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Entered according to the Act of Parliflmcnt of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-six, by Hunter, Rose & Co., in the office of the Minister of Agri- culture. u I BEATON'S BARGAIN. CHAPTER I. " SHOULD AlILD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORCOT.' TuK play was nearly over. The house, crowded by a brilliant audience, resounded with frequent applause. Irvini^ and Miss Terry had been at their best in " Much Ado About Nothing." " She is certainly charming," said a slight, elegant woman, with largo dark eyes, and an exquisitely becoming toilet, who aat facing the stage in a private box. " How very delightful it must be to make a lot of money by being fascinating and wearing lovely dresses I " " I fancy there was a background of grinding and waiting before Miss Terry could produce this highly-hnished, highly-paid performance," returned a gentleman, who was leaning on the back of a chair, a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man, with thick sandy mustaches, and hair a shade darker, straight, handsome feg,ture8, and light smiling eyes. " All intense pleasure must be costly ; but then one does not count the cost." " You do not, I'm sure ! " she replied, looking up to him with a smile. " Perhaps not ; but the cost discounts wte." " How horrid realities are ! Give me my cloak, Jean, let us wrap up and be ready. What is she looking at, Mr. Beaton >. '' The lady she addressed had been for more than a minute gazing through her opera-glass at some person or persons in the undress circle opposite, and now, turning to Beaton, she landed the glass to him. "I wish," she said, "you would look at that man who is leaning against the pillar behind a huge woman in a green bonnet. I really believe it is Jack Maitland." " 1 dare say it is. He is in town, I know," taking the glass and look- ing as directed. " Yes," he aaid, " it is Maitland ; you have a good memory, Jean." BEATON S TiAROAIN. •' Oh, Mrs. Winington has no cud of a memory," said a stout, short young man, ruddy and fair-hairod, who had not spoken before. " It is a k)ijg time since 1 saw Jack Maitland, and ho is a good dea^ changed. Why did you not bring him to see mo I " " 1 never tlionght of it," said Beaton. " Well, find him out now, like a good boy, andbringhim to supper." " Oh, we will meet him going oat." •* No, no ; make sure of him ; you have seen all this a dozen times. Go now ! " Beaton raised his eyebrows, put on an air of submission, and left the box. *' You have a very obedient brother, Jean," said the first speaker. " Everyone obeys Mrs. Winington, Lady Mary," remarked the stout yijung man. *' Except Colonel Winington,'' cried Lady Mary. " That of course. I promised to obey him," said Mrs. Winington, a smile parting her ripe, red lips, and showing the white, regular teeth within. She was on a larger scale than her friend, tall and stately, with a grandly rounded figure, snowy arms and throat, so far as a square corsage and elbow-sleeves permitted them t<> be seen, a richly pale complexion, with a tiny freckle or two where the sun had kissed her cheek too fondly, abundant real chestnut hair, and soft warm brown eyes. She was a handsome likeness of her brother, Leslie Beaton, with more vitality. " Hush! " said Lady Mary, " you have no enthusiasm for the drama.'' *' Come ! " exclaimed Mrs. Winington ; " we know the rest. Let us get out before the crowd. Mr. Smythe, you can find the brougham, and Leslie must come on the best way he can ; 1 do hope he will catch Jack Maitland," Mr. Smythe was most active and energetic. He soon discovered Mrs Winington's tall footman. Between them that lady's perfectly appointed brougham was quickly brought up, and the owner with her fair friend carefully handed in by the devoted Smythe. " I shall be at home to-morrow ; come and have a cup of tea at five o'clock. Good-night," said Mrs. Winington, as she drew up the win- dow, and they rolled off. " What a shame not to ask the poor little fellow to supper ! " said Lady Mary. "He really earns 1j is bread (his bread of life) very hardly. " (( u ((( SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOROOT. i stout, short )ofore. \ a good dea^ iitosuppor." dozon times. , and left the pst speaker, ked the stout Winington, a hite, reijular 11 and stately, r as a square richly pale d kissed her warm brown slie Beaton, the drama.'' rest. Let us e brougham, ope he will >n discovered y's perfectly ner with her of tea at five up the win- I pper ! " said of life) very " Pooh ! " returned Mrs. Winington ; " four .are company, five an un- pleasant solitude," and she nestled herself into her corner of the luxurious conveyance. " Besides, I have given him his guerdon ; tea with us is payment in full. I do not want him to-night." *' Oh, it is tloijc ! " " Oh, the Maitlands are of a good old stock. His father and mine were brother officers. Jack is a gentleman by birth and breeding, only the proposition was so absurd. I answered it by marrying Colonel Winington." ** A very wise solution. What a nuisance it is, Jean, that nice men never have any money ! " " Well, rarely. " *' And where has your young hero been hiding himself i " " 1 havn't an ides3;. He was a medical student in Edinburgh, but he broke away, and went to America or New Zealand or Timbuctoo ; in short he was in disgrace with his father, with everyone, so wo quite lost sight of him." " Ah ! I suppose remorse for having ruined his life presses on your soul." " Indeed it does not. Jack Maitland would have had to sow his wild oats whether he had known Jean Beaton or not ; but he was a delightful boy, as I considered him, though he is two years older than I am." '* I feel curious to see this young Lochinvar, " said Lady Mary, yawning. " What are we to have i vory nocMlfnl. "And of cour.st! .since the laird '' lie panseil in liin .Hpeucli. "Yea," put in Mrs. Winingto^i, softl), with an air of inlcroat ; ** siTico my i»oor father eaton that his older brotiier was so fool- ish as to marry. But for this poor little two-year-old, yon would be Beaton of Craigrothie, and a good matcli," cried Lady Mary, laugh- ing. '■ Instead of being obliged to look out for a good match myself. If you [iin uiseme your ladyship's fair hantl, 1 will post oil' to Scotland to- morrow, and poison the intrusive imp,'' said Beaton. " Maitland there will not inform the police for the sake of old friendship. Eh, Jack ! " "Oil, Mr. Beaton," exclaimed Lady Mary, " I saw the very thing that would suit you in the Tiincs this morning. I told you at the time, Jean. Oh, where is the pa[)er / Ring the bell, Mr. Maitland, please." (The servants by this time had retired.) "it was in yesterday's paper too, but I did not think about it seriously till to-day. I am ([uite in earnest. I 'ray bring me this day's Times ; 1 left it in the library. I do hope it is not sent away." (This to the servant.) " I only want the ad- vertisement sheet. '' "' What may this wonderful tind be? " exclaimed Beaton. What may retrieve your fortunes," said Lady Mary, solemnly. They never wanted retrieving more. Haste ! oh, haste, most ad- mirable Miller, with the means of my salvation ! " The stately butler re-entered as he spoke, and handed the Times to Lady Mary. . " It is a tremendous effort to hunt up anything in these endless col- umns," she exclaimed, stretching out the wide sheet. " Do hold this side, -Mr. Beaton, it is for your sake 1 am incurring the fatigue. Oh, < ( snoULD AULD ACQUAINTANf'H WV. FORrjOT. horo it it4 in tlu; Ji^'oiiy coliimii. ' Tho frionds of a y(»un<^ la»ly of con- sitU^nildo fortiin*', wh<» liavtj ftnv H<»ciul (i[>p()rt»initit'H, Wdiikl l»o ylail to coniiiMMiicato with a ;,MM»tUMiiaii of oharactor and poHitioii, witli a vi«'\v to a inatriiiioiiial alliance. Fullest information ;^jv'en and expected. Strictest secrecy observed. Address by letter only to A. X. Z., IJox 24, P. ()., Lombard Street.' " '* |{y Mannnon! thiH is a chance. Lombard Street smaokH of j^old," cried lieaton, taking tho pai)er. " lint if tho y(tnn'4 bvdy has the luiod- fid, why this iieCesHity of huntinj^ for a husband /" " They must bo very extraordiniiry people to confess to liavin-^ few social advantat^es. T wonder is she a lunatic / '' said Mrs. Witiing- ton. " l>ox *24 will be tolerably crammed full by tu-morrow," said Mait- land laughing. " They are not suited yet," obsei'ved Liidy Miiry gravely, " or the advertisement ^^ould not be out again." " 1 wonder if there really is a good fortune behind this (pieer an- nouncement, because I am really hard up. [ was just able to clear myself when the poor old laird died, and now I feel (piite poverty- stricken and cold without my debts. I^esides the children of Israel are rather hard-fisted to the fatherless, when they realize there is no longer a paternal purse to pull at. I give you my word I feel as desti- tute as " " As I am," put in Lady Mar}'. " I am sure if any young or old gen- tleman of considerable fortune was so deprived of social advantages as to feel obliged to advertise for a wife, I should answer and find out if the game were worth the candle." " I am sure you would do nothing of the kind," said Beaton, witli a peculiar expression, half-admiring, half-r<^proachful. '* You know you are the most difficult of women. Moreover, for the matrimonial stakes a man can h'fedge his book as ijoii cannot. However, I am grateful enough for the trouble you have taken to follow your advice." He drew out a note-book and pencil, and took down the initials and ad- dress, observing, "I will write to-morrow." " Nonsense! " cried Mrs. Winington, " I will accept no sister-in-law out of the 7'i;//t's agony column." "Suppose she had a hundred thousand recommendations?'' said Maitland. m BEATON S BAKriAIN. o " That would be irresistible ; but a hundred thousand ixninds do not go a-bei,'ging in the Times. '^ " Now, L;idy Mary, if you have supped you must complete your friendly offices by assisting me to open negotiations in this very com- mercial transaction. You must help me to do myself justice, for I dis- trust my own descriptive powers. There are pens, ink, and paper in the next room, and we will submit our joint production to a committee of the whole house." *' Very well ; I v.ill tone down the ' rilliancy of your coloring, and give an air of reality to your inventions," said Lady Mary, rising, and leading the way into the ante-room. " Leslie is much the same as ever," ..aid Mrs. Winington in a con- fia». itial tone to Maitland, as soon as they were left alone. *' Poor fel- low, he has given us great trouble and anxiety. I am sure it is well for the family fortunes that Archie left a son. Leslie never knew the value of money. Do you remember he was always borrowing yours when you were boys, and T fear rarely pair^ you back ? " " I imagine my loans were infinitesimal, and I am quite sure I got my cash returned, or I should have been penniless. Yes, your bro- ther is just the same pleasant fellow as ever. I wish Jie were a little more prudent." " You were not always prudent yourself. Jack — I mean Mr. Mait- land," returned Mrs. Winington, looking full into his ej^es for a mo- ment, and t :en letting her own slowly droop. *'No," said Maitland, laughing, a pleasant, unembarrassed laugh. " I was as great a fool as lads generally are, if not a greater fool. It 7" wonderful what enormous proportions one's early follies assume rhen seen by the light of maturer experience-" " Ah, and you have grown wiser no^c,'' with some emphasis, her eyes still downcast, as she turned a heavy gold Indian bracelet round and found on her arm. * "Quite wise! I wish I could think so. A trifle surer and more de- liberate." "And so have I- -grown inuch wiser and more enlightened in some directions," with a quick, deep sigh. " We ought to be good friends now that we have left our follies fur behind. Ought we not, Mr. Mait- land ? " " Who would be anything but your friend, Mrs. Winington ? " She looked up ; their eyes met. Hers were inexpressibly imploring. "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT." 11 inda do not iplete your very com- e, for I dia- i paper in committee oring, and rising, and 1 in a con- 'Poorfel- it i8 well : knew the dng yours jure I got I your bro- ire a little Ir. Mait- for a mo- ld laugh, bol. It assume her eyes Lind and lore de- n some friends '. Mait- Coring. His, quiet, searching, not unkindly, but she saw, she felt he was un- moved. She was no longer the Jean Beaton for whoso kiss he would have risked his life — only Mrs. Winington, a handsome, agreeable woman, with whom it was pleasant to while away an hour. She had rarely been so discomforted. Her brow darkened ; she bent over the flowers that lay beside her plate, to hide the change she felt transform- ing her face. "Tell me," she resumed, recovering herself, "how long is it since you have returned ? " " About a year." ** But you will not always bury yourself alive in the wilds of Craig- rothie ? " " Why not ? I have no particular ambition. Having no special profession, I must do what I can, and to manage a large estate, develop its resources, and improve the tenantry, is no bad occupation for a man's life. My father is very much broken, and eventually I don't think the guardians or trustees will appoint anyone in my place." " They would be very foolish if they did. And you are content to live and die at Craigrothie ? " *' At present, yes. Home is very pleasant after wandering about for years." " Yon are too young to feel that. Perhaps some bonnie lassie with golden locks is the real attraction to the old place ; perhaps you are going to follow my good example, and take a partner for life ! " Jack Maitland smiled a somewhat grim smile. " I am by no means inclined to matrimony," he said. " When I am older and more talkative and stay-at-home, I may look out for a good housewife to make my declining years comfortable, but for the i^resent, no ! " There was a world of imperative rejection in his " no." " You are a good deal changed," said Mrs. Winington, softly, almost timidly. '* I see a change in you, too," he returned, looking at her steadily, as a man might contemplate a picture ; "but you are even handsomer, I should say^lovelier, than you used to be." A certain familiarity had come into his tone as he talked, and Mrs. Winington, as she met his eyes, felt that it would not be easy to pierce the panoply of his indif- ference. " I fear you are hard and unforgiving," she murmured. You wrong me ; I have no right to be either. " Then, with the n u HEATON's BATIGAI>T. bright frank smile whicli lit up his face so pleasantly, "I assure you, I have grown a very easy-going, unheroic fellow since time and social friction have worn down my rough edges." " You used not to be rough, Jack ; you were very, very gentle, to me at least." " Very good of you to say so. I fancy I was something of a boor, or would have been if I had not known you." *' I wish I could believe I had ever done you any good. Jack." " Yes, you did ; you taught me a great deal, ' laughing. " Well," resumed Mrs. Winington, after a short pause, "you must come and dine with us. I want to introduce you to Colonel Winington. You know he is one of my father's executors ; it would be well if you became friends. How long shall you be in town ? " " It is impossible to say. I may be called before the committee to- morrow. I may be kept kicking my heels here for a couple of weeks, or a month." " Here," cried Lady Mary, coming in with a sheet of paper in her hand, " here is a magnificent composition. Pray listen." She seated herself at the table, while Beaton, who followed, leaned on the back of her chair. mg an *' Having seen A. X. Z's advertisement, I beg to offer myself as a candidate for the matrimonial alliance proposed. I am a man of good family, assured social position, and attractive appearance. I attained my thiity-first year on the eighteenth of February last. My character will bear the strictest investigation, and my references are unexcep- tional. My fortune is, I regret to say, nil, but, wonderful to relate, I am free from debt. If A. X. Z. will consent to a private interview, I shall be happy to satisfy him on all points, and make any arrange ment calculated to give satisfaction. Nature has endowed me with a warm heart and an affectionate disposition, which are entirely at the command of the lady who will be so good as to share her fortune with yours, etc., etc., " Jock o' Hazledean." '' First-rate ! bravo ! " cried IMrs. Winington, clapping her hands. " Enough to lure the birds from the trees,'' said Maitland. " You never could have done it yourself," observed Lady Mary. "Never," returned l>eaton, emphatically. "Give me the precious paper which shall be my passport to fortune." (( ON VIEW. 13 CHAPTKR 11. * " ON VIEW." Ten days had gone by rapidly, and Jack Maitland, in the i>res3 of business and amusement, was hardly aware that so much time had elapsed. Ho liad contented himself by leaving a card on INIrs. Wining- ton, at the hour she was most likely to be out. He was interested and amused by his rencoiuiter with her, and quite able to admire her beauty without being much disturbed by it. This line sunny morning he was bus}^ writing letters in his room, before going out for the day, and had laid down his pen before answer- in^ an invitation to dinner from Colonel and Mrs. Wiuington for the following Tuesday. '" I must accept, I suppose," he said to hiuiself. " I have refused a musical evening, and a party to Richmond. 1 should like to see Jean's husband. It is a droll idea to meet him, too, without any deadly in- tentions. Come in," interrupting himself as someone knocked at the door. " A gentleman wants to know if you will see him, ^ir," said a waiter, presenting liiiu with a card, on which was printed *' Leslie Beaton." " Yes ; show him up," and in a few minutes Beaton walked in. " I was just thinking of looking you up," cried Maitland, shaking hands with him. " I have not seen anything of you since we supped tofjether at Mrs. Winington's. I thought vou would have come with me to hear Gladstone's answer to " "My dear fellow, I have been otherwise occupied," interrupted Bea- ton, with some solemnity, as he drew a chair opposite his friend. Maitland looked at hira, half amused at the mingled expression of triumph and uneasiness in his eyes. " 1 have been very seriously occupied," repeated Beaton. " What have you been about / " " I have been securing a wife. I have been hnding the means of existence." " What do you mean ?" *' You remember that advertisement?" "Yes." " Well, I answered it. Not the answer I concocted with Lady Mary. 14 BEATON S BARGAIN. My proposal was entertained. 1 interviewed first the acting guardian, a suutfy, shabby, shrewd old rascal, who has been making rigid inqui- ries respecting nie and my statements. 1 suppose the result has been so far satisfactory that guardian number two received me yesterday, and we got on very well. He is a pompous old buffer, but a gentle- man, and it is agreed I am to be introduced to the young lady to- morrow." " But you are not in earnest ] You would not select a wife in this fashion ? " *' Why not ? What is worse in it than being introduced by — say my sister — to an heiress with a view to matrimony ? It is the same sort of operation more openly and satisfactory conducted. I, too, have been looking into matters, and it is a bund fide ready-money affair. In shorty 1 am inclined to think my luck has turned." " And the young lady ? " Beaton made a grimace. "I haven't seen her yet, and lean only hope she is not too utterly utter. If she is, why, I'll cry off. But, Jack, she has close on live thousand a year. That will cover a multi- tude of defects. Then, there are many compensations even for the most devoted husband, and I intend to be a model. She shall spend a fair share of her own money as she likes, while I shall amuse myself my own way — in moderation. " You are old enough to take care of yourself," said Maitland, pro- ceeding to stamp the letters he had addressed. "I confess I feel most for the girl. I suppose she knows nothing about this precious scheme i" " Hasn't the faintest suspicion. My dear fellow, she will be enchant- ed with me, if I choose ; I always get on with women, and Miss Vivian (her name is Vivian) has been secluded all her seventeen or eighteen years. Her father was an enthusiastic naturalist, and had what he considered enough to live on (he was evidently a man of limited ideas), so he brought up this girl in the most naturalistic manner possible. I fancy the mother died years .ago. Since the father's death my future spouse has lived in the paternal cottage, under the care of the snuffy guardian's sister, and 1 presume her manners are not of the highest tone. Quite lately she inherited a lot of money from an uncle who had not been on good terms with her father for years, but who died intestate. I have got Winington's solicitor to look into the matter, and he too says it is a bund fide concern." « ON VIEW. 15 There was a moment's silence. " Why don't you congratulate me, Jack ?" " Perhaps I may later on ; at present — well, I don't like the scheme ] but I suppose 1 take things too seriously. I dare say a marriage of this kind is no worse than a large proportion of those which occur every day." '' On the contrary, it is a deuced deal better, less nonsense and more reality ; you are quite too desperately in earnest — always were, so Jean says. By the way, she is quite taken up with my plan. Will you come with me and support me in this crisis of my fate ? " "W^here?" " At the Royal Academy to-morrow, one-thirty — to meet the object of my adoration. It's a beastly hour, but that's what old Tilly fixed. Tilly is the superior guardian, and is to introduce me as a ' young friend' to his ward and her chaperon. Really it will be rather fun for you to see the meeting. " " I will come," said Maitland, slowly. " Where shall I find you ! " "Oh, pick me up at the club. Come and have a glass of sherry and a biscuit to keep up our spirits. You know, if the thing can be man- aged it will be a great chance for me, I am pretty well at the end of everything. Indeed, I must raise funds to carry out this scheme. I don't think even Winington will advance me a rap. Do you happen to have a few hundreds, Maitland, you would like to lend at high in- terest ? " " Certainly not," with a grim smile ; " I like you too much, old fel- low, to have any money transactions with you." "Niggard ! " cried Beaton, in mock heroic tones. " Well, I must try my old friends the Jews. In short, the only chance left me is this marriage. If it fails — but it must not fail. Now I have to escort Lady Mary to a garden-party at Twickenham, so good-bye till to-mor- row. Mind you don't fail me. You'll make a respectable sort of sponsor." With a nod he left the room. Maitland looked after his playfellow with something of uneasiness and disapprobation, as he thought, " He is not to be trusted, ! fear ; none of them ever were except the old laird. I must see what the vic- tim is like ; probably she is an ordinary woman to whom a good name and a higher social position than her own may be all-sufficing." 10 BEATON S BARGAIN. The fateful morrow wa8 dull and heavy ; but Maitland found Bea- ton in hij,'h, almost too high spirits, and faultless dress, with dainty gloves and a delicate sprig of gardenia and maiden-hair fern in his but- tonhole — "(juite a bridegroom elect," as Maitland told him. After a second glass of sherry Beaton declared himself ready, and they set out on their important (juest. Although it was luncheon time, the rooms at Burlington House were full, and Mciitlaud looked eagerly round, seeking some figure that might answer to the idea he had formed of Beaton's intended bride. There were a variety of visitors, evidently provincial, over whom Maitland's eyea rolled unsatislied till they were arrested by a group which stood before one of the gems of the exhibition — a large picture representing a wide breezy upland covered with gorse and heather, some sheep feeding in the foreground, and gathering rain-clouds be- hind. A white-haired neat old gentleman with a high black satin cravat was speaking to an elderly woman who might have been head- nurse or a highly respectable cook and housekeeper in a country family. She wore a closely-tied black satin bonnet, aiid a large shawl, of the kind known as Baisley, hung in a point from her shoulders to the end of her black skirt, while the hand with whijh she pointed to a huge hunting scene hanging high alwve their heads was encased in stout brown kid gloves with long empty tinger-ends. A step or two in ad- vance stood a slight young girl, whose gown of fawn- colored alpaca was somewhat short and scant ; she wore a round cape of black cash- mere, its long ends crossed and fastened behind, and a broad-rimmed straw hat adorned with a bow of white ribbon and a large bunch of very stiff forget-me-nots ; her feet, clad in white stockings, were planted in stout square-toed serviceable shoes tied on the instep, and had no heels worth mentioning ; the whole costume bore the stamp of village millinery. A quaint little bourgeois tigure, yet Maitland's at- tention was rivetted to it. While he looked Beaton touched him on the shoulder, and exclaimed in a deep whisper : '• Great heavens, there she is ! " Maitland smiled at the dismayed expression of his face. " How do you know 1 " " Because that is old Tilly, the guardian, with her; don't you see him looking round for the other victim i " " He sees you," said Maitland. Beaton, raising his hat, started forward with a frank, pleasant "ON VIEW." 17 smile to meet the anxious-looking old gentleman vrho was beckoning him. " You are a little behind time, are you not, sir ? " said Mr. Tilly, in a low tone ; "at least it seems a considerable time since we came into this bewildering place. " *' I flattered myself I was rather punctual," said Beaton. *' Will you allow nie to introduce an old friend of mine, Mr. Maitland. I thought it might be as well to make some of my people known to you." "Certainly, certainly," bowing with old-fashioned politeness ; "very happy to know any friend of yours, I am sure. Now — now I will present you. It is really a curious and somewhat daring experiment, but wirh a man of honor — a — 1 have no doubt all will go well. Of course I must assume to know you — to have known you, I mean. My young ward is quite taken up with the pictures. A — a — Edith, my dear," touching her arm. She turned quickly and looked full at him with a startled expres- sion, as if suddenly recalled from another world, showing under her large hat a simple, pale, gentle face, the nose a little upturned, the mouth searcely small enough for beauty, the eyes well set and darkly fringed, ^but of no particular color, the hair soft, light brown, and smooth — an ordinary little fa.^ enough, but pleasant, and not without a certain attraction. " Edith, my friend Mr. Beaton wishes to know you. Mr. Beaton Miss Vivian. Mr. Maitland, Miss Vivian." She looked at them steadily, a slight color stealing up in her cheek, as she made a small, very small courtesy, quaint but not ungraceful, without any attempt to speak. She was turning again to the pictures when Beaton, v'ith what Maitland perceived to be an effort, asked, "Is this your first visit to the Academy ? " "Yes, I never saw any pictures before, except two or three at home." ^ " There are quite too many here for comfort ; you will be awfully tired before you leave." " [ feel a little giddy when I look round certainly, but I should like to stay on and on till I saw everyone." " You must come onstantly, taking a rest between your visits," said Maitland, who was determined to make aciiuaintance with the poor little heiress. B 1 ,1 18 BEATONS IJAJUiAIN. { i I I " 1 shoiild like it, but it would cost such a number of Hhillinp;s. Mrs. Miles would have to come too, you know." "fetill I think Mr. Tilly wt if your j^aun; will ho as easy hh you antii;i|»ato." " Easy I Ft is huio to bo liard work in any case ; aiidtlusn this craze for art ! I must yet .loan to help mo tJu^n-. In tact, I shall novor i{ot tl'iout,di the affair without .loan's lu^I[) ; hut I can cnunt on lu'r ; she wants to <,'ot mo oil" lior handa. " VV^hy, jjoaton, with your interest and 3hari)ne8H you ou.,'ht to ho able ti» uiako your own liviin^ without haviiii; to soil yoursolf," " Make my own livinj; ! Wiiiit a diss^ustiuj^ phrase ! Really, .Jack, there is a stron;,'or colonial llavor about you than I th(<."4lit, However, I have not committed mysi If to anything'. Old Dar<,'an, the stuH'y one, wants to make some final conditions before I o[)eu tlie siof^e in form. Hy tho way, are you to dine with the Winingt')UH on Thursday ? '' " [ am." "Then pray tell .Tean the enormous sacrifice T am !,'oing to make to a stern sense of duty." "Tho duty of self-niaintenanco." " f shall tell her my opinion if she asks it. Now, I must leave you." " Won't you come down to llurliii<^h;ini ? .foanie will be there, and slie told me to bring you." ** Sorry I can't but [ have an appoint'nent with the nuin who wants the Craigrodiie moors this autiunn ; F am aluvist late already." '' Well, good-bye for the present. If yon had any bowels of compas- sion you would not leave >ue to my s(jrrow." " F feel sure you will !iot long need consolation," smiling, as he nod- ded good-bye to his friend, and turned up Air Street on his way to Regent Circus. " Ft is no atlair of mnie," he nnist*li. " I have no business to interfere, but F can't holp feeling sorry for that poor child. She doesn't look as if she could hold her own in the world F>eatou will introduce her to. But wonxen are kittle cattle ; F cannot take credit to myself for understanding them, though 1 have had a lesson or two.' BEATON S BARGAIN. CHAPTER HI. "GREEK MEETS GREEK. » Mrs. Winington's beautiful drawing-rooms were redolent of the flowers with which they were profusely decorated, and shaded by sun- blinds to becoming dimness when she came down dressed for dinner, her white neck and arms gleaming through the filiiiv black lace which affected to cover them ; the coils of her rich auburn-red hair dotted with tiny diamond bees and butterflies. She was ready in good time this especial Thursday, as she hoped for an opportunity of speaking to her brother before Colonel Winington appeared. " Leslie is always late. I do hope he had my note," she thought, as she sank into a comfortable corner of the sofa in the inner room and sat for some moments in thought, resting her cheek on her hand, a softened expression lending unusual beauty to her handsome face ; then rousing herself, she leaned forward to glance at the clock, and as she did so Mr, Beaton was announced. *' I was afraid you would not come in time," she exclaimed. '* What is it, .Jean ! Are you in a scrape i " "A scrape ! Me T' she returned with a large note of interrogation. ' That ia not likely to happen. No ; I want to warn you against con- tiding this matrimoniaj venture of yours to Jack Maitland. I am half afraid you have done so already. " " Yes ; of course I have. Did I not tell you I took him with me to witness my interview with my fiancee, as I consider her ? " " Then you are a greater fool than I took you for. Unless he has changed, Jack is the sort of man who strains at gnats and does ')iot swallow camels. He is (^uite capable of telling the girl, or making a row." " And cutting me out himself, eh I '' added Beaton, laughing at his sister's irritation. ** I think you do him injustice ; he is not (piite such an idiot. You don't suppose he is still the, credulous block - head iiou bamboozled ? I can tell you he is both tough and hare". " " Very likely," returned Mrs. Winington, a faint, almost tender smile passing over her lips. " Still he would despise your method of finding a well-dowered wife. I hope you did hot let him think I knew anything about it." "GREEK MEETS GREER." 25 *' Of course I did. Why, I backed myself up with your approba- tion." '* Really, Leslie, you are too unprincipled. You cannot even believe that other people have scruples. I am intinitely annoyed. What will Jack Maitland think of me ? " '■' He won't think about you ; and what the deuce would it matter if he did ? He is not horrified — not a bit of it. Ho was rather amused with the whole aft'air. If anything he is rather taken with my little Quakeress. It is only natural, you know, that having been jilted by a lioness he should console himself with a mouse." Mrs. Winington did dot reply at once, but a flash of vivid anger gleamed in her eyes, a look that Beaton knew and never trifled with. " It would serve you right if he vvon the prize from you,'' she said, ([uietly. *' It is well you told me. I shall know what line to take. If,'' she continued, after another slight pause, " if I am to assist you, you must consult and be guided by me. Leslie, I have not seen you for nearly a week ; have you been absorbed by your devotion to Miss Vivian, or to " " Not altogether," he interrupted quickly. " I have escorted her to the Kensington Museum and the British Museum, and the Zoo, but my evenings have been my own. She is raving to go to the theatre, but I can not stand that. It is more than any man cati stand to appear in public with the fearful old goody who chaperons her. Your maid would disdain to associate with Mrs. Miles. She has a bad cold just now, thank heaven. You must really help me, Jean, and educ .to your future sister-in-law up to something suitable before I marry her ; and for heaven's sake find her a drawing master, or a studio. She is a per- tinacious little devil and more diflicult to make an iuipression on than 1 expected. Somehow she seem^l struck with IMuitlaTid ; she has twice asked me about him. She appears to think we are social Siamese twins." "Ah, indeed," returned Mrs. Winington thoughtfully. "Well, Leslie, whenever you have finally settled with the acting guardian, I will call on this girl and see what is to be done, J. might ask her here, as Lady Mary has gone to do penance with her riother-in-law. But she must be obedient ; she must put herself completely in my hands. " " Ah, Beaton, it is something to see you in good time." said Col- onel Winington, who had entered unperceived, and now approached them. i . 26 Beaton's bargain. iii He was short and broad, with liowed logs and anything but a soldierly carriage. He derived his rank from the command of his county militia, to which his territorial possessions entitled him, and the field in which he h;ul won renown was the hunting-field. An exceedingly red weather-beaten face, small sharp eyes, and iron-gray hair con- trasted strongly with his wife's grace and dignity, but he had a big, honest, kindly mouth, which displayed a good set of teeth when it widened into a broad grin, his nearest approach to a laugh. "Yes, [am going to be practical and punctual," returned Beaton, gravely. " In short I am going to turn over that new leaf I have been so long fingering." " High time you should, my dear fellow." " Why, Leslie, you have turned over new leaves enough to make a large volume," said his sister. " Sir James and Lady Preston," announced the butler, and Mrs. Winingtou went forward to receive them. Lady Mary Hay and Mr. Maitland (juickly followed ; then Mr. Ellis, a well-known dining-out man, and the little party was complete. Mrs. Wiiiington welcomed Maitland with frank cordiality, and in- troduced him as an old playfellow to her husband, who shook hands with him and said he was very glad to make his acquaintance. Then dinner was announced. Maitland took in Lady Mary, and found her an amiising companion ; indeed everyf)ne of the party seemed gifted with the p()wer of saying trifles agreeably in a way that sounded witty. The time flew in exchange of scandal, anecdote, and political chit-chat, and when the men rose from the table, Colonel Winingtou excused himself from joining the ladies on the plea that he had promised to vote on a divisioJi that night. Sir James Preston, who held the responsible appointment of Under Secretary to the Pounce and Taper OtHce, accompanied him. " Do help me to persuade Lady Preston to sing, " said IMrs. Win- ingtou to her brother, as he came up to her. " Have yon ever heard Lady Preston snig, Mr. Maitland / She is a real songstress. Nature and art combin'Ml. .Just one song before yon go, please." " I siiall be most happy. " and the lady, who had not refused, for Mrs. Winingtou had not asked her before, went readily to the piano, and trilled out one of Tosti'a impassioned songs very delicinusly. Mrs. Winingtou sat profoundly atill in her corner of the sofa, her head slightly turned from Maitland, showing the graceful outline of " GREEK MEETS GKEEK." 27 her throat and the delicate beauty of her small ear. When the song was ended, Mrs. Winington heaved a deep sigh, and looking round to Maitland, who stood near her, smiled as she raised her eyes to his. " What wonderful pathos she puts into it ! It is a voice that pierces the heart, or whatever does duty for that sentimental organ." "A lovely voice, " he returned, "but a most doleful ditty. Do you not sing ? I think [ remember your singing * IMary Morrison ' in what I then considered a heavenly style." ' ' I never sing Scotch songs, except when I am alone," said Mrs. Win- ington. "When 1 want to live the past over again, I sH down and croon to myself." She drew her dress closer to her to make room, and with a gesture invited him to sit beside her. Maitland obeyed ; the rest clustered round the piano discussing a new operetta, morsels from which Lady Preston played from time to time. *' Tell me, " said Mrs. Winington, slowly opening and shutting a large black feather fan, " how is it that my brother has persuaded you to assist him in his extraordinary scheme of finding a wife and a for- tune from an advertisement ? I did not think you could have so com- pletely cast aside the romantic chivalry that used to distinguish you in the days when we were Jean and Jack to each other." " Ilomantic chivalry!" repeated Maitland, smiling. 'I am not aware [ ever possessed such a characteristic, it must have evaporated long iigo. But, ISlvA. Winington, I had no idea what Leslie was about until he came and asked me to be present at his introduction to the young lady whom he intends to appropri xto. L confess I was amazed, and expressed my astonislunent freely ; but you d.>n't suppose any preaching of mine would influence your brother .'' " '' No, I do not think anyone influences him. I>ut he has been talk- ing to me very seriously about this strange i^lea of his, and has rather won me over. We have had a great deal of anxiety about Leslie. He is provoking, but lovable. You see he is one of those unlucky men who can jiot work." " hideed !" said MaUland drily. " Ah ! to a man of your energy that must seem impossible or con- temptible ; but you are quite ditlerent, you are " She stopped, looked down, and a soft flush stole over her cheek and throat. " At all events, " raising her eyes to Maitland's, which were bent on her with calm observation that stung her with an irritating sense that he "f 28 Beaton's bargain. i was the stronger of the two, "at all events poor Leslie has cost us a good deal in every way, and really, i/thi". girl is not too dreadful, it would be well to secure her fortune for my brother. You know what a pleasant, easy tempered fellow he is. He would never be a steady husband, nor would he ever be an unkind one. Her money might be tied up, and they would get on as well as half— two-thirds of the mar- ried people one meets. " • " Perhaps," said Maitland, half unconsciously, as the recollection of the innocent, thoule." And Bea- ton, who had been more than once in the dusty lair, took a rapid glance at the chairs, selecting the least bristly, instead of the one offered him. *' Well, well, my dear sir, how are we getting on I " aaked Dargan. " That is what you call a leading ({uestiou," returned Beaton, smil- ing. " On the whole, not badly, i have been doing my duty. 1 have called, and been graciously received. I have presented tiowers, and they have been graciously, nay, joyously accepted. In another fortnight or so I presume I may, with your sanction, venture to pro- pose." "There are just a few preliminaries to settle first," said Dargan, gently scratching his right temple with the toi3 of his pen. " 1 asked you to come and talk them over, because I\Ir. Tilly leaves everything to me. He's gone away to Yorkshire to rub up tliu brasses on an old tomb, or some such thing ; anyhow he ain't here, and we don't want him." *' Oh, I am perfectly content! You have a masterly way of manag- ing business that is quite remarkable. Pray what are these prelimin- aries i 1 thought you had sutticiently inquired as to my walk in life, and found the particulars highly creditable. In fact I am the most virtuous man about town. I had even got rid of my debts before 1 had the pleasure of meeting your charming ward, tlvough I warn you they are btgianing rapidly to accumulato again." " That 1 dare say," returned Dargan wicJi a grin. " i am prepared to stand j'our friend, and remember, without my full consent" — here his little eyes twinkled gleefully — " no man has a chance for three or four years to come. Now I am not going to give it lightly : and first, are _ye disposed to make ahy sacrifice to prove you are in earnest ? " " My dear sir, 1 have not much to sacriin-e but my liberty, and liberty paralyzed by want of the circulating medium is not much to resign." HKATONS BARGAIN. (( Ahem] truo for you," said Dargan, with a sigh, "I'm sure it would tako half a day to tell all the trouble and toil I've had with the Vivian estate, to say nothing of the valuable time it has taken up, and not even twenty pounds for a mourning ring to reward me. You know, old Tilly and me, we are executors as well as guardians, and every blessed bit of work has fallen to my share. Of course, I'd gl.idly do my best for the minor. Me and my sister look upon her as our child, that we do." Here ho took a pinch of snuff to bide the intensity of his feelings, and waited for a reply. Beaton, however, only bowed assent, " As 1 said," resumed Dargan, " I'd do anything for the dear chil I, but 1 am a poor man ; my time is my money, and 1 liave spent hours, ay, montiis upon her." " I begin to understand," said Beaton, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. '' Pr.iy, go on." '• You are not a business man, Mr. Beaton," continued Dargan, with an insinuating grin, " you are above these sorts of things ; but I had a very sensible letter from a young nnm I once pulled through an awk- ward tix, and who has since shot ahead and made a lot of money. He wrote on spec, autl thinking he might suit, I answered him much about the time you wrote ; then, when Mr. Tiliy thought you the likeliest party of the two, I put him oil'. Just look at his view of the matter." Beaton took and read the letter ; it contained a distinct offer of four thousand pounds on condition that a marriage between him and Dar- gan's ward should be completed, ai d settlements fully satisfactory to himself should be drawn up. "Ah ! this is extremely distinct. You wish some remuneration for your valuable time and fatherly care I I really don't see what claim you have on me, my dear sir. If my future wife wishes to bestow any trilling gift in the shape of friendsiiip's ottering as a token of gratitude for your disinterested care, [ have no objection." Mr. Dargan grinned more amiably than ever. " And suppose 1 withdraw my sanction, my assistance, where are your' ■• " And suppose I persuade the young lady to dispense with your con- sent i" asked Beaton, with an nieliable air. " What shall you do ? " " Let her money accnnnilate until I grant it, and tie it up so tight that you can't touch a rap, save with her consent, during her life or after her death." "But you would not give her to this— this bagman?" asked "ORKEK MKKTS flRKKK." 33 Beaton, .striking the letter with his linger, and tlien tlirowing it on the table. " Why not ( He is a good sort of feUow, witli reddisli hair, not un- like yourself." Beaton looked at him, and then burst into a good-humored fit of laughing. ' " I fancy Miss Vivian would see a diiTerence," ho said. '* Maybe so, maybe so ; but that ain't the ([ueation. Are you in- clined to follow my correspondent's example i I am foolish enough, whjn I like a man, as I like you, especially when I am inclined to be- lieve you would make my dear little ward happy, to forget my own in- terest, only I mustn't, I mustn't allow myself to be weak, for my poor sister's sake as well as my own. Who'll look after me when I am pa.jt my work I " . " I cannot tell, I am sure. But how do you think it would sound it I were to make your projijositiou public ? " " I don't know, and 1 don't care much ; besides, I am not going to commit myself to anything in writing, and I'll just say it's an inven- tion — mi/ word is as good as jours. " Beaton laughed. " Really your candor is ({uite refreshing. Where do you think I shall find four thousand pounds ?" "Oh, you'll find that much fast enough. Now, to show I am disposed to favor you, instead of pitting my Birmingham friend against you, and raising my terms, I'll only ask the same, provided you leave the management of the property in my hands when it comes into yours. You wouldn't care to be bothered toiling and moiling after rents, and all that." "You are an admirable diplomat after the knock-me-down Bia- marckian school, Mr. Dargan," said Beaton, leaning back in his chair and eyeing the little guardian through half-closed lids. " I cannot ad- mire your cynical frankness sufficiently.'' " It's all very fine talking," returned Dargan. "But I have what you want, and if you are in earnest you must come to terms." After some further fencing, Beaton, who was extremely impatient to finish the enterprise he had undertaken, to be legally master of Miss Vivian's fortune, and to be delivered from his dependent condition ; moreover, too indolent to prolong the struggle in which he was at a decided disadvantage, showed signs of yielding. Dargan, eagle-eyed to pounce on any ungarded point, pressed home. C 34 HKATONS BARGAIN. t( Why I have been here nearly an honr," cried Beaton at last, look- ing at his watch, "and it is such a tine day. My time is nearly up. Let us come to some conclusion." "Aye, by all means, it rests with you ; you know my terms, and I am really sorry 1 can't move an inch from them, not with justice to myself." " A sense of justice which I imagine never fails you." " 1 hope it never will, my dear sir, never." " Well, look here then ; I don't mind about the money, but I should like to put my own man to manage the estate for me, in short, excuse the brutality, 1 would rather not have you for the middleman." " Don't mention it," said Dargan with a grin, " though you will regret the prejudice by and by. If I fall in with your views 1 must have an e([uivalent. " " What will you consider an equivalent I " cried Beaton, again look- ing impatiently at his watch. " Hum ! it is rather hard to say oti'-hand ; but there, 1 will not bar- gain with a man like yourself — hand me over five thousand pounds within a week of your marriage and 1 shall be satisfied." " Five thousand ! that in a tremendous haul, and, as you tell me there is not much ready money. Will not this cratnp me ? " " Not a bit of it. That last purchase of old Vivian's which swal- lowed up so much of his ready cash, is worth nearly double what he gave for it. 1 can get you double what it cost him any day for a piece of it. Then we have let two farms in Norfolk for fifteen hundred a year between them. Oh, there is plenty of property ; you just sign a little bond acknowledging yourself my debtor for five thousand poinids at five per cent., and matters will go smooth and easy." " F(»r you peihaps. But I am not such an incapable as to put my- self so completely in your power. Would you trust >ne as you ask me to trust you I " "Ay, don't you be too mistrustful ; it is a bad sign, my dear young friend." " 1 will sign no such bond, Mr. Dargan, I assure you, unless I can be secured in some way. Why, you might demand payment whether I were married or not." " Why, what have I done that you think me a common cheat 1 " " Ratiier an u/tcommon one," returned Beaton, contemptuously. 'Of course I mean in an intellectual sense. Show me how I can be secured, and I'll sign what you like as to the five thousand pounds." "GREEK MEETS GREEK.' 35 "Dear, dear ! what a money-lender was spoiled when you were born a gentleman," exclaimed Dargan with an admiring leer. " Born a borrower instead of a lender, you mean." *' Let me see, how can I satisfy you i i am that obliging, I'd like to make things easy. Suppose when you execute the bond I give you a letter, stating that unless the marriage between you and IVIiss Vivian takes place, the bond is void, that I absolve you from all obligation of payment." "Yes, I think that might do, but I should like counsel's opinion on it." " Ah, what nonsense I There is no use throwing' away a fee. Just aak any lawyer you know, put a case without mentioning names, and he'll tell you you are as safe as the bank." " I will," returned Beaton ; " meantime, unless advised to the con- trary, it is a bargain." " (jrood, good ; I am glad you see your own interest." " Then I can press on with my suit. By the way, my sister is so good as to say she will call on Miss Vivian. I should like to invite my future ^ancce to stay with her ; she will want a good deal of coaching up. If she does, Mr. Dargan, I warn you she will ask you for big cheques." "O Lord ! " exclaimed Dargan, shrugging up his shoulders as if in pain. " Does it cost such a heap to start a young lady ! " *'I fancy the general run of milliners' bills woidd make you open your eyes. But I have an appointment, and I am late already. Now I suppose I may make all the running T can ] " "Certainly, I am as ready to sing 'Haste to the Wedding' as you are. You are just the husband I should like for my dear little pet, my pretty ward." " Much obliged to you," said Beaton, taking his hat ; " let me have a line when the bond and the letter are ready, so good morning." " Rascally old money-grabber ! " he muttered, as he ran down- stairs and hailed a hansom to convey him to a more agreeable meeting. " I shall give you a wide berth once your ward is transformed into Mrs. Leslie Beaton. " 30 Beaton's bauoain. CIlArTKR IV. bi:lka(;uI':iied. " It is an iiifornal nuisanco ho'wvj; kopt lioro wook aftor wouk," said Jack Maitland to liiinself, as ho walked slciwly up lie<^ont stroet one bright afturuooii, when all tho world seoinod crowding to shop and drive and disport themselves in the great thoroughfare. The shop windows were re8i)lendent with every luxury that wealth oould buy or hnnian ingenuity invent, and the pavement thronged with busy well- dresaed and ill-dressed pedestrians. *' There's no sight of its kind like this, I sui>pose," mused Jack, " but I would rather not see it every day, unless I had a good lot of real work to do. It would be better for me to be away, buck at Craigrothie. There is not niuch doing there now, but a few days' rtdhing can always be had ; that's an amusement one can enjoy with (|uiet pulses, which is more than can be said of some here." So thinking, Maitland approached Oxford Circus, intending to call on a New Zealand accjuaintance now settled in Tyburnia. Suddenly a look of surprised attention replaced the careless glance with which he had noticed the shops and the varied throng, as his eye was attracted by a little tigure in a gray waterproof and a brow . hat. The wearer was one of a group gazing into a window full of the most delicate and airy creations in the shape of bonnets, wreaths and caps, and was far too much absorbed in contemplation to notice Maitland, who had immediately recognized Edith Vivian. He was quite startled to see her in that noisy crowded thoroughfare. Cotmtry-bred as he was, it seemed to him unbecoming for a lady to venture alone in one of the busiest of London streets, and he hastened to give her the protection of his companionship. *' Miss Vivian, may 1 hope you remember that I was introduced to you by " " Oh, yes," she interrupted, with a bright, startled look of surprise and pleasure, a quick blush flitting over her cheek. "I am very glad to see you. I was just beginning to fear I had taken a wrong turn ; that round place is rather puzzling, and you will show me the best way back to Rem;)assion that this was not a nature to be satisfied with the shams of soriety and the paste diamonds of a showy setting to life. Still 1Um.\ n could be very fascinating, and she might believe him the best of mo \. nor have her faith disturbed all the days of her life. ''If Mrs. r>[iles is well enough to see me, perhaps you will let me look at -r.-'iuo of your drawings wlien we reach your lodgings I " " ^ i\s, I will, gli-..lly. I can draw very little now. but I am to go to M stui'i - ill Konsington, at least I hope so. They have promised to got INtr. Dargau's consent." " ^^ iio have promiaod ? " "^Ir. I'oaton and his sister. Do you know that he brought his .sister tv M'e me i Was it not good of him I And she " a look of in- tii'.ito jiloasiiro and admiration beaming over her face — "oh, she is '((Holy ! alio is like a beautiful gracious (jueen. and so kind to me, a laore ignorant country girl. She has asked me to stay with her while BELEAGUEREf). S9 I am studying, and says she will do all that ia necessary for me. Is it not wonderful ? " " Ah ! " ejaculated Maitland. "you mean Mrs. Winington. She ;& certainly charming. When do you go to stay with her 1 " " I am not quite sure. I should have gone on Monday, but Mrs. Miles was ill, and I could not leave her : indeed that is the only draw- back. I do not like her being alone by herself in the cottage — she will fret ; but she says she does not mind. I think Mr. Dargan has toid her she must not," So Mrs. Winington was not letting the grass grow under her feet in the prosecution of her brother's plan. How would it all end for the guileless child, who was probably looked upon by both as a mere en- cumbrance to her own wealth ? What would be the result of Mrs. Winington's training / what of association with Leslie Beaton ? How much of her fearless candor, her outspoken truthfulness, would be left after three or four years of life under their guidance ? Maitland was conscious of almost ^atherly compassion and tenderness toward his young companion, and yet he could do nothing to help or save her ; his interference would be worse than useless. If he could induce Jean, Mrs. Winington, to espouse her cause ! But could he ? He thoroughly distrusted that iharming personage, although she still had fascination for him. At any rate he would call on her and endeavor to find her real disposition toward the lonely little heiress. All this passed through his brain rapidly, and he said aloud, " Mr. Dargan appears a very potent person." " He is, " said Miss Vivian, with a little sigh ; " I cannot get any money except by his consent. I do not know what ho will tiiink of all Mrs. Winington talks of buying for me." " 1 have no doubt Mrs. Winington will manage him if anyone can." More desultory but friendly sympathetic talk brought them to the door of Miss Vivian's temporary abode, " Will you come in T' she said ; and Maitland, with an odd feeling that he was in some way trespassing, followed her into a .imall sitting- room of a most " lodging-house" order, only saved from vulgarity by its neatness and the abundant flowers which beautitied and perfumed it. " If you will sit down for a moment 1 will see how Mrs. Miles is." She pointed to a chair and left the rooiii. " What an abode for an heiress ! '' thought Jack Maitland. glancing round at the mean furniture and narrow space, " I done suppose she 40 J'.KATON S lURCJATN. has the faintest idea of her own possessions. She onj^lit to be informed. I am half inclined to tell her myself. 1 earnestly hope they will tie up her money strictly when she marries Beaton ; for I suppose she must — she can hardly escape. " He took up a book, it was White's *' Selborne ; " he took up another, '' Old Mortality." " Not quite the newest literature, " said Mai eland to himself, with a smile. He look- ed inside the cover, and ff.und a coat-of-arms and crest, with the name " Richard Vivian " printed under it. "A volume from the family library, I suppose." At this point in his meditations Miss Vivian re-entered. She had removed her hat, and Maitland observed how much better and more distinguished she looked without it. Her head was small and well- poised, and her hair though pale in color was abundant, while the gentle composure of her manner and movements gave her dignity. ' i must not ask you to stay, " she said, " 1 find Mrs. Miles so un- well, I must attend to her ; and the dressmaker sent by Mrs. Wining- ton is waiting for me." "Then I will not trespass any longer ; I hope to have another op- portiuiity of seeing your drawings." *' If you know Mrs. Winington, I may see you at her house." "I hope I shall, you are very good to have walked all this way with me. Good-bye ; and tell me, what is your name ? I did :iot heed Mr. Tilly when he introduced yon." "My name is Maitland." ** I think 1 did not notice your name, because I was taken up with the sort of likeness I sav^ about your eyes to my father's. Good-bye." She held out her hand with a grave, kindly smile ; Maitland took and lightly prossed it. " If I can ever do anything for you," he exclaimed with a sudden impulse, ''pray remember that 1 am at your service." Then, half ashamed of his speech, he made a rapid retreat. " Everyone is very good to me," was Edith Vivian's reflection, as she hurried away to the grand-looking dressmaker, of whom she was a little afraid, and submitted to the process of " trying on," having been previously measured under Mrs. Winington's eye. Faithful, however, to her sufl'ering friend, she begged leave to show herself to Mrs, Miles before she took off the garment. ♦' Is it not pretty i " she exclaimed, drawing up the blind, that Mrs. Miles might see clearly. <' The skirt is to be trimmed with a (quantity |{KLEA(}UEKED 41 of the same lace, and bows of brown satin ribbon ; they look lovely iij^'ainst the tussore silk. This is called a siiiipiC morning dress ! It seems to me too tine to wear. I wonder what Mr. Dargan will say ?" '' Ah ! he won't mind now," returned Mrs. Miles, with a sigh so deep it was almost a groan, and would certainly have attracted Edith's attention had she not been hurrying; back to the dressmaker. " You seem worse than you were this morning, dear Miley," she said, returning presently in her everyday dress ; "and you look as if you had been crying." " Well, you see the pain iias been horrid bad, and I am that weak " Here the poor woman broke down. " I will get you some beef-taa and a glass of wine, and then I will try this >^ onderful stuff. It is a whitish stick, and it is to be rubbed on your brow till the pain goes ; " and Edith went swiftly and silently to and fro, procuring the reruedies she had suggested, and Mrs. Miles grew more composed. " Whatever will I do without you, Edith ? — the sight of you does me good." "I will not leave you till you are quite well and strong." "Ah, but you must, my lamb. Brother Jos has been here while you were out " — a half-suppressed sob. " Oh ! " cried Edi+h ; "he has been here ? Then he has been torment- ing you. What did he say ? " " Well, he was a bit iidgety ; but always anxioiis about you, missie, my dear. And do you know he has even been to see that Mrs. Win- ington about you ] — and you are to go to her oii Saturday. I am to be sent home, because this place doesn't suit me ; so Jos says. He has grown wonderiul careful of my health all at once" — in a querulous tone. " How lie came to know such grand people as that Mrs. Win- ington and her brother is more than I can tell ; anyhow they are very nice and civil-spoken." "Yes, they are very delightful; but, dear Miley, lam not going to leave you, or to be ordered about by Mr. Dargan," cried Edith, indignantly. " Ay, but you must, my dear. Jos is in real earnest about it. He had up the landlady, and gave her warning on the spot, and we Ux'e to be out of this, bag and baggage, by twelve o'clock on Saturday morn- ing ; so I wish you would just write a line to Sarah, and tell her to have the tire alight in the little parlor, and be sure to have my bed well 42 BFATON S HATIGAIN. aired — sheets and all. Tliough this is a vale of tears, one needn't sulFer more than one can help." * *' Well, Miloy, I will not stay long : I will come soon to you." '* Ah ! my dear, it's little I'll see of you from this time forth for- overmore," cried Mrs. Miles, who was apt to grow scriptural in her sorrow. •' Why, where am I to be sent ? " said Edith, laughing. ** I cannot be kept out of my own home." " Ah ! you'll soon be finding another home among all these fine gentlemen." ''They are too fine for me," said Edith, putting out her writing things. " I teel quite stupid among them. It will be a long time be- fore I find another home." And she began to write rapidly. "Miley," she resumed, after a few minutes' pause, " you remem- ber the other gentleman that Mr. Tilly introduced to us ; I mean the dark one ?" "Yes ; a quiet, grave man." " I met him to-day, and he walked all the way back with me. Hike him so m\ich ! He is serious and gentle ; he does not seem to laugh at everything, like Mr. Beaton ; and he speaks to me as if I were a reasonable thing. I could tell him anything. It is curious, but he gives me the idea that he is sorry for me. He reminds me of my father when he used to look far away, and stroke my head, saying, ' ' Poor child, poor child ! " " Well, missie, don't you go and trust anyone too much, least of all a man ; they are a selfish lot, the best of them. Now, dear, I'll try and sleep a bit." Edith Vivian had led a singularly secluded monotonous life. She had been the sole companion of her widowed father, a silent, uncon- sciously selfish man, who had been reduced from easy circtimstances to comparative poverty by the failure of a bank, and who found al^dorb- ing occupation in botany and natural history. When he died, he left his little all to his daughter — a picturesque cottage in a wooded part of H— shire, and a couple of hundred a year , appointing his only friend, Mr. Tilly, and Mr. Tilly's oracle on business matters, Dargan, her guardians, Dargan, having a sister for whom he wished to provide without cost to himself, placed her in the cottage, and in charge of the little eleven-year-old orphan, as the cheapest mode of maintaining BKLKACUTEHKI). 43 both. Fortunately, Mrs. Miles proved to be a tender-hearted, conscien- tious woman, and she lived happily witli her young charge, who found ample amusement and occupation in field and garden, woodland and pebbly brook, in needle-work, and reading what books had belonged to her father. When she was about thirteen, Mrs. Miles so far over- came her dread of Josiah Dargan, her brother, as to clamor for some 'earning to be given to Miss Vivian, that she might be like other young ladies, and even reach the ear of that very distinguished and dusty antiijuarian, Mr. Tilly, who did seriously incline to her prayer. So the prim, neat, elderly daughter of the late vicar, who was thank- ful for any chance of eking out her narrow income, was euLraged at an infinitesimal salary, to impart instruction in English, French, and the rudiments of music, to the little girl at iho cottage. Edith was not particularly studious, nor was the teaching calculated to interest her. Still she gathered some information, especially on the subjects which took her fancy. About two years before the beginning of this narrative, her uncle died intestate, and she became the owner of considerable wealth. Edith herself knew little or nothing about it. Mr. Tilly had told lier she would now be well oft', but no alteration had been made in her^ mode of life. To Dargan, this change in his ward's circumstances was a positive torment. His grasping fingers itched to clutch some of the riches they cuuld touch, but not take, while the dread of discovery held him back. His imagination constantly pictured Edith running oft" with some shrewd fortune-hunter, who »vouId not only gather up every farthing (if both the principal and accumulntions of this later inheritance, but make him, Dargan, disgorge the considerable pickings he had con- trived to get, even out of the miserable two hundred a year he had so long manipulated. To find a suitable (l) husband for his ward before slie reached tlie independence of majority, was the object nearest his heart, and as Edith approached eighteen, his ferverish unrest drove him to the expedition we have recorded. It was a trial to Edith to part with Mrs. Miles, who, though some- wliat better, physically, was terribly depressed in spirit; and it was also sometiting of a trial to go to Mrs. Winington's, but a trial not un- mixed with pleasure. . Though all her life a recluse, Edith Vivian was not shy ; she was naturally brave, and disposed to trust her fellow-creatures. She was 44 I? K A TONS HARnAIN. also singularly free from self -consciousness, and her extreme ignorance of life and society liberated her from many of the doubts and fears which would have beset a less complete novice. "I will write often, and tell you everything; you may be sure I will ! You know I love writing ; and do — do write to me ! If you are not well I will come to you, I will, whatever Mr. Dargan chooses to say." So with many kisses Edith bade her good old companion fare- well, and took her seat in the respectable-looking brougham which, to her surprise, had been engaged by Mr. Dargan's direction to convey her to South Kensington. On her way there her imagination was chiefly occupied in picturing Mrs. Miles's arrival at the little homely cottage. How lonely she would feel ! How Snap the terrier and the collie would welcome her, and then look about for their mistress and playfel- low ! Well, she would go to them as soon as she had gathered some knowledge of drawing, and persuaded her guardians to let her return next spring for a long spell of study ! Mrs. Winington was at home and alone to receive her. She was ushered into tliat lady's private sitting-room, a delightful apartment, looking into a large public garden, and furnished with all that could cjiarm the eye and contribute to luxurious ease. " Ah, Miss Vivian ! I am so pleased to see you," cried Mrs. Winington, rising to greet her with great cordiality. "It is really very good of Mr. Tilly to trust you with me ! But we shall take care of you " — and shd drew forward a low easy chair. *' You are looking pale and tired ; I am sure you must be moped to death." " You are very, very kind to ask me here," said Edith, earnestly. " I am so different from you that I may be tiresome, but — " " I shall turn you out with inexorable cruelty if you are ! " inter- rupted Mrs. Winington, laughing ; "but I do not anticipate such a catastrf^phe ! Now you must leave all trlstesse behind you ; and do you krow your eyes look suspiciously like tears ? " " Yes, I did cry a little," said Edith, coloring. " I was so sorry to see Mrs. Miles go away alone ; I have never been away from her since she came to me, nearly se . 3n years ago." "Very sweet and nice of you, dear, but it is time you broke away from this incongruous companionship. That good old woman was only tit to be your nurse ! You need not discard her, but you have been shamefully neglected, and kept in the background. Now you must be introduced to society suited to your fortune and position. " BELEAGUERKD. 45 " I am afraid I am not suited to any society, except that of a few people whom I like and understand. It is a great pleasure for me to look at you and listen to you ; I wonder if 1 shall ever bo able to paint you ! " said Edith, with simple earnestness- Mrs. VVinington was not so blinded by her natural and acquired worldliness not to perceive and be flattered by this honest and unstinted admiration. " 1 wish you a better subject," she said, laughing. " Now come with me, and I will show you your room before luncheon. Madame Laure has sent some of your things, and I see you have put on one of her dresses," Edith followed her hostess up-stairs, to a pretty, comfortable room, where were laid out what seemed to Edith an enormous amount of clothes —clothes, too, of a superb description. Delicate silks, gauzy grenadines, fairy-like hats, coquettish mantles. " What a quantity of money they must have cost!" she cried, aghast. ''What ivill 'Mr. Dargan say ? " ** That you have a right to the common necessaries requisite for a young lady who is to live like other people," said Mrs. Winington, carelessly ringing the bell as she spoke. Her summons was almost immediately answered by a grave, well-dressed young woman. — "There, my dear Miss Vivian, is your especial maid! She will attend to your toilet, and she understands her business. Markham ! you had better do Miss Vivian's hair before luncheon ; she has been living shut up in the country, and I trust to you to do her justice." At luncheon, the only guest was Beaton, who did his best to be fascinating ; and then came a crowning joy. Mrs. Winington's smart victoria conveyed them to a studio quite near, where Edith satisfied her eyes with the drawings, water-colors, casts, and beautiful objects scattered about, while Mrs. Winington arranged terms with the fashionable artist, who condescended to instruct a few pupils for a high remuneration. It was settled that Edith should commence the follow- ing Monday, Some shopping in Regent and Bond streets and a drive In the park completed the day ; and Edith, exhilarated by the unusual movement and variety, found herself quite equal to the ceremony of dinner, as she had never seen dinner served before ; an introduction to Colonel Winington, who was quite ready to accept his wife's n^!W favorite unquestioning, as he never interfered with her so long as she left him alone, and did not spend too outrageous a quantity of money. Meanwhile, Jack Maitland still loitered in town, dissatisfied with 40 BEATONS BARGAIN. himself, yet unwilling to leave. He was strong and penetratinj,' on(>u;,'li to V)e not one whit blinded to Mrs. Winington's real natiiro, and yet her beauty, hor grace, her evident desire to atone in some way for her ])a3t heartlessness, daz/led and fascinated him. That a brilliant woman of fashion, courted and admired as she was, should still remember her first uncouth boyish lover and show him that she did so with undisguised tenderness, was enough to make a fool of most men. .Jack had long ago ceased to feel the smallest anger against her. He was naturally generous and broad, but not very easily melted, and there was a dash of contempt in the plenary absolu- ti(m he had extended to bonnie Jean Beaton. " Why should 1 dislike her for being what she Is, rather than what I thought her ! " had been his reflection years back, when he began to W(jrk his way out of the chaos into which she had plunged him ; and however attractive she might still be, the core of his opinion was un- altered and unalterable. But Mrs. Winington's beauty and softness appealed to the senses, and Maitland's were still fresh and keen. He could not help the resisted consciousness that his old love was not in- disposed to sob out her penitence in his arms, and he knew — none bet- ter — how sweet those ripe red lips of hers used to be in the delightfully delusive old days, when they wandered together among the "banks and braes " of Craigrothie. He therefore found it very pleasant to drop in to luncheon, and oftener still to tea, though he scarcely went as often as he was asked. It is true that Mrs. Winiiigton was frequently surrounded ; but there were occasi» and both felt that it was the better part. CHAPTER V. REPULSED. The days took to themselves wings — wings of pleasure, the less self- indulgent, because refined — and flew away with not surprising rapidity. Mrs. Winington was supremely content. It was no longer dithcult to attract Jack Maitland to her house. He was ready to come on the slightest provocation. The slow-moving bill on which he so Ion-,' waited had at last been before the committee ; he had given his evi- dence, and was free to return to his native wilds — yet he lingered. True he was still calm and undemonstrative, but Mrs. Winington knew him in the days when ho had not acquired his present self mas- tery, and could not believe that the old fire which once burned so strongly, was quite extinguished or exhausted, and she found an al> sorbing interest in the endeavor to rekindle the flame. Never had she been so generally kind and considerate. Edith thought hev an UKIM'l,si:i>. 51 angel (listjuisod iti a fashionablo oxtorior. FTer brother rojoicod in tlio spell of smishino, th()U<,'h ho had a shrowd idea why " Juauie wan ao (ieiicedly amiahlc." VVhilo Maitland found his ini.'i[,Mnation less ;ind less oocupiod with Mrs. \ViniiiL,'toii\s lovuly, loviniij oy«!3 ; hor sindiii!;, kissahlo lips ; and tho Hwoet, lialf-pluyful, half-ttsndor (iXpn^Hsions tlmt fell from thoin, other thoU!.;hts, other iiiia^^inin^^s, ruplacod these. Vet, though ho could not tear hiinsiilf away, ho was iiii.serai)le, uneafiy, self- roproachful. Ho watclied with keenest i)ereeption every move in the game of which Edith Vivian was tho unconscious [m/.o. Ho saw too clearly the utter inditlerenco which underlay Fieaton's attentions and Hpi)arent devotion ; he fancied that some instinctive recoi,'nitit)ri of this was at the root of Miss Vivian's easy, unmoved friendliness. For Beaton was a favorite with women, and what was there to fjiiard that simple, untaught, trusting girl from his influence hut instinct I One question racked liim by day and by night. Was he bound by his knowledge of the facts to tell the true state (nvinced that the forlorn little heiress was gently floating down stream to her certain misery. She coidd never be satisfied with such a life as Mrs. Winington's. She needed a real home to be a shelter from sun or storm; a husband who would go hand ajid hand with her througli every step of life's road ; and what with sclf-tf»rmenting and pity and perpetual watching, .lack Maitland soon grew to think that there could not be a fairer lot than to bo that husband. Though Miss Vivian was generally handed over to Beaton in the many parties and expeditions organized by ]\Irs. Winington, IVraitland foimd opportunities for conversation more frrcjueiitly than Mrs, Win- ington noticed, and these confirmed him in his idea that Edith's was no common nature, nor was her gentleness in any way weak. There was something touching in the quiet preference she unconsciously showe BEATON' S BARGATX. " \"ou shall not rim over to PpHs or Cowes, Leslie," she interrupted ; you shall go down and bury you. woes and yourself at Winford, and I will lend you your railway fare." '• Great heavens, .lof^ri I— you are determined to make me repent my false step. What on earth am I to do at Winford ? I shall cut my throat. " "Better do that than live on, a beggarly gentleman," cried Mrs. Winington. " How anyone can submit to poverty, when a shilling's worth of po.'son or an ounce of lead, would deliver you, is incompre- hensible to me. However, I don't mean to keep you long in exile ; there is tolerable tishing. " '•I hate Hilling," ejaculated Beaton. "Old I\lra. Gibbons, the h)use-keeper, is a very fair cook, and you must write me desparing letters every day — that will occupy you. Tu a week or two I will bring our little startled fawn to hear reason, then you can come back and do exactly as I bid you." " Very well ; I suppose I may go and confess my sins to Lady Mary before 1 start." " It will do you no good." '' Ought we to commimicate with that old screw, Dargan ? " "I will think about it," said Mrs. Winington, slowly. "I may ultimately need his help ; but if we tell him too soon it might set him on the look-out for some better spec than ;/ok have proved." " Ah ! then I may leave Dargan to y^ou. And I suppose you have no more to say .' " " No ; and it would be a relief not to see you. I never was so angry with you before. Really, Edith Vivian is a great deal too good for you ; she has more sense. I -su'^pect you have been betraying your absurd fancy for Lady IMary more reck]e.-isiy than I iuiagiued, to rouse Edith's suspicious." " Not more recklessly than j^ou have shown your absurd fancy for Jack j\i;iitland. If 1 were Winington " "■ You v/ould be a better man than you are," interrupted Mrs. Wni- ington, quietly ; but her eyes darkened and she grew pale with anger — " and not put evil constructions on a simple natural liking for an old friend." Beaton laughed aloud cynically. '* If you defy and irritate me," said his bister, rising and standing erect before him, " I shall give you up ; hitherto I have been weak REPFLS-^.D. 00 enough to care what became of you. If I tuin against you, it will be an exceedingly bad day for you, Leslie Beaton." She opened her purse and threw him a couple of notes. ' ' 1 expect you to repay me, remem- ber. Now go ; I will write to Gibbons in time for post, and tell her to have luncheon ready for you at one to-morrow. You must get away by the 8.30 train in the morning." She turned from him with a look of contempt, and left the room. Leslie Beaton followed slowly, and bent his steps to the residence of Mrs. Hay, a severe and wealthy dowager, under whose rather oppres- sive protection Lady Mary, her daughter-in-law, thought fit for the present to abide. Mrs. Winington paused in her own sitting-room, and took up some notes and letters, glancing through them mechanically. "I will not speak to her yet," she thought. " Let her chew the cud of sweet and bitter retiection for a while. What a misfortune to have two such idiots to deal with ! Edith's utter ignorance of life, not to say society, prevents her from seeing that she could scarcely do better than marry Leslie. He would make a ver}'^ tolerable sort of husband, and I could be of immense use to her. As to Leslie, his weakness is too contemptible. How did I come to have such a brother ! " She wrote a few replies to the notes she had read, stopping now and then to think, and descended to the carriage which all this time had been slowly driven to and fro by the exasperated but sedate coachmai;, whose patience was often tried by his whimsical and imperious mis- tress. Meantime Edith, much disturbed and bewildered, had flown away to her own room, and locking the door, sat down in the darkest cornre ?he could tind, trying to steady her thoughts after the extraordinary avowals to which she had just listened. Her most vivid impressio* was immense astonishment tJiat any man should think of her as a wife, especially a man so clever and indill'erent to everything as Beaton ap- peared to be. Edith had a very humble opinion of herself ; not that she was uneasy ov self-conscious about her deticiencies — self did not trouble her in any way. She wanted to learn and to enjoy, to help where she could, and do what her hand found to do diligentl} . The fact of being an heiress had never penetrated to her understanding ; siie had ne\ er known what it was to have the command of money. Even Mrs. Miles, who was mysteriously in awe of her careful brother never told her she was rich, only that she need not want for anything. BEATON S P/ARGAIN. Indeed, Mrs. Miles was kept very much in the dark herself ; she was an honest, kindly, warm-hearted woman, somewhat indolent and inert. Edith consequently did a great deal more for her than she did for her young charge, and thus the girl grew up singularly unspoiled, and without the least idea that she was of importance to any one except Mrs. Miles. Moreover, she thought herself too plain to be attractive, when she thought on the subject at all, which was perhaps never, until dress and adornment was forced on her notice by Mrs. Winington. When comparing herself with two such distinguished-looking women as Lady Mary Hay and her hostess, she decided that her own appear- ance was poor indeed. Few girls had never dreamed less of love and marriage. She had read few novels, and heard less gossip. There was really no one to gossip about at Littlemere. The lovers she had read about in Sir Walter's Scott's and Miss Ferrier's stories interested her immensely; but if she ever applied the moral of the tales to herself, it was in the far-away future, when she had emerged from the very low mental status which she allowed herself. To be kind, considerate, prompt to do any one a service, seemed to Edith a natural and normal state of feeling, and she was too ignorant of life, as it works in the society into which she had drifted so curi- ously, to understand what was implied by the extraordinary exertion made by Beaton to meet her at the studio, to inspect her progress, and escort her home, as he did two or three times a week. Such atten- tions from a man of Beaton's style and standing would have fluttered all or any of the season's debutautes, or even more experienced "^oung ladies ; while to Edith it seemed the simplest thing in the world that her guardian's old friend, as she considered him, her dear, delightful Mrs. Wiuington's brother, shou'd take a kindly, perhaps patronizing, intesest in herself and her work. She was heartily obliged to Beaton, but slightly distrustful of him, because he seemed to mock at all things ; and whenever she took in the drift of his compliments, and that they were really meant for her, she was disposed to think he was laufjhing at her. When, therefore, he made an avowal of his ardent aliection and pro- found desire to make her his wife, she was instinctively incredulous, and more frightened than pleased. Why should so grand a gentleman want to marry^ an ignorant little girl, who was not even pretty ? it was quite incomprehensible ! Inexperienced as she was, she had caugh' REPULSED. 57 the expression of his eyes, from time to time as ho looked at or spoke to Lady Mary ; and nature, that marvellous instructress, told her he must be very fond of her attractive ladyship. Now all their pleasant, easy intercourse was at an end, and she really liked Boat(^n. It would indeed be painful to meet him and Mrs. Winin<^ton. What would she say? Edith felt rather than thought that it was (juite possible Mrs. Winington could be very angry, and what more likely to anger her than finding her brother, to whom she was so much atttached, and of whom, as it seemed to Edith, she was so proud, had proposed to a little, countrified simpleton, which in itself was bad enough, and worse still, that she had had the temerity to refuse him ! What should she do if Mrs. Winini;ton was cross aud ({uarrelled with her ? Though by no means captivated by a life of restless excitement, she felt she could not go back to her former monotonous existence. And her guardians / What would Mr. Tilly say I Beaton had intimated that he had .secured her guardian's consent. Would every one be very angry ? Then she wondered why she did not like to marry Mr. Beaton. It was curious, for he was nice, and good-looking. Next, fancy sugi^ested, " If Mr. Maitland had asked you to be his wife, would you have refused I " Conscience instantly answered, " No." Of course, /le would never think of asking her. He was far above, out of her reach. It was with no passionate burst of emotion that Edith recognized this , she was not in love with Maitland, or rather she did not know she wa^ in love, and with a sigh of gentle regret she turned from the idea, blushing at her own temerity. At last her maid tapped at the door to say that Mrs. Winington had come in, and wished to know if Miss Vivian would not have tea. " No, thank you, I have a bad headache, and will lie down till din- ner time," said Edith, beginning to realize the appalling trial before her in meeting Mrs. Winington's keen eyes with such a secret weighing on her soul. " Shall I bring you a cup of tea here, miss ? " " If you please," returned Edith, e;iger to be left alone ; nor was she disturbed for a long time. Then Mrs. Winington broke in upon her, on the way from her dress- ing-room to the carriage and a solemn dinner-party. She rarely took her young p rot eyee out with her in the evening, save to the theatre or a concert. 58 liKATOX S I'.AlirjATN. " Is your head better, dear?" she asked, kindly, but ^to Edith's anxious oar there was unusual gravity, almost sadness in her tone, "(3h, yes ! certainly better." " I have brought you tlie new Gomldll, if you are able to road. Try and eat sonus dinner or supper, and get to bed early ; I hope to find you (]uite WijU to-morrow morning. Good-night, dear." A gentle kiss, accnmpauied by a sigh, and Mrs. Winington was gone. Edith seldom saw her hostess in the morning before she went to the studio, where she worked steadily in spite of the distractions which surrounded her, and where, perhaps, she was happiest. Her uneasiness and fearful looking forward to the meeting that awaited her was pro- longed, after a disturbed night, through the hours that preceded luncheon. IJeaton had disappeared ; only the well-dressed, self-possessed young person who deigned to be her attendant came to escort her back. This was no small relief. At luncheon there was only Mrs. Winington, who received her kindly, i)ut with a subdued and pensive air. " You must have com- municated your headache to me, Edith, '' she said, after they had exchanged greetings. *' I feel cpiite good for nothing ; I shall not be at home to any one, and at five we will take a drive ' far from the madding crowd.' There are a few people coming to dinner, and 1 must brace myself for my duties." '* It will be very pleasant, '' said Edith, scarcely daring to look up, yet thankf'd to find that Mrs. Winington was not cross. Luncheon was soon despatched ; Edith could hardly eat a morsel. " It is a farce your sitting down to table, " said her hostess, " You ai-e looking pale, too, dear. You nnist really see Doctor Tweddell. He is the great man for nerves now, and your nerves are all wrong, I am sure." "I think I do feel nervous, " faltered Edith. ' ' Come with me ; we will repose ourselves in my room, and have a nice long talk." Edith fi)llowed her as if to execution. Mrs. Winington's private room was a delightful apartment tni the second floor, with a large corner window conmianding the gardens in the rear, and a glimpse of Hyde Park ; simply though most comfort- ably furnished, and adorned with a few good pictures, a statuette or REPULSED. 69 two, and abundant tlowera in choice china bowls and vases, ft was deliciously cool and fresh ; the roar of the streets came to tluMu softened into a mellow undert(^ne, deo})ening the sense of reatflilness by the suggestion of the noise and struggle without. " It is certainly delightful to be quiet sometimes," said Mrs. W'in- ington, sinking into a chair beside the op.ni window, and pointing to one opposite, where the light would fall upon Edith, who obediently took the seat indicated. " I know you have a great deal to tell me, a great deal you muiJit to tell me, " began Mrs Winington, slowly fanning herself with a large Japanese fan ; " but it is ditticult to begin, so I am going to help you. My brother has told me that you refused him, and 1 am awfully sorry about it all." " So am I, " said Edith, coloring, and pressing her hands tightly to- gether, her usual tranquil composure meltiug away under Mrs. Win- ington's searching eyes. ''I. have been dreadfully distressed, and so afraid you would be angry with me." " Angry with you ! Why should I be angry ? Grieved and disap- pointed, I own, but not angry I In such a serious matter you have the right to do what you think best. Bat I am, of course, very, very sorry for poor Leslie ! You seemed to like him, you kiunv, and per- haps unconsciously misled him." " But, Mrs. Winington, dear Mrs. \Viningt(»n, " imploringly, " I did, I do like him ; only I never dreamed he would think of marrying me ! I am sure you did not." "I did not thhik it because I knew some weeks ago that he ardently desired to make you his wife." " And you were not vexed i you did not think him foolish i " cried Edith, in increasing astonishment. " No, dear ! Listen to me, Edith. I supifose 1 seem to you !;oo worldly and hard to appreciate a simple original character/ I am worldly. I have hard edges here and there, but where I take a liking I am steady, for I do not adopt anyone on a mere whim. Now there is much in you that would be of infinite use to my brother. He took to you at once and that is an unusual thing for him. He has a most warm heart, though I acknowledge he has been far from steady, but that is past and gone now. I looked to his marriage with you to com- plete his life and character. I am therefore woefully disappointed when my pretty little castle in the air crumbled at the touch of your cruel fingers." 60 BEATON S BARGAIN. Edith did not answer for a moment, sbo was so overwhelmed with a sense of lier own yuilt. '* You are too good, too indulgent to me, " she said at length, brokenly. '* I scarcely believed Mr. Beaton could be in earnest. 1 do not think I could ever feel ([uito at home with him, and I fancied he was very fond of Lady Mary Hay, which seemed much more natural." " Of Lady Mary .• "' echoed Mrs. Winington. " How very absurd I They are vj-y old friends, and in a sense he is very fond of her ; but when 1 tell 3''ou that he was rejoicing the day befr/e yvjsterday at the prospect of her making a good mariiage, yo;i may imagine the kind of fondness he feels for her." T , D 'as a pav«se. '• iMy greatest regret," began Edith again, " is to have disappointed yoi in any way. You have done so much for me, and I love you, in- deed J do." "the color rose brightly in her cLeeks, and her <|uiet truthful eyes looked into Mrs. \Viuiiigt(ju'.s with hucIi pathetic earnestness that she waa touched, and she thought that real hearty love and belief were wotLh deserving, even '"om an obscure country girl. But she re- pruraed such sentiuieiital weakness at once. " ; h'tpe you care for me a little, Edith. I think I deserve it from you. But not so mi;cii as Leslie. Could you have seen him yester- day, I think you 'vonld have been sorry for him. He was so broken- hearted, and struggled so bravely to control himself ! ' Whatever ha )pens, Jean,' he said, ' do not worry Edith, do not in any way reseui tny disappointuient.' You see, he knows how fond I am of htm. He t.dks of joiiniig a friend of !iis who is going to make an. exploring expedition to Tartary, or Tliibet, or Timbuctoo, but I earnestly hope he will not. Though his general health is good, he could not stand the hardships of such an undertaking. Indeed L did not believe that Leslie could have felt anything so intensely ; he was as white r.s a sheet. " J\Irs. Winington fanned herself vehemently, as if much moved. Edith's v.3^es grew larger and larger as she listened, her sense of the evil she had wrought deepened, and her instinctive incredulity vanisheii before the gixvity of Mrs. Winington's looks and tone. To doubi a syllable of what that incomparable personage asserted never crossed her mind, still it was most incomprehensible. Yet the image co'.ijured up by Mrs. Winingtcm's description affected her deeply. 8he trembled, and the tea:s rose to h^r eyes. IIKl'ULSKI). iil ••I wish I had never come to be a trouble to you ! " she sobbed. " WhAt a return this is for all jour goodness, and Mr. Beaton's goodness ! I am very grateful to nim for caring so much about me, but " (( <( 4< Oh, I suppose he could not help that,'' interrupted Mrs. Wining- ton, with a sad smile. " 1 know that some little time a^'o he explained his intentions fully to your guardians, and secured their full consent, so that no difficulty should occur in case he could win yours." ** What shall I do ? what shall 1 do i " said Edith unconsciously aloud. " Are you in earnest when you ask what you shall do, Edith?" asked Mrs. Winington ; "and will you believe that I am disinterested in the advice I offer ? " Believe yon ! Of course T believe you thoroughly ! '' l^hen let matters stand as they are. Poor Leslie has riin away to bury himself in solitude. J begged him to go down to Winford, for 1 know my old housekeeper will take care of him. You need not meet for some little time. Think well if you have done wisely in rejecting the warm heart so freely offered tojyou ; think of the charuiing homo your united means might create. With my brother you would do ex- actly as you liked ; he has the happiest temper. Then my friend- ship and help in the little social minutia^ of which you would be un- avoidably Ignorant counts for something. There, [ will not allow nij-self to speak more. I would not for worlds over-persuade you. J>ut, for your own sake, do not throw my brother over without some con- sideration. Of course it is very likely he may not come near us again while y(m are here. But should he do so " She paused, and poor Edith, who felt as if some invisible net was closing around her, urged timidlv : " I suppose one ought to like the man yon marry very much ? " " Yon should certainly not r/i.slike him ! But why do you not like Leslie? Do you love anyone else ?" with a sudden, almost fiercely questioning glance. " How could I ? Whom do I know to love / " asked Edith, timidly. " "Very true ! Moreover, it does not follow that because I think my brother the dearest fellow in the world, he must be irresistible to every one. There, 1 really think we have exhausted the subject, and you have made your eyes red. Go and bathe them, dear, and do not be unhappy. I shall always be your friend." 62 HKA'I'ON S IJAHfJAIX. *' Ah ! do, tl(. bo my frioiitl, I have ho few ; " and Edith ventured to pass her arm thvoui^h Mrs, Winington's and to press her brow ai,'ain8t her shoulder, with m«>ro of a caress than she liad ever dared bef( iro. " i)li, rest tran(|uil, my dear girl. I am very h»yal." Kdith hurried jiway, aiul Mrs. Winington, rising to fetch a French novel from tlie table, looked after her with a sliglit sigh. " She is a nice little thing, and I do hope, when I have ilone Leslie's love-making succeaafnlly for him, ho will not neglect, her too openly, and spend her money too frooly ; I will see that tied up safely at any rate 1 " CHAPTER VL MANtEUVlUNG. While Mrs. Winington fultilled her diplomatic mission, Jack Mait- land had been reasoning with himself against his own weakness in yielding ti) his strong inclination to prolong his stay within Mrs. Win- ington's charmed circle. He could in no way help Edith, he told him- self, and each day they met only increased his miserable anxiety and indecision. However keen her natural perception of truth and reality, so ac- complished a man of the world as Beaton would end by convincing her that he was worthy all trust and affection. So he mused as he was re- turning from an expedition to Hampton Court with his New Zealand friends, who had complained loudly that they never saw anything of him, that he had quite cut them, etc., etc " I must dine at the Winingtons to-niyht." he thought, when, hav- ing seen his companions into a cab, he waa walking slowly toward Waterloo Bridge, " but I will get away home on Saturday. I. am mak- ing a fool (A myself here." On reaching his hotel, however, he found a letter which compelled even an earlier start. It was from Major Maitland, informing him that his mother had taken a chill, and had been attacked with severe MANOr.l VIMNC. OS bronchitis ; that althoii'_;h thoi'o was no very imnicdiato clan hai advances she had made to a man who she began reluctantly to believe, was shielded by that strongest armor, atfection for another. iNothing could be more maddening. 5She had been puzzled l)y the con- MANCEUVRING. 67 tradiction between his readiness to spend hours with her and his in- creasing coldness. It was all too evident. She did not know till now how he had absorbed her. She meant no harm, she told herself ; only once mors to catch an echo of the real ardent love which had cast its spell upon her youth, and which she lonfjed for amid the frothy imi- tations of the mocking, frivolous world in which she lived and moved and had her being. It v^^as wrong and bad, but she could not restrain a fit of angry, passionate weeping, when she thought of the past, and how cruelly the present revenged it. Yet she never for an instant re- gretted her own heartless conduct. To be poor, and necessarily self- denj^ing, was something not to be tliought of for her, although she was prepared to pay dear for certain joys. To see Maitland once more at her feet, to tell him she loved him, and bid him leave her forever, this would be joy ! But if he ever got this length, would he go i Ah, well, there was no use thinking about it. What needed her whole force of mind and resolution, was to accomplish her brother's marriage with Edith Vivian. " She shall be his wife within six weeks," she muttered, rising from the cushions where she had writhed in impotent rage. " She shall be safely out of Maitland's reach long before they meet again." She bathed her swollen eyes, and leaned from the open window to cool her burning forehead. At length the rallying power of a fixed resolution calmed her. She turned to her writing table, drew a chair, and after a minute's thought wrote a carefully- worded letter to Jack Maitland — a charming, sympa- thetic epistle, which Colonel VViningtun might have read with perfect impunity. Nothing could be more tenderly graceful than her expres- sions of interest in IMrs. Maitland, her regret for his anxiety, her own eagerness for news of the patient. Then she paused undecided. She was burning to describe, in smoothly flowing periods, the rapid growth of mutual understanding between Miss Vivian and Beaton ; the evi- dent adoration of the simple child of i^ature for the accomplished man of fashion. She thought how she migii; best charge her communica- tion with the venom which distorted her own mind. Bat she waa purposeful enough to restrain the promptings of unreasoning spite. In such a letter it was out of place to introduce Edith V^ivian's name, and such unnecessary information might rouse doubts which she should be the last to suggest, if she really meant to carry out her schemes ; and carry them .ut she would, cost what they might in lymg or intrigue. 68 BEATON S BARGAIN. Mrs. Winiiigton resumed her pen, and battening down the useless vengeance that raged for utterance until a more co-Lvenient season, concluded her letter with a kiadly message from her brother, which would convey the impression that he was at her elbow. A fully detailed account of all that had happened since he had left her was next addressed to her brother, accompanied by much shrewd advice. And then, completely restored to composure, and firmly re- solved to play her game with tact and temper, Mrs. Winington ex- tinguished her light, and trieJ successfully to sleep. There is wonderful power in a clear and thoroughly adopted de- cision. No energy is wasted in answering paralyziag doubts and queries as to the advisability of some other line of conduct ; with a distinctly visible object ahead, it is comparatively easy to shape one's course. Mrs. Winington was afflicted with few pcruples. Her own desires, her own ambitions, were the ends at which she aimed. But being a healthy, fairly well-tempered woman, on very good terms with herself, she never quarrelled about trifles, and could gracefully give up what she did not care much about. Intensely perceptive of what she really wanted, she always reserved her forces for occasions worthy of them. The succeeding twenty-four hours she devoted to masterly inactivity. Though kind and gentle with Edith to a degree that woke the keenest stings of self-reproach in that young woman's breast, she was so much engaged that she was reluctantly compelled to leave her a good deal to herself. Edith longed to solace her depressed spirit by writing a full and true history of the trial through which she had passed to Mrs. Miles, but she had a deep impression that it would be disloyal to Mrs. Win- ington, as well as to Beaton, if she told the story of her rejection of the latter. She was in truth rather misera' le. The fact of her ex- treme loneliness was borne in upon her with telling force. Her eyes had been opened as they never had beeen before. New needs had sprung up. She could not go back to the bare existence she had led before she met Beaton and his sister. Her tastes were quiet enough, but her eyes had been opened, and warmly as she still loved her kind old friend Mrs. Miles, she felt that life would indeed be dreary had she no other companionship. MANCEUVRINO. 69 Mrs. Winingfcon saw with much satisfaction the pale, pensive little face of her young friend grow paler and sadder. She took no notice of the remarkable iact that for three days Maitland had not appeared at luncheon, tea, or dinner. This silence was, in Mrs. Winington's opinion, a bad symptom, and she determined to break it by a bold and masterly stroke. Beaton had followed his sister's instructions, and duly sent her let- ters of the most lugubrious description yet naturally written — his dramatic instincts, which made him a priceless jewel in country- houses when theatricals were being organized, suggesting the most characteristic modes of expression. A separate slip generally accom- panied this effusion, in which he implored his recall from banishment, and vowed the most abject obedience to his sijiter's commands. He quite agreed with Lady Mary's view of Jack Maitland's mental con- dition, and urged Mrs. Winington not to let him be cut out by that clumsy colonist. " I forgot to tell you that Mr. Maitland has* been summoned away — his mother is dangerously ill, " said Mrs. Winington to Edith, as they sat together in the drawing-room, the various habitues who had dropped in to afternoon tea having departed, and left the patroness and her protegee to a rare fete-d-tete. " I am very sorry, " exclaimed Edith, laying down an illustrated paper she had just taken. " He is very fond of his mother." "I did not think you knew he had a mother, " said Mrs. Wining- ton, sharply. '* He has spoken of her to me sometimes," said Edith, innocently, quite unembarrassed. ' ' Sue is a charming lady. I was going to say ' old lady, ' but in spite of her white hair there is a perennial youth about her that is quite delightful. I like Jack Maitland very much too. He used to be such a good fellow, but I was not quite pleased with him the other day." "Indeed." There was not any violent curiosity in the tone. "No," continued Mrs. Winington, thoughtfully; "I was vexed with him. I thought him too manly for that sort of self-conceit. Perhaps 1 ought not to tell you, but it may be useful a,: a warning not to trust appearances.'' She paused and Edith lookea at her in great surprise, " We were talking of his leaving town, " she resumed, 70 Beaton's bargain. " and he said, with his grave smile, ' On one account I shall not be sorry to leave ; your little friend is so unsophisticated, that she shows her flattering preference for me in the most unmistakable manner. It would really be touching were it not so funny, and I am not disposed to fall in love in return,' " Tiiere was a moment's silence. The color rose slowly in Edith's cheeks, as if shame and mortification were gradually penetrating the soul. Though she did not dream of doubting Mrs. Winington, she half unconsciously exclaimed : " He could not have said that. " "Oh, if you imagine I invented the amiable speech, why " • "No, no ; I do not, but it seems impossible. I found him so kind and — and sensible, l^lid like him, and liked to talk to him, but I am not in love with him. I know I am not. You do not believe I should let myself love a man who does not care about me — do you, Mrs. Win- ington ? " ** X should be sorry fo believe you so —so unmaidenly," said Mrs. Winint^'ton, with emphasis. " Indeed — indeed 1 am not. I am more grieved and disappointed than I can say, to think Mr. Maitland could speak of me in such a way. It is unworthy of him." " So I think, and so I told him,'' said Mrs. Winington. *' Are you quite sure he meant me .? " persisted Edith. " My dear, do you fancy I would be so idiotic as to make a mistake in such a matter ? Believe me, the conceit and vanity of men are un- fathomable. I did expect better things from Jack Maitland, but it seems he is no better than the rest. I must say, though, my brother gives himself no superior airs, and pretends to be nothing more than a pleasant, easy-going gentleman. Jle would never talk of a woman in that strain. Though it is rather a breach of confidence, I am almost tempted to show you the two letters he has written me since you banished him." " Perhaps Mr. Beaton might not like me to see them," said Edith, shrinking back, all quivering, from the cruel blow just dealt her. " He need never know. Do read them, Edith. I should like you to see the sort of juiture you have rejected." With considerable assistance from Mrs. Winington, for Beaton's writing was exceedingly wild, Edith read the efiusions, which were ad- mirably composed, easy, natural, full of veiled sadness, tender, even MAN(EUVRIN(i 71 passionate here and there in his expressions as regarded herself, and touching in their entrer-H -3 to his sister not to withdraw her friend- ship and protection from the little darling who seemed to have no one to care for and watch over her. Grant a fall belief in the truth and sincerity of everyone about her, and no girl could have read such letters unmoved. Edith folded them up and returned them to Mrs. Winington with trembling hands and fiuivering lips. " He is too good. I do not desire that ho should think so much of me. 1 feel quite angry with myself for not loving him. But I am very young, Mrs. Winingt(m ; need I marry anyone just yet t I don't feel as if I were tit to be any man's companion." " My dear Edith, were you anyone else I should accuse you of raock modesty." " No, I am not so modest as you fancy. I know that in many ways I am not unworthy of being loved, but 1 am very ignorant. I want to learn so much to be at all equal to you, and Lady Mary, and — Mr. Beaton." Maitland's name was on her lips, but she checked lierself in time. " I cannot even know how to behave myself, or — or Mr. Mait- land would never have spoken so contemptuously, so cruelly of me," and she burst into a passionate li )od of tears, so passionate that Mrs. Winington was amazed. She did not imagine there was such tire under her proteije.es quiet exterior. " Dear Edith, dear child," cried Mrs. Winington, delighted at the success of her scheme, yet not unmoved by the sight of her distress. She rose, and drawing the weeping girl to the sofa, put her arms round her aifrictionately. " You take a mere trifle far too much to heart. The boasting of an inexperienced man, for Jack Maitland really knows noth- ing of society, is not worth a moment's thought. You don't suppose [ am influenced by his absurd speech ? I saw nothing whatever to re- mark in your manner. You are naturally well-bred. T love your candor, your refreshing simplicity. Pray put these tiresome men out of your head — don't think even of poor Leslie. I want to see you bright again. Go bathe your eyes. Ncjthing will draw you out of your- self like pictures, and there are one or two woud»^rful pictures by a Bavarian artist at Colnau'lie's. Lot us go and look at them. Trust me dear, I will always be your friend.'" Mrs, Winington had (|uick surface sympathies, which, neverthe- less, never intorferred with the ultimate carrying out of her personal T'l I5EATON S BARGAIN. views, but wliich for the moment imposed even upon herself, and made her infinitely dnngerous. Edith's heart thrilled with warmest gratitude as she pressed her poor trembling lips to the soft smiling mouth of the beautiful superior bein^ who deigned to love her. But even Mrs. VVinington's boundless condescension could not con- sole her. Besides her personal mortification, there was the anguish of seeing her ideal shattered, of finding that the image of gold had feet of clay. Moreover she recognized, with a keen sense of degradation, that Mait- land was right. She loved him, or was on the verge of loving him. She f(;lt in her inmost soul that had he been in Beaton's place her an- swer would have been different ; that her doubts of her own fitness, although she might have entertained them, would not have presented an insurmountable barrier to her assuming the responsibilities of matri- mony. But that was all over now ; she must forget her own folly and cre- dulity, and try to be worthy of the friendship so generously bestowed on her. Indeed, she was almost disposed to think she ought to marry Beaton out of gratitude to his queenly sister. While Edith strove to gain composure, and efface the signs of her unusual emotion, j\Irs. Winington penned a hasty but encouraging letter to Leslie. "I am really proud of myself," she wrote. "I have made most dexterous use of a hint from Lady Mary, and dealt poor Edith's self- love a fatal blow, from which it must be your business to restore her. She is already disposed to regard you with a sort of grateful kindness which may lead to better things. I suspect Maitland has been — know- ingly or not, who can tell — a bit of a traitor. You must, if possible, be married before he comes to the front again. Be ready to start on receipt of a telegram from me. You will find directions at your old quarters. Your letters do you credit ; continue them, and never for- get all you owe to your very much worried sister, Jean. "P. S. — Let me have the guardian's address by return — I mean Dargan's. I may want to see him." The second post brought another epistle to the exile, who was grow- ing intolerably weary of his enforced solitude, MRS. WININUTON SCOItKS. 78 " 1 don't like you to hear from any one but myself that I accepted ' Go-bang ' last night. Let ua call him ' Stanley Brown ' in future. I find that the S. on his carda means Stanley. His father, it seems, named Lim after his landlord. Curious that with his, proclivities he should not have used it before in exte7.su. Of course the crucial test of settlements is to come. Heaven grant the alliance may not prove a penal settlement. I thini:, however, all will go right, and I must say it will be an immense relief to have a house of my own. You would find it the same. Pray make haste and marry your little field-flower, and then we may choose abodes within easy range of each other. I iii- tend to be great friends with Mrs. Leslie Beaton, and I suspect we shall need the support of each other's sympathy. Could you not steal a march on your imperious sister, and come up incog, for twenty-four hours. I feel as if a long talk with you would do me good, for some- how I have been so disgracefully weak as to cry over the general * cus- sedness ' of things. " Yours as ever, Mary H." CHAPTER VII. MRS. WININGTON SCORES. Mrs. Maitland was in a very cr;tical condition' when her son reached Craigrothie. Tne doctor in attendance had wrestled'with the disease successfully, but feared the weakness which ensued might do death's bidding as effectually as his more active emissary. It was nc t until she had been carefully prepared that the sufferer was allowed to see her son. He was profoundly moved at the sight of the pale, delicate face with its silvery hair lying so helplessly on the pillow. His mother could only smile faintly as he bent over her and took her thin, nearly transparent, hand in his, with infinite tenderness. Neither spoke. Maitland could not for a few minutes trust his voice. He knew the loneliness of her life. She was a creature of finer and more sensitive organization than those among whom she had been fated to pass the 74 RKATONS BAIKJAIN. larger part of her existence. Needing warmth and sunshine, she had been transplanted to the cold soil, the easterly atmosphere of Major Maitland'a dominion. To him and to their children her "•:' ">:- 70 MKATONS BARGAIN. Raid Maitland, " and 1 can't ask you up to our place, for my mother has been dangerously ill, and must be kept very quiet." ** Oh, J shall be all right here. I am not hard to please, and I shan't stay long. Como and have some breakfast ; there's trout and broiled ham, and cream scones — capital things, cream scones." Maitland had already breakfasted, but promised 'to return in half an hour to conduct Colonel VVinington over the homofarmand through the house, where ho declined to tiike up his abode. " 1 am a deuced more comfortable hero," he said. The sight of this unexpected visitor set Miiitland's memory and im- agination actively to work. He dared not questicm him, lost any re- port of the interest he betrayed might reach the keen ears of Mrs VVin- ington ; but he hoped that her husband might fall into a gossiping mood, wViich was not unusual with the gallant colonel, who, though as sharp as a Yorkshireman where sport and horses were concerned, had a strain of schoolboy naicefi running through his character calculated to mislead an ordinary observer, and which often puzzled the wife of his bosom, whom he adored as the tinest woman, the cleverest creature ex- tant. Nevertheless, he occasionally saw through her little games with a species of intuition of which he was infinitely proud. Maitland rather liked Colonel Winington, and by no means envied him the possession of his peerless Jean, though he credited that charm- ing personage with much latent good, which under different circum- stances might have been developed. After a long ramble, and a good deal of busl'iess talk, for the colonel was a thorough country gentleman, and knew a thing or two about farming, he accepted Jack's invitation to luncheon, and they repaired to VVestoun, the factor's pleasant home. Here the colonel greatly gra- tified Major Maitland by expressing his hearty approval of all he had seen and learned in the morning. " Jack hasn't gone about the world with his eyes shut, I must say," quoth the old factor. " He has a shrewd eye for cattle, and is a decent judge of crops, i think he is anxious to do his duty by the property. Indeed I should have had to give up some time past, if I hadn't had him beside me. My eyes are failing me, and I can't get about as 1 used." " You couldn't have a better lieutenant," said Colonel Winington pleasantly ; and Jack smiled as he looked back, not so very far either, MRS. WINTNOTON SCORES. 77 to his father's stern renunciation of him as a ne'or-do-weol and a dia- t^race to the family. " Shall wo have a cup of cotl'eo and a cij^ar in the balcoii) ? " he hu^'- ictured with a vivid llash tin; delicate purity of her nnpreti'iidin;^ asjK'ct, tlio sweet truthfidne.ss of her sieaily thoii<,'ht- fiil tyes. What u reatfu! home such a woman could make ' What endless interest miyht bo found in the growing knowledge of a nature not over-ready to reveal itself, which, thoUL'h p»!rfictly candid, had yet a veil of tender reserve. And this defenceless creature w.is at the mercy of niero intriguers, careful only of their own advantage, and reckless of her lnii)pine33 I It was the duty of any disinterested fiieiid to rescue her if possihh'. Tnen the jccollection of her welcoming smile, her trusting glance, made his pulses throb. *' She liked me better than any of the re.'^t ; 1 thiiik she did, but 1 ought not to be too sure. 1 thought Jean W(»uid have stuck to me through thick an try my luck. If 1 fail she would bti no worse otl' tluin she is now. If she cares for me, Jainty little darling ! 1 could make her happy her own way. 1 wish she hadn't such a lot of money. I shall be thought a fortune-hunter ; but I ought not to be a coward about opinion, when 1 know my own motives, when I kn(jw that were I rich, and she hadn't a rap, it would unly make me more eager to marry her. Then she is so lonely, so un- protected. Old ]\[is. Miles is a capital woman, but no companion for 'uiitli. She can never go back to her old life. How desolate she is ! If 1 do not exaggerate my chances all may be riglit. I must make ray father come to a detinite an igoment ; the laborer is w^rth of his hire. As for Edith's money, they i.-iiy tie it up so that I can never handle a penny, if only they let me htu e herself ; but shall I be deterred from securing my oivn happiness certainly, perhaps hers, by a spectre of false pride i No ; 1 will be tri'e to myself." Then the regular sequence of thought became confused with sweet gloomy visions f>f perfect understanding, of rest and security, of gen- tle caresses. Yes, as soon as hia mother was a little stronger he would return to London, and risk an avowal of his hopes and fears. As to the guardians, well, only let him get Edith's consent, and he would 80 BEATON S BAUGAlxV. manage them. When could he start i Not while Colonel Winington remained. As to Mrs. Maitland, she was distinctly out of danger, and his sister could stay for ten days or so longer. Ho might run up to town on Saturday, call at the studio on Monday, and coax Edith tu take a turn in Kensington Gardens. There he would learn his fate, Indeed, it was quite possible that Mrs. Winington, disappointed by the ill-success of her favorite scheme, might have made her house too hot to hold, the ofi'ending guest. If so, he would find Edith's present address, and follow. Yes, he would tell the dear mother that a matter of vital importance required his presence in town, and she would let him go. Soon he hoped to return with news that would cheer and comfort her. So, in a restless but hopeful mood, Jack Maitland rose up, a clear purpose once more steadying his will, and. walked home less rapidly than he had set forth. At the entrance he met his sister with a letter in her hand. " Oh, Jack, I have been looking everywhere for you, I have just heard from Allan " (her husband). " His Uncle Macalister, who is going back to India, has telegraphed to say he is coming to-morrow for a week just to bid us good-by, and I must really be at home to do the honors, for you know Uncle Macalister is a very important personage to us. I will return the moment he is gone, and you will stay with mother ; she rea.ily would rather have you than any of us." " But wait a bit, Jessie, I want very much to go up to town." " I am verj'- sorry. Jack, but I really cannot stay. I have ordered George to bring round the waggonette ; I can just catch the 6:30 train, and reach home about ten." Jack was fairly caught. Destiny was too strong for him. He could not leave his mother, and his sister's absence was prolonged beyond the stipulated week. Meantime letters of tenderest, kindest inquiries from Mrs. Wining- ton, both to Maitland and the invalid, came frequently, but with rare mention of Edith, yet Maitland could make out that she wa still re- siding with her fascinating protectress. At last Mrs. Metnven re- turned to take her place beside the delicate mother, and the same day Maitland started for London. Mrs. Winington was growing cross and impatient ; she was tired o the season. She had two tempting invitations, one to join a party o MRS. wixix(rr()X sc;oi{f;s. 81 i( pleasant people on board a yacht, and one still more attractive, to a hospitable conntry house within seven or eight miles of Craigrothie. She had renewed her acquaintance with the owner (who had lately succeeded to che family estates), and with his wife, whom she cultivated soxlulously ; she had almost determined to spend Ant^Mist with them, in the neighborhood of her old home, where she resolved Jack Maitland should be her S(iuire and cicerone, if— if only Edith would make up' her mind to marry Leslie and have dcme with it. ^-ili she kejit a fair face and watched unceasingly for the right moment at wliich lieaton might reappear. Edith was very still and humble, looking and feeling miserable ; she had learned enough of the new world into which she had been plunged to know that soon Mrs. Winington would be leaving t(;wn, and still nothing was said about Judith's accompanying her. "I ought to prepare for returning home, dear Mrs. Winington," s'iid Edith timidly, one morning at luncheon, when the servants had left the room, a few days after Beaton's disappearance, while the colonel was still absent on his flying visit to Scotland. *' Not yet, Edith. I shall not be leaving town for a few weeks, and I need not say how much I wish you to stay with me ; besides — but 1 ilon't like to talk of future plans just yet. Tell me, dear, would it annoy you if Leslie were to come here I I want very much to see him. He wants Winington to get him something to do in India, or the west coast of Africa — anywhere out of England," with a sigh; "and you need not mind, for he has resolved to be your friend, if he can be no more." " Of course I cannot expect you to banish your brother, and I am every grateful to him for wishing to be my friend," exclaimed Edith oloring and looking embarrassed. " But the studio will soon be closed, and then I think 1 ought to go to my own home and poor Mrs. iMiles. You have taught me much, and done me a great deal of good.' " Poor dear child," said Mrs. Winington, "how frightfully dull it will be for you ! " " I never used to be dull at Littlemere, " returned Edith, thought- fnlly "yet somehow [ feel as if I should bo now. ' ' You must not stay there long," said M"rs. Winington. '' WIkui do you say your studio closes I " "On the twenty- fifth." " Why, that is only a fortnight otF," and Mrs Witiington was silent 82 BEATON S BARC.AIN. for a few minutes ; then she apologized for leaving Edith, as she had several engagements, and soon after she went out. Edith was accustomed to be left alone of late ; she did not in the least resent Mrs. Winington's desertion ; she accepted it as unavoid- able, but it depressed her with the sense of being of no importance to anyone. Moreover, that terrible speech of Maitland's as reported to her had destroyed her self-reliance. Tf her conduct was such as to create so false an impression, the less she saw of strangers and society the better. A feeling of gratitude t(jward Beaton began to develop in her heart, though she did not wish to see him, for she had never felt quite at ease with him. • She had been full of these thoughts as she walked back after her morning's work, a couple of days after the above conversation, and rang the door- bell almost mechanically. "Mrs. Winington is in the morning-room, 'm," said the well-bred butler, waiving his hand invitingly in that direction. Edith, taking it for granted that Mrs. Winington wished to speak to her, walked into the room, but instead of her hostess, she found a gen- tleman reading a newspaper. At the sound of the opening door he threw it aside, and started to his feet. It was Leslie Beaton. Edith could scarcely resist the desperate inclination to run away ; she was startled, ashamed, disposed to cry. Beaton looked ill, too, and less smilingly debonair than usual. He hastened to put her at her ease. " I am inclined to apologize for being here, Miss Vivian," he said, pressing her hand for a moment. " I really did not think there was any chance of our meeting this morning," and he smiled pleasantly. " As it has so happened, may I speak frankly — may I beg you to let bygones be bygones 1 Allow me the privileges of friendship during the short time I shall be in England. It vvould make my last days at home so much brighter." He paused suddenly, as if he felt a good deal. " You are very kind," cried Edith, delighted with the proposition. •' I shall be so glad to have you for a friend. It is more than I could expect u.ai you should care for my friendship." "You know how much I cared," began Leslie ; but checking him- self, '• we are not to revert to bygones. Tell me, how are your studies progressing \ J expect to see great things. I assure you I often wished you could have seen the woodlands at Winford. It is a sort of sylvan MRS. WININCiTON SCORKS. 83 paradise. I was always finding subjects for sketches ; indeed, 1 was almost tempted to try my own hand," etc., etc. And Edith, a good deal to her surprise, found herself launched into an easy conversation on art and scenery and sketching with the man she shrank from meeting two short hours be''ore. " Why, Edith," cried Mrs. Winington. coming in ([uickly, " I had no idea you were here." She spoke t:i a tone of surprise. " I was obliged to see the head-gardener from Winford about those new orchards, and I had to read him Captain Sevvell's letter about them." A little pleasant general cliat ensued, then Beaton said he had pro- mised to call on one or two people, and rose to leave. " Come back to dinner," said his sister, "and be sure you do noth- ing rash — nothing at all, indeed, until you consult me." Beaton laughed, bowed to Edith, and withdrew. "He is looking wretchedly ill, isn't he?" said Mrs. Winington, turning to Edith. " Poor follow. 1 am so glad you have got your meet- ing over in this accidental way. It wo\ild be quite foolish not to be good friends ; indeed there is no reason whatever why yf)u should not." Beaton's return appeared to break the spell of undefined discomfort that had opposed bi»th Edith dnd her hostess. He made himself a pleasant, unobtrusive companion. His conversation and maimer were more serious, more kindly, and less complimentary than before. He talked of his future life in remote regions, and expressed a manly re- gret for his wasted youth, his lost opportunities. Edith began to feel like an indulgent sister to a prodigal V)ut peni- tent brother. Mrs. Winington took long drives to more pictures! jue environs of London, and encoiiraged Edith to try her " 'prentice hand " at sketcliing from nature. Colonel Winington oscillated between his hunting-lodge, where he kept a stud of horses ; and town in July was drawin[^ to a close. Mr. Josiah Dargan was l)usy as uf ual over his papers and accounts one sultry morning. His dingy den was dingier and more redolent of dust than ever ; the blind he had torn in his effort to save Beaton's eyes from the sun had been carelessly nailed up in a slant, and Dargan himself, who was too dry and bloodless to feel changes of weather, was brown, discolored, and <.;rubhy as usual. 84 T5EAT0N S lUKGAIN. He wore a look of satisfaction, however; a fresh victim had just effected a loan through his " agency, " as he termed it, and he had been calculating his immediate and prospective gains. In this agree- able occupation he was roused by the entrance <.f the grimy boy, who placed a tiny note before his master, and said interrogatively, 'SSee her?" Mr. Dargan shoved his glasses a little nearer his eyes, opened the note, and read, "Can you speak to Mrs. Winington for h few minutes V '*<.)h Lord !" ejaculated Dargan, in a low tone, hastily folding u[> the note again, "Ay, let her come in ; let her come in." He started up, pushed away his chair, and was half way across the room as his visitor entered. What an apparition ir that dull sordid chamber ! A very perfect costume of silvery-gray satin and grenadine and shining gray beads ; a bonnet also gray, with downy soft feathers tipped with silver, resting on her tine wavy auburn hair ; gloves and shoes and parasol, all deli- cately matching, lent to and borrowed from the wearer additional beauty. Even old Dargan was impressed, and hesitated how to ad- dress this dazzling vision. With a half-surprised, half-contemptuous glance, Mrs. Winington took in the details of the shabby room, and recognized the effect she produced on the owner. " Do you know who I am?" she asked, showing her white teeth with a frank, amused smile. "I think I do, I think I do, ma'am — my lady, you are my friend Mr. Beaton's sister ; let me give you a chair, 1 feel almost ashamed to let you sit down on such a tattered seat, but times are hard ; as to new furniture, I daren't think of it," '* I came to see 1/on, not your furniture, Mr, Dargan," said Mrs. Winington, taking the dilapidated chair, " 1 want to talk to you about my broiibii" and your ward.'' " I am sure, ina'am. Im all attention, " shambling back with his uneven step to his •}' vee behind the knee-hole table. "It is along time since J heuM arythmrj of them. ; an I, indeed, I didn't think your brother was tii'- s' .t of man tu let the ^rass grow under his foet.'' " On the coiharv, hia piecipitancy has nearly ruined all our plans. T say ' our, ' Mr. Dh:o:xn, ;. ?• t' 'Ugh 1 have not the pleasure of know- ing you, I know ; !1 ""U" dans, and the bargain you made with my brother." MRS. WININGTON SCORES. 85 " Eh : do you know I " grinning confusedly, and pressing the nib of a pen on a very black thumbnail. " Well, 1 di'l think that little — a — ai^Tcenient was to be a secret betwixt Mr. Beaton and inyaelf, of course. " Of course, " interupted Mrs. Winington, -'It was ([uite right and natural that he should con tide the whole allair to tne, especially as neither of you could have carried out your schemes without my help. It is e(iually natural that you should look aftiu* your own in- terest, though straight-laced people /n/V/Af say the means you took to secure them were not exactly creditable. " " WlII, you see, what i)eople say doesn't reacli my ears, " returned Dargan, with a deprecatory writhe, rubbing his hands together. " And how is Mr. IJeaton getting on, may 1 be so bold a^ to ask ? '" " He is not getting on at all, " cried Mrs. Winington, with a burst_ '■ He is such an iujpatient creature, and your \^rd is an obstniate "Simpleton. He proposed too soon, and she refused liim." "(rood Lord ! think of that now. Such a tine, elegant gentleman. I didn't think any young lady would say him nay, " and Dargan began nervously to gather up the papers which lay about, and sort them in an unconscious way. " And do you mean to say it's a drawn game ! " '' I do not intend it shall be, " said Mrs. Winiiigton, closing her mouth firmly. " Then what do you mean to do, my lady - 1 mean, ma'am ? " asketl Dargan, nibbling the top of his pen, and gazing at her with some ixwc and a good deal of admiration. "Listen ; I have not much time to spend hero, and if you intend to get your money you must help me. I suspect that Miss Vivian ha- rather taken a fancy to a very unsuitable person, whom she unfortun- ately met at my house — a stern, puritanical countryman of mine, v would not lose an atom of his just rights to save your life. He w 'Uia be more likely to expose what he considered a fraud, than lend ini- self to any little argument that might facilitate matters. In short, he must not interfere with my brother." *' No, certainly not ; that's right." Mrs. Winington's eyes rested with unspeakable disdain on tlie withered, grinning, ignoble face opposite to her. " I'm sure you have only to command me." " I have managed to bring Miss A^ivian and Mr. Beaton together again, and she is playing at friendship with him. Let them pursue 80 BEATON S BARGAIN. that game for a while, then you must strike a blow and cut off her retreat. Your sister is her companion ? " •'8heis." " And I presume you have a good deal of influence on Mrs. " " Miles," put in Dargan. " Yes," rubbing his hands softly, " 1 ratlier think I have." " Then you must make her give up her engagement with INIiss "Vivian. Invent something imperativf> ; send her away somewhere, a long way otf ; let that damp cottage in Hampshire, or sell it ; cut off hor supports, leave hei no ' stand by ' but Mr. Beaton. She is pecu- liarly desolate ; this ought to make her thank her good genius that she has found such a protector as my brother. " " My sister will no doubt do as I bid her," said Dargan, laying down hi pen, and beginning to stroke down his leathery puckered cheeks with his finger and Jjiumb. " But it seems a little strange to me that you should be so desperate anxious to get my ward for your brother. Grand people like you might have a choice of heiresses, I should think." *' Heiresses fenced round with bristling hedges of uncles, well up in the private history of every man in society, and cousins anxious to keep the money in the family, if you like, but not heiresses perfectly free and unencumbered . Do not waste my time and your own in con- jecture. Will you follow my suggestions, or shall we break off nego- tiations, and send your ward back to the wilds from which you dragged her, poor child, for your own ends ? " " I don't pretend to be an angel, Mrs. Winington, no more than Mr. Beaton does, but I thought, and I still think, I was doing the best 1 could for Miss Vivian, by pushing her wedding. I'm of your opinion that this shilly-shallying ought to be put a stop to : but you are as quick as a tiash of lightning, and down on a man before he knows where he is. 1 think your notion is very good, very good, and you'll see I'll not be long on acting on it. I'll start Mrs. Miles off and give her permanent employment ; but I hope, when the knot is tied hard ^nd fast, Mr. Beaton would not object to a little annuity in considera- tion of the help she is giving him.' "She is helping you, too, Mr. Dargan," said Mrs. Winington, shrewdly, "and I hope you will not prove ungrateful." She rose as she spoke. " We understand each other, then," she continued ; " our interests are alike, I 8upp(^3e I may depend on you i " ACCEPTED. 87 " I'll be as true as the needle to tlie polo," cried Dargan, entluisi- astically. Mrs. Wiriington laughed as she gathered up her delicate skirt lest it should touch the dirty carpet, and with a slight, haughty bend of the head left him. " Well, she is a clipper, I never saw her match ; and isn't she regular tire and tow ! I wonder now what's the real reason she's so keen for this wedding ] there something more than anxiety for her brother under it all. I'll say nothing to Tilly about this ; time enough, time enough. As to Sally, she daren't refuse me anything, and Tilly has no call to interfere with her ; duty and family affection must bo attended to. Where will I send her ] Liverpool ; ay, Liverpool would do well, very well." Meantime Mrs. Winington, who had driven to C. street in a cab, and kept it waiting, was proceeding homeward via the Strand, when by one of those curious currents in the tream of life, which are no doubt governed by the laws as yet undiscovered, despite their appa- rently accidental nature, she was drifted against the man who o -cut^iad her thoughts. A little past Temple Bar there was a bl<»ck, and her cab was obliged to stand still for a minute or two beside the footway. As she looked listlessly at the passers-by, she suddenly recognized Jack Maitland coming from the direction in which she was going. With a mixture of surprise, vexation, pleasure, but the'last strongest, she waved her hand and caught his eye. He came readily enough, and the next instant she was exclaimi ig, with smiling lips and eyes : — "Back again in London, Mr. Maitland ] Then [ hope your dear mother is going on favorably." CHAPTER VI I r. ACCEPTED. It was always with a sensatiou of pleasurable excitement that Mrs. Winington met Maitland, but on the present occasion it was by no means unmixed. His coming was most inopportune, his appearance .'-S BEATON S liAKGAlN. niiyht introduce a discordant tiloment into the schoine she was so dili- gently liannoni/ing. But even while she smiled on him the kindest of welc(;mes, she said in her lieart, " He sliall not defeat me, nor even delay me." " Shall you be long in town?" she asked, after Maitland had re- plied to . r inquiries. '* Only a day or two. I have no railway business to detain nio now." " Wc are, unfortunately, going out to dinner to-day, but can ym look in and have a cup of tea a little before tive ? " "Certainl3^ 1 shall be most happy,"' returned Maitland, his eyes lighting up with the joyous, tender expression she kr,ew so well. "Do not be late." She kissed her hand to him a? he stepped back, and signed to the driver that he might go on. " Hp is not handsome," thought Mrs. Wiuington, " but how much bet- ter lookAni.: than most handsome men. Oh, no one ever loved me, as Jack did, and 1 treated him abominably. T think he likes me a little still." Then the horrible suspicion flashed across lier brain, could the light that came to his eyes have been evoked by the prospect of meeting Edith Vivian. No, impossible! how could that insignificant child at- tract him from her rich bea\!y and practised charm — a charm, too, which had once completely capuvatod him i The perfume of those de- lightful, foolish days jiinsf hang round her still. Oh, to hear him say in the deep full tones that used to stir her blood, if not her heart, " No one can ever be to me what you were! " No, it was not likely that a poor little simpleton could be her rival. Lady Mary was dream- ing ; yet ; " He shall not see her," was her fixed deternnnation, as she alight«Hl within a short distance of her own door, and dismissed the conveyance. * •' Has Mr. Beaton been here this morning ?" asked Mrs Winington, as she entered her own mansion. '* No, 'ni," said the butler. " Then send to the club, and say I want to speak to him at once ; 8';nu one of the grooms ci horseback. If Mr. Beaton is not at his club, ^'et the man go io his lodgings." "Very well, 'm." ■ Mrs. Winington went to her room. At luncheon the master of the house made his appearance, which was not an event of every-day occurrence, and when Mrs. Winington ACCKPTEU. 89 and hor bruthor camo in they found hiai chattini,' choorfully with lulith in tlie bay window looking on tlie gardons. "ByCjcorgo!" critMl Cohjuel VViniiigton, "Mia.s Vivian has been making great proLiresa, .Jean. 1 have persuaded her to let nie see Bome of her wjork. Look here," holding out a drawing of a lattice window, one half open, with ivy and cleniatia cluHtenng round the side, a vase standing on the window-sill as if in readiness for the tlowers that were to till it. " It's deucedly natural. There's a window in the head- keeper's lodge at Winfurd just like this. Vou must come down and see it." " Yes, that is a very nice little bit," said Mrs. VV^inington, " and it is from a real windtnv. Mr. Herman has a charming old house ; he l)uilt his studio beside it." " It's uneommoii pretty," continued Winington. "But come, let us sit d(nvn. I am as hun!;ryas if I had breakfasted last month. Beaton, cut that cliicken-pie. What's the matter with you ( I never knew you M silent since I had the pleasure of making your ac()uaintance. Have you been snubbing him, Mi-^s Vivian i " Edith blushed quickly, vividly. Mrs. Winington frowned and could hardly refrain from uttering the '"' How asinine I " which sprang tt) her lips. " The J' say parliament is to be dissolved on the lifth of August," she said to her husband, intending to draw him eti'ectnally from the subject. " T/ie_)/say! Who says ^ Some blundering idiot. There's no sucli luck. Biit I am not going to stay on roasting here. We'll go down to Winford ; shan't we, Miss Vivian >. and you shall make pictures by the yard. Try a little hock : do, it's iced, and very good." " No, thank you ; " then, addressing Mrs. Winington, " I have writ- ten to Mrs. Miles and Mr, Tilley, telling them that the studio wo\dd be closed next Tv^eek, and that you CMinot stay much longer in London, therefore I had l)et.tor return to Littlemere. " She spoke with some hesitation, and looked appealingly to Mrs. Winington. " Well, dear, I wish you had spoken t are some rather picturesque groups of trees there — one specially on an island in the large mere or pool. It might be good practice to try and Bket.;ti llio*., ; Ujes are so difficult. I went there once with your sister, Frank, when she was art crazy." "Ah, I remember," said Colonel Winington, nodding. " Unfortunately," his wife went on, " I have had a manifesto from Madame Laure, who is coming to try on my autumn costumes, and plan an evening dress or two ; and if I lose this chance I may not catch her again, for Laure is a personage, I assure you." " I am very sorry, ' cried Edith, impulsively ; " it is so difficult to find anything to sketch near London." " Why lose this bright idea I ' said Beaton looking up. " Can you trust Miss Vivian and the ponies to me / I will drive carefully, and cut pencils et cetera with diligence. What do you say ? " " An excellent suggestion," exclaimed Mrs. Winington. " Will you accept it, Edith I " " Yes, thank you very much. I should be so glad to do a little more sketching." " You are right, Edith. Then, I will order the phaeton to come round at three, and you'll have a nice long afternoon. Ring the bell, Leslie." "Ha, Beaton, you haven't served your apprenticeship in drawing- room life for nothing," said Colonel Winington, significantly. His wife looked at him with a warning frown, but his insiiniation fell harmlessly on Edith's ears ; she was feeding Mrs. Winington "s favorite skye with bits of sweet biscuit. Colonel Winington rose soon after, and left the room, saying he had promised to meet a fellow at Tattersall's. Mrs. Winington soon followed his example, and Edith went to put her drawing materials together. ACCKFTED. !)1 Maitland thought time had never gone so lingeringly ;i3 between lii.s meeting with Mrs. Winington and tlve o'clock, when he was duo at Fairtield Terrace, lie felt ([nite sure of meeting Miss Vivian. He knew from a letter of the colonel's received only a eonplo of days be- fore, that she was still iVIr.s. Winington's guest, and likely to remain. Moreover, she never went t)ut without her hostes.s. Would she welcome him with the sweet, frank, unconscious gladness he had often read in her eyes when they had met unex[)ectedly, or would she have changed during his absence / If n(jt, no weak scruples should hold him back from trying to win her. If she h»d absolutely refused Beaton, as Colonel Winington seemed certain she had^ Mrs. Winington had no right to be opposed to hi'ii^ and yet he felt, with in- stinctive conviction, that she would oppose him bitterly. " 1 must steer with caution," he thought as he rang, and was ad- mitted into the cool, dusky, perfumed hall '•This way, sir," said the butler, u.shering him upstairs t<» the smaller of the two drawing-rooms, where Mrs Winington sat in softened light, ajnid a profusion of delicious flowers, fresh from a second toilet, after showing herself in her carriage, shopping, and leaving cards. She had hurried home and dressed just in time to be languidly at ease when Maitland was announced. " Bring the tea ; and, Miller, I am not at home." The butler bowed obedience and retired. *' 1 am quite glad to hear all about your mother and dear Oraigrothie from yourself," said Mrs. Winingtoi., when they had exchanged greet- ings. Mrs. Maitland was always so good to me when I was ' a mithn*- lesd bairn ' at home, 1 hope she is gathering strength. ' '' Very slowly. Yet .she does improve. L doubt, however, that she will be able to bear an autunui and winter at Westoini, thougl it is the most sheltered spot on the e-state. I shall take hei away south somewher<'. " You were always very fond of your mother, Jack," said Mrs. Winington, naturally. " But oh, there is no use in looking back. Can any after-glow the world gives ec^ual the fresh d(!lights of early days / 1 am half ashamed of the aching at my heart when I think of them." ** 1 don't fancy, considering your present surroundings, you have very much cause to regret them," said Maitland, smiling. " You think so I " looking down. " I have most to regret my own IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Y // .^/ ^ m '^^ y% (.^4, ''m:^ 1.0 I.I 1^ yi 12.5 If li£ 12.0 II 1.8 1.25 1.4 \h L. -4 6" ► ^ vT y] '<>i ">: f>.P 7. "^>v^ >^ 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation L17 \ ^ ^\ 6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) 872-4503 92 BEATON S BAlUiAIN, folly and weakness," sighing slightly. " But tell me more about your mother," she resumed, as the servant pJaced tea and wafer-like bre.ul and butter on the table noiselessly, and then vanished. " It is years since wo met, I suppose her tranquil life has left few traces on her sweet face. She always seemed a kind of saint to me." " She is a good deal changed, for though her existence has been sail enough, heaven knows, she has had a great deal of anxiety, and littK' exterior support. " *' Jt must be a great comfort to her having you at home," returned Mrs. Winington, and she continued to speak of their mutual experi ences in the past, api)roaching dexterously the scene of their Htormy parting, with the intention both of eliciting some expression of lii.s feelings f;om Maitland, and of giving her own explanation of the fact that siie threw him over for a wealthy suitor. But her skill was unavailing ; unerring instinct told her they were not in sympathy, that she neither touched nor stirred him. An irritat- ing sense of pain and defeat Vjegan to dull the keenness of her nativt' tact ; she could scarce keep her brow smooth, and as she caught Mair land's eyes wandering occasionally, with an expectant look to the door by which he supposed every moment Miss Edith would appear, she found it impossible to maintain her tone of dreamy, tender reminis- cence. Was he looking for Edith, thinking of that pale-faced chit while she was metaphoric iliy at his feet / had she lost all chance of re- awakening the passion she had herself extinguished ? "Are you not a little distrait, Mr. Maitland?" she asked, with a well-got-up air of playfulness. " Who are you looking f or ? Leslie or Miss Vivian i " "I rather expected to find Miss \''ivian with you," said Maitland, with such unhesitating frankness that Mrs. Winington was a little re- assured. '* Leslie is out of town, I heard." *' Yes, he was out of town," returned Mrs. Winington slowly, for she was making up her mind to a big bold falsehood. " But he canu back nearly a fortnight ago, and 1 am sure you will be glad to hear that my hopes have been fultilled. Miss Vivian has made up her mind " (" which she shall,'' said the fair intriguer to he" heart, in self- extenuation) " to marry Leslie. He has driven her over to Clapham to-day, as she wanted to sketch some trees there. I really begin to think Leslie will be very fond of her. I am sure he ought, for she is devoted to him." ACX'EPTED. f)3 Silence. It was a most unexpected blow, and for a moment Mait- land was too stunned to think clearly. He rallied himself by an eflfort. It would not do to make an enemy for Edith of this clever, unscrupu- loiia woman. "I conf(ratulate you," he said, looking down, while he tapped the carpet softly with his stick. " I hope Beaton will make a kind, steady husband. Miss Vivian seems to me something of a home bird." " Like other women, she will probably become what her circum-. stances make her," said Mrs. Wininuton, shortly. " As the engage- ment is only just made, [ beg you will not speak of it at present to anyone." "Certainly not, if you desire it. I did not fancy affairs would go quite so quickly from what I saw before I left town." " Oh, they went much quicker after you left. It will bo announced next week, and then we shall hurry on the marriage as fast as possible ; in fact, I shall not leave town till it is an accomplished fact. Then, after such prolonged self-abnegation, I am going to stay with the .lohnstones at Strathairlie to refresh myself with a glimpse of the dear old country." '* Indeed ! It is a long time since you visited the banks and braes of Craigrothie," returned Maitland in a somewhat forced voice. " Yes ; quite ages. Shall you be at home in September ? " " I suppose so." " Then you must be my guide, philosopher, and friend in the scenes of our youth," said Mrs. Winington, stealing a watchful glance at his sombre countenance. " 1 am at your service, of course." Mrs. Winington felt the formality of his tone and sighed. *' If you are disengaged to-morrow, come to dinner and meet the af- fianced ones,V pursued Mrs. Winington, boldly ; while she told her- self, '* He will not come. " '* I shall be most happy, if I am in London ; but should I settle the matter about which I came up, I am bound to return by the night mail.' ' He rose as he spoke. ** We shall hope to see you, however," said Mrs. Winington smil- ing sweetly, without making any attempt to delay him. " For the present, good-bye then. Should I not see you before 1 go, pray congratulate Beaton for me at the right time. " '* He will tell you himself, I have no doubt. Remember 7.45 to- moiTow. Good-bye. " 04 JiKATON S BARGAIN. Mrs. Winingtoi. stood looking after him for a minute, her brows knit, the finger-tips of one hand resting on a small table beside her, the other grasping a locket at her throat. " He came here to seek her," she murmured ; " herself or her money. Mary is right ; I believe he loves her. I suspect I have dealt him a cruel blow. How gallantly he took it ! He must never know I lied to him. Now this marriage must take place ; and soon, cost what it may to every one concerned. How his eyes sought that door ! Had fhe come in, they would have told everything in spite of his strength and self-control. Oh, how diflerent he is from the willow wands of men that surround me ! " 1% 'lis Edith returned from her sketching excursion looking brighter and better than Mrs. Winington had seen her since the day on which she had wounded her with the speech she had put into Maitland's mouth. " If she likes Leslie and marries him willingly, I will forgive her, thought Mrs. Winington, as she looked at her sweet eyes and soft color. " She really can look almost pretty." " Had you a pleasant afternoon, and did Leslie cut your pencils ju- diciously ? " she asked kindly, as they went up stairs ; Edith to take off her hat, and her hostess to dress for a dinner-party. " It was very pleasant indeed. Mr. Beaton was, as he always is, so good. How much he knows, Mrs. Winington ! He gave me (luito an interesting account of Clapham, and Streatham, and Dr. Johnson." " Did he ? " with a little surprise. " Oh, he is not dull." It was not till the next day when they were breakfasting, however, that Mrs. Winington thought fit to tell Edith of Maitland's visit. She had pondered profoundly on the best method of dealing with this fact, though it was with a natural air of sudden recollection she exclaimed : " Oh, by the by, I forgot to tell you I had a visit from Jack Mait land yesterday. " Edith colored a little, but answered calmly, " Indeed ! I suppose his mother is much better ? " "Yes; nearly quite well. I don't know how long he is going to stay. I asked him to dinner today ; both Colonel Winington and Leslie like him." " Will he come ? " "He will if he does hot go north to-night. Why, you don't like him ; eh, Edith ? " ACCEPTED. 95 " I am not so foolish as to dislike him, though I am sorry he is not as wise as I thought he was," and she smiled. "That he certainly is not. He asked for you, but with a sort of mocking, pitying smile that vexed me. Are you sure, dear child, you never showed him any particular preference ] " " Not that I am aware of ; but you know how ignorant and untrained I am, dear Mrs. Winington. And when I am left to myself ayain I shall probably forget all you have taught me." ** You must not be left alone," said Mrs. Winington, thoughtfully. And Edith went away to read in her own room, as was her habit ; but it was some time before she could fix her mind on her book. The sense of unmerited humiliation of pain and anger against Maitland which she had successfully suppressed, was again aroused, and made her heart beat with indignation and regret. Mrs. Winington was not surprised to receive a line of apology from Maitland ; he found it necessary to leave for Edinburgh by the night train. *'I wonder what his business in London really was?" sha thought, as she threw his note into the waste-paper basket ; " at any rate he is safe out of the way. When he meets Edith again she shall be Mrs. Leslie Beaton." Another week had nearly passed by, and Edith had had no answer from Mrs. Miles. She saw less than ever of her brilliant hostess, who was much engaged in assisting Lady Mary to choose her trousseau. Beaton, however, was constantly with her, always quietly attentive, and interested in all that interested her. She was growing quite at ease with him, and sincerely grateful for his ready, friendly sympathy. , Mr. Tilly had paid her a visit, and stayed to luncheon, where he seemed anything but comfortable. He said that he and his excellent friend Dargan were going to arrange about her future residence, and introducing some little variety into her life, and was generally amiable and vague. One Saturday morning, however, brought poor Edith two terrible letters. One from Mr. Dargan, announcing that as both Mr. Tilly and himself were of opinion that their ward should no longer be buried alive in a country village, they had accepted a very good offer for the cottage, and let it on lease. His sister, Mrs. Miles, would, he said, speak for herself. He only deeply regretted the circumstances which obliged her to leave her dear charge. OG HKATONS HAR(JATN. The other was from poor Mrs. Miles, and wns Ji very incoherent pro- duction ; it was even illegible here and there from bii,' tears which had evidently fallen on the paper. She explained, in a confused fashion, that an aunt who had shi)wn her kindness in former days was dying of a lingering illness, and was quite alone ; that she felt it her duty to sro and nurse this relative to the last ; that it broke her heart to leave her dear Edith, but it could not be avt*ided ; that it would be almost the sorest day she ever had when she lefi the cottage, and that would be on Tuesday next. Finally, she prated to God to bless her dear child and restore them to each other. Besides the letter a scrap of paper had been thrust into the envelope, on which were scrawled in tremulous characters these words : "I can't help myself, dear, 1 can't indeed. I'll tell you all yet ; wait a bit, and hum ut she wanted to go away, to think, to relieve her heart by a good cry. i\ 100 IJKATON S IJAIKJAIN. '* M'lHt youloavo mo ? " svid Hjaton, a'i ahe inado a move aa if to go ; ilicii 111) cxchiiiiioil, " IJiit I must rumeiiil)ei' tlicro is aomo clillurouoo ill uur iueliiiL;s, 1 must not bo too uxictiuj^. I sliall soo you thia evuii- iii;^. Now I have your |it;rniihbion to '^'o and S[)oak to old Darg.iu ; ho is Huro to bo in hia don oarly and laty. You will toll Joan, if 1 do not moot hor ; alio will be doliijlitod, alio is really fond of you. Good-bye, my sweet." lit! o^joned the door for her, ho kissed her hand in grandiaonian stylo, and looked unutterable things after her as ahe ran awiftly up btairs — in case she turned back. Then he went into Mra. Winiiigton's aitting-room again, looked at himself in tlio i^dasa, nodded npprovingly at his own image, arranged hia " button-hole," and descended to the dining-room, where he told the footman to bring him a brandy-and- aodu. lief ore he had tinished thia refreshment Ida sister came in. " Well, Jean," he cried, triumphantly, "1 am all right this time ; ahe is fully and completely committed.'' " 1 (»//i glad," exclaimed Mra. Winington. "I did not think you would strike home so deciaively at the tirat blow. I am glad ! " " She is a nice little thing, 'pon my soul she is ! I wasi^uite pleased with her. But, mind, ahe is not one bit in love with me, not an atom, and it's really better. 1 hope she won't grow too desperately fond by- and-by." " Nonsense ! Now the sooner we make it universally known that you are engaged the better ; ' let us haste to the wedding.' We can manage tO have the knot tied within a month from thia. Ah Lealie, all's well that ends well. I must go to Edith now. Where ia she ? " '• Weeping over the tremendous destiny, i dare say, in her own room. She ouglit to have slayod and let mu kias away her tears." CHAPTER IX. AN INTKl'DEll. " Yuu will, 1 fear, think me heartless for not writing before. It is not that 1 feel less anxious about dear Mrs. Maitland, but 1 have been AN INTRUDER. 101 hrcatliloaaly busy, na both Ticslio and Kditli Vivian are anxious to hav<» tho wi!(Ulin<^ on tlio 28tli, if poHsihlc. For my own part I sliall not Ix- Horry to seo tho last of tho turtUi-dovos, who aro billini,' and C(»oinu' alntnt niG all day hnig. Voii know poor I'Mith'a outspoken siniplioity, and can iniaf,'ine}iow denionstrativo aho ia nntU^ i)rostMit circmnstanocH. Loslio is, I think, tjrowinu' (piito fond of her, and will, I am .snro, niaki* a vory tolorablo husband. H(> talks of askinij yon to 1k» his bivst man. I hope you will come, as you have been in tho busit'ess from the lirst. Tho worst of it all is, I can hardly t;ot away till tlio oOth, and town is Romethinj^ /(k» doleful. I Ion;; for a breath of CraiLjrothio air ! It is nearly fivo years since I saw the old place. It then tilled me with un- Rpoakablo melancholy. T could enjoy it now, because you are restored to your proper place. Pray write soon and tell me what Mrs. Mait- land's plans are for the winter. " Always yours, " Jane Wini\(;ton'." Jack Maitland read this epistle over a second time, as he walked through a bit of woodland to visit a farm, the tenant of which had Won clamoring for repairs. liocoi^nizing the handwriting when the con- tents of the post-bag were distributed at breakfast, he deferred read- ing it, feeling certain it would contain something to woinid and fret. The perusal justified his anticipations. The letter was cunningly con- trived to stab him, and accomplish its end ; but he did not dream it was designed. He never imagined that Mrs. Winington had any clew to his feelings. Her letter seemed to him the natural se(juence of her announcement that her brother and Miss Vivian were engaged. Vet the picture her words called up made him set his teeth as if in pain, and he wished she had been less suggestive. Not that he believed Edith was too demonstrative, her (piiet, somewhat sedate nature was far removed from the elFervescent condition irreverently called "gush." That she would be frankly, deliciously tender, he had no doubt. Well, he was infernally unlucky. He might have had as good a chance as Beaton, had he not been called away. Now, it wonld be long before he could banish the cruel heartache that blackened all he looked \ipon. As Beaton's wife he never wished to see Edith's face again ; he w^ould not make her happy, and to see her changed or sad would be more than ho could bear. As to Mrs. Winingtnn, she had been hia evil genius from first to last, and for the moment the thought 102 iikaton's bargain. of lusr waH hiilufiil to liini. Ho toro hur letter into tiny uioi'soIh, tlini!.' it into Ww hrawliii;^ hiini hy which tho pathway led, ami made a 8tn»n;^f oflon to turn hiw mind fully to tlm Inisiiieaa ho had in hand, with so much of succDHM that tho farmer, after a prolonged interview, told his wife that yoim.,' Mvitland " was aair dour tho day." Moaiiwhile Mrs. Wininj^ton contrived to keep Edith in a constant whirl. She wan p isitively alarmed at the amount of clothes and toilet accessories which her energetic friend declared to be ahsobitely neces- sary. Colonel Winington enforced his congratulations with tho gift of a han(is(tme bracelet, and made much of her in every way. Lady Mary, in the midst of her own preparations for her innnediate marriage, found time to indite a sugary epistle, expressing her hope that they would become fist friends when they were settled in town, etc., etc. Beaton was constantly with her, and for the first fortnight most judicious. He kept up the tone of friendly sympathy, occasionally dashed with touderness. He amused her by planning routes, describ- ing the b»>autios and wonders he was to show her, and he kept her mind full of himself and his projects. Maitland was never mentioned: indeed Edith thought she had forgotten him. The guardians were smiling and satisfied. Mrs. Miles wrote in unmistakable delight, and said she was sure to get a holiday in order to attend her dear child's wedding. All looked fair and promising. Edith herself felt convinced she had done well and wisely in accepting so kind, so considerate a suitor, and was thankful that the (juestion of her future destiny was at rest ; but she longed intensely for the moment of meeting with Mrs. Miles, her one real old friend. She was almost embarrassed by the number of rings and lockets and the little costly "charms" to hang to her watchchain with which Leslie loirded her. " 1 shall never be able to wear them all. Pray do not bring me presents every day," she begged. "Very well. To hear is to obey. Only, whenever T see anything extra pretty, I am seized with an irresistible desire to buy it for you," urged Beaton. It was finally decided that only such portions of Miss Vivian's trous- seau as were suited to travelling should be prepared, and the rest was to be in readiness for her on her return to London. AN INTIirnKU. 103 And now the last wrck of Kdith's girlish life had })o;4»jn ; on Tliurs- diiy hUo was to becoiuo Mi-.s. Lcslio hoatoii, .iinl at tlio tlion;,'ht of tliu near niotaiiiorpln'Ho sluj ftjlt a curioiiH, iineaHy crt'i'{)itK'sa, The truth wa8,^tliaL Hoatoii had hocoino a littU- tired of tlio jiart ho had hitliorto phvyed with Hueli Hi»irit and j.uh^mont. Ilo was not hms attentive or ready to hivish presents on his /imM'/t, bnt he nnoonsci- ously fell back into his old niockini^ tone, which was porliaps slii^htly harder, hecanso it was somewhat tryini; to his e([naniinity to kn<»w that " Lady Mary Stanley IJrown " had started : solicitndo what had disturbod or distressed her, as she looked pale and Had. flis (luestiou brought back her color, and with it a sense of guilt at havin'j; allowed herself to doubt the kindness and affection of the man who looked so lovingly into her eyes, and spoke in tones so anxi- ously inquiring. Of course she assured him she was well and happy, and they talked for a few minutes with renewed confidence on Edith's part. As Leslie was gentle, grave, all that he ought to bo, she felt once more at ease with him. " I have ventured to bring you yet another ring," he said at length., drawing a very small parcel ^ 3m his pocket ; and unfolding the silver paper in which it was wrapped, he produced a plain gold ring, "[t ia as well to ascertain if it is the right size," he added, with a smile, and was in the act of trying it on her finger, when a solemn footman entered, and addressing Edith, said : *' There's a gentleman, 'ro. assaj^s his name is Vivian, asking to see you." ** Vivian !" echoed Edith, amazed. But she had scarcely uttered the word when a tall, very t?.ll man, exceedingly brown and sun- burned, with dark hair and keen hazel eyes, appeared behind th(^ startled Thomas, and pushing him aside strode into the room, stop- ping short in the middle. He was clothed in a black velvet coat, dark trousers very loose about the ankles, and held a soft gray felt hat in one ungloved brown sinewy hand. A gaunt bony figure, and ex- tremely unlike those usually seen in " my lady's chamber." After one comprehensive glance around the room, he fixed his piercing eyes on Edith, and asked in a rough voice, *' Are you my cousin, Edith Vivian ?" *' I am Edith Vivian," she returned, rising in her extreme surprise. " but I do not think I have any cousins.'" "No, I dare say not," he returned, with a big laugh. •* Pray, who are you, sir?" asked Beaton, haughtily, advancing bo tween his fiancde and the intruder. *'I am David Vivian, her Uncle George's only surviving son," nod ding to Edith. "Our fathers parted years ago. And you "- sharply " I suppose you are her sweetheart ? I am gla4 to make your ac- quaintance, sir. Shake hands. Cousin Edith. I'll bo pleased to come to your wedding as your nearest of kin," and he sat down unasked in one of the brocaded velvet chairs that stood near him. Beaton looked at him, a slight smile stealing around his mouth. AN INTOUDER. 105 He was too snro of hiaown position, too much a man of the world, to be disturbed by the intrusion of any eccentric relative. He would neither be uncivil nor admit his claim. " Well, myfjood sir, you cannot expect Miss Vivian to accept yon as a relative without something in the way of credentials. Very pos- sibly what you say is corrrct, but " "Ah, I understand. Well, I have left all my papers, that is, the attested copies — catch me parting with the oric^inals — with that old fellow down in — what do yon call It, the lawyer's kraal — the Templ(\ You know him. Your guardian, I mean," to Edith. " He seems in a (,'reat taking. He told me you were to be married on Thursday, so T. made tracks as fast as 1 could to have a look at my little cousin, and let her know I've a sense of justice, and though I'll have my rii^lits, every inch of them, I'm not going to be hard on a young lady, and a pretty one into the bargain." An awful fear shot through Beaton's soul. Was this a claimant for Edith's inheritance ? " If you are a cousin," she exclaimed, " I shall be very glad, for I don't seem to have anyone belonging to me, and you are a little like a picture of my father's brother George that hangs in the parlor at home." " Good ! shake hands on it. You look like an honest, straightfor- ward girl. I suspect you're in luck, sir," turniuL' to Beaton, after shaking Edith's hand vigorously. " May I ask to what rights j^ou allude ? " asked the former, witli cold gravity. " The right to all my Uncle John's real estate," returned the stran- ger, promptly. "I intend, in justice to myself, to prove wljo I am, and to what I am entitled ; but I shan't bo greedy if you are friendly. Now, as I feel strange, not to say lost, in this monstrous big place, and you seem to have a roomy house, I suppose I may as well take up my quarters with you ? " Edith looked white and half frightened. Beaton was too confounded to reply, so his y onn^ fanccc explained : " This is not my house, nor Mr Beaton's. It belongs to his sister, Mrs. Winington, with whom I am staying. Mr. l^.eaton does n<>t live here." " Ha ! that alters the case. Well, a man on board the steamer with me told me to put up at the Tavistock Hotel. I only arrived late last 106 BEATON S BARGAIN. night, so I'll just stay on there. I have a lot of business to look after. You see, I have been away up at the diamond diggings, and further, with some fellows that were hunting for gold and feathers, so it was more than two years since I left Cape Town. When I came back, a couple of months ago, I met an old friend of my father's who had been home to England. He told me of the uncle's death, and the property he had left, and how it had all been seized by my cousin — naturally enough, naturally enough. I just took the next steamer home, and here I am. I don't think you are too glad to see me." " You must admit your appearance on the scene is a little startling," said Beaton, with praiseworthy self-possession. " Have you seen Mr. Dargan, the more active of the two guardians ? " ** Not yet. The other old boy talked of him, and seemed too fright- ened to say yea or nay without him." " Suppose we go and call on Dargan together," said Beaton, plea- santly. " I don't want to make myself ridiculous by over-suspicion, but I am sure you are too much a man of the world to expect that 1 should take you simply on your own word." '' Right you are, by George," cried the stranger, starting up. " Come along, then ; I'll see you again, my pale little cousin." An- other strong grasp of the hand, and he strode out of the room as abruptly as he had come in. Beaton paused a moment to say, " This threatens to be a serious affair, Edith. You had better keep out of that Hottentot's way. I'll tell Somers to send Jean to you as soon as she comes in ; let her know everything," and he went hurriedly out of the room. Edith stood quite atill where he left her, with a curious dazed feel- ing, as if she had been suddenly roused from a dream, and was not yet quite awake. She had a very vague idea of what it all meant. If this stranger was really a cousin she would be glad. His face was kindly in spite of his keen, almost fierce eyes, and he might be a friend. Her clearest impression was that Mr. Beaton — she had not yet arrived at calling him Leslie, even in her thoughts — was very gravely and ceitainly not pleaaurably affected by his sudden appear- ance. Why should he be ? What were the rights he talked about .' and what had she to do with them '? Mrs. Winington no doubt could answer, and until she came -n it was useless to conjecture. So Edith turned to leave the room and sequestrate herself in her own. As she did so her eyes fell on the wedding-ring which Beaton AN INTRUDER. 107 oil seen Mr. had been in the act of trying on when her self-called couain broke in upon them. It had been thrown aside, paper and all, on a avnall tea-table utterly forgotten by the donor. Edith took it up with a sort of prophetic doubt. *' How will the coming of this strange man affect our life I " She only thought that if this Vivian, as he called himself, proved really to be her relative, it might worry Beaton to associate with him. This, however, could not matter much ; still an uncomfortable presentiment that unpleasant changes were at hand oppressed Edith as she folded up the ring and placed it in a little silver coffer, one of the many orna- ments scattered about, for she neither liked to keep it herself, nor leave it to be swept away by the housemaid's duster. At last, reaching the shelter of her own room, she took refuge from her confused thoughts in a book Maitland had once recommended. Reading had become a great delight to her since Mrs. Winington left her so much to herself. Her mind, her character, were rapidly maturing, and no absorbing passion for the man she was about to marry interfered to check their growth. She was interrupted after more than an hour had elapsed by a tap at her door, immediately followed by the entrance of Mrs. Winington in her out-door dress. " They say you want to speak to me, Edith." " Yes ; I want to speak to you very much," and she drew forward an easy-chair. "I — we rather, Mr. Beaton and myself — had a visit from a wild-looking man who says he is my cousin," and she described the interview very accurately. As Mrs. Winington listened she grew graver and graver, her mouth closing tightly. When Edith ceased to speak, she said, almost in Ijoaton's words : " This is very serious. If this man turns out to be what he repre- sents himself, it will change your fortunes consiierably." " Why will it change my fortunes / " asked Eaith. "Tell me," said Mrs. Winington, not heeding her, "were your uncles older or younger than your father l ' *' I do not know." "You see, if this man is your cousin, and the son of your father's elder brother, he is entitled to inherit before you, and the bulk of the property will go to him. But it is most likely a bold attempt to extract money. He will probably offer to compromise matters, but 108 BEATON'S BARGAIN. I4ic j we will look narrowly into his pretensions ; so do not worry yourself. dear, until you know more. " " No, I shall not. I always had enough, you know ; and there in the cottage. I suppose he cannot take that — it was my father's ? " Mrs. Winington looked at her with an expression half-wonderiiii;, half-contemptuous. " You are right not to meet trouble half-way. I can only hope tliis man will prove an impostor ; if not " She stopped abruptly. " It won't do to think about. Leslie has gone down with him to Mr. Dargan, has he ; I shall not go out till he returns. Come with me, dear," she added, kindly. " I do not like to deny myself to somo people I rather expect will come in to tea. What shall you do ? " " I will come with you ; I have no objection to meet people," said Edith. " Why are you so frightened about me ? surely you disturb yourself too much." *' Perhaps so. Well, change your dress, and join me in the draw- ing-room." Mrs. Winington left her abruptly, thinking as she went, " Dresa indeed ! If this horrid man proves his story, who is to pay for the lovely trousseau I have chosen ? It will half ruin poor Edith. What a little idiot she is ! yet I rather like her when she does not interfere with me. How terribly awkward it will be for Leslie if he is oblii^'txl to break with her ! No doubt the nastiest part of the business will be given to me. Men always expect their dirty work to be taken off their shoulders by their sisters, their mothers, or their wives." Mrs. Winington was not less amiable and agreeable to her numer- ous visitors that afternoon for the unpleasant anticipations ■vveigliiuj: on her mind. But she took the precaution of appearing in an exceed- ingly becoming hat, as a hint that she was going out, and that her guests had better not stay too long. Edith, who since her engagement was announced had grown more assured and self-possessed, feeling she had a certain right to her posi- tion in Mrs. Winington's house, talked a little and listened a good deal to one or two he.avv dowagers, who pronounced her a nice, sensible, lady-like girl ; and it was just like the luck of those Beatons to fall in with an unobjecticmable heiress. Mrs. Winington observed her with surprise and some compassion. How little she realized the breakers ahead, breakers which might swamp her ! Her eyes often sought the clock. " When would these tiresome people go 1 when would Leslie return ? " AN INTIlUDKll. 100 orry yourself. That gentleman, meanwhile, lost no time in hailing a hansom, into which he motioned the strange claimant politely to untor lirst, ami aa they rolled away swiftly to Cnrsitor Street, Beaton could n«jt help smiling at the notion of his temporary companionship with the man who might rob him of the fortune he already counted his own. They scarcely spoke, though Vivian occasionally exclaimed at the crowd, the tine horses, the numbers of people waiting to cross here and there. Arrived at Dargan's office, they found him already closeted witli Mr. Tilly, and were obliged to wait a few minutes in the outer otlice, which was a shade or two dingier and grubbier than the other. When they were shown into Mr. Dargan's room, they found that j^eiitleman in an evident state of perturbation, his wig considerably awry, and a couple of pens stuck behind his ear ; he was examining some papers which lay on the table. Mr. Tilly stood behind him, looking very pale, his double glasses held to his eyes with trembling lingers. Dargan jumped up and seized Beaton's hand, exclaiming : "A most extraordinary event, a most unfortunate business! A — this — a — is th« gentleman in question, I presume ? " turning his eyes with an expression of dislike and dread at the tall audacious-looking stranger who towered above him. " Yes," said Beaton ; " I thought it as well to come on here at once, and get to the bottom of the aflair." "And I think it is as well to give you this address," said Vivian, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. "Mr. J. Wollf, Jackson tt Wolti', Colonial Brokers, Moorgate Street, E. C. There you are. Wolti" knows me from a boy, though I haven't seen him for several years. He knew my father too. I met him by chance after 1 Icfc you," nodding to Tilly, " this morning. You'll hnd you can't dispute my identity, so make haste and got through all the necessary formalities, and," turning to Beaton, '* if you show me a proper spirit, you and my cousin Edith will tind I am no niggard. There are my papers, you just look through them, and you'll see they are all in order." " I think," said Mr. Tilly, with some hesitation, and an attemi)t to bo imposing, " it would be a correct, more decent, sir, if you were — a —to — a — absent yourself duriiig our examination of these docu- nionts." " All right. You know where to tind me." 110 BEATON S BARGAIN. ** Stay," exclaimed Beaton. "Have you put your aflfairs into the hands of a solicitor ? " "No." "Take my advice ; ask your friend Mr. Wolf to recommend you one at once. In a matter of this kind the principals had better iint meet." " It's such plain sailing, 1 do not see the need," began Vivian, but he was borne down by a chorus of assurances that it was absolutely necessary ; and finally, with a careless nod to the rest, he started to iiud his friend, and a legal adviser. " Do you believe this fellow's story ? " asked Baaton, throwing him- self into a chair. '* I'm sure I don't know what to think," said Tilly, dejectedly. "And I'm sure I don't know what to do," cried Dargan, nibbling the top of his pen with a look of vicious irritation. " I knew William Vivian, Edith's father, had too brothers ; the elder, John, who left the property, and another, George, ne'er-do-weel, was always wandering about the world ; he was captain of a trading vessel, but drank hard, and went to the deuce. Why, you haven't heard of George Vivian, Mr Tilly, for— how long ? " " Over thirty years," returned Tilly ; " and as to his being married, I don't believe he ever was. The last I heard of him was when somo clergyman in Cape Town wrote to my poor friend that he was in sore distress, and not fib to do anything. William sent him ten pounds." "And what do these papers show? "asked Beaton, his pleasant, careless face clouded over with a look of angry impatience, steriier and more threatening than it seemed capable in its ordinary mode of ex- pression. " There are duly attested copies of his father's marriage certificate, the register of his own birth, and a letter purporting to be from a banker in Natal, stating that he always knew the bearer, David Viv- ian, to be the son of George Vivian and Margaretta Capini his wife, a distant relation of the writer's. The boy, it seems, was left an orphan when about sixteen, and owed his means of existence to this banker Dreyer. He seems to have been not too steady, by what he told Mr. Tilly," continued Dargan, handing each paper as he described it to Beaton. " Three years ago, before the death of John Vivian, he went off to the diamond fields, and then went wandering away ostrich-hunt- AN INTRUDER. Ill irs into the ing and the Lord knows what. On his return he heard by accident, from an old acqtiaintance of his father's, who had been over in Eng- land, that John Vivian had left a large estate, that a young girl had coiue in for it, and asked if he (this David) had any claim ; so here ho is-— an ugly customer, I can tell you, especially if the man he men- tioned, Wolff, knows him. Jackson & Wolff is a first-rate tirm." " We must look well to the authenticity of these certiticates. What do you intend to do ? " asked Beaton. '' Send out an agent to Cape Town," began Tilly. " Ah ! and who is to pay for it ? " interrupted Dargan, with a sneer. "If this man proves the heir, Edith Vivian will not get over a thou- sand pounds or so. One of John Vivian's last acts was to invest nearly iill his loose capital in the purchase of building land near Birmingham —a first-rate bargain, but with the other estates bought by him, it is of course real property, and so passes to the nephew.' " It looks bad for my poor little ward," said Mr. Tilly, with much feeling. ' ' I think you had better submit the case for counsel's opi- nion. " "There's nothing to give an opinion about," cried Dargan, with a vicious snap. " If this Vivian's assertions are true, why he takes nearly everything. It's too, too unlucky altogether. " " Well, as the young lady's nearest friend and guardian," said Tilly, "I shall write to this Mr. Wolff and ask for an interview. For the present I will bid you good-day. I am a good deal upset — a — I shall see you early to-morrow." Beaton stood up while he left the room, and then drawing his seat close to Dargan's table, looked full at the latter, saying in a low tone : " Our bargain is at an end, I suspect. I'm in a devil of a mess." **I dare say you are ; but what's your disappointment to mine I My hard earnings, the poor little profits I counted on, torn out of my grasp, and this — this unscrupulous digger (for I am afraid his claim is irresis- tible) routing out all the accounts I have kept so — so carefully, picking holes with what I did for the best and misinterpreting my honest in- tentions," and in the agony of his anticipations, Dargan seized a pen- knife and began venemently scratching out a blot on the letter he had been writing when Tilly had broken in with his evil tidings. '' Ay, I suspect he'll skin you," said Beaton, cruelly. " Look here, do you think we shall be obliged to admit his claim ? " Things look like it." (( 112 BKATON S DAIIUAIN. *' And my wedding is lixod fi>r the day uftor to-morrow, by Jovo ! I am Jit my wits' ond. If 1 break with Mias V'ivian, and this man tnius out an imi)i)8ter, 1 shall bo sold indeed. If 1 marry hor, and he suc- ceeds, 1 shall be ruined and undone. Come what nuiy, the weddiiiy must be put oil'. " "1 don't care a rap what you do," cried Dargan, with a ghastly grni. " Your elegant sister may help the lame dog over the stile. I have enough to do with my own atlairs. It was an evil hour for inu when 1 lirst saw you." "1 wish you , good-morning, Mr. Dargan," cried Beaton in a fury, and seizing his hat ho went rapidly down-stairs. CHAPTER X. BilOKEN BONDS. That night, after they were alone, Beaton and his sister held high counsel. She was as usual the more hopeful and energetic of the two. Beaton Vis convinced that the Hottentot (as he termed him) was the person he assumed to be. Mrs. Winington would not believe it till some further examination had corroborated his statement. "You must hold on, Leslie, for a few weeks. Suppose this Vivian, as he terms himself, turns out an imposter, how furious you would bo with your own poltroonery ! " "But what is to be done ? the wedfeiing is fixed for Thursday. 1 am on the brink of a precipice. " " What a stupid fellow you are, Leslie ! You don't suppose I want to connnit you irrevocably ? No, you must put off the marriage. " ' ' What possible excuse can 1 urge ? " "There is one before your eyes. The settlements just ready for signature are nullilied, or would be if this man's claims hold good. Of course, if we were certain her claim to the property could not be shaken, it would be a good opportunity of doing the passionate, and dis[)eusing with settlements altogether," she laughed. "As it is, you must allow yourself to be persuaded by me for Edith's sake to give up the ianac- diate ceremony ; she will never suspect anything. Then if hers is the BUOKKN V.oNDS. ]ir» uu would bo poae I want loainir aido you can back (Mit. T am «|Ui'fe sorry for \u>or Kditli -she will be adrift Uf^fiin." " She will nnt break Iier heart,, that y(»u may rely oii. Personally, I shall not be sorry to bo clear of the whole all'air. She is a nice little thing, and desperately sensible, but 1 am bored to death. I wish to heaven you or Winington wtnild <,'ive me a hundred pounds. 1 am certain if J went to Monte Carlo now 1 wouhi break the bank, if there's any truth in the French proverb, ' Lucky in love, unlucky at l)lay,' and rice versa. " "1 think I will broach the siibject to her to night," said Mrs. Win- ington, who had not listened to him. "1 have already stopped all pre- parations for the wedding. What do you say, Leslie shall 1 speak to Edith to-night I " " Yes ; do by all moans. Tn fact, T am dying of sleep and will go and forgot my troubles for a few hours. 1 leave myself entirely in your hands, Jean. Whatever conditions you make 1 shall fultil, except a hasty mc.r'riage ; and you will think of that hundred for M(»nte Carlo / Tliisg'Mati is played out. Bo sure you see Colonel Winiiiijton's solici- tors to-morrow — leave the whole thing in their hands." Beaton gone, his sister, after a moment or two of thought, deter- mined not to disturb Edith ; it was bite, and the girl looked pale and tired when they separated for the night. It was a deplorable business altogether. Colonel Winington had decided ofF-hand that this self-styled Vivian was a rascally impostor; !iud for his part he would see his little friend Edith through, even if it cost him some money. He never knew of a harder case. It was deucedly shabby on Beaton's part to back out, and yet how they were to manage without money he couldn't tell. Edith had only felt vaguely disturbed. She saw that Beaton was greatly preoccuj)ied. iler sympathy, the outcome of gratitude and a sense of dependence upon her fiaiicee had made her feel anxious to com- fort him in some way. Yet an instinctive feeling that any advance on her part would be unacceptable held her silent and still. It was a little remarkable that Beaton made no attempt to speak with her alone, no elfort to impart his uneasiness, or to ascertain if she too were de- pressed. It was rather a relief to Edith when Mrs, Winington sent for her next morning, and opened the subject of the wedding. " Poor Leslie is half crazy, dear," she said, as she drew Edith to sti H 114 BKATONS JIAROAIN. I- beaido hor on a sofa in her drossinj^ room. " [ bogged him to let nu5 tell you 1 have insiatud on your niarriaj^o being postponed for a week or two, aa much on your account aa anything else. You see, if this dreadful African turns oiit to be really your cousin, the deed of settle- ment which was prepared would be u.seloaa, and your interests must be cared for.'' ** Thank you," said Edith. ** liut I do not understand having any interest separate from — from Mr. Beaton's." •* Very nice and sweet of you to say so, but sentiment is quite out of place in matters of business. Another thing, dear ; if it turns out that this cousin can rob you of your fortune, poor Leslie must get sonic appointment before he can have a home to otfor you." Mrs. Winington watched her narrowly as she spoke. " Why not ? " asked Edith, quietly. ** I am very young and igno- rant ; I should, perhaps, make a better wife later on." " She is utterly indifferent to him," thought Mrs. Winington, *' and it will be harder to enlighten indifference than love. But," she said aloud, " it is a comfovt to speak to so sensible a girl. Now there is no use in being miserable ; put on your cream surah and lace dress and Colonel Winington shall drive you down to the Crystal Palace. You are quite a favorite with him, and ho hasn't a thing to do, while I have no end of bothers ; really, I don't know why I trouble so much about other people," concluded Mrs. Winington, with the air of a martyr, and a sigh of relief at the prospect of being free from Edith's presence for a whole day. A very impleasant interval succeeded this sudden reversal of all their plans. Beaton absented himself a good deal, and when he joined his sister and Edith, was so moody and preoccupied, that the latter was half frightened at the complete change in her hitherto observant and dcbonnaire lover. During this period Mr. Vivian called more than once, but was stoutly refused ; the bland butler reported to Mrs. Winington that " he used quite 'orrid language, and threatened to lift me out of the road the next time if I didn't let him in. It's very trying to have that kind of thing shouted out in the very ears of the policeman passing by." In the butler's opinion the gentleman was a dangerous lunatic. Finally, Messrs. Touchette & Prigg, the learned and respectable solicitors of Colonel Winington, advised their client and his brother-in- law that Mr. David Vivian's claim was not to be disputed, and that the BROKEN BONDS. ll.') fiooner matters were Rettlecl ia a friuiully spirit tlio hi'tt*'!- f».r Miss Vivian's interosts. u I miiat make an end of it,*' said Roaton, who was walkiiiL,' up and down his sister's luoruing-room, addressiiii,' that Ia«ly, who was writini,' letters. " I'll go to her directly slui comes in, and jiist tell lier our en- gagement must be at an end. It's all UK.ckery hanijin;^' on in this way. Where is Edith ^'one i " he conchKhul. *' To meet that very objeotioiiable cousin of hers at INfr. 'rility'.-^ chambers, and have everything explained to her, 1 wuudor how mucU she will understand of it / " " More than you think. 1 fancy she'll be as sharp as any of you ;il live-and-twenty— all she wants is cultivation ; she will always h ivo \[n> advantage of a slow circulation." *'Why, Leslie, you really seem to dislike that very inotl'tusive little girl." "No; but I resent the loss of time and the immense amninit of trouble she has cost me." ** I am sure yonr time is not of much value." "I had a few lines from Lady Mary this morning. She is pui^zleil at not seeing my marriage in the papers. I'hey are at Innspriick, and intend wintering in Florence. 1 wish I had a few pounds to risk ;it Monte Carlo," " Leslie, you are an idiot." Mrs. Winington went on with her wri ting, while her brother talked at intervals without receiving much attention. Seeing this, Beaton seized a book, and settled himself in an easy- chair. He had not read long when he was interrupted by the entrance of Edith, followed, to his surprise, by Vivian, who was got up rather picturesquely. His black velvet coat was open and showed no waist- coat, but a good deal of very white shirt, a broad leather belt and buckle, and a red silk handkerchief tied loosely around his throat, gave him the air of a bandit who had made his money and retired from business. Edith looked very grave, but in no way disturbed. " Well, dear, I hope you have got through this unpleasant business satisfactorily," said Mrs. Winington, rising with a smile, and deter- mined to make things as pleasant as she could. " Mr. Vivian, I pre- sume?" IIG BEATON S HAROAIN. *' YoR, I'm David Viviiin, ami, as I saiil hofore, m)w that I Imvc! as- Hcrtod my ri^^lifcH I'll Hh()W you J am no curmi.Jjjjooii ; I'll ho a vciii kinsman to my cousin, thoujjli 1 liavo robbt'(' her of the inlioritaiuc yon thouglit shu had." "Tht! rol)l)ing has been on my side, I am afraid," said Edith, taking,' the chair Beaton broiij^ht for her, while David Vivian leaned on tlui back of a large old-fashioned sofa opposite Mrs. Winington. "Mr. Dargan has been explaining to mo that the money 1 have been spend- ing so freely of late is roally my cousin's, and ought to bo refunded." " I don't want it," said Vivian, abruptly and rinuly ; '* if I did, that sniiil'y old liar ought to pay me out of the savings of your long min- ority. 1 haven't done with him yet. 1 have been down in Liverp(»ol to interview Mrs. Miles, and got at mure than her precious brother knows. You and she never spent more than a hundred and fifty a year : you couldti^H from what she tells me. Now, what has Dargan done with the ditference 1 He is a sort of chap that would pick a peiniy out of a blind man's hat." ** Your cousin is quite graphic," said Mrs. Winington to Edith, with a pleasant laugh. *' Dargan is an nnprincipled old scoundrel,'' cried Beaton, heartily. "Yes, my Cousin Edith has been plundered and bamboozled. 1 shsU be glad to see her safe under the protection of a good honest fel- low," and he nodded approvingly to Beaton. " Now, I tell you what it is ; you've all been bothered and put about by my turning up, and you haven't behaved bad. Come to my hotel to-morrow between nine and eleven, Mr. Beaton ; we'll talk over the new marriage settlements, and you'll see I am prepared to do the thing handsomely. Get mat- ters put square as fast as you can, and then you shan't be kept apart any longer ; it has been a rough time for both of you." He smiled a patronizing bnt good-natured smile. Then drawing himself to his full height, he added : " I've led a queer life, a life that would make you open your eyes," to Beaton, " much as you know, but it hasn't made a heartless blackguard of me. Now I'll go ; I don't want to trouble you with more of my company than is needful. I am not your sort," turning to Mrs. Winington, "nor you mine. Once my cousin is out of your house, I'll never enter it again. But I have a right to look after her, and Til do it ; so good-morning." He shook hands with Edith, then grasping Beaton's with startling energy, " To- morrow, then," he said, " before eleven, we^U soon put things straight," and stalked out of the room. imOKEN nONDS. 117 Mrs. Winington rang tho bell, oxclainiing, " (}nito an offuctivo exit, r doclaro ;" thou catching an oxpn^ssivo ^ilunco fn)tn her bmthor, she continuod, '*Now I shall loavo you ; I daro say you have plouty to talk about." " Plonty to talk about ! " ropoat«'d lioaton, as soon as tluxh.orclosod upon hor. " No, rather ouo i)ainful tojjic! that I dnnid and ovado." Me spoke very gravely, yot with a ccrtniu coldnosH in his tone, and l)ausod. " Do not fear to speak to uio on any topic," returuod fc^dith, looking kindly aud candidly at him. "Mine is an ungracious task," resumed l>oaton, bo;,'inning aLjain to pace the room, *' but 1 must not shrink from it. I feel it only just to- ward you to sot you free from any ongagemeut to myself. [ will not drag you down to poverty for my own sellish gratilioati(»n. No, Edith, I release you, and trust you will have a fairer lot than to .share tho baikishniont that must bo my destiny." Edith was greatly ama/cd, and even atFected. Sho was ao profoundly convinced of his deep and warm attachment to herself, so tittcrly un- suspecting of the heartless plot contrived to gain postossion of her for- tune, that she never hesitated to otter with simple kindness t(j share his destiny, however dark and repulsive. " I am not easily frightened," she said with a sweet smile and down- cast eyes that might well have charmed a triio lover. " I should not be worthy to be your wife if I shrank from sharing the rough as well as the smooth places in your road. I have not been accustomed to luxury or finery, and I may yet be as really necessary as you used to say I was." '* Good heavens ! " thought Beaton to himsolf, *' she is not going to let mo oil'. I was right ; she is sharper than .loan imagined. My dear girl," he said aloud, in a more natural manner, "you really don't know what you are talking about. Life is very costly, even to a miser- able bachelor ; but when it conuss to niarried life, it is a crime, it. is l)o3itively indecent, to marry with insutlicicut moans. So long jis there was enough, 1 was far too much in love to care on which side the money was. Now all is changed [ should cut my throat if I saw you as my wife badly dressed, worried about dinner, degraded by household cares ! Then existence would be insupportable to myself if 1 had not th'> decencies of civilized life about me, and mere decencies require a large income. No, dear Edith, marriage is out oi the ({ues- tion. Let ua conquer all selfish weakness, and part. " 118 BEATON S BARGAIN. His voice even more than his words enlightened Edith ; a sudden consciousness that he wanted to get rid of the engagement dawned upon her with vivid, mortifying clearness." "Very well," she said, in a low tone, raising her eyes steadily to his ; " if I am not necessary to your happiness, the engagement had much better come to an end. But why did you tell me what was not true ? Can a fortnight have destroyed what you told me was so deeply rooted in your heart I " " My dear Edith," cried Beaton, ulithely, beginning to see land at last, "you should make allowance for my feeling that I was by no means essential to you. Come now, be candid, and let us part friends. You are not a bit in love with me ? " " I do not know much about love, Mr. Beaton, but when you as- sured me that you loved me, and could not face your life without rae, though I was greatly surpsised, I believed you. 1 was very grateful ; 1 should have grown to love you well. Now it is very unpleasant, but we can part without much suffering, so good-bye. I will send you all your many presents through Mrs. Winington ; the ?as^," with slight emphasis, "is, I believe, in the little silver casket on the red velvet table in the drawing-room." Her simplicity and composure had a curious elfect on Beaton. He felt as he could fancy a man might do after a horse-whipping — cowed and degraded. ' ' Believe me, I shall ever retain the warmest regard, the highest esteem," began Beaton, holding out his hand. Edith looked at him with a smile, a grave quiet smile, gave him her hand for a moment, and left him. " That is well ended, ' he said to Inniself, with a quick shrug of his shoulders, as if throwing off a bur- den " but she knows how to strike home. I must i^et hold of Jean." Edith reached her room, took off her outdoor apparel, folded it up neatly, and put it away as she usually did, but her cheeks were Hushed and her hands trembled ; indeed her whole nervous system quivered as from the effect of a great blow. She had been deliberately rejected, she had been completely de- ceived. At last she understoood the object of Beaton's devotion, the desperate need which he expressed for her life-long companionship ; ho simply wantod her fortune to mend his own. What a weak, credu- lous creature she was to believe liim ! How he must despise her ! how she despised herself ! BROKEN BONDS. no It is true she was not in love with him, but fully believin*,' his re- presentation of his own feelini^s, she had thrown accustoined to and pleased with the idea of a future spent in his kindly and congenial companionship. The notion of a settled home soothed and satisfied her. Now everything was wrenched away, she was despised, rejected, friendless. Her quiet home in the hand^ of strangers, her good kind Mrs. Miles banished, where could she turn ? Though as yet she did not connect Mrs. Winington with Beaton'o falsehood, she longed to quit her house, to escape from the sights and sounds associated with her humiliation she remembered that in the innocence of her heart she seemed to hold him to the engagement he was trying to break, and she could not control the angry bitter sobs that shook her slight frame. Gradually, however, her quiet good sense came to h'er aid ; she had really done nothing to be ashamed of, she had only yielded to Beaton after an urgent suit ; she was more conscious of deserving Maitland's suspicion, though that also wronged her. Was she to blush because, being herself true, she believed Beaton to be the same ? No, she would not allow herself to be overwhelmed, there was plenty to do and to learn. Her first eflfort must be to escape from Mrs. W^inington's house. So having bathed her face and smoothed her hair, and made herself fit to be seen, if Mrs. Winington came or sent for her, she sat down and wrote shortly and clearly to her guardian, Mr. Tilly. "Mr. Beaton and I have agreed to break off our en;,'agement com- pletely, as I have no doubt you anticipated. I therefore wish to leave Mrs. Winington's house as soon as possible There is no one in the world with whom I can stay but Mrs. Miles. Do persuade Mr. Dar- gan to let her come to me, and we can stay for the present in the lodgings we had last spring. Do help me in this, dear Mr. Tilly. •' Always yours, "Edith Vivian." Then she felt calm and equal to meeting Mrs. Winington. These were dreadful days of trial to Mr. Tilly. Ho never knew when he was safe from the looursions of the reckless South African, No longer able to pass on all his responsibilities to the universal Dar- gan, nor to escape the searching queries of the new heir, who fulmin- ated the most tremendous accusations against the acting guardian, and almost called him rascal to his face. The day after Beaton had succeeded in shaking oil" the shackles of 120 BEATON S BARGAIN. his distasteful engagement, David Vivian descended on the victimized Mr. Tilly, before he had (juite swallowed his breakfast. " This is a pretty business,' he ejaculated, throwing a letter on the table, and drawing a chair violently opposite to Tilly. "That hound Beaton has broken with Miss Vivian. There, read that ! I appointed him to be with me this morning, to talk over a new settlement, and in- tended to make a handsome addition to my cousin's little fortune. 1 understood he agreed to come, and this morning by first delivery I got that precious epistle. " Tilly, with an air of resignation, took it up and read the contents. It stated in cold, clear terms that as Miss Vivian had never cordially re- sponded to the writer's feelings, they had, after a calm and friendly discussion of their relative positions at present, agreed to put an end to their brief engagement ; therefore, as there was no necessity for oc- cupying Mr. Vivian's valuable time, Beaton begged to bid him adieu with all good wishes for his and his charming cousin's future hap- piness. " Well, what do you think of that ? " "Ahem! I am not much surprised on the whole," said Tilly, slowly. " You see it was entirely a marriage of convenience on his part.' " Then why did you consent to it I " asked David, angrily. ' ' Well, you see it was hard to know what to do with the young lady, and Mr. Dargan thought — " " Never mind what he thought ! He'd sell her to the blackest imp in hell if he could make sixpence by the transaction ! I suspect, for all he is such a fine ^(entleman, Beaton and your right-hand man un- derstand each other." " Not that I know of, not that 1 know of, I assure you, Mr. Vivian! He " But Mr. Tilly was not destined to finish his sentence. An- other letter was laid before him, which in his turn he handed to David. It was Edith's expressive little note. " Ha ! it is a regular split, then," cried David. " I suppose nothing is to be done ? " " Well, no, a breach of promise of marriage case is not to bo thought of." " No, by (leorge ! I was hesitating whether I should lick the scoundrel or not.'' Ho stretched out his right arm, and a tierce light came into his restless hazel eyes ; then taking the letter from Tilly ho BROKEN BONDS. 121 le victimized le nothiim not to bo read it over again, pulling his long moustache as ho did so. " Yes, we must get her out of that house at once. I'll go over to Dargan and tell him I am going down to Liverpool this evening. I'll bring back Mrs. Miles with me to-morrow, and settle matters about lodgings and that. Shall I go and see Edith? No, I'd better not, I'd be kicking someone down stairs. Give us pen, ink, and paper ; 1 11 write a line and tell her to keep np her heart, and another, by Jove, to Benton, telling him he is a good riddance. Suppose that poor young thing has given him her heart? What e([uity can adjust that balance I 1 have been in love a good many times myself, and I can tell you it's no joke. Where is your blotter? " He made a hasty, vehement search among Mr. Tilly's belougin:?s, to that neat and orderly gentleman's distress, and set himself to write, assuming the attitude of a spread eagle while at his task ; but he co- vered the paper rapidly with large scrawling characters, occasionally pausing to look with an air of satisfastion at his work. *' There," he said, at length, when he had addressed the envelopes, and folding his notes, not too neatly, thrust them into the covors,- "that will settle Mr. Beaton, and I hope my nice little kinswoman will feel that she is not v/ithout a backer when she reads this. Mind you write, too, as kind as you can. Now I'm otF to Dargan ; if ho hasn't that statement of accounts ready it will be the worse for him. In whatever 1 may be obliged to imdertake against him, I can, of course, count en your help, Mr. Tilly, otherwise you are an accom- plice ; and I believe you are an honest, well-meaning man. Good- bye to you ! I don't think I can see you until the day after to-mor- row. " He clattered away noisily, leaving Tilly in a state of collapse. After a while he p\ilk'd himself together, and wont away in muoh auitation to see Dargan, whom he found in an indescribable condition of rage, despair, and terror— his wig awry, the tie of his high black neck-doth twisted around ui.der his left ear, his spectacles pushed up above his eye-br«jW8. " Oh, Mr. Tilly, it's you, is it ? I little thought you would bo talked over by that madman, to turn aganist your best friend, for tliat 1 have been to you, helping y(m every way I could, oven to my own l(jss (there's half a year's interest due on the little loan I got you last autumn). And what right has he got to come worrying over the savings of his cousin's mhiority ? He'll turn agahist you next, uiark iiiy words. His friend, Mr. Wolff, was here yesterday, and says his mother was BEATON S BARGAIN. as mad as a hatter. What will he be after next ! He can't e^en leave that stupid creature of a sister of mine alone. It's the devil's own bad luck that sent li; • here to upset everything, and give the lie to a better man than himself. Look here, now, I'll have nothing more to say to you and your ward ; and how will you get on by yourself, I'd like to know ? " " You have been of very great service to me, I acknowledge, Mr. Dargan, but the affairs of the minor are not so complicated as to be beyond my power to — to conduct. I must say I think you made a great mistake when you over-ruled me in the matter of that advertisement, and " " Lord, what a weather-cock you are ' " interrupted the other, with a contemptuous upward toss of his chin. " I was the cleverest chap in the three kingdoms when we planaed it. Was it my fault that this rampaging digger has turned up to set the Tharaea on fire?" etc., etc., etc. After much recrimination and squabbling, it was agreed on between the spider and the fly that everything must present a smooth surface to the new actor who had appeared so inopportunely to interfere with Dargan's little game, even if it cost money to repair a few of the well' meaning mistakes which unavoidably occurred from over-zeal in the minor's service. David Vivian's energy was of the feverish order. No sooner had he forced the tortured Dargan to write a few words to his sister, authoriz- ing her to return to Edith, than he rushed off to Euston S{iuare, and just caught a train reaching Liverpool early in the evening. His errand explained, Mrs. Miles's heart leaped for joy. The ast\ite reader need scarcely be informed that the suffering relative whose claims on her assistance drew her from Edith was an apochryphal per- sonage. She eagerly carried out his wishes for an early start, and by the afternoon of the next day they were again in town, seeking admis- sion to the lodtiings occupied at the commencement of this true tale by Mrs. Miles and her charge. To Edith the hours which intervened between her parting with Bea- ton and the moment of leaving Mrs. W'^inington were painful in an irri- tating sense. The consciousness of having been so completely deceived lowered her in her own estimation, and though far from perceiving' how completely Mrs. Winington had been her brother's accomplice, BROKEN BONDS. 123 ?an't even leave he devil's own i give the lie to e nothing more on by yourself, nowledge, Mr. 3ated as to bo u made a great advertisement, lie other, with cleverest chap 'ault that this n fire?" etc., id on between nooth surface nterfere with 7 of the well- 3r-zeal in the sooner had he ter, authoriz- Sijuare, and r . The astute iative whose liryphal per- art, and by king admis- true tale by g with Bea- ul in an irri- 3ly deceived perceiving accomplice, common sense suggested that she could not be completely innocont of his schemes. Indeed the interval was nearly as distressing and irritating to Mrs. Winington as to her guest. Even Mrs. Winington's world-liardenod self-possession was ruffled by the constant presence of the guileless young creature she had assisted to blind. Edith's composure and good temper commanded her reapect. The !j[irl seemed to have suddenly developed a quiet, unassuming womanly dignity, a degree of maturity > which impressed hei; hostess. The (^nly allusion she made to the sudden rupture of her engagement was when she gave Mrs. Winington the packet containing Beaton's gifts, sa^'ing : '"This is for your brother. You know what it is, I am sure. Do not let us say anything more about him. I have a note from Mr. Tilly, he promises to take me away to-morrow or next day at ftu'thest, so I need hamper your movements no longer. You have been very, very good to me, whether you really like me or not, and I am heartily grateful." " My dear," cried Mrs. Winington, with tears in her beautiful eyes, (they always came quite readily, unless she chose to keep them back), •'no words can express how grieved and ashamed 1 feel. It is all too painfully fresh to talk about now. Later I hope to explain away some of the blame which naturally seems attached to me." So saying ske kissed her brow, patted her shoulder, and hurried away to give orders respecting the packing up and preparing fo» an almost imme- diate journey to Scotland. When, the following day, toward evening, the automatic footman ushered " Mrs. Miles " and " Mr.Vivian " into the morning-room, where Edith was sitting with a book which she could not read, so highly strung were her nerves, it seemed as if the peace and hopeful- fulness of her old life were restored to her in the solid, not to say stumpy form of her good old friend. How she darted forward to throw her arms round her neck, to cover her honest homely face with kisses, to utter confused exclamations of pleasure ! David A^ivian stood look- ing on, both touched and surprised. Ho did not think his little cou- sin had so much warmth ^nd tenderness. The next moment she was shy and downcast again, as she turned to thank him softly, earnestly, for bringing her trusted friend back so soon. " All right ? I knew it was the best service 1 oovdd do yi)U. Now, are you ready to start ? Wo have a place to take you to. I suppose you can come at onco i " •! li| 124 BEATON S BARGAIN. " Yos, I can ; but I am ashamed to say 1 have too much luggago for a cab." " We'll call another, then. Now go, get on your bcmnet, and say good-bye if it is necessary. / don't want to see Madame Doublefacc again." " Mrs. Winingfon is out. I hardly like to leave without seeing her." " Nonsense," growled Vivian, |in his harshest tone. " Picking oakum is about what she and her brother deserve. I shall not leave you in this house, nor stay any longer in it myself. Hurry up, my littlo kinswoman." Edith was somewhat afraid of David ; his great height, his deep voice, his rugged manner made her shrink into herself. Moreover, sho knew that anyone looking at the bare facts of the case would not think her charming hostess deserving of much consideration, though she could not rid herself of a strong liking for her. She compromised matters, however, by writing a few lines of adieu which she left in the hands of her maid, and hastily donned her out-door attire. As soon as Edith had left the room Vivian applied himself vigorously ^o the bell, which immediately evoked the splendid apparition of Thomsis. " I say, get down Miss Vivian's boxes, and call another cab ; look alive, will you, and there's for your trouble," The tip was handsome enough to temper the supercilious expression of the functionary, who responded with a gracious " Thank'ee, sir," and retired to execute the " tipper's" commands. It was with a new sense of safety and exhilaration that Edith found herself sitting down to a late tea. To be sitting opposite Mrs. Miles in the old familiar fashion, as if the last few months had been an un- substantial dream, was something so amazing and delightful that she could hardly persuade herself that her ardent desire was really fulfilled. She was tempted, every now and then, to catch her arm, or seize her hand, to assure herself that it was really her good friend in the ilesli. By degrees she mastered her excitement, and they fell into their old confidential tone. Edith before sho slept had told the whole story of her engagement, and its mortifying conclusion. Over this recital she shed no tears, and the mental exercise seertied to clear her own im- pressions, and reveal to her the systematic deception practised on her in its fulness. The strongest feelings left in her mind was a conviction that there was something in herself not lovable, as the man she liked had avoided her because she showed her liking, and the man who JU, .i . - BROKEN BONDS. 125 8eemohl an- tiquarian offered to read her a few chapters of his unpublished work on monumental Brasses. He was very careful not to mention either Mrs, Winington'H or Beaton's names, and once, when Edith in the innocence of her heart, asked him how long he had known Mrs. VVinington, he answor«'d, testily : "Too long ; and 1 don't want to hear any more about her. She has wasted such a (quantity of your money on a lot of useless ch)thes ; she can have no principle." This conversation took place at tea one warm afternoon, and Edith was glad enough to let it drop. Soon after Mr. Tilly bid his ward good-bye, and departed. *' It is a lovely evening," said Vivian, who had walked to and fro once or twice in silence ; " one can hardly breathe in-doors. (Jet your hat, Edith, and your sketch-book ; we'll have a hansom and drive up to Hampstead. There will be some air to be had on the heath, I 'd like to see you draw a tree or a house on the spot. J t seems a won- derful thing to be able to do it." " Very well," said Edith, readily enough. She was always glad to shake off thought and memory by motion, and missed, more than she would have liked to say, her frequent drives with Mrs. Winingtou, They were soon en route. Vivian, who was usually either profoundly silent or extremely talkative, lit his pipe without asking leave, and smoked without speaking till they reached Jack Straw's Castle, where they alighted. He then knd -humor witli oach other, thoy roachod a spot whoro Kdith thon.i^ht alio nii!,dit attouipt a skotch. In a hollow, wiMi'iiiuij as it slopod downward, displayint^ a country nndulaHng far into tho blno distanco, stood a chnnp of booch troos, and a thatched hut, possibly a shelter for some j^oats at ni<;ht. " I think 1 might manage that," said Edith, and lo(>king round, found a suitable seat on the grassy edge of a small sandy hole. David relit his pipe, and hmnging by her side watched her pencil with la/y pleasure. Edith was not easily aatisliod with her work and rubbed out a good (leal ; at last she succeeded in making a very fair representation of tiic scene before her, which elicited strong expressions of approbation from her cousin. She began slowly to close and straj) her book and poncil-casi^. Vivian rose, stretched himself, and aat down again. " I say," hu exclaimed, as if making np his mind to some difhcult utterance, " wasn't it rather nasty of old Tilly mentioning those clothes, hey V *'He did not mean anything unpleasant," returned Edith, colorin;^' faintly. " Perhaps not ; but I say, Edith, if you'd rather not have thoni wasted, or you'd like just to stamp out all memory of that unlucky business, I am quite at your service. Suppose you marry me ? — then yon know you'd get the property back again." He looked at her earnestly as he spoke, but without the least of a lover-like expression. Edith almost dropped her book. * ' What can have put such an idea into your head ? " she exclaimed, in profound amazement. "Well, you see, it's the best sort of way to show Beaton you don't care a rap about him, and it might make matters more comfortable for you ; so " (( You are kindly disposed to sacrifice yourself for my comfort. Thank you, David." And she laughed merrily, but not unkindly. " Why, you don't care the least for me." " Yes, I do. I am very fond of you. I don't mean to say I am in love. 1 have been in love two or three times, and it was a desperate business each time. Now you see I'd like you to live with me always, but you are neither my sister, nor my niece, nor my daughter, so I must marry you, if you don't mind. You really might do worse ; I'm AN INTERREGNUM. 121) le least of a such an idea not BO very much older than you, nor a bad-lookinj,' chap either, they tell me. You might keep me in order ; we would have plenty of money, and grow fond of each other. Now just think it over." " You are very kind," said Edith, still laus^diing. " I never thouf,'ht anyone would be so accommodating. But 1 must beg you to give up the idea of turning our friendly relations into any thin.? closer. It will be a long time before I can bear the idea of marriage, after the narrow escape I have had. Seriously, lot us never talk of this project again. I am sure you will agree with me, when you reconsider your kind wish to prevent my trousseau being useless." She began to walk back to the road as she spoke. David kept si- lence for a few minutes, and then exclaimed abruptly, "All right. I suppose you know what you want, and I dare say you are a groat deal too good for me, so we will say no more about it. I will be your friend ; only, if you change your mind, let me know." '' Oh, yes," said Edith, smiling j " I will propose for you in duo form.' • David laughed. "I'm your man if you will," he said. " I've not been as steady as I ought, and I've a notion that a wife and a home would settle me." No more was said on the subject. Edith was a good deal startled and amazed, but her cousin seemed to forget the conversation so complete- ly, he was so cheerfully unembarrassed, that she was soon at ease with him again, and attributed his astounding proposition to his habit of gpeaking out every whim and fancy that presented itself to his mind, as he usually did when in a talkative mood. He was rather irregular in his ways sometimes. Ho would come every afternoon and accompany Edith or Mrs, Miles in their shopping a.id their walks, or watch his cousin drawing and working, and road his newspaper, and write his letters in the little sitting-room, as if he was thoroughly at home. Then a week would elapse, and they saw nothing of him. When he reappeared he generally looked ill and haggard, with sunken eyes, and weary, listless aspect. He made light of his apparent indisposition, however, when Edith enquired kindly if he had been ill. " I've always been bothered with bad headaches," he said carelessly. " Sometimes they let me alone for a bit, then they come back harder than ever. I have had one or two bad bouts lately, and as I am not fit to be spoken to, I keep out of the way when they come^on. 130 HEATONS BAHUArN. miin Timo had rolled on, and tho days wuro growing crisp and shdrt. Kdith, thoiij/h thankfid to bo at poaco, and safo witli hor good old friend, wa.s con.soious of u slight monotony. Sho wa.H asliauiod to ac- knowloilgo how much sho mitisod Mrs. Winington's bright, amusiiii,' com[)ani()nHhip, lier light, lively talk. Sho did not caro for oxcit<;- niont, but something of variety she did need. In spite of her regretfnl conviction that Maitland was a concoited coxcomb, she found herself often looking back to certain conversations, with him which had given her infinite pleasure. Ills strong dark face and grave Hwoot smile came before hor mental vi8if)n far more friMpiently than they need, though she always chased away the intrusivo image, and hoped she might not encounter either again. On the whole she was pleased and cheered when one evening, on returning from a drive with Mrs. Miles and Vivian, he suddenly ex. claimed, " It's dull and dreary here now ; why should you stay any "longer ? Edith looks like a ghost. She wants a see- breeze ; that's what would brace hor up. What do you say / Where will you go I — there are lots of places. .Fust give me your commands. I'll look out quarters for you." " It would be very, very delightful," said Edith, with a sort of soft enthusiasm that was very charming in her. " I never saw the sea. Shall wo go, Mdey dear / " "Oh, by all means. It's a good thougl \ Mr. Vivian; this dear child wants a change sorely." " Where shall it be ? I was down at Brighton the other day, and it's just a bit of London on the sea. Here's an old railway book ; let's look at the advertisements — Scarborough, Llandudno, Ilfraconibe. They are all too far ; I want to run up and down, for T have lots to do in London still, and I want to look after you at the same time. I think I am of some use." " T am sure I don't know what we should do without you," ejaculat- ed Mr. Miles, heartily ; then with some timidity she ventured to suggest, " What do you say to Southsea ? It's bright and lively with ships and soldiers, and the steamers to the Isle of Wight. I used to be there in my poor husband's time ; he was an engineer on board one of the troop-ships." " I think it might do very well; It is within two hours of town- I'll run down to-morrow and see what it's like," AN INTKRKEONITM. U\ \> and short. Iiur good «»l(l luinod tu ac< ,dit, ainusiii!,' u for oxcito- 8 a concoite(il lonversatioiis: hor niontal Iways chased )untor either ovoning, on suddenly ex. ^^ou stay any reeze ; that's ^il] you go / — I'll look out a sort of soft saw the sea. m ; this dear -her day, and y book ; let's Ilfraconibe. Etve lots to do ime time. I ou," ejaculat- ventured to i lively with t. I used to on board one urs of town- "A groat friend of mine," resumed Mrs. MiK'H, used to keep a very superior boarding rstiibliahment toward Ka-stticy way— a bi-autiful house with a conservatory, in its own grounds to(». I'oor thing, she had a great fi^^ht at first ; her husband was paralyzed. It's years sinco I heard of ht-r. I'll give you hor address, Mr. Vivian ; y(»u might in. ((uire about her ; if she is still alive she'll remember me. Hor terms are high, but there's every comfort." "Oh, wo needn't put on the screw," returned David, who, though ready to exact the last farthing from Dargan, was lavish in his own expenditure, and hi providing any hixury (»r amusement for the kins- woman ho had taken under his somewhat tyrannical protection.' "Will you give me a glass of milk and soda-water," ho continued, "and write the address for me. Put a line of introduction in an onvolope, that is your best plan. I shall start early to-morrow. Tell your land- lady here you will leave within the week ; I'll settle you 8om»;where." **Woll, you a> BEATON g BARGAIN. thing, or I should have done so. Well, here is the story," and she de- scribed the sudden appearance of David Vivian, the irresistible charac- ter of his claim, and the consequent breaking off of the engagement with Beaton. It was lightly and amusingly told, with a tinge of rose-color cast on Beaton's »hare in the business. Maitland listened in silence, and when Mrs. W.nington raised her eyes to gather from his what he thought of her story, he had turned back to whistle for his dog. , *' Really," he exclaimed, " this has been a trying affair. Beaton has really gone off to the continent you say ? What has become of his loving fiancee ! " " Oh, she went back to her friend Mrs. Miles, and that queer old guardian of hers, the antiquarian. But, do you know, I don't think she cared a straw for Leslie ; she was rather obtuse in tome direc- tions.'^ '* Then she must have imposed on you very successfully, for in the last letter you were so good as to send me, you spoke of the extremely demonstrative nature of her affection — in short, it bored you. " " Did I ? " said Mrs. Winington. " I suppose something suggested the idea to me at the time ; but demonstrativeness does not prove deep affection." " Certainly not," returned Maitland, carelessly. *' The most ardent Caresses are no guarantee for fidelity, they are, no doubt a matter of temperament." Mrs. Winington colored. " You are more philosophic than you were when we last walked here together." "I should think so," said Maitland, laughing. "And if your ideas are not greatly changed since those primitive days, I must have bored you infinitely. " '* Do you think you did ? " asked Mrs. Winington, looking down at the heather through which they were walking. " I dare not answer. Do you think you are equal to climb as far as the three pines ? You remember them ? '' " Remember them ? yes," she replied, in a tone that said much more than the words. Maitland struck into a shee^. track that led up the side of the hill, a* the foot of which brawled and chafed a river, which was I'ometimes little more than a burn, sometimes a wide -spreading torrent ; and oc- and she de- tible charac- engagement lolor cast on e, and when thought of Beaton has of his loving at queer old don't think tome direc- :, for in the le extremely ^ou." ng suggested )s not prove ) most ardent a matter of walked here if yoiir ideas t have bored ing down at mb as far n'i i much more )f the hill, a* 3 j:ometimeS int ; and oc- AN INTERREGNUM. 135 casionally assisting his companion, often walking beside her, he con- ducted her to their old try sting-place, where three pine-trees grew in a sheltered hollow r^^en to the south, but completely fenced round at the back and sides. A wide stretch of country and all the approaches to this coign of vantage were completely visible, while those who stood or sat in the shadow of the rocks could hardly be perceived. Maitland talked pleasantly and lightly of the past, of the character of the scenery, of many things, but Mrs. Wiuingtou was silent ; she had intended that Maitland should, during this visit of hers to the old scenes, avow the bitter agony of feeling that she was lost to him. Then what a delightful task it would be to soothe him, to reconcile him to his life, to satisfy hi^m with her tender friendship ! Now she felt in some indescribabla way that the mastery of the situation had passed out of her hands. At last they reached the well-known spot, Mrs. Winington seated herself on a mossy stone, and IVIaitland lean- ing against the stem of one of the trees, they both looked uut over the fair scene before them for a minute or two, and then their eyes met No need for words to tell either what the other was thinking of. A kindly playful smile slowly lit up Maitland's somewhat rugged face, and Mrs. Winington exclaimed impulsively, " Jack, here, where we last parted, I humbly ask your forgiveness for my heartl(;ss, cruel coiiduct. I was so young and thoughtless. 1 was scarce responsible. How often since have I longed for a nature stronger, truer than my own to lean or.^ to — to love as I knew not how to love tkea. 1 am more lonely than you think, dear Jack. Let me hear you say that you can forgive me, and restore me to something like the position 1 once held in your esteem." She held out her hand, which he took and hold for a moment, her beautiful lips quivering, her soft eyes all suttu?»od . "Ah, Jean," returned Maitland, touched for a moment, "a n.an might well forgive you much." TheJi, in his usual voice, " My dear Mrs. Winington, I by no means deserve so ample an amende. I was a headstrong, conceited young blockhead, and dared to look tot) far above me ; do not give a thought to the past if it brings you pain. J am glad to see you surrounded by everything that can make life bright and pleasant." "Everything!" echod Mrs. Winington, turning her eyes full on his. " Yes, heaps of baubles, but nothing that cai' really satisfy the heart. My husband cares more for his horse or his dug than for me 136 Beaton's bargain. I may do what I like, because he never needs my society. He " "Come, come!" interrupted Maitland, smiling. "No man ever adored a wife more than be does. I really must stand up for Colonel Winington ; he may not be a hero of romance, but he is a right good fellow, and quite justifies the opinion you must have formed of him at 07ie time. " ' I had no opinion at all," she murmured, " I married him because I was told to marry." " We none of us realize our early dreams," said Maitland, divided between Ids admiration for his fascinating companion and an earnest wish to show her his disapprobation of her conduct regarding Edith Vivian. " But your lot has fallen in pleasant places compared to the majority. Look at your quondam proUgee, Miss Vivian— a mere shut- tlecock between such battledores as her guardian and intended hus- band, whose bowels of compassion are mere catgut. She is bought and sold, petted, blinded, flattered till the supreme moment when she is found wanting in her chief title to regard and consideration, and then she is at once dropped, disavowed, sent back to obscurity from which she was dragged to suit the schemes of those who wished to appropriate her money. What would you think and feel had you been subjected to such treatment ? " " My dear Mr. Maitland, you are really quite excited. Of course it was all very bad, and I am ashamed of my part in the aflair ; but it was a great chance for Leslie. I did not like to lose it. I hoped all would turn out well. As it has, why, you could not expect Leslie to marry on nothing ? It was unpleasant for Edith. I cannot imagine being subject to such treatment myself, I confess," looking up with a smile intended to be candid and winning ; but Maitland'a gravity did not relax. " Yet Miss Vivian is a delicate, tender woman like yourself, with less strength, less experience, a simple, innocent child, the soul of truth and honor. Why " '' Why," interrupted Mrs. Winington, arprised at his tone — " why, Mr. Maitland, you seem to be absolutely in love with that very color- less, good little girl." " I am," he returned, meeting her eyes fully and calmly. " I was interested in her from the first, but could not interfere with Leslie, who trusted me all through. Now I reproach myself with acting a cowardly and unmanly part, which, if I can repair, I will." *= I BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 137 " Would you marry her'" with a gasp. ** Yes, if I am so fortunate as to win her, which is doubtful. I can fancy nothing sweeter, nothing to be more ardently desired, than to find her true eyes, her gentle, thoughtful face by the fireside to welcome one back after the troubles of the day. She is the very embodiment of home. " " It is a pretty picture," said Mrs. Winington, coldly, stooping to pick up a sprig of heather. " But I am feeling a slight chill. Shall we return ? I see you think I have deserted your enamorata. It would be awkward and senseless to keep up with her under the circumstances. Beside, if I am any judge of indications, I suspect she will find a potent protector in her South African cousin." Mrs. Winington rose decidedly, and though Maitland was most careful of her during their descent, the walk back seemed infinitely 'onger, infinitely more fatiguing, than when they were outward bound. The day but one after this episode a telegram from Colonel Wining- ton obliged his wife to curtail her visit very abruptly. So soon as the harvest was safe, Maitland escorted his mother south to the winter quarters he had selected, and on his way back called, as we have seen, fruitlessly at Miss Vivian's lodgings. "I'll not give up, though," he muttered, as he walked slowly down the street. '' If— if only the cousin is not a formidable rival !— I'd hke to see him." CHAPTER XII. BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. The first sight of the sea is an experience not to be forgotten by any- one, especially by one loving nature and accustomed to watch her varying moods. It was dark, and a misty rain had begun to fall when Edith and her companion reached Trafalgar House ; she was, therefore, obliged to wait till morning for her first sight of the restless waters. But the inde- scribable odor of the soft salt sea-breeze was very new and delicious 11*: i;i 1S8 BEATON S BARGAIN. to her. She felt her spirits rise as if a fresh stream of ideas had been set in motion, and the weary languor which had oppressed her had been swept away. The travellers were cordially received. Mrs. Parker, a stout matron with rosy cheeks, a widow's cap, and a solid figure, professed herself overjoyed to meet Mrs. Miles again, and declared Edith to be a sweet young lady, quite a credit to her house, etc. Then she ushered them into their apartments. " And Mr. Vivian was most particular, I assure you. Nothing but the best would do for him. This is a new wing, Mrs. Miles ; I built it myself over two years ago. You little thought, when poor Parker first fell into bad health and retired, and all my troubles began, that I would be adding a new wing to the house, eh 1 But though I have got on wonderful, I couldn't have done that, only a poor old gentleman who lived three or four years with us, and gave such a deal of trouble that no one had patience with him but myself, left me a good bit of money in his will. So, as I wanted more room, instead of shifting out of this house T added to it, for it's the finest situation in the place. So you shall have this suite — a sitting-room, there, you can see the sunset over the Solent out of that bay window at the end ; and this one opens into a conservatory, that fills up the corner between this and the Belvidere, where the front door is ; and here are your bed-rooms just behind, open into each other. I have put a bit of fire into missee's ; she might be a little chill after her journey, and the gentleman told me she wasn't too strong. And now you'll have time to dress for dinner at half-past six ; all my ladies and gentlemen dress for dinner. I have only a small j)arty now, but they are quite elegant people ." Having rattled oJS" this long 'address with immense volubility, she threw open the bed-room doors, saw to the placing and unstrapping of her guest's boxes, stirred up the fire into a blaze, and with a nod and a smile bustled away. " Well, I declare Mrs. Parker is just the same PS ever ! " cried Mrs. Miles, beginning to untie her bonnet strings ; " as busy and active, only a trifle stouter. " "It is quite a pretty room," said Edith, looking back into their nttle salon ; ' ' and how much better furnished than our London lodg- ings ! " Her residence with Mrs. Winington had developed a tasio for "eautiful surroundings, which had been rather a source of sufiering lately. BY THE RAD SEA WAVES. 139 been set had been it matron >d herself •e a sweet V'ivian uld do for two years ad health ig a new I couldn't or four I patience So, as added to have this Solent out lervatory, the front nto each ittle chill strong. ', all my rty now, lity, she pping of nod and ied Mrs. ve, only 10 their >n lodg- isitj for ufFering " What is that regular, soft, booming, rushing^ sound ?" she con- tinued. "Oh, that is the sea. The beach is right in front of the garden. I am sure you will be delighted when you are able to look round. Now, hadn't you better gut ready 1 " The party assembled at that intermedial:o season was but small. Two or three old gentlemen of the respectable vagrant order, accus- tomed to make a yeurly round of boarding-hDiiaes and hydropathic establishments, cheap sybarites, each with a mild hobby, a childless married couple, and a widow whose family were dispersed, or couldn't endure her interference ; a much travelled spinster, with strong social and political convictions ; and a sweet-looking old lady with silvery hair, soft dark eyes, and regular refined features. She was well dressed in black silk and black lace, and had an air of distinction. Yet there was something timid and dependent about her that touched Edith, who sat beside her at dinner, and showed her sundry little attentions whith come so naturally to the young of a higher order. Mrs. Miles sat opposite, next the hostess, who seemed to have much to say, for Mrs. Miles looked deeply interested in her conversation. Dinner was nearly over before Edith's neighbor addressed her, then she said : " You have only just arrived, 1 believe ? " *' Scarcely an hour ago." " I have been here nearly a week, and find the air very strengthen- ing and delightful. You will find the outlook from this house pretty, though somewhat tame. " " I long for daylight," returned Edith, " for 1 have never seen the sea. I feel quite excited at the thought of beholding it." This avowal seemed to interest the quiet old lady, and they con- tinued to talk at intervals, till Mrs. Parker gave the si'jnal, and the ladies left the room. Edith paused a moment, till Mrs. Miles joined her. On reaching the hall they found the white-haired lady standing at the foot of the stairs, iK^lding one corner of her fine Shetland wool shawl against her mouth. " I am afraid there is a draught hen ," said Edith, pausing. "There is a little. I am waiting for Mrs. Parker, who is so good as to help me up-stairs every day." • " She has been called away, I think," said Edith, and then added with shy, respectful politeness, "Our room is opposite ; will you sit down there until Mrs. Parker comes ? Pray do." 140 Beaton's bargain. " You are very good ; if I do not trouble you." *' There is a nice fire, pray come in," urged Mrs. Miles, and the in- vitation was accepted. A little conversation, not too fluent or ready, ensued, and thus a new acquaintance was formed in the outset of this fresh page of Edith's life. " Well, Mrs. Maitland, I could not tell what had become of you,'' exclaimed the mistress cf the house, coming in some ten minutes later. " It is very nice for you to be comfortable here. I was obliged to run away, for the man had couie to speak to me about that carpet they have overcharj^ed for, and I was anxious to settle the matter. I do hope you'll excuse me. Will you come into the drawing-room to- night, ladies ? I'm sure Mrs. Miles would enjoy a hand at whist ; there's always a couple of tables set." But Edith and Mrs. Miles preferred remaining in their own apart- ment, and spent a cheerful evening arrani^ing their belongings. The next morning was bright and beaming. Edith was up betimes, and soon called Mrs. Miles to share her delight at the view from the window of their sitting-room. A light breeze made the blue expanse of water dance and sparkle in the brilliant sunshine. Some dozen boats of various sizes, with white or brown sails, studded the channel between the beach and the island, which rose, softly rounded and richly wooded, opposite. The tide was high, and a fringe of tiny foaming wavelets played along the shore with a pleasant murmuring sound. "How lovely ! how delightful !" cried Edith. ** Oh, let us make haste and go out ; I long to be down by the sea ! You will come with me, will you not ? " " To be sure I will ; but I must eat my breakfast first." *'' Well, do not be long, dear Miley." The complete change— the newest of everything — was of infinite benefit to Edith. The supreme, healthy pleasure she derived from the sights and sounds about her gave her ctrength and renewed hope. Yet the lesson she had received had taught her the deepest self-distrust. She shrank from making any acquaintance, and was quite happy with her good friends Mrs. Miles and Mrs. Maitland, between whom and herself a degree of intimacy sprung up. Mrs. Maitland required much care — care beyond what her maid could give. She loved reading, but ■■ .-1 : r, BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 141 her eyes soon grew weary. Edith was heartily glad to read to the gentle, cultivated Troman by the hour, and enjoyed the discussions which naturally arose on the subjects of their lecture. On sunny days the invalid crept to and fro on the path between the garden paling and the beach, supported by Edith's arm, and thus soothed and cheered, grew wonderfully better. Meantime Edith was not without conjectures as to the possible re- lationship which might exist between her new friend and the otfending Maitland. These had been answered at an early stage of their acquain- tance by some reference on the part of Mrs. Maitland to her home at Craigrothie ; but even then Edith could not bring herself to mention that she had ever known her son ; she had no wish to renew her acquaintance with him or to speak of him. But now and then there were tones in his mother's voice, a peculiar, grave, almost sad smile, that brought Jack Maitland back to her memory with a strange pang almost amazing to herself. Of Vivian they saw and heard nothing for fully a week after they had settled at Trafalgar House. This was the more extraordinary, as he had engaged a bed-room to be kept ready for his occupation ; and Mrs. Parker as well as her guests were quite excited about his coming, as the former had proclaimed him a millionaire of unbounded genero- sity, and as handsome a fellow as ever you saw in your life. He came, however, one warm, thunderous Saturday, when, after growling in the distance most of the forenoon, the storm burst in full force just after he arrived. Edith had been struck by his gaunt and ghastly looks, the dull, sad, look of his heavy eyes. " Have you been ill, David ? " she asked with genuine anxiety. " Is that the reason we have not heard from you, or seen you ? " "Yes. I have had a bad turn this time ; an attack of my old fever and ague, but I am all right now. And you are sorry for your uncouth chap of a cousin ? I see you are, and that does me a heap of good. You now I have never had any one to care for me." ** Well, I do, David, and I ought ; no one has been so i^ood to me as you have." As she spoke a blinding flash of ligntning, accompanied by a splitting peal of thunder, made Mrs. Miles cover her face with her hands, ex- claiming, "God bless us ! " Edith unconsciously clung to Vivian. He, with a sudden gesture, threw one arm around her, and pressed her closely to him, almost 142 BEATON S BARGAIN. painf\illy close. The darkness slightly cleared, and Edith, startled, alannod, quickly disengatjed herself. "I beg your pardon," cried Vivian, confusedly. " I forgot ; I be- i eve I was nervous. I didn't know what I was doing. Did I hurt you, little cousin ? You ar^ such a delicate creature I ought never to touch you ! It's a bad storm for these latitudes, I fancy." He threw himself on the sofa. "When the row is over get me a cup of tea, like a good girl ; my head aches still." He pressed his liands to his brow. As bOon as she dared to go out into the passage, when the storm rolled away inland, Edith hastened to fetch the desired beverage her- self, placing it with kindliest care on a small table beside the sufferer, and then bathed his brow with eau-de-Cologne, all in so simple and fliaterly a fashion that the most conceited coxcomb that ever believed in his own irresistible attractions could not have misconstrued her. The storm passed, the clouds cleared away, a glorious evening and ^ magnificent sunset tempted the trio to sally forth Vivian, who was lavish of his money, without the faintest idea of style or fitness, went off in search of an open carriage, and soon returned. He seemed more like himself — quieter, more cheerful, for the rest of the day. He was kindly attentive to Mrs. Mills, and took no especial notice of Edith* She gradually recovered the uneasiness his unusual looks and man- ner had aroused, and by dinner-time all things seemed as usual. The company at Trafalgar House were much interested in the long- expected millionaire cousin, and were somewhat scandalized by his ap- pearing in his favorite costume of black velvet, to which, as the weather was now colder, he had deigned to add a black waistcoat, and, as usual, a tie of brilliant color. He was silent and preoccupied during the repast, and did little to gratify that appetite for the wonderful so common to the ordinary run of humanity. David Vivian's visit lasted three or four days. He seemed reluc- tant, yet obliged to go, and made many promises to return soon. Edith was ashamed of herself ; she felt such a relief at his depar- ture. The curious sort of dread he had at first inspired, and which his kind friendliness had almost banished, revived. His moods had been extremely variable ; often he seemed to struggle against some impulse, some unaccountable ill-temper, of which Edith could not help being conscious. Her attention to Mrs. Maitland roused his wrath. Why should she give so much of her time to a stranger ? BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 143 "Ono might think you were paid to fotch and carry for that old wo- mr^n," ho growled, just btjfore starting for Londi.n, as ho strolled al(»ng the beaoh with Edith. " I believe you would rather read a story-book to her than talk to me." " But, David, Mrs. Maitland is ill, and lonely ; I am really i>f some comfort to her. She wants mo a great deal more than yon do. " •' How do you know that ? I have more troubles than ijoi know of. Look hero, I have a great mind to toll yovi all about thorn when 1 come back ; would you care to hear i " " Yes ; 1 should care very much indeed, dear cousin," she said, earnestly. " \ should be so very glad to be of tlio least use to you." "Thank'ee," said David, hoarsely, and ho smoked with enorgy for some moments. " You've a kind heart, Edith, and if lonelitiobs is a claim on it I am lonely enough. Well, wlien I come back, you and I will cross over to the island and have a nice long day together, then I will tell you my troubles. Wo won't take Mrs. Miles ; she doesn't like the water, and we do not want her. Now, little cousin, good-bye. I mustn't lose my train, for I am due in London— worse luck !~at seven ; but I'll come back soon — soon." Ho pressed her hand pain- fully hard, and hurried away, leaving her by no means happy at the prospect of a long tete-d-tete with David. All things fell into the ordinary routine when his disturbing pre- sence was withdrawn, and Edith's readings and conversations with Mrs. Maitland grew more frecjuent and prolonged. She generally spent the evening in her friend's room, as Mrs. Miles deeply enjoyed the gossip and the games of whist in the drawing-room. Being a good- hearted, easy-tempered creature, she was moved by no mean jealousy toward Mrs. Maitland, -.vhose superiority she was shrewd enough to perceive and generous enough to acknowledge. Although the least inc^nisitive e mortals, Mrs. Maitland asked her young favorite a few questions respecting her relative, which, though very guarded, impressed Edith with the idea that she was srmiehow distrustful of him. " 1 imagine he has known neither mother nor sisters. Family life is of enormous importance to every one, but especially to men ; they need softening so much." Edith assented ; and as Mrs. Maitland did not seem disposed to talk any more, she took up the book they had been reading and began. It was one of Hawthorne's wonderful romances. Time went quickly j Edith was absorbed in the story. I'f 144 BEATON S BAKQAIN. i 1; Without it was a wild night ; within it looked homelike and cheer- ful. A briyht tire and gay chintz hangings, Mrs. M litland in her easy- chair, Edith in a pretty soft grey dress, with lace about the throat and arms, seated on a low seat, her book on her knees, the lamp on the table beside her, shining down on her graceful head, her earnest, thoughtful face — it was a sweet picture, at least it seemed so to some one who opened the door softly, so softly that for a moment they were not aware a third person was added to their number ; then the sudden sense of a disturbing presence made Edith look up — to meet Jack Maitland's eyes. With a bow and smile to her he went quickly across to meet Mrs. Maitland, and, exclaiming, '* Well, dear mother, how goes it I " kissed her tenderly. Edith put down her book gently, and had almost reached the door when Mrs. Maitland cried : " Do not run away, my dear. Let me at least introduce my son to you." She was obliged to return, and stood with downcast eyes and crim- son cheeks, unspeakably annoyed. "I have already the pleasure of knowing Miss Vivian," said Mait- land, with a joyous ring in his tone as he advanced to shake hands with her, and then stopped ; her attitude, her whole expression, showed she was not going to give him her hand, or to respond to his greeting beyond what civility required. " How ! — you know Miss Vivian? " asked his mother, greatly sur- prised. *' Why did you not tell me so before ? " " Because until your last letter you never mentioned the name of the young lady who has made your stay here so pleasant and profit- able. I have to thank you heartily. Miss Vivian ; but I fear you have forgotten me ? " "No," returned Edith, recovering herself, and remembering that it would not do to let her disappointment in him appear. " I was a ittle startled when you came in so unexpectedly." " Then you had no idea he was my son ? " said Mrs. Maitland. " 1 thought it probable when you spoke of Craigrothie, but—" she paused. ^ '• No doubt you had many more interesting topics to discuss," said Jack Maitland, laughing. He wished to change the subject. He thought that Edith's silence ce and cheer- i in her eaay- he chroat and lamp on the , her earnest, ed so to some 9nt they were m the sudden bo meet Jack to meet Mrs. )s it I " kissed ched the door ice my son to yes and crim- ;' said Malt- shake hands ssion, showed his greeting^ •, greatly sur- l the name of it and profit- fear you have beringthat it . " I was a aitland . e, but—" she discuss," said Sdith's silence BY THE SAD SKA WAVES, U5 respecting himself arose from roluctanco to rovort f<> the mo! tifying ciioumstauctvs connecLod with thoir ac4n;iiutance«hii». '*Good-evoning," returned K^lith, with a i)r.'tty, sli^'ht ro3i>nctfuI courtesy to Mrs. Maitland. " 1 have put a mark iu tlie book ; you can find the place easily. Uood-eveniny," and with a littlo hesitation she gave her hand to Maitland. " If you will go," he said, opening tlie door for her. " 1 can tiee my mother i:j a different creature, and I am sure much of the iuiprovement is due to you." Edith smiled, shook her head, and escaped down stairs ; but not to the drawing-room. She waiited to be alone. In her own apartment the fire burned clear and bright, and li.,'lited the room HulHcienily. Edith sat down on the hearth-rug and thought, in a hurried, confused way. " He has come — he is here," was the phrase that rcpeattd itself over and over again in her ears ; the man who had tl ought so lightly of her as to say ho had b .ter avoid her evident liking for him- Mrs. Winington was not honest — -not altos^tther honest in her conduct, but she could not invent such a story. Was it possi'do that unaU'eoted, grave, composed man could be guilty of such a piece of l)oyish cox- combery ? Guilty or not, she was almost dismayed to feel so very, very glad to see him. She was angry with herself ; it was want of propoi* pride. Then the past came back to her, oh, how vividly / All those months since their memorable meeting in the picture-gallery. At her first plunge in the brilliant life to which Mrs. Winington liad introduced her, the only one whose presence gave her a sjiiso of s:ifety, of solid ground, was Maitland. She had unconsciously given him her full con- fidence ; and with innocent trust had generally soui^dit iov his opinion on all that was said or done, consulting his thoughtful but oxjjres.uve eyes with the candor of a child. She could never do this again ; Mrs. Winington had extinguished all chance u( (juiet, unen)barrassed inter- course. But since they last met Edith had learned much ; she had eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge and piotited l>y the repast. She must not allow this consciousness of Miiiland's puerile vanity to disturb either her mind or her manners ; she must be strong to live her own life, to mark out her own road. Mr. Maitland could h'i noth- ing to her ; she had much to see and do apart from him. Inde«.d, she would resist these unprofitable musings now. ■r 146 BEATON S BARGAIN. She rose as she came to this conclusion, and looked round for her work-basket. She would take it to the drawing-room, and if Miss Spicer, the locomotive elderly young lady, was not playing whist, she would ask her advice about planning a tour on the continent. Miss Spicer was a past mistress of the art of doing things in the best way at the cheapest rate. It was contemptible to sit and dream about follies ! The succeeding days, however, showed Edith that in the matter of avoiding Maitland hers was not the only will at work. He had evi- dently made up his mind to see as much as possible of her, and his mother seconded him in her gentle, 1 indly way. Mrs. Miles was soon won over completely. She quite well remembered M^^itland once she saw him again, though when out of sight he slipped her memory. To Edith, in spite of her resolution to be coldly prudent and steadily distrustful, thetie days were unaccoantably delightful. The hearty graiitude of Maitland for her kind attention to his mother touched her heart. His sincerity could not be doubted ; a great longing to give him her whole confidence struggled within her against a stern determi- nation to show no preference in her manner^ The weather was tolerably fine, and Maitland often took his mother out drivirg. Edith was always asked to accompany them, and some- times aocv^pted ; but Jack Maitland could not resist the impression that she quietly avoided him. Was it that the associations connected with him were painful ? Could she class him with Beaton ? Did she think him a poltroon like his friend ? or — had Mrs. Winington made mischief ? This was possible. As Jack Maitland pondered these things on his way back from a ramble beyond the Eistney Barracks, he caught sight of a certain brown hat and pheasant's breast, which he knew well and soon overtook. "Has Mrs. Miles a lazy fit that you are walking alone, Miss Vivian ? " he asked. She looked up quickly, the color rising in her cheek for a moment. How well those delicate, flitting blushes became her ! "She is busy writing to her son," replied Edith. *' My cousin, Mr. Vivian, has got him a good situation at the Cape, and dear Mrs. Miles is so glad." '* I suppose so," throwing away his cigar. " I did not know she had a son. You expect your cousin down here, do you not ? " " We always expect him ; he is a little uncertain." A pause. Maitland was puzzled how to bring the conversation round ^ o herself and the change he perceived in her manner. nd for her nd if Miss whist, she ent. Miss 3Gst way at 3ut follies ! matter of e had evi- er, and his BS was soon d once she Bmory. nd steadily The hearty ouched her ■ng to give n determi- his mother and some- impression I connected I ? Did she gton made hese things rracks, he which he i Vivian ? " a moment • Dusin, Mr. Mrs. Miles 5W she had ion round BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 147 "My mother is not quite so well to-day, I persuaded her to sUy in-doors. Will you look in on her when y(»u <(<) in 1 You have done her so much good ; you suit her exactly. In short, if you do not tliink it audacious of me to mention such a possibility of your growin<' old I should say you will, in the course of inexorable time, be just such an ol i lady as my mother now is " " That is a high compliment," said Edith, with a pleased smile. " Yet it is difficult to fancy you anything but young ethereally young. Now do not turn toward the house. It is so fresh and in- vigorating, though a little wild : the air will do you good, and I want you to explain someihing that puzzles me." " What can it be ? " asked Edith. " 1 em not likely to know more than you." Not wishing to appear ungracious, she acceded to his request, and continued to follow the raised path that separated the road from the beach. " You must ndt think me presumptuous ; in short, will you grant me plenary absolution from anything I am going to aay ] " " Do not say anything disagreeable ! " said Edith, looking up en- treatingly, " Do you think I would pain you in any way ?'' asked Maitland meeting her eyes, the expression in his own thrilling her with a strange wild delight, that had in it something of pain. "Well, I will trust to your understanding me," he resumed, finding she did not look up again, or answer. " When I first met you, Miss Vivian, we soon be- came friends. I could say axiythlng to you, and feel sure of being understood ; and I was under the impression that you felt how thoroughly I appreciated the frankness, the delightful sincerity of your nature, in short, thai you were inclined to trust me ; that you might, perhaps, if you needed it, have asked me to do you a service as natu- rally as you would an elder brother. Now this is all changed. 1 can- not say where the change is, but you have closed your petals and hid- den your heart. Do not tell me that 1 have no business to question you» that our acquaintance is too slight to permit such a demand. 1 know you would be right, but I feel too much to submit without an effort. Tell me has anyone spoken against me to you ? Why do you treat me as if I were more a stranger than the first Jay I met you i " Edith was greatly puzzled how to answer. She could not repea* t"' ; 148 BEATON S BAKGAIN. ' » Mrs. Winington's speech respecting him ; she could not otherwise ac- count for the chai' i in herself. ' " No one lias spoken against you, Mr. Maitland," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, " I did not think I was so changed." *' Then you are. changed % " " I am very much changed — in every way. I feel so much older, so different. It seems years and years since I first met you. I do not intend to be — to be uncivil " " I want a great deal more than civility," said Maitland, trying to steal a look into her eyes ; " T want as much as 1 givo, as I have given. " *' It is growing very stormy," exclaimed Edith, abruptly, and turn- ing, she began to walk fast. Maitland felt checked, but was not a man to be easily daunted. " When I rushed off to see my mother," he resumed, "full of the warmest gratitude to you for all your tender care of her, and looking forward to the pleasure of renewing our former friendship just at the arae stage at which we had been separated by no fault of mine, I did not expect such a disappointment. " • " I have read somewhere," aaid Edith, with a transparent attempt at evasion, " that nothing once broken off can ever be renewed again exactly as it was." *'I am sorry to hear you say so," said Maitland gravely, under- standing that she declined any explanation and intended to keep up the same indefinable distance between them. *' I hoped earnestly that you would not think me less worthy your frank friendliness now than you did three or four months ago. I can only accept your de- cision." " You are very good. I do not wish to be rude or unkind," falterep Edith, summoning her wounded self-love to sustain her under the load of despair which seemed settling down on her heart as she noticed the effect of her words. Oh ! ought she to have believed Mrs. Winington ? Was it possible that he loved her — her insignificant little self, and she was repulsing him. ? Yet how could she explain ? *' Rude or unkind," repeated Maitland ; " that you could never be. But I need not pain you by compelling you to speak more plainly. So good-bye for the present. You will see my mother this evening, if you can \ " They had reached the gate. He opened it^ and raised his hat BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 149 erwise ac- as she passed through. Then settling it hard down, he turned «nd walked rapidly away in the teeth of the rising wind. " .Mr. Vivian arrived about half an hour ago, miss," said a servant whom she met in the hall. Thankful for the timely notice, Edith slipped away to her own room to take off her hat, to think over the hopeless tangle in which she seemed involved. How could she explain things?— and how could she completely dis- believe Mrs. Winington or believe Maitland 1 Did not the very spirit of truth seem to speak through the lips of Leslie Beaton ] yet at the first touch of disaster how quickly he deserted her. " Still Maitland is faithful and true," said her heart, and she could not turn a deaf ear to the assertion. As soon as she recovered herself she went into the little drawing- room to greet Vivian. He had quite slipped from her thoughts since Maitland's arrival, and now she felt he was an additional mesh in the net that was closing round her. Mrs. Miles was sitting by the fire, knitting in hand, and a somewhat troubled expression on her countenance. David Vivian was striding to and fro, his brow knit, his hands plunged in the side pockets of his coat. " How do you do, David?" said Edith, cheerfully. "I hope you are better ? " " No, I am not," roughly, stopping short in front of her ; "and you are not well either. You have been crying your eyes out — don't deny it! I seH you have. What's the matter, little cousin?— can I not help you?" These last words in a wonderfully softened tone that touched Edith. " There is nothing the matter; David," she returned, stretching out both her hands. " I have been walking against the wind, and it has made my eyes red pud sore." " Lies ! lies ! " muttered Vivian to himself, yet taking her hands in his own and letting her lead him to a seat. " Where does this fellow Maitland con -e from? How do you know him ? I saw you walk past with him, and I watched, and watched, and thought you'd never come back ; but you did, still with him. How did you come to know him ? " " He is a friend of Mrs. Winington and Mr. Beaton," said Edith, dreadfully alarmed and much surprised. 150 BEATON S BARGAIN. I ** Ha ! traitors every one. He is a traitor, too. You must speak no more to him, Edith ; I forbid you !" "Cousin David, I cannot be rude to an unoffending acquaintance oecause you bid me," returned Edith, firmly. " I do not particularly \/ish to walk or talk with Mr. Maitland, but I will not be forbidden by yuu to speak to anyone ! " ' I suppose not ! I am of no account in your eyes. I had better go ; I i ni not wanted here. " u Oh, my gracious, Mr. Vivian ! " cried Mrs. Miles. 'i '' Really, David, you are too silly," said Edith, with a pleasant laugh. ' ' You must be hungry and out of temper to make a quarrel out of nothing. Don t you see how foolish it all is 1 Suppose I were to be angry with you if you walked out with — say Mrs. Parker, or even her daughter " Vivian interrupted her with a boisterous laugh. '* Just so, that would be a queer turn. Never mind, Edith ; I wouldn't walk with a living soul if it would vex you." " Well, do not vex me by being cross," she returned. " All right, all right. I suppose I have been making rather an ass of myself. I am a little out of sorts. Don't let us say anything more about it," as if he were forgiving some injury. "Come, sit down, and tell me what you have been about since I was here," and they began to talk in their usual strain. It had been a most trying day to Edith. She looked forward with infinite dread to dinner ; she feared that Viv 'an might break out with some in^iulting speech to Maitland. Her cousin's eccentricities seemed increasing ; she could not anticipate what he would do next. To her infinite relief, however. Jack Maitland was not at table. He had gone to dine with a former acquaintance at the artillery barracks, and the evening went over quietly. " You are home early," said Mrs. Maitland, when her son came to say good-night, about half -past ten. *' And you are late ; I hardly expected you to be still up." "I have been spending the evenmg with Mrs. Miles and Miss Vivian. She could not come to me because her cousin arrived to- day." " All ! what is he like ? What do you think of him ? " asked Mait- land, eagerly. LAND AT LAST. 151 n came to " I cannot quite understand him ; and I do not exactly like him. He was very silent at first this evening ; then he burst into talk, and talked well enough." "Do you think he is more than a cousin to Miss Vivian ? Do you think she will marry him? " asked Maitland, slowly. " It is impossible to say. I think not ; 1 hope not. I fancy she is a little afraid of him. Why, what has put that idea into your head ? '' "Because — because I should like to marry her myself." " Yes," returned his mother, softly; "I have seen that you love her ; I wish she may return your affection. She has exactly the nature that wouM suit you. She would be a sweet daughter to me. Do you think she likes you, Jack ? " " I cannot tell. I thought last spring that if I had a fair field T might hove won her, but there was such a rascally plot weaving around us at the time that I was bound hand and foot. I will tell 3'ou all some day. Now I feel convinced someone has put her against me. She has changed ; she distrusts me. I tried to draw her into an explanation to-day, but she showed a decided objection to enter on the subject. Yet I have a sort of instinctive feeling that she might have loved me at one time." Jack passed his hand over his brow, but the mother's loving eyes caught an expression of pain. " You love her very much, dear ? " she asked, tenderly. " With all my soul !" said Jack, emphatically. " But I have lost heart since she rebuffed me this morning. Still, I will hold on a while longer. I will see her and this cousin together, and judge for myself. If there is no hope I will be off home." '* I do not for a moment believe that you will find a rival in Mr. Vivian. I do not think Edith is even j^lad when he comes. She gives me the impression of being afraid of him." "Afraid 1 oh, that can hardly be. Well, good-night. I fear I am not a lucky fellow, except in having such a dear old mother." He stooped, kissed her affectionately, and went away to his room. 152 BEATON S BARGAIN. ii CHAPTER XIII. LAND AT LAST. The day following was comparatively calm. Vivian was peaceable, and listened with some interest to Edith's projects of travelling, and perhaps residing abroad, but evidently considered that he himself was to be of the party. At dinner he encountered Maitland, who happened to sit next to Edith, and did his best to amuse and occupy her, not unsuccessfully, for an inclination to doubt the accuracy of Mrs. Winington's report of his speech respecting herself was forming in her mind — condition very favorable to her sense of enjoyment, for she was strongly drawn to him. • On Vivian he produduced a very different effect. That eccentric personage watched Maitland all through dinner with a scowl of dislike, and when by chance they spoke together Vivian made a point of con- tradicting him on every point in the roughes and most abrupt manner. Maitland bore all this with unshaken good- temper, occasionally send- ing a keen, inquiring, anxious glance across the table at his moody vis-d'iis. Dinner over, Mrs. Maitland asked Miss Vivian and her friends to tea in her room, and though Vivian accepted he did not stay long. With a confused apology about having promised some " fellows " to play a game of billiards at the hotel, he said good-night. His parting glance made Edith uneasy. It rested on Maitland with so murderous an expression of hate and fury that she could not collect her thoughts for a few moments. What danger did it threaten? or was her fancy grown morbid ? She felt altogether unnerved, and glad to retire, though there had been pleasant moments during the even- ing. When David Vivian next presented himself to his cousin, he was in a very quiet, melancholy mood. It was after luncheon, and he asked her to come out for a walk. The afternoon was soft, gray, autumnal, and Edith, glad to be to grant a request of his, at once acceded. '' We will go toward Eastney," said Vivian, as they passed through the porch. " there are not so many people that way." " Very well," returned Edith, meekly. LAND AT LAST. 153 (( Lends to tea " So that fellow Maitland lives in the house," resumed Vivian, see him writing in his room." " Edith's eyes followed the direction in which he nodded, and she saw Maitland writing in the window of his bed-room, which opened on the verandah that ran along the front of the house at either side of the hall- door, joining the cunservrtory at one side and ending in a screen of glass at the other, which sheltered the windows on this aide from the south-east. ** It i« nice for him to be with his mother," said Edith, turning her eyes away. "Very likely," grimly. " Well, I'm not going to stay in the same house. I moved off to the hotel last night; didn't they tell you? — no?" " You would have been more comfortable here, would you not ? " To this David made no reply, and they walked on almost in silence till they reached a bend in the sea-wall which commanded the view westward, with the Martello Towers in the middle of the channel, and a glimpse of the masts in the harbor beyond. "Let us sit down," said Vivian, abruptly. " It is not too cold for you, eh?" "Oh, not all," returned Edith, who was feeling uncomfortable at this long silence. " I said I would toll you my troubles when I came next, if you cared to listen," he began. "Yea, I remember ; and I shall be glad to hoar them." " It isn't a story to be glad about," said Vivian. " Well, here goes. I suppose now, Edith, you think I am a ({uiet, steady, stay-at-home chap ? " ' ' You always seem happy enough with us, and we are quiet I am sure." *' Happy ! — ay, that I am, if I could always be with you ! Now I shall tell you what 1 really am— a desperate drunkard, nearly a hope- less one ! " "That is impossible, David !" cried Edith, amazed. " Why, you rarely touch a glass of wine ; you take only tea or milk, or " " Ah, when I am with you. Don't you see, I dare not taste any- thing .strong, or 1 could't stop. Sometimes I keep clear of it for a fort- night or ten days, and begin to think I am cured ; then the dreadful, desperate longing for spirits, wine, anything, comc-s over me, and I 154 BEATON S BARGAIN. must have it, if I tore down walls and murdered men to get at it ! " He stopped, and wiped his brow in great agitation. '* When I first came over there was a good deal of excitement about your affairs. I got better, calmer, stronger ; but after a bit the old craving came back. I have something more to say. Do you remember I once offered to marry you ? I didn't care much about it, but I thought it might suit you at the time. Now I want you to marry me for my sake. Don't shrink away as if you feared me, Edilh. You must marry me. I cannot live without you. You can 8av'> me if you are with me always I shall be able to lesist ; and I love you, little cousin ! -the sight of you is life to me ! 1 have bean awfully bad since you came away down here. I had bonie hard bouts before you left London, but last week I was mad drunk for three days and nights. I ga'.-bled, lost a heap of money, went down into hell ! " He stopped with a shudder. Edith was speech- less. "Of course," he resumed, " I never came near you until I had got pretty right, bat I would not deceive you. It is the one vice of my nature, and it leads to every other. Now you know the v/orst. Will you be my wife and sav3 me from myself ? You don't know what 7 auffer ; the awful, horrible thor.ghts and temptations that keep whis- pering to me and haunting me ; they never come near me when you are by. And I love you — you don't know how I love you ! It drives me mad to see other people come near you, even women. I want you all to myself — away from every creature. That Maitland dares to look at you and love you ! I'd like to cut his throat ! Answer mo Edith. W^ill you save me, and marry me ? " She was deadly wiiite. She had scarce command of her voice from terror,, but she forced herself to reply : "I never dreamed you wished to irarry me, I avid. I hav*^ Iv^arned to think of you as a dear brotliur I will do everything I can for you — biit marry you, that I can?(oi do. " " What is your objection ? " ** In truth, I have not the courage to — to marry you, -itei' your ac- count of your tendencies — your difficulties " *' Then you are cold-hearted, inditforent. '' Ht) bursit into a mingled torrent of rt;proaches and entreaties. Edith, though trembling from head to foot, continued tenderly though firmly, to refuse. At last, with a wild, despairing, inarticulate cry, he started up and rushed away towards the open shore where the wall ends, and was soon out of sight. LAND AT LAST. 155 t at it ! " He I first came ffairs. I got ;ame back. I red to marry t suit you at Don't shrink I cannot live lys I shall be you is life to here. I had k I was mad ap of money, 1 was speech- 'u until 1 had le one vice of w the worst. I't know what at keep whis- me when you u ! It drives I want you dares to look er mo Edith. er voice from havf> Earned - can for you ftfci' your ac- aties. Edith, lough firmly, y, he started all ends, and Edith, though hardly able to stand, hastened in the opposite direc- tion, growing calmer at she went, and at last reached the shelter of her own room, where she described to the astonished and sympathizing Mrs. Miles the trying interview she had just had. " What will he do 1 " was Edith's cry. " He seemed quite out of his mind. I am afraid of his hurting himself." "Oh, no, I don't suppose he will," returned Mrs. Miles, soothingly. " He is odd and eccentric, hnt I don't think he is so foolish as to do himself any harm. I will get Mrs. Parker to send round to his hotel a little later on, and find out if he has come in. She is a bit huffed about his leaving her house, but she is not an unreasonable woman." '' It is all so unfortunate," said Edith. " Where can we turn ? Mr. Dargan seems to have (piarrelled with you, and Mr. Tilley is so un- decided, and now we have lost David ! I shall always be afraid of him, though I would give anything to be able to help him. Oh, how my head aches and throbs ! " " Will you lie down ? I will shut the shutters, and sit by you while you rest. Perhaps you will get a little sleep." Mrs. Parker's messenger reported, first, that Mr. Viviau liad gone out early, and had not yet returned ; and on being again sent, after dusk, brought word that Mr. Vivian had just come in, and was in his own room. When Mrs. Parker's guests sat down to dinner Maitland was much exercised in his mind by the absence of Miss Vivian, especially as Mrs. Miles' honest face showed uneasines and expectancy, fehe glanced at the door ; she forgot to answer when spoken to ; she scarcely ate. He remembered seeing Edith go with her cousin in the afternoon, and he drew the conclusion that they had come to some understanding — or misunderstanding. Vivian puzzled him, but he was beginning to suspect that he was either a drunkard or an opium-eater. Such a relative was a grave mis- fortune to a girl so unprotected as Edith. He felt strongly impelled to risk everything, and ask her to be his wife. '* Mother, perhaps Miss Vivian will see you," he said in a low voico^ as they rose from the table. She gave a little nod of assent, and went round to join Mrs. Miles at the door. Maitland saw them go out together, and went to his mother's room to await her return. Her visit seemed to him of portentous length, but 814.6 came at last. 156 BEATON'S BAKQAIN. Iit1, 'i •: k':t- *' Well ?" he said, drawiiiL,' her chair forward ; *' well ?" " She is better, and only feared the heat and smell of dinner miyht bring back her headache ; but Jack, I think she has had a shock of some kiiid, she is so tremulous and shaken. I am sure the cousin has something to do with it, for Mrs. Miles said when we had left the room, * If the poor dear had a father or a brother, or anyone to look after her ; / am no good.' 1 began to say b'miething about her cousin, when she exclaimed, * Don't talk of him ; he frightens the life out of her. ' '' *' That is evident/' cried Maitland, much disturbed. "What is best to be done? I am so uncertain of her f.^elings towards me, I fear to propose. As a rejected lover I should b. no use whatever to her ; as a friend I might be some help," " Let us see what a few days may bring forth. I should be greatly distressed if she rejects you, dear son. It would be bad for her as well as you ; but I do not think she is averse to you." Maitland shook his head. " She never gives me the faintest en- couragement. We are not even as good friends as we were at tirst. She has changed greatly, but to me she is more charming than ever. I wish her life were more fortunate." " Yuii will make it more fortunate yet, dearest son," said Mrs. Mait- land, lovingly. " We know not what the morrow may bring us." The morrow brought a climax little anticipated. ■■1 , Edith, wearied out, had slept well and refreshingly. A bright morn- ing helped to cheer her, and she began to look upon her distress and fright of the day before as exaggerated and unreasonable. Yet she was still reluctant to let Mr. Miles leave her. This cowardly feeling she resisted, as she knew her oldfriend wished to post a parcel to her son, which she did not like to trust in any hands save her own. " Oh, yes ; go, dear Miiey," said Edith. *' I am too foolish. When you go 1 will pay Mrs. Maitland a visit. I think Mr. Maitland is going to the Isle of Wight to-day, and David cannot come to her room. Indeed, he was so angry I do not think he will see me. He has pro- bably gone back to London." " Yes, that is likely enough. Well, if you don't mind, I will go,' and a few minutes after Mrs. Miles to^k her departure. Edith rang and sent up stairs to ask if Mrs. Maitland was alone, and would like to be read to. The servant brought an immediate accept- ance to the oflfer ; so Edith proceeded to look for a ibook which Mrs Maitland had expressed a wish to see. LAND AT LAST. 157 her f.^elings uld b. no use id Mrs. Mait- She was standing at a book-shelf, with her back to the trench win- dow opening into the conservatory, when the sound of a footfall made her turn round. To her dismay she saw David Vivian comin<( through the window; which was, as usual, open. He must have entered by the door which led into the verandah. He looked very white. His eyes were bright and wild, but he anemed composed. *' I frightened you yesterday, I know I did," said he. "I have been thinking a great deal since." " Will you not sit down, David ? " said Edith, feeling that a crisis was at hand. "No ; there is no use in sitting down, I cannot rest. I must end all this. I shall never leave off drinking ; I know it. 1 shall g«j down — down. Now I am determined that shall never be. You wouldn't like to see me degraded, eh, little cousin i You wouldn't like me to be mocked and jeered at ? No ; and it would never do for you to stay be- hind me. I have thought over all that ; I can keep myself in hand still. I was awfully tempted to finish Maitland as I went by and saw him." A terrible, fierce, wild look came into his eyes. " But I had a duty to accomplish and I resisted — I resisted ! Edith, life is hard on us both. 1 am chained down by the devil of drink ; you are drawn from me, from happiness, by that fiend Maitland. I will deliver us both. Look here ! " He drew from his breast a long knife, which lie un- sheathed, and looked carefully at the cruel, glittering blade, while Edith stood petrified with terror, yet keeping her wits enough to know that any imprudence, any attempt to call for assistance, would be in- stant death. " Tliis will end all our troubles. I am a sound be- liever, Edith, in spite of the life I have led ; and I know when I deliver you and myself from this fleshly husk we shall be united and happy — no more temptations or misunderstandings, but peace, rest. You mustn't be frightened, little darling ; it will not hurt you long. 1 know the spot in that white, white neck where 1 can strike and reach your heart in half a second ; then I will end my own trou- bles, and we shall live together through eternity. Don't look at the door. I'd be sorry to hurt you, but if you try to get away 1 will. I will never let you out of this alive." He spoke with increditable quickness. •'I am not going," said Edith, with marvellous, desperate self-con- trol. " I think your plan is a good one, for life is so puzzling. " H- 158 BEATON S BARGAIN. I ^i ■i 1' ■ u 'J^ho unfortunate madman's countonance relaxed. ** Ah, that is rij^dit. You are trno after all ; come I " " One thing, however, I must do before — before we die, I promised Mrs. Parker to water the ferns in the conservatory. I cannot break my word at such a time." "Ah, perhaps ; yes, you ought not " "There are two watering-pots ; will you help me? " " "Yes yes ; we will get through sooner." He thrust the knife back into its sheath, and replaced it in his breast pocket. With agonizing tension of nerve, and in earnest, silent prayer to God, Edith went to a tap near the window and filled one of the water- ing-pots which hung there, giving him the other. Vivian was soon eagerly at work, while she went to the other side and advanced as ra- pidly as she dared. Tf — if only the door into the verandah was open ? " You do not get on as fast as I do," cried Vivian. "I must get more water. " There is plenty in the tap," said Edith, feeling as if she could hold out no longer. Vivian turned sharply and went back, talking all the time. Then Edith stole forwisrd, saw the door was open, and fled wildly through the verandah — not into the house, not to call assistance, but to Jack Maitland's room. She felt sure that the moment Vivian missed her he would rush to wreak vengeance on his supposed rival. Maitland was writing, as he often did, at a table beside the window, which was open. He was resting his head on his hands, thinking over his mother's advice, rtnd balancing the pros and cons, when Edith ^ white as death, her eyes wild with terror, flew into the room. Maitland started up, his first idea being that she was making her escape from danger of pursuit ; but before he could speak she began in frantic haste to close the window, then the shutters, while she kept re- peating, " Lock the door — bolt it ! oh, do, do lock it ! " *' What is the matter, for heaven's sake 1 " cried Maitland. " My dear Miss Vivian, tell me. You are safe with me." "No — no 1 I want to save you ! He will murder you ! Oh, come back into the corner ! Do not hold me ; I must fasten the door ! '' Then leaning back against it, exhausted, she went on, " He is mad — quite mad, David is. He wanted to murder me. He was very near murdering you. He will come now ; he has a long, keen knife." Here LAND AT LAST. 159 t in his breast iie could hold a step was hoard in the passage. Quitt; bo«idu luirsclf with ft^ar, Edith dartt'd to Maitland and threw hor anna .••round him. " Ho is coming — he is coming," she whispered, as sho eliuig to him. '* Dearest," said Maitland, strainini,' lior to his heart, '* you will be ill. Lot me take you to my mother. If your unfortunate cousin is mad, he must be prevented from doing michiof to himself or others. You are tromblinjj; ; you can hardly stand," and ho tried to lift her, but she evaded him. " I will not let you go," she said, faintly. " Ho will murder you with that long, cruel knife. I will not let you go.'' " Vivian is not coming here," said Maitland ; " he would have been here before. Let me take you away ; I must know what is going on." Still supporting her he opened the door. All was ([uiet, but a distant buzz of talk came from the hall. *' You must o<»mo up-stairs. You shall be safe with my mother. 1 will see to it." Half-leading, half-carrying her, Maitland took Edith with infinite care to his mother. " She has had an awful fright," he said ; " got her some wine. I scarcely know what is the matter, but don't leave her. 1 shall return when I find Mrs. Miles." *' My dear child, you are more dead than alive," cried Mrs. Mait- land. " Put her (»n the sofa, Jack." Edith could not speak. She tried still to ,hold Maitland, but he, gently kissing her hand, disengaged himself and hurried av^ay. In the hall he found Mrs. Parker and all the servants talking oa|,'erly. "Oh, Mr. Maitland ! " said the lady of the house, " we are all so frightened. Tom here — he is the boy that cleans the boots — about ten minutes ago he saw Mr. Vivian withouc his hat and n great long knife in his hand, tearing across the lawn as hard as he could, and looking quite wild." " Indeed ! " cried Maitland. " What direction did he take ? " " Returned left, and ran straight toward the beacli," said the boy. " He seemed to come from Miss Vivian's drawing-room" " Good gracious ! I hope he hasn't hurt the dear young lady," cried Mrs. Parke», fussing away in the direction of her room. " Miss Vivian is quite safe with my mother" said Maitland, reach- ing his hat, aad sallying forth to see what could be done to capture the lunatic. 160 BEATON S BAKGAIN. m Mrs. I»iiles' dismay can be imagined when, on her return, she learned the terrible news of ])ooc Vivian's outbreak. It was some little time before Edith was able to give an account of her hair-breadth escape, or before she could speak to Maitland. She felt certain that in h».x ira- mmense excit )ment she had betrayed herself. She longed yet dreaded to see him. " Do tell me something of my poor cousin," she said to Mrs Mait- land, who was sitting with her in the room to which she had removed, as the association with the other was too terrible. " I am afraid, dear, his is a very hopeless case. He waL found iitruggliiig with a policeman and and an artillery soldier, who managed to get liis knife away from him, and they took him to the police-sta- tion, then to the infirmary. We have written to a friend of his in London, and Jack sees that proper care is taken of him — but — " look- ing to the door, " here is my son. He will tell you more particulars than I can." As she spoke Jack Maitland came in, and while he shook hands with Edith, who rose to greet him, his mother quietly left the room. It was a moment of profo'.md embarassment. Edith scarce knew how to speak or what to say. He, however, soon relieved her of that difh- oulty. " I am sorry to see that you havu not quite recovered the dreadful shock you have suytained. Your hand is not steady yet," and he held it a moment in both his own. *' I am much better," returned Edith, resuming her seat on the sofa^ " But it will be long before I can forget that dreadful day ; and my poor cousin David, my heart aches for him." " jVy, poor fellow, I am heartily sorry for him ; but 1 want to speak of something else — something which concerns the happiness of ray life. Yo7 must know wliat it is. I have longed for weary months to say ' I love you, Edith,' and even now I dread lest the avowal may part in- stead of uniting us, so uncertain am I of ^our feelings towards myself. I had almost despaired, when something in your fears for me this day something in the clasp of your arms, which has haunted me ever since gave me a faint hope. My wishes no doubt may have led me to exag gerate a natural humane impulse." He paused, and Edith, half charm- ed, half frightened, made a little hesitating movement as if to give him her hand, and then drew back. "Ah, you distrust me," cried Mait- land. " Why? What is the cloud which has arisen between usi Do be candid with me ; do not keep me iu the torture of suspense." rn, she learned ^me little time adth escape, or hat in he; im- ;ed yet dreaded . to Mrs Mait- ! had removed, He V7C.L found , who managed the police-sta- riend of his in —but—" look, ore particulars >ok hands with the room. It a kneR' how to of that difH- d the dreadful ,"and he held it on the sofa^ day ; and my want to speak ess of my life, nths to say ' I 1 may part in- wards myself. )r me this day ne ever since d me to exag 1, half charm - if to give him " cried xVIait- en US? Do be ise." LAND AT LAST. 161 *' I have been vexed with you," began Edith, with natural sweet frankness, " and I am almost ash&medto say why. But I will tell you. When you went to Scotland I was sorry. You always seemed true and earnest — a real friend — and I said I was sorry. Then Mrs. Winington told me you were pleased to go — because — because you thought 1 was in love with you and showed it too much." The last words came out slowly, while the pale, delicate face was dyed with blushes. " It was an infernal lie," burst out Jack Maitland, with more energy than politeness, "invented by an unscrupulous woman. Look in my eyes, Edith, and tell me whom will you believe — Mrs. Winington or me? I am incapable of making such a speech about any woman." She raised her eyes to his ; then a soft, shy smile broke over her face and she said very low and steadily : " I believe you." "Then one difficulty is removed. Now, I am so far from so pre- sumptuous an opinion as Mrs. Winington attributed to me that I am still waiting in infinite anxiety for your decision. Edith, I have loved you almost from the beginning of our acquaintance ; can you give me a little in return ? " He held out his hand, and Edith put hers into it. " Dearest," he exclaimed, drawing her close to him, " put your arms round me as you did the other day, and say, ' Jack,' I love you ! ' " . He raised her hands to his neck and clasped her to his heart with pas- sionate force. " Whisper it to me, and [ will be content." But he had scarce heard the words softly murmured when a long, fervent kiss stopped further utterance — past, present, and future all merged in that intense moment. So Edith's troubles in this stage of her existence were over. Dargan dared offer no opposition to the marriage — Tilly was glad to get rid of responsibility. Edith's husband, as netirest of kin, was appointed guardian of the lunatic. He was tenderly cared for, and when his attendants deemed it safe, Edith visited him, aiid listened to his long, rambling hunting- stories. In all places of fashionable resort the beautiful Mrs. Winington is still admired. She once encountered her old love, who gave her his unqualified opinion of her treachery and falsehood. The interview had ar embittering influence on her temper for some time after. li : r III ^^ V 1/. 'I' '., X rr 162 BEATON S BARGAIN. Lady Mary Stanley Browne is a leader of society, and a certain pleas- ant lively man about town is her constaro attendant, who picks up the crumbs which fall from the rich man's cable ; and when the qur ;:tion, •' Who was at the duchess' ball, or the countess' garden party?" is discussed, the list of guests almost always includes Lady Mary Stanley Browne and Leslie Beaton. But away in the picturesque glen of Craigrothie is a quiet, peace- ful home, where work and play, simple refinement, love, and sympa- thy make a little paradise as yet untouched, and which, even when the flood arises and the stream beats violently, as they will one day, shall nut be shaken, because it is founded upon a rock — the rock of warm affection, of profoundest esteem. [I »; f*:! The End. It! - f certain pleas- picks up the the quf sition, I party?" is tf ary Stanley quiet, peace- and sympa- ren when the tie day, shall ock of warm