.

This Ruby was determined to do, and was amply
rewarded by the picture it disclosed to her of dusky roofs
sot in a ring of rivers, woods and mountains ; where the
Rhine and the III which run about the town in all direc-
tions, the Black Forest, and the Vosges a little further
oiX, seemed mapped out at her feet

They also paid a visit to the Church of St. Thomas
for the purpose of inspecting the bodies of a certain
Count of Saarbruck and his daughter here shown in a
state of wonderful preservation, the most astonishing

),S

i i

f (

342

THE HOLY STONE.

part of the marvel being not that the flesh, which is
embalmed, should have been so well preserved, but that
the clothes also should be in good condition, and almost
fresh, after the lapse of four hundred years !

They saw the Count lying in the dress which he had
worn while living four hundred years before. By his side
lay the body of his daughter, high heeled shoes on the
feet, bracelets of pearl on the wrists, and rings on the
fingers.

The second day after their arrival in Strasbu!^, snow
began to fall with unusual severity, not in the large, heavy
flakes which melt away as they come down, but in small,
crisp particles which told of hard frost in the regions
whence they came, and cold on the earth where they fell,
which would probably keep them undisturbed for many
weeks.

" I fear we shall have to turn here, and go home with-
out seeing my Black Forest village," said Ruby, address-
ing her father, as she stood looking out on the waste of
snow which everywhere formed a white covering for
street, palisade, roofs of houses, porches, in short, where-
ever it could obtain an inch of space to rest upon. The
trees lost their bareness, covered as they were with the
feathery foliage.

" Nay," said the Baron, " if the snow does not stop in
a day or two, we will go on, that is you and I, leaving
the servants here, and after making our visit to the Black
Forest, return and pick them up on our homeward way."

Ruby was delighted with this proposition ; she knew
that her father was now well and strong, that it would

THE HOLY STONE.

343

, which is
1, but that
ind almost

ich he had
By his side
oes on the
igs on the

iburg, snow
large, heavy
t)ut in small,
the regions
ere they fell,
ed for many

lome with-
iby, address-
he waste of
covering for
hort, where-
upon. The
;re with the

not stop in
id I, leaving
to the Black
leward way."
; she knew
at it would

do him no harm to travel without his attendants, and
she herself had self-reliance enough to dispense with
Monica's services.

' From daybreak till night, and from night untill dawn
again, the snow fell without intermission ; it seemed as if
the windows of Heaven were opened, and the snow storm
never to cease.

Their arrangements were made, a sleigh and driver
procured, the first night bringing them close to the
borders of the Black Forest. The day was by no^
means cold for the season, and although the snow was
several feet deep along the roads, the air was bright
and clear overhead, not a breath of wind stirring. Both
Ruby and her father felt the genial influence of the clear,
frosty air infusing, as it were, new health and life into
their veins, while the rapid rate at which the sleigh sped
over the frozen snow gave a sensation to both as new as
it was exciting.

" If travelling on the Continent in winter," said Ruby,
" is always like this, I should prefer it to any other mode
of travelling I have ever known."

" And I also," replied her father. " Much as I en-
joyed our short easy days journeys in France, this sleigh
driving certainly beats it. If we get on as pleasantly as
this for another week, I shall write instructious to Roger
to take back the carriage, and send Monica and Jones on
to join us."

The next day and the next were passed in an equally
pleasant mnnner, visiting little villages on the borders of
the forest. Their journey on the third was to be rather

i^ ;!

344

THE HOLY STONE.

I VI

a long one. The latter part consisted of one long stage
of thirteen miles* This lay for the most part through the
forest, and Ruby anticipated more than usual pleasure
from the new scenery by which she would be surrounded.

i I

V i \ <

,ll • I

.1 V

S2.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

^iiifP

CHASED BY WOLVES.

A LITTLE inn on the borders of the forest was the
place appointed for their mid-day meal ; and
here the driver came to inform them that as the relay of
horses they had expected for a change, had not arrived,
they would be obliged to wait for a few hours in order
to rest and refresh those he had ; adding, " The delay
will be of little consequence, as the moon rises early, to-
night it is at its full ; with the snow the forest will be as
bright as day."

" If you say so," replied Lord Seymore, " I think we
should prefer the moonlight drive you propose. It will
be something to say when we return home," added he,
turning to Ruby, "that we have had a long drive, over
the snow, in the Black Forest by moonlight,"

" I should enjoy it of all things ; the moon makes
everything look so beautiful, throws a dark shadow
here, a bright gleam there, making even an ordinary
park at home, with a few trees, seem like fairy-land ;
it will be like double fairy-land in the Black Forest with
its gigantic trees in their snowy dress."

" It is Settled then, we shall go," replied Lord Seymore,
Uirning to thp man, " only take care you have plenty of
warm rugs to wrap round us,"
345

fc.

B^.—

346

THE HOLY STONE.

" Yes, sir, everything of that kind is already in the
sleigh, and as good as Strasburg can furnish."

It was all settled, they were to start at six o'clock, as
the moon rose.

At the hour appointed the sleigh was at the door,
their driver on the box ; Lord Seymore had already paid
his bill to the son of the landlord, and was about to hand
Ruby into the sleigh, when the owner of the inn came
himself quickly to the door, saying :

" You do not mean to go far to-night, sir ? You will
return and sleep here ? "

" No, we shall not return, it is my intention to go as
far as the next stopping place, and there sleep."

" Surely Monsieur does not know what he is saying,"
replied the man, partly addressing Lord Seymore and
partly his wife and several others who had crowded
into the open doorway ; " Monsieur is not aware that
the wolves are abroad, and have been so for the last two
nights."

" What is that you say ? " asked Lord Seymore. " The
wolves abroad ! I scarcely understand your meaning."

" I mean," replied the landlord, " that the wolves are
out in large numbers, that they have been heard in the
Black Forest for the last two nights, and that if you at-
tempt going there now, you may all be torn to pieces
before midnight."

" Do you hear that ? " said Lord Seymore, addressing
the driver, " can this be the case ? "

The man looked at Lord Seymore with an incredulous
smile,

" If the wolves are so rife as that in the Black Forast,

THE HOLY STONE.

347

it will be one of the wonders of the world ; who ever
heard of wolves forming themselves into packs at this
season of the year ? There are lots of small game
around for them to feed on ; besides the snow has only-
been falling for a week ; it is a nonsensical tale ; the man
wishes you to remain for another night at his house ;
the English pay well, Jacques is afraid these are the last
thalers he will gain so easily this year. The French and
Germans know better how to take care of their money
than to give him every franc he puts in his bill."

" Then you really think there is no fear ? " said Lord
Seymore, who now recollected having heard while at
Strasbui^ of the devices which inn-keepers frequently
practised to make their guests remain with them longer
than wiis necessary ; the tales of v/olves being a fertile
source of working upon the fears of travellers, making
them at times remain for weeks, and thus enriching their
own purses at the expense and to the ennui of their
guests.

" Yes, a great deal of fear," put in the landlord ere the
driver could reply, " the snow has been on the ground
for three weeks here, whatever it may have been at
Strasburg, and besides, it is going to be a desperate cold
night, by ten o'clock a white frost will fall, and you will
have the wolves too. You can go, but I warn you."

The driver laughed aloud.

" The air is as mild as a day in September, and you
tell me a white frost will fall by night. You are a true
weather prophet forsooth, if your tales of the wolves
are as false as your prognostications of the weather, there
will be none in the Black Forest this year."

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348

THE HOLY STONE.

"A white frost will fall by ten o'clock, I tell you," said
the landlord, who was now very much excited by having
his knowledge of the signs of the sky doubted ; he being
considered a sort of living barometer by the peasants
'around him. Having his prophetic power called in ques-
tioa was more than his temper could stand; "go, you
will repent it when you lose your horses and perhaps
yourself."

" There is not the least fear, I can assure you," replied
the driver, totally disregarding the landlord, and address-
ing himself to Lord Seymore, " you see yourself the
weather is finer than when we left Strasburg ; I never
saw a clearer sky."

" It is too clear," observed a bystander.

" And as to the wolves," continued the driver, taking
no notice of what the peasant said, " that is simply non-
sense. I have been driving all my life, and never heard
of wolves so early in the year before."

" The wolves have been heard these two nights
tlwugh," said the man who had before spoken.

The drivel" and Lord.Seymord both noticed what the
man said, each coming to the conclusion in his own
mind that he was some one in the interest of the land-
lord, or at all events, one who wished to please that im-
portant personage.

" I am willing to risk myself and my horses," said the
driver ; " if I were not pretty sure we should see neither
the wolves nor a white frost, I would not do so."

"Then," said the Baron, " I think we had better go."
Ruby was handed into the sleigh, the Baron followed,
the rugs were tucked comfortably -ground them, and iit

/ou,

said

ay having
he being

; peasants

d in ques-
"go, you

d perhaps

u," replied
id address-
ourself the
g ; I never

iver, taking
imply non-
lever heard

two nights

Id what the
n his own

If the land-
-c that im-

is," said the
see neither

ISO,

better go."
)n followed,
lem, and iu

THE HOLY STONE.

349

a few minutes they were out of sight of the little inn.
The landlord, as they were driving off, was still standing
in the doorway, talking to a few of the peasants who
were resting after their day's work. One of them re-
marked that he himself had heard the wolves the night
before, but the others shrugged their shoulders and
smiled with an air of incredulity, remarking dryly, that
" if so, the brutes have come in good time this year."

On the travellers went, the moon rising higher, and its
light becoming brighter as they sped along ; they passed
several chalets from which they could hear the peasants*
voices as they joined together and were raised in song,
from one of which, the last they passed, ' Mein Fater-
land,' sung by deep male voices, with one female voice,
whose clear notes took the solo part, ringing in their ears
with sweet cadence after they had left the ch&Tet in the
distance, out of sight.

They had been driving more than two hours when
the path became heavy and much impeded by the un-
trodden snow ; the horses proceeding at lejs than half
their ordinary pace. Lord Seymore remarked this, and
spoke of it to the driver, saying, that he hoped their
journey would not continue at this slow rate.

" No," said the man, " but there are about four miles
just here which lie low, and the first snow is always heavy
to get through, my horses too ^re more tired than fresh
ones would have bfcen."

•' If that is all," replied Lord Seymore, " we must make
up our minds to be a little longer on the road, which I
suppose is all the inconvenience will amount to."

" That is it," replied the man ; " I'm surprised to find

■ 1

--4-

u <.

350

THE HOLY STONE.

the snow so heavy here, old Jacques must have been
telling the truth when he said it had been falling for
three weeks."

" I suppose so," replied Lord Seymore, and here the
conversation dropped for the time, the guide giving all
his attention to his horses, whom he seemed to be more
than usually anxious to encourage in using their strength ;
while Lord Seymore pointed out, now and again, as an
opening occurred among the trees shewing a gorge or
gully in the forest, all the beauty with which the different
lights on the snow were thrown by the moon.

Sometime after this, before they got out of the deep
snow. Ruby complained of feeling the air raw and cold ;
her father drew one of the rugs more tightly around her,
saying, he hoped they would very soon be at their
journey's end.

While Lord Seymore was speaking, the driver turned
and looked towards the North, he had done so, more
than once during the b,st half hour, and noting this, the
Baron turned to look in the same direction.

He saw there the Aurora Borealis in all its glory of
gold and crimson light, and knew that in Britain it be-
tokened intense cold ; remarking this to the driver he
asked,

" Is it so with you ? Does the Aurora bring cold ? "

" It does so ; " returned the man in a subdued voice,
"and what I am sorry for, it most always precedes a
white frost."

" And what is a white frost, my man ? "

" It is a frost," replied the man, " that comes down
only in the very coldest time ; we can feel it on our faces,

THE HOLY STONE.

35t

lave been
falling for

i here the
giving all
to be more
r strength ;
gain, as an
a gorge or
he different

Df the deep
^v and cold ;
around her,
be at their

river turned

me so. more

ing this, the

its glory of
kitain it be-
he driver he

ring cold ? "
bdued voice,
■rs precedes a

comes <
it on our

and even through our clothes ; my poor horses, tired as
they are, will suffer if it be so."

" I hope the old man's other prognostics will not come
true like this," said Lord Seymore in a rather severe
voice, " my daughter who is of more consequence than
all the horses in the Black Forest, is already complaining
of the cold, and I begin to fancy that I myself feel it
also ; " as he spoke he drew the rugs closer round Ruby
who was obliged to exert all her powers of endurance to
prevent herself from shivering.

" If it is the wolves you refer to," said the man, " there
is no fear of that ; if he had not told that lie first, I should
have paid more attention to him when he said there was
a white frost coming on ; but I was so sure that he only
spoke to fill his purse, it made me give little h^ed to
what he said about the frost;. the man is called a true
weather prophet, and I think he is ; we shall have a
cold night of it, you had better sit as close to the young
lady as you can, and draw the rugs round you, cover up
your heads with one of them, that will keep the warmth
around you better than anything else, we shall soon be
out of this drift ; I see the part where the road rises at
no great distance ; when we get there I will let my horses
rest five minutes, and then they will go on like a couple
of chamois."

Lord Seymore did as the driver had suggested, but he
knew that his daughter felt the cold more than she would
acknowledge, and earnestly wished he had heeded the
old man's warning, and remained in the little inn.

A low sound of the wind passing over the trees, as if
it were going to blow severely, came at times, shaking

' < w

352

THE HOI.Y STONE.

down the snow upon their heads, and what was worse,
warning them that v/ith it, the cold would be sensibly
increased.

Lord Seymore could see the driver pulling up the
collar of his coat, tightening the scarf he wore around his
waist, and settling the rug over his own knees and body,
as if preparing himself for intense cold; all this giving
rise to great anxiety in the Baron's mind, who knew
that a delicate girl like his daughter, was ill-fitted to en-
dure the cold they would probably experience.

" How far have we still to go, and how long do you
think it will take us ? " asked Lord Seymore.

" When we reach the height yonder, and are out of
this deep snow we shall have gone eight miles on our
road, there are six more to travel."

" How long will you take to drive those six ? "

" With fresh horses and a beaten road it could be done
in half an hour," replied the driver, " these horses of mine
are worn out with wading through this long drift, they
were not fresh when we started ; it will take at least an
hour, perhaps an hour and a half."

The Baron clasped his daughter closer to his side as he
thought with horror of what she must endure ere that
hour and a half were passed ; he now knew well what a
white frost was, felt it falling around him, felt the pierc-
ing wind penetrating through his flesh to his very bones,
and he shuddered as he thought how Ruby must suffer.

" Can you tell the hour ? " asked he of the driver, " I
am afraid to displace the wraps that are round us both
to look at my watch."

" Yes," said the driver as he looked up to the skyi " it

THE HOLY STONE.

353

/as worse,
e sensibly

ng up the
around his
5 and body,
this giving
who knew
itted to en-

:e.

ong do you

i are out of
iiiles on our

SIX r

ould be done
worses of mine
ig drift, they
e at least an

his side as he
dure ere that

well what a
"elt the pierc-
lis very bones,

must suffer,
•he driver, ''l

,und us both

to the sky, " »t

is now between eleven and twelve ; I wish we were
housed, the moon is going down fast."

" Between eleven and twelve ! " repeated Lord Sey-
more, " that is impossible, we could not have been five
hours and a half on the way."

" No," said the driver, " you must remember we did
not start at six as was proposed, we were chaffering with
old Jacques until it was nearly seven o'clock, my horses,
as I have told you more than once, are not fresh, had I
known of the snow drift before we left, I would not have
started ; they took three hours to come through that,
and it has almost done them up."

" Is there no nearer place than that for which we are
making, even a peasant's hut, where we could rest, and
have shelter and warmth for the night ? " asked Lord
Seymore.

" No," replied the man, who had now got his horses
on to the higher ground and was giving them a rest, as
he had said, for five minutes, " there is no shelter for
man or beast nearer than the inn we are making for, you
must wrapt yourselves well up, the horses know the way,.
they will do their best. Thank God, we are out of that
snow drift."

There was no help for it, it must be endured as patient-
ly as possible, the father drew his daughter still closer
to him, the air was bitter, and he fancied that each few
minutes Ruby was becoming colder and colder.

They were now driving on at a brisk pace, it was

evident the horses knew their way, and were as anxious

to get on as those they drew ; they had gone about half

a mile past the snow drift, the road was clear enough,

[ r

t ;■■;-:' ,*

i!i'!li

354

THE HOLY STONE.

owing to the whiteness of the snow all around, yet the
moon was sinking fast, and leaving deep shadows on
their path where before all was brightness.

A low muffled sound struck on Lord Seymore's ear
which he fancied must be produced by distant thunder,
muffled and indistinctly heard through the snow covered
trees. *

As the sound fell on his ear, he saw the driver start
and turn half round, then urge his horses on to increased
speed with both reins and voice ; the animals themselves
pricked up their ears, and indistinctly as the Baron saw
them, he fancied they evinced tokens of fear..

"Are the horses afraid of thunder," asked Lord
Seymore.

The man did not answer, but leant forward as if he
Would again urge the horses by pulling the reins, and
talked to them in the phraseology he was accustomed
to use, heeding nothing else.

Another sound similar to the former, but nearer, came
£is if borne on the wind toward them ; it did not seem
so like thunder as before, but it was unlike anything
Lord Seymore had ever heard.

The man now started to his feet, almost leaned over
his horses, and hurled the seat he sat upon from the sleigh,
calling aloud to the horses in a strong encouraging voice ;
the animals themselves, it was evident, were now in ter-
ror, and Lord Seymore astonished at what he saw, ex-
claimed in a louder voice thah before and with impa-
tience :

•' V/hat is the matter ? What noise is that ? "

" My God 1 don't you know it is the wolves ? " ex-

i's

THE HOLY STONE.

35 S

'■■*■ i

\^ yet the
ladows on

mores ear
it thunder,
ow covered

driver start
to increased
i themselves
Baron saw

asked Lord

rard as if ^^
le reins, and
i accustomed

nearer, came
lid not seem
ike anything

leaned over

[om the sleigh,

Lraging voice ;

fe now in ter-

he saw, ex-

[d with impa-

Ihat?"
wolves?" ex-

claimed the driver, not for an instant turning his head
or ceasing his utmost efforts to urge on his horses.

A moment more and the forest behind them seemed
to be alive with a quick yelping sound, a short bark now
and then, being mixed with the yapping yells which
came nearer and nearer every instant, the speed of the
horses being nothing in comparison to that of the ani-
mals by which they were pursued.

On they went in the strife for life against death, a
death the most horrible human nature can conceive ; to
be torn to pieces by savage brutes, one half of the body
alive, the other rent and quivering under the teeth of
wolves I

The speed of the horses seemed to increase, Lord
Seymore turned that he might see the danger which
threatened them, the wolves were now so near that their
panting could be distinctly heard, as now and then some
of the pack less strong than the others would slacken
their speed, while the foremost still pressed on ; he was
paralyzed with horror as he saw that the danger did not
merely threaten ; it was certain, the wolves were almost
upon them.

Deceived by the soft snow, on which the feet of the
animals made no sound, Lord Seymore had fancied they
might yet be at a considerable distance ; alas ! he saw
within a few hundred yards, scores of savage beasts
sufficient to overcome and consume them and their horses,
had they a dozen to bear them away, instead of two.

On they go in their hopeless race, the wolves gaining
upon them every moment, the driver calls out.

" In the right side of the sleigh you will find a revolver

MMl

■T

li'

■if- ■! in

^!? . _■■"'-

ill

356

TIIK HOLY STONE.

ready loaded ; one wolf will be in advance of the pack,
shoot him down."

The revolver is found ; Lord Seymorc is Icanin^j over
the back of the sleigh ready to take aim. Not a moment
too soon. The foremost of the pack is within a few
yards of the sleigh, running with the lopping galloj)
peculiar to the wolf, the head bent down, the red tongue
lolling out.

In a moment he is weltering in his blood, the rest
stay their footsteps hang back for an instant, snuff
around their comrade, and, maddened by the sight of
his blood, tear him to pieces in a moment, and then
leap forward with redoubled fury.

Two are now in advance of the others, but the time
they have lost in devouring their companion, short as it
is, has given the horses a fresh start, and it is sonic
minutes before they gain their old place in the race. The
Baron is prepared for them, the two foremost lie dead as
the first had done.

The wolves, after another short delay, waste no more
breath in unavailing howls, but rush on with deadly rage;
already one has his paws on the back of the seat, trying
to climb into the sleigh ; he also falls under Lord Sey-
more's shot, but all in vain, the whole pack is close upon
them, the brave old man feels that he must die fighting
for his child, he sees one way, and one only, in which he
can save her, he springs to his feet, he will leap from the
back of the sleigh among the enraged animals ; while
they are tearing him to pieces, his child will escape.

As the thought crosses his brain, ere he has time to
put it into execution, the loud pealing of a horn fills the

THE HOLY STONE.

357

f the pack,

:anins over
)t a moment
ithin a few
pin^ «^all(>p
: red ton^^vic

)od, the rest
nstant, snuff
the sis^it of
nt. and then

but the time
on, short as it
,d it is some
he race. Tl^c
ost lie dead as

air as if it were close to their ears ; the wolves stand at
bay, almost draw back. A sleigh containing two men is
rushing down upon them from a cross road in the forest,
the two sleighs arc close beside each other, the strangers
firing at the wolves.

Frightened and panic stricken by the trumpet sound,
and at the sight of the dead bodies of their comrades,
several of whom lie gasping on the ground, their blood
staining the white snow, the wolves draw back with
loud yells, and then disperse among the trees at each
side of the forest road.

" Jump in here," cries the traveller, who is in a very
different kind of sleigh from that in which Lord Sey-
niore and his daughter drive ; as he speaks, throwing
rugs covered with buffalo skins open to admit Ruby and
her fatherinto the back of the sleigh where he himself sits,

" For God's sake, haste ! " cries the driver, "the wolves
are only gone for a moment, they will be back when-
ever they recover from their panic."

•* Take my daughter first," cries Lord Seymore, raising
Ruby in his arms, '* she is stiff with cold and almost
insensible. Ruby, Ruby, speak to me ; merciful heaven!
she is frozen to death ! " -

In an instant one of the travellers in the other sleigh,
who appears to be the master, snatches her from her
father's arms calling out,

" Come in for God's sake, we will soon restore her to
warmth and life when we escape from the wolves."

The man who speaks is evidently more accustomed
to travelling in a snowy region than Lord Seymore, and
he knows well that the cold is not intense enough to

•^lf

358

THE HOLY STONE.

■• Tf

■^ ?l

freeze any one to death, unless they were more exposed
than a girl rolled up in rugs as she is, could have been.
He at once conjectures the truth, that the girl is sick
and faint with cold, and that terrified by the wolves, she
has swooned away.

In an instant the traveller's long fur coat is stripped
off, and Ruby wrapped warmly in it, is placed between
her father and the generous traveller, who has risked his
own life to save hers.

While they are thus employed. Lord Seymore's sleigh
driver has seized one of the horns and is blowing loudly,
while his right hand is employed in cutting the traces of
the horses from the sleigh they are to abandon.

A second after they have started on their way, the two
powerful animals which draw the travellers* sleigh bound-
ing with a speed like that of the wind, first, one or two
solitary yelps, and then a loud chorus from the whole
pack, tells them that there is now another race to com-
mence for life from death.

The freed horses rush into the wood, the poor ani-
mals, now relieved from the weight of the sleigh, seem
as if they are quite fresh again, and attracted by them,
the wolves turn their course from the travellers for a
second or two.

It is but for a few moments. With renewed yjelps and
howls they jump upon the empty sleigh, tearing the robes
and lining to pieces. Disappointed in their efforts to
obtain food, they utter what seems one loud yell, and
then with their long loping gallop, slow but persistent,
they resume their untiring pursuit of the travellers.

Whether some of the stray wolves have come across

THE HOLY STONE.

359

one of the horses, or finding the snow among the trees
too deep, the poor animal has returned to the road, it is
impossible to say, but there he is between the travellers*
sleigh and the wolves for one moment, in another he is
overpowered, torn to pieces and devoured by the savage
beasts.

Lord Seymore's guide has not looked behind, but he
knows what has happened as well as if he had seen his
poor horse perish, and the wail of anguish which escapes
his lips, tells his fellow-travellers how dear the dumb
companion of his journeys must !\; ve been to him.

As the low cry of the sleigh driver comes across Lord
Seymore's ears, he remembers ^he kind wa}' in which the
man always addressed his hoi^es, never once using the
'^ 'lip, but calling to them, and changing his voice with
his words as if they were human beings, and understood
each tone and word to which he gave utterance.

The traveller's horses are noble animals, fresh and ^m-
wearied, and are speeding on at a rate which bids fair
for escape from the wolves, occupied, as part of them now
are, in tearing the horse to pieces, others fighting with
their fellows for a morsel of his flesh.

Meanwhile the traveller and Lord Seymore are doing
their best to restore Ruby to consciousness by adminis-
tering a few drops of a restorative as she begins to
breathe. Ruby at last gladdens her father's heart by
opening her eyes, and heaving a deep sigh of relief, as
he tells her what he hopes is true, that they have escaped
from the wolves, and are now not far from the confines
of the forest.

As he speaks, to his intense relief, the anxious father

L J m

lit

360

THE HOLY STONE.

sees in the distance a light as of flashing torches. Torches
they are, carried, as he soon finds, by a body of the
peasants whose cabins lie around the little inn at which
they had intended to spend the night when they left
Strasburg.

Having heard the peculiar cry the wolves give when
in pursuit of human prey or horses, they had sallied out
in a body with lighted pine knots, which they wave high
in the air, the glare frightening the wolves and keeping
them at bay, until the travellers have passed the borders
of the forest and are safe, surrounded by the peasants
with their lighted flambeaux.

It is a strange sight to see the wild animals ranged
almost in files along the road, retreating slowly, yet keep-
ing their faces towards those whom only a few minutes
before they expected to be their prey, now and then
emitting a short sharp back, the yells they use in pur-
suit completely stilled, until fairly frightened by the
torches, they with one accord turn round, and with dis-
appointed howls disappear into the forest.

The travellers are now safe in front of the little inn.
The stranger jumps to the ground first, and, receiving
Ruby from her father's arms, places her inside the spa-
cious kitchen with its bright lamp light, and warm stove.

" Ruby."

She looks up in his face ; it is Herbert Sydney who
has saved her life 1

"In less than a month I shall be in England to claim
you for my bride."

Herbert Sydney is gone, wrapped again in his fur
coat which has by its warmth tended more than any-

THE HOLY STONE.

361

Torches
f of the
at which
they left

ve when
lUied out
,vave high
I keeping
le borders
; peasants

lis ranged
', yet keep-
w minutes
and then
se in pur-
.(i by the
d with dis-

little inn.

I, receiving

|e the spa-

rarm stove.

rdney who

jd to claim

in his fur
than any-

thing else to restore Ruby to consciousness; receiving
the grateful thanks of Lord Seymour outside the little
chalet.

" You speak such good English, that you must have
been in the country; should you ever find yourself there
again, you will allow Lord Seymour to express his grati-
tude to you in his own house, to receive you there as his
most honoured guest. To whom am I indebted for my
o\\ n life, and for that of a daughter who is dearer to me
than existence ?"

" If I live, I shall be in England and at the Tower of
London in less than a month hence ; (when you spoke
I at once recognized Lord Seymour), I will then intro-
duce myself; meantime, if you think me worthy of a
thought, it must be as * the traveller of the Black Forest."

An instant more and Herbert Sydney is in his sleigh,
the horses bounding along with renewed speed after the
drink of meal and water given them by their careful
driver.

Lord Seymour stands looking after the sleigh with its
occupant whom he had barely seen in the grey light.
" Who can he be " he asked himself, "who refuses thus
mysteriously to give his name to Lord Seymour? His
manners and appearance both, bespeak him a gentleman ;
why, after doing me such a signal service, does he refuse
me his name? He cannot be low bom, with such an
air and voice, that is ^hardly possible."

He now thinks of the wolves, and of the fool-hardiness
which could tempt the traveller out again in the mid-
night on such a dangerous road.

The landlord of the inn is close to him and remarks.

r'l

■.&-:\

I ■ "^

;r- ii

362

Tm*: llOIA' STONE.

" These arc the finest horses I have ever seen, I think
they bclonfj to the Grand Duke ; at all events that is
one of his servants who is driving the gentleman."

Without replying to the man's observation Lord Sey-
mour says, " Is not he incurring great danger from the
wolves in again taking the road so late ?"

" Oh no ! " replies the landlord, " he is going to the
castle of the Grand Duke, which is only two miles dis-
tant, and the whole way is thickly dotted with peasant's
huts along each side of the road ; no fear of the wolves,
they know too much to go there.

" What Grand Duke do you mean ? ** asks the Baron.

" The Grand Duke of Baden," replies the man, '• he
hfis one of his finest Castles two miles from this place,
although Baden is so far off ; tliey are going to have a
grand gathering there to-morrow, all the nobles round
about, that man is one of them, but he is no German,
he speaks with a foreign accent."

"He speaks English purely enough, perhaps he is
English," replies the Baron, speaking his own thoughts
aloud more than replying to the remarks of the land-
lord.

" As to that he might be French," answers the man ;
" I heard him speak as good French as if he were a
Parisian, to that driver of yours who is one of the half
German, half French breed from Strasburg."

-*•• t A

ten, I think
cnts that is
iTian."
Lord Sey-
er from thu

oing to the
3 miles dis-
th peasant's
the wolves,

i the Baron,
le man, " he
n this place,
ig to have a
obles round
no German,

rhaps he is
vn thoughts
)f the land-

rs the man ;
f he were a
e of the half

t, )

>'i

CHAPTER XXXV.

DICK HALBERT'S tower.

LORD SYDENHAULT had food and water, and
was regularly taken on deck three times a day.

The winds seemed contrary ; the little vessel was
either tacking or becalmed, half the time ; he knew their
progress must be slow, and he heard his brother and
Dick Halbert, the master of the vessel, cursing their bad
luck in being kept so long from reacning Guernsey,
which he found was to be their destination.

The time however came at last ; Arthur was taken
from his dark cabin, his hands tied behind his back, his
eyes blindfolded, by the express desire of Tom Holling,
whom he overheard telling the skipper to do it, saying,

" I would not face that idiot's eyes again for a thousand
pounds."

Arthur's arms were grasped by Tom Rolling on the
one side, and by the skipper on the other. Walking
thus he was made to climb a steep, uneven path, then
walk a short way, enter a house and ascend a winding
staircase of many stone steps.

A/rived at the top his eyes and hands were unbound,
and he was thrust violently forward, a second more and
he found himself alone, and heard first one, and then,
another rusty bar drawn across the- door of the room iiii
which he stood.
363

'fsa

' r* f

. i

^Jt J-:r»':

364

TIIK HOLY STONli;.

The iiit;ht was so tlark that the removal of the baiul-
a^^e from his eyes did not help him much in ascertain-
ing; where he was, when suddenly a j^ust of wiiul blew
across his face, and turning in the direction from which
it came he saw a single twinkling star out in the dark
skv.

With what words of hope did that star speak to the
poor lonely man ! Me felt that he was at the mercy of
villains, but he also knew that the God who had poised
that star in the firmament of heaven was able to deliver
him, even as He had delivered Joseph of old from his
many brethren, and God sustained him with the faith
thus given until it was lost in sight.

A volley of oaths from one of the men outside recalled
him to the present world ; it was Uick Ilalbert who
spoke.

"You've broken the lantern, you careless landlubber;
and now we'll perhaps break both our necks going down
this ricketty old staircase from which the bannister has
been rotted away more nor a hundred years ago."

" Why don't }'ou have a rope tieti along the side ? "
asks Tom Moiling.

" W'hy don't we have a rope ? " reiterates the other curt-
ly, '* wliy don't we have a coach and six to go up and down ?
Just cause we don't need a rope ; did'nt I tell you that
we puts all the goods down in the ceiiar for the last seven
years. That old roof there leaks and spoils them, and wc
liav'nt used it for I dun know how long, or else I could'nt
make a cage of it for your bird ; I should'nt have told
you that, though, perhaps you'll take him away with you
again for fear his health '11 sufifer. Ha ! ha I ha I "

THE HOLY STONK.

365-

the baiul-
asccrtaiti-
viiul blew
otn whicli
I the dark

cak to the
J mercy t)f
had poised
e to dcUver
id from his
h the faith

side recalled
lalbert who

land lubber ;

^oin^ down
lannister has

a'^o."

the side?"

|o other curt-
► and down ?
[ell you that
ttic last seven
kiem, and wc
jse I could'nt
^t have told
^ay with you
ha I "

Artluir heard the men descending the stone steps of
the stair-case slowly, in a shufflinjj way, as if they were
cravvlin^ down backwards usinj^ botli feet and hands ;
the sounds became fainter, and at last died away alto-
[,'ether, and nothing; could be heard save the sullen splash
of the waves which sounded as if they were climbing
the rocks at no fjreat distance,

Arthur knelt down with his face turned towards the
hole throuj;!! which he had seen the star, and there he
prayed for deliverance from these men, and that his
mother mi^ht be strengthened to bear this trial, that she
mij^ht have ^race j;iven her to believe that this was only
a trial of their faith, and that God, who had permitted
it to be sent, would send also a way of esca[)e. He lay
down on the hard boards to seek rest, and rest came as
sweetly upon him there, as if he had lain in the luxur-
ious bed-chamber he occupied at Sytlenhault Mall, and
his dreams were pure and joyful. At times he walked
with his mother, clasping her hand, as he did in the days
of her blindness, now passed away, and she smiled upon
him in his sleep as he told her, that the habit of leading
her about had become so fixed, that he feared he would
never be able to give it up. And then he was far away
in a quiet, humble home, shaded by green forest trees,
and the vines of sunny France hung with their purple
fruit beside his open window. Again, he is walking in
the calm moonlight, under the drooping boughs of the
perfume-shedding lime trees ; he holds in his, the hand
of one nearer and dearer than his mother, he looks into
her eyes, and tells her he must go on the morrow, but
he will come again, ere many days pass, and she must

I !

' I

566

THE HOLY STONE.

watch for him at that vine-curtained window ; ere the
leaves have faded, or the grapes ripened, he will be back
again to his beloved.

He is on the point of telling her a secret, something
that will make her heart beat for joy, to tell her that she,
the painter's daughter, has not married a poor artist, but
one who is the owner of broad lands, of ancient lineage,
of high estate, an English nobleman. He opens his lips
to say the first words, and lo ! the spell is broken, he is
awake, and the words which would have changed all his
life, given him joy and gladness, in place of woe and
dreariness ; making his own path, and another's, bright
with flowers and sunshine, are left unsaid, as they were
in the past sweet time of which his dream is but the re-
petition and the shadow.

The gray light of early morn is now breaking over
the sea, and the tops of the clififs are begining to blush
in the rays of the rising sun ; on the

" Sea's broad breast

1 )ance drowsy stars that long to rest "

and he sees them dying out, one by one, as the shadows
of the night pass away. The thin edge of a young
moon, holds its place after all her attendants are gone»
sailing placidly on her way through the azure sky she
seems every moment to become clearer and more clear,
coming out and shining upon him from under each
fleecy cloud as it passes over her. Then the scene of
his dream is brought even more vividly before his mind,
and he sees the face he so loved in his youth — that face
which his poor wandering brain was ever searching for,
in the bewildering time when he could not think — is

THE HOLY STONE.

367

)w; ere the
ivill be back

t, something
her that she,
or artist, but
:ient lineage,
)pens his lips
broken, he is
anged all his

of woe and
)ther's, bright

as they were
is but the re-
breaking over
ning to blush

the shadows
of a young
Lnts are gone*
1 azure sky she
id more clear,
H under each
the scene of
Ifore his mind,
Ith — that face
|searching for,
kot think — is

turned up to his own, calling his attention to the cres-
cent moon, seen through the over-arching boughs and
rustling leaves; he remembers her words "When you
see that moon, you must think of me, and I shall bid it
tell you to hasten back to your home ; to your love."

He remembers the words that rushed to his lips, yet
were unspoken ; postponed by a romantic fancy that he
meant should make her thrice blessed ; and, striving for
an overflowing cup of sweetness, he had lost the life
treasure of both ; his own life a blank — and her's ? He
shuddered to think what hers may have been through
those long years of loneliness and desolation.

He started to his feet, and going to the window, a
slit in the solid masonry a few inches broad, he tried to
put his head out into the air of heaven. He now sees
that the place he is confined in is a small room, in the
corner of the building ; on both the outside walls are loop-
holes like the one through which he had seen the moon,
he tries to look through each in succession, but can only
see the patch of sky in a straight line with his head ;
hear the sullen dash of the waves on the rocks below, and
he asks himself, how long he is to be shut out from all
nature save that patch of sky, — the sound of those
climbing waves ?

A moment more, a little bird is sitting on the sill of
the opening in the wall, its head turned up to the sky,
with voice and heart trilling out a song of loud praise to
the God who had given to the earth this clear morning.

Arthur's heart feels light, almost joyful, as he listens
to the strain. " God who careth for the little birds, will
He not much more care for me ?" . And ^kneeling down,

1 ,

•M Pi,

I I

•!

\\ :i I

' 3. Il

;M- l'

If !

368

THE HOLY STONE.

with his eyes fixed on bird and sky, he also gives praise
to the God who had given him back his senses and his
memory. And the full assurance is given him, that in
God's own way and time, the Angel of the Covenant
will be sent to open his prison doors.

The shadows of night were closing in on poor Arthur,
up in the old tower, when sounds of footsteps ascending
outside, struck upon the ear of the wearied man, who
longed so earnestly for some token from the outer world
other than the dashing and moaning of the many
voiced sea.

In a second or two, a head was thrust close to the
aperture, which even in the dim grey light, he had no
difficulty in recognizing as that of Dick Halbert.

" I'm afeard your hungry," said the man, " and I've
brought you your dinner. I went away last night in
the dark about some business of my own, and I've only
come back this minute, I've not taken my own dinner
yet, but I have brought you yours ; so you see I'm not
going to let you die of hunger.

As the man spoke he shoved through the loop-hole a
parcel of bread and beef rolled up in part of a dirty
newspaper, followed by a can of water, the latter clear
and fresh.

" I'm going out to-morrow morning," continued Dick,
" with my little boat to try my luck at line fishing, and
if I have a chance to get a good haddock, you'll get a
bit of it."

Arthur thanked the man, speaking in a free, friendly
voice, determined if possible to make friends with him.
If the man could be bribed for one hundred pounds a

THE HOLY STONE.

369

gives praise
nses and his
him, that in
tie Covenant

poor Arthur,
ps ascending
-d man, who
I outer world
)f the many

t close to the
it, he had no
[albert.

an, "and I've

last night in

and I've only

own dinner

lu see I'm not

le loop-hole a
irt of a dirty
U latter clear

itinued Dick,
le fishing, and
], you'll get a

free, friendly

Inds with him.

Ired pounds a

year to keep him there, he could be bribed for double
the sum to let him go free. It was too soon yet to make
such a proposition, but on the next visit he would try it,
if Dick seemed to be in a suitable temper.

The man was gone in a second or two, and Arthur
left to eat with great eagerness the bread and beef
which he would not have looked at with the thought of
eating eight days previously ; as he ate, he thought of the
httle bird of the morning, and placed some crumbs of
bread in each of the loop-holes in hopes that his little
friend would visit him again.

On the morrow the bird came to sing his song of praise,
and then he found and ate the meal so wonderfully pro-
vided for him in this bare place, and the little grateful
heart gave utteranec to another pean of praise and joy.

Dick Halbert did not come with the fish as he had
promised, but he returned at night with beef and bread
as before ; telling Arthur that he had not been able lo-
go fishing as he had anticipated ; he had a great deal
to do now, and would not fish for some days. Dick
stayed longer than he did the previous evening, asking;^
Arthur among many other questions, what his name was,
and then saying in surprise,

" Arthur Penryth ! Arthur Penryth ! That's queer,
now, do you know I thought you was some half cracked
brother of Tom Holling's ? You're precious like each
other, though you're not so black as he is, maybe you
hav'nt sailed as much as Tom ? "

" I think I am Tom Holling's brother," said Arthur.

"If you are then, he's Tom Penryth, and not Tom
Holling," replied the other, " he's a sly fox, he gave his

' ii-

370

TIIK HOLY STONE.

directions to put on a letter, an' its ' Captain Toni
Holling ' to the care of some man in London city, 1
have it in my pocket-book, but it's dark out here, and
I'm no good at reading writ no how."

" Then how will you be able," said Arthur, " to write
the direction when you send a letter to Tom HoUing ? "

" Oh ! I'll manage that ; is that the old bit of paper I
brought round your beef last night ? " inquired he, look-
ing at the scrap of newspaper which Arthur had straight-
ened out, carefully read and re-read, and then saved and
laid out on the floor, looking on the printed words as
companions in his desolate prison house.

" Yes, I was nearly as much pleased to get that piece
of old newspaper as I was to get the food, although you
left me long enough for my appetite to have grown pretty
keen before you brought it."

" Well then," said Dick, " I don't want to be hard on
you, an' when I can get hold on them, I'll bring you
some of them papers to keep you from thinking the time
long ; you've precious little amusement up in this old
place, I reckon."

He withdrew his head from the loop-hole as if about
to descend, and then putting it back again, called out,

" Oh ! I'll tell you something that'll give you more room
to reel, do you see that," pointing to a low door close to the
outer wall which, together with another larger one on the
opposite side, Arthur had in vain tried to move at inter-
vals since the first gray light dawned upon him in the
tower. " If you'll put your thumb on them two marks
at the top, and press them down, the door 'ill fall into
the floor ; it leads to other two places as big as the one

THE HOLY SIONE.

371

Dtain Tom
don city, 1
t here, and

•, " to write
' Holling ? "
t of paper I
ed he, look-
lad straight-
n saved and
sd words as

£t that piece
ilthough you
grown pretty

as if about
called out,
)u more room
5r close to the
reroneonthe
love at inter-

him in the
two marks

'ill fall into
kg as the one

you're in, and that way you'll have good accommodation,
parlor, kitchen and hall, and nced'nt get lonesome."

The man was gone, but ere the sound of his retreat-
ing footsteps in reaching the ground had died away,
Arthur had put his thumbs on the marks indicated ; with
hard pressure, the door sank down through two groves
in the flooring, disclosing two apartments, the one lead-
ing to the other, exactly similar to that he occupied.
Both rooms were empty, save for the dust and cobwebs,
of which they had a greater share than the outer one.

In due time Dick Halbert brought the promised fish ;
1 ' was in great good humor, talking more than usual,
and even laughing, in his gruff way, as he recounted the
manoeuvres he had employed in catching the fish, and
the success he had had ; suddenly checking himself he
said,

" Now, I want you to tell me that queer name of
yours again, an if it's true that Tom Rolling's name is
the same as yours is, because I want to have a hank
round Tom's neck. I think somehow he has cheated
me ; he's only going to give me a hunder poun in the year
for keeping of you here, an' all the expense and trouble
I'm at, an' I'm beginning to tire of it. I'm tied to this con-
founded place, if I will, or if I won't, when I've a live
creature to feed every day, an my old 'oman's not light
on her feet, as she could mount the ladder here, which is
the way I comes to you."

This was the opporti^nity Arthur had sought, and it
seemed a golden one. '

" My name is Arthur Penryth, and Tom Holling's
real name is Edward Penryth,"

111!

_1 i

tpf

172

THE HOLY STONE.

W'Z

»'

" Oh the sly old fish ! " exclaimed the sea-man, •' He
was afeard if I knew his true name I would try to make
him pay more than his scrubby one hunder poun* ; what
is his one hunder poun* to me if I do nothing all my life
but mount up and down this ladder to look at a rat in
a hole ? Tell me now like a good un if Tom's able to
give more than the hunder poun, if he's hard wrought
on.

'* Yes," replied Arthur, " he's able to give you much
more than a hundred pounds, but, if you'll let me out
of this place, and take me to London, I'll give you two
hundred pounds a year as long as you live for doing
nothing, but just for letting me go."

" Ah ha ! my lad, that's the way the win blows, is't ? "
said Dick, " I know a trick worth two o' that, if you're
not a fool now, you was a fool, an have been signed over
a fool by the law, an' Tom Rolling an* every one belong-
ing to you wants to get rid of you an keep you out o*
the way, an that's why they*re givin me the hunder
pouns. Make yourself contented here, for if my name's
Dick Halbert you'll never get out of them square walls
till Dick or you's dead, one of us, but if you helps me
to get more money out o* Tom Rolling, in course you'll
get better grub, so it'll be a good job for us both."

" You have been «adly deceived, my man," said
Arthur, " I have never been made a fool by the law ; I
have no friends who are interested in confining me here ;
the only near relation who is interested in my disappear-
ance, is the man who calls himself Tom Rolling. Re is
my younger brother, and has no doubt brought me here
that he may possess himself of my inheritance. My

THE HOLY STONE.

373

lan, " He
f to make
,un' ; what
all my life
t a rat in
I's able to
d wrought

you much
let me out
y^e you two
; for doing

(lows, IS t .'

at. if you're

signed over

one belong-

you out o'

the hunder

my name's

;quare walls

»u helps me

:ourse you'll

.oth."

man," said

the law ; I

ng me here ;

]y disappear-

[ling. He is

ight me here

itancc. Mjr

mother is the Countess of Sydenhault, and she will give
you a large reward if you bring me to her or give her
information of where I am."

Dick absolutely roared with laughter, clapping his
hands and rubbing his knees, in his extasy almost tumb-
ling off the ladder.

" A Countess ! " shrieked he, with another burst of un-
controllable laughter, " Your mother a Countess ! Oh !
that beats the winds, blow they high or low ; yon old
frump with the black gown at Brest, a Countess ! Oh !
a crazy man is the one for lies all the world over.
Why, man, if your mother was a Countess, she would
have a gold crown on her head, nearly as good as the
Queen's ; do you think a Countess out of Lunun town
would go an' live in an old hole like Brest ? if ever
I takes the old lugger out to sea again, (which I can't
do as long as I have you to give meat to), an' the wind's
not just right what I would have it, I'll take you down
to the shore to tell two or three dozen of your great lies ;
faith they'll blow her out to sea as quick as a Nor'-
Wester."

Weeks had grown into months, and still Lord Syden-
hau't was a close prisoner in ihe three rooms of the old
tower in Guernsey. Dick Halbert, however, had given
himself more liberty than he did at first, by bringing
enough food at one time to last during several days,
and had it not been for the old newspapers, of which he
seemed to have a good supply, the poor captive would
have had a terrible life of it ; as it was, he read and re-
read them all. They consisted of papers, printed in
Paris some ten years previously ; every advertisement

i«

1 ;|

\ ''1

1 1

1 "\

',m

t-,\- J.iJI

374

THE HOLY STONE,

" was carefully gone over, and each soiled paragraph
spread out and laid aside for future perusal.

The weather was bitterly cold and 'stormy, his little
bird, who for many weeks had visited him each morn-
ing, had long ago taken its departure in search of winter
quarters in a more genial clime. Dick Halbert now
would sometimes be gone for eight days together, by
which time Arthur's salt beef and coarse bread would
be dry and stale, and worse than all, the water, which
while Dick was at home, was always pure and clean, be-
came so fetid as to render it almost impossible for him
to drink. He had made many attempts to persuade
Dick to go to Sydenhault Villa, there to obtain an in-
terview with his mother, or in her absence, with Mrs.
Morgan. An interview with either, Arthur knew, would
be equally effectual ; were his situation once known, re-
lief would soon come ; but every effort to make any im-
pression on the seaman's mind in this respect was per-
fectly futile. Dick had been told that he was a fool who
had been made a fool by law, and whose acts were so
obnoxious to his family, that they were glad to pay this
sum to be rid of him ; and the best evidence of the truth of
this, he had the first hundred pounds in his possession ;
he did not believe one word of the story told by Arthur,
that he was the son of the Countess of Sydenhault, nor
did he believe now that Tom HoUing's name was other
than the one by which he had always known him. He
looked upon the name as equally a delusion with the
title Arthur had given his mother.

One morning he appeared at the aperture at a much
earlier hour than usual.

^"fp

THE HOLY STONE.

375

}■'

" I am going to your old place at Brest," said he, *' tell
me what I will bring you for a keepsake, and if you have
any money in your pocket to buy it, I'll do it."

" I have money in my pocket," replied Arthur, " and I
will give you enough to buy what I want, and as a re-
ward for your doing so, I will give you my watch and
chain. I want you to bring me all the newspapers which
have been published in Brest since I left it, I will also
give you a list of some books."

Tearing a slip from the margin of one of the news-
papers, he wrote upon it the names of a few books, and
giving it to the skipper, together with a couple of sove-
reigns, said, " you may take this to a bookseller, he will
give you the books, and there ismoney topay forthem."

" You are a rich fellow. I did not think they would
have trusted you with so much money," said the skipper
with a queer smile, as he pocketed the coin, " good day
to you ; I'll bring you what you want."

On reaching the bottom of the ladder, Dick looked
inquiringly at the slip of paper. " Ah ! ha ! " said he,
bringing his finger down the list of books which the poor
prisoner wanted to while away the lonely hours ; counting
each line as he drew his finger down the narrow piece
of newspaper. " I would not wonder but there's some-
thing in that paper that would get me into a hobble, if
I was fool enough to shew it to any body at Brest ; them
fellows as can write are always up to some trick or an-
other ; that crazy fool up there is as deep as the Baltic,
if he cant't do me one way, he'll try another."

As he spoke, he crumpled up the paper in his hand
and going into the house, flung it in the fire.

i;\^

I- !

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: i ,\

37^

THE HOLY STONE.

^r ^

" I'll bring him his papers though," said Dick to him-
self; " I dare say he needs something up there, without
the sea to look at, or a dog to speak to, or anything ; I
wish he would take it into his head to hang himself;
I'm sick and tired o' the job o' keeping him."

On his return from Brest, Dick Halbert was as good
as his word, bringing with him every paper which had
been published in Brest since the day of Arthur's mys-
terious disappearance ; every one of which contained an
advertisement offering a reward of one hundred thousand
pounds from the Countess of Sydenhault to any one who
would give such information as wou'd lead to the reco-
very of her son, Lord Sydenhault.

Arthur cut out several of these advertisements and
when Dick brought him his next dole of bread and beef,
he read them over to him, giving him each separate ad-
vertisement as he had finished reading it.

" These advertisements are for me," said he, *' it will
be well worth your while to take them to some person
who can read ; get him to read them over to you again,
and then make a journey to Sydenhault Villa, Bayswater,
where the one who can give information, is to go and see
her Ladyship personally."

" I'll take the bits o' paper," said the man, much more
inclined to consider the whole as a part of the prisoner's
lunacy than anything else, " but I'm afeerd its some part
o' the foolish story you told me afore."

" Cannot your son read ? " asked Arthur.

" No," replied the skipper, " I took good care o' that.
I never saw good come o' readin nor writin either ;
all the sons as I know who can read cheats their fathers

: to him-

, without

thing ; I

himself ;

; as good
/hich had
lur's mys-
ntained an
i thousand
ly one who
D the reco-

:ments and
id and beef,
eparate ad-

[le, " it will
me person
you again,
Bayswater,
go and see

much more
le prisoner's
Its some part

:are o' that.

litin either;

their fathers

THE HOLY STONE.

377

out o' their boats or luggers or anything they have ; my
son is up to tricks enough wi'out that."

" Then," suggested Arthur, " you had better go to two
or three different men who can read, and get each of
them to tell you what is printed on these slips of paper ;
if they all tell you the same story it must be right, sup-
pose you take them to London, you surely know several
there who can read."

"That's good advice," replied Dick, in a hesitating
manner, and then, as if a new light had broken in upon
him, dispelling his perplexity he exclaimed in a brisk
tone, " I'll tell you what I'll do, if I find out that you're
telling me the truth, I'll go first to Tom HoUing, 'cause
you see I have to keep honor with him, and if it's not
worth his while to give me as much as the old lady
offers, why then I'll strike the bargain with her." ♦

The skipper was gone, the echoing sound of his foot-
steps, as he descended the ladder in the now almost
darkness of night, sounded like the knell of every hope
ill life to poor Arthur. He knew that Tom Holling alias
Edward Penryth, would give all he had power over in
the world to prevent his brother's face ever again being
seen in England ; that by bribing one of the servants, or
by some other crafty plan, he would prevent any person,
having the appearance of a sea-faring man, having ac-
I cess to the Countess. To prevent any more visits from
I Dick Halbert, Edward would, no doubt, himself come to
the Tower, and have him disposed of in some way, which
I would be an effectual bar to such demands for the future.

What he had hoped was to bring about his deliver-
lance, would in all probability, have the opposite effect

■i']

I 1

f {U

( ^L

378

THE HOLY STONE.

He ran to the loop-hole, and putting his hands together
in a hollow form, called out aloud the name of the
skipper.

Dick, who was outside the Tower, hearing the voice,
at once climbed the ladder ; at first he had been careful
to take it down every time he descended, but for several
weeks past he had allowed it to rest against the wall.

" What do you want ? " cried Dick, " are you taking a
fit ? " he spoke in accents of alarm ; he was, within the
past hour, as anxious to preserve Arthur alive, as he had
before been to get rid of him ; if he could obtain a hun-
dred thousand pounds by delivering him up to his
mother, it would be a bad bargain to give his body to
Tom Holling for one thousand.

" No," replied Arthur, *' I am not taking a fit, I wish I
were, it would be better for you and me both if I were
dead ; death would be better for me than life "in this hor-
rible place ; and as for you, if I were dead, you would
get your one thousand pounds from Tom Holling. I
want you to take my watch, I promised it to you ; you
have not brought me the books as you said you would ;
but I will give you my watch, and if you go to the Villa
at Bayswater, the Countess of Sydenhault will believe
all you say when you shew it to her. She can give
you the money, but I don't think Tom Holling can."

" ril not take your watch to keep myself," said the
man, " if Tom Holling were to come here and find your
watch gone and you dead, he would per'aps have me
taken up for stealing ; Tom's a clever chap, and would
like the whole to work for his own side ; but I'll take it
with me, and if the papers here read as you say," and

THE HOLY STONE.

379

nds together
lame of the

ig the voice,

been careful
ut for several
t the wall.

you taking a
as, within the
ive, as he had
obtain a hun-
m up to his
2 his body to

T a fit, I wish I
3oth if I were
life -in this hor-
td, you would
|m Holling. I
|t to you ; you
lid you would ;
go to the Villa
It will believe
She can give
oiling can."
self," said the
and find your
r'aps have me
ap, and would
but I'll take it
you say," and

Tom does'nt come to terms, I'll shew your watch to the
old lady, and if you be her son, in course she'll know it."

Dick Halbert took the watch and going down the
ladder a second time, entered the low room in the Tower.
It was a wretched place ; old barrels in one corner, an
old tumble down bedstead in another, a table, and a
few ricketty chairs, completing the furniture. A brightly
burning fire on the hearth, dispelled part of the gloom,
shewing a very dirty-looking, middle-aged woman, who
employed herself by turns tasting and stirring a pot of
soup, from which issued a strong odour of vegetables and
meat, telling the skipper that the savory mess was ready
for supper.

" I say, Bess," said the seaman, after he had satisfied
the cravings of his inner man, " I must go from 'ome on
business tomorrow mornin', and must trust to you to feed
that poor, mad cretur up in the Tower. I have neither
bread nor meat that 'ill serve him for more nor a day,
and it'll be a week afore I can be back again, the ladder
is stout and firm enough ; you're not afeerd to climb it,
eh ? "

" No, I'm not afeerd in the daylight," said the woman,
"but I don't like to climb the ladder in the dark, as you
do, every night waitin' till August has gone to bed ;
you'll take August with you, there is no need for me
waiting till it's night."

" I'll take August wi* me, in course," replied the man,

" it's not only for him that I feeds the mad un i' the dark ;

[there may be ships passing, or worse, lying at anchor,

where the mariners might be using a spy glass, and if

they saw me twice, which might happen, going up that

I ;'

38o

THE HOLY STONE.

ladder carryin' a bundle and a flask, as I al'as do, they
might smell a rat, and come on shore to see v/hat was
ado."

" Why could'nt I feed him in the early mornin ? " asked
she, " I'm always up by daybreak and sometimes afore,
it's near as dark then as at night, but it's not so grue-
some, and I should'nt be afeerd in the mornin. They
say the ghosts at walk i' the night goes back to their
graves afore mornin."

" I don't see but what you might" Dick spoke slowly
as if he was meditating what might be the consequence
of this concession he was making to his wife's fear of the
ghosts, " only be sure you don't let the daylight come
m.

" Never fear," replied the woman, " they won't have
light enough to see me out at sea, and if August is gone,
there's not much chance of any one bein' round about
here. What are you going away for ? "

" After a cargo."

" I thought you was'nt going to sail again, after getting
this money for doing nothing as you may say ; and I
don't like living here all the time alone ; especially as
you never leave a drop o* drink now to cheer me up."

" You're better without the drink, Bess," replied her
husband ; "if I were to leave drink beside you, you
might burn yourself and the old place both afore I came
home."

" And then again I might'nt," said the woman ; " I
never burnt down the house afore, when there was plenty
drink in't"

" No, but you made yourself so nasty and ill-tempered

'l *i^ '

THE HOLY STONE,

381

I'as do, they
e what was

nin ? " asked
itimes afore,
not so grue-
>min. They
»ack to their

spoke slowly

consequence

fe'sfearof the

aylight come

y won't have

ugust is gone,

round about

, after getting
say ; and 1
especially as
eer me up."
," replied her
ide you, you
afore I came

woman ; " I
;re was plenty

d ill-tempered

that August told me he would run away, an* I had some
thought o' doing the same myself ; that drink's no good
nohow, if it were'nt for the drink I took that night, I
should never have bargained wi' Tom Rolling to keep
that poor crazy chap o* a brother o' his ; I repented o*
the bargain the first day he was on board the lugger, an'
I'll repent it every day 'till I get shot o' him."

The seaman took his way on the morrow, and was
only a few hours gone, when a storm arose which seemed
to shake the old Tower to its foundation ; the storm was
from the sea, and sent the great billows rolling up above
the rocks and on to the table land on which the old
tower was built. It was no night, that, for the woman to
climb the ladder with Arthur's food, it is doubtful if her
husband even would have done so, accustomed as he
was to climb the ratlings of his ship during a storm.

The wind from the sea came tearing through the trees
which fringed with a deep belt the edge of the headland
above the rocks, bending their strong trunks, and then
careering round the old Tower, as if it would bend that
also to its will.

Dick's wife stood looking through the low window of
the Tower, out on the storm, shuddering as she saw the
waves dashing, and listened to their roaring, mixed with
the fitful gusts of wind that raved and tore among the
trees, " I'm glad I did'nt promise to go with the man's
food to-night, I could'nt go nohow. I'm thinkin the
ghosts of the folk at was wrecked on the shore here last
winter is out the night. I wish I had a drop o* good
brandy or anything at would comfort a body."

She shut down the window as she spoke, barring the

iii

■! i

■ "'ir

^ ii^

«lif '■■■ t

382

THE IIOLV STONE.

shutter to close out the eerie sights and sounds which
made her heart shiver.

There were others out on that stormy sea ; brave, true
hearts that quailed lest their little craft should be dashed
to pieces.

'Thaniel Reil and his sons were trying their best to
find a haven for the cutter, which had been caught un-
awares by the storm, and forced out of its course.

It was fine, settled weather when they left their own
home at Sydenhault Oaks, and although they were short
of a man, one of Thaniel's sons having been disabled by
an accident, they did not fear making their trip with one
hand less. But it was hard work in the storm, and it was
only with the early dawn that they got their vessel into a
little cove on the Guernsey coast, the very place where
Dick Halbert's craft lay when he was on the island.

Lying close under the rocks, they were themselves
hidden from view, even if it had been broad daylight^
but looking from their craft they could see half the old
Tower, as it loomed up on the table land, above their
heads.

' " Come here, Haco ; " called but Hugh a little after
they had got the cutter all right and tight, safely into
the cove ; " look at that woman climbing up the face of
the Tower."

Haco's pocket glass, his constant companion, was in
an instant at his eye.

" She's climbing a ladder, Hugh," said he, " and carry-
ing a tin pail with a bundle a top of it in one hand, with
the other she's helping herself up, clinging to the ladder."
. The father, and each of the lads in his turn, looked

THE HOLY STONE.

383

unds which

lion, was in

through the glass, and saw the woman wait at the loop
hole, put in her head as if speaking to some one within,
and then thrust the parcel inside, and afterwards the
pail.

" She has a good head that woman," said Hugh, " she
should be a sailor's wife."

" So she is," said the father, " that's Dick Halbert's
wife, it's a long time since I heard they took up their
quarters in that old place, I'm afeerd there's foul play
going on, silk or lace that's hiding from the Queen does'nt
need meat and drink put in to it through a loop hole
as I think that woman has done ; he's a queer fish, old
Dick, and would, I think, be a great villain if he had'nt
a chicken heart ; I fear there's some poor creature up
there that would rather have been on the stormy sea last
night, wild as it was."

The storm was pretty well abated, and the cutter now
lay quiet, save for the swell which still sent the billows
in great volumes towards the shore.

" Ye had better go up, Hugh," continued the old man,
" an' see what's ado in the Tower yonder, Dick canna be
there, for his craft is no about anywhere, and if it's only
the woman, you'll maybe get round her and find out who
she brought the meat and drink to."

" May be some cats that they keep there," suggested
Hugh, with a laugh.

" No," replied his father, " gin it's no a human being,
it's some creature bigger than a cat that would need what
she carried in the pail and bundle, but I'm mostly sure
it's some poor thing shut up there for no good."

" Well," said Hugh, " we canna do much here at any

IE;.~. , I

■ , ^'

i|:

'•3

I] I

I' !|

Hi* r

384

THE HOLY STONE.

rate 'till the swell lulls down, an' that winna be afore
night, so we may e'en go an' see the old woman, if she
has a cow, she'll maybe sell us some milk for the ship."

So saying he went down to the cabin, accompanied by
Haco, and taking a bottle of brandy from the locker, he
f^ewed it to his brother, at the same time motioning him
to keep silence while he hid it under his coat.

Haco understood the use the brandy was to be put to,
and searching for a demijohn for the milk which they
expected to get in return for the brandy, the brothers
went on shore ; not seeking for the winding path which
would bring them easily up to the head-land, but climb-
ing with hands and knees, up the face of the rock. They
were soon inside the Tower, and talking to the woman,
asking her to sell them milk.

" I've no milk," replied she, " we keep neither cow nor
calf here ; where do you come from ? "

They explained how their little craft had been nearly
dashed to pieces, and had only escaped by getting into
the cove beside the headland.

♦* We have a bottle of brandy here," said Hugh, pro-
ducing it ; " that we'll give you for your milk."

" I have no milk, I tell you," said the woman, eyeing
the brandy witn a greedy look ; " but I'll give you beef
and fresh bread baked last night, for your brandy, if
you'll exchange it ; that is if it is good," continued she,
checking herself, " let me taste it first."

This was just what Hugh wanted, and he handed her
the bottle, saying,

" Here, taste it if you like, it's better than the Queen
knows of, an' tell us where we'll get the beef and bread."

THE HOLY STONt.

385

na be afoic
>man, if she
r the ship."
Dmpanied by
le locker, he
lotioninghim

It.

; to be put to,
: which the}-
the brothers
g path which
id, but climb-
s rock. They
) the woman,

iither cow nor

d been nearly
/ getting into

d Hugh, pro-
ilk."

roman, eyeing
Igive you beef
])ur brandy, if
lontinued she,

^e handed her

m the Queen
if and bread."

The woman uncorked the bottle, and sitting down, put
it to her mouth, taking such a draught as astonished both
the lads, who stood staring at her, wondering if she meant
to empty the bottle before taking it from her lips.

After taking a hearty drink, as if it had been beer
instead of brandy she was imbibing, and resting for a
second or two, with the brandy bottle firmly clutched in
both her hands, she said, smacking her lips as she spoke,

" The brandy's good stuff and strong, to be sure, the
best I've tasted for many a long day, the better perhaps
that we've had nothing in the house for sik months.
You'll get the beef and bread in the barrel yonder that
has the trencher on top of it." As she spoke, pointing
to a barrel in the furthest corner of the room.

The boys took from the barrel, beef and bread, and
setting it on the table, each seized a knife and began to
help himself, feigning to be very eager to appease his
hunger, and apparently not noticing the woman, who
was busily engaged in emptying the brandy bottle, a feat
which she almost succeeded in accomplishing in a won-
derfully short space of time.

She stopped once or twice to take breath, holding the
bottle on her knees with both hands, at last in trying to
take another drink, she let the bottle slip from off her-
lap and stooping to save it, fell helplessly on the floor.

The boys looked significantly at each other ; it was
evident she would soon be fast asleep, and whether she
was or not, she was powerless to debar them from trying
to find out what had been the object of her morning
visit to the top of the tower. j

Hugh was the first tq mount the ladder, and looking

W$^

38<'

riir. imi.v sionk.

ill

in, to liis j;ival surpriso, Ixhi-M a man seated t)n llu-
floor, catinj; pieces of breail and beef IVdiu a paper spread
upon his knees. His surprise, however, was (|niekly
turned to horror when the man, raisin^,' his head and
tinning it towards tlie U)oi)-h(iIe, disclosed the face ol"
Loril Syileidiault, who, ever)' one in Sydeidiault Oaks
knew, had been carried away months before, by a set ul
men pretending to be Seilan carriers in Ihest.

•'Lord Sydenhault ! " exclaimed Iluf^li.

Arthur was close beside the loop-hole in a moment.
"Who is it that knows my name here ?" said lie, cyeini;
the lad curiously as he spoke.

" I'm one of 'rh.miel Keil's boys that used tt> come up
vith fish to the Ilall," replied Hu^h, " I've often brought
bait to yourself, my Lord."

" I recollect your face now ; how did you come here
my lad ? "

"We were sailinji^ to Jersey in the storm last nij>ht,
and the cutter was driven out of her course ; and this
morning we got her into a cove down below the rocks
there, an jest after we cast anchor we saw a woman going
up the ladder here carrying a pail, an' my father sent us
to see what it meant ; we had some brandy wi' us an'
the Wv>man's lying drunk down yonder ; it was surely a
Providence that brought us here. What way can we get
you out, my Lord ? "

•' A stair-case from below leads up to this room," i'e-
pWed Arthur, " and once at the door, I dont suppose
there will be much difficulty ; I Inink there is no lock,
only large bars."

Hugh goes down at once to the place where Haco

TIIF. Iff)l,V STONE.

%^7

L«(l on l!u'
per sptvail

luTul ami
\\v face ol'
Kiult Oaks
b>' a set ul

a nioincnl.
i he, eyeing

, tt> eotne up
ften brought

conic here

last night,
and this
w the rocks
i/oman going
ither sent us
^ wi' us an'
vas surely a
y can we get

room," i'e-

)n1 suppose

is no lock,

fhere Haco

stands at the foot of the la<l(!er, hurriedly tellinpj the hoy
whom he had seen through the loop-hole ; they enter
tile house together in search of tlie stair-case ; the woman
calls out in a voice so thick and stuttering they can hardly
make out the few words she says.

•* Dick, — where arc you, — Dick ? Ts — that — you
— Dick ? ••

•' Of course it's me," says Ilaco, "He still, don't he
rising out of your bed in the dark night."

A grunt of satisfaction is the reply, as the woman turns
a little more on her face than before.

They have some difliculty in finding the stair-case;
it is at last discovered in a low room, cjuitc away from
the inhabited part of the building ; once there, they arc not
long in groping their way to the top, although the stair-
case is almost dark, the only light coming from a narrow
loop hole in the wall. On gaining the top they find
little difficulty in drawing the bolts, merely an exercise
of manual strength being required to lift the rusty iron
bolt from the socket.

In a few seconds. Lord Sydenhault is out on the bare
ground, the ^'hiil breath of the wintry wind making him
shiver, as it pas .es almost through his frame, enfeebled as
it is by l^^rt^ confinement and want nf proper food. In
making thf r vay to the top of the a dland, they come
upon the f i j:h used by Dick Halbert in going to, and
coming fron his lugger v^en it lies in the cove.

Thaniel Reil is standing on the deck, as first Lord
Sydenhault, and then his own boys turn the sharp corner
of the peninsula whi:h bri.igs the a within a few feet of
whefe the vessel lie i; he tfin scarcely believe his eyes

! i

388

THE HOLY STONE.

i ¥

i '

1 '.

1 k

» ^HU

1:! 1 r

III 'ji

^^'

1 II

I i^i

I'k'i

9IIH §

ll»«]lj

■iifiw ii

■ ■;

as he sees Lord Sydenhault leap from a projecting point
of the cliff to the vessel's deck.

"Lord Sydenhault!" he exclaims, in much the same
accents as his son used a few minutes before, while
looking through the loop-hole of the Tower.

" Yes," replies Arthur, speaking in a way 'i which
Thaniel Reil has never heard him speak since his boy-
hood ; " you have made a good morning's work, Reil ;
catching me will pay you better than all thi^ fish you have
ever caught in your life, or all the carg )es you hav :
brought home in your cutter."

"It pleases me better than any work I ever id," t'.e
old man replies as he looks v/ith serious eyes in the
worn face of the Earl.

" Ay, father," says Hugh, who is now on the deck
beside Lord Sydenhault, " it was my Lord that the
woman went up to with the pail of water this morning in
the top of the old house yonder."

" It was surely Providence," says the old man, " that
sent us here. Dick Halbert is a villain fit for anything,
he would have been hanged long ago but for his cowar-
dice. How in the world did he come across you, n'}
Lord ? "

"That is a long story which I will tell you again ; if
you will now allow me, I will go down and rest in your
cabin, I feel as if I were fainting from cold."

Old Reil precedes Lord Sydenhault to* the cabin,
where coals are thrown on the stove, and everything
done to make it comfortable, while the two boys bu5y
themselves in putting clean quilts on their father's btd

THE HOLY STONE.

389

:ting point

the same
fore, while

■ in which
e his boy-
vork, Reil ;
sh you have
i you ha^. .

and helping their passenger to undress, as he prepares to
He down.

While they ar° thus employed, Dick Halbert, his son,
and two more sailors are pulling in all haste, toward the
other side of the little promontory in an open row boat,
hidden from the sight of those on board 'Thaniel Reil's
cutter by the rock, which in the early morning, had
formed their shelter from the storm.

er ^ia;'t':.£
eves i— WiQ

^n the deck
rd that the
morning in

Iman, "that
)r anything,

|r his cowar-
)ss you, IT J

)u again ; if
rest in your

■^^^^^^

I ■ t

■:»

>* the cabin

every thin

boys bujy ?!
i'ather's bto

f f<-' 'j^^mS

i I

i % M ■ !

i ii

iS'i

CHAPTER XXXVr.

BV THE BEACON LIGHT.

THINK I hear the splash of oars on the other side
of the cliff," observed 'Thaniel Reil to his sons as
he p. ?d the deck, "just climb up the rock and lie on
your f' ^ '^co, ye can see there if it's Dick Halbert If
it be," tui . • f to Hugh, after the boy Haco had begun to
climb the rock, " we had better set sail wi' all convenient
speed, he's a reckless villain, and if he finds out that he
has lost his prisoner, and has any help at hand, we might
find it no easy thing to get out of this cove unscathed."

"We can set sail this minute for that," said Hugh,
"Jack and me have been putting the cutter in trim since
the wind lulled, and the swell is for us if we're going to
Jersey."

" In course we're going to Jersey," said the old man,
" we're no going home wi' the same cargo we came out
wi.

" I daresay no," said Hugh, " unless Lord Sydenhault
wants to get home to the old lady ; you may be sure
father, she has a sore heart every night when she lies
down, thinking she's lost him."

" You're right there, Hugh, and if I thought we could

get down the Channel wi' this swell, we would na' mind

the cargo for once, if we can live wi' 't we can live

wanten't. Did ye notice, Hilgh, the way the mad Lord

390

* *

THE HOLY STONE.

391

other side
his sons as
md lie on
Halbert If
td begun to
convenient
3ut that he
d, we might
nscathed."
said Hugh,
,n trim since
re going to

e old man,
|e came out

Sydenhault

lay be sure

len she lies

Iht we could
lid na' mind
Ive can live
le mad Lord

speaks ? He speaks just like ony other gentleman ; its my
thought he's getten his wits again."

" I think that too, father, I w oukl be real glad, Mr,
Penryth would get a crook in his nose, I hate him."

Haco had climbed the rock, and now returned almost
breathless.

" It's Dick Halbert and his son, father, an' other two
lads as ill-looking as Dick himself that was in the boat ;
they're climbing the cliff up to the old house the noo."

"All hands to work," exclaimed 'Thaniel with a look
and gesture of alarm which told the necessity there was
for haste more than even his words, " we're ower long here."

" I think we'd better try Jersey," said Hugh, "after
all, the swell is clear against us going down the Channel."

" No matter where we go," said the father, " provided
we get out into the open sea before Dick finds that his
bolts are drawn."

All was in readiness, and in a short time the cutter
was " breasting the billows like a thing of life;" poor
Arthur, deadly sick with the unwonted motion, lying in
the skipper's berth.

Off went the little boat merrily trooping on her way
to Jersey, the mariners congratulating themselves they
had taken that route, as an hour after they set sail, it was
evident there was a storm brewing, and they would have
had a hard chance had it met them in the Channel, out
of port.

" We'll make for St. Helier's Harbor," said the skipper,
this is the tail of last night's blast, an' it's going to blow
strong."

It did blow strong enough, tossing tb<! little vessel like

111 I

»^r

A (£'• ;

39^

Tin-: HOLY stone.

't ■ ■

a cockle-shell on the top of the waves ; that night there
blew a gale in the English Channel such as had not been
known for years, sending many a strong ship in pieces
to the bottom, down beneath those angry waves ; stroiii^
brave hearts that had bade good-bye in all hope and
faith yesterday, were lying cold and still among the
twining sea-weed ere that night fell. Tlie old man and
his stout sons stood by their boat brave!)' ; but for the
first time in their lives, their hearts quailed with fear, the
sea rolling over the deck in great waves as if it would
whelm the little vessel, and draw her down, mast and
rigging, to the bottom of the Channel.

Three days and nights they strove against the storm.
Jers(\ w?': left far behind, and now they sought the port
of St. Maio, that their little ship might find a haven,
where the needful repairs could be made to enable the
mariners to take her home. The cutter was terribly
battered, but each man on board understood enough of
the trade of ship's carpenter to enable them to repair
their own vessel.

They were several days at St. Malo before the cutter was
again ready to sail, and then, in sunshiny clear weather,
and a smooth sea, they set sail for Jersey, thence home.

The night was very dark as the boat made for Syden-
hault Harbor, but the wind was in their favor and the
sea smooth as glass, the little billows only making rip-
pling music as they struck against the ship's sides on her
way to shore.

Lord Sydenhault walked the deck with a light and
springy step he had not known for years, as the beacon
light in Sydenhault Harbor came in view. The moon

THE HOLY STONE,

393

which would be high in the heavens at eleven was already
beginning to disperse the darkness of the night, and
'Thaniel Reil kept his boat out in the bay until her light
would enable them to see the objects on their way, lest
coming in contact with the steamer, which he knew would
be in by midnight, or with other larger ships, he should
meet with injury to his own vessel, or they themselves,
do damage to smaller craft.

Arthur glanced back over the time which had elapsed
since he left Sydenhault nearly six years before. His
memory did not fail him now, he recollected well the
busy quay, partly lighted up by the moon, partly by the
light which always hung there, aided by those attached
to his mother's carriage. He remembered also the face
of the tall lad to whom he had tal.v^n such a fancy, and
the rude words of his brother as he reproved Brown in
such cutting terms. He remembered the dreary sail up
to London, the drizzling rainy weather, and how his
mother tried to rouse him from the corner of the saloon
where he would fain have sat from morn till night.

He well remembered also his brother coming and
forcing him to take a large quantity of his medicine at
a time his mother was not present. He remembered
many subsequent occasions v^hen this horrible medicine
was forced on him by the same hand, and he now thanked
God for the repugnance which had been given him to it,
making him strive on every possible occasion to deceive
Brown as to his having taking it, sending him trifling
messages, et cetera, so that he might have an opportuni-
ty instead of swallowing, to throw it from the window,
and his soul rose with gratitude to God as he thought of

394

THE HOLY STONE.

his mother's restoration to sight. Then came the wander-
ings on the Continent, in search of that fair face, which
even now that he had entirely despaired of ever seeing
it again, was present in all his dreams, in nearly all his
waking thoughts.

His life in the Tower had taught him how forgetful he
had been of the many mercies around him, how ungrate-
ful to God who had given him back his senses, and placed
him in a station of life giving him the means of making
happiness to himself by bestowing it on others. He was
now forming plans for doing good to those who were his
dependants over the wide tract of country which, by the
pale light of the rising moon beginning to outline forth
the headlands and heights of Sebert forest, he could see
lying along the shore as far as his eye could reach.

Arthur determined that the good done him by 'Thaniel
Reil and his sons should not only be repaid to the family
themselves a hundred fold, but should also come down
in blessings both public and private on all in Sydenhault
Oaks. For the long years which had been wrested from
him, passed in listless idleness and weariness, he would
now seek strength of God to live a doubly active life in
the cause of his fellow-men.

The cutter is nearing the Harbor, a rush and beating
sound on the waters told them that the steam vessel is
bearing down on their track. It is sweeping past them
with its long trail of white foam behind it. The sailors
are calling out to Thaniel Reil and his sons with hearty
good will, welcoming them home again, telling them in
short sentences there had been weeping and woe in
Jydenhault Oaks for their supposed loss in the storm al-

THE HOLY STONE.

395

the wander-
face, which
ever seeing

early all his

/ forgetful he
how ungrate-
s, and placed
IS of making
ers. He was
who were his
which, by the
outline forth
he could see
Id reach,
m by 'Thaniel
I to the family
come down
in Sydenhault
wrested from
ess, he would
active life in

and beating
earn vessel is
ng past them
The sailors
,s with hearty
ling them in
and woe in
the storm al-

most a fortnight past. There are cheery reponses from
the cutter, and then the stately steamship is off out of
hearing, making her way with rapid strokes towards the
quay.

Haco is on deck, and his glass in requisition.

" That glass has been a useful glass to me, Haco," said
Lord Sydenhault, " I think the least I can do is to give
you the finest one that can be got in London, and have it
mounted in gold, and put one in .ny own armorial
bearings."

Haco laughed, a light boyish laugh, " I don't know
that the gold mounting would make much odds," said the
lad, " but I should like a good glass better than anything
else in Lunnun town. Oh ! my, how clear you see the
barrels on the wharf, and the people coming down to
meet the folk from the steamer ! "

Haco was leaning on the bulwark of the little vessel,
Lord Sydenhault beside him, amused at the delight the
boy expressed as each familiar object came in view.

"An' there's Scanton's shop wide open, he used to
have it open when the steamer started at twelve, and
now he keeps it open to catch the custom as folks land.
" He'll no get much custom from the travellers to-night,"
said the boy after a pause, " I did'na see but two pas-
sengers as the steamer passed us."

He was now occupied in rubbing the lenses of his glass
and adjusting it for another peep.

" Would you like to get a look, my Lord ? " said Haco,
after he had completed his arrangement for putting the
glass in good order, holding it out for Lord Sydenhault's
use as he spoke.

•li

n i

396

THE HOLY STONE.

** No my boy," was the reply, " you enjoy looking
through it far more th^n I should. I am sorry to say
there is little likelihood of any one being 011 the pier
whom I should recognize. If I live for another year I
hope to be able to know the face, and tell the name of
every man and woman in Sydenhault Oaks."

The glass is again at the boy's eye, and, he calls out to
his father who is close by,

" Father, there's Mrs. Sydney, and her old lass Susan,
come down to the wharf, they'resittingon the seat under
the beacon light — look, father."

" Look yoursel' my man, you're better pleased mI'
seeing Mrs. Sydney an' the old lass than I wad be."

There was a light wind springing up, giving an im-
petus to the sails of the cutter, and quickening its speed
as it entered the Harbor.

The boy was laughing heartily at the tricks the wind
was playing with the shawls and skirts of the two women
sitting under the lamp-post.

" Oh golly ! " cried he, " Mrs. Sydney's bonnet's off,
and Susan's running after it, she'll be into the sea assure
as I'm here, — no, she catch'd it," and the boy in a fit of
laughter took the glass from his eyes.

Arthur held out his hand for the glass, and turned it
in the direction of the lamp-post where a woman, could
now be clearly seen by the naked eye, as she stood with
Ler figure in full relief under the light She had retreated
behind the seat, which was a rough plank or two, with
one raised a little to form a kind of back, and standing
close to this she could keep her skirts in their proper

THE HOLY STONE.

397

joy looking

orry to say

Oil the pier

)ther year 1

he name of
it

e calls out to

d lass Susan,
he seat under

■ pleased wi'
wad be."
iving an im-
iing its speed

cks the wind
le two women

bonnet's off,
:heseaassure
joy in a fit of

ind turned it
Ivoman, could
le stood with
|had retreated
or two, with
md standing
their proper

place, while she endeavored with both hands to prevent
her hair from flying about with the wind.

Lord Sydenhault trembled from head to foot as he
gazed through the glass on the figure of Mrs. Sydney ;
he strained his eyes to their utmost power. Nearer and
nearer the boat came to land, every motion of the hands
and arms as they shewed the figure, every time they were
raised in vain endeavors to keep the fair hair in order,
seemed to tell him with double force, that he had known
and loved that face in the long ago.

The steam vessel has her gangway on the quay, the
people are coming out. One tall man enveloped in a fur
coat and cap goes directly with quick step to the lady
who is still struggling with the wind, they embrace each
other, the servant returns without the bonnet, it had a
second time escaped from her grasp, and was sailing up
and down in the water of the Harbor. The man in the
fur coat is vainly trying to fold the shawl round the lady's
head, the wind seems determined that this shall not be ;
the loss of the bonnet is evidently no great hardship,
they are laughing and talking merrily.

The cutter is close by the pier, Arthur drops the glass
from his eye.

" Oh God ! " said he, " can it be possible that this is
she, or is it one of those fancied resemblances that a
nearer view will make fade away ? "—his heart is sorely
troubled.

" What did you say was that lady's name ? " he in-
quired of Haco.

" It's Mistress Sydney, and that's her servant lass," re-
plied Haco.

398

THE IKJLV STONE.

ft!
iff

iiil

t^^^:

it.

" And that man is her husband ? " says Arthur, in-
quiringly. •

" No, he's no that, he's her son ; he was only a school-
master when he was here, but he's a great painter now,
and they say he can make five thousand pounds in a
year, only at painting, but father says that's no true."

" Neither it is," says 'Thaniel, " you'll ;he finest

figure-head that's put on a ship in Lunun town painted
for a poun, and the cleverest man living could no paint
a thousan' heads in a year, let alone five thousan'."

The last words sound but faintly in Lord Sydenhault's
ear as he jumps from the bulwark of the ship on to the
quay.

" Lord guide us ! " says 'Thaniel Reil in a subdued
voice, as he looks at the rash action, "did ever you see a
landsman do the like o' that afore ? I hope the poor
lad's no growing daft again."

Arthur is close beside Mrs. Sydney, loc . down into
her face, his hat off, his dark hair blown back by the
wind, his hand on her shoulder, she is looking up into
his face, her heart is beating in wild throbs, he utters one
word ;

" Louise ! " —

Her arms are round his neck as with a joyous cry of
" Arthur ! Arthur ! " she is clasped to his bosom.

For her the dead is alive. — For him the lost is found !

Arthur, in-

ily a school-
>ainter now.
rounds in a
no true."

the finest
own painted
luld no paint
ousan .
Sydenhault's
lip on to the

n. a subdued
;ver you see a
ope the poor

down into

back by the

.king up into

, he utters one

[joyous cry of
)osom.
lost is found !

CHAPTER XXXYII.

EDWARD PENRYTH AT BAY.

I^^DWARD PENRYTH lay for many weeks tossing
^ on a fevered bed, attended by the first medical
men from St. Helier, who all declared his sickness to be
gastric fever, and that perfect rest, quiet and good nurs-
ing, in addition, of course, to their own skill, were ab-
solutely necessary to give him the smallest chance of a
return to life ; warning his wife that the least agitation
would again bring on the convulsive fits which had so
alarmed her on the morning of iiis arrival.

When she emptied his pockets, before giving his clothes
to her servant that the dust acfjuired while he was strug-
gling on the floor might be brushed off, she found that
this man who pretended to be so poor, had ten fifty
pound Bank of England notes in his pocket-book.

The poor woman felt her heart grow chill as she looked
on those evidences of the little affection the man could
have felt either for herself or for his children. She sat
down on a low seat by his bed, the pocket-book, the
evidence of her husband's falsehood, in her hand ; sat
down to think of their first meeting, his first declaration
of love, how he had won her heart, as much by the polish
of his manners as by his handsome face and form, and
how, while professing an undying love, he had lived in
luxury all those long years, condemning her to hard work
399

¥\\'

'mwwi'^in*B*n>npinBnCT

400

THE HOLY STONE.

:i !l

and poverty, increasing year by year, until it amounted
at last almost to penury.

The time however came at last when Edward Penryth
was able to sit up in his chair, — walk into another room
warmly wrapped up, go out into the street, and feel the
cool, strengthening breath of Heaven again blowing
around him, giving life and health.

Warned by his physician, he had carefully avoided

the subject which brought him to Jersey, and his wife

was too glad to have the evil day she feared was coming

upon herself and her children, put off, ever to make the

' least allusion to it.

When the physicians allowed her to give him the

letters, which had come for him during his illness, he

looked at both, tore open the one with the oldest post-

* mark, it contained another directed to " William Grey,

Esquire, Solicitor, Lincoln's Inn Fields."

This torn open, disclosed yet another addressed in a
hand unmistakeably little accustomed to writing, the
superscription of which was as follows :

" For the Captain Tom Rolling, Skipper, Wapping,
London ; to be left at Mr. Higgins*, ship chandler, and
by him to be sent on."

On opening this precious missive, the spelling was
found to be as atrociously bad as the writing was diffi-
cult to decipher. It contained these words :

"Sur master Tom Holling, i ave fund a good many bits
d paper cut out d navspapers of ring '^e a reivard for
briugin horn Archer Penrith^ he ynre :reeey breethcr as
yn guv vie to kip, to the Cnutes d Sideuo^ tm to git one
hunder toivsan puud for im if y nil tak im baccti relev me

THE HOLY STONE.

401

L amounted

ard Penryth
n other room
md feel the
ain blowing

Lilly avoided
ind his wife
I was coming
to make the

rive him the
nis illness, he
: oldest post-
William Grey,

Idressed in a
writing, the

ler, Wapping,
Ichandler, and

spelling was
ing was diffi-

\ood ntany bits
reivard for
hy brcithcr as
ffu to git one
\ac cti rclev me

6 tin ill do it to yu for fiv toivsan if yu ivout ill giv im
to the old laddy,yitr most oh c dent limbic scrvan

Dick Halbcrtr

Edward Penrv<^h, with trembling hands, tore the dirty-
looking missive in pieces, and opening the next, which
he knew was from the same person, found that it con-
tained these words :

" / scut yu my letter d turms yisiurda, but praps yull
not git it so ill kip im jist i mouth, not a da lotinr if you
'■u'airt im cumc for im before that tim and if yu dont cum
til iek im to the old laddy, ivc warn yu tm quits wi yu,
yur most obedent umble scrvan

Dick Halbcrtr

This news was agitating enough, and would certainly
have brought on the catastrophe the doctors feared, had
it come a few days sooner. Edward Penryth's month of
p^'obation was not yet out. He must try and coax the
man to keep him for a month or two longer, until his
own strength should come again, and then he would take
him where English advertisements cou'd not reach his
keeper.

'• If I had only been wise enough to do this at once,"
he exclaimed, " I should have saved the five thousand
pounds I must give as hush money to this unhanged
villain."

He knew that in a day or two a steamer would touch
at Jersey and Guernsey both ; by taking a passage in it
he could see Dick Halbert at once, and so have this
affair left in abeyance for at least a month or two, thus
leaving him at liberty to return and arrange for the de-
parture of his family.

'm \

■". I ■

^:!> ill

.' : I >:tl

iiJ

I' 'I

I ' i i

I i

-.11

&|]1^ I .ft^'V,

■(

J; I •■
ill '

402

THE HOLV STONE.

He was fortunate in finding the steamer at once on his
arrival at St. Helier, and, on his landing at Guernsey,
engaged a caleche, which he himself drove across the
country to Dick Halbert's castle, as that worthy called
the old Tower.

As he drew near the Tower he found Dick Halbcrt
himself standing outside, attracted by the sound of wheels,
a very unusual thing in the solitary place where he dwelt ;
and Dick, to his horror, beheld his friend Tom Hollin^\
who, as he supposed, aware of his other's flight, had
come in revenge to do some deadly harm to Dick himself.

" It is not my fault," he called aloud, as he retreated
within the shelter of the doorway, and looking back to
see if his wife was within hearing, knowing that with her
help he could manage to defend himself, perhaps inflict
chastisement upon his opponent ; " It is not my fault
that your crazy brother ran off, I could 'nt help it, the bars
being old and rusty and falling to pieces with his mad
battering inside ; you can go up-stairs for yourself and
see."

Dick had managed matters so that the bars were both
lying on the ground with broken hasps, as if the door
had been shattered from the inside.

" He most killed my wife, and I think killed himself
too ; you did'nt hear of him, did you ?"

Dick entertained a lingering hope that the man might
have fallen over the rrags and been drowned, as he had
never heard anything of him afterwards.

" He did, he most killed me," said the woman, coming
forward to corroborate her husband's words, •• beating my

THE HOLY STONE.

403

head with a bottle he had in his hand, he was either mad
drunk, or a madman at any rate."

Edward Penryth was bewildered with their words, to
which he could attach no meaning.

" What do you say ?" cried he, " I don't understand you,
I came here in answer to your two letters in which you
demand five thousand pounds because of a hoax you saw
in the papers*; if you could read, you would not be so
easily deceived by what other people tell you ; Penryth
is not my brother's name nor mine either, HoUing is our
name ; where is he ? "

Dick Halbert was sharp enough to gain from what the
would-be Tom Holling said, that he had heard nothing
of the flight of his brother, and he determined to make
the most he could of this ignorance.

" I've nothing to tell you at all about him," said he,
" only that he broke open the old bolts of the door one
dark night, and came down here and drank the remains
of a bottle of brandy that I had taken a sup of before
going to my bed, and he took the catch of this, knowing
I was sound asleep, and nearly broke my wife's head with
the bottle afore he rushed out of the door, and according
to my reckoning over the rocks into the sea ; for I have
wandered about every day searching for him between
this and that, and he's not on the island, and nobody has
ever seen him."

" How long ago is this ? "

" It is just eight days to-day since he ran off."

" How can this be ? " said Edward Penryth, " you must
have been in London then writing those letters."

'* I did'nt go to London; I only went to Sark, where

! . I.

T "

■P>«illiiiilMMPiPIRP

404

THE HOLY STONE.

'I ;i

11 >

■.m

t n 1 1

the friend lives that wrote them both, the one at night,
the other ia the morning, putting London on them, and
promising to give them, first one and then the other, to
Higgins at Wapping, the which he did as he told me
yesterday when I was over to Sark."

There was now only one course for Edward Penryth
to pursue ; he did not know how much of their story to
believe ; that his brother had escaped was evidently a
fact ; but his drinking part of a bottle or even one glass
of brandy, and afterwards beating the woman's head with
the bottle, was so contrary to his character, that he did,
not believe one word of it ; and yet both man and
woman told the same story without hesitation. On the
other hand, his brother could not be on the island, or the
man would have found some trace of him ; he was an
active fellow, with his wife and son to assist him ; it was
manifestly his interest to find and bring back the fugitive
if such were possible.

Arthur had been subjected for many years to the action
of a medicine which had the power to sap all his think-
ing faculties ; the lonely life he had led for months, up
in that great Tower, where he could see nothing but
bare walls, might have entirely crazed him. This would
at once account for his drinking the brandy, and under
its influence, rushing down those perpendicular rocks into
the sea. Edward Penryth wished in his heart that this
solution of the mystery might prove to be the true one.

At all events his first steps must be directed to Lon-
don ; if his brother were alive, he would be with his
mother in the Villa at Bayswater, or if not there, the old
housekeeper would be aware of his having been found.

THE HOLY STONE.

405

at night,
them, and
; other, to
2 told me

d Penryth
iir story to
vidently a
n one glass
s head with
lat he did,

man and
)n. On the
iland, or the
he was an
him; it was

the fugitive

to the action
l\ his think-
months, up
10th ing but
This would
and under
ir rocks into
lirt that this
lie true one.
led to Lon-
|be with his
lere, the old
leen found.

In two days Edward Penryth was at the Club in Pall
Mall, from whence, by inquiries carefully instituted among
his mother's agents, he found to his great satisfaction
that no trace whatever of Arthur had been discovered,
that his mother was alone in Sydenhault Villa. That,
every waking hour, she was employed in devising and
executing plans by which she hoped to accomplish the
recovery of her son ; that she had only left Brest, when
after months spent in a fruitless search, she had been
persuaded to return to her own land by the advice of
friends, who proved to her that it was most likely her
son was concealed in London, perhaps in some of the
private asylums there. Her own knowledge of his
brother's character, the medicine he had been taking
under that brother's supervision, the likeness which struck
her in the tall sailor of Brest to her son Edward, all con-
spired to assure her that the most likely place in which
she would find her lost son, was an insane asylum.

In order to obtain entrance into these, and have a
scrutinizing search made in her own immediate presence,
she had enlisted the good will and authority of every
friend she could bring to her aid, chief among these, was
Lord Seymort. He knew her son Edward's real charac-
ter, as she did not ; he had carefully inquired into the
circumstances that had occurred at Brest, had heard sur-
mises that one of the men who carried off Lord Syden-
hault was his own brother ; all the events tending to give
him deep sympathy for the poor lady, so distressed and
lonely in her old age.

Lord Seymore not only succeeded in finding entrance
to the private asylums for Lady Sydenhault, but accom-

ii:':

.1 I

406

TIIK IIOT-Y STONK.

panied her himself ; he was unwilling to return to his
residence in the Tower during the winter, and had there-
fore obtained permission for another to discharge his
duties, until his health was re-established, he was there-
fore at liberty to indulge himself in devoting his time to
help his old friend, and Lady Sydenhault looked as
naturally for Lord Seymore to accompany her each day,
as she did for her carriage to appear at the appointed
hour.

The advertisements which Arthur had seen in the
papers from Brest, were inserted regularly in others through
Britain and France. All that labor, money or power could
do, was enlisted in the cause of finding him.

" It is my own ;" the Countess would frequently say
to herself, as she sat communing with her soul on the
course she was taking ; " my life, my time, and the money
I spend are all my own ; if Arthur is never found, Edward
may have his father's estate, and he may assume the
Sydenhault title if he will, but while I live I shall never
cease searching for my eldest born ; if it is necessary I
shall spend the last farthing of the Sydenhault gold, sell
the last rood of the Sydenhault land, that I may find my
beloved child, living or dead,"

Mr. Penryth heard of all these expensive proceedings
of her Ladyship's, read the advertisements day by day at
the Club, and he ground his teeth at the needless waste
he was helpless to prevent.

Edward Penryth had been several days at Sydenhault
Villa; he was more attentive to his mother than he had
formerly been, hoping in this way to wean her from the
search which employed her day by day ; when the even-

THE HOLY STONE.

407

ing came, and she sat tired and disappointed in her
spacious drawing-room, Edward would strive to wean her
mind to the topics of the day, read aloud from the public
prints, ard otherwise endeavor to amuse her. But it was
in vain, she could not separate him in her thoughts from
the tall sailor ; the hair brush she had seen in Johnston's
hand would speak to her, with its silent voice, coming
between her ear and every word her son spoke or read.

Edward Penryth saw that his mother's mind and
thoughts were far away, that his words as they fell on
her ear left no trace ; he could even detect a grave sus-
picious glance in her eye, at times, when looking upon
him standing upright, or leaning against the mantle-
piece, he assumed the slouching look of the sailor at
Brest. "

It was a hard strait for the poor mother ; one son gone,
perhaps for ever, the other, in her heart of hearts, to stand
accused as the destroyer of his brother.

Edward Penryth had made up his mind to talk of his
seat in the house of Lords ; if he did not succeed at once
it would pave the way for another conversation on the same
subject, there was no use playing with it any longer, he
himself believed firmly that Arthur was among the dead,
lying in the sea by the Channel Islands, It was too bad
that he, who was now the only representative of the
family, should be kept away from what he had coveted
so long. It was the last evening he would be with his
mother perhaps for weeks ; there was work for him to do
which had been left too long ; the woman in Jersey
whom he had once so loved, must be got rid of. she and
her children hung like a burden round his neck, and he

iVi:

\ ill '■} '

ill

J'iftF

iiiiiiiiii

^KFTF

;?■ s ;

i:-'

P "L

■I

40^

THE HOLY STONE.

said in his heart, " Would that they all, mother and
children, were keeping Arthur company in the Channel !"

He must start on the morrow for Jersey, his plans
were laid. His family were to be sent where tidings of
them should never cross his path, he would yet be able
to convince Lord Seymore that Mr Marchmont was a
man resenbling him, nothing more.

He spoke to his mother of the seat in the Peers. She
allowed him to go on, and yet she blamed herself for
doing so ; it was utterly abhorrent to her to hear him
talk so coolly of superseding his brother, perhaps the
more so, because now she began to fear she should never
look upon Arthur's face again.

Edward Penryth had been talking for fully ten min-
utes on this subject, so distasteful to his mother ; for the
last five he fancied he was convincing her ; she had not
said one impatient word, given one impatient look ; he
felt sure he was bringing her over to his own view of the
question. He was standing by the corner of the mantle-
piece, a candelebrum above his head, lighting up his
person against the dark green and gold velvet hangings
which surrounded the room, her Ladyship's eyes \vere
fixed upon his face and figure, taking in the little picture
it made with the light above, and the heavy dark green
curtain behind, the conviction that she saw before her
the tall sailor of Brest was as strong as if she had opened
the Evangel and seen it written there ; be it for weal or
for woe she must speak out what she believes to be the
truth.

" Edward," said she, in a strong clear voice, so different
from the subdued tones she had ever used since she had

lother and

Channel !"
his plans
tidings of

'et be able

lont was a

Peers. She
herself for
o hear him
perhaps the
ihould never

ily ten min-
:her; for the
she had not
-nt look ; he
n view of the
f the niantle-
hting up his
vet hangings
)'s eyes \vere
little picture
)' dark green
w before her
le had opened
it for weal or
:ves to be the

THE HOLY STONE.

409

lost her son, that Edward Penryth started at the sound ;
this action of his making assurance doubly sure, brought
her back to Brest, and the moment in which the tall
sailor had started when he caught her eye fixed upon
him ; " Edward," said she, repeating the word twice, " as
sure as there is a God in Heaven, so surely do I believe
that the sailor of Brest who carried your brother off, and
you yourself are one ! "

" Mother ! " exclaimed he in an indignant voice, draw-
ing himself up to his full height, " How dare you accuse
me of such a crime ? I will not suffer this, even from
you, these are things not to be borne." —

He advanced towards her with blazing eyes, she feels
as if the next moment she may be stricken dead — her
hand is on the bell-rope — the bell is loudly rung, —
while another peal at the outer door answers to its sum-
mons. A rush of feet in the hall — men and women's
voices mingling together — the drawing-room door is
thrown open — they are surrounding her ladyship, one
of them clasping her in his arms !

Jt*-

-ill

1li

ji i||l

ilfi

.:%

:e, so different
since she had

, ih. ■ 'i

|..»'v

vli

f I

: I.',

CHAPTER XXXVITT.

TOM IIOLLINC;.

LORD SYDKNHAULT, his long lost wife and
child are within his mother's Villa at Bayswater.
The carriaj^e stops, and through the parted curtains of
the drawing-room windows, Arthur Penryth sees a sight
which arouses a fierceness in his heart never before felt.
Jt is he who rings the bell with such mad fury, he who
rushes into the drawing-room and seizes the arm of his
brother, Edward Penryth, who holds his mother with
an iron grasp, while she, in wild affright, is pulling the
bell-rope.

In a moment. Lady Sydenhault is enclosed in Arthur's
protecting arms ; Edward's hand is laid heavily on his
brother's shoulder while the word " Idiot !" comes from
his lips, uttered more from habit than from anything
else, as his astonished eye falls on the man, who, a moment
before, he believed to be lying under the waters of the
deep sea.

Lord Sydenhault turns upon his brother with fierce,
yet warning look.

" Stand back, Tom Holling ! I know you well. Thank
God my brain has escaped your medicine, my body your
bullies."

" Dear Arthur," exclaimed his mother, '• I had begun
410

THE HOLY STONK.

411

I bad begun

to fear you would never come back again ; where have
you been ? where did they take you to ? "

" I will tell you all another time, dear mother, " said
her son, " but now let me show you my dear wife, she for
whom we searched so vainly on the Continent, when all
the while she was living quietly at Sydcnhault Oaks."

Lady Sydenhault, (we must call her so now), had
thrown off her bonnet and cloak that her mother-in-law
might be the better able to see her face, her pale brown
hair braided smoothly across her forehead, and fastened
in a broad Grecian coil round her head, shewing off to
advantage the clear cut features, beautiful eyes, and still
fine complexion of the handsome woman.

The elder Countess exclaimed as she embraced her
daughter-in-law : " This is indeed being twice blessed,
to find both a son and a daughter in one hour."
" I have another son to show you, dear mother."
" Not now, not now," cried his mother with a terrified
look. She had been unconscious of the words which
had passed between the brothers, or that the scene which
had occurretl in the drawing-room a few minutes before,
had been seen through the open window. She fancied
that Arthur in his old kind way, was bringing Edward
forward, lest Me should suffer from jealousy ; which they
knew he had indulged in from boyhood. " You know
not all, dear Arthur, you do not know what I have suf-
fered for days past, and what your appearance at the
right moment saved me from to-night ; let Edward leave
nie now, I will see him to-morrow."

'* I do not speak of Edward," said Lord Sydenhault,
" but of your grandson, my darling Herbert ; the little

-I

i
I

I.I

*r^

412

THE IIOLV STONE.

rti

Ih4i

boy the report of whose death we found had been so
carefully circulated at Brest, and to whose memor)' I in-
tended to have raised a white cross. There he is," said
he, putting his hand on Herbert's arm as he drew hini
gently towards his mother, " there he is, a great fellow,
two inches taller than his father, and one who unaided
and poor has won himself a name honored through all
Europe. You know those beautiful engravings of the
* Pictures of the Spring Tide' that we bought abroad
to have framed for your boudoir ; this," said he with his
hand on his son's shoulder, " is Herbert Sydney, the
painter of ' The Spring Tide' pictures. I think he must
keep his honored name of Sydney, until you and I are
both dead, and he assumes that of Lord Sydenhault."

The draught of joy was too great, the reaction too
sudden, the Countess sank weeping in her chair.

" Oh ! this is too much happiness ! " said she, as cover-
ing her face with both hands, the happy tears forced
themselves down her cheeks, "dear Arthur, for all wc
have both suffered, this is indeed an overpayment of
delight."

While this scene was passing, Edward Penryth had
retreated with slow steps towards the door, he heard
every word that was said, understood it all well, too
clearly. All his schemes signally defeated ; those false
letters he had wTitten to the Continent, when his brother
entrusted him with the secret of his marriage, the address
of his wife and child, — the money he had spent to get rid
of these hated relatives, — the crime he lad -inmitted,
the schemes he had so artfully lai ' gone for nothing.

The boy, who his hirelings said i died in ciiiidhood,

• THE HOLY STONE.

415

id been so
emor>' 1 in-
he is," said
I drew hi 111
rreat fellow,
ho vmaidcd
through all
nngs of the
Light abroad
I he with his
Sydney, the
hink he must
.u and I arc
denhault."
reaction too
:hair. .

she, as cover-
tears forced
r, for all wc
rpayment of

was now standing before him in the glory of his strong
manhood ; the one whom he most hated, whom he had
taken most pains to ruin of any one on all this earth,
saving indeed Arthur his only brother.

And to what did all his crimes and schemes amount ?
They were both there, the brother whom he knew was a
brother, and yet would have cheated out of the heritage
and senses which God had given him ; and the man
whom he knew not, was of his own blood or kin, and
whom he would, but that there were powerful arms about
and around him, have hunted into poverty, despair and
death.

All was futile now, it was useless to strive against the
stream which had ended in a gulf so dark and deep.
Were Arthur a raving maniac to-morrow, he had a young
son, who was a powerful man alike in body and mind.

Edward Penryth could never be Lord Sydenhault;
Earl Sydenhault's seat in the House of Peers would be
filled ere the year was out, but Edward Penryth would
never sit there.

All this seemed written with a pen of fire on his boil-
ing brain. He opened the side door of the drawing-
room, sent one scathing look at the group around the
fireplace, and going by the conservatory, left his mother's
house for ever.

" Ring, Arthur," said the Countess, recovering herself
after a few minutes, '* and order refreshments to be served
in the little drawing-room."

"And I, meanwhile," said Herbert Penryth, "must
take my way to the Tower. You remember," addressing
his father with a significant smile, " how I tpld you the

ill

Mlii

W . [m -

m I? ! ^

si- ■ f I

414

THE HOLY STONE.

traveller of the Black Forest had promised Lord Seyniore
that his first visit in London should be made to him ! I
cannot keep the whole of my word, but I must try to
jccep part of it ; if Lady Sydenhault will excuse me, I
will go now, late as it is, to visit Lord Seymore."

" He is within a few hundred yards of us," said Lady
Sydenhault, " and has been with me every day since his
return to London, helping me in my vain attempt:: to
discover where your father had been carried off to, I
have only to write a few lines to him, and he will join us
here."

" My dear mother," said Arthur, "you must allow
Herbert to go, there is another besides Lord Seymore
whom my son wishes to see, one whom it would not be
quite etiquette to expect under all circumstances to visit
here." Lord Sydenhault added a few words, that al-
though spoken in his ordinary tone of voice, were meant
only for his mother's ear.

" Oh ! I understand," replied she, with a pleased smile
as she cast an admiring look on her handsome grandson,
" this is better a thousand times than it would have been
had all gone according to my wishes a few years ago.
Truly hath the wise man said, ' Man proposes, God
disposes ! "

Lady Sydenhault put her hand across her eyes as if
thinking for a second or two, and spoke as if she were
answering a question she had been putting to herself.

"Yes, Arthur, order the coach to be brought to the,
door, we will all go to visit Lord Seymore and his beau-
tiful daughter."

This proposal met with the approval of everyone, andl

THE HOLY STONE.

415

otd Seymore
,e to him 1 I

must try to
excuse mt^. ^
wore."
s," said Lady

day since his
1 attempt- to
tried off to. I

hewiUjoi""^

3U must allow
Lord Seymore
t would not be
istances to visit
words, that al-
ice.were meant

, a pleased smile

Isome grandson,

/ould have been

few years ago.

proposes, God

her eyes as if
as if she were

ling to herself,
brought to the I

Lre and his beau-

^vh^le the carriage was being brought to the door, Lord
Sydenhault gave his mother a short detail of the engage-
ment between his son and Ruby, and the struggles the
boy had made to win his love.

;t|i

^s^^-§^

lof everyone, a

uliii

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE TRAVELLER OF THE HLACK FOREST.

LORD SEYMORE and his daughter were seated
in their drawing-room talking for the twentieth
time over their exciting chase through the IMack Forest,
as " The Lady Miria, Countess Sydenhault, and Lord and
Lady Sydenhault " were announced ; Herbert Penryth
keeping behind, wrapped in the fur coat and cap he had
worn the last time he saw Lord Seymore and Ruby.

Lord Seymore's congratulations to her Ladyship on
the recovery of her son, made doubly valuable by the
discovery at the same time of his lost wife, were long and
hearty. Ruby also added hers in the quiet, graceful
way in which all words of kindness flowed from her lips.

When presented to Lady Sydenhault, she gazed at
her in unfeigned surprise ; could it be possible she asked
herself, that this lady was Mrs. Sydney or only one so
like her as to deceive the closest scrutiny } Her surprise
was such as to deprive her for an instant of the power of
replying to the introduction given by the Countess
Sydenhault to her daughter-in-law.

Recovering herself quickly, she made the usual ac^
knowledgements, adding :

" You are so exactly like a friend of mine in Syden- 1
hault Oaks that I could almost fancy she stood before

me.

416

The holy stone.

417

►REST.

were seated
he twentieth
Black Forest,
and Lord and
■bert Penryth
id cap he had
uid Ruby.
Ladyship on
luable by the
were long and
luiet, graceful
from her lips,
she gazed at
sible she asked
jr only one so
Her surprise
>f the power of 1
the Countess

the usual ac-

^ine in Syden-
ie stood before I

" Perhaps I am the one to whom yon allude," replied
Lady Sydcnhault ; "the last time I saw Miss Scymore
she brought mc a handful of lilies for my son who used
to be her tutor, and was then called Herbert Sydney."

"Tiic traveller of the Black Forest!" exclaimed Lord
Scymore in hearty, almost joyous tones, attracting the
attention of all in the room, as he went with quick step
towards the door to meet the fur clad figure which now
entered. Holding out both his hands, he took those of
the traveller in his own, saying : "Welcome, a thou and
times ! the most welcome guest in any house of mine,
this is indeed joy upon joy to sec you here, and at such
a time. Lady Miria Sydcnhault, Lord and Lady Syden-
hault," turning to the Countess, "this is the brave man
who saved both my child's life and my own in the Black
r^orest, who ri.ked his own life twice in one night to
save Ruby. Come, Ruby, and tell our dear and honored
guest he ij a thousand times welcome."

"You must allow mc," said Herbert Penryth, now
speaking for the fuvt time, "to take off these cumbrous
wraps of mine ; this i j hardly a guise in which to appear
in the presence of Miss Scymore."

Lord Scymore helped the traveller to pull off his fur
coat ; that and the fur cap were scarcely in the hands of
the servant who carried them away, when Lord Scymore
stood in mute astonishment, gazing on the painter of
the * Spring Tide' pictures!

" What ! " said Lord Scymore, but he was stopped in
his exclamation whatever it was to be, by the Countess,
who, coming forward, said :

ul'i

( 11 !

1 'i

4: 4-1- L..

Li I

-1* m-t

rk«

418

THE HOLY STONE.

" Lord Scymorc, allow mc to introduce you to my
j^randson, Herbert Pcnryth, the only child of my son,
Arthur, Lord Sydcnhault."

'* Herbert Penryth ! " repeated Lord Seymore, in sub-
dued tones fraught with amazement, " I scarcely know
what to say. I hoped to liave found a man at least poor
in this world's goods, to whom I could render some re-
compense for having saved my own life, and that of one
a thousand times dearer to me than myself; and I hiuc
found a man who the world says has, by his talent, made
himself almost fabulously rich, and whose birth is equal
to my own. I do not know whether I am more pleased
or pained at the di::covery, whicli tells me that it ij not
in my power, by any act of mine, to show the gratitude
which fills my heart."

"You have already in your attention to my grand-
mother, and your endeavors to aid her in the search for
my father, repaid me a thousand fold. But I come this
night to ask the re..ard for which I have striven allthe.c
long years, for which I struggled with poverty, strove to
mount the ladder of fame, visited foreign lands and made
myself a name; and this reward only you can give."

" Name it, my boy," exclaimed Lord Seymore, who
knew well to what Herbert Penryth's words were tend-
ing. His thoughts, for an instant, went back to the old
bugbear of his life 'The Schoolmaster,' as he added,
"you cannot ask anything, not even the castle and land
by right of which I bear my name, that I would not cheer-
fully give, were it in my power to do so."

" I have a richer boon to ask my Lord than your lands
and castle, the old heritage of the Saxon kings though

▼VI

THE HOLY STONE.

419

ou to my
,f my son,

re, in sub-
ccly know
t least poor
;r some rc-
that of one
and I b;uc
;alcnt, made
rth is equal
nore pleased
lat it i3 not
he gratitude

they be," replied Herbert Penryth, with all the dignity
of his name and race, " I come to ask permission from
you to woo your daughter."

The Baron replied not, but taking the young man's
hand, led him towards the sofa where Ruby stood by the
side of Lady Sydenhault and her daughter-in-law.

" Ruby," said her father, with a brighter look than she
had ever before seen on hi.i face, " will }'ou be introduced
to this your.g man ? Will you shake hands with him,
and welcome to your father's house, the traveller of the
Black Forest ? "

1 i

p my grand-
le search for
I come this
iven all the .c
ty, strove to
,ds and made
an give."
eymore, who
were tend-
,ck to the old
he added,
stle and land
lid not cheer-

an your

lands

kings

though

CHAPTER XL.

"And there were ladies bright and fair,
In silks and jewels fine,
The bride \vi' but her rolden hair
Did aw the rest outshine." — Old Ballad.

1"^HE sweet Spring time is round again, and there is
a happy wedding in the Parish Church of Syden-
hault Oaks ; outside and inside, the httle Church is de-
corated with flowers, green boughs and flags. The altar
rails and font arc loaded with roses, rich in their pink and
crimson bloom, while here and there shines the callalily
with its great white velvet-like petals, dark green leaves
and rich perfume. The whole place is gorgeous with
flower-beauty, the air lad.en with fragrance. From an
early hour, the Church is filled with the village folk, —
countryfolk from the farthest off farms on the Sydenhault
land, — and fisher-folk from the sea braes of Sydenhault
Oaks ; — conspicious among whom are ' Thaniel Reil and
his wife, Hugh and Ilaco, all the boys, and even the two
httle maidens of six and seven years, who used to bring
morning offerings of sea pinks to Ruby's bedside in their
father's cottage.

They are both there, Ruth and Annie, in the embroi-
dered frocks and pink sashes Ruby brought them from
France. Their little heads covered with a mass of short
golden curls, their blue eyes sparkling, and their roseleaf
cheeks crimson with excitement. Their mother lets
420

THE HOLY STONE,

421

and there is
ch of Syden-
i;hurch is dc-
;g. The altar
heir pink and
; the callalily
^ green leaves
orgeous with
e. From an
illage folk,—
c Sydenhault
f Sydenhault
niel Reil and
even the two
sed to bring
idside in their

the embroi-

[t them from

Imass of short

I their roselcaf

mother lets

them stand or. the seat, that they may see the * Bonnie
l)ridc ' whom they remembLT so well. Annie has a
great posie of primroses and wild violets which she has
spent the whole morning in gathering, and says she is
going to give to Miss Seymorc. Even before the bride
appears, the bunch of primroses is lifted up as high as
Annie's fat little bare arm can stretch above her head,
in hopes Miss Seymore will see it, and if she does, Annie
has full faith she will call the little gatherer to her side.

The old Countess in purple velvet, is the flr.st to
appear, the stately old lady who even in her blindness
never forgot the step and air of a Countess. She is
leaning on the arm of the son who to her is the dearest
and best. Lady Sydenhault comes next in gold coloured
satin and costly black lace. She is led by Lord St.
John, a near relation of the family just returned from
India in time to be present at the bridal of the future
Earl and Countess of Sydenhault. Next come a crowd
of noble Lords and Ladies ; the Ladies beautiful and
richly dressed in silk and velvet, and ancient lace. The
four bride's maidens in pale sea green silk, covered with
tulle of the same sea green in waves and clouds that
look like the foam and sheen of the sea, garlanded with
wreaths of pink coral, their tiny bonnets of the same sea
green tulle, adorned by wreaths of red and pink coral.

The organ touched by a master hand, is pealing forth
in loud triumphal notes the glorious strains of the Wed-
ding March, as the bride followed by her bride's maidens,
is led by Lord Seymore to the altar. She is robed in
plain white silk, her white lace veil falling in cloud-like
folds to her feet. Ruby wears neither sparkling diamond

422

THE HOLY STONE.

i! I

h i

nor costly pearl, no ornament save her golden hair !
The contrast of the beautiful, simply dressed young girl
coming after the bright colours, and gorgeous dresses
worn by the ladies who preceded her, is so great that
'Thanicl Reil, overcome by surprise and admiration, in-
voluntarily lifts bdtli his hands, while he says to hi:s v.ifc,
almost audibly : " The Queen of Sheba ! "

The old clergyman who baptized Ruby is the one to
give her to Herbert Penryth, and wish them both good
speed in the name of the Lord.

The bride and bridegroom are in the carriage which
is to take them on their way to the Continent, the crow d
of ladies and gentlemen who accompany them are still
saying some last words, when suddenly Annie Reil rushes
through their midst holding her bunch of primroses above
her head. In a moment she is inside the carriage, pant-
ing with the excitement of running off from her mother ;
the child is breathless and can only press her flowers
into Ruby's hand.

" Annie, my little pet, a thousand thanks for your
beautiful flowers," Ruby says, as she bends over the child
and kisses the sweet red lips, giving her bridal bouc^ ict
of orange blossoms and roses to the child in exchange
for the primroses and violets, which are destined to be
kept among Ruby's treasured things. The adieux arc
said, — the carriage drives off, — they are gone.

, -i

r ii

i; 1

1. ^-

■ft

]wk ■] 1

■ 'A ■

■^^~\

CHAPTER XLI.

WHILE THE WAVES COME IN.

ill'

m
1 .■I'l

" Those sturdy sons are the fisher's pride,
Their love his staff in life,
Rich with a sailor's wondrous lore
Of sea born dangers and strife ! "

/. Ascher.

A FEW hours after Ruby's marriage, 'Thaniel Reil
and his wife sit in their bright well-ordered
kitchen. Their dinner is over, the plates and dishes
ranged in order on the dresser shelves, a clear coal fire
ill the ample grate, the door wide open as is their wont
whenever the weather permits it to be so. They are still
in their holiday attire, the two little girls examining for
the hundreth time Ruby's bridal bouquet which Mrs.
Reil has carefully put into water. The Dutch clock, a
present from Ruby, is striking the hour, and four puppet
soldiers come from a little cupboard under the face of
the clock that with loud and mimic sound of trumpet,
cymbal and drum they may announce the liour, while
they strut and dance to the tune of "Cheer, Boys, Cheer."
A wondrous cuckoo, with red tail and head, starts out
above, fluttering his green wings and proclaiming his
name, "cuckoo, cuckoo," in the usual shrill notes of the
wooden bird of that ilk. Ever since the advent of the
cuckoo clock in the fisherman's cottage, the young men,
423

IHTff

tJp/T I

•'n ^ '

:|1

424

•J'liE HOLY STOx\E.

boys and little maidens, all of them who are within the
house, regularly as the clock gives warning of the hour,
from six in the morning until eight at night, range them-
selves in front of it, with upturned eager faces watching
for the music of the soldiers — the call of the cuckoo.

The strutting an^ music of the soldiers, the call of the
cuckoo have a fascination for older folks. * Thanicl never
fails as the clo:k begins to strike the hour to push liis
chair into a position from which he can see distinctly
every motion of the soldiers, hear each note of ** Cheer
Boys Cheer," mark every flutter of the cuckoo's wings,
each shrill cry of " cuckoo, cuckoo," while Mrs. Reil lay-
ing her hands with her knitting on her lap follows the
example of her lord and niaster.

They arc thus occupied now, — the soldiers have strut-
ted, played and danced, have been applauded and won-
dered at for the hundreth time, have made their exit, and
the pert cuckoo is master of the field, the centre of attrac-
tion. Haco hears the sound of wheels, runs to the door
and returns liastily to say that "The vSydenhault carriage
with Lady Sydenhault and the mad Lord and Mrs.
Sydney, is almost at the door."

'Thaniel has just begun to reprove Haco for "calling
folk, gentle or simple, out o* their names," when, first the
long shadows, and then the ladies, and Lord Sydenhault
themselves, are inside the cottage door.

Lord Sydenhault shakes hands heartily with Nathaniel
and the boys who were on board the cutter, talks of his
escape and the voyage home, and then shakes hands with
Mrs. Reil, (who has been dusting seats, that their dis-
tinguished visitors may sit down.)

THE HOLY STONE.

425

ithin the

the hour,

nsre them-

watch iiiiT

:uckoo.
call of the
mid never
) push his
; distinctly
of '• Cheer
do's wings,
•s. Rcil lay-
follows the

5 have strut-
d and won-
ir exit, and
re of attrac-
to the door
ult carriage
and Mrs.

[for "calling
lien, first the
]Sydenhault

Nathaniel

talks of his

hands with

It their dis-

The surprise of seeing such distijguished visitors in
their humble abode has almost deprived the whole family
of the power of speech, the children stand open-mouthed,
staring at the grand ladies, the boys draw back wishing
they were near the door, Mrs. Reil hides her confusion
by dusting chairs that are always kept specklcss.

' Thaniel is the first to recover his self-possession, and
uses it to request the ladies to walk into the room, open-
ing the door of the adjoining apartment as he speaks.
His words act like an electric shock on his wife who
knows that the room has not been ' tidied up ' since it
was used as a dressing-room for herself and the little girls
in the morning ; and that her own print dress and petti-
coat still hang from the brass nails on the door, the
children's clothes festoon the chairs, their shoes and
stockings adorn the floor. She is about to rush to the
door that she may prevent 'Thaniel from opening it, ut-
terly unable to think what apology she will make for
such a proceeding, when to her unspeakable relief, both
ladies request almost simultaneously to be allowed to
remain in the nice large comfortable kitchen, where
everything looks and smells so fresh and sweet. The
reference to sweet smells reminds Annie of her beautiful
bouquet, and emboldens her to present it to each of the
visitors in succession that they may inhale its perfume.

For the moment, Annie is the centre of attraction, and
seems to feel in duty bound to provide amusement for
their illustrious guests. For this purpose she seizes upon
Neptune's collar endeavouring to drag him from under
the table where he is enjoying his sleep. " Come out,
Kep, come, poor boy, and see Lady — Lady Seymore."

1 1

426

THE HOLY STONE.

Annie cannot recollect Sydcnhault, the word is too lon^r
and hard, but Scymore is a household word, one she has
heard from infancy and fancies it is exactly the same,
which nan-ic she uses.

'• Wiiat a magnificent dog," Lord Sydenhault says, as
the great curly black fellow shakes himself up from his
slumbers, almost moving the table as he rises from under
it."

" Aye, he's a big dog, an what's better he's a wise one.
He's been the means o' saving one life at any rate, "
replies ' Thaniel who has now recovered his self-possession,
Annie's "boldness" as her mother mentally terms it
having set the whole family at their ease.

" You brought him from Newfoundland, I suppose ?"
asks Lord Sydenhault, inquiringly, still speaking to
'Thaniel.

" No, I did no bring him, but Hugh did, and he gave
him to Miss Scymore, and she left him here when she
went to Jersey."

" To Jersey ? " exclaims the Countess in some surprise
and immediately adds : "you mean when she went to
the continent with Lord Scymore, upon his recovery."

" No, I dun no mean that," 'Thaniel says hesitatingly.
He sees he has made a mistake, and yet he is too honest
to let his words be mistaken for other than they really
are, "Miss Seymore goed to Jersey afore that ;" he is in-
terrupted by Hugh who comes to the rescue with,

" It was me that gae the dog to Miss Seymore afore
she went to school in London town, an she left him wi
us one time at she was down here ; he's a pure breed
Newfoundland, if your Lordship would like one like him

THE HOLY STONE.

427

I is too loniT

one she has

ly the same,

lault says, as
up from liii
:s from under

;'s a wise one.
it any rate,"
:lf-posscssiun,
ally terms it

I suppose ? "
speaking to

and he gave
ere when she

some surprise
she went to
recovery."
hesitatingly,
is too honest
they really
lat ;" he is in-
|e with,
jymore afore
left him wi
pure breed
one like him

I daresay I could get one ? " Hugh makes the offer, and
goes on speaking, merely to keep his father quiet, and the
old man feels grateful for the boy's interference, they are
all, father, mother, and boys, refined enough to know
that the cause of Ruby's visit to Jersey ought to be hid-
den from Edward Penryth's mother. They judge rightly
when they think Lord Sydcnhault knows it, and
is more anxious than they to conceal it from the Coun-
tess.

While Hugh speaks, 'Thanicl is occupied in taking out
from his pocket and thrusting in again, a large gold re-
peater, which, with its massive chain and seals, on one of
which is engraved a spy-glass and en the other a cutter,
is a present from Lord Sydenhault who has paid more
than one visit to the cottage, since 'Thaniel and his boys
made him a free man again. ' Thaniel's action, by which
he involuntarily covers his confusion, seems infectious.
Mrs. Reil and the boys are each in their own way, fin-
gering the watches they have all been presented with by
the same liberal hand.

Annie is on the alert, her mother's watch is newer and
prettier than Nep, she is sure. Lady Sydenhault, whom
Annie thinks of as Mrs. Sidney, has seen it, but she is
sure the Countess would vastly enjoy the sight, perhaps
like to try it on, as she herself often pleads to be allowed
to do, so going up to her Ladyship she asks in a rather
low tone, with her little face held up to that of the Coun-
tess, " Would'nt you like to see mother's watch ? Maybe
she'll let you try it on."

Annie's " boldness" is proverbial in the household ; for
the moment it seems unbearable ; Haco snatches her up,

iti^

( t:

428

THE HOLY STONE.

carries her out without other remonstrance on the child's
part than a s'lent tear or two. In a few minutes the
party inside the cottage nee Haco and the child on the
boulder beach, looking alternately at the ships in the
offing- through a spy-glass, the golden mountings of which
glitter in the light of the setting sun. It was a promise
of this coveted indulgence that made Annie submit to
be carried off without the usual remonstrance of kick
and scream.

The Countess is speaking to 'Thaniel Rcil. "I came
here to-day to thank you from my heart of lioarts ; I only
arr'ved at Sydctihault Hall last night, and now the first
hour I could call my own, I come to assure you of my life-
long gratitude. The one who restored me to sight con-
ferred upon me a benefit which, vast as it is, and greatly
as I appreciate it, fades into a small boon in comparison
with .^vhat you have done in restoring my son to hi:;
country, to his birthright, and to me. You are of course
aware that I offered a reward cf a hundred thousand
pounds to tho one who should enable me to discover my
son ; this money is now placed in Glynn's Bank in your
name, and you may draw any or all of it when you please."

As the Countess ceases speaking, the old fisherman
gazes in her face with a blank look, as if he does not
understand what she means ; he seems out at sea, at a
loss to know what to make of her words ; from the faces
of the old man and his boys, a stranger coming suddenly
among them would at once think they had received
some perplexing and disagreeable news instead of having
just been informed that they were entitled to a princely
fortune.

THE HOLY STONE,

429

At last 'Thaniel speaks, "YeVe made a great mis-
take, my Lady. Wc did no go to Guernsey to seek Lord
Sydenhault, wc had no thought o' him or any ithci- body,
we were driven in by stress o' weather to the cove be-
neath Dick Malbert's place, an we had no more thought
o' seein' Lord Sydenhault there, than o' secin'theman in
the moon. I can'no tak ye'cr money, my Lady, I c.in'no
tak it for doin what ane o' u 3 never thought about. We've
been more than paid already for the little trouble wc had.
His Lordship's gcen us aw, the good wife and aw, gowd
watches and chains the like v.e never saw, for bye to hae
o* our ain, an Ilaco's goUcn a goudcn spy-glass, we hac
gotten ower much, owcr much. Keep your siller, my
Lady, we would be the greatest rogues atwain this and
Guernsey gin we could handle a poun' o't."

It is now the Countess' turn to feci peri)lexed ; to her
it seems the mO)t wonderful thing in the world that
jjoor people like the Reils should refuse the fortune that
is within their grasp, and which, even if it be by accident,
they have fairly earned ; and she says so, tells them that
she, in her advertisement, made no conditions, the money
was freely offered to anyone who brought her tidings
which would lead to the discovery of her lost son. Lord
Sydenhault too adds the force of his words to his motlier's.
They n::g!it as well speak to the rocks that stand between
the cottage and the Lca.

''N ), no, we'll no take wage for wark wc never did,"
murmurs Hugh, with almost an otTendcd air, while Jack
leaves the cottage, saying as he goes,

"Wc'cr able to work for siller honest. We'll no want
meat an drink while there's fish in the s a."

430

THE HOLY STONE.

|i!

t:|,---

I /I;

Lord Sydcnhault knows the fisherman and his sons
thoroughly. He did not Hve with them all tho.c woe!.;
in their boat on the sea without learning the i.tcriiw;
stuff they are made of; he did not anticipate the re u't
of his mother's visit and her offer of the reward ; but it
does not surprise hirn ; bethinks he can arrange tl ,
quc-ition to the satisfaction of both the Countess and the
fishermen. During the weeks he lived on board ti ,•
cutter he came to find out what all of them most anxious-
ly wished for, and now says to 'Thaniel,

'* By whatever means it was brought about, you and
your sons have done my mother and myself one of the
greatest services that man can render to man ; you have
given me my liberty, perhaps my life ; now in return for
this great service wc desire to render you some small
service; you will allow us to do this? "

"You've dun enow, enow," 'Thaniel r^'^plies, as his
fingers again find their way into his watch-pocket,

*' My mother has done nothing, pray allow ii, ■ Lady-
ship to shew her gratitude. When we were at oi. Malo,
Haco told me that you an.d my brother had some sharp
words about an acre or two of land which you wished to
buy near your cottage, where the Sydenhault property
meets the Seymore, and which Thompson the steward re-
fused to sell."

" Ilaco should no hae spoken about that to you, but
it's true. I wanted to buy a bit o' land an Mr. Penryth
spoke to me a.; I'd been the clod under his feet, so I just
telled 'im I was as independent o' Lord Sydenhault as
Lord Sydenhault was o' me. I got my living frac the
sea, an I lived on my own land bought from Lord Sey-

THE HOLY STONE.

431

nd his r,oiK
tho.c vvch'.;
the lAciliu!;
tc the vc u!t
vard ; but it
arraivjjc the
itessand tlic
,11 board tlio
lost anxious-
out, you and
If one of tlic
in ; you have
\; in return for
.1 some small

rplics, as his

-pUV-Kv-i.

w ',1. ■ Lady-
le at oi. Malo,
d some sharp
lyou wished to
ault property
;ic steward re-
it to you, but
Mr. Pcnryth
|; feet, so I just

iydenhault as
Ivincj frac the

im Lord Scy-

more's father, an a heap more at's no worth speaking
about."

"Well, I knew that you wished for the land, and the
first thino- I did on coming home was to make inquiries
as to whether you coukl have your wish gratified. I
found that the kind you wart cannot be sokl, but it can
be leased ; leased for nine hundred and ninety years, and
the Countess and I will let it to you for that time if you
allow the rent to be decided by ourselves ? Let us shake
hands on it."

' Thaniel's hand grasps Lord Sydenhaull's, in a moment
hi) honest face is beaming with pleasure, "Aye, I'll shake
hands on that bargain willingly, this is better than aw
the money in Lunnun Town, Hugh," turning to his son,
whose face evinces even more satisfaction than his
fither's.

" I am glad we have hit upon something which pleases
us all," Lord Sydenhault says kindly, " come to the Ilall
to-morrow, the lease shall be ready for your signature.

The adicux arc said, — the visitors gone, — and the
fisherman, his wife and sons sit talking over the marvel-
lous good fortune that has given them what has been
the desire of their lives for many years, a piece of land
contiguous to their own, so that when their children marry
they may settle down on the homestead. On his return
from Sydenhault Hall next morning 'Thaniel read the
lease to his wife and sons. It was the very spot they
had wished for so long, only instead of a few acres the
lease was for a large farm, the rent to be three pence per

iir

432

THE HOLY STONE.

acre, the lease lo last as long as the shore that bounded
the farm on the South was washed by the waves of the
German Ocean.

It is now time to tell the reader what became of Ed-
ward Pcnryth. He died by a relapse of the fever under
which he had lain for so many wecivs, and which tie
fatigue and agitation which he subsequently undcrwcrt
brought on again in a worse form ere he had been aii
hour within the only place he could call home ; the house
occupied by his wife and children in Jersey.

Through Lord Scymorc, the Dowager Countess of
Sydcnhault and her son were made aware of the exis-
tence of I-'dward Pcnryth's wife and family under the
name of Marcliniont, one which beloniicd to I-ldward Pen-
rytli, the Pcnrvths having a right to that name from their
fatiicr, Sir William Marchmont, his name before his mar-
riage, after which by sign manual, he acquired the name
of Penryth.

Lord Sydenhault immediately on the intelligence of
his brother's death reaching him, hastened to Jersey
whence he had his brother's body conveyed to England
for interment in the family vault in Glamorganshire ;
immediatf^ly afterwards bringing hi^ sister-in-law, the
Honorable Mr>. Penryth, and her family, to reside in the
Villa at Bayswater.

that bounded
; waves of the

^came of Kd-
ic fever under
nd which the
\y undcrwcr.t
had been au
le ; the house

r Countess of
: of the cxis-
lily under the
Edward Pcn-
imc from tiicir
)efore his mar-
ired the name

ntelh'frence of
icd to Jersey
;d to England
.morganshire ;
:er-in-lavv, the
reside in the

il^

■

' a

^^iiL ^ ^ J

CHAPTER XLTI.

THE FINDING OF THE HOLY STONE.

IT is a lovely evening in autumn, — enjoying the calm
twilight, Herbert Pcnryth and Ruby sit in the
drawing-room of Scymorc Castle, watching the fading
light as it dies away over the billows of the German
Ocean, and looking on St. Wolfgang's Rock beyond
which they see the fishing boats one by one going out to
sea.

They are seated in the drawing-room where, nearly
three years before. Ruby had looked with breaking heart
at the merry scene within, fancv'Iiig that she heard her
father's voice in the dining-room below.

Captain and Mrs. Wolferstan had been presented by
Herbert Fenryth with the house in which his mother
lived, enlarged so as to suit their family, and, it being
their own, Mrs. Wolferstan was glad to exchange the
grandeur of the Castle, for a home more in keeping with
their circumstances.

Ruby and her husband have only one visitor, but he
is a dear and honored friend, the first guest they have
had since their return home. Our old friend, Baron
ICphraim has been at Seymore Castle for the last three
clays, and has resolved on the morrow to take his way
back once more to his old quarters in the Tower, but
before doins: so he must report to his last stratagem to

433

li'

434

THE HOLY STONE.

obtain possession of the precious stone which he now
knows almost to a certainty where to find.

As they sit looking out on the quiet sea scene before
them, the white sails of numerous fishing-boats shininrr
in the golden rays of the setting sun, Baron Ephralni
excusing himself, looks at his watch,

" Heigh ho ! " he says, " I have tired myself climbin^
those hills of yours, but I must throw off my laziness,
and go to the post-office for a letter, which I know will
be there awaiting me."

"You shall do no such thing," replies Herbert Penryth,
" one of the servants shall go to the post-office for your
letter."

"Nay, that must not be, if you yourself will go for my
letter," says the Baron with a good humored laugh, " that
will do, but a servant must not be entrusted with the
keeping of that letter."

" Then I certainly will go," replies Herbert, rising from
his chair, " you know what pleasure it gives me to be
able to serve you even in a trifle like this ; adieu ! in
half an hour I will bring back the precious missive."

As Herbert Penryth goes out through the balcony to
the lawn on his way to the post-office, Baron Ephraim
walks to the opposite window, which commands a view
of the gate leading from the grounds to the road, and
waiting there until he sees his host out in the road and
the gate shut, he returns to where Ruby sits looking at
the white sailed fishing-boats as they go out to sea.

Taking from his pocket a small gold box, he opens it,
and pouring on the pink cotton inside, some perfume

THE HOLY STONE.

435

i climbing
ny laziness,
L know will

lert Penrytli,
ice for your

/ill go for my
laugh, •• tb^t
;ed with the

•t, rishig from
cn mc to be
^ ; adieu I in
missive."
10 balcony to
ron Ephraim
lands a view
;hc road, and
.he road and
Its looking at
it to sea.
., he opens it,
[ome perfume]

that at once pervades the air of the whole room, presents
it to Ruby, saying,

"This is a marriage gift I purchased for you long ago ;
I have kept it purposely to present on the last evening
V e shall be together ; tell me if you can decipher the
inscription written inside the lid, and whether you like
the perfume I have put into it ?"

Ruby with a pleased smile takes the box from his
hand, inhaling the perfume which seems at once to instil
into her senses a pleasurable peaccf::! feeling, as if it
would for the moment make her forget earth, enter
Heaven.

" Is it not delicious ? " asks the Baron.

" It is indeed," is Ruby's reply, raising the box that
she may again inhale the fragrance.

Baron Ephraim approaches her as she does so, empty-
ing the rest of the potent perfume contained in the little
bottle, on the pink cotton as she holds the box close to her
face. She is tryhig to read the inscription on the inside
of the lid ; it seems impossible for her to decipher a single
character, her eyes involuntarily close ; another instant,
and every sense is steeped in forgctfulness.

The Baron lays her head gently on the back of the
fauteuil on which she sits, and with light touch draws up
the antique gold chain she wears round her neck, dis-
closing as he does so, a thick gold locket almost as large
as a v.alnut.

In a moment it is opened, and the Holy Stone in all
the glory of its sapphire blaze is before the ravished eyes
of •' Nathan the Seeker I "

The strong man's hand shakes as if he were old and

f J

ii,

436

THE HOLY STONE.

feeble ; his eyes are filled with tears ; his heart almost
ceases to beat ; his soul rises to Heaven in words of praise
which his tongue cannot utter. This is the moment lie
has longed and prayed for all his life long. For an in-
stant he gazes with awe-struck eyes on the blazing lic^ht
as it flashes forth its prismatic colours in his dazzled
right, for one instant looks on the wonderous words
graven on its golden band, then, it is dropped with re-
verence from its case into one of pure gold, lined with
soft white satin, which, made centuries ago, has been
renewed age by age, each Seeker beanng it about in hopes
that it would at last contain the Holy Stone.

The egg-like antique gold box is closed with awe by
the man who scarcely can tear his eyes from looking on
the holy thing it contains. It is put with reverential
care into his breast, Ruby's gold locket is shut, and again,
with a light touch, the antique chain let down into its
resting place. The saturated cotton is taken from the
perfume box, thrown into the fire, and cotton with otto of
roses substituted in its place.

Baron Ephraim now opens the glass door leading to
the balcony, and the fresh sea breeze effectually dispels
all the remains of the potent Oriental perfume, by whose
aid * Nathan the Seeker ' has gained the Holy Stone I

He takes a book from the table, opens it and as Ruby's
eyes unclose she fancies that the Baron Ephraim is oc-
cupied in reading.

"Could I have been guilty of going to sleep .^ " she
says with a slight blush.

•' When } " asks the Baron, as he raises his head, looking
in her face with a pleased smile.

V^di;.

THE HOLY STONE.

437

2art almost
ds of praise
noment he
For an in-
>lazing light
his dazzled
:rous words
jed with re-
l, lined with
ro, has been
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n looking on
h reverential
ut, and again,
own into its
en from the
|n with otto of

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Itually dispels
Ime, by whose
loly Stone !
md as Ruby's
)hraim is oc-

sleep ? " she

I head, looking

" Since you gave me this beautiful box, with its sweet
perfume," Ruby replies, raising it in her hand as she

speaks.

" You have not had much time," observes the Baron as
he looks at his watch, " it is only five minutes since Mr.
Penryth left the room."

" Indeed ! It seems to me as if overcome by the sweet
perfume, I fell asleep an hour ago.".

"It is not often that otto of roses has that effect," says
the Baron goodhumoredly, " but if its potency is such
with you, I think I must leave you the bottle as well as
the box ; the otto of rose here is perfectly pure, I brought
it many years ago from Cashmere, see what a strange
looking bottle it is contained in."

" Strange indeed ! " Ruby takes the bottle in her hand,
as she speaks, " it is quite a curiosity in itself, and so
pretty. I value these gifts of yours highly, and shall lay
them aside among my white things."

While she is speaking, her husband enters by the
balcony as he had gone out, delivering into the hands of
Baron Ephraim a letter which in its dimensions almost
deserves the name of a parcel, and at the same time
exclaiming,

" What a sweet perfume ! " looking round the room he
adds, '* it seems as if you had a hundyed roses here ;
what have you been doing ? "

Ruby puts the box into his hand, "There is the secret
of the perfume ; this is a present I have just received
from our friend, the Baron Ephraim. If you sit down

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(716) 872-4303

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433

THE HOLY STONE.

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quietly and inhale it, it gives you such a pleasant feeling,

almost makes you dream."

" It may do so to you," replies her husband laughing,

" but I doubt very much its power to exert such an in-
fluence on my nerves,"

Baron Ephraim has already excused himself, and car-
rying his letter in his hand, leaves the room. In less
than a quarter of an hour he returns to say ' good-bye.'
" You will not surely go now ? " exclaims Ruby and
Herbert Penryth in one breath, "you promised to re-
main with us until to-morrow, and you know how dis-
appointed we are that you cannot make your visit weeks
instead of days."

** I cannot, it is impossible ;" replies the Hebrew, speak-
ing with an almost solemn voice, and a grave expression
of countenance which carries conviction with it, " it is
most important that I should leave by the train which
will start in ten minutes. I go on business of the ut-
most importance, business that not only concerns myself
but my nation. I shall not rest night or day, I shall
not slacken my speed for one moment until it is fulfilled.
Farewell, farewell. The good-will of Him who dwelt in
the bush be with ye both. Farewell ! "

H ■' f-^

^ H ' V ■ *# ^ < * ^

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE RABBI ABRAHAM. THE HOLY STONE.

The legend divinely has said, —
■ Thus was a heritage given
To a race bearing proudly their pain,

Jacob G. Ascher,

Along the consecrated air —
The benediction and the Psalm —
The words of praise and prayer.

Kate Seymore.

BARON EPHRAIM, now the bearer of the Holy
Stone, went by rail to London that night, whence
he sailed to Cadiz, again by rail, through Seville to
Grenada, staying his course neither by night nor by day.

Before arriving at Grenada he left the carriage which
had conveyed him the last few miles of his journey, and
entered the Vega gate, as he had done on his first jour-
ney, alone and on foot ; but instead of the poor rusty
garments which he then wore, he was now apparelled as
became the position of a Hebrew gentleman, — the
bearer of the Holy Stone, — the most honoured man
that day in Israel.

" Sholem lachem, my brother," were the words which
' Nathan the Seeker ' addressed to David the keeper
of the Vega gate, as he entered Grenada.

'* Lachem sholem,* my Lord," was the response of the

• Sholem lachem — peace unto thee
Lachem sholem — unto thee peace.

439

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440

THE HOLY STONE.

keeper of the gate, who now looked in wonder at the
stately walk and handsome apparel of the man who, ho
was sure, bore the face of ' Nathan the Seeker,' and who
five years before had passed through the city in such
poor garments.

The Seeker's reception in the vestibule of the Rabbi's
house was in like manner different from the one he had
before received from the porter. Now the man did re-
verence to the goodly raiment he wore, and let justice be
done, had the porter known it was * Nathan the Seeker'
who demanded access to the Rabbi, he would have done
reverence to the man. The one who bore that name
would have been honoured by a Hebrew o'er all the
world.

It was yet early in the day when Nathan arrived, and
he was shown at once into the private apartments of the
Rabbi Abraham. •

The Rabbi is seated in the room which he had occupied
on the Seeker's former visit ; he is busily engaged in
writing, and only raises his head slightly as he hears the
door open, and the footsteps of a stranger approach the
table. As his eyes fall on the * Seeker,' they express
surprise more than any other feeling.

" Nathan, my brother ! " the Rabbi says, but the words
are not spoken with the same heartiness and pleasure as
when the men met in the midnight five years before, yet
they have a tone of kindness, and the Rabbi rises from
his seat, and pressing the. hand of Nathan, points to the
chair he wishes the ' Seeker ' to occupy. " To what am
I indebted for this visit ? " continues the Rabbi, " it is

am^itiaeisi

THE HOLY STONK.

441

ider at the
an who, he
:r,' and who
;ity in such

the Rabbi's
one he had
nan did re-
let justice be
\ the Seeker'
Id have done
c that name
' o'er all the

I arrived, and
tments of the

had occupied
engaged in
he hears the
ipproach the
[they express

)ut the words
Id pleasure as
]irs before, yet
n rises from
l^oints to the
|To what am
Labbi, "it is

only five years since we last met ; is it well to spend
time thus ?"

Nathan does not take the chair indicated by the Rabbi,
but standing with a profound reverence, replies, " It is
well, my father, none other could do mine errand."

The Rabbi speaks not, but his eyes seek those of Na-
than with an uneasy look, as if he fears the man is going
to say something which ho, as Rabbi of his people must
not hear, make a request he dare not accede to. At
length he says, " Do your errand," still gazing with
serious, troubled eyes on the face of the ' Seeker.' Nathan
proceeds to unbutton his coat, which is of the finest cloth,
under which is a vest of black silk such as a king might
wear.

" You are bravely apparelled," the Rabbi says dryly
as he looks with an eye of stern displeasure on the dress
of Nathan.

" I need be, my father," is the reply, given in the same
reverential, solemn voice in which the ' Seeker ' has
spoken since his entrance. The vest is unfastened, and
from the folds of a broad silk girdle, which he wears
underneath, is drawn a velvet pouch ; this he opens, and
taking therefrom a small mat of the same fine texture,
places it on the table by which the Rabbi sits, his face
•expressing unwonted trouble as he watches the actions
of the ' Seeker.' Last of all, there is taken from another
aperture in the pouch the small golden casket in which
Nathan had deposited the Holy Stone. Placing this on
the velvet mat before the Rabbi, he speaks these words,

" My task is ended, — my work is done ! "

The Rabbi is seat( d with one arm resting upon the

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442

THE HOLY STONE.

table, the fingers of his hands close to the mat on which
the casket lies, the arm and hand tremble with an a^;i-
tation which the old man is unable to repress. For a
second or two he r.peaks not, he is summoning resolution
to do his duty, and he knows it will be a hard task —
such an one as neither he, nor his predecessors for a
thousand years have been called upon to perform. " Nay,
my brother Nathan," the Rabbi says with solemn voice,
his tone and look deeply expressive of the sorrow he feels,
" I cannot take back the cHsket; when tiiou didst accept
the office of Seeker at my hand, it was taken for all thf,
days of the years of thy pilgrimage. The words which
twenty years ago ye spake in the Holy City, old Jeri-
salem, in presence of ' the people * were no light words.
Thou art bound by the most solemn vow to be Seek;r
for the Holy Stone while thou hast breath. I have no
power by which I can release thee from thy vow. It wis
not made unto me, but unto all Israel, unto the Lord.
Alas ! my brother, my heart is woe for thee ; that having
once laid thy hand to the plough thou shouldst seek :o
turn back. Did I not warn thee in the days of thy pre-
paration when thou didst fast and pray, that thou muse
give up all ties of kindred, home, and thy father's house ;
that the oath once taken, thenceforth all things in life
and death must be subservient to the one great purpose
thou wast sworn to I " The Rabbi stops as if exhausted,
visibly trembling with agitation in every limb.

" My father, undo the casket," Nathan replies in a
strong, firm voice.

" Nay," responds the Rabbi, " I will not even touch it ;
nothing but thy death or the finding of the * Stone ' can

THE HOLY STONE.

443

it on which

ith an a[;i-

ess. For a

ifT resolution

hard task —

cssors for a

M-m. " Nay,

Dlemn voice,

rrow he feels,

.1 didst accept

m for all the

words whicli

ity, old Jcri-

I light words.

to be Seekor

I have no

vow. It w as

ito the Lord.

that having

uldst seek :o

s of thy pr>

,t thou mui C

.ther's house ;

;hings in life

reat purpose

if exhausted,

Imb.
replies in a

jven touch it ;
* Stone ' can

give me power to do so. I can only open that casket
when I show it to thy successor."

Nathan the 'Seeker' draws himself up to his full
height, a:;d standing before the Rabbi with arms folded
across his bosom, his appearance and voice suggestive of
deep emotion, he says, ** My Lord, I shall have no suc-
cessor. The Stone is found ! ! "

The Rabbi, with even more irrepressible signs of
feeling than before, repeats in impatient, almost angry
tones, the words of Nathan, " The Stone is found ! — Mock
me not, my brother."

" Nay, my father, I speak the words of truth and sober-
ness." The * Seeker ' pauses for a few seconds and then
continues, " It is not mine office to open the casket, or
my Lord should know by the seeing of the eye what he
now doubts, that my v/ords are truth. I have accom-
plished my mission, — fulfilled my oath. The Holy
Stone is before my father ! "

The Rabbi looks in the face of Nathan with a deep,
scrutinizing glance, one that speaks of doubt, — faith, —
pain, — joy. Raising his hand to heaven, and looking
earnestly in the Seeker's face, he says with solemn voice,
" If I break my oath this day, on thy head be the guilt."

" Even so, oh my father ! " is the reply of Nathan, as
he still stands unmoved before the Rabbi.

The casket is raised, a key which hangs at the Rabbi's
girdle is put in the lock ; in an instant it is wide open ;
the Rabbi utters a cry of joy as his eyes look on the
blaze of purple glory he had never expected to see in the
[flesh, and with his voice full of emotion, exclaims.

I .■;

444

THE HOLY STONE.

ft,

" The Holy Stone given by the Angel Raphael unto
Tobias ! "

The Rabbi raises the Stone with trembling hand, and
reverend care, and reads aloud the legend written in the
Hebrew of the law, even the same that the finger of God
wrote on the tables of stone given to Moses on Mount
Sinai.

f5^/3V*ia. ^^*'^^i>'

God shall lead Israel with joy, in the light of his glory.
Bless God, oh my soul !

The Rabbi's voice trembles with emotion, his eyes are
filled with tears, his heart almost ceases to beat, his
soul rises to heaven in words of praise which his tongue
cannot utter. This is the moment the Rabbi Abraham
has longed for, and prayed for, all his life — For an
instant he gazes with awe-struck eyes on the blazing
light as it flashes forth its prismatic colours in his dazzled
sight, looks on the wondrous graven words. The revul-
sion of feeling is too much for the old man, covering hi

face with his garment he lifts up his voice and weeps.
It is but the weakness of a moment, the Rabbi removes
his shoes from off his feet, signing to Nathan to do like-

nmimi

THE HOLY STONE.

445

Laphael unto

ig hand, and
/ritten in the
finger of God
;s on Mount

it of his glory.

1, his eyes are
to beat, his
ch his tongue
bbi Abraham
— For an
the blazing
in his dazzled
5. The revul-
, covering his
e and weeps,
abbi removes
an to do like-

wise. Raising himself up, he lifts both hands to heaven
and throwing back his head so that his whole face is
raised up, bursts forth under the influence of a mighty
inspiration ;

" There is none like unto the God of Jeshurun, who
rideth upon the Heavens and in his excellency on the
sky.

He hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither hath he
seen perverseness in Israel.

The shout of the King is among them.

Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, neither
is there any divination against Israel.

Behold * The people ' shall rise up as a great lion, and
lift him up as a young lion.

Moses commanded us a law, even the inheritance of
the congregation of Jacob,

The Lord came from Sinai and rose up from Seir unto
them. He shined forth from Mount Paran, and He came
with ten thousand of his sanits. From His right hand
went a licry law for them.

Yea, he loved * The people.' "

The Rabbi stops speaking, lays his hands on the head
of Nathan for a few seconds, and then both men bow
themselves down in silence, with their faces to the ground ;
they continue thus for some minutes in silent prayer,
and then, without word or sign to each other, both men
rise up. Tlie Rabbi places his hands on the head of
Nathan and again bursts forth under the influence of the
same mighty inspiration as before — " *

" Thy bow shall abide in strength.

fl 'V^^

446

THE HOLY STONE.

Thine arms shall be made strong by the hands of the
mighty God of Jacob.

Even by the God of thy fathers who shall help thee ;
and by the Lord Jehovah who shall bless thee, with the
precious things of Heaven above, blessings of the dew,
blessings of the deep, that couchcth beneath.

Blessings unto the utmost bound of the everlasting
hills.

They shall be on thy head, and on the crown of the
head of him that was separate from his brethren.

The Lord God of thy fathers give thee of the dew of
Heaven, and the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn
and wine.

Let the people serve thee, and " The nations " bow
down before thee.

/^ Cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed be")
\he that blesseth thee.N

The Lord give thee of the precious fruits brought forth
by the sun, and the precious things put forth by the
moon, and the chief things of the ancient mountains, and
the precious things of the lasting hills.

Thy shoes shall be iron and brass, and as thy days so
shall thy strength be.

The eternal God shall be thy refuge, and underneath
thee the everlasting arms.

He shall thrust out the enemy from before thee, and
shall say. Destroy them.

The God of Jeshurun bless thee.

The good will of him that dwelt in the bush, come

IIIKIUJUIM

THE HOLY STONE.

447

hands of the

nations" bow

upon the head of Ephraim and upon the top of the head
of him who was separate from his brethren."

Nathan the Seeker's work is done. There is no such
name now in Israel.

Baron Ephraim departed from the house of the Rabbi
Abraham the possessor of fabulous wealth. The offerings
of Israel for a thousand years. Baron Ephraim knew
not of this, when he devoted his life to the cause he had
accomplished. No Seeker had ever known that a vast
treasure was accumulating for the one who should find
and bring back to Israel the 'Holy Stone' from the hands
of the Gentile. The Seeker destined to come in the
fulness of time, the time ripe for the fulfilment of the
prophecy.

Hill

ll'til

ifore thee, and

l-&^

le bush, come

CHAPTER XLIV.

'* Jerusalem as a city is

Compactly built together,
And unto it the tribes go up,
The tribes of God go hither." — Psalms^

" If I forget thee O Jerusalem, let

my right hand forget her cunning." — Psalms.

THE purpose to which Nathan had vowed his life is
accomplished. He is yet in his early manhood,
his ' eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated.* Now, a
motive more powerful than that which impelled him to
seek for the Holy Stone, is in his soul ; a purpose higher
and holier. With the great riches which are now his, he
seeks the Land of Promise, where once "The people
dwelt in safety, having none to make them afraid ;"
where "The Kings lie each in his own house;" the
Tomb of David, the Tomb of Solomon, both in the
hands of the heathen, where the Hebrew dare not enter.

Nathan is even now on his way to'Jerusalem to pur-
chase lands and build houses for ' the people' ; the down-
trodden Israelite — The children of the Promise. Every
talent of the gold he has won, shall go back in blessings
to the children and the children's children of those who
gave it. And he will give, not his gold alone, but him-
self, to lift his brethren from the dust, to gather them

from among ' the Nations.*
448

w«-

^ms.

—Psalms.

ed his life is
y manhood,
^d.' Now, a
•lied him to
-pose higher
now his, he
The people
em afraid ;"
louse ;" the
loth in the
re not enter.

em to pur-
the down-
ise. Every
in blessings
■ those who
le, but him-
pfather them

1 !

h \

I- 1

mwMrw IF i,wiiniiM.iim Mt ■TiCTwrmiw;^" , * .

MMMIMMMMIMllMMfil

THE HOLY STONE.

449

Nathan knows that the fortune he is possessed of,
immense as it is, would go but a small way towards ac-
complishing the work he has set himself, but he also
knows that the Hebrews, scattered as they are among
the islands of the West, the snows of Russia, or under
the burning sun of India, are the possessors of untold
wealth, and that every Hebrew, be he great or small, is
as one man ready to give his all when the time of the
promise comes, the time foretold by the prophets, when
the Lord shall say, " I am jealous for Jerusalem and for
Zion with a great jealousy. I am returned to Jerusalem
with mercies, my house shall be built in it."

Nathan is on board the Steamer bound for Joppa.
He is on deck night and day, straining his eyes to catch
the first glimpse of the beloved land he left twenty years
ago, the land that then, he never expected to see again.
The day is dawning on a long, low, sandy shore, a
small promontory projects into the sea, and there stands
Joppa, among its beautiful gardens, cool and pleasant,
welcoming the wanderer home with the singing of birds
in the early morn.

There is soniething the matter with the ship, a leak
or some other wnpediment, and her course is stayed. It
is the first interaction to his progress that Nathan has
had since he left the house of the Rabbi Abraham, his heart
beats quick with expectation, he longs for wings that he
may fly across the waters that separate him from Syria, the
land of his fathers lying in his sight — basking in the
morning sun. The ship has cast anchor, Nathan has

i !

450

THE HOLY Stone.

never felt anything worthy the name of impatience un-
til this moment; within the last few minutes his impa-
tience has become almost a passion. He paces the deck
with rapid stride, impotent to help himself or to bear his
disappointment with calmness, consumed with a burning
desire to touch the shore, kiss the dust of his native land.
Suddenly a skiff manned by three or four Arab sailors
appears only a gunshot from the ship. Where has it come
from ? Has it started %up from beneath the waves ? —
One instant, the stories of magic so rife in the East come
to his mind, the next they are discarded, his life in the
cold North that seeks proof for everything, has given to
Nathan's mind a scepticism the East knows not. He
hurries to the side of the ship where the sailors in the
skiff are already resting on their oars, speaking to the
Captain of the ship in their native Arabic. Their voices
and the language they speak, are in Nathan's ears like
the sound of pleasant waters. It is the language he
spoke every day in his boyhood, and after a lapse of
twenty years, he knows it as well as he does the Hebrew
he learnt in his father's house, in which he prays morn-
ing and night in the words that are the epitome of his
faith, " Hear, O Israel, the Lord thy God is one God."
A few words to the Arab sailors in their own tongue
is all that is needed. Nathan is in the skiff, they have set
sail, the little shell-like boat is skimming like a joyous sea-
bird to the shore. The moment he has longed for, almost
day and night since he left Grenada, has come, his foot
once more treads his native land under the rays of the
glowing eastern sun, its sands look like sparkling gold,
washed by waters of liquid silver.

THE HOLY STONE.

451

ipatience un-
:es his impa-
,aces the deck
or to bear his
vith a burning
lis native land.
■ Arab sailors
^re has it come
the waves ?—
the East come
his hfe in the
r, has given to
lows not. He
sailors in the
Deaking to the
♦. Their voices
han's ears like
e language he
"ter a lapse of
les the Hebrew
,e prays morn-
:pitome of his
is one God."
lir own tongue
", they have set
ce a joyous sea-
ged for, almost
come, his foot
le rays of the
iparkling gold,

Nathan has letters given him by the Rabbi Abraham,
for Hebrews both in Joppa and Jerusalem, and with a light
valise in his hand, he takes his way up the steep steps of
the dreary town, in search of the residence of the Rabbi,
Abraham's friend. At length he reaches the street
pointed out to him, and again asks his way of an old
man who is walking back and forth in front of a house,
before the open door of which, he stops and looks in-
side each time he passes.

In answer to Nathan's inquiry the old man looks in
his face for a second or two, and then says, in rather an
ungracious manner, " Why seek ye the house of Hiram
of Sidon ? "

Nathan knows well it is a Jew he is speaking to ; the
man's dress does not differ from that of any other he has
passed in his long walk from the miserable little enclo-
sure of rocks which is called the harbour, but there is an
innate feeling in the breast of every Hebrew, which ful-
fils the old adage, "a Hebrew knows a Hebrew all the
world over," and so he produces the Rabbi Abraham's
letter from his wallet and hands it to the old man ; he
knows it will act as a talisman. There is a mark on the
envelope, a mere crooked line, which to a Gentile eye
would convey no meaning, seem but an unintentional
scratch, yet to each Hebrew who looks upon it, it tells
that the letter comes from the High Priest — the Rabbi
Abraham. The stranger's face lightens up like a sudden
gleam of sunshine as his eyes fall on the letter in his
hand with its mystic mark.

" This is the writing of the Rabbi Abraham ?" he says
inquiringly, speaking slowly and with a degree of pre-

Ill

I' f

!>.!'

452

THE HOLY STONE.

cision which seems habitual. " Was the letter given into
your own hand ? Did you see the Rabbi ? Are you
from Europe ?

" I saw the Rabbi Abraham a few days back, I have
been travelling night and day since then."

" Come into my house, rest and eat bread, I am Hiram
of Sidon."

Saying this the old man leads the way through a long
passage to a room at the back of the house, where an
elderly woman is occupied in placing a frugal breakfast
on the table, a fragrant smell of coffee pervades the room,
exciting Nathan's appetite, which his long walk in the
morning air has made rather keen.

" Rebecca, this young n.lin has brought me word
from the Rabbi Abraham, with whom he has spoken only
a few days since," Hiram says, laying aside his hat as he
enters.

The woman acknowledges the introduction by raising
a pair of soft brown eyes to Nathan's face, eyes that in
spite of faded cheek and wrinkled brow, retain their
power and beauty, and speak a kindly welcome. The
fare consists of coarse bread, rice and cucumbers ; not
the breakfast which would have been served to Baron
Ephraim in the Tower of London, but when Hiram puts
on his hat that he may say the prayer before meat,
wherein he blesses the Creator of all things for being
permitted to enjoy the sustenance the earth yields,
Nathan joins in it with greater fervour, more thankful-
ness than he has known for years. The meal over, the
master of the house again replaces his hat and now
prays for a much longer time than before.

ter given into
I ? Are you

back, I have

, I am Hiram

irough a long
se, where an
gal breakfast
Jes the room,
walk in the

bt me word

spoken only

his hat as he

•n by raising
iyes that in
retain their
come. The
imbers ; not
d to Baron
Hiram puts
►efore meat,
s for being
arth yields,
e thankful-
al over, the
It and now

>-;^'«»»--^^

yn^^ ■'■■

THE HOLY STONE.

453

; Previous to the prayer before meat, Rebecca had re-
tired into an inner chamber, leaving Hiram and his
guest to enjoy the meal she had spread before them,
she did not appear again, and after^lhe last prayer Hiram
sits down in the methodical way in which he does every-
thing, that he may read the Rabbi's letter. He reads
the letter slowly, twice over, its contents affect him
powerfully ; his hand shakes, and several times he
lifts his eyes to the face of his guest who sits in silence,
watching the countenance of the old man. At length
it 13 evident he comprehends what he re^ds, realizes the
startling news it tells him, that in his poor house,
sits the greatest man in Israel, and that that man has
eaten of his bread and salt. For some minutes his
emotion is too powerful to allow him to speak. At
length he says, looking full in Nathan's face as if he were
asking a question,

" The Stone is found ? "

Nathan replies, " Yea, verily, the Stone is found."

"And thou, whither goest thou ?" asks Hiram, with-
manifest interest.

, " I go up to Jerusalem, that with . my brethren I may .
keep the holy fast of the ninth of Ab."

" Thou shalt not go alone ; I too will go up to the
Holy City and keep the fast," Hiram says, speaking with
an energy which is evidently unwonted.

"To be in Jerusalem on the morning of the eighth we
must not delay one hour," is Nathan's reply.

*• Thou shalt not be delayed by me ; I am even now
r.eady," Hiram says, as he leaves the room, entering that
to which Rebecca had retired. In a few seconds he is

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THE HOLY STONE.

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back again, saying as he enters, " Come, the young men
with the camels will meet us outside the city."

This is the arrangement Nathan would have made
had Hiram consulted him ; he is now as impatient to be at
Jerusalem as he was in the early morning to touch his
native soil, and the exercise of walking is better suited
to quiet his excited nerves than the leisurely tread of
the camel, besides they are to join a caravan of pilgrims
ontside the gate, and until they meet, inaction would be
irksome in the extreme.

The gate is open, but the road is filled with Turkish
soldiers who stroll about the vacant space between it and
the draw-bridge, in the front is a marble fountain en-
graved with many pious Arabic inscriptions, recommend-
ing the traveller as he quaffs the pure water to bless the
Giver. Around and above the inclosure surrounding the
fountain, are thickly clustering vines, their broad green
leaves forming a shelter from the fierce noon-day sun, and
making myriads of tiny fans which double every light
breeze that stirs the air. Groups of dusky girls display
the most graceful attitudes as they bend to fill their
water jars or balance them daintily on their veiled heads.

A broad sandy path leads from the town through rich
gardens shaded by cypresses and mimosas and hedged
by gigantic cactus, to another fountain and an open
space sheltered by palms ; under these they find Hiram's
servants with the kneeling camels waiting for them ; be-
hind are several groups of travellers and Jewish pilgrims,
the latter like themselves on their way up to Jerusalem
to keep the fast of the ninth of Ab.

Without delay the camels are burdened with the men

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THE HOLY STONE.

455

and their baggage, and a few miles further on, the road
opens upon the Plains of Sharon, aglow with the red and
purple of its gorgeous wild flowers, the iris, the tulip —
every flower except the rose of Sharon !

The Hill country of Judea lies before them in a faint
blue ridge, the plains of Ascalon stretch out on the right,
the high tower of Rama appears clearly in the distance.
Nathan's eye wanders from right to left, taking in each
feature of the landscape, and his heart is stirred with a
strange sorrow as he recals to mind the history of the
iand for thousands of years back, and a tumultous hope
that the time is at hand when Israel will no longer with
bowed down head utter the wailing cry, " How long, oh
Lord, how long ! " Nathan is startled from his reverie
by the voice of Hiram, who, pointing towards Ramleh,
says, " To-morrow we shall be in Jerusalem."

They rest for a few hours at Ramleh. The ancient
Ramah (Arimathea) where Israel was governed by the
immediate direction of God — where Samuel judged the
f)eople — and where alas! — "The elders of Israel ga-
thered themselves together and came to Samuel unto
Ramah, and said unto him, make us a king to judge us
like the nations, and the thing displeased Samuel, and
Samuel prayed unto the Lord, and Samuel told the
words of the Lord unto the people who asked of him a
king " — told them of the woe their kings would bring
upon them ; nevertheless the people said, " Nay, but we
will have a king over us." Where Samuel called Saul
to the top of the house at the spring of day, and where,
when Samuel had communed with Saul upon the top
of the house, they came into the city, and Samuel took

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THE HOLY STONE.

a vial of oil and poured it upon Saul's head, and an-
nointed him to be captain over Israel.

Next morning they are early astir, and in the cool
morning air have accomplished two hours travel, passed
the ruins of Ekron and entered a defile of rocky moun-
tains, where laurustinus, privet and the bay tree, grow
thickly over the steep slopes. The scenery becomes
wilder and wilder at each winding of the road, until the
path necessitates one perpetual climb, where slippery
rocks yawning into deep fissures, constitute the only
road. Yet this has been for four thousand years the
highway between Jerusalem and the western plains that
border on the sea. They pass by the village of Jere-
miah, and a little further on come upon the scene of
David's combat with Goliah ; its little brook sparkling
as freshly, running as swiftly as the day on which the
boy hero " ruddy and goodly to look to," picked up the
pebbles to smite the Philistine, three thousand years
ago.

A large caravan is assembled on the banks of the
little stream with its picturesque variety of laden camels,
mountain cavaliers with turban and embroidered vest,
veiled women on donkeys with gay trappings ; half
naked Arabs with long spears ; Turks with kaftan or
furred pelisse, all eagerly drinking from the precious
stream or resting under the shadow of a great rock.

The hills become more and more precipitous as they
approach Jerusalem, nearly all of a conical form, and
terraced to the very top. On these steep acclivities the
Israelite of old grew corn and wine and oil, and on those

THE HOLY STONE.

457

terraces that still remain uninjured, the present inhabi-
tants plant wheat and vineyards and olive trees.

The path-way continues as rough as ever while they
wind through the rocky defiles leading to the upper
plains. At each acclivity they climb, they assure each
other that the next will reveal to them the object of
their destination. At length they enter upon a wide and
barren plain ; the pilgrims sink on their knees — a shout
of enthusiasm bursts from every man in that large com-
pany, while each, be he ^ Arab, Hebrew or Englishman,
exclaims in his own tongue, Jerusalem! — Jerusaleml

I w-^

CHAPTER XLV.

As round about Jerusalem,
The mountains stand alway,

The Lord encompasseth his folk,
From henceforth and for aye."

Psalms.

r |::t;

THE city where David dwelt — the chosen seat of
God — Jerusalem. All its history, — its holiness
and crime, — its prosperity and desolation, — its tri-
umph and despair, — come thronging into Nathan's
recollection, peopling its fallen towers and desolate plains
with the lives of patriarchs and prophets who had passed
from earth thousands of years ago. For the moment, en-
tirely forgetful of his own life and all its associations, he
only sees the sacred city, where the Prophets preached and
David sung. Nathan, together with the rest of his brethren,
prostrates himself on the ground, lays his forehead
in the dust, while a silence more impressive than the
most impassioned words broods over all.

" When the crusading army, thinned by pestilence, pri-
vation, and many a hard fought battle field, first gazed
upon Jerusalem, that warrior host knelt down as a single
man : sobs burst from their mailed bosoms, and tears
streamed down their rugged cheeks. These tears, and
not the blood so profusely shed upon the plains of
Palestine were the true evidences of the crusading

spirit."

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THE HOLY STONE,

459

Apart from all associations ; the first view of Jerusalem
is a most striking one. Not a tree or green spot is visi-
ble, no sign of life breaks the solemn silence. The flam-
ing monotonous sunshine above, and the rocky wastes
beneath, realize but too faithfully the prophetic picture,
" Thy sky shall be brass, and thy land shall be iron." It
is unlike anything else on earth — so blank to the eye —
so full of meaning to the heart. To the right and left
as far as the eye can reach, grey undulations of colour-
less rock extend to the horizon, a desolate plain in front
bounded by a half decayed battlemented wall, above which
towers frown, and mosque-domes swell, intermingled with
an undistin<^uishable mass of terraced roofs. High over
the city risv ; the Mount of Olives ; the distant hills of
Moab which seem to reach the sky, form the back ground
to the striking picture. ,

Each party waits for the others to finish their devo-
tions ; at length all have arisen from their genuflections
and prostrations, and begin to move slowly forward, in
the slippery path which human feet have worn in the
solid rock.

Nathan and Hiram of Sidon are in rear of the others ;
they are both thinking of the same subject ; of the re-
solution Nathan has made to dedicate himself and his
substance to the restoration of * The People * to their own
beloved land. Suddenly Hiram stays his footsteps, and
signing to Nathan to do likewise, he raises his hands to
Heaven, his face seems to shine with glory from the up-
per world, his form dilates as if under the influence of
sudden inspiration, and his voice goes forth in solemn

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THE HOLY STONE.

accents on the silent air as he exclaims in low clear tones
only audible to the one by his side :

" The Lord doth build up Jerusalem — He gathereth
together the outcasts of Israel."

The men stand for some minutes, as if rooted to
the spot ; the others have passed on a short distance in
advance, they are alone — yet each feels as if in the pre-
sence of another than themselves, one who can speak to
the soul by some subtle power that needs not the body
nor the organs thereof — they experience a joy unspeak-
able, their hearts are filled with wonder, love and praise.
Again Hiram lifts his hands and his eyes to Heaven, —
again the same mysterious influence is upon him, and he
takes up his parable and says : —

" The Lord hath sworn in truth unto David,

Of the fruit of thy body I will set upon thy throne.

The Lord hath chosen Zion, he hath desired it for his
habitation.

This is my rest forever, here will I dwell.

I will clothe her priests with salvation, her saints shall
shout aloud for Joy.

There will I make the horn of David to bud.

Upon himself shall his crown flourish."

Hiram is silent, but the words he has been constrained
t6 speak are still sounding in the cars of both men, tell-
ing them that no effort of puny man will hasten the day
of the Lord. That for the ingathering of Israel, they
must wait the fiat of the great " I Am." That Nathan's
gold will help 'The people,' to build houses and plant
vineyards, but it is only the power of the mighty God of

THE HOLY STONE.

461

>w clear tones

Jacob, that will ' build Jerusalem,' — call ' The people'
home. They walk on in silence, their hearts full of awe
and love to Him who hath said :

" Fear not, thou worm Jacob, ye shall thresh the movm-
tains.

I will assemble you out of the countries where ye have
been scattered, and I will give you the land of Israel.

And they shall come thither and they shall take away
all the detestable things thereof, and all the abominations
thereof.

And they shall be my people and I will be their
God."

Hiram and Nathan enter the city by the Pilgrim's
gate and at once proceed to the house of one of Hiram's
friends, a poor, mean looking place, as are all the houses
of the Hebrews in Jerusalem, but inside not lacking in
any needful comfort. They are received with the bro-
therly welcome the children of the promise give to each
other wherever they meet. This characteristic of the
Hebrew is very noticeable, and it is doubtless due
to this spirit that among the poor who beg in the streets
of Europe and America there is no such person as a pau-
per Jew, and perhaps it is also in a great measure owing
Ito this, that in our criminal courts a Jew criminal is al-
most unheard of. In whatever point of view the Jew is
I considered, he is by far the most remarkable of all earth's
tribes. Their complete individuality, their persecutions,
their undying hope, their steadfast faith that they shall
yet be the greatest people on the face of the earth, set
jthem apart from all others.

Though scattered over every region, their physical and

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THE HOLY STONE.

' m

moral traits are the same as in the days when they wor-
shipped the Lord in his Holy Temple on Mount Zion.
They have endured persecutions such as were never
known by other nations, but the prophecy of Malachi is
still fulfilled, " I am the Lord, I change not, therefore ye
sons of Jacob are not consumed."

They have had their temple twice, their city six times
destroyed, yet they are as confident of their restoration to
their own land as that the morrow's sun will rise. The Bible
speaks plainly enough on this subject, so that "he who runs
may read." "The Lord will yet have mercy upon Jacob,
and will yet choose Israel and set them in their own land.'
In Ezekiel, God declares " He will take the Ten Tribes
and the Two Tribes and unite them in His hand," that Mc,
will gather together the children of Israel from among
the heathen on every side, and bring them unto the land
and will make them a nation on the mountains of Israel ;
and wherever the lost tribes may dwell, or at whatever
time they may return to Jerusalem, Zecbariah says dis-
tinctly, they are to be preceded by the Tribes of Judali.

The Jew is a zealous student of the prophecies, and
thinks that in Solomon and others of his race, the pro-
mises that regard Shiloh are fulfilled. Their hope of the
coming Messiah is ever present, and in their prayers for
the day of atonement are these remarkable words, " Woe
unto us, for we have no mediator ! "

In Hungary the Jews have stately Synagogues, richly |
endowed colleges and courts of judicature. There, in
the year 1650, took place a most extraordinary assembly, I
convened to decide whether the Messiah was come or|
not Three hundred Rabbonim, and an immense multi-

THE HOLY STONE.

463

tude of Jews assembled on the plain of Ageda. Some of
the Rabbonim expressed a wish to hear the Protestant di-
vines upon the subject, but two Roman Catholic priests
proposed to expound to them the doctrine of the Chris-
tian Faith, and shortly there arose a cry, as in old Jeru-
salem, " We will have no man God ! No Virgin," and
the people tore their hair and rent their garments !

"The Carites are said to be a pure remnant of the He-
brews, what the Israelite was and will be, before the in-
gathering of ' The people* come. They abide scrupulously
by the written law, rejecting the Talmud and Rabbinical
explanations. There are many of these Jews in Lithua-
nia, and Wolff found five thousand of them at Bagdad,
who were distinguished for veracity and called * Children
of the Book.' There are also many of them in the
Crimea, where their character deservedly stands very
high. They speak Hebrew as a household language."

The Jew should' be seen at Jerusalem, — the city of
the great King, — the native city of his race. In the proud
silent man who walks thoughtfully in the Valley of Je-
hoshaphat, climbs with saddened air the heights of Mount
Zion, or bends sorrowing to the ground at the " Place of
Wailing," you seem to behold one of the old Prophets
come to revisit the place, speak again to the people, unto
whom thousands of years ago he called in the name of
the Lord : "why will ye die, ye house of Israel ?" The
thoughtful dark eye, and broad forehead, the noble pro-
file that has come down to them through thousands of
generations, and hundreds of climes, are nature^s attesta-
tions of the old history.

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THE llOLY STONE.

Hiram and Nathan are received with all kindness by
their host and his family, who when they hear who he is,
•look upon the latter almost with reverence ; water is
brought to wash their feet and pouied upon their hands,
and savoury meat is set before them. The old man is
wearied with his journey, and retires into an inner cham-
ber to rest, but it is yet early in the day, and Nathan
seeks a horse that he may visit the Pools of Solomon. It
will be a long ride, but his Arab mare is fleet of foot and
he longs to see the place which he visited with his father
thirty years ago. They push forward at a gallop over a
wild and rocky tract where the pathway is scarcely visible
among the fragments with which it is thickly strewn,
yet this has been a highway from the days of Abraham ;
and we read of chariots being used along t'lese roads.

Now, the way lies over a slippery, rocky surface, again
narrowed between blocks of stone, or tangled roots, or
gored by wide fissures. Nathan's fleet Arab bounds on un-
concern-ed, whether the course is over smooth turf or
rugged rock, she sweeps along as if it were a pastime.
They pass through Bethlehem, and on the road to Hebron
come to the Pools of Solomon from which water was once
conveyed to Jerusalem, The name of the pools in Arab-
ic, is El-Burak : they consist of three large reservoirs
parti}/- excavated in the rock, partly built of square stones
and bearing marks of the high antiquity claimed for
them. They are placed one above the other on the
slopes, but not in a direct line, and so arranged that the
bottom of one is higher than the surface of the next
below. Flights of steps lead down to the water which
Is now very shallow. Nathan dismounts, .walks from-

THE HOLY STONE.

kindness by
ear who he is,
ice ; water is
1 their hands,
old man is
[1 inner cham-
and Nathan
Solomon. It
et of foot and
vith his father
gallop over a
carcely visible
lickly strewn,
of Abraham ;
liese roads,
surface, again
igled roots, or
bounds on un-
looth turf or
re a pastime,
ad to Hebron
ater was once
bools in Arab-
t€[e reservoirs
[square stones
claimed for
)ther on the
iged that the
of the next
I water which
, walks from

465

one pool to the other, indulging in pleasant reminiscences
of his boyhood — almost sees his father's face as he stoops
over the stone parapet and looks down into the water, — a
gleam of sunshine darting across the Pool makes the
water sparkle as it touches the ripples which the light
wind makes on its surface ; it recalls Nathan to the pres-
ent, tells him the afternoon is waning, and he will need
all the time now left him if he would fulfil the purpose
for which he came to Jerusalem.

In a second he is mounted, and in an hour his fleet
footed Arab mare has brought him again to the house of
Hiram's friend. It is the hour for entering the Syna-
gogue ; and Nathan,clothed in sackcloth, puts off his shoes
as he enters the door of the holy place, to keep the fast
of the ninth of Ab ; there to lie prostrate before the Lord,
and with head bowed in the dust, listen to the solemn
words of penitence and prayer from the elders of Israel
An old man with hair as white as snow, pleads : " O Lord
thou hast seen my wrong ; plead thou my cause. The
crown is fallen from our head ; Twoe unto us, that we have
sinned ! Our inheritance is turned to strangers, our
houses to aliens.'^

Another beseeches the Lord, saying ; "Our fathers
have sinned and are not, and we have borne their ini-
quities. For this our heart is faint ; for these things our
eyes arc dim."

Yet another prays with tears and strong cries,
" Wherefore dost thou forget us forever, and forsake us
so long time ? Turn thou us unto thee, O Lord, and we
shall be turned ; renew our days as of old," A moment's

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pause, and the same voice wails in low accents, " But
thou hast utterly rejected us, thou art very wroth against
us!"

The Synagogue is draped in black, woe is marked on
every countenance, each head sprinkled with dust. There
are no regular readers as at other times, their grief is too
great to allow of keeping the formula of their liturgy.
The perpetual lamp seems the only thing which bears
no mark of sorrow. It still burns on, — the light for the
dead, — as it has done, day and night, year after year,
since the day the Synagogue was consecrated ; as it will
do for centuries, until the walls and roof it hangs from
crumble into dust. Their grief is of the deepest character
and given utterance to, in the most impetuous outpouring
of tears and lamentations ; this depth of sorrow has been a
feature of the Hebrew character from a very remote an-
tiquity, the Bible is full of it. "They lifted up their voice
and wept." "They rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled
dust upon their heads towards Heaven." The fast of
Ab is kept to commemorate the destruction of the second
temple by Titus, and is one of the most solemn fasts of
the Hebrew church. The only day on which the Hebrew
puts off his shoes on entering the Synagogue. It is
worthy of note that the nations of the Gentiles celebrate
their victories, the Hebrews alone commemorate their
defeats !

Nathan has accomplished the purpose for which he
sought Jerusalem, he has kept the fast of the ninth of
Ab with his brethren, he has laid before the elders of
Israel his plans for ameliorating the condition of * The
People ' and has had the advice of those who know best

THE HOLY STONE.

467

what is most needful, and how the work shall be done.

Hiram's soul cleaves unto Nathan ; in these few days
in which they have sojourned together, there has sprung
up a fount of love in the old man's heart for this stranger,
even as if he were his own son, and he resolves to go
with Nathan to Sidon, and there see once more his
father's house and his kinsfolk ere he die. .

They leave Jerusalem together, stop at the place of
wailing outside the wall, and there bow down together
before the Lord, and pray to the God of Israel to bler,s
the cause Nathan has taken in hand. Pray, that the
Lord God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will hasten the
time, when * The People * will come up from the North,
and from the South, out of the East, and the West, with
joy and rejoicing, to serve the Lord in Zion. A little
farther on, they pass through the Jewish cemetery, where
four women surround oneof the tombs, wailing their dead.
They retrace their steps to Joppa, where they stay only to
eat bread in Hiram's house, see his wife and family, and
hear that they are well. A ship bound for Sidon is in the
harbour ready to set sail, and ere night they are out to
sea. Arrived at Sidon, the time is come when these two
friends so strangely met, yet so closely bound by ties 01
affection, must part. The old man's eyes are full 01
tears and his voice trembles as he raises his hands
and eyes to Heaven that he may bless Nathan with the
blessing pronounced by Aaron and his sons on the sanc-
tified people. "The Lord bless and preserve thee!
The Lord let His countenance shine upon thee, and be
gracious unto thee ! The Lord turn His countenance
towards thee, and give thee peace."

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THE HOLY STONE.

Nathan is alone with his servant, climbing Mount
Lebanon on the road to his father's house. Every
step he takes is on familiar ground ; every village he
passes through reminds him of days long gone by,
when with his father he came to visit his kinsfolk and
friends, who dwelt lower down the mountain. He stops
for a while to gaze on the scene around the natural
bridge, to look on some women grinding corn outside the
house door ; but the sun is already sinking in the west
reminding him that he has yet far to go, and that, do his
best, it will be midnight ere he reaches his home, and
for the last few miles he can only hope to have the light
of stars to guide him on his way. The moon has risen,
but she is a crescent, and by the time he arrives at the
cedars where he would have liked to rest, this pale moon
will only serve to deepen the shadows. As they
near the cedars, his servant refuses to go on until morn-
ing ; there are a few huts close by, one of the inhabi-
tants is a goat herd whom he knows, and he will go no
further. Nathan has faced solitude and darkness before
now, when he knew not his way, and with a light heart he
goes on alone, picks up some cedar cones as he passes
under the older trees, thinks of a promise he made to
Herbert Penryth long ago, that if ever he saw his own
beautiful Lebanon, — that goodly mountain, — he should
send him some cones from the oldest trees. The darkness
comes on apace, the crescent moon has long passed out
of sight, the darkness is intense, the solitude awful, not
a sound of night bird or beast, — the wind is too light to
stir the heavy branches of the cedars. Nathan needs
all his hope and courage ; now he is sure he is in the

THE HOLY STONE.

469

right road, but it is steep and dangerous, one false step
may hurl him down one of those fearful precipices into
which in his boyhood he shuddered to look ; he cannot
discover the light he looks for, the light which twenty
years ago, his mother promised should greet his coming,
be his beacon on the way. His heart almost stops beat-
ing as he thinks " Perhaps my mother has been gathered
to our fathers." On he presses with slow and careful
step — in the midnight.

Darkness, — Silence.

Far up on Mount Lebanon, a hale old man is standing
by an open door, which he has gone to secure for the
night. He is looking out into the darkness, and thinking
he has never seen it so intense. Inside the house his
wife takes down from a shelf a large lamp and prepares
to trim it. It feels light, too light to have oil enough to
last till morning, " There is hardly a drop of oil in the
lamp," she says in accents of sorrow, that seem out of
place for so trivial a cause, " Miriam, bring the cruse,
there may be yet a little oil left therein." Miriam comes
forward with the cruse ; her fair sweet face and dark
eye expressing almost as much trouble as that of the
woman who first spoke ; she replies in a low voice :
" Oh, no, there is not a drop in the cruse."
The lamp is open, and the mistress takes the cruse
from the girl's hand, turning it upside down over the
lamp ; it is useless, not a drop of oil comes. " Oh, Jacob !
how could you be so forgetful," she says in an under-
tone, which low as it is, reaches the husband's ears. He

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f'f- »?~'

comes from the door, which he leaves partly open ; an
uneasy look on his face he is striving to hide.

" What matters it, Esther, if for one night the lamp
should not be lit ? For twenty years the oil has only
been wasted, and will be, should you light it for twenty
more ; Nathan will never come home ; I told you so when
you consented he should go."

" I have never lost faith that he will come home,"
Esther replies, " and should he not, I will keep my vow,
but how shall I keep it to-night ? Do you think if I
melt some of the sheep's fat it will burn in the lamp ?
Miriam, bring me some fat, we will try it."

The girl stands as if irresolute. Esther sees her hesi-
tate and says, " You fear to go alone in the darkness ;
go, Jacob, withMiriam, she knows where the fat is laid."

" It is useless," the old man replies without moving,
" fat will not burn in such a lamp."

" Come, Miriam, I will go with you myself; we must
try," Esther says firmly. As she passes the half open
door, she looks out into the dark night with a shudder,
and pausing for a moment, says, turning towards her hus-
band, " did you see how dark it is, Jacob ? This is
surely the darkness that may be felt, I do not think the
hart could find his way to-night."

Jacob does not answer in words, but his face betrays
intense emotion. He goes to the door by which his
wife and niece left the room, and closing it, returns to
the table where the empty lamp lies. He is strangely
agitated, his nerves are strung to the utmost tension.
He bends over the lamp and prays in words inaudible
to human ear ; suddenly he stands erect, his eye flashes.

THE HOLY STONE.

471

— his heart is stirred with joy,— again with doubt;
going to a stair which leads to an upper chamber he
calls aloud, " Elkana."

" I am here," is the reply, and in a second or two, an
old man with hair and beard as "white as snow in Salmon,"
comes down the stair.

" Elkana, there is no oil in Nathan's lamp ;" Jacob
points to the lamp as he speaks, " when the Rabbi David
was last here he left in my charge, the flask with the oil
for replenishing the perpetual lamp ; will it be sin if I use
this oil for Nathan's lamp ? " He speaks with hesitation,
yet there is an earnestness of purpose in his eye and voice.

" Nay, my son," the old man replies, " it wilL not be
sin, the oil is needed for an act of mercy ; I have suffered
much in a dream this night because of Nathan. The
angel of the covenant protect the lad."

" Come then, Elkana, you will hold the candle while
I pour the oil in the lamp ; I do not believe I will ever
see Nathan's face in the flesh, but Esther is sorely troubled
because of m> neglect, and would have no rest to-night
should the lamp be unlit"

Jacob takes the lamp and goes into an inner chamber,
taking a key from his vest, he opens the cupboard where
lies the flask of oil left by the Rabbi David. Jacob's
hand trembles visibly as he pours the oil in the lamp
and he murmurs audibly, " If this be sin, let the sin be
upon my head alone, let my house be scathless."

" It is no sin, my son, to use the,oil," the old man says
in a solemn voice, " but it would be great sin not to use it ;
my spirit tells me the lad needs the light even now." While

If?':

472

THE HOLY STONE.

he yet speaks the old man is going up the stairs to his
chamber, there to plead with the God of his fathers for
Nathan.

Jacob lights the lamp and places it in the window.
When his wife and Miriam return with the fat he is stand-
ing in the open doorway looking up to the dark sky.
As Esther places the fat on the table, she utters a cry of
joy, and points to the lamp.

Nathan is struggling on amid the darkness. " If I am
as near my father's house as I think I am, I should see
my mother's lamp," he says almost aloud, and again
he shudders with apprehension ; "and Miriam, the pretty
child I used to promise should be my wife if I ever came
home ; she too must be gone : that she never married, I
know. Were she alive she would light the lamp."

He knows that each step he takes is fraught with dan-
ger; the road winds along the edge of a precipice, he stays
his steps, debates with himself whether he will lie down
where he is and wait for the dawn ; he has been walk-
ing for hours since he parted from his servant ; he is
faint and worn with fatigue. Had he advanced one
step further, a deep ravine would have ended his
wanderings forever. Suddenly a light like a single star
higher up on the Lebanon appears to the west. The
sight fills Nathan's heart w ith a tumultuous joy ; his
weakness is gone — he tur:is towards the bright speck
with the eager step of his boyhood. Brighter and
brighter ''- glows, and then a long streak of light from an
open door. It is gained ; he is enfolded in the arms of

THE HOLY STONE.

473

his father and mother, while Miriam, with beating heart
and liquid eyes, stands apart

" Father, tlie Stone is found ! Dear mother, you kept
your promise, your h'ght saved my Hfe to-night." He
stretches a hand for Miriam ; " Surely goodness and
mercy hath followed me all the days of my life ; and we
shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

THE END.

* 1
. 1

■ ( ■

VIOLET KEITH. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY,

BY MUS. ALEXANDEK KOfcS.

*' Wc have risen from the pcrsnal of Vioht Keith, thankful to the gifted
authoress for a phnsure now rarely enjr.ydl, of a simple story whieh draws
neither on a strained invention nor a ^( nnational style for its efi'i-ct, but on
th.' exhaustless resonrees of our eonimon life and natural feelings. Its in-
cidents spring up along the track of a sini] le lil'e, and tluy arc neither
manifold nor marvellous, yet they hold the breath still as \\q read ; from
the perf( et naturalness with which they are told. The religious prinoiiili;
and moral teaching of this volume are as i)ure as its story is natural, and
its characters real. Such books insensibly mould tlie moral life, and
leave an impression on the heart on the side of duty." — James X-ewi.*,
Minister of the Free Church of ^'eotland at Rome, Europe ; 1869. T

Violet Keith. — " This talc which Mrs. Ross relates with more than
common artistic skill — takes the form of an autobiogiaphy. The woof, as
it were, of the story is charmingly develo])ed, wdiile tlic Idling in is not
only rich in incident that keeps the attention bound, but it is coloured
with scenes as thrilling as any we rememher in thirty or more years' read-
ing ; and wc discover tiuit it is not tlie garish daubing of a novice that has
captivated us, but that the attraction is arf, real, genuine, and unmistak-
able."— From the Toronto Daily Telegraph, 18G8.

Extracts frovi Opinions on the " Wreck of the Uldlc t'cnr"
The writer hns added considerably to her reputation by the present
work, which assures to her a high position in the republic of letters. —
Montreal Witness.

At. \ ■

*' ' ' ! '
It '

Mrs. Ross' strong point is evidently the depicting of character. Each
individual in the story stands out in strong relief, the moral lessons" in-
culcated arc of much value. — Montreal Herald,

«^ri^

[Y,

ikful to the gifted
tory which draws
• its cfu ct, hut on
fcoliiigs. Its in-
thcy arc neither
IS \vo read ; IVom
.'ligioiispriiu'iph's
y is natural, and
! moral life, and
— Jamks X'E\VI.S

e; 1809.

Willi niOTC than
ly. The woof, aa

iillinfT in is not

it it is coloured
iniorc years' read-
novice that has

k and unmistak-

\tc fear."

by the present
llic of letters.—

haracter. Each
ual lessons' in-

From the Halifax Visiter.
Mrs. Ross has given us a passionate and thrilling story in her "^Vreck of
I the White Bear.

From StcvMrVs Quarterly.
Mrs. Ross is a writer of the more exalted school of literature. In her
Iworks the trashy clement is entirely excluded, and her character drawing
lis oxcelh nt. There is enough to place the author's name high up on the
llist of novelists of this century.

From the St. John Tdc/iraiih.
The author appears to us to excel in ln-r delineations of charftctcr, and
^n her dialogues. She has also a line eye for the beautiful and the suhlimo
nature.

THE GRAND GORDONS.

"A Lr.GKND OF TiiK Ghand Gomoxs." — To say that 't is by the

fcr.thor of ' Violet Keith,' is to give it the crir^e to every Canad.'an homo

tntlc and fcwplc. Tlie reader will he amply rewarded by the graphic dc-

liiifatlon of character, the tendernc ss of the writer's sympathies, and the

niches of genuine pathos which nie<'t the eye on almost every liiige. The

riter treats sacred things with brciiming gravity, betrnys a truly ^'coltish

trspcct for the 'Cloth,' and holds in especial reverence, the preaching of

lllie Word. — I'hc Pretbytcrian.

Montreal, 19th October, 1874.
It lias peculiar interest for Canadians, seeing that the plot is laid in this
cuntry ; and the authoress has bro.^jht ^n ibe task of its production all
[lio matured experience and judgi. ent >vith which a successful literary
xocr Una endowed her. — Mmirt-.ai uar.Mc.

Montreal, 6th October, 'G74.
I can recommend the works of M -s. A. Ross ns furnishing to the public
Bolul moral literature, suitable botl. for young and old. Her hooks have
[Urge circulation, and debervcdly so.

•Tas. Cat.micratl,
SL Geot;j<\i '^r.:'ru'- City,

■mMi.

iil

The Grand Gordons.— St. John's, P. Q., Sept. 15tli, 1875.

It is full of graphic deliupation of character, exquisite desoiiption aiidl

painting of scenery, and of pathetic, pious, and noble sonthuouts. Fiwj

can read it without being charmed, and none without being iniprovid 1 v|

it. I therefore very cordialiy commend it to our families generally.

G. II. Davis.
V»':.-5l"van Minister.

"The Grand Gordons." — The style is easy a ad flowing- ;n man
passages elevated and eloquent. There is both power and beauty \\. ' , m,
containing excellent sentiments and valuable trut'is, liearing w';;;^- an
well upon important social questions of the day. The dc.jcriptioiis o
nature are exquisite and elegant, gracefxd pictures of the berutits that ar
studded around us by cur Cn ator's hand ; and the moral \nd religlou
principles are on the right side, and of the right kind, well litrd to iiifus
a good Icavcu into those who read. — EtujUsh Clergyman in M
Wilness.

vi*

Snth October, ISn.
"A Legend of the Grand Gordons." — Knowing well the chici
spots mentioned in the 1;oolc, I can speak of the truthfulness of the rcium
described ; and the skillful arrangement of the I'rmnatis j^crsoncc spciki^
for itself, l^oth the literary merit and the well known Christian chaiactd
of the writer will combine to secure a high place for this interesting and
able production.

> ( Gavin Lano,

' Minister of St. Andrew's Chnrch\

Montreal,

i. 15tb, 1875.
luisite (lesoiiptioii aiidj
oblc .soutiiiu'iit.s. Fi-wj
3Ut being iniproviil ]y\
imilics gonerally.
G. II. Davis.
Vv'Oisl^yan Minister.

lad flowing- in maii^
i(v and beauty ii. ' : m,
i.s, bearing ■\V';;;'!y an
. Tlu; descriptions oK
)f the bci'iitks that arc
le moral \nd rcligioua
id, wellfitrd to infiisj)

Icrgyman in 1^- ■ - ■

2Cth October, lS7i.
wing well the chio^
thfulncs.s of the scciif^
ivtafis 2'>(">'sonic. spnik^
wn ClinHtian chili add
r this intercstinL' and

Gavin Lano,

St. Andrew's Church\
Montreal.