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1 : * '

; i

Jezebel's Friends

A NOVEL.

By DORA RUSSELL,

Author of ''Footprints in the Snow;' '' The Broken
Seal;' " The Track of the Storing' etc., etc.

MONTREAL:

JOHN LOVELL & SON,

23 St. Nicholas Street.

1949

Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1889, by
John Lovell 6^ Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture

and Statistics at Ottawa.

bai

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

CHAPTER I.

HIDDEN.

It was a dull, dark night ; so dark that the tall cliffs round
Headfort's sea-pent bay seemed but like dusky shadows
in the murky air. Heedless of the gloom, a woman,
carrying what to her appeared to be a heavy burden, was
hurrying, about eleven o'clock, down the steep and nar-
row pathway which led from the rocks to the shore.

The tide was sweeping slowly in, but so deep was the
gloom that she could only hear, not see, the waves break
when she got to the shore. Keeping close to the foot of
the cliffs, she now almost ran until she came near the
centre of the wide circular bay, and then paused to breathe.
Having satisfied herself that no one was near, she hastily
laid down the burden which she had carried beneath her
cloak — a strange burden — a long box, rolled and swathed
in a woman's black gown.

To this box was tied a small spade, the string of which
her trembling fingers now unfastened. With this spade
she began digging vigorously in the sand.

^Suddenly a vivid fiash of lightning gleamed across the
sky, and for an instant lit up the strange scene. Then a
loud peal of thunder broke overhead, and the girl stopped
in momentary terror and crouched down. The storm had
begun in earnest, and heavy rain commenced to fall. An-
other flash, another peal, and with a sort of desperation
the girl once more raised her head, and forced herself to
begin her work anew. She had but one thought ; to bury
her burden deep enough, that it might lie hidden until fhe
sea gave up its dead, and the secrets of all hearts were
bare.

-wi;..

4 JEZEBKVS FRIENDS,

With a kind of shudder she Hftcd the black-covered box,
and carried it to the edge of the grave-hke trench; and,
after a moment's pause, after something l)etween a gasp
and a sigli had passed her i)ale lips, she lowered it down
into the hole, and began hastily to cover it u]), pausing
not until the sand above it wvis level with the rest.

She knelt down and with her hands flattened it; the
gleaming lights darting athwart the sky, one second show-
ing her figure plainly, and the next vanishing away. Then
the fight above grew fiercer ; the storm-clouds warring in
their wrath, and the lightning leaping out in its wild play.
A moment later and the world seemed ablaze. In an in-
stant the girl, kneeling on the sand, with her face now
turned towards the sea, saw as in a vast panorama the
whole scene around her ; the brown shaggy rocks tower-
ing aloft ; the patches of verdure between their crests ; the
rents and rifts on the huge rocks.

The next all was darkness, and a crash so loud, so ter-
rible, that the earth seemed to shake, fell on the listener's
appalled ears, who uttered a cry of terror and covered her
face. Then she sprang to her feet, and overwhelmed with
fear, fled homewards.

Just as she reached the top of the cHff another blinding
flash of lightning showed plainly everything around. It
showed this girl, rain-drenched, white-faced, with rigid
features and wide open terrified eyes, to a man wrapped in
a military cloak, wiio was walking leisurely, considering
the weather, along the path at the head of the clifi's.

" Ruth Forth ! it cannot be ! "

Then he began hastily to follow the flying figure of the
girl before him. She had seen, but not recognised him,
but she saw so?neone, and this fact made her hasten on
even faster than before.

At last she stopped, where he had expected — feared —
that she would stop; before a little house in a garden,
built back from the roadway. She opened the latch of the
wooden gate, and he watched her go cautiously in, and
disappear amid the wet evergreens. She did not go to the
front door of the house, but evidently intended to enter at
the back, and the man watching her saw all this with a
feeling of intense anger and astoi^ishment in his heart.

♦"If it had been the other one," he was thinking as he
leaned a moment or two on the gate, " I should not have

a
"it

Hec
thr(

S
whin

prej

hinj

JEZRBEVS FRIENDS.

d box,
; and,
a gasp
L down
)ausing

It ; the
. show-
Then
ring in
d play,
an in-
ce now
ima the
tower-
sts ; the

so ter-
istener's
ered her
Lied with

blinding
und. It
ith rigid
apped in
isidering
ffs. ^

re of the
ised him,
asten on

-feared —
L garden,
tch of the
' in, and
go to the
) enter at
lis with a
leart.
ling as he
not have

wondered much, but Ruth —confound it, what can she
have been after? JiuL I'll bo at the bottcjiii of this esca-
pade — she came iq) by the stej)s from the bay — I'li go
down and try to see who she has been meeting there, for I
suppose there must Ix^ sf)mcone. Ah ! what trust can you
have in them?" And he gave a bitter smile, shrugged his
shoulders and turned away.

In the meanwhile the girl had stolen noiselessly in at the
back door of the little house in the garden, which she
found unlocked. Then she crept through the kitchen, and
cautiously ascended the staircase, at the head of which
stood a beautiful woman in a white wrapper.

They looked at each other, these two, but neither spoke.
There was intense excitement depicted on the face of the
beautiful woman at the head of the stairs, and she eagerly
scanned the slender, cloaked form of the girl. Then she
breathed a sort of a sigh of relief, and turned back, still
without a word, into the bedroom, from which she had
only emerged when she heard the light footstep she had
watched and waited for.

The girl followed her, and then sank down on the side
of the bed like one whose strength is utterly spent. The
Woman saw this, and hastily shut the room door, and took
off the drenched cloak and poured out some brandy, which
she had standing in readiness, in a glass, and held it to
the girl's white lips, who looked into the other's face with
eyes still full of fear.

'* But — it is safe, is it not? " whispered the woman, see-
ing this expression with a sudden pang of dread.

"Yes," faltered the girl; "no one saw me — but oh !
Frances, Frances, I would rather have died than have
done what I did to-night ! "

" Hush, hush," said the woman she had called Frances;
"it is done and over now. Don't give way, Ruth, for
Heaven's sake ; don't give way now after all we have gone
through ! "

Suddenly Ruth gave a half cry, and sprang to her feet,
while a look of absolute consternation passed over her ex-
pressive face.

" The spade, Frances ! " she whispered ; " I've left it be-
hind — in my terror I forgot it. Oh ! what shall we do ? "

" How could you be so mad ? But it can't be helped.
You can't go back now, and, after all, it does not matter

■ '■>

6 JEZEBEVS ERIENDS,

miich, for the sea will likely have swej)! it away before
mornii.g, as the tide was coming in ; and even if il hasn't,
who can identify a common little spade?"

The young sister made no answer. She drew her lips
tightly together, and forced back some words she knew
would but add lo her sister's anxiety. lUit long after
Frances Forth had left her, she lay awake, pale and trem-
bling, thinking of the forgotten spade.

"How could I? how could 1?" she moaned, in bitter
self-reproach, tossing uneasily on her bed. *' And it may
be traced— i)oor b'ranics does not know ; if it is, it will
kill me, I think. 1 could Init die."

CHAPTER II.

COLONEL FORTH.

The morning was fine afier the storm ; one of those blue-
skied, bright mornings when the air is fresh and exhilarat-
ing, and the still wet leaves glisten in the sun. And at
eight o'clock precisely, Colonel Forth, the occupier of the
little house in the garden in Headfort's High-street, and
the father of Frances and Ruth Forth, descended to the
dining-room, and frowned severely when he found that
breakftist was not as ready for him as he was for breakfast.

He was a widower with two daughters, and his marriage
had been a mistake. He married a handsome girl for her
beauty, and the beauty had soon waned, and the poor wo-
man had nothing left to fall back upon, for she had neither
mental nor monetary attractions, and the Colonel felt that
he had thrown himself away, and was not above broadly
hinting this to his wife. Perhaps she took his insinuations
to heart ; but she died early, and then Colonel Forth
grumbled at her loss.

When he had to seek a settled home for them after he
left the regiment, he fixed on Headfort, for one reason
because he had an old acquaintance living in the neighbor-
hood, for another the houses were cheap there, and for a
third the place possessed a fort and a small garrison. He
had been a soldier all his life, and he felt that neither he
n'or the uirls could exist without the fiimiliar sights and

before
, hasn't,

her lips
e knew
ig after
d trem-

n bitter
. it may
, it will

)se bliie-

xliilarat-

And at

:r of the

eet, and

1 to the

ind that

reakfast.

narriage

■1 for her

)oor wo-

1 neither

felt that

broadly

nuations

el Forth

after he
} reason
leighbor-
md for a
;on. He
either he
ghts and

JKZEIiEVS FRIENDS. y

sounds. But lu' found it dull, very dull. Accustomed to
active work, a strict (jfficer, and a man who went into the
smallest details al)»/iii everything, he did not know what to
do with his time in this (juiet ])lace.

"A ccjnfoundedgossipping place, too," the Colonel desig-
nated Ileadfort, before he iiad been there a coupL' of
months. The Forths were indeed naturally much talked
of; the girls were handsome, and there were oiher girls
who were ready to lling a stone at their new neighbors and
wonder what i)eo])le saw in them to admire.

" Jiut then the old ('olonel is always running after the
men, and asking them to the house," they would say ; and
they thus accounted for the fact tliat the officers of the
garrison were very frequently to be seen in Miss Forth's
j)retty drawing-room. For il n 'as i)retty, though Miss
Hilliard, the banker's daughter, wondered how they could
contrive to turn round in it. But Miss Hdliard lived in
one of the big houses of lieadfort, and naturally looked
down on the dimensions of Colonel Forth's small one.

But in the meanwhile, Susan, the young housemaid of
the establishment, having b/ the Colonel's command
rapped at Miss Ruth's door, now returned to the dining-
room, where her master sat fuming.

'* Oh, please, sir, Miss Rutli said 1 was to say she would
be down directly ; but she has been so put about by the
thunder; and, please, sir, she sent the key, and said you
were to make tea, and not to wait."

" To wait ! No, I should think not. Confound it,"
roared the Colonel, his red face turning to a vermilion tint
as he snatched the key of the tea caddy from Susan's hand ;
and while he was proceeding to make tea for himself his
youngest daughter walked into the room in a white
dressing-gown, with her soft, pretty light-brown hair rolled
up in a somewhat disorderly knot at the top of her head.

"■ I am sorry I am late, father," she said, in a sweet
low-toned voice ; *' but the storm last night frightened me
so."

" Absurd ! Why should the storm frighten you? Ruth,
is there no bacon, or eggs, or something fit to eat ? Or am
I expected to breakfast on dry bread ? "

" I will see about it," answered Ruth, and she went into
the kitchen to order her father's breakfast, and after a little
while the Colonel was able to appease his appetite ; paus-

JEAEIiEVS I'RIENDS,

ing once or twice wliilc doing so, however, to look disap-
provingly on the i)rctly face o])posite to him.

" VVliiit's the matter nit'i you, Ruth, this morning?" he
presently asked, sharply, still eyeing his daughter. "You
look as if you'd seen a ghost or something, I declare you
do ! You are a i)retty washed-out looking creature."

"The stoim was so dreadful," said Ruth, while a deep
wave of color stole to the white face her fatherwas finding
fault with.

"'{'he storm? Fiddle-de-dee! What harm could the
storm do you? It's cleared the air, and a very good thing,
too ; I declare, you girls are no better than cowards."

" I am always afraid — I cannot help it."

" You got it from your poor mother, 1 believe ; she was
one of those nervous, ridiculous women who are afraid of
everything. Was Frances afraid, too? "

" Yes, I am going to take her breakfast up now."'

" Absurd ! girls lying in bed to breakfast, utterly absurd :
I like to see girls come down to breakfast in neat morning
gowns, and not bedgowns like that white thing you've on."

" Well, I'm generally dressed, father, but 1 am late this
morning," said Ruth.

*' Late ! I should think so," and the Colonel looked at
his watch. " By-the-bye, Ruth, I saw Seaforth last night
in the billiard-room, and he said he was going to call this
morning about you and Frances driving over with him to
Sudley to-morrow, so I asked him to lunch ; therefore you
had better see about ordering something decent, and get
off that bedraggled article you are wearing."

Again Ruth blushed deeply, but this time she made no
answer. Nevertheless she at once obeyed her father's
orders, and presently went into the garden, and began cut-
ting some flowers. While she was doing this, a young
man in undress uniform rode past the railings in front, and
on seeing Ruth in the garden, at once drew rein.

"Good morning, Miss Ruth," he said in a pleasani
cheery voice, " I'm coming in to lunch by-and-bye, d'ye
know ? the Colonel asked me."

" I know," answered Ruth, with a bright smile and a
blush, and she carried her flowers close to the railings.

" What an awful storm we hadlast night," continued the
young man on the horse, looking with his smiling eyes at
the girl's downcast face. " D'ye know, I thought of you,
Miss Ruth, and wondered if you were in a fright?"

disap-

?"he
"You

c you

L deep
Hiding

Id the

thing,

, »»

>•

lie was
raid ul

bsurd ;
lorning
^e on."
Lte this

)ked at
t night
all this
him to
)re you
md get

lade no
'ather's
;an cut-
young
nt, and

yE/EBEL'S FRIENDS.

" You might have been sure I was," answered Ruth.

'* Yoti told nie you liatcd it; l)Ut you've got some very
jolly llowc. 'I' —1 woiuler ifyou would spareonea rose ? ''

Paith laugli d, and Jicr hiugh was sweet and low, like
her voice.

" Hello ! " This was suddenly addressed to a man in a
groom's dress, who was seen approaching up the street at
some distance. " Here's my servant, Aliss Ruth. 1 say
d'ye think that I might let him take my horse, and come
in now instead of after? It's awfully jolly in the garden
here, and we can have a chat until the Colonel arrives."

" If you like, of course you can come in," answered
Ruth ; and the young soldier at once dismounted and
flung the reins of his horse to his groom, and having
opened the latch of the garden gate, was speedily walking
by Ruth's side among the wet lilac bushes and laurels
which grew round Colonel Forth's little house.

He had a good face, this Kenard Seaforth, whom
Colonel Forth had asked to take lunch with his daughters,
and whom the gossips at Headfort said he would not
object to have for a son-in-law. A '"'ice which, though not
absolutely handsome, impressed you favorably as to its
owner's character. His features were straight, and his
eyes smiling, honest, and clear. He had, moreover, a cer-
tain well-bred look, which is not easily assumed. He was
tall, erect, and slim, and looked very happy as he walked
by Ruth Forth's side, keeping somewhat unnecessarily
close to her slender form. An only son of General
Seaforth, and a senior lieutenant in the — th Regiment,
two companies of which were stationed at Headfort, he
was supposed to be fairly well off in this world's goods,
and he was a very frequent guest at Colonel Forth's.

And it was Ruth Forth, not the beautiful elder sister,
whom he admired.

ileasanv
e, d'ye

and a
igs.

ued the
eyes at
of you,

CHAPTER HI.

COLONEL KENYON.

The following day Colonel Forth and his two daughters,
Ruth and Frances, visited Sudley Park on the invitation

■n i-^

JEZEBEV^ FRIENDS,

of Colonel Kenyon, their escort being Mr. Seaforth ai.d
Major Audley.

Sudley Park was one of those old ancestral homes, sur-
rounded by great trees, planted hundreds of years ago by
those whose children's children still live on and own the
lard. Colonel Kenyon came of a long line, and around
his place hung many memories of bye-gone days. There
is a nameless air of dignity somehow about these grey
stone houses, where generations and generations of gently
born men and women have lived and died. We can buy
most of things now-a-days, old houses among them, but
they never seem quite the same in fresh hands. Better
men may come ; truer gentlemen perhaps; for the time-
worn ivied walls may have hidden evil deeds and corrupted
lives. But the romance seems to die in the transfer ; the
glamor to pass away, when the ancient name goes and
the new one echoes under the roof-tree.

" He is D good fellow," most men said of Colonel
Kenyon.

" He is a darling," many gushing women said.

" He has a noble heart," the few said who could under-
stand that unusual phenomenon.

A slight shade of disappointment passed over his face
when he recognized Ruth Forth sitting by Major Audley's
side, but he at once advanced to assist her from the dog-
cart.

*'And your sister?" he said, as he helped her down
from the high seat.

" She is behind with my father and Mrs. Seaforth," an-
swered Ruth, and at once the cloud passed away from his
brow.

'' The sun is smiHng for us, isn't it ? " he said, in that
pleasant way of his. " I am so glad that you all have been
able to come."

Sudley was looking its very best, and Sudley's best
meant a fair picture.

Frances Forth thought this, and smiled with proud con-
sciousness. There had been something in Colonel Kenyon's
manner as lie handed her down from Seaforth's dog-cart ;
a tenderness, an eagerness, that to her who knew so well
how to read such signs, meant very much.

He escorted Frances through the house, and as they
went down the terrace steps, he asked her if she would like
to join the tennis players.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

rth aid

les, sur-

; ago by

own the

around

There
jse grey
)f gently
can buy
lem, but

Better
he time-
orrupted
5fer ; the
goes and

Colonel

Id under-

his face

Audley's

the dog-

ler

down

)rth," an-
from his

I, in that
lave been

ley's best

roud con-
[Kenyon's
log-cart ;
so well

as they
rould like

** I have kept one of the courts unoccupied for you," he
said, "and I thought your were never coming."

She raised her charming face to his, and smiled her
charming smile.

" I am not going to play to-day," smiled Frances. " I
am going to be a walltlower and sit under a tree."

"But why?" asked Colonel Kenyon, wiio was very
fond of tennis, and had set his heart upon playing with
Frances.

I have slightly sprained my ankle, so I am only going to
look on ; but don't mind me ; you play, 1 shall watch you."

" No, I won't play unless you do. Where will you sit? "

Frances chose her seat beneath 7 great oak, the mighty
boughs forming a green canopy overhead, and the vast
gnarled trunk a picturesque background for the fair face as
she leaned her bright chestnut hair against it. Colonel
Kenyon threw himself on tlie grassy knoll at her feet, and
lay there thinkmg how !)eautiful she was, while his other
guests exchanged many a subdued smile at his expense.

'' He's a fool for his pains," said one : " she'll lead him
a fine dance."

And there was one young passionate heart among those
around rankled with jealousy, as he watched Frances Forth
smile on the middle-aged man lying at her feet. This was
Arthur Beaton, a young soldier who had but recently
joined the army, and who had fallen madly in love, almost
at first sight, with the lovely face that Colonel Kenyon also
so greatly admired. He was a tall, handsome, dark young
man, with marked features, and eyes that betrayed strong,
impetuous feelings, and also some high aspirations and
aims.

" I suppose it's my duty to go and look after the others,"
&<■ last said Colonel Kenyon ; " yet I never felt any duty
so hard."

*' I wish it was not your duty," answered Frances.

" Do you really wish that? " asked Colonel Kenyon in a
low, earnest tone.

" Yes," said the sweet voice he loved to hear.
'* Well, it won't always be my duty, Frances ; some day
we shall have time to talk together alone."

Then, after a few more words, he went away to see after
his other guests. A minute later, however, she glanced
back, and caught young Beaton's eager, jealous eyes. He

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

accepted that look as an invitation, and at once went to
her side.

" Why did you not come to talk to me before ?" she
asked, looking up in his gloomy face.

" I have been watching you ever since you came in,
wondering if you were going to say a word to me."

*' And hovv many words do you want?" said the beau-
tiful woman to the eager, passionate boy.

" As many as the stars."

Once more she smiled, looking at the grey, ardent eyes
gazing up at her.

CHAPTER IV.

RUTH S LOVERS.

Ruth Forth was certainly rot a coquettish girl. She
was annoyed at the persistency with which Major Audley
continued walking by her side, and she saw too that his
presence worried Seaforth, whose sweet temper was not
quite proof against what he considered Audley's somewhat
unjustifiable conduct. And by way of getting rid of his
senior officer, he presently suggested that they should go
into the refreshment pavilion, and thither Major Audley
also accompanied them.

" Suppose we go quietly away now, raid so get rid of
Audley ? " suggested Seaforth.

Ruth was only too glad to comply. The room was pretty
full, and Audley did not see them go ; and only when he
looked round did he perceive they had disappeared.
But by this time Ruth and Seaforth had quitted the Pavi-
lion, and were walking in a shady part of the grounds near
it which joined a pretty wood.

" Has anything been worrying you lately, Miss Ruth? "
he asked. *' Somehow you have not seemed yourself —
will you tell me ? "

A little tremor passed over Ruth's frame, but she did
not speak.

'* I want you to understand," went on Seaforth, " there
is no one I like half so well, and if you could like me a
little bit "

W.ZEBEVS FRIENDS.

Still Ruth did not speak ; her head fell a HtUe lower, and
her small hand tvv'tched, but that was all.

'^ And when I get my company, do you think you would
marry me? — it would make me very hajjpy."

Ruth's breast began to heave and her lips to tremb^ ", as
she listened to these words. Then quite suddenly she
turned round and faced her lover, looking full at his face
with her grey eyes.

" Do you really care for me very much ? " she asked.

" I really do ; don't you know I do ? "

" I have hoped so, I have wished so," and now her eyes
fell, '' but "

"I won't hear any Mnits.' Ruth," and he bent closer,
and his breath passed over her check ; " if you care for me,
I care for you awfully, and we'll get married ; no one shall
part us now."

And these simple words were sweeter to the girl's heart
than any other words could be. She sat there beside him,
feeling a subtle joy in that near presence ; a sense of rest-
fulness and trust in the stronger nature, and in the know-
ledge that he had at last spoken of his love. " No one
shall part us now," went echoing like sweet music through
her soul ; '' no one shall part us now."

Yet a few minutes later, a dark shadow was already
stealing over hei newly-found happiness. Major Audley
had left the Pavilion to seek for Ruth and Seaforth, and,
to his great annoyance, could not find them on the
crowded lawn.

He went into the shady, silent wood, and saw, without
being seen, a girl and a young man sitting side by side,
saw him stoop down and kiss the sweet up-raised face, and
at that sight a pang, fierce, dark and vindictive, shot
through Major Audley 's heart.

'' Ah, my little lady," he thought, with curling lip, " I'll
soon stop all this," and he turned away with a lowering
brow, and as he did so, Ruth gave a little shudder, she
knew not why.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

CHAPTER V.

PARENTAL PLEASURE.

Without unnecessary delay, Colonel Kenyon visited
Frances Forth at her jfather's house, hoping she had en-
joyed her visit of the previous day.

" Yes," she said, " I am always happy with you."

" Are you really ? " exclaimed the delighted soldier.
Then, impetuously, " Frances, will you be my wife, the
darling of my home ? "

'' Yes," she said, drawing a long breath, and turning a
little pale.

" If your father is in the house I shall speak to him at
once," said Colonel Kenyon's pleasant tones ; and the
next moment a little tap came to the dining-room door.

"Come in," cried Colonel Forth, and an instant later
Colonel Kenyon entered.

" Ah, Kenyon, is that you? " said Colonel Forth, rising,
flinging down the newspaper, and holding out his red hairy
hand; " I didn't hear you come in."

" I've been here more than an hour, my dear fellow,"
answered Kenyon ; and then with a little effort he continu-
ed, " We've been old friends, and good friends, Forth ;
have we not ? "

" There's no mistake about that," replied Forth.

'' But I'm going to put your friendship to a strong test,"
went on Kenyon, with some emotion. " I am going to
ask you to give me one whom I am sure is the greatest
treasure of your home, to be the greatest treasure of
mine."

Colonel Forth could scarcely conceal his delight at the
prospect of getting rid of his "treasure."

" You mean " he said, and paused.

"I mean your beautiful Fran, es ; she has promised to
be my wife, if you will give your consent, which I earnestly
hope you will do. I love her very dearly, as I have loved
no other, and I believe she is too pure and noble to marry
me unless she gave me some return."

JEZE^RT:^ ERIr..VDS.

lllow,"
tinu-
orth ;

test,"

jng to

jatest

re of

It the

id to

lestly

loved

larry

"Good heavens!" thought Forth, "what utter fools
men iu love are, to l)e sure."

But he only smiled grimly, and then began to consider
if il would be necessary to ask his future son-in-law to
dinner, and what were tht- probable contents of the larder.

"And when did you settle all this? " he asked, after a
few moments' retiection.

"Only this afternoon. I hoped to have found an oppor-
tunity yesterday of speaking to Frances, but could find
none. But something in her manner "

" Made you think she wouldn't say no, I suppose ? "
said Colonel Forth, in a way that he meant to be facetious.
"And what about this evening? Will you stay and take
pot-luck with us, as you lovers won't like to be parted, you
know, even if you run the risk of a bad dinner instead of
a good one ? " and again he smiled.

" I shall be delighted to stay," answered Colonel Ken-
yon, who would gladly have gone without any dinner to be
near Frances. In an ordinary way he was a man, how-
ever, who liked a good dinner fairly well ; that is he had a
good appetite, and he was always pleased to see people
enjoy themselves at his table.

In the meanwhile, as her father and lover talked of her,
Frances had gone upstairs to tell Ruth that Colonel Ken-
yon was to dine with them, and to announce her engage-
ment.

Ruth was reading when she went into the room, and the
younger sister laid down her book and looked up inquir-
ingly.

" Allow me to present to you," said Frances, with a
little mocking bow, " Mrs. Kenyon, of Sudley Park ! "

"No! is it possible? I believe you are joking!"
answered Ruth, starting to her feet.

" I am not, I assure you ; Colonel Kenyon has asked
me to be his wife ; I have accepted him, and our beloved
father has given me his parental blessing^ ! "

" Oh ! Frances ! "

Ruth caught her sister in her arms as she uttered these
words, and agam and again kissed her cheek. Then the
two sisters for a moment looked at each other, and both
their expressions changed, and with a sort of impatient
sigh, Frances shook herself loose of her sister's arms.

"It's all done and settled," she said, "and there is no
need to speak of what is past."

JEZEBELS FRIENDS,

And when Colonel Kenyon left the little house, when
the moonlight was shining on the lilac bushes and labur-
num trees which grew around it, his heart was full of joy
and love.

" I have more than I deserve," he thought tenderly,
looking upwards at the luminous sky ; " but I shall try to
make her happy; I pray God as long as I live, that no
trouble shall ever touch her life."

CHAPTER VI.

PARENTAL DISPLEASURE.

\rir^

The most unexpected things, as we all know, constantly
occur, but certainly Lieutenant Kenard Seaforth received
a very great and a very unpleasant surprise when he heard
from his parents after he had written to tell them of his
engagement to Ruth Forth.

He was an only son, and had some reason to suppose
himself a dearly beloved one. He had always been on
the best of terms with his father, and had never exceeded
his allowance, and the general was indeed supposed to be
not a little proud of his '' boy." He had therefore written
with happy confidence to both his father arid mother.
Ruth knew that he had written, and the two young people
were naturally anxious for the letters which to them meant
so much. Seaforth therefore first tore his father's letter
hastily open, and to his consternation read as follows : — •

*' Dear Kenard, — Your mother and I have received your
letters announcing your engagement with Miss Forth, and
I may as well tell you at once that I highly disapprove of
it. I knew Colonel Forth sHghtly when he commanded
the — th Regiment, and he was not a popular man. His
daughter, or daughters, also, have not a very enviable repu-
tation. I remember one of them in India, and though she
was a handsome showy girl, she was certainly not a person
1 should wish to see my son's wife. You are also in no
position to marry, and I should certainly not increase your
aUovrance, even if I continued it, in the event of your
carrying out your engagemont with Miss Forth. In fact,
my dear boy, I earnestly entreat you to get out of it as

'(?.;

jezb:bei:s friends.

e, when
i labur-

I of joy

snderly,

II try to
that no

nstantly
received
le heard
n of his

suppose
been on
xceeded
sd to be

written
mother.

people
n meant
letter

ows : —

ed your
th, and
rove of
nanded
His
"le repu-
(igh she
]person
in no
^e your
your
In fact,
If it as

-ivt

hono'ably as you can. Colonel Forth is known to be a poor
man, ?.nd I shall gladly advance any sum (in moderation)
as an honorarium to the young lady for any disapi)ointment
she may feci. Your mother cordially agrees with me, and
she will tell you more of the Indian gossip about the Miss
Forths than 1 care to enter into.

*' Trusting you will act on the advice of one to whom
your welfare and happiness are of the utmost inportance.
" I remain,

" Your affectionate father,

"John K. Slaforth."

This was not a pleasant letter, it must be admitted, for
a young and ardent lover to receive. Kenard Seaforth's
affection for Ruth was strong and true, and was founded
on the undoubted mutual sympathy which existed between
them. Fie, therefore, felt very indignant at his father's
words, and not at all inclined to be led or influenced by
them. But, on the subject of his allowance, he was forced
to consider. He knew very well he could not live in the
regiment on his pay as an unmarried man, and that to
marry on it was simply impossible. What, therefore, was
he to do? he asked himself, and his heart answered that
at all events he would be loyal to his love, and to his word.

Then he opened his moi'her's letter. This was very dif-
ferent handwriting to the general's bold, strong penman-
ship. Mrs. Seaforth was a gentle, delicate little woman,
and her writing was very expressive of her nature. She
commenced more affectionately than the father : —

*' Mv Darling Kenard, — " Your dear father and I have
both been made very unhappy by your last letter, in which
you tell us you are engaged to one of Colonel Forth's
daughters. Dearest Kenard, I remember Colonel Forth
very well, and he was considered a most disagreeable man.
I remember Miss Forth also, and I regret to say there were
some very scandalous things said of her. Of course, I do
not say they were all true, but still a girl is seldom very
much talked of without cause. She and Lord Walter Gre-
ville of the Dragons were terribly talked of at Simla last year
just before Colonel Forth retired. This was the eldest Miss
Forth, I believe ; but still, my dear, consider what a sad ex-
ample this young girl, to whom you say you are engaged must
have had ever before her eyes ! My darling boy, a wife
from such a family is no fit wife for you. You are sensitive,

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

proud, and affectionate, Kenard, and how should you like
to have your wife's name si)oken lightly of? Take the
advice, dearest, of your loving mother, and break off this
affair while there is yet time. Your father will pay any
sum rather than you should be entangled in such a mar-
riage, for money is nothing to the misery it would certainly
end in. I hope some day to kiss your wife's face, for we
wish you to marry, dear, if you marry suitably, but I could
not bear to kiss or love Miss Forth. I do not like writing
against anyone, but I feel it is my duty to do so in this
case, and I remain, my darling, darling boy, ever your
loving mother

"Lucy Seaforth."

CHAPTER VII.

MAJOR AUDLEY.

Kenard Seaforth's good-looking, pleasant face flushed
deeply more than once as he read his mother's letter. It
was inexpressibly painful to him, for he was, as she said,
sensitive, and it galled him terribly that it. should have
been possible for her to write such words. He quite
understood, too, how this could be, for he was man of the
world enough to know that Frances Forth had probably
deserved a good deal of what was said of her.

But his feeling for Ruth remained untouched as he laid
his mother's letter down, exactly as it had remained
untouched after perusing his father's epistle.

" It is utterly unjust," he thought. " If she is -not good
and pure and true, then I'm a fool. But they admit they
have never seen her ; yet they would allow the gossip
about one sister to ruin the happiness of the other."

But his parents' letters put him, to say the least of it, in
a most embarrassing position.

He wrote to ask Ruth if she would meet him the same
afternoon in some fields where they had sometimes met
before

*' You have heard from your people ? " she said quickly,
as they clasped each other's hands, and she looked up
with heightened color and eager eyes into his face.

JEZEBELS FRIENDS,

«9

you like
akc the

off this
pay any
1 a mar-
:ertainly
;, for we

I could
: writing
o in this
er your

iRTH.

flushed
tter. It
she said,
uld have
[e quite
n of the
l^robably

he laid
jmained

^ot good

nit they

gossip

of it, in

le same
les met

[uickly.
Iked up

For she understood wiih unerring instinct, the moment
she saw him, that he had no good news to tell.

** Vcs, I've heard," lie said; "and my father is not
inclined to increase my allowance — it has put me out very
much."

Ruth's face flushed, and a cold chill pang seemed to
pass through her heart.

" If it's only about money ," she said falteringly.

" Of course it's only about money," Seaforth replied
hastily, as she paused ; " but if you will wait a little while,
Ruth?"

" Need you ask that, Kenard? "

They were walking i'"* a long, shady lane, " by a corn-
field-side a-ilutter with poj^pies," and looked as they went
a good looking, hap')y young pair with long years of ]oy
in front of them. And they were happy though in each
heart was a secret source of anxiety. Seaforth could not
quite forget the letters of his father and mother, and Ruth
had her own private cares. Still the sweet knowledge
that they loved and were beloved made both find this a
pleasant hour. And as they walked on, talking as those
talk between whom there is the tender tie the eye betrays,
they suddenly encountered at a turn of the roadway Major
Audley, who was riding, and who sharply pulled up his
horse when he met them.

"Taking a country walk, Miss Ruth?" he said, as he
raised his cap.

" Yes, it is such a fine day," answered Ruth, who felt
he was blushing.

" Charming for ruralising. You and Seaforth seem
rather fond of that kind of thing."

" I don't believe you care a bit for the coimtry, Audley,"
■said Seaforth, who felt somewhat nettled at the other's
tone.

" Oh ! don't I? Well, if you'll ride back the mare I'll
have great pleasure in walking home with Miss Ruth."

*' Thank you, have no wish to make the exchange,"
answered Seaforth, flushing.

" I dare say not. Well, Miss Ruth, I've heard a piece
of news — I must congratulate you."

" And what is the news ? " asked Ruth, looking up at
him.

*' That your sister is going to marry Colonel Kenyon. \
met Colonel Forth in the village, and he told me."

'JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

"Yes ; they arc engaged, 1 believe."

"She's a very fortun;Ue young lady, then; Kenyon has
everything a woman's heart could desire." And lie gave
a little laugh.

Major Aiidley admired Ruth Forth, and he secretly,
bitterly resented " her ilirtation," as he called it, with
Suaforth, which alike wounded his vanity and stimulated
his love. They had been introduced to her at the same
time, and the elder man, in the roving life that he had led,
had been accustomed to easy con(|uests. But from the
first Ruth evidently i)referred Seaforth, and this angerd
Audley, who did not Hke his junior to be preferred before
him.

And now a cruel chance had flung Ruth into his power.
He believed little in men and less in women, and a hard
smile crept round his coarse lips, as he thought he could
now force her to do whatever he chose to ask her.

CHAPTER Vni.

A TRYST.

On returning home Ruth's maid told her Colonel Kenyon
was in the drawing-room, and added : —

" And please, miss, one of the soldier servants has just
left this note for you."

Ruth took the offered note in her hand, and immediately
recognised the hand-writing of Major Audley.

She at once tore it open, and her face grew very pale as
she read the brief words.

" Dear Miss Ruth, — I have got something to say to you
which requires no listeners, so will you be as kind to me
to-morrow as you were to Seaforth to-day ? Will you in
fact meet me, where I met you with him this afternoon ?
I should not venture to ask you this if I had not a grave
reason for doing so \ but believe me that I have, for a
secret which concerns your sister's happiness and your own
has strangely enough come to my knowledge. Shall we
say three o'clock for our tryst ? I shall not expect to hear
from you, but to see you. With kind regards,

" Yours very sincerely,

" R. Audley."

JKZKHEVS FRIKNDS.

•I

nyon has
.1 he gave

secretly,
it, with
Limulated
the same
e had led,
from the
is angerd
ed before

lis power,
id a hard
he could
r.

Kenyon

has just

lediately

ry pale as

|ay to you

id to me
|11 you in
;ernoon ?
a grave
/•e, for a
'^our own
)hall we
:t to hear

)LEY."

.-«**.

Ruth turned faint and cold while she read Major Aud-
ley's note, and she fuiishcd it and then re-read it, she abso-
lutely leaned against the banister for support. What could
he mean ? 'I'hen suddenly a memory flashed across her
brain, which sent a (piii.k dart of violent pain and terror
through her heart. She remembered on the night of the
storm, as she had struggled up the steep path from the
bay, that when she had reached the highest step a vivid flash
of lightning had sh(Aved her for a moment the figure of a
man approaching her, and that she had fled on more quickly
in consequence. Could this have been Major Audley ?

And she remembered, too, with fresh fear, something he
had said at Colonel Kenyon's garden party ; that he had
kept a secret for her, and therefore that sue should not
have grudged him a rose. And there had been something
in his manner, too — a shade of suppressed insolence, the
very recollection of wh'ch now brought a burning blush
to her pale cheeks.

As one miserable imagt after the other passed through
her brain, she heard Coionel Kenyon leave the house, and
a few moments later Frances came gaily into the room
and held out her white and slender hand as she approached
Ruth.

"See, my dear," she said, '' part of my price! "

Then Ruth looked up and saw the glittering ring on the
third finger in token of the troth plight.

And Ruth sat still, and thought her bitter thoughts, tried
to determine what to do, and could see no way out of her
terrible dilemma. If she refused to meet Major Audley,
she did not know what ill in his anger he might do ; and
if she did meet him, Seaforth might hear of it and believe
her to be both false and deceitful.

But she was afraid of Audley, and dare not run the risk
of offending him. At last she decided it was better to
hear what he had to say. And when the next morning
dawned, after a restless and miserable night, she still kept
to this resolution.

Then the question rose in her mind : — Should she leave
any message with Frances or the maid if Seaforth should
chance to call ? She asked herself this again and again,
and finally decided to leave it to chance. She had seen
him yesterday, and they had not settled when they should
meet again. Therefore, he probably would not come to-

•i

JliZEliKL \S IKII.NDS,

day; and without saying anything to Francos, who would
no doubt think she was going on some housekeci)ing
business, she quietly left the liouse about acjuarter to three
o'clock, and soon found JierseH" ai)pr()aching the lane where
but yesterday she had been so ha])i)y.

CHAPTER IX.

THE SECRET.

But now Ruth did not look at the fields of green waving
corn, or the scarlet poppies ; she walked (juickly on wth
bent head and fast-beating heart, and ])resently on one ot
the gateways into the fields she saw Major Audley sitting
on the topmost rail of a gate, smoking a cigar. He threw
this away, and jumped down immediately he saw her, and
at once walked forward to meet her.

"• Good morning," he said, with his hard smile, holding
out his hand. " You were surprised to get my letter, 1
dare say ? " he continued, as he joined her, and they
walked on together.

"Yes," ans"^ered Ruth, in a low, faltering tone.

*' But you will be more surprised when you hear what I
have got to say," he went on, hitting out at the tall nettles
which grew on the roadside with his stick, in a manner
which betrayed a certain nervousness very unusual to
him.

*' I cannot conceive what you have got to say, nor why
you should ask me to meet you here ? " said Ruth, pluck-
ing up some courage.

Again Major Audley smiled his hard, cold smile, but
did not speak for a moment or two, as if he were consider-
ing what words he should use.

" I shall begin then by asking you," he said, quietly,
" if you remember the storm last Tuesday night ? "

A burning scarlet blush instantly dyed Ruth's face.

*' It — it was a bad storm," she said, in a strangely altered
voice.

" Very. I had been dining that evening with the Fords
at Witham, and between half-past eleven and a quarter to
twelve o'clock I was walking home by the cliff walk. The

yE/ElUi !. 'S I-KIENDS.

«3

1 would

keejjing
to three
ic where

waving
on w'th
I one ot
^ sitting
e threw
ler, and

holding
.letter, 1
id they

what I

nettles

manner

ual to

lor why
pluck-

ile, but
)nsider-

juietly,

:e.
altered

Fords

.rter to

The

storm was tlu'n at its height, and the liglitniiig extremely
vivid; and as 1 approached the steep path tut through the
rock down to tlie l)ay, ti»ere was a tremendous tlash, and
this flash showed me very jjjaiiily tlie form and face of
Miss Ruth Forth, who was coming up the little path from
the shore. Is this so? "

" No, no," gasped Ruth, who had listened to his words
in momentarily increasing terror.

'• Miss Ruth, it is useless to deny this; I saw you as
distinctly as I see you now, and I followed you home to
make assurance d()ul)ly sure. And I saw you go into your
garden, and steal into the l)ack entrance, by the house — ■
and then I turned away — I wanted to know what you had
been doing. I thought you had been meeting someone,
and I went down to the cliff walk to see."

No words came from Ruth's white parted lips. She
ceased walking ; her limbs seemed powerless.

" I went down," contiimed Audley, in a low concentrated
voice, fixing his full light eyes on her quivering face, " and
the lightning showed me the way. It was dangerous work,
though, down those slippery steps, and you must have
great courage ; but I got down all right, and I met no one ;
but as I walked round the bay, close under the cliffs, I
nearly stumbled and fell over something lying on the sand.
Can you guess what that was. Miss Ruth? "

Still Ruth did not speak; she stood as if turned to
«tone.

*' I stooped down and picked it up, and again the light-
ning befriended me ; it was the little spade I have seen in
your garden; the little spade that last Sunday afternoon
Seaforth carved your name on. t have it now."

Ruth started as if someone had struck her, and clasped
both her hands on her breast.

" You understand now why I asked you to come here,"
went on Audley, with hard determination, " and how, at
least, you owe me something for having breathed this into
no one's ears but your own ? But let me finish my story ;
I i)icked up the spade, and I instantly understood you had
taken it there on such a night for some purpose. I deter-
mined to find out what that purpose was, and I did."

Something between a gasp and a cry now fell on his
ears, but the man continued his tale, though he knew he
was rending the girl's heart.

yEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

" I marked the spot with a stick where I had found the
spade, and I carried the si)ade away with me up to the
Fort, and when I got there I examined it again, and saw I
had made no mistake. Then I got a lantern, and carried
it and the spade back to the shore, and — shall I go on ?
I dug up. Miss Ruth, what you had buried there. I "

He stopped, for Ruth had suddenly fallen forward, and
he caught her in his arms.

" Listen to me." he said, half-sternly, half-tenderly,
" and you need not be afraid."

But Ruth in her horror and anguish began to stagger
feebly on.

" 1 asked you to meet me," continued Audley, uncon-
sciously tightening his grasp on the small hand, " that I
might tell you that ail folly must end between you and
Seaforth ; I won't have it, Ruth — you know very well I
like you, and you must break with him entirely."

*' I cannot ! I cannot ! Major Audley, I cannot ! "

"But you 7nust r^ said Audley, passionately, almost
roughly, and he grasped her arm as he spoke ; " my bar-
gain is this, and if you keep to your share of it, I shall
keep <nine — mine is silence, yours is that you promise to
be my wife."

A moan broke from her lips, and her head fell low.

" I do not wish to say any more ; but let us understand
each other before we part. If you wish your sister's mar-
riage with Colonel Ken^ on to go on, if in fact you do not
wish to bring great shame and danger to her, and to your-
self as well, marry me, and break with Seaforth. And you
must do this at once," he continued, with a darkling
brow ; *' I'll have no tender scenes, no kisses, like you
indulged in, Ruth, in Sudley Woods ; you must give me
your kisses now."

Ruth did not speak for a moment or two, and then she
said in a low, faint voice :

" Let me go home, Major Audley ; I cannot bear any
more to-day."

"Write me your decision, then, after you go home ; but
remember my bargain, and nothing shall turn me away
from it."

He spoke no more to her on the subject, but walked
almost in silence by her side, as with feeble and faltering
footsteps Ruth returned to the village. As they neared it,
however, she stopped.

^■%

JEZEBELS FRIEu'DS.

Dund the
) to the
nd saw I
[ carried
: go on ?

I "

ard, and

tenderly,

) stagger

yr, uncon-
, ^' that I
you and
ry well I

.not ! "
y% almost
" my bar-
it, I shall
romise to

low.

derstand

ter's mar-

)u do not

to your-

And you

darkling

like you

give me

[then she

)ear any

[lie ; but
le away

walked
faltering
iared it,

** Let us part here," she said, and he did not refuse her
request.

"Very well," he answered ; " let me hear from you to-
night, and if you act as I wish, you may completely
depend on me — in self-interest then I shall hold my
tongue." And he clasped her hand and left her.

CHAPTER X.

" FOR MY SAKE."

Ruth hardly knew how she got home ; hardly knew how
she had the strength to totter up the staircase to her own
room ; but when she got there she fell on her knees by
the bedside, prostrate with despair.

"Oh! my God, this is too much," she cried. "Oh!
let me die ! "

Even as she uttered these words with her white and
clammy lips, the door of the room opened, and Fra.ces
entered, and Ruth started to her feet.

"Good heavens, Ruth, whatever is the matter?" cried
Frances.

" It is all over," answered Ruth in the same hoarse
tones with which she had spoken to Audley ; " Frances !
my poor, poor sister ! " and she fell upon her neck and
kissed her.

"What do you mean ? " And Frances grew pale.

" I went to meet Major Audley to-day," continued Ruth,
forcing herself to speak ; " he wrote to ask me to go —
Frances, he saw me— last Tuesday night — he followed
me ; he saw me come up from the bay, and he went down
and — and he found the spade I had left behind, and my
name was cut on it — Kenard had cut it ! "

"Well?"

" And he guessed I had hidden something," went on
Ruth with gasping breath ; " he marked the spot where
he had found the spade — and — and he knows everything.
Frances- there is nothing left for us except to die ! "

"That is folly," said Frances, but her very lips had
turned wiiite. " Pie may not tell."

" He offered not to tell/' answered Ruth, sitting down

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

on the bed and swinging herself to and fro in ^' r great
despair, "if I would give u^^ Kenard and marry him; but
I cannot."

" You imist ! " said P'rances, in a low, fieTe tone, and
she grasped her sister's quivering arm ; '* what is giving
up a young man to this? Ruth, are you mad? "

" I would rather die ! "

" But you will not die : you will bring disgrace and
shame on us both for the sake of Seaforth, who will throw
you over if this is known, for he would do this, Ruth, I
can swear ! "

" I — I could give up Kenard," said Ruth, in a low,
broken voice, " though he is more to me than life — I
should not, I know, have promised to marry him, but I
loved him so well I could not bear to think that we should
part — but marry the other is more than I can do."

" What folly ! " cried Frances, impatiently. " Do you
think I ///&(? to marry Colonel Kenyon, a man old enough
to be my father? Do you think 1 love him better than
you love Audley? Not a bit, I can tell you. But
because I know it is well that I should marry, because we
are miserably poor, and because he can give us what we
want, I am ready to sacrifice myself. And yet you hesi-
tate in a matter that is absolutely life and death to us, for
I shall kill myself if this is known ! Ruth, for my sake
bind this man to us. Make his interests ours ; and you
can only do this by marrying him. You do not want to
make me kill myself, do you ? "

" Oh, no, no ! " And Ruth shuddered.

" But I swear I wi]l if this is ever breathed to mortal
ears ! I would die before I would be flouted and sneered
at by everyone in Headfort ; and another thing, Ruth, we
might both be arrested. Do you think Seaforth would
marry you then? "

" I will give him up ; I will bring no shame to him ! "
cried Ruth in bitter agony.

" Well, dear, then why not marry Audley ? Oh !
promise me to do this, Ruth — you, my little sister."

PVances put her arms round Ruth's slight form as she
said this, and fondly kissed her.

" For my sake," she said again, and again kissed her ;
and Ruth, like one who is about to die, after a while raised
her head, and looked at her sister with eyes from which all
hope was gone.

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

r great
im; but

►ne, and
3 giving

ace and

ill throw

Ruth, I

1 a low,
1 life— I
n, but I
e should

' Do you

i enough

ttei than

ou. But

cause we

what we

you hesi-

to us, for

my sake

and you

want to

;o mortal
sneered
uth, we

Ith would

to him ! "

Oh!

|-m as she

ised her \
lile raised
Iwhich all

" For your sake I will do it." she said hoarsely ; *' but I
pray God that I may die."

But Frances, having wrung this promise from her,
insisted at once on its fulfilment. She brought paper to
Ruth, and she made her write a few lines to Major
Audley, to tell him she would be his wife, or rather that
she accepted his conditions.

" I agree to do what you wish me to do," wrote Ruth,
with shaking lingers, " if what passed between us to-day
is kept for ever secret. I will write to K. S., and tell him
I cannot be his wife, and ask him to go away for a while,
and until he is gone I ask you to say nothing of our agree-
ment. Do not ask also to see me for a day or two, for all
this has been a great shock to me.

" Ruth Forth."

And as soon as these broken-hearted words were written,
Frances at once sent them down to the Fort. And when
they arrived there, the hard, cynical man to whom they
were addressed read them with a smile ; and perhaps a
shade of pity, too, for a moment, passed through his
selfish heart.

*' Poor little Ruth ! " he thought, and then he smiled
again. He had won, and he liked to win, and he felt
what he called love for the fair-faced girl, of whom he was
asking this bitter sacrifice. But he never contemplated
for a moment not holding her to her word. His love was
not a self-denying emotion, and he was pleased at the idea
of triumphing over Seaforth. He began walking up and
down his barrack-room, whistling softly as he went.

" Poor Kenyon ! " he thought, presently, and he laughed ;
it amused him to think of the false idol to whom this kindly
gentleman had given his heart.

CHAPTER XI.

JEZEBEL.

At the very moment when Major Audley was thinking of
Colonel Kenyon, with a sort of contemptuous pity, in an
upper room under the same roof a young man was also
thinking of him, with a heart full of jealous rage and

"lEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

passionate despair. 'I'his was young Arthur Beaton, on
whom the nows of Frances North's engagement had fallen
as a crushing blow, which seemed to make his life unen-
durable, and turn everything to gall.

In the prime of his opening manhood, and of an ardent,
romantic, enthusiastic nature, he had met this beautiful
woman, and she had smiled on him, and soon fanned his
eager admiration into love. She was but amusing herself,
though she liked the handsome boy ; but he was giving
all the strong feelings of his heart to one who counted
them of little worth.

At first he would not believe the news which Colonel
Forth was spreading with such pride and satisfaction.
In a little place Hke Headfort, where Colonel Kenyonwas
so well known, his proposed marriage was naturally greatly
talked of. Miss Forth was considered to have made, or
rather to be about to make, a very good match, and was
respected accordingly. Beaton was told of the engage-
ment tv/ice on the day after it occurred — the day after
P'rances had met him by apjiointment in High Street in the
morning, and he could not, would not, believe it to be
true.

He wandered about restlessly all the next day, and at
last made up his mind to call on Frances, and so set his
mind at rest. He did this, but she was either not at home
or pretented she was not. Then he wrote to her, telling
her that such a rumor had reached his ears, and asking
her in very tender words to contradict it. To this letter
Frances (unknown to Ruth) sent the following charac-
teristic reply : —

" Dear Mr. Beaton (or shall I say dear Arthur ?)

" I was sorry to miss you when you called to-day, for I
wished to tell you something. Do you remember my
telling vou the last time I saw you that it is well to be
rich, for then you can please yourself, but that wiien you
are poor you are obliged to bow to circumstances ? I am
unfortunately one of the poor ones, and I have very little,
or no choice given me. Yes, it is true, I am engaged to
Colonel Kenyon, who, as you know, is an old friend of
my father's ; but I hope this will make no difference in our
friendship, for, believe me, I should grieve very much if it
did. I shall tell you more when I see you, and I will
write you a line when 1 can manage this. Just at present

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

aton, on
ad fallen
fe unen-

1 ardent,
beautiful
nned his
g herself,
IS giving
counted

Colonel
isfaction.
nyonwas
ly greatly
made, or
, and was
e engage-
day after
eet in the

it to be

ly, and at
so set his
t at home
telling
id asking
lis letter
charac-

day, for I
mber my
ell to be
^en you
s ? I am
ery little,
gaged to
friend of
ice in our
uuch if it
nd I will
t pre sent

I have got my hands full, but do not think you are
forgotten ; I can assure you that can never be.
'* Always very sincerely yours,

" Frances Forth."

It was this letter which had nearly maddened the young

man, and made all his life dark and bitter to him. He

had high and generous instincts, and it stabbed him to the

heart that the woman he loved so passionately should thus

degrade herself. Frances, of course, meant to convey to

^him that she was marrying Colonel Kenyon merely for his

[money. This seemed to young Beaton the vilest act ; and

[that she — she whom he had worshipped with a blind,

unreasoning worship — could thus sell herself like the

coarsest of her sex, cut him to the soul.

Major Audley and Seaforth both noticed and guessed
the cause of the black cloud on their young comrade's
brow ; but Seaforth at least did not guess the dark
purpose he nourished in his heart. He had dined at mess
and drunk a great deal more than he usually did, and the
wine loosed his tongue. He spoke recklessly and bitterly,
and more than once Major Audley had fixed his eyes on
the excited, handsome face, and knew that the passion
which " is cruel as the grave " was eating into his soul.

After mess was over he went to his own room and
sat down gloomily, to read and read again the letter which
he had received by the morning's post from Frances
Forth. He was a young man of good family, though the
modest portion of a younger son was all his heritage. His
father. Sir Robert Beaton, was dead, and his eldest brother,
also Sir Robert Beaton, now reigned in his stead. Arthur
Was the second son, and there were beside^; two younger
boys. Lady Beaton still lived, and the wr*-tched young
man remembered his mother more than once, as he sat
there and thought of his wrecked hopes and wasted love.

Then he drew out a j)ortrait which Frances had given
him, of herself ; a portrait of a fair woman in her lovely
prime, with a smile gleaming archly and coquettishly in the
large bright eyes and lingering round the rosy lips. He
looked at this long and darkly, and then flung it passion-
ately on the floor, only, however, the next moment to raise
it again, and crush it against his lips. There was a burn-
ing pain in his heart, a tiery physical pain, brought on by

yEZF.REL'S FRIENDS,

the fierce tumult surging in his being ; and as he kissed
the pictured face his eyes grew dim.

" I cannot bear it," he muttered, " it is worse than
death!"

Then he began thinking how he should end it. One
sharp pang was surely nothing to this. He had a new
revolver that his brother Sir Robert had given him, and
he got up and loaded this, and laid it on the table beside
him. Strange thoughts came into his brain, and his
temples throbbed and beat, and the blue veins swelled.
He had a vivid imagination, and gazing with his gloom)
eyes at Frances' portrait, he mentally drew pictures of her
future life ; of the grey-haired man by her side, and the
falsehood of her daily words !

It was horrible to him to think thus, yet he could not
drag his thoughts away. They pursued, haunted, and
maddened him, with hideous distinctness. And he saw
her again in his mind's eye, as he had seen her the day of
the garden party at Sudley Park, sitting under the spread-
ing branches of the great tree, with her chestnut hair
resting against the gnarled trunk, and smiling down on
Kenyon first, and then on him.

And this was to be her home — she would sit here again,
under the green flutter of the leaves, with her husband
beside her ! The poor boy groaned aloud in his anguish,
and dashed his hand against his burning brow. He was
too young to realise that in time this bitter pain would
cease ; that this love of his so strong, so deep, had yet in
its very nature the seeds of change. He loved Frances
Forth for what would pass away, and so surely would his
love. But he thought not thus ; her fatal beauty blinded
him, and his fierce despairing jealousy maddened and
bewildered his brain.

Presently he began to write a few words of farewell
to her ; telling her she had made his life too miserable
to endure ; upbraiding her with the false wiles and smiles
with which she had lured him on. Oh ! foolish words —
when passion is dead and cold, does it not seem impossible
to the writer to believe that his or her hand ever wrote
them ! Were we so mad ? we ask ourselves — and yet we
were. The chill touch of years or indifference has come
between that day and this, and we cannot realise again the
pain and torture that is gone. But for poor Beaton at

; he kissed

worse than

id it. One
had a new
;n him, and
able beside
n, and his
ins swelled,
his gloom)
;tures of her
de, and the

e could not
iimted, and
^nd he saw
;r the day of
the spread-
lestnut hair
ig down on

: here again,

ler husband

his anguish,

w. He was

pain would

), had yet in

r^ed Frances

y would his

uty blinded

dened and

of farewell

miserable

and smiles

|ish words —

impossible

ever wrote

-and yet we

has come

ie again the

Beaton at

JEZEBEL'S ERIEN-DS. ||

this moment the agony was in all its sharpness, and he
told her some bitter truths. And yet he loved her even
as he wrote the hard words. He kissed the letter after he
had addressea -t and sealed it, and then wrote a few lines
to his mother, asking her to forgive him, and telling
Tie» such a great grief had come to him that he was
too unhappy to live. He addressed and sealed this also,
^nd while he was engaged in doing this, his servant, who
had been a lad on their own property, and who was much
attached to his young master, rapped at the room door,
and came in with a letter which required an answer.

It was only an invitation from Miss Hilliard, the
banker's daughter, to play tennis the next afternoon, L»ut
as Beaton tore it oi)en and flung it imi)atiently down, his
'servant's eyes were fixed on his face curiously, and
V ttndercd from his face to the revolver lying on the table,
and to the two letters lying addressed to Lady Beaton and
Miss Forth.

" There is no answer," said Beaton, in a strange, altered
voice, " you can go ; " and the man went, but he lingered
uneasily outside the room door. And presently, it must
be admitted, he a])plied his eye to the keyhole.

And he saw poor Arthur Beaton again kiss the letter he
had written to his false love ; again kiss the beautiful
pictured face that had ruined his young life, and then
he saw him take the revolver in his hand with such a
deadly, settled purpose in his face, that the man forgot all
etiquette and prudence alike. He knew the Major was in
his room, and he ran downstairs, and with scant ceremony
burst in upon Major Audley, who was smoking, and
glancing occasionally at Ruth Forth's letter, which was still
lying oi)en before him.

" Oh ! excuse me. Major ! " cried the man, whose face
was white with terror, "but I wish you would go up
beside Mr. Beaton ; 1 don't like his looks, sir ; he's got
his revolver out- -and "

" Fool ! why did you leave him ? " answered Audley, fling-
ling down his cigar and springing to his feet. He had
lipticed Beaton's dark looks, and instantly took alarm and
ran upstairs as fast as he could go, and when he reached
Beaton's room he gave one sharp rap and at once opened
the door.

As he turned the handle a sharp report rang out, and a

JEZEPEVS FRIENDS,

moment later Aiidley was at Beaton's side, and had wrcncli-
ed the revolver from his hand before he had time to fire
another chamber.

*' Beaton 1 are you mad ? " he said, sternly ; and the
young man, from whose face the blood was streaming down,
made no answer, but stood there facing his commandini^^
officer, conscious that he had missed his mark ; that the
sudden opening of the door had startled him, and that the
bullet he had intended to bury in his brain had in reality
cut slantingly across his cheek, and also wounded the
upper part of his ear.

Audley, a man of prompt and energetic action, now took
in the whole situation at a glance. He saw the two letters
lying on the table, and he saw that Beaton's uund was
probably not serious, and he turned quietly to tl z trembling
servant who had followed him upstairs.

*' Go and bring Dr. Murray at once," he said. *' Tell
him nothing but that Mr. Beaton has had an accident, and
wants immediate assistance. Hold your tongue to every-
one else, and come back here ; your master will want
you."

Wilson, Beaton's servant, at once obeyed, and Audley
was alone with Beaton.

" This folly had best be kept a secret, Beaton," he said
sharply and sternly; " tell the doctor you were handling
your revolver, which by some oversight had been left
loaded ; and I advise you to put away these," and he pointed
contemptuously to the letters addressed to Lady Beaton
and Miss Forth.

" Why did you stop me ? " said Eeaton, sullenly.

" Because you are a young madman ! " answered Audley,
with biting scorn. " What ! " he continued, again pointing
to the letter directed to Miss Forth ; ** for the sake of such
a woman as that you would have taken your life ? Do you
know what she is ? A painted Jezebel, at best ! "

" You shall not abuse her,'' said Beaton, fiercely.

" No," said Audley, shrugging his broad shoulders. " But
she's not worth shooting oneself for at any rate. Take my
advice, Beaton, and keep this quiet ; here, let me put these
letters out of sight," and he pushed them into one of the
writing-table drawers on which they were lying, and then
began deliberately to unload the revolver, which he still
held.

but

bit,

luc

th(

the
Di

JE/EIiEVS FRIENDS.

ad wrench-
:ime to fire

T ; and the
ming down,
)mmanding
k ; that the
nd that the
d in reality
)unded the

n, now took

two letters

oiind was

a trembling

lid. " Tell
:cident, and
ue to every-
r will want

md Audley

)n," he said

're handling

been left

he pointed

ady Beaton

;nly.
|red Audley,

.in pointing
lake of such

? Do you

:ely.

lers. "But
Take my

|ie put these

one of the

k and then

Ich he still

•' Here comes the doctor," he said, as he finished. " Dr.
Murray, Mr. Beaton has had an accident," he continued,
as a tall, freckled, rather good-looking young Scotchman
made liis appearance. " He's losing a great deal of blood,
but I hope it's no worse ; but it will spoil your beauty a
bit, Beaton."

'J'he doctor proceeded to examine the wound, which
hickily was only a flesh one, and had missed the bone of
the cheek, though the cheek was cut across, and part of
the ear shot away. He was bleeding profusely ; and as
Dr. Murray began dressing his wound, Audley calmly
expatiated on the folly of being careless with fire-arms.
But Beaton said very little ; he was deadly pale when
the blood was washed away, and his fine, sharply-cut
features were set and rigid, and his dark grey eyes cast
down. He felt ashamed and humiliated ; he was con-
scious he had made a fool of himself, for to try to kill
yourself and not to do so, seemed to his proud, sensi-
tive nature an action that was sure to call down ridicule.

Audley, to do him justice, however, made the best of it.
He called Wilson, the servant, out of the room into his
own, and told the man he was to say nothing about the
events of the evening, except that his young master had
had an accident.

" I don't want to purchase your silence, you know, Wil-
son," he went on, unlocking his desk ; "but perhaps this
will help you to hold your tongue ; " and he put a five
pound note into the man's hand, who hesitated, turned
scarlet, and in whose worthy heart a struggle instantly
took place.

" There is no need for this, sir," he said, still holding
the note firmly, and looking at it contemplatively ; " I
would cut my tongue out before I would say a word to hurt
Mr. Arthur."

Audley, who understood the weakness of human nature.
Stood regarding the man with his hard smile ; knowing
pretty exactly how he wanted to keep the money, and yet
did not like the idea of being paid for holding his tongue.
It amused Audley to see Wilson's mental wriggles, and he
therefore did not urge the five pound note upon him, which
fact added to the man's eagerness to keep it.

" But of course, sir. as you've been so kind," he said,
after a few moments' silence, "it's not for the like of me to

JEZEnurs FRIENDS.

refuse anything that a gentleman like yourself chooses to
give — so thank you very much," and the note hastily disap
peared into Wilson's i/(>cket.

"That's right, my man," said Audley, " keep what you
can get ; and now go back to your master, and mind you
are not to leave him alone. Unless Mr. Seaforth, the
doctor, or myself is in the room with him, you are to stay ;
if he objects, say 1 ordered you to do so."

Wilson made his best bow and vanished, and Audley.
after having locked away Ruth Forth's letter, which he had
left behind him in his hurry, returned to Beaton's room,
whom he found with bandaged face and ear, sitting quietly
talking to the young Scotch doctor.

** Well, it might have been w..fse," he said, after inquiring
of Beaton how he felt; "but some one must stay with
you, Beaton," he added, "during the night, lest the bandage
sli]) off; we must not allow you to bleed to death."

" I'll see to that," said Dr. Murray good-temperedly, wlin
was not without his sus])icions of the true nature of llic
case, for Beaton's infatuation about Miss Forth was wdi
known in the F'ort.

"All right: and his servant had better sit up with him,
too," answered Audley, and then he nodded to Beaton
and went away, and having lit another cigar, began again
reflectively to v.alk up and down his barrack-room.

" Well," he thought, " Madame Jezebel has very nearly
had another murder to answer for. What a she-devil she
is, to be sure ! "

And ever afterwards he thought of, and often called,
beautiful Frances F'orth, ^'- JezchcL'"

CHAPTER XII.

A SAD LETTER.

Ruth Forth was very ill for two days after she had written
her miserable letter to Major Audley, to tell him slv
accepted his terms ; so ill, that FVances Forth grew seriousiv
uneasy about her, and had to answer Seaforth's eager,
anxious inquiries with a very troubled heart.

" Do have some advice, Miss Forth," urged the youiu

JEZEBEVS I'RIENDS,

chooses to
astily disap

p what you •
d mind you
caforth, the
are to stay ;

md Aiidley.
^diich he had
iton's room,
tting quietly

Iter inquirini;
St stay with
, the ])andago
t-ath."

iperedly, who
iiatiirc of tlvj
orth was wcli

I up with him,
d to Beaton

began again
room,
very nearly

she -devil she

often called,

e had written
tell him slv
;rew seriouslv
forth's eager,

id the youn.

man, when lie luul wrung from Frances' unwilling lips
that Ruth was confined to bed, and totally unfit to see him.
But the elder sister dare not send for a doctor, knowing
Well that any practised eye would at once perceive that it
was some ac,ute mental shock which had totally prostrated
Ruth.

It was indeed pitiable to see her. 'I'he poor girl lay with
white ( lammy face, and wide open hopeless eyes, and neither
spoke nor noticed anything around her. In vain Frances
tried to rouse her ; in vain told her anything she thought
would interest or soothe her.

" Don't talk to me, ])lease," was all her answer.

*' My heart is broken," she told herself many and many
a time, moaning and turning on her pillow, which was often
"wet with tears.

Yet she made no comj^laint, nor i)rotest in words. It
•vas her silent sufferings which moved Frances' hardened
hrorldly heart ; and yet she always reiterated to herself
that there was no help for it, that the only thing now to
be done was for Ruth to marry Major Audley.

She did not tell Ruth that the drawing-room down-stairs
was filled with flowers that Seaforth had sent ; Colonel
Kenyon also sent Ruth flowers, and was very grieved to
hear of the illness of the pretty girl he hoped soon to call
his young sister. He, too, urged Frances to send for the
,doct(3r, but Frances said it was nothing, and thrt it would
soon pass away.

" You are looking ill and anxious, too, my dearest,"
Kenyon said to Frances, the second day of Ruth's illness.
In truth, Frances had been not a little shocked and hor-
rified to hear of the "accident" which had happened to
young Beaton at the Fort. Her father had rushed in
full of it, the day after it occurred, and had gone down at
once to inquire particulars. Frances turned a little sick
and faint, for the colonel had brought in a somewhat
exaggerated account, which was current in the village.
But, after his visit to the F'ort, her mind was some-
what relieved. Colonel Forth had seen Audley, who
told him '• the stupid boy" had had a very narrow escape,
through his own carelessness. Frances did not quite
pelieve this, l)ut she breathed a sigh of relief, and was
thankful poor Beaton was not very much injured. In her
heart she was more than half convinced that Beaton had

yRZEn/:r:s /■k/F.NDs.

tried to kill himself for her sake, and this idea was not
without a subtle charm to her.

" Poor dear boy," she thouj^hl many a lime, and sent
her father down every morning to inijuire how he was.
He did not get on very well ; he had lost a great deal ot
blood, and was very low and desponding.

" I believe the poor fellow has something on his mind,"
at last Dr. Murray said to Major Audley and Seaforth.

" Perhaps he's in debt or in love," answered Dudley
grimly ; but Seaforth did not speak. He spent many
hours daily by Beaton's bedside, and felt the sincerest and
kindliest pity for him. Beaton never si)oke of his "acci-
dent/' and gradually Seaforth drew his own conclusions.
He had been cut to the heart by Frances Forth's engage-
ment, and in his first bitter anguish had tried to shoot him-
self.

He noticed also that Beaton was never left alone. If
he went to his room he was sure to find the doctor there
or his servant Wilson. Major Audley had given orders to
this effect, and they were fully carried out ; and, though
he never spoke of it, Seaforth saw very plainly that poor
Beaton was closely watched.

Frances Forth asked Seaforth about him with unmistak-
able interest the next time she saw him after Beaton's
" accident." Seaforth had called to inquire after Ruth.
and almost the first words Frances said to him were about
Beaton.

" How is ne ? " she said.

"Very weak and low," answered Seaforth, gravely, for
he felt not a little angry with T^>ances, whom he believed
had trifled with poor Beaton's tceiings for her own amuse
ment.

" Will you tell him from me," said Frances, " how
dreadfully sorry I am — more than sorry ? I would write
to him, only one never knows into whose hands a letter
may fall ; unless you would promise to give it to him your
self?"

" I thmk you had better not write. Miss Forth," said
Seaforth, still more gravely; "it would only disturb him
and Dr. Murray says he is to be kept perfectly quiet."

Frances took the hint, which she quite understood, but
she thought it rather forward of Seaforth to give it. Slit
.dso felt rather afraid of this young man, and shrank sonu-

JE/EIiEVS FRIENDS,

lea was not

le, and sent
low he wav
;rcat deal ot

11 liis mind."
Seaforth.
ercd A.udkv
si)ent many
dncerest and
)f his " ac( i
conclusions,
■th's engagi-
to shoot him-

,'ft alone. If
doctor thcri'
ven orders to
and, though
dy that poor

th unmistak-
ter Beaton's

after Ruth.

were about

gravely, for
he believid
own amuse

tnces,

how

would write
lands a letter
Ito him your-

[Forth," said
listurb hiiii.
quiet."

[erstood, but
nve it. SIh

ihrank some-

what from the gaze of his honest eyes. She was playing
him f.'dse, too, she kmw, for she liad kept back two letters
wliii:h he had written to Rulii, thinking their receii)t would
but add to the pain of their eni'orcetl parting. Hut, strange
losay, it was the tiiouglit of these letters whicli first roused
Ruth from her ajjathy. It had occurred to her grief-
shadowed mind that Kenard Seaforth was almost sure to
have written to her, and siie asked I'Vanccs if tliis were so,
and saw by her manner that Frances was keei)ing some-
thing back.

" lie has writlL'U, and you have not given me his let-
ters ! '' she .said, indignantly. " Do you think this just and
right?" .

" I thought ])erhaps they might worry you," answered
Frances, with a bhisli.

" How could his letters worry me? " cried poor Ruth,
with a despairing ring in her voice. " Give them to me,
Frances— -nothing can make any difference to me now."

So Frances was obliged to i)roduce the two letters,
which she fain would have kept back. She did not under-
,$tand that they could do Ruth any good, and yet they did.
It was something to the ])0or girl to feel them lying against
her breast ; to know that his hand had penned the tender
words. She had to part from him, but she would always
love hun, she told herself, and she prayed God that he also
would not quite forget her.

She had a loyal, faithful heart, and she knew, or at least
thought she knew, that her love could never change. But
she saw lying there, looking blankly into the luture, that
there was no hope for them. For Frances' sake, nay for
her own, and even for Kenard's, she must fulfil her promise
to Major Audley now. And even if he set her free, she
felt it would be dishonorable to marry Kenard. No, she
must give him up, but she could not cease to love him.
All the old hapj)y dreams of a long life-time together, of
the fond hand-clasp in weal and \voe, were now ended.
But she had his memory left to her, the memory of a
l^rave, true, honest love, and this no new tie could take
^ay. Major Audley might force her to marry him, for
J^uth knew she was powerless in his hands ; but he could
.K,,^l3iOt force her to give to him what she had given Kenard.

" I love him so dearly," she would whisper to herself;
" only my heart knows how well."

JKZEBEV.'i fkiENDH.

But another letter reached her as well as Kenard's when
she still lay sick and ill, and this letter h" ranees thought it
wise to deliver at once. It was from Major Aiidley, who
wrote to say he regretted to hear of her illness, of whidi
he had been informed by Sea forth. But perhaps it were
well to give his letter in full.

" Dear Ruth,

" I was very sorry to hear from Scaforth that you are
not well, and are unable to see anyone. 1 should have
written to you before in reply to your note, in which you
accept my proposition, but we have had great trouble here
at the Fort. \\\ some accident Beaton has shot himself
in the face and ear ; but no doubt you have heard the
l^articulars from Colonel Forth, lie is not dangerously
ill, but very weak and low, and requires constant care.
However, 1 hope soon to get him away from this place,
and then I expect he will be all right. And now, regard-
ing ourselves, I have obeyed your recjuest, and said nothing
of our engagement, so I think I have now a right to ask
you to fulhl your promise, and break off entirely with Sea-
forth. When a wcnnan is going to marry one man, the
sooner she is done with the other the better ; and ycu
must of course make Seaforth understand that evcrythith:^
is at an end between you. I shall keej) my j^art of our
agreement faithfully, and I shall expect you to do the
same, ^^'hen you get this, therefore, will you write to
Seaforth, and then let me hear from you ? I shall be very
pleased to see you as soon as you are well enough to re-
ceive me, and believe me to remain,

*' Faithfully yours,

" R. AUDLEY."

This letter was, of course, not unexpected, and yet to
Ruth it seemed a fresh blow, its cold, hard realism filled
her breast with unutterable shrinking from the fate from
which there was no escape. She had told herself this often
enough, but to see it, to read it, made it all so terribly
l)lain. She had to give up Seaforth, whom she loved so
dearly, and marry a man who had taken a cruel advantage
of a miserable secret ; who had wrung a promise from her
to save her sister from disgrace. And what could she give
such a one ? No respect, no love. Cold duty at the best,
and to this wretched life she had now to look forward.

But she had still to bid her love good-bye, to write the

JEZEBEL'S ERIENDS.

lat you are
should have
11 which you
trouble here
shot himself
'c heard the
dangerously
nstant care.
11 this place,
now, regard-
said nothing
right to ask
L'ly with Sea-
me man, the
er ; and yi u
tt cverythhi^
l)art of our
to do the
ou write to
lall be very
nough to re-

AUDLEY."

and yet to

alism filled
le fate from
elf this often

so terribly
she loved so
el advantage
se from her

uld she give
^ at the best,
forward.

to write the

rords that she knew would give great pain to a generous,
lonoraMe lieart. It was a l)itter task to nerve herself to
do this, yet it had to be done. Frances came into the
room looking quite bright and handsome (for Colonel Ken-
yon had just left her), about an hour after Ruth had
received Audley's letter, and her ai)i)earance jarred on the
poor girl's shattered nerves and miserable heart.

"How are you now, my dear?" asked Frances, quite in
a lively tone.

"As ill as 1 can be, T think," answered Ruth bitterly;
**but you don't care what I suffer."

Her tone instantly sobered Frances' mood.

"You know that is not true," she said. " I am forced
to appear to have a light heart, though in truth it's heavy
as lead 1 That wretch Audley, 1 suj)i)ose, has been writ-
ing to you to remind you of your promise ?"

" The wretch with whom 1 am to spend my life," said
Ruth moodily.

" We can't helj) ourselves, Ruth."

"Don't 1 know that? \ should rather be dead than
do what 1 am going to do to-day — far, far rather be dead."

" But, dear cliild, if you were d^'-^'l it would not save us,"
said Frances soothingly, laying her hand caressingly on
her young sister's shoulder; "this man is in love with
you "

" Oh ! don't speak of it I " interrupted Ruth with a shud-
der.

*' All the same it is so, and men have two strong passions
— love and money — for either of which they will do almost
anything. J^ut there is this difference between these two
absorbing sentiments," and Frances give a bitter laugh,
"when they get what they love they soon tire of it, but
they never tire of money ; the love of that grows on them
with years, just as the otiier sort of love cools. Audley is
in love with you at present, and he has taken an unmanly
advantage of your generous heart ;'' and Frances kissed
her sister's sweet sad face.

■ She quite understood that "generous heart." She knew
well enough that it was for her sake and not her own that
Ruth was going to make this, to her, most bitter sacrifice.
To do Frances justice she thought that in Ruth's youth
and innocence she over-estimated this .sacrifice. Kenard
Seaforth was a nice young man, self-argued Frances, but

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS

ii-i

there are many such, so poor Ruth need not break her
heart about one. " Slic will get over it," Frances told
herself, " and her marriage will bind to us the one person
that can do us any harm."

*' There is no help for it," Frances repeated, and Ruth
knew it, so what more was to be said.

" I will write to him if you will leave me alone," said
Ruth gently, and again Frances kissed her ; and than feel-
ing as those must do whom death is staring in the face,
for whom there is left no hope in this world, Ruth sat down
to tell Seaforth that it must be all ended between them,
that their lives must lie apart.

She sat with her pen in her hand, not knowing in what
words to tell the bitter truth. " Dear Kenard," she began ;
and then with a sudden wave of tenderness, a sudden gush
of tears, she added : " My dear, dear Kenard,

" I have got your letters, but I have no heart to answer
them. I have something to tell you which I know you
will not understand, and which gives, and has given me,
the deepest pain. Dear Kenard, it is hard to write it —
far harder on me than you — but I cannot be your wife.
There has been something come between us that I cannot
help and that will not alter. There is no help for us, none on
earth ! I have been very ill thinking of this, and oh, so
miserable, for I would gladly give my life if my death would
change it, but that would do no good. It is just one of
those things which must be done, though it breaks my
heart to do it. Will you go aw\ay for a while, because
that would perhaps make it a little easier tc us ? If you
will, I should like to see you once before you go, and will
you kiss me and forgive me, Kenard, for any i)ain I have
given you ? Believe me, it is nothing to mine, which is al-
most too great to bear. And do not quite forget me ; think
of me sometimes as one who is dead, but who loved you
Very dearly, for I did, dear Kenard, and I do \ nothing
can change this.

''Ruth."

When he received this sad letter, Kenard Seaforth's
surprise, nay, utter astonishment, was very great. He read
and re-read it, with a blank face, and then it suddenly
struck him that his parents had })rivately written to Ruth, to
tell her they objected to her marrying him, and that the

yEZEBEVS FRIEMDSi.

poor girl in her wounded pride had determined to give him

He acted on this supposition, and wrote at once to
Ruth to ask her to see him.

" I must see you, my dearest Ruth, because I am quite
sure you have written the letter, which I have just read
with such pain and surprise, under influence which should
never have been brought to bear upon you. Have my
father and mother written to you ? If so, my dear Ruth,
do be candid and open with me on the subject. They have
no right, no one has any right, to do such a thing. My mo-
ther wrote to tell me she had heard some gossip about
your sister in Simla, but of course I did not mention this
to you, as it had no influence on me, and had nothing
to do with our engagement. You tell me you love me
dearly, and I love you so dearly that neither father,mother,
nor sister shall part us. Do not be foolish, my dear one,
and let others come between us. I can understand that
your pride has. been hurt, but pride is a small thing to
love, and when my people know you they will like you, I am
(juite certain. But even if they did not, their opinion would
not change mine. I shall soon get my company, and I can
then exchange into some regiment out in India, and we can
be married at once. I do not think that my father will with-
draw my present allowance, and on that and my pay we
shall be able to get along. Write me a line, dear Ruth, to
tell me when I can see you, for I want this business cleared
up at once. I am not going to lose my own darling little
wife for anyone, and remain, with love, affectionately your
own,

" Kenard Sf.aforth."

Ah, what tears were shed over those words ; '* heart
wrung tears," as the poor girl laid her white face against
them, and moaned aloud in her bitter pain.

" There is no hope, dear," she murmured, " none,
none !" And again and again she repeated the grievous
words.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

CHAPTER XIII.

A LAST KISS.

Ruth wrote to Kenard Seaforth the same day on which
she received this letter, so full of his manly honest love.
Only a few words though, and these words so sad, that
they filled the young man's heart with uneasy apprehension.
But she would see him, she told him to " bid him good-
bye." "It is all that is left to us, dear Kenard," she added \
" the memory of our love, and this last meeting.*'

Kenard Seaforth therefore went to this tryst in a very
nervous and agitated state of mind. He, of course, could
conceive no reason for Ruth's conduct, except the disap-
proval of his father and mother. Ruth had made no com-
ment on this in her last letter, and thus rather confirmed
Kenard in liis original idea. But when he saw her — saw her
so shattered and changed, he at once came to the conclu-
sion that there was a deeper, stronger cause.

" Ruth ! " he exclaimed, eagerly clasping her trembling
hand; "what is it, my darling? Tell me, and let us
think what can be done."

" Nothing, nothing ! " sobbed the poor girl, quite break-
ing down ; " this is the last, last time, Kenard ! " And her
head fell upon his breast.

He kissed the soft, rutfied hair, and drew her closer to
him.

" That is folly, darling ; nothing can part us if we cling
to each other."

But Ruth only wailed and wept, and i)i vain Seaforth,
with the kindest and tenderest words, tried to comfort her.

" Don't, don't, Kenard, it's no use," she said patheti-
cally. " Do you think if ther- were any hope I should
give it up ? "

" But, dear, I don't understand "

" And I cannot tell you," she interrupted, raising her
tear-stained face, and looking straight at him with her
large, wistful eyes ; " this is what makes it sc terrible, so

JEZEBEL'S ERIENDS.

bitter — thinking what you must think of me — feeHng that
you will despise me ; and yet "

" 1 shall never despise you, Ruth. My darling, darling
girl, only trust me ; why can you not trust me ? Surely
you believe I never should betray anything you could tell
me?"

A temptation crossed her heart at this moment to tell
him all. She hesitated ; again she looked in his kind,
honest face, and clear eyes. Her lips parted, and then a
burning blush suddenly dyed her pale face. She shivered ;
she drew herself back from his arms, and all the terrible
consequences that might follow, if this miserable story
were told, flashed across her brain. Seaforth naturally
would resent Audley conduct with the strongest indigna-
tion, and then Audley's bitter tongue might be untied. It
was impossible ; there was no help for it ; she must bear
all the pain ) all the loss of this, to her, the dearest man
on earth !

" I cannot tell you," she faltered in a broken voice, after
a brief silence, and her eyes fell ; " I can only tell you what
I wrote, Kenard — there is no help for it — and — and we
must say good-bye."

" If you would only give me some clue ? "

She mournfully shook her head ; and then with a sudden
tender impulse put both her hands in his.

'^ My dear, let me be to you as if you had once loved
someone who is dead — think of me as dead — yet love me
a little still."

" But I cannot think of you as dead, Ruth — dead ! with
your sweet face near mine."

He kissed her passionately as he spoke, and as their
lips met, she flung her arms round his neck and laid her
soft, wet cheek against his.

" Good-bye, Kenard," she whispered. " Good-bye, my
love, my only love ! "

" How can you ask me to say good-bye? " he answered
impetuously, clasping her closer.

*' We nmst say it," and she gently drew herself back from
his arms as she spoke. " Go away now, Kenard, and go
from Headfort for a time — you will spare me some pain
by this — and — and afterward don't quite misjudge me,
.Believe, at least, that I cannot help myself."

^* Promise not to change to me then, Ruth,"

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

'* I will promise," she said, with even a certain solemnity
of manner, and again she looked up in his face. ** At least
no one can force me to give my heart, or make me forget
you, Kenaru."

At this moment the voice of Frances Forth was heard
outside the drawing-room door, for this sad interview had,
by Ruth's wish, taken place in her father's house, and
necessarily with the knowledge of Frances, who had pro-
mised that it should not be disturbed. But from the
minute of Scaforths arrival, Frances had been exceedingly
uneasy. She knew that her young sister was deeply
attached to him, and she not unnaturally dreaded his influ-
ence on her heart.

" What if the silly girl were to commit herself ! " she
thought, as she walked impatiently up and down the din-
ing-room waiting to hear him go. " But she will not be so
mad — no, for her own sake she will not tell."

Still, she was very anxious, and as time went on — time
so swift to them, so slow to Frances — the elder sister
began to feel she could no longer endure her suspense.
She went out into the passage, therefore, and loudly and
ostentatiously called out the name of the one maid of the
establishment. Then she noisily turned the handle of the
drawing-ioom door, and Kenard's hands and Ruth's fell
apart as she did so.

" Good-bye," whispered Ruth ; and as Frances opened
the door and walked in, Ruth again looked up in Kenard's
face, and he never forgot the silent misery depicted at that
moment in her grey and shadowy eyes.

" Good morning, Mr. Seaforth," said Frances, holding
out her hand, as she spoke ; Ruth quitted the room, and
Seaforth and Frances were alone. And it crossed his
mind as he stood there, looking at her beautiful, blooming
face, to ask her what ailed Ruth \ what possible cause
there could be for her strange conduct. But Seaforth had
an instinctive distrust of Frances. She had alwavs been
most agreeable to him, and yet he had never really liked
her. He hesitated, therefore, to speak of what Ruth
might wish concealed ; and Frances quickly — for she did
not want to talk of Ruth — began to ask after Beaton, and
show the greatest interest concerning him.
" Did you give him my message ? " she asked.
*' No, Miss Forth, I did not," he answered briefly.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

'' But why ? "

'' I saw no good in doing so."

" Very polite of you ! " said Frances, with a shrug and a
smile.

Seaforth did not speak ; and after waiting for a moment,
expecting him to do so, Frances added :

" Is he going from here soon ? "

" Yes, I believe so ; his mother is expected to-day, and
she will probably take him away."

" To-day ? " said Frances reflectively.

She really liked the unfortunate young man who had
injured himself for her sake, and she wished to let him
know how sorry she was for his sufferings. But she was
afraid to commit herself by writing, more especially if
there were any chance of her letter falling into Lady
Beaton's hands.

" It was very mean of you," she said, with her charming
smile, " not to give him my message ; he and I were great
friends, and I really am so sorry, and I want him to know."

Seaforth cast down his eyes.

" AVhat are you keeping back from me, Mr. Seaforth ? "
now asked Frances. " Is there any mystery about Mr.
Beaton's accident ? Was it an accideiit ? "

" I was told so. Miss Forth."

" If I thought " and then Frances hesitated, keeping

her changeful eyes on the young man's face.

" I have no reason to believe anything else," said Sea-
forth, quickly ; " if you like, I can tell him you are very
sorry about it." -

" Do tell him so, please ; tell him I should like to see
him — only."

" It is impossible you could see him just now ; he is too
weak and ill for any excitement ; but I will give him your
message; and now, good morning, Miss Forth."

He shook hands with her and went away ; and, when 'le
was gone, Frances, after considering a few moments, pro-
ceeded slowly upstairs to Ruth's room, where the girl had
flung herself on the floor in a paroxysm of abandonment
and grief.

" Oh ! Ruth, do not be so silly " began Frances.

But she paused when Ruth rose np and stood before
her, with her pale face full of passion and despair.

"Silly!" she repeated indignantly, "when you have

I \]

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

forced mc to give uj) all I care for on earth ! When J shall
become in his eyes one of the vilest of women, for 1 know
what he will think of me — what he must think ! "

" Jiiit just consider," said Frances, in a subdued tone.

''Have 1 not considered?" answered Ruth, with bitter
emphasis, l)eginning to walk up and down the room with
hasty and irregular footsteps. " I have thought and
thought of this until I am nearly mad ! You have ruined
my life, Frances, and 1 wish you would leave me alone.
I should rather be alone."

And Frances turned and crept away, ashamed before
this deep, despairing anguish in one whom she had be-
lieved incapable of such passionate emotion.

CHAPTER XIV.

A FIRST KISS.

Kenard Seaforth returned to the Fort, after his inter-
view with Ruth, with a moody brow and a troubled heart.
He recalled her words and looks of great tenderness and
love, and yet she had told him they were given for '' the
last, last time." And her unmistakal)le grief and changed
appearance filled him with profound uneasiness. She, at
least, plainly intended that it should be all over between
them ; but Kenard Seaforth could not bring his mind to
realise this.

" I am not going to give her up," he decided ; " my
darling loves me, I am sure of that ; and I won't allow
anything or anyone to part us."

He thought this as he ascended the stone staircase of
the Fort, and went up to his own room, pausing, however,
at the door of young Beaton's quarters, as he remembered
the message he had promised to deliver from Frances
Forth.

He rapped, and a lady's voice called to him to enter,
and when he went in he found a tall, handsome, dark wo-
man sitting by Beaton's bed. This v.as his mother, Lady
Beaton, who smiled and bowed, and held out a white slim
hand, when her son introduced Seaforth to her.

" My boy has been telling me how good you have been
to him, Mr, Seaforth," she said, graciously.

yEZEBELS FRIENDS,

" I hope he'll soon be quite well, now," answered Sea-
forth, kindly, looking from the mother's straight marked
features to the pallid face lying on the pillows. There
was a strong likeness between the two, and both were of
singular regularity and beauty. 13ut there was a sort of
hopeless apathy and wearmess in Arthur Beaton's expres-
sion, while that of Lady Beaton's was calm, lofty and con-
tent. She knew nothing of Arthur's mad attempt upon his
own life, bat believed his injuries had been accidental, and
was proud and fond of her handsome son.

" Will you stay and chat with him awhile, Mr. Seaforth ? "
she asked presently. "• I only arrived an hour ago, and I
want to go and look after my maid, and see what sort of
rooms she has contrived to get for us."

'' I shall be delighted," said Seaforth ; and Lady Beaton,
having kissed Arthur and promiser^ be back shortly,
left the room, and Seaforth was th , free to deliver his
message.

" I have just seen a friend of yours, Beaton," he began,
'• who was making a great many anxious inquiries after you.'*

In an instant the white face flushed, and the thin hand
lying outside the coverlet twitched.

" Miss Forth asked me to tell you," went on Seaforth,
" how very sorry she was to hear of your accident. She
said she should like to see you, but I told her that was
impossible."

'' And did she say anything else? " asked Beaton, with
sudden excitement and passion, raising himself up in bed.
" Did she know what she has done for me — though I am a
fool to talk of it ? "

'' She is not worth it, Beaton," answered Seaforth,
gravely.

" Don't you think I know that?" said Beaton, with ex-
traordinary bitterness ; " don't you think I know it was
only to gratify her vanity that she tried to make me care
for her, when all the time she meant to marry Colonel
Kenyon ? No one knows better ! " And he gave a harsh,
short laugh.

" Then I should try to forget her ; try not to think of
her."

" It's easy to give advice ; people tell the drunkard not
to drink, the madman not to leap from the dizzy height ;
but does it stop them? No, they go to destruction all the
same, and they know, too, that they are going."

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

" But, Beaton, you don't mean to tell me that if you hud
no respect or honor for a woman, that a mere l)Hnd j)as-
sion lor her beauty would make you — well, unhap])y a'oout
her?"

Beaton turned restlessly in bed before he answered, and
then he looked at Seaforth with a face full of gloom.

'* I know I must seem a fool to you," he said, " but —
I've understood, Seaforth, though you have not talked of
it — that you knew what this woman drove me to ? Yet
even now, think me mad as you like, I can think of no one
else, and everything is utterly weary and dreary to me."

"You'll get over all that."

'' Vv'ill I ? T wish I could begin, then. But what's the
good of talking of one's folly ? — tell me everything the
future Mrs. Kenyon said, and how did she look? "

"She's always handsome, you know."

" Handsome ! She's beautiful, she's a perfect creature,
and it's no use saying anything else. And, to think —
good heavens ! it makes me mad to think of it — that she
will be that old man's wife, and that perhaps I shall see
her — but what did she say ? "

" She seemed very sorry ; she has talked to me about
you before, but I must confess I don't think very highly
of her."

" You cannot tell their circumstances," said Beaton,
restlessly ; " they say Colonel Forth is poor, and Frances
told me so ; told me beggars could not be choosers, or
something to that effect. Of course she is just marrying
Kenyon for his money ; there is no doubt of that — but it
seems so horrible, such degradation."

" Colonel Kenyon is a very nice man."

" He may be nice enough, I don't say he's not, but he's
old enough to be her father, and I cannot bear to think of
it ! Did she say anything about writing ? "

" She said something about writing before."

" Seaforth, will you do something for me ? Can I trust
you ? "

" You certainly can trust me."

" I should like to write a few lines to her then ; a few
liaes that no one else could know anything about. Will
you give them to her if I do ?"

" Yes, certainly, if you wish it."

" Reach me that desk, then, like a good fellow ; I don't

JEZF.nRVS FRIENDS.

want my mother to know — nor Audlcy. T am going home
with my mother in a day or two, and 1 should hke — well,
to say good-bye."

Seaforth brought the desk, and then turned away and
went to the window, and stood there looking down at the
misty sea. It was a grey, dull day, and his heart was sad
and troubled. He was very fond of Ruth Forth, and her
unaccountable conduct seemed more and more unreason-
able the longer he thought of it. And while JJeaton, with
his shaking hand, was pouring out his eager passionate
words of farewell to the beautiful woman who had bewitch-
ed his soul, Seaforth made up his mind that he would ask
for leave and go home for a short time to see his father and
mother, and try to persuade them to give their consent to
his marriage ; for his mind had again returned to the
idea that somehow through their influence Ruth had acted
as she had done.

Presently, with a weary, heavy sigh, Beaton told him
his letter was ready.

" Very well, shall I seal it and enclose it to Miss Forth ? '•
said Seaforth, returning to th^^ bedside ; and, with reluctant
hand — as though he did not care to part with it — Beaton
gave him the letter, which Seaforth addressed to Miss
Forth, and sealed before him.

He was still talking of her, this unhappy boy, abusing
Frances at one moment and praising her the next, for he
ever ''fed on love's moody food," though he knew it was
poisoning him, when Major Audley rapped at the room
door and came in, and after exchanging a few words,
Seaforth asked him if he could have leave for a day or
two.

Audley looked at him sharply as he did this, and smiled.

" Yes. my dear fellow," he said ; " when do you want to
go?"

" To-morrow, if I can get away," answered Seaforth. *' I
want to see my father about some business matters," and
he cast down his eyes.

"All right," said Audley, and the conversation ended,
Seaforth shortly afterwards leaving the room, and carrying
Beaton's foolish words for Frances Forth away with him.
But Audley did not go until Lady Beaton returned. His
cool, acute gaze had read some fresh signs of restless misery
in Beaton's face, and he was afraid to leave him. He

jEZEIiPlVS FRIENDS,

guessed the truth perhaps, and thought it very likely that
Frances Forth had sent some note or message by Sealbrth,
and he tiiought also some very hard things of her. He
therefore waited for Lady Beaton, and then went to his
own room and wrote to Ruth Forth. He sat with pen in
hand tor a few moments, considering wliat to write before
he commenced, and tlien wrote as follows : —

" Dear Ruth, — Seaforth has just asked for leave, there-
fore I conclude you have fulfilled your promise and broken
with him. He is going to-morrow, and 1 i)ropose to call
on you to-morrow afternoon about four o'clock, and shall
afterwards speak to your father, and tell him of our engage-
ment. I wish also our marriage to take place soon, to
which I expect you to offer no objections. But we can
discuss this point when 1 see you to-morrow, and

*' I remain,

" Very sincerely yours,

" R. AUDLEY."

The next morning's post carried this hard letter to the
broken-hearted girl to whom it was addressed. Ruth had
been quite prostrate during the rest of the day after her
interview with Seaforth ; her overwhelming grief seeming
to her greater than she could bear. She had not attempted
to go down to dinner, and Frances grew absolutely afraid
that after all she was going to break her promise, and
refuse to carry out her engagement to Audley. And the
terrible consequences of this were quite clear to Frances,
and yet she dare not speak on the subject to her young
sister, who looked like one who had heard her death war-
rant. Nay, it was more bitter th ui death to her, this
rending of her heart; this breach of faith to one so dear;
this giving herself for a price so vile. She had to buy
Audley 's silence by the sacrifice of all that was pure and
beautiful to her ; her love, her tender hopes, her lover's
trust — all must go. Ruth lay there on her bed counting
the cost with dry, tearless eyes, after Frances had left her,
and it seemed to her more than she could endure. She
resolved at length — vain hope ! — to try to turn Audley
from his purpose. She would see him, she told herself,
and kneel down and pray him for God's sake to have
some pity on her. She would give up Kenard — oh, yes ;
she had given him up — she would promise never to see him

JEZEBEL'S ERIEXDS.

ii!.,^:iii, never to speak to liiin any more, if only Major
Aiiilley would not lorce lier to marry him.

Some sort of hope stole into her breast after she had
made this resolution, iiut she little knew the nature with
which she had to deal, and that the pretty snared songster
(if the fields has as much chance of release from its hard-
eyed captor, as it beats itself against the cruel bars of its
caf;e, as she had from the man who held her in his ])ower.
A'ldley had strong passions and a determined will, and
Ruth's sweet face had won his fancy, and he thought her
girlish love for Seaforlh would soon die. Mis letter gave a
fresh blow to her jjoor trembling heart, but she still kept
to her purpose, and determined to see him. She said
nothing of this to Frances, and i'Vances wondered what
had given the \o6k of strength to her usually wistful grey
eyes, and could not understand, when Audley called at the
apjjointed hour,how it was that Ruth received the announce-
ment very quietly, and at once rose and went into the
drawing-room.

" She must have expected him," thought Frances anxious-
ly, and during the interview which followed, the elder
sister waited ujistaii s with a fList-beating, troubled heart.

And now let us see how it was faring with the pale girl
who meant to beg for something that was dearer to her
tlian life. Ruth walked into the drawing-room in that
quick mechanical way with which we sometimes go to meet
])ainful scenes, and speak painful words. Audley was
standing by the window as she went in, and he at once
advanced to meet her with outstretched hand. Did he feel
how chill was her little palm, and note her pale cheeks
and averted eyes ? If so, he made no sign and asked no
questions.

" Well, I have been very good, have I not ? " he said
smiling, " and done exactly what you told me ; so you must
he good in return."

He did not release her cold, fluttering hand, but held it
in his strong, warm grasp, and a feeling of powerlessness
began to creep over Ruth's sinking heart.

"■ Seaforth left this morning," went on Audley, with his
eyes fixed on her changing face, " and before he returns I
want him to hear that we are engaged, and I shall write
and tell him so ; for, of course, you have entirely broken
off with him, Ruth V'

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

" Yes," said Rutli'.s faltering tongue.
"That is all settled then. Come, my pretty Ruth, you
must give me a lover's privilege."

He would have kissed her, but with a sudden and pas-
sionate gesture, Ruth pushed him away.

" Don't, don't. Major Audley i " she said in a tone of
inexpressible aversion ; '' I have something to say to you
— something that you must hear."

" And what is that ? " asked Audley, coldly.

"It is this," answered Ruth, her voice trembling with
pathos and feeling. " I have given up Kenard Seaforth ;
I shall never speak a word to him again if you wish me not
to do so ; but — but don't ask anything else of me — don't
ask me to do what can bring neither you nor me any hap-
piness, what must bring sure misery to us both ? "

Audley did not speak for a moment ; he stood looking
at her ple.iding face, and his l)row grew dark, and his
expression hard.

"Am I to understand then," he said at length, '^lowly,
" that you wish me to release you from your engagement ? "

"Yes, that is what I mean," said Ruth; trembling. " I
can give you nothing. Major Audley — no love, nothing
that could make our lives hap})y ; and why, therefore, should
you wish to marry me, when you could marry many women
who would really care for you ? "

"But suppose I have a fancy to marry you, and not any
other woman? "

"But such a fancy will soon pass away, surely," pleaded
Ruth. " Just think for a moment what it must be to
marry a woman whose heart is quite cold to you — whose
heart is not her own to give ! "

" You mean you have still not got over your little tender-
ness for Seaforth, I suppose.-*" scoffed Audley with sup
pressed bitterness. " My dear child, we all have some
calf-love or other, but you will quite forget Seaforth after
you are married to me."

Ruth shook her head.

" No, no," she said, " you do not understand ; you think
it was only a stui)id flirtation between us perhaps, but it
was not ; we care for each other very much, and surely
when you know this "

" You set-m to forget our bargain, I think,"

*' You mean "

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS. |0

" I mean that I promised to keep that little dangeroui'.
secret of your sister's for certain considerations ; one was
that you should give up Seaforth, which you have done ;
the other that you should marry me."

" Yes, yes, I know ; but surely you will not hold me to
this. Oh ! Major Audley, have some pity — this secret
was no fault of mine, at least — don't make me suffer for
another's sin ! "

The poor girl fell on her knees as she spoke, and clasped
her hands in vain entreaty, for the hard eyes watching her
never softened.

** You look very pretty," he said, as he laid his hand on
her arm, and raised her up, " but don't try these little
thf^atrical poses on me too often, Ruth, for they have no
effect on me ; I know your sex too well," he added, with
a short, harsh laugh. " Now listen," he went on a moment
later, tightening his grasp on her trembling arm, " and let
me tell you once for all that I mean to hold you to your
bargain, or I won't keep mine. Unless you marry me,
Colonel Kenyon will never marry your sister, and I can
l)romise you that Seaforth's people will never allow him to
marry you."

Ruth drew her arm away from his touch, and made a
step backwards, and stood looking at him in dumb re-
proach.

" You must make your choice, then," continued Audley,
"and that choice must be final."

" You leave me no choice," said Ruth, still looking at
him ; " you have no pity."

Again Audley laughed that short, harsh laugh.

" C^me," he said, " it's not such a bad fate as all that ;
many a man would have made it harder."

" It could be no harder," retorted Ruth, with strong
and passionate emotion ; " you may force me to marry
you. Major Audley, but you cannot force me to give you
any love. I warn you in time, our marriage will end
miserably."

'' All right, I'll run the risk; then you will marry me,
and marry me soon? "

"Yes."

" And I wish to be married before your sister's marriage
with Colonel Kenyon comes off. When is that to be? "

*' They talk of it in about a month."

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

" Then wc have no time to lose ; suppose we fix ours

this day fortnight ? "

For a moment she did not answer ; she clasped her hands,
a vivid bhish dyed lier face, but when she did speak her
voice was full of scorn.

" It's all the same to me," she said; " if it has to be,
sooner or later can make no difference."

'* Come, my little lady, that's rather cool, you know, and
you must drop all that kind of thing," said Audley, who
was really terribly annoyed ])y her manner. " I think I
must add anoiher clause to my bargain, which is that you
keep a civil tongue in your head. After all, I think you
might remember that a man must be fairly hard hit by
your pretty lace who is anxious to enter into yoiir family ;
considering all things,"

Ruth made no answer, and for a moment or two Aud-
ley also was silent. He walked to the window of the room
and stood looking out, and a doubt crossed his mind about
the wisdom of his own conduct. Then he turned round
and looked at her again — so pale, so fair — and what he
called love was stronger than his reason.

" It will all come right by-and-bye," he said, crossing
the room and taking her reluctant hand, " unless you are
a very headstrong little woman, which I do not think you
are. Is your father in the house, and if he is, can I speak
to him and tell him we have settled it all? "

" I will see if he is in," answered Ruth, and as she turned
to leave the room, Audley suddenly caught her in his arms
and kissed her.

" There ! 1 must have one," he said, and as the poor
girl escaped from the room she drew out her handkerchief
and violently rubbed the cheek and lips which his had
touched.

She met her father in the hall, for Colonel Forth was
just coming in from a walk, and had no idea Major Aud-
ley was in the drawing-room.

" Father, Major Audley is in the drawing-room, and
wishes to si)eak to you," said Ruth hastily, as she passed
him.

" Audley ! Is he ? What does the fellow want ! " an-
swered the Colonel ; but to this Ruth made no reply, and
Colonel Forth proceeded to the drawing-room, where he
found Major Audley,

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

'' Has Ruth told you what I have got to say? " asked
Audley, r.s the two men shook hands.

" Ruth ? No," and the Colonel's red face grew redder.
"Confounded impertinence," he was thinking, ''to call
the girl by her name." But his mental resentment was
si)eedily cut short.

"She and I agreed to get married," continued Major
Audley, " and I trust. Colonel Forth, you will not with-
hold your consent? "

" Get married ! " repeated Colonel Forth, in intense
astonishment. " Why, I never thought of such a thing ;
I did not know you had any idea of such a thing, Audley."

*' I've admired Ruth for a long while, and now I am happy
enough to have gained her consent ; and there is nothing
to prevent our being married immediately — I mean no mone-
tary considerations — as I have some fortune of my own."

He then proceeded to tell the astonished Colonel that
Ruth had agreed to marry him in a fortnight ; that he
had an income of over a thousand a year beside his
pay, and that he was willing to settle five hundred a year
on Ruth, in the event of his death occurring before her
own, under the condition that she did not marry again.

The Colonel Hstened, absolutely aghast ; it took his
breath away to think of his own good luck ! To get both
his daughters provided for in this easy, pleasant fashion
was more than he had ever hoped for.

*' You have quite surprised me," he said, his sour smile
growing almost sweet. " Well, Audley," and he held out
his lean hand, " if you and Ruth have made up your minds,
I suppose I must just make up my mind to lose her."

" We shall not be very far off you for a while, at least,"
answered Audley, returning the parental hand-clasp.

" No, that's something ; and Frances will be near me
too when she marries my old friend Kenyon ; but still, I'll
miss Ruth ; she's been my little housekeeper, you see ; "
and he began at this moment actually to think that he
should miss her ; for in the complex medley we call the
human heart, there is ever a strong inclination to cling to
that which we are about to lose.

JEZEBEL'S fKlENDS.

CHAPTER XV.

KENARD GOES HOME.

Kenard Seaforth went straight from Headfort to the
country house which his father, General Seaforth, had
taken in the Southern District, where he commanded. It
was a day's journey from the northern coast oa which
Headfort frowns down upon the misty sea. He had tele-
graphed to his mother to expect him, and a carriage was
waiting for him at the station nearest to his father's place.
He arrived home about half-past nine o'clock in the even-
ing, and as he drove round the circular approach to the
house, he saw his mother standing watching for him at
the open hall door, and a few moments later was in her
arms,

" My dear boy, I am so pleased to see you ! " said this
gentle-faced little woman, kissing her son fondly with her
pretty faded lips. Indeed, everything about Mrs. Seaforth
was pretty and faded. She had small delicate features,
pale faded hair, dainty little hands, and her dress also was
invariably composed of either black or soft neutral tints.
Her expression, however, was very beautiful. It was so
serene that unconsciously it reminded you of higher things.
The i)eace which the world cannot give had left its stamp
on the sweet placid face, and looked out of the pale soft
eyes. Kenard was her only surviving child, and Mrs.
Seaforth loved him with an absorbing love.

She put her arm through his as th^ servants wer*^ bring-
ing the luggage into the hall, and together they went into
the drawing-room, where the General was sitting reading
the newspapers. He rose and shook his son's hand very
cordially, and enquired after his journey. He was keen
and soldierly-looking, of some sixty years, and had been a
man of war from his youth upwards, and had seen much
active service in various quarters of the globe. He, too,
was fond of his boy, and sometimes used to boast that

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Mrs
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partak

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

Kenard had never cost him a blush or a sigh. Not that
the General was a man given either to blushing or sighing.
He was a tough old soldier, a bit of a martinet if the truth
must be told, and an exacting husband to the gentle wife
who obeyed him, and looked up to him in everything.

" I tell you what, Lucy," he had said to her, when they
had received Kenard's telegram in the morning, " he's
coming to try to talk us over about thai girl ; but mind,
I'll stand no nonsense."

Mrs. Seaforth felt quite timid, therefore, at the idea of
Kenard speaking to her on a subject on which she would
be forced to give him pain. She talked quickly and
nervously all the time he was eating his dinner, for it was
characteristic of the General that he had not waited to
partake of that meal with his son. Every day the dinner
was served precisely at eight o'clock in the General's
establishment : and he did not break through this rule
because Kenard was expected at nine or half-past.
Kenard's comforts, however, had not been neglected by
the tender mother, and she sat and watched him with
loving eyes.

They talked of all sorts of things except the subject
nearest their hearts, and Colonel Forth's name or that of
his daughter was never mentioned during Kenard's first
evening at home. But the next morning, when the General
had sallied forth on his military duties, Kenard, having
declined to accompany him began walking restlessly up
and down the breakfast-room, where he and his mother
were ; and the timid 1! .le woman felt her heart sink within
her, as she was sure Kenard was about to talk to her of
his love.

And presently he began.

" I want to say something to you, mother," he said
abruptly.

"Well, my dear," and in her agitation the dainty fingers
dropped two loops from the knitting needles of the red silk
sock she was knitting for Kenard.

" It's about Miss Forth," continued Kenard, nervously ;
"Ruth Forth, you know, to whom I was engaged."

" I had hoped that was all ended, Kenard ; your father
was very angry about it."

" But why, mother? " asked Kenard, energetically. "She's
as good and pure a girl as ever breathed, and 1 cannot
understand what my father's objection to her can be."

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

':!

»>

" You see, my dear, there were sad things, said out iri
India about her sister," and poor Mrs. Seaforth lost some
more loojjs.

" But what has her sister to do with her ? Besides, this
very sister is going to marry Colonel Kenyon, of Sudley
Park, who used to command the Lancers you, know."

" Well, 1 hope it will turn out well, Kenard ; it is cer-
tainly a very fortunate thing for Miss Forth, under the
circumstances."

" But what were the circumstances, mother r " said
Kenard, sharply, and he stopped before his mother's
chair, and a delicate blush rose to her faded checks as he
did so.

" My dear, I do not like to repeat scandal, particularly
when Miss Forth is going to marry an honorable man like
Colonel Kenyon."

*' But I think it is only right I should know, wnen you
condemn her young sister for her sake, for I am sure you
have heard nothing against Ruth ? "

" No, Kenard, but your father and I thought—

" Mother, did either you or my father write to Ruth, and
tell her you disapproved of my marrying her? " now asked
Kenard, abruptly.

"Certainly not, my dear," answered the gentle little
woman, looking up in great surprise ; " were we Hkely to
do anything unknown to you — our own dear boy ? "

Kenard bent down and kissed his mother's forehead,
who tenderly raised her lips to his.

" Thank you for that, mother," he said ; " but the
strangest thing has happened. Ruth wrote to me to tell
me it must be all over between us, and she sent for me
yesterday to bid me good-bye ; and though she told me
she cared for mc, that she never would care for anyone
else, still she said we must part, and I could not understand
it."

" Then she has given you up ? "

" Yes — but, mother, I don't mind telling you — it isn't
because she has changed to me, you know ; a man can
tell when a girl really likes him, and Ruth really likes me,
and I most truly love her. Mother, d'ye know I never
would care to marry any other woman if I don't get Ruth ?
I feel like that."

" But you wi n't always feel thus, Kenard,"

yEZEBEVs friends;.

•• Oh ! won't I though ! She's so i>retty, and so sweet,
and so tender ; and I seem to understand her heart Hke
she understands mine. And yesterday I saw her heart was
half-broken — and, and I am miserable about her ! "

" She must have some strong reason ? "

"Of course she must, and 1 want to find out yhat it is.
I don't half like that handsome sister of hers, I can tell
you ; can she have had anything to do with it, do you
think ? "

" I should think Miss Forth would have only been too
happy to secure such a husband as you for her sister," said
Mrs. Seaforth, with some pride.

" Well, then, what can it be ? What was this scandal,
mother, about Frances Forth out in India? You had
better tell me ; I need not say the story is quite ..afe with
me?"

" My dear, it's a very painful story, and was much
talked of some eight or nine months ago at Simla. Miss
P'orth was very injudicious, at ail events, and went cons-
tantly about with Lord Walter Greville, of the — Dragoons.
Lord Walter, who is a very handsome man, was known to
be married, though separated from his wife. At least she
was not out with him in India, but Miss T^'orth must have
known he was married. Well, the affiiir went on to such
lengths that, at last, a great scandal arose, and Lord
Walter tried to get his wife to divorce him, it was said, but
Lady Walter refused. It ended in Colonel Forth leaving
hidia with his two daughters, and I daresay it will be all
forgotten now, especially when Miss Forth is going to
marry so well."

" It is probably half of it nonsense, just Indian gossip ;
and I quite fail to see still why Ruth should be disap-
proved of as my wife, because her sister had a flirtation
with a married man in India, especially when such things
are so common. Mother dear, I am sure you would love
her ; do try to get my father to give his consent to our
marriage ; I fancy, if I could go and tell Ruth that you
wished it, that it would all come right — and, mother dear,
I do care for her so."

He took his mother's little hand as he spoke, and looked
in her face with his earnest truth-telling eyes, and Mrs.
Seaforth felt she could not refuse his request, though she
was in much awe of her husband.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

" Well, my dear boy, I will try," she said; " but you
know your father is very firm."

"Still, 1 liiitik you could persuade him; th.s is her
photograph, mother — isn't it a sweet face?"

Mrs. Seaforth ])ut on her silver-rimmed spectacles to
look at the " sweet face," and her heart echoed her son's
words. It was a womanly, loving, modest face, and yet
there was a dei)th of passion and tenderness in the shadowy
eyes ; eyes which almost looked fated to weep for some
great tragic grief or wrong.

"She is very pretty," said Mrs. Seaforth, gently.

" It isn't even that she's so pretty," answered Kenard,
gazing at the fair i)ortrayal of his young love, with a
lover's enthusiasm, " but she's so nice ; a kind of girl who
has so much sympathy and feels so for anyone who is in
trouble and that kind of thing. And she loves horses and
dogs, mother, and don't they like her; my little Jocky is
always going up to her and licking her hand, and doesn't
he whine when he knows 1 am going to Colonel Forth's and
don't take him."

Mrs. Seaforth smiled and looked at her son, whose good-
looking brown face had tlushea, and whose eyes were full
of tenderness and feeling, in spite of his simple, boyish
words. And the mother understood that her boy's heart
was really and truly given to this fair girl, and she made
up her mind to try to overcome her husband's objections
to the marrii'ge.

" We must see what we can do with your father," she
said ; " and perhaps as Miss Forth is going to marry
Colonel Kenyon "

Truly we who live in this world are of it ! Here was a
gentle. God-fearing woman tainted too, though she had
thought to set her affections and hopes far above its
shallow creeds and thin distinctions. Frances Forth was
becoming white-washed even in her eyes, now when she
was going to marry a rich man and take a good i)lace
among her fellows. Y'^t it was the same Frances Forth
who had been stoned by those who could scarce have
stood the scathing comment of the wise sad Judge of the
human heart, who bade him who was without sin to fling
the first misile at the Jewish woman of old. W e short-
sighted mortals condemn so freely, that the dark spirits
which maybe pass and re-pass, unseen around us, must

JEZEBELS FRIEXDS.

often laugh with malignant laughter as they listen to our
self-righteous words. Mrs. Seaforth's simi)le heart thought
not of these grim problems and unknown mysteries of life.
She but spoke in common sj)eech, spoke as most men and
women do. It was an advantage to Ruth Forth in her
mind that her elder sister was about to marry well, and
Frances Forth's shortcomings were now almost forgotten,
though but a short while ago both the General and his v»'ife
had not scrupled on account of them to try to part a
young couple's plighted love.

And the news of Colonel Kenyon's engagement was not
without effect on the General also. Mrs. Seaforth, with
some womanly tact, did not broach the subject of Kenard's
wishes until she had told her husband that Colonel Forth's
eldest daughter was going to marry Colonel Kenyon al-
most immediately.

" You remember him, John, don't you," she said. " He
was a good-looking, gentlemanly man ? "

" Of course I remember him," replied the General ; " is
he absolutely going to make such a fool of him: elf as to
marry Miss Forth, after the way she's been talked of? "

" Kenard tells me they are to be married very soon, and
he says that Colonel Kenyon has such a beautiful place
not far from Headfort, and that he is a very wealthy man."

" I heard that he had inherited a fortune," quoth the
General, " at the time he retired from the service ; it's a
lucky thing for Forth, I should say, who is a devilish poor
cross-grained fellow."

" It's a very lucky thing, and, of course, will make a
great difference in their position altogether."

" Oh, yes, of course, money always does. Miss Forth
is some years older, isn't she, than the girl Kenard was
after? By-the-bye, has he said anything more of that
folly ? "

" He showed me her portrait, and it's the sweetest face,
John, that you ever saw. But such a strange thing has
happened. She has given him up, and he even fancied we
might have written to her to say that we disapproved of
the connection."

" Then I hope you told him we did nothing of the sort ? "

" Of course, I told him so, but she may have heard
somehow or other that we did not like it."

" Nor do I like it ; of course, it makes a difference if

! H

"i -.Si---

t \

'JEZiWnrS FRIENDS,

Kcnyon is K^'ing to inarry the eldest girl, as she was the
objeclioiuiMc one."

" Yes, that was what I thought, though I did not say
much to Kenard until 1 heard your opinion. Kenard's
young lady is five or six years younger than the future
Mrs. Kenyon, and I remember Mrs. Bartlett saying she
was a very sweet girl, at the time when Frances Forth
was so much talked about, though I dare say it was more
scandal than anything else."

The General smiled grimly

" Does all this mean," he said, '' that Kenard has talked
you over ? "

" Of course not, John, unless you wish it. But I must
let you see her photograph, and I believe the darling boy
is very fond of her ; he told me unless he married her he
would never marry anyone else."

" Oh, I dare say : "

" But he is really fond of her, John — I could see that
in his facc when he talked of her — and he is sadly cut up
ai.out her giving him uj), because he says they are very,
very fond of eacii other. And there are such things you
know, John, as people beinp very fond of each other," and
Mrs. Seaforth rose, crosst the room, and affectionately
laid her little hand on the General's shoulder, and kissed
his brow.

" There, there, you little woman, that's enough," he said,
as he returned the salute. " So I expect this is a plan
between you and Master Kenard, to talk me over, eh?
Well let them wait until the elderly swam is really married,
and then we can talk about it. But it's a strange business,
her being so ready to give him up ? Ten to one she has
another s;rii:g ♦^o her bow."

"Oh, I don't think so ; no, Kenard believes that it hurt
her pride to know that we were not ready to welcome her,
and I like a girl with that kind of feeling, don't you,
John ? "

"' Don't bother me about her any more just now, my
dear ; wait until Kenyon has made a fool of himself in
earnest, then we can see ; " and the General began reading
his newspaper, and the meek wife knew she was expected
to hold her ton<iue.

All the same, she felt that her husband was veering
round, and presently she stole quietly out of the room and

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

«3

went to seek her darling boy, who was smoking in the
garden outside.

Smoking, and thinking brave, tender thoughts. Ruth's
clinging arm^^ were around his neck in his memory still,
and her sweet, sad words were yet ringing in his ears —
" (lood-bye, my love, iny only love." Uj) and down Ken-
ard kept i)acing, wondering what it all could mean. He
was quite sure of one thing, at least, which was that Ruth
loved him, and that he loved Ruth.

" It will all come right ; it must come right," he told
himself, looking upwards at the stars ; and as he did this
he heard his mother's step approaching, and a minute or
two later they were pacing side by side, her hand through
the arm of her tall son.

" I have spoken to your father, my dear, and I am sure
he will give his consent in time ; wait until Colonel Kenyon
is married, Kenard, and then I am certain I shall be able
to welcome my pretty new daughter."

'* And you will love her so much, mother ; she is not a

bit like Frances, you know, but " And so on, and

so on.

And the mother listened, well pleased, as Kenard, "out
of the fulness" of his heart, prattled on about his fair
young love. He loved her deeply, truly, and the thought
of her colored all his dreams and hopes of coming days.

•' Fancy her watching for me, mother," he said naively,
" and waiting till I'm off duty to go out. And we'll be so
happy. I'm always so happy when she is near."

i -r

CHAPTER XVI.

AUDLEY S LETTER.

! ■ M

The next morning Kenard was loitering idly about the
garden, wlien a soldier passed him, carrying the General's
letter-bag. As the man saluted him, Kenard turned and
followed him to the hall door, feeling however only a very
languid interest in the probable contents of the bag.

The General was very particular about his letters, and
always unlocked the bag himself. It was therefore carried
at once into the library, where he was sitting, and Kenard
went there also,

^ JEZEBRVS FRIENDS.

" Here is a letter for you, my boy," said the General,
handing him one from amongst his own correspondenrc ;
and Kenard saw, as he glanced at the envelope, that it
was directed in Audley's handwriting.

He oi)ened it with indifference, but scarcely had \\t
read the first lines when an exclamation burst from his
lips, which caused his father to look hastily up at him,
and to the General's astonishment he had grown suddenly
very pale.

'' Anything the matter, Kenard? " asked the General.

But K-enard made no re[)ly ; he had staggered back a
little, as if the mental shock he had received had reacted
on his body ; but as his father spoke he pulled himself to-
gether, as it were, and without a word walked steadily
enough from the room.

The General looked after him somewhat uneasily.
"Whatever can be the matter with the lad?" he thought.
"Something about that girl, I suppose," he presently con-
cluded, and once more turned his attention to his own let-
ters, reflecting as he did so on the follies young men
commit for the sake of that strange absorbing passion,
which to him was now as a forgotten dream.

In the meantime, Kenard had gone hastily up to his
own bedroom, carrying Audley's letter with him, feeling
that it was impossible for him to believe in the evidence
of his own senses. For this letter, which had struck him
a blow so shar]), so keen, was from Audley, to announce
his engagement to Ruth Forth. The man had written it
with hard relish, for he was in truth bitterly jealous of Sea-
forth, and his last interview with Ruth had naturally
tended to increase this feeling.

Therefore he was pleased to inflict this wound on the
warm-hearted, generous young soldier who had been pre-
ferred before him. Audley was a man many women had
cared for and loved, and he thought himself very good-
looking, which he undoubtedly was. He could not under-
stand, therefore, Ruth's great unwillingness to marry him,
and there was a curious mixture of pique and anger mixed
with his liking. Other girls had wanted to marry him
often enough, but Ruth's coldness to him had only made
him more determined to win her. And now he had won
her (Seaforth little guessed how), and his hour of triumph
had come. So he had lost no time in proclaiming this to

JEZEBEL'S ERIEXDS,

his rival, and witli a strange numbness at his heart, in
which great anger, scorn and contempt were mingled with
j)itter disai)pointment and pain, Seaforth read and reread
the following words : —

" Dkar SKAFORrH, — I've got a bit of news for you, and
so write a few lines to tell you that after all I am going to
make the fatal plunge, and put the noose of matrimony
round my neck. I have proposed for, and been accepted
by, Miss Rulh JHjrth, and the old boy has given us his
])arental blessing, and we are to be married in a fortnight !
There, 1 hoi)e you think we have lost ncj time? JUit I see
no good in wailing, and Miss Forth is of the same mind.
Will you come to the wedding? The Forths, I think,
had an idea of both sisters being married on the same day,
but I thought this was rather too much of a good thing,
and so arranged that my execution takes place first, Col.
Kenyon following suit in another fortnigiit. Jieaton goes
home to-morrow with liis mother, and I think is pulling
himself together again. I trust the General and Mrs. Sea-
forth are very well, and remain,

"Yours faithfully,

" R. AUDLEV."

'' P.S. — If you want furtner leave, let me know in time."

It seemed impossible to mistake these words. Unless
Audley were mad he never could have written them if
they were not true. Yet as the young man gazed at them
with his dazed eyes, a wild hope suddenly rushed into his
heart that it might, after all, be a practical joke of Aud-
ley's ; for it could not, could not, be that Ruth — his dear,
sweet Ruth — would promise to marry one whom she
always seemed literally to dislike. To marry in a fortnight !
No, Kenard would not believe it. He started off, there-
fore, to the nearest telegraph office and sent a telegram to
Ruth Forth, as he felt he could not bear the agony of wait-
ing for a letter. He telegraphed : —

" Is Audley' s news true or false ? Please telegraph
hack at once.''

And he waited at the post office until the answer came —
only three words — " It is true," and as Kenard read them,
hope seemed to die. He sat down and looked so pale
that a clerk in the post office asked him if he were ill, and
brought him a glass of water, which Kenard eagerly drank.
A sharp physical pain had darted into his heart, which

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS

was throbbing violently, and for a few minutes he felt
quite overcome. Then a great wave of bitterness swe])t
over him, mingled with intense agony at his loss. He rose
numb and cold, and after thanking the clerk in a strangely
changed voice, he walked out of the post office and went
into the open air.

He shivered as he did so, as if a chill had struck him.
It was a bright day, and he made haste to get out of the
streets of the little town from which he had sent his tele-
gram to Ruth, and soon found himself in the open country,
the green lanes of which were decked in summer garb.
But everything seemed black in the young man's heart,
and he hated his life as he went along, and cursed the hour
that he had been born.

For it is a terrible thing, a cruel, bitter thing, to lose
faith in one whom we have truly loved. It makes all the
world seem false and valueless, and turns the sweetness
of our days to gall, and fills our lips with hard words and
scornful laughter. Kenard had naturally a sweet and
trustful nature, and he had lived a creditable life, and had
believed in the goodness and purity of Ruth Forth wiili
such an earnest belief that the shadow of doubt had never
neared it.

And now she was false to him, going to marry another
man ; and yet she had told him she loved him still, and
had wept upon his breast and laid her wet cheek against
his. He began recalling the words of their parting inter-
view, and made sure now that she had then been engaged
to Audley. He had to be got rid of, he thought bitterly,
before her engagement was announced to the richer man.
He believed that her sister and father had influenced her
to break her faith to him, and he despised her for her
weakness, even while that weakness was driving a knife
into his own heart.

Easy is it to say we must respect where we love, easy to
lay down rules and maxims ; but a deep passion is as
resistless in its power of joy or pain as the waves of the
great sea, and sweeps on by the strength of its own might,
though we may call ourselves fools for bending before it.
Kenard told himself he was a fool to care for a worthless
girl, but all the same he did care. There was a great deal
that was simple, brave and chivalrous about him, but his
mood was very dark, and he began to wonder if there was

hnn, saw

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

a true soul in all the earth. He remembered with a curl-
ing lip that his mother and father had both lent a more
fiivorable ear to his love for Ruth, after they heard Fran-
ces was going to marry Colonel Kenyon. Everyone was
the same, he told himself ; and why should he make him-
self miserable because he had found out that Ruth' Forth
was but like the rest?

Then another change came over him, and the anguish in
her eyes, as she last looked at him, flashed back to his
mind with such vividness that he began to pity, almost to
fo rgive her. " It is that worldly, wicked sister of hers that
has done it," he began to tell himself, " and the poor child
is as unhappy, I daresay, as I am. I will write to her —
Good heavens ! to let her marry Audley ! — I will try and
stop it at any rate, and if she will let me I'll return to
Headfort and see her ; we had better run away ; anything
than this."

And he did write to Ruth before the day was an
hour older. A few simple earnest words, asking her to tell
him if it were really true that she was about to become
Major Audley's wife, and asking what he had done that
she should change so quickly to him. ** You told me
when I last saw you, dearest Ruth," he added, " that we
must part, but you told me also that you loved me
still. For the sake of that love then, I entreat you to
write me some explanation of this, to me, most unaccount-
able conduct ! I cannot help thinking you have been
])crsuaded by others to break faith with me, and before it
is too late I entreat of you to trust me. Dear Ruth, I will
return to Headfort immediately if you will see me once
morp. Surely between us we can settle something better
than this parting, which is so hard and bitter to me, and I
feel JJure will bring no happiness to you. I shall im-
patiently await your reply, and remain, faithfully and
affectionately,

" Yours,

" Kenard Seaforth."

He waited two days, and then the anr.wer to his
ictter came. His restlessness and anxiety during these
two days was very gr;^:«t, and told both on his health and
appearance. His mother's fond eyes, secretly watching
him, saw that some great trouble was disturbing his heart,

• i

«(„•

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

'. »

i
I

but as he did not speak of it to her, a feeling of delicacy
prevented her inquiring the cause. The General had
told her of the letter directed in masculine handwriting,
the reading of which had evidently completely upset
Kenard, and both parents were uneasy about him. But
after two days of miserable suspense all doubts were set at
rest. A letter came to him in Ruth Forth's writing, and
with a throbbing heart he read words which he knew were
final ones.

" Dkar Kf.narp, — I cannot see you, and if I did it
would do no good. Please do not come to Headfort just
now, when my marriage is to be so soon, for, believe me, you
cannot help me. No one can help me, and we must try
to forget how dearly we have loved each other, for if we
meet again we must not speak of these things, nor of the
happy days that can come no more. I cannot explain my
conduct to you, but believe me, no word I ever spoke to
you was untrue. Try not to think of me unkindly. You
would not, I know, if you knew all. — Ruth."

It was all over then, and, with a bitter laugh at his own
folly, Kenard flung Ruth's letter on the floor. She did not
wish him to interfere — that was plain enough, he thought —
and she should have her own way. He would not go
near to disturb the wooing, and when he saw her again
she would be Audley's wife. That thought stabbed him,
however, keenly as before, and jealousy sharp and cruel
filled his heart with burning pain. He would rather that
she had died, for then her sweet memory would have been
as a religion to his soul, guarding him from evil things ;
whereas now it was a stinging scourge, driving him to
seek forgetfulness in paths his feet had never cared to
tread.

To the surprise and grief of his mother, he announced
his intention of leaving home the same day as that on
which he had received Ruth Forth's letter. He felt, in
f:ict, he could not bear a quiet life with this great unrest-
fuhiess tearing at his heartstrings. Mrs. Seaforth looked
up in his face, and took courage when she plainly saw the
unhappiness stam]icd there.

" What is it. my dear ? " she asked, in her quiet way.
" Has anything annoyed you — anything about Miss
Forth ? "

Then Kenard laughed — a laugh not good to listen to.

JEZEBELS ER TENDS.

' s

" Miss Forth — Ruth Forth, is to be married in a fort-
night," he said contemptuously. *' I've wasted a lot of
time, mother, on a heartless flirt."

" My dear boy ! " and his mother started up, and laid
her hand caressingly on his arm, her eyes full of sympathy
and tenderness.

But the wound was too recent and too sore for even a
mother's love to heed.

" I dare say I am well rid of her," he went on in a hard,
8cornful way, quite unusual to him. " Audley, whom she
is going to marry, is better off than I am, and the highest
bidder always wins, they say. However, there's an end
of it, a;id I'm going to town to-night, mother, and I think
I'll run over to Paris for a change."

She tried to persuade him not to go, but he went,
though she urged him not to do so with many tender
words. He went with a heart full of bitterness, of dis-
belief in good, of recklessness, and a fierce wish to forget
the sweet face, which in spite of himself haunted him
night and day.

And some six weeks after this, a young wife heard two
men talking of him, and what they said made the cold sad
l)ain in her own heart intensify, and its hidden grief burn
anew.

" I bear Seaforth is going to the bad at a pretty quick
rate," said one, and the other answered with a calm smile.

'' I am sorry for that, as he was a nice young fellow ;
something, or someone, must surely be at the bottom
of it?"

And the young wife knew the bitter cause, and her pale
face R;rew paler when she remembered the generous loyal
heart that had fallen in its crushing pain ; and it seemed
to her a sad and cruel thing — a thing which ought never
to hav« been — that he should suffer thus for another's sin.

y^Zi: BEL'S I' K/ ENDS.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN ENGAGED COUPLE.

In the meanwhile, at the little house at Headfort the
event was ])ro{^'resssing, the announcement of which had
driven Kenaril Seat'oith from his home, smarting with
jealousy and disai)i)ointed love. And while he was rush-
ing recklessly into folly, how was it with the poor girl he
deemed so false, and yet whose every heart-beat was loyal
to him ?

On ihe day that Major Audley had asked Colonel
l'\)rlh's consent to his marriage with Ruth, no sooner was
Audley i>ut of the house, than Colonel Forth summoned
JManccs into the dining-room, for the more he came to
think of it. the more surprising this sudden engagement
seemed Ip rim, when he had always supposed that Ruth
was not a little attached to another person.

Frames went hastily down to her father, for when
unseen she luul watched Ruth leave the drawing-room
alter her interview with Audley was over, there had been
sv)niethir.g in her face — something so tragic, so intense —
that Frances telt absolutely afraid to speak to her, or ques-
tion her as to wliat had taken place. But she naturally
fell great anxiety to know the result of Major Audley's
\ isit. and her father soon told her.

•• l>o you know anything about this affair, Frances?"
said the Colonel, closing the door after his daughter had
entered the dining-room. "Audley has just been here,
and he tells me that he and Ruth are engaged, and are
absolutely thinking of getting married in a fortnight ! "

"In a fortnight?'' repeated Frances, slowly," and she
began \o understand now the expression of Ruth's face.

'* Ves. rather ipiick work, isn't it? And to tell you
the truth. I thought it was young Seaforth, not Audlev.
that Kuth fancied? "

"They both admired her." said Frances with her eyes
castdoNvn; "but I suppose she must like Major Audley

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

best, if she is going to marry him — well, it's a good match
for Ruth."

" Yes, but I think they had better wait a week or two.
Suppose they are married on the same day as you and
Kenyon, and then one bother and expense will do ? "

Frances could not resist a retort to this parental speech.

"You ought not to grudge the expense," she said, **on
the happy occasion of getting rid of us both."

Colonel Forth's red face deepened in tint, and he glared
angrily at his beautiful daughter.

" Who says I am glad to get rid of you both ? " he an-
swered, scowling at her from under his heavy brows. " But
you have a most confoundedly disagreeable way of putting
things, P>ances."

Frances shrugged her fine shoulders.

" It is to be hoped Colonel Kenyon will find my way
more agreeable," she said.

It rose in the Colonel's mind to say he pitied Kenyon,
which sometimes he did ; but he also reflected that Frances
would soon be mistress of Sudley Park, and of all the benefits
that might accrue therefrom. He therefore suppressed his
wrath, and modified his tone.

" What's the good of talking nonsense ? " he said. " Of
course I don't grudge any exi)ense connected with your
marriages, and never have grudged any expense that I
could afford for you both. But I'm a poor man, as you
know, and could only do what I could. / nd I think it
would be as well for you to proi)ose to *..udley to be
married at the same time as Kenyon. Ask Ruth what
she thinks about it."

'• Very well ; " and Frances rang for some tea, and pre-
sently carried a cup up to Ruth's room. She rapped at the
door, and Ruth said " Come in," and when she went in she
found Ruth standing with her back to her by ti i window.

"• I have brought you up some tea, Ruth," said Frances,
rather in a frightened tone.

" Thank you," answered Ruth, and nothing more, and
she did not turn round.

" Father called me down to ask — about Major Audley,''
hesitated F' ranees.

*' Yes," was the chill response.

" He has spoken to father, it seems, and said that you
and he are to be married — directly."

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

*^Ycs, in a fortnight," and Ruth did now turn round
and face her sister. " He fixed it so.""

'* But you ought to have something to do, surely, witli
the fixing of the wedding day ? "

" I have nothing to do A-ith it at all. What matter

is it?"

And there was such misery in her voice, such misery in
her white rigid fiice, that Frances felt very guilty and
ashamed.

" I — am afraid you are not very happy, Ruth ? " she

faltered.

'■'' Jiappy !'' echoed Ruth; "I told you before I would
rather be dead ; but it's no good talking of it. He has
fixed it all. Don't speak of it again until the time comes."

"But Ruth, my dear, dear child, we can't do that," said
Frances pleadingly. " It makes me miserable to see you
unhap])y, and to feel that I am to blame ; but we cannot
help ourselves. I am no happier than you are, and the
more 1 see of Colonel Kenyon the more tiresome 1 find
him ; yet of course I am going to marry him all the same."

" We are a nice pair," said Ruth bitterly.

" We are what circumstances have made us, and we
must just try to make the best of things. But it is absurd,
and father thinks so too, to let Audley have all his own
way. Suppose you and I are married on the same day ?
That will be in a month, and surely that is (piite early
enough ? "

"Do you think you coidd ])ersuade him to wait?"
asked Ruth, like a poor culprit grasping at the hope of a
reprieve.

" Of course he will wait ; I shall speak to him, and settle
about it."

"Oh, if he would," and suddenly Ruth flung herself on
the bed, and hid her face with her hands. " I hate him,
Frances!" she cried, "and he will learn to hate me. 1
told him to-day that nothing but misery could come of it,
and nothing will — nothing, nothing else I "

Frances did not speak ; her heart echoed Ruth's words,
for she, too, hated Audley, and regarded his forcing her
poor young sister to marry him against her will as a most
cruel and ungentlemanly act.

" I wonder what he thinks," went on Ruth, rocking her-
self despairingly to and fro. " He must know that to be

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

niarricd to a woman who loves someone else, who is
always thinking of someone else, could only end one way.
Vet he persists in it ; he said -mean wretch — that if I did
not keep my bargain he would not keep his, and that then
Colonel Kenyon would never marry you, and poor Renard's
jjeople would never let him marry me."

*' There is no helj) for it," said Frances in a low tone.

" No, none — but if he would put it off for a little while
— even for a week, it would be something. Jhit 1 don't
believe he will ; he said he would be married before
Colonel Kenyon, and I believe he will keej) his word."

'' I'll try to persuade him, at all events," said Frances.
" Come, Ruth, drink your tea, and I'll see Audley first
when he comes, for I suppose he'll come to-morrow."

Ruth eagerly drank the half-cold tea, for her lips were
dry and parched, and there was a throbbing pain in her
head, and an intense sense of oppression and weariness
over her whole l)ody.

" Kenard will know to-morrow," she said presently,
'• and — and he will suffer too."

'* Oh, he'll get over it ; don't distress yourself about
him," answered Frances ; " men have a wonderful way of
getting over these things — and yet not all."

She was thinking of Arthur Jk-aton, and the wild, j^assion-
ate, reproachful words he had given Seaforth to convey
to her. Seaforth had enclosed these to Frances before he
left Headfort, but Frances had said nothing about this to
Ruth. But they had made her feel a little impatient with
her grey-haired lover. There was a certain vein of reck-
lessness about her, curiously intermixed with worldliness
and self-seeking. And personal beauty was a powerful
influence with her, and j:he admired Arthur Jkaton's
handsome features and gray, soul-lit, ]-)assionate eyes.

*'Ah, why is he not rich," she had thought; and she
had also thought that the two hours which Colonel
Kenyon had sj)ent during the afternoon Ijefore in the
drawing-room had seemed very long.

"1 believe he will turn out very tiresome," she had
reflected, with a sigh, after he was gone ; " he wants me
to interest myself in things in which 1 have ik^ interest —
but I suppose he will tire of it by-and-bye.''

And Beaton's letter had increased this feeling. This
deep love, strong as death, which had made the young

€1

^ n

yr.zEFiEVs F.KiExns.

man's life seem a burden to him, was worth having,
Frances thought, and she began speculating about the
time Jiealon would iH-obably return lo Headfort if he went
on sick leave now, and wondering if he would come to
Sudley Park when she was mistress there.

Therefore, when she wns raiiing against the inconstancy
of men to Ruth, she thought of Beaton, and how she had
blighted his young life. It i)lcascd her to think this,
though she had been truly sorry about his *' accident "
and the sufferings he had gone through. But she did not
mention his name to Ruth. She went on talking of what
she would say to Audley, and settled in her own mind
that it would bt; far the best arrangement for them both to
be married on -i^ s/iuie day.

And she carr- i out her intention when Audley arrived
on the following •'' '^.-1..^. She felt rather afraid to face
him, but she had promi. ." Ruth to ask him to defer his
marriage for a little while, and she meant to keep her word.

Thus, when Audley expected his young betrothed to
enter the drawing-room, to his surprise the beautiful
Frances came in. She held out her hand to him with a
smile, and as Audley took it he smiled too ; but it was not
a pleasant smile.

" Well, I hear I must congratulate you," said Frances,
feeling rather uneasy beneath the bold, light, prominent
eyes fixed on her face ; " that you are to be my brother-
in-law ?"

" It is a great honor to me," answered Audley, and
something in his tone, in his gaze, "made Frances wince
afresh.

" I suppose you mean the other way," she said, trying
to assume lier ordinary coquettish manner ; " but we need
not pay each other compliments. I am sure you are a
very lucky man to have won Ruth, and I need not say I
hope you will both be very happy. But about the time of
your marriage ? Ruth says you wish it to be very soon,
but I want her to be married on the same day that I am,
and I hope you will consent to this?"

" For certain reasons, Miss Forth, I wish to be married
before Colonel Kenyon."

Audley said this with cool deliberateness, and Frances
felt the blood rush to her face in a surging tide, but dared
not say " But why ? "

WW*

JEZEBEL 'S ERIENDS.

"Bui: we botli wish it so much," she fiiltcred, with her
eyes cast on the carpet.

" 1 am, of course, very sorry to disai)i)oint your wishes,
especially when I know tliere is sucii a strong bond be-
tween you, but upon this point you must excuse me. Miss
Forth, if 1 am firm. Rutli agreed to marry me in a fort-
night, and 1 shall exi)ect her to keep her word."

" And you won't be over-persuaded ? "

" Certainly not."

" I am afraid you are a very obstinate man," said
Frances, endeavoring to smile.

" 1 am a determined one, at all events," he answered,
adding a moment later, " and 1 am sure you, who under-
stand my motive for this decision so well, will make no
further effort to change it."

" Very well," and again Frances tried to smile, ^~ t it
was a very poor effort. " I had better send Ruth to ; ou
she went on, feeling that she could no longer end : re I -^
steady half-scornful gaze ; and as she left the room \.. lley
shrugged his broad shoulders, and his smile deepened

" Ah, my fair Jezebel," he was thinking, " you must not
forget I have the whip hand of you ; you must r t.y to
manage me."

And at this moment, with a keen sense of humiliation
and suppressed rage in her heart, the woman he thought
of as *' Jezebel" was sjjcaking to her sister upstairs.

" It's no use, Ruth," she was saying impatiently, and
the pale face she was almost ashamed to look at grew a
little paler, and that was all.

" 1 did not expect it would be," answered Ruth in a low,
pained tone ; and yet it was really a bitter blow, for how
often do we children of trouble hope against hope ? If an
evil thing be looming in the distance, we cling vaguely to
the idea that something may happen to prevent its close
approach, even though, humanly speaking, we know there
will not. And this feeling had lingered in Ruth's heart,
regarding the brief fourteen days beyond which she had
hoped her hated marriage might be deferred.

" He wishes to see you," went on Frances, still im-
patiently. " I told him I thought he was a very obstinate
man, and so he is."

Ruth made no reply to this. She drew a long, quiver-
ing breath, and slowly left the room, and a minute or two

' «i

, ■.

I ! i

: 4

JKZFJUJ.'S FKIENDS.

later entered llie drawing room, where Major Audley was.

He shook hands with her, and then said, not unkindly :

•'So you sent your sister down to me, to try io put (If
our marriage lor a fortnight?"

"We wish to be married on the same da)," replied
Ruth, without raising her eyes.

" And I don't wisli to be married on the same day,"
said Audley; "and Ruth, if you ever have another recjuest
to make to me, don't send your sister to make it ; you
would have far more chanee if you came yourself."

" Will you now, then "

*• Not about this," interrupted Audley. *' Our wedding-
day i.>> ^.xed — yesterday fortnight — and there can be no
change about UiCJ ; but 1 do not say 1 shall always say No
to what you ask me. It will depend on yourself, little
woman, to make me a good husband or a bad one."

Ruth said nothing ; she moved away from him and sat
down on a chair by the window, and Audley followed her,
and laid his hand on her shrinking shoulder.

'* I think you ought to be a little more agreeable to me
when we are to be married so soon," he said.

" Vou have chosen your own fate," answered Ruth.

" I know that very well, but it rests with you whether it
be a pleasant or an unpleasant fate ; I do not always wish
to feel as if I were sitting near a refrigerator."

But Ruth did not smile ; her head drooi)ed a little lower,
and she turned it away, so that Audley could only see her
delicate profile and her soft light brown hair.

He stood looking down at her a moment or two in
silence, and then he pushed some of the brown curls aside
that rested on her brow.

" I wish you had not been so pretty, Ruth," he said,
half-bitterly. " I should not have married you then."

CHAPTER XVHI.

COUNTING THE DAYS.

Very few of us realise .. at each passing momei;t is gone
for ever, though we all know it. It is only when we are
face to face with some great event of joy or pain that we

JEZEBEL 'S FKIEXnS.

(ount the clays first and then the hours. Ruth Forth
began to count tlie days wliich had come to twelve, on the
morning, in the pale dawn, after Audiey's second visit.
Only twelve days I She got up on a lovely summer morn-
ing, the i)ink cloudlets of sunrise tinting the sky, and drew
u]) the window blind, and brought out her little almanac,
and read there the record of days that were gone 1 ;y and
days that were to come. She had to be married on the
second of August, and this was July the twenty-second,
and tomorrow would be the twenty-third, and soon swift
time would pass away !

And the winged hours tied, and noons merged into even-
tides, and eventides to dewy nights ; and then another
dawn stole over the silent, sleeping world, and the pale
girl who was not sleei)ing, who was watching for the
(oming light, which brought her nearer and nearer to an
abhorred fate, saw the rising of the sun with a shudder and
a moan, and hid her face many a time on her pillow to
shut out his rays.

Another day gone ! Ah, reader, have you ever cried
this in the anguish of your soul? *'The noiseless foot of
Time " treading so heavily on your heart that you wished
you had never seen the light? If not, you can scarcely un-
derstand the misery of Ruth Forth, as she lay reckoning
the few days left to her ; the last few days before she was
forced into her loveless marriage.

Even her father, sour as he was, and anxious as he was
that his daughters should marry well, began to understand
that there was something wrong with Ruth.

" I don't understand you girls," he said, pettishly, to
Frances ; " there's Ruth, looking much more like going to
be hanged than going to be married, and yet no one ever
asked her or urged her to marry Audley? At least, I
didn't, and that I can safely say, for I was never so aston-
ished in my life as when he told me he was engaged to her.
What is it all about ? "

" Oh, she's all right," answered Frances, and the Colonel
saw very well he was not to be taken into their confidence.
He, however, gave Frances a hundred j)Ounds to " throw
away on wedding finery," as he called it ; and Colonel
Kenyon, also, slijjped a checpie for the same amount into
Frances' slim white hand.

" My dear," he said, tenderly, when she prettily demur-

' i

JF-ZEBErs J-HiUNDS.

red, "all that J l.avo is yours ■ ,h; • '

there, and Cx^oM^^l ''"degroom <^.c had '^'^"
^nd Audlcy saw this mrl ,> .^ ^^'•'^'^ ^^t^'ivy

not happ, „„,, ,„^ iTim-;']!"'"^ "'"^'"^ -^-^^s oflt ^rc

i »"sh you would look a !;^' '^< 'mpat.fntly f
i am not happy " ,i,,. ""'*■ happier, Ruth ■' ^

A WlSil to mnl'.^ 1

- I wi'sh ^^ 'T '• understood

the devfl ■J^^"'^^^^^— you are not wise P .u '" '"aking a

happiness?" '""' »''" ^O" end vvhat^can brl'"^' ^^-
'' No," answered A„Hi , '" ''""g you no

g-e ^ou tr' f^ZZ "!" •^^' '° «" ke "he b". t"or "^
am not a frc^r^A ^ ' ^^^ can m-it^ ^ ^ ^^ "• I

,,Ru.h dX°o' ?p\",r "r •" "" "'' ^"'^ ^

-'-^--othingyeryba^^V&V-,;-J.

yEZliUEVS FRIENDS.

I am not an old man, nor a hunchback, nor particularly
ugly for that matter, and though I don't think you deserve
it at my hands, when you worry me by looking as unhappy
as possible, still I really mean to make you happy, if I
y:A\\, Let us kiss, and be friends, Ruth — this is Monday,
;iiul on Thursday we shall be married ; so, as I said before,
\()U may as well make the best of it."

lie bent down and kissed her, but her cold lips made
110 response, and her cheeks did not Hush, but grew only
a little paler and colder ; and he, whose love had been
met with love, and on whom many women had smiled,
turned in hot anger away, enraged that this girl's heart
was as hard to him as if bound by bands of steel.

It was in truth bound from him by something stronger
than steel; by something unseen, yet living; an image
l>alpable and potent to her, if naif-forgotten by those
iround her; for never for one moment did the memory of
I he love of Kenard Seaforth leave her, though she was
just about to wed another man.

And the night before her marriage she dreamt of him —
a dream so vivid, so clear, that it ever afterwards seemed
U) her that in the dark dim hours of night his soul, his
si)irit — whatever is the immortal part of us — had passed
away for a time from its earthly form, and had come to her
ill reproach and pain.

She saw him distinctly, and he came near to her, and
looked at her with eyes full of sorrow, and she bent for-
ward and kissed him, and then she heard him speak.

" What ! you have kissed me ? " he said, as if surprised,
and still reproachful, and she answered, " It will make no
change in my heart to you, Kenard, none, none ; " and
they clasped each others hands as a silent covenant be-
tween them, that in their hearts there could be no change.

She awoke with this scene so impressed upon her mind,
its realism so clear, so certain, that she believed that their
si)irits had indeed mr\ and that there was now a bond be-
tween them which dea'h even could not break , and it was
a sort of comfort to her ; some time at least he would know,
she thought, that she was not false.

An hour later Frances come into the room, and the stir
of the approaching wedding began. And the pale bride
rose, and dressed herself in the white shining gown pre-

fflHv

m^-- i

yi'ZEBELS FRIENDS.

pared for her, and the soft tloatiiig veil fell around her, and
she looked young and fair, and was very quiet, and went
up the cnurch aisle leaning on her father's arm, followed
by her beautiful radiant sister, at whose side was Colonel
Kenyon.

It was a very (juiet wedding, and yet the village church
was full, and i)eople on all sides were craning their necks
to see the bride's face, and talked of her, and whispered,
forgetting they were in the house of God. And the bride-
groom? Major Audley, accompanied by a brother officer,
had arrived at the church a itw minutes before the
appointed hour, and met the small bridal party as they
entered, looking smiling and debonnaire, but Ruth never
looked up as he clasped her cold hand.

And presently the two knelt down together, and false
vows were exchanged, and promises whose very essence
was a lie. Perhai)s some foreshadow of evil crossed
Audley's heart, for his expression suddenly changed, and
a hard, almost savage look came over hs face. Did he
remember he was doing a cruel wrong, a id had wrung a
I^romise from the pale woman beside l.ini by unmanly
threats ? If such thoughts crossed his heart, they did not
make him look amiable, but self-shame has a very biting
sting.

But the words were spoken which the cold shadow of
death, or the strain of shame, alone can efface. Richard
promised to take Ruth, to love and to cherish, and Ruth
pro?"nised to take Richard, and so there was an end of it ;
and after the ceremony the officiating clergyman made
haste to get off his suri)lice so as to be ready to go with
his wife — who was waiting for him in a new bonnet — to
join the wedding feast.

For a small party had been asked to breakfast, and
amongst them was the Rev. John Appleby, who was "a
little, round, fat, oily man," who was married to a tall,
gaunt, somewhat grim-faced lady, whose attractions, how-
ever, were of a more solid and lasting description than mere
looks. The easiest way for a man to win fortune is no
doubt to marry one, and the Rev. John Appleby had
wisely considered this, and when he undertook a cure of
souls, was most interested in the souls that we are told
have the least chance of entering the Kingdom of Heaven,
And the result of this was that he married the richest and

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

ugliest young, or rather middle-aged, woman who went to
his church. But the good man knew tliat in this world
we cannot expect everything, and though he liked to look
at a pretty face as well as his neighbors, he was also
;i\vare that a pretty face won't pay rent, taxes, etc., and
])rovide good dinners ; and no face to his mind could be
put in comi)arison with all these things.

He made his choice and he was satisfied on the whole
with his lot. A rich woman, however, is somewhat apt to
remind a poor man of what he owes her, and Mrs. Appleby
was not above this weakness, and people said the parson
did not always repose on a bed of roses. At all events he
had waxed fat, and did not overwork himself, and when
his wife was not near to hear him, had his laugh and his
juke with every good-looking girl that came in his way.
He admired both Frances and Ruth Forth, and had many
a time sung their praises after they came to Headfort.
So they asked him to the wedding breakfast, and Miss
Hilliard and one or two others uere also invited.

And these invitations had been eagerly accepted, and
eagerly sought for. The star of the Forths was consider-
ed to be in the ascendant, and as in the great city so in
the village. There was nothing said now about Frances
Forth, except that nodoul)t she was very handsome. The
women who had sneered at her sneered at her no more,
for they wished to go to the dinners and garden parties at
Sudley Park, and so took very good care not to imperil
their chances of doing this.

And Frances Forth saw the change and smiled in her
mocking way, and tried not to look weary of the noble
gentleman whose heart she had won. It was Vf^y sad I
Here was a man young in heart still, " though grey do
somewhat mingle with our younger ])rown," a man who at
least had retairj^d his early chivalrous feeling for women,
gently fostered by his own love for his dead mother, and
for the fair girl who slept in her maiden grave — now kneel-
ing at the feet of a false idol, and worshipping a woman
whose heart was stone to him.

He in fact wearied her inexpress'bly. His schemes for
their future life, the good deeds they were to do together,
the tea'*s they were to dry, bored Frances to such an ex-
tent that she found the greatest difli<:uUy not to yawn in
his face ! She was one of those, also, who care very little

^EZEBEVS FRIEMDS.

for love they are sure of. Had Colonel Kenyon shown
the slightest symptom of change, Frances would immedi-
ately have been up in arms, eager to retain liim, or win
him back to his old allegiance. But this brave and gener
ous gentleman made no such sign. It pleased him to fling
his heart in passionate prodigality down before her, judg-
ing of her nature from the lofty instincts of his own.

And as he sat beside her at the wedding breakfast, the
guests around saw she had all her own way with the owner
of Sudley, and respected her accordingly. And presently
the Rev. John Ai)i)lel)y, vicar of Headfort, got on his feel
to propose the health of the bride and bridegroom, and in
flowery and verbose language complimented both sisters
on their beauty, having an eye also to future benefits to bt-
derived from Sudley.

"Seldom is it," said the Rev. John, "that two sisters
are so greatly gifted by nature as the fair daughters of my
friend and hospitable host, Colonel Forth. We have just
witnessed the happy nuptials of the younger one, now wed-
ded to the husband of her choice, the gallant and dis-
tinguished soldier seated by her side ; and ere many weeks
pass, Miss Frances Forth will also, I believe, be led to the
altar, by one so well known to us all for his generosity and
hospitLlity, and a hundred other good qualities, which be-
long to our neighbor, the wealthy and noble owner of Sud-
ley Park." Here he bowed to Colonel Kenyon, who
smilingly returned the compliment ; and then the Rev.
John went on with his discourse, and finally ended by pro-
posing the health of Major and Mrs. Audley, to which
toast the company warmly resjjonded.

Major Audley rose to reply with a somewhat grim smile,
and a gleam of satire in his full light eyes.

" My poor words fail mc," he said, ** to reply to so much
eloquence, so you must kindly excuse a bluijit soldier ; but
at the same time 1 thank you heartily for all your good
wishes for my young wife and myself; " and then he sat
down, and after this there was no more speech-making, as
neither Colonel Forth nor Colonel Kenyon felt themselves
called upon *'to make fools of themselves," as Colonel
Forth designated the flowery lang\iage of weddings.

And by-and-bye Major Audley whispered a few words
in Ruth's ear, who rose and left the table, followed by her
sister and the rtsL of the ladies present. Frances accom-

JEZEBEL'S ERTENDU,

«3

par.icd these into the drawing-room, but Ruth went straight
up to her own bedroom, and having locked the door, she
drew out the photograph of Kenard Seaforth, meaning to
bid it a last farewell.

i^ong she gazed at the smiling pleasant face, and the
grey eyes that had always looked at her in love and kind-
ness. Long — and then in sudden and passionate emotion
— she i)ressed it and strained it to her breast, meaning to
destroy it before she left lieadfort. But she had not
sirciigth ; it was beyond her to mar the jiictuied features
that in reality had been and were so dear to her. Again
she kissed it, again looked at it, her heart in her eyes,
murmuring below her breath as she did so : —

•' Cfood-bye, Kenard, but not for ever ;" and with these
solemn words hid it away ; a few minutes later giving the
!')( ked desk where she had placed it into the charge of
iMances,

" Keep it for me until I come back," she said, quietly,
and Frances promised.

And half an hour later she left her old home and the days
of her girlhood behind her, and when P'rances saw the car-
riage disai)pear which was bearing her away, she breathed
a sigh of relief.

" Thank heaven, the secret is safe now," thought the
elder sister; and she thought very little of the wrecked life
and the broken heart her sin had caused.

CHAPTER XIX.

LEFT ALONE.

As Frances turned away after watching the bride's de-
l)arture, she found Colonel Kenyon by her side, who, not
reading aright the grave expression of her face, thought
she was grieving for the loss of her sister.

" \'()u must let me be all in all to you now. dearest," he
said to her in a low tone, and Frances looked up in his
fare and smiled.

"Yes," she answered, softly, and then went back among
thv wedding guests, delighting' everyone with the bright

JKZEryEL'S FKIRNPS.

courtesy of her manner, even while she was wishing them
all out of the house.

At last they went away.

" Delightful i)eoi)le !" said the Vicar with unction, as he
tucked Ins tall lady's long gaunt arm through his short fat

one.

" Miss Forth certainly is handsome," grudgingly admit-
ted Mrs. Ai)i)lel)y.

" No doubt of it, my dear ; and her looks have gained
her a splendid i)osilion. How did you think I put that
litile allusion to Colonel Kenyon's engagement? Not bad
was it, and it evidently pleased him?"

'• 1 scarcely call it an 'allusion,'" replied Mrs. Apple-
by, who liked to find fault.

" Well, whatever it was, I think I hit the right nail on
the head," smiled the N'icar, pleased at his own wit ; " and
it's always well to keep on good terms with wealthy i)eople,
they have so much in their i)ower, and I intend asking
Colonel Kenyon to subscribe to the repairs of the Church,
and other little things besides."

'* 1 ilid not think the bride looked particularly happy,"
suggested Mrs. Appleby, "but of course this \:\ between
ourselves."'

"Only the natural modesty of a young cr.Mture takini,'
so serious a step, 1 think, Ves, my dear, I consider Colonel
Forth and his daughters a decided addition to our little
society here, and I am glad that we ^I'ways ; eated them
with proi)er consideration, for see h^.w well they have
done ! "

And as the Vicar thougiU, so now thought the other
inhabitants of Headfor^. • ''hey had done well,'' and all
the rest — their poverty, the scandal about Frances Forth.,
were forgotten or spoken of only with bated breath.

And as the days went on after Ruth's marriage, there
were rumors in the village of the splendid gifts that Col.
Kenyon had given his ])romised wife ; of the new furnish-
ing of the drawing-room at Sudley Park, and the new car-
riage which had come down from town, ordered expresslv
for Frances. She had ]ilenty of money now at her com
mand, and spent it with a lavish hand even among the
village trades])eople, and they naturally spoke well of her.
Soe liked, in fact, to spend money and to be thought a
great lady, and was generous enough to give, if it cost her

JEZEBKVS FRIENDS.

iiolhing. These were days of triumph, and she liked the
roiirt paid to her, and the dresses that made her more
l)L'autifiil, and all the good things that Colonel Kenyon's
love had given her. Only the man himself did not suit her,
tor between their natures was a great gulf fixed, which it
look all Frances' cleverness not to show.

Her marriage had been settled to take place exactly one
fortnight after Ruth's, and Ruth had naturally expected
to be i)resent at it. But to Frances' great anger she found
that Major Audley declined to return to Headfort so soon.
The newly-married pair were in Paris, and Ruth wrote
from thence to tell Frances she could not come.

" My dkarest Frances " (wrote the bride), '' I received
vour letter telling me al)out your wedding, and all the
i)oautit"ul things which Colonel Kenyon had given you.
llui 1 am very, very sorry to tell you that if you are to ])e
married on tiie i6th, I shall not be able to be present.
Major Audley will not hear of returning to Headfort until
his leave is uj), which will not be until the first week in
September, and therefore you see I have no choice. I
am forwarding my wedding present to you to-day, and 1
hope you will like it. Wc ore going on to Trouville to-
morrow, and I shall write to you from there. With kind
love to my father and yourself,

" Affectionately yours,

" Ruth Audley."

Frances read these few cold, guarded lines, and flung
Ruth's letter i)assionately on the floor.

" Horrid, selfish man ! " she exclaimea, and she could
not even hide her indignation against Audlev from her
lover.

" Would you believe it possible," she said t< aim a few
hours later, "that Major Audley will not allow Ruth to
return in time for our wedding? It is toodi>,.isting, isn't
it?"

" It seems rather odd, certainly," ans' cred Colonel
Kenvon. " I thought it was settled when tiiey went away
ihal they were to be l)ack by then."

"So did I, of course; V<ut it is just like Audley ; he is
odiously selfish."

Colonel Kenyon gave a little shrug and smiled.

'' Vet you consented to his marriage with your young
sister, Frances ? "

I i

i 1

■1;^

\:.\

JE'/EB /■: I. \S I-RIE NDS.

" Yes," said Frances, hastily, who saw she had made a
mistake, *• because Ruth seemed to wish it."

" Well, to tell you the truth. I never thought Ruth did
particularly wish it. I always fiincied she liked young

Seaforlh ? "

" lVrhai)s they quarrelled ; Ruth was very reticent aboui
some things , at all events it was her own t hoice to marry
Major Audley, so I suppose we shall just have to make
the best of him ; but I .un feeling very cross with him to-
day, so that made me abuse him;" and Frances smiled
and changed the conversation.

And if she was indignant about Major Audley's conduct.
Colonel Forth was even more so.

•• 1 don't like such behavior at all," he said, angrily.
" I fully exi)ected that Ruth and he would have stayed on
here with me after you were gon*:, until they got a house
of their own, and now I shall be left alone ! Extremely
selfish of Audley, I must say; and it augurs very badly i«)
my mind for Ruth's future ha])piness."

Frances gave a little sneering laugh.

"Selfishness is a general characteristic of the nobler
sex, you know," she said, " but I must say it is highly
developed in Afajor Audley. However, what's the good
of talking of it ? I should write to him if I did not know
it would be of no use, he :> so obstinate ; and as Colont 1
Ken; >)W di)es not wish to ])ut off our wedding, 1 must just
be married u ithout Ruth."

And perhai)s ;ifter all she was not sorry that Audley'>
cold sarcastic ( yes would not be fixed upon her as she
])lighted her troth to Colonel Kenyon. As it was, there
would bt' no on-j i)resent to remind her of a bitter past.
Therefore, after her first disap[)ointment was over, Frances
went on wiih her ])reparati()ns without wasting any further
time in abusing her brother-in-law.

Her marriage, like Ruth's, had to be a (juiet one, but
F'rances could not resist (widi that taste for magnificenc e
which was natural to her) decking herself out to the
utmost advantage. She chose a wedding-dress of while vel-
vet, knowing well that straight, sweeping lines of rich
m.aterial suited her fine form better than lace or gauze
And the night before her wedding she dressed herself as
she would l)e dressed on the morrow, and came down un
ijxpectedly into the dining-room to show herself, >vhere her

JEZEBEVS ERIEXD!^.

fither and Colonel Kcnyon were silting, both in a very
iimi;il)le frame of miiul. discussing some old i)ori that had
l.iiii for years in tlie cellars at Siulley, but which had been
iiow sent as an offering to his future father-in-'aw by the
Colonel, who was partial to this wine.

She oi)ened the door and went in smilingly, a white
shining vision of loveliness, and both the meii looked at
her for a moment in silent admiration.

" What do you think of me in my war i)aint ? " she
said, in her bright gay way ; and Colonel Kenyon rose as
she spoke, and went towards her and took her hand.

"Well?" asked Frances, with her brilliant hazel eyes
fixed on his face, as if demanding some tribute from his
lijjs.

"Don't flatter her, Kenyon," said her father from the
t.ible.

" I coidd not flatter her," he answered, looking at her
with such tenderness, such chivalrous devotion in his ex-
pression, that Frances drooped her eyes with a little con-
scious blush.

'' Don't look as if you thought I w.s an angel,'' she said,
lialf in earnest, half in jest ; '* remember I am only a fri-
volous young woman," and before he cuuid prevent her she
had left the room.

" She is a grand creature," said Colonel Kenyon, as he
returned to his seat, with a look of great content on his
tine face.

'• She's a handsome girl, there's no doubt of it," replied
iuT father ; " but don't you spoil her, Kenyon ; always
remain master in your own house."

" I could not spoil her, just as I could not flatter her,"
answered Kenyon loyally ; and as he spoke, so the man
felt in his inmost heart.

And the next day, when they knelt side by side on the
very same spot where Ruth had made her false vows two
weeks ago, there was no one in all the world widi whom
Colonel Keny(>n would have changed i)laces. And after
all. was he not to be envii^d I (Ireat luippincss often ends
in bitter pain, for the old primeval curse treads still on the
heel of man, and if we drink the cup of joy, there is sor-
row in the dregs. Rut is it not something to be very
happy, even for a short time ? To rise above the dead
level of our daily life, md touch that higher sense of exis-

If !

! n

JEZEBEL'S PRIEiyDS.

tcnce, that expansion of the soul, which maybe is but a
loretaste of everlasting joy ?

And Hugh Kenyon felt this as he plighted his troth to
the beautiful woman he loved with such entire fiiith and
trust, that no shatlow nor doubt rested for a moment in his
heart. He knew his life had stolen on to middle age,
while she was in her biitlii j-iiinc- ; but even this did not
disturb Iiim. T.ove is immortal, he believed ; therefore
what were a few years more or less between two who
hoped and trusted to share an existence together which
Time could not approach ?

And the bride ? She glanced at her ])ridegroom more
than once, with even a sort of pity in her wayward and
luxurious heart.

'* Toor man ! " she was thinking, ns she saw the raj)!
look in Colonel K<.'ny()ii's face as he made his vows to
her; vows which he thought to be binding for ever to his
soul and hers.

And there were others in the church who in their secret
hearts also thought *' Poor man ! " as they looked at the
grey-haired bridegroom and blooming bride. But they
discreetly kept this mental a])pellation to themselves, or
only murmured it in some trusted ear. '* It was a splen-
did match for her," they said ; and her father's heart
echoed this, and with no small i)ride he remembered as he
saw her rise from her knees Colonel Kenyon's wedded
wife, that h'rances was now a rich woman, and that he had
done well for his children, and that they ought to show
hin; no end of gratitude.

And he shook his old friend's hand warmly, and even
expressed his i)leasure in not ill-chosen words.

" If I had sought the world over, I should have chosen
you for her, Kenyon," he said, with an unusual warmth
and glow in his sour being.

" I ])ray Cod I may be worthy of her," answered Ken-
yon, with the solemnity of deej) feeling, returning his hand
clasp ; and both thought at this moment of the old life-tie
between them, the tie which now had grown so close.

Yet the day did not pass before Colonel Forth had his
grumble, for it was his nature to car]) and find fault with
fortune, and look out for specks 'and blemishes wherever
they could be foimd. The bride and bridegrr)om were
gone, and so were most of the wedding guests, but the

ji:aebei:s friexos.

Vicar still lingered, for he loved good cheer, and did not
often taste such champagne as Colonel Kenyon's generous
hand had i)rovided.

Therefore he was in no haste to go, and began again
tou< hing on the many excellent gifts possessed by the
bridegroom.

" Yes, that's all very well," said Colonel Forth, in that
crusty way of his. "I've nothing to say against Kenyon,
certainly not; but here am 1, left alone."

" That is certainly so," answered the oily voice of the
Vicar ; " the marriages of your two beautiful daughters are
at once a blessing and a trial ; a symbol, as it were, of the
mixed nature of our existence, in wiiich joy and sorrow
are so strangely intermingled."

"That's true enougli," answered Colonel Forth, remem-
bering how anxious he had been for the two girls to marry,
though now they had done so he w;is beginning to be
afraid he would feel very dull without them.

"Still we must prepare our minds for these, I may say,
hai)i)y jKirtings ; as our children grow up around us they
naturally take wing like the birds."

" Humph," grunted the Colonel.

" And, my dear sir, why do you not take to yourself a
second wife, a second help-mate ? 1 am sure there are
many charming ladies whose first youth perhai)s has glided
away, who would be too happy to share your distinguished
name, and might even bring a little grist to the mill."
And Mr. Appleby smiled benignly.

" Not I," answered Colonel Forth, with decision. *• I've
had enough of that kind of thing, 1 can tell you, and
making love to old women for their money is (juite out of
my way. No, I must just put \ip with it ; it will be con-
foundedly dull without the girls, and this is a dull place at
the best, but I must try to get along somehow, for what
can a man do, forced to retire by those beastly regulations,
as I was, in the very prime of life? But I tell you what
it will end in — the service will go to pieces, and where
will the countrv be then ? "

JEZEBEi:ii FRIENDS.

CHAPTER XX.

TWO HRIIJKS.

Colonel Forth had j^lonty of oj)i)ortunity of grumbling
diirinj^ tlio next few weeks, for liis son-in-law, Major
Aiulley, wrote to him from Troiiville to ask him to seek
and engaf^e a house (a furnished one) for himself and Ruth
to go into the first week in Septemljer.

The Colonel swore long and loudly iit such a request.

*' Confound him, does he think I am going to run after
him, or do his errands for him like a footman ! Monstrous !
Why can't he come to the hotel, and then seek a house
for himself?"

He went with his grievance to the Vicar, hut Mr.
Aj)j)lel)y was a man of jieace, and loved to throw oil on
troubled waters.

"fust a young man's thoughtlessness, my friend
nothing more," he smiled.

"He's not a young man; he's forty if he's a day, and
should know better dian to ask me to run his confoundnl
errands," growk-d tlie irate Colonel.

" Let me see," said the \'i(ar, contemplatively \ "there
has been a rumor that the liells wish to spend the winiii
abroad, on account of the delicate health of Miss Juli;i
Bell. Shall I sound the old lady? I shall be happy \u
lend any assistance in my j)ower to procure your charmiiii;
daughter a pleasant home."

"The Hell.^' house is not a bad one, I should say,"
answered the Colonel, somvwhal ai)peased ; and so he was
led into house-hunting, a task trying even to a good
tempered man.

He got one at last, after an incredible amount if
grumbling, raging, and worrying. laickily. Major Audit}
liad not limited him to price, and to give the Vic:ar iii'>
due he was a good natured man, and <lid his best for his
neighbors as long as it did not i)Ut him o-it of his way.
He thought more in fact of the welfare of his rich parisli-

«»'

yEZFJiEi:S I'R lEXDS.

9«

ioiuTs than liis poor ones, for lie IovcmI not unwholesome
alleys ami foul smells.

" I cannot hear to have my feelings harn/.ved," he once
lold his j)ale-faceci earnest young curate, who was striving
wiih all his poor might to keep on the straight path, and
was horrified at the easy self-indulgence of his chief; '* I
am too sensitive to go into painful scenes."

Hut he liked to go into pleasant drawing-rooms, and in-
dulge in semi-llirtations with old, middle-aged, and young
ladies alike. It pleased him to give advice in delicate
family affairs, and he would gently hold the hand as he
plied soothing phrases to the ear. And he was guarded
m speech and wise in his generation, and ho managetl to
j^ct a house for Major Amlley and Ruth, on much better
terms than the irascible Colonel would have done.

And du __, ...e first week of September, Major Audley's
leave by this time being exhausted, Ruth and he returned
to Headfort, and the Colonel went to the railway station
lo receive his daughter. And he .saw a pretty, sad-faced,
woman, whose features were familiar to him but whose ex-
pression was not. An<l, seated opposite to her, was
Audley, and there was a cloud on his brow also. Yet he
met the C'donel jovially enough, with ready ^miles and
oiilstretchetl hand, which h'orth returned somewhat grimly,
for he had not (|uite got over his grudge about the
house yet.

" Well, and how did you enjoy Trouville ? '' he asked of
his daughter, as they stood together on the i)latform, while
•Major Audley was directing his soldier serv;HU about the
luggage.

'• It is a very gay place," v.as the quiet reply.

" Humi)h ! " ejaculated the Colonel, looking furtively
from under his shaggy brows at the sad face by his side,
lie did not like Ruth's look somehow, and felt unreason-
ably irritated against Audley. who presently came up to
ihem, and said carelessly : —

" Are you ready, Ruth ? The traps will follow, and
I've got a cab to take us to the house ; so 1 suppose we
must say good morning, Colonel?"

lie made no offer nor hint of asking the Colonel to
a((:omj)any them to their new abode, at which the Colonel
felt naturally aggrieved after all the trouble he had gone
through to get it for them. Nor did Ruth ask her father

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JEZEBEUS ERIENDS.

to dine with them, or even to drop in during the evening,
which he also naturally e\i)ected.

*' Will you be at home to-morrow morning, father? " she
asked, i)ausing for a moment as Audley was handing her
into the cab.

" Yes, I'll be at home. Will you come ? "

*' I'll call about twelve o'clock then," said Ruth, and
she smiled and nodded as the cab drove away, but the
smile was very sad, and somehow the Colonel understood
his young daughter had a heavy heart.

" Well, how do you think the old boy looks?" said
Audley to her, as they drove on from the station.

"Just the same," answered Ruth. She was gazing with
a far-away look in her eyes out of the cab window, think-
ing how the familiar objects they were jjassing seemed
strangely unfamiliar. The same shops, the same houses
she had passed hundreds of times, and yet they seemed
changed. And as they went down High-street she saw
her father's little house standing in the garden from the
road, and she remembered Kenard Seaforth riding up to
the gateway the morning after the storm, and the very look
in his eyes as he sat on his horre smiling down at her,
asking her for one of her freshly-cut flowers ; and as she
thought of these things she sighed.

" 1 must say, Ruth, you are a very entertaining com-
panion," said Audley the next moment with some harsh-
ness.

" What is it ? " she answered, looking round. " I was
thinking of other things ; I did not hear."

Audley gave a bitter laugh.

"You are extremelv conjugal in your attention, my
dear!"

A pained look came over her fiice.

" What is the good of saying these things ? " she said
gently. " I am sorry 1 was not listening. Naturally
returning to Headfort "

" With all its pleasing recollections," scoffed Audley.

" With its painful recollections," said Ruth. " But it's
better to forget them all. I wonder which the house is
they have taken for us ? "

" Why, confound it," cried Audley, putting his head out
of the cab window, " here we are close to the Fort ! Driver
have you not passed 47 High-street? "

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^-WP*'^'.''

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

" No, sir," answered the driver from the box ; " 47 is the
last house but one on the left side ; we'll be there in a
minute or two ; " and accordingly in a minute or two he
pulled up before a substantial red bri' k house, close to the
gates of the Fort, before which a sentry was pacing on
duty.

" It's far too near the Fort," grumbled Audley, as he
descended from the cab and handed out Ruth, the house
door being opened by a neat handmaiden that Mrs. Appleby
the Vicar's wife, had engaged.

It was a good house, roomy and old-fashioned, and
belonged to a widow lady and her two maiden daughters.
One of these ladies was threatened with bronchitis, and the
chill sea breezes of winter were considered too trying for
her, and they had therefore let their house for six months,
and had been glad to get such tenants as Major and Mrs.
Audley promised to be.

Ruth walked slowly up the broad staircase while her
husband was paying the cab, and went into the drawing-
room, which had an old world look also, and smelt of
lavender and pot-pourri, with which some large china
bowls were filled. A pleasant room, facing the street in
front, and at the back looking down on the green rolling
sea and the brown lagged rocks round Headfort Bay.
Ruth went to one of the windows, and stood thoughtfully
looking down, and, as she did so, a young officer in
undress uniform, with his sword under his arm, came out
of the Fort gates, and seeing Major Audley at the door of
the house, went up to speak to him, and Ruth could hear
their voices from below.

This young officer was a stranger to her, but as Ruth
stood there she remembered that so she would see Kenard
Seaforth come out of the Fort gates ; that she must see him
when he rejoined the regiment, and chat thus her daily life
and his would not be far apart.

She grew a little paler, and sat down as if she were
tired, and a few minutes later rose, when she heard her
husband's stalwart footsteps ascending the staircase.

" Where are you, Ruth ? " he called out, and she went to
the drawing-room door. '' I've just had a talk with Martin,
he continued, " and Beaton is expected back at the end of
the week, and is all right now, Martin says. Well, how
do you like the house ? This seems not a bad sort of
room, but I object to it being so near the Fort. However

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JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

we shall have to make the hest of it, as we have got it on
our hands for six months, and by that time I hope we'll be
out of this blessed place for good."

" The house seems all right, 1 think."

" It will have to do at any rate. I wonder by-the-way,
what Beaton will say when he sees Mrs. Kenyon in all her
glory? " And Major Audley laughed.

" Why should he say anything ? " answered Rutli
coldly.

'' Oh ! " and Audley looked at her keenly, " I forgot you
did not know."

" What is it I do not know ? "

" Merely, my dear," and he shrugged his broad shoulders,
'' that Beaton was supposed to be, and was most awfully
far gone on your charming sister."

" He is a mere boy."

" A mere boy with a deuced amount of love and folly
about him, I can teli you ; but we must hope the lovely
Frances has sown all her wild oats by this time."

Ruth's delicate face grew crimson.

*' I do not know whether you consider that the speech
of a gentleman ! " she retorted.

Again Audley shrugged his shoulders.

" Pray pardon me," he said, " if I have wounded your
susceptibilities ; but I really thought, in the case of Mrs.
Kenyon "

" Do leave her alone," interrupted Ruth indignantly,
and she walked out of the room with hot anger in her
heart ; and thus the first words exchanged between them
in their new home were full of bitterness.

And as the first, so many followed. Ruth tried to be
patient with him, but Audley was angered by her coldness
— coldness which he could not warm — and he was by turns
bitter and sarcastic, with bursts of tenderness or rage.
He had really loved her, and it infuriated him to gain no
return, though she had warned him before their marriage
that this must be. In headsrrong haste he had rushed
into a union in which there could be no happiness, and
was indignant to find Ruth's words come true. He could
not understand it, for he was a m^.n who had a very good
opinion of himself, and he believed that he was attractive
to women, and perhaps had some reason for thinking this.

But ho was too acute not to read th^ feelings of his
young wife towards him aright, and his vanity did not

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

blind him here. The cold duty which Ruth gave him,
however, had not yet at least chilled his love, and the
strength of this made him so resentful, that bitter words
were ever on his lips, which naturally provoked retort
from her.

He vvent to the Fort shortly after they arrived at their
house, and Ruth was free to go over it by herself, and
with a shudder saw from one of the back windows that
they looked straight down into the bay.

That miserable night, the blinding lightning, the crashing
thunder, and the streaming rain, all seemed to come back
to her memory with vivid force, as she stood looking out
at the very spot where the secret lay hidden which had
j)laced her in Audley's power. The choice of the house
had been an unfortunate one then, since it was haunted
with such terrible recollections for Ruth.

'* And he will taunt me with it," she thought, thinking of
her husband. " Oh, why did father bring me here ! "

But the next morning, when she went to see her father,
she made no complaints. She found the Colonel looking
much more amiable than usual, and she speedily learned
the cause.

'• I've had a letter frc i Kenyon,"he said, **and Frances
and he are coming home to-day. Here is Kenyon's letter
— you see there is a message for you in it ; certainly
Kenyon is a pleasant fellow, which cannot be said of
everyone." " ■

Ruth understood the " everyone" to allude to her
husband, but she said nothing ; she proceeded to open her
brother-in-law's letter, which was dated from Edinburgh,
as Frances and the Colonel had been touring in the
Highlands, from whence they were now returning.

" My dear Forth," Ruth read in the Colonel's fine clear
handwriting. '* My darling and I are both anxious to get
home, so we shall be at Sudley to-morrow afternoon, I
expect about six o'clock ; and as you will naturally be
anxious to see Frances, will you come over to dine at
eight o'clock with us, and stay the night? It will give us
both great pleasure if you will do this, and if we hear
nothing to the contrary v/e shall expect you. Has Mrs.
Audley returned from France yet? Frances is very anxious

"Ml

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JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

to sec her, and is looking forwrcrd to having her very con-
stantly at Siulley, and 1 hope you also shall always feel
yourself quite at home there. Frances sends all sorts of
kind messages, and believe me, dear Forth, to remain,

" Yours very faithfully,

" Hugh Kenyon."

''It is a nice letter," said Ruth, softly, as she finished
reading it. " I hope Frances will be very happy," and she
sujipressed a sigh.

" If she's not, it will be her own fault, and I shall have
no patience with her. Yes, Kenyon's one in a thousand,
and that's the sort of letter one ought to receive from
a man who has married one's daughter."

" And you'll go, of course, father ? " asked Ruth, ignoring
the latter part of the Colonel's speech.

"Go! of course I'll go; I've not had such a pleasant
time here all by myself, I can tell you, not to be glad of a
little change. And I'm pleased too that you'll have your
sister so near you."

" Yes, I'm very glad."

" That husband of yours is not over gracious in his
manner, eh ? " now said the Colonel, turning round, and
fixing his reddish-tinted eyes on his daughter's face. *' He
gave me a deuced deal of trouble seeking that house for
him, and he's never had the grace to ask me into it ; very
odd behavior, I think ? "

*'We are scarcely settled yet, you see, and have not got
all the servants we require. When we get them, you must
come and dine with us."

" Oh, hang it all ! D'ye suppose I want any of his
dinners? What I want is, to be asked in a friendly way
into my daughter's house to have a brandy-and-soda,
or anything that's going. That's the sort of thing I like ;
and I must say I think Audley's a cool hand."

Ruth made no reply. Her sorrow was too deep and
bitter to speak of to her father, and therefore she said
nothing ; but after a little while she went up to her old
bedroom, as she wished to see if Frances had left behind
her the little desk where she had locked Kenard Seaforth's
portrait away upon her wedding morning.

The desk was standing undusted on the chest of
drawers, and Ruth unlocked it, and looked at the face of
her young lover with wistful, tender eyes.

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

"I suppose I should destroy it; but what harm is there
in keeping it?" she thought; and when she left her
father's house she carried the desk away with her, and
four.d her husband impatiently waiting for her at home.

Major Audley was in undress uniform, and was striding
up and down the dining room, where luncheon was laid,
when Ruth arrived, and he looked very much annoyed.

'■'■ Where have you been, Ruth? " he asked sharply. ** I
cannot have you wandering about the village alone in this
way."

" I have only been to my father's," she answered.

" Couldn't you have waited until I could go with you,
instead of going out exactly at luncheon time. And what's
that you're carrying ? "

" Only a little old desk I left behind me," said Ruth
with a sudden blush, which Audley was quick to notice ;
and she put the desk down on a side table as she spoke.

" You need not have brought a shabby thing like that ;
I'll give you a new desk if you want one."

" Oh, this will do very well."

" One of the most remarkable things about you, Ruth, is
that though all the other women I have ever known like
gifts, you seem perfectly indifferent about them. But
perhaps this elegant article," and he took up the little
desk with a contemptuous gesture, ''is associated with
some tender recollections ? "

" Frances gave it to me long ago, on my birthday," said
Ruth nervously arid quickly. " My father has had a letter
from Colonel Kenyon this morning," she added, "and
they will be at Sudley this evening, and father is going to
dine there, and stay all night."

" Very pleasant for the Colonel to have such a hos-
pitable son-in-law."

"They are old friends."

" And how is the lovely Mrs. Kenyon ? " '

A servant brought in a hot dish for lunch at this
moment, and so the conversation ended ; but Audley
noticed that after the meal was over Ruth carefully carried
her desk from the room, and he determined some day
to examine its contents.

He took her out to drive during the afternoon, and,
as they were returning from a somewhat dreary round,
when then entered High-street they encountered Colonel

^,H

li"

9«

JEZEBErS ERIENDS.

Forth, who was about to start for Sudley to welcome his
daughter on her arrival there.

" Ah, Audlcy," said the Colonel, coolly enough, " been
out for a drive, eh? I'm just off to Sudley, as Kenyon
lias invited me to go and si)end the first evening with my
daughter in her new home."

Audley smiled grimly, for he quite understood the
Colonel's hint.

" Give my best love to Frances," said Ruth ; " I shall
go to see her very soon."

" You'll always be welcome, that's one thing I can
promise you ; Kenyon is a hospitable fellow if there ever
was one."

" Well, we shall not keep you any longer from his hos-
pitality, then," said Audley, with a smile, w^hich looked
very like a sneer. " Good-day, Colonel," and he nodded
and drove on, leaving his father-in-law no better pleased
with him than he was before.

But if one daughter's husband was not satisfactory in
the Colonel's eyes, the other was eminently so. When he
reached Sudley, the owner and his bride had not yet
arrived, but were momentarily expected. And as the car-
riage which bore them home appeared in sight, the Colonel
went into the courtyard to receive them.

*' See, dearest, there is your father," said Colonel Ken-
yon, bending out of the window and greeting his old friend
with kindly smiles. " Thank you, P'orth, for being here
to meet us," he continued, as he got out of the carriage
and warmly shook Forth's hand ; " it has made it more
than ever like coming home to Frances to find you here."

" Very glad to see you both again," answered Colonel
F'orth, as he presented his red face to his daughter to kiss,
who just touched it for a moment smilingly with her rosy
lips.

*' How is Ruth ? " she asked.

" Oh, all right, I think; but she doesn't look so well as
you do ; no, confound it, she doesn't ! "

iM-ances was in truth looking her very best. The air of
the Scottish hills had brightened her always beautiful skin,
and she had felt no small pride and pleasure in entering
the park surrounding the stately home of which now she
was the mistress.

"After all.'' she reflected, ** I have not done badly;'
and while Colonel Kenyon was speaking tender words.

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

which their home-coming naturally called forth, of long
years to be spent in happiness together, Frances was plan-
ning entertainments, in which the thought of her husband
had no place.

But he did not know this. To all outward seeming she
was loving, hajipy and content, and so in very truth was
the generous heart of the man by her side, for he saw no
fault in her ; to him her beautiful form was a fitting dwell-
ing-place for her soul.

And no shadow nor foreboding of coming ill lay athwart
his threshold as he crossed it on the bright September
evening that he brought home his fair wife. The sun was
setting behind the dark belt of lofty trees to the west of
the Park, that those who had borne his name before him
had reared and ])lanted \ and some of the golden beams
glinting through the foliage fell on her bright hair, light-
ing it with rays of glory just as they entered the house.

It seemed like a good omen of the days to come ; the
days when she, who walked so proudly in, was for the first
time to bring dishonor under the roof-tree.

CHAPTER XXI.

CALLING ON THE BRIDE.

When Frances came down to breakfast the next morning,
she announced in her bright lively way that she intended
driving at once into Headfort to call on Ruth.

*' Shall I drive you, then ? " asked Colonel Kenyon, look-
ing at her smilingly.

" Will you ? " she answered. " Of course, I should like
that awfully, but I thought perhaps that you two " (and
she glanced at her father) " would be going partridge
shooting this morning? "

" Should you like a day's shooting. Forth ? " asked
Colonel Kenyon. *' Because Palmer will go with you if
you VkTouId, and he tells me the birds are strong and plenti-
ful ; but I must look after this young lady, I think," and
again he looked at Frances.

" Well, I think I would like to have a shy at them ; but
can't you wait until the afternoon to go into Headfort,
Frances ? " said her father.

100

JKZEBEi:'^ FRIENDS,

" No," she answered, in her j)retty manner. " I am
(lying to see Ruth, and dying to show my new carriage
and ])onies to llie envious inluiljitants."

" Silly girl," said her Juisband, fondly.

She hiughed, and when breakfast was over went into the
conservatory, wliich was at tlie right side of the house, and
cut some of the choicest flowers to take to Ruth.

" Tell them to get me some fruit too," she told her hus-
band ; and when the carriage came round he was waiting
for her in the hall as she descended the stair-case, ready to
drive her to Headfort.

'* 1 have told them to put two brace of partridges in the
carriage also for Mrs. Audley," he said, kindly ; "is there
anything else, dear, you should like to take to your sister? "

He was always like this — so thoughtful and considerate,
and Frances ought to have felt that she was a lucky
woman, and perhaps did feel so as they entered Head-
fort, and drove down High-street, passing the little house
in the garden, where she had suffered so much. And their
arrival created quite a sensation in the small place, which
doubtless pleased Frances, who loved to be envied and
admired, and sat proudly conscious that everyone they
l)assed was looking at them, and commenting on her new
carriage, her i)onies, and her good looks.

The ponies were in truth a splendid pair, and Frances,
who was a fair whip, though of late she had had nothing
to drive, intended to begin again, and was delighted with
these beautiful bays ; and when the Colonel pulled up at
No. 47, she was looking as pleased and happy as it was
possible for a woman to look.

And Ruth from her window saw this, and a sweet glow
stole over her fair face.

" At least she is hai)j)y," she thought softly ; " it has not
been all thrown away, then ; her life is safe."

She ran into the hall to meet Frances, and flung her arms
round her, and kissed her fondly.

*' Fmso pleased to see you, dear — oh ! so pleased," she
murmured, with her cheek against her sister's.

" And I have brought my good man with me," said
Frances gaily, for the Colonel was still outside talking to
his groom, and examining the ponies ; " and look what
sweet flowers, and there is some game and some fruit in the
carriage for you."

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"An(

brightb

looked

door of

" Wh

venient

"He

" Per

" Do yc

to stay

"Isn't s

"You

"At t

noticed

husband

" I te:

" suppos
over to-r
ing to-m(
yourselv
tridges ?
" Very
hesitated

yEZEIiEVS FRIENDS.

tot

" How kind you are, clear ;" and tlie sisters went to-
wj ds the street door together, and met Colonel Kenyon
bringing in the jjartridges. •

*' Well, my dear," he said, shaking Ruth's hand warmly,
" and how are you getting on, and ho'7 is Audley ? "

" He is very well," she answered, and she cast down her
eyes.

''And how do you think my young lady is looking ? "
went on the genial Colonel, with a tender light in his eyes
as they fell on his handsome wife.

" As well as she could look," said Ruth, now affection-
ately regarding Frances' lovely face; "but we must not
flatter her too much. Colonel, or we shall turn her head."

" You must cr.ll him '■ Hugh ' now, my dear," said
Frances, puttini; her hand on her young sister's shoulder.

''Must I?" ^

" Yes, unless you think me too old," smiled Colonel
Kenyon.

" Oh, no, no," said Ruth, quickly; " I am happy to call
you Hugh — oh so happy ! " And she turned her head
away to hide the moisture which had stolen to her eyes.

"And now let us go over your castle," suggested Frances,
brightly; "it's a jolly house, isn't it, Hugh?" And she
looked round and then walked into the dining room, the
door of which was open, and went to one of the windows.

" Why, it's close to the Fort ? " she said. " How con-
venient for Audley ! "

" He thinks it too near."

" Perhaps " — began Frances, and then she stopped.
" Do you know, Ruth, you are going back to dinner, and
to stay all night with us ? " she added a moment later.
"Isn't she, Hugh?"

" You know I hope she will ; but where is Audley ? "

" At the Fort," answered Ruth ; and again the Colonel
noticed that the young wife's eyes fell at the mention of her
husband's name.

" I tell you what, my dear," went on Colonel Kenyon,
" suppose you and Audley dine with us to-night and stay
over to-morrow, and then Audley will get a day's shoot-
ing to-morrow, and you and Frances a nice gossip all to
yourselves, when we men are pottering away at the par-
tridges ? Should you like that ? "

" Very, very much, if Major Audley " and Ruth

hesitated and slightly blushed.

toft

y/r/./'.iiK/.'s /h'l/'NDs.

" Of course Aiidlcy will lik- it I " cried Frances. " 'I'he
jjartriilges will fetch him; you may trust a man in one
thing, my dear, which is never to miss a day's shooting
when he can get it."

" Come, don'l be so liard on us ]H)or men," said Ken-
yon, with a ready laugh; " I'll go over to the Fort now,
and hunt uj) Audley and settle with him about coming ;
I dare sav you two have lots to say to each other," and he
nodded kindly and went away.

The sisters looked at each other after he was gone, and
Frances went up to Ruth and took her hand.

" Well," she said, "and how do you get on with him? "

" As well as 1 expected," answered Ruth gravely ; " but
do not let us tnlk about it; tell me about yourself — you
are very hai)py? "

Frances gave one of her pretty shrugs.

" I have everything a reasonable woman could require,"
she said brightly; "i)lenty of money, a good home, yes
everything — only you know, my dear ! " And again slie
gave a little shrug.

" Oh ! Frances, you have everything indeed ! " said
Ruth, earnestly. ** Colonel Kenyon is the best and kind-
est of men."

" So he is ; he lets me have all my own way, and he
gives me whatever I ask. Still "

" He is so unselfish, so thoughtful ; I am so glad, dear,
you have been so lucky, so happy."

" Happiness, my dear," said Frances, throwing back her
head, " is a possession we must learn to live without in this
tiresome world. It means too much — more than I have —
though I think you believe that I have everything."

" I do, indeed."

*' All right then, go on believing it ; I have everything,
as I said before, that a reasonable woman could want ;
unfortunately, I suppose, I am an unreasonab's one, and
J cannot help myself."

She went to one of the windows of the room as she spoke,
and stood looking out for a moment or two in silence, and
then turned quickly round.

" By-the-bye," she said, " have you heard anything about
poor Beaton since you have got home ? "

*' Major Audley told me he was expected back at the end
of this week, and that he is all right now."

JEZEIiEVS FRIENDS,

103

" Ah — how funny it is to hear you rail your hu .'. . d
Major Audlcy ! Do you always do so ? "

'* No," and Ruth bhishcd ; " he tohl nic to call him
Richard ; but somehow I always speak of him to other
l)eople as Major Audley."

** It sounds very quaint. And so Beaton is coming
back ; I shall be glad to see him aj^ain."

Ruth said nothing ; she was remembering her husband's
cohiaients on the subject.

"Here is Hugh, and Audley himself!" now cried
Frances, who had turned again to the window. " Really
Audley is a fine-looking man— almost handsome."

A moment or two later she was shaking hands with him,
and smiling \x\) in his fiice.

"1 have just bjcn admiring you out of the window,"
she said gaily ; "haven't I, Ruth ? "

" So you said," answered Ruth.

•' Ruth takes very good care never to admire me, at all
events," remarked Audley as if half in jest.

" She is afraid of making you vain," said Frances ; " but
you are going to be v y good, are you not, Major Audley,
to-day? "

"To be good is not my role^ I fear."

" There are exceptions to every rule, you know, and
however bad you are in general, you are going to be good
to-day. You are coming to dine at Sudley, and stay over
to-morrow, and shoot no end of partridges."

" Who could refuse such an invitation from such charm^
ing lips? I shall be delighted."

" There, Ruth, isn't he good now? And what news is
there at the Fort ? Any of the old men we used to know
back again ? "

" Beaton is back," said Audley, fixing his bold, smiling
eyes on her face.

"That is the £,ood-looking young fellow who had the
accident? Oh, I remember him quite well. So he is
back?"

" Yes, he came last night ; his beauty isn't improved by
being ploughed by a bullet though, and he's lost half an
ear." '

" Oh, poor fellow ! "

" I've just seen him, Frances," now said Colonel Ken-
yon, who had been standing by, an amused listener to the

^fjp I

I04

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

conversation between his wife and Aiidley.^ '' He seems a
very gentlemanly youn^ fellow. 1 asked him to come over
and see us some day."

" And is he coming ? " asked Frances, with interest.

" He said he was scarcely strong enough yet to go about,
but I daresay he'll cast uj)."

" No doubt he will," said Audley, and again he looked
smilingly at Frances.

" He is a nice boy. I am glad he has got well, even if
his good looks are gone ; and now, Hugh," continued
Frances, turning to her husband, "don't you think we
should consider the ponies? Have you looked at them,
Major Audley? They are such a lovely pair, and he
bought them for me I " And she smiled and nodded at
Colonel Kenyon.

'^ He is a happy man to have the privilege of buying for
you."

" What a pretty speech ! Hugh, do you hear ? My
brother-in-law is saying such nice things, you ought to be
jealous. Well, come and look at the ponies, for I am
most awfully proud of them."

They went out to admire the ponies, and Frances was
charming and gay, but Ruth very quiet.

" My dear," said Colonel Kenyon, as they drove from
47 High street, " I'm afraid the little sister does not look
over bright."

" Do you think not ? " answered Frances. " Well, you
know I always thought Major Audley looked like a selfish
man."

'' I cannot understand why she married him."

'' One never can account for these things ; she may see
something in him that we don't ! "

" That is quite true ; but I hope he will be good to he'-;
and at all events, dear, she has you to fall back upon."

" Yes, and you will be always kind to her, I know."

And while Frances and her husband were speaking thus,
Ruth and Audley were talking of them.

" Certainly your sister looks remarkably well," Audley
said, as together they re-entered their house, after admir-
ing the ponies, and when the owners of the ponies had
driven away.

" Yes, I never saw her look better," answered Ruth.

" She really is a wonderful woman," continued Audley,

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

105

Striking a match to light a cigarette ; " and old Kenyon
seems a most devoted spouse. Ah, well, so wags the
world 1 "

■• ••'

1 r.

-IM

CHAPTER XXII.

THE RETURN VISIT,

Though it pleased Audley to scoff and jest at Frances*
expense when she was not by, in her own house his
manner was very different. He drove Ruth over to
Sudley in time for dinner, as he had promised, the same
day Colonel Kenyon ?,nd his wife had called upon them
at Headfort, and thus Colonel Forth and his two daughters
were again under the same roof

They all three thought this, perhaps, as they sat round
Colonel Kenyon's hospitable board, Frances doing the
honors of the table with a grace and sprightliness which
delighted the kindly host, whose eyes often rested on her
lovely face with tender pride.

For Frances was doing her best to be charming, as she
meant to disarm the smiling, cynical man who knew her
secret, and who looked at her sometimes in a way that
reminded her of this fact, though his words were ever
smooth. And so wonderful is the power of flattery on
the human heart, that though Audley knew very well that
Mrs. Kenyon was flattering him, and why she was doing
it, yet it subtly influenced him in her favor, and he began
to wonder less at what he had hitherto thought and spoken
of as " an infatuation on the part of the young fool " who
had so nearly died for her sake.

" I want you to make me a promise, Major Audley,"
said Frances, smiling at him ; Frances, dressed to perfec-
tion, looking in his face with her shining eyes, and bending
her shapely head close to his.

" Don't ask me anything I cannot do, then, for it would
overwhelm me to refuse," he answered, amused.

" It is that you will try to feel really like a brother to
me — really, you know — and that you will come here, and
bring Ruth here just as if it were your sister's house,
which of course it is." .

rU:

j f

tit

: i

Ic6

yEZEBEVS PklENDS.

"With the cold, hard words 'in-law,' unfortunately
added."

"We shall drop the 'in-law.' Please call me Frances,
and as you are one of the family now, I wish you to feel
quite at home here."

" You are more than good I do not think I dare pre-
sume to call you Frances, though."

" But whv ? "

" I have a reasonable desire to prolong my days, and I
fear Colonel Kenyon would shoot me."

" You vain man ! Do you think yourself so fascinating
that everyone must needs be jealous of you ? "

" I think it but a natural feeling in the husband of so
beautiful a woman."

" Are these the pretty things you used to whisper so
softly in Lady Hastings' ears? "

"You think they are part of my stock-in-trade, then?
By-the-bye, I must look Lady Hastings up. She'll be
calling on you, of course ? "

" I suppose so," said Frances, with a little shrug j "and
I shall be an amiable sister, and ask you to meet her, and
flirt with stout little Sir James ! "

" That would be cruel. You might disturb his serenity,
and he is really a worthy little man ; a most obliging
husband."

" What a sarcastic creature you are ! I shall begin to
be afraid of you."

" You need not be," and Audley looked straight in her
face with an expression which caused Frances to drop her
bright eyes, for she understood the covert meaning that be
meant to convey to her.

Yd she said nothing of this to Ruth when they returned
to the drawing-room together. It was a clear, fine night,
and Frances opened one of the windows, and went out on
the terrace in front of the house, and Ruth put her arm
through her sister's and they walked up and down dis-
cussing many things — the capabilities of their houses,
their servants, their horses, but not speaking of their
husbands, nor of the secrets of their hearts.

And presently the three nievi joined them, and stood
smoking and chatting, and a looker-on would have said a
happy family group was presented to his gaze. Yet there
was but one amongst these five content, and this was the

genia
was c
stanc
— we
there
l)itter
vanis

i I

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

107

genial, qjenerous-minded host. Colonel Forth's discontent
was chronic, and therefore unreasonable under the circum-
stances ; but the other three — Audley, Frances, and Ruth
— were each thinking of his or her grievance, as they stood
there in the still night. But "the heart k.ioweth its own
l)itterness," and we laugh and smile over dead hopes and
vanished joys.

Soon after breakfast next morning, the men went out
with their guns, and Frances retired with her maid to
consider enchanting tea-gowns, gorgeous dinner-gowns,
and other feminine attractions and vanities. It was a
bright day, and the sun tempted Ruth out into the
grounds, and she crossed the well-kept lawn, and went on
with bent head, thinking of the past. And it was but
natural that the never-to-be-forgotten hours that she had
spent here on the afternoon of Colonel Kenyon's garden
party, when Kenard Seaforth had first spoken of his love,
should now recur to her mind with vivid distinctness.
Brief time had passed since then, yet it seemed to Ruth as
though years of anguish had dragged their slow course
over her breast since she had met Audley by the field )f
uncut corn, and he had told her that all her fond hopes
must "nd.

They had ended, and she was Audley's wife, and all
that had made her life worth living for had passed away.
It was unutterably weary to her ; a life of constant struggle
and revolt against the fate he had forced her to accept,
the bitterness of which was not lessened by each passing
day.

And Audley saw this, and it chafed him so keenly that
it made his tongue bitter and his ways hard, even tyran-
nical. He should have got on better with Frances, who
would have understood how to humor him, and have flat-
tered him with pleasant words, which, though he might
not have trusted them, v/ould still have been pleasing to
his ears.

But Ruth made no pretense of affection she did not feel.
She gave him cold duty, nothing more, and avoided quar-
relHng with him if she could, though many a time he stung
her to retort. No happiness had come of this marriage,
and she had warned him that none could come. His
heart was bitter with disappointment, hers overshadowed
by a great regret.

\ j I

io8

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

And thinking of these things, she went on to the green
and shadowy wood, beneath whose shade Kenard's first
kiss had pressed her h"ps. She reached the spot where
they had sat together, dreaming as pure and sweet a
dream of love as ever, stirred the hearts of youth and
maiden. We know how these sweet hopes ended, for her
in cruel shame and pain; for him in bitter anger and
disappointment.

" And we might have been so happy," she sighed, " we
were so happy — it is too sad, too sad."

vShe leaned her head against the trunk of a tree as she
thought this; a tree on which she remembered he had
rested his hand, and something like a prayer — a prayer
for him — faltered on her lips.

" But Frances is happy ; Frances is safe," she reflected
a few minutes later ; '* it is useless to regret," and she laid
her face against the tree, kissed it, and turned away ; and
as she re-entered the grounds she met Frances, who was
looking for her.

" My dear, wherever have you been ? " said Frances.
" I have ordered the ponies, and want you to go with me
into Headfort, for some things that Jones requires."

"Without Colonel Kenyon?" asked Ruth.

" Do we need Colonel Kenyon to help us to choose
some reels of colored thread ? " answered Frances, with a
light laugh. "My dear, do not be stupid."

" I only thought that perhaps he might like to go with
you after lunch."

" But then you see I like to go without him before lunch,
and so make Jones and her reels the excuse. In fact, I
want a little change, and it will be jolly you and me going
together. I wonder if we shall meet any of the men from
the Fort ? "

" But are you not afraid to drive the ponies ? " said
Ruth, after a moment's silence.

" Not a bit ; the groom will be with us. What harm can
come to us?"

Ruth made no further objections, and presently the two
sisters went into the courtyard, where they found the
carriage and the j)onies waiting for them. Frances was
rather proud of her driving, though she had had very little
practice of late ; and they speedily found themselves pass-
ing swiftly along the roadways, and before long they

JEZEBKL 'S FRIENDS.

109

reached Headfort, Frances driving rapidly down High-
street, and pulling up at the small linen draper's shop that
was situated in its midst.

As she gave the reins to the groom, both she and Ruth
recognised at the same moment a tall, slender figure in
undress uniform, who was advancing towards them. It
was young Beaton ; but when he saw Frances, his pale,
handsome fiice, with the deep scar across his cheek, sud-
denly flushed, and then grew white. He stopped, hesitated,
and was about to turn back, so as to avoid meeting her,
when Frances jumped lightly from the carriage, and went
forward towards him with outstretched hand.

" How are you? I am so glad we have met you," she
said ; "Major Audley told us you were back."

But Beaton could find no words to answer her. He was
painfully agitated, and the rush of feelings, which swept
like a whirlwind through his heart, made him dumb. But
he took her hand, and looked at the beautiful face which
had already cost him so dear, and Frances saw there was
no change in his dark grey eyes.

" You know Ruth — Mrs. Audley," she went on a little
nervously, turning back towards the carriage, in which
Ruth was still seated. '' We have come on a shopping
expedition, and I assure you it is a wonder our necks are
not broken, for I have never driven these ponies before."

Beaton went up to Ruth, and tried to say a few com-
mon-place words, and Ruth felt sorry for him, and spoke
to him gently and kindly.

" Ruth, my dear, do go like a good creature, and get
me some colored threads," now said Frances ; " I hate
so going into these little poky shops, and Mr. Beaton will
stay and chat with me until you come out." And she
looked at him and smiled.

" What colors do you want ? " asked Ruth a little
gravely.

" Oh, any color — red, blue, green — whatever they
have."

" Very well," said Ruth, and she got out of the carriage,
and went into the shop, and, as she did so, again Frances
looked at Beaton.

" Do you know I hoped we should meet you to-day ? "
she said; " I wished so much to see you. You must
come to see us at Sudley." '

f \

«?1

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

" You are very good — but-

" I shall listen to no ' buts, ' " smiled Frances, as Beaton
paused, his eyes still resting on her face. "Colonel Ken-
yon told me he had asked you, and now I ask you, so you
must come."

** You are very kind."

" Kind to ourselves, you mean. I assure you I find it
horribly dull there."

A thrill of joy passed through the young man's fast-
beating heart.

" And yet," he said, hesitating and casting down his
eyes, "you have everything there that women care for ? "

" That women are said to care for, Mr. Beaton ! None
of us have what we really care for, I think ; we are
creatures of circumstances, and can't help ourselves."

At this moment Ruth came out of the shop, followed
by an obsequious shoi)man carrying a small parcel.

" I have got all the colors they have," she said,
addressing Frances ; " I suppose you want nothing else? "

" Not to-day, I think," answered Frances with a shrug
and a smile. " Ruth, let us walk down to your place,
and the carriage can follow us ; and perhaps you will ex-
tend your hospitality so far as to give me a glass of wine,
for those ponies have nearly dislocated my wrists."

" Of course," said Ruth, and her delicate face flushed.

" You come with us and amuse us," continued Frances,
now looking at Beaton with her bright eyes ; and he turned
and walked down the street with them, Frances doing her
best the while to resume her old empire over him.

And when they arrived at Major Audley's house she in-
sisted that he should go in with them.

" Come," she said, and he followed her up to the draw-
ing-room ; Ruth staying behind in the hall for a few
moments to order some refreshments.

" I want to speak to you," began Frances, when she and
Beaton had reached the drawing-room, and as she spoke
she closed the door. " I want to tell you I got your letter,
you know — the letter Seaforth enclosed when you were
ill — but I could not answer it. I may as well say I dare
not. But " — and she held out her hand — " I wish you to
understand now how deeply I felt — how deeply I regret —
if I had made you unhappy."

" It is useless to speak of it," said Beaton, who was
visibly agitated.

heart]

I cou|

me,

Sh(

^EZEBEVS FRIENDS,

" Yes, yes, it is. I don't want you to think me quite
heartless, or that I caused you pain without suffering any.
I could not help myself, and that is the truth — so forgive
me, Arthur."

She pulled off her driving glove as she spoke, and once
more held out her slim white hand, which he clasped
tightly, though he uttered no word.

" There ! we are friends again," said Frances, a moment
or two later, drawing away her hand ; ** and now let us
remain friends. We must not talk any nonsense, you
know ; but, all the same, we shall understand." And she
lifted her eyes to his face and smiled, and poor Arthur
Beaton felt his life no longer wearisome nor dull.

He grew excited, almost happy, and when the wine was
brought in which Ruth had ordered, he became animated
and bright, for he was clever, and all his feelings were
strong and deep. He was handsome, too, and the scar
across his cheek made him more attractive still to Frances*
shining eyes. She liked him ; liked his youth, his good
looks, and his passionate love, which he had flung so
recklessly at her feet.

" Will you dine with us to-morrow ? " she said, before
they parted, and Beaton now eagerly accepted the invita-
tion, and was leady to go anywhere that he could see her.

He went dr.'wn to the carriage with them, and stood
leaning one hand on it, as Frances lingered smiling and
talking after they had taken their seats,

" To-moirow, then," she said at length, and drove away ;
Beaton standing watching her until she disappeared, with
a look on his face which very plainly told the feelings of
his heart.

" How good-looking he is ! " Frances was saying at
this moment, and she gave a little sigh.

" He is a nice boy," said Ruth ; " a romantic bey.

" He is not such a boy, my dear ; and after all what is
like youth ? It's horrid lo think that his generous pas •
sionate heart will turn cold too — like the rest."

" Everyone does not turn cold and hard ; look at
Hugh."

" Really, Ruth, it is an immense pity, d'ye know, that
my venerable Hugh did not bestow his youthful affections
on you, instead of my unworthy self. I believe you are
in love with him."

! I i

II;

1(2

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

" Not quite," answered Ruth, pleasantly ; " but I admire
him ; he is a noble-hearted gentleman. 1 have no words
of higher praise."

" He is a kind, middle-aged man, with a pretty young
wife, of whom he is proud — and, well, 1 think fond. But
there is nothing out of the common in that, and I really
cannot look upon him as a hero."

" Come, you have been a lucky girl."

" Very ! " said Frances with a little scoffing laugh, and
then she changed the conversation ; and when they reached
Sudley they found Colonel Kenyon standing looking out
anxiously for them in the courtyard.

*' My dear Frances," he said, "why did you not tell me
you wished to go out for a drive ? You know I should
have been delighted to take you ? "

" I know you are awfully good," she answered, smilingly,
as he helped her out of the carriage, " and I believe would
absolutely have given up your morning's shooting to my
whim, but you see I was not selfish enough to ask you."

"But, my dear, I don't like you driving these ponies;
you must promise not to do it again, Frances ; 1 will go
with you wherever you like, but I have been quite anxious
about you."

" Silly young man ! Well, I hope lunch is ready, for we
are starving."

" Your father and Audley declare they are starving, too.
And how did Frances drive, my dear?" he added, turning
to Ruth, and looking at her kindly, for his eyes always
softened when they rested on her sad young face.

"Oh, she drove beautifully, and the ponies went so
well," smiled Ruth. . . ' .

" And where did you go ? "

"We went to Headfort; Frances' maid wanted some
silks and threads."

" But these might have been very easily got, surely,
without your going for them ? You must not let Frances
be so reckless about driving, Ruth, until she is more
accustomed to it ; she is so plucky, you know, she is afraid
of nothing, so we both must look after her."

" Very well," said Ruth, and she followed her brother-
in-law into the dining-room, where Frances had already
gone. Colonel Forth and Audley were also already there,
and having each had a brandy and soda, were slightly

impc
givei

Audi

hanc

((

Hea^

as y(
of y(
But

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

»»3

impatient to begin lunch, the long morning's work having
given them an appetite.

" So you've been out driving, Mrs. Kenyon ? " said
Audley, as Frances entered the room, looking flushed and
handsome.

" Yes, I wished to try the ponies, and so we drove into
Headfort, as my maid wanted something matched."

" Odd place to match anything, eh ? "

" Oh, Robertson's is not such a bad place for little things
as you would think. Here comes Ruth ; tell this husband
of yours, my dear, what a splendid whip I have grown.
But really, didn't I drive well, Ruth?"

" Yes, but Colonel Kenyon does not seem to think it
was very f fe," answered Ruth.

" It really is not, Frances ; those ponies are very spirited,
and they are too much for a lady," said Colonel Kenyon as
he sat down to talk.

" I must have a steady pair, then, as I mean to drive
every day," answered Frances. " Who do you think we
met, Hugh ? " she continued, beginning her luncheon ;
" that young Beaton, you know, who shot himself, and we
had a chat, and he told me you had asked him here, so I
invited him to dinner to-morrow."

" Very well, dear," said Colonel Kenyon placidly.

" And how do you think he looked ? " asked Audley,
fixing his eyes smiHngly on Frances' face.

" Very well, I thought ; he is rather good-looking, isn't
he ? " she answered.

" He is remarkably good-looking," said Audley ; " and
until " (and he paused a moment, still looking smilingly at
her) " he made such a fool of himself with his revolver he
was a very handsome lad."

'* He had a close shave for his life, hadn't he ? " said
Kenyon.

" About as near a thing as could be ; I rather like Beaton,
he's such a plucky boy," answered Audley.

"A young fool not to see his revolver v/as loaded,"
growled Colonel Forth, who had been listening to the con-
versation, and did not like to hear of the invitation which
Frances had given to Beaton to dine at Sudley.

And when luncheon was over, Audley followed Ruth
upstairs, where she had gone to take off her hat, and
attacked her on the same subject.

\ f]

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It4

yEZEBBV^ J'KUINDS,

'* So your sister has been trying to turn that poor lacl*s
head again, I suppose? " he said, roughly enough.

" I really do not know what you mean," answered Rutli,
coldly.

" Well, I tell you what I mean ; I'm not going to let you
drive into Headfort and sit flirting in High street with any
man you can pick up. If Mrs. Kenyon chooses to go, and
Kenyor. is fool enough to let her, well and good ; let her
go, but you shan't."

"What! Not drive with my own sister?" said Ruth,
indignantly.

" Your sister being such a very discreet chaperone,"
sneered Audley.

" Yet you make up to her, and accept her hospitality,"
retorted Ruth, flushing scarlet.

*' I am civil to her, as I do not wish all her little foibles
to be known to the world as well as you and I know them.
But you are my wife, and I'm not going to have you talked
of with any of the men at the Fort, I can tell you. Kenyon
is a doting fool, but I'm not."

" No one can accuse you of being doting, at any rate,"
answered Ruth, with curling lip.

" I am as you have made me," he answered harshly,
and he left the room, and Ruth looked after him with a
face full of scorn.

" He is too low," she thought ; " any woman would hate
him/' and her heart felt very bitter.

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CHAPTER XXIII.

DINING ALONE.

The consequence of this squabble was that Audley insisted
on returning to Headfort the same afternoon. He went
back to the dining-room, where Frances and her husband
and father were still loitering, and announced that to his
great regret he found he must be in Headfort early to-
morrow morning, as there were some military duties he
was compelled to see after.

" Well, leave Ruth here then, and come back to-morrow
afternoon ? " at once suggested Frances.

But Audley refused.

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

" Vou arc very good," he said, "but Ruth will go back
with me in an hour," and he looked at liis watch.

" Vuu must bring her here to-morrow then. Just think,
T asked young Beaton on purpose, because you and Ruth
were with us ; so, indeed you must be here ! "

'* I am perfectly certain that Beaton will be quite content
with your society."

"Oh, now don't be disagreeable. Major Audley, when I
thought you were going to be so nice? What has hap-
pened ? Have you and Ruth had a lovers' quarrel ? "

Audley gave a short, harsh laugh.

" That would be impossible," he said.

" Then why are you going to take her away ? Do let
her stay, at any rate over to-morrow."

But Audley was firm, or rather obstinate. This man, so
cold and cynical as a rule, had bcon stung by Ruth's taunt
that he abused her sister, and yet was ready to partake of
her hospitality, as no one else's words could sting him.
He felt indeed for Ruth what he had never felt for any
woman befort , though he sometimes asked himself whether
it was love cr hate he gave to the pale, handsome girl
whose heart was as stone to him.

He lit a cigar and went out on the terrace, and tried
not to feel worried, for he knew very well he had only him-
self to blame for the discomforts of his life. As he walked
up and down, he remembered Ruth's vain and passionate
appeals to him before their marriage, as we remember things
we would often fain forget. The memory of these pricked
him afresh now when he began to realise their bitter truth.
She had told him no happiness could come to them, and
he knew well that it was so. And as he walked up and
down he began telling himself there must be some cause
for her conduct ; that it was against the nature of things,
this cold indifference, or, rather, dislike. Could she still
care for Kenard Seaforth ? And as this thought flashed
through his brain he muttered an oath, and impatiently
stamped his foot on the gravelled path.

He was a vain man, though he tried to hide this, for he
was too cynical not to know that vanity exposed other
people to ridicule in his eyes, and that he, therefore, in
turn, would seem ridiculous if he showed this weakness.
But, all the same, he had a very good opinion of him-
self, and had believed himself attractive, almost irresistible,
to women.

f 1

\'\fi

Ii6

JEZKliEVa FRIENDS,

Vet here was a woman — his wife — who avoided his
l)rescncc whenever she could, and scarcely gave him a
civil, certainly never a kind, word. It infuriated him to
think of it, wounding his vanity and his love alike. Ihit
she should not taunt him any more with hanging on Mrs.
Kenyon, he mentally resolved ; and though he knew
Ruth's attachment to her sister was one of the strongest
feelings of her heart, he determined in his hard way to
punish her for her words by making her leave Sudley
immediately.

Presently he flung away his cigar, and once more went
up to Ruth's bedroom. He found her sitting idly by the
window, with a far-away look in her grey and pensive eyes,
and as he entered he saw her brow contract.

" Will you get ready ? " he said, in a cool, quiet tone.
** I've ordered the trap to be round in h?lf-an-hour, as 1
want to be back in Headfort by four o'clock."

*' I did not even know you were going to-day," answered
Ruth, surprised.

" You know now, then. I shall not intrude any longer
on Mrs. Kenyon's hospitality."

** What is the matter ? Has she offended you."

" No ; but you have. But it's no matter."

'' I meant nothing, except I wish you would not abuse
Frances. It can do no good."

" Possibly not ; but I am not going to be dictated to by
you on what I choose to say or leave unsaid. Therefore,
if you will be good enough to get ready, I want to be off."

" Very well," said Ruth, quietly ; *' I shall go down and
tell Frances we are going."

*' I've already told her, so you can spare yourself the
trouble."

" Still, I think I had better go."

*' Please yourself," answered Audley, and he strode out
of the room again with his heavy step, Reeling half ashamed
of himself for being so rude, and yet s«^ angry that he could
not control his temper.

Meanwhile, downstairs Frances was abusing him to her
heart's content.

" Is it not odious of him ? " she said, looking at her
husband. " Why can't he let Ruth stay and come back
for her, if he must go ? "

" I fancy something has put him out," answered Colonel
Kenyon,

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y/'/rjU'.rs /'S'/iinds,

117

" He's a beastly temper," growled Forth, who had never
cared much for Audley.

" lie's most selfisii, and it's so nice to have Ruth here —
don't you think so, Hugh?" And Frances went up and
laid her hand on her husband's shoulder, who bent down
and kissed it.

*' Indeed I do, dearest; she's a sweet girl, and if it
makes you hai)py to have her, you know it makes me."

" Never could understand wliat she marri<'d him for,"
said (Colonel Forth ; " doesn't seem much love lost between
them, in my oi)inion."

" Oh, I think he is fond of her," answered Colonel Ken-
y(jn j " but I think perhai)s he does not quite understand
her nature — the nature of a shy young girl."

*' I shall go up and see if he has really told her she must
go," said Frances, now turning to leave the room.

" Don't say anything against him to her, dear," said
Kenyon, gently detaining Frances' hand, '* we must all try
to make the best of him, you know, to her."

" Very well."

But Frances did not exactly obey her husband in this
matter. She went 'up to Ruth's room, and found her with
her hat on, and at once commenced to speak her mind
pretty freely about Audley.

" So he is going to take you away at a moment's notice,"
she said, indignantly. *' Whatever is he doing it for,
Ruth?"

" He has got some duty in the morning," was the quiet
answer.

" But why can't he leave you and' come back again ? I
am perfectly disgusted with him,"

" It is no use saying anything, Frances ; it is best to
say nothing," said Ruth, almost warningly.

Frances understood her meaning, and began to walk up
and down the room with hasty steps. She, too, saw it was
wise not to quarrel with Audley, though she did not guess
that Ruth's disagreement with him had been about herself.
Ruth was in truth too generous-hearted to hint this ; to
tell Frances how Audley was for ever twitting her with
Frances' shortcomings.

" Hugh said we must make the best of him," she pre-
sently remarked, " and I suppose we must. But I cannot
tell what has come over him. He was quite pleasant at

1^1

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•I

ii8

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

»»

dinner yesterday, and I flattered him enough, I am sure.

" It will all come right, I daresay ; perhaps you'll be
driving into Headfort to-morrow, and then I shall see
you."

" I shall make a point of driving into Headfort to-mor-
row ; well, my dear, I am awfully sorry you are going, but
you must come again very, very soon."

And Frances took Ruth's advice, and parted with Aud-
ley in a friendly fashion, though she felt very angry with
him still. Audley, too, was perfectly polite and even
agreeable, and thanked Colonel Kenyon and Frances for
their hospitality in pleasant terms.

" Always glad to see you, you know," said Kenyon as
they shook hands ; and a moment or two later Audley
drove out of the courtyard at Sudley, and then his ex-
pression changed. And the two — Audley and Ruth — said
very little to each other on that homeward drive. But
what they did say was cold and civil ; remarks on passing
objects, nothing more. And when they reached Headfort
about five o'clock, Audley went over almost at once to the
Fort, and Ruth had two bridal visitors. One of these was
Miss Hilliard, the banker's daughter, and the other the
Vicar's wife, who brought an apology from her stout little
spouse, who was laid up with a cold.

Miss Hilliard was a pretty girl, and wished now to be
on very good terms with the handsome sisters, whom the
world aroun«_i them considered had married so well. She
liked soldiers also, and knew she would very likely meet
the unmarried officers at Major Audley's house. There-
fore, she was even more than friendly to Ruth, whom a few
months ago she had almost ignored. Frances would have
scoffed at this, and maybe said a smiling word or two to
remind Miss Hilliard of this fact. But Ruth's heart was
too sad not to be indifferent to little things. She knew
quite well that Miss Hilliard's manner was changed to her,
and why it was changed ; but what did it matter ? She
therefore talked to her visitor in the same strain in which
her visitor talked to her.

" You know, of course, Mr. Seaforth is back ? " presently
said Miss Hilliard ; and as Ruth, heard the familiar name,
an almost overwhelming emotion swept through her heart.

She tried not to show this ; perhaps Miss Hilliard
scarcely noticed that her face grew white and clammy,

that
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yEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

that her hands twitched, and for a moment no words came
from her pale lips.

*' Jack saw him in the billiard-room last night," con-
tinued Miss Milliard (Jack was Miss Hilliard's young
brother), " and he says he's so awfully changed ; not half
so good-looking as he was."

" When — did he come back ? " faltered Ruth.

" Only last night ; just before Jack saw him. But didn't
you know ? I thought Major Audley would have told you,
as he would know, of course ; but then you've been at
Sudiey."

"Yes," said Ruth, in a low tone ; and she understood
now what had upset Audley, and made him angry about
Frances and herself driving alone into Headfort. He had
known that Seaforth was about to return, and he did not
choose that they should meet.

And presently, alter her visitors had left her, Audley
returned to the house, and there was a look of unmistakable
anger and ^annoyance on his face. Yet he never named
Seaforth's name the whole evening. The husband and
wife dined together, and it was not a homely meal. Audley
felt it would have been better at Sudiey, and knew he had
gained nothing by taking his young wife so hastily, almost
uncourteously, from her sister's house. He sat staring at
her gloomily, but her eyes never met his. She was looking
prettier than usual, he thought jealously ; could that
gossiping girl have told her that her old lover had returned ?
Audley felt enrjs^ed with himself for feeling jealous, and
yet he could not help it. And there had been a coldness,
a haughtiness, in Seaforth's manner to him, which told
him that the young man yet deeply resented his mariage.
Seaforth, perhaps, had not meant to show this, but he was
a poor actor, and men as a rule do not disguise their feelings
as well as women. For a woman will laugh and jest if it
be well and wise to laugh and jest, when her heart is very
sore.

After dinner was over, Audley sat smoking and reading
(or pretending to read the newspapers). Ruth sat
pretending to read a novel. These two had nothing
in common to bind them closer, not one idea nor thought.
Audley's hard sarcastic mind, which believed, or affected
to believe, in few things pure or good, was opposed to the
tender, sensitive nature of his young wife, whose warm

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120

yEZEl3EL'3 FRIENDS.

V 1

emotions and strong affections had been so cruelly crushed
by his own conduct. And she never could forget this ; if
she had respected him, her womanliness was very great,
and in time some tender chord in her heart might have
been touched by her husband. But she could not respect
him ; she could not forget the vain cries for mercy that
she had poured out lo him to escai>e from a fate that he
knew was revolting to her. She had told him that she
loved Kenard Seaforth, and he, knowing this, had yet
forced her into a marriage by a threat so unmanly, so con-
temptible, that there was always scorn in Ruth's heart when
she remembered it.

And .>o these two, sitting there together, almost briue
and bridegroom still, were each thinking of the other
strange unloving thoughts. Audley, smarting from her
coldness, was telling himself he had been a fool to marry
her ; that he was a fool to be jealous of her, and that he
wished be had never seen her face, the face which had
disturbed the easy selfishness of his former life.

And what was Ruth thinking? Hard, hard thoughts of
the man opposite to her ; but for him she might now have
been a happy blushing girl, telling herself, " To-morrow I
shall see him — see my Kenard — ; " and now what could
that to-morrow bring her ? A chance meeting perhaps, a
cold bow and averted eyes.

She sighed restlessly, and Audley heard that sigh, and
flung his newspaper impatiently on the floor.

" I have often heard," he said, *' that nothing is so dull
as to dine alone with your wife, and, by Jove, it is certainly
true."

Ruth did not speak, she lifted her eyes and looked at
him, and that was all.

" I suppose you mean that for a glance of mute reproach,
to remind me gently that I need not have been sitting here
alone with you unless I had chosen ? My dear, I wish
you would say what you intend to insinuate. I would
rather a woman threw a book at my head than sit silent
and sulky, as you do."

" I have nothing to say."

" Nor I," answered Audley, with an impatient shrug ;
" well, dearest, as our good brother-in-law Kenyon is apt
to express himself, when addressing the virtuous wife of
his bosom, I shall relieve you of the monotony of my

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

121

company for a short while at least, and go over to the Fort
for an hour or so. Good-bye for the present," and he
nodded his head and went away.

CHAPTER XXIV.

LADY HASTINGS.

The next day Ruth once more saw Kenard Seaforth's
face, and a strange feeling, a feeling that he was not the
same Kenard Seaforth, swelled in her heart.

She had watched, waited and hoped to see him ; for sitting
in her own dining-room she could see everyone who left the
gates of the Fort, if she chose to look for them. Audley
had gone out on duty early,* as usual, and Ruth had been
alone all the morning; and all the morning had been
thinking of Kenard. To be so near him and yet parted
from him completely, so completely that she knew if they
met he probably would not speak to her, not touch her
hand, nor look one moment in her face.

And the bitter thought that he must despise her, that
knowing she loved him, she had yet apparently of her own
will married another and a richer man ! To be misunder-
stood is very hard, but to be misunderstood as cruelly
as this seemed terrible to Ruth. For she knew that
no idea of the truth could ever have crossed Kenard's
mind. To him she must seem false and fickle, and
all her life she must seem so. Perhaps after she was
dead — and the poor girl sighed — for it was cold, sad
comfort at best, to wait until the dark portals of the grave
had closed over her warm and throbbing breast.

Thsn she remembered how she had dreamt of him the
night before her marriage, and how she had told him in her
dream that it would make no change in her heart
to him, " 7iotie^ none'^ It had made no change ; she
loved him now, she told herself, as she had loved him then,
but outwardly it v/ould make every change.

" I expect he won't even speak to me," she thought again
and again sadly enough ; " but I shall see him at least ; I
shall watch and wait until I see him to-day."

And she did. Major Audley generally came into lunch

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122

JEZEBRUS FRIENDS.

about half-past one o'clock, and just a little before that
hour she saw, while standing rather back in the room,
Kenard Seaforth and young Beaton, both in uniform, pass
throiiph the gates of the Fort, and walk down to the village
on the opposite side of the street. And she saw Beaton
apparently point their liouse out to Seaforth, and he gave
a little /atigh, looked back at the house for a moment, and
then walked on.

And a feeling came over her of faintness, a feeling vague
and undefined of disappointment and pain. He had
laughed, and all her bitter anguish had counted as nothing
to him ! She forgot for the moment what she had been
telling herself the whole morning ; that he must despise
her, and think her unworthy of a regretful thought. But
to see this, to feel that it cost him nothing to know she was
living here as Audley's wife, that he could jest about it
perhaps, seemed to her at this moment an unexpected blow.

She crept up to her bedroom, feeling physically weak
and overcome. From these upper windows she could see
right along the village street, and she saw Seaforth and
Beaton go on to the Post Office, apparently to post letters,
and then turn back. They thus again passed the house,
and she distinctly saw Seaforth's face. And it seemed
changed to her; he seemed changed altogether somehow
— not like her Kenard — an older, harder looking man !

Presently she heard her husband come in, and she went
downstairs, and he looked at her sharply as she entered
the dining-room.

" Are you not well ? " he asked. " You are pale as
death. Whatever is the i.;utter?"

'' I have a headache ; it is nothing," answered Ruth ;
and she sat down to the table and tried to eat, but the
food seemed to choke her.

" By-the-bye," Audley said presently, " I had a note
from Lady Hastings this morning ; it had gone to the Fort,
as she did not know our address here, but she and Sir
James are coming to call this afternoon."

" I hope you will be in, then," said Ruth, "as I do not
know her ? "

" I suppose she expects I shall be in, or she would not
have written," answered Audley, with rather a conscious,
self-satisfied smile. " Well, she's a nice little woman, and
it will be nleasant for you to know her,"

"jfEZE^EVS FRIENDS.

" I remember seeing her at Siidley."

" Oh, I used often to go to Amherst in my bachelor
days," said Audley, carelessly. She's pretty, and, what is
more, knows how to make herself agreeable, which every
woman should do."

" And what is he like ? "

" Oh, he's not much," answered Audley with a shrug,
and then he got up and went to the window, and stood
looking out into the street.

" Seaforth is back," he said a moment later, without
turning round.

Ruth did not speak ; she felt that she could not.

" He and Beaton are going to dine at Amherst to-morrow,
I beheve," continued Audley ; " at least, I heard them say
something about it."

*^ How far is it from here ? " asked Ruth, and some-
thing in the tone of her voice made Audley look around.

" Five miles or so," he replied, wiih his eyes fixed on
her face ; he was wondering how she would meet Seaforth ;
thinking, angrily, that she must meet him.

But he said nothing ; he began to smoke, and Ruth
went upstairs to arrange some fresh flowers in the drawing-
room, in expectation of Lady Hastings' visit. And whilst
she was doing this, Frances and Colonel Kenyon arrived.

Frances at once ran upstairs to Ruth, and kissed her on
both cheeks.

" My dear, how are you ? " she said. " Is he in a better
temper to-day ? " And she nodded to denote Audley.

" Yes, I think he is," said Ruth, smiling.

" Do you know the funniest thing has happened ; who
do you think we have just met? "

"Who?"

" Seaforth, no less. As Hugh drove down the village,
we met Beaton and Seaforth, and Hugh pulled up to tell
Beaton that we should expect him to dinner this evening
— and then he asked Seaforth ! "

" And — is he coming ? "

" He hesitated a moment, and then said he would."

" I knew he was here." ^

" It's very funny, isn't it? If Audley will let you, will
you come to dinner too? I am sure Hugh will ask him."

" Not to-day," answered Ruth, and she sat down, feeUng
as if she had no strength to stand.

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124

JEZEBEVS I'RIENDS.

" But you must meet him, you know, Ruth ; it will only
be awkward for a few minutes at first. It is astonishing
how soon one gets used to things."

"Not everything," said Ruth, faintly; "I could not
meet him to-day."

"Well, J shall just be the same to him ; Hugh does not
know you ever were anything to him, and father does not
know ; it's best just to ignore it, and treat him as an old
friend."

"Yes." •

" I think you had better come to-day and get it over at
once ? " urged P'rances.

"No, I cannot; don't ask me; I would rather not go
out to-day."

" All right, my dear, then I shall have the two young
men to entertain all by myself, but that won't kih me.
Well, I must be off now, i only came in to have a word
with you, and see if we could persuade you and Audley to
dine with us."

The sisters went down-stairs together, and found their
husbands talking very amicably in the dining-room.

" Ruth," said Audley, addressing his wife, " Colonel
Kenyon is goud enough to wish us to dine with him again
to-day, would you like to go ? "

" No, not to-day, I have such a headache," answered
Ruth.

" She's been complaining of a headache all the morning,"
said Audley, looking at Ruth, not unkindly ; and when
Frances and her husband were gone he went up to her and
laid his hand on her shoulder.

" Is your head very bad, Ruth ? " he asked. " Perhaps
the smell of smoke makes it worse ; if so I can go and
.smoke outside, if you would like to lie down here for an
hour before Lady Hastings comes ? "

It was seldom that he spoke so considerately, and Ruth
felt almost grateful.

" I will go upstairs and bathe my head," she said; "it's
not the smoke, I don't mind it."

And she went upstairs and put on a white gown with a
soft silk scarf tied round her slender waist. She looked a
pretty and very elegant young girl when Lady Hastings
arrived, and she went down into the drawing-room to receive
her husband's friend.

JEZEDEVS FRIENDS,

125

Lady Hastings was also a pretty woman, a little well
formed woman, with small features and brown eyes. She
had married Sir James entirely for his money, and was not
on the whole discontented with her lot. He had been a
plump, short widower when she had married him, and he
had now developed into a very stout little man. But he
was perfectly harmless, and quite agreeable to entertain
any number of young men whom Lady Hastings chose to
invite.

Lady Hastings had admired Major Audley, it was said,
before his marriage, and had felt somewhat piqued by that
event. But she was perfectly ready to be on friendly
terms with his wife, and received Ruth in her pretty gush-
ing manner, and Audley felt pleased to see Ruth looking
so attractive.

"You must often come to see us," said Lady Hastings.
" Major Audley, promise now to bring her to Amherst ?
Sir James here will be delighted \ he admires pretty women,
you know ; don't you, James ? "

James smiled acquiescently ; if he had a weakness it was a
desire to be thought rather dangerous, which, poor man,
he happily was not.

'^I show my good taste then," he replied, in a thick
voice, for his throat was very fat, which somehow seemed
slightly to impede his utterance.

" We have a living proof of your excellent taste. Sir
James," said Major Audley, looking with his bold, smiling
eyes at Lady Hastings, who smiled coquettishly.

" What pretty things we are all saying to each other ! "
she said. " But I mean what I say, and men, you know,"
and again she smiled at Audley, "sometimes don't."

" That is unfair, and I protest against it," he answered.

" Well, will you promise to bring your wife very soon,
then ? Let us fix a day — will you come to luncheon next
Tuesday ? "

Before they left this was arranged, and they parted on
very friendly terms, and Audley was evidently satisfied
with the visit.

" What do you think of her ? " he asked, after he had
escorted Lady Hastings to the carriage, when he returned
to the drawing-room.

" She is pretty, and seems very nice, I think," answered
Ruth.

126

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

" She is a pretty little flirt ; all the same, I won. a rather
be her admirer than her husband; but she is good enougii
for Sir James."

Ruth gave a little laugh, and then turned away, wonder-
ing if she had married a "Sir James," if she could ever
have acquired the easy light-heartedness of his wife. But
she could not ; Lady Hastings was a shallow little woman,
skimming on the surface of life, and her sentiments and
feelings (of which she was apt to talk) were of the flimsiest
nature. A wound to her vanity lasted longer than a wound
to her heart, for her strongest emotions were connected
with admiration, not love. * She wished to win back Audley,
merely for the pleasure of making hin- -.nhappy, not for the
sake of any affection she felt to him self.

It was on a Saturday when she p lid this first visit to 47
High-street, and somehow Audley was more amiable after
it than he had been before. He laughed at her, but all
the same he liked her flattery, for he also was vain, and
Ruth had wounded his feelings to the quick.

But perhaps Lady Hastings' praise of his young wife's
good looks had softened his heart to her, for he made no
objections to spend the next day (Sunday) at Sudley, and
then Ruth heard all about Seaforth's visit there.

** He was so agreeable," Frances told her, '* and Hugh
has taken quite a fancy to him; likes him better than poor
Beaton," and Frances smiled.

'' And how does he look? " asked Ruth, with a certain
ring in her voice that to an acute ear told its own tale.

" Well, of course, his face is very much marked, but
still he is handsome — will always be handsome," answered
Frances, who had mistaken the object of her inquiry.

" You mean Mr. Beaton. I was thinking of the other."

" Oh, Seaforth ? Well, do you know he is changed
somehow ; he looks older, and his manner is different ; he
talks more, too, and very well, I can tell you, thoi gh he
affects to be a Httle cynical occasionally. He asked after
you."

" Yes," and a painful blush spread suddenly over Ruth's
fair face.

" Just in an ordinary way, you know, my dear ; don't
make a tragedy of it. I fancy he has got over his little
tenderness very quickly, as they all do."

Ruth did not speak. Frances would not have said this

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

127

if she had known the sharp pang her words plunged into
Ruth's heart. Was it so then ? Had he forgotten her so
soon, thought the poor girl, and this Sunday at Sudley
seemed to her the dreariest day. Frances, however, was
in high spirits, and was as pleasant to Audley as if she had
never spoken a word against him. These two indeed, who
were always abusing each other when one was not present,
seemed the best of friends when they met. True, Frances
sometimes inwardly cowered before Audley's cold smiling
gaze, which never let her quite forget he knew more than
he ever hinted at with his tongue to her ; and Ruth was
too true and tender-hearted to repeat his hard words.

** I would manage him better than you do," Frances
told Ruth, ind there is no doubt that she could have done
so, for she would have attacked a thinly-hidden weakness
in his character. She would have flattered him, and it was
incense to Audley's soul.

And he took Ruth to Amherst Hall on the appointed day,
to see the other little woman who flattered him, with a
smile on his face.. Lady Hastings received them both
gushingly, as was her wont, and Sir James did everything
that was expected of him. She had married him for his
money, and he gave it to her freely, and she likea him to
be civil to her friends, and he always was.

" He is a good creature," she told her admirers, and in
his slow, dense way he was contented with her, or at least
dare not say he was not. Perhaps, sometimes, he may
have vaguely wondered why she never talked to him, un-
less she wanted something, and why the small boy in the
nursery knew very little of a mother's love. But he never
expressed such sentiments, and grew yearly stouter, there-
fore they could not have troubled him acutely.

" I wanted to have you all to myself at lunch," she told
Ruth, '* so that we may pet to know each other really, you
know ; but I have asked some people in the afternoon for
tennis. That darling man. Colonel Kenyon, and your
sister ; I called on them yesterday, and they are coming,
and three young men from the Fort, and the Hilliard girl,
and the Lewishams, and one or two more."

" You are very kind," said Ruth, with a fast-beating
heart.

Lady Hastings was alone with her when she said this,
for Sir James had carried off" Audley to see his grape-house
and his peacheries, of which he was proud.

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128

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

" Poor Sir James, they serve to amuse him," his wife
said, smilingly, to Ruth ; ** but I fear he will sadly bore
Major Audley."

Major Audley did look rather bored when the luncheon
gong recalled the two men to the house.

*' Why did you not go with us ? " he said, in a low tone,
to his hostess, as he sat by her side. ** You are too cruel."

Sir James at this moment was telling Ruth in his husky
voice of the number and beauty of the clusters of grapes
he had cut from his favorite tree. And then he began to
talk of his little son, and his dull face beamed.

"You must see the boy," he said; "my dear, Mrs.
Audley would like to see the boy," he continued, address-
ing his wife.

" I dare say Mrs. Audley does not care to be troubled
with children," she answered, repressively.

" Indeed I should," said Ruth ; " do let me see him, Sir
James. "

Sir James looked gratified, and after luncheon was over,
went himself to fetch the little heir, while Audley and Lady
Hastings strolled out into the garden. He was a delicate,
small boy, with a wistful look in his pale face, and he kept
fast hold of his father's hand, and seemed very shy. But
Ruth was fond of children, and she presently knelt down
to show him how to play with some toy, and Sir James
stood looking on. And while they were thus occupied,
the drawing-room door opened, and a footman announced :

"Mr. Seaforth, Mr. Beaton."

Sir James went forward to receive his guests, and Ruth
started to her feet. She had only a confused sense of
what passed during the next few minutes, for everything
seemed to swim before her eyes, and the words she heard
were only as distant murmurs in her ears. Someone took
her hand, and said ordinary words of greeting to her, but
she made no reply ; it was young Beaton, and presently
Ruth vaguely understood this ; understood, too, that some-
one else had also just touched her hand and then turned
away.

" Lady Hastings is in the garden with Major Audley, she
will be here presently," now said Sir James.

" And is this little fellow yours, Sir James ? " asked
Seaforth's voice ; and Ruth lifted her eyes, and saw him
stoop down, and caress the soft curly head of the child.

((

jezepet:s friends.

129

" Yes," answered Sir James with pride ; " and Mrs.
Aiidlcy here has been good enough to play with him."

'I'hen Seaforth looked at Ruth's face, and saw how
greatly it was changed, and a feeling of pity suddenly
began to replace the angry, jealous resentment in his heart.

"I dined with your sister and Colonel Kenyon last
week," he said addressing her courteously ; '* I believe
they are coming here this afternoon?"

" Yes," faltered Ruth, almost inaudibly.

Again Seaforth looked at her ; looked at the fair face
which had cost him so dear, and he understood that he
was not forgotten ; that this meeting was more cruelly
l)ainful to Ruth even than to himself.

But he had scarcely time to think this when Miss
Hilliard was announced, and he began talking to the
pretty lively girl, to hide his embarrassment. Then Lady
Hastings and Audley entered the roon; by one of the
windows which opened to the ground, and a few minutes
later other guests came, and presently Colonel Kenyon
and Frances.

There were soon sufficient people present to form two
sets of tennis, and they began to pair off and make towards
the grounds, which were behind the gardens in front of the
house. Ruth saw Seaforth go out of one of the open
windows with Miss Hilliard, and it added a pang to her
aching heart. She refused to pl^^y, and went and sat on a
garden seat under some trees, looking at the others.
Frances and Colonel Kenyon and Beaton were playing in
one set she saw, and her husband. Lady Hastings, Seaforth
and Miss Hilliard, in another. She could hear their
laughter and their voices, and she felt unutterably lonely
and sad.

Sir James had retired to superintend the cutting of some
grapes which his wife had ordered for the refreshment of
her friends ; and one or two people who were not playing
Ruth did not know. As she sat silent and neglected,
however, she suddenly felt a little hand put into hers, and
looking down saw that the small boy, Jimmie Hastings,
had crept shyly to her side.

" Why are you not playing ? " he asked, looking up in her
face with his wistful eyes. " Can you get no one to play
with you ? "

130

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

" That is it, Jinimic," she answered, and for a minute a
mist of unshed tears dimmed her eyes. " I have no

one now.

CHAPTER XXV.

HOME.

Master Jimmie looked very gravely up in Ruth's face
as she made this humiliating confession.

" If I was grown up," he said, consolingly, ** I would
play with you."

" Would you, you dear little boy," answered Ruth ;
''Will you come and sit by me, and talk to me now
then ? "

The little fellow consented, and Ruth lifted him up on
the seat beside her, and listened smilingly to his childish
talk. Jimmie had a great deal to say when he got a
sympathetic hearer, and related various histories to Ruth
of his pets, dead and living.

"You see," he said, "mother doesn't like dogs nor even
cats. It's funny, isn't it, but it's quite true, so I have
three cats that are kept out of sight. I'll tell you how I
got 'em ; one winter night, I think it was last winter, my
father, who is a very good man, found a little kitten half
frozen in the snow in one of the shrubberies, and he picked
it up and took it into the harness-room, and it came quite
unfrozen before th°: fire. And he took me to see it, and I
asked if I might h. . j it for my cat, and I called it Snow,
though it's not white, but ' tabbie ; ' it's a great beauty."

" And how did you get the others, Jimmie ? "

" Oh, Snow got 'em ; they are very little 'uns ; she
brought them into the harness-room one night, for they
were there in the morning ; they are tabbies, too."

While Ruth sat listening to the child's artless prattle,
Seaforth, though playing tennis, and talking and laughing
with Miss Hilliard, was yet secretly watching her, and
once their eyes met, though the next instant both quickly
looked away. And he played so badly that when the sets
broke up he declared he was comi)letely out of practice,
and that he would not make another exhibition of himself.
Colonel Kenyon's kind eyes had also seen that Ruth was

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

>3i

sitting somewhat neglected, and he, too, dech'ned to i)lay
again, and went and stood by liis young sister-in-law and
lier newly-found friend.

*'And who are you, my little lad?" he said, stroking
Master Jimmie's fair curls.

" I am James Gordon Augustus Hastings," answered
little Jim.

" Upon my word, you have a lot of fine names," said
Colonel Kenyon, looking with an amused glance at the
boy's delicate, rather pinched face.

" My mother likes fine names ; that's how I have 'm,"
said Jim. ** Have your boys fine names, too? "

The Colonel laughed aloud, and blushed a little also ;
and then he called out to KenardSeaforth, who was stand-
ing at a short distance from the little group under the
trees,

" Come here, Seaforth," he said, "and be introduced to
this fine little chappie ; " and Seaforth, nothing loath, drew
near.

" Can I get you any refreshment? " he asked Ruth, for
he noticed how pale and cold she looked.

" 1 think I should like some tea," she answered, without
looking up, and she slightly shivered as she spoke.

" I tell you what, my dear," said Colonel Kenyon,
'* you'll get cold if you sit any longer here. Come along
with me into the house, and have some hot tea or coffee,
or something. You'd better come too, Seaforth."

Ruth rose and took the child's hand in hers, and she.
Colonel Kenyon, and Seaforth crossed the gardens together,
and Audley, who was playing tennis, frowned as he saw
them go.

But Ruth could find no words to say to her old friend.
She could not lift her eyes to his face, and talk to him as
if he were nothing to her. The last time they had spoken
her arms had lain round his neck, and she had told him
how her love would never change. How could she then
now so completely ignore the past ? It seemed impossible
to her, and pale, silent and trembling, she walked between
the two men, and when she entered the drawing-room she
sat down with a weary sigh, which Seaforth heard.

And he, too, began thinking of their parting ; of her
promise never to forget him — a promise which seemed to
him so quickly broken. He remembered how unhappy

f I

I '*

Ill

<y^

132

JEZFJiEVS FRIENDS.

•if

she had seemed, and how her cheeks had been wet with
tears whe^i he had kissed them, and she had whispered,
♦' Good-bye, my love- — my only love." Yet a fortnight
later she had married Audley ! And the one motive that
could accoiini for this act, to Seaforth's mind, was naturally
a contem])tible one. Audley was the richer man, and her
father and sister had persuaded her on this account to
accept his proposal.

" And she is not happy," thought Seaforth, looking at
her as he stood in Lady Hastings' drawing-room, while
Colonel Kenyon was getting her some tea. He had made
up his mind before he returned to Headfort to meet
her and treat her with indifference. She had done him
a cruel wrong, he told himself, and he was not going to
seem a disappointed lover to a heartless flirt. The blow
had hit him very hard, and he had tried hard to forget it,
and it had not made him a better man.

]Uit as he now glanced again and again at her face, he
saw plainly written there that Ruth had gone through great
mental sufferings. She had been a bright girl when he had
first known her — a girl with a changeful expression and a
sweet smile. But now the grey shadow of endured sorrow
never varied. He watched her speak to Colonel Kenyon
and the child who was standing by her knee, but the same
sad look did not pass away.

** Poor Ruth," thought Kenard, and he too gave a rest-
less sigh and turned aside. He went out into the gardens
again, feeling unsettled and disturbed ; if their parting had
cost him dear, he knew now that she, too, had borne her
share.

And he hugged this thought to his heart. Had he seen
her smiling and happy he would have felt bitter and scorn-
ful, but he did not feel bitter nor scornful now. He pitied
her for her supposed weakness, and he felt very indignant
with Mrs. Kenyon ; so indignant, that meeting her leaving
the tennis ground with Beaton by her side, he passed them
with a cold bow.

" Mr, Seaforth is not improved in appearance," said
Frances to her companion.

** Is he not? He's a very nice fellow though," answered
Beaton.

*'0h, yes, I daresay. Now will you do something to
please me ? " And Frances looked archly at the young
man by her side with her bright hazel eyes.

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

»33

" I will do anything you ask."

*' Then be very good and go and flirt with Miss HilHard
for awhile ; you must not always be my shadow, you
know."

" I know, but I would rather dispense with the flirting
with Miss Hilliard, and I have not spoken half-a-dozen
words to you to-day."

" We are friends, and we do not need words to tel! each
other this ; what I mean is, that in public you should talk
sometimes to unmarried girls — in moderation." And
Frances laughed softly.

" You think more of the world than anything else," said
Beaton half-sulkily.

" Women must think of the world — if they don't they
go to the wall."

"Very well, I will go and make violent love to Miss
Hilliard."

" Please do nothing of the kind," said Frances gaily ;
" make yourself agreeable for ten — no, I think five —
minutes ; that is all I shall allow."

She had begun to play with his feelings thus, as she had
played with them before her marriage, and Arthur Beaton's
old infatuation still held strong hold on his heart. True,
he told himself, she was not worth it ; but he also told him-
self that she had married Colonel Kenyon because her
father was so poor, because Colonel Forth had almost
forced her to do so ; and that she was only now trying to
make the best of her loveless bargain.

Frances had said or insinuated all this to the young
man's greedy ears, who had eagerly drunk in the honeyed
poison. She had taken him round the gardens the first
day he had dined at Sudley, under the pretext of showing
him some comic paper which was lying on the table in the
pavilion, and she had not wasted her time, for when the}''
rejoined Colonel Kenyon and Seaforth she had almost en-
tirely resumed her old power over him.

And she liked to thirk this ; to think that she still held
his heart fast in her keeping. It excited her, and elated
her like wine, and she had never been more brilliantly
beautiful than she looked that night ; and as the two young
men drove back to the Fort together, Beaton raved about
her charm.3.

" She/s a dangerous woman," said Seaforth, warningly.

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134

yEZEBRVS FRIENDS,

But Beaton would take no warning, and in vain Seaforth
pointed out to him that as Mrs. Kenyon had chosen to
marry Colonel Kenyon — say for position and money — that
she ought now to be content with her husband.

" Who says that she is not? " asked Beaton, sharply, for
he was ever ready to take up the cudgels in her defence.

" All right, my dear fellow," said Seaforth, good-natur-
edly, and the conversation ended ; though Seaforth
remembered it when he met Beaton and Mrs. Kenyon
returning from the tennis-ground together. " I suppose sh<^
wants to make that poor lad as miserable as she has made
Ruth," he thought indignantly, and he began to feel the
sincerest pity for Colonel Kenyon.

But Colonel Kenyon was quite happy. He smiled plea-
santly when his handsome wife entered the drawing-room
with young Beaton by her side, and Frances smiled and
nodded in return. The Colonel was still talking to pale,
drooping Ruth, who looked so ill that when Audley came
into the room with Lady Hastings he at once noticed it.

" Have you got another of your headaches, Ruth ? " he
asked, going up to her.

'' Yes," she answered, and she put her hand up to her
brow. This meeting with Seaforth had indeed been almost
more than her strength could bear. And as Audley stood
looking at her, the idea flashed across his brain that she
had been upset by the sight of her old lover, and an angry,
jealous pang darted through his heart.

" If you are not well, we had better go at once," he said
brusquely ; and presently these two returned together to
the house they called their home.

But never was this name given more untruly, if home
means a spot where we can take safe shelter from the
storms, worries, or pleasures of the world. Ruth was
wearied and tired out by the emotions of the day, and
Audley was sulky and disagreeable. They scarcely spoke
to each other as he drove her back to Headfort, and when
they reached 47 High Street, Audley took refuge in a
brandy and soda and a cigar, and Ruth went upstairs and
lay down on the bed, and could not restrain her tears.

She wept in the bitterness of her heart over her wrecked
life and the miserable future that lay spread out in the
long dark vista before her. She was only twenty, and she
might live fifty years, perhaps more. Fifty years of weary

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

«35

!■ ■■'

bondage, of companionship that was hateful to her, bound
by a tie from which there was no release !

And Kenard's face — the dear face with the half-re-
proachful, half-pitying look it had worn to-day — rose
hauntingly before her. Ah, she knew that he must have
thought that she was weak, that she was false ; and yet he
was sorry. Ruth understood with that wonderful in-
stinctive power which is one of the gifts of love, very
nearly what had been passing in Kenard's heart. And yet
she had scarcely looked at him, had not dared to look lest
her eyes should tell too much.

Her eyes were red with tears, her hair, pushed back from
her burning brow, was tangled and disorderly, her dress
crushed and disarranged, when she heard her husband's
heavy step ascending the staircase. She sprang up and
tried to turn her face aM'^ay from him as he entered the
room, but Audley, who was still in a bad temper, quickly
saw the signs of grief

" So you have been crying, have you? " he said disagree-
ably. '* May I ask what about? '* -

" I am tired, that is all," answered Ruth.

" You did not exert yourself particularly at Lady Hast-
ings', at all events. I hate crying women. What's the
good of crying ; I ask you that ? "

" I cannot help it ! " burst out poor Ruth with renewed
sobs. " Oh ! do leave me alone, Richard. Surely I may
be alone at least."

Something very like a curse broke from Audley's lips.

'' You make a nice home for a man, I must say," he said,
roughly and angrily, "and I'm about sick of it."

"Let me go back to my father, then ? " answered Ruth.
" I told you that nothing but misery could come of our
marriage ; I knew nothing else would come ! "

" And you've only yourself to thank for it ! I've done
all I can to make you happy ; but you're a cold, ungrate-
ful, heartless woman, and it's impossible to please you."

" I will go away, then."

" Thank you ; I am not going to allow you to make
quite such a fool of me as that. No ; I have married you
— the worse luck ! — but as you are my wife, I shall see
you don't make an ass of me, as your sister seems inclined
to do of old Kenyon ! Be good enough to bathe your
eyes ; and don't let the servants amuse themselves at our
expense, by saying there has been a row between us."

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136

JEZEBEL'S FRrENDS.

And he turned and left the room as he spoke, and the
poor girl fell down on her knees by the bed, and prayed
God she might die ; her home was too wretched for her to
wish to live.

CHAPTER XXVI.

COLONEL KENYON S BIRTHDAY.

Thl next day, Frances drove into Headfort before luncheon
with some news for her sister.

" My dear," she said as she entered the dining-room,
where Ruth was sitting pale and disheartened, " isn't this
delightful? I have talked Hugh over, and we are going
to give a grand affair at Sudley on his birthday. It is on
the ist of October, so I hope you will look your prettiest
on the occasion."

Ruth, who had risen to kiss her sister, did not seem at
all excited by the news.

" We are going to have tennis in the afternoon first, thc^n
dinner in the pavilion at eight, because it holds more than
the dining-room, and a dance afterwards ; and I mean to
have the gardens lit up with Chinese lamps, and to make
the whole place look beauaful."

" I hope you will have a fine day," said Ruth languidly.

"Of course I shall have a fine day ! By-the-bye, she's a
jolly little woman, isn't she, Lady Hastings ? But what's
the matter with you, Ruth, are you not well? Hugh
thought you looked ill yesterday."

" I felt ill yesterday, and don't feel over well to-day."

" I'm so awfully sorry. You saw Seaforth yesterday, I
suppose. Did you talk to him ? "

*' He spoke to me, t^^^t was all."

*' Well, the first awkwardness is over then, and I daresay
presently you'll become very good friends. I don't think
I quite Hke him, you know ; he has certainly not improved
since he went away."

" He was not likely to improve," said Ruth, with some
bitterness.

"Why? Oh, you mean because your love affair with
him was broken off? My dear, don't flatter yourself;

JEZEBEDS FRIENDS.

«37

men can bear a wound or two of that kind without showing
a scar."

" I daresay."

Frances did not speak for a moment or two, then she
went up to Ruth, and laid her hand Hghtly on her shoulder.

" You know I'm not given to preaching, yet I feel very
much inclined to read you a lecture, Ruth. My dear, you
are not behaving wisely to Audley \ you are letting him
see too plainly you do not care for him ; not that I wonder
at it, though."

" He knows very well I do not care for him ; that I
never shall care for him."

"But why let other people see it so plainly? I over-
heard remarks yesterday made about you, and one lady
said ohe had never seen such an unhappy-looking bride.
If Audley had heard that he would have been awfully
angry, and, you know "

** I am unhappy, most unhappy ! " said Ruth, rising
excitedly. *' I asked him yesterday to let me go back to
my father's house."

'' Was that wise, Ruth?"

" I cannot bear my life," continued Ruth, walking up
and down the room with clasped hands; "you do not
know all I suffer."

"But why not make the best of it, as I do? I know
you did not care for Audley when you married him, nor
did I care for Hugh ; yet you see I make Hugh content,
though I may have my own feelings, too, on the subject."

" Hugh is quite a different man : he is honorable, he is
high-minded ; he did not force you to marry him by
unworthy threats."

" No," and Frances' face flushed. " But is that a
generous speech ? "

For a moment Ruth was silent; then with sudden
penitence and love, she went up and laid her head on
Frances' shoulder.

" Forgive me," she half-whispered ; " I did not mean to
say anything ; but he drives me half-wild."

" I know ; he is selfish, and bad to get on with some-
times ; I see all that — but Ruth, try to look a little happier
for my sake ; it makes me miserable to think your life has
been sacrificed."

These words went straight to Ruth's heart.

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138

yFZr./iF.rS AA*//rA'AV.

" I will try," she said ; " it put me out seeing Kenard
Seafor^h yesterday, and I broke down — yes, I know I am
very foolish."

" That's a dear child ! Try to make the best of Audley ;
he's a vain man, and other women flatter him, and you
could manage him if you flattered him too. Look how
Lady Hastings runs after him ? "

*• She is quite welcome," said Ruth, and Frances laughed.

" You are not a bit jealous of her then ? "

"Jealous ! No.''

" Yet I have known women" who did not care one straw
for their husbands to be very jealous of them. It is a
feeling of vanity, I suppose."

" Then I have none ; but don't let us talk about it any
more, I will try to look brighter."

" Yes, do, dear ; and now will you come over to Sudley
and stay with us a day or two? I fancy the change will
do you good, and then we shall have all the arrangements
to make for the ist, and no end of things to do. Where
is Audley ? "

" At the Foit, I suppose, but he will be in to lunch."

" Then I'll stay to lunch and see him, and persuade him,
if I can, to let you come to us."

And Frances did this. Presently Audley came into the
house, and Frances received him in her most winning
fashion.

" Don't turn me out,'' she said, " for I have invited my-
self to lunch."

"Only too charmed to see you, of course," smiled
Audley. " Where is Colonel Kenyon ? "

" He has gone over to see one of his tenants, who wants
some repairs to the farm buildings, and Hugh likes to
look after these things himself."

"Quite right."

" I suppose it is ; so I came to enquire after Ruth's
headache, and do you know I think she wants a little
change. If she came to us for a day or two, I p.ti certain
it would do her good, and you could come whenever you
could get over, of course. What do you think?"

" You are very good," said Audley, glancing at Ruth.

He knew now very well that his marriage had been a
foolish, wilful act, of which he had begun heartily to
repent, and that last quarrel had made him feel very bitter

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

139

to her. Why not let her go for a day or two, he thought,
glancing at her again; but Ruth never raised her eyes.

" Would you like to go to your sister for a day or so ? "
he said.

" Yes," answered Ruth ; and after a few more words
they settled it ; Frances pressing Audley to go over to
Sudley every day.

" Hugh will be delighted to see you," she said ; " and
Ruth and I shall have heaps to do about Hugh's birthday
party ; and you must help us, Major Audley ? I mean to
have colored lamps, and all sorts of pretty things. By-
the-bye, talking of pretty things, what a very pretty
woman your friend Lady Hastings is. If I were Ruth, I
should be frightfully jealous of her."

Audley laughed, not displeased.

" Ruth condescends to be jealous of no one," he said.

" Well, if you were my husband, I should be jealous ; a
handsome man always has so much love made to him."

Again Audley laughed, yet he was vain enough to be
pleased by the open flattery.

" Then I should have no chance of making you jealous,**
he said.

" Oh, yes, yes, you would ! Just as if a man didn't know
when he was good-looking ? Women let them know the
pleasing fact quickly enough."

Audley stroked his heavy moustache with no small sat-
isfaction.

"I am not so fortunate," he said; but Frances knew
very well with whom she had to deal, and smiled, well-
satisfied, a few minutes later when they were alone, Ruth
having left the room to make some preparations for her
visit to Sudley.

" I only wish," he said, half in jest, half in earnest, " that
Ruth had a little of your charming manner."

" Ruth has something more charming than manner,"
answered Frances gaily, " extreme youth ; do not forget,
pray, that I have had five years longer experience of the
wiles and ways of the wicked world."

" Then it has improved, not spoiled you."

Frances made a coquettish little curtsey.

" For my part," she said, " I like worldly people, and
those who do not pretend to be above the foibles of our
race j for we are all tainted, you know ? "

I40

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

" Yes," answered Aiidley, looking at her steadily.

" Ruth is young, romantic, and thinks it right always to
speak the truth, and so "

" The truth in her case is often confoundedly disagree-
able then, that's all I can say,'* said Audley, as Frances
l)aused.

" We all say disagreeable things occasionally," she an-
swered with a laugh, "and our beloved parent, you know,
is a master of the art of nagging, or rather used to be,"
she added, a little scornfully, " for I assure you he has
turned wonderfully pleasant to me now."

Audley, too, laughed ; but she had contrived to put him
in a better temper with himself and the world in general,
and when Ruth came down-stairs, he went to the carriage
with the two sisti rs, and promised to go over to Sudley to
dine on the following day.

"I shall depend on your help for the ist, yoa know,"
said Frances, looking back and nodding to him ; but Ruth
said nothing, and the husband and wife shook hards coldly
enough, and that was all.

And this chill parting proved to be a longer one than
either of them expected, for the next morning's post brought
a letter from Audley for Ruth, to tell her that scarcely had
she left Headfort when he had received a telegram to sum-
mon him at once to the sick-bed of his only sister. This
lady, who was unmarried, and possessed of a good fortune,
was Audley's nearest surviving relation, and had for some
time been in delicate health. The telegram was peremp-
tory, Audley wrote, and he was on the point of starting for
his sister's house when he penned the letter to Ruth.

" If Mrs. Kenyon will allow you to remain at Sudley
until my return, I think it will be a good arrangement,"
Ruth read, with a beating heart, and we may be sure that
both the Colonel and Frances were delighted that Ruth
should do this.

And Ruth went upstairs and breathed a sigh of relief,
alas ! of thankfulness, that for the next few days at least
she would not see her husband's face. This knowledge
seemed to take a weight off her heart somehow, and her
girlish color stole back to her fair face, and her step grew
lighter, and she was ready and willing to join in all Frances'
plans for the entertainment on Colonel Kenyon's birthday.

*' That little woman looks a different, creature already,

JEZKBEUS FRIENDS.

141

ays to

le an-
cnow,
be,"
lias

with the air here," said the kindly Colonel to his wife, and
Frances assented.

'* 1 hope Miss Audley will keep very ill for some time,"
she said, smiling ; but Colonel Kenyon shook his head at
this unfeeling remark.

" Don't wish the poor lady to suffer long, ucarest," he
answered, for he ever thought considerately of others, and
had strong sympathy for all those who pass heavily bur-
dened on their way.

" Shall we ask Seaforthand Beacon to dinner to-morrow,
Ruth?" asked Frances, later in the day. "He will help
to amuse us."

" No, no," answered Ruth, with a vivid blush, " don't
ask Kenard Seaforth while I am here, please, Frances ; it
is only painful to us both."

" We must ask him for the ist, my dear."

"That is different re will be a crowd ; but I v^uld
rather not see him u^^ai then."

Nevertheless, two days later she did see him, for Colonel
Kenyon announced that he had asked " Beaton and Sea-
forth " over for a day's shooting, and to stay all night, and
dine at the Park.

" There, you can't help yourself," said Frances, to her
sister, when Colonel Kenyon had left the room ; " my dear,
take my advice, and treat him in a friendly fashion, and it
will all become quite easy to you in a very short while."

And Ruth resolved to try to do this. The first painful
meeting was over, and it is certainly strange how we become
used to things, and fall into ways wa are forced to tread-
Ruth and Seaforth met again, cercamly with embarrass-
ment, but still without the overwhelming emotion of the
first meeting. They shook hands, and by-and-bye Ruth
found herself talking quietly enough to her old friend. The
three men had come in for afternoon tea after the day's
sport, and Frances in a charming tea-gown smiled her wel-
come ; Beaton going at once to her side and remaining
there, fascinated beyond the power of his own will to turn
away.

Presently the Colonel, having drunk his tea, went to have
a smoke, but the two young men lingered in the drawing-
room. It was thus impossible for Seaforth and Ruth not
to talk to each other, and in a little while they found that
words came to them very easily. They did not speak

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142

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

much of past nor coming days, but of the things around
them, though Seaforth did once alkide to their former inti-
macy. There was a stand of flowers close by them, for
Frances loved to fill her rooms with the choicest she could
procure, and Seaforth began talking of these, telling Ruih
of some rare orchids he had seen when "he was away.

*' I am afraid my taste still clings to the simplest flowers,"
said Ruth with a smile ; *' even wild flowers."

" I remember you used to gather them," answered Sea-
forth in a low tone.

Ah, what memories those words recalled to her heart !
Nay, scarcely memories ; days that lived always imprinted
on her brain, when she had wandered in the fields with her
lover, and plucked the scarlet poppies by the way.

" Yes, long ago," she said, and her head drooped, and
he watched the color come and go on her smooth fair
cheeks.

He looked at her for a moment or two, and then changed
the conversation, asking her about the party to be given
in honor of Colonel Kenyon^ birthday.

"You are going to have great doings here on the ist, I
am told," he said considerately.

" Yes, Frances is bent on making it quite a success, as
it is Colonel Kenyon's birthday, you know. We are to
have a band, and a banquet, and a dance, I believe, to
wind up with."

" Will you keep me a dance ? "

"Yes, I shall be very glad."

And so in this commonplace strain they talked, inter-
rupted occasionally by Frances' soft laughter, and the
murmur of Beaton's voice. He was standing with his back
to them, looking down with his grey expressive eyes at
the beautiful woman who was lying back in an easy chair
before him, toying with a feather fan. And what were
they saying? Foolish words of coquettish jesting on her
part ; on his, ardent expressions of scarcely veiled tender-
ness and admiration, which Frances loved to listen to.

Suddenly she started up and declared it was time to
dress for dinner, and she and Ruth left the room together,
followed a moment or two later by the young men, who
went out on the terrace before the house to smoke cigar-
ettes, both thinking of the women they had just left,
though neither mentioned the sisters.

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

They all met at dinner, and then afterwards went out
into the still dark gardens to fix about the illuminations
on the night of the/(?/f. The Colonel made a joke of the
whole affair, and tried to laugh Frances out of the idea of
the Chinese lamps her heart was set upon.

" Then I shall not consult you any more," she said play-
fully. " Mr. Beaton, you come with me, and we will fix
where to hang them."

He followed her, only too gladly, under the shadowy
trees ; and Colonel Kenyon, Ruth and Seaforth, walked
slowly behind them, talking pleasantly as they went, and
gradually Ruth and Seaforth grew more at ease.

And the next morning it was the same thing. Ruth
came down to breakfast in a white gown, and looked so
like the fair young girl Seaforth had loved and wooed, that
the bitter days of her desertion seemed somehow to fade
from his mind. They stood on the terrace and talked
together with the sunshine falling on Ruth's uncovered
head, and it was only when he parted with her to return
to Headfort that the old gloom stole over Seaforth's
heart.

" I cannot understand it," he told himself, restlessly ;
" a girl like that to throw a man over that she cared for —
for she did care for me — because another man had a few
more hundreds a year ; and yet she did it."

He did not go any more to Sudley until the day of the
party on Colonel Kenyon's birthday, but Beaton went
several times, making the excuse that he was assisting Mrs.
Kenyon about the decorations, which, in truth, he was.
Major Audley was still absent, and wrote to Ruth that it
was impossible for him to leave his sister, who continued
to be in great danger. Ruth thus remained at Sudley,
and stood by Frances to receive her guests, when one
after the other all the people of the neighborhood who
were of any note gathered together in honor of Colonel
Kenyon and his young wife.

They looked 'yo beautiful women, the sisters, standing
side by side, and so thought their proud father, and the
fond husband of one, whose eyes rested t gain and again
on his Frances' face.

And other eyes watched that face too, young, ardent,
passionate eyes, that found their heaven there, and saw
no beauty in all the other fair women around. And Fran-
ces knew this, and it made her glad and her heart to glow

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144

yEZEBEVS FKIENDS,

with secret triumph, and she smiled on him, though they
exchanged few words ; but Arthur Beaton felt that lie
must be content with these, and for her sake kept away
from her side.

It was not until the afternoon was far advanced and the
sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, that he went
up to her, pale and agitated. A few minutes before his
soldier servant had sought him out among the crowd
assembled on the lawn, and had placed a telegram in his
hand, which had been sent on to him from Headfo'-t, and
as Beaton read .t a great change passed over his face.

He re-read it, hesitated, and then walked up to the
beautiful hostess, who was standing surrounded by a little
group.

** Can I speak to you for a moment ? " he said, and some-
thing in his expression checked the gay refusal she had
been about to make, to what she considered an imprudent
request.

*' If you wish it, yes," she answered, and she moved a
few steps apait from her other friends, one or two of whom
exchanged glances as she did so.

" I have something to tell you," said Beaton, in an
agitated whisper.

*'Well?" she asked, looking at him with iicr bright
eyes.

" My brother died yesterday, suddenly, of heart disease,"
continued Beaton, " my eldest brother."

" What ! Sir Robert ? Then you are now "

They looked at each other and said nothing ; they were
both thinking of '* what might have been ;" but Frances
was the first to recover her self-possession.

" Then I suppose you must go ? " she said, in a low tone.
** I shall see you soon again? "

" Yes," he answered, wrung her hand and turned away,
and Frances went back to the group she had left.

" That poor young man," she said, addressing one of the
ladies present, " has just received the news that his eldest
brother. Sir Robert Beaton, is dead."

There was a chorus of politely-expressed regret, and then
everyone began talking of the heir.

" If that young fellow is the next brother," said Sir James
Hastings, " he has come in for a good thing ; I know some-
thing of the Beatons, and the old man died worth between
seventeen and eighteen thousand a year."

JEZEDEVS FRIENDS,

If •

CHArXER XXVII.

A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

The account of Sir Robert Beaton's sudden death spread
very quickly among the guests at Sudley, and it required
all Frances' self-command to carry herself as gaily and
unconcernedly as she had done before she heard the news.

She could not in truth put it out of her mind. She had
listened to what Sir James Hastings had said about the
large income that Arthur Beaton must have inherited, and
the words seemed to ring in her ears. She went up to
Ruth on the first opportunity she could find, and whispered
a question to her.

" Have you heard ? " she said.

"About Mi. Beaton's brother?" answered Ruth, look-
ing at her ister quickly, and seeing very plainly the signs
of suppressed excitement written on her handsome face.

" Yes," said Frances, in a low tone ; " it's a strange thing,
isn't it ? A strange thing," she repeated, and she moved
away, and Ruth's eyes followed her with some uneasiness.

A minute or two later, Colonel Forth also went up to
his youngest daughter, full of the same tidings.

"Have you heard about Beaton, Ruth?" he said.
" What confounded luck some people have, to be sure ! "

" He may have been fond of his brother," smiled Ruth.

" Fond ! rubbish. Fonder of sixteen or seventeen thou-
sand a year, which they say he has come into," answered
the Colonel.

"Still it's a very sad thing ; Sir Robert must have been
quite a young man, if Mr. Beaton ic the next brother ? "

" Well, Sir Arthur, as I suppose we must call him now,
is a deuced lucky young man, that's all I can say," said
Colonel Forth ; and this opinion was very generallj'
thought, though not quite so openly expressed.

" A great change for our young friend, truly," said the
Vicar of Headfort, approaching the father and daughter,
who were still talking of Arthur Beaton. '' But I have no

146

JEZEBEVS PklENDS,

doubt, judging by what I have seen of him, that he will
make a wise and judicious use of the large fortune so un-
expectedly bestowed on him."

" More likely to make ducks and drakes of it, I should
think," growled the Colonel.

" Nay, nay, my dear sir," smiled the urbane vicar ;
"even if in the light-heartedness of youth we were to
spend a little lavishly at first, this exuberance of spirits
will soon pass away, and the duties of his new position
will become clear to his eyes."

" We all know what you parsons think are the ditties of
a rich man," said the Colonel, with his sour smile ; " you
had best get hold of him before your clerical brethren do,
Appleby."

But the Rev. John only smiled beiiignly. He had
leaning on his arm a tall, rather ^ood-looking middle-aged
woman, whom he presently introduced to Ruth and
Colonel Forth, and this lady proved to be very voluble ;
and while she was talking to Ruth the V'car had a word to
whisper about her in the Colonel's ear.

" Mrs. Dixon is one of the luc^:y ones, also, as regards
fortune," he said, in an aside. " She is a widow, a distant
relative of my own, and largely endowed."

There was something about money to Colonel Forth —
and, indeed, to most of us — irresistibly attractive. He
would not have looked the second time at Mrs. Dixon
unless be had heard she was rich, but now he glanced at
her with his bloodshot eyes, and the widow smiled as he
did so.

'* What a charming place your daughter's is, Colonel
Forth," she said, " and she is so beautiful."

** People say shj is good-looking," answered the Colonel,
with a feeling of gratification, which he would not have
felt had the flattering words issued from the lips of a poor
acquaintance.

" There is no doubt of it," continued Mrs. Dixon ; " and
this other sweet creature," and she bent her head a little
closer to the Colonel's, and indicated that she was speak-
ing of Ruth, who was exchanging a few mild words with
the Vicar, " is a daughter too ? "

" Yes, the youngest ; but can I not get you an ice or
something ? " asked Colonel Forth.

" Well, I am thirsty, I'll admit ! " said Mrs. Dixon, smil-

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

147

ing, and a moment or two later she was to be seen leaning
on the Colonel's stalwart arm, and the middle-aged couple
reiired together into the house, where the mos. lavish re-
freshments were to be found.

Ruth was thus left alone with the Rev. John, who offered
her his arm, and as the two went through the crowd they
encountered Kenard Seaforth, with whom Ruth had only
exchanged a few words.

She blushed and smiled slightly as they met, and the
young man paused, and after a moment's hesitation joined
her.

'* I have been seeing Beaton off," he said. " I suppose
you know ? "

" Yes, we have been talking of it ; it is a strange turn of
fortune, isn't it? "

" Wonderful ; and he seems very much cut up and
excited. I think he was fond of his brother."

" I should think he was a young man of warm feelings."

" Yes," and Seaforth's expression slightly changed.
" He will be a rich man now," he added, with a little wring
of bitterness, which was never formerly to be heard in his
tones ; " he will have it all his own way now."

Ruth made no answer. She raised her shadowy eyes
and looked for a moment in his face, and there was some-
thing reproachful in their expression, which though
naturally Seaforth did not understand, yet touched his
heart.

She was looking very pretty, with a faint flush on her
cheeks ; and her pale grey s-'lk dress Avith silver em-
broidery, and a broad silver band round her slender waist,
well suited her delicate and refined appearance. She wore
also a large hat, with grey sweeping feathers, and many of
the guests at Sudley declared they admired her most or
the two sisters. Seaforth had always done this, and to-day
she seemed very lovely in his eyes. He lingered by her
side, and he wished the Vicar would go away ; and the
Yicar who was no fool, began to perceive this, and with
the semi-tender smile which he indulged in to good-looking
young women when the upright wife of his bosom was not
])resent, he turned to Ruth.

" Will you excuse me a few minutes, my dear Mrs.
Audley?" he said. "I see over yonder one of my
parishioners, who, poor lady, being afflicted with partial

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148

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

deafness, may not yet have received much attention, like
you beautiful young creatures naturally command. Ah,
ah, you smile, my dear young lady, but is it not so ? It
is but human nature, is it not, Mr. Seaforth? But wc
poor parsons must sometimes put our inclinations into
our pockets," and he smiled and took off his hat, and went
away.

" He's rather good fun, the parson, isn't he ? " said
Seaforth.

" He's very amusing ; he always makes me laugh."

" Shall we take a little turn ; it is getting rather cold for
you to stand about, don't you think? "

" It is a little chill," answered Ruth, and the two moved
on together, going along one of the walks cut through the
lawn until they came to the broad belt of lofty trees which
divided the gardens from the park, and behind which the
sun had now set.

It was getting dusk, in fact, and many of the guests had
gone into the house, either to drink tea or make some
little change in their dress before the dinner hour, which
was to be at eight o'clock. But Seaforth and Ruth did
not leave the shadowy, quiet, broad path beneath the
trees for nearly half-an-hour. Yet there was not a word
exchanged between them that the whole company miglit
not have heard. But there was a subtle, dangerous joy
felt by each, which they knew, though neither of them
analysed it, that made these moments very precious. And
Audley's absence was also an immense relief to them both.
He had forced this poor girl to marry him, but he could
not force her to regard him otherwise than with shrinking
dislike.

At last, unwillingly, Ruth suggested it must be time for
her to go in, and Seaforth saw that it only wanted a few
minutes to eight o'clock.

" I suppose," he said, smiling, " you will have to go in
to dinner with one of the big guns ? "

" My big gun," answered Ruth, smiling also, " is, I be-
lieve. Sir James Hastings ; so Frances arranged this
morning, at least."

" But you will keep a dance for me ? "

" Yes ; I mean to dance very little. I do not care for
it, you know."

♦* The first waltz, then ? "

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JEZEBEL'S FRIINDS,

149

" Very well ; " and this having been settled they walked
together to the house, which was now fully lighted and the
drawing-room crowded.

Ruth went quietly in, and presently fat little Sir James
Hastings approached her.

" I believe that I am to have the honor of escorting you
to dinner?" he said.

" I think so," smiled Ruth.

'^ I shall tell my little boy at home that I have seen you ;
I assure you that you have made quite a conquest of his
youthful heart," and Sir James smiled.

'' He is a dear little fellow."

"He is sensitive and affectionate ; yes, yes, I hope a
fine disposition."

" He told me his father was a very good man."

" Did he, indeed ? " said the delighted Sir James. " It
is astonishing how observing children are, to be sure ! "

But a movement now took place among the company,
and Colonel Kenyon, with Lady Hastings on his arm, led
the way to the pavilion, where the banquet was spread out,
followed by the guests, Frances being escorted by Lord
St. Clair, whose wife was unavoidably absent.

In the pavilion wealth and good taste had made every-
thing almost perfect. The beautiful hostess and the
kindly, genial host sat smiling among their guests, and
presently Lord St. Clair rose up to propose Colonel Ken-
yon's health, and on this, the anniversary of his birthday,
to wish him long years of life and h:ippiness.

" Since last year at this time," went on the white-haired
old nobleman, smiHng and turning to Frances with his
courteous manner, "my friend, Colonel Kenyon, has
chosen a wife, to whom any of my poor words of praise
must fail to do justice. It will be enorgh then for me to
add that the name of the beautiful mistress of Sudley
should be joined to that of her gallant and distinguished
husband. I therefore propose the health of Colonel and
Mrs. Kenyon."

It is needless to tell that this toast was responded
to with the warmest enthusiasm. And a glow stole to
Colonel Kenyon's face, and a tender light to his eyes, as
he rose to return thanks for the good wishes of his friends
and neighbors.

" I heartily thank Lord St. Clair, and all my friends," he

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JEZEBEPS FRIENDS.

said, in his clear, sweet-toned voice, " for the kind words
we have just listened to. For myself I shall say nothing ;
I was born amongst you, and you know all my faults and
failings, of course, very well," and he gave his genial laugh.
*' But of my young wife I must say a word or two. She is
only a stranger to you yet ; but I hope the day will come
when she will no longer be a stranger, when you will
all look upon her as a friend, and welcome her as gladly to
your homes as she now heartily welcomes you to her own.
I think that I had better not say any more, lest T am
tempted to say too much, but this I will add — and I thank
God that I am able to say it — this is the happiest birthday
of my life. Last year I was a lonely man with few joys if
not many cares; now I am hi?^pier than I deserve, and
you know to whom I owe this ; " and again he looked at
Frances, and sat down. And Frances smiled and cast her
bright hazel eyes upon her plate, and then turned to
whisper some pleasant words to Lord St, Clair behind
her fan.

" This must be a proud moment to you," said the
supposed rich widow, Mrs. Dixon, to Colonel Forth, who
had carried his attentions so far as to take her in to
dinner.

" Well, I suppose it ought to be," he answered. And it
was. He glanced round the table, and then at his
daughters, and his heart expanded with gratification to
think how well he had done for them.

'* Colonel Kenyon is an old and very intimate friend of
my own," he said ; " and thus he came to marry my
daughter, and I am very well satisfied with the match."

" Indeed you have every reason ; Colonel Kenyon
seems a delightful man ; they are a charming couple."

Mrs. Dixon apparently was a lady who thoroughly
believed that every human soul can be effectually assailed
by flattery. She piled it on without stint all round, and
she left a pleasing impression on Colonel Forth's mind.
He had not received very much, poor man, all his life, for
he had never been popular, and his daughters did not
overwhelm him with soft words. And so agieeable did
they now seem to him, that when the banquet broke iq)
and the company passed through the gardens, all alight
now with the pretty lamps that Arthur Beaton had heli)ed
to arrange, Mrs. Dixon was leaning still on Colonel Forth's
arm, though he inwardly felt he was making rather an

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

151

exhibition of himself, and would gladly have deposited the
lady in some convenient seat.

The dancing took place in the dining-room, which
was prepared as a ballroom ; and the opening dance, a
quadrille, being over, Kenard Seaforth went up to Ruth
and claimed her promise to dance the first waltz with him.

With a blush and a smile she rose, and as the two
glided gracefully round the room, a strange excitement
began to stir in Seaforth's breast ; an excitement which
made him forget certain rules that he had laid down
for his own guidance in regard to Ruth.

" Let us go out on the terrace for a moment or two,"
he said, as the dance finished. '' It is so hot in here,
isn't it?"

And Ruth went with him, and they stood together
in siLnce looking down at the dark trees, on which the
twinkling lights shone and glowed in diverse colors. It ' 'as
a pretty sight, and as Seaforth glanced at the delicate
profile of his companion, a sudden resolution entered his
heart, and bending nearer to her he said quickly and
excitedly :

" I never can understand, Ruth, why you treated me
so!"

He felt her hand tremble on his arm, but she answered
him, almost steadily :

" I know you can never understand it, Kenard ; but we
must not speak of it."

"I know that well enough; but why did you do it?
Why d''^ you throw me over ? "

"Because I could not help myself; not because I had
changed."

The words were almost whispered, but Kenard heard
them, and a throb of joy passed through his heart.

" You made me very miserable," he said, in a low tone.

** My dear," said Frances' voice close to them, before
Ruth could make any reply, " I've been looking for you ;
here is a telegram which has just arrived, I suppose from
Major Audley."

Ruth turned very pale, and opened her telegram with
trembling fingers ; it was from Major Audley, to tell her
that his sister had died during the afternoon ; and thus the
news that two souls had been summoned suddenly away
reached Sudley when everything there seemed so bright
and gay.

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152

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

CHAPTER XXVIII.

NEAR RELEASE.

face

your!

Neither Kenard Seaforth nor Ruth danced again during
the evening after the news of Major Audley's sister's death
had arrived. Ruth went back to the dining-room with
Frances, and sat quietly down on one of the benches
covered with red cloth arranged against the walls ot the
room, and Kenard followed her, and stood near her for a
while, and then went out and walked up and down on the
terrace alone, trying of course in vain to solve the reason
of her conduct to him.

" It must be something else ; it could not be for
Audley's money alone," thought the young man, and then
his brow darkened. *' Curse it ! — and that fellow will be
coming back again now, I suppose ; I can't stand this sort
of thing, that's the truth — I must exchange and go out to
India, for I like her too well, and can't help myself."

He almost made up his mind to do this. He expected
his company daily, and when he got it he would leave the
regiment and keep out of sight of the fair sad-faced woman
he believed loved him still.

"If she would only tell me the truth," he thought
restlessly ; " perhaps when she hears I am going away she
will do so ; it will be worth while, for to be near her as
things are now is only pain."

Presently he went back into the ball-room, but Ruth
was no longer there. And he felt disappointed, though he
had told himself a few moments before that to be near her
gave him no happiness. It did not, and yet the sweet
pain seemed better to him than to find her gone. He
grew weary of the whirling figures passing and re-passing
him, of the light jests and aimless words that fell on
his ears.

" What's the good of it all ? " he said impatiently to
Mr. Martin, who was in the same regiment, and who
had £one up to him and said, " Isn't this a jolly dance? "

JEZEBET'S FRIENDS.

153

" Good ? " repeated Martin, looking at Seaforth's gloomy
face in astonishment ; " why, isn't it good to enjoy
yourself? "

"If you can," answered the otrjr; and the good-
natured lad. whose face was crimson with his exertions,
wondered in his heart what had come over Seaforth to
put him out.

Ruth in .the meanwhile had stolen upstairs to her bed-
room, and was sitting in the semi-darkness thinking how
difficult and dark was her life. She could not help caring
for Seaforth, she had always cared for him, and his sudden
question on the terrace had made the old wound bleed
anew. Ah ! it had been cruel, too cruel, this enforced
separation, this rending apart of love t' at would not die.

And her marriage? — the miserable band that chained
her, and chafed her, and made her days a long struggle to
endure what she could not escape. It was a gloomy picture,
with one bright side. Frances was happy, and for Frances
she had made the self-sacrifice, the bitterness of which he*
own heart only knew.

"And he will be coming back again now, I suppose,"
she thought miserably. " Oh, J do so wish he would stay
away."

How many a time she had wished this since Audley had
left her ! She had looked and felt a different creature during
the last few days, and her heart abhorred the idea of
returning to the old bondage.

'' He knows I hate him; why does he make me stay?"
nhe had asked herself again and again, and she asked her-
self this question now.

But while she was sitting sad and lonely upstairs, down-
stairs Frances was receiving the compliments and adulation
that her soul loved, and was seemingly a woman standing
on one of the very pinnacles of good fortune.

" Are you satisfied with the day, dearest ? " her fond
husband had whispered to her as the evening began to
wane and the guests to depart ; and she had said " Yes,
and smiled, all the while with a strange unrest stirring in
her heart, when she thought of what had happened to
Arthur Beaton.

But as her husband's friends crowded round her to say
good-bye, each with a complimentary word, Frances exerted
herself to be agreeable to everyone, and tried her best to

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JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

put Beaton's good fortune out of her mind. Presently
Seaforth and young Martin, who were going to drive home
together, went up to her to say good-night, and Frances
smiled on them as she had smiled on the rest.

" Come again very soon," she said to Seaforth.

" Yes ; will you say good-bye to your sister for me ? " he
answered.

"Ruth? Where is she? I wonder where she is?"
answered Frances, looking round.

She was nowhere to be seen, and the young men went
away, and when they were gone, and the rooms were cleared,
Frances went upstairs to seek for Ruth. She found her
alone in the half-dark room, and as Frances lit some of
the candles on the toilet-table to look at herself, glancing
round she saw on Ruth's face the mr,rks of recent tears.

" What is the matter? Are you not very well, Ruth ?"
she asked. ''Seaforth was asking for you a few minuses
since to bid you good-bye."

" The room was hot downstairs," answered Ruth, " so I
came up for a few minutes' quiet. Are all the people gone ?
I heard the music cease."

" Yes, thank heavens, everyone is gone. What a day it
has been. And about Arthur Beaton. I cannot help
thinking about it. Fancy, Ruth, if this had happened
a few months ago how it would have changed every-
thing."

" You mean "

" I mean I should never have been Mrs. Kenyon, my
dear, as you know very well ! But it is no good talking
of it."

" No, indeed, Frances ; and after all what is he ? A
good-looking boy "

Frances did not speak for a moment as Ruth paused
and hesitated. She began walking up and down the room,
and then again she went up to the toilet, and looked at
herself long and earnestly in the glass.

" How do you think I look to-day? " she asked.

" Very well indeed ; your dress is beautiful."

" He was very much upset when he came to tell me,
poor fellow, " faid Frances, the next moment, her mind
once more returning to Beaton ; " they say he will be
immensely rich — fifteen or sixteen thousand a year. Well,
one never can tell what will happen, certainly. I suppose
Audley will come in for his sister's money, too? "

yEZEBEUS FRIENDS,

^%<>

" I am sure I don't know, and T don't care."

" There will be a letter from iiim to-morrow morning, I
suppose, to tell you ; however, if you won't come down-
stairs, I think I'll say good-night, Ruth, as this has been
such an exciting day. I am dead tired." And she kissed
Ruth and went away ; but Ruth sat still long after she was
gone, thinking of her unhappy life, and wishing with all
her heart she could find any escape from it.

And the next morning did bring her a letter from Audley,
to tell her that his sister's death would nearly double his
present income ; and he also told her that immediately
after the funeral he should return to Headfort.

•' Ask your sister to drive you there on Monday morn-
ing," he wrote ; " I expect to arrive about twelve o'clock,
and by-the-bye you must go into mourning of course for
poor Agnes ; if you want money I can send you some;"
and so on.

And with a miserable heart poor Ruth was forced to
obey these orders. Her black gowns, which she was obliged
to wear for one whom she had never seen, were not more
gloomy than her thoughts as she prepared to return to her
husband's roof. Both Colonel Kenyon and Frances saw
how depressed she was, but what could they do to help
her ? Nothing, they told each other — and somehow Frances
shrank from speaking to Ruth of her too evident unhap-
piness.

At last the day came when she had to leave Sudley, and
Frances drove her into Headfort. It was a dull, grey
morning, ana the house in High Street looked very dreary
as the two sisters entered It.

" Send out for some flowers to brighten the room up,"
said Frances, looking round ; " you ought to seem glad tu
see him, you know."

** I don't want to seem glad to see him," answered Ruth ;
and Frances was half afraid to say anything more.

She stayed with Ruth till Audley arrived, and did her
best to receive him pleasantly; but there was a frown on
Audley's brow, for when he entered the room he went up
to KUth and bent down as if he meant to kiss her but Ruth
turned away her head.

He said nothing, but an angry look passed over his face
and remained there in spite of Frances' soft words.

" We were all so dreadfully sorry," she said, " that you

156

JEZEnEVS FRIENDS.

were away on Hugli's birthday; and still more sorry when
the sad news came about your i)oor sister."

*' It was very good of you," answered Audley, curtly.
" 1 suppose you know about Beaton's windfall ? *' he added.

" Yes. VVas it not odd the telegram to tell him of his
l>rother's death was sent on to him to Sudley at the birth-
day i)arty too. Have you heard from him? "

" Yes, I had a few lines ; it's an extraordinary piece of
luck."

"And," hesitated Frances, "did he say anything about
leaving the regiment?"

" Not a word, he said he would bt back here in a week."

Frances asked no more questions, and shortly after-
wards took her leave, after pressing Audley to go to Sudley
soon. And after she was gone, Audley turned savagely on
Ruth.

" I must say," he said, "' the way you received me was a
little too disgusting."

Ruth made no answer. She stood there, pale and cold
in her black gown, and never even looked in his face.

" 1 tell you what it is, Ruth, I won't stand it," went on
Audley, pas jnately ; " you married me "

" You forced me to marry you, you mean," interrupted
Ruth, with kindling eyes.

" Well, I forced you to marry me then, if that pleases
you better ; but at all events you did marry me, and if this
is the way you mean to carry out the contract, I tell you
plainly I will not put up with it."

" I wish to leave you ; let me go to my father's ; we
should be far happier apart."

" Then you were happier, I suppose, when I was away ?"
asked Audley, with strong indignation.

" You know very well I ain not happy here," said Ruth,
now looking straight in his angry face ; " you must feel,
you niust see this, and it's only misery to us both to goon
living as we do. My ftither, I am sure, will take me in;
let me go to-day."

He caught her fiercely by the wrist, and swore at her.

" Go at your peril ! " he thundered. *' Go if you dare !
And do you think if you leave me I shall keep Mrs. Ken-
yon's fine secret? By heavens, I won't then ; if you think
you can moke a fool of me, as you try to do, I'll have my
revenge, I can tell you."

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JEZEBEUS FRIEN-DS.

157

s ; we

Ruth's pale face grew paler, and there was a look in her
eyes that made Audley feel half ashamed of his buital
words.

" You bring it on yourself," he said, sulkily ; '* I've had
trouble enough lately, and to come home and be received
without a civil word is enough to put any man out. Con-
found it ! I wish I had never seen your face ! " And he
turned in a rage and left the room, furiously slamming the
door behind him.

And Ruth stood still after he had gone, with a look of
unutterable scorn in her eyes ; scorn and bitter, bitter dis-
like, almost hatred. " This was too mvch," she said,
thinking, " to threaten Frances ! " It seemed to her the
basest meanness, the lowest thing he could have said, and
her contempt was very great.

" I wish either he or I were dead ? " she said aloud, and
then sat wearily down, and presently she heard Audley
leave the house, and looking up as he passed the windows
;;I.e saw he had put on his uniform, and that he went
straight to the Fort.

He did not come in for luncheon, and Ruth spent the
afternoon alone. There was some heavy gun practising
going on at the Fort, and the loud booming sound occa-
sionally fell on her ears. About four o'clock there seemed
a tremendously loud explosion, so loud that Ruth rose and
went to the window, and a few minutes later a soldier ran
out of the Fort gates in hot haste. Then another followed,
and another ; and people began to gather round the gates,
but were prevented from entering by the sentry. Pre-
sently a doctor, whom Ruth knew by sight, came running
down the village with the soldier who had evidently been
sent for him. Something had happened, apparently, at the
Fort, for Ruth could see the grave faces outside, and the
excitement of those gathered round the gates.

She stood watching, and as she did so Kenard Seaforth
came hastily out of the Fort gates, and straight to the door
of Ruth's house. She heard the bell ring with a fast-beat-
ing heart, and a minute later he came quickly up the stairs,
and entered the drawing-room, and held out his hand for
a moment without speaking.

Ruth noticed he was very pale, and that there was a
shocked look on his face, and she began to understand that
something dreadful had occurred.

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158

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

** There has been an accident at the Fv)it," began Scaforth,
with a sort of effort. " The artillerymen were })ractising
with the big guns there, and one has just burst, from an
over-charge, I suppose, and I regret to tell you Major
Audley is hurt."

Ruth never spoke. She stood there with wide-o})in
eyes, listening to Seaforth's words.

" And I ran to tell you," he went on, " because they are
going to bring him home immediately, and 1 thought it
would be a less shock to you if you knew ; it's a terrible
thing — ^poor Martin ! "

''What!"

" Ho is killed outright, i)oor fellow; but Major Audley
is only wounded, and the doctors are doing all they can
for him."

" And — Mr. Martin is dead. How terrible ! "

" Yes, poor Martin and two artillerymen. Major
Audley and Martin were standing together watching the
practice, when the gun burst. Ah, here they are, bringing
him out. Come from the window, Ruth."

He took her hand and i)ulled her back as he spoke,
while the body of her husband, lying on a stretcher and
covered with a military cloak, his face also being covered
with a handkerchief, on which blood stains were visible,
was borne by four soldiers through the sympathising group
collected round the Fort gates. Two doctors were also
with him, one holding the wrist of the wounded man.

Ruth stood with blanched face and parted lips, grasping
Seaforth's hand while he was carried into the house, and
then when they heard the soldiers begin to ascend the
staircase with their burden, Seaforth hastily shut the draw-
ing-room door.

" No, no," he said, as Ruth mutely indicated she wished
to go to meet them. " You must not see him at present ;
he is unconscious ; the doctors would not wish you to see
him 1 am sure. '

*' Still I must go," said Ruth, with her dry lips, and she
opened the door ; cipencd it on a terrible sight.

The soldiers had just paused on the first landing by the
drawing-room door, and the handkerchief over Audley's
face had slipped aside, and Ruth saw a scarred and bleed-
ing mass ; but only for a moment.

" Keep Mrs. Audley away, Seaforth," Dr, Murray called

out,
face

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

»S9

out, as soon as his eyes fell on Ruth's pale, horror-stricken
facx' ; and Seaforth needed no second bidding.

** Vou must come back," he said, and he drew her firmly
away, and again shut the room door, and Ruth sank down
on a seat and covered her face with her hands.

" Oh ! this is dreadful," she said, " too dreadful ! "

*• Yes, but you must not give way," answered Seaforth,
very kindly and gently, for he was deeply moved. " He is
badly hurt, but when his wounds are dressed he will look
(piite different."

Ruth gave a sort of moan and started to her feet, in a
sudden agony of self-reproach ; the thought had flashed
across her mind that she had wished him dead tliis very
afternoon, and now he might die !

" And that other young man," she asked presently in a
low excited tone, walking backwards and forwards with
irregular steps. ** He was at Frances' dance, was he not ?
And now, and now "

" Hush ! Do not think of it. Would you like me to
send for your sister and Colonel Kenyon ? "

" Yes, please. Oh, Kenard," and Ruth caught his
hard, "ask them to let me go to him — to do what I can."

" Yes," and for a moment he held her hand fast in his ;
*' but wait a little while, just until the doctors see what will
be best to be done."

She did not speak again. She sat down once more, cold,
l)alc, and faint, and a few minutes later Colonel Forth, who
had heard of the accident, came into the room.

" This is a bad business, Ruth," he said, and he went up
and laid his hand with some kindness on her shoulder ;
** but they say he may pull through."

" Have you seen him, father ? " she asked, in a trem-
bling voice.

" The d actors won't let anyone into the room at present ;
but I have seen Murray, and they say one of his legs will
have to be amputated."

" Take me to him, father ; please take me to him,"
moaned Ruth.

'* My dear, you couldn't do the least good, and women
are only in tne way in a case like this. Keep yourself
quiet, and I'll send for Frances."

" I will go upstairs and see how he is getting on," said
Seaforth, and he left the room for the purpose, and Ruta

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JEZEBEUS FRIENDS,

was alone with her father for the next few minutes. Then
Seaforth returned.

** He is rallying," he said, " and they will perform no
operation to-day — until his system recovers from the
shock."

" I will go beside him then," and Ruth rose as she
spoke.

^' No," said Seaforth, " the doctors positively forbid it.
Dr. Murray told me to tell you that at present you must
not see him."

" I should like to go into the next room, then," said
Ruth, in a faint voice. " Father, help me into the next
room."

Colonel Forth took her arm, and led her into the spare
bedroom, which was on the same landing as the drawing-
room.

" I'll send for Frances," he said again ; " and I'll get
you some wine, Ruth, or something ? "

But she shook her head.

" I would rather be alone," she said, and so the Colonel
left her ; and when he was gone Ruth sank down on her
knees, with clasped hands, her mind absolutely torn with
conflicting feelings.

If he were to die she would be free, would be happy —
but no, no, she must not wish him to die — should she pray
that he might live ? She tried to frame the words, but her
lips faltered and refused their utterance. She could not
say " Oh ! God, spare him," because she knew it would be
a false prayer, praying for what she did not wish ! And
yet it was so terrible, this sudden summons ; and he had
been so well and full of strength.

And it hung on a balance now, she knew ; a moment
might turn the scale, and the mysterious breath of life go
forth from the maimed body of the man lying upstairs
close to the portals '* we call death."

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

l6i

CHAPTER XXIX.

A HEART STRUGGLE.

* 'rt^

AnouT an hour and a half later, Colonel Kenyon and Fran-
ces arrived at 47 High-street, for Seaforth had ridden out
to Sudley to tell them of the accident, and to ask them, by
Culon(il Forth's wish, to come immediately to Ruth.

She heard them arrive as she sat pale, cold, and silent,
not daring to indulge in hopes which only could be realized
by death. But Frances had no such scruples. She ran
upstairs to the room where Ruth was, and caught her in
her arms and kissed her.

*' It is dreadful, isn't it ? " said Ruth in a half-whisper.

" I won't pretend what I do not feel," answered Frances ;
" I always really hated him, and,'' she added, sinking her
voice, " if he dies we shall be safe ; we shall have nothing
more to fear."

'' Still "

" My dear, don't look shocked ; I confess candidly I
shall be glad to hear his bitter tongue is dumb."

'' Oh ! Frances, but think of his sufferings ! "

" He made us suffer enough," said Frances, with a dark-
ling brow ; " but Ruth, how cold you are. I shall ring for
some tea."

"Is father here still?"

" Yes, and Hugh, and Seaforth. Did you know Seaforth
rode lo Sudley to tell us ? He is a nice fellow, and he
seemed to feel so much for you ; I fancy, Ruth, he cares
very much for you still."

" Hush, don't talk of such things when "

" Very well, my dear ; they say Audley may pull through,
you know, but the chances are against it."

Ruth made no answer ; she drank some tea when it
eame, and sat listening to Frances' lively words, but with-
out responding This crisis in her fate seemed to her too
solemn for words, so tragic in its results whichever way
tlie balance swung, that she could not speak of its pro-
iKibilities. 6

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I68

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

In a little while Colonel Forth rapped at the room door,
and came in to tell his daughters that the servants were in-
quiring whether dinner should be served at the usual time.
Ruth shuddered, but Frances answered : —

" Of course ; Hugh and I are going to stay on with Ruth
until we see how it turns out with Audley, and I for one
do not mean to starve. Tell them to have dinner ready
at the usual time, and perhaps Seaforth will stay."

" Oh, no, no,'^ said Ruth, quickly, " don't ask him,
father — you and Hugh are different."

" I agree with you, Ruth ; Seaforth is a civil young fel-
low, but on an occasion like this, only the family ought to
be present, when we cannot tell what may happen any
minute," replied the Colonel ; and he nodded to his daugh-
ters and went away.

And when the dinner hour came, Ruth refused to go
downstairs, and a tray was therefore sent up to her by Fran-
ces, but she left the food untouched. Major Audley was
lying in the front bedroom over the drawing-room, and
there was another bedroom on this flat also, which Ruth
used as a dressing-room. If Frances and Cclonel Kcnyon
were going to stay, they would need the room Ruth was in,
next the drawing-room, she thought ; therefore she went
noiselessly up the staircase to t' '^ higher landing, pausing a
moment or two outside the door of the room where Audley
lay so desperately hurt.

As she did this a moan of bitter pain from within fell on
her ears. The poor girl clasped her hands and listened,
and all the womanliness of her nature thrilled with pity.
She hesitated, then softly turned the handle of the door
and went in. Dr. Murray was sitting near the bed and a
nurse was in the room also. But Ruth saw nothing but
the bandaged head and face tossing on the pillows. She
walked up to the bed, and Audley, who was rallying from
the first shock, and whose sight was uninjured, evidently
recognised her.

A splinter had struck the lower part of his face and ter-
ribly torn one cheek and the chin ; but the dangerous part
of his injuries were in the right leg, which was so shattered
that the doctors at once decided on amputation, and were
only waiting until his strength returned sufficiently to bear
the operation.

As Ruth bent over the bed, Dr. Murray rose and turned

JEZEDEUS FRIENDS,

163

away, and Ruth took Audley's hand gently in her own, and
spoke to him.

" I fear you are suffering very much ? " she said, in a
voice full of pity.

He made no answer. He looked at her, and understood
from the expression of her face that her heart was full of
sympathy for his agony.

" May 1 stay with you ? " she asked.

He had not spoken since the accident, and he did not
speak now, but he slightly moved his head to express he
wished her to remain.

" I will not leave you, then," she said, and she smoothed
his pillows, and wetted his lips with some restorative the
doctor handed to her.

" Major Audley has pulled himself together wonderfully,"
said Dr. Murray, who was a good-natured, pleasant-look-
ing young man. "You are all right now, Major," he
added, cheerfully. " Mrs. Audley here will make a famous
nurse, I am sure."

Again Audley's eyes rested on the pale fair face of his
young wife, and he muttered something, but the bandages
on the jaws made his words very indistinct.

" What is it ? " she asked, bending closer to him.

*' Do — you — really wish to stay — with me ? " at last she
made out.

" Yes, indeed yes," she said earnestly ; and then for a
moment she turned away her head. " I will come back in
a minute," she added, and she left the room and went into
the bedroom next door, and flinging herself on her knees,
now did pray, earnestly and humbly, to be delivered from
temptation.

" Let me do what I can do, what I ought to do — let me
make him live if I can."

She rose from her knees with the determination strong
in her heart to do her best to nurse the man back to
health whose life was the bitter burden of her own. But
the sight of his agony, the knowledge that perhaps her
presence by his bed might be some comfort to him, made
her forget at the time all the sufferings he had caused her.

And she went back to him, and tended him as carefully
as a loving woman might have done. She sat up with him
(luring this first night, and tried to soothe the cruel pain
that racked his body with almost intolerable anguish,

164

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

.A-iid she found some comfort in the thought that she was
doing her duty. It was better than sitting waiting, stifling
back the 1 ope that he might die. And Audley looked at lit-r
once or twice ahnost gratefully. rerha])s he remembered
in the.se grim hours the cruel WTong he had done her.

He tried to speak to her once, and his words showed
some tliought for her.

" You had better Jc down," she made out in those
husky accents. But Ruth sat by him all through the night
and in the early dawn the nurse took her place and she lay
down for a few hours.

The next day his leg was amputated, and the doctors
would not allow her to be present in his room, nor to go
in immediately afterwards. She sat in the dining-room
during the operation, holding Frances' hand, and Colonel
Kenyon stayed with them. There were three doctors
upstairs, and while they were there, Seaforth came to
inquire after Audley, and Colonel Kenyon went into the
hall to speak to him, and after a few words brought him
into the dining-room beside the sisters.

He silently clasped Ruth's cold hand and then spoke to
Frances, though his- eyes lingered on the pale worn face
which always was attractive to him.

'' She looks very tired, does she not ? " said Frances,
noting Seaforth's expression. " She sat up all last night
with Major Audley, and it is terribly trying."

" But any woman would have done the same, Frances,"
said Ruth quickly, and with a sudden blush.

" I don't know that, my dear ; many women under the
circumstances would not have gone near him."

Seaforth looked quickly from one to the other; he was
wondering what Frances meant.

" I think you should try to get some rest now," he said.

" I would — if it was over," answered Ruth with a little
shiver ; " but it is so dreadful to think of such pain."

" I do not suppose he will suffer much ; they were going
to give him chloroform, Murray said," replied Seaforth.

He only stayed a few minutes longer, but Ruth could
not help thinking of him as she sat there waiting to hear
whether her husband had survived the operation or not.

She tried not to do this ; to concentrate her thoughts on
Audley's sufferings, but in vain. There had been the old
sweet look of kindness and sympathy in Seaforth's eyes as

JEZEBEVS I'RIEXDS.

165

ho had spoken to her, and she thought he ahnost iindor-
slood the struggle going on in lier own heart.

It seemed hours and h(nirs to the sisters l)efore they
heard two of the doctors descending the staircase, and a
few moments later Dr. Murray rapi)ed at the dining-room
door and came in.

" [ thouglit I would come and tell you," he said, " that
Major Audley has borne the operation even better than
wc expected, and we trust now that he will ultimately
recover."

Neither Frances nor Ruth spoke ; but Colonel Kenyon
warmly expressed his pleasure at the news.

" Poor fellow, I earnestly hoi)e so," he said ; •' he has
such a splendid physique he ought to i)ull through."

"We hope he will now," answered Murray, "but I am
going back to him, and /ou will excuse me, I am sure, Mrs.
Audley, but we all agree it would be best for yoit not to
see him to-day."

" Very well," said Ruth, quietly ; and she did not.

Hut in spite of Dr. Murray's opinion, for the next few
clays Audley's life hung on a thread. "' He might sink any
moment," was whispered through the anxious household,
was told at the Fort, and listened to by Ken;ird Seafortli
with a pale face and su|)pressed excitemen^ Perhajjs he,
too, against his higher instincts had clung to an unspoken
hope. Tf Auoley were to die, K uth would be free again ;
iVeo to tell him what force had ^ en bi - ight upon her to
com]iel her to uCt against what '.e felt almost sure were
the feelings of her heart.

" Vet it was brutal," he told himself, " to wish the ])oor
fellow dead." So restless did he feel that he took long
walks by the sea-coast, watching the green rolling water
break up against the brown sea-walls or vaguely fixing his
eyes on the white gu'ls skinnning on the waves. But he
could not forget for a moment the human soul whose
summon', might come " in the twinkling of an eye." He
might be dead now, be thought over and over again ; and
he used to call at the house, when he returned from these
expeditions, to inquire for Major Audley, and he thus
ofcen saw Frances and Colonel Kenyon, and occasionally
Rulli, and these chance meetings were like faint gleams of
sunshine to her amid the black winter of her life.

For though Audley was no coward, he was a most

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1 66

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

impatient and exacting invalid. It enraged him to think
that he lay there a cripple for life, and greatly disfigured.
And he was jealous and angry if Ruth were ever ahstnt
from his bedside. She was, in truth, worn out with wail-
ing on him, and the uncertainty of his recovery or non-
recovery was very trying to her })oor weak human heart.

But she did her duty bravely and well, and the doctors,
perhaps, thought that what made the young wife's facj so
pale was the fear of losing her husband. They insisted on
her leaving him sometimes on account of her own hcaUh,
and one day when she went downstairs to lunch, to her
surprise she found Sir Arthur Beaton talking to Frances,
who still remained with her.

He rose and shook her hand very kindly.

" I am so sorry for all your trouble, Mrs. Audley," he
said, " but I hear Major Audley is going on well."

" He has been better these last two days," answered
Ruth ; " when did you return ? "

" Last night, and I came here at this unreasonable hour
to inquire for Major Audley," and he cast down his dark,
handsome, grey eyes, as he spoke.

He, in truth, had seen Frances' beautiful face smih'ng
at him through the dining-room wmdow, and had been
unable to resist going to speak to her. She had known
from Seaforth he was expected back at the Fort, and she
had been watching for him, and told him this in her
coquettish way.

" I am so pleased to see you," she said. " We have
had the most dreadful time here, but of course I could not
leave poor Ruth."
. " It was very good of you to stay," he answered.

" You must look in sometimes, to help to enliven me,"
smiled Frances. " I was watching at the window, hoping
to see you pass."

He looked eagerly up in her face.

" Do you really care to see me again ? " he asked, in a
low voice.

" I really do," she answered. " Don't you know that
very well ? "

He did not speak, but Frances knew by the glad Hght
in his eyes that her foolish words had made him very
happy, and when Ruth went down.stairs she found these
two laughing and talking together, both looking well
pleased.

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

167

" I have asked Sir Arthur to stay and have hinch with
us, Ruth," said Frances ; '* it seems so funny to call him Sir
Arthur, doesn't it — the old Arthur Beaton ? "

'* Well, I am the old Arthur Beaton still," he answered,
with some meaning in his words.

'< Yet it is a great change," said Ruth.

" A man's circumstances do not change his feelings,
Mrs. Audley."

'' But I think they very often do," answered Ruth ; " we
are as circumstances make us," and she cast down her eyes
and sighed ever so softly, lest Frances should hear that
faint reproach.

" Of course we are as circumstances make us," said
Frances, energetically. '' But don't let us talk of it — of
'what might have been;'" and she rose restlessly and
went to the window, and Beaton's eyes followed her.

He stayed and had luncheon with them, and after that
meal was over, still lingered.

" I promised to call on our dearly beloved parent this
afternoon," presently said Frances ; " will you walk up
with me to the little house, Mr. — oh ! I forget," and she
smiled, "Sir Arthur?"

" I shall be too pleased," he answered.

And after a little while they went out together, and Ruth
watching them felt a vague uneasiness steal into her heart.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE colonel's WIDOW,

After this Sir Arthur used to come very often to 47
High Street, and Colonel Kenyon in his kindly fashion was
ahvays glad to welcome him there. He used to ask Sea-
forth and Beaton over to Sudley also, for a day's sport
occasionally, and the two young men were on very friendly
terms with him. But somehow Colonel Forth did not
quite like this intimacy, and used to receive Sir Arthur
very sourly when they chanced to meet.

The Colonel's own aflfairs., however, occupied his mind
a good deal about this time, for in spite of his protesta-
tions to the contrary, the idea of a second marriage was
beginning to be entertained by him.

1 68

^EZEBEVS FRIENDS.

This was perlini)s but natural, for ever since llic day of
the l)irthday jjarly at Sudlcy, Mrs. Dixon, ''the wtU-cn-
dowed" widow, had pursued iiini with tlie utmost ditirnii-
nation. AVhat she saw in him, no one could tell ! A surlv
cross-grained man at best, no doubt he was, yet here was i
good-looking middle-aged woman, said to ha'^e a la'gc foi-.
tune, seemingly doing her utmost to attract his admitaiiiMi ;
" and I su])j)Ose she must mean something by it," often
grimly reflected Colonel Forth.

In a small })lacc like Headfort it is of course very easy
to meet any one if you wish to do so. If the Colonel
strolled down the long straggling High Street, he was al-
n: . t sure to encounter the lively widow at some j)art ot'it.
Sli:* was a good-looking woman \ j)ast her early ])caiitv
' -p ''nly, but well preserved, and with a ready boastful
iongi She had an easy way of making the most of

things, and out of a small matter Avould create a very sub-
stantial une. She had travelled a little, but to listen to
her conversation you would have supposed that few visit-
able i)ortions of our globe had been'untr.odden by her feet,
and she flattered Colonel Forth without stint, and made
the terril)le accident at the Fort ht her purpose so well, that
he actuall); thought she was really intensely interested in
the recovery of his son-in-law \ '' for I feel so much for \oii
all," she used to tell him, fixing her still bright eyes on his
red, uncomely face.

And he began to believe that she did. At first he
thought " the woman's a humbug ; what does she care?"
but after awhile felt secretly i)leased when he met her. and
did not dislike to listen to her cajoling words.

To the amusement of P'rances, one day she encountered
these two walking together in a country lane. True, this
was quite an accidental walk on the })art of the Colonel.
who had taken too many brandiet- and sodas the night
before, and intended to cret rid of his headache bv exercise.
But the wily widow had seen him start, and j)lanned to
meet him as he was returning, and did meet him, thouiih
she affected to be extremely surprised by doing so.

"Colonel Forth I " she exclaimed, as she held out her
hand, "fancy meeting r^?/ in this lonely s])ot ! "

" Got a headache ; trying to walk it off," said the Coio-
nel, somewhat embarrassed.

" Well, it's a lovely day," said Mrs. Dixon, looking ron-

yEZr.in.CS fK/FN/hS.

169

tcniplativcly around. " I love the autumn ; tlie fading
leaves arc so suggestive to a thoughtful mind. Don't you
think so, Colonel ? "

'• Don't like 'em," answered the practical Colonel.
"Damp, unwholesome, that kind of thing."

'• True," said the complacent widow, " they say it is not
a very healthy time of year, but your air here is so splen-
did it seems to give one wk^w life, and everyone looks so
well at Hendfort," and she glanced up at Colonel Forth's
rod visage.

" Yes, I think it's pretty healthy."

'• And how is your poor invalid to day, and your sweet
daughter ? "

" Oh, Audley's getting on all right now, I expect ; of
course it was a very near shave, and a co-founded piece
of ill-luck, as he will have to leave the sc . n. "

" Terribly sad ; such a trial to you all ; -mc^ • soon after
iiis marriage with that beautiful creati re, too! Ah! we
little thought that the day when we i.i^t met. Colonel
Forth, when we were enjoying ourselves so iiiuch, that such
a misfortune was creeping so near, i w^ never know."

•• Very well we don't."

'• That is so, indeed ; if we knew, our bright hours might
be clouded for us, we should be always watching for the
storm."

" No good in doing that."

" There is certainly none ; but are you returning to the
village } I, too, was just thinking of turning, as I only
I came out for a little stroll ; in which case it will be charm-
jing to have such delightful company on my way back."

The Colonel saw no help for it. He rather liked Mrs.
[Dixon, but he certainly did not like to be seen walking with
[her. He felt as if he were committing himself as he strode
[by her side, and he grew more reserved in his manner; de-
[fended himself, as it were, like people mentally button up
their jjockets when they are afraid they are going to be
isked to open them.

Mrs. Dixon was quite acute enough to notice this, but
)ne of her mottoes in life was only " to see what she
chose." In vain, therefore, the Colonel gave short an-
^vers, and walked with averted head. The widow smiled
)n serenely, and told tales of her travels, and asked Colo-
kl Forth about India, telling him it was the dream of her
life to feast her eyes on its gorgeous pictures.

T70

jEZEBKrS r/!IEN'DS,

" Wait till you try it," said the Colonel ; " baked alive."

*' Of course, it is hot."

" Hot ! that is not the word ; an oven with the door
shut more like it."

«< Still "

At this moment, to the Colonel's utter consternation,
his daughter, Frances, riding between Colonel Kcnyon
and Sir Arthur Beaton, was to be seen api)roaching, and
could the' poor man have jumped over the hedge and
escaped, he would gladly have done so, knowing well
Frances' sarcastic tongue.

But there was no help for it. They had seen him as
well as he had seen them, and there was an amused smile
on all their faces when they met, and pulled up their horses
to greet the Colonel.

"Good morning. Forth," said Colonel Kenyon.

" Been for a long walk? " smiled Frances.

" Oh, no ; just a short way ; got a beastly headache,"
answered the Colonel, who was furious at his daughter's
expression and tone.

•' Do you often take country walks ? " asked Frances,
that amused smile still rippling over her face, now address-
ing Mrs. Dixon.

" Oh ! I love them ; and as I've been telling the Colonel
here, whom I chanced to meet, this season is to me so
beautiful ; the fading leaves, the general air of — well, pass-
ing away, you know," added Mrs. Dixon, whose metaphors
had failed her.

*' I like the spring," said Frances, and her hazel eyes
gave one glance at Beaton's handsome face ; " I love to
look forward, not back."

"Well, it's too chill to stand," said Colonel Kenyon;
"good-day. Forth; good-morning, Mrs. Dixon ;" and he
took off his hat and rode on, followed by Frances and
Beaton, leaving his old friend with rage in his heart, for
Colonel Forth saw very well that his daughter was secretly ,
laughing at him.

" Do you think I am going to have a step-mother,
Hugh ? " she said, gaily, to her husband.

" It looks uncommonl/ like it ; your father's not a ladies'
man in general, you know."

" You don't really think so 1 A flattering old wretch like I
that."

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

171

" My dear, she's a good-looking woman, and I often
think how lonely Forth must be without you and Ruth."

'• He was always grumbling, began Frances, and then
she checked herself.

*' He's a professional grumbler," sai I Colonel Kenyon
good-naturedly.

In the meanwhile the two of whom they were talking
were walking on together, both feeling certainly not at
their ease. Mrs. Dixon was annoyed at having met Mrs.
Kenyon, as she shrewdly guessed Colonel Forth's daugh-
ters would not be pleased if he were to marry again ; and
Colonel Forth hated to " make a fool " of himself, as he
expressed it, and considered that at the present moment
he had done so.

*• They seem very happy," said Mrs. Dixon, speaking of
the Kenyons ; " but then she is so beautiful no wonder he
adores her — absolutely adores her, I believe."

"She has everything to make her happy," answered the
Colonel briefly.

" Yes, indeed," and th^ widow cast down her eyes, *• the
love of a brave and distinguished man. Ah ! " she added,
glancing up again; "you soldiers have it all your own
way with us poor women I But then it should be so ; you
risk your lives for us, and for your country; you go
through hardships, dangers, and no wonder we smile on
you when you return ; " and Mrs. Dixon smiled.

" It's a hard enough life, and the absurd regulations
si)oil the service ; a fellow has to retire nowadays in the
very prime of his life ; just look at vie ! "

" In the very prime, indeed ! " softly echoed Mrs.
Dixon, favorably regarding the Colonel's stalwart person.

" Here I am, with my time hanging on my hands," con-
tinued Forth, who had got on one of his pet grievances ;
'' too old to start any new profession, too young to sit
down doing nothing."

'* And you must be very lonely now," said Mrs. Dixon
in her sweetest tones.

This alarmed the Colonel.

" Oh, no," he said, " I get along pretty well, with the
girls being so near, and all that. Well, good morning,
Mrs. Dixon ; that is your nearest road to the Vicarage,
and I'm going into the billiard room for an hour ; " and he
took off his hat, and Mrs. Dixon was compelled to take
the rest of her walk alone.

172

JEZEliEVS J'h'/ENDS.

Ncvcrtlielcss, she had not, porha])s, fjuilc wasU'd her
time. True, Colonel Forth was as Mary as ai\ old fox;
but still, as he walked on, he could not help lliiiikj^^;;
"what a gooddooking woman she was of her age, und
agreeable, too ; none of Frances' snappish, imi)lcasair
ways about her."

And this favorable oj)inion was confirmed a fev.' dms
later, when he dined at the \'icarage to meet Mrs. l)i\nn.
This lady seemed bent on charming him, and as he snt
next her he began to think after all *' if she really hns the
money Ai)pleby talks about, why should I not marry her,
as she seems to have taken such a fancv to mc ? "

" No accounting for these things," thought the Culoncl.
looking at himself on his return home in the mirror over
the dining- !-tom mantelpiece, with s stisfnction in his smal!
bloodshot eyes. " She is a sensible woman, very good-
looking too ; and if she has a good income — well, a fellow
might do worse. I must sound Appleby ; of course, unle^.
the money's really there, it would be absurd to tJiink of
such a thing."

And shortly afterwards he took an opportunity of
"sounding" the Vicar, who was quite ready to give him
all the information in his power.

'* She seems a nice sort of woman, that friend of your':.
Mrs. Dixon, I think," began the Colonel, who joined Mr.
Appleby in High Street, for the purpose of making his pro-
posed inquiries.

'• Charming — I call her charming," answered the Virar,
" with all the vivacity of youth, combined with the more
sober attractions of advanced years. Yes, I consider Mrs.
Dixon a woman whom any man might be proud to win;
and, ah ! my dear friend," he added, looking round, smil-
ingly, at the Colonel's face, " it seems t'; me you have
made a serious impression in that quarter."

*' Oh, nonsense, folly."

'* Quite true, I assure you ; it will be l.>etraying a fair
lady's confidence v/ere I to tell you all the pretty thinp
she says of you ; in fact, I believe you have only to .^-k
the momentous question to receive a favorable answer.

" Oh, that's all folly."

*' Well, now, between you and me, I'll give you a hint^t
what she thinks of you. After you left our house tli^-'
other night we, naturally, spoke of you and your two

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

»73

lovely daubatcrs, and Mrs. Dixon sighed ; yes, my friend,
j.ositively sighed ! ' He is a very fine man,' she remarked ;
aiul when a widow says that and si^^lis — mark my words,
Colonel — it means something; and then she has sucli a
fine fortune."

•' Really? " asked the Colonel, with strong interest.

"Most certainly ; her husband left her, 1 believe, over
twenty thousand pounds."

** 'I'hat's a pretty round sum. AVhat w:is he? "

*H)n the Stock Kxchange ; yes, Mr. Dixon was a most
worthy man, and she was an exemplary wife to him during
his lifetime, and now (piite naturally feels a little lonely in
the world, and, J believe, would not be averse to take a
second partner, and 1 am sure looks on you v.ith very
favorable eyes."

These words u.ade a deep impression on Colonel Forth's
heart. Twenty thousand pounds ! He had under four
hundred a year, and had barely been able to ^ot along
when the girls were at home. Now certainly he had
enough for all his modest requirements : but money is al-
ways welcome, and he though i and thought of what he
could do if Mrs. Dixon's substantial income were added
to his own.

But was all this really true ? he asked himself. He
knew the report of money gathers like a snowball as it
goes along, and he was afraid to commit himself on the mere
word of the Vicar. At last he made up his mind he
would run up to town, and secretly have a look at the
will of the late Mr. Dixon at Somerset House. He was
half ashamed to act thus, it must be conceded. He had
heard of men doing so before, and knew an instance of a
handsome girl throwing a gunner over because she found
out he had done the very same thing. But still marriage
was such a serious step, that the Colonel felt it would l)e
madness to take such a leaj) in the dark. No, he would
fu^d out all about it, and he actually did this, and satisfied
Ih iself with his own eyes that the late Thomas Dixon,
stock broker, residing during his lifetime at Bolton Gardens,
had 1 -ft his v;ife the substantial sum of twenty thousand
pounds absolutely. There was no mention of children in
this document, therefore the Colonel naturally conclude!
there were none, but several bequests to relations and
friends. But there it was in black and white, tiuent ;

> (I

174

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

thousand pounds, and as he travelled back to Headi'ort
he felt almost as if he were already the happy possessor of
this sum.

He had, of course, said nothing either to Frances or Ruth
of his intentions. No, he determined he would keep it nil
quiet until everything was settled ; but the question now
was, how and where should he propose to the lady ?

Mrs. Dixon had first come to Headforl as the guest of
the Vicar, but she had since taken lodgings in the vilhiLrc,
but Colonel Forth had never entered them. Should he
call, he asked himself. Fate, however, was propitious lo
him, for the day after he got back to Headfort, he met Mrs.
Di.xon, close to her own rooms, and after a little conversa-
tion she invited him in.

As the Colonel ascended the narrow staircase behind
her he felt the moment had come. It certainly crossed
his mind, as he stumbled over a hole in the stair-carpet,
that these were shabby rooms for a lady of fortune to
reside in. Still there was no mistake ; he had seen the
will, and money meant money's worth, and the Colonel was
prepared to immolate himself at its shrine.

" You have l)een to town, then ? " smiled Mrs. Dixon as
she waved him to a chair.

"Yes, some busmess with the War Office, about the old
regiment," replied the Colonel, without ^.he slightest
regard to facts.

*' In m\ poor husband's time I had a beautiful town
house, and a sweet place by the river also, but what is the
good of a single woman keeping up all this solitary
state? "

'' You must marry again," replied Colonel Forth, clear-
ing his throat.

" It is certainly very lonely," sighed Mrs. Dixon.

" I am very lonely, too," said the wooer, after a moment's
hesitation.

" Ah, but you men have so much more to occupy you
than we poor women."

''Oh, I don't know."

" Yes, your clubs, your newspapers, your cigars ! " said
Mrs. Dixon, j)layfully.

"A man wants more than these though," answered
Colonel Forth, about to take the fatal plunge.

"And what is more ? " asked Mrs. iJixon, casting down
her eyes.

JEZEBEDS FRIENDS.

»75

<' Well, a wife for one thing, eh ? "

" A devoted wife is certainly something."

" A great deal to my mind. Come, Mrs. Dixon," went
()n the Colonel valiantly, rising and standing before her,
" I'm a man of few words, you knov ; Init if you are willing
to cast in your lot with mine, well I'm agreeable," and he
held out his hand.

'* Do you really mean this?" said Mrs. Dixon, putting
her hand into his.

'* Of course, I really mean it. There ! Will you marry
me. That's plain enough, isn't it? "

" And you really care for me ? Care for myself alone ? "

" Certainly ; what else do you suppose I want to marry
you for ? "

" Then — then I am very happy," murmured Mrs. Dixon ;
and the Colonel felt it behoved him to bend down and kiss
her, and thus the compact was ser.led.

"Shall our engagement be a long one?" she asked
modestly, before h^ quitted her apartments.

"Don't see any good in waiting," he answered, and as
she also saw no reason for delay, they agreed to be
married in a month.

But when Colonel Forth returned to his own house he
felt restless and uncomfortable. Mrs. Dixon had accepted
him, had declared herself to be happy in his affections ;
but she had not said a single word about her fortune, and
money had never been mentioned between them.

" Still, there can be no douln," he reflected uneasily;
and he also reflected that a most unplcasr.nt business lay
l)efore him, as he would be forced to tell his daughters of
his engagement.

He screwed up his courage two days later to go over to
Siulley to tell Frances and Colonel Kenyon, as Mrs. Dixon
had express''d a strong wish that he should do so.

" You see, Colonel," she had said, " it places me in a false
position as it were, your coining here without either my
friends or your children knowing we are to be married ; "
and the Colonel saw there was good sense in her words.
So he went to Sudley as Fr-mces and hex husband had
now returned there. He found his old friend out, but his
l)eautiful daughter was sitting charmingly dressed in her
drawing room, and did not look very well pleased when
her father walked in.

176

yKZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

*' There is nothing the matter, is there ? " she said, quickly.
** Audley is not worse ? "

" Oh, no ; he's going on all right, I believe," answered
Colonel Forth, who was feeling far from happy. " So
Kenyon's out, is he ? "

" Yes, he's out shooting."

" Well, I've got a bit of news for you, that's the truth,"
said the Colonel with a great effort, and with a sort of
spasmodic smile ; " I suppose you'll think I am making a
fool of myself, but I am going to be married again."

" Not Mrs. Dixon surely ? " asked Frances sharply.

" Why not Mrs. Dixon? She's a good looking woman
with a good fortune."

" I don't believe much in her fortune ; in fact I don't
believe in it at all. If she were rich she would not live as
she does ; it's all nonsense."

*' Oh, but it's not ; I know it is not."

" How can you know? You don't surely believe all the
folly Mr. Appleby talks?"

" I believe in my cwn eyes," answered Colonel Forth
hotly, and ihrown off his guard by Frances' persistency :
" I tell you I've seen the will — her late husband's will,
and he left her twenty thousand pounds ! "

Frances listened, looked at her father, and then lauglud
aloud.

'* Well," she said scoffingly, '' you were quite right ; if I
had been going to marry Airs. Dixon I should have seen
the will first, too ! "

CHAPTER XXXI.

A TAME CAT.

Colonel Forth was very angry after his interview with
Frances ; angry both with himself and his daughter that
he should have been led on to tell that he had gone secretly
to examine the late Mr. Dixon's will. He would not
remain to dinner at Sudley, nor to see his old friend Ken-
yon.

" No, thank you," he said curdy, when his daughter
a.sked him to do so ; '' but perhaps you will be good enough

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

177

not to tell everyone that 1 know anything about Mrs.
Dixon's money? No one has any business with it, and 1
do not choose to have it talked al)out."

Again Frances laughed, and her mirth made the Colonel
feel very sore.

" Have you told Ruth ?" she asked.

'^ No, you can tell her if you like ; and now good-day
to you," and with a very cold handshake he went away,
leaving Frances Jiighiy amused.

And presently her husband and Sir Arthur Beaton
came into the drawing-room, f(jr Sir Arthur was at Sudley
for a day's i)heasant shooting, and Frances told them the
news.

"Well," said Colonel Kenyon, smiling, "why do you
laugh? I dare say the widow is a very charming woman."

"Very," answered Frances; -'and she has twenty
thousand pounds, which adds no doubt materially to her
charms."

" Twenty thousand pounds ! " repeated the Colonel,
surprised ; " then my old friend has done very well for
himself, and 1 am heartily glad."

" Looks as if she knew what she was about, too," said
Sir Arthur.

" I don't think .f//6' does,^' said Frances, with such marked
emphasis that both the men laughed, for Colonel Forth's
peculiarities were well known.

At this moment a servant came into the n)om, and told
Colonel Kenyon that one of his tenants wished to speak
to him, and thus Beaton and I'Vances were left alone.
They looked at each other an<l smiletl, and Beaton, who
was standing by the fireplace, cross'-d over to Frances'
tea-table, carrying his tea-cuj) with him.

'' May 1 have another cup ? " he said.

•' If yoti are very good," she answered.

" Will you tell me how to be ? "

He sat down on the couch beside her as he spoke, and
Frances looked at him, smiling still.

" You must talk no nonsense," she said.

" But you have stolen away all my sense."

" I must lend you some of mine, then ; but really Sir
Arthur "

" Please call me Arthur."

"Really, Arthur, then, 1 want you to be good; not to

»78

yEZEBEDS FklENDS,

Bay silly things — though I shall not ask you not to look
them."

** You mean 1 have to be a sort of tame cat, I suppose."

" Yes, a dear good-tempered Httle tabbic," laughed
Frances.

"Then I won't be!" said Sir Arthur, starting to' his
feet. " I gave you fair warning ; I am not always going
to be made a fool of."

'* You stupid boy, sit down ; who is making a fool of
you ? Instead of being a nice little tame cat, I declare
you are like a great handsome mastiff, ready to growl
whenever I speak to you."

** You have cost me enough already, Frances."

He spoke half-bitterly, half-tenderly ; but the next mo-
ment he sat down again by her side, and watched her pour
out the tea he had asked her for, and then bent down and
kissed the white slender hand nearest to him.

•* Am I forgiven ? " he said. " You should forgive mo
for loving you too well."

She turned round and looked at him again, but she was
not smiling now.

" [ always forgive you," she said, in a 1 ^mt tone, "when
I look at ///«/," and she lightly touched ;he scar on his
cheek.

He had told her all about it ; of all the mad passion
and jealousy which had racked his heart when he had
learned from her own letter that sh*' • i.; about to marry
Colonel Kenyon, and how he haa icternn,*od to end a life
that his deep love for her had made unendurable. And
Frances had iLsten^-. not displeased. She had blamed
him, we may be sure, but her voice was very soft and
tender as she had - oac so.

" If I had only known you cared for me so much," she
had said with downcast eyes.

" You knew — you must have known," he had answered
impetuously.

" There are many kin of love, Arthur. How was I
to know that yours was true f "

These words had intoxicated the young man's heart
when he listened to them, but Frances did not always talk
to him in this strain. Her moods were very variable, and
one day she sighed, and another smiled. But her old
power over Arthur Beaton grew and grew, and people be-

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

179

gan to talk of these two, and to speculate how Sir Arthur's
infatuation would end. Audley, lying ill upstairs, heard
nothing of this, but Beaton often went to see him, and
thus was thrown into greater intimacy with the two sisters.
Almost every day he called at 47 High Street, and his
visits helped to pass the time for the sick man, and also
gave some relief to Ruth, who used to leave the room
when he was there.

And sometimes she saw Seaforth, but he did not call so
often as Beaton. He had a kind of guilty feeling in his
heart, which made him feel he was not quite sincere when
he expressed pleasure at Audley's improvement. But this
was very slo>". Audley fretted and fumed over his wrecked
career, and this impatience threw him back, and undoubt-
edly retarded his recovery.

'• To be a miserable cripple all one's days ; it's enough
to drive a man mad," he once toll Beaton.

" Come, you have a great deal to live for still, my dear
follow," he had answered.

** Not I," said Audley, gloomily ; and he lay silent for
a few minutes, and spoke very little afterwards while
Beaton remained.

But he liked Beaton, and perhaps the knowlec!;To that
he had saved the rash young man's life by his promptitude
and energy helped to fan this feeling. And Beaton felt
so intensely sorry for him, and showed this in that ^ arm
impetuous way of his by a hundred kindnesses. Anything
he thought would help to cheer or amuse Audley he al-
ways sent for, and was thus 'constantly going t High
Street, knowing also that there he was almost sure at some
time of the day or other to meet Fra; es Kenyon.

From the Fort he could see her irriagc drive up tvj
the door, and Ruth began to noti' how often her visits
and his happened at the same time. Beaton was so kind,
she did not like to say anything against him to Frances,
but she began to think it was a pity Frances allowed him
to be so constantly with her.

'* He is a nice fellow," she said one day, '• but take care
you do not make him unhappy, Frances."

" My dear," answered Frances, smiling, " the unhappi-
ncss of men is of a very temporary nature, and they soon
console themselves with the next pretty face they meet."

"Still, he used to admire you so 1 uch."

}

I So

yF.ZEBF.VS FRIENDS.

'' I hop-' hi* r.Lin admires mc ; I should be very much
disappointed if he didn't," laughed Frances.

"Oh, 1)ul 1 mean seriously, you know."

Again Frances laughed, and then began talking of some-
thing else, for she never said anything to Ruth of Beaton's
ardent admiration, and always spoke of him half-jestingly.
Vet she had fixed to meet him when she went to tell Ruth
of their father's engagement to Mrs. Dixon, just as she had
fixed to meet him many times before.

'• I shall carry the news to Ruth to-morrow," she said, as
she parted with ' im ; " perhai)s I shall see you."

" Yes," lie answered, brieily, for there were times when
he struggled with this master-feeling in his heart, when he
told himself it was a mean tiling to accept Colonel Ken-
yon's hosjiitality, and try all the time to win the affections
of his wife. I'ut Frances held him very securely in her
toils, and knev.' how to wile him back '/hen his conscience
or sense of honor gave him a passing ])ang.

And he watched for her next day from the windows ot
the Fort, and saw her drive up to Ruth's house without
her husband, and his heart felt glad. He never was quite
happy in Colonel Kenyon's ])resence, and did not care to
look often in the honest kindly eyes of the man he felt he
was dt.'ceiving. There was about this young man, indeed,
many high and noble instincts, all of which, unhappily,
were over-shadowed [)y the love which Frances was for
ever fanning in his heart.

And while he was wailing until he thought he could with
decency follow her to Ruths, Frances was telling the new;j
of their father's engagement, to which Ruth was listening
with ilowncast eves and a troubled heart

For she always secretly ho]K'd some day to return to
her fa<h'?r's house. She had done her duty faithfully to
Aiidle) since the dreadful accident which had so nearly
destroyed her life, but there had been no change in her
fi'elings towards him, except that she had felt the deepest
l)ity for the strong man struck down in his prime. And
Audley, lying there sick and suffering, knew that it was
not love which made her touch so gentle, and her eyes so
sad. Slu- was as far away from him as ever, while she
l)ent over his bed, and tried to soothe his irritability and
pain. It rose on his lij)s sometimes to bid her go and
leave him. and not act a part she did not feol ; but he

yEzi:nEi:s friends.

i8i

never absolutely said tliis. ri'rhai)s he lioped ngninst
lioi)e tlial some day she might learn to rare for him, for he
knew that in spile of everything he loved her still.

At least he felt for her that selfish jealous emotion which
some men dignify by that name. And this even grew
stronger when he hnd nothing else to divert his mind — no
flatteries from l.ady Hastings; no smiles from women
who are ever ready to let every good-looking man see that
they ndmire them. Aiidley had nothing now to console
his vanity, nor comfort his heart. He used to lie watching
Ruth moving about the room — a slender girli>.h figure —
and his thoughts sometimes were very bitter ones.

He could not accuse her of not being nttintive to him,
for, unless when her sister calleil, she rarely left him; but
still he had an uneasy jeahjusy whi-; h ne\er ((uitted him.
How did he know what was going on down .tairs, ho loKl
himself, 'i'he S( rvanis used to come uj) and tell Ruth
.Mrs. Kenyon was below, and she would leave him for
half an hour ov so. He asked bealon this (juestion (|uite
.suddenly one day, when the young man was silting beside
him, doing his best to make the time seem less heavy.

'' Is Seaforth downstairs?" he said ; and Jkaton, with-
out su.s' icion of his motive, replied truthfully that he was
not.

" I have not seen him for n day or two," continued
Audley, ashamed of his query ; '• and that made me ask."

Seaforth got his comi)any during these days, and was
very restless and ill at ease. He u.is sr.re now that Ruth
had not changed to him, and that tluir separation had
been caused by somelliing he coiild not nmlerstand. A
feeling of delicacy ])revented his going oftc-n to High Street,
because he knew Ruth was constantly in attendance on the
suHering man whose name she bore, lie heard this from
Dr. Murray, and lie heard also of Ruth's gentleness,
patience, and unselt'ishness.

" Vet," said the youni; .Scotch doctor one day, who was
shrewd, " I don't believe she really cares for the poor
fellow a bit. I notice she scarcely ever looks at him,
though he watches her , but women are (jucer beings."

"Very," answered Seaforth moodily, and he turned
away. His light-heartedness was indeed all gone, though
something of his former open and trustful expression hud
stf^len back to his eyes since he had ag'ain nut Ruth, and
seen on her face the shadow of an unspoken pain.

'm%

l83

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

Beaton had told liini that Audlcy had a?ked about him,
and said he had not seen him for some days ; and Seaforlli
had, therefore, decided to call on the very afternoon on
which Frances had gone to tell Ruth of Colonel Forth's
l)roposcd marriage.

Frances went into all the (to her) amusing details of
their father expending his shilling or eighteen pence at
Somerset House, in his researches to assure himself of the
reality of the widow's money.

" It was awfully mean ! " said Ruth, indignantly.

'* Awfully prudent, my dear, you mean," laughed Frances.
" I think he is very silly to marry at all, with his temper, and
at his age ; but 1 should have thought him much sillier if
lie had not made sure of the money before he committed
himself WwX. it is a bore for us ; fancy having that vulgar,
boasting womau for a step-mother."

" I am very sorry."

*' Oh, well you know we can as good as cut her if we
like. Still it's a ])ore ; she's so pushing and flattering ;
she will be bud to keej) in the l)ackground."

A ring came to the house door bell at this moment, and
Frances rose and looked out of the window.

** It is our friend. Sir Arthur," she said, lightly, and a
few moments later Sir Arthur was ushered into the
dining-room, where all visitors were now received, for
the doctors thought the murmur of voices in the drawing-
room might chance to reach Major Audley's ears, who was
lying in the room above.

" Well, Ruth is furious about the step-mother," said
Frances, as she shook hands with Jieaton.

" I am sure she is never furious about anything," he
answered, smiling.

'* I don't like it at all, at least," said Ruth.

" No ? She is rather a gushing sort of person, isn't she ?
3iut the Colonel may keep her well in hand."

" That sort of woman is not so easy to keep in hand, as
you call it," said Frances, archly, "as you will find, Sir
Arthur, when you try."

He looked at her and smiled.

" What a teaze you are," he said, and he took up one of
her driving gloves as he si)oke, which Frances had pulled
off and thrown on the dining-room table.

" Who owns this pretty thing ? " he asked, though ia
truth he knew.

yEZEBEi:S I'Rlr.S'IX^,

IS3

Again the door l)cll rang, and lliis lime Scaforth was
ushered into the dining-room.

" 1 congratulate you on your i)roinotion," said Frances
graciously, for she had not seen him since he had got his
company.

He thanked her, and involuntarily looked at Ruth,
whose eyelids fell, for she knew of what he was thinking
— how they had i>lanned together that when this hap-
pened they were to brave fortune, and share together
Seaforth's modest income, even if his father refused to
continue his allowance.

"Will you go ui)stairs and see Major Audley, first?"
now asked Beaton. " He must not have two visitors
together, you know, the doctors say, and as he was
asking after you "

" If 1 may," answered Seaforth, glancing at Ruth with
some embarrassment.

" Oh, yes, he likes to see his friends," she said, without
directly looking at Seaforth ; *' it makes it not so dull, you
know, nor the day so long. Vou will lind the nurse there,
but she will leave the room when you go in."

Seaforth accordingly left the dining-room and went up
to Audley's room and rapped at the door, which the nurse
opened.

"Can I see Major Audley? " he asked,

" Ah, Seaforth, is that you ? " said Audley from the bed.
as he had recognised the voice. " Of course, come in."

So Seaforth went in and shook a hand he world not have
touched had he known the secret of Ruth's marriage.
But we shake many hands in thl.T v.-^.^'-ld whose grasp we
should tling away, could we look straight into that strange
and changeful thing, the human heart. And we are forced
also by circumstances often to seem on friendly terms
when we certainly do not feel so. The two men who were
now shaking hands disliked each other, were jealous of
each other, and both wished each other far away j and
Seaforth had been tempted many a time of late to wish
that Audley was out of the world altogether, though, to
do him justice, he struggled against this. Yet the con-
ventionalities of society made it necessary for him now to
call on his commanding officer, and to express a hope that
he was feeling better, and to talk of his injuries in a sym-
pathetic and commiserating manner.

! t

184

JEZEBEL'S EKIENDS,

How much do wc believe, I wonder, of the civil things
said to us ; the coin wliich i)e()])ie exchange so freely in
the nuirket-phu es of the world ? Some i)leasant words
have a genuine ring in them, hut a good actor can attune
his voice to hide liie feelings of his jieart. The surest
guide, to my mind, v.-hether we can trust our friend or not
is in the exi)ression of the eyes— those tell-tale mirrors,
where the soul is glassed to those who learn to read arigiit
their dumb but certain language.

Audley did not (juite believe in Seaforth's words, and
yet at the moment they were fairly sincere. Jl was a sad
sight to see this stalwart soldier l}ing thus crii;i)led, and it
moved to a certain extent the naturally kind heart of the
younger man, though Audley's life stood between himself
and hai)i)iness. 'I'hey talked together a little while,
princij)ally about the regiment, and then Scaforth told
Audley that Ueaton was waiting below to sc e liim also, and,
therefore, he would not slay. It was a niief to them both
to part, and yet they were (]uite civil and . 'en friendly in
their manner to each other. Jlut when Seaforth went
downstairs, and again entered the dining-room, he found
to his surprise that Ruth was alone there.

She was sitting in an easy chair close to the fire, for the
day was chill, and she felt weak and weary, but a faint
color crejjt to her pale cheeks as Seaforth went in.

" Frances had a message from Colonel Ken yon for my
father," she said, "and so she and Sir Arthur have walked
up to the little house to deliver it, but they will only be a
few minutes away."

" That's all right, then," answered Seaforth ; " I told
Major Audley that Beaton was going up to see him
presently."

** Is the nurse with him now ? " asked Ruth in a low tone,
looking straight at the fire.

♦'Not when I left."

She rose and rang the bell, and, when the servant
answered it, she told him to tell the nurse to go to Major
Audley.

'' He does not like to be left," she said quietly, ^s she
resumed her seat.

Seaforth did not speak ; he stood leaning his arm on the
mantelpiece, and he wr>3 looking at Ruth, noticing how ill
and tired she seemed

JEZEliEI.'S FRIENDS,

i8s

**T)o you ever go out for a walk or a drive now ? " hu
Siuldcnly asked, abrii|»tly.

Ruth looked ui), sinilvd, and shook her liead.

"Not since — I left Siidley — since the day of the
accident."

'* But do you know it is very bad for you ; you should
go out — your father sliould take y(Ki--or may 1 take you
some day ? "

Again Ruth smiled, and shook her head.

"But wliy?" asked Seaforih, almost impatiently.
"There can be no larm in that, surely?"

Ruth made no answrr, .ind afti-r a restless movement or
tvv'o, Seaforth crossed the room, went to the window, and
stood looking out into the street.

Do you know," he said after a short silence, " that I
am thinking of exchanging, of going out to India? "

*' .\re you? " answered Ruth, in a low pained tone.

" And I want yon to tell me before I go," went on
Seaforth, with suppressed agitation, " why you treated me
as you did, Ruth. Will you lell me?" he added, and he
went back beside her, and again leaned his arm on the
mantelpiece.

"I — 1 cannot do so," said Rulli, in a faltering voice,
and she i)Ut her hand to her brow,

" Jkit why cannot you tell me? " urged Seaforth. " Did
your sister persuade you to throw me ovt*r because Audley
was the richer man ? "

'* Do you mean for his money? " asked Ruth, lifting her
head and speaking with some indignation. "Ah," she
added with a passionate ring in her voice, rising from
her seat, " you little know ! "

'* There must have been some motive. You say you
cared for me — I believe you did care ; then why did you
do it, Ruth ? "

She began walking backwards and forwards in the
room with irregular footstei)s, and after a moment's
hesitation, Seafoith went u}) to her and laid his hand on
her arm.

" Do tell me," he said. " If you knew Imw unhappy,
how wild you made me, I am sure you would not keep me
longer in suspense. Did you tire of me, and get to like
Audley better? I would rather know the truth."

" It was not thaf^ at least ! No, Kenard, 1 did not tire

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yEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

of you," and she looked straight into his face with her
pathetic eyes. " I — I did not change."

"Then why "

" It is not my secret, and I cannot tell you — this much I
will say — I would rather have died ! "

" Then you cared for me j you still care for me, Ruth? "
And he clasped her nand.

She did not take it away. She stood there with her
cold, trembling hand in his, and again she looked up in
his face.

" I cared for you," she said, in a broken voice, " and
because I cared so much — Kenard, be generous to me
now. Don't ask me why I did this — why I wrecked my
life — but, believe me, I suffered more than you — oh ! far,
far more ! "

"That could not well be, Ruth," said Seaforth, who also
was greatly agitated,

" But it was so, indeed it was ; I should not speak thus,
I know — I have tried to do right, but, oh ! it is very
hard ! "

He saw her eyes grow dim with tears, and her lips falter,
and he knew that she was speaking the truth, and that the
love she once had given him she gave him still.

" And — and you must help me," she went on, struggHng
with her emotion \ " it is very hard, I know — — "

" Yes, it is very hard."

" I know it is ; but because we once hoped for such
different lives, once hoped we would be so happy, will you
help me to do right, and try to forget what we once were
to each other, though it is so difficult? But I am glad I
have met you again, Kenard," she went on, more firmly ;
" though it was such pain at first, still I am glad, for I am
sure you know now that I never changed."

" I know ; you were forced into this marriage, then, by
some cause that you are still forced to keep a secret ? "

" Yes," faltered Ruth.

" And you are unhappy, and I am unhappy. Who
spoilt our lives, Ruth ? "

Before she could reply, a sound of laughter, of ringing,
mirthful laughter, stole through the windows into the room,
and Ruth knew that Frances was near.

"That is Frances and Sir Arthur/' she said, in a low
tone,

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

187

" I believe that sister of yours was at the bottom of it,"
answered Seaforth, hotly, as they heard the street door
open, and a moment later Frances and Sir Arthur entered
the room.

" Ah, Captain Seaforth," she said, '* so you've finished
your visit to the invalid? Well, Sir Arthur, it's your turn
next."

But Seaforth made no reply to her words, and a few
minutes afterwards left the house with a pale, set face, and
an agitated and restless heart.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE COLONEL*S WOOING.

Colonel Forth had not made much love in his life, and
he found it very irksome. Mrs. Dixon was by no means a
young woman, but her liveliness, and her display of
affection, which seemed daily to increase, was really too
much for the poor Colonel. He tried, however, to bear
it all manfully, and consoled himself when alone with many
brandies and sodas, and with the grim reflection that if
they were once married she would soon cool, or he need
no longer put up with her love-making.

He had a great dislike, and hated also to think that peo-
ple thought he was making a fool of himself when he
appeared with the gushing widow leaning on his arm. And
she would lean on it ! She made him go to church, where
he had not been for years, except to the marriages of his
two daughters, and she paraded him on all possible oc-
casions ; and the dread of losing the prospective twenty
thousand pounds prevented him appearing restive, and
alone prevented it.

" I wish it was over," he confided to his old friend Ken-
yon, who laughed aloud.

" What do you wish over, my dear Forth ? " asked the
genial Colonel.

"All the fuss and bother, the love-making business,"
answered Forth with a grim smile. " I suppose women
will have it ; but why two middle-aged people cannot just
go quietly and get married, without all this nonsense, I can-
not conceive."

ill

■^a2

iS8

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

Colonel Kenyon had with difficulty persuaded Frances
to invite Mrs. Dixon to dine at Sudley, and on this occa-
sion the effusion of the widow was so great, that when the
two Colonels were left alone, after dinner. Forth had more
than insinuated to Kenyon that he was very weary of it.

" I suppose it's all riglit about the money ? " asked Ken-
yon, who perceived plainly that love had nothing to do with
the proposed marriage, on (Joloiiel Forth's part, at least.

" Oh, yes, that's right enough," answered Forth, and he
was glad to know by Kenyon's questions that his daughter
at least had kept faith with him on the subject of the late
Mr. Dixon's will.

It wanted only a fortnight until the time that Mrs. Dixon
had settled to be married, when the two lovers dined at
Sudley, and money had, strange to say, never been men
tioned between them. Ma*iy a time, however, with her
head leaning on the Colonel's stalwart shoulder, had Mrs.
Dixon murmured fondly in his ear the loving question : —

'' And you care for me, for myself alone ? Say it again,
William ! "

William had of course responded in the afifirmative —
indeed what could the i)oor man say ? Mrs. Dixon made
such love to him that he was obliged for the present at
least feebly to make some acknowledgment. But oh ! didn't
he hate it all. He could see Frances' shining hazel eyes
laughing at him, and exchanging merry glances with Sir
Arthur Beaton at his expense. And even his old friend
Kenyon did not quite conceal his amusement. " If only
she would be quiet," often grimly reflected the unhai)py
Forth, but that was just what Mrs. Dixon would not be.

" To think in another fortnight I shall be your mother,
dear," she said to Frances, looking benignly round the
drawing-room, when the two ladies had retired there.

" My ^-/^/-mother," said Frances, a little haughtily.

" It will be the same thing when I am married to your
dear father, I think."

" Oh, I don't ; a mother and a step-mother are very dif-
ferent."

But Mrs. Dixon was a very difficult person to snub.
She was cool and self-asseriive to a surprising degree, and
only noticed what it suited her to see and hear. And
presently Sir Arthur Beaton came into the room, having
left the old comrades over dieir wine, and Mrs. Dixon's

JEZEBEV^ EK2ENDS,

189

sharp eyes perceived very plainly how it was with the
young man's heart, and was amiable and obliging enough
to make some excuse to run out of the ro(jm for a short
time and leave him alone with Frances, while she went to
powder her fa :e and see how she was looking.

" She is disgusting, I think," said Frances, the mouient
her back was turned.

" Comes it pretty strong with the Colonel, eh ? " laughed
Sir Arthur.

" Do not let us talk of her," said Frances, rising.
" Come into the conservatory, this room is so hot."

So they went together among the cool and fragrant
flowers, and Frances plucked a rose that she knew would
be begged for and carried away on Sir Arthur's breast.
He was looking very handsome, and she smiled as he
fastened the blossom in his coat. And presently Mrs.
Dixon returned to the drawing-room, from whence she
could see the two in the conservatory, standing talking
together in the dim light, and she did not interrupt them.
She took up a book and sat down, not, however, to read
it, but to think that she had done very well for herself in
tliis second venture into matrimony. She was ambitious,
and liked to thin], of Colonel Kenyon as her son-in-law,
and Sir Arthur Beaton as a friend. The late Mr. Dixon
had not come of gentle birth, and some of his relations
and friends had been trials, no doubt, during his lifetime
to his wife. But this would be all changed now, proudly
reflected the widow ; and she smiled more tenderly than
ever, when Colonel Forth and Colonel Kenyon came into
the drawing-room, on the man who had just been confess-
ing to his old friend that he '' wished it was over."

The engaged pair returned to Headfort together in one
of the Sudley carriages, and during this drive again Mrs.
T)ixon murmured on her William's breast how happy she
was in his faithful love, and William thought he would be
obliged to kiss her, though he did not like it, if Mrs. Dixon
did. And after he got to his own house, somehow or
other Colonel Kenyon's words that he hoped it was " all
right about the money " recurred to his mind, and after
sundry considerations he determined to speak about settle-
ments to Mrs. Dixon next day. ^' For, of course," he
argued, " if she's so fond of me she ought, in the event of
her death, to leave what she's got to me, and it ought to
be seen after."

i I

t9o

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

Accordingly, the next day he did see after it. He went
to call earlier than usual on Mrs. Dixon, looking very
rubicund of visage, and after clearing his throat once or
twice he began.

'• By-the-bye, Sarah, I think I ought to tell you that
though I have not much to settle on you, still I mean to
settle what I have before our marriage, as I think it only
right that people should mutually do this."

" How good, how generous of you i " said Mrs. Dixon,
clasping one of his red hands between her own two well-
shaped ones, and casling up her eyes to the ceiling, as if
almost overcome by his greatness of soul.

'' I think it only right," repeated the Colonel, firmly,
" that we should both do this. I shall be able to leave you
a little over two hundred a year, and I suppose your
husband left you something."

'' He left me," murmured Mrs. Dixon, rather in a subdued
tone, now casting down her eyes, " twenty thousand
pounds."

" Then where," asked Colonel Forth in a relieved and
agreeable voice, " have you this money invested ? "

Mrs. Dixon moved rather uneasily ; she sighed, and for
a moment did not speak.

" I have unfortunately lost some of it," she said at
length.

" Lost some of it ? " repeated the Colonel, appalled.

" But there is enough left, more than enough, dear, with
your income combined, to give us every comfort ; and we
are not marrying each other for money, you know."

" No," replied the Colonel, but his jaw visibly fell.

** I will tell you how it happened," went on Mrs. Dixon,
softly and insinuatingly. " I trusted someone I should not
have done — a stock-broker, and a friend of poor Mr.
Dixon's — and this man induced me to sell out of some
securities which only paid a small percentage, and to trust
him with fifteen thousand pounds for one fortnight, which
he promised to double in that time ; instead of which the
wretch actually lost the whole sum, and then bolted to
America, ashamed, as he well might be, to show his face
here. But I have still five thousand pounds safely invested,
and this, with your income, dear, will be quite enough for
us. Won't it, William ? "

For a moment or two William did not speak. He had

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

191

grown pale, and his feelings were actually too deep for
words.

"You always said, you know, dear, it was for myself
alone you thought of me," went on Mrs. Dixon, laying her
hands caressingly on his arm ; " say this now, William."

" Of course," answered the Colonel, hoarsely.

" You will see what a faithful, affectionate little wife
I shall make you, and how far I will make our money
go. I can keep up a good show, I assure you, on very
little."

•' And where," asked the Colonel, still in that hoarse
changed voice, " is the money you have left ? "

She named certain shares which he considered anything
but a safe investment, and when he heard this, he could
bear no more.

" I forgot," he said suddenly, seizing his hat, " that I
have an appointment with Kenyon for one o'clock; it is
that hour, so I must be off." And before she could stop
him, he hurried to the door.

" Stay for a few moments," she entreated, pursuing him.

" I cannot just now ; I will see you again about this
matter; good-day." And he was gone.

Mrs. Dixon looked after him in amazement.

" He must have thought I had more money," she
concluded after a moment's recollection ; " John Appleby
must have told him I had more — but he shall not back out
of it now."

CHAPTER XXXni.

A BREACH OF PROMISE.

It would be almost impossible to find words strong enough
to describe Colonel Forth's mingled emotions of rage and
disgust as he hurried from Mrs. Dixon's lodgings to his own
house. He had been taken in, he considered, grossly
taken in, and he had made a fool of himself; and now he
was saddled with this woman for life ! But he would get
out of it — yes, if it cost him every penny he had in the
world, he savagely reflected.
It was easy to determine this, but how was he to do it?

!:|

192

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

— he presently began asking himself, as he strode heavily
up and down his narrow rooms. He did not go near Mrs.
Dixon the whole day afterwards, and he could not sleep at
night for thinking of the dilemma in which he found
himself. He could not forget, though he should have hkcd
to do so, how often he had protested to Mrs. Dixon that it
was for herself alone he wished to marry her. He had said
this when he had proposed to her, and he had said it many
times since. Mrs. Dixon remained, if her fortune were
gone ; and how was he to tell her now that he did not
mean to fulfil his words ?

He got up the next morning with a headache, and in a
furious temper, and kept flinging about his boots, cutting
his chin as he tried to shave himself with his shaking hand,
and swearing so audibly that his one servant thought the
Colonel had gone mad. But something must be done, and
at last a brilliant idea, he considered, darted into his
exasperated brain. He would pretend that he had suddcniy
met with a monetary loss, though there was no truth in
this, except that the day before he had paid his gas
account !

But he must make some excuse, and he thought this a
feasible one. Scarcely had he swallowed his breakfast,
therefore, when he sat down to address an epistle to Mrs.
Dixon, but even to know how to commence it he found far
from easy. Hitherto he had begun his letters " Dear
Sarah," but now he felt such familiarity must be dropped.
No, a woman who had deceived him, as she had done,
must be " dear vSarah " no more. Poor Mrs. Dixon had
not in truth deceived him, for she had never mentioned
money to him ; but then the Colonel was determined to
blame her, and being in truth ashamed of himself, took
refuge in abusing her.

"Dear Mrs. Dixon," he accordingly commenced, "1
regret very much to tell you that I have had a letter from
my la.wyer this morning, informhig me of a serious mone-
tary loss T have sustained, which will so reduce my present
small income, that I fear after what you told me yesterday
of your affairs, that a marriage between us will now be
impossible. I need not tell y( a I regret this, but there is
no help for it, and I remain,

" Yours sincerely,

''William Forth."

JF//.EnEJ.\S J'RIF.NDS.

"93

Tic despatched this by a private messenger, to Mrs.
nixon's lodgings, and then he feU more at ease in his mind.
He Ht a cigar, and lie l)egan to think he would feel all the
better for a brandy and soda ; but before he thus indulged
himself, he went out for a smoke in the little garden in
front of his house, and walked backwards and forwards
among the lilac bushes and evergreens, and finally sat
clown in the little rustic summer-house, where poor Ruth
and Seaforth had dreamed tlieir brief dream of love.

Suddenly his cigar nearly fell from his lips, while a
muttered curse broke from them. There, in the act of
opening the gate into the garden, was Mrs. Dixon herself.
The Colonel started to his feet, and then sat down again,
ho])ing the shrubs would hide him; and -a- Afrs. Dixon
jiassed down the walk to the door, it st. : ',<. him in a
moment that as she rang at the bell he might escape round
the back of the summer-house, and get into the house by
the kitchen door.

Warily watching her, he saw her look round, actually
look at the summer-house, and he ducked his head lower
beneath the bushes as she did so. Then he heard the
maid-servant open the door; heard the — to him — almost
terrible words, uttered by the maid in reply to Mrs. Dixon's
inquiry if Colonel Forth were at home.

'•' He's in the garden somewhere, ma'am, a-smoking ;
likely in the summer-house there."

Again Mrs. Dix(jn looked round, and then advanced
towards the spot where the Colonel sat shaking. In
another moment her sharp eyes perceived him, and there
was nothing left for him but to rise. He rose, and as he
did so, Mrs. Dixon caught one of his hands in both of hers.

" Oh ! my poor AVilliam ; what news ! But it can make
no change with us .^ "

She uttered these words in the tenderest and most sym-
])athetic tone. She looked up into his face, and Colonel
Forth felt that he was powerless before her.

" I ran up at once to tell you — to tell you with my own
lips," continued Mrs, Dixon, breathlessly, " that it was
not your money I thought of, William ; let that go as mine
went — we have still each other ! "

William did not commit himself in words, but he gasped.

" It was like you ; so generous ; so noble always ; to
offer to release me at once ; but do you think I would

194

JEZEBELS ERIENDS,

accept your sacrifice ? No, '\\'illiam, in weal or woe, I
still am yours."

William felt as if the ground were slipping away beneath
his feet, but he made a fiiint effort.

" It is very good of you to say so, but "

" It is not good,'' interrupted Mrs. Dixon, eagerly ; *'in
love we do not count the cost; we ox\\y feci ;'' and she
looked up in AV^illiam's face as if she meant to kiss him, or
expected him to kiss her.

But William was going to do nothing of the sort. The
summer-house was in sight of die roadway, and even amid
his misery he remembered this.

" Come into the house," he said, '' people can see us
here ; " and so they went into the houce together, and Mrs.
Dixon went into it with a determinec'. heart.

" Let us talk it all over," she said ; " if between us we
can raise three or four hundred a year, what more do wc
want?"

"It is very little," faltered the Colonel.

''Yes, but if we are poor in purse we are rich in some-
thing else," continued Mrs. Dixon, evidently meditating
precipitating herself into his arms ; but he backed suddenly,
and put the table l)etween them.

'' I do not like to drag you into poverty," he said, from
the vantage ground he had secured ; " you have not been
used to it, and don't know what it is. I, of course, have
been accustomed to rough it."

"But it will not be such great poverty," urged Mrs.
Dixon, "my five thousand pounds bring me in a certain
income ? "

Colonel Forth thought of where her five thousand pounds
were invested, but he said nothing ; he temporised.

" Let us take a few days to think it over," he remarked,
"and see how this business of mine turns out; it may not
be so bad as we think."

"But my anxiety "

" It may all come right after all. I'll run up to town
and see after this lawyer fellow of mine, and I'll write to
you from there."

"' But how can I bear the suspense ? Promise me one
thing, William, that, whatever happens, we shall not part."

Colonel Forth felt to promise this was impossible, as he
had the fullest intention of parting.

yEZEn/crs friends.

»9S

lUit fortune favors ihc I)ravo ; as he stood, uncertain
what to say, -o his delight Kuth's slender form appeared
at the garden gate, and never had she beeii so weU-onie.

'* Here is my daugliler, Mrs. Audley," he said; "we
can't talk of this before her, you know ; [ will sec you pre-
sently ;" and Mrs. Dixon felt that it would be impossible
lo discuss the subject of their marriage before Ruth.

And Ruth looked rather annoyed when she entered the
(lining-room and saw who was with her father. She did
not like Mrs. Dixon ; and she did not like the idea of his
second marriage.

" I have a message for you from Colonel Kenyon," she
said, addressing him. " 1 had a letter from Frances this
morning, and he will be in l^ie village this aftern(jon about
three o'clock, and if you will go back to Sudley with him
to dine and stay all night, he will be very glad, and he will
drive you out."

'* He is very good," answered the ('olonel, and he drew
out his handkerchief and wii)ed his damj) brow.

" I will go, then," said Mrs. Dixon, softly ; " I shall see
you later in the day, I suppose ? " she added, looking at
him tenderly.

'' Yes, yes, to be sure, or I shall write," he hurriedly
answered, and he opened the door of the room with ala-
crity for Mrs. Dixon, but he did not offer to escort her
through the garden.

" Good-bye," she whispered, pressing his hand.

"Good-bye," he replied, without looking at her, and
he mentally determined it should be a long good-bye
indeed.

When he went back into the dining-room, he found Ruth
sitting pensively by the fire. Old memories were crowding
round her, and she always felt very sad when she entered
her father's little house.

" Well, is she gone ? " she asked, looking round.

" Yes," said the Colonel, and again he wiped his brow,
and then went to the sideboard and drew out the brandy
bottle.

"And you are really going to be married in ten days?"
asked Ruth.

" Not so sure of that," he answered, briefly.

" What ! have you had a quarrel? " said Ruth, smiling.

The Colonel made no reply ; he thought of taking Ruth

I'l

1' I

I/>

yi'./j'.H /•: /:s I'Rir.NDS.

into his conridcncc, but lie was never (^uite sure that his
daughters would not amuse themselves at his expense, .-. >
he remained silent.

''How is Audley this morning?" he asked, and so
changed the conversation, and by und-bye Ruth went aw.iy,
and he was left to his own unhappy rellections.

Oci one tiling he was determined, he uwulJ not see Mrs.
Dixon again. He would go to SiuUey, and write to her
from there, and stay there until it was all settled.

And he carried this out. He went with hi old friend
back to Sudley, armed with a stock of garments to last
him at least a fortnight ; and after dinner, when the two
men were alone, he told Kenyon (jf his trouble.

" I've made a fool of myself, Ivenyon," he said, brusciucly,
after drinking three glasses of old j)ort in rajjid succession.

" My dear fellow, most of us do that once or twice in our
lives," answered Kenyon, with a twinkle in his kindly eyes,
for he rather guessed what was coming.

"That woman 1 was going to mnrry, Mrs. Dixon, has
taken me in about her money — completely taken me in,"
meanly and untruthfully asserted Colonel Forth.

" What ! She's not got so much, then? "

" She's got nothing, as fiir as I can make out ; nothing
about which there is any certainty, at least."

Colonel Kenyon gave a soft, low whistle.
I " That's awkward," he said.

'' It's confoundedly awkward, and I won't have it at any
price ! " roared Forth. " I won't marry her, Kenyon. Will
you help me out of it ? "

"Easier said than done, I should say."

" That's the worst of it. A leech is nothing to her. The
way she sticks to one, and makes love to one, is positively
indelicate ! "

Kenyon laughed aloud ; in fact, the expression of Forth's
face was irresistible.

" It's no laughing matter for me," he continued, irritably.
" I wrote to her when I found it was all moonshine about
the money, and told her it was no use talking of marrying
when there was nothing to marry on ; and what do you
think she did? Rushed up to my house, my dear fellow,
and said all sorts of foolish, idiotic things about love.
Love, indeed I "

Again Kenyon laughed.

JEZKliEl. '.S I'RIEXnS,

197

ro. it at any

•' lUit wluit ni;i(lc you ihink slu* was rich ?" he askt-d
lucsciUly. " Ami how did you li nd (.ml she has nothing?"

I''i)r'' 'i(!sitalL'd ; he was aslianud to Itll an honorable
man htxv. rvt-nyon he had gone up to town to look at the
late Mr. Dixon's will, for he knew Kenyon would despise
such an action.

•'That ass, Aj)plel)y," he said, after a moment's consi-
deration, *' told me her hushand left her twenty thousand
pounds, and so 1 l)i-lic\c; he did, l)Ut the fool of a woman
speculated with it, and lost fifteen thousand [)ounds, she
tells me, in a fortnight."

" Hut sJK' still has fivi-, then } "

"Yes, badly invested; but 1 don't care what she has;
1 wont have her /"

" You are ([uite determined on this ? "

" Quite determined ; I'm sick of the whole affair."

''Well then, write her a straightforward letter, and tell
her you want to back out of it ; but of course you must
offer her s(jme comi)ensation."

"Compensation?" repeated Forth, ruefully.

" Yes, certaiidy ; you asked her to marry you, and if
you have changed your mind, ) ..u ought to i)ay for it."

" Mow much do you think " hesitated Forth, who

did not quite see the force of his friend's argument.

" Well, say five hundred pounds."

'' Five hundred pounds ! AN'here am I to get five
hundred jjounds, do you think, to throw away in such a
manner? "

'' \Ve'll raise it somehow ; you are my Frances' father,
so r owe you more than five hundred pounds."

Colonel Forth raised his shaggy light eyebrows in pure
sur[)rise at the other's words.

'' I should write to her at once if I were you, and have
it settled," continued Kenyon ; and Forth having agreed
to this, he retired to the library to compose his letter to
Mrs. Dixon.

"' Dear Mrs. Dixon," he wrote after some consideration,
" 1 have thought over our conversation this morning, and
the position of our affairs, and f have come to the con-
clusion that a marriage between us is out of the question.
'I'o my mind, to live "on a very small income is simply
miserable, and 1 am sure you are too sensible not to see

I ' II

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198

JEZEBEVS ERIENDS.

it in the same ligiit wlien you reflect upon it. Rut T a,n
very anxious not to cause you i iiy annoyance or disap-
l)ointment, and 1 trust we shall be able to arrange this
amicably. I am stayiiig with my son-in-law, Colonel Ken-
yon, at i)resent, and shall be glad to receive a letter from
you here, and hope to be able to meet your views on the
subject ; though you must please not to forget that I am a
verj' poor man. Still, with assistance, I may be able to do
somethmg.

" And I remain,

*' Yours very sincerely,

"William Forth."

Colonel Forth read and re-read this, and thought it was
a masterpiece, and carried it into the dining-room foi his
friend's approval.

Colonel Kenyon glanced over it with a smile.

"Well, will tliat do?" asked Forth, with some pride in
his own composition.

" Cold, and cool enough anyhow," said Kenyon, still
smiling.

" I must be cold and cool, my dear fellow ! If I showed
the slightest warmth she would be here in no time, throw-
ing herself into my arms, and I really cannot stand it."

" Very well, all right, send it ; we shall see what she
says."

'J'hey saw the next day by the last post. A letter was
placed in Colonel Forth's hands in Mrs. Dixon's too well-
known writing, and, with a flushed face, he retired at once
to his own room to read it.

" Dear Colonel Forth (I almost wrote my dearest Wil-
liam) for it seems impossible to me, quite impossible that
your hand traced the hard and cruel words I have just
received. Did I not ask you ^^ hen you proposed to marry
me, when you entreated me to accep^t you, if you were
sure that you sought me and loved me for myself alone ?
Vou know I did ; you cannot deny this, I am sure ; and
here am [, unchanged and faithful, and yet you cast me
off*! But the laws of my country will defend me, and
as a poor, broken-hearted, forsaken woman, I shall claim
their protection. 1 shall write no more, for my words of
tenderness are of no avail ; but I repeat, I cannot under-
stand it, nor shall I put up with it.

'• Sarah Dixon."

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

199

I it. But 1 a-n
^ancc or disap-
to arrange this
,v, Colonel Kcn-
ve a letter from
ur views on the
rget that I am a
ay be able to do

rely,

LiAM Forth. '

d thought it was
ing-room foi his

smile.

th some pride in

,id Kenyon, still

•w ! If I showed
\ no time, throw-
not stand it."
all see what she

;t. A letter w;is
Dixon's too well-
\e retired at once

e my dearest Wil-
e impossible that
ords I have just
roposed to marry
you, if you were
or myself alone?
I am sure ; and
yet you cast me
defend me, and
an, I shall claim
, for my words of
I cannot under-

" She means business," said Colonel Kenyon, laughing,
when the alarmed Forth was obliged to let him read this
letter. " As I told you, mv dear fellow, you will have to
pay, and quite right too."

It is needless 10 relate all the correspondence which
followed between the middle-aged jxair. Colonel Forth
offered, by Colonel Kenyon's advice, five hundred pounds
compensation for his breach of promise, but Mrs. Dixon
refused it as inadequate. Finally, after much disputation,
she agreed to take seven hunared pounds, which Colonel
Kenyon advanced.

'' And let us keep it to ourselves," said this kindly man ;
"for after all, my dear Forth, you know she may really
have been fond of you."

'" I shall never give another v-oman a chance of being
fond of me, that's all I can say," replied Forth with
energy ; and he never did.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

TRUST BETRAYED.

■>

5ARAH Dixon."

The chill autumn had faded into cold dark winter, and
the sea-swept coast on which Headfort stands was bleak
with winds and storms and mist, yet still Major Audley
lay a prisoner in the room to which he had been carried
insensible two months ago, and still his young wife watched
and waited on him, hiding as best she could her weary
heart.

Seaforth went home for Christmas-time, but Sir Arthur
Beaton either did not ask for leave or could not get it.
He spent Christmas Day at Sudley Park, where there was
much feasting and mirth. But Ruth did not go, and he7'
Christmas was anything but a lively one, for nearly all the
day she was in the sick room of an impatient, irritable
invalid.

Audley, indeed, could not reconcile himself to the
changed condition of his life. The tall, stalwart, good-
looking soldier suddenly found himself broken alike in
health and spirits, and it was no doubt a heavy cress to
hear. And it was tlae remembrance of this which made

r 1: ■»

200

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS,

Ruth so patient and gentle in all her ways to him. But
do what she would, she could not satisfy him; and at last
he decided that in the beginning of the New Year In-
would go up to town and try wjiat a change of air and
scene would do for him.

Ruth raid nothing to dissuade him, but her heart sank
at the prospect of leaving Frances, for it was the one lui
of brightness in her life — her a.lmost daily visitors from
Sudley. They had tried to persuade her to go there for
Ciiristmas, but " How can I ? " she had answered patheti-
cally, and Colonel Kenyon agreed with her.

" It would be cruel to leave the poor fellow upstairs,"
he said, " but we will come and see you in the morning,
Ruth ; and Frances here,'' and he laid his hand kindly cm
his wife's shoulder, ^'must bring you some holly."

And they came, and not only brought the "holly," luit
all manner of good things. Frances was in high spirits,
and full of excitement, and was looking handsomer than
ever.

" How odious that you can't be with us," she said ; '• 1
don't see why you could not come."

Ruth made no answer ; she still wore black for Miss
Audley, and she felt very sad. She was only a girl in
years still, and her life was such a dreary and weary one,
that on a day like this she could not help thinking of it.
She could not help thinking, too, that Frances never
seemed to remember the bitter sacrifice she had made for
her sake. She was as bright and gay and careless as
though no shadow had fallen on her young sister's life.
and though Ruth tried wo'^ to feel annoyed by this, it
sometimes seemed very, very strange to her.

' Well, at all events, I wish you a merry Christmas and
a happy New Year," said Frances, piesently, rising and
preparing to leave ; ^' ah, here is Sir Arthur — Hugh, we
might as well drive him over with us."

"Just as you like, dearest," answered Colonel Kenyon ;
and when a few moments later Sir Arthur entered the
room, he asked him to go back to Sudley with them.

" I saw the carriage at Mrs. Audley's door," answered
Sir Arthur, a faint color mounting to his brown, good-
looking face, " so I came across to ask what time I was
expected this evening?"

"No time like the present; drive over-rith us now,"

yEZRBEUS FRIENDS.

20 1

I US now,

said Colonel Kenyr>n ; and Sir Arthur was but too pleased
to accept, though he asked for a few moments' grace to
run back to the Fort to tell his servant to follow him with
what he would require.

For he was going to remain all night at Sudley, and
indeed spent so much of his time there that the neighbors
sometimes gave a little shrug when they spoke of it. And
Colonel Forth by no meaus liked it, and often contem[)lated
giving his old friend a hint of his opinion on the subject.
Ijiit his own matrimonial misadventure had made him
rather shy of iuterf(.'ring with Frances, as he was not a
little afraid of her sharp tongue and biting jests.

As Sir Arthur hurried to the Fort and back to Ruth's
house, Frances seemed in the gayest spirits. She kissed
her sister on each cheek when she went away, and Ruth
stood at the window and watched them go, and then with
a heavy sigh went up to Audley's room, where he was
lying on a couch by the fire.

'• It was Frances and Colonel Kenyon," she said.

" And who rang the bell twice after the Kenyons
came ? " asked Audley, looking up.

"That was Sir Arthur Beaton."

" And he didn't come uj) to speak to me ? " said Audley,
with some anger ^'n his tone.

•• He was going to Sudley with them, and he had no
time."

•• He goes a great deal too often to Sudley — old Kenyon
is a fool ! "

Ruth bit her lips to suppress the retort that rose upon
them.

" I mean to give Beaton a bit of my mind some day
about that sister of yours," continued Audley irritably.

," You have no right to speak thus," said Ruth, and she
left the room, and Audley looked angrily after her.

"That woman, Madam Jezebel, comes here far too
much," he thought, jealously; "they've fine times down-
stairs, I've no doubt, while I am laid up here like a log ; but
ril soon put a stop to it. Fm not going to have my house
made a lounge for the young men from the Fort, to
please Mrs. Kenyon or anyone rise."

This was a bad beginning for Christmas Day, and
Audley never recovered his temper, and was secretly
enraged by seeing Ruth look so pale and sad. It is,

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■ n

r>02

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

indeed, a mlsera])le thing for two people who live together
not to be on good terms, and most miserable when the
two are man and wife ! Audley's very love for Ruth made
him so captious, so f-etful, that he would have tried a
woman with the calmest and sweetest disposition. But
Ruth was naturally warm and tender-hearted, and strong
emotions and deep feelings were hidden in her heort.
And there were two people whom she had loved with a
depth and truth that she only understood. One was the
beautiful sister whom she had admired and almost wor-
shipped since she was a little child ; the other, the young
lover of her girlhood, from whom she had been torn by the
cruellest selfishness.

And she never forgave Audley this, and never could.
And he had realised this in all its full bitterness before his
dreadful accident had so far drawn her nearer to him that
she was sorry for him, and had done her best to ease his
sufferings. But it was a weary, weary task, and this
Christmas Day was a very dreary one, spent together by
the unmatched pair.

At Sudley, on the contrary, the old roof rang with mirth
and laughter, for some former military friends of Colonel
Kenyon's were staying at the house, and merry tales were
told of bygone days, when the greyhaired owner of Sudley
had been young and brown. But not happier — not so
happy as he was now. Did two, who sat at his hospitable
board, realise this — two, who thought very little of him,
and were living in a dream of excitement and forgetfulness
of everything but each other's presence ? Yes, it had come
to this — the vain, wordly, beautiful Frances Kenyon had
allowed herself to drift nearer and nearer to a danger she
affected to despise. She had always liked Arthur Beaton,
liked his youth, his devotion, and his good looks ; and
since he had become Sir Arthur she had liked him better
still. She was afraid of losing him, for one thing ; for
naturally there were many fair girls and fair women also,
ready to smile on a rich, handsome, and agreeable young
man. And Frances was really jealous if he sjooke to any
one else, though she was always gaily bidding him to dirt
with this one or the other. And she led him on and on;
led him to forget everything but the passionate love which
intoxicated him, and overwhelmed the nobler instincts of
his heart.

JEZEBEL'S FK TENDS.

203

She never paused to reflect on the wrong she was doing.
He was devoted to her, and this satisfied her ; and if for a
moment she felt she liked him too well, the next slic forgot
this, or told herself her life would be so weary without him.
Of the noble-hearted gentleman whose name she bore, she
scarcely cared to think, nor of the priceless gifts she was
flinging to the winds. The foolish woman in her vanity
thought more of a young man's love than her husl)and's
constant affection and trust.

And this Christmas Day, Sir Arthur had brought her a
gift which he had i)laced in her hands with some tender
words ; a gift of rare and beautiful stones set in the shape
of a diamond heart, and P' ranees was delighted with it.

" You know it is symbolical," he said, looking at her
intently with his grey earnest eyes.

" Of what? " she said, lightly ; but the next moment she
laid her slender hand on his. " I understand," she half-
wliispered ; and she wore the jewelled heart on her shapely
throat during the evening, and when someone admired it
she said it had been given to her long ago !

She went to see Ruth the next day, but she did not
mention Sir Arthur's gift to her.

" We had rather a jolly party," she told her ; " the
rieathcotes are pleasant people," and so on.

"And Sir Arthur, how did he enjoy himself?" asked
Ruth, who wished to give a word of advice to her sister.

'• Very well, seemingly," answered Frances, carelessly ;
'•I drove him in just now, and he has gone to the Fort,
but he will be over here presently to see Audley."

" He is not going back to Sudley again, is he? " inquired
Ruth, gravely.

" Of course he is ; how on earth am I to amuse Mrs.
Heathcote, and Lady Hastings too, who is going to dine
with us to-day, without any young men ? "

" He seems to be so much with you."

Frances gave a little shrug.

'• He is very nice ; he helps to amuse me," she said ;
and then she began telling Ruth about the Indian em-
broidery on Mrs. Heathcote's dress, and before Ruth
could say anything more of Sir Arthur, he arrived, and
went upstairs for a few moments to speak to Audiey, who
intended the first time he saw him to give him a bit of his
mind about Mrs. Kenyon.

-H

204

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

But this was not so easy as he expected. There was a
certain reserve in Beaton's manner that Audley found very
difficult to break tlirough when he approached the sul)je(:i
of nis visits to Sudley.

" You seem to l)e the adopted friend of the fLimily."
at last said Audley, a little scornfully ; " take care, old
fellow ! "

Beaton drew himself up and colored.

** They are very kind to me," he answered coldly ; '' well,
good day, Audley, I am glad to see you so much better ; ''
and he shook Audley's hand and went away, and Audley
felt that his interference had been anything but appre-
ciated.

He, of course, began to rail Frances to Ruth the moment
Beaton was gone, and Ruth escai)ed from his hard and
cutting words by going out for a long walk by the sea
coast, and the fresh air did her good. She returned
looking brighter, and as Seaforth was not at Headlort,
Audley made no objections when on the following day
she again proposed to take a walk.

As she went out, a strange wish rose in her mind once
more to go down to the bay. She had never done this
since the night which had proved the turning point of her
fate ; but she had often looked with a half-averted, shudder-
ing glance from the back windows of the house at the sands
below, bound in by the waveworn, rocky walls, down
which she had gone in the darkness and the storm.

And now a sort of weird fascination and curiosity drew
her footsteps to the very spot. She was alone and free to
do as she wished, and presently she found herself walking
close to the sea, and looking towards the steep and shaggy
cliffs, beneath which she had crept with her heavy burden.

She seemed to see herself again as she delved and dug
in yon shifting sand. How many times the sea had rolled
and murmured over the narrow trench since then, but the
secret lay still unbared when the waves crept back, and
only Audley knew — only Audley — thought Ruth, witli
clasped hands and dilated eyes.

She stood still a few minutes, but presently walked on,
going to the very end of the bay, and then commenced to
mount and cross the vast blocks of rock, to which tlic
brown seaweed clung, and wiiere the sea flowers dwelt
amid the pools of salt water that the tide had left. A

iitah».'*jt^e^v

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

205

somewhat dangerous, rugged path this, round the jutting
point of the bay, at the other side ot which the beautiful
sands stretch out for miles and miles. Ruth meant to go
for a long walk, and was proceeding for.vard with bent
head, when to her great surprise she saw Seaforth
approaching her in the o})])osite direction, who also in-
tended to have a long walk by the sea.

They met, both embarrassed and confused,

" I thought you were at home ? " faltered Ruth, with
blushing cheeks and downcast eyes.

" I crme back last night. I only went for Christmas
Day."

" I did not know."

"Are you having a long walk — may I join you? "

" Yes," said Ruth, still without looking up.

But as they went along together, listening to the mystic
voice of the great waters, their first embarrassment soon
passed away. Above them vv'as a l)right, steely blue winter
sky, and around them a sharp, cold, clear air, and before
Ihem the long-ridged yellow sand. They did not talk of
Audley, nor of the old days when they had plucked
the wild flowers in the fields. They talked of the sea,
and the strange stories which float from its vast breast,
the fabled mermaid with her yellow hair, carrying down
the drowned sailor to its silent depths ; the " wedges of
gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, all scattered at the
bottom of the sea.'"

Ruth had a pretty fancy, and loved to think and talk of
things that were as blank walls to Frances and her father.
As a child she had often wandered away alone, and
invented many a romantic tale for her own gratification.
And there is something in the sea which strikes on the
hidden chords of such a nature, awaking vague dreams of
an unfulfilled existence.

" Life is so strange," she said, softly.

" An unending struggle, it seems to me," answered
Seaforth, '' always dark and difficult."

'' Not always ! "

" Nearly always, then ; and we pay too heavy a price, I
think, for its brief joys."

They both were thinking at the moment of their " brief
joy " which had faded in its dawn. But they did not speak
of it ; Seaforth, indeed, avoided doing so, for he did not

to6

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

wish to distress and worry Ruth, knowing that this wall:
was a sort of rest for her after her long watching and wait-
ing in a sick room.

At last she said that they must return, for the short
winter twilight was creeping round them, and it was
almost dark before they reached the village. But tlicre
was a rosy flush on Ruth's sweet face, and her step was
light as Seaforth helped her over the big dark rocks, and
as they stood for a moment or two listening to the
mysterious gurgles of the retreating waves in the holloM's
and clefts below them.

" It's been a good walk ; will you come again ? " asked
Seaforth before they parted.

" Perhaps," answered Ruth, smiling.

Then they shook hands, and Ruth returned to her
unloved home, and found that Audley had been fretting
and fuming about her absence.

" You have stayed out far too late," he said ; " it's
nearly dark.

"I walked further than I intended," said Ruth, and so
the matter dropped.

The next day the doctors allowed Audley to be carried
downstairs, and in the afternoon he had several visitors,
and among them Sir Arthur Beaton, '' Seaforth is back,"
he told Audley, who frowned when he heard the news, and
asked when he had arrived.

" To-day, I think," said Beaton carelessly, wno was still
staying at Sudley, and Ruth turned her head away with a
conscious blush, for she had not told Audley she had met
Seaforth on the previous afternoon, as she .new Audley
would be so very angry.

But she did not ask leave to go out any more. She
used to see Seaforth pass and re-pass the house on his way
to the post office sometimes, and once he called on Audley,
but Ruth did not go into the room while he was there.

On New Year's Day, the Kenyons called in the monv
ing, and Frances told Ruth the party at Sudley was to
break up next day.

"And I shall not be sorry," she added, " I have g(it
rather tired of Mrs. Heathcote."

She kissed Ruth affectionately when she went away, and
wished her a happy New Year ; and on the following day
Frances did not come to Headfort, which did not surprise
Ruth, as she knew the guests at Sudley would be leaving.

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

307

But the day after she rather expected her, but Frances
never came. About seven o'clock in the evening, however,
while Audley was lying smoking on the couch by the fire,
and Ruth was sitting reading, a carriage drove up to the
street door, and the bell rang.

" Whoever can that be? just close on dinner-time too,"
said Audley, looking at his watch.

A moment later Colonel Kenyon was ushered into the
room, and after shaking hands with Ruth and Audley, he
asked for Frances.

*' She's not her, " said Ruth, surprised.

" What ! not here ? " repeated Colonel Kenyon quickly,
" When did she leave, then ; somehow I must have missed
her on the road ? "

" But she has never been here to-day," said Ruth, turn-
ing pale.

" Never been here ! Good God ! something may have
happened then. She left Sudley at ten this morning to
come here — she drove in — were on earth can she be ? "

He, too, had grown very pale, and his voice was full of
excitement, but still not a thought of the truth ever crossed
his mind.

" She may be at your father's, or at the Hilliards V he
went on hastily ; " I heard her say she was going to call
at the Hilliards', and no doubt they have persuaded her to
stay. But after it got dark I grew a bit uneasy and
brought the carriage to take her home. She sent the car-
riage back this morning, and gave no orders to the coach-
man, so I suppose she was sure I would come out for her,
and I certainly expected to find her here."

"She maybe at the Hilliards'," said Ruth, but her very
lips had grown white.

" She must be," answered Colonel Kenyon, seizing his
hat ; '* there or at your father's ; FU go at once and seek
her."

" Bring her back here," faltered Ruth.

" Yes, all right ; " and after he had left the room, Ruth
had not courage to look in Audley's face.

" What do you think of it ? " he asked, in a strange
voice.

'' She must beat the Hilliards' ; or perhaps she has met
Lady Hastings, and gone to spend the day with her."

" Or with Arthur Beaton," said Audley, with biting
scorn.

; I

2o8

JEZEBErS FRIENDS.

Ruth started, as if lie had struck her.

" How dare you say such a thing? " she cried.

Then she went to tlie house door, and stood there listen-
ing with a beating heart ; and])resently she heard the voices
of her father and Colonel Kenyon approaching, and slie
rrn a step or two forward into the street to meet them.

** Have you found her? " she asked quickly.

" No," answered Colonel Kenyon, who was quite out
of breath with haste. " She's not been lo your father's
nor to Hilliard's. I fancy she must have met Lady Hast-
ings, and gone on to Amherst with her."

" Ask the coachman where he left her," said Colonel
Forth in an agitated voice.

" It was John, the groom, sir, brought the phaeton
back," answered the coachman, in reply to Colonel Ken-
yon's query. " Mrs. Kenyon drove the ponies herself
this morning, and I asked John if she had given any fur-
ther orders, and he said not."

" She may be at home now," suggested Ruth ner-
vously.

''No doubt she is," said Colonel Kenyon. "That's
what I've been saying to Forth. She would hardly stay
to dinner at Amherst without letting me know. I'll go
back straight now to Sudley."

" I'll go with you," said Forth.

It was settled thus, but bjlbre the two old friends start-
ed, Ruth asked them in a low tone to let her know at once
if Frances was at Sudley.

" I feel so nervous," she said, with a little shiver.

They promised to do this, and they drove quickly away,
and Ruth went upstairs to the drawing-room, walking up
and down the half-dark room in a state of great agitation,
and she refused to go down to the dining-room for dinner
when Audley sent for her.

But just about nine o'clock she heard a horse galloping
down the village, and then stop at their door, and she at
once hastily descended into the hall.

The servant had opened the doOr, and one of the grooms
from Sudley stood outside.

" Is Mrs. Kenyon at home ? " asked Ruth, forcing the
words from her lips.

" No, please, ma'am, I was to tell you," replied the groom,
touching his hat. " Mrs. Kenyon has not returned, but the

Jl'.ZEUE I. W I'RIENDS.

209

Colonel and Colonel Forth, ma'am, have gone on to Sir
J;imcs Hastings'."

*'()h !" said Riitli, with a sort of gasp, and she went
into tlie dining-room, llic door of whicli was open.

Audley, wlio was within, luid heard both her ([iiestion
and the groom's rcj)!)', and he oiily wailed until the man
rode away to ring the bell, which was answered by his
soldier servant.

" Go across to the Fort," he said, in a calm, hard voice,
''and give my c()mi)liments to Sir Arthur H.-aton, and ask
liirn if he will come over here for a smoke."

The man at once left the room to obey his order, and
Ruth stood with a i)ale averted face and clasi)ed hands
until he returned.

.Six or seven minutes elapsed, and then he rapped at the
room door, and came in.

" Please, sir,'' he said, with a military salute, "Major
Gary's compliments " (.Major Gary had commanded at the
Fort since Audley's ace. dent), " and I was to tell you Sir
Arthur Beaton left the Fort on a few days' leave of absence
this morning."

" Ah, that will do, shut the door," said Audley coolly ;
and after he was gone, Audley looked at Ruth.

"You know what it all means, I suppose?" he said.
" Your sister has eloped with Beaton."

" No, no ! " cried Ruth, with uncontrollable emotion,
wringing her hands, " she could not; could not be so
vile."

} I

CHAPTER XXXV.

NEWS.

Ruth did not attempt to take any rest all that miserable
]ilght, but wandered from room to room in a half-distracted
state. And as the dull winter dawn crept over the earth and
sea, again she heard a carriage drive down the village,
and stop at the house door. She hurried to open it her-
self, and saw her father getting out of the carriage alone.

She asked no questions, she could not; but Colonel
Forth understood without a word being spoken the mute,
agonised query of her eyes. -

iifi

2tO

JEZEIU'.L'S FRIENDS,

"She is not at the Hastings'," he said hoarsely; "she
has never been. Kenyon's like a madman. He thinks
she has been murdered."

Still no word came frcnn Ruth's white lips. She grasped
her father's hand, and i)ulled him into the dining-room,
and shut the door.

" You don't kiiowanyt! ing ? " he asked, quickly and ner-
vously.

"Father," she gasped out in broken accents, " Sir Ar-
thur Beaton — is not at the Fort."

Colonel Forth's face, which had been a dull j)urplish
color, for he and Colonel Kenyon had been up all night,
suddenly grew a fiery scarlet.

"You don't mean to insinuate, surely . You don't

think "

" Oh ! I don't know what to think," said Ruth, miser-
ably, " but Major Audley thinks "

" Not that she has gone off with Beaton ? " asked
Colonel Forth, hotly and indignantly. " What right has
Audley to suppose or suggest such a thing? "

" It seems," answered Ruth, in great distress, " that he
knew more than we did ; that — that — before Frances
married, Sir Arthur cared for her so much, he tried to
shoot himself when he heard she was engaged to Colonel
Kenyon — when he had what was called the accident with
the revolver, you know. But it was no accident, Major
Audley told me last night ; he deliberately tried to shoot
himself, and Major Audley ran into the room just in time
to save him."

" And why were we not told all this before ? What
right had Audley to keep such a secret to himself, and
allow poor Kenyon constantly to ask this young man to
Sudley, if there were such a story about him as this ? "

" For Sir Arthur's sake he could not tell it."

" It was madness, folly — inconceivable folly, if this be
true — for Kenyon ever to have him within his doors I
Good heavens ! if she has been such a fool ! But I don't
believe it ; vain as she always was, I cannot believe she
would be so utterly mad, so utterly worthless, as to leave
her home with Beaton."

" But where can she be ? " asked Ruth, wringing her
hands.

"I would rather she were lying dead in a ditch with

yEZ/c/u-:i:s ikiends.

2X1

her throat cut, for the sake of lu-r purse, as poor Kenyon
thinks," answered (Colonel I'orth, sternly, *' tlian know she
was so lost, so disgraced, as to leave the man who saved
my life — the man who has only been too good, too kind to
her, and to all of us — for a youth like lU-aton."

'*C)h! I pray Ciod she m,iy not have done so!" said
Ruth, with a passionate burst of tears. *' Yes, she would
be better dead ! "

** Had you any suspicions ? " asked Colonel Forth, un-
easily. ** Beaton was at Sudley all last week, but 1 cer-
tainly did not see them much together ; did they ever
come here together? "

'* They did sometimes, and I si)oke to Frances, and said
I hoped she v/ould not make Sir Arthur care for her, and
she only laughed — of course I never thought ''

*' Mow do you know Beaton is not at the Fort? " inter-
rupted Colonel Forth, curtly.

*' Because last night — after the groom came to tell me
Trances was not at Sudley, Major Audley sent over to
the Fort to ask Sir Arthur to come here to smoke ; and
Major Cary sent an answer back that Sir Arthur had left
the Fort in the morning on a few days' leave of absence."

Colonel Forth's face had paled during Ruth's reply, and
he began to walk up and down the room with hasty strides.

"It's very odd, certainly," he said; "she disai)peared
yesterday morning."

" Where did she leave the phaeton before the groom
drove it back to Sudley ? "

" Just near my house, at the beginning of High Street."

"And — had she anything with her?" asked Ruth
with faltering tongue. *^

" 1 asked John, the groom, that question. * Nothing '
he said, 'but a small sealskin handbag.' "

Ruth clasped her hands together.

"Oh! father, she may have been robbed and — Oh!
she may be lying dead or dying now ! "

" Kenyon and I have been up all night, and the whole
of the road from here to Sudley has been searched, and
Kenyon was having the lake dragged when I left Sudley ;
he will be here by nine, and will put the cose into the
hands of the police, unless "

Colonel Forth paused and hesitated, and Ruth could
say nothing, for Frances' mysterious disappearance could

8ia

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS,

only be accounted for by a tragic or disgraceful cause,
cither of which was so terrible to Ruth.

She got breakfast for her father, and eagerly drank some
tea herself, for her throat was parched, and while she was
taking this they saw Colonel Kenyon drive up to the
house, and Ruth ran into the hall, holding out both hands
to him as he came in.

For there was a look on his face which would have
moved the coldest heart ; a look of despair so terrible,
so overwhelming, that Ruth gave a little cry and drew his
cold hands nearer to her.

'* You — have not found her? " she faltered.

He shook his head,

" We shall never find her alive," he said, in a hoarse
changed, hollow voice ; *' our darling is dead."

Ruth stood confused, overwhelmed with the agony of
her own feelings.

*' I have no hope," went on Colonel Kenyon, and there
was none in his voice or face. " If she had been livins/
she v/ould not have let me })ass last night — as I did."

" And you think "

** I think some ruffian for the sake of her money or her
ornaments — but I cannot speak of it."

He sat down on one of the hall chairs as he spoke, as
if utterly overcome;, r^id put one of his trembling hands
over his paUid face ; but at this moment Colonel Fonh
came out of the dining-room, and went up to him.

" Come in beside the fire, my dear fellow," he said,
addressing Kenyon, and touching his shoulder; "you are
quite worn out, and Ruth will give you some tea."

Colonel Kenyon rose without a word, and went into the
dining-room, and Ruth drew an armchair to the fire, on
which he sank down, and poured him out some tea and
brought it to him.

" Thank you, my dear," he said, and that was all ; but
as he sat there, so grey, so aged, so hopeless, Ruth and
her father exchanged many a pitying glance.

'^ I shall offer a large reward," he said presently, without
looking up.

"Yes," answered Colonel Forth; and then he began
moving restlessly about the room. " You had no quarrel
with Frances, had you ? " he asked suddenly.

" With my darling ? " said Colonel Kenyon, as if greatly

JEZEBELS FRIENDS,

213

surprised ; " none, none — not one word. We parted as
we always did. She told me that she was coming here,
but that she should soon be back — and I watched her
drive away "

Here he broke down, and a sob wrung from the brave
man's heart choked his utterance; and Ruth laid her hand
tenderly on his shoulder.

" Oh I don't, Hugh, don't !" she said; but what else
could she say ? She could not speak of hope when she
could see none ; when a black shadow lay over her own
heart ; a prescience of a great wrong done to this kindly
gentleman.

'• We must try to keep up," said Colonel Forth, passing
his large hand with a quick gesture over his eyes, where
an unwonted moisture had stolen at the sight of the grief
of his old friend. " We had best see the Inspector of
Police now, I think — or shall we wait. I* "

"Why should we wait?" answered Colonel Kenyon,
rising. " I am ready ; let us go now."

Ruth followed them into the passage, and again /rung
Colonel Kenyon's hand, and then watched the two go out
on their dismal errand.

" Come back here," she said before they went, and when
she was left alone she sat down and covered her face with
licr hands, trembling and shuddering at the idea of what
any moment might bring forth.

A minute or two later the. postman rang at the house
door, and Ruth started to her feet, listening with parted
lips and fast-beating heart to some words he was saying to
the servant. Then the servant broug'at in the letters, and
with a ghastly face Ruth drew near the silver tray on
which they lay, and put out a trembling hand to turn them
over.

Eut there were none in her handwriting. For a moment
this seemed a ort of relief ; and yet it would have ended
tliis gnawing anxiety, this frightful uncertainty. The let-
ters were all for Audley, and presently Ruth carried them
ui)stairs, and he looked at her inquiringly as she entered
the room. .

" Well, is there any news ? " he said.

" None," she answered, and she laid the letters on the
bed.

" She has not written, then?"

Ruth shuddered.

214

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

" Colonel Kenyon and my father have been here," she
said, in a low pained tone ; " and they believe that she
has been murdered — that she is dead."

" Not she, my dear ! " answered Audley, scoffingly.
*■' Do tliey think that Arthur Beaton is dead too ? "

" I told my father he was not at the Fort, and he was
very angry even at the idea. Of course, Colonel Kenyon
has no suspicion."

"He is a fool," said Audley, impatiently, "c\ trustful
fool ; that woman was an angel in his eyes — but he'll soon
be wiser."

But even Audley, hard and cynical as he was, felt moved
to pity when — later in the day — he saw Colonel Kenyon's
fiice, on which the grey shadow of despair was so plainly
imprinted. He had offered a thousand pounds reward for
information that would lead to the discovery of his v/ife,
and there was much excitement among the police in con-
sequence, and the whole country side round Headfort was
being carefully searched.

''Why don't they go to the railway station first?" said
Audley to Ruth. " It would be very easy to find out what
train Beaton left Headfort by, and if he left alone or with
a lady ; it would simplify matters a good deal if your father
or the police went to the Fort to make inquiries."

But he did not suggest this to the grey, broken-hearted
man who sat at his table, pushing away the food they placed
before him, and with his head bowed down so low. Beaton's
name was never mentioned, and Colonel Kenyon had
completely forgotten his existence ; had forgotten every-
thing indeed but the overwhelming bitterness of his loss.
Lunch was on the table when he and Colonel Forth returned
to Ruth's, and Audley asked them to remain for it, and
they stayed, but Colonel Kenyon "broke no bread;" his
grief indeed was beyond expression.

No news came in all day, and as the evening gathered
in, Colonel Kenyon returned to Sudley, though both Audley
and Ruth urged him to remain with them.

But he would not.

" I may be nearer my darling there," he said to Ruth ;
for he was quite convinced that Frances had been robbed
and murdered, and probably lay hidden in some of the
fields between Headfort and Sudley ; and not one of them
had the courage to suggest any other solution for her dis-
appearance.

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

2IS

So he went away alone, but Colonel Forth agreed to go
over at once to the Park if anything was discovered ; and
about nine in the evening the Inspector of Police called,
and asked to see Colonel FortJi, who had remained at
Ruth's to dinner. The Inspector hesitated a moment, and
then asked Colonel Forth if tliere was any reason to suspect
that "the lady had voluntarily left her home?"

Forth started as if something had stung him, and stared
' the man angrily in the face.

" What do you mean ? " he asked.

The Inspector then proceeded to inform him that the
man who gave out the tickets at Headfort Station had sold
a first-class ticket for London to a lady to go by the eleven
train, whom he thought was remarkably like Mrs. Kenyon,
of Sudley Park, though he was not very well acquainted
with her appearance.

"Was the lady alone?" asked Colonel Forth, with
trembling lips.

" Yes, she was alone when she took the ticket," the
Inspector said ; '* but," he added, " one of the porters had
informed him that 'a young gentleman' joined her before
the train started, and they left together in the same com-
partment."

"This could not have been Mrs. Kenyon," said Colonel
Forth ; "my daughter had no intention of going to town."
But all the same the policeman left Major Audley's house
feeling pretty sure he was on the right track.

Colonel Forth went back to the dining-room, after his
interview with the Inspector, in a very excited condition
of mind. He looked uneasily at Audley, who was lying
on the couch, and then at Ruth, and something in the
expression of his face struck them both.

" Any news? " aeked Audley briefly.

" That policeman fellow has got hold of some story — a
most unlikely story — that a lady, something like Frances,
took a ticket for London yesterday, to go by the eleven
train ; but he admits he hardly knows her by sight,"
answered Forth with agitation.

"Ah!" said Audley, but the monosyllable expressed
much.

"And — and did he say anything else?" asked Ruth
with gasping breath.

"Some folly.; nothing certain," replied the Colonel,

III

r (

it6

"yEZEBElJS PRIEiVDS.

pouring himself out a glass of port with hia trembling
hand.

" Why not send over to the Fort, or go over, and ask
what train Beaton started by? " said Audley, coolly.

" Because, Major Audley, I do not wish to cast what I
believe to be an unjust suspicion on my daughter's name,"
replied Colonel Forth Aviih indignation ; and Audley said
nothing more, but turned his head round and went on
reading his newspaper, while Forth continued drinking
glass after glass of port, trying to drown his own uneasy
reflections.

Another miserable sleepless night was spent by the two
who had loved Frances Kenyon too well, and then the
blow fell, and their idol was shattered. Many lines have
been penned, and many a tale told, of the hopes and fears,
the joys and son jws, carried so carelessly in the postman's
bag ! But, perhaps, never was a letter received with more
intense anxiety, opened with more trembling fingers, read
with more anguish and shame, than the one which Ruth
received on the second morning after Frances' disappear-
ance.

It was from Frances. And Ruth, recognising the hand-
writing, tore it from its envelope in a whirl of agitation, a
passion of emotion too strong for words, and she read it
with indignant flashing eyes, with disgust, great anger, and
shame in her burning heart.

" My dear Ruth, "

"I suppose you are all very angry with me, bat the
situation was growing too strained iit Sudley, and I have
not strength to give up Arthur. He has cared for me
very m.uch, you know, for a long time, long before my
marriage, and at last he has persuaded me to take the
irrecoverable step of leaving my home with him, and I do
not regret it. We start this evening for Paris, and from
there go on to the Riviera, and as I trust Colonel Kenyon
will get divorced from me as soon as possible, I shall, I
expect, return to England as Lady Beaton, and then I dare
say all this will be forgotten. I am sorry for poor K. ;
but it is miserable to be married to a man you do not care
for, and then his age made it so unsuitable. However, all
that is past and over, and I should not be surprised if K.
were to mar^y again, Arthur is only too anxious to marry

JKZEBKi:S FRIENDS.

217

me, and says he shall never be quite hn.ppy until he can do
so. I am very sorry if I have vexed you ; but write to me
in Paris to the address below, and tell me you forgive me.
I suppose Audley and my father will have been calling me
all sorts of bad names, but luckily I won't hear them in
the sunny South. Always with love, affectionately yours,

" FkANCKS."

Every word of this heartless letter seemed to cut like a
sharp knife into Ruth's heart. This was the sister she had
loved then, the sister for whose sake she had wrecked her
own life ! And then Ruth remembered the anguish on
Colonel Kenyon's worn face ; the unutterable misery in
his eyes.

With an expression of loathing and disgust she flung
Frances' letter passionately on the floor, and then stood,
pale and panting, thinking what she ought to do. She
would send for her father, she decided, for she shrank
from telling Audley ; shrank from listening to the gibing
words with which she knew he would hear the news.

She sent their soldier-servant at once up to request that
her father would come down immediately ; and very shortly
afterwards, haggard and unshaven, Colonel Forth ai)peared,
and when his bloodshot eyes fell on Ruth's excited face, he
knew in a moment their worst fears had been lealised.

" Have you heard? " he gasped out.

" Yes, she is shameful, shameless 1 " cried Ruth, with
extraordinary bitterness. " That is her letter," and she
pointed to the letter lying on the floor ; '' the letter in
which she proclaims her great dishonor ! "

Colonel Forth stooped down, and picked up the letter
with his shaking hands, and when he had read it he cursed
her, and the day she had been born. His rage was, indeed,
something terrible to witness. His face grew livid, the
veins in his neck swelled, and his eyes seemed starting from
their sockets. His words cannot be written here; he was
a man of violent temper, and lie now gave way to ungovern-
able fury. Rulh drew back, afraid and trembling, lest he
should fall down dead before her, slain by the storm of
passion which possessed him.

" Hush, father, hush," she said; ''nothing can mend it
now."

Again Colonel Forth lifted up his hand and cursed his

l 'A

V I i

' ill

(- < 1

■' ^'1

i 1: II

2l8

JEZEBEL 'S ERIL NLS

eldest born, asking that the blackest fate niiglU overtal c
her, and that her evil deeds miglU recoil on her own
bosom.

"And Kenyon?" he said, "my friend; the man who
risked his life for mine — who will tell him? "

" Someone must," said Ruth with her pallid trembling
lips; "would we had found her dead, father — ;Would we
had found her dead ! "

" She is dead to me," answered Colonel Forth, darkly
and sternly ; " from this hour I have but one daughter —
you, my poor girl."

He put out his hand, and as Ruth took it she burst into
a sudden storm and passion of tears, which seemed to rend
her slender frame, and the violence of her emotion helped
to compose Colonel Forth.

" You are not to blame," he said, as he helped his
daughter to a chair and rang for water. " My dear, you
will make yourself very ill ; doe^ Audley know ? "

"No!" sobbed Ruth, "and what will he care? Oh!
you don't know all, father ; all the misery I have gone
through, all I have borne for //^r."

These words were not rv^assuring ; but Ruth became so
ill that Colonel Forth grew absolutely alarmed, and sent
the servant over to the Fort for Dr. Murray, and when the
young Scotchman arrived he saw at once that something
terrible had happened.

"I am afraid you have had bad news," he said, sym-
patliisingly.

" Shameful news, you mean," answered Colonel Forth,
sternly. " But don't speak of it ; give Ruth something to
soothe her."

Then Dr. Murray understood that the riddle of Mrs.
Kenyon's disappearance was solved, and that she had left
her home with Sir Arthur 13ci.ton. There had been many
suspicions at the Fort that this was the case, during the
last two days, and Kenard Seaforth had felt most acutely
for Ruth, but had shrunk from seeing her, lest she should
question him, fearing that his answers might only add to her
anxiety and pain. In his own mind he had felt almost
certain from the first that Mrs. Kenyon had fled witli
Beaton, but he naturally had kept this opinion to himself.

But when Dr. Murray returned to breakfast at the Fort,
Frances Kenyon's name was bandied around with many a

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

219

scoff and jest. They called her " Jezebel/' having caught
this name from Aiidley ; ami Sir Arthur was a young fool,
they said ; and old stories against Frances Forth were raked
up, which had been forgotten or ignored against the mis-
tress of Sudley Park, when she had entertained and smiled
in her stately home.

Seaforth Hstened impatiently, and soon left the breakfast-
table, for he had heard from Dr. .\[urray of Ruth's bitter
distress and illness, and his heart felt very sore. He
believed that Frances had parted him from Ruth, and he
had never liked her ; but he could not laugh and jest over
what he knew would fall as an overwhelming blow on Col-
onel Kenyon, and on her young sister ; and he was sorry
too for Beaton, believing that the ste}) he had taken would
prove for him a very miserable one.

In the meanwhile. Colonel Forth had gone upstairs and
told Audley, as he saw Ruth was quite untit to do so.
Audley received the news with an unmoved countenance
and a little shrug. \

" You must have been prepared for this," he said.

" I was not ! " almost shouted Colonel Forth. " But
please to remember. Major Audley, that from this day she
is dead to me ; Ruth is my only daughter, and her sister's
shameful conduct has nearly broken her heart."

"She at least was prepared/' said Audley, calmly, "for
I told her."

"She is very ill," said Forth, sullenly, and strode out of
the room without another word. He had never liked
Audley, and Ruth's words that " he did not know all the
misery she had suffered " kept rankling in his mind.

M
*.■ I

•1 .

» I

CHAPTER XXXVT.

MORE BITTER THAN DEATH.

When Audley was carried downstairs about eleven o'clock
in his invalid chair, to his great surprise he found Ruth
standing in the dining-room in her hat and jacket.

"Where are you going? '' he asked, sharply.

She made no reply until the two men, his servant and a
soldier who had carried him., iiad left the room. Then, as

a2o

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

the door closed behind them, she went nearer Audley, and'
he saw her face was deadly pale; and her eyes red-rimnied
and heavy with recent tears.

*' 1 am going to Colonel Kenyon's," she said, in a low
tone of intense pain.

" You are not fit to go," answered Audley. " Your
father should go."

" He cannot tell him. Do you not understand?"

" Well, I must say Madam Jezebel has made it rather
hot for us all ! 1 tell you what it is, Ruth. I mean to be
out of this place at once ; this disgusting business has
settled that question."

She did not speak, but went to the window as if she were
watching for something or some one.

'* How are you going to Sudley ? " asked Audle . , looking
round.

" My father will go with me in a cab. Ah ! here he is."

" I think it is folly your going at all."

" I must ; hush ! say nothing to my father. He is greatly
upset."

And when Colonel Forth came into the room, Audley
thought it well not to do so, for there was a look of savage
anger on Forth's face, and a dangerous light glowing in
the pale eyes beneath the shaggy light brows. The wrong
done to his old friend had cut him to the quick, and had
Audley said anything to irritate him he would have turned
on him like a tiger.

"Are you ready?" asked Forth, brusquely, looking at
Ruth.

" Yes," she answered, almost below her breath ; and
without another word, and a brief nod to Audley, he offered
his arm to his daughter, and led her to ^he cab waiting
outside.

It was a hoar frost, and each leafless bough in the hedge-
rows was white with rime and glistening in the sun, as
the father and daughter drove towards Sudley on their
dreary errand, each heart thronged with the most bitter
thoughts. They were quite silent for some time, and then
Colonel Forth said suddenly and savagely —

" I would rather be going out to be shot ! " And the
old soldier would no doubt have rather faced a hundred
bullets than have gone to speak of his daughter's shame,
to the man who had been the one friend he had ever really

3MMim.^i&6i£^-

'JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

221

cared for and to whom he was absohitcly indebted for life
itself.

And as tney neared the noble home, where Colonel
Forth had gone but a few months ago to welcome its
new mistress with such pride and ])leasure, a groan abso-
lutely broke from his bitten lips, and he put his head
out of the window and hastily told the driver of the cab to
stop.

'* T.ook here, Ruth, I caiCt do it ! " he said hoarsely,
addressing his daughter the next moment. ''' I cajit face
him until he knows ; I'll get out here, and you go on and
tell him, and I'll follow — it's enough to drive a man mad
to think of it ! "

Ruth made no remonstrance about the selfishness of
this proposal, and Colonel Forth (juickly got out of the
cab and told the driver to go on. And so Ruth proceeded
on her way, trying to frame in words the black and bitter
news she was carrying to the noble-hearted man who was
already bowed down with grief, but not with shame.

When she reached the hall door she had scarcely voice
10 ask the servant if his stricken master was at home.
''Yes," she was told, *' the Colonel was in the library;"
and thither her trembling feet conveyed her, and she heard
her name announced, and as the words " Mrs. Audley "
fell on Colonel Kenyon's ears, he raised his head, which
was lying on his hands on the table before him in an
attitude of utter dejection.

But as he heard Ruth's name he started to his feet, and
went forward to meet her with an eager look on his worn
features, pitiable to witness, and Ruth's tear-stained eyes
fell before his gaze.

He grasped her hand, and knew in a moment she was
the bearer of ill news.

Twice Ruth tried to speak, but words failed her, and
she stood there, dumb with the agony of her soul.

" For God's sake, speak ! " he cried, in broken accents.
" What do you know ? "

Then Ruth's tongue was loosed.

" I have heard from her," she said, in a low, passionate,
concentrated voice ; "she has disgraced herself and us —
she is with Sir Arthur Beaton."

Colonel Kenyon listened to these words, understood
them, and for a moment the blood rushed to his pallid

f^.ti

f "A

222

yiC/KBEVS FRIENDS,

fLicc, (lycd it crimson, and tlicn it suddenly paled, and an
instant later he fell forward with his face prone upon
the lloor.

Ruth screamed and ran to his assistance, but saw that
he was senseless. She then rang the bell violently ; and
so it ha])pened that as Colonel Forth entered the courtyard
at Sudley he met one of the grooms galloi)ing out of it in
hot haste, and on inquiring what was the matter, he was
told that Colonel Kenyon had been taken suddenly and
violently ill, and that the groom was going for the doctor.

This news was terrible to the man who heard it ; to the
man who knew too well what had stricken down his friend ;
and when a few moments later Forth entered the library,
the sight there utterly overcame liim.

Colonel Kenyon was lying on a couch, to which he had
been lifted, his death-like face, white, stony, immovable ;
and seeing this, with a hoarse cry Forth rushed forward
and grasped one of the cold and nerveless hands which
Ruth was rubbing with spirit, as she knelt, white-lipped, by
his side, while the butler was endeavoring to restore cir-
culation in the other.

Colonel Kenyon's throat was bare, for they had taken
off his collar and tie, and his waistcoat was opened, and
he looked old, changed, and white-haired, as if the rigid
hand of death had laid its icy fingers on his generous heart
a'^d stopped its beats for ever.

" My God ! Is he gone ? " cried Forth, bending over
him, and the butler answered :

"Ay, it's killed him, I'm afraid, sir," and these words
were a fresh stab to Forth, who tried in vain to find any
pulse in the wrist he held.

" Hush, he will come round," said Ruth ; and she rose
and began bathing his brow with water and trying other
means to restore him.

But until the doctor came he showed no signs of life,
and with the utmost difficulty was restored to conscious-
ness ; and when at last he did look in Ruth's face, she
understood that mute and agonised appeal.

" He will be better alone," she said, looking at the
anxious group standing round Colonel Kenyon's couch.
"I will stay with him, father; and the doctor had better
stay in the house."

So the others went silently away, and Ruth knelt down
and kissed one of Colonel Kenyon's hands.

'<>ai rmv'

jEAim /'. I. \S FRIENDS.

223

"Try not to think of it," she said, gently; ''try to
sleej)."

He did not speak for nearly an hour afterwards, and
then he said in a low and very feeble toiie, —

" Ruth, let everything that belonged to her he sent awny
— everything. Never lei her name he mentioned to me
again — to me she is dead."

"She is dead to all of us," answered RuUi; "she is
utterly unworthy."

Colonel Kenyon was very ill for many days after this ;
ill when all that had belonged to the beautiful woman who
liad broken his brave heart was carried (juietly away from
the roof she had forsaken, and forwarded to her in Paris
by Ruth, with a few bitter words. And her name was
never again spoken to him by any of the household, for
they knew that a darker shadow than death had fallen on
it for him., and that she who had been his pride and joy
had left his hearth doubly desolate, and filled his genial
life with gloom.

But he was always very gentle and kind, especially to
the young sister of her who had wounded him so sorely,
and to his old friend. Colonel Forth. But the sight of his
changed face was a constant worry to Forth, though he
went almost daily to Sudley, and s])ent hours with the
shattered man who had suddenly aged and ceased to have
any pleasure or interest in his former occupations.

Ruth remained with him more than a week after his
first seizure, and then leturned to Headfort, having des-
patched all Frances' dresses and jewels to her in Paris
with the following letter : —

" By Colonel Kenyon's request, who is very ill, I forward
to-day everything that belonged to you at Sudley, as there
your name has never again to be mentioned ; neither do
my father nor I ever wish to hear from you or see you
again.

" Ruth Audlev."

She shed no tears as she penned these hard words, for
her heart was full of bitter anger against Frances, and she
told herself that they would not cost her a pang. But
they did ; and as Frances read them she began to realise,
perhaps for the first time, that she had thrown away much

224

JE'/F.nEI.'S FRIENDS,

that slic could never regain. Sir Arthur Heaton found her
in tears, and true to lier nature, slie pointed to Ruth's
letter, with tliese characteristic words :

" Read that, and see what I've lost for you."
The speech wounded him, for he was sensitive and
proud, and he thought it was ungenerous of Frances to
say this. He had not told her of a letter which he had
received oidy the da) Ijeforc from his mother ; a letter lull
of pain and reproach, in which J,ady JJcaton had calKd
Frances hard names, and entreated her son to break off a
connection that could only end in misery. Nor did he tell
her of this letter now.

" You must let me ator.c for all," he said, and took her
hand in his. JUit F'rances, quick to perceive things, saw
something in die expression of his face which warned her
that she could not trifle as she had once done with her
power over his heart.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CHANGE.

When Ruth returned to Headfort she found Aiidley more
irritable and impatient even than usual.

" You have come back at last, then," was his greeting as
she walked into the room where he lay smoking, and he
held out his hand, which Rutl- took.

" I really could not get away before," she answered :
*' Colonel Kenyon was so ill, and — there was so much to do."

" Oh, I heard all about it," said Audley, throwing down
his newspaper ; " all the gossip. Lady Hastings called
on Monday and she told me of poor Kenyon's fit, or what-
ever it was, and how he asked you to forward Madame
Jezebel's jewels and dresses to her — more fool he ! "

" I am going to ask you something," said Ruth, with
quivering lips; "there at Sudley — her name is never to
be again mentioned, and let this be so here also."

Audley shrugged his shoulders,

" What matter is it whether we talk of her — when every-
one else does or will ? "

" At least it will spare me some pain," answered Ruth,

JEZEDEL\S EKIENDS,

225

md lur

Ivc and
.nccs U)
he liad
.'t«cr full
d called
;ak off a
id he tell

took her
ngs, saw
rncd her
with her

lley more

Ireeting as
and hi'

Inswered ;

[ch to do."
rhig down
igs calli'd
:, or what-
Madame

Aith, with
never to

^en every-
ted Ruth,

turning away ; and during the next few days she found
she had enough pain to bear.

She was ashamed to go out and meet the glances of half-
veiled pity and curiosity which met her on every side.
Frances Kenyon's beauty, atul her bright lively manner,
and her husband's wealth and position, had made her the
most talked of i)erson in and round Headfort, ever since
her marriage. And now her flight, and Colonel Kenyon's
illness, were tie theme of every tongue. The Rev. John
A[)pleby called when he heard that Mrs. Audley had re-
turned to High Street, and when Ruth went into the
drawing-room to receive him, he pressed her hand with a
scmi-symi)athising sigh.

" Ah," he said, '* what a trial ! My dear young lady, I
have grieved for you all more than I can ex])ress."

Imagine how painful this was to the sensitive, sore-
hearted Ruth ! She tried to change the conversation, but
the Vicar wanted to hear all about it, so that he might go
to some otlier house and say, " Poor Mrs. Audley told me
indeed. Ah, it's too sad — a fatal step ! "

" And Colonel Kenyon ? " he enquired. " Is he more
reconciled? I heard the blow nearly killed him."

"He is a little better," answered Ruth; "but please,^
Mr. Appleby, do not talk of it."

" Shall we not ? Well, my dear young lady, I only
meant vou to understand how my heart glows with sym-
pathy for you. Now I fully believe that you were perfectly
ignorant of this unhappy affair until the final catastrophe ;
though there have been sad scandals, of course — sad
scandals ; " and he shook his head.

The Vicar's call proved so painful altogether to Ruth,
that she gave the servants orders that she was not at home
to any visitors in future ; but she regretted she had done
this when the next day she found Captain Seaforth's card
lying on the table.

" Did Captain Seaforth ask to see Major Audley? " she
enquired of the servant.

" No, ma'am ; he enquired if he could see you, but I
said you were seeing no one. He did not ask for the
Major."

Ruth felt very much inclined to say, " If he comes again
I shall see him," but she suppressed the words. A
strange resolve had come into her heart ; had come as she

226

JEZEBEI?9> FRIENDS.

] \

looked on Colonel Kenyon's death-like face when he lay
stricken down by Frances' shame ; when she liad re-read
her heartless words, and realised that the sister for whom
she had sl crificed her own haj^piness and Kenard Sea-
forth's was totally unworthy.

" He shall know now why I did it," she thought. '' She
has spoilt our lives, but he shall know the truth."

Audley noticed a change in the expression of her face
after she returned from Sudley ; it was harder, stronger.
*' She has lost her idol," he thought, scornfully, rememl)er-
ing how passionately Ruth had always defended Frances
from his attacks. But he could not look into Ruth's heart,
nor know of what she had determined.

He had taken a house, while she was away, at South
Kensington for three months, and was now eager to be
gone from Headfort.

" I hope I'll soon see the last of this horrid hole," he
said to Ruth, with a darkling brow. He hated, indeed, to
think of what had ha})pened to him here, and he had seen
a little start, almost a little shudder, pass over Lady Has-
tings' face when she had first looked at him after his
accident. He was in truth greatly disfigured, the lower
.part of his jaw being seamed and scarred in so terrible a
manner, that all his good looks had disappeared. And this
was an absolute calamity to so vain a man, and he hoped
that perhaps the doctors in town might be able to do some-
thing for him. He determined, therefere, to leave Head-
fort at once, and told Ruth she must be ready to go in
less than a week after her return from Sudley.

Ruth had thus many arrangements to make, and had a
restless desire also to see Kenard Sraforth. He had called
three days after he knew she way at home again, for he
had heard from Major Gary that the Audleys were leaving
Headfort, and he wished to see her before she left, and
felt hurt and heartsore when he was refused admission.

But the next day he accidentally met her while he was
walking down the village. Ruth was in black, and wore
a thick gauze veil, and was on her way to her father's house
to see after some packing cases, but when she saw Sea-
forth she at once stopped and held out her hand.

" I was sorry you would not see me when I called yes-
terday," he said, as he clasped it. " I hear you are leaving
Headfort soon."

JEZEIUirs FRIENDS.

227

" In two days ; we go on Thursday," answered Ruth, in
a low tone; and then she looked straight up in Seaforth's
face, and something in her expression half startled him, it
w:is so earnest, so intense.

''You have something to say to me — to tell me?" he
said, as if he had read her thoughts.

" Yes, I wished to see you."

" May 1 turn with you now, then? "

" 1 was going to my father's ; he is not there, he is at
Sudley ; but will you go in with me for a few minutes ? "

" Yes," and Seaforth knew by her manner that though
Ruth spoke so quietly, she was really in a state of strong
excitement.

He unlatched the little gate for her when they reached
Colonel Forth's house, and together they walked through
the garden, and Seaforth looked round and sighed.

" It seems changed somehow," he said, thinking of the
sunny days and eves when he had lingered here by the
side of his young love.

" It was summer then," answered Ruth, and nothing
more, for there was no need of words. .^ neglected garden
lay around them ; the weeds had grown apace after Ruth
left home, and now lay prone upon the damp ground, dead
and half-frozen, amid leafless stalks of fuchsias and rose
trees. The very strings with which Ruth hael trained her
nasturtiums and sweetpeas hung dangling in the wintry air,
and the whole place had a forlorn appearance which struck
them both.

l)Ut Ruth did not pause to talk of it. She rang the door
hell, and when the servant opened it she led Seaforth into
the little dining-room in which there was no fire, as the
Colonel was not exi)ected home until the next day.

" How cold it is," she said, with a shiver, and she bade
the maid light the fire ; and as the feeble flames began to
rise, she told her to go, and thus Seaforth and Ruth were
alone.

Then Ruth looked in his face, and she saw he had grown
very pale.

'' I have something to say to you," she said, abruptly,
nervously, as though she were forcing the words from her
quivering lips. " Do you remember asking me, urging me,
to tell you why I w^is forced to let you know our marriage
could not be ? "

kv 1

22$

yEZEBEr'j PRIENDS.

You may be sure I remember."

" I could not tell you then," went on Ruth, her voice
vibrating with the strong feelings of her heart. " My lips
were sealed then by love — a love that is gone ! " And she
clasped her hands together.

" You mean for your sister ? " said Seaforth in a low
tone, casting down his eyes.

''Yes, for Frances, for whom I had given more than
life ! You know how she has repaid us ; how she has
brought shame on us, and brol<en her husband's heart."

" Do not pain yourself by speaking of her."

" But I must — Kenard. Until I knew you I had loved
no one in all my life but her ; her wrongs were mine, and
to save her good name I risked my own."

" I do not understand you."

Ruth began to walk up and down the room in a state of
violent agitation.

" Spare me part of a shameful story," she said in a
broken voice ; " let it be enough for me to tell you that to
screen Frances I did what I never should have done —
and — and Major Audley discovered this, and his price
for keeping the secret was "

" You mean he forced you to marry him ? The brute !
the coward ! " interrupted Seaforth, passionately.

" He forced me to marry him," went on Ruth, in a low
concentrated tone, " though I went down on my knees
and prayed for mercy — but he had none. He knew we
were engaged ; he knew I cared for you, but he held to
his bargain ; unless I married him he would disgrace
Frances ; and Frances prayed me for her sake to do what
was worse than death ! "

" Oh ! my poor girl ! " said Seaforth, deeply moved, and
going near her and laying his hand on her arm. " Now I
understand, Ruth — this was why you gave me up ? "

" Do you remember when I sent for you to say good-
bye?" said Ruth, tears rushing into her eyes. "I told
you I had no choice, and I had none, for Frances said she
would die if this were known, and I knew Audley had no
pity ! It was cruel, too cruel — and after I did this — after
I married him and wrecked my whole life to save her, you
know what she has done?"

" She is worthless — utterly worthless,*' said Seaforth,
with strong indignation.

yEZEBEVS PRIENDS.

229

her voice

" My lips
And she

in a low

nore than
w she has
3 heart."

had loved
; mine, and

n a state of

e said in a

you that to

ive done—

d his price

The brute !

ily.

th, in a low
my knees
e knew we
he held to

lid disgrace
to do what

1 moved, and

" Now I

up?"

,0 say good-

s. *' I told

ces said she

dley had no

this— after

ve her, you
Id Seaforth,

" I meant to keep the secret till I died ; but she has
broken -all ties, all honor, and the bitterest thing of all to
me was what jw/ must have thought — how you must have
scorned and despised me — yet I was forced to bear this ! "

" I suffered very much, Ruth," said Seaforth, turning
away his head.

" I saw your face was changed when we met that day at
Lady Hastings', just as I supi)ose you saw the change in
mine. But you know now — 1 could not go away without
telling you — \ am glad you know."

wSeaforth made no answer ; he went to the window and
stood looking vaguely out at the neglected garden, his
heart throbbing with contending emotions.

" If Audley had not been as he is," he presently said,
savagely, '' I should have shot him."

" I have been sorry for him since his dreadful accident,"
answered Ruth, with some pity in her tone ; " he has
suffered so much — but it was a cruel WTong. I warnetl
him before our marriage that only misery could come of it,
and only misery has come."

" And what are you going to do ? "

Ruth hesitated, and her fair face flushed.

" I shall try to arrange to live with my father shortly,"
she said. " I am not afraid of Major Audley now."

"■ And your whole life is wrecked ! " said Seaforth, im-
petuously.

Ruth smiled sadly.

" I am used to that — and I am not alone. Look at
Colonel Kenyon."

" 1 warned Beaton, but he was infatuated with your
sister."

Ruth did not speak, she stood gazing at the feeble fire,
her profile turned so that Seaforth could see the delicate
lines and soft pale coloring ; and as he watched her, a
strong and passionate wish rose in his heart to say words
which he felt at this moment it would be ungenerous to
utter.

He moved restlessly, and as he did so Ruth turned and
looked at his agitated lace ; looked at it with her i)athetic
grey eyes, where all the sorrow and sadness of her young
life was so plainly written.

" Are you going home when you go on your long leave ? "
she asked, quietly.

' 11

!' ' ' r

1 .|i
I'll

230

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

*' For part of the time., but I feel very unsettled ; I still
think of exchanging and going oat to India."

There was another silence ; an embarrassed silence, and
then Seaforth said abruptly —

** I shall be in town shortly ; may I call to see you, and
will you give me your address ? "

She told him the number of the house in Longridge-road,
South Kensington, that Audley had taken, and Seaforth
wrote it down on a card.

" I shall see you there then," he said ; '' and — Ruth, T
want to say something — thank you for trusting me, as you
have done."

" It seemed to me but right to clear myself in your eyes
— I could not bear any longer for you to think of me as
you must have done."

" It v/as only at first- -not after we met again — but at
first it did seem very hard."

" It was hard and bitter indeed ! "

Again the temptation to tell her how dear she was to
him still rushed into Seaforth's heart, but with an effort he
forced back the words. She looked indeed so fair and sad
as she :;tood there, with her black veil thrown back, that
he felt he could no longer trust himself to control his
feelings,

*' Good-bye," he said, nervously and quickly, and caught
one of her hands in both of his, " God bless you ; " and
the next moment he had left the room. And after he was
gone, Ruth remained a moment or two pale and trembling,
and then she also quitted the room, going to the small one
upstairs which used to be her own before her miserable
marriage with Audley.

And as soon as she was there she locked the door and
gave way to the passionate pain which rent her heart. All
the old love came over her like a deep flood, and the
pleasant, good-looking face of Kenard Seaforth as she had
first seen it — as she had just seen it — seemed so unutter-
ably dear to her.

" Kenard ! Kenard ! Why were we parted ? " she
sobbed out in her bitter pain, rocking herself to and fro
in uncontrollable emotion, and recalling the bright hopes,
born but to die, that had once filled her life. " And for
her r^ she thought, with indignant anger, starting to her
feet as she remembered for whose sake she had given

JF.ZEBEVS FRIENDS.

231

lip happiness ; remembered how ill her love had been
repaid.

And as she wailed and wept, the young man with whom
she had just parted returned to his quarters at the Fort,
with a heart almost as deeply agitated as her own. Kenard
Scaforth, impulsive and generous-minded, was profoundly
touched by Ruth's confession, by her self-sacrifice and her
love. He understood it all now ; understood the poor
^^irl's feelings when she had told him she was forced to
give him up \ when she had laid her wet cheek against his,
and i)ressed her farewell kiss upon his lips.

"To save her vile sister from disgrace," he muttered, as
lie strode up and down his room, deeply moved. " And
that cur — that co\^ ard," he thought darkly, " to take such
a base advantage. »Vhat shall I do ? Ruth cannot reniain
with Audley — she shall not ! "

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

|.^

:MI

ROSE HAYWARD.

Ruth did not see Kenard Seaforth again to speaK to before
she left Headfort, after their interview at her father's house.
On the following day she went with Colonel Forth to
Sudley to bid Colonel Kenyon good-bye, and the sight of
liis sad face and bowed head painfully affected her.

And the change in the whole house ; the silence and the
gloom in the rooms that had rung with laughter and gay
woifl.', was very striking. It was as when in some
cliamber under the roof-tree a familiar face lies still and
told. But the shadow at Sudley was deeper even than
grief; was darker than our sorrow for those who speak to
us no more. It was the shame, the disgrace, that Frances
Iveiiyon had left behind her, that made everything so
])itter to the husband who had loved her too well ; to her
lather, and Ruth, when they met and parted in her for-
saken home.

They never mentioned her name. Colonel Kenyon had
Instructed his lawyer to apply for a divorce as soon as one
could be obtained, but h^ had done this in silence — not
even taking his old friend. Colonel Forth, into his
confidence. As for Colonel Forth, who had always

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232

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

i
I'

been of a gloomy and dissatisfied disposition, as he strode
up and down the deserted walks in the grounds at Sudlcy,
the savage anger in his heart against his eldest daughtLT
was retle'.ted on his stern visage ; for, to do him justice,
the wrong done to his friend had cut deeper into his sour
heart than any former misfortune of his own.

So it was a melancholy visit, this last one that Kuih
paid to Sudley, belore she quitted Headfort, where slic
had suffered so much. But Colonel Kenyon was very
kind and gentle in his manner to her, and kissed her on
her forehead when she went away.

" Come and stay with me, my dear, whenever you like,"
he said, and then turned his head quickly aside, but Riuh
henrd the heart-wrung sigh that followed his kindly
words.

" I should like to come/' she said, and tightly clasped
his hand ; "and my father will often see you."

" Yes," answered Colonel Kenyon, and thus they
parted; but as Rui"h drove home she thought of what even
Frances would havj felt had she seen the expression on
the face of the man whose heart she had broken.

And the next day Ruth left Headfort. She paid no
other farewell visits, it would have been too painful for her
to have done so, though Audley wished her to call on Lady
Hastings.

•' I cannot," she answered, briefly, and he shrugged his
shoulders and said nothing more.

And thus they went away. Colonel Forth going to tlic
station to see them off, a saloon carriage having been
engaged for Audley's use, and Dr. Murray accompanied
them to town.

It was known, of course, at the Fort the time they were
leaving, and Seaforth stood with a gloomy brow at one oi
the mess-room windows and watched them go. He saw
Audley carried out, and then he saw Colonel Forth fussing
and fuming about the luggage, and presently Ruth came
out and stood a moment and looked uj) at the Fort, widi
her wistful eyes, and then her father helped her into the cab
which shortly drove away, and with a restless sigh Seaforlh
watched it until it disappeared.

He left Headfort on leave the next day, but went home
in a very disturbed condition of mind. His mother, who
expected him, as she clasped him in her arms, saw at

JFJ.EBKi:s FRIENDS.

le strode
: Sudlcy,
dauglucr
1 justice,
his sour

lat Ruth
,'hcrc slic
was very
;d her on

^ou Uke,"
but Rmh
is kindly

Llnis they
what even
rcssion on

once something was wrong. She hoped he had forgotten
his disappointment abou*: Ruth Forth, and she and the
(General mutually congratulated each other, when they had
heard of Mrs. Kcnyon's elopement, that Kenard had had
nothing to do with such a family.

" But what can be the matter now ? " thought the tender
little woman, full of maternal solicitude, with her gentle
eyes fixed on her son's somewhat worn and altered face.

" 1 have a young lady here to help to amuse you, my
dear," she said, with an anxious smile ; " such a pretty
girl, Kenard."

" What a nuisance, mother ! " answered the ungrateful
Kenard ; " I wanted to be quiet ; I can't be ])othered
with a girl."

" Wait until you see her," said Mrs. Seaforth, who had
invited Miss Rose Hayward to stay with her on purpose
that Kenard might fall in love with her.

She had many advantages in Mrs. Seaforth's eyes, as
well as being bright, young and pretty. She was the
daughter of a very old friend, for Mrs. Seaforth had known
her mother in her girlhood, and lately, when Major
Hayward's battery of Artillery had become stationed in
General Seaforth's district, these two had met again after
not having seen each other for twenty years.

Rose Hayward was a bright, fair-haired girl, full of life
and vivacity, and reminded Mrs. Seaforth so much of her
mother in her young days, that she at once, in her gentle,
placid way, too'i a great fancy to the girl, and, like a true
woman, immediately began thinking of a suitable husband
f(ir her.

" Perhaps my Kenard might like her," she thought more
than once, pensively looking at the pretty lively face of
Rose Hayward. And her Kenard being expectea on
leave, she invited Rose to stay with her at Woodside, and
chus Kenard, when he arrived home, found a young lady
under his father's roof.

They met at dinner, and R.ose was very much dis-
appointed to find Captain Seaforth so quiet,

" He is good-looking, but decidedly slow," she wrote to
her mother the next day ; for she was a girl accustomed
to receive a great deal of attention, and Kenard Seaforth
did not seem inclined to pay her any. Her Urely sallies
fell on indifferent ears, and her bright smiles were so much

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234

JEZEBEVS EAVE.vn,^.

wasted, that Instead of going into the drawing-room after
dinner, Seaforth retired into the study to smoke, and sat
there, moodily thinking of the sad fate of Ruth Forth,
instead of the bright blue eyes of his mother's friend.

But Rose, not having much to amuse herself with at
Woodside Hall, determined the next day to try to (as slie
expressed it) "draw out Captain Seaforth." She came
down to breakfast bewitchingly dressed in some soft, dark
blue material, which unmistakably suited her fair skin and
bright golden wavy hair. And she was so sunny, sd
charming, that it seemed absolutely bearish not to answer
her pleasantly, and Kenard soon found himself drawn into
a lively conversation, and had promised to ride with her
in the afternoon before the meal was ended.

And Rose prided herself on her slender figure and good
seat. Not to admire her was indeed impossible, for she
was so good-natured and pretty; and she mirthfully
informed Kenard during their ride that she was very glad
to have this opportunity of seeing a little more of him.

" You know," she said, smilingly, " an ideal Captain
Seaforth has been presented to my mind's eye for the last
fortnight by Mrs. Seaforth, but of course I knew — " And
she nodded archly.

" Of course you knew it was a flattering picture ? "
answered Seaforth, also smiling.

" Mothers always do imagine their sons perfection,
don't they?"

" So they say ; I am very sorry for your disappoint-
ment."

" Oh ! but I made allowance for a mother's partiality,"
laughed Miss Rose ; " and really," she added, demurely,
" her description of you was not so very much out of tlie
way."

Kenard laughed heartily at this, and the two young
people were quite good friends before they returned to
Woodside ; and Kenard went into the drawing-room alter
dinner on this second evening at home, and talked to Rose
Hayward and his mother, while the General read liis
newspaper. And the next day very much the same thing
happened, and the next. It prevented Kernard brooding
over Ruth's wrongs, at all events, having this lively girl
constantly beside him. But he did not forget the sweet,
sad face of his first love ; and after he had been about a

JEZEBEL'S FRlEiWDS,

235

fortnight at Woodsidc it began to dawn on Rose Hay-
ward's mind that there was a secret in Captain Seaforth's
Hfe — a secret which made him really sad, though he trieu
to hide this.

" I wonder what it is ! " she thought ; and one dismal
wet day, she went into the study, where she knew Kenard
was, under the excuse of seeking a book, and found him
standing by the fire, with a very depressed expression on
his good-looking face.

" I came for a novel," she said. " I hope I have not
disturbed you," she added, as Kenard rose.

" Oh, no ; I was just sitting sulking."

" And what have you to sulk about ? " asked Miss Hay-
ward, in her frank, bright way, gf g up to the fire, and
holding one of her small feet cloh to the bars.

Kenard sighed restlessly.

'' Oh, everyone has something, I suppose/' he said.

*' No, I have not ; not yet, at least."

" Well, let us hope that you may never have, then."

The pretty girl now drew a chair to the fire and deliber-
ately sat down on it.

" I wish you would tell me," she said, half in jest, half in
earnest, fixing her blue eyes on the young man's gloomy
face, " what your trouble is — if you have one."

" Well, it's not only my own trouble that worries me."

"A woman's trouble, then ? "

'• I cannot tell you. Miss Hay ward."

"You mean you won't? "

'' No, T could not tell you without dishonor."

"Ah!"

And the girl drew her lips tightly together, and thought
she understood. She had got to like Kenard during the
time they had spent under the same roof, and the idea that
he cared for someone else was one of those vague disap-
pointments which women so often hide. She changed the
conversation ; she talked in her usual lively strain, though
the words were a little forced, and presently she left Ken-
ard alone, and went up to her own room to think.

" He cares for someone he cannot marry — some married
woman most likely," she thought. " Ah, what a pity ; he
is such a nice fellow."

Kenard on his part had been slightly disturbed by Rose
Hayward's manner during their brief interview, and her

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236

Jiy/.EJU: us I'RIliXDS.

query nad brought more acutely before him the memory
of Ruth's sorrow and love. It is a difrteult thing for ;i
man, when constantly thrown with a girl like Ros(.', to
entirely escape the power of her fascinations, and Mrs.
Scaforth had noticed with secret delight that her darling
son had been looking brighter during the last 'few days.

" I think he likes Rose," she had confided to the Oeneral,
but she had not met with much encouragement.

" Nonsense ! Can't a young man speak civilly to a
])retty girl without you fancying all sorts of folly? I beg,
Lucy, you'll not put any such idea into the girl's head."

Mrs. Scaforth was a very submissive, gentle little
woman, but she was also most anxious that her boy should
marry, believing that a charming girl like Rose would be
a shield and buckler to him among the pitfalls of life.
She, therefore, one morning, when walking round the
circular avenue in front of the house, with her arm through
her son's, began to talk of Rose in a manner which
allowed Kenard very speedily to understand the drift of
her conversation.

*' You admire her, don't you, dear ? " she said, looking
up in Kenard's face with her soft, faded, tender eyes.

"Yes, I do ; she's a very pretty girl, and very bright."

"But it is not only her beauty, dear, or her pretty
manner that I like, it is the great goodness and sweetness
of her heart. She is her mother over again, and with all
her sprightly ways, Alice Hayward has been the most
devoted wife I have ever known."

"^hen Kenard understood what his mother was thinking
of, and he therefore made no remark.

" And Rose, I am sure, would be just as devoted,"
continued Mrs. Seaforth, warming with her subject, " if
she were to marry any one she cared for."

""Very likely," said Kenard, repressively ; and Mrs.
Seaforth was obliged to confess in her own mind that his
manner had disappointed her.

Her words, at all events, had made Kenard ask himself
if his manner to Miss Hayward had given any ground for
his mother's idea. And the loyalty of his heart told him
that to trifle with a girl's affections, when his love was not
his own to give, was unjustifiable, and he therefore quietly
made up his mind to leave Woodside while Miss Hayward
continued a guest there.

yEZE/UCJJS J-'KIENDS.

a37

He announced this decision at breakfast the day after
Rose had asked him in the study what his trouble was ;
and a feeling of delicacy prevented him looking in the girl's
face when he s[)oke the words.

" Leaving to-morrow, Kcnard !" echoed Mrs. Seafortli,
in absohite consternation.

" Yes, 1 am ol)liged to run up to town for a few days,"
he answered ; and then he did glance at R'^se, and saw
her delicate complexion had Hushed crimson, though as he
looked she grew as quickly pale.

But she soon recovered herself, and talked even a little
more than usual during the rest of the meal, hiding her
disappointment very gaily; so much so, that had it not
been for that sudden blush and pallor, Kcnard would have
told himself he had i)robably been (piite mistaken about
her feelings. As it was, he kept to his determination, and
left Woodside the next day, parting in friendly f^ishion
with the pretty girl who was his mother's guest.

*' You will be back in a day or two? " asked Mrs. Sea-
forih, anxiously, before they par'ed.

" I shall let you know ; I shall not be very long," he
answered, evasively, and something in his manner made
Rose think he meant to stay away longer than he said.

He went direct to town, and as he journeyed there he
naturally thought much of Ruth ; thought of her with an
unsettled purpose in his heart. The conduct of Audley
had seemed more shameful to him every time he had
thought of it during his stay at Woodside. He remembered
the letter to announce his marriage to Ruth which Audley
had written to him there ; the letter in which Audley had
told him he was to be married in a fortnight, as neither he
nor Miss Ruth Forth were inclined to wait. And now
when Seaforth knew the truth, these words filled the
young man's heart with passionate anger and disgust.
He felt he had been robbed of Ruth ; that Audley's con-
duct had put him outside the pale of any consideration or
duty ; and he meant to see Ruth, and leave the future in
her hands.

" My poor darling ! " he thought tenderly, " why should
her whole life be sacrificed to that brute ? why should he
any longer bruise her tender heart ? "

Yet he had not made up his mind to any plan of action.
He shrank even from the thought that would rise before

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233

yEZEPFrS FK/ENDS.

him. But he would sec her ; nnd the second day after his
arrival in town he drove to the house in Longridge-road,
South Kensington, the address of which Ruth had given
him.

Audley's old servant opened the door, and, of course,
knowing Seaforth well by sight, received him with a smile.

'* The Major and Dr. Murray were out," he said ; " but
Mrs. Audley was at home," and he jjroceeded to usher
Seaforth upstairs, and showed him into the drawing-room.

It was a good-sized apartment, with heavy green brc-
cade curtains dividing the front and ii^ner rooms. 'I he
servant crossed the front room, followed by Seafordi,
parted the curtains, and announced Seaforth 's name. As
he did so, with a sudden start and blush Ruth rose from
before a small table, where she had been sittimg, and
hastily turned a photograph which lay on the table on its
face.

" You ! " she said agitatedly, holding out her hand, and
as Seaforth took it he saw her eyes were stained and
wet with tears.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A BLOW.

Ruth's emotion was so evident that Seaforth could not
overlook it, though he tried not to show this.

*' I came to town on Thursday," he said nervously, still
holding her hand, "and you know you said I might call."

" Yes," an.swered Ruth, struggling to hide her agitation,
but conscious that her eyes were Oill of tears, and that her
whole appearance must betray to Seaforth that he had
found her in distress.

She turned away her head, and Seaforth went on talk-
ing, as we do when we wish to appear not to notice
another's grief. He thought she had been thinking of her
sister, and in a few moments Ruth had so far recovered
herself as to be able to answer him. He had been staying
at Woodside for a fortnight, he told her, but he did not
tell her of the pretty girl whom he had left behind hira
there.

yrr/r.np.rs fh'iF.NDs,

239

Presently he mentioned one of those tragedies which
cross our daily lives, lor ever reminding us of the dark and
fiery passions lurking in the human heart. A girl had
been murdered by her lover the night before, and the
miserable details were in the daily i)ai)ers.

" I daresay it is all in here," said Seaforth, rising from
his seat and taking up a newspaper lying on the little table,
befove which Ruth had l)een sitting when he entered the
room. He lifted ii[) the paper ([uickly and carelessly, and
one of the sheets caught on the photograph she had has-
tily laid on its face there, and the next moment it fell on
the tloor, and Seafortii, as he stooped to raise it, saw his
own features ; knew that Ruth had been shedding tears
over the portrait he had given her long ago 1

He did not look at her at first- -he could not. A sud-
den tumultuous throbbing at his heart ; an overpowering
sensation he could not define — of joy, of temptation- •
swept over him, and he stood still, holding the photograph
in his hand, feeling that this knowledge of her deep love
was dearer to him even than he had thought.

Then he turned an. 1 saw Ruth standing with eyes down-
cast and crimsoned < heeks; saw that she understood his
emotion, and saw, too, that there was no anger in her face,
only a modest woman's tender shame.

He made a step forward ; he took her hand.

*' So you kept it? " he said in a low, agitated tone.

She looked up for a moment in his face, and he knew
that she had kept it, and wept over it, and loved it, as if
it had been a living thing.

''Ruth," he went on passionately, clasping her hand
closer, " you told me once that because I loved you so I
ought to try and help you to forget our love — but is this
time not passed? Can we ever forget it? I feel that we
never can."

Still Ruth did not speak ; she stood there with heaving
breast and trembling hands, scarcely realising how sweet
his words were to her ears.

" We are not like other people, you know," continued
Seaforth ; " we were parted by one of the vilest actions on
earth — ■ You owe Audley nothing."

" That is true," said Ruth, with faltering tongue.

*' I have thought of this all the time I was at home —
ever since you told me the real reason why you threw me

240

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

over — and as we have been so shamefully treated by
others, why should we think of them? "

"You mean "

" Ruth, will you trust me ? Do you remember how
we used to talk about going out to India together, and
living on my pay ? Do you care for me enough to do
this now ? "

" Why do you ask ? " said Ruth, with deep emotion.
*' Care for you ! Shall I tell you how I cared, Kenard ? "

" Yes, tell me, dear Ruth."

*' When Major Audley forced me to marry him," con-
tinued Ruth, her voice trembling and broken by strong
and passionate feeling, " I used to count the days and
hours that lay between me and an abhorred fate ! It was
nothing else — I hated Audley with a hatred I cannot tell !
But for Frances' sake — because I loved her so — I stifled
the feelings of my heart ; I crushed back the words that
for ever rose on my lips, to defy him and let him do his
worst, for I should rather have died than taken the Alse
oaths 1 did.*'

" They were false, and so do not bind you."

" God only knows how false they were, and they do not
bind me — except for you."

" For me ? "

''Yes, Kenard, for you. Do you think I would ruin
your life, and blight all y^ur prospects for any selfish love
of mine? You have a father and mother ; do you think I
would bring shame and pain to them, as Frances has
brought to us ? "

Seaforth winced, and cast down his eyes at the mention
of his mother's name.

" There would be no real hr.ppiness for us, Kenard, if
we did what our hearts prompt us to do," went on Ruth
with great sadness. " None, none ! There is no happi-
ness where there is shame — and this would be shame,
though you are too generous to realize it."

" No, because we were tricked and cheated out of our
honest love."

" It was very true love, Kenard," and Ruth held out her
hand, which he eagerly took. *' Do you remember how
we used to sit together in the little garden and watch the
sunsets ? We were very happy then."
, " We can be happy again if you will."

JEZEBEUS rRIF.XDS.

241

" Not as we were then — I had no thought then but ( f
you — now there would be always a shadow between us."

" But Audley is nothing to you ? "

" I have borne his name in the world, I have eaten his
bread. We cannot ignore nor forget the past, however
bitter it may have been."

" He deserves anything that could befall him, to force a
young girl like you to marry him by unmanly threats,
when he knew you were engaged to me, was the basest
action — the action of a man who deserves to be publicly
kicked out of the society of gentlemen I "

Kenard raised his voice angrily as he said the last
words, and a slight noise in the front drawing-room failed
to attract his attention. But Ruth heard it.

*' Surely someone opened the room door ? " she said, and
she went to the closed curtains between the two rooms
and looked out, but the front room was emjHy.

** I must have fancied it," she said a moment later, turn-
ing back.

*'I heard nothing," answered Kenard, "not that I care
if Audley himself heard what I said ; my blood boils
whenever I think of the man — base scoundrel that he is ! "

*'Hush ! hush! Kenard."

At this moment again the front drawing-room door was
apparently opened, and this time Kenard heard the sound ;
and an instant or two later the curtains were pushed aside,
and Dr. Murray appeared between them.

"Ah. Seaforth, are you here ? " he said, advancing with
outstretched hand. " When did you come to town?"

" The day before yesterday," answered Seaforth, return-
ing the young Scotchman's hand-grip.

" That's all right. We must see something of each other.
Has Major Audley been in here, Mrs. Audley?" con-
tinued Dr. Murray, turning to Ruth. " I expected to find
him here."

" No," said Ruth, and she grew a little pale.

" He's so improved," went on the young doctor, address-
ing Seaforth. "We've got him a splendid artificial leg,
you know now, and he walks wonderfully well with it,
doesn't he, Mrs. Audley? "

" Yes," answered Ruth, almost under her breath.

" He came in with me just now," said Murray, utterly
unconscious he was saying anything to disturb his listen-

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JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

shall
"Do

ers, "so he must be in the house. You should wait to see
him, Seaforth ; I dare say he'll be down directly."

" No, I must go now," said Seaforth, slowly ; " I
see you again," he added as he took Ruth's hand,
not forget what 1 have said."

She did not speak ; she looked at him out of the depths
of her grey and shadowy eyes.

" Well, if you will go, I'll walk down the street with you
a bit; it's nice to see you again, old fellow," said Murray.

A minute or two later the young men had left the room
together, and Ruth was alone. She sat wearily down on
the chair before the little table, where she had been sitting
when Seaforth arrived, gazing with a far-away look at his
photograph. Of what was she thinking? Of his
words, his love, and the dreary bondage of her own
existence. Ah ! it was dark and bitter to her to think that
if she bade him go, that if he went to India alone, that she
would drop out of his life ; become perhaps like a half-
forgotten dream.

But on the other hand — and her face flushed hotly —
could she make her name a jest and a bye-word as I ranees
had done, and cast a shadow over his life and hers that
could never pass away?

Her head fell low on the table before her, but an instant
later she had raised it hastily. She had heard footsteps in
the front room, and the next moment the curtains were
thrust roughly aside, and Audley, with absolute fury
depicted on his disfigured face, stood before her.

" Well, is he gone ? " he said loudly and roughly —
" your lover ! "

'* Captain Seaforth is gone," she answered rising.

" Captain Seaforth, indeed ! " almost shouted Audley.
" Ruth ! " and he grasped her arm savagely, " you have
told that man I forced you to marry me ; told the story of
vour sister's shame ? "

She stood facing him ; growing pale to the lips, but
never taking her eyes from his.

*' Yes, I have told him," she said; *' told him why I was
forced to break my word to him."

" You have dared to do this ! " said Audley, shaking her
in his rage, with his fierce grip upon her arm. " I heard
you ! I heard what he said of me. You have disgraced
yourself and me — you shall leave my roof this very day."

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

243

" I have long wished to do so — I shall gladly do so,"
answered Ruth, trying to pull her arm from his clutch.
" I shall go to my father's."

*'0r follow the example of your virtuous sister," said
Audley, with a coarse and bitter laugh.

" No," and Ruth gave a little shudder, " I shall leave
you — but alone."

" Oh ! I dare say ! But I'm done with you. A woman
who could degrade herself to tell such a story to another
man — to a lover — as you have done, shall be no wife to
me ! "

'' Ana how did you degrade yourself?" asked Ruth, in
a voice broken with indignant passion. '■' Think what you
did ! The base advantage you took of the miserable secret
you never should have known } "

"I was a fool for my pains," said Audley darkly, and
vindictively, " but I scarcely thought you would have re-
peated the pretty tale to Seaforth ; scarcely thought you
had fallen so low as that."

" I did it to clear myself to him."

" And what ought /le to be to you ? " cried Audley
fiercely. At this moment his angry eyes fell on Seaforth's
photograph which was still lying on the table, and as they
did so a terrible expression passed over his face.

*' So you have been exchanging portraits, have you?"
he said with passionate bitterness, seizing the photograph,
tearing it in two, and flinging it on the floor. " How dare
you do so ? " And giving way to uncontrollable passion,
he struck a heavy blow on her face with his open hand.

" There! take that and be gone; I never wish to cee
your face again ! " he cried, furiously ; and as Ruth ^ave a
cry and staggered forward, he turned and left the room,
and Ruth sank down, pale and panting, on a chair that
was near her.

It was all over then, and she would go, was her first
thought. The insult he had offered her, the stinging pain
on her cheek and eye, would be a sufiicient excuse to her
father for leaving Audley, and Ruth made up her mind at
once to do so. She stooped down and picked up the torn
photograph, and placed the severed portions in the bosom
of her dress, and then feeling physically weak and faint
with the excitement she had gone through, she tottered to
her own room, and, having locked the door, began, when

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244

JEZKBEL'S FRIENDS.

she felt a little recovered, to gather together the few things
she meant to take with her to her f^itlier's house.

Suddenly she rcunembcred that she could not reach
Headfort that night, and that she would be forced to sleep
on the way. liut she would not stay under Audley's roof;
she would take her maid with her, who was a Headfort
girl, and then even he, she thought scornfully, would be
unable to blacken her name with unseemly words.

No sooner had she decided on this plan than she rang
the bell, and when her maid answjsred it she told her she
had been summoned unexpectedly to her father's, and that
she must be ready to start in half an hour. The maid
assented, knowing very well all the while that the " sum-
mons to her father's " was really a violent quarrel between
the husband and wife. They had rightly guessed the cause
also of the quarrel downstairs, for Audley, when he had
returned to the house, had been told by his soldier-servant
that Captain Seaforth was in the drawing-room, and the
man was sharp enough to perceive the lowering brow with
which this announcement was received.

Audley had always been jealous of Seaforth, and it
flashed across his brain in a moment that if he went quietly
into the front drawing-room, he might hear unseen part
of the conversation going on in the back room, where Ruth
usually sat.

Never did the old adage prove more true that " listeners
seldom hear good of themselves," than in what happened
to Audley during the next few minutts. Going as noise-
lessly as possible into the front room, he heard with a
burning sense of shame, disgrace, and rage, words which
struck his vain, passionate heart, like a sharp sword. He
heard Seaforth say in his clear tones, *' He deserves any-
thing that could befall him ; to force a young girl like
you to marry him by unmanly threats, when he knew you
were engaged to me, was the basest action ; the action of
a man who deserves to be publicly kicked out of the
society of gentlemen."

It is almost impossible to describe the fury of Audley as
this sentence fell on his tingling ears. He left the front
room immediately, conscious he could not restrain himself
if he remained, and conscious also that he could not deny
the truth gf Seaforth's words if he were called upon to
do so,

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

245

He knew all then— knew that his wife hated him, that
she loved Seaforth, and that she had confided to Seaforth
this shamefid story. Some pity almost might be felt for
the man as he raged and swore in the room below ; as he
saw his own cruel, unmanly conduct brought home to him
so plainly; as he understood too well now the cause of
Ruth's persistent coldness and aversion to himself.

"She has always loved Seaforth." He repeated these
words to himself again and again ; they stung him like
scorpions ; they burned into his heart with fiery pain. And
his own honor, his good name among men, where would it
be if this story were known ? Audley felt so sure, so cer-
tain that Ruth would not betray her sister's secret, that
he had never troubled himself to think of what might be
the consequences if she did. And now Seaforth knew —
Seaforth, who had been Ruth's lover, who might revenge
himself if he chose by blackening Audley's character in
the world.

As he paced backwards and forwards, with intense rage
and shame in his heart, he heard Dr. Murray and Seaforth
descending the staircase, and a minute later leave the
house. Then, maddened, furious, he went up to Ruth,
and the miserable sce-ne which ended in a blrw took place
between them. Audley felt, indeed, now, nothing but
hatred to the pale indignant woman whom he considered
had betrayed him, and who stood before him avowing
what she had done.

Then, after he nad left her, with muttered curses on his
lips, he again returned to the dining-room downstairs, but
the miserable excitement which possessed him prevented
his remaining there. He bade his servant call a cab, and
drove down to his club, not returning to Longridge-road
until a few minutes before eight o'clock, at which hour he
usually dined.

He found a telegram from Dr. Murray awaiting him to
tell him that Murray was going to dine with Seaforth;
and as he flung this indignantly on the tloor, his eyes fell
on a note placed on the mantel-piece in Ruth's hand-
writing.

Eagerly grasping this he tore it open, and read the follow-
ing words : —

'T am leaving your house, and I shall never return to it.
I will go direct to my father's, and am taking Watson with
me. " Ruth."

lit)

246

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

CHAPTER XL.

A TELEGRAM.

The next day about twelve o'clock, Colonel Forth was
sitting smoking in his little dining-room at Headfort, with
a very grim expression on his sour visage.

He had been at Sudley the day before, and the sight of
his old friend there now always depressed him, and made
him wish in the bitterness of his heart that his eldest
daughter had never been born into the world. And this
was perhaps but natural when he looked at the face of the
stern sad man, sitting alone under the roof she had dis-
honored. Colonel Kenyon had virtually closed his doors
on everyone except Forth, and the two met, and passed
hours together often almost in total silence.

" And that jade has done it all," Colonel Forth was
thinking savagely, when he heard his garden gate click,
and, going to the window, saw to his great surprise, his
daughter Ruth walking towards the house, and the next
moment the bell rang.

"Ruth! confound it, what has happened now?" he
muttered, and at once proceeded to the little hall, where
he found Ruth and her maid Watson just entering it.

" Why, Ruth, where ha^/e you sprung from? " he asked,
holding out his hand, which she took silently.

Something in her manner startled him, and he hastily
asked her to go into the dining-room, and shut the door
on tlie two servants outside.

" Nothing the matter, is there ? " he asked. " You have
not heard anything of "

He did not mention Frances' name, but Ruth understood
his meaning.

" No," she said, '' it is nothing about her. Father, I
have left Major Audley ; will you take me in ? "

'* Left Audley ! Cunlbiind it, you don't mean you've
had any row, surely ! "

Ruth's answer was to take the thick veil off that she wore,

JEZEBEL'S FRIEXDS.

247

and tlicn she pointed to her swollen cheek and blackened
eye.

" He struck me," she said, in a lo» but determined
voice; "after that I could not stay."

*' Struck you ! The brute ! " cried the Colonel furiously ;
'' and after you nursed him, and took care of him as you
did ! " Then siiddenly, still looking at his young daughter,
the expression of his face changed. " There is nothing
underncatn this, Ruth, surely ? " he added anxiously. " You
have given him no cause ? "

Ruth's face suddenly grew crimson.

*' I have not," she said ; " do not be afraid."

"Then all I can say is, he ought to be ashamed of him-
self ! But why did you ever marry such a fellow ? That's
what I never could make out."

Ruth gave no direct answer to this question.

'* Some day, perhaps, you may know," she said ; " for
the present may I stay on with you ? "

" Of course you may ; what folly to ask. What will you
take? You've had breakfast, I suppose?"

" I will have some tea, and go u^.'Stairs and lie down if I
may," answered Ruth, " my head aches badly."

Colonel Forth rang for the tea, and ordered a fire to be
lit in his daughter's bedroom, and otherwise showed some
consideration for her comfort. He was really glad to have
her back again, for a time at least, and he always had
secretly disliked Audley ; his manner when Frances disap-
peared having irritated him exceedingly, nor had he for-
gotten Ruth's words that he " did not know all she had
gone through."

" The brute ! " he kept muttering to himself, striding up
and down the room in a rage, after Ruth had gone upstairs ;
" to strike the girl on her face like that — in one of his con-
founded tempers I suppose. But was there ever such an
unlucky man in the world as I am ? " went on his mental
cogitations ; " here both the girls have come to grief, and
now that Ruth's returned on my hands, there will be some
more gossip and scandal, I suppose."

In the meanwhile Ruth had gone back to the shabby
little chamber which she had left at her ill-omened marriage.
Oh, what a rush of thoughts swept over her as she remem-
bered the last time she had slept there, and how she had
dreamed of Kenard Seaforth, and in that shadowy dual life

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1 'f (

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248

JEZF.BEI:S FRIENDS,

of ours — the strange vision of the niglit — had promised
that her heart would never change.

And she had seen him yesterday ! She sat down and
tried to reaHse what had haj^pened ; her separation from
Audley ; Kenard's words, which she knew might mean so
much.

But no, no; she must not tiiink of tliem, she presently
told herself. Her life was dark and difrtculi, but she must
try to bear it, for the wrong AuCiicy had done could not
be put away. She would stay with her father, and perhaps
sometimes she might see Kenard ; sometimes they might
talk again in the little garden as they had done before.

Poor Ruth ! There was something very girlish about
her still, even after all her hard and bitter experience.
And presently, after bathing her face, she began arranging
her small room — for she was too restless to lie down —
placing the furniture as it used to be ; and, as she did this,
naturally the memory of the beautiful sister who had
wrought all this ill haunted her continually She seemed
to see Frances again i)lcading to her " for my sake " to
marry Audley ; to hear her words when she came to tell
her that Colonel Kenyon had asked her to be his wife. It
all came back to her, and this was the bitter end.

Almost at this very time Seaforth was hearing in town
news which brought his mind to a sudden determination.
When Dr. Murray had returned to Longridge-road the
evening before, after dining with Seaforth at his club, he
found Audley in a state of mind bordering on frenzy.
After he had read Ruth's farewell words, he burst into a fit
of furious rage, and then began di inking heavily, which did
not tend to compose him ; and when Murray entered the
room where he was, the excited man told him enough of
the painful story to shock and disgust the young doctor
completely.

"What do you think?" shouted Audley; "my wife —
the woman 1 married without a farthing — was talking
against me to that scoundrel Ser ""orth. And that scoundrel
was abusing me — do you hear? Abusing me in my own
house, and no doubt making love to her ! But I'm done
with her ; I've turned her out of the house, and she may
go to the devil for anything I care," and so on.

JEZKBKL \S' FRIENDS.

249

In this strain he continued raving, and Murray had the
greatest difficulty in inducing him to go to bed. He told
^lurray that he had struck her on the flice, and Murray
had the good sense not to tell him what he thought of his
conduct. At last he was prevailed ui)on to lie down, and
soon fell into a heavy sleej), and when he had done this,
Murray made incjuiries about Mrs. Audley from the ser-
vants, and heard she had started for Headfort with her
maid Watson.

The next day, therefore, as soon as he could leave Aud-
ley, who had made himself ill with excitement and brandy.
Dr. Murray called on Seaforth, and told his story.

" What do you think, old fellow ? " he said. " There was
a tremendous row yesterday at Longridge-road, and you
are at the bottom of it."

Seaforth's f^ice Hushed deeply as he listened to these
words.

" ^Vhat do you mean ? " he asked.

Then Murray told him; he had found Audley "awfully
on" when he had gone back last night, and Mrs. Audley
had disappeared.

" He overheard you talking against him, he said, and
heaps of folly besides ; and the brute struck the poor little
woman on the face "

*' IV/ia/ /" cried Seaforth, starting to his feet in strong
excitement.

" He bragged of it, and it was true ; for Hill, his servant
you know, told me that her maid said Mrs. Audley was
not fit to be seen, he had given her such a blow ; and the
servants are all thoroughly disgusted with him, and no
wonder."

Seaforth did not speak for a moment ; his indignation
against Audley was too intense for words, and he stood
l)ale and panting while Murray went on to describe Aud-
ley's condition.

" He's a brute," he said, " and she was always too good
for him. Poor thing ! she's had no end of trouble."

" And she has gone to her father's ? " asked Seaforth,
briefly.

" Ves, she and her maid ; the old Colonel will be in a
tremendous rage with Audley, 1 expect, for he's a bit of a
fire-eater."

" Would it kill the cur to Hog him ? " said Seaforth, in a
low, fierce tone.

li:

2 so

yi'.ZE BEL'S IRIENDS,

' ' .

" My dear fellow, you can't flog a man with one leg,
who has just scrai)ed through with his life after a dreadful
accident. No ; keep out of his way, that's the safest plan."

Again Seaforth was silent, and after a few more words
Murray left him, and then Seaforth made a determination
which he at once acted ui)on.

'' He shall not strike her again, if I can protect her," he
muttered to himself. " I'll see CJrawford to-day and settle
about the exchange.''

Ca])tain Crawford was an officer at home on sick leave,
who was very anxious not to return again ta India, and he
and Seaforth had already frequently discus. ;ed the subject
of an exchange ; but now Seaforth had thoroughly made up
his mind.

The exchange was very soon (,'ffected after this, and
then, to the »:onsternation of his parents, Seaforth wrote
to Woodside to tell them he was going to India almost im-
mediately. This news was a com})lete blow to them, and
the General, who was a shrewd man, at once guessed that
his son had some private reason for this sudden change.

" He has got into some trouble, I fear," he said to his
wife; "he has nevi been the same lad since that absurd
affair with that Miss Forth, who married Major Audley."

The poor little timid mother elapsed her hands together
in agitation.

" And I hoped he wou'd marry Rose," she said, almost
in tears, "and — I believe the poor girl likes him."

" She'll not break her heart, my dear ; but all the same,
I think I'll run up to town and see Kenard, and tind out
the reason for this extraordinary step."

And tic General did "run up to town," and saw Ken-
ard, but did not succeed in hnding out the cause of his
leaving England. He showed indeed so much reticence
that the Genera! was convinced tliat a woman was con-
cerned in it, and after some hesitation, blurted out a plain
question.

" I hope, Kenard, you are not going to do anything
foolish ? " he said, and Kenard's good-looking face turned
crimson under his father's keen gaze.

" I do not understand you," he answered.

" My boy, when a man loses respectability and position
for a wom.an's sake, ten to one he will soon learn to dislike
that woman. This is what I mean by doing something
foolish."

JEZEBEL'S IRIEXDS,

251

III

'* We cannot judirc for others, fatlier."

" Then am I to uiulcrstand you nvjan to break your
mother's heart?" asked the General sternly.

" 1 hoi)e not," said Kenard willi sonn' feeling ; but on
the whole the interview between father and son was far
from satisfactvjry, and the (General returned to Woodside
in a very irritable condition of mind.

And after he had left town Seaforth despatched a tele-
gram to Headfort. It was addressed to Mrs. Audley at
Colonel Forth's house, and when he had sent it Seaforth
felt as if he had taken a step in life from which there was
no return.

It reached Ruth after she had been about three weeks
with her father, and caused her much agitation and pain.
It contained only a few simple words, but these to Ruth
seemed full of meaning.

" I am starting for India almost ini'iiediately, and shall
come down to Headfort to-morrow purposely to see you.
I will call about five o'clock.

" Kenard Seaforth."

To an ordinary reader there did not seem much in this,
but Ruth felt as she read the lines that a great crisis in her
fate had come, and that she was a])out to be called upon
to answer the question which Kenard had asked her in
Longridge-road. And a struggle took place in her heart
— a struggle strong and deep — for she loved Kenard with
a love she was powerless to resist ; but for the sake of this
very love she told herself she must bid him go ! Ah ! it
seemed very hard and bitter; these two had been so
happy and so fond, and would have clung to each other
in weal and woe with the faithfuUest affection. And by no
fault of their own, l)y the cruel selfishness of Audley, they
had been forced to part. And the sting left in die wound
was that their se})aration had done no good. Again and
again Ruth repeated all this, as she sat with Scaforth's
telegram clasped in her trembling fingers. And he would
be there in a few hours ; in a few hours she would have to
part with him — or would he stay if she asked him? — ah, if
he would only stay !

Her father was going to dine with Colonel Kenyon, and
left early in the afternoon, and Ruth sat alone in the
drawing-room with a fast-beating heart. Four o'clock

252

JF.7.Eru:i:s FRIENDS.

came, half-past four, and just al)()ut five the little gar(l^:l
gate in front of the house elieked, and Ruth started lo
lier feet and saw Kenard's tall, slender figure passing
down the garden walk, and the next moment the hell
rang.

Th«:n she heard him ask for her, and a minute later he-
was in the room, and pale and trembling tliey stood and
clasiK'd each other's hands.

CHAPTER XLI.

PARTING WORDS.

" You got my telegram ? " were the first faltering words
that Kenard Seaforth si)oke.

" Yes," half-wh1spered Ruth.

" I thought it better to send it than to write. I — have
much to say, Ruth."

Again a brief m()nosylla1)le was Ruth's rei)ly.

" I told you I had exchanged, and I start for India
almost immediately. i)o you know what determined me
to take this ste]) ? "

She looked at him for a moment, but did not speak.

" [ heard the whole of that shameful story from Murray,"
went on Seaforth, with increasing agitation ; " how that
scoundrel struck you — and ihen I made up my mind."

" I have left him ; I shall never see him again."

" But that is not enough, Ruth ; the world should know
what he is — how disgracefully he has acted."

" Would that do any good, Kenard ? " And once more
she looked in his face.

" It would entitle you to a divorce from him."

A scarlet flush stole to Ruth's fair skin.

" I wanted to tell you this for one thing — and for
another — Ruth, can you understand what I wish to say .^ "

" Besi leave it unsaid, Kenard," answered Ruth, with
deep emotion.

" But why ? " asked the young man, urgently. " Why
should Ovir lives be spoilt by the base conduct of others ? "

" We cannot undo what is done," said Ruth in a low
tone, casting down her eyes.

yr.ZEBErs fkiends.

253

"Yes, wc ran undo it; if you will trust mc and go to
India with me, you can get a divorrc from Audley, .md
we ran he married, and then it will he allriglit, you know."

Ruth shook her head.

"No, no; we must not hlind ourselves," she said.

" lUit what are you afraid of? " urged Seaforth. *' Vou
surely can trust me ? "

" Yes, indeed I can trust you ! "

"Then you are afraid of what ])eo])lc will say? If
everything were known, no one eould hiame us ! ''

" JUit everything ran never he ktiown. Kenard ; never
is known. ?>ut it is not ahout what j)e()]jle would say that
I am afraid."

"Then what is it, Ruth?"

Ruth turned her fiice away, and tried to frame her
thoughts in words.

" You have got a mother, have you not, Kenard ? " she
said, in faltering tones. "We lost ours when we were
children — perhaps had she lived "

" Yes, 1 have a mother," said Kenard, with a certain
uneasiness in his voice.

" And she is a good woman," went on Ruth, with a ring
of passionate pathos in her accents ; " we cannot only
think of ourselves — and — and there is something else."

" Tell me what you mean ? "

" There are the laws of God, Kenard. We were not
brought up to think of these things — Frances always
scoffed at them, and you see the end ! "

Seaforth was silent for a moment or two. Perhaps his
conscience smote him ; i)erhaps he remembered he was in
truth urging Ruth to do what in his own heart he knew
was wrong.

" As I said before, we are not like other people," he
answered presently.

" That is true ; it was by no fault of ours we were parted,
but still the parting came. I have thought it all over," she
went on, her voice trembling and broken by the strong
feelings in her heart, " I have thought cf my life after you
are gone "

She broke down here, and Seaforth, deeply moved, went
up to her and clasped her hand.

" Can you bid me go? " he asked.

Her answer was a sob, and Seaforth led her to an easy

i ri

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II ''A\

^•:^,

254

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

chair by the firo, and knelt down on the rug before her,
holding botli her hands in his.

" Look here, Ruth," he said, raising his earnest, hand-
some, young face, and looking straight at her, " I am not
going to deny that I know there are scrujjles, or whatever
you call them, to be got over, but don't you think it's too
late to talk of these things now ? You care for me and I
care for you most truly and dearly, and what is the use of
struggling against feelings which we know exist ? If you
had a good husband I am not a man to ask you to leave

hin'i, but a brute like Audley "

" Let us not think of him, but of others — of your
mother — — "

" In time, perhaps "

" Ah, Kenard ! " ^

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes after this, but
both understood. And presently, with a soft, caressing
touch, Ruth put out her hand and pushed back some of
Kenard's brown hair, as he was still kneeling at her feet.
" I want you to promise me something," she said, in a
low tone.

" What is it, Ruth ? '\ .

" Do not speak of this again — I will stay on here with

my father — and when you go away "

Seaforth rose to his feet abruptly, and began walking up
and down the little room with hasty and irregular foot-
steps, his mind violently agitated with the most contending
emotions. For five or six minutes he did this, and then
he went back to Rudi's side, and laid his hand on the
back of the chair where she was sitting.

" I will obey you," he said ; " forgive my selfishness,

Ruth — I might have known "

" You will be glad afterwards, Kenard," she answered,
gently ; *' glad you will rot have to blush when you hear
my name."

"I should never have done that."

" You do not know. Ah ! I could not have borne it ! "
she added, looking round, and taking his hand in hers,
" shame is so bitter ; Frances has taught me how terribly
bitter."

" There is none for you, then," he said ; and again he
knelt down before her. " Ruth, will you write to me
when I am in India, and let me know all about your daily
life ? "

JEZEBELS ERj'ENDS.

255

" Yes, though 1 shall not have much to tell," and she
smiled sadly.

" You don't know ; and your letters will be a help to
me. I won't forget then that I've a good woman thinking
of me sometimes at home."

'•Always thinking of you, Kenard."

*' Will you, my d -ar ? Ah ! Ruth, you don't know how
fond I am of you I *'

Ruth suppressed the deep sigh which arose unbidden to
her li^js, and for a few minutes they both were silent. It
was a strange scene ; the dusky early twiliglit had stolen
around them, and only the fireliglit lit the pale young faces
of the two who were about to part, tliough this separation
was tearing their heartstrings. At last Kenard moved.

"- 1 can bear this no longer^ dear," he said ; " let me

go."

" Yes," and Ruth rose, nut Kenard still knelt holding
both her hands fast clas})ed in his.

" Before I leave you," he said, looking up in her face,
" will you put your hands or my head, and say, ' God bless
you?'"

" Oh ! yes, yes — God bless you and keep you, my dear,
dear Kenard ! "

'* And you will not change to me ? "

" I shall never change."

" Then 1 carry your promise away with me ; " and he
stooped his head, and kissed first one of her hands and
then the other. " Good-bye, Ruth — good-bye, my darling."

" Good-bye, Kenard. "

He rose to his feet as she spoke, and for a moment or
two stood looking in her face with great earnestness.

" I shall often see you v;hen 1 am far away," he mur-
mured.

Ruth said nothing ; the overpowering emotion of her
heart was too great for words.

" Will you kiss me ? " asked Kenard, almost in a whisper,
and she answered by tiingiiig her arms round his neck, and
for a moment her head lay on his breast. Then she raised
it and kissed hun, and after straining her in his arms for an
instant longv^r, with a nuittered blessing he turned away.

" God keep you ! God help us ! " he luilf-whispered, and
the next minute he was gone ; and as Ruth heard the
house door close behind him, she Hung herself down on
her knees in a passion of emotion and grief.

2s6

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

, I

"God help us indeed ! " she cric<'. ''God help us !"

Kenard Seaforth left Headfort the same night, going
direct from there to his father's house. He arrived at
Woodside on ,the following afternoon, and unexpectedly
entered the drawing-room, where his mother and Rose
Hayward were sitting ; and when Mrs. Seaforth saw him,
she rose pale and trembling, and almost tottered towards
him.

'' Kenard 1 "

" Well, mother, how are you ? " he answered with a
smile as he took her hand.

But Mrs. Seaforth did not smile in return. She looked
in her son's face anxiously, eagerly, and Kenard saw she
seemed ill and worn. He then turned to speak to Miss
Hayward, who received him with some embarrassment.
The truth was that the General, on his return to Wood-
side, had said enough to fill the fond mother's heart with
acute anxiety, and she had allowed a clever girl like Rose
Hayward to see that her uneasiness was about her son.

" And are you really going to India ? " asked Rose, a
moment later, with affected carelessness.

'' Yes, really," he answered ; " I start in three days. I
have come to say good-bye."

" It's rather a jolly place on the whole," said Rose, but
as she spoke she suddenly left the room, and Mrs. Seaforth
was alone with Kenard.

She looked at him for a moment with intense anxiety
depicted on her delicate face, and then went up to him
and feverishly grasped his hand.

*' Kenard, my dear, my dearest," she said in a trembling
and broken voice, " you are not deceiving us — you are
going to India alone? "

" Yes, mother," he answered quietly.

" Oh ! my dear, thank God 1 thank God ! " cried his
mother, throwing herself into his arms, while tears rushed
into her eyes and streamed down her faded cheeks.
" Your fiither was uneasy, and 1 have been so miserable !"

" Let me tell you a short story, dear mother," said
Kenard, stooping down and kissing her face ; " but you
must not be a silly little woman and cry."

He led her to a couch, and sat down beside her, hold-
ing one of her trembling hands in his.

I :

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

^57

»>

3ing

i at

edly

iose

him,

ards

ith a

)oked
w she
Miss
ment.
»Vood-
t with
; Rose
son.
Lose, a

,ys.

se, but
iaforth

Liixiety
(to him

Inbling
]ou are

ed his
Irushed
cheeks,
fable 1"
said
[ut you

hold-

" I am going to make a confession," he said, aflcr a
moment's hesitation, " so that you may never misjudge —
someone any more. You guess who I mean? Rutli
Forth."

** Who married Major Audley ? " answered Mrs. Sea-
forth, with a httle gasp.

" Yes, who married Major Audley, at the time, or shortly
after at least, when I believed she was engaged to me.
Mother, I am going to tell you the true history of this
marriage now."

" Yes, my dearest."

'' I was very fond of Ruth, and she was very fond of
me j and I wrote, as you remember, to ask my father's
consent and yours to our marriage, which my father
declined to give. Well, I was obliged to partly admit this
to Ruth, and we agreed that whatever happened we would
not part, that we would wait until I got my company, and
then go out to India together and live on my pay. But,
after this, to my surprise, I got a letter from her, full of
grief and pain, to tell me she could not be my wife. The
only way I could account for this letter was your opposi-
tion to the marriage, and I went to see her, but she would
give no further explanation — only said with bitter tears
that she could not — that we were to part, and there was
no hope for us. Mother, you remember I came here,
and was scarcely here when I got a letter from Audley to
say he and Ruth were to be married in a fortnight ! The
news half drove me mad ; I telegraphed to Ruth to know
if it were true, and she answered it was, and then I went
away."

" My dearest, I remember it all too v/ell," said Mrs,
Seaforth tremulously, as Kenard paused.

" It seemed to make a changed man of me," continued
Kenard, casting down his eyes. "I felt so reckless and
miserable — and — and — after a bit I went back to Headfort
and saw her again as Audley's wife. No one could look
on her face and not see how unhappy she was. She was
an altered girl in fact, and met me with unmistakable
agitation and emotion. Her sister was married by this
lime to (volonel Kenyon, and I used to see Ruth at Sudley
Park and at Lady Hastings'. At last, one day, I asked
her plainly why she had thrown me over — if in fact she
had changed to me ? She told me she had not changed,

258

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

but she would give no reason for her conduct. Then
Audley's accident came— wlieu the ])ig gun burst, you
know — and everyone thought he was going to die.
Unfortunately he did not die, or that would have made it
all plain sailing again. The next thing that occurred was
Mrs. Kenyen's elopement with ]3eaton — Sir Arthur Beaton.
This cut Ruth to the quick a^^d nearly killed poor Kenyon ;
and the first time I saw Rutii after this she told me a
strange story, told me why she had married Audley, why
our two lives had been spoilt."

*' Oh, not spoilt, my dearest ! " said the fond mother,
clasping closer Kenard's hand.

'* Something very like it, at least, mother — it is a shame-
ful story, and I can scarcely bring myself to tell it to you
quietly."

'' Don't excite yourself, dear Kenard."

"Well, I'll try not, but I can't help getting into a rage
whenever I think of it. It seems when Ruth was engaged to
me, Audley, who had always admired her, had found some-
thing disgraceful about Frances Forth, who was then en-
gaged to Colonel Kenyon. And what do you think the cur
did ? He threatened that unless Ruth married him he would
enlighten Kenyon about the past of the woman he was
about to marry. Ruth did not tell me quite what it was,
but I gathered enough to know that no honorable man
would have married Frances had he known the truth. The
poor girl — my poor Ruth — went down on her knees and
entreated that scoundrel, Audley, not to force her to marry
him, but he showed neither mercy nor pity ! And Fran-
ces entreated Ruth to save her ; and, for her sister's sake
— to save her from disgrace and shame — Ruth broke her
word to me, and married a man whom she absolutely
hated."

" But, my dearest, she did marry him, and death alone
should dissolve this tie."

" Yes, she did marry him," said Kenard, with some bit-
terness ; " she sacrificed herself to screen a shameful wo-
man's shame — for I can use no gentler words ; and aftrr
all Ruth had done — after she had given what was more
to her than life — this Frances ran away from the kindly
gentleman that was devoted to her, and all her sister's
unselfish love was forgotten and in vain ! Then Ruth told
me ; and you must, I think, understand my feeHngs."

yEZEDEl;S FRIENDS.

259

rhcn

you

die.
,deit
I was
aton.
lyon;
me a
, why

other,

hame-
to you

a rage
[\gcd to
[ somc-
nen en-
ihe cur
p would
he was
it was,
man
The
es and
marry
:1 Fran-
s sake
Dke her
olutely

alone

Ime bit-

]ful wo-

jd after

kindly

Isister's

1th told
>>

" Still "

" Wait a little, mother, until you hear the end. I was
naturally furious with Audk-y. If lie had not been the
maimed wretch he is I should have struck him on the face
or horsewhii)ped him, if it cost me my commission; but
he has lost a leg, and is greatly shattered— however, \
need not talk of this — well, 1 went uj) to town after I left
here the last time, and I went to see Ruth. There are
two drawing-rooms in the house where they were, and Rulh
received me m the inner room, and that scoundrel Audlcy
must have been listening to our conversation in the front
room. At all events he overheard me abusing him ])retty
plainly, and would you believe it, after I left he went to
the room where Ruth was, and struck her a terrible blow
on the face — the brute t'at he is ! "

" It is very bad, certainly, but "

'* Dr. Murray came and told me, and told me also how
Ruth had at once left her husband's house, and gone down
to Headfort to her father's. And when I heard this, when
I knew that for my sake she had lost her home, I made up
my mind."

" Oh, Kenard, don't don't tell me that—"

" Have a little patience, mother, and you shall hear it
all. I told you that I was going to make a confession,
and I will not i)retend F didn't ('o what I did. I went
down to Headfort and tried to \ ;suade Ruth to go to
India with me, tnd get a divorce fi jm Audley, to which I
know she had the fullest right — but I tried in vain."

'* Oh, my son, my son ! " cried the poor little timid
mother, covering her face with one of her thin hands.

" Ruth would not listen to me, and she bade me think
of you, and all the ])ain this step wouU" have cost you. In
fact," and Kenard rose hastily and went to the window to
endeavor to conceal his agitation, " we parted — and — and
— I think sometimes she will pray for me — and that is
all."

*' Mrs. Seaforth breathed a long sigh of relief; and yet
that her Kenard should have done such a thing as to try
to induce a married woman under any circumstances to
leave her husband was a great shock to her sensitive mind.
She sat there, pale and trembling, for a few moments, and
then rose and crossed the room, and put her hand on her
son's arm, and looked up with her loving eyes into his
face.

26o

JEZEBEVS FRIENDd,

** My dearest ! " she said tenderly, and he stooped down
and kissed her.

" So you see," he continued, with a Httle break in his
voice, which told the depth of his feelings, " when you hear
anyone abusing Ruth, you will know it was your son who
was the sinner, and — and — not the sweetest, dearest — but I
cannot speak of it ! " And he quickly turned away his head,
for his eyes were dim with tears.

" Well, let us thank God," murmured the mother.

" And — you won't want me to marry Miss Hayward
now, mother, will you ? " said Kenard, after a few moments*
silence.

" No, my darling, you have no heart to give."

CHAPTER XLII.

A DIVORCE.

Ruth led a very quiet life during the six months which
followed Kenard Seaforth's departure for India. And in
these months a change crept over her heart, for she
found by experience that there were sorrows in the world
as keen and bitter as her own.

She never saw Audley ; his once passionate love for her
had indeed turned to hate ever after he knew she had told
the story of his disgraceful conduct to Seaforth, and the
only communication that had passed between them had
been carried on by his lawyer and Colonel Forth.

The lawyer had written on behalf of Major Audley, to
offer a sufficient income for his wife to live on, but this, at
Ruth's earnest and even tearful entreaty, Colonel Forth
declined.

" Don't let us take a penny from him, father," she prayed ;
"you would not indeed, if you knew all."

Of course. Colonel Forth had his grumble, for it was his
nature ; but still on the whole the father and daughter got
on much better together than before Ruth's marriage.
Perhaps Ruth began to realize that in their girlish days
neither Frances nor herself had ever tried by kindness to
soften the sour man's heart. Her own troubles had made
her nature very pitiful, and she began to excuse her father's

y/'.ZFJUJ. • .V /7v' fRUDS.

261

)wn

his
^.ear
who
mtl
ead,

ivard
ents'

which
nd in
)r she
world

(or her
d told
lid the
had

Iky, to
Ihis, at
1 Forth

fayed ;

ras his

ter got

rriage.

days

^ess to

made

Lther's

little outbursts of temper, and licr " soft answers " often
turned away his '• wrath."

What annoyed Colonel Fortli excessively was tliat tlie
])eople in Headfort followed the common rule of being
cold to those who need most kindness. The sun of pros-
perity having ceased to shine on the I''orths, their friends
l)assed away with its rays. Of course, they had very good
reasons for this change, they told themselves, with some
truth. Mrs. Kenyon's disgraceful conduct, and then the
scandal of Mrs. Audley leaving her poor, wounded hus-
band, was sufficient to make any respectable i)erson anxious
to drop such acquaintances. In vain the kindly young
Scotch doctor told them that the person who ought to be
ashamed of himself was M.ijor Audley, and not his young
wife ; that he had absolutely struck her, and so on.

" I've no doubt he had very good reason, if he did," an-
swered the lady to whom l)r. Murray was talking. And
Lady Hastings, who of" all women ought to have been a
little lenient to the failings of her own sex, was very bitter
in her remarks both on Frances and Ruth.

'* And such a charming man as ])oor Major Audley is,
too I" she said, with a little shrug of her pretty shoulders,
to one of her new admirers at the Fort. " I met Mrs.
Audley in the street the other day, and I felt so embarrassed,
for one does not like to seem unkind, you know, and yet I
felt I ousf/if not to bow to her ; but she had the good taste
not to give me the chance, for she never looked up."

Ruth, indeed, gave no one the chance of being cold or
ungracious to her, for she never looked in the face of any
of her former acquaintances. Even when the Vicar, with
good-natured ofiiciousness, called and approached the sub-
ject of her sep iration from Major Audley, saying : " Could
nothing be done, my dear young lady, in this sad, sad case ?
If you think the kind offices of a friend would avail any-
thing towards reconciliation, permit me to be that friend."
Ruth answered coldly and repressively —

" I do not wish to be reconciled to Major Audley ;
willingly I shall never see him again, and I do not care to
talk about it."

" Of course," said the Vicar, when afterwards relating
this conversation, " I do not wish to be censorious — T trust
1 never am ; but still I hope there may not be something
more in this than appears. Major Audley may have had

262

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

good cause — for depriving his young wife of the shelter of
his roof, and her reticence on tlie sul)ject to my mind
points strongly to guilt. True, it may have been from
incompntibility of temper, for the temper of some ladies is
no doubt very trying " (the shoe pinched the Vicar himself
here), "but then if it were only this, why shrink so x''rom
the discussion of the subject? It is truly sorrowful, and
1 hear Colonel Ker.> on's divorce case will soon come on."

Now this fat, comfortable, little man meant no harm by
his idle words ! It was simply that he loved gossi}) and
liked to have his finger in every i)ie, that he was ready to
shru and ' hisper away a woman's good name. Luckily
we d' >'.. .ear all that is said of us, and Ruth, leading her
quiet, scu-i Ciitained life, was beginning to realise some of
the imii .:>e g*" vity of our existence.

As she had lo'd Seaforth, from her earliest childhood
and all through her young girlhood, she had heard only
scoffs and jests at things high or holy. Frances never
pretended to have any thought or hopes beyond her own
selfish enjoyment, and ever thrust from her mind the idea
that a time must come when her beauty would be as
nothing, and she would stand vcihk: to face with a silent
shadow she could not charm away. CcJonel Forth's char-
acter had not been an elevating model for his children to
have constantly before their eyes. He also made no
pretence to seem what he was not ; but still in Ruth's
young heart a germ lay hidden, the bud and blossom of
which could but be sweet and pure. Her early love for
Frances had blinded her to right and wrong; she would
have done anything for the beautiful sister whom she could
not blame. But now the scales had fallen from her eyes,
and with her clearer sight she began to look around ; to
see there was something more to live for than each
passing day.

A very simple incident first drew her attention to the
sorrows and wants of those around her. In one of the
small back streets of Headfort, when she was out shoi)ping,
she came upon a grouj) of errand boys, who were surround-
ing a little fellow weeping in their midst. Ruth stopped
to inquire what was the matter, and half-a-dozen young
voices were eager to t"ll her. The small boy, who was
crying, had been given sixpence by his mother to purcha.se
some tea and bread, and had lost it on the way.

JEZEIU'.VS FRIENDS,

263

tcr of

mind

from
lies is
imself
I from
il, and
ic on."
Li-m by
ip and
ady to
Aickily
ing her
ome of

ildhood
rd only
i never
\er o^vn
:he idea
I be as
a silent
s char-
dren to
ade no
Ruth's
som of
llove for
would
e could
r eyes,
ind ; to
n each

to the

of the

lo])ping,

Irround-

; topped

young

rho was

lurchase

" And mammy has no money," he sobbed out, rubbing
his little dirty hands over his red and tear-swollen blue
eyes.

" \{ that is all," said Ruth, kindly, ''don't cry any more
— like a good boy. I'll give you sixpence."

She drew out her slender purse, but found she had
nothing less than half-a-c.rown. She was not rich enough
to give this, so she asked the boy to take her to the shop
he was going to buy the tea at, and that she would pay for
it. The little fellow brightened up at once at this pro-
l)osal, and gleefully led Ruth to the small general dealer's
shop where he was accustomed to make his purchases.

A respectable woman was standing behind the counter,
to whom Ruth related how her tiny companion happened
to be in her charge.

" I am sure it's very kind of you, K;a'." ," said the
woman, " for this is little Johnny Robs 1, a his mother
is a poor widow who could ill have sj)" cc her drop of tea,
for it's about all she gets, i)oor soul."

Ruth was interested, and inojiirer' further particulars
about Johnny's mother; the boy stof ' un his wide-open
l)lue eyes fixed comtemplatively on a string of figs, hang-
ing by the side of the counter, while Ruth and the shop-
woman were talking of his parents.

It was one of those common sad tragedies with which
the dwellers by the sea are painfully familiar. Johnny's
father had been a fisherman, and had been lost in a sudden
squall off the dangerous coast. He had left a young
widow and a baby boy, and the poor bereaved woman had
struggled on alone for the last seven years, and supported
herself and Johnny by charing and washing. But lately
her health had completely failed her, and she was unable
to do anything but sew, and '* is often very nigh starving, I
believe," said the shopwoman ; and Johnny listened with
an unmoved countenance to this sad statement, his small
mind being fully occupied in coveting the string of figs.

" Oh ! poor thing," said Ruth pitifully ; and after all
she spent her half-crown, buying tea, bread, eggs, and a
little bacon for the poor widow, and ol)serving the fixed
direction of Johnny's blue eyes, she purchased the string
of figs also, and presented them to the delighted urchin.

Together they left the shop, Johnny devouring the figs
by the way, and then went to one of the poorest little
streets of Headfort.

d64

JEZEnKL'S ERIENDS,

'' Mammy lives there," said Johnny, pointing to a small
cottage ; '* she's a room there."

" Well, be a good boy, and take her the things you have
got, and tell her I'll come and see her to-morrow," said
Ruth ; and Master Johnny needed no second bidding.
He started off at a run, and then suddenly stopped, and
after a moment's hesitation returned to Ruth, who was
standing watching him, with a smile.

"Please, Miss," he said, ''thank ye," and then again he
was off as fast as his feet could carry him, and Ruth
walked home pensively, glad to think that she had been
able to do a little good.

She kept her promise, and went the next day to sec
Mrs. Robson. She Tound a woman bent and bowed by the
heavy burdens she had borne so long ; but when Ruth
looked into her wasted face she was astonished to find an
expression there at once sweet and serene.

" My little lad told me about ye. Miss," she said address-
ing Ruth ; *' may the Lord Himself bless and reward ye for
what ye have done."

** Oh ! it was nothing," blushed Ruth.

*' It was everything to me. Miss ; there was neither bite
nor sup in the house, and now it is full," answered the
poor woman with deep gratitude in her voice and manner,
and Ruth felt not a little affected.

She sat down and looked around this poverty-stricken
abode. It was clean, but from the jjatched and tattered
coverlet on the meagre bed to the bare floor and cold
hearth, everythmg told one sad tale of bitter privation.
The poor woman's own dress also was thin and worn, and
her features pinched and pale. But she made no com-
plaint, and the deeply devotional tone of her conversation
told of one whose hopes were fixed beyond the grave.

Ruth left her deeply impressed. Here was a woman, ill,
miserably poor, and yet thankful for her daily bread ; who
found comfort and help in the worn Book which lay on
the little table near her, and consolation in the gracious
promise it contained that for her would come a day when
all her te s would be wiped awa;-.

" There must be something in it," thought Ruth as she
returned home; returned to find her father grumbling
about small things — fretting and fuming over his comfort-
able dinner, using bad language if this or that was not

^EZEIilU. 'S I'KIKXDS,

265

small

I have
," said
deling,
d, and
o ^vas

;ain he

Ruth

.1 been

to sec
[by the
1 Ruth
find an

ddress-
l ye for

Kcr bite
red tlic
nanner,

tricken
attered
id cold
ivation.
rn, and
o com-
rsation
IV e.

.ian,ill,

; who

lay on

acious

when

as she
Imbling
Lmfort-
las not

cooked to a turn ! The Colonel chanced to be in a parti-
cularly bad tem])er that day, and to his young daughter
the contrast between the one who had so nuicli and the
one who had so little was very great.

Ruth went often after this to see the Door widow, carrying
with her each time some Hltle comfort and help. And,
gradually, she heard of others in great need and trouble,
and to her sorrow and regret found more who wanted
than she had money to give to. When she and Frances
were girls. Colonel Forth had allowed them eacli twenty-
five pounds a year for their dress. And wiien Ruth had
returned to him, and after it was settled tliat she would
receive nothing from Major Audley, tlie Colonel half
grudgingly had offered her fifty ])ounds a year for her per-
sonal expenses. But Ruth had declined to receive m(;re
than thehalf of this sum; therefore she had very little money
to give away. Ikit one day she saw advertised in a news-
])aper that in a large town, at no great distance from Head-
fort, the proprietor of a ce»"t.uin journal was offering ])rizes
for short stories ; these stories to be sent in by a certain
date. 'I'he first prize was five pounds, the second three,
and so on ; and Ruth determined to enter this competition,
so that she might try to earn a little extra money to give
to her poor friends.

She had tried to write before — crude, sweet lines — im-
mature as the mind that created them. There was a song
of unending love and happiness, penned in the bright days
when she first knew Kenard Seaforth, and written before
the dark shadow of sorrow had lallen on her heart, over
which she now shed some bitter tears as she turned over
these girlish productions. Then she began her tale, and
contrived to turn the "old, old story" so prettily that she
actually won the second prize, and was the richer by three
pounds in conse(]uence ; one of which she carried with no
small pride to poor Mrs. Robson, who received it as a boon
from God. And Ruth was quite hai)py in her success,
and sent a copy of her story out to a friend in India, to
whom she often wrote. It made a new interest in her life
in fact, and the editor of the paper was so pleased with it,
he asked her to write another for him, for which she was
to receive five pounds, and Ruth felt she was on the road
to fortune !

Thus, between her work and her kindness to her poor

i^?f 1

i66

JEZhiaiVS IRIEh'DS.

neighbors, she had not much time to notice nor to heed
that her richer neighbors ignored her existence. And so
the days passed quietly on, until one morning her father,
who was reading liis newspaper at breakfast, gave a sudden
exclamation, and brought his hand heavily down on the
table with a very strong expression of wrath.

" What is the matter, father? " asked Ruth, looking up.

** 1 just guessed it," said the Colonel passionately,
*' when Kcnyon went up io town last week, that this con-
founded affair was coming off He's got his divorce ; there
was no defence of course," and he Hung the newspaper
across the table to Ruth, who lifted it with a trembling
hand, and read there, " the petition of Colonel Hugh Ken-
yon for a divorce, bv reason of the misconduct of his wife,
Mrs. Frances Kenyon, with the co-resjjondent. Sir Arthur
Beaton, Bart. There was no defence."

Colonel Kenyon's deposition followed ; the date of his
marriage, his perfect faith and trust in his wife's affection,
and the entire happiness of their brief married life, until
the day that she left him with Sir Arthur Beaton. He
further deposed that until she had written to her sister to
tell her she was with Sir Arthur Beaton, he had been
totally unable to believe it.

Further evidence was then given — the painful and de-
grading evidence, with which we are too familiar — and it
was further stated that a citation and petition had been
served on Sir Arthur Beaton and Mrs. Kenyon, at their
hotel at Monte Carlo, and that Sir Arthur Beaton wrote
acknowledging service on the back of the citation.

The Judge of the Court then pronounced a decree nisi
with costs ; and Colonel Kenyon and Frances Kenyon
were free.

Ruth, who had grown very pale as she read these de-
tails, laid the paper down without a word.

** I suppose he'll marry her," said Colonel Forth savagely;
** but by Jove if he doesn't I'll shoot him dead I "

JEZEISEVS I'RIENDS,

267

IK I SO

iUbcr,
Litldcn
)n the

ng "?•
lately,
s con-
; there
spaper
mbling
h Ken-
is wife,
Arthur

e of his
■fection,
fe, until
a. He
sister to
4 been

and de-
and it
lad been
lat their

in wrote

lese de-
ivagely;

CHAPTER XLHI.

A HITTER ENEMY.

A COPY of the same i)ai)er, telling the same painful story of
the divorce of Colonel Ivenyon and his wife Frances, some
days after was also lying on the breakfast-lable of the
young couple who had caused all this sorrow and shame.

The news had .jcen telegra])hed to them, therefore it
was not new \ and yet there was a i)ainful exp.-v'>sion on
Sir Arthur IJeaton's handsome features as he read l.olonel
Kenyon's evidence of his perfect trust in his wife's affec-
tion, and knew how that trust had been betrayed. Frances
was sitting opposite to him, beautiful, smiling, and all his
surroundings were fair and pleasant ; yet a sharj) pang
darted into the young man's heart when he rcmeml)ered
the genial host of Sudley, the kindly gentleman to whose
true hand-clasp !i„' had been false.

" \Vhat are you reading that makes you look so cross ? "
asked Frances, in her usual half-jesting, half-careless way.

Sir Arthur did not speak for a moment ; he rose hastily,
and Went to one of the open windows of the room, and
stood looking vaguely out at the blue sea beyond. He
had taken for a season this white, sunlit villa — a lovely
spot, with the waters of the Mediterianean lapping the
cliffs below, and the gardens around it rich with flowers
and golden orange fruit. Monte Carlo delighted Frances,
with its beauties, its excitements, and easy moralities. She
like<^ risking her money at the gambling tables, and was
ench.nted when she won and took her losses very calmly,
seeing they were always rei)aid by the lavish hand which
had sun )unded her with luxury and wealth.

"What is the matter, Arthur?" she asked at'^iiin, as he
stood still by the win('ow, pushing back tlie green sun-
blinds, so that the bright beams fell on his uncovered hair.

" Nothing," he answered, without turning : ound.

" I am certain that you have been reading something in

268

JEZEPEL'S FRIENDS.

that paper which has annoyed you," continued Frances,
and she rose and went to his side. " Let me see — what is
it ? " and she would have taken the newspaper from his
hand, but he held it fast.

" Don't read it, Frances," he said ; *' it is the report of
the divorce case."

'* Is that all ? she answered calmly. " Let me read it,
Arthur."

Then he gave it to her, and stood watching her beauti-
ful face as she read the pitiable words that Colonel Ken-
yon had spoken in the court, and something in her
expression as she did so — a hardness, an indifference —
vaguely shocked and distressed him.

" Well, I'm very glad it's over," she said, after she had
finished reading it, laying the ])aper down on a chair which
was near. '• How soon can we be married now, Arthur."

*' ril write to the lawyer fellows to inquire to-day," he
answered. " You have to wait a little time, I know, or
there's something about the Queen's Proctor intervening;
however, I shall soon hear."

" Won't you be glad ? " And she laid her hand upon
his arm, and looked into his face with her shining hazel
eyes.

*' Of course," he answered, but that v/as all ; and pre-
sently he strolled out to smoke a cigarette on the terrace,
and Frances lay down on a couch and began fanning her-
seT with a large blue feather fan, the exact tint of her
tea-gown, and thinking as she did so that the worry of this
business would soon be all over now.

" They won't give the cold shoulder to Lady Beaton,"
she thought, with a contemptuous smile. " Ruth, at least,
need not have acted as she has done ; but Fll soon be
white-washed."

And uf what was the young man thinking who was jiac-
ing on the terrace below, from whose heart during the last
six months gradually the glamor of his first deep passion
and love had been fading away? Sir Arthur Jjeator,,
impetuous, erring though he might be, had yet high and
noble instincts, and these, after he knew her well
had chafed against certain characteristics of Frances,
though with the generosity of his nature he had always
tried to hide this from her knowledge. Thf:re was nothing,'
that she had wished for that he had not grarited, and no

JEZEBELS FRIEN-DS.

269

attention nor devotion that he had not given her ; but still
he knew his love was not as it had been, and that the
woman for whom he had sacrificed his honor was not
worthy of the price.

But he had never for a moment faltered in his intention
to marry her as soon as the law would permit. In vain
his mother had written to him again and again, entreating
him not to make so great a sacrifice.

" If my heart did not bid me do so, my honor would,"
he had answered, and noihing served to alter his determina-
tion. " I am doubly bound to her," he told himself, as
he walked up and down on the terrace, smoking endless
cigarettes, and plucking occasionally one of the brilliant
blossoms around him, or gazing vaguely at the deep blue
sky melting in the distance in the deep blue sea. He felt
restless and somewhat uneasy, stifling back certain feelings
which would rise within him — feelings of doubt and dis-
satisfaction, for he would rather have seen Frances' beautiful
face pale and stained witii tears when she had read the
report of Colonel Kenyon's touching words, than the look
of smiling, indifferent contentment which had crept over
it, when she actually realised she was free.

Presently a step sounded on the terrace behind him,
and turning quickly round to his great surprise he recog-
nized Major Audley approaching him.

" You here. Audley ! " he said, advancing to meet him
with out-stretched hand. *' When did you arrive ? "

" Only last night ; I came on purpose to see you,
Beaton," answered Audley, gravely.

" And," asked Sir Arthur, with a sudden blush, " is —
youi wife with you ? "

" No, my wife has left me," replied Audley, darkly.

''Left you?"

" Yes, I'll tell you afterwards — I have something to say
to you first."

" And what have you to say ? "

" I left England the moment I heard that Colonel Kenyon
had obtained hir, divorce ; I came to try to save you,
Beaton, from great dishonor."

Sir Arthur drew his tall, slender form up to its fullest
height, and a haughty expression passed over his fine
features.

" Major Audley, permit me to tell you," he said, " there

270

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

are some subjects on wliich no man has a right to speak to
another."

" As a rule I grant you, but not on this."

" You will forgive me if I repeat that I have no wish to
discuss the subject."

*' You mean to marry Mrs. Kenyon, then ? "

" Certainly I mean to marry her ; could you for a
moment doubt it ? "

** I guessed as much, and so made a journey to save
you. Nay, Beaton, listen to me for a minute ; you shall
not at least run blind-fold into disgrace and shame."

** I fail to follow your meaning, Major AudJcy," said Sir
Arthur very haughtily.

*' I have some claim upon your patience at least ; but
for me you would have shot yourself for the sake of a
worthless woman."

" I will not hear b.er abused ! 1 (juite admit your kind-
ness to me long ago when I was so foolish, and anything
personal that you have to say to me I shall listen to, but
Mrs. Kenyon's name must be respected."

Audley gave a harsh and bitter laugh.

** I will tell you a story then ? " he said, " and leave Mrs.
Kenyon's name alone for the present. I shall go back to
before my marriage, when wc were at that miserable hole
Headfort, where I was fool enough to fall in love with a
prettv f:ice ! "

"Your wife?"

" Yes, my wife," answered Audley ; " one of the two
fair sisters I had the misfortune to l)ecome connected with.
But by your leave I'll sit down here, for this cursed leg of
mine constantly pains me."

They sat down on one of the seats on the terrace facing
the sea. The view from this spot was beautiful, and
nature's lavish hand had Hung around her choicest gifts.
There was no sound but the faint la]) of the blue water
below; nothing to mar the lovely scene ; yet here Arthur
Beaton was fated to hear words whi( h, as they fell upon
his shocked ears, cut into his heart like a sharj) and cruel
sword.

** I had the misfortune," began Audley's scofting voice,
"as T told you before, to fall in love with a pretty face.
Miss Ruth Forth, somehow, happened to win my fancy ;
and we can never account for these things. However,

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

271

there it was ; I liked the girl, and I believed her to be
young, innocent, and good. She never took to me
api)arently, and this, I suppose, ])iqucd my vanity, or
stimulated my love. At all events I geiminely cared for
her as I had cared for no other woman, and 1 liked her
well enough to wish to make her my wife."

" But why tell me all this ? "

" Have a little patience, my dear fellow, I assure you
I am not telling it to you from any sentimental pleasure in
relating my own folly. Well, I was in love then; and
one night I had been out dining in the neighborhood — at
the Fords', at Whitham — and 1 was walking back to the
Fort, l)y the cliff walk, in one of the most tremendous
thunderstorms I ever saw in P2ngland."

"I remember the storm," interrupted Sir Arthur,

'* I daresay. The lightning was so vivid that it lit up
the whole scene like daylight ; and, just as I reached the
steep path cut through the cliffs to the sands, which I
daresay you also remember? "

Beaton nodded.

" Well, just as I reached this spot, there came a flash
that showed me very plainly everything before and around
me. And what do you think it also showed me? The
face of Ruth Forth, who was hurrying up the cliff walk, in
a torrent of rain, close on midnight ! I distinctly saw her
face, and I followed her home. She went into Colonel
Forth's house, and I, being in love, was very curious to
know what had taken her out in the storm ; in fact, I was
jealous, I thought that she had gone down to the bay to
meet some other man, and I determined to find out if this
were true,

*' Beaton," continued Audley, his voice growing
passionate and impressive, " I did love that girl as much
as I hate her now ! I went down the steep and slippery
path cut in the rocks with the storm at its height, and
when 1 reached the sands I walked round the bay, and as
1 did this [ stumbled over something lying in my way, and
I stooi)ed down and jjicked it up, and found it to be a
small spade — a small spade I had seen before — belonging
to Ruth Forth, Seaforth had cut her name on it one
Sunday afternoon, and I knew there Vas no mistake ; and
I knew also that Ruth must have taken it there for some
purpose, and I determined to find out what that purpose
was."

\\\

272

yEZEBEUS FRIENDS.

" But what have I to do with this ? " asked Beaton, with
some impatience.

*' Wait a minute and you shall see. I marked the spot
with a stick where I found the spade, and carried the
spade away with me to the Fort, and there I got a lantern,
and carried it and the spade back to the shore. 1 put the
lantern down, and plainly saw that the sand where I had
found the spade had recently been disturbed ; and then I
began to dig, and I dug up what Miss Ruth Forth had
buried there ! "

''Well, what was it?"

" You may well ask. A new-born babe — a small atom
of humanity — lay there in its grave by the sea ! It was
placed in a box, and rolled and swathed, I suppose for the
purpose of concealment, in a woman's black gown. Bea-
ton, in a moment I understood it all. This child was the
child of Frances P'orth, born in secret, and in sin ; and
Ruth was the puppet in her sister's hands, whom she had
employed to conceal her shame."

Sir Arthur Beaton sprang to his feet with a vehement
exclamation of anger and disbelief.

" I do not believe it I " he cried. *' What proofs have
you of such a hideous story ? "

" Damning proofs, my dear fellow," answered Audley,
with bitter emphasis. " You would think, wouid you not,
that such a sight as that would have cured ; vian's love
for a fair face, but it did not cure mine. 1 ask<d Ruth to
meet me after that day at Sudley, when poor Kenyon gave
his garden party, and yoi?; If you remember, lay at your
charmer's feet."

Beaton turned his head .iwu-y with a passionate gesture.

'* Well, I met Ruth, and told her what I had seen, and
she admitted the truth; and my price for keeping the
secret — for allowing Kenyon to marry this woman, was
that Ruth should marry me."

'♦ You did this ! " said Beaton, with strong indignation.

" I am not going to deny it ; all is fair in love and war,
you know, and I was m love with Ruth, more fool I ! But,
though I let Kenyon marrv Madam Jezebel, as I always
call her, and come to grief for his folly, I am not going to
let you do so — at least unwarned."

Beaton began to pace backwards and forwards on the
iirrace in violent agitation.

yi-ZFju-: I. w fR/i:xDs.

and

have

.'sture.
I, and
|g the
was

the

^*IfI could believe this," he said, stopping suddenly
before Audley, who was watching Idni with l-.is cold and
cynical gaze.

" I will swear to the truth of it ; every word of it is true ;
Mrs. Kenyon dare not deny it ; Ruth dare not <leiiy it, for
if they do a darker cliarge even than shame may be brought
home to them, and murder is an ugly word."

" Murder ! " repeated r>eat(m, in horror.

"Yes. How do we know that tliis frail breatli was not
stopped before it had time to make any noise in the world ?
These sisters were alone in that little house when the child
was born, except one maid in the kitchen, whom they
could easily send out. And, at all events, concealment of
birth and secret burial bring them within the clutches of
the law."

" lUit did your wife — did Mrs. Audley, confess all this ? "
asked Beaton in a hoarse and broken voice. " Audley,
are you sure you are not deceiving me? Rememl)er this
is life or death to me — honor, or gross dishonor."

" It is true."

" But why have you broken your promise ? Rutii Forth
married you — you say for her sister's sake. Why have ; ou
not kept your word to her?"

^^ IV/iy ! Shall I tell you ?" answered Audley with ?.
vindictive gleam in his light j)rominent eyes. "After
Frances fled with you, Ruth, whom it seems was once
engaged to Seaforlh, before she married me, sent for her
old lover, .and confided in his ears why she did not k -rp
her promise to him. Don't doubt nie," he added, darkly
and passionately. " I heard her tell liiin the shameful
tale in my own liousc ; and then 1 turned ' out of it, and
i«" is six months since I have seen or hear of her."

"It seems impossible — utterly imposMhle!" exclaimed
Beaton, who was agitated beyond contro

He was i)ale, and his face seemed to have grown haggard
and worn in the l->rief moments in whicl iie had listened to
words which upset the whole [)lans of his life. Again he
l)egan pacing backw.-^ids and forwards, recalling little
things to his mind which confirmed Audli'y's story. He
remembered how Ruth I-'orth and Seaforth were sui'i)osed
to be lovers, and with what sur})rise he had heard of her
marriage to Audley, and how Seaforth ha^' always warned
him against Frances. Then he remembere i. his passionate

474

ji:zi:Brj:s frif.jVD.'^,

love for the beautiful w^nuiii wlio liad rejected him as a
poor man, and iletl with hiniwhen he came into wealth and
honors ; and he thought too of the struggles in his own
conscience, when the gray-haired master of Sudley had
treated him as an honored guest.

" Is Mrs. Kenyon in the house ? " presently asked
Audley.

" Yes," answered Sir Arthur, abruptly.

*' Because if you choose — if you have still any doubts
that I have been si)C king the truth, and nothing but the
truth, I will go in and face her, and force her to admit the
facts."

Sir Arthur did not speak for a moment after he had
listened to this proposal. Then he looked Audley full in
the face.

" No," he said. " I believe your word, and I will not in-
sult her."

" But you will not marry her? "

'' I cannot," said Beaton, sternly ; " my people have some
claim on me. 1 cannot drag my name so low as that."

" Then my erici'/id is done," said Audley, rising. " I am
sorry my visit has been such a painful one to you, but I
have only done my duty."

But Sir Arthur gave him no thanks. Pale and grave he
\vent with him to the gates of the villa, where Audley's
carriage was still standi'.ig, and then after he had watched
him drive away, returned back through the roses and
geraniums, along the white sunlit terrace, with a heart rent
.and turn, and full of bitterness, remorse and shame.

CHAPTER XLI^.

A STRANGE RETURN.

He entered the house and went straight to the shaded
room, where Frances still lay on her couch, and still held
in her white hand the blue feather fan — the hand and fan
drooping down languidly by her side ; but now she was
reading a ])aper-bound novel, which she flung on the floor
as Sir Arthur went in.

" There is not much in that, at any rate," she said, care-

jEZi:nEi:s I'Kwexds.

27s

as a

h and
; own

)' had

asked

ioubts
)iit the
nit the

le had
full in

not in-

re some
lat."
" I am
1, but I

rave he

udley's

atched

es and

art rent

shaded
"ill held
ind fan
jhe was
jie floor

Id, care-

lessly, looking uj) at liini. '• What a time you have been
out, Arthur ! Vou look (luilc pale ; you have been too
long in the sun."

'' I have had a visitor," he said, in a hoarse, agitated
voice.

''A visitor? Who was it? Why did vou not briuL'
lum in?

Sir Arthur did not speak for a moment : he shrank from
stabbing this pleasure-loving, beautiful creature lying before
him ; and again Frances lifted her bright hazel eyes to his
face.

'• What is the matter ? " she asked. *' You have not
heard any bad news, Arthur?"

" I have heard such news," he answered, with a passion-
ate break in his voice, '" that I would rather the man had
struck me dead than compelled me to listen to such shame-
ful words."

"What do you mean?" and Frances raised herself up
on the couch.

*' Frances," went on Sir Ariliur, with deep emotion,
" Major Audley has been here ind has told me why your
sister married him ; the bitter cau.ic that had placed her in
his power."

Frances gave a cry, sprang to her feet and grew deadly
pale.

''''Audley !'' she repeated in a low, guilty, terrified tone.

"Yes, Audley — the man whc knew your secret, and
traded on it to win your sister, has now come with his
hateful words to me."

" The cur ! The coward ! " came hissing from Frances'
])alc li])s.

Sir Arthur did not speak. Again, as he had done on the
terrace, he began ])acing to and fro with restless r()oistcj).s,
and Frances' eyes followed him with a fugitive and fright
ened gaze. 'J'hen she seemed to gain courage ; she drew
her lips tightly together, she made a stej) forward, and a
moment later followed him, and slid her hand through his
arm.

"What did he say?" she said. " AV]iat lies did he
invent? What secret do you mean ? "

Sir Arthur turned round and looked at her, and gently,
but firmly, ])ut her hand away.

" Why did you deceive me ? " he asked. " Why did 3'ou

276

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

teach mc to love you when you could have had no love to
give ? "

" How do you mean ? I did love you, Arthur ; I do
love you."

" It must have been very little," he answered l)itter]y.

" I cannot understand you ; you have allowed Audley
to poison your mind against me, and it is not generous."

*' Generous ! " he repeated. " That is scarcely a word
between you and me. I swear to you," he went on pas-
sionately, " that I would rather have not known this story
— gone to my grave thinking there was no shadow of shame
on your name but what I myself had brought. But now
this cannot be — your sister has told Seaforth — she has left
Audley — your secret is known."

Frances gave absolutely a despairing cry.

'' Ruth ! " she cried ; " surely not Ruth ! "

"Yes, Ruth," said Beaton, with a sort of j)ity creeping
into his voice ; " she confessed it all to Seaforth, to
account to him why .^-he broke off her engagement with
him, and Audley overheard lur, and then they separated."

" The fool ! the fool ! " cried Frances, passionately and
despairingly; 'Miow could she be so mad?"

<• It is done, and cannot be undone," said Sir Arthur,
slowly ; and then he added, firmly, " and I^ances, this
must end all question of marriage between us."

"/rV/rt//"

" I cannot marry you under such circumstances."

*'You cannot marry me? You who took me from my
iiome — my husband ? "

" I did, and (lod forgive me ; but T did not know this —
this changes it all ; 1 cannot marry a woman vnth such a
l)ast."

" Oh ! don't say that," cried Frances, flinging herself on
her knees before him, and seizing fast hold of his reluc-
tant hand. " Arthur, you who loved me so that you were
ready to take away your life for my sake ! Is it all gone ?
Have you no pity ? — no ])ity for the fault of a young girl ? "

Sir Arthur turned away his head, unable to endure the
sight of that beautiful pleading face.

" Think what you have cost me," went on Frances, pas-
sionately ; " think of the home I left for you — of Colonel
Kenyon who loved me so well."

" (lod knows how often 1 have thought of him," an-
swered Sir Arth\ir remorsefully.

7F.ZF.p/-:rs rRir.xns,

277

''Then don't add to tlic wront; you did," pleaded
f'ranccs ; " I know I was as much to hlanic as you, ])Ut I
loved you so dcci)ly, Arthur."

"And yet you married Kcnyon?"

•'What couhl I do? We had no money to live on at
home, and you had no money. Oh : look at me, Arthur ;
say that you will forget this miserable story, and that you
will marry me, as you have i)romised a thousand times?"

Then Sir Arthur did look at her, and as he did so he
raised her to her feet.

" Don't kneel there, Frances. I will see what can be
done. I will decide in a few days."

''Say you forgive mc ! " And she flung her arms round
his neck and kissed him.

He kissed her clieek in return.

" May (lod forgive us both." he murmured, hoarsely;
" and now let me go, I cannot bear any more."

He left the room a moment later, and Frances was alone.
It was a terrible moment to this vain. ])roud woman, and
her bitter indignation agai'ist Audley was scarcely more
bitter than the anger and hidden contempt she felt for the
man who had just left her, for liaving hesitated a moment
to keep his word, when for his sake she had sacrificed so
much.

" But he will," she decided ; " he has not strength of
mind to break loose from me ; but 1 shall never feel the
same to him. again — never again."

Yet she grew uneasy when all the afternoon passed and
she heard or saw nothing more of Sir Arthur. ITe had
left the villa, the servants tohl her when r>]vj intjuired about
him, shortly after he had ijuitled the room where their
stormy interview had taken place ; and as the hours wore
on she sent out two of the men-servants to seek him, with
orders to tell him that she wished to see him.

But before either of these men returned an especial mes-
senger brcnight her a letter from Sir .\rthur, which, after
she had read it, she tlung on the lloor with a scream of
rage.

And tndy those hastily penned words were as daggers
thrust into her breast — daggers poisoned by the sense of
her own wrong-doing !

" Dear France.s," she read with starting eyes and pant-
mg breath, " when you receive this, I shall have started for

278

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

England, for I could bear no more such interviews as I have
gone through to-day. Do not let us reproach each other,
for it is useless, and there is nothing that I can do for you
in the way of money and settlements that I shall not most
gladly do. 1 have left two thousand ])()unds for present
expenses to your credit :U the 15.! nk, ;ind when I get to
town my lawyer will corresi)ond with you about the future.
But I have made up my mind, and 1 cannot marry you.
Such a marriage could bring only certain misery to us both.
Would to Ciod I could undo the evil I have done, but this
cannot be, nnd 1 owe a duty to my name and honor that I
will not ignore. In bitter i)ain and sorrow,

" Arthur Bkaton."

No words can describe the rage, the passionate madness
almost, with which Frances read this letter. She dashed
it on the floor, she flung the books, the chairs, whatever
was near her, in a very paroxysm of fury, in every direc-
tion. Then as the first temi>est died away, nhe picked uj)
the letter, and a settled pur])ose stole into her heart, and
made her face hard and bitter, killing fur the time tlie very
beauty which had been her ruin.

" He shall not esca])e me,'' she had determined, and
ringing the bell violently she summoned her maid, and
bade her desire the servants to pack, as she intended to re-
ttirn to England to-morrow.

"Sir Arthur has been summoned there, and I have to
follow him," she told the frightened woman, who knew
very well as she looked at the pale, distorted face before
her, that something terrible had taken ])lace. 'I'hen she
drew money out of the bank, sent for the bills, and before
the morning was prepared to start in pursuit of the lover
who had abandoned her.

She did this with a heart full of such burning and in-
tense indignation against Sir Arthur IkMton that already
she was tasting some of the bitter fruit of her own folly.
She remembered the young, ])assionate, ardent man, who
had worshipped her very shadow, and who had been ready,
as she had told him, to take his own Ufe for her sake.
And now ! and now ! Frances bit her pale lips until the
blood came as she journeyed on, and cursed her own mad-
ness in leaving her hapi)y home as she had done. But in
spite of Sir Arthur's letter, in spite of the rage and bitter-

yEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

have
[)l)ier,
)r you
I most
resent
get to
uture.
y you.
s both,
ut this

til at I

ON."

adness
dashed
liiitever
,' dircc-
;ked u])
irt, and
he very

:d, and
id, and
d to re-
have to
) knew
before
iK'n she
before
le lover

land in-
lal ready
In folly.
|in, who
ready,
ir sake.
]itil the
In mad-
But in
bitter-

ness in her own heart, she still clung to the belief that she
would force Sir Arthur to make her his wife.

When siie reached tcnvn she drove at oiuc to thr Tiros-
venor Hotel, where she and .Sir Arihur had stayed before,
and, in answer to her iuciuiries, found that he was now
there, and that he was in the lu)use.

She desired to be shown to his rooms, and her orders
were obeyed.

" Wiiat name shall I announce?" inquired the waiter, as
he jtaused before the door of Sir .Vrlhur's private sitting-
room.

"I am i.ady Beaton," she answered steadily, and the
man rap[)e(l at the door, and having been told to enter, did
annou""e " Lady Beaton," and Frances found herself once
r - . I the presence of Sir .Vrthur.

He was sitting at a table writing, looking worn and
haggard, when slie went in. and as he rose a look of
intense pain and annoyance crossed his handsome features.

" Well, are you surprised to see me?" she said half-
defyingly.

'• Why have you done this ? " he answered gravely.
" Vou know it can do no good."

'• And did you suppose," said Frances, her face flushing
with (piick anger, " that 1 was going to sit down quietly
under such an insult as you have offered me? Even if
you hate me, Arthur, you must marry me now ; you can do
nothing less in honor."

" .\[y honor forbids mc to do so."

" Tliis is a paltry excuse, and I shall not accept it."

Sir Arthur was silent.

" If you marry me we can live apart," went on Frances,
" if all your protestations and vow-; are gi own so cold ;
but we must be married; remember, 1 have a father to
whom I can appeal to })rotect me."

" I would rather discuss the subject with Colonel Forth
than with you."

" But you do not mean to say, you cannot mean to say,
tluit you absolutely refuse to keep your word?" asked
Frances loudly and passionately.

" I refuse to marry you ; under the circumstances 1 will
not," answered Sir Arthur with great firmness.

Then F'rances tvirned upon him in furious and vehement
indignation^ cursing the hour she had ever seen his face,

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33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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yKZEtiEVS pRTENDSi,

l)Oiiring out such words of hatred, contempt, and scorrt,
that she stung to the quick the proud and sensitive heart
she meant to wound.

But he made no reply. He drew himself up, and stood
there facing her — pale, sileni, and still.

" But you shall be i)unishcd ! " she cried, lifting her hand
and arm as if in warning. " ^'ou may think you can fling
me aside when you are tired of me, but we shall see ! Yes,
we shall see ! " And, with these words, she turned and left
the room, and Sir Arthur sank down on a seat after she
was gone and covered his face with his hand.

It was the summer time at Sudley, and the setting sun,
glinting through the trees, was falling with golden shadows
on the sward of the smooth green lawn. The day had
been a cloudless one, and the air was sweet with the scent
of new-mown hay, and with the breath of flowers, which
grew in bright profusion around the stately old house.
And a great stillness and quietude was over the place, for
the evening breeze scarcely rustled the full-leaved oaks,
standing in their pride and prime, colored here and there
by the western rays pouring through them in floods of
light and glory. A peaceful scene ; a fair country home
which looked a fitting dwelling-place for happy hearts and
restful lives ; and so thought a woman, with a frown upon
her handsome brow, as she entered the grounds of Sudley,
and walked slowly along the familiar pathways.

This was Frances Forth, the day after her passionate
and decisive interview with Sir Arthur Beaton at the
Grosvenor Hotel. To her wayward and indignant heart
had come the sudden determination to endeavor to win
back Colonel Kenyon's love, or at least to induce him to
avenge her wrongs. She had asked no counsel, and had
travelled alone down to Headfort, and, thickly veiled, had
driven from thence to Sudley, with the most bitter regret
stirring in her bosom as she neared her former home, know-
ing well she was drinking now of the cup she had brewed
for others.

She walked on, keeping as much as possible under the
shadow of the trees until she reached the house, which she
entered by the conservatory door, which was unlocked.
She passed through the perfumed air into the hall, crossed
it, and then, without rapping, opened the library door, and

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

281

as she did so Colonel Kenyon, who was standing at one of
the open windows, gazing vaguely out, turned round and
saw before him the wife who had forsaken him.

No word came fro'n his pallid lips ; he staggered back
a little; he stared at her as if he were turned to stone.

" Hugh," said Frances, in a faltering tone.

Her voice broke the spell. Grasping the back of a
chair, as if to support himself, Colonel Kenyon said, with
a great effort —

" I presume I speak to Lady Beaton ? "

'^ No ! no ! " cried Frances. " Hugh," and she flung
herself down on her knees before him, as she had done a
few days ago to Sir Arthur Beaton, " I have left him — I.
shall never return to him — can you, will you, forgive me? "
And she tried to grasp his hand, and looked up into his
noble, sorrowful face with her imploring eyes.

" 1 do not understand your meaning," answered Colonel
Kenyon, slowly; "do not kneel there, Frances — it pains
me to see you."

He tried to raise her up, but Frances clung to his knees.

•' No, let me stay here," she said, tears rushing into her
eyes, and streaming down her cheeks; "it's the fittest
place for me — to kneel to you ! "

" It can do no good now," he answered gently and sadly.
** If you regret the pain you have given me, it is too late."

" Oh ! don't say that," she cried in real and passionate
emotion. " I was mad to leave you, Hugh ; I have bitterly
regretted it, and — and if you will forgive me — if you will
forget the past "

" You know it is impossible." sk.

" If you will forgive it, then," pleaded Frances, and
again she looked up with her beautiful, tearful eyea,>into
the faceof the man whose heart she had broken. " If'you
could learn to love me a little again ; if you " -4«s»-

" Hush ! " interrupted Colonel Kenyon, sternly ; " these
are not words to pass between you and me."

Frances winced at the just rebuke, and for a moment or
two was silent.

" Why are you here ? " presently asked Colonel Kenyon,
still sternly.

" I came to ask your pardon," answered Frances, in a
voice broken with sobs.

" And where is the man for whom you forsook me ? "

2S2

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

" You may well ask," said Frances, indignantly raising
her head ; '' the man who induced me to leave you, to leave
my happy home — for I was hap])y with you, Hugh — now
refuses to fulfil his solemn promise to marry me the moment
I was free."

"Is this true?" said Colonel Kenyon, and a sudden
flush came over his i)ale face.

" It is auite true ; the very day the news of the divorce
came to Monte Carlo, where we were, he left for England,
and I followed him. It >ras for no love of him I wished
to marry him," she continued, "but because it was but
right after I had made such a sacrifice for him in my folly
and madness — for I must have been mad to listen to his
false words. And so I have come to you — you loved me
once, Hugh — for the sake of that love will you revenge my
wrongs ? "

He looked at her ; all the past swept over his heart —
the happy life which Arthur Beaton had spoilt, and a dark
and angry light kindled in his eyes.

" Where is he? " he asked hoarsely.

" In town, at the Grosvenor Hotel."

" He shall answer to me for what he has done, then,"
he said sternly, and then he bade her rise.

" Go now," he added ; " do not fear, your betrayer shall
learn what you once were — to me."

" Oh ! forgive me ! "

" I cannot ! " he said in a broken and passionate voice.
" Go as you came ; " and Frances rose from her knees,
humiliated, abashed — and crept away from the house she
had forsaken, as the soft twilight began to fall over the
lovely scene.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BITTER END.

While one sister was thus reaping as she had sown, the
other was spending her quiet days trying to do some little
good ; to wipe away some tears, to lighten some burdens
amongst those around her.

Colonel Forth, in his fault-finding way, had grumbled to

yEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

283

5ing
;ave
now
iicnt

idcn

^orce
land,
ished
i but
folly
to his
d me
ge my

eart —
\ dark

then,"
shall

voice.

cnees,

se she

l/er the

)wn, the
Tie little
urdens

bled to

his old friend Kenyon that " Ruth was always going bother-
ing about among the poor people now ; " and Colonel
Kenyon o\\(i day had slipped twenty pounds into her hand
with his sad smile.

*' My dear, this is for your poor pensioners," he said ; and
Ruth thanked him. warmly, and began to tell him some of
the little tales of pain and poverty, with which she was now
familiar. He listened, sighed, and turned away.

" Come to nie whenever you want money," he said ; and
Ruth had thus been able really to do a great deal of good
during the last six months, and there were many who
blessed her when her footste])s crossed their thresholds.
She used to write and tell Kenard Seaforth out in India
all her simple news, and he regularly answered her letters ;
but no word of love was exchanged between these two,
though to hear from Kenard was the one pleasure of Ruth's
life.

Yet she was not unhappy. She was fully occupied, for
one thing, and her dreamy nature found solace in a hun-
dred things which Frances would never have looked at.
She loved to watch the long rolling green waves, and to
listen to their weird sad music as they broke upon the
shore, speaking to her soul in mystic tongues of strange
legends and strange lands. Her stories came more easily
to her brain within the sound of the sea, and many a day,
too, in the summer time she spent hours among che fields
where she had plueked the wild flowers with Kenard a
year ago, and would shudder as she passed the gateway
where Audley had told her first of his hated love, and of
the unhappy secret which placed, her in his power.

Since the morning when she had read Colonel Kenyon's
divorce case in the I'ewspapers, she had nalurally thought
much of Frances, but Frances had, as we know, made no
sign.

" When I am Lady Beaton it will be time enough," she
had told herself in her old scornful way ; but once or
twice since the divorce Colonel Forth had mentioned her
name to Ruth, though it was only to abuse her when he
did so. Colonel Kenyon, however, had never mentioned
it. He returned from town, but he made no allusion to
his reason for going there, and he had never called at
Colonel Forth's house since Frances had left him, though
Colonel Forth went constantly to Sudley.

2S4

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

Imagine Ruth's surprise then, when on the morning
after Frances' miserable visit to Sudley, as Ruth was
sitting writing in the Httlc drawing-room by the window,
she saw Colcnel Kenyon open the garden gate, and a
moment or two later he rang the door-bell.

Ruth rose to receive him, and met him in the hall, and
it struck her he was looking greyer, and that his face was
more lined and haggard even than usual.

*' Is your father in ? " he asked ; and as he spoke Colonel
Forth, who had also seen him arrive, came out of the dining-
room and shook him warmly by the hand.

" Glad to see you ; come in," said Colonel Forth ; Kenyon
gave no answering word, but silently followed Forth into
the dining-room, Ruth also accompanying them.

" My dear, I want a few words alone with your father,"
he said ; and Ruth immediately went out, an uneasy feel-
ing darting through her heart as she did so.
' And scarcely had the door closed behind her when
Colonel Kenyon b^oke the long silence he had preserved
regarding Frances' name.

" Forth," he said, in a broken and agitated voice, "you
will scarcely believe me when I tell you that last night
Frances was at Sudley."

''''Frances !'' echoed Forth, his red face growing posi-
tively pale with excitement ; "impossible ! "

" It is true," went on Colonel Kenyon, with deep
emotion; " she came back to the home she had forsaken
to tell me that the man with whom she had tied now refuses
to marry her when he has the power."

" Then I'll shoot him ! " cried Colonel Forth, with an
oath, striking his hand violently down on the table near.

" That is my right," answered Kenyon ; " I have come
to you this morning to tell you so ; I promised this — un-
happy woman that Sir Arthur Beaton shall find that — she
was once at least very dear to us."

His voice trembled and broke as he uttered the last
words, and he turned away his head, unwilling even that
his old friend should see how deeply he was moved.

" The scoundrel ! the sneak ! " cried Foith, in extreme
indignation. " When he induced that mad girl to leave
such a home as yours, not to have the honor, the decency,
even to marry her ! I never heard of such a thing — but
are you sure ? "

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

285

ling
was

lOW,

id a

and
was

ionel
iiing-

nyon
L into

ther,"
1 feel-
when
;erved

" you
: night

si-

deep
rsaken
efuscs

ith an
near.
; come
is — un-
t — she

"Jic last
[en that

[xtreme

leave

.'cency,

^g— but

" She was in bitter distress, and she told me the moment
the news of the divorce reached Monte Carlo, that he
started for Englaud that very day ; and Frances followed
him, but he declined to do the one thing left him as a
gentleman."

" And you mean to call him out ? "

*' I mean to call him out ; we can crojs over to Calais,"
answered Colonel Kenyon, sternly.

" And if you don't shoot him I will," said Forth, fiercely ;
" disgraced as she is, he shall find that the wife and
daughter of two gentlemen is not to be treated as a
wanton."

" If I fall, then, you will take my place," replied Ken-
yon, with stern determination. " He is in town, at the
Grosvenor; let us go up to-day, and unless he is a coward
■,ve shall force him to fight, and if he refuses I shall horse-
whip him."

They soon settled it after this. Colonel Kenyon was
calm, pale, and quiet, but Forth was furious with indig-
nation. He raved against Beaton at one moment, and
Frances at another.

" Spare her," said Kenyon ; " her punishment must
already be almost greater than she can bear."

But Forth was not in a humor to spare anyone. He
talked so loudly and so angrily that Kenyon was obliged
at last to remind him that unless he kept this affair quiet,
they might be prevented fighting Sir Arthur Beaton ; and
this argument had an immediate effect.

" And do not, of course, let Ruth hear anything," said
Kenyon ; and Forth saw the wisdom of this advice also.

" Say we are going to town on some business," he
added, " and meet me at the station at one o'clock ; we
shall be able to write to him to-day."

He left a few minutes after this, and Ruth came to shake
hands with him before he went away.

" I am going to take your father up to town with me for
a few days, my dear," he exclaimed. '* I have some affairs
to settle, and shall want his help."

He was quite calm now, and Ruth never guessed his
real errand. Her father asked her to pack what he required,
and hurried off in time to meet Colonel Kenyon at the
station as he had promised, and Ruth was left alone.

In the meanwhile the two old comrades had started on

it -'I

2S6

JEZF.nEi:s FRIENDS.

their journey to town, and tliough tlicy cxclinngcd i <)
further words by the way on the sii])JL'ct ( f Sir Ailliur
Beaton, the most rcsohite determination filled Ix-tli (heir
hearts. They reached town about seven o'c.loc k. aid om
arriving at their hotel Colonel Forth at once, by Colc-r.el
Kenyon's wish, despatched the following letter to Sir
Arthur : —

"Sir, — lam requested by Colonel Kenyon to infoim
you that your refusal to marry my daughter Frances, after
you induced her to leave her husband's house, now when
it is in your power to do so, is in his estimation, aiid alike
in mine, so gross an insult to us both, that we are
determined to call you to account for it. Will you there-
fore send some gentleman to me, so that I may arrange
with him the time and place in France, where a hostile
meeting can take place between you and Colonel Kenyon.
who claims it as his right to avenge his wife's honor?
Should you refuse. Colonel Kenyon or myselfwill publicly
horsewhip you, and brand you at your club as a coward.

" William Forth."

Colonel Forth penned these lines with " stern joy," and
the two old friends sat the rest of the evening anxiously
expecting an answer. One arrived about eleven o'clock
the same night, written from his club by Sir Arthur Beaton,
and sent on by an especial messenger, addressed to
Colonel Forth.

" Sir, — I fully admit the right of Colonel Kenyon to
call me out ; and my friend Captain Brett, of the Guards,
shall call upon you to-morrow morning at twelve o'clock,
to arrange particulars.

*' Arthur Beaton."

Colonel Forth read this brief note, and then handed it
to Kenyon, who, having also read it, returned it without
comment.

" He doesn't mean to shirk it, at all events," said
Forth.

" I did not think he would, and I cannot understand
his conduct," answered Kenyon, his mind wandering back
to the hand ome, seemingly high-minded young man who
had sat so often at his table.

" There is no excuse for it," said Forth ; and then they

JRZEBErS FRIENDS,

287

1 10
tlair
Ihc-ir
(1 on
U'r.el
J Sir

ifoim

after
when

alike
e are
ihcre-
•rangc
lostile
my on,
onor ?
iblicly
3 ward.

rH."

^," and
doiisly
j' clock
Jeaton,
;ed to

yon to

iiards,

I'clock,

Ion."

Idcd it
dthout

said

[rstand
g back
tn who

n they

changed tlie conversation, for what more indeed was there
to be said ?

Two tlays later, on tlie French coast, about a mile from
Calais, as the sun rose in its glory, gilding each wave and
ripi)le of the wide green sea, shining on the yellow sands,
and on " the waste and luinl)er of the shore," two English-
men were standing, having gone to this lonely spot to
avenge an injury to the bitter end.

And the bright beams fell on the pale, stern, haggard
fiice of the man from whose heart Frances Forth had
crushed out all hope and ha])piness. They fell, too, on
the flushed red face of her father, who began to look
uneasily at his watch, as he saw the appointed hour had
come when it had been arranged that Sir Arthur Beaton
and his second should meet them.

" They are two minutes past their time," he said ; ** I
hope there is no hitch."

"Their driver might not quite know the way, perhaps,"
answered Colonel Kenyon, calmly, adding a moment later,
*' Look yonder — there they are ; but they are bringing a
third man — I suppose a surgeon."

Then Colonel Forth looked in the uirection his friend
indicated, and saw at some little distance, coming across
the sands towards them, three figures whom they recog-
nised as they drew nearer — three quite young men, and
the one who was going to fight the youngest of all. Sir
Arthur Beaton's tall, slender, bthe figure stood out distinct
and striking in the clear morning air. He paused when a
few yards distant from the elder men, and his friend Cap-
tain Brett advanced to meet Colonel Forth to make final
arrangements. Sir Arthur's face looked pale, but firm and
handsome ; but he scarcely cared to glance across the
few vards of sand which divided him from the man he had
wronged, the man whose hospitality he had abused, and
whose friendship he had betrayed.

He talked to the young French surgeon until his second
returned to his side, and then moved quietly to the spot
which was marked out as his position. A minute or two
elapsed, during which Colonel Kenyon had a word to say
in his old friend's ear.

" If I fall at the first shot, remember your promise to
take my place." '

288

jp:zkbet:s friends.

" I am not likely to forget it," answered Forth, gloomily.

Soon everything was ready; the fatal word /vVf was
given ; and as it erossed Colonel Forth's lips, Sir Arthur
Ik'aton deliberately raised his weai)on and fired into the
air, and the next moment fell forward with a bullet in his
breast.

His second and the surgeon ran to him, and as they
did so he looked wildly up at the blue sky above, and
then around him. Wy this time Colonel Kenyon and
Colonel Forth, seeing that he was seriously wounded, also
advanced to his side, and as Sir Arthur's eyes fell on the
face of the grey-haired man he had injured, he made an
effort to speak.

^^ Forgive me !'' he said; and they were the last words
of those generous, erring lips !

CHAPTER XLVI.

TOO LATE.

When Frances Forth heard how fatally Colonel Kenyon
had obeyed her wishes, she fell into the most violent
paroxysms of grief and remorse. Even in her bitterest
anger she had never thought of Arthur Beaton's death.
He might be wounded, and she would go to him, she,
perhaps, had vaguely imagined ; but of yon pale handsome
young face lying on the French shore with half-open
glazing eyes, she had never dreamed.

And there was another, too, who read in the papers of
the tragic ending to a sad story with almost intolerable
pangs of remorse also. This was Major Audley. He had
heard nothing of Sir Arthur Beaton sii'ce his interview
with him at the sunlit villa by the Southern sea, and in
Paris he read the account of the fatal duel between two
Englishmen near Calais, with all its sensational details. It
was a tale quite suited to French tastes, and the papers
enlarged on it, and told how the lover, having refused to
fulfil his promise of marrying the lady, she had absolutely
gone to the husband she had forsaken and asked him to
avenge her wrongs. Then Audley knew he had sent
Arthur Beaton to his doom ; that but for him he would

have married F ' ^^^

hand would not h~e™''','''- "!"^ Colonel Kenyon-s

Beaton, and the fact iMi hi i '" ' '"' ^ad always ,ked

he mad attempt on h , ow„ i? f?'' '^"" ^^^en he made

to the warm.hiar.ed,tav " tr^nf vf °"«'^,'^°"""ht

Jite Prances Forth had \?.f.n •>?""« »o'dier, whose

remembered, ,00, how devote S"^ '^''e'"^<l- Andlev

dufng hfs long illness ,?w ^.?'°" ^ad been toS

bitterness filled ^his iear\gLn?tl'u^^' ' and an im.^™
self that but for her tr»?^k • "'"' '''hen he told him
ni'serable reason for her ±?^ '" 't"'"g Seaforth ™e"
never have betrayed the serr^/"??^-' ''<= (^ndley) would
that w^e had forfeited anSfo his T'^f "'^'^^ ""^ ^
tin. Idea ))reyed so on his m r?j / ^ 'forbearance. And

between Frances Forth a.,rl c- a V"''*''Py interference
determined to retuTn 'to" E/Xnd"'r^' '^' ''^ ^'^
SS'Sfatt"* ^^'''^ ^^'"^^^--e^cate Wr^hu/

-h^'^a^^t^Sss'i^b^'irk ^ ^^'^ "''^ -c. news
J"d>c,a! '"quiry l!;d bee^ made Int ""^.^ ^''^'^ ^'^ A
an affair of honor, and had hi. ° '^^ •=^''«' but it was
fe-rness, and French moralitv t '^''".^"eted with perfcct
Kenyon and his old Wend d J '^"'*^^^- B»t CoTonel
many weeks after the tragedy on" .'''"™ *° England ?or

retu™ t'\''"^'^ so painfully affecVd"^''"''' "^^' Calais
return to his hotel in the town i, k A^")'*'"- that on his

rt:s\7h ZTT'y hauntedt-m" "^ '^'"^ ^^- "^
Headfort, wfth The exceotio '"<• '^''^^^'^ >>■"'« house at
Colonel, modest incSouM tff^rd?' 1 "'''' ^ ^" '^e
Sf" .'^?'' °"« morning, about ff^ f° '^^S" establish-
Beaton's death, she had s„nf T- ^ fortnight after Arthur

tnto the village .vhen f ^ng 'came to'^ °S!' °" ^" ""'«"
and imagining it was the m?;^ .! *^ house-door bell
opened the door and tl,' '''^ "''^"' mto the hall and
and trembling ' ^"^ *^" ^'"ted violently back pale

^^owJtoTalfo^r^h'entht'bT"'^' /"'^•^^ had gone
h.3 former brother-offic" f on to^ ^B"elto '• ^""f^"'^ °'

10 P"""^ Beaton's melancholy

390

JEZEBELS FRIENDS,

end had yet further increased his indignation against
Ruth, for having indirectly, he told himself, caused so
dire a tragedy. And he made no offer of any ordinary
salutation as he stood there pale and wrathful.

"I wish to speak to you," was all he said; and h>
entered the house without invitation, and walked into the
dining-room, the door of which was standing open, and
then turned round and glared at the trembling woman who
had followed him.

" You did not expect to see me ? " he began, bitterly.

*' No, I did not," answered Ruth, in a low tone.

** I must congratulate you," went on Audley, '' on all
the mischief you and your sister have contrived to do in
your short lives ! "

Ruth did not speak ; she felt half afraid of the angry
man standing before her, knowing that she had no pro-
tector near.

** I suppose you know Arthur Beaton is dead? But do
you know who sent him to his death ? "

"You mean Frances, I suppose?" said Ruth in falter-
ing accents.

" No, not Frances 1 " answered Audley, loudly and
passionately, "but^^w/"

"// What do you mean?" said Ruth in great sur-
prise. *' I knew nothing of Frances' visit to Sudley until
he was dead; I had nothing whatever to do with it."

" Oh ! had you not ! " sneered Audley. " But what if I
tell you that you, and you only, sent the poor fellow to his
untimely end ? "

" I cannot understand you ; you are completely mis-
taken."

" Unfortunately I am not. Colonel Kenyon shot Beaton,
did he not, because he refused to marry your sister after she
was divorced ? "

" So my father wrote to m'^ " answered Ruth in a low,
pained tone, *' after it was all vjver."

"But do you know why he would not marry her?
continued Audley, darkly and vindictively. " He meant
to do so, I assure you, until he heard the disgraceful
secret that you had thought fit to confide to Captain Sea-
forth's ears ! "

" What ! You do not mean to say you told him "

; " Yes, I told him," interrupted Audley bitterly; " I told

in
I hi

JEZEBEUS FRIENDS,

391

nsl

ary

the

and

who

ly.

n all
do ii^

irigry
> pro-

iut do

falter-

ly and

at sur-
until

hat if I
V to his

ly mis-
Beaton,
iter she

a low,

her?'^
le meant
Igraceful
lain Sea-

I told

him the whole story ; I went to Monte Carlo to tell him.
But had you not told Scaforth, hiH you not acted so
shamefully as you did, it never wouid have passed my
lips."

Ruth clasped her hands together, and stood there,
shocked and trembling.

'* You did this ? " she said. " How could you ? "

*' 1 did it to try to save the poor fellow from great dis-
honor ; and you nad forfeited all claims upon me when
you told Seaforth, otherwise I should not have interfered."

" I did not tell Captain Seaforth the whole story," said
Ruth, in great distress ; " all that I told him was that you
had learnt some unhappy secret of Frances, and that your
price for keeping it was that I should break off my engage-
ment With him, and marry you. And I only did this
after Frances had left Colonel Kenyon. Oh ! why — why
did you interfere ? "

Audley was silent for a moment ; then he said, slowly —

"Is this true?"

" Quite — quite true ! You misunderstood the words
which I suppose you overheard in Longridge-road. Cap-
tain Seaforth was very angry, naturally angry ; but he
knew nothing — nothing of what the secret was ! "

Again Audley was silent for a moment or two ; then he
asked abruptly : —

" Have you seen him since then ? "

" Just once ; he came to bid me good-bye before he
went to India."

" Then all I can say is I wish my tongue had been cut
out of my mouth before I had gone to that poor lad with
this cursed story," said Audley, roughly. *' You had
maddened me, Ruth, and I wished to be revenged on you
both, and was determined to prevent that Jezebel of a
sister of yours making a good marriage after the life that
she had led. Beaton meant to marry her ; he told me so
— and see how it has ended, all through you ! "

" Not through me," said Rr.th, much affected. ** But
do not let us reproach each other — it's too late, and can
do no good now — and if you were misled "

** I was, curse it ! "

"I am very sorry; perhaps I may have been to blame
in making any explanation to Captain Seaforth at all after
I had married you."

292

JEZEBEDS FRIENDS.

"To blame!
" Let it resi

Of course you were to blame,
so then ; I have lived much alone lately,
and have begun to think more than I did — you see I was
very young when we were married — and I had cared very
much for Kenard Seaforth."

" You need not tell me," said Audley, turning away his
head.

" Let that be my excuse then ; we made a great mistake
to marry, and it was sure to end unhappily ; but we need
not make it worse by speaking and feeling bitterly to each
other now when it is all ended."

Audley stared gloomily at Ruth as she said this, and
her manner, so different to what it used to be, surprised
him.

" You mean to live on here, then ? " he said a moment
later.

" Yes, you see the house is cheap, and as my father is
poor it suits him."

*' You need not reproach me with being poor at any
rate ! That is your own fault ; it is certainly my wish to
provide you with a proper income."

'' It is very good of you, but we have quite enough.
And," she added with a smile, *' I make a little money
now by writing stories."

" Absurd folly ! "

"Oh ! no, indeed it is not; it gives me pocket-money,
and keeps me from thinking."

She was looking very pretty, just like the fair young girl
that Audley had first seen and loved in this very place.
And as he looked at her a softer feeling towards her stole
into his heart than he had ever felt since he believed she
had told Seaforth the whole story of their marriage.

" Are you quite well now?" she asked a moment later.

"As WlII as I shall ever be, I suppose; but this con-
founded leg of mine often pains me."

"You are standing. Won't you sit down ? "

He sat down, still looking at Ruth ; wondering what
had changed Uer so, and made her whole manner and the
expression of her face so much gentler and more composed
than they used to be.

" Is your father at home ? " he asked.

" No ; he is with poor Colonel Kenyon, you know."

'" Your life must be fairly lonely then. Do you ever see
any of the people about? "

i i iWa»*a*i ••— — ^ »...»-:

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

293

as
>ry

his

ake
leed
;ach

and
rised

ment

her is

Lt any
rish to

nough.
money

loney,

mg girl

place.

;r stole

^ed she

It later,
us con-

ig what
land the
Imposed

)W."

lever see

Ruth shook her head. -^

" I go nowhere," she. said.

'' Then what on earth do you do with yourself? "

Again Ruth smiled.

" I find plenty to do," she answered.

" At all events m future I hope you will accept a decent
income from me ? "

" No ; you must not ask me to do that."

" You hate me too much, I suppose?" asked Audley,
with some bitterness.

" It is not that — but our lives are parted — and I could
not bear to take your money.''

" You are an extraordinary girl ! "

" Ptihaps I am ; you see living in a place like this one
wants F.o little money."

'' Some women are always wanting it."

" Well, I do not ; at least not much."

Once more Audley was silent for a few moments. He
had gone there with the bitterest feelings in his heart
against Ruth, but her sweet girlish face, her grave gentle
manner, and perhaps the knowledge that she had only
seen Seaforth once since she had left his roof, and that he
was now in India, and that Ruth had only at least partially
confided in him, naturally influenced Audley, who sat
down with downcast eyes, and with a sort of sullen shame
of his own conduct gradually stealing over him.

Suddenly he rose.

" Well, it's no use saying any more about it, I suppose,"
he said ; " I am both glad and sorry to have heard what
you told me — good day ! "

He did not put out his hand, but left the room as
quickly as he could in his disabled condition, and Ruth
watched him go, and then tried to return to her usual
morning's work, with a very restless and uneasy heart.

Had she been to blame — indirectly to blame, for poor
Arthur Beaton's death ? she thought. By one of those
subtle undercurrents which affect so strangely the upper
surface of our lives, she had unconsciously helped to send
the young man to his untimely doom, and the idea was
inexpressibly painful to her.

In the meanwhile Audley had returned to the Fort, for
he had taken u]) his abode rt his old quarters during his
brief visit to Headfort, and he went there now also in a

294

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

very disturbed and dissatisfied condition of mind. He
unhappily had contracted a habit of drinking deeply of
late, and to dull his feelings of remorse and self-blame, he
at once called for brandy, and while he was half-stupefying
himself. Major Gary, who was an old friend of his, came
into his rooms to see him.

They talked of various things, and at last Audley, with
some hesitation of manner, asked Major Gary if he ever
saw his vnfe.

" Of course, you know, we are separated ? " he added.

" I have heard so," answered Gary, casting down his
eyes. " No, I never see Mrs. Audley, or at least very
rarelv; but I often hear of her."

''Hear of her?" said Audley, sharply, and with a
jealous pang darting through his heart. " How, and what
do you hear about her ? "

" Well, the truth is, Audley, your wife is so very good to
the poor people of the village that one cannot fail to hear of
her. One of our married men Hves somewhere in the
back streets here, and he tells me Mrs. Audley spends
her time in doing good, and helping anyone who wants
help."

" Is this so? " said Audley, uneasily.

*' It is an undoubted fact ; this man's wife has been a
great invalid for a long time, and Mrs. Audley has been
very kind to her ; indeed they look upon her as a sort of
ministering angel, and this Jackson speaks of her with the
deepest gratitude.'

" I remember the man," said Audley, slowly, and then
he changed the conversation. But after Major Gary left
him, his mind instantly reverted to what he had been told,
and he began to feel completely ashamed of the manner
in which he h-^d acted to Ruth.

" I suppose she will never forgive me," he thought
moodily ; " it's been a bad business from beginning to end,
and that cursed woman Jezebel has done all the
mischief."

He was very restless the next day, wandering out and in
the Fort, and past the old house in High Street many times,
unable to make up his mind. He wished to see Ruth
again, and yet was conscious that he had forfeited all right to
force himself into her presence. And as he was walking
up the street with bent head and frowning brow, somewhat

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

295

le
of

he
Ing
me

,'ith
;ver

■d.

his
very

th a
what

odto
ear of
11 the
pends
wants

•een a

been

,ort of

[th the

then

jry left

told,

anner

lought
[o end,
(U the

land in

times,

Ruth

fight to

talking

lewhat

lo his annoyance, he chanced to encounter his old friend
Lady Hastings, who had heard from one of her new
admirers that he was at the Fort, and had driven into
Headfort in the hope of meeting him.

She pulled up her poi les, and handed the reins to the
groom the moment she saw him, and sprang lightly out of
the carriage.

'' I am so glad to have met you," she said in her pretty
gushing way, as she clasped his hand ; " I heard you
were here, and I want you to come over and dine with
us."

But Audley was in no mood to amuse himself with Lady
Hastings.

" You are very good," he said, "but I am only here for
a day or so, and have not time to go anywhere."

" But you will surely come to us ? " she continued,
looking up in his face with her brown eyes. " Of course
I know it must be most painful for you to be here — most
trying ! "

" Why ? " asked Audley abruptly, and he frowned.

" Ah, I know ! " answered Lady Hastings with a com-
miserating sigh. '• I met her once in tie street here after
you had sent her away from your house, and I felt so
uncomfortable ; of course, I could not bow when I had
been such a great friend of yours."

" To whom do you allude ? " said Audley, his disfigured
face turning scarlet with sudden anger.

" Well — of course, I mean Mrs. Audley," replied Lady
Hastings, who began to perceive she had touched on a
peculiarly unwelcome subject.

" Then you have been misinformed ; I did not send my
wife away from my house, and had never any intention of
doing so. We had a quarrel and she left of her own
accord, and came down here to her father's."

"■ Perhaps you will become friends again, then," said
Lady Hastings, smiling, and trying to make the best of an
awkward situation. *' I always said she was very pretty/'

'* That is a matter of taste, you know," answered
Audley, stiffly. " But you will excuse me, I am sure,
Lady Hastings, if I say good morning, as I am in haste."

The little woman smiled, nodded, and was handed back
into her pony carriage, and drove away, feeling not a
little uncomfortable. But her words, after a few minutes
consideration, had determined Audley how to act.

096

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

" I ought to go and tell her what that little chattering
fool said," he mentally decided ; " and what construction
is put upon her living here."

And he carried this resolve into effect an hour later.
He walked to Colonel Forth's house, and when he reached
it he found Ruth in the garden gathering some flowers.
She did not see him until the sound of the gate opening
caused her to look round, and then a sudden flush passed
over her face.

She was dressed in white, and her head was uncovered,
and she walked slowly forward to meet him, and, after a
moment's hesitation, Audley held out his hand, and for an
instant Ruth's uncovered palm touched his.

" Are you making a bouquet? " he said nervously. " I
— have a few words to say to you. May I go into the
house ? "

*' Yes," answered Ruth, also nervously. His manner
was very different to what it had been the day before, and
Ruth instantly saw this.

They went into the dining-room together, and after
Audley had shut the door he looked at Ruth very ear-
nestly.

" Ruth," he began, I have been thinking things over
since I saw you, and I'll admit I've been to blame — I was
mistaken, and I am very sorry that in my great anger I
struck you that blow."

She raised her grey, sad, gentle eyes to his face, but did
not speak.

" Will you forgive me? I am very sorry about it," said
Audley, with an effort.

*' I quite forgive you. Do not speak of it any more,"
she answered in a low tone.

" Then — as you left me for that, I suppose — if you have
forgiven me, why can't we become friends again ? "
■ " It was not alone for that," said Ruth, looking down.

" Suppose we both try to forget past worries and causes
of offence ? I have been hearing of your life here, and
what a good little woman you are, Ruth,'' and he smiled,
"and I have come to the conclusion that I have been
very much to blame. I was jealous of Seaforth, I suppose,
and that made me such a bear."

" All that is past and over now, and I am glad, at
least, that we shall part in peace."

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

297

er.
led
jrs.
ing
sed

red,
er a
r an

the

,nner
, and

after
y ear-
over
I was
>ger I

It did
said

lore,"
have

)wn.
lauses

died,

been

[pose,

id, at

" But why part ? I am ready to forget and forgive
everything, if you are. And there is one thing I think
you ought to consider, and that is what people say. You
are a pretty young woman, living apart from her husband,
and the world is very apt to put the worst construction on
such a position."

"I know it is."

** Well, will you end it, then ? Will you go back with
me to town, and let us try in future to lead different
lives ? "

But Ruth shook her head.

" It cannot be," she said.

" But why ? " urged Audley.

" Because I never loved you as a woman should love
her husband," answered Ruth with much agitation, *' we
— are happier apart."

" Well, if you think this "

" I do think it — I know it," continued Ruth, as Audley
paused, " there can be no happiness where there is not
love — and we cannot make love either come or go."

Her voice broke and faltered as she said the last i^w
words, and Audley understood, understood that her heart
was still true to the man from whom he had parted her.

" I shall say no more then," he said hoarsely and abrupt-
ly, for he was greatly disappointed. *' Good-bye," and
they shook hands, and he went away.

CHAPTER XLVn.

PASSING AWAY.

Two years passed away after this quiet parting between
Ruth and Audley at Headfort, and noiseless Time strode
on, marking its silent way on every living thing: To Ruth
Audley, the sun-risings and sun-sets, the seed-times and
harvests, brought seemingly no outward change. She still
lived with her father ; still cherished the strong affection
she had given to the lover of her girlhood ; but her
character ripened and colored, as fruit in the autumn sun.
Even her father recognised this, and Ruth's influence
over him grew and grew. He saw a handsome young

298

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS.

woman, who thought more of the comforts of others than
her own ; who dressed plainly, so as to be able to feed the
hungry; and who bore his own Uttle outbursts of irrita-
bility with patience and good humor.

"She is a good girl," he many a time told the sad-faced,
white-haired man who lived at Sudley. For Colonel Ken-
yon had grown old before his time ; and poor Arthur
Beaton's death, and his dying act and words, were never
forgotten.

And the woman who had once been his wife — Frances
Forth — what change had the changing seasons brought to
her? After the first shock was over — the first wild cries
stilled, and the tears dried that she had shed over her
young lover's fate, Frances began to remember that she
was still lovely, and that the world — a shady one, perhaps
— was still before her. And with the simple generosity
and nobleness of his character. Colonel Kenyon provided
her with an income which was sufficient for her to live on.

** I shall settle five hundred a year on her for her life,"
he told her father, " on one condition, which is that she
never attempts to see me."

Thus Frances was placed above anxiety as regards her
means of living, and made no scruple about accepting the
money of the man she had so greatly wronged. She took
apartments in Paris, and first called herself Lady Beaton,
vainly hoping that the fact that she had never been
married to Sir Arthur might not be exactly known.

But from this dream she was roused by receiving a stern
letter from the real Lady Beaton's lawyer, requesting her
not to assume a title to which she had no right. She
dropped " Lady Beaton " therefore, and called herself
Madame de Vaubert, and, as such, lived a reckless, care-
less life, spending more money than she could afford, and
seeking pleasure as a child pursues the butterfly on wing.

And, about a year after Sir Arthur Beaton's death, she
married again. Her choice was a most unfortunate one.
It was not her somewhat waned beauty which attracted
the good-looking spendthrift to her side, to whom she gave
her hand, but the knowledge of her small but settled in-
come. This Count de Laguerre, as he called himself,
though his name appeared not in the " Almanach de
Gotha," was a ruined man when he first looked on the fair
Englishwoman, about whom there were many whispered
scandals.

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

299

an
he
ta-

ed,
.en-
hur
:ver

ices
it to
:ries

her

she
haps
osity
^ided
e on.
life,"
Lt she

is her

ig the

took

jaton,

been

She was known to be a divorced wife, and the story of
the tragic duel near Calais was not forgotten. But she
was handsome, and had money, and Count de Laguerre
was in such an impoverished condition, he told himself, l.e
could not afford to be particular. And Frances married,
partly because he was a good-looking man, and partly
because, she thought, it would give her a more assured
position.

But a terrible awakening followed. She found his
position was an assumed one, and that he was a drunkard
and a gambler, and that what he most prized was the
quarterly cheque which she received from England. It
was a wretched marriage, and they drifted lower and lower,
sinking into art abyss of debt from which they never
escaped. The natural consequences followed, and abuse
and recrimination were of daily occurrence in the cheap,
gaudily-furnished apartments, where these two dragged out
an unhappy existence.

They had lived together about a year when the Count
contracted typhus fever, and died after a short illness.
Frances, true to her character, made no moan o"er a loss
which she did not consider one. She buried the poor man,
and put on her crape, feeling she had had a good riddance.
But the subtle germs of disease had stolen into her frame
also, and to her terror and consternation she felt herself
growing ill.

She had always been strong, and she struggled against
the insidious foe, and went out when she ought to have
been in bed. But do what she would, the fever kept
possession of her, and fear began to steal into her heart,
for she felt herself alone in a city where she had no friend.

She grew worse and worse, and her doctor asked lier if
she had no relations she would like to have near her in her
sickness. Then Frances remembered Ruth, and how when
she had been a young girl, her then child-sister had nursed
and waited on her. She remembered, too, how Ruth had
nursed her during another illness which she had never
until now cared to think of.

" I have a sister," she told the doctor : '^ but we have
quarrelled."

" Still, madame, in illness quarrels are often forgotten
and forgiven. May I send for your sister ? "

Frances hesitated, not from any fear of giving infection

300

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

to Ruth, but from a feeling of pride and shame that Ruth
should see her brought down so low. But the doctor
urged it, and finally Frances gave her consent, and also
gave the doctor Ruth's address at Headfort.

They had heard there of Frances' second marriage, but
no direct communication had passed between the sisters
during the two years and six months which had glided
away since Frances had fled from her home at Sudley»
But after Audley's interviews with Ruth, and his hard
words to her on the subject of Arthur Beaton's death, Ruth
had begun to think more tenderly of Frances — to pity her^
in fact, for the terrible retribution which had overtaken
her when her young lover died.

And rumors reached them that her second marriage was
also an unfortunate one, and Ruth would often muse sadly
enough over her beautiful sister's fate. But she never
talked of Frances to her father, as her name was sufficient
to put Colonel Forth into a tremendous rage. He could
not forget the pain and misery she had caused, and the
shadowed life of his old friend was an ever present
grievance.

The letter, therefore, from the French doctor, which
duly arrived, was a great shock to Ruth. He informed
her that Madame de Laguerre, her sister, was dangerously
ill of typhus fever, and though the form which the disease
had hitherto assumed was not of so fatal a nature as that
which had carried off her husband, after a brief illness, still
it was of a sufficiently alarming character to induce the
doctor to wish that some of Madame's near relatives
should be by her bed-side. And he ended by urging Ruth
to go to Paris as quickly as possible.

Ruth received this letter at breakfast time, read it, and
laid it down with a little cry.

" Oh ! father," she said, " Frances is very ill."

" Frances ! " answered the Colonel, with an ominous
frown.

" Yes," said Ruth with agitation; " this is a letter from
her doctor ; she has typhus fever, he says, and that her
husband has died of it, and that some of her relations
should be with her — I will go."

" Ruth," said Colonel Forth starting to his feet, " you
shall do nothing of the kind ! I forbid it — do you hear ? "

" But father I must go ; I could not bear to think of it

m
to

((

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS,

3^1

vhich
rmed

ously
sease
that
, still
i the
Ltives
Ruth

and

iiinous

from
It her
Ltions

«yoil
iar?"
of it

if I did not — fancy, when she is so ill, to l)e all alone ! "

" She has forfeited all claims on our consideration, and I
am not ^ov^si, to let you run the risk of catching an infec-
tious fever for the sake of one who has ceased to be any-
thing to us ; most justly ceased ! "

'' But that cannot be, you know," said Ruth, also rising ;
^' if Frances had been prosperous and well it might have
been different, but now when she is so ill and a widow, we
■cannot forget what she once was to us — at least I cannot.
You will give me the money to go to Paris, father, will you
not ? "

** Not one penny ! " answered the Colonel in a loud,
angry voice. " I repeat, I forbid you to go, and so there's
an end of it ;" and he walked out of the room to escape
further solicitation.

But Ruth had made up her mind. Many a time she
had secretly blamed herself for that partial explanation
that she had made to Seaforth, which had brought indi-
rectly such dire consequence to Frances, and she was not
going to forsake her now. She thought a moment ; then
went upstairs, and dressed herself for going out, and
without again seeking her father, left the house, engaged a
cab, and drove straight to Sudley, for she meant to ask
Colonel Kenyon for the money to take her to Frances*
sick-bed.

It was a fine frosty morning in the early days of the new
year, just two years and six months after she had gone, on
such a morning, to tell Colonel Kenyon the miserable story
that had wrecked his life. And now to speak of Frances
was again her errand, but this time the news was very
different.

She found him walking slowly up and down the terrace,
in the sun, and when he saw her he at once advanced
to meet her.

She shook hands with him gravely, and something in the
expression of her face startled him.

" Has anything happened ? " he asked nervously.

"Yes, Frances is very ill," answered Ruth, in a low
tone; "and I have come to ask you to advance me the
money to go to her, as my father will not give it to me."

"Very ill?" repeated Colonel Kenyon, as though the
news was a shock to him also.

" It is typhus fever ; this is the doctor's letter ; her
husband is dead, you see — I must go to her."

ill
ill

303

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

Colonel Kenyon took the letter in his hand, which
trembled in spite of himself, and read what the doctor had
written. Then he looked at Ruth.

" And you wish to go to her? " he said.

"I shall certainly go to her; will you lend me the
money, Colonel Kenyon ? "

" My dear, why do you ask ? But you cannot go alone
— will your father not go with you ? *'

" He won't hear of my going ; that's why I came to
you."

" Then I will take you ; when can we start ? "

" Oh ! to-day," said Ruth, eagerly. •' How good of you to
go — but you are always good ! " And she caught hold of
his hand and held it in her own, while tears rushed into her
eyes as she remembered all the misery that Frances had
caused this generous men, who was ready to go to her in
her hour of need.

And the two started the same day for Paris, in spite of
Colonel Forth's repeated remonstrances. But he also was
not a little touched by his old friend's self-sacrifice.

" You are the best fellow in the world, Kenyon, that's
about the truth," he muttered, as he parted with them at
the station, where he finally condescended to accompany
them. " Look after Ruth here, and if ske takes ill, please
send for me."

They travelled as quickly as possible, and when they
found themselves in Paris, for the first time since they had
started Colonel Kenyon again mentioned Frances' name.

" Do not tell Frances I am here, my dear," he said,
quietly ; " I shall take rooms in an hotel close to her
apartments, and I shall call for you every day and take
you for a drive or a walk ; we must not have you fall ill."

''We shall see how she is," answered Ruth, who was
visibly affected at the prospect of again seeing the once
dearly loved sister from whom she had been parted so
long, and whom she had last seen in such different cir-
cumstances. They were on the way to Frances' apart-
ments when this conversation took place, and half an hour
later they reached the shabby quarter where they were
situated.

" What ! here ? " said Colonel Kenyon, in surprise, as
their driver stopped. " You will want money, Ruth," and
he put a considerable sum into her hand ; " I shall call

sh(

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

3«33

the

; to

uto
dof
)her
had
er in

ite of
3 was

that's
em at
npany
please

they
»y had
jname.

said,
[0 her
take

ill ill."
\o was
once
Ited so
Int cir-
apart-
In hour
were

rise, as

," and

ill call

again in an hour, and you must tell n.v. how she is and
what the doctor thinks of her."

He handed Ruth out of the carriage as he spoke, and a
few moments later Ruth found herself entering the little
suite of rooms where her unhappy sister lived. She passed
through the shabby, yet gaudily-furnished reception-room,
to the small, close bedroom at its back, and here she again
saw Frances.

She saw a woman with a haggard, fever-wasted face, a
woman who looked no longer young nor beautiful, whose
features seemed to have altered somehow, and whose long
chestnut hair lay disordered, dull, on the soiled i)illows.
Ruth advanced noiselessly close to the bed, and for a mo-
ment or two thought she had made a mistake — this could
not be Frances — but as she stood shocked, uncertain, the
sick woman sig.iod restlessly, opened her large hazel eyes,
and instantly a gleam of recognition shot into them.

" Ruth ! Is it Ruth ? " she said, and held out her hand,
which Ruth first clasped, and then kissed the burning palm.

" I have come to nurse you," faltered Ruth, and tears
she could not suppress rushed into her eyes.

" I have been very ill, but I am better," said Frances in
a weak, hoarse voice, but she was perfectly conscious.
" When did you come ? " she continued. " I am glad you
have come ; what I want is nursing ; they neglect me here."^

" I shall take care of you ; I have brought plenty of
money ; you can have everything you require."

" That is good news," said the invalid. " And ^ ow

is " and then her mind seemed to wander a little

through excessive weakness. " I forget names sometimes,"
she added, as if apologetically.

*' Do you mean our father?" said Ruth in a low tone.

"Yes, to be sure, our father — and the old man at Sud-
ley. Ah ! " and she suddenly raised herself up in bed, the
whole tragedy of her life flashing back to her weakened
and sometimes clouded brain, "why did you do it, Ruth?
Do you know what you did ? You sent poor Arthur Bea-
ton to his grave."

''No, no. Oh, no!"

" Yes, but it was so," went on Frances, her eyes gleam-
ing wildly. " That wretch, Audley, came to Monte Carlo
to tell Arthur of the little babe born dead before its time
that you buried by the sea. And do you know why he did

304

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

this? To revenge himself on you for telling the story to
Seaforth. I thought you would have died before you would
have let the secret pass your lips."

'* I did not tell the secret," said Ruth with dee]) emotion ;
** I told Ivenard Seaforth that Major Audley had discovered
something against you, and that he threatened to tell
Colonel Kenyon unless I married him ; but that was all.
But do not let us talk of the past, Frances ; it will excite
you and make you worse. Try to forget all this."

"Hut how can I forget it?" continued Frances, ex-
citedly. '* I heard of his death — Arthur's death — and I
had killed him ! " And she burst into loud and hysterical
weeping, and it was more than half an hour before she
sank back, too utterly exhausted to make any further wail.

This painful scene increased the fever that was consum-
ing her, and all night Ruth >sat by her bedside, while she
raved of their girlish days in India and of Walter Greville^
a name which for years had never i)assed her lips. Colonel
Kenyon called during the evening, but Ruth had only sad
news to give him. Frances was very ill, and the "old
man," as she had caMed him, went away from her apart-
ments with a bowed head and a heavy heart. But the
next day she was a little better, and so on. Sometimes
she was perfectly conscious, and at others her mind
wandered and the fever ran very high. They called in a
second doctor, and everything that money could procure
was lavished on her, and she always herself spoke of get-
ting well. Colonel Kenyon insisted upon Ruth leaving
her occasionally, when a trained nurse took her place, and
the doctors also said it was absolutely essential that Ruth
should have some fresh air every day.

Colonel Kenyon used to take Ruth out for drives, and
one day she noticed that his face looked graver even than
usual. Frances was a shade better that day, the doctors
had decided, and as they drove along together, he sud-
denly turned round and looked at her.

" Ruth, my dear, I have something to tell you," he said,
gently.

" What is it ? " said Ruth, with quick alarm. " There is
nothing wrong with my father, I hope ? "

** No, your father is all right, for I heard from him this
morning. But yesterday, on the Boulevards, I met some-
one you once knew." •

JEZEBEVS FKIENDS,

305

A sudden fliisli passed over Ruth's face, for in a mo-
ment she thought of Kcnard Seaforth.

" Who was it ? " slie asked, in a faltering voice.

** It was Major Audley," answered Colonel Kcnyon,
turning away his head. " He was in a Math-rhair. and
looked extremely ill ; he has had a stroke of |)aralysis, he
told me, and one side is completely jjaralysed."

" How dreadful ! " said Ruth, in a low, shocked tone.

" I recognized him, and stopped to speak to him," con-
tinued Colonel Kenyon, " and I told liim you were in Pari:',
and — the sad cause — and he expressed a strong wish to see
you again."

" Would that do any good ? " faltered Ruth.

" My dear, I think it would he only right. Whatever
were your reasons for leaving him, \ think now, in his state
of health, they should he forgotten."

Ruth clasped her hands together ; the idea of seeing
Audley again was eminently painful to her, and yet it
seemed almost impossible to her to refuse.

" If he wishes it " she said with hesitation,

** He does wish it, and I promised to tell you of his
wish."

" I will go then."

''Will you go to-day?"

But Ruth shrank back.

" I will go to-morrow," she said ; " by that time I shall
be more accustomed to the thought of meeting him."

But it was difficult to realize it. In the two years which
had j)assed since she had seen Audley he had grown very
shadowy and indistinct to her mind. She had tried never
to think of him, in fact, for his remembrance was only pain,
and to see him again she felt would make the old wounds
bleed anew.

She returned therefore to Frances' bedside feeling rest-
less and disturbed in no ordinary degree. Colonel Ken-
yon had arranged to take her the next day to see Audley,
but of course she said nothing of this to Frances, who
seemed a little better than usual when she returned.

And on the following afternoon she did go to see the
stricken man. Ever since his accident Major Audley had
drunk an inordinate quantity of brandy, and his intem-
perance the doctors believed had brought on the paralysis
from which he was suffering. He was a melancholy spec-

3o6

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

tacle, the whole of the left side of his body being affected,
and this, coupled with the fact of the loss of his right leg,
made him almost entirely powerless.

He was sitting propi)ed up in an easy-chair, when
Colonel Kenyon led Ruth into his room ; and when she
saw the shattered wreck before her, she was much shocked
and overcome. She went up to him, and took one of his
cold stiff hands in hers.

" You have been ill ? " she said pityingly.

" I am ill, you mean," he answered with something of
his old manner ; " I am a useless log, Ruth ; not fit any
longer to cumber the earth."

"Oh ! do not say that."

" It's about the truth, at all events," he continued.
** And so you are in Paris to nurse "

But Ruth gave a warning gesture, and looked round at
Colonel Kenyon, who walked to the window, not caring to
watch this strange meeting between the husband and
wife.

" Ruth, my dear," said Colonel Kenyon, the next mo-
ment, "I'll go now, and call for you in half-an-hour ; Ma-
jor Audley may wish to talk to you a little while."

Ruth would fain have bid him stay, but in Audley's
terrible condition it seemed impossible to say anything
that might seem as a slight to him. So Colonel Kenyon
went away, and Ruth was alone with Audley.

He was silent for a moment ; he looked at her earnestly
— at this girl-wife with her fair face, who had never loved
him, and then he gave a restless sigh.

" I am glad to see you again," he said ; " I have though!
more than once since this confounded paralysis has over-
taken me of asking you to come — but I suppose you would
not have liked that ? "

"If I could have done you any good," hesitated Ruth,
with downcast eyes.

" Well, for the matter of that, no one can do me any
good ; but you could have taken care of me, you know,
until you are a widow."

" I wish you would not talk thus."

" Very well, I won't then. I was so astonished to see
old Kenyon yesterday ; so astonished, that for a moment I
forgot all about poor Beaton's death," and his brow dark-
ened, " though, for the matter of that, he only did what I

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

307

myseK would have done under the circumstances. But at
all events I forgot the poor lad, and only remembered I
might hear something of you."

" You know Frances is very ill? "

**So he told me ; and is it very safe for you to nurse a
woman ill of typhus fever? "

" I am very, very glad I came ; I hope she is going to
get better now."

"You are a good little woman, Ruth."

" No, no, indeed."

"And if madame whatever her name is — she will always
be Jezebel 'o me, you know — gets well, do you think you
will come and nurse me for a little bit ? "

" If you wish it, yes."

" Thank you ; I do wish it. And now tell me how your
father is, and all the news."

She sat with him for half an hour, and then Colonel Ken-
yon returned for her, and they went away ; but not until
she had promised to return. But on the following day
Frances was worse, and it was impossible for Ruth to leave
her.

Of the next few day; in that darkened sick-room it is
painful to write. Fatal symptoms set in, and the doctors
told Ruth plainly there was no hope. And it was terrible
to Ruth to know that Frances was perfectly unconscious
of her danger. She talked of getting well when she talked
at all ; and at last, tremblmg, white-lipped, Ruth spoke o
her of the great change she knew was near.

" What do you mean ? " said Frances quickly, a startled
look coming on her haggard face. " Please, Ruth, do not
begin to preach."

" But my dear, my dear," said Ruth, bursting into a
sudden passion of tears, and sinking on her knees by the
bedside; " the doctors do not think you are improving —
they think "

" Not that I am. going to die ! " cried Frances in terror.
" I will not die — I dare not die — don't for Heaven's sake
speak of it again, Ruth ! "

" At least let us pray together," wept Ruth. " Oh, my
dear, think how good God is. Let us ask Him to forgive
us all our sins ! "

But Frances would not listen.

" I do not see how we have been very much worse than

3oS

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

Other people," she --^id; "please let me alone, Ruth, I
want to try to sleep.

Alas ! in the fitful sleep that followed, each moment
brought her nearer to the long sleep that has no wakening.
And as the gathering shades of evening stole over the gay
and busy world outside, so did the gathering shades of
death creep nearer and nearer to the vain, restless heart,
who had done not good but evil all her days !

And as the hours wore on, even Frances began to fear,
began to realise that the new and strange sensations which
overwhelmed her might mean the unseen shadow from
which there is no escape. Her terror then became pitiable
to behold. It was terrible to see this reluctant soul —
conscious, terrified — drifting into darkne^^s, clinging to life,
vainly fighting with the grim foe !

She died at daybreak, but, for some hours before her
death, she lay in a state of semi-sensibility, while Ruth
knelt by her side, praying audibly, and holding fast the
poor hands in which the pulses were sinking lower and
lower. At last the er.d came ; there was a shudder, a
brief struggle, and beautiful Frances Forth was dead.

CHAPTER XLVin.

NOT VERY POOR.

Ruth's giief was deep and bitter when they told her that
Frances had really passed away. And as she wept and
wailed, there came another mourner — seemingly an old
man — who stood gazing, with dry eyes and haggard face,
at the changed features he remembered in their lovely
prime. This was Colonel Kenyon, who, as he knew the
end was drawing near, had gone to the house where Fran-
ces lay dying. All night he had waited, sleepless, moved
to the very soul by the knowledge of the mortal struggle
going on in the chamber above where he sat, pale and
rigid, hiding as best he could the strong emotions surging
in his breast.

Then at daybreak they came and told him Madame was
at rest — that it was all over ; and Colonel Kenyon rose up

y^ZEBEVS ERIENDS ,
once been Ws'rte ""/''" ''f'^ °f 'he dead woman ,vhn ^ a

Come with me, my deor " k
S^r -- -'" -^"'e ^r.e;;o^Ket Ue°

worn with 4tch\,g°afd;emal'"7'" '^^ ^^^' -'^ R«h
one long last look a^ her oTce V 5f !"?' ^'^'-^^d, and after
''erse ,o be led fron, ,1,:^^ "'""' ^"'^^'= '^^^^ allowed

jvuin Was verv \\\ a • \
that Colonel Kenvon I","'^ "'^ "^"^ few days- so ;il
Colonel Forth arn^d n'*^/ 1^*]^^ ^-. "er SUr'and
to her grave, though a fir ? I "^''owhis eldest dat^ghter
Coonel Kenyon wtLd if '^ L, . "'f'^^^^'^ '° ^o so. ^B„

said r'', "' ?"'^ ^<=™embe 'vvl at le n' "^''""'^'^ '° refuse
said Colonel Kenyon And .!!,i? °"''^ '^^^ to us both "

'a.d ,r. h« last resting-pU,ce afL;r°K°''^/"«<^^ ''^^^ ht
, Major Audley had qenf,!; ''."^^her brief, unquiet life
the. last a...v djys of ;"ance,'"'^fr' ™""^ tils during
anxiety about Ruth's cond?,; '"j^""' ^nd showed rea!

house Where France.: h Sl^ °d"as slon'^ '""^ ""'' ^^^^^^
and attera iittle while after tL? " ^' " ^'as possible
shebegan to recover and t'n"''' ^hock was softened
and Colonel Kenvo, .iT^ ^ ^'■^^' relief of her faVhe;
which she might have so ei'' "° ^^nptoms of infecdon
attendance of Frtce.s ''"'^ '=°"'^'^«-d by her con^a"t

Inen Colonel Fonl-. k^

but Ruth said vfry ttle^^'U" '""? "^ '^"^'"g her home

very quietly one day to tike h ^^^^^ Colonel KenTon

^he entered his roo,^ ° her jeJo m '"^^ ^""^'^y- ^'"d wLn

at first su,,press her tears ^ Wourning, she could not

-a^ no?:;,Zer' '"'' ^^^ '^-"." -id Audley. who

They Vere' ^Cr ^i^, '00^"'",'';'^'^^' ^^'h.

ot-e, for Colonel Kenyon had only escorted

■II

310

JEZEBEVS FRIENDS,

her to the door of the house, where Aiidley had a small
suite of rooms ; and after a few moments' silence, after a
slight hesitation, Audley asked her to remain with him.

" I know it is a selfish thing to do," he said, " but it
won't be for long, Ruth."

''Would it make you happier?" asked Ruth gently,
fixing her eyes, full of pity, on his face. " Are you sure
you would Hke me to be with you? "

" I am quite sure ; I always liked you, you know, poor
little woman."

" Perhaps I can be some little help to you ; I think
you should have a woman with you — if you wish it, I will
stay."

So they settled it, and to the surprise and strong indig-
nation of Colonel Forth, Ruth told him when she returned
to their hotel that she was going to remain in Paris with
her husband.

"With that fellow? After he struck you?" said the
Colonel, angrily.

" He will not strike me any more," answered Ruth
gently, "poor fellow, he cannot lift his hand."

*' But to spend your life with a helpless cripple ! Just
think what it will be, before you determine on such a
sacrifice."

" I think it is my duty ; he has no one to look after
him, and I feel sure I am doing right," said Ruth earnestly ;
and nothmg her father could say could move her from her
purpose.

" I think she is right," answered Colonel Kenyon quietly,
when Colonel Forth appealed to him on the subject ; and
so, exceedingly sore and annoyed at the idea of losing the
company ot his daughter when he had become so accustom-
ed to it, Colonel Forth at length returned to his little house
at Headfort alone.

That Ruth's new life was a painful trial to her it would
be useless to deny. But she was of a very pitiful and woman-
ly nature, and Audlty was such a great sufferer that it soon
became easy and natural to her to tend, and try to cheer
him. She wrote and told Kenard Seaforth out in India
what she had done.

" I am sure if you saw him, dear Kenard, you would say
I had done right — and he is so much more patient than
he used to be ; " she wrote to her old friend. " I read to

JEZEBELS FRIENDS.

him, and write his letters ; and he was so very lonely, and
his life is so very sad, that I am glad that I am able to be
with him ; " and so on.

It went on for nine months longer, and Ruth made a
devoted nurse, and the end came very suddenly and quietly.
Major Audley had already had two paralytic attacks when
Ruth returned to him, and he died when the third seized
him, never regaining speech nor consciousness. He had
seemed unusually well the day before, and had spoken
very gratefully *o Ruth.

" When I die, my dear," he had said, " you will know
how well I have appreciated all your kindness."

Ruth telegraphed to her father, and the Colonel lost no
time in hastening to her assistance. But imagine his delight
when, after poor Audley was buried, he received a letter
from Audley's lawyers, to inform him that the late Major
Audley had some months ago executed a will in favor of
his wife, and by it had left her his entire fortune, com-
pletely in her own control. The f"i 'une was a substantial
one, for since his sister's death Audley had had an income
of over two thousand a year ; and Ruth thus* found herself
almost a rich woman, and understood now what the poor
fellow had meant when he told her she would know some
day how well he had appreciated all her kindness.

Colonel Forth's elation was so great, he could scarcely
keep it within the bounds of decency.

" They'll not show you the cold shoulder now at Head-
fort, Ruth," he said, proudly ; but Ruth only smiled, and
then went to her own room, and sat down thinking softly
of some one who was far away.

And the next day she went out quietly and alone, and
posted a newspaper, in which she had marked the announce-
ment of Major Audley's death. And then she watched
and waited for the letter she hoped this news would bring.

It came by the first Indian mail, after Kenard Seaforth
knew that the man was dead who had sej^arated him from
his young love. Shall we read it with her? Read the
warm and tender words in which he told her that his heart
had never changed ; that he Nvould return to England imme-
diately, and that he prayed God that this time nothing
would separate them ?

312

JEZEBEL'S FRIENDS.

And he came ; and these two, who had loved each other
so truly, met again, and clasped each other's hands in silent
joy. Seaforth looked browner, and older, but he told
Ruth that in her fair face he saw no change.

" And my darling," he said after a little while, " wi'l you
go back to India with me at once ? "

" Must that be ? " she asked softly.

'* Well, you see we won't have very much money, and I
think for a year or two it would be more prudent."

Ruth smiled.

''But I am not very poor now," she said; and when
Seaforth heard of her fortune, with excusable exaggeration
he declared he would have liked her better without it !

But his parents were by no means of this opinion.
Kenard judiciously told the amount -of Ruth's income,
when he wrote to the General to tf '1 him of his renewed
engagement, and the General carried the letter to his wife,
with a smile on his usually somewhat stern countenance.

" Well, your boy has got his own way at last, it seems,"
he said ; " and as that other wretched woman is dead, and
this one we always heard highly spoken of, I think he has
done very well."

" And he was always so fond of her," said the mother a
little tremulously.

" That's all very fine, but you can't live on love now-a-
days, and I am glad for one that she's a good income ; and
I have no doubt so is he — or will be."

THE END.

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