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Montreal : JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, 23 & 25 St. Nicholas Street. ■IH I r 60Q&S H Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year o^ thousand eight hundred and ninety-one, by John Lovell 6- Son i the office of the Minister of Agriculture. CHAPTER I. 'he yellow rays of the afternoon sun are gilding^ m October sky and throwing into bold relief the Tey stone pile of the Church of St. Sauveur, as it kands on the rocky heights overlooking the River (lance — that restless boundary of the picturesque )Id town of Dinan. The sun is shining, as it has lone many times during the past eight hundred 'ears, through those windows of varied hues, and lyeing regally with crimson and blue the aisle of Ihis old Cathedral of God, and pausing devoutly L^fore its altar, there to linger upon a figure kneeling [i prayer. The bent head is crowned by a cap of )otless cambric, which fails to conceal the luxuriant lair beneath ; the long cloak of black cloth which has [ipped from the bending shoulders exposes the round )dice and wh'te chemisette; the dark blue skirt with IN TIME OF PEACE. its bands of silver braid falls in soft folds about the small feet that have slipped from the wooden sabots. In the distance can be heard the full impassioned tones of the organ responsive to the touch of Father Demouret. As the last notes of Gounod's Miserere^ sob out their being, and die away in echoless vibra- tions among the strong arches tb ': span the loftyj X roof, the kneeling peasant rises, and, with eyes whos expression bespeaks her thoughts still before th throne of grace, murmurs a final prayer, her finger reverently touching her rosary. Gathering her cloal about her shoulders and slipping her feet int the sabots, she steps from the flood of crimso and gold into the shadow, out of the radi ance into the gloom, save for the light from th soul within that shines from her pure eyes. Turnin her steps towards the main entrance of the sacreA i edifice she makes one more obeisance on passing thl( p . • altar, and disappears behind the curtained portal. ^^fU j The scene has not been lost upon two people whl^ y are standing in the shadow of one of the pillarl|^g i ,, The beauty of the music and the unworldli and re of the rays o the de( are aim they su bing on that pe feelings pleasure hood m a desire strife. Steppi inhaling rother ec a long >> surroundings have had their effect upon botH • , , In one it produces a feeling of unreality, as if tMQ^ noisy camp life in Egypt which has made up lA^iV f f experience for the past twelve months were onlyljQ r dream. In the other it awakens a feeling: of regret thi,^„ ^ t> t> wen a g-rc her life among these old-world associations of piefl )ise ©f wf foliagel IN TIME OF PEACE. the ots. ined ther <>rere\ ibra loftyl ;hos ^ th and reverence is drawing to a close. The dim light of the gloomy old church, broken at intervals by the rays of sunlight that stream in colored bars ihrough the deeply tinted glass, — the stately columns that are almost lost in shadow before they reach the roof they support, — the mellow notes of the organ throb- bing on the air, — combined with the odor of incense that pervades the atmosphere, all tend to arouse feelings that for a moment shut out the prospective pleasure of a reunion with the friends of her child- hood in her native country, and arouse in their place a desire to remain where life is so devoid of worldly strife. • Stepping out into the yellow autumn evening, and inhaling the fresh air that blows off the river, both brother and sister feel as if they had suddenly n wakened from a trance. " Ding-dong-ding," [' Father, Son and Holy Ghost," — says the full tone tathedial bell, reminding all who hear that the hour |le whljf Yggpgj-g jg ^^ hand. *' Dong-ding-dong," — answers pillarli^g bell from the neighboring hill. " Ding-ding- orl^Wong." Two holy fathers with eyes bent upon •^^^Iheir books, followed by a procession of surpliced if ^loys, are making their way along the shaded fosse, up l^iieir feet falling softly on a yellow carpet . of leaves o^vllown from the overhanging trees, — another priest, ret tnljej^ g. group of rosy children with white caps, the P^^l^ise ©f whose saboted feet is only muffled by the Iph foliage over which they scurry. nger cloal int imsoi radi th rnin sacre ng thi Ital » IN TIME OF PEACE. 1^ As Constance Lestrange and her brother walk on, they pass a number of peasants who are wending their way back to the neighboring farms after the day's marketing. The different styles of caps worn by the women denote that they come from various Brittany villages. As the deep notes of the bells ring forth, bare-headed men and many-capped women bend the knee, and murmur an Ave Maria, FTER cturnin Ihcr sojc chool, t ent \\\ J as beer rounding veil fitter Hectoi 'Egypt, h uence o [hardship! ister to-: 3r Cana farewell dear to Wendi leads fror 'after a hj wood wh and over are washi they dip JX TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER II. .FTER three years' absence Constance Lestrange is 'cturning to Canada. The first eighteen months of her sojourn abroad has been spent in Dresden at ichool, the last eighteen have been passed at a Con- sent in Dinan, where her ahnost undivided attention las been given to the study of painting; the sur- [rounding country abounding with scenes that are well fitted to stimulate an already artistic mind. Hector, her brother, is on his way home from |Egypt, having obtained leave of absence in conse- [uence of recent illness brought on by the many hardships of the late campaign. The brother and sister to-morrow leave for England, thence they sail [for Canada. To-day they are spending in bidding [farewell to some of the scenes that have grown so Idear to Constance. Wending their way through the old street that [leads from the Cathedral they quicken their pace, and [after a half hour's walk, which takes them through a [wood where the trees are clothed in golden foliage, [and over a stream in which many gabbling women are washing (their tongues as busy as their hands as [they dip the white clothes in the stream before lo IN TIME 01' PEACE. pounding them with the flat stones on the bank), Con- stance and Hector stop at the entrance of the poplar- lined avenue that leads to the ruin of LaGaraye. Before them for half a mile stretches a straight carriage drive, flanked on either side by a symmetricall row of stately poplars. The cold nights and sunnyl days have turned the leaves to bright and variedl hues. Many of the branches stand out bare against the evening sky, wliile, what so short a time before served as their covering, now lie a restless and qui- vering mass on the grouid beneath. In the distance rise the turrets of the old Chateau, the walls crumb- ling away, but over whose ruin the friendly vint spreads a leafy screen. Here, as if conscious of the decay they would conceal, the leaves still han^ thickly. As Constance and Hector stop under the archway that spans the entrance to the old courtyard] the scent of a wild rose, which grows about its stones, is wafted in their faces. Long afterwards iii a crowded ball-room a girl who carries a bouquet oi roses passes close by Constance ; a whiff of their sweetj ness brings with so much vividness the recoUectioi of this autumn evening, that the dancers and all the brightness of their surroundings are completely shu^ out, while before Constance rise the vine-clad wallj of the old chateau — the lofty towers now ciumblint into ruin, broken here and there by narrow openings IN TIME OF PEACE. II hich are all that remain of the windows of by-gone ays, and stretching away in the distance the venue of poplars perfect as of old, to remind the cliolders of the vanity of the work of men's hands, ,^j.j jBnd of the immutability of nature's efforts. With the ccollection of this scene came to Constance a rush ^ • jBf passionate regret and heartfelt longing, that aused the tears to fill her eyes and blur the scene hat was passing before her. A word of description of the girl whom this scene vividly impressed. Standing now, her graceful gure leaning against the old archway, with the mel- ow light playing on her bright chestnut hair, she is 1 fair picture -for the eye to rest upon. Her large rray eyes, shaded by pencilled brows and upturned ashes, have at present an expression soft and 'hwav ^^o"gh^^"^ i ^^^ ViosQ. is small and delicately formed ; )ut good as are the other features, it \z the mouth hat bespeaks the tenderness of the young girl's lature. The soft color is warm in her usually pale Con oplar • • raight ^ams befor \ qui ;tanc rumb '' vine of the han tyard ut iti rds ir wall ibliiif ^^^ Q :heeks, and by contrast adds to the whiteness of the brehead and creamy throat. The contrast is ren- jweet ectioi ^^^'^^ more striking by the deep brown color of her ill th( '^°*^ dress and plumed hat. As Hector's eyes rest j^jjI ipon her, he realizes that the little sister who left him hree years ago is growing into a beautiful woman. There is a strong likeness between brother and sister, nines ^"* ^^ brother's complexion shows the effects of 12 IN TIME OF PEACE. 1 11 I exposure to the burning suns and dry winds of th( desert. His eyes, which are not so large as those ol his sister, are darker but with an expression of merri ment, as if, so far, Hfe had proved a pleasure. LJ looking at Constance, one wonders why so young creature should have so much thought in her face] not realizing that one usually sees that look accom- panying a nature that is through its sensitiveness con- scious of the suffering about it, rather than of an; personal experience of pain. Has not some Frenchmai said that he would take any person's photograph, anc tell from the expression he caught at that instant what would be the predominant feeling, whether o^ pleasure or of pain, at the crisis in thai person's life \ It is difficult to realize that coming events cast theii shadows so long before. _ .. As Constance and Hector stand in the shadow oi the old archway under which many a gay cavalcad( has wended its way in days gone by, a cart drawij by two brown horses and with a little dapper man i] blue blouse and round hat, his russet trousers tuckecii into long boots, passes through the outer courtyard] The cart is full of rosy apples gathered from the treei at the foot of the old garden. As the cart trundles out of sight, and the Frenchman's voice, droning out a ditty, grows fainter and fainter. Hector and Con- stance retrace their steps, leaving the chateau witl^ its vine-clad walls alone with its memories — '* IN TIME OF PEACE, «3 [rown of sorrow " — save for a sombre bird which, )erched on the extreme pinnacle of one of the turrets, IS calling plaintively to its tardy mate. The rays of the sun grow more and more oblique, and the even- ing shadows grow longer and darker. IN TIME OF PEACE, ol CHAPTER III. As Constance and her brother drove away the next morning from the Convent where Constance had! passed so many happy if uneventful days, their eyesi rested lingeringly upon a fair girlish figure framed inl by the old stone gateway — the morning sun turning! to gold the light curly hair and adding to the bright! blue of the eyes. Thus stood Cecile Stuart, her hand! waving farewell, till a Sister with black gown and white bands approached and led her quietly away ; the heavy gate closing in upon them and shutting] out the retreating figures. \,}ii IN TIME OF PEACE, «5 inJ CHAPTER IV. IX months later finds Constance in her Canadian ome — " The Poplars " — and very glad her father is to ave her with him once again. Their mother having ied when quite young, Mr. Lestrange clings with all e greater aflection to his two children. It has been great trial to have had them both so far away, but elieving it to have been to their advantage, he has ot allowed his personal feelings to stand in the way. ector has been hurriedly recalled, and is once more n his way to Egypt, so that Constance and her ther, with the old housekeeper, Constance's former urse, and their few servants are at present alone at The Poplars." ^Mr. Lestrange, who is member for , is leaving on the morrow for Ottawa. Con- :ance goes with him to enter into i.hat whirl of gaiety eculiar to the seat of government. It is the night of a ball at Shornclifife. Their Excellencies Lord and Lady Henley, seated on a ais at the end of the long room and attended by le ladies-in-waiting, are chatting with the Premier id some of the members of his cabinet, who are xompanied by their wives and daughters. The i6 IN TIME OF PEACE. » ' gracious bearing and gentle courtesy of Lady HenlejBu room make all about her feel at ease. Dressed in a crea satin gown with a necklet of diamonds sparkling a her throat, and numerous stars of the same precioui stones fastening the lace of her bodice and shinin in her dark hair, she looks very queenly. To he right is standing Lord Heniey in plain evening dres: with numerous orders on his breast : his retiring bu friendly manner is making its impression upon ; rather agitated member of Parliament whose firs session it is, and whose former experience of socia ,|jjH ^^ ^ gatherings has been limited to harvest home festival and husking-bees. He has come fresh from thi congratulations and adulation of his political friends and, though he knows himself to be the most influ ential man in his County, he is beginning to realiz that there are people in the world who may no he brig Tiusic — I oom — tl f this ^ears ag( The with ta Llraperies Dackg^rou have heard of Thomas Dingle, M. P. for Comewel r | The fresh, young, English-looking girl standing just a ^vo arcl y the b these Co At prese Tor a strc stance's no Lestrancft crowd of who has waltz. ^ the foot of the dais is the Hon. Mrs. Pratt ; she is i r^ bride, and has come to Canada with her husband, on of the aides-de-camp. Her dress of soft cream tull caught here and there with satin ribbons and buttei cups sets off her light brown hair and eyes ; seven . riaim strings of pearls about her slender throat challeng the freshness of her complexion, but do not dim it. The ball is at its height. The band of th Governor General's Foot-Guards at the far end ( for a sligl Miss Les to cause t face .'* C( [enle crean ing a eciou liinint dresi pon ; 2 firsi IN TIME OF PEACE. ir he room is playing a selection of waltzef^, and as he bright figures sail by in perfect time to the nusic — as is generally the case in a Canadian ball- oom — their Excellencies find themselves wondering f this be the backwoods of comparatively a few > 1 ^ ^ears ago. The ball-room at Shorncliffe is a long room, ^to "^ with tall windows on either side, hung with Iraperies of Turkey-red, which i^^akes a good ackground for the light dresses, and is not too lull to dim the effect of the numerous uniforms. wo archways on either side of the. stand occupied y the band lead to the main hall; under one of hese Constance has agreed to meet her partners. \t present her chaperon, Mrs, Chester, has gone or a stroll through the ante-rooms — knowing Con- ^ "^Jstance's programme is full to overflowing, she eels no necessity for remaining stationary. Mr. estrange, having found a chair for an old lady ho has been slightly overcome by the heat and ' ^"Jcrowd of the room, turns with a smile to Constance^ vho has just come up flushed and radiant after the valtz. As her partner for the next dance advances o claim her, Mr. Lestrange's smile is exchanged for a slight look of surprise. •' My dance, I believe, Miss Lestrange." Is there anything in the tone f thl ■to cause that intense look to come into Constance's ina »Bf^(,£ ? Certainly the voice is soft and musical, with a 2 soci stivali n thl lend influl ealiz lewel ust He is 1 tulll utte lever; Hen 1 it. i8 IN TIME OF PEACE. l!'Ji tone of sadness too, perhaps, but not enougl difference between it and other voices to make such an impression. " Father, I should like to| introduce Mr. Anstruther." *^ How do you do, Mr. Anstruther ? When di( you come to Ottawa ? " Mr. Lestrange knew who this Mr. Anstruther was, and if his greeting was somewhat cold, it was only because this man had just claimed Constance for the dance. Mr. Lestrange was not one to be hardl on men for follies committed or faults uncorrected,] yet to see any man in Constance's society at once challenged his criticism. Most people would have agreed in calling Mr.l Lestrange a handsome man. He had the straight! nose and dark grey eyes that were part of hisl daughter's attractions. His hair, which was still thick, was snowy white, but his moustache was ofl a dark brown, which gave him, with his erect carriage, a very distinguished air. One looking at the two at this moment would instinctively feel they were more than father and daughter, they were] friends. As some one else claimed a few words with Mr. Lestrange, Constance and Mr. Anstruther moved off. They wended their way through two or three of the rooms thrown open to the guests, and at last found comfortable seats on a sofa in one of the IN TIME OF PEACE. 19 [uietest of the number. The room had a cosy, lome-like look with its old-fashioned chintz-covered ["urniture, and quaint tables, covered with books of Foreign views, and here and there a portfolio contain- ing sketches made by Lady Henley during the last 5almon fishing expedition on which she accompanied the Governor General. Near the sofa stood a tall )rass lamp, its rays softened by a rose-colored shade, and as the mellow light fell on Constance's lelicate • face and brought out in strong relief her Irefined profile, Anstruther could scarcely refrain |from expressing the admiration he felt. A word of description of the man who caused [that look of surprise to cross the face of Constance's father. He was a little above the medium height, with thick, strong, dark hair, which curled close to his head ; his eyes were dark and soft, and, with their present expression, one would call them beautiful; a clear olive skin and well-shaped chin helped to make ' up his claim to good looks ; the moustache, which was long and silky and of a lighter color than the hair, concealed a mouth with lips too full to be in keeping* with the rest of the face. More than one person turned to look at the pic- ture made by Anstruther and Constance as they sat on the old-fashioned sofa within the rays of the rose- colored light. On the wall opposite hung a copy of Edwin Long's " Flight into Egypt." 30 IN TIME OF PEACE, To the right of the canvas is portrayed a proccssio led by the dusky dancing daughters of the East, with their dark flowing hair and lustrous eyes, and thei soft transparent draperies, which but half conceal their graceful forms ; in their midst is borne one o the gods of the Egyptians. To the left of the can- vas stands a happy pair of lovers consulting a fortune- teller, while close at hand in the throng gathered to d.zi honor to their deity, a mother is stretching forth her hands across her dying child, beseeching the god of stone to save its life. In the centre foreground of the picture walks a sombre masculine figure leaning on a staff and lead- ing a mule ; seated on the mule with an infant in her arms rides Mary, the Mother of Jesus. Her head is bent with weariness which the surrounding scene seems but to intensify. Ruskin tells us that all great artists have acknowledged their inability to treat anything successfully but that with which they have been familiar from their youth. The Madonna of Raffaelle was born on the Urbino Mountains. Long, being English, gives Mary the golden hair and b) le eyes peculiar to the women of his own country. Neither attempts to portray her as a Jewess.. In this picture, the contrast of the fair hair and holy face, with the dark complexions of those surrounding her, marks Mary as a creature among them but not of them, as does the quiet and sorrow- lil dign \sted u 'irgin, [yes, wa| |ngs thi )all-roo 2N TIME OF PEACE, at ul dignity of her bearing. As Anstruther's eye ^sted upon the picture he tliought the face of the 'irgin, with its halo of golden hair and its downcast [yes, was not more out of keeping with its surround- ings than was the face of Constance in the crowded )all-room. 22 IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER V. 1 '. \ 111 " Are you fond of the country — I believe you hav(| spent part of your life there ? " " Before I left our country home, I thought I coul( never be reconciled to live in town during the entire year. Even now, though I enjoy the brightness o\ Ottawa life, I do not like to feel that when th( spring comes, I shall not be there to find the firstl violets, and to feel that fulness of joy which comesl naturally only to one in the country when all nature! is bursting out anew. I have never spent a spring] in England ; but, though we hear much of its beauty, to me vhe fact of our waiting so long for its joys andl then their coming upon us so suddenly adds one ofj the charms to a Canadian spring," replied Con- stance. This was the first time Constance and Anstrutherl had met, yet she felt that feeling of repose when sitting beside her companion that comes to some people once in a lifetime, but more than once to none. It does not follow that this feeling of repose is given by one who could only make one happy, were he or she to bear the sacred name of husband or wife. There may be faults in the nature that, at IN TIME OF PEACE. 83 |imes, would cause the loving heart to ache with mguish, and possibly, after a while, bring a daily feeling of despair, but there would still be moments )f great if blind happiness. In such a case, )etter a thousand times would it be to turn away from the pleasures of that society. But where two |icarts with such a bond between them come together, md have strength to live their lives fearlessly in the >ight of God and man — happy are they. Yes, such lappiness will be theirs that all troubles will but Iraw them closer, and make their home a refuge of love. " My early years," said Anstruther, ** were spent lin a country home in England, and I think I may Isay they were the happiest of my life. At my father's death it was hard to give up a home that had so many happy recollections, and harder still to ask my mother to leave it too, but stern necessity |brought our happy days in Somerset to a close." " Have you never revisited the spot } " asked Con- I stance. " Never, nor has my mother, it would have been too painful. If I should ever be a rich man, which is almost beyond possibility," he said, with one of those sad smiles which many found so attractive, " I should dearly like to end my days where I spent such a happy childhood." " One naturally loves a place where one has been If" 34 IN TIME OF PEACE. happy, and no doubt many places are beautiful in the eyes of some people, through the power of association] that to others appear devoid of beauty. But yoi must not think I doubt your home was beautifuj independently of its associations, as one hears s( much of the beauty of Somerset," replied ConstanccJ IK' m n ■ "In this quiet nook one is apt to forget one'^ proximity to the ball-room. I can scarcely hope fo another dance this evening as I know your card i already full. May I hope to see you at the toboggan-] ing party to-morrow ? " For the time being these two people felt as much alone as if all the merry-makers in the adjoining rooms were miles away, such was the symp-^'hy, even then, between them. It was not that Anstruther thought Constance so beautiful, though had he been asked he would have acknowledged that such was his opinion ; it was simply that mysterious effect of the personality of the one upon that of the other. This feeling has been described and commented on by able writers without convincing their readers of its cause; only testifying to the fact that such a feeling has existed, existed often, to produce some- what sad results. It was a feeling surely akin to this that made Romeo at first sight of Juliet forget his vows to another whom till that moment he really m IN TIME OF PhACE, as )elievcd his love. It was, doubtless, something more than ordinary love that kept Armand's heart true to lamille, notwithstanding the vicissitudes of her life, )f apparent sin and recklessness, and that made ICamille in her dying hours spend her fast failing [strength in penning her confession of " deception for his sake." Poor misguided Camille, ^ne must pity her. How often the elements of great happiness are found in natures so misguided that they only lead to sorrow and shame. The ball is drawing to a close ; many guests, after [having partaken of the sumptuous supper served in the good style peculiar to the present regime, are patiently, and some impatiently, standing in the vestibule of Shorncliffe waiting for their sleigls. Outside, the snow is falling softly, and the rows of evergreens grow whiter and whiter, the bright light streaming from the entrance making the snow sparkle like diamond dust. As Constance and her father drive in their open sleigh down the avenue leading to the entrance gates, the fresh air blowing in their faces, they pass many pedestrians on their way homeward. When they drive through the gates Anstruther raises his cap and the snow falls on his wavy hair, ^ill the tinkling of the bells as it echoes through the trees grows faint, and the sound of the horse's hoofs as 26 IN TIME OF PEACE, they strike a stray stone falls „o longer on his ear and the father and daughter have dashed on out o Sight. ^ i! iiiiiiiii IN TIME OF PEACE. 27 IS earj out ol CHAPTER VI. I is four o'clock on the "olio wing afternoon. Many the same people are again at Shorncliffe. But \\ this occasion the toboggan slide is the great ttraction. Girls dressed in their blanket costumes If various colors, and with bright tuques on their [cads, and moccasins on their feet, are chatting and lughing in that bright way that the fresh air and [igorous exercise seem to make natural to all. ken in their knickerbockers and blanket coats, with [he habitant sash of many colors tied about their Ivaists, add to the picturesque appearance of the kene. The top of the slide is reached by climbing a jtairway of 60 feet in height, but though the descent from the platform at the top of the slide to the end )f the run, which extends far into the park, is never nor'" than a matter of two minutes, the ascent to the top being on an occasion like this so crowded, [more than three trips is impossible in an hour. Not far from the slide, and between it and Shornclifte, is an open skating rink, where some of the guests are enjoying themselves, and with them is His Excel- lency, clad in a short buckskin jacket embroidered 28 . IN TIME OF PEACE. with Indian work, and knickerbockers to match ; ftnsidere his head a round cap made of the same materBght befl with a squirrel's tail over the side.. ■) strikin In a httle log-cabin which stands among the piiB The ca trees, hot tea and coffee with other h'ght refrcshmciB/ Capta are being served. This cabin, which comprises twBuards, rooms, was put up by request of the Princess LouisBi her w and is an exact copy of many of the log-cabins whicBaughty were the only shelter of the earlier settlers, the forflut only fathers of those very people who are now viewing Bnvy in it with so great a curiosity. In one of these rooms in Bark eyel large open fire-place are blazing huge logs, anBf the so scattered about the floor are buffalo robes and deeBot bein^ skins brought by shooting parties from Muskoka. Seated in one of the rough but comfortable chair surrounded as was her custom, is Mrs. Sherbrooke her husband is M.P. for L . She is unusuall bright and handsome this afternoon, and seems tcBvening I devote the greater part of her attention to the maiBwice thr leaning against the corner of the mantel-piece. NotBhat ver; far away, the leader of the Government is conversingB^ou wou with a tall, handsome girl, with dark eyes and dusk)Biot even hair. This girl is looking charming in her tobogganBirni witl costume, and appears fully aware of her charms ; sheB *' You is one whose appearance more extorts homage thanBiave bee surprises admiration by its subtle charms. Of thefcherbro latter sort is Constance, and many there are whoBmile. . think Canada's belle — for such is the dusky beautyB At th e new- le medii for it is ad foun IN TIME OF PEACE. 29 )nsidered — was not uneclipsed at the ball of the fght before by the more refined and graceful, if not striking, figure of Miss Lestrange. The cabin door opens and Constance, accompanied Captain Ardor, of the Governor-General's Foot guards, enters the room. She looks so bewitching her white and blue flannel costume that even the uighty Miss Foster acknowledges she has a rival, |ut only feels a pleasant interest, with nothing of ivy in it, for the pretty girl whose chestnut hair and lark eyebrows are so well brought out by the color If the soft blue cap on her head. Mrs. Sherbrooke, |ot being of so generous a mind, looks critically at le new-comer, and, having surveyed her through |ie medium of a pair of eye-glasses, asks Anstruther -for it is he who is standing at the fire-place — if he lad found Miss Lestrange very interesting on the (vening before. " Confess that you did, for I passed wice through the room where you were occupying |hat very comfortable sofa, and while I hoped that ^ou would soon let some one else enjoy it, you did lot even see me pass, though I almost brushed your irm with my dress." " Your question is already answered. One must lave been unusually interested not to have felt Mrs. )herbrooke's presence near," said Anstruther with a smile. ' . At that mpnient Mrs. Sherbrooke's attention was 30 IN TIME Ut rJiALIi. called away by an old gentleman who was alway ready to exchange a little small talk with thij vivacious lady, Anstruther found his way to Cor stance's side and was greeted with a bright smile. " Been down the slide yet, Miss Lestrange ? " hj ^sked. Not yet; I am just fortifying myself for thJ • ^ . - ence" — holding up a little wafer of bread anij I..... — "it looks rather formidable, judging fron what ~x saw as we were coming here. In any case, am aiiXiOus to see what the sensation really is. Yool know I lia\c never tobogganed anywhere, and they| tell me it is one of the swiftest slides in Canada." *' I hope you are entrusting yourself to some onel who thoroughly understands steering, as since thisi slide is very smooth, sheer ice really, one requires to| understand a toboggan thoroughly before taking ladies down, I think." Captain Ardor now suggests their trying thel slide. After rather a long time spent in climbingl the stairway, but which is shortened by a pleasant! intercourse with others bound on the same errand,! Constance and Captain Ardor find themselves onl the platform at the top of the slide ; the toboggan is held in position by one of the men who is there to superintend the starting. Constance is put on! first, and takes hold of the little rod running along! the side of the toboggan, her blanket skirt and coat| IN TIME OF PEACE, 3« tucked well round her ; Ardor jumps on behind, the [man loosens his hold, and Constance feels as if she [were dropping through the air, so steep is the descent at the top ; she then knows the tobo^iygan is flying over the icy surface, but scarcely touching it. Presently they jump, it seems to her three < r tVnir feet in the air; down they come agair. nd shoot on over the snow and ice. By thi ^'!• ;. that breathless sensation is leaving Constance, she is beginning to enjoy the quick passage througn the air when the toboggan slackens its speed and she realizes they are safely at the bottom. She is shak- ing a little, not at all from fear, but from excitement; her pretty hair is somewhat blown about, but she is surprised to find herself in such good order, and is glad that she has been guided in choosing her costume by one of experience. Constance and her father, with Ardor still in attendance, find their way to the reception room, where their Excellencies are now moving among their guests, who have come in to take a little refreshment and get warm before leaving for town. Presently there is a lull in the conversation, as it is seen that Mrs. Sherbrooke is going to sing. Seating herself at the piano, which is placed across one corner of the tastily furnished room, Mrs. Sher- 32 IN TIME OF PEACE, J s ' i brooke begins her song. As her rich contralto voice fills the room, one and all seem enraptured ; some may detect a lack of sympathetic tone, but all will agree that the voice is magnificent. As Mrs. Sherbrooke rises to leave the piano, Lady Henley advances with Anstruther. Mrs. Sherbrooke having expressed her willingness to play his accompaniment, he now prepares to sing. His voice is a baritone, and as the notes fall from his lips there is no one present who misses the sympathy in their tones. There is a slight tremor at first, which was not noticeable in Mrs. Sherbrooke's singing, but only at first ; after this he loses himself in the beauty of the song, which is "Adelaide," as does everyone who listers. Constance feels herself carried away by a rush of sympathy. As she listens, a painting of a branch of crab-apples on the back of the door, and which is wonderfully true to nature, seems to hold her eyes; she almost imagines herself back in the old garden at home, the soft air about her and the breeze gently lifting the leaves on the branch, as the soft tones float to her ear. Never again did she hear the song without a slight return of the sensations, and never did she see a crab-apple tree without catching a faint echo of the song. As the last notes died away, she turned, and her eyes met the eyes of the singer. IN TIME OF PEACE, 33 CHAPTER VII. It is evening, and the stairways leading to the galleries of the House are unusually animated, which would lead one to suppose that the subject up for debate is one of more than ordinary interest- The crowd at the entrance to the gallery has become somewhat dense. It is yet a few minutes before the doors will open. Close to the entrance stands Mrs. Sherbrooke. Her long cloak of crimson plush, unfastened at the throat, displays the soft folds of her pale pink dinner dress ; in her dark hair shines one diamond star, and another of larger size glistens at her throat. Her dark eyes are bright, and she is talking in her vivacious way — still keeping her hand on her husband's arm — to Anstruther, who in his turn listens, but appears expectant of some one else's arrival, as his eyes constantly turn to the head of the marble stairway. Leaning against one of the marble pillars which support the ceiling stands Miss Foster, looking somewhat annoyed at having arrived before it is possible to gain admittance to the gallery. She is with Sir Charles Foster, who, as Speaker of the Senate, is free to-night, there being no night session 34 IN TIME OF PEACE, li % for that Chamber, owing to the expected debate on the " Deceased Wife's Sister Bill." He and his daughter make a handsome picture as they stand side by side, so like but for the difference between youth and age. Miss Foster is dressed in a rigidly plain black satin dress, a necklet of pearls and diamonds clasps her throat, and in her hand she carries a large bunch of yellow roses. As the doors are opened, some pass into the Senators gallery, which is the first after entering by the doorway at the head of the stair ; others pass into the Speaker's gallery, which is the second, and is much the best gallery for hearing and seeing, being in possession of a view of both the Government and Opposition sides of the House. There is a good show of members in their places. Just opposite the Premier sits the leader of the Opposition, with his large soft hat, as is his custom, well drawn over his eyes. He presents a somewhat sombre visage, and on comparing his appearance with that of the Premier, one partly under- stands how, notwithstanding his undoubted intellect, and, as those who know him best say, his integrity of purpose, he would repel where the other, by his brightness and magnetism, would attract. Just now the Premier is conversing with some of his colleagues, and as he pauses there is a smile on the IN TIME OF PEACE. 35 faces of all about him. Perhaps not a little of his popu- larity is due to the fact that he seldom fails to amuse. For are we not all seeking amusement ? Each member has his own seat and desk, and is altogether more luxuriously treated in this respect than are the members of the Imperial House of Commons. Many of the members are in evening dress, and with prettily gowned women in the galleries — which are not, as in Westminster, screened off from the view of the members — the well-lighted Chamber presents a bright and attractive appear- ance. As the remarks of the member for D are drawing to a close, Anstruther, who has found a place for Mrs. Sherbrooke in the front row, and is now leaning over the partition which separates the ladies' gallery from the passage leading to the people's gallery, is somewhat relieved to see Mr. Lestrange and Constance enter, followed by Captain Ardor and a party of several friends. For the past month, Constance and Anstruther have met very frequently at balls, toboggan parties, snowshoe tramps, and, as to-night, several times in the galleries of the House. Anstruther's admiration for Constance has become quite pronounced. Captain Ardor is, if somewhat more diffident in his attentions, quite as anxious to enjoy the pleasure her society affords. As the party advances, Anstruther goes to meet 36 IN TIME OF PEACE. m them. " I am afraid you will have difficulty in securj ing a seat just at present, but some one may bel leaving the gallery before very long," he said ; " May] I join your party ? " to Constance. Mr. Lestrangel does not look too pleased to see Anstruther and Constance together. Some of the members who have accompanied ladies to the gallery now leave to take their seats in the body of the House ; in that way seats are found for Constance and her| party, where they can both see and hear. Mr. Lestrange being also obliged to leave, Anstruther seats himself beside Constance ; Captain Ardor is next Mrs. Chester, who has two pretty girls v/ith her. " I do so enjoy being here in the evening, every- thing looks so bright. I used to feel very sorry for my father when we read of the House sitting during the Letellier debate till three and four in the morn- ing ; but now that I know how pleasant it is, I am beginning to think it was not so miserable after all," said Constance. " Lady N " (Lady N is the Premier's wife) "does not object, apparently, to being here, as every night she waits and drives home with her husband. Sometimes, when she knows the debate will be long, .she does not come till midnight; but she thinks it less dreary foi- Sir George to know ;>»^. IN TIME OF PEACE, m [here is some one waiting to go home and have a [ittle supper with him," said Anstruther. " I like her," replied Constance, with that clear lecided look in her deep gray eyes. "Most ladies reserve all their praise for Sir jcorge," continued Anstruther. ••Yes; I think him charming, too — but I admire [the women who make it easier for men to carry out Ithcir good work. After all, it is the little worries [that so often paralyze a man's energies, and a happy home with sympathetic companionship must be a great assistance to a man holding a public position." Constance's remarks, like those of many very lobserving and sensitive people, often suggested an experience that could never have been hers. It was this, and a frank fearlessness in expressing her opinions, that gave one of its chief attractions to her companionship. There was no self-assertiveness in I her manner; her fearlessness was simply the result of having been encouraged to form opinions for her- self, and having those opinions respected when expressed. It is this that lends a piquancy to the conversation of most American girls, but whereas it sometimes makes their manner aggressive, it seldom has this effect upon Canadians. This, perhaps, is because the Canadian is still much more English than American, notwithstanding the proximity to Uncle Sam's country, and the wide billows of the 38 IN TIME OF PEACR, ' Atlantic that separate her from the mother land. The tendency of the higher education of women, as exemi- lifted in the American women, is naturally to render them more independent. The knowledge that they are capable of gaining their own livelihood without losing their position in the social world, and the natural rcftnement that is invariably the result of the cultivation of the intellect, will make women more difficult to please in the choice of a husband ; but that, rather than being an evil, will produce good in creating an incentive to men to become more worthy. Whc;e many women marry for a home, they will then, with the knowledge of their ability to pro- vide for themselves, only marry men whom they can love and respect, and they will cease to condone in men what they condemn (and justly, too) in women. It is natural for men to wish to please women, as it is for women to wish to please men ; but heretofore the average woman, seeing how poor a position an unmarried woman of small means and no intellectual prestige held in the world, grew to believe her one goal to be matrimony. In this way she was often led to marry a man whom she did not love, and sometimes did not even respect. We all know there are many love matches which do not turn out happily ; but we have only to study French history and the modern French novel to realize how great is IN TIME OF PEACE. 39 the unhappiness where the mariagc de convenance is the rule rather than the exception. There is much to be said on both sides of the subject of woman suffrage. If, as some argue, only the women of the lowest grades of society will go to the polls, by all means keep such a degrading influence away; but, on the other liand, if the know- ledge that they have a voice in the government of the country lead women to study the public ques- tions of the day in which thci. husbands, brothers and sons take an interest, they will be all the better companions for the men of their family. Many men do things in public life the knowledge of which they would shrink from having their women friends possess. If women then understood the subjects before the public for discussion, and followed as men do the course of events, would not men be more circumspect in their public lives ? One naturally expects women to be more rigid in their ideas of right and wrong. If their censure or approbation be a thing to be avoided or sought, by all means educate them so they can bestow the one or the other wisely. There is no wish to imply that there are not many honorable and upright men in public life ; but it is also a fact there are many in that position who are not wholly the one or the other. If, then, women's closer knowledge of public affairs will make men more careful in the course they 40 IN TIME OF PEACE, pursue, by all means educate women so they maj have that knowledge ; and if a voice in the govern! ment of their country will encourage them to exercisJ the judgment God has given them as to what is foj the public weal, let them have that voice. Why the| more educated and refined women should shrinl from going to the polls in the present state of things! one can see ; but with all great changes come attendant evils, and if the refined and better class ol women will at first endure the unpleasantness \\o\\ experienced upon visiting a polling booth, in time the rough men will not feel comfortable lounging about, and will find some place else where there is noj clement to make them feel their inferiority, or will try and make themselves smarter for the occasion, There is a something within every man that makesl him reverence what is pure and good ; in some thel feeling is stronger than in others, undoubtedly, but! there is that element in all, and why, in time, should not the refinement improve the brutal element, rather than that the brutal clement should destroy the refinement ? On the other hand, it is argued that a too keen interest in public affairs will lead women to neglect their homes. If that be beyond a doubt the natural result, by all means frown down the ne\v| movement. But is it so } Will a reasonable know- ledge of what is going on about them make woman I forget those dwties that nature has so eminently! IN TIME OF PEACE. 41 itted her to perform ? Would not the time spent in stitching useless covers for chair backs be better spent (n studying the subjects that are occupying the lead- ing intellects of the day, so that a wider knowledge )f human nature, its motives and its aims, may lead [women to be more competent to judge justly of their fellow-men, and make it distasteful to them to spend their time in idle gossip and unjust criticism ? This lis a digression suggested by the mention of the American girl, whose ambitions are not without their pathetic side, and which appeal to us. To return to the ladies' gallery — " Why would you consider," continued Anstruther, " this sympathy more necessary to a public man ? Do you not think that many a poor beggar, who has none of the public applause, needs sympathy too ? " "I think we all need sympathy; but when a man gains applause it is generally when he is suc- cessful ; but when he fails, after a hard struggle, for what he believes to be right, and fails often through no fault of his own, the public will not hesitate to censure and misjudge him. It is then he feels the blessing of his sympathetic home. At least I think I should feel so." " May you always remain as womanly as you are now, Miss Lestrange." Constance looked up, surprised, not being aware that she had said any- thing that would call for that tender ring in c^ 4a IJ\7' TIME OF PEACE, voice always soft. Her glance was met by a lool that held her own. What love and sad longini that look expressed. irii' a lool /# TIME OF PEACE. 43 CHAPTER VIII. [ARRIAGE with Deceased Wife's Sister Bill." rder for second reading read. The member for rises and expresses to the House that, through |s experience as a lawyer, he has been brought to ime this Bill. He tells of some sad cases that ive come under his notice where the marriages ive taken place, and the father dying leaving roperty, the children by the second marriage do |ot inherit, but are left penniless. This he tells le House and a great deal more, and appeals to lis fellow members' sense of justice, by reading Ixtracts from speeches made in the Imperial House ^y such men as Mr. Bright, Earl Russel, and others. 'he member for H (one of the Opposition) [ises and opposes the Bill from a Scriptural Point, ('on the Divine Law laid down in Leviticus, chapter [X, verse 21," This speech of thirtv 'vo.ds is the mly speech made by this member during the f.ficen ^ears of his holding his seat. After a lengthy discussion the vote is now to be [taken, the whips are calling in the absent members. [Presently a melody is begun by one of the members of the Opposition, and by degrees the whole House r.- VK^r , ■ hjnrm fl l!Wf" IllJi. 44 JJV TIME i-F /^/^ J ■:•>.. joins with him in singing the *' Old Folks at Homel Very pretty it sounds as the soft notes ascend to thi galleries, and so soothing is its power that om regrets to hear it die away. The stray members arJ now in their places. The vote is taken. Majoritj in favor of Bill. The galleries begin to thin out. Mr. Lestrange comes to escort Mrs. Chester withl her party back to the hotel. They take their way] to the supper-room, and are seated at a table with! Mrs. Sherbrooke and her small party, of whoml Anstruther is again one. Once more he is seated! beside Constance, and is telling her that he and Mr. Bolton, whose private secretary he is, are leaving for S to-morrow. '- I shall h6pe to see you in S . Are you to remain here much longer .!* " he| asks. '* I expect one month longer." Constance still has her opera cloak over her shoulders, but has removed the covering from her head and is looking a little pale and wistful, but her loveliest, Anstruther thinks. His eyes scarcely stray from her face, as he realizes that he may not see that face again for weeks ; strong impulse impels him to seize her in his arms and carry her ofif where there are no forms and ceremonies, and no cold worldly criticism to thrust the past in his face, and tell him he is not worthy of such a prize. Not ■ '[j iS ffl^^'"-'^ IN TIME OF PEACE. 45 tiomem^^j^y 1 Well, he feels it to be true, and yet, can CO thM leave this sweet girl without even as much as at on^iiing her how he loves her — telling her that, from ers arfBjt f^rst, he felt she was the one woman in all the ajontj^Q-ld for him, and having at least the satisfaction f >eeing those deep gray eyes raised to his with look of — what would it be ? He could not believe r witliBhe vas quite indifferent to him, and yet he felt she ^ayBvas net as yet conscious of any strong feeling for ' ^'tliHii,^, What joy to be the first to awaken that pure eart to a knowledge of its capacity for joy and orrow! To feel, if only once, those soft lips pressed his. "You are looking tired, Constance; I think that, )u inKf Mrs. Chester will excuse us, I will take you off, he ■dear," said Mr. Lestrange. All having finished their supper the party dis- persed. At the foot of the staircase Anstruther bid good-night to Constance and her father. Con- stance noticed that he did not say " good-bye." vhom eated \ Mr. ivinor her her \\tx ray see lels ?re )ld tid ot As Constance was waiting in the drawing-room the next morning for the sleigh that was to take her to a luncheon party, Anstruther was announced. Constance was dressed in a dark blue velvet suit, the jacket bordered with fur. A wide rimmed hat with dark blue feathers shaded her face. Anstruther 4« IN TIME OF PEACE, i came quickly on the heeis of the footman who announced him. He looke' somewhat pale, " I did not leave this nr.orning, Miss Lestrange, because I felt I must bid you * good-bye,' and last night I could not do so with so many eyes upon us. I want you to teU me, just once, that you are sorry I am going away. Will you ? " , Surely that was a simph request and one easily granted, but Constance f^lt, rather than heard, the emotion in the voice that addressed her, and she seemed to grow in that moment a woman with a woman's heart. She raised her eyes and once more met that look of sad longi-.g and regret. *' Will you not say you are sorry ? " Her voice trembled as shL* held out her hand and said, " I am sorry." "The sleigh is at the lac ies' entrance, miss," an- nounced the footman. The moment was over. " I will see you to your si 'igh," said Anstruther. His voice seemed flat and dull, his face had turned a shade paler, but the old conventional manner had returned. He raised his cap as the bells jingled and the restless horses dashed off with their light burden, but his eyes did not seek those of Constance again. Did he regret what he had seen there already ? IN TIME OF PEACE, 47 CHAPTER IX. Mr. Lestrange is seated at his desk in the House of Commons, and has just finished reading some letters telling him of professional matters to be attended to. He has opened a few envelopes containing cards of invitation for himself and Constance, and is now half wondering if he has done wisely in bringing his daughter into this world of gaiety while she is yet so inexperienced in the ways of the world. He does not remember with pleasure the evident signs of interest Constance has showft in Anstruther above her other acquaintances in Ottawa. There is a chapter in Anstruther's life that Mr. Lestrange would find it hard to overlook. On turning to his letters again, Mr. Lestrange's eye is caught by an envelope addressed in an irregular hand. He glanced at its contents, and saw at once that it was something out of the common. These are the words which were penned on a piece of blue water-lined paper : — " Dear Sir,— ** As ceremony is an idle thing upon most occasions, more especially to persons in my state of mind, I shall come at 48 IN TIME OF PEACE, ^1 once to the point w' s of importance to us both. would inform yo' , my present situation in lifei unbearable to mv should prefer death to a continuanq in it. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies, anl you are the man I have selected cither to make or nijj my career. It has employed my invention for some tin to find out a method to destroy another without exposinl my own life ; that I have accomplished, and defy the law Now for the application of it. I am desperate, and musj be provided for. You have it in your power, it is nii business to make it your inclination, to serve mel which you must determine to comply with by procurinj me a genteel support for my life, or your own will taken before the last term of this Parliament is over. have more motives than one for singling you out first upoJ this occasion, and I give you this fair warning, because thJ means I shall make use of are too fatal to be warded oi by a doctor's skill. If you think this of consequence you will not fail to meet the author to-morrow aftcrnoori on the road running through the pines behind Shorncliffe, where it takes a turn to the right, at half-past tlireel o'clock. A few hours after you receive this will determiiiel me your friend or your enemy. You will understand thati you are to be alone. If I discover any artifice on yoiirl part it will be fatal to you. So long as I keep my own! counsel I am secure, for my own lips can alone condemnj me. You will understand that I mean you to come quite] unattended., (Signed), Parsons." Mr» Lestrange was much surprised by this letter, IN- TIME OF PEACE, 49 jt not alarmed, as he at once took it to be the work some political crank who imagined he had a claim Ipon the Government, and took this foolish way of (nforcing it. There was a slight feeling of pity for (he poor wretch who could be so desperate as to lay iimself open to the danger that the writing of such letter would incur, for the boast, " my own lips can done condemn me," did not carry much weight to lis mind. "At the turn of the road, at half-past Ihree." Mr. Lestrange looked at his watch. Five linutes past one o'clock — two hours and twenty-five linutes till the appointed time of meeting. Not jintimidated, but surprised at the letter, he resolved to try and discover the author and have him arrested. Accompanied by a detective, Mr. Lestrange, at three lo'clock, drove towards Shorncliffe. The sun's rays were beginning to grow warmer, melting the snow ; the roads, because of the thaw, were rough and sloppy, and drops of water were dripping from the eaves of the little French houses as the sleigh drove by. Mr. Lestrange threw open his heavy fur over- jcoat. As he did so, the detective respectfully sug- Igested his not exposing something bright and metallic that protruded from his inner pocket and caught the sun's rays. After passing the gates that led to Shorn- cliffe the road takes a sudden dip and rises again about four hundred yards beyond, thus / so IN TIME OF PEACE, forming a hollow through which runs a little stre which, in its turn, is spanned by a rather rick wooden bridge. The ice which had formed on top of this running water was about two inches thii but the water could clearly be seen running rapiij under it. Just near the bridge, where the current most rapid, there were little air-holes, and every n) and then the stream bubbled up and overflowed ice, till it was stopped by a small bank of sno where it gradually froze, forming at first crysj spider webs, and then becoming hard and firm, they were as a part of the underlying strata. Jii so a good impulse will cause our heart to overflo with kindness and good-will, that in its course wj overspread a cold exterior till it be checked by son barrier of selfishness, when it will struggle faintlj against the obstruction " still beautiful in its death] till it cease altogether, and, becoming hardened, \\\ but add to the density of the cold exterior, whiclj unchecked, it would have washed bright. On the far side of the stream is a clump of pine tree — a part, but separated from it by the hill, of the small forest of pines beyond. On the dark green of theii| foliage rests a sprinkling of snow, in some place thick enough to weigh down the branches. As thcl sleigh pulls up, after crossing the bridge, some of the! snow is shaken from the branches and falls, makingl small perforations in the earth's pure coveringl IN TIME OF PEACE. St [eath. Though only three miles from the town, piece of road is lonely. .eaving the horse and sleigh in the hollow with letective acting as coachman, Mr. Lestrange mted the short but steep hill. At the top road took a sudden turn to the left, and here pines on either side of the road grew thicker. [re also they were patched with snow. The had gone behind a cloud, and the cold wind \\\ some of the snow from the trees into Mr. [strange's face. He brushed it away and turned up collar of his coat ; he had not noticed the wind len the pines had shed their snow in the valley (hind him. 'The detective, on being left, prepared to make the )rsc, which was quiet, fast to a tree which stood lose by the side of the road, and then, drawing up ^e buffalo robe, he sat with one foot on the side of ic sleigh ready to obey the signal, should it sound. Sa IN TIME 01' PEACE, III CHAPTER X. li Looking before him, Mr. Lestrange saw that th road was quite clear as far as the spot where it too the turn to the right, which was as far as it was i| view, as there again it took a steep and sudden di Drawing out his watch, Mr. Lestrange saw it \va twenty-five minutes to four o'clock. " No one iiJ sight. It is probably some practical joke. I dJ believe there will be a laugh at my expense. I will go to the turn and then rejoin Tinder." He quickensl his pace, and is just at the turn, when a man hasten] ing round the bend in the road, but still looking back over his shoulder down the hill, would havel run into him, but that Mr. Lestrange, more watchful,] and with his eyes looking before him, steps to onel side. The man starts, on discovering he has almost run into some one — " I beg your pardon, T was not] looking where I was going." ** Not at all — are you going far, Mr. Anstruther ? " For it is he, who, for some reason, is also out in this! comparatively unfrequented road. Mr. Anstruther looks somewhat confused, and explains he is out for a constitutional before being shut up in the train all! night. , /iV TIME OF PEACE. 53 [r. Lestrangc has always observed a dignified [ervc towards Anstruther, so it is quite natural that should now pass on with no further remark tli.in a iood-.iftcrnoon." TV[r. Lestrange cjoes on, but, as turns the corner, slackens his pace, aw^X i^a)es )\vly clown the hill ; when half-way down, he traces his steps still very slowly. On coming Uj Ic top of the hill again, he sees Anstruther stantl- |g at the end of the straight piece of road, his head ;nt and his hand raised to his chin. His whole Ititude denotes thoughtful indecision. He once more [oks back, and, seeing Mr. Lestrange, pulls himself bgether and hastens down the hill, the one at the r iot of which the sleigh is waiting. Mr. Lestrange [alks once more back to the appointed rendezvous, len retraces his steps and returns to the sleigh and finder. " Met no one, sir } " " No one who had anything particular to say to me." "A young chap went by here and looked kinder lard at me ; I sort of think I've a seen him about (own, a darkish looking chap — you met him, I jeckon, sir .? " "Oh, Mr. Anstruther, Mr. Bolton's private secre- iry; he is out for a constitutional." " Oh, I guess long walks is good for the heart, and le looked gloomy enough in no mistake, till a smart |99kin' Uss almost frightened old Bess intp bpltin' 54 IN TIMJl OF PEACE, by comin' out so quiet like from behind them pj just as the dark young chap he come down the They've gone on together now," said Tinder. " Odd," thought Mr. Lestrange. " I undersJ Anstruther was to leave this morning. It is doij odd to find him \ alking with some woman awayj here." Old Bess quickened her pace, and they werei on their way to the town when they saw, a before them, Anstruther talking most earnestly I girl who walked by his side. The girl was dre all in black, which well set off her pretty figure, small black turban rested above a coil of soft hair, Alaska sable trimmed the neatly fitting bl^ jacket. Just now she is holding her handkerclj to her eyes and appears to be crying. This seeml irritate Anstruther, who makes a vigorous lunge ii his walking-stick at an overhanging branch on butternut tree that grows by the wayside. Lestrange takes the road that leads to town byl roundabout way, but, by doing so, avoids passi] Anstruther and his companion. Mr. Lestrange decided to say nothing to Constanj of his drive that afternoon, not wishing to cause! any anxiety ; and knowing her love for him, he fJ she would be apt to see dangers where none existej In this way he told her nothing of having se Anstruther, or of his companion. IN TIME OF PEACE. 55 CHAPTER XI. ;ada is only a colony, but it is a, very loyal one. all events such is the case if the names of its cs, hotels, and other public places indicate any- \\g of the spirit of the people. For instance : — " Queen's Royal Hotel," the " Victoria Restau- It," the " Connaught Roller Rinks," the " Bruns- (k Arms," etc., etc., all of which our American isins seem to regard with keen amusement — an lusemcnt almost as keen as our own on reading tracts like the following from the English Society )ers : — [' Married, on Tuesday, May 12, at St. George's, Norton Lire, Miss Esperance Fitz-Smith, only daughter of itancedcoil Smith, of Goldacre, Illinois, to Prince Sang- [iix, of Chateau Illustre, Normandy. After the ceremony, bridal party repaired to 26 Handover Square, Soutli [;nsington, the London residence of Mr. Cotancedeoil lith. where a sumptuous wedding breakfast was partaken Among the presents to the bride was a handsomely liminatcd Geneological Tree of the family Sangvieiix, [owing their descent from Charleniar^no; this was presented the groom. The father of the bride, lur Cotn.ncedeoil lith, settled an annuity of ^650,000 upon the bride^ and equal sum was settled upon the bridegroom, also by IN- TIME OF PEACE. hi h the father of the bride, to be paid to each individually! long as they live together, and after, if a separation | found more conducive to their happiness. The hap pair left for Monte Carlo, where they are to spend tl honeymoon." To their credit be it said there are many Ameria who hold in <(reat horror these mar-iages, which haj been sd numerous of late and prophesy great trouli in the future ; but the Republic is not, alas ! unitj on this subject. The skaters are in full swing at the " Royal " Rinj In the centre of the ice eight people are dancing tli lancers on skates. The band is playing the Mikad music arranged for that purpose. Ihey are at tM last figure, each person has caught up a differeij colored ribbon that hangs from the Maypole. No they draw them out to their full length, the baij strikes the opening chord and they start off skatin now in, now out, plaiting the ribbon as they doi round and round the pole. A pretty sight it is to sel the skaters glide gracefully in and out, with the brigU ribbons growing shorter and shorter above their heaJ and their circle of evolutions growing smaller anj smaller till the ribbon is all plaited tight round tl pole, and each one is face to face with his partne when the music stops and the set breaks up and thj skaters glide off. Constance and Captain Arda take two or three turns round the rink. Constand IN TIME 01 J^i ACE. 57 )oking bewitching, the exercise has deepened her |or to a deep carmine, her eyes are bright, and the 1 of soft hair is resting gracefully on her slender |ite neck; she again wears the dark velvet suit imed with fur, and many there are who envy Mor his partner. Captain Ardor is looking quite hscious of his good luck. Ardor is a fair man, of medium height ; his ^ure is very straight and well-set. He has the repu tion of being a splendid officer, though still quite )ung. He went through the Egyptian Campaign [th Constance's brother, Hector, which is a bond ^tween them. He is never seen without a glass in le eye, and no amount of jolting, even on horseback, podges it from its place. There is a hole in the glass I allow a string to pass through it, but no string is ever tit to that use. On one occasion when the captain, [ho is by no means without humor, was asked by (lie of his brother officers what the hole was for, he never pu'- a cord through it, he replied, "To It through." The captain and Constance seat themselves on a [hair at the head of the rink. Presently Mrs. Sher- krooke and Mr. Todeson skate gracefully by them. pir. Sherbrooke's skating days are over, but he not far ofif. He is one of those people who )ersuade themselves that they are among the lost fortunate people in the world. If he be 58 IN TIME OF PEACE. not a grep*: man, he belie /es himself one ; and, afterl all, that is, as far as he himself is concerned, perhaps! better : a truly great man is sometimes doubtful ofl his own greatness, and, compared with what hehopedl to do, his achievements to him seem small. The manl who believes himself great also believes that all he does,! being done by him, must be great ; his horses, choseni by himself, could not be better ; his home, planned by himself, is perfect ; his last speech in the House was worthy of him. If some of the members, having! heard him speak on the same subject before, believed they had heard enough and left the Chamber, this| great man pities minds so incapable of appreciating the importance of the occasion. The fact thatl Mrs. Sherbrooke receives a great deal of attention from young society men only confirms him in his impression that all connected with him is worthy of! admiration. If at times he thinks women are inclined to turn the cold shoulder upon her, is it not envy ?- they are not the wives of great men. Some people wonder that Mr. Sherbrooke is not jealous when the! attentions of some of these society butterflies become too marked. Not at all ; compared with him, what are they ? And is not his wife a woman who has| shown her appreciation of him by marrying him. and having married him, could any of those ordinar)'| beings for one moment cast i f/iadow across the steady light of his attraction ? IN TIME OF PEACE. 59 f " Are you to remain in Ottawa much longer, Miss Lestrange ? Till the end of the session ? " asked Captain Ardor. " No, I think not. I expect to leave here in about a month. Hector is comii g back from Egypt in May, and I am anxious to be .it home a little time before im. " I should like to see Hector again. Will he be at home for long } " " Only two months' leive, I think, this time. He has not been at all w -11, poor boy, otherwise he would not be with us so soon again." Captain Ardor has on i short dark blue pea-jacket trimmed with Persian Ian b ; he is not handsome, but his features are small anl delicate, and with his fair hair, which is always pf rfectly smooth — so smooth that Constance calls it provokingly smooth after having tobogganed with 1 im and known the effect of that pastime upon her ov n wayward locks — presents a very refined appearanc -. His mother was one of the best horsewomen of her day in her little world, —I say little, because af er all the world of society is small as compared with the struggling and seething mass of human'icy which s regarded as quite beyond its pale. The captain, who is singularly like his mother, and whose only child he is, inherits her taste (or horses, and never looks so well as when on horse- \k. I ■'1l i 1 60 /A^ T/ME OF PEACE, back. He will inherit her fortune,— it is not ve large but it is a competence. When Constance mentions her brother's indij position a shade crosses his face. He knows hoi fond this brother and sister are of each other. SI in her woman's way making an idol of her handsoml brother, and he in his man's way being proud of hJ beauty, to say nothing of the links of early associj tion that do so much to keep the hearts of brothen and sisters warm for each other when the closl association has so entirely come to an end. Happine with many of us is so largely made up of the recol] lection of former joys that, when a sorrow come that renders the memory of those joys painful, mud of the light has indeed gone out of our lives. Well m knows from his experience in Egypt how apt Hectol is to abuse his constitution ; well, too, he knows thq careless disposition that disregards all counsel fron more experienced heads. " I think I shall run down to S when youil brother is at home. I should like to talk over oil times," said Ardor. The truth is Ardor realizes that Ottawa will bel somewhat of a desert to him when Constance leaves, But he likes to deceive himself with the thought thai "old times" is the attraction that will take him td S . He is not at all sure how Constance regards bim, but he knows each day her society is V!\m IN- TIME OF PEACE. 6i iecessary to him. Her very friendliness, while it [auses him to be envied by others, makes him at limes somewhat liopeless. In reality Constance, who las been conscious of her increasing interest in Liistruther, and for some reason ahnost unknown to Id self has felt uneasy in the consciousness, has ilways turned to Ardor with an undefined hope [hat he would protect her from herself The strange feeling when she first saw Anstruther, and their Immediate mutual understanding, gives her a pro- )hetic feeling that their lives are to have an influence the one on the other. Constance is claimed by her partner for the |iiext band, who is a bright young boy, and 50 rapidly does he skate that the onlookers are irpriscd he knocks no one over, as there are so [many on the rink this evening. After three trips round the ice Constance finds herself in much the same frame of mind as Alice in " Looking Glass House," after she and the Red Queen have been flying with such speed through the air as to render her breathless, only to find themselves on stopping in the place from which they started. When the boy offered her a chair she quite expected him to say, "There 5'^ou may rest a little," and was ready to answer in the character of Alice, " I'm quite content to stay here, only I am so hot and thirsty." This is not necessary, however, as one of the managing r \i \_ 62 IN TIME OF PEACE. committee suggests an ice or a cup of coffee, all three wend their way to the refreshment rooii Mrs. Sherbrooke is once more going to sing, at lea Constance gathers as much as she approaches tli room, observing Mr. Sherbrooke, who is standing nea| the door, his head well back and his arms folde across his chest ; his face expresses extreme con placency, his whole attitude says, " Now we are t| hear something worth while. You may all listen, know you cannot all appreciate it, but it will givl pleasure to all, most of all to me, of course, because fully understand how wonderful my wife's voice is,] Constance has seen this expression and attitude bel fore, so enters the room quietly to listen for the sonj After it is over, those who have not been partaking ol the refreshments, regardless of the music, begin now, Mrs. Sherbrooke takes a chair beside Constance anl says in her usu; 1 off-hand style, " You here, Captainl Ardor, and your glass in your eye" — she prides her- self on saying just what one does not expect to heal — "we were just wondering if you sleep with that] glass in your eye." " Of course I do, to see the girls I dream about," said Captain Ardor. " Some of them are growing! so slight that I can scarcely see them even with itsi aid," with a very decided look at Mrs. Sherbrooke'sl figure. As that lady lives in hourly dread of growing! too stout, and makes no secret of wanting to prevent! IN TIME OF PEACE. 63 uch a catastrophe, the humor of this remark is [not lost upon her. "In future, Captain Ardor, I am at your feet. Hear him, Miss Lestrange ; he insinuates I shall soon be too slight to be seen, even in a dream. Hence- forth I am at his feet. His slave! " .,» - u,- ti'fff' .' r ^ ■ ^4 IN TIME OF PEACE. lill CHAPTER XII. Mr. Lestrange was prepared, on the morning fol- lowing his expedition to the road bordered with pines, to receive some intimation that he was the object of a practical joke ; but nothing further transpired to make him think so on that day or on the next. On Saturday morning, however, he received the following letter in type-writing : — " Dear Sir, " You receive this as an acknowledgment of your punc- tuality as to the time and place of meeting on Wednesday last, though it was owing to you that it answered no pur- pose. There was no intention of doing you any harm, sn your being armed and accompanied was unnecessary, and only prevented my explaining what I expect you to do. If you will serve me I will be your friend and can save you much trouble. Any attempt to convict me must fail, and will only lead to your own destruction. You shall hear from me again. "(Signed) P." IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XIII. Two months later, Constance and her father are back at their home in S . Hector is also at " The Poplars " on sick leave. He is quite able to go about and enjoy himself, however. Cecile having left the Convent School at Easter is once more in Canada, and is now paying Constance a visit. Look- ing very pretty, she is enjoying every moment of her stay with all the enthusiasm of youth. Ardor has carried out his intention of renewing his acquaintance with Hector, and is also a guest at "The Poplars." This afternoon there te to be a driving party. The waggonette is already at the door, drawn by a pair of bay ponies. One, " Stella," has a white star on her forehead, her eyes look a little wild this afternoon, and she is pawing up the gravel as if anxious to be off. The nigh mare is an exact mate for " Stella," but that she has one white stocking on her off hind leg, and across her nose is a blaze of white. She, too, seems quite ready to start ; she tosses her head, and the silver mountings of the harness glisten in the sun. A smoothly kept lawn stretches before " The Poplars ; " a gravel walk leads to the door and makes a sweep round a bed of scarlet geraniums, which 5 66 IN TIME OF PEACE, form a pretty patch of color in the bright sunlight. Tn the middle of the velvety lawn which slopes from the French windows of the drawing-room stands an old-fashioned fountain ; its water spurts into the air and tumbles again into the basin below, making a cool and refreshing accompaniment to the merry voices of the young people who are assembling on ihc doorsteps. Constance, who is to drive the bay ponies, mounts the box of the waggonette. Ardor takes the scat beside her and hands her her parasol whip, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson and Anstruther are in at the back. Hector is seated in the dog-cart, waiting under the horse-chestnut tree. The dog-cart is drawn by a large flea-bitten grey, and as the breeze blows the blossoms ofif the trees they light on the horse's broad back, making him whisk impatiently his short heavy tail. Constance gathers up the ribbons and starts off to make way for the smart looking grey and dog-cart. Cecile gets into the dog-cart beside Hector, and with the coachman behind they, too, are off. A tea-cart, with its party already made up, drives to the door. Mr, Carr, who is better at stroking a four than driving a pair, is jehu to this party ; the geraniums nearly lose some of their bright heads as he wheels the tea-cart into line. At the gate they are joined by a handsome m TIME OF PEACE, 67 rirl on horseback, Miss Williams, and her cavalier, ilr. Moore. Miss Williams is a tall girl with quanti- [ies of fair hair. She wears a dark brown habit and ^all hat ; a short net veil is drawn across the upper )art of her face and increases the deep blue of her eyes. She is riding a bright chestnut, with three White feet, who looks (juite conscious of his own [importance and of the precious burden on his back. Moore, who is also well mounted, sits his horse as Istraight as a die. Constance, by arrangement, takes the lead, and Hector brings up the rear. The whip is flicked over I the backs of the bays, and, after a little rearing and plunging, they settle down to their work and make the waggonette spin along the even road. Ardor, who is a perfect horseman, is surprised at the mas- terly way Constance handles the ribbons, and thinks if she looked well in her tobogganing costume she is at her best here. She is dressed in a simple grey dress with white linen collar and cuffs, a gray Eng- lish walking-hat is on her head ; lier rich chestnut hair is coiled in a knot beneath the rim of her hat, and curls softly about her pretty pink ears. The pleasure and excitement of driving gives a color to her cheeks and a brightness to her eyes, and for the time dispels that thoughtful look from her face. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson are both young, and appear to enjoy thoroughly the fresh air through which they w IN TIME OF PEACE. \ are passing; but Anstruther is evidently making an effort to keep up his share of the conversation, and from time to time lapses into silence. After the party I has been on the road a little less than an hour, the sky becomes overcast, and presently large drops of rain begin to fall, making dark blots on the gray of the dusty road. " This looks as if we should be obliged to turn back," said Ardor in a disappointed tone, and con- tinued : " Is there any shelter near here that you know of ? " " Yes, we are very near the village of A , and we can drive under the sheds used by the country people for their horses on Sunday. It would be such a shame to turn back, do you not think so ? " said Constance, who had no intention of foregoing the afternoon's pleasure. " Yes, I do think so, but I hope it will be all over in less than half-an-hour." Umbrellas and waterproofs always being kept under the seat of the warrgonette, Mrs. Simpson is mdde comfortable, and Constance touching up the ponies they are soon in A This village was well known to Constance, as indeed was the country for miles round. She drives direct to the shelter referred to, and awaits the arrival of the others. Presently Miss Wil- liams and Moore gallop up, the former looking hand- somer thari ever, the bright color deepening in her IN TIME OF PEACE. 69 cheeks. They guide their horses into the next stall. The tee-cart is driven onto the neighboring shed, and seeks shelter there ; after two or three vain attempts the nigh hind wheel is safely under cover, not having lost much more than the paint off its hub. Hector pulls up the gray under the verandah of the village post office, shoemaker's shop and grocery store combined. After the drive Mr. and Mrs. Simpson are glad to get lout of the waggonette, and stand at the end of the Ished looking at the rain. Arbor is at the ponies* Iheads, preventing their rubbing their bridals. I Anstruther moves to the seat next Constance. " Is lit absolutely necessary," he says, addressing her, " to [drive back in the manner in which we have come "i II mean, cannot I sit beside you } " I Constance always finds it difficult to resist his Iplaintivc voice, but she is quite aware that Ardor [expects to occupy the seat beside her for the entire [drive, and as he is a guest in her father's house she [feels compelled to reply : " I think we must remain [as we are for the drive, but we can have a chat [together at the Springs, while we are taking tea." I " Well, you will give me a little of your society Ivvhile there, will you not } Do not be hard on me. llVave looked forward to this afternoon so eagerly." iHis eyes are very dark, and there is the same quiver In his voice noticed before by Constance as denoting ■too great a capacity for suffering. 70 IN TIME OF PEACE. i 1 ftf When the rain cleared off — it was only a shov/er-| Constance prepared to back the waggonette into thei road. As Mr. and Mrs. Simpson are getting bad into their places, all notice that Carr is experiencing some difficulty in getting the tee-cart out from its shelter. Having once got it in, he does not seem able to get it out again ; he jerks one horse and then the| other, till they are both irritated almost to wildness. At last, by some chance, they both back at once, and I out into the road comes the tee-cart, almost bringing down the shed as the fore wheel catches on the sup- porting beam and nearly tears it away. The noise,! added to their previous treatment, frightens the horses, and off the^- start, dashing up the road. Fortunately they are not very high-spirited animals or nothing would stop them now, Carr having lost what little | control he had over them, though he still holds man- fully to the reins. The women do not scream, and I before long they are spinning steadily enough, but still nervous, along the level towards the bubbling | Springs. In this way the tee-cart leads, the wag- gonette second, the dog-cart next and the eques- trians last. On leaving the village of A the road to thel Springs takes a turn to the right; beyond the turn it is a remarkably good level road. After thel shower the sun comes out all the brighter for its tem-l porary concealment j a soft mist rises from the dampl V' IN TIME OF FELICE. 71 [elds, and as our party drives along, the soft air filled nth the aroma from the refreshed earth blows in their ices, making one and all realize what a good thing IS to be alive on a day like this. Not all perha])s. >rr still feels that his horses are going at this (juick |)ace more to please themselves than to please him, Ind is in consequence a little uncomfortable, but [rusts to this breather to make them more tractable. ^'o the left of the road is a plantation of firs, a clunii) t'hich has afforded shelter during the rain to a few [;attle which arc now cropping the tender grass. As [he tee-cart dashes by, they raise their heads .ml look after it, with wonder in their soft brown e\es [hat anything could be anxious to hasten past such thoroughly refreshing resting place. A horse khich had been standing a little further on, looking 3ver the fence, throws up its head as the pair of excited bays draws ne:tr, and starts off at a gallop by [he side of the road, coming in view and then disap- Dearing as the fence winds in and out among the [rees. This is more than Carr's already frightened brses can endure, and taking the bits between their [eeth they dash off faster than ever. Down the short lill, by the farm-gate, over the corduroy bridge, round the turn and straight away again ; till trees, fence posts, stumps, stones, green fields and sandy ^oad are all a confused and swimming panorama to eyes of the four people sitting, now thoroughly 72 IN TIME OF PEACE. frightened, behind the maddened brutes. As Coi stance brings her bays to the top of the short lii before reaching the farmer's gate, she sees from lii elevated position that Carr's horses are off, and th; he is being pulled gradually off his seat. She al knows that the one steep hill in all this drive is sh on the next turn the horses must take, but what si does not know is whether Carr is aware of the existi ence of this hill. Somewhat pale she turns to asl Mr. Simpson, the one most likely to know, if lii thinks Mr. Carr has ever driven over this road bcfori Anstruther and the others in the back of the was;- gonette, sitting opposite each other, and with onlij their side faces turned in the direction of the runawajj have not been aware of what was going on. Con stance's pale face makes Anstruther leave his last re mark to Mrs. Simpson unfinished. Simpson repliei| to Constance's question by saying he should sayCai had never driven over any road, if one might ju from the manner in which he backed his horses froml under that shed ; but gathering from Constance's faci that something serious is transpiring, he stands upoul the floor of the waggonette, and, resting his hand on Anstruther's shoulder to steady himself, looks aftef| the rapidly disappearing tee-cart. " Carr cann know of that hill or else his team is clear away. B| Heavens, I hope the harness is strong." ' . Constance gathers her reins a little more firmly ii JN TIME OF PEACE. 73 \x hands. *' Come Vixen, come Stella," and with a (ght touch of the whip across their backs the ponies jiicken their pace, as Constance explained after- irds, when she felt able to joke about it, " In [der to be in at the finish." With her ponies doing leir work steadily, Constance can still keep the tee- Irl in sij^ht, without being near enough to increase le terror of the already maddened horses. Now ley are at the turn that bring? them to the top of Ibieak-back hill," so called from a horse having run ivay here, thrown his rider and then fallen and |-oken his own back. Those in the waggonette can \t the horses in the tee-cart swerve to the left, they ear a faint scream, and then the noise of the wheels |ittling down the hill. Constance once more touches er ponies ; unaccustomed to feeling the whip so often so short a time they almost fly over the ground. [idor, who is a thorough horseman, sees long before lis that Constance is quite equal to her task, and DCS not distract her attention by a single suggestion. Instruther, less accustomed to horses, can scarcely )nceal his anxiety to help her, but is obliged to con- [nt himself with keeping his eyes on her delicate rofile, ready to spring at the slightest sign. The |int scream has turned Constance's face a shade iler, her hair is somewhat loosened by the rapid riving, but her lips are drawn firmly together and £r hands are steady on the reins. As they near the iH! i 74 m TtME OF PEACE, top of the hill she slackens the ponies* pace, speaks soothingly to them ; they seem to understani and gradually quiet down to a more reasonable stridtl Scarcely a moment has passed since they heard tin scream, and Constance, on coming to the turn, seesi woman lying apparently insensible at the side oftll road. Pulling the horses up on their foam-bespatterd haunches, she hands the reins to Ardor, and is in; instant bending over the prostrate figure. Anstn ther follows quickly, as does Simpson, Constanci who has never lost her presence of mind, asks Ardoi to drive on and discover the fate of those in front. ' i':|i| IN TIME OF PEACE. 75 CHAPTER XIV. Constance wiping the dust with her handkerchief from the unconscious girl's face, and, brushing back the fair hair, takes the head on her lap and is relieved to see it is not hurt beyond a bruise just above the eyebrow. Anstruther, on seeing them thus, turns away, and a look of anguish comes into his face. " There is a stone house in among those trees, you must carry this poor girl there, the pole of the cart must have struck her. I know the woman who lives in the house, and we can send from there for a doctor," said Constance. Anstruther comes forward to help raise the girl. As he bends over her, she opens her eyes. "You here. Why, what has happened ? " she asks in a faint voice and once more swoons away. " Poor, poor girl," murmurs Anstruther. He and Simpson carry her across the road through the white gate and along the neat tan-bark walk to the verandah of the house, where there is a rustic bench on which they lay her nerveless form. "Better let Hector drive back to A for a doctor," said Constance ; " he will surely be passing soon now, as he was not very far behind.'' 76 IN TIME OF PEACE. " I will go and stop him," said Simpson. " Do not send for a doctor, please," begged tlic| girl resting on the seat. " I shall soon get over tl faintness, and then I shall go on to my aunt's ; shel lives in a farm house close to this," looking at Constance. " I have been staying with her for a| week, she will wonder what keeps me so long." " Do you not think it would be wiser to have a| doctor before leaving here ? " asks Constance kindly. " I could wait with you till he came, and after if he| wished." This remark causes a struggle in the mind oil Mabel Arthurs (for this is the girl's name), which shows itself in her face j her blue eyes fill witli tears ; she shakes her head and says she knows her faintness will quickly pass away. Simpson goes to the gate to stop Hector, who is heard coming along the road. While he is gone the woman of the house comes to the door and takes Mabel Arthurs into one| of the rooms, and after bringing her some cold water, once more disappears. Constance goes to the I window with the intention of letting in a little fresh air. As she does so she hears Mabel Arthurs | say, " Does she know who I am } " " I think not, but if she did she would be no less| thoughtful," Anstruther answers. **Most likely she would not have noticed me," says Mabel bitterly. Constance is quite aware by IN TIME OF PEACE, 17 this time who Mabel Arthurs is, but she is surprised that she and Anstruther know each other apparently so well. She is conscious of a sharp pain at her heart that surprises herself, and of a strong wish to get away and be alone. Looking out of the window she sees a man harrowing in the next field ; he wears a wide straw hat and has his dark-blue shirt sleeves rolled up, showing how brown and strong his arms are; his boots, all muddy, are drawn outside his rough trousers. One horse that draws the harrow is grey, with a short tail — an old carriage horse, Constance thinks, that has lived in comparative ease during his youth, and now that he is old and his good looks gone is turned out to hard work like many another of his kind. The other horse is a dark bav, and flicks the flies from his sides and back with his long tail. A few yards from the man with the harrow is a grove of trees, on its borders is a large stump against which rests a bundle of fagots, — all that was left of what was once a beautiful tree, thinks Constance. It is only a short i.ime since Constance went to the window, she is s^ill conscious of the voiv:es at the back of the room. Hector and Simpson come to the door, and after a short consultation it is decided that Mabel Arthurs is left in good hands; and, as she assures them that she will soon be able to go on to her aunt's house, Hector with Constance 78 IN TIME OF PEACE, i;i ! and Simpson leave her, not, however, before Con- stance goes to the side of the couch aiul sa}s .slit will be glad to hear that Miss Arthurs is quite better, There can now be no doubt in Mabel's mind that I Miss Lestrange knows who she is. A bright flush comes into the pale face, and Mabel thanks Miss Lestrange, and assures her again that she feels already quite well. Anstruthcr has moved to the window, and is looking thoughtfully out at the horses and their driver as they slowly disappear behind the trees ; he also notices the bunch of faggots, and envies the woodman who has felled the tree. Constance slips a bank note into the hand of the farmer's wife, and thanks her for all| she has done, and, leaving her card and address, asks to be told if Miss Arthurs is not better on the morrow. Hector jumps into the dog-cart, and he and Cecile are soon with the rest of the party at the] Springs. Constance and Simpson, who had known eadil other all their lives, walked slowly down the hill,| After a time, Simpson says : " There are not many men who would * face thel music ' like that, Connie. I cannot understand! Anstruther's connection with that girl ; but whateven it may be, he was plucky to face the comment hid absence will excite now. Extraordinary we shoul(| have run across the girl out here." JN TIME OF PEACE. 79 •' Mr. Anstruther has known Miss Arthurs before, then ? " asked Constance. " They say he was engaged to her, but I cannot help hoping this may not be the case." Ardor found the others quite safe at the foot of the hill. No part of the harness had broken, and climbing the steep hill on the other side of the Springs had quieted the wild horses. When Ardor and Mrs. Simpson arrived they found Miss Phunyone, Mrs. Bridge and Mr. Knowles looking white and somewhat shaken, but otherwise all right, and anxious to go to the assistance of the girl whom they fear they have knocked over. They are told that Con- stance and Anstruther are looking after her. Mrs. Bridge slightly raises her eyebrows and looks wise. Presently Hector and Cecile join the party and are quickly followed by Constance and Simpson. The baskets are emptied, and all prepare to make the picnic a success and overlook their recent narrow escape. Caviare sandwiches, pigeon pie, cold chicken, lobster salad, cold lamb and mint sauce, with lettuce, and various kinds of cake and fruit, washed down by a few pints of claret, and a cup of delicious tea for the ladies, made a nice little repast. As they sat about in the light of the bonfire which had boiled the kettle, a very picturesque group they made. Constance had laid aside her hat, her soft hair iO IN TfMF. OF PEACE. , shone bright and glossy in the fitful gleams from tbj fire. The cushions from the carriages have be strewn about, as the grass, though apparently dry] notwithstanding the shower, has a treacherousl|| fresh look. Resting on one of the cushions, Coit stance^ ler white hands clasped in her lap, is lookinj thoughtfully into the flickering light of the blazinj wood. Ardor is near her, and seems to be aflfecte by her mood, for he too seems deep in meditation. Hector and C^cile have all the fun in theiJ neighborhood. Mrs. Bridge is explaining sottovm to her American friends, Miss Phunyone and Mrl Knowles, that she does not like to repeat gossip! but she has heard queer stories about Mr. AnstrutheJ and thinks it rather a brazen thing for him to leavj the party and remain with that girl, particularly; he is Miss Lestrange's guest. Miss Williams, who i sitting with one neatly shod foot and spur peepin out from under her habit skirt, does not encourage) continuance of the topic, as she knows of old Mn Bridge's tendency to disseminate startling intel gence. " Have another cup of tea, Miss Phunyone ? " " No, thanks, Mr. Lestrange ; I have had so mucll already that one would be obliged to get into a life] boat to find my back teeth." As Anstruther joins them, he walks close to wherj Constance is sitting and quietly says : " I feel I IN TIME OF PEACn. 8i ^rou an apology for being so late in rejoining your jarty, I trust you will excuse me;" and, still lower: May I hope you will not misunderstand ? " Constance is very proud, and she feels, after the larked attention Anstruthcr has paid her on all fcrmcr occasions, that the course events have taken this afternoon will excite not a little wonder among those who have seen it. She tries to persuade herself Ithis is the only reason she is feeling pained. She Ireplies rather coldly, " I quite excuse you, certainly," land then turning, looks bravely in his face and adds, r I think 1 understand, and believe you have done Iquite right." What a relieved look passes over Anstruther's face [she only sees, and she alone hears the almost |iiiaudible words, " I thank you." When the horses were brought out for the return [drive "the moon was up and yet it was not night." Constance was unusually jolly and talkative during [the homeward drive, notwithstanding her fatigue. It may have been a wish to conceal Anstruther's unusual silence. As they drove by an apple orchard Ishe noticed one or two trees had been broken by the wind ; one limb, which is half broken off from the [parent tree and resting on the ground, is still blossoming, " Like one making merry while one's [heart is breaking," she thought. 6 u TN TIME Of PEACE. CHAPTER XV. A FEW days later Mr. Lestrange found under the door of his office the follovvinjr communication, addressed and written in type-writing : — , *' If >ou will walk in Queen's Park alone on Sunday afternoon, near the large maples, towards four o'clock, you will see some one who will wish to speak with you. He will give you his address, where you will not fail to send four or five hundred dollars. Your being quite alone will insure your safety. Do not be curious too soon. *' ^Signed) P." " Another letter from my friend Parsons," thought Mr. Lestrange, and slipping the note in his pocket said nothing of it t''^ he and Ardor were alcne on Saturday evening. Mr. Lestrange then told the captain of the other two communications, and how he had gone while in Ottawa to the rendezvous and had seen no one — no one at least but Anstruther. Ardor asked if Mr. Lestrange tho'.ght of going to Queen's Park, and was told yes ; that at first he thought he would pay no attention to this third note, but on second thoughts he decided to try and discover who his correspondent was, and to tci;. the man he would have him arrested if these letters were not discon- tinued. man is." " You the objcci Captain 1 " In ca on you se borate ni discover anxious f "Will you have take ? " "No; and as th Park on ! losin^j^ sig other re I writer of the rcnde ing even armed an joined uf "The fir evidently type-writ find it is showing m TIME OF PEACE. , 83 tinued. " I confess I a:ii somewhat curious who the man is." "You are told that being accompanied frustrates the object of the meeting, liut will you go alone, sir ? " Captain Ardor asks. " In case I should wish to apprehend the man later on you see, I should have someone with me to corro- borate my statement, and at all events I only wish to discover that the man is really there. I am not anxious for an interview further tlian that." "Will you allow me to go with you.'' or perhaps you have alrcad)' decided upon whom you would take } " "No; if you do not object we could go together, and as there are generally a number of people in the Park on Sunday afternoon we could separate without losing sight of each other. Tinder's presence at the other rendezvous was evidently objected to. The writer of this second letter must have either been at the rendezvous himself, or had some one there watch- ing events for him, ns he reminds me that I was armed and attended, both of which the first letter en- joined upon me to avoid," explained Mr. Lestrange. "The first letter," he continued, "is written in an evidently disguised hand, the last two are written in type-writing. 1 have compared the type-writing, and find it is done by the same machine. You will see," showin"; the two Utters, " how the letters t, e, r, in ■m m\ 84 IN TIME OF PEACE, Wfm afternoon in both are the same, being imperfect, and imperfect in just the same way in both communica- tions. The same in the word o'clock, you will notice how imperfect the cl is in both. All three letters are on the same paper. There can be no doubt, I think, they are all sent by the same hand." On Sunday afternoon towards four o'clock Mr. Les- trange and Captain Ardor parted at the gate of Queen's Park — Mr. Lestrange turning his steps towards the large maples, Ardor keeping him in view but going towards the cedar grove at the opposite side. Mr. Lestrange passed several people before reaching the maples, as many were taking their Sunday out- ing. When he reached the spot which he imagined would be Ihe place referred to he stopped and looked about him. He could sec Ardor not far off walking near several other pedestrians ; no one was just at this spot, however. Presently a man overtook and passed him quite quickly. He was a short fair man, as well as Mr. Lestrange could see, and wore a brown coat and a pair of large checked tweed trousers ; he carried a hunting-crop in his hand that was decidedly loud in style and heavy in weight. His black silk hat was a little on one side of his head. Mr. Lestiange watched him on his v.ay for a few moments, as he was not the style of man one often meets far from a race-course or training stable, and he looked out of place an^ong LV TIME OF PEACF. 85 the mechanics with their wives and famih'es, who ivere taking the air on this Sunday afternoon. The |man stopped to speak with some one just beyond the imaplcs. The man to whom he spoke scarcely stopped Ito listen, but with a curt nod of the head passed on, leach step bringing him nearer Mr. Lestrange, who [soon saw that it was Anstruther, and was surprised. On speaking of it afterwards Mr. Lestrange ox- Iplained it should not have surprised him to meet An- istruther there as he lived just beyond the Park, and [to come into the town must pass that way, but he [was expecting to see some one quite different at the [time. Quickening his pace, as he was not anxious to [be seen loitering about, Mr. Lestrange quickly met Anstruther. They exchanged a few commonplaces, and then Mr. Lestrange asked Anstruther if he knew [the man who had just passed ; he was rather an un- common looking person, said Mr. Lestrange, that [was his reason for asking. Anstruther said with some hesitation that he knew |him, and that his name was Arthurs. " Rather a sporting man, I should say," said Mr. [Lestrange. "Yes, I believe he does affect that style," Anstru- |ther replied now indifferently. After waiting and walking up and down for quite |half-an-hour Mr. Lestrange joined Ardor, and they left the Park. When they got beyond the crowd Mr. 86 IN TIME OF PEACE. r ■ \i Lestrange said : " I met only one man who looked at all the manner of man I expected to see ; he was in a great hurry, and appeared to have no intention of stopping to speak to any one. Anstruther, whom I met, too, by the way, told me his name was Ar- thurs. What can be the object in sending me these letters ? If it be to extort money from me, so far I have seen no one to whom I could give money even if I were so disposed. I shall not bothe- about it further, but I do not like to think a man can write, threatening me, without being punished for it." IN TIME OF PEA CE. i7 chaptp:r XVI. On Monday morning, as Constance was arranging some flowers for tlie dinner table, the maid brought her the following note : — ■•I>i.AK Miss Lestuange, " If you will be at home this afternoon I should be very ;'i.ul if you will allow me lo eall. 1 would eome on the cIkuuc of finding you at home, bill I should be greatly ilisai)i)ointed al missing you. and feel that sending this iiolc a few hours earlier may make it less diflicult for you to grant me an interview. May I trouble you to give the hearer an answer ? Try and mi ke it favorable. "With kindest regards, " Believe me, yours very sincerely, " Dudley B. Anstruther. "The Lodge, " Monday morning." Constance sent the following reply : — " I shall be at home at three o'clock. "C. L. '•'The Poplars,' Monday." Constance was sitting in the little room that opened off the conservatory. It was her own sitting- room. A walnut book-case, well lined with books, * 8S f.v Trirr or pkack. stood against one of the walls. A sofa covered with light-colored liberty silk, and laden with cushions, stood across one corner ; close at hand was an escritoire, at which Constance wrote her letters and kept her household accounts. On a table lay a number of papers, among them the Illustrated News, the London Times^ and Punch, for Constance took an interest in the events of the day, and liked V\ keep up with the times. There are not many flowers left in the conservatory, most of them being bedded out ; but a grape vine or two is still there, and a few creeping roses nod their pretty heads as the breeze blows through the open door. The French window is partly open, and the unsteady play of the fountain can be heard in the distance. Constance, seated in one corner of the large sofa, is reading " Bleak House," and has just reached the point where Lady Deadlock is viewing her lover's grave through the iron gate. Having laid her book down, she is wondering if poverty and obscurity to Lady Dead- lock with the man she loved would not have been Heaven compared with the life of elegance she passed with Sir Leicester. She is not experienced enough to know that there are some kinds of mental torture that must be borne before their depths can be fathomed. One can more readily realize physical hardships without enduring them. No one can sum- mon up all the spectres that will torment the soul IN TIME OF PEACE. «9 under certain conditions, till one has really ex- perienced those conditions; then it is too late to escape from them, even to face the more apparent, but less painful, ills. We need only walk through our poorest streets to see evidence in abundance of physical suffering ; but who can count the multitude of heart-aches that throb out their existence in isolated woe amidst the throng of our wealthiest thoroughfares ? What is before our eyes we realize. What we can simply imagine we only half believe, and often forget. Anstruther made his appearance upon the stroke of three. After shaking hands and finding a chair close to the sofa upon which Constance is sitting, he and Constance interchange a few commonplaces. Anstruther, picking up a copy of Punch that is lying near, turns to the cartoon ; it is Tennell's " What o' the night ? " and represents Europa looking out, her hand shading her eyes, from the watch tower of an old feudal castle. In the distance the Russian bear is outlined in stars against the cloudy sky ; it is one of this artist's boldest drawings, and rivets one's atten- tion immediately. " Does it ever strike you," asks Anstruther, "how we are all spending our lives in trying to shape our future } I think it is Washington Irving who says, 'the secret of being happy is in realizing one's 90 IN TIME OF PEACE. vrm present blessings and enjoying them; not in passing our time thinking of blessings to come.' " " No doubt Irving is right, yet there must be times in every one's life when to look forward is a relief," answered Constance. " Oh, yes, in cases of sorrow, hope is the only balm," and then he continued : " I have been very anxious to see you. Miss Lestrange, to ask you if I may explain what must have puzzled you on Friday at the drive ; but before explaining, there is some- thing much more important to me, of which I must speak." Here he rises and stands leaning over the back of the sofa. " Constance, I love you." A wave of bright color sweeps over Constance's face, then ebbs away and leaves it whiter than before; she turns her| head away, but otherwise she does not move. "1 cannot feel that my love is wholly unknown to you, It has been so much a part of my life since I first] met you that I feel all must have seen it ; surely you have felt it } Do not turn away from me," his voice | trembles with emotion ; " is there no hope that I may in time win your love } " Still no answer. " Constance," he says fervently, and so near to the I pretty shining hair that his lips almost touch it, "I cannot hope I may ever be to you what you at this moment are to me, but give me the right to devote my whole life to a constant effort to win your love." IN TIME OF PEACE, 9t Passing to the front of the sofa, and placing his hand under the small chin, he turns the face suffused with blushes till their eyes meet. " My darling," he murmurs and lifts her with his strong arms till her head rests against his shoulder, " I scarcely hoped for this. My beloved, teach me to be worthy of your love." After a pause, during which his cheek is pressed against hers, he says, " You have not told me yet, Constance, do you love me ? " " I think I must," faintly, is the reply. " Still let me hear you say it." "I love you." And their lips met 93 IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XVII. Constance draws herself away, murmuring "Oh, no," and stands hesitating near the table. "Well, Constance," said Anstruther in a voicesti!l| deep with emotion, "you are not happy to stay with me longer," a pained look in his face. " You regret | already what your eyes have told me, is it so' Some recollection comes to your mind and crowds | out the feelings the strength of my love has sur- prised. Is that not it ? " and taking her firmly butl gently by the arm, " Tell me, Constance, what is it makes you turn from me ? " Still no answer but a trembling of the white eyelids, and a nervous turning of the papers on the table. Then somt'\vhat| sternly, *' It is better that you should tell me. think I know the cause, but it is better that y( should tell me with your own — " a slight pause asl if a recollection made him relent a little, and theol in a gentler tone — " sweet lips. Oh, Constance, howl I would wish you to trust me implicitly, now thatl you have told me you love me. An hour ago sucll knowledge seemed all that I wished for — more thanl I expected — now I am greedy for your trust too. Could you not put your hand in mine and sayj IN TIME OF PEACE 93 I 'Dudley, I love, and loving you will trust you implicitly ? ' " I Constance turned as if to speak, but turning away again, " I wish I could do so, since I do love you, but there are some things difficult to understand, and perhaps you could make it easier ? " laying one hand gently on his sleeve. At that touch the dis- appointed look leaves his face, and taking both her hands in his he leads her to the sofa, and once more stands behind her. "In saying some things are difficult to understand, I know to what you refer. Miss Arthurs, is it not ? " A slight inclination of the head from Constance. "In acknowledging to the world your affection. for nic, Constance, you would have much to face. I feel I would give years of my life to undo my past for your sake only, not that my own conscience does not acquit me ; on the contrary, it does. But I know it is hard for a woman to face the disapproval of her friends. They will probably only see in me a man who has recently been engaged to another woman, and that other woman one whose name has not been above reproach. Constance, do you credit me when I tell you I believe that woman has been misjudged ? If you will believe that, Constance, you cannot be very cruel to me. I thought I might make her life a little happier and save her from worse evils. I do not IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 IffilM ilM ■ m 2.2 I.I m it40 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" — ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 73 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^^ iV \\ '9> V %' £?. # Wm 94 /J\r TIME OF PEACE, f ill If: say my motives were wholly unselfish. In many ways Mabel Arthurs appealed to me, but most of all by her helplessness. I need not enter into parti- culars of how I mel her and became interested in her, suffice it to say that some time before I met you I realized my mistake. After seeing you I knew that mistake was fatal to any hope of happiness I might entertain. I came back from Ottawa with a feeling of hopelessness at my heart that I trust you may never experience. Meeting you again, as I did from time to time, was agony to me, yet I could not remain away from you." " Have you been engaged to Miss Arthurs till — till recently, then ? " asks Constance somewhat proudly. "You think me capable of that, do you, Con- stance ? Of being engaged to one woman and showing another — and that other yourself — by every action, as I must have done, that I adored her? Oh, Con- stance, you are hard on me." Anstruther walked to the window, and stood for a few moments looking absently at the fountain as it bubbled and sparkled in the sunlight. Constance was of too true a nature to say she had not thought so, for since the scene at the driving party she had come to that conclusion ; and while she had assured Anstruther that evening after his return from the farm-house that she considered what he had JN mrr. of peace. 95 done was quite right, she meant as regarded his duty to Mabel, nor had she any intention of resenting his conduct on her own account. Now that Anstruther had told her that he loved her, she had a right to hear his explanation. Coming back from the window, and standing before Constance, Anstruther continued : " I was quite free from any engagement before I met you in Ottawa, but I was aware that, in consequence of being so recently conspicuous because of that engagement, I was wrong in seeking your society so persistently ; but, Constance, when I saw you surrounded by others 1 felt I could not leave you, and then you were always so gracious and sweet to me, my darling, — I may call you so, may I not ? " pressing his lips to the pretty forehead. " I felt it impossible to remain away from you, can you not forgive me that } Say you can." " Oh yes, but tell me — tell me how you remained with Miss Arthurs last Friday, not being engaged to her.?" " You must love me, Constance, or I should not be holding you like this, but I hope the day may come when you will love me much more trustfully." Then, [after a pause, "I remained behind at thefarm-hou.se because I was sufficiently aware of the girl's lonely position to know it would pain her to leave her there Llone." 96 LV TIME OF PEACE. I " She loves you still then," said Constance rising. " Much better be true to her as you have won her love. You should not have come here to-day." Constance was not devoid of the weaknesses of other human beings, and it hurt her to think she had been surprised into confessing her love for a man who had so recently listened to a like confession from other lips. She was also one of those women — they are much too rare — who always felt a warm sympathy for those of her own sex, and the fact that Mabel Arthurs had been to a certain extent under a ban did but increase that sympathy rather than lessen it. ' . " Once more you misjudge me," was Anstruthcr's reply. " Mabel Arthurs did not love me. Gratitude and I think respect she did feel for me ; a marriage with me would have meant a life of comparative com- fort for her, but it would also have meant a com- plete barrier between her and the man she really loves. When I discovered her love for another, our engagement came to an end. I believe at one time the girl thought she could forget a man whom I now know to have been thoroughly selfish in his dealings with her, and she confessed to me at the last that it was consideration for me that had prevented her marrying me before. She realized that such an alliance would be greatly to my disadvantage, she said, but she could not give up all hope of comparative rest m TIME OF PEACE. 97 while I appeared happy in what I was doing. I was content, Constance, but nothing more. Mabel Ar- thurs still hopes to marry this man, who has only re- cently returned from Buenos Ay res. I trust there is a better fate in store for her." Anstruther walks to Constance's side once more, and, taking her firmly by the shoulders, turns her face towards him, and looking into her gray eyes asks, "Constance, my queen, can you so overlook the past as to face its consequences in the future with me } " " I will do all I can to make your future happy." Anstruther's strong arms encircled her and pressed her dainty head close to his shoulder. , now ilings 98 IN TIME OF PEACE, CHAPTER XVIII. Constance felt that her father should at once know of her love for Anstruther. She decided to tell him lliat evening, and trust to time to prove him more worthy than her father at present believed him. Hector was late in returning, and Mr. Lestrangc. Captain Ardor, Cecile and Constance sat down to the prettily appointed dinner-table without him. The fruit was being brought in when Hector took his seat beside Cecile. Constance saw at a glance that things were not as they should be. Who that has seen a beloved face flushed, the bright eyes heavy, and the dear hand unsteady, does not remem- ber the sickening feeling of dread that creeps over one when this sight is first becoming familiar? Ardor bravely threw himself into the breach, and kept the attention as much as possible upon himself by telling all the interesting stories he could remember of life in Egypt, and told, not for the first time, of how Hector, in the trip up the Nile, had risked his own life in saving a man who had tumbled out of one of the boats, and how one night, when they were lying ill in hospital, they had heard the bugle call sounding to arms, to warn them that the IN TIME OF PEACE. 99 enemy were advancing on he hospital. When they heard the call, some of the men, already at death's door from fever, rose in their beds and staggered towards their guns, only to fall back fainting on their cots. How Hector, though very ill himself, went to the assistance of the poor fellows and tenderly drew the scant covering over them, and assured them it was an alarm sounded by our friends just to discover if the troops told ofif to be on guard were in readiness. "By the way, old man, you tcld the truth that time by mistake, did you not ? It was a false alarm, Miss Lestrange," added Ardor. " But why excite the poor sufferers ? They surely had enough to endure," replied Constance. " Must always be ready for the enemy," said Hector with an absurdly serious stare. When Constance and Cecile withdrew, Constance felt this was not the time to make her confession to her father, sad as he was already, so the night closed in and no one knew of their secret but Anstruther and herself. After leaving the dinner-table, Mr. Lestrange and Ardor strolled in the garden, smoking their cigarettes. Constance and Cecile were sitting on a rustic bench under the horse-chestnut tree. All about them was suggestive of " fragrance, quietness, and trees and flowers." Feeling out of harmony with her sur- roiindings, Constance's the ughts are still with Hi HP:. Hi, loo IN TIME OF PEACE. Hector. The lighter nature of Cecile considers such an occurrence more trivial than does the thought- ful Constance. " I shall be obliged to take a run up to Ottawa next week," Mr. Lestrange is telling Ardor ; " by- the-bye, I hope my ticket has not run out. I have one of those commutation tickets ; but it has bee" renewed once already, and I should not wonder if it had expired again." Taking the ticket from between the paper, Mr. Lestrange continued : " I did not run backwards and forwards so often during last ses- sion." He finishes the sentence in an abstracted manner, his attention appears to be riveted on the piece of blue water-lined paper, on which the follow- ing words are written : — **D. J. Lestrange, Esq., M.P. " Dear Sir, " I have much pleasure in renewing your railway ticket between S and Ottawa. It is now enlarged to the latest possible date. '* I remain, " Yours, obediently, " (Signed) H. Bolton. " D. L. R. Offices, " March 23rd." Handing the note to Captain Ardor, Mr. Lestrange j a$ked, IN TIME OF PEACE. lot "Do you see anything peculiar about that, Ardor ? " « After looking attentively at it, Ardor replied : " If it were not that you knew from whom this came, I should say it had been written by the same type-writer and on similar paper to the communi- cations from the mysterious individual who signs his name ' Parsons.' There is the same imperfect * er ' too, sir." " This ticket was renewed towards the end of March. Let me see : just about the time of that second communication — this is odd. But, dear me, it is absurd to suppose that there is any contiection between the writer of this and the sender of those other letters. It weakens my proof, however, that the others were all written by the same type-writer, because of the peculiar defects in the type. Mr. Bolton's type-writer has that faulty *er' too, evi- dently. Ah, there are the girls going in, they are early to-night. Good-night, Cecile," as she and Constance come towards him. " You are tired, are you, dear } " with a kind look into Constance's pale face ; " you are wise to go off early. Something pleasant for to-morrow, I hope. A ride is it ^ Godolphin will be glad of that." Mr. Lestrange and Ardor went back to the library. " Shall we look at those letters again ? here they are," unlocking a drawer in the writing-table. " Here is ^he loa IN TIME OF PEACE. second one I received, which is the first that came to hand in type- writing. It is dated from here March 26th, just three days after the date of the first com- munication." Then comparing it with the one enclosinpf the ticket — "Why, this is extraordinary! Look at this, Ardor," resting the point of his finger on a small blot at the edge of the paper on which the note from Mr. Bolton was written, and then placing the note signed " P." beside it. " See there has been a blot rubbed off the second letter, but one can see the traces distinctly, as if it had been rubbed with a damp cloth. They might also be parts of the same blot." • " It does look like it certainly. Mr. Bolton could have nothing to do with it. What kind of men are in his office } " asked Ardor. " I know none of them but Anstruther, he is Bol- ton's private secretary, and of course he would know nothing" — pausing to think. " It is strange I should have seen him on both occasions when expecting to seethe author of those letters." There is a pause during which Ardor takes his glass from his eye and puts it back again, looking somewhat puzzled. " Oh, no, nonsense. Anstru*-her is too much of a gentleman to have any connection with a man who could send communications of th^t kind," W riMt OF PEACE, 103 CHAPTER XIX. As Anstruther was walking back to the lodge after leaving Constance, he was accosted by a horsey in- dividual wearing a suit of large check tweed and a small silk hat, and carrying a hunting-crop — the same man in fact who excited Mr. Lestrange's curios- ity that day in the Park, and whose name was Arthurs. Anstruther on meeting this man was quite ready to pass on with a slight recognition, but Arthurs turned and walked with him. They had walked together some distance when Anstruther came to an angry halt, " I have given you all the money I intend to give you. If I had never given you any, I believe now it would have been better both for you and your sister. You might have been forced to work and gain an honest living — if such as you can be honest." " Look you here, Anstruther, don't goad me too far. Now you have grown tired of my sister, daniU you, you think you can get rid of us both, but you don't shake me off so easily. I'm no milk and water woman with my sense of gratitude, I'm not. Lots I owe you, don't I ? Such as I can't be honest, can't we ? Well, you may live to regret the day you refused to say a good word for Bill Arthurs." And shaking I .; I04 IN TIME OF PEACE. his stick in Anstruther's face he turned and hurried away. Anstruther looked for an instant as if he would follow and give him a good thrashing, then thinking better of it went on his way. Arthurs slackened his pace, stopped, turned and overtook Anstru';her, who looked far from pleased at the thought of a renewal of the conversation. " Look here, Anstruther, I ask you just oncetoust ^° your influence in that quarter to help me and I wil °" ^^* be your friend." " It is impossible, Arthurs, that I should use mj influence for you there. In the first place I have no influence, and, if I had, I know from experience th I cannot depend upon you to keep sober." The foil My Da "May ee lings f( rery hope im oblige Hit will h norrow. hat ever) ng to be That a the c lim to \ 'Gentler iO.J., lesday ; )rivate u [ant, it is he capt '^liich ari hurried e would thinking ened his her, who renewal ce to use nd I wil use tnj have no nee thai IN TIME Of FEACU, 105 CHAPTER XX. The following morning brought Constance this note. 'My Darling, " May I hope that you are willing that I should see your ather to-day, and tell him of my aspirations and hopes ? Vou will understand my anxiety that he should know my eelings foi you. Unworthy as I know myself to be, I am very hopeful of the future now that I know you love me. I im obliged to go with Mr. Bolton to Carswell this evening, )ut will hope to see you immediately on my return to- iiorrow. Think of me during your ride, dearest, and know hat every moment of absence from you is spent in long- ng to be at your side. "Dudley." That afternoon Constance's saddle-horse is brought the door. Ardor, has brought two horses with lim to S , one of which he is to ride in the Gentleman's race" at the summer meet of the K. 0. J., which is to take place on the following Wed- lesday ; the other is a horse he keeps for his own )rivate use. As he himself admits, if he is extrava- gant, it is where horses are concerned ; but in reality he captain lives considerably within his means, vhich are more than ample for his requirements. io6 LV T/AJE OF PI- ACE. On this afternoon he and Constance are going for a gallop together. Constance, on hearing the horses on the gravel, comes to the door dressed in a dark green habit and pretty top boots. She wears a tall black hat which suits her perfectly ; the white linen collar at her throat and white dogskin gloves on her hands, in one of which she carries her hunting-crop, all look and are quite correct. Ardor in his cords and short coat, with the glass still in his eye, looks quite at home when mounted on his spirited chestnut with the white face. Godolphin, Constance's horse, is a bright brown, of about 15^ hands in height. His eyes are full and gazelle-like, with that soft expression which is indica cativc of good manners and high courage when roused. His nostrils are wide and open. Above the eyes his head is wide and full, giving room for the brain, which Constance claims, and justly too, Ls his. His ears, which are pointed and well set on his head, are long and thin, the muzzle almost small enough to drink out of a glass tumbler — at least so it looks before a gallop ; after a gallop his nostrils stand out stiff, and admit the air freely, which they could not do if they were smaller. Godolphin's body is light, but the ribs are set well apart ; the somewhat arched loin, glossy coat with its net- work of veins showing beneath it, the thin withers and finely boned leg, all show that he has some right to the claim of being a IN TIME OF PEACE. 107 thoroughbred. Ardor, who has seen Godolphin before, cannot refrain from expressing again his admiration for this piece of perfection in horse flesh. , A gentle trot through the quiet part of the town brought Constance and Ardor to the road leading up the side of the hill that skirted the town on the south. As they wended their way along this road, all four seemed to enjoy the beautiful scene that lay before them. In the distance the pretty bay which washed the northern boundaries of the town shone blue in the sunlight ; the hills beyond the water were thickly wooded with trees, whose green foliage was softened into azure by the distance. Immediately before them the larger houses with their neatly kept lawns nestled on the side of the hill, and were almost smothered from sight by the rustling trees surround- ing them. As the riders ascend, they can sec the 1 streets running through the business places of the city, like dull rivers through a smoking forest; carts and waggons appearing to glide over their surface as smoothly as canoes paddled down those rivers by [the dusky Indians. Quickening their pace, Constance and Ardor [soon find themselves on the border of a wood, the approach to which is guarded by a snake-fence. Con- [stance trots Godolphin up to it, and he leaps it in his stride. Blaze and his rider follow, and they now loS IN TIME OF PEACE. wend their way through the wood, the trees meeting above their heads. The foliage is so thick that only here and there the sunh'ght makes a bright stream across their path, like gold threads on a ground of mottled brocade ; the crackling of the twigs beneath the horses' feet startles a little red squirrel, who leaves unfinished the cracking of the acorn between his teeth and sits up on his haunches, listens an instant, his bright eyes awake, then drops the acorn and scampers off to disappear among the leaves of a tall pine tree, like a flash of sunlight under a thunder- cloud. Ardor and Constance are affected by the stillness of the wood, and no sound disturbs the quiet but the snapping of the underwood and the tip-tap, tap-tap, tip-tip-tip of- the woodpecker's yellow hammer as he makes his cruel and lonely meal. After a ride of a mile in this twilight of the trees, Ardor and Constance find their path crossed by an open road which divides the wood and opens the way to the next concession. Turning to the left, they allow their willing horses to break into a gallop, A stretch of two hundred yards brings them to a stream that has been bridged by a few crazy planks, none of which are loft now, the recent rains having I so swollen the stream as to wash the crossing away. Constance turns in her saddle and asks, " Shall we| jump It ? IN TIME OF PEACE. 109 " Blaze does not like water, but I will try him at it if you will give me a lead." With a " Come, my beauty," Constance rides him at it. Godolphin pricks up his ears and quickens his pace, gathers himself together on the bank and clears the stream. Constance becomes aware that Blaze's hoofs are not coming up behind ; turning Godolphin face about, she sees Ardor is having a battle on the other side of the stream. He rides Blaze at a sharp trot for the second time close to the bank, and with a cut of the whip tries to make him take the jump that will bring him safely to the other side, but Blaze, all quivering and with nostrils dis- tended, refuses, and then the battle begins in earnest; for a third time and then a fourth Ardor rides him at it with a similar result, his flanks now all white with lather, and more than one welt on his pretty side showing where the whip had done its work. Once more Ardor turns him round and rides at it, Ithistime at a gallop. Blaze with a tremenduu^ jump that would have cleared a six-barred gate, and which shews his want of knowledge of water-jumping, carries his master safely over. He stops short as soon as his hoofs touch the ground. Ardor feels the steel of his left stirrup give, and knows it is [broken. He has scarcely realized this when Blaze Ibolts. The road which runs along the brow of the no /AT TIME OF PEACE. mountain, and which is narrow here, takes a sweep to the right. A farmer is driving his empty hay-rick round this curve ; this leaves little room for Ardor to get by. He could have done so, however, but for the handle of a pitch-fork which was protruding over the i;ide of the rick, and which struck Blaze across the chest. Ardor saw this must happen and had the reins firmly in his hand. The swerve and plunge made by Blaze, combined with the former loss of his stirrup, unseated him, and he v/ent off over| the left side of his horse. Constance, who had followed quietly and as slowlyl as she could do and still keep Blaze and his rider in view, now came up. She is very white, fearing! Ardor must be hurt, as he lies so still. Disengaging! her foot from the stirrup and holding her habit skirU and whip in her left hand, and taking a long holdl of the reins with her right, she slipped from hei| saddle, then fastening Godolphin to a branch of i tree that grew by the road, she hastened to Ardor'j side. Raising his head she asked anxiously, " Can you tell me if you are hurt ? " Ardor opened his eyes and looked about him inj puzzled way, then, as it all flashed back upon hin sat up and looked for the horses. ** I'm awfully sorry. Miss Lestrange; I hope Idij not frighten you," noticing how pale she was ; " tli "wretched pitch-fork must have struck Blaze. IN TIME OF PEACE, III wonder how far Blaze has gone. Have I been here long? Just an instant ? Then this whistle will bring him back, or I am mistaken," and drawing a whistle from his pocket, he blew it. Presently Blaze came trotting along the road, his head high in the air and his ears .veil up, looking about from side to side as if in quest of something ; then seeing Ardor, he came and stood close beside him. Ardor, who had risen to his feet, asked him what he meant by such conduct ; to which Blaze replied by ruLoing his nose caressingly against his master's arm. Ardor still looked pale and shaken, and Constance suggested his resting a little before beginning the ride home. 112 IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XIX. I The two horses being fastened to the tree, Constance and Ardor sat down on the soft turf to rest. Con- stance, with the back of her head resting against the mossy trunk, her hands clasped and lying in her lap, as was usual with her when resting, had laid her gloves with her whip at her side ; the folds of her habit displayed in its beauty rather than obscured her figure. Ardor was reclining on the grass near by ; he picked up one of the little gloves that was still warm from the pressure of her pink fingers and raised it to his lips. Constance, who was watching a speck of white, which was really a yacht, on the bay in the distance, was startled to feel his strong hand take hers as he said, " I love you ! Will you marry me ? " Drawing her hand away, and turning from him, Constance said, " Oh, why do you say this ? We are so happy as ' e are. Please, please, forget this. Do not spoil our happy friendship." * " Can you not give me a little hope ? I will be patient. You are worthy of more than I can give IN TIME OF PEACE. >i3 you; but no one could love you better," Ardor pleaded, his voice deep with feeling. Constance rose ; " Believe me, Captain Ardor, this cannot be. You will soon forget this — love — will you not ? If I pain you — I am so sorry," she pleaded. " If you pain me ? Oh, you women are so cruel." " Have I then been cruel to you ? Never, never have I meant to be so," protested Constance. " No ; forgive me. You could not prevent that your sweetness should steal away my heart. I was unjust. And yet, at times, I hoped you did not regard me in the same light as the other men about you. I must hope — life would be so empty without the thought of you," his eyes taking in every detail of the pretty picture before him — the thoughtful face, the delicately turned ear and throat, the bright shining hair, the slender waist and soft white hands. " Then I must tell you that — that there is someone else," said Constance, bravely, turning her face to his. Then seeing the gray look overspread his face and the hollows beneath his eyes which bespeak the mental struggle that he is going through, she turns and walks away to where Godolphin stands cropping the fresh grass. She leans her cheek against his glossy neck, and her eyes are dimmed with tears. Ardor stands for some time as if stunned, then brushing what remains of the dust from his coat, and 8 114 I.V TIME OF PEACE. ■ readjusting the glass from his eye, he looks at his watch. Walking towards Blaze, he tightens the saddle-girths and arranges the strap of the broken stirrup. " It is five o'clock. Miss Lestrange ; if you are rested, perhaps it would be better to jog on." Constance, who is quite ready to do so, places licr foot in Ardor's hand, and with a light spring is qr-^kly on Godolphin's back and ready to start. The speck of white on the bay in the distance has disappeared from sight. As they reach the level road leading back to the town, Ardor says in a voice in which the effort to make it cheery is scarcely perceptible : " Did I ever tell you of an experience I had in Bazutoo Land ? One night I was out in command of a company of volunteers, there were just a hundred of us. We were out reconnoitering, and had taken up our position for the night in a plain at the foot of a hill. Some of the men were lying before the bivouac fire, and others were sitting about in groups discussing the chance of an encounter with the natives, and wondering if rein- forcements were on the way to join us. It was just growing dusk when, looking towards the west, I saw a body of horsemen outlined against the evening sky. They were consulting together, and from their gesti- culations I knew they had discovered us. Then I saw they were forming in line to charge. I gave the com- IN TIME OF PEACE. ««s mand to prepare to receive cavalry. Many of the men under me were mere lads, and none of them re- gulars, nor had any of them (.ome face to face with an armed enemy before. They obeyed orders quickly, however, and there was soon a square. You know the formation ? A hundred men to meet a charge of at least 500 mounted Bazutoos. As they poured down upon us with their asse^^ais raised in the air, the feathers standing out from their heads, and their black faces distorted with wild lust of blood, they looked more like devils than anything human". There was a young fellow in the front line of the square just four from the end. I knew him well in Capetown, as well as his sister, whom at that moment he resembled amazingly — they say all likenesses come out more vividly in moments of intense feeling. I saw this youth turn as white as paper and swerve to one side, almost fainting. I knew our slight and only hope of safety depended upon our keeping our little square solid." "What did you do?" interrupted Constance, anxiously. "Well, I drew the revolver from my belt and said, 'The first man who flinches from his post I shoot.* A wave of color, partly from shame I think, spread over the hitherto ashy face of young Stuart, and taking a firmer hold of his gun, and setting his teeth firmly together, he awaited the advance of the Bazutoos." I! ' M^ ; "m N li6 AV T/ME OF PEACE. " And " — said Constance. "Oh," answered Ardor, as if the object of his nar- rative were attained, *' you want to know if we were cut to pieces ? Oh, no. The blacks came within a yard of us, but they could not make their horses charge the bayonets; the brutes swerved just as they were upon us. Why they did not return and kill every mother's son of us we could not at the time make out, and you may imagine we spent an anxious night ; but afterwards we discovered that the Bazu- toos did not return because they believed our reinforce- ments much nearer than they really were." " And the Capetown boy ? " " Poor Walter, he was found at the close of the last engagement in the campaign with an assegai through his right lung, and the bodies of three Ba- zutoos close to him. I have never met a braver lad than he proved himself to be ; there was no position of danger he shrank from. That first experience I had of him was simply the result of his fully realizing his danger, but I should have been surprised if my words had not called him to himself, and aroused the courage that I even then believed to be in him. I did not for one instant expect to be forced to put my threat into execution. God forbid." Then after a pause — "There are natures, Miss Lestrange, that almost succumb when first realizing what is in storel for them ; but those same natures can sometim *«HP IN TIME OF PEACE. x\^ rally and face their i"at« uriflinchingly though it mean days of pain and — " here his voice has a catch in it — " hopeless longing." WTmT N I IS IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXIT. As they pass through one of tlie quiet streets, Con- stance is struck by the beauty of a Japanese ivy that almost completely covers a small cottage standing back from the road. Constance on Godolphin's back sees it, notwithstanding a high board fence that sur- rounds the garden. She gives it a last admiring glance before turning the corner, when to her surprise she sees Anstruther open the door and then turn to speak to a fair-haired girl in the hall. Constance recognizes Mabel Arthurs. Ardor, too, sees this ; he notices that the color completely leaves Constance's face before she makes Godolphin break into a quick trot which soon brings them home. Ardor realizes who that '• someone else " is. Immediately on reaching her home, Constance consults the time-table. The train leaves for Carswell at 6.30 p. m. She looks at the clock, it is half-past seven. Anstruther must have changed his intention of leaving town with Mr. Bolton. JN TIME J- PEACE. 119 CHAITEK XXIII. tOiNSTANCK is seated at the head of tlie breakfast tabic i^ouriiitj out the ei^lVec. Hector is at the side- board, and has just, witli carvinj^ knife pointing t' the \i^\\\wg, asked in a trat^nc voice, " Who says steak?" To which Cecile replies, " I say steak." Ardor, who lis looking i)ale tliis morning, is removing the doily from some liot biscuits before passing them, when Mr. Lestrar.ge, who lias gone to the window |totake a peep at the morning paper, says : — " Why, what is this ? Here is the window pane I broken, and lying all over the carpet. Ring for Esther, Constance." Esther, who answers the bell at once, is a tall girl with a beautiful figure. Her hair is of that reddish color so popular with artists; her com- plexion is fair, and of that transparent appearance that is usually seen with red hair : here her claims to good looks end. Her eyes, which are of a light blue in color, are small, and their lids fringed with white lashes. At first sight one would say she was devoid of eyebrows, but a second look would discover that they, too, were white and scarcely perceptible, except when some feeling would cause the blood to rush to her face, when they would form clearly l^Ct //V TIME OF PEACE. defined white curves. Her mouth when closed was good but somewhat drawn in expression, but the teeth displayed when the lips parted gave the face a cruel look, being uneven and sharp in form. In a word, to see Esther as she walked gracefully if some- what stealthily away, with her beautiful figure clothed in a well-fitting black dress, and her bright golden red hair coiled beneath her housemaid's cap, or crowned by a neat little bonnet, and just enough of the neck and cheek visible to show how fair and soft was the skin that covered them, one would say, " What a remarkably good-looking woman ! " One could not help being disappointed when she turned and one encountered her cold blue eyes. Esther's hands were j long and narrow ; the second finger of her right hand was straight and stiff, a window having fallen on it when she was a child, and she had never been able to bend it again. Esther had been parlor maid at " The Poplars " since Constance returned from France. She had proved herself an excellent servant, if| somewhat taciturn. Esther answers the bell. Esther is surprised. The I window was not broken an hour ago, as she raised it before setting the breakfast-table. Esther brushed! up the glass ; she had nearly finished when some- thing arrested her eye and hand at the same moment.l -Stretching forward she picked up a paper tied round something with a string and handed it to Mr IN TIME OF PEACE. 121 Lcstrange, who cut the string. A stone rolled out. Glancing his eye over the paper, this is what he sees: — " I have reason to believe a Mr. Anstruther is aware of some facts that concern your safety. He will be out of town when this reaches you, but will only be gone a day, when you might seek an opportunity^ of questioning him. There would be nothing gained by my giving you my name, it would only imperil my safety. " Your friend, " Anonymous." (No date.) Mr. Lestrange folded up the note and put it in his I pocket. All were anxiously waiting to hear what the note contained, and Hector called out, " What is it > " "Oh, it is just some nonsense; some foolish boy I must have thrown the stone through the window. I Come, let us have breakfast. Esther, put that screen I in front of the broken window. That will do. A I cup of coffee, daughter." As Esther places a cup of coffee beside her I master's plate, something in the paper which Mr, Lestrange is reading, and which she sees over his shoulder, causes her to start ; she recovers herself, and, though paler, goes on with her duties. She seems anxious that Mr. Lestrange should bt properly [attended to as she passes him everything on the 122 IN TIME OF PEACE. table, going so far indeed as to pass the hot biscuits twice. In time her duties are over and she leaves the room. When Mr. Lestrange finished his breakfast he took the paper with him to his library, where | Hector and Captain Ardor found him. Constance and Cecile sit for a little while over I their coffee and discuss their plans for the day, indulging in a little speculation as to the broken | window. Constance's thoughts soon drift into think- ing of Anstruther, and wondering what his explana-l tion will be of his visit to the ivy-clad cottage. She did not doubt, though somewhat mystified, that his| explanation would be a good one. The heading of the paragraph in the paper which] caught Esther's eye as ^l., looked over Mr. Les- trange's shoulder, and which is now being discussed] by the three men in the library, is as follows : — "CRIME IN OUR MIDST— LITTLE WOOD STREET. (( YOUNG GIRL FOUND INSENSIBLE ON THE FLOOR OF HER SITTING-ROOM — THE BROTHER'S HORROR — HIS INTERVIEW WITH THE POLICE. " Last night, at half-past twelve, Chief Constable KeeferJ while sitting in his office at Row street, was called uponi send assistance at once to 79 Little Wood Street, where 1 girl had been found murdered. On going to this addresj IN TIME OF PEACE. 133 with one of his men lie found the doctor and William Arthurs watching by the bedside of Mabel Arthurs. The brother explained that, on coming in a liiile before twelve o'clock, he found his '.istrr lyiiig insensible on the floor in the next room. (Jii going low.uds her he found that her forehead had been cut open just above the eye, that the cut was deep, and thai at first he thought his sister was (lead, but, on closer examination, he found that she still 1)1 jathed, though faintly. He lifted her and placed heron the bed in her own room, where she still lay unable to speak when your reporter visited the scene of what is likely to l)rove a tragedy. The doctor holds out little hope of ulti- mate recovery. " MISS ARTHURS' LIFE AND APPEARANCE. " Miss Arthurs is English by birth, and has only lived in this country for the past three years. It is known that for the past two years of that time she has occupied the cot- tage on Little Wood Street, and has carried on the occu- pation of copying legal documents for different law firms in the city. Mabel Arthurs is a slight fair girl, with pretty features and light golden hair. The last person seen with her was a man by the name of Dudley Anstruther, to whom slie had formerly been engaged. This man was seen to leave the house so recently as the evening before the per- son or persons unknown made the assault upon her which may result in her death. This individual is at present out of town, but his return will be anxiously looked for, as he may be able to throw some light upon what is now a mys- tery. After seeing the unconscious girl, your reporter 124 7iV TIME OF PEACE. \i ■;! was taken to the sitting-room. The table-cloth was stained with ink, and one chair still lay overturned on the floor, but no other signs of a conflict were apparent. The room was neatly and tastefully furnished. A book case containing an edition of Scott's Novels, more novels by Bulwer Lytton, several copies of the Century Magazine and a few odd books, among them Macaulay's Essays, stood in one corner of the room. Near the window stood a table with a type-writing machine on it. On the mantel-piece were a few pretty but inexpensive ornaments. In the second window was a flower-stand, on which were a number of plants in bloom, and hanging just above them a caged par- rot sitting with ruffled feathers, a picture of misery. The whole room presented an appearance the least calculated to suggest Clime." IN 7IME OS PEACE, 125 CHAPTER XXIV. As Mr. Lestrange sat in his library later in the morn- ing the door opened, and Anstruther, looking very pale and anxious, was shown in. After an interchange of the ordinary greetings, Mr. Lestrange asked An- struther if he would not be seated. " Thank you, sir, but my time is very limited. I called in the hope of seeing Miss Lestrange, the maid perhaps understood me to ask for you. I am sorry if my entrance has interrupted you," continued An- truther, noticing the papers lying about the table. " Now that you are here, Mr. Anstruther, perhaps you can tell me the meaning of this note." Mr. Le- strange picked up the note he found that morning on his breakfast- room floor and read it to Anstruther, who looked more annoyed than surprised at its con- tents. "This note says you were to be out of town to-day, but I see that is a mistake," continued Mr. Lestrange. " It was my intention to be out of town to-day at the time that note was written," answered Anstruther. " How do you know, sir, when this note was written } There is no date on it, neither have I told you when I received it. Is it possible that you are the 126 IN TIME OF PEACE. I sender, and are you connected with the sending of the notes I have received from time to time durinp the winter ? " asked Mr. Lestrange. Anstruther turned a shade paler, and his eyes grew deep and bright. 4* " Mr. Lestrange, I knew that you would receive a note similar in tone to that note you have just read to me, but as to the existence of other correspondence 1 know nothing. Neither had I anything to do with the writing or sending of that note." " I scarcely expect you to say otherwise even were you guilty of having so far forgotten yourself as a gentleman," said Mr. Lestrange, when Anstruther in- terrupted him — ''There are times when a gentleman may be very desperate, sir." "Then you make excuse, do you, for the sender of j these letters "i I am surprised, and I must say," added Mr. Lestrange, " that it looks very much as if you did know of the rest of the correspondence." Anstruther drew himself up, and with the look of | indignation still in his eyes said : "I must remember that you are much older than I I, sir, but even that does not give you the right to insult me. I say again, a gentleman in desperate straits may resort to desperate measures ; but I say also that whatever may have been in those letters, 1| knew or know nothing of them." /y T[MF. OF PEACE. "7 Both men have been a little more than excited. After a scarcely perceptible pause, but in an altered voice, Anstruther continued : " The knowledp;e that you doubt my word is more painful to me than you can imagine." The thought that the father of the girl whon* he loved so ardently believed him a liar was in- deed bitter to Anstruther. The knowledge which had been forced upon him, that his Constance loved this man, if painful, yet silenced the angry words that sprang to Mr. Lestrange's lips. In consult- ing the notes again that morning, and viewing them by the light of the suggestion contained in the one received by him just a few hours previously, Mr. [estrange was inclined, though against his will, to believe Anstruther might know something of them. The arrival of the second note with the postmark S , where he knew Anstruther had returned just the day before ; the third note appointing a second rendezvous, his going there and meeting Anstruther only, and the man whom Anstruther knew and said was Arthurs; the similarity between the type-writing in the note sent with the railway ticket (which was in all probability written by Anstruther, as it came from his chiefs ofifice) and the type-writing in the notes signed " P " ; the similarity in the paper in all, all looked suspicious. Then the note of the morning, I and later Anstruther's remark, " It was my intention 138 m riMK OF PEACF.. at the time that note was written to be out of town to-day," only confirmed these suspicions. On reading the report in the morning paper of Mabel Arthurs* misfortune, and the reference to her engagement with Anstruther, made Mr. Le- strange's cheek burn as he recollected Constance's half confession made the night before. With both subjects in his mind at once, the fact of the man whom he met in the Park on that Sunday afternoon being a brother of the girl whose name had been connected with Anstruther's, struck him for the first time, and explained Anstruther's know- ing and being spoken to by that man, on that Sunday afternoon. On the other hand, what object could a man in Anstruther's position have in writing and demanding assistance from him?| Anstruther, though not rich, was in receipt of a salary larger than any within the gift of Mr. Lestrange. Was it likely a man of education, and evidently a gentleman, would lay himself open to| the charge of writing such letters ? His daughter's almost acknowledged love fori Anstruther pleaded strongly with the father for| the man before him. Mr. Lestrange answered in a quieter voice, ** Thisj last note, of the existence of which you admit you were aware before seeing me this morning, tells ma LV TIME OF PEACE. 129 that you know of something that nearly concerns my safety. Is that the case ? " " I kpow nothing, Mr. Lestrange," answered Anstruther, in a weary voice, " but that you were to receive this note, and that it would throw suspicion of something upon me." But you are aware who wrote the note ? " I know full well who wrote the note, but I can do nothing to help you to discover him. I am in honor bound to disclose nothing." Anstruther, who is aware that he is asking Mr. Lestrange to believe improbabilities, imparts this inforn^ation with a half-heartedness that contrasts strongly with his indignant manner of a short time before. "If you are not the writer, allow me to say, somebody else who is the writer owes you very ill-will." A brighter look comes into Anstruther's face, then leaves it again as he says ; — " It is no time, sir, when your mind \s so full of suspicions of me, to tell you what I am most anxious for you to know, but I feel it is due to tell you at once — Mr. Lestrange, I love your daughter. It must seem presumption to you, and I know myself to be unworthy of her, but still I must go on loving her. In all humility, I believe, unworthy as I am, that your daughter in a measure returns my love. If, sir, you become convinced that I have had »30 IJSr TIME OF PEACE, nothing to do with this — miserabic letter writing, can I hope for your approval ? " Anstruther is so much in earnest that he has forgotten his indignation of a few moments before. Mr. Lestrange is standing at the window, his back partly turned towards Anstruther, but the earnest- ness in the latter's tones is not without its effect, notwithstanding other views he had entertained of securing his daughter's happiness. He turns from the window and conies nearer Anstruther, who is standing pale and agitated, his hand clasping the back of a ohair. " Explain away this network of circumstances that now entangles you, and then we will discuss this — other matter. I wish for my daughter's happi- ness, but at present I cannot see that a union with you would ensure it. Have you seen the morning paper } Then you know that to-day the whole town will be speaking of you in connection with that unfortunate girl." " I know it, and I could face that without shrinking, but that it makes me appear so unworthy of what I prize more than life itself If you will it so, Mr. Les- trange, after all this dreadful mystery is cleared up, I will go away till you are willing to acknowledge the world a eyes your aughter'i accepted suitor. Only leave me the hope, and try not to so thoroughly misjudge me." Anstruther IN TIME OF PEACE. »3i Titing, ic has before. 3 back arnest- efifect, ined of ,s from who is [pg the [Stances discuss happi- on with norning le town ;h that inking; what I Ir. Les- ired up, Dwledge ughter's and try truther appeared as if about to say something more, then hesitated, and finally added, " Believe me, sir, you are misjudging mc, but I will trust to time to show you that I am not quite as unworthy as you think. May I hope to see Miss Lestrange before leaving your house this morning ? I promise not to detain her long." Mr. Lestrange hesitated and then said : " My daughter knows nothing of these letters. I trust you will let her remain in ignorance of them." He rang the bell. Esther answered it with almost impossible promp- titude. "Tell Miss Lestrange Mr. Anstruther waits ill the morning room." Esther with a quick look at Anstruther leaves the room. Anstruther is taken to the morning room by Mr. Lestrange, and left there to await Constance. It is the same room in which just two days before he learned that his love was not wholly unreturned. The Venetian blinds are drawn together to keep out the warm sun, but through their open slats Anstru- ther can see the water of the fountain sparkling in the light. The room is filled with the fragrance of roses, which nod their damask heads over the sides of china bowls and fragile glasses. Anstruther, though deep in thought, notices the silver thimble and spool of thread which have tumbled from the work-table and rolled on the floor. He is about to pick the thimble up when the soft frou-frpij of Constance's dress makes him turn "3> m TIME OF PEACE. to meet her. Constance is dressed in a white em- broidered morning gc^vn, a frill of soft lace is at Hlt throat and wrists. Cecile has pinned a white rose in the belt at Constance's waist. As she enters the room a wave of soft color deepens her usually pale checks. Anstruther never forgets her as she looked at that moment, coming towards him through the soft lifrht of the rose-perfumed room. With one stride he is before her, and holding both her hands in his strong clasp is looking hungrily into her face. " My beautiful darling," he murmurs, Constance cannot hide the pleasure his presence gives her, but Anstruther notices a slight constr.iint in her manner, and attributes it to her natural reserve. So intent is he upon what he has to tell her, he does not allow himself further time for speculation as to its cause. " I have come here, Constance, with sad news. Come and sit on the sofa and let me tell you what has happened." Anstruther tells Constance of what he has seen in the paper and continues : " On reaching the Lodge, after having left the office yesterday, a note was handed me from this poor girl, who is now in such danger. The note asked me, Constance, to go to her cottage that evening at six o*clock, as she had something of im- portance to tell me." Constance is toying with a paper-knife, it now snaps jn her hand. AV TIME OF PEACE, »33 Anstruthcr continued : " I knew at once it was of importance, as Mabel Arthurs was not a girl to exag- (Terate I knew from experience. In order to do as she asked I was obliged to obtain permission to follow Mr. Bolton to Carswell on the midnight train, which permission he granted, but this delay witli my packing made it half-past six o'clock before I was able to get to Miss Arthurs' house. I need not tell you I think, Constance, that there are times when the recol- lection of the little I have been able to do for this girl does not prevent my wishing our paths had never met. I mean no disloyalty to her in sa> ing that, but when I feel that my past intercourse with her may separate me for a time at least from you, I cannot help regretting that we should ever have met. Miss Arthurs gave me the information in her possession which concerned me. It was important ; I am bound not to disclose what it was. On returning this morn- ing (my chief found he must return to S at once and make the trip to Carswell again on another day), I bought the morning paper on the train ; this is what I saw." Anstruther drew a paper from his pocket and showed Constance the paragraph we have already seen. Placing it in her hands he rose and went to the mantle-piece, leaning his head upon his arm. Presently he felt Constance's hand on his shoulder. "This is dreadful. Has the poor girl good medical attendance } Is she alone } Without another woman ? hi »34 LV TIME OF PEACE. Mill 1 1 i ■i 1 11 1 1 'l What manner of man is her brother ? " All these questions Constance asks hurriedly, her face ashy white. Anstruther turned with a look of deepest gratitude in his face. " I have come this morning to you, Con- stance, to ask you if you will object to my going and doing what I can for the poor girl. My first impulse was to help her, but I knew it was due to you after what has passed between us to consult yoi'.r wishes in the matter. I know there will be much comment on what has already occurred, you see my name is in the paper. I shrink from it for many reasons." " It will be unpleasant — very ; but we must do what we can for Miss Arthurs. The paper says iio hope — that is perhaps an exaggeration. You should go at once ; " then in a shy and sweet voice, " at once, Dudley." It was characteristic of Constance that with the knowledge of Mabel Arthurs' suffering came all forgetfulness of the resentment and doubt she felt on seeing Anstruther in her society so unexpectedly the night before. Though loving Anstruther, she was too proud to a.sk him for further explanation, putting doubt out of her mind for the present and trying to feel that in due time all would be explained. " Before going, my pure angel, I want to ask you earnestly an4 beseechingly once more to trust me IN TIME OF PEACE. '55 implicitly. Will you try?" askeJ Anstruther, look- ing searchingly into her fair young face. '• I will, Dudley, try and believe all that you do right. What you cannot explain now you will, perhaps, make clear to me by-and-bye," was the blushing response. " Heaven bless you, Constance, for that assurance," said Anstruther, and was about to take her in his arms, when, as if at some sudden recollection, he took both her hands in his, and with a fervent " Good- bye, my queen," left her. As Anstruther passed through the gateway leading from " The Poplars," he was joined by Alert, detective of the S police force. " Good -afternoon, Mr. Anstruther. A fine day. Going this way .'' May I join you } Sad affair this Arthurs case is." Anstruther replied rath'^r shortly, " Yes, very sad." " Perhaps you ain't well to-day, Mr. Anstruther — would rather be left alone ? " asked Alert, leaving very little of the pathway between them, however, and scarcely removing his eyes from Anstruther's now thoroughly fagged faced. " My idea of this affair is," continued Alert, "somewhat peculiar." " And what is your idea } " " Oh, as to telling what my idea is, that you know," laying his not too clean finger on the side of his nose, 136 /iV T/A/E OF PEACE, - " would be unprofessional. Now, you, Mr. Anstruther, are not of my profession, and there would be no kind of harm in your expressing an opinion. What is your idea of the affair ? " " I cannot think who has been guilty of attacking that helpless girl. It is probably some tramp whu has come to help himself to whatever he might find in the house, and finding Miss Arthurs resist him, has struck her, not intending to kill her. Men are not so ready to put their heads in a halter, and I can sec no motive to induce any one to murder the girl," said Anstruther, now thoroughly roused. Anstruther quickened his steps and was soon at the cottage in Little Wood Street, Alert keeping close beside him. On entering the sitting-room. Anstruther asks Arthurs, who is there, whether his sister has regained consciousness } " Seemingly not," Arthurs gruffly replies. As Anstruther sighs and raises his hand to his chin, as is a habit with him when in deep thought, Alert notices an ink stain on his right coat sleeve; laying his hand on Anstruther's shoulder he said, " It is my painful duty to arrest you on suspicion of having assaulted Mabel Arthurs." Anstruther starts and looks at the man as if stunned— ■tpmi IN TIME OF PEACE. \yi " Arrest me for this vile outrage ? You must be mad." " Very sorry, sir ; merely on suspicion, sir. If you will come away with me now, you will hear what the grounds of suspicion are. No necessity for these, I think," showing a pair of hand-cuffs ; whereupon Anstruther's eyes flash and, turning to Arthurs, he said : " Do you think me guilty of this crime } ** Arthurs, who has been standing the picture of surprise, replied, " I never suspected such a thing." Here, the parrot, eyeing Anstruther and trying to force its way through the bars of the cage, called out, " Poor, poor Polly." r.v/tt:Ttir-^f^'v'- ■ . iijr^i i:.s IN TIME OF PEACE, CHAPTER XXV. The evening of the day of Anstruther's arrest, Ardor finds Constance in her little sitting-room. As she rises to meet him, Ardor notices how white her face and how heavy the dark rings beneath her eyes. "May I speak to you for a few moments ? There is something I should like to say unless you are too tired to listen." " I am not at all tired," answered Constance, who really seemed full of energy and suppressed excite- ment, ''and shall be very grateful if you will stay and talk to me a little while." Constance seated herself on the sofa, and then, as if an unhappy recollection occurred to her, crossed the room and rested her head on her folded hands on the back of a wicker chair that stood close to the open window. She is usually so self-possessed that even this little show of feeling affects Ardor deeply, Coming a little nearer to her he said : " I see you are in trouble, Miss Lestrange. I want you to let me help you. Believe me, nothing will please me better than to aid you. After what you told me yesterday I know I cannot make you happy in the way I till then hoped ; but I can surely help to IX 77M/i or r/:.ir/:. !39 remove difficulties from your path, and, who knows? may soon see you quite happy " — and here he falters — " with another." Constance had raised her head at Ardor's approach, but let it fall again on her tightly clasped hands. " I think I know whom you love, Miss Lestrange. Forgive me if I appear intrusive. I want to tell you that I believe him quite innocent of this charge" — Constance again raised her head — " and that I wish to help to prove him so. No, do not thank me," as Constance extended her hand with gratitude shining from her face. " I felt," continued Ardor, "that after what had passed between us I could not remain longer near you ; but if you will allow me, I feel now that I should like to remain a v/eek or so even yet." " I shall be oh so glad if you will do so. It is like you to believe him innocent. I know he must be so, but can we substantiate what we feel .-' Oh, Captain Ardor, he will feel this so keenly. I had just written a few woids," said Constance blushing, " to tell him I trust him and believe in his innocence, I think it would comfort him. Think of his being charged with such a crime ! " Constance walked to the window and looked with troubled eyes at the shadows cast on the lawn by the chestnut trees. Ardor, who in his heart con- siders Anstruther the most enviable of mortals, is conscious of a dull pain at his own heart, but said. 140 IN TIME OF PEACE. "I was going to see Anstruther, would you like me to deliver the note ? " "Very much; you are indeed a true friend. I am so comforted to think you are not leaving us now." Constance had got back all that feeling of security with which Ardor's society had always inspired her, but which was somewhat dissipated by their interview of the previous day. " The day after to-morrow you must be in Toronto to ride Surefoot, I know/' said Constance, smiling for the first time during the interview. **Will you not still go to the races, Miss Les- trange } It would only excite comment if you were to remain away, and I did hope you would see Surefoot clear those hurdles," said Ardor now smiling, too. ** I have not considered the subject ; it may be everything will be explained before then, and \\t shall be our happy selves again," said Constance, wistfully. " In any case do not decide to give it up just yet," urged Ardor. " Very well, but it would be very miserable to go knowing that poor girl to be in such a critical state, and one whom we know charged with having " Here Constance broke off, all her unhappy thoughts rushing back upon her. " Oh, it seems dreadful." m TIME OF PEACE. 141 wmm "I will go with this note," said Ardor " and who knows what to-morrow may disclose." Ardor found Anstruther — who, on proper securities being given, had been set at liberty to await a further investigation — seated in his room at the Lodge- After shaking hands with him and making a few encouraging remarks, he placed the note before Anstruther and took his leave, saying he would come again in the morning. Anstruther, by the light from a lamp that flickered on the table, read : — •• Have courage, dear Dudley, all this must be explained before long. Does it comfort you to know that I am thinking of you constantly, and loving you more than I deemed i)ossiblc ? Let nie know if I can help you in any way, further than by my love and prayers. These you have for all time. " Constance." Such was the magic power of this scrap of paper that Anstruther's face lost its weary and troubled expression, and a hopeful light came into his eyes once more as he pressed the signature to his lips. Again and again, he read and re-read the hastily written words before he closed his eyes to pass in sleep the hours that must be born and die before the morrow would be to-day. i4a IN TIME OF PEACE, CHAP-^ XXVI. The evidence furnished by the Crown at the investi- gation on the following day was in substance as follows : — Anstruther was seen leaving Little Wood Street alone at half-past seven o'clock on the evening of the same night that Mabel Arthurs was found lying unconscious on the floor of the room used by her in the said cottage as a sitting-room. Anstruther was known to have signified his intention of leaving S that evening by the 6.30 train, the Crown believed this showed an intention of mislead- ing certain parties as to his whereabouts. An ink stain on the right sleeve of Anstruther's coat and the finding of an empty ink-bottle on the floor of the said room further connected him with the crime, as the blow which rendered Mabel Arthurs uncon- scious was evidently caused by a sharp pointed object such as the corner of this square glass ink- bottle, which was unusually ponderous and heavy, and quite sufficient to inflict a mortal wound, if well| directed. On Mr. Bolton's off'ering a thousand dollars and I Captain Ardor another thousand dollars, with a IN TIME OF PEACE. 143 surety of five hundred dollars from Anstruthcr him- self, the prisoner was admitted to bail, to appear on Wednesday the week following, to stand his trial. On Anstruther's explaining the next day to his diicf that he would like a free week to devote to efforts to solve the mystery surrounding the attack upon Mabel Arthurs, Mr. Bolton willingly excused him from his duties as private secretary. Anstruther returned immediately to Little Wood Street, and was shown by William Arthurs, who appeared to have been drinking again, into the room where the nurse was watching Mabel. Anstruther looked more pale and worn than even the day before, and as he looked at the sunken eyes and drawn lips of the girl before him a spasm crossed his face. Taking a chair close by the bedside, Anstruther raised one of the girl's hands in both his own and said quietly but firmly, " Mabel, do you know me ? I am Anstruther ; can you not speak to me ? " Mabel slightly moved her head on the pillow and her eyelids quivered, but that was all. " If you can understand me, Mabel, hear what I say to you. I am charged, poor girl, with having struck you. Can you not tell me in whose place I am suffering.^ Just one word, Mabel. Can you hear me .? " Still no sign of recognition or consciousness. w 144 /AT TIME OF PEACE, Anstruthcr dropped her hand, and, turning to the nurse, asked how soon she expected the doctor. ^ being told it was nearly time for him now to come, he turned and went back to the sitting-room with William Arthurs. Between these two rooms, Anstruther hovers all that day and night ; but no sign of consciousness hoped for or dreaded by him is shown by Mabel. Constance, who has been instrumental in securing a good nurse for Miss Arthurs, finds her pov ers of assistance here at an end, as indeed nothing can be done but trust Mabel to the care (5f her physician, and hope that time will bring her consciousness and strength to explain this mystery, and enable her to take up the thread of her somewhat complicated life. Constance has seen the doctor, and learned from him that there is nothing more to be done for the present. Mr. Lestrange is most urgent in his persuasions that Constance should keep to her original intention of making one of a party for the coming races at the " Woodbine." W^hen he sees with what great reluct- ance she entertains such a thought, he fain would desist ; but firm in his belief that her absence will excite comment, he at length prevails upon her \ yield. Ardor is greatly relieved by her decision, as he feels it will, for a time at least, divert her thoughts from their present unhappy groove. Constance, like liilC 1 JiV TIME OF PEACE. «45 many young people, cannot realize the extent of the pain she has caused Ardor; and, though very grateful for his present thoughtfulness, is not aware what it costs him to remain near her, knowing that her heart is given to another. 10 146 IN TIME UJ' PEACE, CHAPTER XXVII. I It is Thursday, the day of the races at the " Wood- bine." Since eleven o'clock in the morning the ro.ul leading from the town to the race-course has been thronged with every imaginable kind of vehicle, from the four-in-hand driven by young Plumley with its beautifully dressed occupants, and smart looking dog-cart drawn by a tandem, to the butcher's cart drawn by a worn-out bay, and the street cars over- flowing with human freight — the freight looking better able to walk than do the straining and tugging horses to pull it. It is rather warm and sultry and the road dusty, but all the people are in holiday humor and make the best of their surroundings. Constance and her father are of the party made up by the Lieutenant-Governor, as is Ardor. Mrs. Sher- brookc and her husband are also with them, having come to town with many others from all parts of the country to see the races, as this meet is looked upon as being quite the event of the season. Constance is dressed in a soft dress of heliotrope crape; her bonnet, which is one mass of violets and rich green leaves, sets off to perfection her fair skin and bur- nished hair; her little hands are encased in tan- m TIME OF PEACE. 147 colored gloves, and on her left wrist is twisted a gold >nakc with an emerald head ; her parasol of heliotrope silk is lined with white, and tied to the handle with a knot of white ribbon is a bunch of violets. Constance is looking sad, notwithstanding the bright conversation going on about her. Her anxiety for Anstruther shows itself in her face. Ardor sees it, and once more resolves to try and bring that anxiety to an end. After half an hour's drive, in which they have passed another four-in-hand which has come to grief through one of the horses having the blind-staggers, and have just missed being thrown into confusion themselves by a lad with more assurance than sense trying to pass them with his tandem, our party reaches the paddock. The ladies dismount from the top of the drag, as, in order to get the best view of the races, it is neces- sary to be in tlic grand stand. A box is there reserved for the party from Government House. After a stroll across the green, Constance and her father are comfortably seated in as good a position as possible for seeing the "events." Ardor, who is to ride his own horse "Surefoot" in the gentleman's hurdle race, has gone to get into his colors and go through the necessary preliminaries before mounting. Hector and Cecile are also in the stand, having come with Mrs. Williams' party. 148 IN TIME OF PEACE, Miss Williams, whom we have not seen since the driving party, is looking very handsome in a closely fitting tailor-made gown of tweed, and is talking to Moore, who is as usual not far from her side. Cecile, who is dressed in China silk of much the same shade of blue as her eyes, and a wide leghorn hat smothered in pale pink roses, 's looking like a piece of Dresden china. The stand is crowded with well- dressed women, with a slight sprinkling of the male sex ; but the majority of men arc down in the front, where a good deal of betting is going on. Sitting just behind Constance is Miss F . She is dressed in a canary-colored gown of soft clinging material ; her bonnet is trimmed with nasturtiums, a diamond pin fastens the strings of her bonnet. The color of her dress but adds to the dusky beauty of her face, which is to-day unusually animated. Sitting next Miss F is a tall man with a long moustache. His whole interest appears to be centered in the girl beside him. When he stands up one cannot help admiring his manly and perfectly pro- portioned figure. There is an expression on his face in repose that is not pleasing, so hard is it ; but when interested in a pleasant conversation the gleam of his white teeth and the fairness of his complexion destroy the unpleasant impression produced by the face when quiet. This man's name is Walter Charles. Scotch by IN TIME OF PEACE. H9 birth, cosmopolitan by habit, Walter Charles is a man of small private means, jusi; sufficient to enable him to live economically (which he does not do), not enough to confer the high privilege or incur the clear responsibility of absolute wealth. Enough to prevent any effort at self-maintainence being abso- lutely necessary, while not enough to meet the expensive tastes engendered by a life of idleness. Miss F leans forward and exchanges a few words with Constance. Charles volunteers to get up a pool on the coming race. The names of the horses are written on different slips of paper, and, with a sufificient number of blanks to make up the number who wish to join in this small venture, are thrown into a hat and passed about. As Charles passed the hat to Constance he was introduced. Constance put in her pretty hand and drew a blank. All the slips of paper being disposed of, the next amusement was to watch for the horses. Three jockeys are now mounted, two of them walking their horses quietly over part of the track; the third gallops by the stand at full speed, at the will of the horse or rider it is difficult to decide. Three numbers with their respective colors are displayed on small signs on the judges' stand, which is just opposite the starting post. There arc Istill three horses to come, before the lii> '^ntered for Ithe race be complete. 150 I.V TIME OF PEACE. Looking from the grand stand, a view of the complete course, which is in the shape of an oval, a mile in circumference, can be had. A fence running round the inside of the track forms an enclosure which is covered with green turf It is in this enclosure that the hurdle races are to be run. The hurdles, six in number, run four of them at right angles to the main course, thus the spectators have a side view of the horses as they take their It^ips; the other two are placed in the middle of the pad- dock and run parallel with the course, so that in taking one the horses face the spectators, and in turning and taking the second the horses are going the other way, namely, from the spectators. In this way three different views of the horses while jumping are presented. A few trees growing within the enclosure wave their leafy branches responsive to the fresh breeze which is now blowing off the lake that washes the shore just beyond the course, and whose waters are now sparkling in the sunlight. Some yachts are anchored close to the shore, their occupants thus being enabled to have a fair view of the course. The first race for "the trial stakes " has just been won by " Gold Finch," after an exciting half mile at the finish, when " Oliver " ran her pretty close, but only succeeded in coming in a good second. The race for the "Queen's Plate of Fifty Guineas" /y 'riME OF Pi:/' ''. 15I is the next event on the card. This is always looked upon as the race of the day. First bell for saddling and to clear the course has been rung. There are fourteen horses entered for the start, already eight are on the track. Hector has left Cccilc, and is standing below thcladics' stand. He is evidently unusually interested in this race, as his bright lycs and flushed face testify. The truth is he has kicked "Cobweb" much more heavily than his purse warrants, but from certain tips which he has received he ])elieves her chances areas good, if not better, than lliose of any other in the field. " Cobweb " is a bay mare with one white foot. As she appears on the course a murmur of admiration ;foes throufTh the crowd, and well does she deserve it. Her arched neck shines like satin in the sun ; her little l)ointed ears move first forwards then backwards, as if not accustomed to so nuich bustle ; her eyes, natu- rally kind and gentle, have a somewhat strained ex- pression as her jockey trots her by the stand ; her light body and clean legs carrying out the idea sug- gested by her name. He jockey, in a pink jacket, takes her some yards down the course, leaning for- ward in his saddle and patting her on the neck, to which she responds by a graceful bend of the head land a backward glance of the eye as if she would say, rl am nervous this morning, and had almost forgot- J52 IN' TIME OF PEACE. ten you Vi^ere there; but, now I see you are there, I will try and quiet down." The next horse to pass the stand is **' Herod," another bay without a white hair about him. Nothing seems to disturb his equanimity as he walks sedately by the stand, carrying his rider with the lemon and brown jacket as if he quite knew the importance of the occasion but was not at all dis- mayed by it. Not much has been said by the book-makers about " Herod," and his appearance sets many among the spectators thinking. One man who had been a few moments before in close conversation with Hector is now standing on two chairs, a foot on each, his hands crossed behind his back holding a heavy mounted hunting-crop ; his light overcoat is thrown open, dis- playing a watch guard madeof leather with a miniature steel bit as a cross bar ; a large gold horseshoe fastens his cravat, which is of china blue with large white spots ; the buttons on his coat tell a whole history in coaching life, from the start, with the man on the steps blowing his horn, to the pull-up at the hostelry, with the steam curling from the horses' sides in thin circles, which suggest steam after the manner of like suggestions in works of art of this kind. This man watches " Herod " closely, not removing his eyes from him from the time he makes his ap- pearance till he walks in his dignified way to where. LV TIME OF PEACE. 153 ;re, ! Tod," him. walks h tlie w the II dis- about ng the I a few :ctor is ; hands ounted n, dis- niature fastens white history on the ostelry, in thin of Uke [moving his ap- 10 where "Cobweb" is still fretting and tossing about her head. Then William Arthurs, for it was he, jumped down from the chairs and renewed his conversation with Hector, the result being that both betting books were taken out, and Hector was in deeper than ever, to sink or swim with ** Cobweb." Three or four more horses now pass the stand almost abreast. Presently a cheer greets the appear- ance of the favorite, " Spanker." " Spanker " is a chestnut with a white face. His jockey, in scarlet and white, trots him quickly by the stand. His ears are back, and there is an irritated look about his eye, but he steps out in such an easy and powerful manner that the betting, which has been two to one on the favorite, is carried on by a few at three to one. All the horses are out now except " Barbelle," who report says broke down the day before and is out of it. The second bell rings, which means the start will take place in five minutes. The distance to be run is one mile and a quarter, so that a quarter of a mile down the track the horses are to start, thus passing the stand twice : first a quarter of a mile after the start and again at the finish, which in this as in all [the races takes place just opposite the stand. How bright the scene is ! The glossy coats of the Ihorses shining in the sun, the light breeze puflfing out the jockeys' jackets and sleeves, blowing the branches of the stately maples and making their leaves quiver 154 JN TIME OF PEACE. \i\t: as if they, too, partook of the general excitement. " Cobweb" is still restive and apparently dissatisfied. Her jockey is trying to soothe her, but to only a cer- tain extent succeeds. " Herod " is coming down the track steadily towards the starting point. '"Spanker" is coming up in line with several others ready for the word. " Cobweb " and '* Herod " draw nearer, '' Cobweb " a little ahead. The word is given, they are off. Down they dash, a capital start of nine abreast and four at a very short distance behind. Among the latter " Cobweb " and " Herod." " Spanker " is among the first nine. Now he leads them and passes the grand stand half a head in front of any of the others; now two or three shoot forward and are close on " Span- ker's " heels. " Herod," whose jockey appears to be holding him in, is fifth ; now he gains a little, he is fourth. " Cob web," who is close behind " Herod," is shaking hei head, fretting terribly, and losing at each stride ; shi is still next " Herod," however. Now " Herod " in creases his speed a little and passes the horses betweei him and " Spanker," and is second. It appears as if the race were to be between thes two. During this much of the race a loud barkingi heard coming from one of the stables. Whether it i this or something else that disturbs " Cobweb" jockey cannot tell; he only knows that h( rid in maki stead ''Spa flyer' foLirtl c I earl horse; from As cliorc( •Teete ing ha paddo there "Gobi "'Col passes ily gai " H( with a seems ■ start, u-cb," V )n ther first Iia ossiblc ost tin IN TIME OF PEACE, 155 itement. jatisfied. ly a cer- own the panker " y for the I nearer,! )wn they i four at the latter mong the the grand liers ; now n " Span-] Iding hii " Cobj laking he ride; sW erod " in] s betweeJ iveen thesj barking lether it web " h( at he riding the animal that should be if not first at least making it close work for the one that is, and in- stead of that he is a i)oor fourth. As the field is now, "Spanker " is first, " 1 Icrod " a close second, " High- flyer" and "Disaster" third, and "Cobweb" a poor fourth. The other horses, though still running, are clearly out of the race. Half a mile has been run ; the liorses are now on the opposite side of the course from the stand. As " Spanker and " Herod" pass the yachts an- chored close to that siMe of the course, they are Lireeted with a cheer from those on board. The bark- iiig has stopped. Is that a black dog running across the paddock, dragging a broken rope behind him } Yes, there he goes close to " Cobweb's " feet. On darts " Cobweb " as if shot from an arrow. How she goes ! '" Cobweb ' will have it yet," they cry. Quickly she passes '' Highflyer" and '* Disaster," and is now stead- ily gaining on " Herod." " Herod's " jockey touches him for the first time with a whip and he darts ahead of " Spanker," who seems to feel the quick work he has done from the start. " Herod " first, " Spanker " second, and " Cob- web," with the dog close beside her, steadily gaining on them both ; but that was valuable time lost for the [first half mile, and hasten as she may, it does not seem regain the ground possible that little ** Cobweb " will [ost thci^,. On she gtocs, however the dosT close at her iif I5« IN TIME OF PEACE, heels ; now she is even with " Spanker," now half a head before him. A cheer breaks from the grand stand, as the horses come round the last turn, where begins what is called the home stretch. " Herod " is first, "Cobweb" second, and ** Spanker" still only I half a head behind her. On they come, the dog still I close to "Cobweb." On! on! tirrup ! tirrup! tir-| rup ! as they draw nearer. Now " Cobweb's " jockey calls to her, " On beauty, on there ! " and as if en- couraged by his voice she, if possible, travels faster than ever, and is now shoulder to shoulder with| " Herod." "" Spanker's " jockey is now using his whip freelyj but " Spanker" has done his best ; he is still close oni the heels of the other two, but cannot pass them. " Cobweb's " nostrils are distended, and as the horsej draw nearer, the people in the stand can see that hen jockey's jacket is scarcely pinker than they. " HurralJ for * Herod'!" " Hunah for 'Cobweb'!" '^ThreJ cheers for 'Cobweb'!" "Keep at it 'Spanker'!' Now " Cobweb's" jockey brings down his whip; h^ hated to do it, he afterwards said, as he felt the marj had already done wonders to recover so much lo^ ground. Down came the whip, on went "Cobwebl Steadily beside her crept " Herod." Another sharj cut and " Cobweb " shot ahead and passed the winr ing post, just half a head before "Herod," with pretty sides shewing the two sharp cuts made by tli /.V TtMK OF PEACE. 157 cruel whip* " Spanker " a length and a half behind' "Disaster " and " Highflyer " fourth and fifth. Hector, who has been down in front of the stand during the race, returns to Mrs. Williams' box ; he explains to Cecileand others that " Cobweb's " extra- ordinary behavior at the beginning of the race was explained by the trainer, who said that each morning when " Cobweb " was taken out for exercise, " Raven," the dog, went with her, and when she found herself out without him at the beginning of the race she would not do her work. " Raven " objected just as strongly to being left behind, and at last succeeded in breaking the rope that tied him. Hence the result we have witnessed. There is a suspicion of tears in Cecile's eyes after witnessing " Cobweb's " efforts and ultimate success. Hector thinks he never saw her look so lovely. Constance, too, has been quite carried away by the excitement of the last race, but her greatest interest is centered in the hurdle race, which is to come off next. Gentlemen riders. «5« IN TIME OF PEACE, CHAPTER XXVIIT. " During hurdle races the spectators must stand clear of the fences. " The paddock within the course is cleared. The gentlemen jockeys have adjusted their weights under the ladies' stand, and have passed the scales at the judges' stand. " Merlin," ridden by Walter Charles, is the first to appear on the course. As Charles rides him by the ladies' s<-and, the horse's light body and powerful haunches show him to be every inch a jumper. " Merlin " is the property of his rider, and it is not with a little pride that Walter Charles, in his black and red stripped jacket, allows him to walk sedately along the course towards the starting point. "Touchstone," a wiry little bay with black main and tail, now trots briskly by ; her jockey, Arthur Fer- ris, in his brown and yellow stripped jacket and cap, making a pretty dash of color on the green turf. " Surefoot," an iron gray, quickly follows, looking ready to go at anything. Captain Ardor touches his cap of dark and light blue as he passes, and raises his eyes to that part of the stand where Constance j and Miss F are sitting, keen interest shining iiij their faces. As Ardor rides by, many are struck by jy TIM I:: 6f' PEACk, »59 the perfect ease with which he sits his horse; and a recollection of the terror she felt when seeing him lying white at the side of the road the day " Blaze" bolted came to Constance with a feeling of thank- fulness that her fears on that occasion were exap^ger- ated. '* Matchum," a bay, with two white fore-feet, ridden by James Horsey — colors, b'ack and white — hurries by and joins the others preparatory to making the start. The course for this race is laid out inside the pad- dock. The horses are to be ridden over it twice, taking all the hurdles, including the water-jump. This being accomplished, the riders are to bring their horses into the main track a quarter of a mile from the finishing post ; thus having a clear dash for that distance, and finishing directly opposite the ladies' and judges' stands. The second bell rings, the riders bring tht-ir horses up; now they arc ready. They are off. "Merlin " and " Matchum " first, Charles and Horsey secur- ing a good start for their horses. Ardor not being so successful in this way is a little behind on '* Surefoot," " Touchstone " coming close behind him. In this order they approach the first hurdle. *' Merlin " takes it easily, Charles riding him like a bird. " Matchum " ticks the rail with his hind feet, t6o IX TIM J- OF PEACE, f. ■ ii Horsey having lifted him at it a little too quickly. " Surefoot '* takes the jump in his stride, shaking his pretty head with glee and quickening his pace as his feet touch the ground on the other side ; " Touch- stone " still close behind him. Thus they approach the second hurdle, all pretty well together. " Merlin" jumps the second hurdle simultaneously with ** Matchum," the latter making up for ticking the rails at the last hurdle by jumping at least two feet higher than necessary. Ardor is gaining a little, and is now a length in advance of " Touchstone," whom Ferris is riding rather wildly. In this way " Surefoot " approaches the second hurdle alone; he takes it so easily and gracefully that, though he is yet only third in the race, a cheer of approval bursts from the grand stand. " Surefoot " is going very steadily with no urging from Ardor, the dark and light blue jacket coming nearer and nearer the two in front. As the field is now, " Matchum " and "Merlin" are neck and neck ; "Surefoot" just one length behind ; " Touchstone," now three lengths in the rear, having almost refused the second hurdle and only taking it after a severe cut from her rider's whip. As they approach the third hurdle, Walter Charles urges " Merlin," and he shoots half a length before " Matchum." *' Merlin " takes the hurdle somewhat /A^ TIME OF PEACE. i6i 'harles before lewhat hastily, but clears it safely and is now going at a rapid pace. Horsey touches "Matchum" with his whip, who, with a bound, clears the jump. Ardor is keeping "Surefoot" well in hand and rides him at this, the third hurdle, quietly and steadily. He is going so sedately and takes his jumps with such ease that one feels a little anxious lest he should " wake up " too late. Poor " Touch- stone" flounders again at this hurdle, but manages to plant her two fore-feet on the opposite bank, and, after a scramble, is off again on the level. The field is now — Walter Charles first on " Merlin," Horsey second on " Matc'ium," Ardor bringing "Surefoot" up a good third ; " Touchstone," several lengths behind, being urged with more determination than good judgment by Ferris. The next hurdle includes the water-jump. Ardor now shakes his reins over " Surefoot's " neck, and the gray quickens his stride and pricks up his ears as he I sniffs the water. Closer and closer he comes to Matchum." Now he is up with him. Charles allows " Merlin " to rush at the leap a ittle too soon ; he clears it, however, but just man- lages to fix all four feet on the opposite bank and [start off again. " Matchum " is not so successful, land so insecure is his hold on the bank that his hind Ifeet slip down its side, and some time is lost by him [in recovering himself. That time is employed by u 1 62 IN TIME OF PEACE. " Surefoot " (who feels the good result of beinj; well jockeyed) in clearing the hurdle, water and all, at a bound. Ardor gives him his head. Now he is side by side with " Merlin" who is still going well and looking quite fresh. As Ferris brings "Touchstone" up to the water-jump she limps perceptibly. Whether he is conscious of this or not, he does not heed it, but lays on his whip, and the jDlucky little mare, though feeling her own incapacity, makes her last effort, responsive to the call and ignorance of her rider. She rises in the air, tips her feet against the hurdles, ?,nd stumbles headlong; her fore-feet touch the opposite bank, she tries to paw herself safely up, but, with strained and terrified eyes and distended nostrils, she rolls over into the water, crushing her jockey beneath her. Freed from his weight she struggles back to the turf, where she stands panting and trembling, her pretty ears wet with the moisture that bespeaks her agony, and her sleek sides dripping with the muddy water of the ditch. Some men rush forward from the crowd and pull Ferris, or what so few short 'foments before was Ferris, from the water, He is white, and as they lift him his arms fall helpless from the shoulders — blood is oozing from his mouth and nose ; they carry him off the course and lay him under one of the tents. As " Touchstone " was led off, each time her fore-M IN TIME OF PEACE. 163 nj; well .11, at a is side ell and hstone" Vhether heed it, e mare, her last :e of her linst the et touch afely up, Ustended ing her light she panting Imoisture |dripping and pull Ifore was! rms fall "g from off the its. As fore-fool touched the ground her agony is so apparent that more than one finds time to spare a moment from watching the other horses to pass the verdict, " used up. After the water-jump, "Merlin" and "Surefoot" keep close together and clear the next hurdle abreast. Now "Surefoot" gains a little, and is half a head before *' Merlin." '* Matchum " clears the hurdle well, but the paces of the other two horses are leaving him gradually more and more in the rear. On they go, " Merlin " and '' Surefoot" neck and neck. They approach the next hurdle in this way and take it like the last — together. This hurdle is facing the stand, being placed at right angles to the rest of the course. So pretty do the bay and the gray look as they lift their noble crests to take the leap, that a cheer of admiration bursts from the spectators. Over they come ! On they speed ! The cheer seems to have electrified " Surefoot." How he shoots forward ! He is half a length ahead. "The gray leads," shouts the crowd. " ' Surefoot ' will have it." Charles gives " Merlin " his head, but though his pace is no slower than it has been, it does not quicken. " Matchum " is clearly out of the race but bravely keeps on his course, now gaining a little, now losing more. The pace kept up by " Merlin " and " Sure^ 164 TIME OF PEACE. foot" is now something tremendous, and the final tussle for first place is entered into in earnest. The second round of the course is half over. Two more hurdles before the final, which is the fatal water-jump. The first of these is taken clearly by " Surefoot." " Merlin " follows, barely missing the rail with his hind feet. Charles strikes him with the whip and he makes a dash forward, which once more brings him alongside " Surefoot." Ardor, though making capital time, is still keeping " Surefoot" steadily in hand. " Merlin " is excited by that blow of the whip and spends more energy than necessary on the next hurdle, which is the last before the water-jump. Not so " Surefoot." Though quite alive to the situation, he takes the leap steadily and without flurry. " Matchum " follows quite six lengths behind. "Mer- lin's" dash at the last hurdle brought him even again with "Surefoot." " Keep at it, ' Merlin,' " cry the spectators. " My money on the gray," shout the others. " Pretty, pretty," cry many more. Thus they approach the water-jump, which is the last leap, after which their course is on the main track. Neck and neck the gray and the bay approach it. As they draw near it, Cecile, who has witnessed all the catastrophe which befell "Touchstone" and her luckless rider, covers her eyes with her h^n^s, Constance, whp IN TIME OF PEACE. i6s has scarcely removed her eyes from " Surefoot " and "Merlin " from the first, is conscious that something dreadful has happened, but so centered is her interest in the two leading horses, she has not realized what that something dreadful is. Her eyes are large and dark; that white look which comes to her face in moments of great excitement is there now, making her penciled brows look black and distinct I on her clear forehead ; her hand is crushing the I programme of the races, and with her lips slightly apart, her whole being appears lost in the excitement of the contest going on between "Merlin" and I" Surefoot." As the two horses approach the water-jump once Imore, " Surefoot " pricks up his ears, as if fully realizing that this is the jump of jumps. Ardor [gives him his head. Gathering himself together as lif for an extra effort, "Surefoot" goes at it and |clears it in a way that calls for a shout of applause from the onlookers, and a dry sob of relief from [Constance, who has noticed with pride that not once llias the noble gray kicked the hurdles, or failed to ppond loyally to the calls upon him". As Charles brings "Merlin" to the jump he is Iconscious that his horse is flagging just a little, [le therefore brings down his whip once more. "Merlin " clears the hurdle, but not without a [cramble does he reach the opposite bank. That I66 IN TIME OF PEACE, ■I 1; 1 i 1 •1 scramble seems as if it would be disastrous to his chances, for, as he settles into his stride again, Charles realizes that " Surefoot " is leading by two lengths. "Matchum" gets over somehow. Now they dash for the home stretch. They enter the main course — " Surefoot " still two lengths in advance, and going at a rate that gives promise of his increasing that distance. '* Merlin " second, going splendidly, but Charles feeling conscious that the pace is telling. *' Matchum " still a poor third. "Keep it up ' Merlin '!"—'• Plucky 'Merlin'!" shout this horse's backers. " Bravo ! ' Surefoot '."-" Oh you beauty ! "-" Three cheers for the gray ! " Presently there is a confused shout of " Mind the horses"— '' Clear the track"— "Ride over the fool," from a hundred throats. Ardor, who, leading, is in the inside track and nearest the fence, sees a figure making its way across the course. Heedless of the shouts, the man still per- sists in crossing just in the track of the horses. At the moment when two more steps would have take him under the railing and oit of the way, the shouts seem to force themselves upcn his hearing. He stops, looks up with a tipsy leer, and vaguely realizing his danger makes a lunge forward and falls just in front of "Surefoot." Ardor with all his force pulli IN TIME OF PEACE. 167 the right bridle rein. " Surefoot " makes a rapid swerve and just misses trampling the man under his feet. Ardor realizes this with a feeling of thankful- ness. The next instant he sees at a glance that 'Merlin " is a length ahead. The ground lost in that swerve must be made up or the race is lust to "Surefoot." Charles is using his whip freely, and "Merlin " is doing his best. Ardor finds that the vi- gorous tug that he gave his right rein has all but torn it from the bit, and that he must bear on it jio more. So " Surefoot " has his head. How he goes ! Steadily he is regaining his lost ground, now his head is up with the bay's haunches, now it is even with his jockey's legs. Still he gains. But the dis- tance is too short in which to make up for that fatal loss of time, and " Merlin " passes the finishing post I just half a head before " Surefoot." Deafening cheers greet the close of one of the 1 closest things ever seen at the Woodbine. As Walter Charles rides by the winning post, the I cheers of the multitude ringing in his ears, Mabel Arthurs breathes her last in a world where her love ha$ been counted of so little worth. ,v"•^ i68 JN TIME OF PEACE, CHAPTER XXIX. Ardor has some difficulty in bringing " Surefoot"to a standstill as he is still comparatively fresh, and feels no weight on the reins. In time, hearing no horses behind him and being soothed by his master's voice, he slackens his pace and allows himself to be taken to the stables. When Ardor dismounts and goes to " Surefoot's " head the soft nose is pressed close up against his rider's cheek and held there, as if *' Surefoot " were seeking consolation for having lost what he rightly felt he should have gained. On leaving him. Ardor makes his way to where he knows " Touchstone's " stall to be ; on reaching it he sees her being examined by a veterinary, who in a few- minutes explains that her off fore shoulder is dislo cated and that she is pretty well ruined. As she stands, it is evident that her suffering is intense ; the perspiration is pouring from her sides, and every few minutes a tremor passes over her body. It is decided to end her misery, and the groom is dispatched with a heavy heart to ask further instructions of Ferris, who is lying helpless but conscious in a neighboring tent. " Touchstone " has been this groom's special charge. He has scarcely left the stably when " Touch- IN TIME OF PEACE. 169 stone*' with great effort hobbles about so that her head is turned towards the door through which he has disappeared ; she whinnies and tries to force down the bar as if to follow him, but, finding this useless, stands perfectly still listening to his footsteps. Regard- less of the others standing about she keeps her posi- tion, her body quite motionless and her ears strained to catch every sound long after the echo of the re- treating footsteps has died away. Then a shudder passes over her frame, she whinnies once more, sinks on the floor of her stall, and heaving one long breath Idles. Never again will " Touchstone '* carry her rider lover the green fields and turf-edged lanes. Never again Ivill tile saddling bell sound for her. Never again will pe for her the treacherous hurdles, or fall the cruel |i\hip. She is at rest. " Sheer exhaustion," said the surgeon. What acts are committed in thy name, oh, sport ! As Ardor wends his way back to the ladies' stand kot few are the admiring glances turned in his direc- ton by soft eyes, and not a few remarks, such as |Hard luck, old fellow! " greet him from the sterner ex. As he takes his seat beside Constance he sees |o\v deep the light in her gray eyes, and notices the fmpathetic quiver of her tender lips. The old pain ms^ M I70 IN TIME OF PR AC P.. n rushes back upon him, and he wishes he could ride a' race every hour in the day if only for the forgetful- ness it brings. "Oh, Captain Ardor, who won that race?" asked Mrs. Bridge, stepping down from one of the higher seats. "Miss Baker was giving me some London j addresses — she is that girl who is dressed so beauti- fully on the seat above — and I missed half the race. 'Merlin' won? Is 'Merlin' your horse? Noll Oh, so sorry. Was that jockey killed ? " " No ; only stunned." " Oh, so sorry. I lost then, because I drew] ' Matchum.' atchuni ' last ? Dear me, I'm so sorry. Oh, there goes my paper over the stand with all the dressmakers' addresses in it. Oh, I am so| sorry." " There will be another race, Mrs. Bridge, so youl will have time to write them down again," replie(i| Ardor. *' So 1 must ; hut it is provoking, is it not ? Suchl good addresses. I am so sorry." Mrs. Bridge rattledl on regardless of the irony in Ardor's last remark. To the right of the stand is a green lawn, on which are pitched two or three refreshment tents. Con-I stance and other members of the party are only tocj glad to move about now that the principal races ara over, and they quickly act upon the suggestion mad^ by Walter Charles, who is again beside Miss F— m TIME OF PEACE. 171 that they should partake of some refreshment. Waiters in the livery of the jockey club are passing about trays of tea and iced coffee ; from another tent can be heard the popping of corks. As Ardor I brinies an ice to Constance she notices that he does not iti the least show signs of chagrin at the loss of the race, and the thought passes through her mind that some natures take all things h'ghtly. So are we misjudged at times by those nearest and dearest to lus. Ardor's deep devotion to Constance was too iinst'lfish to allow liim to betray to her what her ircjection of his suit cost him, and so for did he Micceed that Constance believed he was already Ircconciled to it. " What became of the man who got in your way ? " hsked Constance. " I have no idea, but I hope they let him go with- lout punishing him," Ardor surprised Constance by [snying. Miss Phunyonc, who was standing near, said, "Well, if I were in your place, I should think no punishment bad enough for him, and here you are Iwishing you had a Sedan chair to place at his llisposal, I have no doubt, to see that he gets com- fortably off the field." Mrs. Bridge, who is a little out of sorts this after- hoon, having been unfortunate in backing all the bsuccessful horses, here joins the group : tfZ LV -J I ME Ot? PEACE. I i,v ' i. "■^ MB |:';' i:''i. '' Was I wrong in thinking that was the man who! has been pointed out to me as Arthurs ? " Good taste should have prevented her mentioning j that name in the present society, as she knew Anstruther's intimacy with both Ardor and Con- stance ; and she also knew, as all present must, with what he was charged. Ardor looked annoyed, as he did not wish Constance to know the man who hadi so narrowly escaped was a brother to the unfortunate pjirl whose path had so unexpectedly crossed her| own. '' Mrs. Bridge must not be surprised if in time people refer to her as the town's oldest inhabitant, she is so well posted in all that goes on in and about I it i> Ardor made this remark in his most polite tone, but that did not prevent the shaft going home. Mrs. Sherbrooke touched Ardor lightly on the arm : " Admit, sir, that for once you would have been better without that glass in your eye ; if you had not seen that man you could not have lost the race in getting out of his way." "■ A glass o^ another kind is responsible for that contretemps," Ardor answered smiling. Here a gipsy, holding a tambourine, approached and asked for largess. All are struck with the singular beauty of her face. A tattered blue skirt IN TIME OF PEACE. 173 an who itioning] e k new- el Con- ist, with I :d, as he I /ho had ortunatcl ;sed her in time I habitant,! nd about ite tone,! lie. on the ve been y^ou had the race for that >ro ached rith the Lue skirt hangs about her waist, and pinned across her chest is a soiled red shawl ; her feet are bare ; her hair, which is very thick, but black and glossy, is parted and drawn back from her brow, which is low and full, and devoid, as yet, of wrinkles; her eyebrows, finely pencilled, are arched above a pair of soft and large dark eyes ; her eyelashes are long, and the curled tips arc now gray with dust, which but adds to the darkness of the orbs they shade ; her skin, which is of a dark olive color, is smooth, and in her cheeks the gipsy blood shows rich and red ; her teeth look all the whiter that the skin is dark. As she turns and holds the tambourine to Ardor to receive something from the " rich gentleman," Con- stance notices the exquisite formation of the nose with its chisellcil nostrils, which suggest a possible intermingling in days long gone by of the Egyptian blood of the gipsy with the blood of the inhabitants of Greece, as the tribes sojourned in that country on their way to more northern and western climes. As the gipsy approached Constance, she put out her small brown hand and said in a soft voice, and with a look of mysterious and child-like sorrow in her eyes, "Tell the pretty lady's fortune.?" Constance, who is already interested in this singu- larly beautiful and evidently very poor woman, unbuttons the glove of her left hand, and, drawing it off, places her fingers in the hand that is not larger i 174 IN TIME OF PEACE. \ FJHm 1 i [ li 1 I \\ ' 1 1 1 than her own. A look of professional cunning dis- pells the habitual look of sorrow in the gipsy's eyes, which is probably the result o{ the years of oppres- sion endured by her forefathers. After a glance at the white palm she said : " Fair lady, your life will be checkered ; great happiness in early life ; trouble overhangs one dear to you. Turn not from the dove to mate with the falcon " Here Walter Charles joined the group with a cup of tea for Miss F . In handing it to her his eyes rested on the gipsy. He gave a slight start, causing the cup to slip in its saucer and some of its contents to drop on Miss F s dress. Miss F 's exclama- tion caused the fortune-teller to look up. As the child-like sorrow before gave place to the look of professional cunning which robbed it of its lustre, her eyes now blazed forth with sudden fear as they rested upon Charles. With an evident effort she turned to Constance, and pointing to the sky said, lapsing in her excitement into her native tongue: "Miro baro devel dela berchindo " (My great God gives rain), and hurried off, not waiting for the coin that would pay her for her fortune-telling. "That girl looks as if she were going to have a fit," drawled Charles. Constance was disappointed at losing sight of the pretty gipsy, but as the clouds overhead were growing darker, they all saw that this IN TIME OF PEACE. m dis- cyes, pres- :e at great dear h the a cup is eyes ausing ents to dama- ns the Dok of re, her they )rt she y said, )ngue : Lt God le coin have )ointed clouds lat this one prophecy of the gipsy's was likely to be fulf lied very soon, and a move was made in the direction of shelter. • • • • • • Driving toward the town that evening the party passed not far from the "Woodbine" a breezy com- mon. On it was pitched a tent made of brown blankets fastened to poles by pin-thorns. Tn the doorway or opening to the tent sat an old gipsy crone. She was as ugly as our acquaintance of the afternoon was beautiful. Indeed it is a subject of remark what vivid contrasts arc to be seen among the gipsies — not only between members of one tribe, but between the members of the same family. Not far from the tent a stalwart gipsy was hammering at a horseshoe on an anvil, and near him cropping the grass stood a horse, some bronze ornaments and utensils hanging from the pack on his back. The gipsy is droning a weird Hungarian chant suggestive of the winds sweeping through the reeds in his native land, and to which he unconsciously beats time with his hammer. As the coach draws near with its bright-looking party the man looks dreamily up. What makes those eyes which a moment before were picturing the sighing reeds and starry skies so far away in his native Hungary blaze forth with a look of sudden passion as they sweep the top of the coach and rest on one of its occupants ? if-- 1 176 /A^ T/M£ OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXX. The day passed by Mr. Lestrange at the " Wood- bine " was spent by Anstruther at the Wood Street cottage. Arthurs also being at the races, the professional nurse and Anstruther were left alone with the unconscious girl. The doctor paid his morning visit and reported Mabel's condition weaker. Anstruther's anxiety can be more easily imagined than described. Those who have watched by the bedside of the dying know what it is to experience that feelmg of utter helplessness as they note the life slowly ebbing away, and know them- selves powerless to stay it. All day long Anstruther did not leave the bedside. The room in which Mabel lay was neatly but some- what scantily furnished. The floor was covered with Indian matting ; on a small table by the bedsit- stood two bottles containing restoratives. On the toilet table stood a bottle of cologne, and a few of those nick-nacks of the toilet necessary to all women of refine- ment. A whiff of cologne never afterwards failed to recall to Anstruther's mind the small room, the muslin curtains before the window, the sunlight creeping through the slats of the Venetian blinds rN TIME OF PEACE, 177 and falling in gold threads across the white coverlet, and weaving bright meshes with the fair hair that was brushed back from the Jiin pale face, resting heavily on the pillow. Towards evening the nurse opened the shutters. The rays of the setting sun fell full upon Mabel's face. For the first time since she was laid unconscious on her bed, Mabel raised herself on her elbow and opened her eyes. She looked about her anxiously and tried to speak. Anstruther put his ear close to her lips. She threw up her arms and fell back dead. IN TIME Of PEACE. \m: CHAPTER XXXI. Time — A fortnight later. Place — Court House in the town of S— ^ QUEEN vs. ANSTRUTHER. The Hon. Mr. Justice Hearall presiding. After Mr. Sharp had opened the indictment, Mr. County Crown Attorney Ketchum spoke as follows; " May it please your lordship, and you, gentlemen of the jury : — I am counsel in this case for the prose- cution against the prisoiicr at the bar, who stands indicted before you on a charge of murder. I will open to you, as concisely as I can, the several circum- stances we have in evidence, in order to affect the prisoner at the bar. They are circumstances of that nature corresponding so exactly with the prisoner's case that they do infer almost an impossibility o^his innocence. " Gentlemen, on the evening of June fifth, the pri- soner was seen entering the cottage then occupied by the late Mabel Arthurs at the hour of half-past six. He was seen again half-an-hour later to come to the door with the said Mabel Arthurs and stand for a moment on its threshold, and then turn and re-enter m TIME OF PEACE, >79 the house, to appear again in another half-hour, alone. He was then seen go alone through the gate. When William Arthurs returned to the cottage at twelve o'clock that same ni^^ht, he found his sister lying on the floor of her sitting-room in a state of un- consciousness, from which she never recovered." Here a sympathetic murmur went through the Court room. " After raising his sister and laying her on the sofa, Arthurs looked about the room for some explanation of what had happened. One small chair had been overturned, and was lying on the floor ; close to where he had found his sister lay a cut-glass ink-bottle." Ink bottle is produced. " Your lordship and gentlemen of the jury, observe that the ink on the outside of the bottle (I am prepared to prove the bottle was empty when picked up by Arthurs) bears the ir'^pression of one finger, so " — here the learned counsel shows (with some difficulty) how a person about to throw an ink-bottle would naturally (he says) place his finger in such a position as to leave just the impression that is evident upon it now. "I hold, gentlemen, that, in picking up the ink-bottle, the prisoner upset the ink ; not only so, it would flow all round the finger pressed against the side of the bottle and thus ma.k out the place where the finger had been, but that he upset it so it ran over the sleeve of his coat." Here prisoner's coat is produced with sleeve stained with ink. Another murmur, but not I go IN TIME OF PEACE. knock walke o'clock usual at tha enter Wit "Tl of sympathy, ran through the court. " It was held, gentlemen, at the inquest that the deceased met her death through the effects of a blow on the forehead caused by some sharp-pointed object similar to, If not identical with, . : glass ink-bottle found on the floor of the room on the night of the finding of the said Mabel Arthurs in that unconscious state. I will call witnesses to prove that the prisoner was seen entering and leaving the cottage on that evening between the hours of six and eight o'clock. I will Itheho also prove that at one time prisoner was engaged to Istands be married to said Mabel Arthurs. My argument is, lof Mis that after going to Mabel Arthurs the prisoner quar-lthe co relied with her, and that the prisoner in a fit of anger lasked picked up the ink-bottle and threw it at deceased, Ifini'ihii thereby causing her death." lit the After a few further remarks the following witnesses l^even for the Crown were called. ■"'•'^t on Jane Thompson, a stout woman in a white bonnetl Her trimmed with red poppies, and a lilac-colored calico|^\i'^^''s dress, being sworn, said \\\\g of " I live at No. i8 Little Wood Street. My husbandlminute is a carpenter. On evening of June fifth, I saw pri contini soner open the gate and go into the garden in fron of the cottage then occcupied by Mabel Arthurs. Th( fence around the garden is a close board fence. In i minute or so I saw prisoner on the top of the step leading to the front door of the cottage. I saw hin i»g; up and sa twenty reading the dod as held, net her orehead ir to, if 1 on the [T of the nV TIME OF PEACE. \^x knock, and presently the door was opened and he walked ii'i.'* Witness was sure it was half-past six o'clock because slie had her husband's tea ready as usual at a' quarter past six, and as he did not come in at tliat li(^ur, she went to the door to watch for liiin. ll.ul been there some time when she saw prisoner I will "'iitt-T Mabel Arthurs' cottage. i'as seen evening , I will gaged to .iment is, ler quar- of anger Icceased, witnesses :e bonnet •ed calico husband I saw pri in front nurs. Th ce. In; the step \ saw hin Witnes.j continued ; " Ther e are six steps leading up to the front door of the house occupied by my husband and me. The house stands high, that is how I come to see the front door of Miss Arthurs' cottage. Prisoner had not been in the cott age long when my husband came home. I asked him why he was so late, and he said he had been finishing a culvert on the railway. We both looked at the clock a:id noticed it was twenty minutes to seven. After supper my husband took his paper and sat on the doorstep." Henry Thompson, bjing sworn, corroborated his wife's statement as to his coming in late on the even- ing of June 5th, and as to the time being twenty minutes to seven when they sat down to supper, and continued • " After supper I took the Eicfiing News and sat on the doorstep. Generally took fifteen or twenty minutes to finish my supper. While I was reading the paper I heard the door opposite open — the door of Miss Arthurs' cottage I mean — and look- ing up saw prisoner and Miss Arthurs come to the — J — _ l82 J.V 'J J ME or PEACE. \ ^ill!l door. They stood there a few minutes, and then bod went back into the cottage. I finished reading mj paper and got up to go into the house when I hear(j the door opposite open again and saw prisoner comJ out alone ; he looked at his watch, and walked quicklj down the steps. As he came out of the gate noticed he held up his arm and looked intently ai the right sleeve of his coat, and shook it as if somel thing were sticking to it, then pulled down his shirt! ruff and walked quickly up the street. Yes, I hav| seen prisoner at this cottage before, but not for; considerable time before this. Had seen him therl quite frequent during last summer and winter. I ar sure the clock is to be depended upon as I go tl work by it and my wife gets the meals according tj it, and she is always up to time, is my wife." WitI this compliment to his better half the witness i| allowed to leave the box. Other witnesses are here called to prove tha prisoner had been seen going and coming from thl cottage frequently during the preceding year, bu| not within the last few months. Thos. Tinder, sworn : — " Come from Ottawa, an] employed on Police force there ; sometimes act as pra vate detective. Was engaged in that capacity onth| 20th of March. Drove out to the road behind Shorr cliffe. Was waiting for a person who does not wis] his name to be mentioned if it can be avoided. j\ ■mrr. of pface. J83 a\v prisoner come down the hill to the hollow where [was waiting ; he looked about as if waiting for some- line. Presently a neat lookin' lass comes up from be- a clump of pines as was standin' there, and then jiey walks on together. Drivin' home arterwards I ^en them on in front. Yes, the person referred to [fore, and who does not want to appear, was with me. the girl was cryin', and the prisoner was hittin' the |oo\v angry like with his cane. No, it was not till terwards I knew the girl was Miss Arthurs. Yes, I aiv her that evenin' goin' away by the train with the U I knew was Arthurs. I was told he was her Irother. Yes, I saw deceased's body at inquest ; iiould have known her again anywhere. I call her locommon lookin'." Wiliani Arthurs, being called, entered the vi^itness ox; he was looking thinner and paler than when we saw him at the race-course. His eyes are hag- ^rd, and his whole appearance bespeaks anxiety. i'nder oath he said : — " My name is William Arthurs. I [as born in May, 1854, at Churchville, Somerset. My per was a farmer and a native of Somerset ; my pther was the daughter of an Irish lawyer. Her eople thought she married beneath her when she tarried father. My father and mother died four [ears before my sister (here a quiver passed over his Ice) and I left England. We came to this country bt three years ago last March. My aunt, who lives 1 84 IN TIME or PEACE. iter.' 5,-" 1 id the the pr on a farm near the bubbling springs, wrote to sister very often, advising us to come to Ameri About two years ac^o we rented the cottage on Li Wood Street. My sister had some money left Yes, 1 had spent all that ha»l been left to nu-. my sister did copying ; she was much better e cated than me. I sometimes drink. Prisoner brou me home one night last November twelve-monB i ««; said he found me on the corner of the street, m a ,^gt that was I am sure the first time he met n^y sisiB u^^^ Came often after that. She told me in DecemH,.p q^^ (that is a year last December) he had asked hefl/j_«'] marry him. No, she said she had not made upBj <«-^ mind ; they were a good deal together during next year. On New Year's day she told me thought of anything between them was given On being asked if he knew what the quarrel about, witness asked the judge if it were necessar answer that question, and on being answered inBn try and get something to do in the Civil Service Department. I told him it was necessary to pass certain examina- tions before he could do that. Arthurs, \/ho had been ilrinking, grew surly at this, and said I could help that somcBhim if I would. He told me his sister wished to see ikcn such ■ me i)articularly, and asked me if I would agree to ; was made ■ meet her the next day on the road behind Shorn- e been, atBdiffc at half-past three o'clock — there would be no permissionBchance of any one seeing us, and in that way causing er Bright's|gossip, as it was a very quiet road. I replied, I would be glad to help him or his sister, for whom I 79, havinglfelt a strong sympathy ; but that I could not see that cretary tolsiich a meeting in such a place would be to any one's met Mabeliadvantage. After much persuasion, however, I 8th, i879,lconsented to put off my return to S till the he Arthumvening of the next day (I had intended leaving by egation iwhe morning train), and said I would go totherendez- ;all at Mrlous appointed at half-past th«''"e o'clock. 1 had engaged tAcarcely left Arthurs when I regretted having made ntinuecl t(lhc appointment ; that night I wrote a note to Miss when ouMrthurs, explaining I was leaving town in the morn- nsent. liftg and could not keep my appointment. I intended awa. Oniending this note before taking the train in the morn- Parliamenlig. For other reasons I did not leave in the morning d felt an« I intended, and having remained over I could not fif- -' . #1 204 IN^ TIME OF PEACE. well find art excuse for not keeping the engagement I went to the place agreed upon. The interview was not at my seeking, nor were my affairs the subject discussion. I discovered, however, that decease had come there to use her influence on her brother' behalf after a great deal of persuasion on his part and that she would not have brought me there no come herself voluntarily. I felt sorry for the girl an did what I could to reassure her, and said I would do what I could to aid her brother. "After returning to S , I sent the deceased type-writer, which I thought would be of service t her as I heard her say her own was worn out. I di not see deceased again till the afternoon of May 30t when I saw her lying unconscious on the side of th road. I was with a driving party. The horses in th tee-cart, which was just before the waggonette i which I was, ran away, and I believe the tongue that conveyance knocked deceased over. I and on or two others carried Mabel Arthurs to a farm hous The woman who lived in the house and I remainei with her. I stayed about an hour after the others m "^^ the party had left the house. I heard or saw nothinP more of Mabel Arthurs till June 5th. On going t Ipickec Ithc bo the Lodge to take an early dinner at six o'clocl (I had been detained on the way or should havr ^ reached there at half-past fve, as I had told Mii Belt I would), I found a note from deceased awaitiii ^^ pat-sl IN TIME OF PEACE, ao5 me. This note asked me to go to her cottage as she wished particularly to see me. I knew it was some- thing of more than usual importance, as deceased I had never written to me in that way before, and I [knew she would not do so without a reason. I reached Ivy Cottage at lialf-past six o'clock. I Deceased told me the object she had in sending for [me. It was entirely in my interest that she sent for me; but when she asked me in "no way to disclose what she had told me, I was reluctant tj comply, and was leaving the cottage, having only assured her that I .vould try and observe her wishes in the matter. She followed me to the door and entreated me to promise to maintain a strict silence on the subject. I returned to the sitting-room with deceased and saj down on a chair close to the table, leaning my right arm on the table. I had my hat and stick in my left hand. I dropped my hat, and, in leaning forward to [pick it up, I c!ragged the cloth partly off the table; the cloth, in its turn, bringing with it the ink-bottle, [which upset, the ink running over the cloth and on Ito my coat-sleeve. I was not quick enough to pre- Ivent the bottle falling on the floor, and when I [picked it up it was empty. I noticed in replacing |thc bottle on the table that the ink which had run aver its side was thick. I noticed the same on my ^oat-sleeve. ** Remembering that it was her solicitude for my <; 2o6 IN TIME OF PEACE, ^1" ,1/ \ 1 1 i welfare that had led Mabel Arthurs to send for mc, and knowing what she had told me, if divulged, would implicate one in whom she took the deepest interest, I at length consented to keep her con(idence and came away. " After leaving the cottage I did not feel inclined to go directly back to the Lodge, so I strolled down to the station and inquired if the midnight express were likely to be on time. I found it was, and returned to the Lodge at about eight o'clock. I went to my room and threw myself on the bed. At about half-past nine o'clock, Mrs. Belt came to the door and offered me supper, which I declined. At half-past eleven o'clock, I got up and put on my coat, having taken the ink stain out of the sleeve as well as I could. I walked to the station, carrying a small bag and took the express for Carswell, which place I reached at 2.30 a. m. I went to the Exchange Hotel, where I knew I should find Mr. Bolton. At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Bolton said he found it was necessary to return to S at once, and that the Carswell business must be put off for a few days. We accordingly returned by the nine o'clock train. While on the train I bought the morning paper, and it was then, for the first time, I saw what had happened at Little Wood Street. I drove to pay one call directly when I arrived in S ; the call was upon Mr. Lestrange. From IN TIME OF PEACE, 307 there I went direct to Ivy Cottage, in the hope of being able to be of some assistance. While there I was arrested ; till that moment it had not occurred to me that any suspicion could rest upon me. My subsequent course is known, "(Signed) D. Anstruther." aoS IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXXIV. Three days previous to the trial, all the furniture in the cottage at Littk Wood Street was offered for sale. Mr. Lestrange employed Detective Alert to buy in the type-writer that had been used by Mabel Arthurs in her copying work. The type-writer stood on a little table placed across one corner of the room. On tr> ing to open what he thought was the drawer in the table, he found it was only an imitation drawer, and that the knobs, which he thought were handles, were there for ornament merely. This led Alert to examine the table further, it having become second nature with him to get at the bottom of everything. Pulling the table out from the wall, he found the true drawer opening from the other side, and a small bunch of keys hanging from its lock. He opened the drawer and found a small book lying open in it. This proved to be Mabel Arthurs' diary, and had been pushed hurriedly into the drawer without being closed, probably to let the ink dry on its last page. Detecti\e Alert turned the key in the lock unseen by any one and slipped it in his pocket, and went away to return with a search warrant. Having secured the diary, he was not long in discovering of what IN IIMK ()/■ PEACE. 909 importance it was to the prisoner. He at once placed it in the hands of Mr. Anstruthcr's counsel. It was the contents of this diary that led to Esther Bright's close cross-examination. Why Esther did not find some excuse for leavini^ " The Poplars " and getting out of reach immediately after the night of June 5th, can only be explained by similar cases where a peculiar fascination seems to have kept criminals in the neighborhood that it was most to their interest tr) leave. The hope of Mabel's recovery and the belief that she would shield Esther, combined with the girl's strong infatuation for William Arthurs, kept her in S till she was summoned as a witness. It was not till in the witness-box that she realized how great was her danger. We only insert here the entries in Mabel's diary that most directly affect the people, a portion of whose lives we are endeavoring to sketch : — MABEL'S DIARY. ** September ^th. — I sometimes feel that I must give expression to my thoughts, so I have decided to keep a diary. Went to the post office again to- day, still no letter from Walter. I am beginning to realize that he has grown tired of me and means to desert me. I cannot make up my mind to this, he cared so much for me once. I have made such sacrifices for him. William is growing more restless 14 * I- 210 LV TIME OF PEACE. than ever. I fear he will not keep his present situation long. 1 met him walking to-day with a fine-looking girl with red hair. He bowed and passed on, did not offer to introduce me to his friend. " September 6th. — Got more copying work to-day. It is now eighteen months since, yielding to ii'.y aunt's wish to join her in America, my broUiLi William and I came to this country. I recall, as I sit here alone, anxiously waiting for William's return, with what grief I saw our last peep of Eng- land melting away into the melancholy mist. The thought that it would be so much better for William to start in a new country bore me up, but now it seems as if I left our pretty little home amid the hills of Somerset to no purpose, but to come to suffering here. " September yth. — My trouble in going to the post ofHce was rewarded to-day. Did I say trouble? It is the greatest pleasure the day brings me, but so often ends in sickening disappointment that it is a pleasure from which I partially shrink. To-night j I am so happy. Walter Charles writes that he will be in S on Saturday. Do I regret leaving all that formerly made life dear to me in England'' No. By so doing, have I not known what it is to I love and be loved by such a man as Walter Charles,] Just two days. IN TIME OF PEACE, 311 present ' with a zed and le to his ic to-day. g to my brother call, as I William's > of Eng- ist. The r William it now it amid the come to the post trouble ? s me, but that it is To-night I it he wil saving all England ' it it is to r Charles. ^'September 8tli, 1879, — Last night William was brought home by Mr. Anstruthcr, who was very kind. He stayed and talked a little while; he, too, comes from Somerset. lie seemed delighted when we discovered that I had sat in his father's church for so long. " September ()t/i, '79' — Met Mr. Anstruther as I was coming home this evening; he walketl to the gate with me ; was very polite. To-morrow I shall see Walter. Will he fmd mc changed ? It is now three HK'nths since I have seen him. He promised to come at least once a fortnight to S- — , but I must not think of all the disappointments between this and then, but only (^f the joy in store for me to-morrow. ''September 29///, '79- ^^ ^^ nearly three weeks since I have written in my diar\". I have been ill. I am better now , and am quite aware that I must face the future without the hope that has been so much to me in the past. Walter Charles came. I put on my prettiest gown to meet him. He had told me he liked me best in white. I arranged my hair in the style that pleased him best. For what did I do this ? To meet a man who loved me no longer. He told me the hopes he had of making money in America were dissipated, it was only fair to give me my liberty; I might do better; I was young and decidedly pretty ; he was sure I would soon forget him in the society of some one more worthy. He ais /A' TIME OF PEACE, ) m chi sur ival to 1 liail As fortf me i was sorry if he caused me pain. Could I forgive him ? All this to the girl who had given him her all. And yet, and yet I love him. When I remember what I was when I first met him, mv heart full of hope for the future and no bitter memories in my mind (i{ the past ! Heaven givt- me help to bear this grief. William tells me Mr. Anstruther called several times during my illness. ** October ythy '79. — Have seen seen Mr. Anstruther several times lately. He helps me very much vvithij,^ ^ William; indeed, if it were not for his encouragementlf,,^ I fear that I would grow hopeless. Saw Williaml »j yesterday with that tall red-haired girl. Itinie "October c^th, '79- — William brought Esther Brightln-^j. to see me. I do not like her, and I am afraid she sawLtcrc it. William appears to be quite infatuated with her.1 « f " November yd, '"/(). — Mr. Anstruther has asked mj^pstr to let hmi try and make my life happier. He haipp ^ asked me to marry him. My heart is given tA^, j^ another and cannot be recalled, but I was too grea^ei ,• a coward to tell Dudley Anstruther so. l^ jj. *' December ist, *yg, — I have told D. A if hjntere sees no one for whom he cares more in a year's timl « j^ I will marry him. He is so good and thoughtful folfe ani me, why does the prospect make me sad } " I " M ■ Here a whole year's entries in the diary alomei- omitted. - , litho " January %rd, '81. — As I was coming home frciorro 15 /.V TIME 01' PKACE, 3t.« I forgive him her When I him, mv no bitter church on New Year's morning, I was more than surprised to meet Walter Charles. He turned an 1 walked home with me. On corning in he asked me to return him all his letters as he was about to be engaged to some one else, and said he hoped no one iven give Iliad seen him walking with mc for both our sakes. 5 me Mr. l^s he said this, all my pent-up indignation burst illness. Iforth and I said some bitter things. He was leaving mstrutherlinc in a temper when Dudley Anstruther came in. nuch vvithi\n explanation followed. Our engagement is at an jragementleiid. ^v William I '^February yd, i88i— D. A. called for the first time since the breaking off of our engagement. He her Bright|os as kind as formerly, and expressed the same id she sawlnterest in William, with her| " February yth, 1 88 1— William tells me that Dudley s asked meiAnstruther is in Ottawa with Mr. Bolton ; he also tells He ha; me that D. A. said he would send me a type- writer given tc|)n his return as he noticed mine was worn out. I eel it would be ungrateful to refuse so kind an offer, IS it is no doubt intended to reassure me of the nterest he feels in William and me still. ''March isf, iSSi. — William has lost his situation. i too grea if h year's tim Dughtful ffl le and Esther are coming in so I will write no more. ' " ''March loth, i88i. —William thinks he could get diary a Dmething to do in Ottawa. I do not think so ithout interest ; however, we leave for Ottawa to- home fro lorrow. ;.[ Iff if M«t :■ .1 iJHHl' 214 /\' yyj/A' oj- PEACE. ''Ottawa, March \2th, 1881. — William has applifdl for two vacancies in the Civil service, but finds he ij not eligible. " Ottawa, March \%th, 188 1. —William tells me Dud- ley Anstruther might help him to get something if would only ask him to use his influence. I hav(. agreed to meet D. A. on the road behind Shornn cliffe to-morrow afternoon. D. A. has conferred sc many favors on us I would rather ask for no morel but if he could help William now I must not consulj my own feelings. ''March \\th, '81. — Went this afternoon to meetDj A., who said he would do what he could for Williaml He was kind, but seemed anxious that the intervie\J should be over. I cried a little during our interview] I felt so hopeless. I must not give way to despair. am writing on the train. " March i6th, '81. — Returned to S , yesterday] William has obtained no situation, but seems hopeful of securing something before long. Dudley Anstrul ther has sent me the promised type-writer. I havj done a good deal of copying on it to-day. "March i^th, '81. — William uses the type-writer, wonder for what } We seem to be drifting more aiii more apart. Perhaps because I try to discontinuj his intercourse with Esther. I cannot like that gir| she appears to me so sly, and yet at times her eye /.\' TIME OF PEACE. 2!5 las ftppliedHf]j>jh as if a burst of violent temper would not be im- finds he islpossible to her. ''May 28///, '81.— The Home Farm. — Have been spending a month with my aunt in the country. It is very still and peaceful here. My aunt has lived ill this same house for 'le past fifteen years. I had been so anxious about William for the past few months that I i^ot quite ill ; now that I see nothing (if Walter Charles my aunt is very kind to me. ''May 30///, '81. — The Home Farm. — Yesterday afternoon, as I was crossing the road at the turn lead- iii<; to the bubbling springs, I heard a noise as if a pair of horses were running away. I had not time to step to one' side before they were almost upon me. They swer/ed in their course, but something struck me. I must have fainted, for the next I remember was feeling a violent pain above my eye, and hearing a gentle voice speak to me. On opening my eyes I saw a lovely girl. I must have fainted again, to regain consciousness and find Dudley Anstruther bending over me. The pretty girl I after'wards saw was Miss Lestr^nge. Her face is lovely, but there is something II her voice that is irresistible. I expected her to turn away from me when she discovered who I was, )ut she did not. No one can tell the feeling that came aver me when I discovered she knew me and still w 2l6 /X TIME OF PR ACE. lyc: all, rnir :ruck nvari "S( n. wished to befriend me — no one who has not hu gered and thirsted for a sympathetic word — no one \vh| docs not know what it is to give up all for the sa i)f one person and then find that one person cold an indifferent ; but I must not dwell on this. How Ion can one endure sorrow and not despair? How Ion I wonder ? Miss Lestrange and Dudley Anstruth and another gentleman took me to a farm house ntB's ^ far from the road. Another gentleman came afteH""'^ wards, Miss Lestrange's brother; he seemed anxioiB'''^^' to take his sister away. D. A. remained behind, wudle^ said, because he might be of assistance. This maJ^P^''* does not love me, but he has never failed in his chB^^e ^ valrous bearing towards me since he asked me A ^"y marry him ; and now that all idea of that is over, momise still behaves almost as if a slight to me would be Bstrar .slight to himself. I know he believes in me. Itdftcs ] comfort me to have him remain behind when t»zled others left. There .ire times when I feel, oh, so des(»h'm late. A woman is so powerless to conquer her fatfrt th Does a man ever realize, I wonder, the moments fcniy helpless feeling that are so constant in many womenpist pu lives ; they must be experienced to be understood fear. I go back to S in a day or two. ^*Ju7te $th, *8i. S I got home yesterday, andw; welcomed by poor Polly. I found a letter under type-writer yesterday addressed to Mr. Lestrange. was not folded, and some of the words which caugi r, ani This i IN TIME OF PEACE, 217 ny eye interested me at once, so I made bold to read [all, and found it was a note to Mr. Lestrange con- ftrning Dudley Anstruther. For some time it has Uck me that WiUiam was maliciously disposed |)wards D. A., who is really his friend. " Some natures grow bitter under a sense of obliga- on. I wrote and asked D. A. to come to see me lis evening at six o'clock, when T knew William ould be out. I cannot understand what object filliam has in writing to Mr. Lestrange about udley. I am glad I told D. A., as now he can be Irepared in case William sends a letter in the place [the one which had got in the leaves of my paper. any case it was only fair to warn Dudley, who [omised that he would not betray the fact to Mr. strange that William wrote the letter, as William Ipes Mr. Lestrange will help him. [ am greatly pled to know what William's object can be. I will him. I had my tea alone after D. A. left, and have ent the time since in confiding my perplexities to lu, my diary. I see Esther coming up the walk. I pst put this away for the present as she is at the Dr, and evidently has come to see me." [This is the last entry in Mabel's diary. m ■\. 2(S W TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXXV. This diary also clearly pointed to the more thar possibility of William Arthurs having been Mr. LeJ strange's correspondent. The diary was proven beyond all doubt to be ir Mabel Arthurs' writing, and recognized as such b) William Arthurs under oath. On being faced witli the danger in which he himself stood in being charged with the authorship of the letters which had sJ excited Mr. Lestrange's curiosity, Arthurs made ful confession of having written them, also of having trieJ to throw the blame upon Dudley Anstruther. HJ confessed he did not wisii Anstruther any seriou harm, but he thought by throwing suspicion on hin he could keep it from himself, his sister's acquainj ance with Anstruther making it easy for him to d| this, as he always arranged that the appointment of I place of meeting in these letters should coincide wi^ a place where he knew Anstruther would be at tha time. This he arranged in case Mr. Lestrange shouj be accompanied by any one in order to apprehen him, not hesitating to make use of his sister's soliJ tude for himself to draw Anstruther into the tral As Mr. Lestrange never appeared at the appointd IN TIME OF PEACE, ai9 place unattended, Arthurs never spoke to him. The note thrown into Mr. Lestrange's dining room dndovv, and directly naming Anstruther, was the Iresult of temporary malice borne by Arthurs towards Anstruther because of their interview on that after- luon, when the latter refused to use his influence on lArthurs' behalf. Arthurs did not believe, he said, it vould do more than cause an unpleasantness between fir. Lestrange and Anstruther, which he knew the [latter would regret deeply for many reasons. This was the substance of the statement made and [igned by William Arthurs in the presence of Mr. Lestrange's solicitor and Captain Ardor. Mr. Le- [trange stated through his solicitor that he did not dsh to prosecute William Arthurs, and that he might ro at liberty on giving a full and complete confes- :on. William Arthurs stated his sole object in writing |iic letters was to force Mr. Lestrange to help him, as times he felt desperate. It was not till the death |fhis sister that he realized whither he was drifting. The type-writer used by Arthurs in writuig these [tters was the type-writer sent to Mabel Arthurs by [udley Anstruther, and had been used by him in all [s correspondence previous to the time of his send- b it to her ; hence the similarity between the ty^>e- riting in the note enclosing Mr. Lestrange's railway [ket, and the type-writing in the anonymous letters. 220 IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXXVT. Walter Charles was noticed to be quite lame the day after the races. On being asked if one of his horses had kicked him, he explained he had tripped and fallen coming downstairs the next morning. Could the moon tell what she saw during the hours) between eleven and twelve at night, when some of the guests who had been dining with Sir C F at his summer residence near S were taking! their way home, there might have been a differentl tale. She might have told how a tall man in eveningl dress, preferring the open air and a walk to a Jrive in a covered cab, had stopped in the shadow of a cedarj hedge to light a cigar ; that just at that instant a sharp] "ping*' was heard, followed by a muttered exclam- ation from the tall man, who staggered for two or three steps and then fell ; how, after a few moments spent in trying to bandage a wound in his leg, he picked himself up and hobbled on towards the town.l The moon might also have told of a crouching figure clad in a tattered red shirt and leather breeches stealing behind the hedge. And had hei| rays been bright enough they would have illuminatec a set of bronzed and regular features, dark Unk) IN TIME OF PEACE. 221 hair, and eyes that flashed with a satisfied gleam as they saw the tali figure stumble and fall. Any one driving over that piece of road next day might, or might not, have noticed a pile of sticks and stores at its side, — one of the signs used by the gipsies to let stragglers of their band know by which road they have pursued their wanderings. Yes, poor Mabel Arthurs, the bullet from the gipsy's rifle failed of its mark, else your wrongs would have l^een avenged by the protector of another, to whom the shame of one of his tribe was as a storm cloud that shuts out the sun, and casts a gloom over all that hitherto was smiling and happy. 2as IN TIME OF PEACE. CHAPTER XXXVII. Eight months have passed away since the trial oi Dudley Anstruther resulted in his honorable acquittal] In compliance with the urgent wish of Constance':] father, she and Anstruther had parted with tlKj understanding that, if at the end of a year's tim^ they are of the same mind, he will no longer withhok his consent to their marriage. Anstruther is passinj his term of probation in his native land. Ho' gladly he would have deferred his trip till he coul take Constance with him, he alone knew. Two months after Anstruther's departure Hectc Lestrange gave up his commission in the — 1| regiment, and elected to try farming in Manitobj In the beginning of October, when the maple were putting on their bright and varied garb, anl a purple haze hung over the sleepy meadows, Cecil and Hector were quietly married. A fortnight lat^ the bride and bridegroom left for their new home the prairie. As the train steamed out of the statid on that autumn afternoon, a feeling of desolatid took possession of Constance which she found hard to dispel; but, ever mindful of others, s| rX TIME OF PEACE. 233 returned to her father with a bright face, and tried to forget her own lonehness in cheering his. Ardor left S immediately after the trial to travel in the Southern States. When January came, and Mr. Lestrange was obliged to return to Ottawa, Constance, in com- pliance with the entreaties of Hector and Cecile, consented to visit them in their new home. Hector had taken the ponies with him as a present from Mr. Lestrange to Cecile. " Godolphin " was still with Constance, nor was there any thought of parting with him. So when Constance went to Manitoba, where we again take up the thread of her life, "Go- dolphin " went with her. 334 IN TIME OF PEACE, T Itn I da Isk' dii I to abs sea CHAPTER XXXVIII. Situated on a farm some twenty miles from I Battleford, Hector's home is one of the most comfortable houses in that part of Manitoba. The farm, comprising fifty acres, was well under culti- vation when Mr. Lestrange bought it, believing that a vigorous life, such as all farmers in the North WestBu are obliged to lead, would be better for Hector thanP the somewhat idle existence of an officer in Her Majesty's service when not on active duty. The Englishman who had worked the farm before hat come in for a small fortune at home, and was glac to part with the property at a reasonable price. The nearest town, " Newton," is only three mile^ off, and comprises a population of about eighj hundred people, mostly made up of settlers fror Ontario, who have come to try their fortunes in newer country and grow up with its prosperity, and of a few Englishmen who have come for a likBygt y, purpose. The farms about are also principallmQ ^|j owned by Englishmen, who finding the motheltjj^j,^ country overcrowded, and possessing few openinglLiQ for young men, have invested their younger sonijj,^ j portion here. \\.M( IN TIME OF PEACE. 225 It is an afternoon in the early part of March. The cold winter days are already over, and the spring that comes so suddenly in Manitoba is [treating its inhabitants to one of her brightest days. The sun is shining brilliantly in a blue sky that is only here and there flecked with soft diaphonous clouds; the prairie grass is only beginning to force its way through the earth. The utter absence of hills in this locality, combined with a scarcity of trees, is in a measure compensated for by the glorious sweep of sky which is thus exposed I to view. Two equestrians, following the road which was loriginally an Indian trail, are approaching Hector Lestrange's house. As they draw near the horses break into a canter which soon brings them to the Idoor. Constance — for it is she who has ridden up iwith Reginald Lloyd — rosy and radiant from the exercise in the bracing air, throws her arm affection- lately about Cecile, who has -met them at the door, |and draws her into the little drawing-room. Though spring-like in the open air, the sun is not lyet warm enough to make a fire indoors unwelcome, ISO they draw their chairs within a comfortable dis- Itanceof the crackling logs that burn in the fire-place. [Lloyd, who has led Godolphin round to the stables and left him with his own horse in the hands of the [stable boy, now follows the two girls (for Cecile looks 15 !'<»■, 226 IN TIME OF PEACE, absurdly young to aspire to the title of woman), and seats himself on a sofa in the back-ground, apparently to enjoy the picture of the two girls resting grace- fully within the rays of li.i^ht thrown by the blazing wood. Cecile is dressed in a loose gown of dark blue, soft lace falling from the neck and exposing the rounded throat, and adding to the lustre of the golden hair that is gathered in a soft pufif on the top of her head ; her eyes have a deeper and more thoughtful expression than of old, which but adds to their beauty. Constance has removed her small riding hat, and is resting her dainty head gracefully against the back of the comfortable chair. With her head in this position, and the fire-light dancing among the m'jshes of her chestnut hair and illuminating the transparency of her complexion, she does indeed look beautiful. A word of description of the man who, sitting in the shadow, lets pass unobserved none of these charms, Lloyd is above the average height; his broad shoulders are covered by a perfectly fitting jacket of tweed. His brown hair is cut short to his head ; but, short as it is, it curls about his forehead ; his eyes are of a gray blue, and of that fearless expression that goes so far towards inspiring confi- dence ; his hands and feet are small and slender, noticeably so amid his present surroundings, where work has rendered those of his fellows large and hard. The man is unmistakably a gentleman, and IN TIME OF PE.-^CE. 1%1 ; of the ; the top id more t adds to ler small ;racefully With her ig among ating the deed look nan who, I none of i height; tly fitting Drt to his brehead ; fearless ng confi- slender, s, where rge .and man, an^ one feels, on looking at him, that he would be equally at his ease conversing with peer or peasant. The maid, a rare luxury in this part of the country, i)ut who has come from Ontario with Cecilc, now brings a tea-tray and places it on a small table by her mistress* side, leaving the brass kettle on the hob before quitting the room. In a window is a flower pnd with pots of geraniums, one or two of which ire in bloom ; hani^ing before the door is a heavy Ijrtain, w^hich helps to keep out the draughts; across \m corner of the room stands a piano, and a book- ps': well lined with books occupies another. The light from the setting sun snines through the iviiidow and lights up the flowers, casting a net-work )f shadows over the carpet ; beyond the folding loors, which divide the drawing-room from the next oom, the neatly laid table awaits the dinner hour. The panels of the doors have been decorated by onstance, and add a little more color and beauty to he already cosy room. Let Englishmen go where hey will, they will have their home comforts about em if it be at all possible. It was possible to the ite owner of this house, and what comforts were eft by him have been added to by Cecile's good taste nd Hector's thoughtfulness. Not many homes like his are to be found on the prairies ; indeed, many ho have formerly been accustomed to luxurious 228 IN TIME OF PEACE. homes live in absolute discomfort ; but this is an evil time will remedy. Lloyd came to Manitoba during the preceding autumn, the prospect of a good winter's sport and hopes of finding good investments for part of his money leading him to do so. Hector and he met, and with a taste for shooting in common, and the pre- vailing spirit of " bon camaraderie " which exists in this country, where all arc more or less strangers in a strange land, have led them to see much of each other. Constance's presence does not tend to make his visits to the homestead less frequent. Indeed Hector's house possesses attractions for all the people for miles around, its comforts and the society of the two refined women being to them like a peep of the homes they have left. "While you were out," said Cecile, pouring out a cup of tea, " I had a visitor." "Had you .'' " asked Constance. "Who was it.^ Mrs. Gorgeous or Peggy Wise 1 " Mrs. Gorgeous is an American v/ho has married a contractor, and is living in Newton just now while her husband is superintending the building of a new | railway that is to help open up the country. She considers it a grand opportunity to exhibit all her bright and costly dresses ; her idea of the fitness of things leading her to think the more plainly other people are dressed the more vivid must her costumes IN TIME OF PEACE. 229 be. " "^^ZZY Wise " is a slow-witted half-breed who has taken a violent fancy to Cecile, for whom she occasionally does a day's work. "No, not either. My visitor was an Indian, he quite startled me at first. I was trying my hand at ironing one of Hector's collars. I knew he wanted to be particularly smart for the dance to-night, and poor Mary is not much of a laundress " •* Are you .'* " quietly interrupts Constance. " Well, no. I think when you see the collar you will decide that I am not. However, as I say, I was very much interested in trying to make the collar look as if it were not made of Turkish towelling when I felt as if some one were watching me — you know the feel- ing. On looking up I saw this Indian, with his face pressed close to the glass, peering in through the win- I dow. It gave me quite a nervous feeling, but I went to the door and asked him what he wanted. He moved [his hands about and said * Boy, Boy,' but seemed able to say nothing else. Knowing the Indians call all white men boys, I supposed he was asking for Hector, so I shook my head to imply that he was not in. The Indian then tried to slip by me and come in, but hearing William at the pump getting water I called to him, and as he came in the back door my visitor took another searching look about the hall walls and walked slowly away. William fol- lowed him, byt foynd he would not speak, f sup- i; • 230 IN- TIME OF PEACE. 1 '<•' pose he came to see what kind of a place it was. — More sugar, Mr. Lloyd ? I only gave you one lump." , As Lloyd held his cup for another lump Hector's step was heard on the verandah. A blush deepened on Cecile's cheek, which caused a smile to come to Constance's lips. As he came into the little room, with his wide grey hat of soft felt in his hand and his heavy boots damp and muddy, he looked much broader and sturdier than when we last saw him. A collie is close at his heels, but stops on the threshold of the drawing-room and stretches himself across the door, where he is presently rewarded for his obe- dience by a piece of currant cake from Constance. Hector rested his hand caressingly on Cecile's shoul- der and with the other talies the tea offered him, and with a •' How d'ye do, old man } " to Lloyd, seemed glad to seat himself and rest after his day's ploughing. Constance repeated the story of the Indian to Hector, who looked a little grave for a mo- ment and then said, " Well, I do not think he will come back again, as ' Heather ' saw him skulking along by the fence, and rushed at him and almost knocked him over. Such antipathy did the dog seem to have for him that I had some difficulty in calling him off." " Heather " Vv'ho has heard his name, and knows he is being talked about, thumps the floor with his tail and fixes his eye§ 90 his naaster. *' Th^ Incji^n seemed IN TIME OF PEACE. 231 to think I had set the dog on him, for he turned and shook his fist at me in a very fine style." Cecile had turned very pale, which was not un- noticed by Constance, who changed the conversation by asking Lloyd if he were going to the dance which was to be given hy the ladies in Newton this evening. A few minutes later Lloyd is astride his horse and trotting briskly towards the village, saying to himself more than once by the way, " What a fool I am to be carried away by a pretty face. This will not do; I must not forget niy plighted troth to Mary so far away. I believed we should be happy too, and now I seem bewitched. This must be conquered." By way of conquering which he allows himself to render how Constance will look in evening dress, |and this leads his thoughts to dwell with amusement on this life he is leading in the prairie land. After Lloyd had gone Constance went to her little |room to exchange her habit for a simple evening ress. Hector drew his chair closer to Cecile, and putting his hand under her chin raised her face to his, asking, " How are you feeling, darling } " A lovely color dyed her cheeks and she hid her face on his )road shoulder, " You are happy here, I'ttle one, are I'ou not } You do not regret having come so far way with me } " "Quite happy, dear, but sometimes a strange fear omes over me, and when you spoke to-day of th^t 233 IN" TIME OF PE '< '/v. Indian I felt quite terrified,, but T k .)w these fears are foolish. We are very happy here, are we not ? If you were not obliged to work so hard I should like it much better, but then I feel quite proud of you, too, when I see you out in the field. I often watch you from my window, sir, and — and — love you all the time." " My dear wife." After a pause, " )me for a little walk before dinner and see if all is right about the place." They go together and walk about the little garden, and feel glad it will soon be time to plant their flowers. The cows and horses arc visited, and found to be enjoying their evening meal. All looks peaceful and full of comfort. They return to the house and prepare for dinner. IN TIME OF WAR. 333 CHAPTER XXXIX. In a doorway festooned with flags Mrs. Gorgeous and one or two others of the leaders of Newton society (for no society appears to be too small to have its leaders) are standing receiving their guests. Passing through this door one finds one's self in a long room whose walls are hung with bunting. True, it is only lighted by coal-oil lamps placed in brackets against the wall, but the globes which shade their light are clean and bright, and with a few pots of flowers and palms the room looks quite pretty, and not at all sug- gestive of a store-room off a grocery shop, which in reality it is. An open piano stands at one end of the room. Two trench windows opening on to a verandah add to the attractive appearance of this hall of merriment. One of these windows being open admits the cool refreshing air, and gives a peep of the bright moon sailing serenely aloft in a sky that even at this hour is blue. A fair number of guests having arrived and placed their small baskets of light refreshment, which each contributes towards the supper, in a smaller room at the back of the " for one night only " ball-room, Mrs. 234 riv TIME hr ir.4f?. 4 Gorgeous seats herself at the piano and strikes th openinp^ chords of a set of lancers. There are no more than thirty people present, but all are in evenin dress. Hector and Cecile are near the piano, andar evidently not inclined to dance. Cecile is dressed ii a soft white dress open at the throat, showing square of white neck on which rests a dead gol cross ; she is laughing with Hector, and apparent ly quite forgetful of her fears of the afternoon Hector, who is realizing that his coat has grown some what tight, is looking very handsome and manly, an if his collar be not quite irreproachable as a consc quence of Cecile's handiwork, he seems rather prou of that than otherwise. Lloyd is standing a*- the head of the room witl Constance, his black evenipf^ dress well setting ofifhi strongly-knit figure. His aquiline features and well shaped head would make him conspicuous in any room, as they do here. Constance is dressed in blac tulle. One wide braid of hair is arranged above he head like a coronet ; others form a bright coil, tha rests on her soft white neck ; some wayward tendrils curl about her brow and shell-like ears. Her eyes, tha seem to have gained more of that thoughtful expres sion, are now lowered, and a wave of warm coloi suffuses her cheek as she notices the look of admira tion Lloyd is bending upon her. Her neck is claspe( by a small necklet of pearls and diamonds that migh JN TIME or IV A r:. 235 look out of place on this occas'on, but that all Con- stance wears seems but to be an accessory to her natural charms. Her liands are covered with lonfj black gloves, and in one of them she carries a large fan of peacock's feathers. Opposite Constance and her partner stands a girl in white. Her face is bright and intelligent. She is the daughter of the German consul. Her partner is the manager of one of the local banks. The fact of his having repaired the sidewalks and peddled water in the days when he first came to the country does not appear to have destroyed his ease of manner or sense of enjoyment. Fulton, for that is his name, hails from South Africa. Having lost a good deal of money in gold mines in that country, he, too, resolved to try the much talked of Manitoba. That big lumbering man with a voice from his boots they say deserted from the Navy, and the little prim woman with the cold blue eyes is his wife. Op- posite them again is a very small man with a bald head and long beard. He is talking to a tall girl in blue. This man is the husband of the grand lady at the piano, and contractor for the new railway. He manages the men splendidly; his wife manages him. Constance is claimed for the next dance by the man from the Cape. After a few turns round the II I 236 IN TIME or IVAH. room he leads her to the verandah to enjoy the cool air. As she approaches the window, Constance sees a black face pressed close to the glass. She starts; but, before she c .plain to her partner the cause of her surprise tace has vanished, and she won- ders if she on. .nagined its presence. A little later the dancers take their way to the supper-room, where sandwiches and cake are passed about. As Hector and Lloyd, with several of the other men, are standing, taking their refreshments, Hector notices two squaws standing looking in at them through another of the windows. " Tho.se black devils seem to be uncommonly curious," said Lloyd, annoyed at feeling startled by the apparition. " Oh, after you have spent a few months here, you will be quite accustomed to that kind of thing. That is their way of expressing an interest in our welfare," said Hector. -*' All the same, it is a doocid uncomfortable way," replied Lloyd. Robinson, who was one of the mounted police, and who had just returned with a handful of men from the North Saskatchewan, was standing by, and in reply to a question how things looked in that neigh- bor answered : " That madman Riel is trying to make trouble again among the half-breeds ; a thousand pities they IN TIME OF WAR. a37 did not hang him in 1870. There is dissatisfaction al)out the way the farms are being surveyed. People living in sparsel}' populated countries, no doubt, find it an advantage to build tlieir homesteads close together; for that rcasoti they prefer to have their farms with a narrow frontage, on which they build their houses, and running far back in long narrow strips. The new survey broke up this plan, and this I believe is one of the grievances which Riel is taking advantage of to promote his own ambitious schemes." "How are the Indians about there?" asks Lloyd, raising a glass of ale to his lips, " Big Bear and his band are always troublesome, and rumors reached us that Beardy is only waiting to see Riel is well sup- ported to join him with his braves." " As the Government admitted the justice of the half-breed claims in 1883, by providing for their adjustment by special Act of Parliament, it seems a piece of carelessness that it should neglect to have those claims attended to. The position of the half- breetl in Manitoba is a peculiar one, and requires peculiar treatment," said Hector. ' . "As a matter of fact," continued Robinson, " I do not believe the Government is aware of the unsettled state of our half-breed population. Whether that be the fault of the officials in charge or not, it seems difficult to discover. However, I do not anticipate any violent measures. The fact that a provisional I' 'A 238 /JV TIME OF WAR. Government, with Riel at its head as president, may look somewhat threatening ; but, on obtaining reason- able guarantees from the Government hat their claims will be attended to, this assembly will disband. In the meantime a body of our men leave with me to-morrow to convey government stores to a place of safety at Prince Albert." " Is such a precaution necessary ? " asked Lloyd^ pulling out his watch to see if it will not soon be time for the next waltz to strike up. " Oh, till what Riel and his followers consider reasonable guarantees be given, they will continue to collect supplies and provide against the emergency of war. So it behoves us to see that our supplies are protected and out of their reach," and finishing his sandwich, Robinson turned and left the room. Lloyd found Constance seated at the piano, the rest of the ladies and two or three men standing about the dancing-room. Constance has yielded to their entreaties and is playing the opening chords of ** Home, Sweet Home." Her voice is a mezzo-soprano ; it is sweet and full, and sufficiently powerful to fill the room. As Lloyd stands in the hall, he can, unobserved, see the whole picture. The fair girl, with the light falling on the coronet of burnished hair and catching the gleam of the stones on her white full neck — the deep gray eyes, with that far away look which appeals to and yet checks his curiosity — the IN TIME OF WAR. 239 lent, may g rcason- lat their disband. with me 1 place of kI Lloyd, n be time consider continue Tiergency pplies are shing his m. liano, the standing ielded to chords of ■soprano ; ul to fill he can, fair girl, shed hair ler white vvav look sity — the outline of the well-shaped nose, with its delicate nostrils — the parted lips that display a glimpse of the sni;ill white teeth. The soft sympathetic tones float towards him. There is a pathos in Constance's voice that sometimes puzzles herself, and to-night it is very pronounced. As the last verse of the song draws to a close her voice completely breaks, and with a shake of the head and a nervous laugh she breaks into the Eton boat-song, being joined in the chorus by several of the men present, a few of whom are old Eton boys. The eyes that were growing dim are now bright, and as another waltz is struck up all appear in the mood to enjoy it. Lloyd offers his arm to Constance, and after a few turns to the music, which is rather faulty as to time, he arranges a wrap about her shoulders and leads her through the open door. They stand and drink in the pure fresh air. It is turning colder, and a decided frost is in the air. The moon is disap- pearing behind the willows that grow on the bank of the slough, silvering the prairie in her flight, and em- phasizing the patches of snow that are still on the ground. The stars are bright and twinkling in the blue vault spanned above their heads. The smoke from a neighboring chimney ascends in a straight and undisturbed column so still is the air. The beauty of the heavens and the tranquillity of all about her im- presses itself indellibly upon Constance's mind^ the 240 liV TIME OF ir.1/f. I '■. faint sound of the halting music from within but in- ter Jsifying the spirit of repose breathed forth by nature. Lloyd, who finds the society of this Canadian girl dangerously sweet, is drinking in the very essence of her presence. " Are you homesick, Miss Lestrange, that you found it so difficult to finish your song ?" he asked, not without a feeling of jealousy of the attractions in which he of necessity had no share. " I do not know what made me feel sad, but when I look at the people here, and realize how far the greater number of them are from all who made their (.arly life, it suggests sad thoughts. There must be a longing sometimes to go back to their former homes." " No doubt most of them expect to do so later on, but in the meantime they strike me as being very jolly," answered Lloyd. " No doubt they are," continued Constance, "and I need only see my brother's home to realize how possible such a state of things is. Some feeling seems to oppress me to-night that I cannot shake off. It may be foolish, but I do not like to see so many Indians prowling about — in such a way to lead one to suppose there may be method in their actions, too." " You must not give way to feelings of fear on that score," But while he spoke a recollection of what he IN TIME or WAR •41 had recently heard from Robinson, and the thought of the dangerous state the people of this locality would be in should the Indians, infected l)}' tht; spirit of dis- content now [)revalent, rise and join with the Metis in making war, oppressed him. • Will }'ou soon be returning to Ontario ?" " We are expecting my dear father to come and see Hector in his new home. I have purposely avoided telling him how bright and cos)- it is, as I know he will be surprised and delighted. The father is so fond of Hector, he did not like his coming here ; but," after a pause, " it was thought wise for him to come, and Cecile was willing. It is such a pleasure to see them so happy together that I feel quite recon- ciled to the thought of my old playfellow having some one else to take care of him." " Mrs. Lestrange looks quite a child, but her devo- tion to her husband is anything but childish." Lloyd feels he will lose his head if he stays much longer in the society of this girl whose every move- ment possesses an attraction for him. As he turns his eyes in the direction of the fast disappearing moon, "o'er whose disk an envious cloud is driven," a picture of an old oak growing beside a stone gate, with a young girl standing beneath its shade, rises before him. He inwardly resolves to quit this neigh- borhood to-morrow. • .. On returning to the dancing-room, Constance and 16 ^ !<'< 242 IN TIME OF WAR. IP Lloyd see that the guests are preparing for departure. Hector is talking to a rather languid young lady, who, having been at school for two years in England, is now prepared to out-Herod Herod in the way of accent. She is at this moment telling Hector that he is the first Canadian she has danced with during the evening. Hector, v ho has a true man's abhorrence of affectation, is telling her he is sure the Canadians cannot have known how nice she is. The languid one looked for an instant as if she saw that this remark- was intended to be complimentary, when Constance and Cecile approached to say good-night. •' Had a good supper, Lestrange } Those sand- wiches were good," said Lloyd, who has been known to find fault with the cookini^ at the Criterion. " Oh, yes, I never pay my hostess the empty com- pliment of eating nothing." There is a flurry of snow in the air as the two seated conveyance is brought to the door. Constance and Cecile being well wrapped in furs, for it seems like a return to winter, they take their way towards home, Constance still hearing with friendly regret Lloyd's parting words, " I leave to-morrow for a trip through the North-West Territories." IN TIME OF WAR. 343 CHAPTER XL. A WEEK later, as Constance is standing in the pantry, her sleeves tLirned up, displaying two rounded white arms powdered with flour, Mrs. Sewell, the Indian agent's wife, riding on a buck-board drawn by an Indian pony, pulls up at the window. She jumps down from her not uncomfortable, if some- what odd elevation, and giving lier two milk cans to the maid to be filled, she, obedient to a call from Constance, enters the pantry. Without further delay she asks for Hector, and being told that he is out nailing up a fence prepares to go to him. " Wait till I put this cake m the oven and I will come with you," said Constance. *' You must follow. Miss Lestrange; I must see your brother at once. Which part of tlie farm is he on .? Can I drive to him .'* " On being told the direction in which she is likely to find Hector, Mrs. Sewell is off at a brisk pace to impart to him her tidings. Hector is nailing up a somewhat dilapidated board fence, and with his hat on the back of his head and his coat thrown off, notwithstanding the cna» ;'*? in the weather, is whistling vigorously, emphasiznig t^ch fall of the iiiiiiiiiii ■if 244 JA^ TIME OF li^A/i. hamm'^r with a crescendo. Mrs. Sewell, who is a dark little woman with quick decisive movements, loses no time in preliminaries, but tells him hurriedly that her husband has sent her to warn him that there is danger of a half-breed rising; that the contingent of mounted police under Robinson, with a few attendant volunteers from Winnipeg, have been attacked on its way from Carlton to Duck Lake — the force was conveying government stores to a place of safety at Prince /ilbert; and that the half-breeds under Dunlont being much stronger in number than the police, the lat*:er were obliged to retire, but not, unfortunately, till many casualties occurred among the volunteers. The loss to the half- breeds was slight in comparison. Mrs. Sewell, being a clear-headed little woman, gives this information exactly as she has received it from her husband an hour before; he in his turn having received it from a mounted policeman who had come direct from the scene of the conflict to warn the settlers of their danger, and to advise their withdrawal to the fort at Battleford till the troops can be called out to quell the black devils, who, whatever their grievances, were not justified in resorting to bloodshed to redress them. The telegraph wires have been cut, rendering com- munication with the East most difficult. Hector on hearing what has occurred looks very grave, and, gathering up his carpenter's tools, turns NM n\ liV OF ji\iA. ^45 and seats himself, at aii i nvitation from Mrs. Sev/e!l, on the buck-board, and tliey both drive quickly towards the house. As they pass the well-stocked farm-yard, Hector realizes the difficulty he will find in making preparations to leave his little homestead so hurriedly. After a short interview, in which they agree not to tell Cecile, who is in a delicate state of health, of what they have heard till absolutely neces- sary to do so, Hector o ice more takes his seat on the buck-board, and Mrs. Sewell, with her cans of milk behind her, drives hirn into town. On reaching there he finds the people talking of nothing but this open act of rebellion. On enquiry Hector found that an Indian rising was feared, and Big-Bear was re- ported to have left his reserve and to be threatening mischief. All seemed possessed by the greatest alarm and uneasiness. The telegraph wires and mails not having as yet been tampered with between New- ton and Winnipeg, that afternoon brought news that troops would be forwarded to the scene of disturb- ance immediately. With the assurance that this intel- ligence gave, Hector re' urned with anxious haste to his farm, thereto find Cc-cilevery ill. He despatched the man in all haste for the doctor, who on arriving enjoined perfect quiet and utter avoidance of any- thing in the nature of excitement, pleasurable or otherwise. He feared in attack of typhoid fever. This he explained was his advice as a medical man. ■w i 246 IN TIME Of WAR, As Hector stood with the doctor in the little sitting room below, he told him what he had heard i the tc'vn. " I, too, heard of this, and as I drove out hen I noticed that all the people were preparing t leave for Battleford. I know it will be most dan gerous to move Mrs. Lestrange in her presen condition, but I could not advise you to remai here unprotected in view of the unsettled state the country. It might mean something most seriou for you all. You have your sister with you, havi you not ? " " Yes, I will call her." Hector's voice is troubled, but there is a firmness i his tone as if he had just decided upon a set course action. Constance had learned of the danger attend ant upon any attempt to move Cecile. Hector too her to the sofa that stood near the window, and seatin himself beside her told her of the rising of the half- breeds and the attack on the mounted police; alsoo the danger attendant upon their remaining upon thei farm. *' I propose, sister, to remain here with Cecile. As soon as she be able I will take her to Battleford To move her now means certain harm to her, to re main means only possible danger to us both — I wil remain. But you, dear, for the dear father's sake musi go where the danger is not so great. You must be ready to leave this afternoon with Mrs. Sewell, she a b h J A' TIME or WAR. 247 and her husband will be glad to have you with them." As Hector speaks he is holding Constance's h nd between both his own. Constance raises one of those hands that show sij^ns of their recent rough work, and holding it close against her soft cheek for an instant while she controls her quivering lips, and lifting her eyes deep with the light of pride and ofifection to Hector's face, she says, '' I forgive you, dear, for thinking 1 could leave you and Cecile at such a time, but do not express such a thought again. I stay wMth you both. I can help nurse Cecile. Oh, Hector, how could you sug- gest my going and seeking my own safety, knowing all the time you were in danger." " Think of the father, if he knew we were all in such danger. Your safety at least would comfort him ; think of that, Constance," urged Hector. " Under such circumstances, my duty is here, and here I mean to stay." With a faint smile she con- tinued : " Besides, it may be that these reports are exaggerated, and danger not so imminent." " God grant it," said the doctor, his voice thick with emotion on witnessing the courage of this slender girl, " I will not try and dissuade you," he con- tinued, turning to Constance, " from your purpose. I will come again in the morning, and this afternoon I will send you a supply of whatever I think our patient may require." if 248 //V T/A/E or U'.-iR. " Will you not be leaving the town to-day ? " asked Hector, not being able to hide the relief such a thought brought him. " Not to-day, so au revoir." As he settled the buffalo robe about him in his little gig, the doctor's mutterings were something to the effect of weak women putting strong men to the blush. On going to the farm-yard to see if all were right there, Hector's man met him, and inquired whether he, Hector, would be taking all the cattle into the Fort at Battleford. "We shall not be leaving for some days at least." Which piece of news caused O'Leary's face to fall perceptibly, on seeing which Hector said : " I will be glad if you see your way to staying with us but of course 1 cannot, or would not, insist. You might think about it and let me know. We are remaining because Mrs. Lestrange is too ill to be moved." Two hours later O'Leary appeared at the side- door, twisting his hat in his hand and looking sheepish, but resolved. He had others to consi- der, he explained, and had decided to go that evening with a young party who expected his escort. " Very well ; leaie hay for the horses, and give Godolphin a bran mash, and if you have time you might feed the cow." ^ IN TIME OF IVAK. 249 Constance finds Cccile's little maid of all work more loyal, quite unwilling to desert her ; so Hector and Constance, with Cecile and the little maid, are left. The next morning the doctor calls, and shakes his head, reluctantly pronouncing Cecile no better, but somewhat more feverish. He leaves one of his medi- cine chests, and, with full instructions to Hector and Constance as to its use, takes his departure ; not with- out telling them, however, that the news is more reas- suring, the troops under General Middleton being on their way from Winnipeg, and that there is no word of fresh outrages by the half-breeds. Standing at her window Constance watches the night closing in. The monarch that rides upon the gale is travelling apace, scattering hail and snow in his flight. With the growing dusk comes the con- sciousness of their isolation, and a deep longing for the protection of the man she loves comes upon Con- stance. So intense is the feeling that when the moment has passed she feels as if that longing must have been shared by him, were the ocean that rolls between them twice as wide and deep. aso IN TIME OF WAR. CHAPTER XLI. " If there be one circumstance more than another that gives hope for the future of Canadian nationality it is to be found in the alacrity and enthusiasm with which the youth of the country rally on occasion for its defence. " The Dominion authorities were fortunate at this juncture in having in command of the militia, a dis- tinguished officer of the British Army who had seen varied service, and was known to possess in happy combination the essential soldiery qualities of courage and discretion. This officer proceeded instantly to Winnipeg, the ice to Qu'Appelle, to place and take charge of a small army in the field." * The call for aid from Manitoba met with prompt and hearty response from the sister provinces. Ontario was not alone in her willing rendering of assistance. Quebec, whatever injustice racial jeal- ousies may have caused after the fret and fever of war was over, at this time the French were not tardy •See G. M. Adam on the North West,its History and its Troubles. ii IN TIME OF IV^IR. - 351 offering their services to put down the common rovmces. The shadows of night had scarcely grown dim eneath the rays of the morning sun as it rose over \t town of S before the red coats and green ^ere hurrying to and fro in picturesque excitement, alike animated with a strong desire to be off to the tene of strife. On Monday, the 30th of March, orders came " to tie front." The news of the uprising of the half-breeds was leceived in Ottawa with surprise. Whether this be jxcusable or not, the news was met with a prompti- yde which spoke well for those at the helm of state. ^las ! that a cure is of so much less value than a Ireventative. To Mr. Lestrange the news was freighted with \t keenest anxiety. A hasty telegram to Hector [rought the following reply : " The Winnipeg force passed through here to-day. All iiiet. Cecile ill. Constance refuses to leave her "(Signed) H. Lestrange." As Mr. Lestrange finished reading this somewhat omforting message, a page brought him a card ind said a gentleman was waiting in the library. leaving his desk in the Commons chamber Mr. lestrange hastened towards that room so justly lebrated for its beauty, to find Captain Ardor in !;f 252 IN TIME OF WAR. [I one 01 its alcoves. After a hearty greeting Ardor said " I only got back from the South last week, and have volunteered for service in the North-West. My offer has been accepted, and I leave this evening with a company of the Governor General's Foot| Guards for Manitoba. I felt I should like to see you before leaving. Is Hector still near Newton ? " "Yes; and I have just heard from the dear boy that Cecile is ill, and that Constance will not leave them." A quiver in the voice and a hasty biting of the lip told of the effort it cost this loving father to control himself At th'^ mention of Constance's name the colo mounted to Ardor's face, but in a firm voice Ik told that he had not known Constance was with he brother, and continued : " The danger cannot be so very great in tha neighborhood, as the troops from Winnipeg h'^vJ ,. already taken the field under General Middletonl r 1 and our men leave almost at once." "I cannot let myself tiiink' of the danger tha threatens them. Keep me well posted if you can Ardor. As soon as possible I will leave for Mani toba myself." With a hearty assurance Ardor made his way t( the drill hall, from which he was to leave with hil, . company that evening. I " ] day. W: the ear ver foq tlie her lier .Ala tho: turr JS pi T hall Lest hom^ IN TIME OF WAR, 253 CHAPTER XLII. When Anstruther bade adieu to Canada, e believed that he should not set foot on its shores again till the year had passed away. Amid the scenes of his earlier life, and with those to whom his society was very dear after these years of separation, he was never forgetful of Constance ; and as the months went by, the longing to see her again and hear the sound of her sweet voice, and rest beneath the tranquil light of lier deep gray eyes became a misery. So one day in March, after a loving and regretful farewell from those he is leaving behind, Anstruther once more turns his back upon Old England with her manifold attractions, and is borne over the billows to the land of his adoption, where dwells for him so much that is precious. Thus it it is that Ardor, on reaching the drill hall on the afternoon of his interview with Mr. Lestrange, is met at the entrance by Anstruther, " You here, Anstruther } I thought you were at I home? " retaining the hand that is stretched toward I him in greeting. " I only arrived in Quebec the day before yester- Iday. The first news that greeted me was that the f aS4 IX TIME or WAR. troops were leaving to put down a rebellion in Manitoba. I applied at the Citadel to see if a contingent were going from there, only to be told that two batteries had left that morning. On enquiry I found that a company of the Foot Guards was going from here. I have come to offer my services. I must not be refused, Ardor. I hear you arc going in command ; will you take me in your company as a common soldier, sergeant — in any capacity? Forgo I must," exclaimed Anstruther. These two men looked into each other's eyes, and each knew what was the chief cause of anxiety to both. " That can be managed, I think," was what Ardor said. That night saw the Foot Guards en route for Battleford. Of the hardships and privations, and the manly courage with which they were endured and overcome on that long journey, and of the misery of the marches over those long gaps through the blinding snow and sleet, it is not necessary to the completion of this tale to tell, but one cannot pass such heroism by without a lingering thought of sratitude and admiration. IN TIME OF WAR. 255 }llion in see if a be toUl ig. On t Guards 3ffer my hear you in your —in any •uther. iyes, and iixiety to vas what ^oute for ons, and endured d of the ; through 2ssary to e cannot ought of CHAPTER XLIII. More than three weeks had been passed by Con- stance and Hector in close attendance on Cccile. No further news of the half-breeds, and no return t)f the people who sought refuge at the Battleford Fort. Sometimes at night the sky would be illumined by the glare from a burning homestead — presumably the work of the rebels. Hector trusted to the fact of their house standing among the trees, and to their care in lighting no fire unless it were absolutely necessary, to escape attracting the attention of any wandering Indians. Cecile had passed the crisis, and, though still very weak, the fever was abating. Constance and Hector^ both looking worn by the anxiety of the last three weeks, have left Cecile in a peaceful slumber, and are standing on the verandah, taking in welcome draughts of the cold fresh air. As they thus stand, each lean- ing against the slender pillar that supports the roof, they look strangely alike. The head is thrown back with the same careless ease; the merry twinkle that comes so readily to Hector's eyes is banished to-night 256 ny TIME OF IVAR. by a look of deep thought, which adds to the resem- blance between the brother and sister. " The troops must be drawing nearer. Will they remember us in Battleford, I wonder ? " asked Con- stance. " I was thinking of that, Connie. We cannot tell in the excitement of relief that we may not be for- gotten. If we could leave at once we might reach Battleford before the troops get there ; but our move- ments must of necessity be so slow with the little woman in her present weak state that it would not be safe." As he speaks, the sky. to the south-east grows red. So red that a faint reflection tinges the tops of the trees. Constance and Hector look at each other, and make their way quietly but quickly to one of the upper windows. " It looks like McPherson's ranche," said Hector, his voice hoarse with excitement ; " the black serpents are destroying the buildings. See — I can almost distinguish the gabled roof." So clear is the atmosphere, and so level the sweep of land between th^m and the conflagration, that the roof is discernible against the blaze of light. " How far is that building from here, Hector } " asked Constance, in a whisper. "Not morethan four miles." There is a pause of a moment, it seems like an IN TIME OF WAR. 257 e resem- hour to Constance, then she turns — her face pale but her eyes bright and brave — and, clasping Hector's arm lovingly with her two hands, she says in a voice clear and full : " Hector, there is only one thing to be done. It may be our turn to-morrow night. We cannot leave here with Cecile, it would not be safe you think. I must go for assistance. Xo, do not interrupt, dar- h"ng," as Hector bursts out with a hasty disclaimer. "You know how fleet of foot Godolphin is. Give me your brace of pistols " — here a still whiter shade comes over face — "and I will mount Godolphin at once." "At once! Constance, you must be mad. There may be Indians in any numbers between this and Battleford. You — and alone on the prairie at night," protested Hector. "Time is precious dear, dear brother; think of Cecile; think of the child that may one day call you father." A spasm crosses Hector's face and Con- stance continues : " Think of our father " — here the first sound of tears is in that persuasive voice. " Think, dear," more gently, " how quickly Godolphin will carry me over the prairie. The night is my safe- guard. Once at Battleford, the garrison will — must —spare me an escort to bring Cecile back." \s she finishes her pleading, the flaming light blazes brighter in the sky for an instant and then 17 r IN TIME OF WAR. grows dull. The roof is no longer visible. Con- stance presses her lips to Hector's burning hand and hurries to her room. Once there, she wastes little time in slipping into her riding habit and fastening a small dark hat on her head. Going into Cecile's room she bends over the bed long enough to press a kiss on the short fair hair, and brushing a tear from her eye hurries down the stairs. She finds Hector reluctantly saddHng Godolphin. " Tight girths. Now, one kiss, my dear, dear Hector. Do not be anxious about me ; there is not a horte in all Canada can beat this beauty " — caress- ing Godolphin's neck lovingly, which piece of attention he acknowledges by a mild whinny of appreciation. Constance winds her arms tightly round Hector's neck, and presses her warm, tremu- lous lips lovingly to his. " I cannot let you go, Constance. Think what danger." " Think what danger here, dear boy. Your hand for my foot. There — " settling herelf in the saddle and tightening the reins^ ** Now, the pistols." They are secured, and in another moment Hector sees Constance disappearing beyond thegate. He calls after her, his feeling of dread for her overmastering him. But Constance speeds on. Through the trees — over the road that borders the slough — on, on. Now she is on the open prairie. How glad she is she link what IX TIME OF WAR. ^ 259 lias ridden over this trail before — she remembers it well — it is one of the trails used by the Indians, and is the shortest possible ror.Le to Battleford. There is sorr.ething exhilarating in this night ride across the open plain with no companion but the stillness and the stars, the air whistling in her face. Thoughts come and are quickly succeeded by others. Her father far away — the man she loves still further — the terrified refugees at the fort — their surprise at seeing her — they refuse to lend her assistance. Oh, no ; such a thought is too dreadful. Hector has gone back to Cecile ; he watches the fire in the distance. The fire must be dying down by this time, it cannot rage all night. Whose home- stead next .'' On, on, Godolphin. Hciv he flies ! The spirit of adventure is in him ; no need for the whip here. " Nearer succor — Life and death — Life and death — Nearer succor — ■'" echo the hoofs. The prairie swims beneath them. A few miles more, three at most, and horse and rider will enter Battleford. Hark ! what is that } a gun-shot } Godolphin strides on — he flounders, he stumbles, he falls. Constance slips from the saddle, her hand on a pistol. What is this on the beautiful shoulder.? Something liquid, something warm, something thick. 26o IN TIME OF WAR. CHAPTER XLIV. His whole body quivering, Godolphin regains his feet. Constance slips the reins over her arm and stands with her back against his shoulder, a pistol ir. each hand, her eyes turned in the direction of the ap- proaching horseman. Her pale lips are drawn closely together ; the rapid ride has loosened her hair, which falls in a waving mass to her waist, the cool wind lifting the stray locks from her face ; her eyes are wide and dark. She is conscious that her enemy is drawing nearer, but she sees much more vividly a cosy library in a stone house far away — an arm-chair drawn close to the fire, a gray head resting against its back and catching the flickering light from the burning coals. Outside the chilly breeze is blowing the dead leaves round in an eddy in one corner of the wall. Some are lodged in the dry basin of the fountain — now they make a wild dash for liberty, and now they are still, save for the rustling that is but a protest at their enforced captivity. There is Hector's step on the gravel, he is whistling " I dreamt that I dwelt in Marble Halls." Now he comes in ; how bright and happy he looks. Where is Cecilc .? " Hector and Cecile. Heaven protect them. IN TIME OF WAR. 261 lins his rm and Distol ir. ■ the ap- \ closely r, which »ol wind eyes are aemy is vividly a rm-chair against the rom blowin cr [orncr of of the ;rty, and is but a l^vhistling Now he ^here is lectthem. Heaven help me," comes from the dry lips. Godolphin [turns his lovely head and presses his soft nose close I against the pretty hair, as if conscious of the anguish in the stifled tones. The horseman is now close upon them : he reins up his horse and is standing, surprise and horror not unmixed with relief in every line of his face. The sky to the north is brightly illumined. rThe Indians on the approach of the troops set fire to all the buildings inBattleford." By that light the stars grew dim, and Dudley Anstruther and Con- stance Lestrange recognized each other. "After a long and tedious journey the relieving column under Col. A. arrived within three miles of Battleford. Captain Ardor's company with one or two exceptions had undergone the hardships of the transport with little show of fatigue, though they had averaged a march of thirty miles a day under most trying conditions." ^ On Thursday evening, April 25th, the camp was pitched for the night (notwithstanding the strong desire of the men to make a dash through the poplar and underbrush), within sight of the burning build- ings of Battleford. Anstruther's anxiety to get on quite overcame any * See G. M. A. on North West. 262 IN TIME OF WAR. feeling of fatigue, and it was with a sense of relief that he received orders to go on outpost duty. After being on duty from eight o'clock till ten, he was relieved for a two hours' rest. At twelve o'clock, with a piece of hard tack in his pocket, and mounted on a sturdy gray horse, he once more took up his position at the outpost. He had walked his horse up and down for upwards of an hour when his ear caught a sound as if of steathily approaching horsemen. Before long he saw his suspicions were correct, and that a body of Indians were trying to surprise the camp. He gave the alarm, and quickly the troops were ready to meet the attack. The Indians, finding their enemy on the watch, hastily retired, the whites firing on the retreating figures. It was one of these bullets that had »t-r'*ck Godolphin. JN TIME OF WAR. 263 relief that :y. After n, he was :lock,\vith inted on a is position ;e up and r caught a horsemen. »rrcct, and irprise the I Toopswere iding their hites firin" lese bullets CHAPTER XLV. When Constance first recognized Anstruther, she thought the strain of the past three weeks, culminating in the terror of the past few moments, that seemed like hours, had been too much for her, and that lier mind was wandering. Her head swam, all grew dark ; her form swayed, and she would have fallen had not Anstruther placed his arm firmly round her. For one instant her arm clung tightly round his neck, while his face was pressed close to hers. With a great effort Constance checked the feeling of faintness that was threatening to overcome her, and placing her still trembling hand on Anstruther's arm she said in an eager voice, " Hector and Cecile — they are alone, unprotected. Help me to save them." At the sound of that voice, so hungered for during the past dreary months, and remembered as uttering such cherished words of encouragement to himself, a wave of emotion almost choked Anstruther as he answered — " We will save them, Constance. I am only one of many come to help you ; our trooDs are not three IIH' !IHi r 264 IN TIME OF WAR. hundred yards off. Thank God, my dearest, that iHha found you." Ile^ Constance now explains in as few words as possibleB whither she was bound, and that only Godolphin'sBda wound had stopped her. She does not yet kiiowBsur that the bullet which struck Godolphin prevented herBhu( from riding into the thick of the enemy, who were lyingBricl in ambush on this side of l^attleford. This knowledcieBfao is brouGfht home to Anstruther with a sickenirifrBout horror of what might have been. A hasty examination in the dim light shows Anstruther that " Godolphin's " wound need not oe fatal if attended to at once. It is a matter of a few moments to unstrap and change the side saddle to the back of his own horse, then to lift Constance into it- Leading " Godolphin " by the bridal, they make their way as quickly as possible towards the camp. On the colonel's once hearing ler Constance's wish to return to her brother's farm with sufficient men to form a body guard for Cecile, he immediately tells off a company for that purpose, and does not refuse the request of Ardor and Anstruther to attend it. Constance will not listen ijar. to any entreaties to remain and rest in the camp but ^roi insists upon going with them. Thus it is, that hours he sooner than she hoped Constance is galloping, but he not on "Godolphin," who has been left in camp to ^ fe 00m spo drc diar pan 3[raz he rate, era: he ( luri IN TIME OF WAR. 265 ;st, that iBhave his wound attended to, back over the road that ■leads to the homestead. IS possible! As the little cavalcade draws near the farm, the odolphin'sBdawn is breaking. The tops of the willows that yet knowBsurround the house are tipped with morn's roseate vented hcrBhues. The water in the slough is turned to a were lyinfrBrich purple. Some duck quietly floating on its sur- knowledfreBface take fright at the approaching noise and dive sickeningBoiit of sight, the ripples of water which tell the ■spot whence they disappeared vanishing in golden orht showslcircles. need noti What is that beyond the trees ? Ah, two In- a matterldians. They turn and look towards the little com- e the side-lpany, then springing on two ponies, which were hen to liftKrazing at the gate, speed over the prairie towards n " by thelthe south. as possible! " Hasten, hasten," calls Constance, and urging on ce hearingper own horse she is the first to dash through the her's farmKate, closely followed, however, by all. Gaining the for CecileF^randah she jumps from her horse. She tries at purpose, the door and discovers it is fast. How still it is! rdor and "lurrying round to the back entrance she finds it not listen y^i*. She cannot cai), the words stick in her camp bill hroat. She hurries up the stairs. As she pasres that hours he little parlor she notices the two chairs at opin"", but he window just as she and Hector left them n camp tc i few hours before She hastens to Cecilc's oom. Yes, there is Cecile, sleeping peacefully, I if i ■^ :l 266 /iV T/ME OF WAR, the morning sun making her golden hair look onBof 1 fire. Beside the bed on the Httle table stands thcBstra glass lialf empty of its sleeping draught. But vvhercBnes; is Hector ? Returning, at the head of the staii-s| she meets Anstruthcr ; he is deadly pale. " Where is Hector ? " Anstruthcr never hcardi words to cause him such pain. Seeing the look on his face, Constance pushes by him ; he could not detain her if he would. Down the stairs, through the hall, out again into the fresh air she hurries, till she comes to the plot of grouiv. behind the hedge. There she pauses. Why are they all standing about that one spot } That one spot! She walks steadily forward. Ardor advances to meet her and tries to lead her aside. It is no use, she waves him off. A few more strides and she is beside it. Yes, — it — what so few short hours, aye almost moments, ago was Hector Lestrange. SIk kneels down beside the loved form, she presses hei hand to his heart, she raises his dear hands to hei lips, then spies the sickening pool at his side. No scream, no raving, no call for help now. Onl) the two words, but oh what anguish they express "Too late." She falls senseless across the man!) breast beneath which so short a time before thers beat so warm a heart. As the sun burst forth from behind its battlement IN TIME OF WAR. 26j -ir look onlof billowy clouds its rays fell on two upturned faces, stands thcistrangcly alike in feature as in their white impassive- But where Bness. the stairs iver heard pushes by| Down th( le fresh air of ground! Why ari That oiu )r advances ^t is no use, and she \i hours, aye ange. SIk presses het nds to hei ide. ow. Onl) y express the manl} )efore then battlement 268 IN TIME OF WAR. CHAPTKR XL VI. CONCLUSION. On a September evening of the following year th sun's declining rays are resting lingeringly upon ar old-fashioned house in Somerset, and gilding it: windows till they look as if they were ablaze in hono of sonic festival. Standing on the turf that skirts Ihe south side of th( house are two people : one a dark graceful man, th other a lovely woman with burnished hair and dee| gray eyes. The vine leaves that grow about th( windows and creep over the posts of the doorway an gently swaying in the breeze, and softly whisperiii' to each other as if loathe to disturb the tranquillity but forced to express their admiration — as one stirrec by exquisite music would fain burst into applause though reluctant to drown the faintest echo of it sound. As far as the eye can reach stretches the park Bishop's House, which is now the home of Mr. am Mrs. Dudley Anstruther, most unexpectedly mad so by the death of the fi)rmer's uncle. In the dis tance some deer are cropping the grass beneath th IN TIME OF WAR, 369 Id oaks, and close at hand the hyorangea; droop their heads as if surfeited with sweetness, while beyond all theQuantocks stand, tall sentinels in blue, by day and night. Anstruther advances, and taking both his bride's hands in his, and looking earnestly into her eyes, he draws her towards him : ig year th* « j^ji j^^^ Constance, before I go to meet your \y upon a|f^thgr and C^cile " " Do not forget my small godson," interrupts Con- stance. " And your small godson — tell me, Constance, that I have so far made you happy ? " Stealing one arm round his neck, Constance answers : " Perfectly happy, my husband.' " My queen." gilding it ize in bono 1 side of th Lil man, th( ir and deej about th ioorway art whisperiiif tranquillity ; one stirrec :o applause echo of it: the park of Mr. an( tedly mad In the dis beneath th >> i""\ ^«r ' «!7'* 370 IJV TIME OF WAR, CHAPTER XLVII. I ; Yes, at last Dudley Anstruther has claimed his bride and brought her to his new home — not, however, till time had made the recollection of that dreadful night in March less vivid, and softened the misery caused by its deeds. On the eve of her departure from her Canadian home, Constance bade good-bye to the grave that had closed, now more than a year before, over all that remained in this world of her much loved brother. The v\^ild roses which she laid at the base of the broken column were wet with more than dew as they hid 'neath their beauty the words — " Give peace in our time, O Lord," and the stillness of that evening was broken by more than the call of the robin awaiting the return of her mate. Close to the gate " the churchyard Constance turned aside and stopped before a grave, at whose head stood a plain white cross : M4BEL ARTHURS. Born, April i2t'-«, i860. Died, June 13th, 1884. "At Rest." IN TIME OF WAR, 271 %- I his bride , however, t dreadful he misery Canadian jrave that e, over all uch loved Lt the base I than dew is — " Give tillness of call of the Kneeling with one hand upon an arm of the cross, Constance placed with the other a bunch of passion flowers at its ^oot. Constance , at whose li'i 272 IN TIME OF tVAJi, CHAPTER XLVIII. *' Durban, August 23rd. " The alarming rumors from Matabeleland are declared on official authority to be well founded. " A night attack made by the rebels on L resulted in many casualties on both sides. After an hour's vigorous fighting the attacking party was driven back. " Captain Ardor, of — th regiment, is recommended for the ' Victorii;\ Cross,' having rescued a wounded comrade from the enemy whik under a hot fire.*' THE END. \[ St 23rd. e declared - resulted s vigorous lended for i comrade ^. I ^IC- f